#when they went to the troll market and there were all the weird beasts…now that's what i'm talking about

[kazz-brekker]

my soul feels nourished by the number of weird creatures in hellboy 2

[drax-is-inthefandom]

Defying fate - Chapter 1

Sharing the first chapter here because I FORGET TUMBLR HATES OUTSIDER LINKS. Sucker

Summary:  The Trollhunter's son? The Elder's daughter? Titles that come with honor, responsability, and a whole lot of stress. They have great people to make proud, they have the whole world seeing them, waiting for them to reach out to their glory. Or to fail miserably. But this is their story, not their parent's. They forge their own destiny, they defy fate. How this will result? There is only one way to find out

Chapter 1: Friends for years

Link of the AO3 in the reblogs

The sound of moving machinery pierced his ears, the vibration in the ground held him close to reality, the weight of his sword guided his movements.

His father, the Trollhunter, had gone out on a mission again, one in which he was not invited to help, so The Forge was completely at his mercy to train as he saw fit, it was not as if there was someone to guide him and instruct him to train in a different way.

In his mind, the obstacles and weapons presented by The Forge were not programmed mechanisms, in his mind he saw enemy trolls whom he most defeat or kill, and the sword in his hands was not just any sword he had borrowed from the armory, in his mind, what he wielded was Daylight herself. The sword of the Trollhunter.

For years he knew it, he felt it to the core of himself.

He was the son of Kanjigar, the courageous, if someone was to take on the role of his father as Trollhunter after his fall, it should be him, Draal, the deadly.

It was his duty to learn how to use a sword in an honorable way to be ready for the day when Daylight would be under his command.

His mind was ready to deal with the dangling axes and the shifting ground in The Forge.

He wasn't ready to come face to face with the antlers of a moose as soon as he turned around, maybe an axe, but not a moose.

"Deya’s grace!" Such was his surprise to find such an animal in the middle of his training, in the middle of The Forge, that his reflex action was to raise his sword to strike a withering blow at the beast before it wreaked havoc on the place.

"Wait, wait, it's me!" Nor was he prepared to have to stop the sword inches from striking the creature, because under it, the culprit that the body of such a beast was in front of him peeked out. His surprised face changed to one of annoyance, with slight evidence of embarrassment, as he saw the guilty troll for his reaction.

"Imah! What the hell are you doing?"

"I just got back from my hunt, I wanted you to be the first to see my prey. Can you put down your sword, please?" The embarrassment hidden in his annoyance increased when he realized that the sword in his hands was still suspended over the troll and the moose’s body. He snorted and lowered the weapon, earning a grateful smile from the peach troll.

"Magnificent beast, don't you think? Well rationed, it will last about a week, the antlers are in such a state that I can assure you, many will want to compete to keep it, I am sure there would be some good tools with the material, or a good appetizer. Are you interested?"

Imah the Inventive, one of the most reputable hunters in Trollmarket, if not the most reputable, a Pion troll who always returned from her hunts with one or several large prey, enough to provide herself and trade with these in the food and raw material market of different types.

Also, an old friend of his.

"I have no use for an antler right now, but thanks for the offer."

“If you change your mind, just say so. To compensate you for interrupting you in the middle of training, what if I invite you some glug? "

The talk could seem to be nothing out of the ordinary for anyone who might witness it, but she knew him, he knew her.

The interruption was not caused by the simple intention of wanting to display a hunting trophy.

Draal sighed, already getting the idea of what was waiting for him.

"Get ahead while I end up here"

At the bar, he would ask who it was who told her that Kanjigar had put him aside. Again.

"At your service, Sir Draal"

A table on the periphery of the bar, far enough away to preserve privacy but central enough to learn of any possible problems that could need to be addressed.

Imah was waiting for him there when he arrived at the bar, after all, it was the table they have been using for a couple of centuries now.

"I was already beginning to think that you had fallen unconscious because of a hit or something, you were taking your time" A welcoming joke to accompany the jar of glug that was waiting for him, typical of her.

"If someone is usually unconscious in The Forge, it is you, all that fur around your head and not even so you cushion the hundreds of blows you usually receive" And obviously he was not going to be intimidated by the taunts without a fight.

Imah's indignant gasp made him smile, point to him.

“Oh excuse me, Mr. Huge Horns. In the first place, I do not receive even half of all the blows, that a certain bighead here in my eyes, receives, and secondly, my mane is an excellent cushion! For both protection and comfort, it is so fluffy that even you have used it to recharge yourself. And don't you dare deny it! I have witnesses” Both of them laughed, happy with how that fight of sassy comments of them started.

The elephant in the room was obvious to both of them, at some point either of them would point it out, but neither was in a rush to do it. But when you've known someone since you were a kid, you know when it's best to joke around, relax, and share a few jars of glug before pointing out a present problem.

They were already on their fourth jar when, to the Imah's surprise, it was Draal who brought up the subject.

"Who was it that told you that father again refused to let me accompany him?"

"Ah, hadn't I told you? I have been hiding from you for years that I am an oracle, I see and know everything.” Imah's teasing smile collided with Draal's annoyed gaze. She giggled.

“The atmosphere in Trollmarket changes when Kanjigar leaves, especially when going on a mission outside of Arcadia, I quickly peeked into the Gyre on my way home and the smell of the Trollhunter, Aaarrrgghh and Blinky was obvious and fresh. I added two plus two and I went to find you at The Forge, because whenever Kanjigar has a mission so far away as to use the Gyre, you try to convince him to let you accompany him, and you always end up training at The Forge at an alarming intensity where you normally end up hurt because of your recklessness." With the explanation he received, he would have preferred the option that his friend was truly an oracle to accepting that his relationship and reactions with his father already had such a predictable pattern. At least for her.

He must have let out a growl that reflected his frustration, for when he looked up, Imah's smile was a combination of mischief and sympathy that only she knew how to combine and reflect.

"Your frustration is not unknown to me, Draal ... And I am sure that the speech that I usually give you every time I find out about situations like this is not unknown to you either" A snort with enough force to move his nose ring was his answer, Imah showed him the tongue.

"And that's why I don't think it's necessary for me to give it to you again" And that was something that surprised Draal to hear.

