#truly it struck me with lightning like five minutes after i got on the train. god if i can keep the momentum going on this one……… | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whitedarkmoonflower · 9 months

Note

Hi, I loved your modern!Sihtric fic. Would you mind writing some more modern!Sihtric fics? I can imagine Sihtric and reader meeting by chance on a train. It could get fluffy and even hot and smutty, but no angst this time. OK? Can you do it?

Pairing: Sihtric x reader

Authors note: thank you so much for this lovely request! It was a real challenge for me - no angst, but lots of fluff and smut as requested😅 But as I already said before - I love challenges and I really enjoyed writing this so much, that I was surprised myself.

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, fluff, oral sex (f receiving)

Word Count: 5,657

Strangers on a Train

The impulsive decision to escape Paris and find solace at your best friend's haven in Milan was made in a mere five minutes, and within two hours, you found yourself settled aboard the train.

"I've squandered two whole years of my life on that insufferable wretch," you lamented, your tearful voice echoing through the phone screen as you recounted the breakup to your best friend, Gisela. "He lacked even a shred of courage to face me in person. A text message was all it took."

"Darling, he never truly deserved you. I've repeated that countless times. You're leagues beyond him, deserving of so much more," Gisela tried to comfort you, though her efforts seemed to fall short.

“Have you ever been dumped by a text message?” you wailed, not even listening to Gisela.

“Hey, that's enough. Please, stop it,” Gisela demanded, her patience wearing thin with your continued self- remorse, “You need a break and I've got the perfect solution. Why not come visit me for a few days? You’ve been promising that to me for almost a year, but never did because of that despicable excuse of a boyfriend. He refused to let you go alone, but never had time to come with you. Now's your chance—seize the freedom to do whatever your heart desires with your newfound time."

"What?" your attention finally honed in on Gisela's words. "You mean to travel to Milan? Now?"

"Thank the heavens! You're finally listening, aren't you?" Gisela's brow furrowed on the screen. "Yes, I'm suggesting a weekend getaway to Milan. It's Thursday, and if you’re quick enough, you could be aboard the train within hours, arriving in Milan by tomorrow morning."

You searched for reasons to counter this unexpected proposal, but none came to mind. You were on vacation, intended for hiking with your now-ex-boyfriend. That was before his text shattered your world, informing you of his escapade to Majorca with his newfound girlfriend. Although the message struck like a bolt of lightning, deep down, you'd already sensed that something was wrong.

The past month had been an odd stretch, with him spinning countless excuses and no inclination to spend time with you. The tipping point arrived when he forgot your birthday the previous week—a glaring sign that you just didn’t want to see, comforting yourself that he had a lot of work and assuming that all would be set right during your shared vacation.

Consequently, you found yourself marooned within a sprawling, sweltering metropolis during the peak of summer, grappling with an absence of plans.

"Damn, why not?" you exclaimed, witnessing a wide grin forming on Gisela's lips. "You know what? I'm in!"

And so, the choice was made. The next hour whirled by as you hastily packed your backpack and cross-checked the train schedules. Gisela proved right; a train to Milan was scheduled to depart in two hours. Swiftly securing your ticket, you seized your backpack and stormed out of your compact apartment into the lively evening streets of the city.

Securing a taxi at this hour had always been a nightmare, but your options were limited, there was no other way to get to the railway station on time. After several failed attempts that almost drained your hope, a car pulled up a little ways down the street.

Your eyes gleamed as you rushed towards the taxi, only to notice someone else, a hundred metres ahead, hoisting their backpack and heading towards the same vehicle you intended to claim. It was a race against time. Determined to reach the taxi first, you quickened your pace and arrived just as the stranger did. You flung open the door, sliding into the back seat with a sigh of relief.

"To the train station," you breathed out audibly, casting a triumphant look at the surprised and frustrated expression on the stranger's face as the taxi surged forward, leaving him behind. Despite his evident disappointment, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. His rucksack and what appeared to be ticket printouts hinted that he was probably heading the same direction as you. You could have shared the ride, but now it was already too late; the taxi was already gaining speed.

Glancing back through the rear window, you noticed the stranger possessed a uniquely wild haircut. Black waves cascaded over one side of his head, obscuring his eye, while the other side was shaved clean, embellished with beads and pearls woven into the hairline.

Luckily, you didn’t get stuck in any traffic jam and reached the station in time, even managing to snag sandwiches and coffee before boarding. Sliding open the compartment door specified on your ticket, you breathed a sigh of relief. It was empty. The thought of spending the next ten hours sharing close quarters with strangers didn't appeal to you. Your natural timidity favoured solitude over company. Gisela, your complete opposite, always cheery and ready to engage anyone in conversation, had often teased you about it and joked that you’ll never find a boyfriend. This might have contributed to your unreasonable attachment to your now-ex. Opening up to people and forging connections wasn't easy for you.

With a book in hand and your rucksack stowed away, you settled near the window, placing your meal and coffee on the small table. Just as you had made yourself comfortable and delved into your book, the compartment door slid open forcefully, relieving a man who seemed to struggle for breath as the train's jolting departure made him stagger.

Raising your gaze, you were met with an intense stare from a pair of mismatched eyes. They scanned you from head to toe, leaving you momentarily breathless. You caught yourself thinking that you have never seen such beautiful eyes before. A slight blush warmed your cheeks under his penetrating scrutiny. The stranger was undeniably handsome, his face was marked by a strong jawline, full lips, and a partial beard and moustache, along with a hint of eyeliner that accentuated his arresting eyes, adding a hint of mysteriousness to his appearance. Something felt inexplicably familiar about him. Then your gaze fell on his haircut and a realisation struck in, widening your eyes in disbelief: this was the same man you had outpaced in the frantic race for the taxi.

"Good evening, my lovely taxi rival," he greeted you, a smirk playing on his lips and echoing in his eyes. The velvety timbre of his voice sent shivers down your spine.

A shy "Hi" was all you could manage, still paralysed by his gaze.

As he settled in, his presence seemed to fill the compartment entirely, leaving you with little space. He hoisted his substantial backpack into the overhead compartment, revealing taut biceps that flexed enticingly. An aura of raw masculinity surrounded his lean, muscular form, broad shoulders, and expansive chest. A longing flickered within you, imagining how his arms might feel wrapped around your waist, his lips tracing your neck and you shook your head trying to chase away this ludicrous image.

"I'm Sihtric," the stranger introduced himself, taking a seat opposite you and unabashedly inspecting your features. "You're the reason I got an unexpected workout tonight. Just one more minute and I would've missed the train," he continued, leaning against the window.

"I’m travelling the whole way to Milan, and you?" he inquired nonchalantly, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise as a heavy sigh escaped your lips. You just realised that you were about to share this compact compartment with him for the next ten hours. It was a completely new sensation for you. You felt drawn to this handsome stranger as a moth to a burning lamp. OK, you hadn’t had sex for more than a month, but was it a reason enough to feel aroused by the simple sound of his voice?

"Lady, I apologise. I didn’t mean to be intrusive. If you'd prefer silence, that's perfectly fine. You won't hear a peep from me," Sihtric offered, his shoulders lifting in a shrug. He interpreted your sigh and continued silence as signs that you wished to be left alone.

"Oh, no, no. That's not what I meant," you finally broke free from your stupor, your words hesitating. "And I'm sorry about the taxi incident. If I'd known we were going in the same direction, we could've shared the ride."

You bit your lower lip, uncertain how to navigate the conversation. Your mind spun as you drank in his captivating features. You yearned for him to say something, his mellifluous voice driving you absolutely crazy. Yet, your mind blanked out, consumed by the single desire to rise from your seat and press your lips against his.

A satisfied smile tugged at Sihtric's lips as he heard your voice. He couldn't recall ever being so smitten by somebody from the very first sight. Struggling to refocus on the conversation, his gaze remained fixed on your lips—so red, full and inviting. With each passing moment, his jeans grew tighter, painfully restraining him, an uncomfortable sensation he tried to suppress as he observed you nibbling your lower lip. How had he ended up on this train with you, such a gorgeous creature who had him entranced from the very beginning?

"So, where are you off to, my beautiful lady?" he flirted, his words stumbling out slowly, his composure waning. He didn't want to scare you off, coming across as some crazed maniac, yet his imagination ran wild. He pictured himself removing your shirt to reveal your breasts, his fingers trailing down your spine as he unhooked your bra, his lips peppering your neck, collarbone, and lower still.

“I’m visiting a friend in Milan,” you responded, relieved that Sihtric had seized control of the conversation as your mind was still absolutely blank, you didn’t even register his attempt to flirt with you.

"Well, this means we're stuck together for the next ten hours," Sihtric exhaled in one breath, leaving you to wonder if you detected a hint of relief and even excitement in his tone. "Is it your boyfriend you are going to?" he ventured, almost biting his tongue as the question slipped out. It was clearly none of his business, and the fact that he was inquiring about your boyfriend this early in your meeting made him inwardly curse his foolishness.

“Oh, no! My boyfriend broke up with me two days ago, via a text message," you blurted out, an impulsive reaction that you instantly regretted. Damn it, he'll think I'm some pathetic mess. Ugh, you're so awkward when dealing with guys, you berated yourself in embarrassment.

"Fuck, seriously?" Sihtric whistled through his teeth, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "You're joking! That guy must be a complete idiot. I mean, just look at you—you're absolutely stunning."

You raised an incredulous eyebrow at Sihtric's response. What was this? Was this handsome guy actually trying to flirt with you?

"Oh, I apologise. I didn't mean to overstep," Sihtric interjected quickly, sensing he might have gone too far.

"No, no, it's okay. Thank you; that was really sweet of you," you uttered, searching desperately for something else to look at, trying to escape the intense gaze of Sihtric that sent shivers down your spine. Eventually, your gaze settled on your book. Incapable of reading even a single sentence, you stared at the pages, forgetting to turn them as you pretended to read. A few moments elapsed in complete silence, you pretending to read, and Sihtric seemingly engrossed in the scenery outside.

"Would you..." you both began to speak simultaneously, erupting into laughter.

"Please, go ahead," Sihtric prompted with a smile.

"No, no, you first. What were you going to say?"

"Would you... mind if I invited you to have a drink in the restaurant car?" he asked hesitantly.

Hours and a few drinks later, you found yourself laughing like never before in your life as Sihtric entertained you with stories from his time as a student in the Music and Dance Academy in London. It appeared he was a professional dancer en route to Milan for an audition for a modern musical. Success could mean joining the Milan Grand Theatre's troupe, a major step in his career. His cheerful and kind-hearted personality charmed you even more than his striking looks. You felt completely at ease in his presence, as if you'd known him for ages. Without even realising it, you had shared with him more about yourself than you probably ever had with your closest friends. The restaurant car was closing down, and the waiter was casting impatient glances your way as you finally grabbed your last drinks and made your way back to your compartment.