"I know that you will continue to seek approval from Kanjigar, you are his son, it is something natural ..." Imah spoke while running his finger along the edge of his jar "And I know you deserve it, as much as I know that Kanjigar is just as stubborn as you, after all, you inherited it from him.” She laughed when she saw the look Draal gave her, especially because he didn't say anything to her, because he knew it was true and couldn't deny it.

"And, well, I have already told you many times, you have the strength, ability and bearing to receive all the recognition in the world, I know it" She got up and went to sit next to him, smiling sweetly and placing her hand over his shoulder.

“Also, I think I have told you since those distant years when we were expectant of who would be the first chosen one of Merlin's Amulet, it does not matter if you are not Merlin's champion, or the Trollmarket champion. You will always be my champion"

A silence remained between them. A silence, not awkward, but reflective, in which they both seemed to be digesting the words spoken, processing them in their own minds.

Draal turned to see Imah, who still had her hand on his shoulder, and smiled at her.

"Don't make it weird." And her smile changed to a grimace of pure annoyance in just a blink, a direct punch to the shoulder was what Draal earned.

“One here wanting to make you feel better and you come out with your stupid comments! I can't deal with you, you are unbelievable! This is the last time I get sentimental with you, ungrateful troll.” Another punch to the shoulder and Imah rose to return to her seat in an indignant snort to take her glug in one gulp.

Draal couldn't stop laughing as he watched her, even if his shoulder was sore from the punches.

When you've been friends with someone for so many years, it's natural for you to escape cheesy moments with a laugh, a friendly annoyance that both of you would remember with grace in the future.

It was his way of thanking the words received without exposing his sensitive side.

And they both knew it.

Draal is not someone to speak out of his feelings. He never has been.

[eldonash]

It’s Gunna Be May

Summary: It was May. Which meant that at the hidden ‘clubhouse’, a party was happening. In basement two, where all the best wines and blood was stored. A special person was being let out. What started as a joke, dare, and evolved into an actual acquisition, along with a lot of other strange oddities the vampires of White Crest were slowly collecting; 

Justin Timberlake was now a permanent guest in Bloodhaven. 

Featuring: Orobas, Carrington, Harsh, Francesca, (and a past Dewey) @carringtonblackwood​; @notsoharsh​; @caraitaliadolcemeta​

Orobas was drinking from a glass, watching the vampire who had the keys open the cell door and he almost clapped in glee. It did seem like a strange thing to be excited about, but it was a joke that had ironically brought many of them together. Orobas would always find humor involving his kin and their ideas. He had dressed impeccably, with a tailored suit and already had a nice tux for Justin to wear. He turned to the person near him. “Do you think-- the blue tie, or this one?” 

Carrington was… curious about what - or who, in this case - was in the room that was currently being unlocked with no small amount of joy on the part of the vampire next to him. He wasn’t a fan of imprisoning people against their will - he had his reasons - but apparently… apparently the person being let out didn’t mind? “Blue,” Carrington said after a small glance at the item in question. “Brings out the eyes.” He took a long pull from his glass - which was admittedly his… fourth… or was it fifth? - before leaning towards the person stood next to him. “Do you think he’s compulsed?” he asked of the man they were letting out. “Or just… trying something new?” If ‘new’ could be defined as being locked in the cellar of what was essentially turning out to be a vampire clubhouse of sorts, and only let out for a very specific - and time sensitive - reason. “After that god awful Trolls movie, I can’t really blame him…” 

“He’s here willingly, Carrington-- I think the fame got to him or something, maybe a nice break?” Orobas responded and put the blue tie with the tux. [texts Harsh] Come over to Bloodhaven, its started.

Harsh hadn’t had the best day. Fighting a weird mime clone thing was draining. But hell, he needed something to take his mind off it. So the text was a welcome distraction. He glanced over it, hesitating for a moment before responding. [text to Orobas] you guys partying without me? I’ll be over in a few minutes. [text to Harsh] dress nice :)

[text to Orobas] hey baby, you know I always dress to kill ;) Harsh tucked his phone away and threw on a decent dinner jacket. Maybe not the most formal, but it would have to do. His side still ached and he wasn’t up for digging through his closet for hours. Deeming himself good enough, he headed out the door.

Carrington hummed around the rim of his glass. “I’ve heard it does that. Some of the best and brightest have apparently-” He made a random, flitting gesture. “- vanished into the ether at the height of fame.” Another sip of wine. “Or at the bottom.” 

“Really? I never keep up with human affairs, interesting,” Orobas responded.

Dewey had absolute zero idea what would await him when it came to this little ‘party’. It had been over twenty years since he willingly attended an event hosted by vampires, specifically for vampires. Even going to Teeth had been considerably easier, because he had gone with the intent to nourish himself and enjoy another’s company. Parties were another beast entirely. He wasn’t drinking, opting to remain sober for the time being and instead, anxiously observed the others as they talked and drank. 

“You should try it now and then. They might surprise you,” Carrington said of humans. Though he didn’t feel so far removed from them as Orobas might, having tried to live a life as close to human as possible. After another moment of observing the… interesting situation… Carrington moved back to stand next to Dewey, who was looking a bit anxious. He set his glass aside in favor of touching the other’s back ever so lightly. “Alright?” he asked so only they could hear. “Say the word and we’ll go. No questions asked.”

Orobas glanced over at the other, noticing their stance, and remembering their conversation from before. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he offered, to be nice… or attempt to be. “I’m Orobas, let’s leave Justin to his shower and dressing. The wine room?”

The trip to Bloodhaven was thankfully mime-free. Harsh lightly knocked at the door, adjusting his jacket a little. Maybe he should have tried harder to dress up for this thing. He wasn’t totally sure what to expect when he walked in, but hell, after everything, he could use a party.

The hand served to ground him, the urge to crawl out of his skin abated a moment as he regarded the blonde with a tentative smile, then shook his head. “I’m fine, really. Just… taking everything in, is all,” And trying not to feel so out of place, which seemed to be increasingly difficult. He turned to the other when he spoke, offering a small nod and attempting to relax himself a bit more. “Dewey, a pleasure. And, after you,” 

A shout was heard throughout the building. “Cookies are ready!!!” As Marge, dressed to the nines in a stunning gown and matching hat came out with blood morsels wrapped in dough. Also opening the door for Harsh.