“Oh, shit!” you exclaimed as the train jolted unexpectedly, causing you to stumble and spill your drink on Sihtric's shirt. "I'm so sorry." you apologised, wincing as you saw your frozen strawberry margarita tinting his fine white shirt a shade of pink.

"Don't worry. Shit happens." Sihtric reassured you with a smile, stepping aside to open the compartment door, gesturing for you to enter first.

"But as a punishment, you'll have to endure the sight of me undressing before your eyes," he quipped, chuckling as he began to unbutton his stained shirt. You swallowed hard and took a seat, unable to tear your gaze away as Sihtric peeled off his shirt, unveiling his magnificent, sculpted upper body that resembled that of a Greek god.

"Do you like what you see?" he asked in his velvety voice that had already been driving you to the brink of madness.

"I'm... I..." you stammered, unable to find the right words as your eyes remained fixed on his muscular torso.

"There's one thing I've been dreaming about ever since I laid eyes on you," Sihtric's voice grew husky as he locked his gaze onto yours. Taking a step closer, he settled down beside you. You turned to face him, feeling his warm breath against your skin. Sihtric gently tilted your chin with his thumb, leaning in for a kiss. His lips brushed against yours in a tender and hesitant touch, and you responded with a soft moan, your lips moving in sync with his.

Encouraged by your reaction, Sihtric's kisses grew bolder, his tongue seeking entry into your mouth, which you granted willingly. Your lips parted, and your tongues met twisting around each other in a passionate dance, sending the world spinning around you. It was unlike any kiss you'd experienced before—simultaneously tender and intense.

“You’re so incredibly beautiful,” Sihtric breathed as you both pulled away, gasping for breath. His thumbs caressed your cheeks gently.

"Hey," his eyes met yours, questioning, "I don't want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable. If it's too much, just let me know, and I'll back off. It's odd—we've only just met, but it feels like I've known you for ages," he confessed, his hands cradling your jaw as his lips covered your heated skin with soft kisses.

You closed your eyes and whined softly, your resistance melting away under his delicate caress, a yearning for more coursing through you. Your hands ventured to his neck, drawing him nearer. It was all the encouragement he required; his arms enveloped you, and his lips pressed fervently against yours. Your t-shirt vanished in a seamless motion, as Sihtric's adept hands undid your bra and slid the straps off your shoulders.

"Damn, you're driving me crazy," Sihtric breathed as your breasts were unveiled to his ravenous gaze. His lips descended onto your nipples, alternating between tender sucking and gentle nipping. Your back arched instinctively as you moaned in delight, trailing your fingers down his spine. Sihtric hummed in satisfaction in response to your moans and his lips embarked on a journey down your belly as he descended to his knees before you. His fingers hastened to unfasten the button of your jeans.

"Are you still okay?" Sihtric inquired, looking up at you. His fingers traced the edge of your now unbuttoned jeans. "Hey, talk to me! I want to hear it from you. Do you want me to keep going?"

The thought of a one-night stand had never appealed to you. You couldn't imagine yourself having one. The notion of engaging in intimate activity with a relative stranger had always repulsed you, until today. You peered down at Sihtric nestled between your thighs and nodded, moistening your lips in anticipation.

Sihtric relinquished your jeans, positioning his hands on the seat as he slowly elevated himself until his face aligned with yours.

"If you want me to continue, you'll need to say it," he asserted, cupping your face and bestowing a tender kiss upon your lips.

“I … I …” you stammered, searching for words, your head spinning, eyes half closed. You wanted him so badly, your pussy soaked wet from the passionate kiss and the velvet sound of his voice alone, “Fuck, I want you! I want you to fuck me here and now,” you hissed, mortified by your own words and the desire that had overtaken your whole body, making you crave for Sihtric’s touch and your cunt throb in excitement.

“Good. I hoped to hear you saying that, because I really want to fuck you, beautiful,” Sihtric purred in response, licking your ear and biting your ear lip, his tongue sliding over your throat all the way down to your brests and further down to your belly as he lowered himself back on the floor between you thighs.

“But first, I want to taste you, if you will allow me to,” he whispered, starting to pull down your jeans together with your soaked panties. In the next moment you found yourself completely naked with Sihtric kneeling between your thighs and placing wet open mouthed kisses up your leg.

“What are you doing?” you moaned in bewilderment, feeling his hands spreading your legs more widely apart to ease him access to your core, while his tongue slid over the inner side of your thigh, his mouth nearing your soaked pussy. This was something new for you. You did not have extensive sexual experience, and none of your previous boyfriends had ever done this to you. You could feel Sihtric’s hot breath on your core, and in the next moment his wet tongue touched your folds, parting them and licking through until your clit, circling it and sucking gently with his lips. The sensation that washed over you was indescribable, and your whole body twitched under his touch. Feeling embarrassed and simultaneously aching for more, you tangled your fingers in Sihtric’s hair and pulled his head back.

“Don’t you like it?” His face was full of surprise.

“Fuck, I do! You can’t even imagine how much I do like this. It’s just… Nobody has ever done this to me… I … I don’t know … You don’t have to … Oh, fuck, Sihtric!” a loud moan escaped your lips as his tongue lapped through your folds again, teasing your clit with the very tip.

“Nobody has ever done this to you?” Sihtric repeated in astonishment, “It’s such a shame, sweetheart. But then it means I’m going to be the first one to taste this sweet pussy,” he purred, pressing his lips against your core and starting to move his tongue over your clit, licking it with fast short laps and sucking gently at it from time to time. The sensation of absolute pleasure building up in you was so intense that the only thing you could do was to arch your back and whine loudly, tangling your fingers in Sihtric’s hair.

“Just relax, love. You are so delicious. Relax and let me take care of you. Let me pleasure you.” Sihtric hummed against your cunt starting to move his tongue with long, heavy, wet stripes all over your folds back and forth, pausing at your clit to give it a short circling lap or sucking at it and going back all the way to your entrance, teasing it with the tip of his tongue and pushing it slightly within you.

The sounds that rolled over your lips were absolutely obscure, but you were unable to control them. You whined, mewled, whimpered and moaned so loudly that you were sure the whole train by now was fully aware of what was happening in your small compartment, but you couldn’t have cared less. You were so lost in savouring the extraordinary sensation Sihtric was bestowing upon you that even the fact that someone could spontaneously open the non-lockable door and barge in didn't trouble you in the slightest. Your climax was building up and your walls started clenching as you felt Sihtric pushing one finger inside you, moving it slowly in and out, his tongue continuing its wet strides over your folds and his nose nudging your clit.

“I can’t anymore… Oh, fuck Sihtric, I can’t …” you moaned supporting yourself by grabbing the edge of the seat with your both hands and starting to move your hips against Sihtric’s tongue and fingers.

“That’s good. I love it. Common baby, cum for me. Let me taste you, let me taste all of you.” Sihtric hummed, adding another finger inside you and fastening his movements, his tongue now concentrating solely on your clit. You came with a loud scream, your climax washing over you in waves of pure bliss with an intensity unlike anything you had ever experienced. You back arched and your knuckles went white from the force with which you clenched the edge of the seat as Sihtric kept fucking you with his fingers through your orgasm, drinking in the sight of your body jerking and twitching under his touch.

Sihtric waited for you to come down from your peak, before rising to his feet, whipping your juices from his lips and casting a satisfied look at your naked, limp body, with half lid eyes and messy hair. He seated himself next to you and pulled you into his lap, straddling him. Your breath was still heavy as you were coming down from your peak, your breasts heaving at an uneven pace.

“Do you still want me to fuck you?” he breathed in your ear. You looked with bewilderment at him, unsure you could handle anything more, but he had just given you the most intense orgasm of your life and you felt like you owed him something in return.

“If you promise to be gentle. I am so oversensitive,” you whispered back.

“I will be gentle, I promise,” Sihtric murmured, placing your hands at the hem of his jeans. You understood what he meant and started undoing them, feeling his hard cock bulging through the fabric. Your eyes widened at the sight of the impressive size of his cock, as you finally released it from the tight embrace of his pants. Now you were even less sure you could handle him, but your body apparently had a different opinion on the matter as you felt a burning sensation settling again in your lower stomach.

"Wait a second," Sihtric said, taking hold of your hand and reaching inside the pocket of his partially unzipped jeans. "Would you mind?" He smiled at you, placing a condom in your palm. Damn, how could you be so reckless and forget about that? You felt embarrassed for not having thought about it yourself.

You placed the condom on the tip of his cock and started unrolling it, teasingly stroking his length with your hands. Sihtric moaned in pleasure, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. You liked the way he surrendered himself to your touch, and felt your pussy starting to throb with a greedy need to feel his big, hard member inside you. You lifted yourself a bit and placed Sihtric’s cock at your entrance. Sihtric opened his eyes and locked his gaze with yours, a heavy sigh quivering in his throat as you slowly slid down taking in the whole length of him.

Sihtric remained still, his hands on your hips, his large, tender eyes studying your face. "Are you okay, love?" The sincere concern in his voice and reflected in his gaze sent shivers down your spine. How was it possible that a complete stranger you had only met a few hours ago could be more gentle and caring than your own boyfriend had ever been? You felt your walls adjusting to Sihtric’s cock, embracing him and pulsing in arousal.

“I’m fine. Never been better,” you smiled at him and started to move. Sihtric groaned in pleasure, his hands grabbing tighter your hips, but not forcing you to fasten your pace. You steadied yourself pressing your palms against the back wall and fastened your movements, clenching your walls around him as tight as you could.

“Fuck! You are so good. Just as I imagined. I can feel you, so tight around me,” Sihtric hissed, his hands finding your breasts, squeezing them gently, while his lips one after another suckled your nipples.

You didn’t expect your climax to build up so quickly, especially after that overwhelming orgasm before, but here you were feeling your walls spasming and clenching stronger and stronger with each thrust, pleasure infiltrating every cell of your body.

“Oh no, fuck, I am close… Sihtric, move … ” you moaned and it appeared as though he just had been awaiting your permission, as Sihtric’s hands instantly landed on your buttocks, holding them in a firm grip, as he started to thrust his hips up against you, his movements growing ever faster and deeper, hitting some hidden spot of pleasure in your vagina you didn’t even know it existed and making your clit brush heavily against his pelvis. You bounced wildly up and down on Sihtric’s cock, trying to control yourself, to prolong the pleasure, but it was impossible, there was no turning back and in the next few minutes he had pushed you over the edge. You came with a loud moan, pressing your heated body against his chest, your arms wrapped around his neck, as you tried to steady yourself. Sihtric felt your walls spasming around him and after a few more thrusts he followed you, his groans echoing in your ears. His hands wrapped around you and pulled you tightly in his embrace as you both gasped for breath, slowly recovering from your peaks.