 “It’s… a lot,” Carrington agreed quietly, not taking his hand from Dewey’s back. His thumb stroked a small arch over the other man’s spine. He didn’t wish to hover, as Dewey was a grown man, and Carrington trusted him to speak up if he wished to depart, but he also didn’t wish him to feel uncomfortable. He waited as the two vampires introduced themselves, and watched with no small amount of curiosity as… Justin?... gave them all a cheerful wave and went about his business. Carrington blinked. “Wine would be… yes.” He gave Dewey a nod and followed suit towards the wine room. 

The little old lady who answered the door definitely wasn’t who Harsh expected, nor was the plate of cookies she forced into his hands, but he gave her a polite hello before following her into what must have been the wine room. “Looks like you started the party without me.” He grinned, approaching Orobas first and pulling him into a quick embrace before he turned to the other two. “Huh, small fucking world, I didn’t know you two would be here. So this is where all the cool vampires hang out? I like it.”

Orobas was glad to see Harsh, and though not many actually witnessed the softer expression on his usually stoic face, he smiled and hugged him back. “You would know everyone already,” Orobas was greatly amused. “Here--” he popped a bottle and filled it with wine for Carrington, and poured two more. “Did you eat? We can eat-- oh,” a look of corrupted excitement took over his face. “Did you all see Walter?”

“I see Marge has settled right in,” Carrington said, glancing towards the ceiling. She was a strange old bird, but seemed right at home among the small group of supernaturals. Odd, that. But Carrington had grown fond of her, and hadn’t had the heart to turn her down when she’d somehow managed to find out about his invitation from Orobas, and inquire about the ‘party.’ He raised a hand in greeting as he recognized Harsh, and thanked Orobas for the refill. He was curious how the younger man knew Dewey, but assumed it was from the hospital. “Who’s Walter?” he asked Orobas, giving the others time to greet one another. 

“The watermelon vampire in the garden-- so, a werewolf gave it to me after apparently it attacked some people in a farmers market and he got attacked trying to help. Some beasty--,  called it Walter,” Orobas explained. “It’s quite the story. Oh, and I paid $100 for it so now it’s officially mine, which means, it’s now yours too.”

Catching sight of another familiar face, Dewey’s anxiety lessened another fraction, gingerly taking the glass of wine that was offered to him. Still, he lingered a bit close to Carrington, and prayed, prayed that the blonde wouldn’t mind. He hated to feel as though he was dependent, and yet that was exactly how he must have come across. “Vampire… watermelon,” Named Walter. The doctor blinked, amused shock written plainly across his features. He took a large swallow from his glass. “Of all the… creatures I prepared myself to meet tonight, that was certainly not one of them,” 

“Nora the artist?” Carrington asked, letting his free hand slip beneath Dewey’s jacket to rest lightly against his shirt. He didn’t mind the other man staying close at all. In fact, he liked it very much. He gave Harsh a nod of greeting, glad there was someone else here that Dewey knew. “I like her. We’ve spoken online a few times,” he continued about Walter’s namegiver. He’d heard of such creatures as vampiric watermelons, but never seen one in person. “Can’t be anymore handsy than Marge, can it?” Carrington said, sharing Dewey’s amusement. “Shall we take a look?”

“They are very fascinating, how they are made is strange. Either way, they will keep people out of the front door,” Orobas responded to Dewey. “But you were prepared to meet other creatures?” he asked, a hint of a tease on his tone. “What exactly? Should I get more? Maybe we should. I heard there are a bunch of vampiric creatures in the world. They should all be around.” Orobas nodded at Carrington. “Yes, I think so. She was angry with me because I didn’t know what ham was. I still-- don’t exactly know what ham is if I’m honest. We can go to the hot tub and see Walter on the way to the deck if you like.” 

Carrington had no idea how one made a vampire watermelon, but the image that came to mind was from a rather horrifying musical he’d seen sometime in the 80s. Or was it the 90s? It all ran together sometimes. Either way, it interested him enough to want to see it. He laughed quietly at the thought of Marge fussing at a 400 year old vampire who didn’t know his deli meats. “It’s pork,” Carrington mentioned idly. He wasn’t sure if he would partake of the hottub this evening, but who knew where things would lead. 

Ankle boots heels hallowly clicked against the pine-toned wooden floor. As a good guest, Francesca never arrived empty-handed, each and every time bringing a fine bottle of red wine to add to their collection in the wine cellar. “Bloody hell, I’ve been waiting upstairs for ten minutes for someone to come say hi - like good manners demand. Now I drank half of the bottle I brought and you got no one to blame but yourselves, you pipistrelli.” With the open bottle in one hand and her iPhone in the other, she stared at them, noticing the little human celebrity on the back. “... ma che cazzo fai?” The red lips that left out the stern question were left slightly ajar, shocked to truly see fucking Justin Timberlake. “Now you’ll tell me Britney’s here and we’re forcing them to get back together?! Hey -” She walked faster, in the blink of an eye showing up closer to the group. “Have you tasted him yet? Can I?” Now Fran was excited.

“Francesca,” Orobas grinned, waited until she was near and kissed her cheek in greeting. “You are late as usual, lovely as always.” A feral grin met hers, in tease. “Britney? No, only him-- he’s on a permanent stay with us. Here-- we have a preserved bottle somewhere of his...” Orobas pulled one of the wine bottles from a clean, wooden shelf, looking like it was a deep red wine in design, but it wasn’t. “Give me your glass-- you can not bite him, he has to sing--” he popped the cork, and poured her something with more substance into her glass. “Anyone else curious?” He would pour some out if anyone was. 

Dewey couldn’t say that he recognized the vampire who had begun to descend down the stairs. But she certainly seemed… lively, was one word. Probably the best descriptor to stick to for now, lest he say something he’d come to regret. Orobas seemed to know her, but then again, he seemed to know pretty much everyone. Dewey offered her a small smile and nod in greeting, inching a bit closer to Carrington as he noted the hand steadying him. And then, when it seemed that things couldn’t get any more surprising, Orobas was offering them a taste of… Oh. Dewey swallowed thickly, turning to the side in order to give Carrington a small, hesitant glance. Did he want a taste? Where did the bounds of his curiosity end? Or, rather, where should they? He wasn’t entirely sure. But simply gazing at the bottle caused his throat to tighten. He would wait and see what Carrington would do - if he drank, then so would he. 

“What can I say - I’m not British.” Fran offered Orobas a genuine smile and kissed him in the corner of the lips in return. Then looked at Dewey, smiling at him to greet him too. “I can’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, but I’m Francesca.” Someone had to act like a British, after all. “Carrington, you’re stifling the boy,” she teased, noticing how the one she didn’t know quite well seemed to nearly cling onto him. “Oh bravissimo, I couldn’t deal with one more popstar. One’s enough.” Green gems watched as Orobas walked to one of the shelves, fetching a bottle then her glass. “What?! Why would you leave him in plain sight when I can’t go back home and say I ate Justin Timberlake?! Oh pleeeease, I promise he’ll be able to sing afterwards.” Her glass was off her hand, however, already filled up. Fucking A, there were no humans around, why did she have to use the glass. Francesca took another look at Justin, far away but not that out of reach. She then decided to go talk to him and showed up right beside him, linking her arm with his. “So, Justin, tell me - are you enjoying your stay at Bloodhaven? By the way, would you like some wine?” She offered her own glass. How sadistic could Fran get was yet to be answered.

“Un piacere come sempre, Francesca,” Carrington greeted the new arrival, his tone one of wry amusement. Though he made no move to be any further away from Dewey. If anything, he pulled him ever so subtly closer, hooking a finger through his beltloop. He gave Dewey a glance that was still more amused than anything, as if to say this is what happens when vampires congregate in groups of more than two or three. This was actually quite tame compared to other gatherings Carrington had been to in the past. Not in White Crest, of course. And not in the last few decades.  As for the blood being offered up to sample, Carrington wasn’t quite sure he wanted to taste Justin2020. But in the spirit of good manners, he finished off his wine and held out his empty glass to Orobas. “Just a measure then. Not too much.” 

Orobas narrowed his eyes towards Francesca’s causal tone and whine, but it shifted into a  demented, dark expression that changed his features subtly as the blood poured, and she wandered off to have fun with Justin. “Mhmm,” he chuckled. “Here Carrington.” Pouring him what he asked and also filling Harsh’s glass so he would heal. Orobas knew he wasn’t feeling one hundred percent; he just didn’t know why. “Justin is well, special,” he was speaking to Dewey, eyes red with a faint grayness around his features. With Orobas’ age he always seemed a little more monstrous. He inhaled his own glass, with a forced breath. “I have heard you don’t partake, I understand, but Justin is-- mhm, very different. Almost one of a kind, however, I can get you a bottle of something else if you are hungry.” Though offered his glass if Dewey did in fact want a sip.

From not that far away, Francesca kept a very casual conversation with the popstar, even found a comfortable spot for them to sit together. However, her ears were focused on the conversation happening a few feet away. This Dewey didn’t drink human blood? Oh wow. What a terrible life he must live. Shifting her attention back to Justin, she was delighted to see he, indeed, had accepted her glass, even if timidly at first. Her grin spread from ear to ear and anyone else in their right mind would doubt her excitement - not Justin, apparently. He drank, then grimaced. “Oh yeah, love, it’s a very old harvest, it’s a bit peculiar at first.” Wrinkling her nose slightly, she nodded a few times. That’d never get old. And… “OUCH!” Justin shouted, staring at the Italian, who was pushing his wrist away from her bloody mouth and shoving it on his lap. “HE’S FINE!” She declared to anyone who was interested, just in case, and instantly took the glass back from him, pulling off a silk handkerchief from her wrist and pressing against his. “Here, darling, put pressure on and that boo-boo will go away soon enough.” And turned her back, knocking back all the blood left in her glass and quietly returning to the group. “...” And acting like she didn’t do anything.

Well, wasn’t this nice, to be put on the spot… Dewey would have broken out into a thorough sweat if possible, heavily uncomfortable with the others seeming so hooked on his decision. He swallowed again, and almost winced at how dry his throat had become. A parched ache that seemed to spread and wither even in his lungs, every breath holding the faint aroma of the glass Orobas held out to him. But, he had said before, if Carrington partook. And he had, so… “Thank you,” He expressed quietly, gingerly taking the glass and bringing it tentatively to his lips. Even before the crimson hit his tongue, he knew it would certainly be unlike anything else he’d ever sampled - or guzzled, depending on the decade. He hummed in his chest, the liquid soothing the ache, quelching the fire in his belly, a balm only human blood could provide. So caught up in thoroughly enjoying the taste, he hadn’t realized until too late that he had done a bit more than that - the glass was entirely empty.

“Oh God, I… I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t mean to--”

Carrington gave a nod of thanks and held the glass to his nose briefly, taking in the rich scent for a moment before taking a slow sip. It was… it was good. Very good. Good enough that the small sip turned into two, turned into finishing the glass in one long, graceful swallow. “Indeed,” he murmured, agreeing with Orobas as the other vampire spoke to Dewey. “Oi,” he said to Fran as she… bit into Justin unexpectedly. He tutted slightly, swiping the last bit of Justin off his lower lip with his tongue. “At least ask the man first,” he said aside to Fran as she came back over.

But his attention was drawn back to Dewey as he took a small glass of blood as well. Carrington didn’t even think about it as his eyes locked on the curve of Dewey’s mouth around the glass, and the way he drained it like he’d done it a thousand times. Or the way it left a red gloss over his lips. It was… Christ. He blinked as Dewey suddenly apologized. “Don’t do that…” he said, leaning over to speak into Dewey’s ear. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you…” 

When did such a motion steal so much of his attention? Orobas blinked stupidly, and offered a grin at Dewey who seemed surprised. “It’s fine-- you are hungry. I have an entire bottle, and well--” He turned to shake the cotton from his head and got Dewey his own glass and set it into his hands; thrilled, he wasn’t going to keep starving himself. Meeting Carrington’s gaze briefly as if to share the same thought, he walked over to Justin, setting the bottle near him and checked his wrist with a surprisingly tender glance and wiped the blood from his lips. Tightening the fabric, Orobas gave Fran one of those ‘remember all those times I told you I would kill you’ glares, but it still somehow seemed affectionate between the two. Orobas sat down on Justin’s lap, crossing his legs and poured more of the bottle into his glass, his fingers toying with the back of his head. “Is anyone else coming?” he asked the room at large. “Justin, think about some songs for us.”