"This was incredible," you murmured amidst your uneven breaths, your arms still entwined around Sihtric's neck, your forehead touching his.

“No, you are incredible,” a contented smile graced Sihtric's lips as he tenderly stroked your back.

You felt a twinge of trepidation, concerned that the remainder of the journey might turn awkward. Yet after the two of you had gotten dressed again, Sihtric settled beside you, draping his arm over your shoulders and drawing you close. You felt a touch of sadness tingling within you; it was obvious this was your first and last encounter with the handsome stranger, but you had no regrets. Leaning in nearer, you encircled his waist with your arms, surrendering to the rhythmic vibrations of the train that lulled you into a peaceful slumber. Sihtric held you in a firm embrace, as if afraid to succumb to sleep and release his hold. His fingers continued to caress your hair from time to time, as he marvelled at the peaceful expression gracing your beautiful slumbering face, your head nestled against his chest.

Eventually, sleep overcame him as well, and both of you were abruptly jolted awake by the train attendant's booming voice over the speakers, announcing your imminent arrival at Milan Central Station. In your drowsy state, you sprang to your feet, still struggling to fully grasp your surroundings and the person who held you. Your gaze returned to Sihtric, and your cheeks flushed involuntarily as the memories flooded back. Uncertain of what to say to avoid sounding foolish or awkward, you reached for your rucksack as Sihtric also rose to his feet, offering to help you retrieve it from the overhead compartment. Your fingers brushed against his as he handed the bag to you, and you raised your eyes to meet his gaze.

"Hey, lovely," he began, his tone tinged with uncertainty, "could I have your number? I know you're here just for the weekend, and I have my auditions tomorrow, but maybe we could still meet up on Sunday or something." There was a certain quality in Sihtric's voice that piqued your curiosity, leaving you wondering.

He retrieved his phone, waiting expectantly. With some reluctance, you shared your number, thinking that you probably wouldn't receive a call from him anyway. He punched the digits into his screen and pressed the call button, resulting in your phone immediately vibrating.

"Now you have mine too," Sihtric grinned, surprising you as he leaned in for a parting kiss. You felt there was no point to draw out this moment any longer; it was time to bid farewell. You were not one to believe in love at first sight or fairy tale endings, so you gently disengaged from his kiss and turned towards the exit.

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for your auditions tomorrow,” you offered as you stepped out, refusing to look back. Tears threatened to form, but you fought them back, oblivious to the forlorn expression that lingered on Sihtric’s face as his gaze followed you.

Gisela greeted you with an exuberant shout, enveloping you in a hug and bouncing around like an overjoyed puppy. She seized your hand and propelled you towards the exit, an uninterrupted stream of chatter flowing from her lips. She expressed her delight at finally seeing you, criticised your ex-boyfriend, and shared a thousand other small things. Gisela was in her element, and you loved her for it. She was the only person capable of banishing all your sad thoughts, wrapping you in affection like a soft blanket.

Later that evening, as you both sat on her balcony, sipping Italian wine, you recounted to her the story of the handsome stranger and your first-ever one-night stand.

"Oh my God! You're finally starting to embrace life, honey. It's exactly what you needed." Gisela's eyes gleamed in the candlelight that illuminated the small table. "There's nothing wrong with enjoying great sex. You've always been too reserved for that. Trust me, he'll call you on Sunday. You're stunningly beautiful—why can't you see that in the mirror? The poor guy is probably going out of his mind," Gisela rambled on, but you scarcely heard her, lost in your sweet memories and the taste of the wine on your lips.

It was Sunday morning, the buzz of your phone stirred you awake, indicating a new message. It was still early, the sun not yet fully risen. You rubbed your eyes, puzzled about who could be messaging you at such an ungodly hour. If it was work-related, you wanted no part of it—you were on vacation and wanted peace. If it was from your ex-boyfriend, you wanted even less to do with it. No one else came to mind as a potential sender worth noticing, so you simply turned over and drifted back to sleep.

It was long after breakfast, as you indulged in cup after cup of Italian coffee that Gisela expertly brewed, that you finally remembered the annoying message. With your phone in hand, you were taken aback by surprise. Seven unread messages! What on earth?

05:37 Hi, pretty. Having a good time with your friend?

06:25 Hey, I have the entire day free and was thinking we could grab a coffee or something.

07:15 I realise it's early in the morning, and you're probably still asleep, but I just can't get you out of my mind.

07:55 Are you still sleeping or am I just rambling madly into the void?

08:25 I can’t sleep. All I can think about is you. Please, answer me.

09:05 I assume you're awake by now. Could we meet for a coffee? I've got some exciting news I'd love to share with you.

10:00 Alright, I get it. You must think I'm completely insane. I know I've gone overboard. I shouldn't have poured all of this out to you. My impulsiveness always ruins everything.

With each new message you read, your eyes widened. Gisela immediately picked up on your astonishment.

"Is it him? Is it him? I knew I was right. I knew it!" she exclaimed in excitement, nearly snatching the phone from your fingers.

"Gisela, calm down. I have no idea what he wants from me. Judging by these texts, he's either high, drunk, or completely lost his mind," you retorted with a snort.

"Come on, girl! Let me see them!" Gisela knew you were going to show them to her anyway, and she was right, as you handed her the phone.

"Honey, this guy is head over heels in love with you. You have to reply to him. And you should go for that coffee. I can come along if it eases your nerves."

You shot an annoyed look at your best friend, unamused by her enthusiasm for intervening in your love life, yet she persisted.

"If you're not going to write back, I will," she declared, her excitement reaching a fever pitch as she began to dart around the table, your phone still in her hands.

—------------------------------------

You walked reluctantly towards the small coffee shop, a mix of annoyance and apprehension evident on your face, while casting irritated glances at Gisela, who was panting beside you. Ignoring her enthusiastic chatter, you were lost in your own thoughts, berating yourself for letting her talk you into this seemingly pointless date. It might have been better to leave things as they were.

As you approached the coffee shop, your steps grew slower with every stride. And then you saw him, seated at a small table outside the shop. A whistle from Gisela caught your attention.

"My God, he’s so handsome! And you considered missing a date with him? I need to use the restroom," Gisela declared suddenly, pushing you forward before slipping inside the shop, leaving you to face the situation alone with an unmistakable grin on her face.

This was your chance to escape, to turn around and leave, but you hesitated for too long – Sihtric had already noticed you. Rising from his seat, he approached with a radiant smile on his lips. He swept you up as if you weighed nothing, twirling you around and leaving your head spinning. Gently setting you down, he cupped your face in his hands, making you meet his eyes. Oh, his eyes! There was no escaping their magnetic pull.

"I know you probably think I'm completely crazy, but I can’t get you out of my head. I've never felt like this about anyone before, and even if you don’t believe me, that was my first one-night stand and I … I don’t want it to stay that way," he blurted out in a single breath, his hands still cradling your face as if he feared you would vanish if he let go.

"Sihtric! Oh, you’re definitely insane. You must realise this can’t work. We have our lives – in less than a day, you'll be in one place and I'll be in another. There’ll be hundreds of kilometres between us. Why are you putting me through this? Saying goodbye to you on the train was hard enough," you nearly shouted, earning curious glances from passersby.

"No, no, you don’t understand. Oh, I'm sorry, I haven't told you," Sihtric's voice quivered with anticipation as he took a deep breath and continued, "I didn’t go to that audition yesterday. It would have been pointless; I wouldn't have accepted even if they offered, knowing that it would mean ending us before it even started. So, I sent my tape to a theatre in Paris, and they got back to me last night. Their lead dancer broke his leg, and they urgently need a replacement. They want me to come for an audition as soon as possible. Can you believe it? I'm coming back with you, if you'll have me. I mean, if you want to give us a chance," his eyes studied your face, a blend of hope and uncertainty in them, searching for your reaction.

"You did what?" you managed to utter, your mouth agape as you stared at Sihtric, trying to grasp the enormity of what he just revealed. "You can’t be serious! You gave up your big opportunity, for me?" Tears welled up in your eyes, impossible to contain.

"Hey, baby, don't cry. Oh, please, don't cry! Why are you crying? Are you upset? Did I upset you?" a note of panic tinged Sihtric's voice.

"Can you just shut up and kiss me?" you muttered amidst the tears, and you didn’t have to repeat it. As soon as the words left your mouth, Sihtric leaned in, his lips meeting yours in the most tender yet passionate kiss.

#sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #tlk #sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric fic #tlk fic

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i-am-bitterly-jittery · 2 years

Text

Special Delivery (pt 2/2)

Part 1

Word Count: 2085

Rating: Gen

Pairings: Dukeceit, Logicality (for real this time)

Warnings: bird puns, yelling (not angrily), fear of heights

~~~START~~~

“You don’t need to come with me,” Patton chuckled as he made sure that baby Virgil was secured in his sling. It had been over five years since he got struck by lightning and Logan was still being a nervous nene every time Patton went out for delivery.

Currently, Logan was poking and prodding at the long since recovered patch of Patton wing like it might give way again. Honestly, it was cute how much he cared, but his constant worrying and his insistence on tagging along on every delivery — despite being a much weaker flier than Patton was at full strength — had slowed down work at the Stork Office considerably.

Which, given that the work was delivering babies to their new homes, was not ideal.

Virgil was a little older than the kiddos Patton usually took out — at almost 15 months old — but he wasn’t anything that the Stork couldn’t handle. Remy’s trainee, Thomas, just finished his training last week and was now ready to start delivering babies all on his own. Hopefully that would help them catch up a little.

“I do not mind,” Logan assured. That hadn’t exactly been Patton’s point, but a wave of affection washed over him at the words and he decided — as he had every time so far — not to pursue his point further.

“You’re a silly goose,” Patton said, taking off without allowing Logan any time to reply. He heard a sputtering behind him, but the other Stork was too preoccupied trying to catch up with him to form a coherent response. “A silly goose,” Patton repeated, quietly enough that only Virgil could hear him, booping the baby on the nose.

Virgil’s face scrunched up, and his large hazel eyes stared up at Patton as though the Stork had offended him. He wasn’t speaking anything more than baby-babbles just yet, which put him a little behind most babies his age, but Patton was confident that he was just waiting to be held by his parents before saying his first true word.

“I am not a goose!” Logan puffed, finally catching up to the pair, his usually immaculate hair and clothes already blown out of order by the wind. “I’m a stork, and even then, we bear very little resemblance to the actual bird, but rather, get our name from Greek mythology…”

Logan continued his lecture on birds and mythology, but Patton was only half paying attention. The other half was focused on how pretty Logan looked when he was flying — his dark hair and dark wings contrasting beautifully with the clear blue sky above him. It was a sight Patton had rarely gotten to see before and was another reason he didn’t protest too much when Logan insisted on flying with him.

Eventually, overcome with affection, Patton held his hand out in Logan’s direction. Logan’s lecture halted in its tracks as he stared at the proffered hand curiously. Undeterred, Patton shook it a little for emphasis.

“Are you asking to hold my hand?” Logan asked incredulously. “We cannot hold hands while flying, our wingspans are each too wide.”

Patton pouted, and shook his hand again, but Logan held firm — if they got close enough to hold hands then their wings would likely get tangled and take them both down. Eventually he retracted his hand in favor of holding Virgil more securely — he was a squirmy little thing.

Maybe it was the age difference, but Virgil was a much more nervous baby than his future brother had been; as soon as they hit a small patch — truly just the barest hint — of turbulence, he was off and screaming.

This screaming continued until Patton finally decided to land and see if anything was wrong. As soon as they were on the ground, the screaming stopped, and Virgil went back to staring at Patton accusingly. The two Storks checked his diaper, offered him food, and even let him crawl around in the grass a little bit, but nothing seemed to be wrong, so they took off again.

And once again, after a few minutes, Virgil was back to screeching.

“Are they always like this?” Logan demanded, using his hands to cover his ears as the two flew on.

“No! Usually, the little guys are all takahe-d out!” Patton hated that the flight was causing the little guy distress, but the only other option they had was walking, and they’d never make it to his new home on foot. “But he’s so much older than the babies usually are. I’m sorry, Virgie, but you’ll love your parents so much, and your big brother will be so happy to meet you! It’ll all be worth it, I promise.”

His promises fell on deaf ears, the baby cried on.

Eventually — though not nearly soon enough — a familiar forest came into view.

“Let’s land here,” Patton said, pointing Logan towards a small clearing roughly half a mile from their destination.

“If we land here then we will have to walk,” Logan pointed out, though he followed Patton as the other Stork circled down for a landing.

“I know.” Two feet firmly on the ground, Patton took Virgil out of his sling and sat the sniffly baby on his hip. “But I want to give Virgil some time to calm down before we reach his new home. This has been a hard day for him.”

“Patton, we are already behind, and if we take the time to walk–”

Patton stuck his free hand out in Logan’s direction again, giving it a little shake. Unlike last time, the two Storm were on the ground with their wings folded up against their backs, leaving Logan no excuse not to take his partner’s hand, which he did with only minor reddening of his cheeks.

Satisfied, Patton began the trek to Virgil’s new home, swinging his and Logan’s arms lightly as they walked.

Unlike the last time Patton had seen the home, there was now a fence along the border between the yard and the forest — likely to keep any children from accidentally wandering into the woods unsupervised. The fence had a little gate that led from a well-worn path in the woods into the yard which Logan opened with his free hand, allowing the two Storks and the baby to enter.

“Halt! Who goes there?” A guard demanded, brandishing a sword menacingly at the intruders.

At least, as menacingly as an adorable five-year-old with a foam sword could be — which wasn’t much.

“Aww Roman! You’ve gotten so big!” Patton gushed.

“Your wings are so cool!” The child gushed in turn, lowering his sword in wonder. “How did you know my name? Are you my guardian angels!?”

“Sorta,” Patton said. “We’re Storks! We deliver babies to loving homes. I brought you here five years ago!”

Roman’s face scrunched up in confusion, eyes flickering briefly to Virgil before focusing back on Patton. “Mama said storks are a fairytale, like Cinderella and Santa Claus. He said I came from a sir-gate.”

“A surrogate,” Logan corrected. Roman turned his bright green eyes on the other Stork who grimaced slightly under his gaze, unused to dealing with older children like this.

“Santa Claus is real!” Patton gasped. “Who do you think fills your stocking at Christmas?”

“Mama and daddy.”

“Well, sometimes adults just have trouble seeing the magic in the world,” Patton whispered, hunching down to get closer to Roman as though he were confiding his most special secret.

Roman nodded seriously in return.

“Are you delivering a baby now?” Roman asked, eyes once again darting to the baby and back.

“We are!” Patton cheered, kneeing in the grass and holding baby Virgil up by his armpits. “We’re here to deliver your baby brother: Virgil!”

Virgil stared at Roman and stuffed a chubby fist into his own mouth. Roman returned the gaze with wonder.

“A baby brother?” He whispered, awed. “Really?”

“Yeppers! Would you like to hold him?”

Roman gave a tentative nod and Patton placed the baby into his arms, guiding him into what would be the most comfortable position for both kids.

“He’s heavy,” Roman huffed as Patton let go — though he only moved his hands a couple inches, just in case.

“He is,” Patton agreed. “But you’re very strong.”

Roman beamed at the compliment.

“You shall be my squire!” He told the baby confidently. “And together we shall protect the kingdom of Sanders from the evil Dragonwitch!”

He shot a glare at the house next door where a chihuahua was glaring at them through a window, shaking in that chihuahua way.

“Roman?” A voice called from the deck. “Who are you talking to?”

The small party in the yard turned to find Janus Sanders watching the five-year-old with a bemused look. Any humor, however, quickly drained from his face as he noticed the even smaller child in his son’s arms.

“Where did that baby come from?” He asked as he made his way across the yard, alarmed.

“The storks brought him!” Roman declared happily, pointing one hand at the two winged men behind him. Virgil slipped slightly in his grasp as he did, but Patton was quick to steady him before Roman dropped him completely. “He’s gonna be my baby brother!”

Janus’s face changed to a vaguely constipated look as he was torn between concern about the apparently abandoned baby in his son’s arms, and fondness at his son’s imagination.

“We’ll get you a baby brother soon,” he assured his son. “But someone’s probably missing this little guy.” He carefully eased Virgil out of Roman’s arms and into his own. “We need to find his rightful parents.”

“But–!” Roman glanced quickly between his mama and the Storks, confused.

Patton smiled reassuringly. “Watch this.”

He gently plucked a midnight-blue feather from Logan’s wing and offered it to the other Stork. Logan looked somewhat panicked — in all his years of being a Stork, he’d never been the one to bond a child to their family.

“You can do it!” Patton whispered, moving to stand just behind Logan, wrapping his free arm around him comfortingly. “Owl be right here for emu!”

Logan rolled his eyes, but he took a steadying breath anyway. He could do this.

“Virgil Sanders,” he whispered to the feather before blowing it off of Patton’s palm.

Roman watched in awe as the feather gently flitted through the air before landing on his mama’s nose. Janus’s eyes turned a deep, dark blue, before shifting back to their regular heterochromia as he gazed down at the child in his arms.

“Did you have fun playing outside with your brother, storm cloud?” He asked, peppering kisses to the baby’s face. “Yeah, you love your brother?”

“Mama!” The baby giggled happily.

“Oh! Yes! Mama! That’s me!” Janus gushed. “REMUS! VIRGIL SAID ‘MAMA’!”

“WHAT!?” Remus screeched from inside the house. “NOOOOO! VIRGIE, BABY, WHY MUST YOU BETRAY ME THIS WAY!?”

Remus — eyes midnight-blue — sprinted out and stopped just short of bumping into his husband.

“Virgie, say ‘dada’!” He begged. He lay a hand on Virgil’s cheek, turning his eyes back to their natural green. “Say ‘dada’.”

“Mama!” Virgil repeated, giggling as Remus dramatically fell to the ground in mock-anguish.

“Roro, you still love me, don’t you?” He asked, reaching weakly for his older son.

“You’re silly, daddy,” Roman giggled.

“Why do we go celebrate Virgil’s first word with some yogurt?” Janus smiled, tapping his foot against his husband's side.

“Yes!” Roman and Remus cheered simultaneously. Remus sprang up from the ground and lifted Roman into his arms.

“Onward!” Roman declared pointing towards the house, and therefore the yogurt.

“As you wish, my prince!”

“Bye!” Roman turned, waving to the Storks over his daddy’s shoulder.

“Bye Roman!” Patton waved. “Enjoy your new brother!”

Logan turned to leave as the family disappeared into the house, but Patton watched for a moment longer.

“We should get a baby,” he sighed dreamily.

“You are not allowed to ask Remy to bring us a baby,” Logan ordered, knowing exactly where his partner’s mind would go. “Promise me you won’t ask Remy to bring us a baby.”

“I will not ask Remy to bring us a baby,” Patton promised. “I’ll ask Thomas!”

“Wha–!” Patton took off before Logan could reply, once again forcing the other Stork to catch up with him.

“Patton!” Logan called, somewhat breathlessly, behind him.

Patton only laughed. He was joking of course; he would never ask Thomas to deliver them a baby before Logan was ready for one.

He would be ready soon, Patton was certain.

~~~END~~~

Roman’s first word was ‘dada’ so Janus was really pushing for ‘mama’ with Virgil (or at least he would have been if he’d had Virgil for as long as he and Remus think they’ve had Virgil)

Also I’ve decided that Janus wouldn’t like lying to his children about things Ike Santa Claus or the tooth fairy — lies are for your own amusement or to be funny, not to potentially traumatize your children later in life (in his opinion).

Fun fact about me, my mom doesn’t know what my first word was because I was late to start speaking, but when I did I was fully caught up to where kids my age should be so she thinks that I was pretending not to be able to talk until I felt confident about it (which is very on-brand for me tbh). My brother’s first word was ‘turtle’

General taglist:

@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple @knight-shives @misunderstood-shadowling

#sanders sides #ts sanders sides #virgil sanders #dukeceit #logicality #logan sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #kid virgil #kid roman #thursday writes #my writing #stork au #sanders sides fanfiction

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nojudgingbybloodline · 4 years

Text

Milking the Hippogriff Dry as the Hogwarts Express Gravy Train Runs Out of Steam:

Why Warner Bros. are Wrong to Turn Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows into Two Films

By MaraudingDon

On March 13th 2008, Warner Bros. confirmed1 rumours that had been circulating for a number of months that they would indeed be splitting the seventh film in the Harry Potter franchise, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, into two parts. This essay will set out reasons why this long-time, self-confessed Harry Potter uberfan is appalled by this decision.

The Harry Potter films have been overwhelmingly successful. According to IMDb,2all five previously released films occupy spots in the top twenty-one grossing films of all time. Three of them are in the top ten. Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone(Sorcerer's Stone if you are not British) is the highest placed with $968 million+ box office takings, and even Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban at number twenty-one took a very respectable $789+ million at the box office.