Dizzy. That seemed to be the most accurate descriptor for how Dewey’s head currently felt. He had been drunk on blood and wine before, many, many years ago, and had come close to it when he and Carrington had visited Teeth a few weeks prior to now. Justin’s blood was certainly a delicacy, however, something truly special. And when Orobas filled his own glass, he savored the taste this time. With Carrington’s voice practically purring in his ear, he tilted his head, red-stained mouth slowly curving into a wry smile. He made agonizingly slow work of circling a tongue over his lips, catching a drop before it rolled down the corner of his mouth. Making sure the blonde caught every bit of the action. “Is that right?” His own voice lowered an octave, bringing himself a bit closer to Carrington, lips parting for a fraction of a second - before slipping a hand in his and tugging him towards Orobas and Justin, unable to keep the teasing smile off of his features.

Carrington met Orobas’ eyes, the unspoken thoughts behind the other vampire’s dark gaze clear as crystal. Something about watching Dewey willingly partake in the drinking of human blood (willingly given, of course…) stirred something in the darkest part of Carrington’s mind. That part that was rarely touched on, or even thought about, because that would mean Carrington had to relinquish some of his self-control. Though if he were honest, letting go just a bit sounded like a fine idea. He didn’t see the glance Orobas shared with Fran, his attention almost fully on Dewey, but he did hear his question. “I’m not sure. Everyone I know is already here.” He let the comment float away, his attention caught once again by the man next to him. Carrington’s eyes drifted to his mouth, to the way his tongue caught the last drop of blood before it disappeared again. 

If Carrington had possessed a heartbeat, it would’ve been beating just a bit faster by now. He could only make a small sound of confirmation at Dewey’s question, not trusting his own voice at the moment. His own lips parted ever so slightly as Dewey leaned in, but then - Christ be damned… - he was being pulled along. Carrington couldn’t help his own grin, though half of it was admittedly from the thought that turnabout's were fair play.

“I didn’t want to scare him,” Francesca whispered back to Carrington, self-aware with all those judgy eyes on her. It was a lie, of course - Fran simply didn’t like asking for permission. What was the fun in that? Then Orobas went to check on Justin and her lips got a bit tighter as she chewed her full bottom lip and watched him with the corner of her emerald gaze. She was going to reply with a teasing-comment, but at the sight of him sitting on Justin’s lap and playing with his short hair, her fangs popped out and she raised her eyebrows slightly, as if to say that she didn’t pay any attention to his threats. Glancing back to the happy couple, the brunette watched the scene, tilting her head a little. When they finally seemed to get out of their bubble, she laughed. “Oh wow, love birds, don’t make me jealous, please.”

Francesca watched with attentive eyes every move Orobas made. Indeed, Justin’s blood was something else. It wasn’t the best she ever tasted, but it was different from most living things in White Crest so far. Yet she wasn’t willing to succumb to the Timberlake charm - or, in that case, Orobas’ sole reason for pride and glory in that particular night. She didn’t like their proximity one bit when she was there, standing alone. “I’m good, grazzie” she replied, turning around to go fetch the bottle of red wine she brought and was already open, feigning disinterest. Not that she was actually excited about Justin Timberlake, pop and celebrities had never been her thing.

Orobas smirked when she trailed away with a fake disinterest, knowing exactly what he did, and did with purpose much to his character and consistent cruelty when he felt the desire to play mean. There was something disturbing having her so casually back in his life, time once more reminding him that he should pay attention a little more and not let it get away from him so much. Orobas wondered if he should fill everyone in on the issue having her here meant. What lingered out of sight, what’s been on his mind to deal with for centuries. No, don’t spoil the fun with vampire business. “Mhmm,” he stood up, pulling Justin as well, and started coaxing him outside. “Get ready--” he said with a gentle push to his back and held the door open for them all. “Find a comfortable seat, it’s nice out tonight. Request a song for Justin--” He suggested, before walking away, back into the area where Francesca was, blocking her path out. He just looked intently at her for a moment like he was thinking hard on something, before grabbing more glasses, and offering his arm. “Come on, why are you pouting so much? You just had to wait, we could have eaten him later--” He rolled his eyes. “Forever impatient--” A barely there tease to words said a million times over. “Come sit with everyone and stop being alone.” 

The brunette glanced back for a moment, watching Orobas gently push Justin outside. In her head, she had him shoving him out and Justin falling face first in a puddle of mud that magically appears right before him. “Oi -” she called for Orobas attention, watching the guests follow the lead. “Ask the man first. Don’t be rude.” She did exactly what Carrington did to her, saying the exact same words - and a few more because, come on, it was Francesca - obviously on purpose. And carried on emptying her already quite empty wine bottle whilst looking for her next one amongst so many options. When she turned though, her new bottle in hand, there was Orobas, standing in her way. “...ma cosa, Orobas? Che fai?” Her green eyes stared at him in confusion and the ever-so-often present frown showed up in her forehead again. Squinting her eyes a little, she looked at his arm and accepted it, linking hers with his. Still a little suspicious, though. “Now he’s going to sing and who knows if that’s going to attract all those bonker girls here. Wait -” She contemplated the idea for a moment. “Do you think his fans could find out where he is? Oh, that’d be so nice,” Fran sighed in her a little too murderous dream, as if she attacked a couple of Justin Timberlake fans, she probably wouldn’t be able to stop with all the blood going about. “And I’m not impatient - you’re just too slow,” ouch, she knew that had been a bit too much bickering. “Fine…” She sighed loudly, rolling her eyes and watching the rest of them. Carrington and Dewey looked so cute. She hoped he had found his bit of happiness, even if just for a while.

Seeing everyone around, happy, and content with Justin singing happily from the deck railing. Orobas’ arm tossed over Harsh’s shoulders. Hmm. He could get use to this. 

[ussjellyfish]

my insomnia laced dragon queen season s7 au

mostly becuase it won’t leave my brain alone....

Dragon Queen snuck into s7, which a touch of Glass Believer. (it’s not a real fic because my brain doesn’t really have time for that, but if I did...)

(should probably dedicate this to the person posting in the tags about how they didn’t ship dragon queen, nothing makes me ship it harder, apparently. )

Henry, Ella, Regina and the resistance run into Lily in the EF2. Lily’s also been wandering the realms, trying to find herself. She gets lost easily, no real concept of time either, being that she’s a dragon on this side.

Henry recognizes her before she recognizes him. He’s supposed to be a kid, he’s like twelve.