This is the cash cow, or for the purpose of this essay, the cash hippogriff, that has served Warner Bros. very nicely indeed, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, the cash hippogriff is about to milk its last drop, because with the Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows film, this lucrative film franchise runs out. The cogs in the WB machine must have squealed louder than Dobby when they read the final book and realised that Lord Voldemort had eight portions of soul, instead of seven. "Let's do the same with the film' squealed delighted film bosses as they got ready to count their galleons in the Lightning Struck counting tower ’ and so instead of seven films to match seven books, we get eight films.

Now at the start of this, I must confess that I am not a fan of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. In July 2007, just before the release of the novel, Jo Rowling told ITV News3 that "Some people will loathe it. For some people to love it, other people must loath it. That's just in the nature of the plot." Well she was spot on, because even though I have read the book five times now, I still loathe it as much as I did that first time. However, as someone who has huge respect for what Jo Rowling has achieved, it is still important to me that Warner Bros. does justice to this amazing world and does not abuse their position as holders of the copyright and trademarks. In fact, a well executed film could provide me, and others who did not like the book, a new appreciation of it in the same way the excellent Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix film did for many.

What made Harry Potter work for me, what made me fall in love with this excellent series (and despite my loathing of the final book, I still regard the first six as works of genius), was her excellent characterization. J.K. Rowling succeeded where so many other authors have failed by creating peripheral characters that a reader could truly care about. Adult characters like Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, Molly and Arthur Weasley, and the younger characters like Luna, Neville and the Weasleys. Even the traditional baddies like Bellatrix were utterly fascinating to read about ’ and was there ever a greater literary character than Severus Snape? For six books he created more heated debate than any of the other Harry Potter characters put together. So herein lies my first problem with a two part Deathly Hallows film ’ in the first part, you aren't even going to see half of these characters. If Steve Kloves adheres religiously to the book, then we may be lucky to get a quick glimpse of Severus at the very beginning, but then that's it until part two. No Hogwarts, no teachers, NO NEVILLE! The heart and soul immediately disappears.

Do people realize when they welcome a two part film, just how much of the trio we are going to get? If the film is split at the "Silver Doe" chapter4 for example, then we may get to see Voldemort and his Death Eaters opening the film, a rather anti-climactic goodbye to the Dursleys, "The Seven Potters" with a big chase and fight scene, the deaths of Hedwig and Mad-Eye, a wedding, and the rest will be Harry, Ron and Hermione. Yes there will be scenes involving the locket hunt at the Ministry and a visit to Godric's Hollow, but are Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint and Emma Watson strong enough to hold a film of this magnitude? I don't think so. There is no doubt that all three of them have improved as they have made that difficult transition from child actor to adult ’ Daniel especially has improved ten-fold since those awkward first films, but several hours of Emma's hypnotic dancing eyebrows is not enough to hold my attention. It is worth remembering that nearly all the action in this book takes place in the last third of the text, including a fantastic battle segment at Hogwarts, the resolution to the Snape storyline, and of course, the denouement to the entire series. The casting directors of the Harry Potter films have done an outstanding job in casting the very best of British stage and screen in these movies. We've been lucky enough to see Richard Harris, Sir Michael Gambon, Dame Maggie Smith, Alan Rickman, Fiona Shaw, Gary Oldman, David Thewlis and many more award winning stars grace our screens together. What a tragic disappointment then to have a Deathly Hallows part one in which we may not even see these greats at all, or in tiny dribs and drabs. Those who don't like the book often mention the camping. Those who love the book often moan at those who moan about the camping! But there is no getting away from it that part one of this two-part film is going to consist of a lot of the trio arguing whilst either planning their camping or actually doing it.

So let's move away from camping and talk about money ’ because money talks. Films like Titanic and the amazing Lord of the Rings trilogy took enormous box office takings, not because of the amount of people who went to see the films, but because of the amount of repeat viewings. It's why the Harry Potter franchise has been so successful ’ families and non-fans will only take box office receipts so high, it is the super fans who see the films three, four, five, even twenty times each that create such huge box office receipts. The Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix film took $937+ million at the box office. A tiny, miniscule percentage of that was my viewing it five times, I loved it, couldn't get enough of it. Will I go and watch Deathly Hallows part one five times? Not in a million years, and I highly doubt others will either.

I've put it off too long ’ I now find myself having to write about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Allowed-To-Write-The-Screenplay, a.k.a. Steve Kloves. (Here I offer an apology and a blindfold to my friend, fellow longtime Leaky stalwart and Kloves fan Bandersnatch) but does the thought of a five hour two-part film penned by Mr. Kloves make anybody else want to jump through the veil themselves?!! Lest we forget, this is the man who in the Prisoner of Azkaban film managed to turn Ron Weasley into the cowardly lion, and Hermione Granger into the Bionic Woman! Be honest, is this the man you Snapeophiles trust with doing justice to your hero? Personally, I'm waiting for Lord Voldemort to cackle, "I'll get you my pretty, and your little dog too."

I just find it unfathomable to understand why Warner Bros. has been so averse to creating one film that is say, three and a half hours long. That is more than sufficient to do justice to the book. History shows that cinema audiences are more than happy to sit time and time again through long films; the examples of Titanic and Return of the King back this up. Titanic had a run time of 194 minutes,5 whilst Return of the King numbed our derrieres for 201 minutes,6 yet still we flocked to see them, making them the highest grossing films of all time.

Instead we are faced with getting two films, six months apart. According to the press release, part one will reach us in November 2010 and part two in May 2011. The first is two years after the Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince film and part two will reach us nearly four years after the release of the book. Again, I feel Warner Bros. has misjudged its audience. The super-fans are slowly losing their fervor for all things Potter, the fandom is slowing down. If part one is judged to be a failure, will the "normal" audience, those who are not super fans, even bother going back to watch part two? The denouement to the Deathly Hallows book is dominated by a fantastic battle scene that is covered in more than one hundred pages of nail biting prose. I can understand the producers perhaps believing that they could not do justice to this battle in one film (in addition to everything else they may want to create), but my argument is that they absolutely could do it all in one film, and do it well. Let's look at the examples of the Lord of the Rings trilogy again. The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers was dominated by a battle at Helm's Deep and, led by Peter Jackson, the film version of the novel was exquisite. Even better was the battle for Gondor in Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, a battle that easily overshadows the Battle of Hogwarts. If New Line Cinema and Peter Jackson could do it ’ why not Warner Bros. and David Yates? One longer film instead of two shorter ones will keep the dramatic tension flowing to great effect.

Back to money again. Once the films have sizzled or sunk at the box office, we then get the DVDs. I would be interested to hear what Warner Bros. have to say about this. Are we, as most anticipate, going to have to pay for two DVDs for one story? Instead of the usual $30 here in Australia, will I have to pay $60? There is no question of an uberfan like me not getting them, of course I have to and WB knows this. I have a nasty taste in my mouth that could be shampoo ¦ no, it's bubotuber pus ¦ no, it's the taste of being ripped off.

I'm sorry Mr. Heyman, you may be as gorgeous as Fleur Weasley, but this decision screams out, "money, money, money." The Hogwarts Express gravy train is on its last journey and you appear to be clinging on by your fingertips. Time will tell whether this is a decision you come to rue.

Notes

1. Business Wire, "Warner Bros. Plans Two-Part Film Adaptation' paragraph 1.

2. IMDb, "All-Time Worldwide Box office."

3. Oatts, "Rowling: Some will loathe it' paragraph 2.

4. Rowling, Deathly Hallows, 296’314.

5. IMDb, "Titanic."

6. Ibid., "The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King."

Bibliography

Business Wire. "Warner Bros. Plans Two-Part Film Adaptation of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" to Be Directed by David Yates." Business Wire, 13 March 2008, http://www.businesswire.com/portal/site/google/?ndmViewId=news_view&newsId=20080313005332&newsLang=en (accessed 21 April 2008).

The Internet Movie Database (IMDb). "All-Time Worldwide Box office." http://www.imdb.com/boxoffice/alltimegross?region=world-wide (accessed 21 April 2008).

”””. "Titanic." http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120338/ (accessed 21 April 2008).

”””. "The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King." http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0167260/ (accessed 21 April 2008).

Oatts, Joanne. "Rowling: Some will loathe it." digital spy, 13 July 2007. http://www.digitalspy.co.uk/tv/a65641/rowling-some-will-loathe-it.html (accessed 21 April 2008).

Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, London: Bloomsbury, 2007.

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illuminating-dragons · 7 years

Text

Mr. Trickster

Summary: The Zanna are dedicated to helping the children who call on them, but sometimes they need help themselves. When that happens, they can always call on Mr. Trickster. Until one day, he doesn't answer. Someone else does.

Note: Just a quick note on the spelling: I know the traditional spelling of Zanna is Zână, but the show uses the first. If anyone has any problems with that, let me know and I will change it.

Warning: ahead there is non-graphic discussion of child abuse in several forms.

Word Count: 2,931

Read it on AO3

When the archangels were built, the first two were given power to shape, while the second two were given power to create. The oldest shaped a Heaven cold and orderly; the second tore into the designs of their Creator, perverted beings and laws down to their cores. The third, hoping to follow the first, created beings that would heal beyond any reason, whether the hurt one wanted it or not.

The fourth wanted nothing to do with his role once the first two were finished, and not even the third was enough to make him stay. But the urge to create remained, and finally, in one last act of desperation to expunge the past, the fourth reached out and formed beings. His only wish was for these creatures to help, somewhere and somehow. But he gave them no mission beyond that. The fourth knew what the others had done, the pain they’d caused. He couldn’t risk making the same mistake.

So the creatures found their own mission, and in time forgot who their creator was. That was alright—the fourth had no need for thanks or prayer (at least not from them). But no matter how hard you try to walk away from something you built, it will call to you in need.

And the fourth answered that call.

1786, Pennsylvania

Alanna kept it together until she’d kissed Abigail goodnight and sang her a lullaby. She was grateful that the girl had imagined her the size of a brownie, like the stories from back in the Old Country. It made it easier for her to fit in the cramped closet.

Once she went outside, hoping to see the father coming back and be able to move Abby in time, she flung herself on the ground and burst into tears.

Alanna was young for a zanna, one of the first born in this new land. Abigail was her first child, and she’d been so excited. Her mother was retired now, but she’d taught Alanna everything she knew about taking care of lost children, helping them to find their own strength, and finally how to say goodbye.

Full of hope, Alanna had obeyed Abigail’s call, shaping herself small, and found herself face to face with a child cowering under a table, bruises covering her small face.