They laugh about that. She comes home with him from the tavern where he was getting supplies, listening to everything that’s happened to him since he left Storybrooke.

they meet Ella who’s initially a little skeptical of Henry returning to top secret camp with strangers, but no, this is his sister.

Half-sister. Sort of.

“Oh? I didn’t know you had a half-sister.”

Henry shrugs a little, scratches the back of his neck. “The other half is dragon.”

“Dragon?” And Ella thinks that’s actually pretty amazing (if she doesn’t think about it too much, there’s some weird logistics there, but a dragon is really helpful to the cause, because it’s air support, that’s awesome.)

Lily listens and is willing to help them but when they start talking about actual combat she pauses. “You kind of want Mom for that. I can look scary, definitely burn some stuff, lots of stuff, but anything precise is still kind of beyond me. I can do sound and fury but I’m not really good at the terrifying beast thing.”

Ella takes a moment to blink and switch “Mom” for “Dad” in her head, because no one really specified the pronouns before.

Regina returns from doing something outside of camp and Henry and Lily are talking about trying to summon Maleficent and Lily jokes that it’s not the other world. She can’t just call her.

Regina looks kind of sheepish and corrects Lily that actually, there’s a summoning spell for Maleficent that Regina knows because it was in her spellbook, that Regina basically memorized as a young woman, because she’s a giant nerd and she was fangirling, and she might have had a chance to cast it someday.

Regina casts the spell, because two dragons in the resistance is pretty damn cool. Maleficent appears all drama and fury at first, old school terror, until she recognizes Regina and drops the green flames.

“I didn’t know you knew that spell.”

“I knew all of them, never thought I’d need to cast it.”

And Ella, who’s just sharp as hell, watches them kind of sort of flirting and nudges Henry who’s all.

“They broke up literally ages ago.”

“That’s not what broken up looks like, Henry.”

“They’re friends.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And they’re Lily’s parents.”

“You’re the author,  tell me, how did that story end for them?”

He doesn’t know. Regina’s never talked about it. They ask Lily and she’s also in the dark. She knows the gist of it, Regina wanted to cast the Dark Curse, Maleficent didn’t, they fought.

“Regina kept Mom in dragon form in a cave for like, forever.”

“Just the curse.”

Ella watches Regina and Mal talking across camp and there’s no animosity, none at all, they’re catching up like old friends. Really old friends who walk around holding hands.

Henry and Lily are both all “there’s nothing, really.”

Ella gives them an “uh-huh, sure” sort of look.

In Hyperion Heights, Roni needs money to fight Victoria. Some kind pf outrageous permit or something, and she doesn’t know how she’ll get it and Herny mentions something about fairy godmothers, and she laughts.

“That’s it.”

And she ‘summons’ Mal with a tattered old business card that still has her contact info, and as much as Roni is not Madame Mayor Regina, Maleficent in the cursed world is an airy sort of hippee with thick glasses and scarves and a save the rhinos t-shirt. She’s even vegan.

Henry doesn’t see how she can possibly be helpful fighting Victoria.

Regina explains that Mal is actually a brilliant financier, they met in college. Mal was day trading her way through an accounting degree.

“And?” Henry asks, because there’s some tension before Mal and Roni, kind of delicately flirty.

“And she has a cat named Lily.” Roni pours herself a drink and sighs. “We had a cat.”

“And?”

“And nothing, we went our separate ways, she went to Tanzania to save the elephants and the alligators and wildebeest, I ran this bar.”

Mal works on Roni’s books and the ordinances and can help Roni turn the bar more profitable but it’ll take a few years to make what Victoria wants.

Roni’s crushed but puts on a brave face and starts making them a ‘you tried’ drink and she sets it in front of Mal and is ready to give in and Mal takes the drink and grins.

“Of course, if you had an investor.”

“What?”

Mal takes out her checkbook and writes a check (on some “save the elephants” ridiculously cute check). “Here.”

“I cant.”

“Of you can, I can’t let you lose your lair.”

“It’s not a lair.”

“No, it’s a very nice bar and I’m glad you kept it all this time.”

Roni takes the check, drinks and pours them another set of shots. “How’s Lily?”

“Would you believe she’s still with me?”

“She must be the oldest little cat.”

“She’d remember you.”

“I doubt it.”

“I don’t.”

And they get far too close to each other, but don’t kiss. Henry catches them hugging goodbye and Roni explains the whole thing in a haze, puring herself another drink.

It’s plenty of money, enough to set Victoria back and keep fighting and--

Lily’s still alive. She’s like a twenty-year old cat, which is ridiculous. She’s just a cat.

“But you never had a cat on your own, did you.”

“Never wanted one.”

And they look at each other far too long and it just hurts us that they don’t know they’re related because they just ache for that family connection.

“Maybe you did want something, and you were just afraid.”

“It was a different time, Henry.”

“Of course, I get it.” He lifts his drink. “But you’re here again now.”

Later he’s talking to Ella and mentions that Roni might just have a crush on her ex.

“What kind of ex?”

“The kind you never really get over.”

“I knew there had to be something in her past, she’s too much of a romantic.”

Back in the EF2, Mal and Regina fall wistfully for each other again, but neither of them mentions anything. It’s just nice being togther, talking, having someone who understands everything. They gear up for a fight and it’s just like the old days.

Except they’re on the same side. With their children.

“Grandchildren even,” Mal teases Regina.

“She’s beautiful.”

“I know.”

The fight happens offscreen because we have no budget for cgi dragon battles, and its weirdly offscreen in Hyperion Heights too.

Victoria fumes and threatens Roni. Roni has the last laugh because she’s safe for the moment.

Mal asks her to host a fundraiser for whales or something and Roni teases her that she could just write the check.

Mal laughs, because she will, she donates everything she can get out of the evil capitalist stock market to all the right charities, even has several of her own, but sometimes it’s the idea that has to spread. People need to believe they can do good.

Roni smiles kind of wistfully at her, because that sounds so familiar but she can’t place it.

Back in the EF2, the fight’s over, Mal did the ridiculously dangerous thing they needed her to do, and she flies back as a dragon and shifts back, eyes shining, almost laughing, drunk on battle, but she’s injured and spent and sways a little and Regina catches her.

Mal insists she’s fine, just burnt more than she’s needed to for a very long time.