Abigail was five. Her mother was dead, the baby that killed her lying sobbing in a filthy cot. Sometimes in the day Abigail would try to take care of the baby, rock her tiny brother and feed him from the little they had.

At night, when the father came home, Abigail would try to hide the baby. Hide herself.

Alanna wanted to fight the man so badly, but she couldn’t. It was the rules. Zanna didn’t fight. They couldn’t affect the real world enough that the child would become suspicious. So Alanna tried to distract Abigail, find her food in the woods and bandages for her arms, but the berries were often stepped on and the bandages ripped off in the father’s drunken rage.

Alanna lifted her face to the sky. Unlike the humans, zanna knew that there were many gods, yet they belonged to none. Of course they were polite and gave thanks when it was due, but the gods treated the zanna like children themselves. Alanna had never minded. Now, though, she brought her hands together the way Abigail did.

“Please,” she begged. “If anyone is listening, help me save these children. They need help; they’re just babies.”

There was no answer; the stars were silent. Alanna bowed her head.

“What’s the trouble, sweetheart?”

Alanna spun around. A man—no, it was a god, he gave off power that felt like crackling lightning and smelled of spun sugar—stood not far from her. “What do you need?” he asked.

Alanna immediately lowered herself to her knees, but the god just picked her up, holding her in his hands. He was only a little bit taller than her mother, with golden hair and eyes that sparkled in the starlight. “What do you need?” he repeated.

“I need help,” Alanna whispered.

“Tell me,” the god said firmly.

So she told him everything.

“Why can’t you run this monster off?” he asked when she was done.

“I don’t have the power,” Alanna admitted. “Even if it wasn’t against our rules, I am not strong enough. I’m young, and Abigail is weak. She cannot imagine me powerful, because she doesn’t know what that feels like.”

“No, and how could she?” The god murmured. He was still holding Alanna. “Tell you what—I’ll help the kids out, but you’ve got to promise to let me do it my way.”

Alanna shivered. There was something dark in his voice, something that rang of vengeance…no. Of judgement. What if she was making a mistake?

Then she heard the father’s horse, bearing its master back from the village tavern, and she knew that no mistake could be worse than doing nothing.

“Don’t hurt the children,” she pleaded.

The god smiled. “You have my word. Now take them and hide.” He put her gently down and cracked his knuckles. “This won’t be pretty.”

Crouched in the bushes, Alanna perched on top of the sleeping baby. Abigail was curled up under the bush, also sleeping. Alanna listened, but there was only silence.

Finally, the god came back, face expressionless. He took the baby from her with gentle hands, and the two of them walked back to the house. The god snapped his fingers, and the crib became clean and soft. Abigail’s closet bed changed too, big enough for a child of five to lie down. A doll was propped on the pillow.

“Don’t worry, the people that are coming tomorrow will see this place for what it was,” the god said as Alanna tucked Abigail in. “These two deserve a soft bed tonight.”

Alanna didn’t answer for a moment. “What will happen?”

“Their mother has a sister out West,” the god answered. “They will take the children, raise them well. They’ve always wanted children of their own.”

Alanna smiled. “Thank you so much.” She paused, heart sinking. “What may I offer you for payment?”

The god’s smile flashed. “You kidding? This is kinda my gig, sweetheart. Happy to help.” He stood and walked to the door. “You know, there is one thing you could do for me.”

“Name it,” Alanna answered instantly.

“Tell the others about me. I won’t always be the solution, but I’ll help out if need be.” The god started to walk out.

“Wait! Tell me your name.”

The god turned, and for a minute Alanna swore she saw the shadows on the wall change, six large shapes appearing by the god’s shoulders. Then he winked, and they vanished.

“Call me Trickster. That’s as good a name as any other.”

True to the god’s word, the next day people took Abigail and her brother away. Alanna went with them, because Abigail was still scared of big people and trains and worried about the journey’s end. Alanna stayed until Abigail said Mommy and Daddy without fear and her brother was given the name Alexander, a real name for the first time. Then Alanna said goodbye, because Abigail was safe now.

But she never forgot.

And word spread among the zanna that there was a name you could call when your child couldn’t be soothed with words or protected with cheer. When the worst happened, you could call out for the god, and he would come. He always came, offered solutions when there were alternatives, and dealing out his own punishment when not.

Mr. Trickster, they called him.

Zanna were polite creatures.

2010, Ontario

Eli paced the street nervously. He was frightened to call, worried that, like his friend, there would be no answer.

The older zanna couldn’t understand it. Sure, they didn’t call on Mr. Trickster all that often, but he always came. He’d promised all those years ago, and he’d kept his word.

But in the last two months their prayers had gone unanswered.

The word spread like wildfire, panicked zanna warning that something was wrong.

Eli had never met the god, but his friend Umi had. And Umi, a seven-foot-tall bear, was terrified. “Something’s wrong,” he told Eli as he cradled his sobbing boy in his arms. “He always comes. He wouldn’t abandon us.”

But Eli wasn’t so sure. Gods were capricious creatures, after all. Unlike the zanna, they heeded calls only for rewards of payment. Perhaps the god had gotten tired of pro bono work for children who didn’t truly believe in the zanna anyways.

Eli stopped pacing and looked back at Michael’s house. The little boy grew more sickened by his own body every day, every day his father took him to his room for ‘father-son’ time. Eli couldn’t stop it. He had no choice.

“Mr. Trickster?” he called. “Please, if you’re out there…we need you. The children need you.”

The streetlight exploded.

Eli turned, his antlers quivering (yes, Michael wanted a moose. Michael got a moose). The dim light made it hard to see, but he could just make out a tall dark lady in a white dress.

“Hello?” he said nervously.

“Are you a zanna?” The woman’s voice was powerful; Eli shrank back under her glowing eyes. Then he thought of Michael.

“Y-yes. Who are you?”

“My name is unimportant.” The woman raised her hand and the streetlight came back on. “What is your wish, zanna?”

“I…my kid is being hurt by their father…he’s…” Eli’s mind whirled. “Wait, I prayed to Mr. Trickster.” Had he prayed the wrong way? Was this lady one of the gods who hated children?

The woman’s eyes softened, and Eli was struck by the sadness in them. “He’s dead,” she whispered. “He died saving the world.”

No.

Eli swallowed the lump in his throat. Mr. Trickster couldn’t just be…gone. All those stories, all those kids rescued from the evils of the world…no.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Was he your friend?”

The woman winced. “I would not use that word. We were…joined. Despite everything. Despite the lies, our…differences.”

Eli bowed his head. The pain in the lady’s voice burned into him. “I’m sorry,” he said again. Like it helped at all.

But the woman gave him a small smile. “Thank you. Now, what can I do?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“A few months before he died, he told me about you creatures. About what you do.” The woman’s eyes glowed. “I sympathize. I cherish children, and I am less…restrained than he about wreaking vengeance upon those that wrong them.”

Eli took a step back. In the stories Mr. Trickster dealt with the harmful without causing them pain most of the time. Umi still laughed about the bullies who’d chased his Irene through the streets after school every day, only to be chased themselves by endless murders of crows.

This lady, on the other hand…she meant something darker. Something more sure.

“Did he ask you to help us?” Eli asked.

“He did, in the event of his death.” Another flash of pain across his face. “I did not think it was so close.”

Eli squared his shoulders as best he could. It was hard in this shape. “Then I ask you to protect Michael from his father.”

The lady smiled. “Done.” She turned, then looked over her shoulder. “Go and get the boy first. Take him for a ride. He doesn’t need to hear this.”

Eli scrambled to obey.

And so a new era began for the zanna. The Lady came when you called, and she protected the children and the innocent, but her kindness was matched only by her brutality towards the guilty. Often the zanna who called upon her were frightened by her methods, but they could sense the same fierce love and protectiveness Mr. Trickster had once given, and they learned to love the Lady as they’d loved him.

They still mourned the Trickster, and those who understood the significance of the Lady’s never changing dress knew that she mourned him as well.

But there were always children to protect, and perhaps the best way to honour him was to continue his work.

And if on occasion the zanna felt strangely, violently upset, as if they’d lost their parent, they didn’t understand.

The Future, Idaho

Alanna shifted in her nest. She was old now, older than most.

Zanna lived long lives, but she was over two hundred, and she was looking forward to rest. The young ones would miss her, and she them, but it was her time soon. She could feel it.

Her youngest descendant had come to visit her earlier that day to say goodbye. Sully was a good child; he’d made a few mistakes but his heart was in the right place, and he loved his children so well. He’d told her that he had to call in the Lady on his girl’s teacher, and he was scared.

Alanna told him not to worry. Hadn’t she been the first to call on Mr. Trickster? And then, when Eli had come running with the tale of the Lady, hadn’t she spoken to the goddess herself? Seen the goodness in her?

“Don’t fret, Sully,” she soothed him. “The Lady is not Mr. Trickster, but the Lady will never harm the children.”

Sully had met Mr. Trickster once, when he’d asked about a boy of his, a boy who wanted to be his own person in a family of hunters. Mr. Trickster had sympathized, but advised letting the boy make his own choice. Sully had been disappointed, but he’d liked the god and spent hours listening to stories about him. He, like the other zanna who’d met the god, missed Mr. Trickster for himself.

But the Lady was powerful, and the Lady comforted the frightened children and took away their memories, and the Lady always answered their calls.

No, Alanna wasn’t worried. She just wished that Mr. Trickster was still around. She missed him.

The wind whistled overhead, high and clear, and Alanna looked up. To her surprise, the Lady stared down at her. “Hello, Alanna.”

“Hello Lady,” Alanna replied. Her voice was weaker these days, but she knew the Lady could hear. “It’s an honour to see you one last time.”

The Lady drew back, surprised. “You can die? Gabriel, is that right?”

Alanna was about to explain that yes, she could, but it was natural and she really wasn’t upset at all, but then someone else peered into the nest.

Mr. Trickster, looking older but with the same sparkle in his golden eyes, smiled down at her. “Hello Alanna,” he said gently. “Yes, Kali, they can. But don’t worry. They have their own part of Heaven.”

Alanna’s eyes brimmed with tears, and she reached up. She’d never stopped being tiny, and her hands could barely hold his fingertip. “You’re alright, Mr. Trickster,” she whispered.

Mr. Trickster gently picked her up, cradling her in his hands. “I am,” he answered, still speaking softly. “I need to tell your Sully that he does a good job. His kiddo helped get me back.”

Alanna smiled. “I’m so glad.” For the first time, she noticed that the Lady was no longer wearing a white dress. She wore a white shawl around her shoulders, but her dress was now a deep, pure red.

“And you are happy, Lady…Lady Kali?” Alanna’s eyes grew round. Could it be…

The Lady reached out and touched Alanna’s head gently. “I am, little one.”

Alanna smiled, then sank to her knees, bewildered by her sudden exhaustion. “I think…I think it’s time for me to go,” she said. “I am glad that I saw you together.”

Mr. Trickster’s eyes were bright with tears now. He laid Alanna down tenderly, tucking her under a soft blanket. “Go to your rest, Alanna. You have done your work, and you have earned your reward.”

“So have you both,” Alanna answered. She closed her eyes and took a breath.

She never took another.

*********************************

As carefully as he’d once held his Father’s newborn son, Gabriel picked up Alanna’s body. He whispered a blessing, then lifted his hands, watching as the bright being of the zanna went up, up, up.

Kali took his hand. “You made them well, Gabriel.”

It still felt strange to hear her use his real name. “I didn’t mean to make them,” Gabriel answered. “I just wanted to make something that would help the weak, but I didn’t want to decide how. They did it all on their own.”

“And they’ve helped thousands of the most vulnerable creatures on Earth,” Kali said. “And when they couldn’t do enough on their own, you answered their pleas.”

“So did you, when the time came.”

“I wish it hadn’t.”

Gabriel squeezed her hand. “I couldn’t just leave them alone,” he answered. “They needed my help. That’s what creators should do.”

“Even when you left, you made sure someone kept watch.” Kali looked up. They could just make out Alanna, finally entering Heaven’s pull. “It appears to run in your family.”

“What?” Gabriel stared at her. “What do you—me? I didn’t—not really—”

“You did,” Kali said, in a tone that meant no argument. “You’ve done well. Your father should be proud.”

Gabriel looked away.

“Are you ready to face him?”

Gabriel took her other hand. “If you come with me. It’s about time you met him too.”

Kali considered this. “I will not bow.”

Gabriel laughed. “Älskling, I wouldn’t want you to.”

#supernatural fanfiction #supernatural season 11 #gabriel #gabriel/kali #zanna #kali #hurt/comfort #Gabriel made the zanna #fluff #acme146 fanfiction #crosspost from AO3 #spn fanfiction

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zolzhin · 7 years

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The Dragon’s Request (OC and OU)

One of the most developed and beloved of my characters is Uliganderek Ssatherin, last surviving member of the Shissthar Draconian race. I have detailed all his exploits in my mind and have written many of them. Sadly I lost much of his story due to life events. Now...perhaps I can bring to life once more, the most alien and yet in my heart, relatable, characters I’ve ever made. This is one of the few stories that survived. I hope to rewrite and write new ones as well. ENJOY

The Dragon's Request

The road had drawn dark before me, as the night came rushing with a speed I could scarcely credit. Having just left the well lit streets of Tryle, it seemed that the encroaching shadows were even deeper than I remembered. The road had not been behind me for a month and already I had grown used to the civilization I was leaving. I had wished I could stay there, but something drew me on. There were places and things I have not been able to see and comprehend. My journey is not finished, though I now know, perhaps there was someplace I could return to.

The destruction of the force of evil and insanity in Tryle had been harsh of course. I had to recuperate, and I waited it out. But even as they told me the rough seasons were coming, I knew I could not linger any longer. I took what provisions they could load me down with, and set off south upon the almost non-existent trail. Some came to watch me leave, others went about their business. Most were just so happy to be free of the terror they once were under they continued to have their parties even so many days later. The joy of humans was infectious, and I could not be roped into that.

Yet they had been right of course. Clouds brewed up before me on the path and occluded the waning sunlight I had been using to guide my steps. As the clouds swallowed what was left of the light, rain began to patter down. Slow at first, it was a simple wash that felt good upon my scales. Yet I could smell the ionized air, I could feel the rumble of the winds from far away. For a creature that once soared through the skies I had a good sense of the weather. One had to have such a sense, or find themselves caught in a blizzard in the Dominion lands. Yet even with all my senses on alert, the storm broke upon me with such speed and ferocity that I was caught unawares.

The wind picked up, the loose dirt of the path the first to be thrown free. Then pebbles and small branches began to scurry across the ground. The rain itself seemed to become smaller, the fat droplets of water becoming stinging daggers of fast moving water and ice mixed. This land was different from my home, the weather was fairly warm but this stinging freezing rain still came down. I had thought myself safe from this sort of weather so far south, but apparently I was not. The storm began to come in earnest and even I could feel the stinging of the water beneath my armored hide.

The lightning and thunder came next with a roaring ferocity I could almost not credit. Within seconds of the first lash of yellow ravening power, the rolling air pressure and sound wave hit me like a physical blow. Perhaps if the bolt had struck me directly, I would have fallen before the wrath of nature. Thankfully the pressure and sound were not enough to harm me. But disorientation began to steal over me as the lightning rose in frequency and the constant boom of thunder left my senses reeling.

Quickly I realized that no simple camp would keep me safe in the face of this gale. A tent would be blown away long before I could get it ready and a lean-to would only last a moment's breath more. I would have to find some sort of natural cover, for I had moved to far beyond the small town's furthest outskirts to hope to find a building.

My eyes dazzled by the constant strobe of lightning and my feet sloshing through mud and tangled long grass I pushed my way off the road and into a small thicket of thin boled trees. The trees were lashing themselves into a frenzy and their boughs gave me no succor. But I had seen nothing I could use for shelter along the plains I had gazed upon earlier. I hoped beyond hope that there were some giant oak or other strong tree that I could crouch beneath until the worst of the storm passed.

I began to despair as the minutes slipped by and I found nothing by the dazzled dots in my vision from the constant flash of electricity and the shifting trunks of weakened trees. The rain was becoming worse as time passed, sapping me of energy even as the howling gale winds drew out even the reserves that got me through so many wars and battles. This seemed suddenly no natural storm and that its coming had been to kill me. Of course I knew this to be silly, but at the time, the thought had crossed my mind that I had angered some god of the wilds.

As I was cursing my luck and wondering if perhaps nature could do what no mortal creature nor dastard necromancer could do before, I stumbled hard into what seemed a pothole beneath my claws. As I came to my fore claws on the muddy grounds I realized that the pit I had stepped into was but the edge of a much larger hole in the earth. Five feet wide at its largest point it seemed to sink into the ground some distance, the flashing of lightning giving me a glimpse that it fell into a sharp downward angle and disappeared into darkness beyond. Not wishing to look fortune in the face and spit, I threw all caution to the biting winds and wriggled my way into the hole.

Arm over arm I crawled in near blackness into the dank hole. I could feel mud seeping past my scales as I wormed my way into the tunnel, and grumbled at the anticipation of the amount of scrubbing it would take to clean myself fully when this endeavor was over. I continued deeper, finding more compact and less damp dirt further in, though it did nothing for my current condition. I of course could see little ahead of me, and was so cramped in the tunnel I could not turn around to see what may lie behind me. I hoped that this natural tunnel would open up further on up, and I was not to be disappointed.

After about fifty more feet of crawling inch by dirty inch I dropped from the tunnel and into an open space with a curse to all damned nature and the smack of scale on packed rock and dirt. I was unhurt of course, but the fall had given me a good jarring and had played merry hell with my mood by that point. Sniffing the air all I could get was the smell of earth and the sickly smell of rot, which I could only attribute to dead or drowned plant matter in or along the tunnel I had come through. Working by feel, I rooted around in the backpack provided to me buy the happy townsfolk of Tryle, and found quickly the flint and steel that had followed me from all the way in the Desert of Alvor, to here and all the horrors and adventures I had endured.

Scavenging in the dark is something I had become accustomed to and even to this day I hold it as an important skill to learn. I achieved enough dry brush to create a small bundle, striking flint and tinder together to create the spark needed to make a fire. It took many tries, and my ill temper grew quickly. But I knew to survive down here I would need to be able to see. I finally got a spark to take to the tinder and illumination threw crazy shadows throughout the cavern I inhabited before I scrambled for my lantern, placing the tiny blazing ball into the central well to light the wick within. Blazing brilliance surrounded me now like a nimbus from the lantern and I could truly see where I had arrived.

On cursory inspection the cavern was quite large, the walls seeming to have taken their shape by natural means. Perhaps long ago this chamber had been filled with water which had shorn away dirt and rock alike in the fullness of time. A tunnel ran off to what I assumed was the south, though this was only based on my orientation on the surface which could be suspect after my fall. I looked up and glimpsed the natural tunnel with which I entered, and counted myself lucky that it had led to this haven rather than to some underground river.

While some might have been content to make camp in the chamber, I knew from my survival trainings that taking for granted the safety of caves was a bad idea. I had to explore its depths fully or at least for a good distance to ensure no unseen peril remained within. The worst I could imagine at that time was a bear or some other cave dwelling beasts. Perhaps a pack of wolves or wildcats, though I now know wildcats are solitary creatures. At the time I imagined them quite like lions. Yet the truth of the contents of that dank cave was, and lead me to things, far more dangerous than average beasts.

As I continued down the well worn tunnel I could make out a sound that seemed to be rising and falling by unnatural means. All things in the natural world worked on properties lacking uniformity. Nothing was a straight line, as the curving tunnel showed to me. No noise repeated at a pattern except by creatures that could exert their wills over the formlessness of nature. And to this I attributed the sounds which came and went, almost as if a gusting breath which inhaled and exhaled in a slow rhythm. The sound though was louder than any breath I had heard in many years, and as I crept down the tunnel, and the sound came louder and louder, I knew something of great proportions must lie ahead.

I was not to be disappointed in my assumption. With my torch held before me to light my path I found myself entering a chamber far larger than the one I left shortly before. I could almost not attribute its size to reality, since for a moment I thought perhaps it opened up to empty sky far above. Yet reason reasserted itself as it was dry in the cavern, and I made the base assumption that the tunnel I had so recently exited had sloped downward without my noticing. The meager flame of my torch could not cast light upon the ceiling or any of the walls, so massive was the cavern. But it did alight something much more shocking.

For before me was the source of the sound I had attributed to breath. And so it was for the breath was created by a dragon! Even curled up in slumber the creature was massive, its single outstretched claw bigger than I was. So large was its maw that it could easily take me up and swallow me whole if it had half a mind. Its scales were dull and white, and from old association I knew that to be an indication of age. Young dragons were resplendent and shimmering in their scaled hues, while the older and wiser dulled and became more monochrome as the sleeping eons passed them.