“You were wonderful.”

“As were you.”

And Ella elbows Henry REALLY hard because they’re leaning into each other, nearly kissing (and Regina’s so damn sort it’s adorable)

Switch back to Hyperion Heights and they’re walking, hands in their pockets, passing just under the Troll Bridge and it’s raining a little and they pause, waiting it out and they get a little close to each other, then closer and Roni jokes that Mal had to swoop in, save her like she’s some endangered cat in the jungle.

Mal teases that very talented bartenders are rare indeed, and need to be protected. They’re very close to each other. Mal invites her back to say hi to Lily.

“Lily doesn’t remember me.”

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you, so how could she?”

Roni hesistates, Mal starts to step back, letting her go, again, but Roni grabs her, kissing her in the chilly Seattle rain.

And we cut back to the EF2, where they’re sitting by the fire, Regina’s cleaning the last of an arrow wound in Mal’s side, healing it up.

“That’s not something you got from my spellbook.”

“No, no I guess it’s not.”

And they’re very close, right next to the fire, and Mal’s half-undressed, wrapped iin a blanket. “You’ve come so far since you broke down my door.”

“I guess I have, but you- you have Lily and you’re here, being pretty damn heroic.”

“Heroic stings a little.” Mal teases, and Regina kisses her hand.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For defending my family.”

“Of course, they’re important to you.”

“They’re everything.”

Mal’s eyes get soft, and she tears up a little. “You know, I never, ever regret you being Lily’s mother, because you love her so fiercely.”

“She’s my daughter.”

Mal touches Regina’s chin. “And I’m so grateful.”

And they’re close, very very close.

“Loving too much has always been my problem.”

And Mal kisses her, gently. “I don’t think it’s a problem at all.”

[readbookywooks]

The spells were alone inside their Octavo. Alone, at any rate, apart from the Luggage. They looked at it, not with eyes, but with consciousness as old as the Discworld itself. 'And you can bugger off too,' they said. '— bad.' Rincewind knew it was himself speaking, he recognised the voice. For a moment he was looking out through his eyes not in any normal way, but as a spy might peer through the cut-out eyes of a picture. Then he was back. 'You okay, Rinshwind?' said Cohen. 'You looked a bit gone there.' 'You did look a bit white,' agreed Bethan. 'Like someone had walked over your grave.' 'Uh, yes, it was probably me,' he said. He held up his fingers and counted them. There appeared to be the normal amount. 'Um, have I moved at all?' he said. 'You just looked at the fire as if you had seen a ghost,' said Bethan. There was a groan behind them. Twoflower was sitting up, holding his head in his hands. His eyes focused on them. His lips moved soundlessly. 'That was a really strange . . . dream,' he said. 'What's this place? Why am I here?' 'Well,' said Cohen, 'shome shay the Creator of the Univershe took a handful of clay and —' 'No, I mean here,' said Twoflower. 'Is that you, Rincewind?' 'Yes,' said Rincewind, giving it the benefit of the doubt. 'There was this . . . a clock that . . . and these people who . . .' said Twoflower. He shook his head. 'Why does everything smell of horses?' 'You've been ill,' said Rincewind. 'Hallucinating.' 'Yes . . . I suppose I was.' Twoflower looked down at his chest. 'But in that case, why have I—' Rincewind jumped to his feet. 'Sorry, very close in here, got to have a breath of fresh air,' he said. He removed the picture box's strap from Twoflower's neck, and dashed for the tent flap. 'I didn't notice that when he came in,' said Bethan. Cohen shrugged. Rincewind managed to get a few yards from the yurt efore the ratchet of the picture box began to click. Very slowly, the box extruded the last picture that the imp had taken. Rincewind snatched at it. What it showed would have been quite horrible even in broad daylight. By freezing starlight, tinted red with the fires of the evil new star, it was a lot worse. 'No,' said Rincewind softly. 'No, it wasn't like that, there was a house, and this girl, and . . .' 'You see what you see and I paint what I see,' said the imp from its hatch. 'What I see is real. I was bred for it. I only see what's really there.' A dark shape crunched over the snowcrust towards Rincewind. It was the Luggage. Rincewind, who normally hated and distrusted it, suddenly felt it was the most refreshingly normal thing he had ever seen. 'I see you made it, then,' said Rincewind. The Luggage rattled its lid. 'Okay, but what did you see?' said Rincewind. 'Did you look behind?' The Luggage said nothing. For a moment they were silent, like two warriors who have fled the field of carnage and have paused for a return of breath and sanity. Then Rincewind said, 'Come on, there's a fire inside.' He reached out to pat the Luggage's lid. It snapped irritably at him, nearly catching his fingers. Life was back to normal again. The next day dawned bright and clear and cold. The sky became a blue dome stuck on the white sheet of the world, and the whole effect would have been as fresh and clean as a toothpaste advert if it wasn't for the pink dot on the horizon. 'You can shee it in daylight now,' said Cohen. 'What is it?' He looked hard at Rincewind, who reddened. 'Why does everyone look at me?' he said. 'I don't know 107 what it is, maybe it's a comet or something.' 'Will we all be burned up?' said Bethan. 'How should I know? I've never been hit by a comet before.' They were riding in single file across the brilliant snow-field. The Horse people, who seemed to hold Cohen in high regard, had given them their mounts and directions to the River Smarl, a hundred miles rimward, where Cohen reckoned Rincewind and Twoflower could find a boat to take them to the Circle Sea. He had announced that he was coming with them, on account of his chilblains. Bethan had promptly announced that she was going to come too, in case Cohen wanted anything rubbed. Rincewind was vaguely aware of some sort of chemistry bubbling away. For one thing, Cohen had made an effort to comb his beard. 'I think she's rather taken with you,' he said. Cohen sighed. If I wash twenty yearsh younger,' he said wistfully. 'Yes?' 'I'd be shixty-sheven.' 'What's that got to do with it?' 'Well – how can I put it? When I wash a young man, carving my name in the world, well, then I liked my women red-haired and fiery.' 'Ah.' 'And then I grew a little older and for preference I looked for a woman with blonde hair, and the glint of the world in her eye.' 'Oh? Yes?' 'But then I grew a little older again and I came to see the point of dark women of a sultry nature.' He paused. Rincewind waited. 'And?' he said. 'Then what? What is it that you look for in a woman now?' Cohen turned one rheumy blue eye on him. 'Patience,' he said. 'I can't believe it!' said a voice behind them. 'Me riding ith Cohen the Barbarian!' It was Twoflower. Since early morning he had been like a monkey with the key to the banana plantation after discovering he was breathing the same air as the greatest hero of all time. 'Is he perhapsh being sharcashtic?' said Cohen to Rincewind. 'No. He's always like that.' Cohen turned in his saddle. Twoflower beamed at him, and waved proudly. Cohen turned back, and grunted. 'He's got eyesh, hashn't he?' 'Yes, but they don't work like other people's. Take it from me. I mean – well, you know the Horse people's yurt, where we were last night?' 'Yesh.' 'Would you say it was a bit dark and greasy and smelt like a very ill horse?' 'Very accurate deshcription, I'd shay.' 'He wouldn't agree. He'd say it was a magnificent barbarian tent, hung with the pelts of the great beasts hunted by the lean-eyed warriors from the edge of civilisation, and smelt of the rare and curious resins plundered from the caravans as they crossed the trackless – well, and so on. I mean it,' he added. 'He'sh mad?' 'Sort of mad. But mad with lots of money.' 'Ah, then he can't be mad. I've been around; if a man hash lotsh of money he'sh just ecshentric.' Cohen turned in his saddle again. Twoflower was telling Bethan how Cohen had single-handed defeated the snake warriors of the witch lord of S'belinde and stolen the sacred diamond from the giant statue of Offler the Crocodile God. A weird smile formed among the wrinkles of Cohen's face. 'I could tell him to shut up, if you like,' said Rincewind. 'Would he?' 'No, not really.' 'Let him babble,' said Cohen. His hand fell to the handle of his sword, polished smooth by the grip of decades. 'Anyway, I like his eyes,' he said. They can see for fifty years.' A hundred yards behind them, hopping rather awkwardly through the soft snow, came the Luggage. No-one ever asked its opinion about anything. By evening they had come to the edge of the high plains, and rode down through gloomy pine forests that had only been lightly dusted by the snowstorm. It was a landscape of huge cracked rocks, and valleys so narrow and deep that the days only lasted about twenty minutes. A wild, windy country, the sort where you might expect to find — Trollsh,' said Cohen, sniffing the air. Rincewind stared around him in the red evening light. Suddenly rocks that had seemed perfectly normal looked suspiciously alive. Shadows that he wouldn't have looked at twice now began to look horribly occupied. 'I like trolls,' said Twoflower. 'No you don't,' said Rincewind firmly. 'You can't. They're big and knobbly and they eat people.' 'No they don't,' said Cohen, sliding awkwardly off his horse and massaging his knees. 'Well-known mishap-prehenshion, that ish. Trolls never ate anybody.' 'No?' 'No, they alwaysh spit the bitsh out. Can't digesht people, see? Your average troll don't want any more out of life than a nice lump of granite, maybe, with perhapsh a nice slab of limeshtone for aftersh. I heard someone shay it's becosh they're a shilicashe – a shillycaysheou – Cohen paused, and wiped his beard, 'made out of rocks. Rincewind nodded. Trolls were not unknown in Ankh-Morpork, of course, where they often got employment as bodyguards. They tended to be a bit expensive to keep ntil they learned about doors and didn't simply leave the house by walking aimlessly through the nearest wall. As they gathered firewood Cohen went on, Trollsh teeth, that'sh the thingsh.' 'Why?' said Bethan. 'Diamonds. Got to be, you shee. Only thing that can shtand the rocksh, and they shtill have to grow a new shet every year.' 'Talking of teeth—' said Twoflower. 'Yesh?' 'I can't help noticing —' 'Yesh?' 'Oh, nothing,' said Twoflower. 'Yesh? Oh. Let'sh get thish fire going before we loshe the light. And then,' Cohen's face fell, 'I supposhe we'd better make some shoop.' 'Rincewind's good at that,' said Twoflower enthusiastically. 'He knows all about herbs and roots and things.' Cohen gave Rincewind a look which suggested that he, Cohen, didn't believe that. 'Well, the Horshe people gave us shome horse jerky,' he said. 'If you can find shome wild onionsh and stuff, it might make it tashte better.' 'But I—' Rincewind began, and gave up. Anyway, he reasoned, I know what an onion looks like, it's a sort of saggy white thing with a green bit sticking out of the top, should be fairly conspicuous. 'I'll just go and have a look, shall I?' he said. 'Yesh.' 'Over there in all that thick, shadowy undergrowth?' 'Very good playshe, yesh.' 'Where all the deep gullies and things are, you mean?' 'Ideal shpot, I'd shay.' 'Yes, I thought so,' said Rincewind bitterly. He set off, wondering how you attracted onions. After all, he thought, although you see them hanging in ropes on market stalls they probably don't grow like that, perhaps peasants or whatever use onions hounds or something, or ing songs to attract onions. There were a few early stars out as he started to poke aimlessly among the leaves and grass. Luminous fungi, unpleasantly organic and looking like marital aids for gnomes, squished under his feet. Small flying things bit him. Other things, fortunately invisible, hopped or slithered away under the bushes and croaked reproachfully at him. 'Onions?' whispered Rincewind. 'Any onions here?' 'There's a patch of them by that old yew tree,' said a voice beside him. 'Ah,' said Rincewind. 'Good.' There was a long silence, except for the buzzing of the mosquitoes around Rincewind's ears. He was standing perfectly still. He hadn't even moved his eyes. Eventually he said, 'Excuse me.' 'Yes?' 'Which one's the yew?' 'Small gnarly one with the little dark green needles.' 'Oh, yes. I see it. Thanks again.' He didn't move. Eventually the voice said conversationally, 'Anything more I can do for you?' 'You're not a tree, are you?' said Rincewind, still staring straight ahead. 'Don't be silly. Trees can't talk.' 'Sorry. It's just that I've been having a bit of difficulty with trees lately, you know how it is.' 'Not really. I'm a rock.' Rincewind's voice hardly changed. 'Fine, fine,' he said slowly. 'Well, I'll just be getting those onions, then.' 'Enjoy them.' He walked forward in a careful and dignified fashion, spotted a clump of stringy white things huddling in the undergrowth, uprooted them carefully, and turned around.