So taken aback by the sight, I didn't even think to turn around and retreat. The dragon was obviously sleeping, its breath low and even. Its eyes were sealed shut in slumber and its great flanks rose and fell with the fullness of each breath. Its wings were folded back, doubled and tripled up in their resting position, much as mine had been before my wings were crippled. Seeing the magnificent wingspan and remembering with sudden and complete clarity the pain and shame of the loss of my precious wings, I gasped. Though the sound was low and I covered it as best I could, dragons slept lightly.

With a low groaning growl which shook my very marrow the massive head of the dragon turned in my direction, though its eyes remained shut. Its clawed forelimbs shook off the pains of sleep as it dug its talons into the earth beneath its body, gaining purchase as its head rose high before me. Its wings opened in slow testing, gusts of wind pushing at me as it beat the air in its waking. The growl slowly became words, spoken in the sibilant hiss that almost sounded like my home tongue. The syllables were longer and more archaic, but its meaning was clear as any other language to me.

“Who dares enter my lair? My eyes no longer view the world, though my nose and ears work better for the loss! I know you are there! Speak or I will crush you underfoot like an ant!” The ancient reptile spoke in a thundering tone, a voice filled with power and demanding obeisance.

“Lord Dragon, who was once kin to my fallen people, I beg forgiveness for my trespass for I knew not that this was your home. By your honor and your glory, I ask you spare me in my ignorance if not for the loyalty our kin once showed one another!” I had decided then to speak in the old ways, injecting as much of the flowery court speech as I could. In the times that I had spoken to dragons in my youth, I had found that they seemed to enjoy the rolling sibilant of the High Speech.

“You speak of kin little creature? Kin to the great dragons? What kin do you speak of? Who would dare claim closeness to our blood?” The dragon sounded less demanding and more confused now, surprised to hear such speech from a biped I imagine.

“Lord Dragon, permit me the honor of sharing my heart name with you. I am Uliganderek Ssatherin, of the Shissthar Kindred. Once, long ago, your people and mine were as brothers, though the Shissthar Dominion is no more.” The dragon could not see me, but I knew it could hear the sincerity I put into my voice, and perhaps the sorrow which went along with repeating something that I had not repeated in over three hundreds years.

“Shissthar? You are far from home little brother. I remember your people well, and remember the oaths and honor of your blood. I will forgive your trespass, for the offering of boon.” The dragon lowered its head, bringing it level with me as it folded its claws beneath its long neck.

“It is offered without question Lord Dragon. You have but to ask, for I remember well the old ways.” I would have sighed in relief if it wouldn't have offended the old dragon. A boon for my life was an excellent deal, or I thought at the time.

“Good, now I welcome you to my sparse lair little brother. I offer the hospitality and protection as is custom for old allies. For the honor of your heart name I share my blood name. I am La'kullik, Shining Lance of the Fourth Wing. Under the gaze of Revluen and by the bonds of our kin blood.” The old dragon, I had noticed suddenly, never opened his eyes even as he seemingly gazed at me so levelly.

“Fourth Wing? Then you were of Alagaret's brood?” I asked as I slowly knelt on the rock of the cavern, as was custom for meeting with dragons.

I should at this point mention to those who do not know the proper etiquette for dealing with dragons that there is a vast and seemingly endless array of things that may upset those dragons not used to dealing with barbarous bipeds, as they know them. Sitting on your rear is a big one, as it signifies to them that you are taking their protection for granted. One must always be prepared to aid a dragon in defense, otherwise you risk insulting them. Also, their names are incredibly important. If you meet a dragon, and they give you the honor of their blood names you have two options. You can either use their blood name in full or you can use the title which they use for themselves in their broods.

Thusly in my situation with the dragon I now speak of I could either call him La'kullik, which is difficult for those without forked tongues to pronounce properly, or I could call him Shining Lance. The name he holds in his brood is just as important as his draconian name, as it marks him a part of a whole rather than a singular entity. Though many dragons lead solitary lives, they will always hold tightly to themselves the memories of their brood. Also if you wish to truly flatter a dragon, and you are absolutely sure you can pronounce it properly, saying a dragon's full name and brood title is an excellent way to go.

“You remember well little brother Uliganderek. Few knew of the Fourth Wing's brood mother. You must have been close to wretched Qutlemaluk the Traitor.” The dragon's lips curled at the speaking of the old Emperor's name, and there was such revulsion and hate, it shocked me. I have never heard a dragon speak the word traitor before, and it was like a hammer blow to hear such a wretched word from ancient lips.

“I was Protector and the Master of the First Guard. In truth noble La'kullik Shining Lance of Fourth Wing, for by your generosity I must speak truth, I am kinslayer. The Emperor's blood stains my soul, though I know not why you speak of traitorism.” I replied haltingly, unsure of how much to reveal to the great dragon.

“Then you are loved of the Wings, Uliganderek. For your Emperor sullied the name of your people, raised the ire of great Seddrinth, and spat on the old alliances of our kin.” La'kullik slowly sprawled a little, as was the custom for dragons speaking to bipeds. Because of height difference he felt it necessary to lay down and have his head on equal level.

“La'kullik,” I spoke his name alone, my curiosity and shock overriding my desire to flatter. “What do you speak of? The Shissthar were only ever told that the dragons would not come to our aid. We thought you had abandoned us in our last moments, careless of our plight.”

With a breath of brimstone heat and a growl of titanic proportions the great white dragon rose up. Its lips curled into a savage snarl, its wings opening and closing quickly, winds buffeting at me relentlessly. Had it not been for my tail I would have fallen to my back under the gale of his rage. And rage it was, for his voice boomed loud and proud, shaking the earth and rock around us as he thundered.

“Careless? Wretched Emperor with fouled blood would even sully us to that end?! We wanted nothing more than to swoop down and tear open the great machines of the dwarves! Nothing would have given me so much pleasure as ravaging their human knights and prying their armored skins from their weak forms! Even the elves would not stand before our rage had not your Emperor sullied your peoples good name, your honor, and cast his acid words upon the bonds and loyalties of our twined kin!” The dragon's eyes slowly opened, and I could see that they held no pupil or iris. His eyes were a milky white not unlike the color of his scales and showed to me that he was truly blind. I did not at the time understand that his other senses created a sort of picture within his mind that allowed him to “see”. The opening of his eyes was simply a reaction to the rage which flowed off of his scales like rain. He bristled, his scales giving a soft rustling noise, before he shook his head seemingly to clear his mind of the fog of rage and hate. Left now was only a melancholy which I had felt so often.

“Lord Revluen who guides the blood took my sight little brother Uliganderek, for I could not witness the fall of your kin. I was so shamed by that last day I fled and never returned to my people, who chose to damn a race for the weakness of one. Your Emperor came to Great Seddrinth in his stronghold and commanded we crush the warmbloods in his name. We tasted madness on his soul, treachery on his scales, and lies on his breath. Great Seddrinth was furious and barely allowed your mad Emperor to leave with his life. He declared that all Wings would remain and not aid your kin. We were required by our blood oaths to obey, though many of us chafed at such commands. I watched with others, while your cities fell and your blood stained the earth. To my shame, I asked Revluen to take my eyes that I might not see, and that Seddrinth might not follow if I fled. Here I have remained, waiting for the end. Here I have lingered, shamed by my oaths and kin.”

The tale of the great dragon was almost enough to bring me to tears. My entire life, I had thought that in my hubris I had slain my Emperor without purpose or reason. I had thought that I had grown weary alone and that I had lost my path of duty. Yet here was one of the lost allies of my people, telling me that Qutlemaluk had betrayed our blood long before that last day. He had gone alone to our allies and dishonored our people in attempting to force what would have come without urging. The dragons would have come to aid, but his madness had so corrupted his thoughts, he must have thought that without his forcing, they would abandon us.

Those who are reading these words should understand something of the Shissthar. There was nothing more important to my people than duty and honor. Life, liberty, and justice for the warmbloods means the most. But they meant little to my fallen people in the face of their oaths. In telling some of my old stories of the Empire warmbloods have told me that my people were cold and unfeeling. Some have even said that my former home was a den of slavers and murderers. Yet in truth, it is only because a warmblood cannot see what my people saw. That life means nothing without honor, and it is better to die with it intact than to live on in shame. That liberty is a fallacy, because in truth you always pay homage, whether hidden or in full view to another. That justice means nothing without duty, because if all people know their duty there needs be no justice.

I have learned more of the warmbloods over these ensuing years, understood more about what and why they are. I understand now what they hated of us, what they feared of us. An alien Empire which came from the skies, reaping blood and sacrifice from those who wanted only their lives. We thought we were noble, culling the weak to make them strong and worthy of honor. But truth lies with victors. And the warmbloods reigned in those elder days, as they do today.

The great dragon was silent for a long time ,allowing me time to process what he had told me. I think even then he understood that I was lost and adrift, without anchor to keep me steady. In that moment, as many moments before and after, I contemplated ending my exile. Cutting short the near limitless coil that was my life and joining my people in death. Did not the universe seem to so capriciously tear my species apart? Had not the world seemed to deem my kin unworthy of existence? Perhaps the cold embrace of death would have been a boon, shepherding me to something greater.

“You are of course troubled little brother.” La'kullik intoned in his rumbling voice. “I am sorry if the truth offends you. Qutlemaluk damned your people to their destruction, you should have no shame for murdering him. Had I known there was one Shissthar willing to stand before a mad tyrant, I may have had the strength to stand as well. You may rest little brother, in my care without fear. When you wake, we shall speak of your boon.”

“Please, La'kullik, rest is far from my mind. I wish to ask of what has passed in the world since I left. I have wandered alone amongst the warmbloods who focus on nothing but themselves. In these waning years, I must know what has happened. Has the Empire been remembered? Has the alliance of the warmbloods endured? Are there any of the Shissthar blood left?” The words flowed past my lips without cease, for here was someone who could give me the knowledge I had yearned for for over three hundred years.

“I am sorry little brother, there are laws I must uphold. I cannot tell you the answers to the questions you wish to ask. Should you complete my boon, I can answer you one question, but now is not the time for that. The storm must abate, and then we will discuss your duty.”

With that, the conversation was done. Taking a moment to curl his massive body back into a tight ball, my host rested his head upon his tale and his breathing slowly evened. I had no wish to disturb his slumber, for I had already done much to intrude. Instead I found myself a small area to lie upon the ground, my pack as my pillow. I lay in the darkness, after I blew out my lantern. My mind was awhirl with thoughts of what I had learned, what I may yet still learn from the ancient which snored beside me.

A chance to have one of my questions answered, to pay back the boon to a great ally, and the chance to maybe finally redeem my people. These were the things that sang to me as I dropped into slumber as well, aided by the rhythmic breathing of the dragon. The next chapter of my story was unfolding, and now finally, I might find redemption.

#Zolstories

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