#AKA my own torture chamber

[joelsbloodyhands]

HISTORY, HUH?

Din Djarin x Reader, Boba Fett x Reader (small teaser)

DESCRIPTION: When you get injured by a bounty, Din takes you to Mos Espa to get help from an old comrade. AKA; Din gets jealous when he finds out you and Boba have history.

WARNINGS: Discussions of injuries involving blood, descriptions of jealous behaviour, references to smut 🔞 but not explicitly written, references to gun use (ahem blaster use!), mentions thoughts of torture (just readers imagination), kissing, mentions of panic underwater, Din being clingy af, established relationship with Din, past history with Boba, a sprinkle of angst, unrequited love.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics 🚀✨ cover photos from Pinterest

READER does not have a specified gender, they/them pronouns used. Reader is in an established romantic relationship with Din. Reader has parent relationship with Grogu (no gendered title used). Reader does not have a visible disability and has hair long enough to be pulled over their shoulder.

“I know this one,” Boba speaks, his eyes on your unconscious body, focused intently on your pained expression in a deep slumber. Din lifts his gaze, analysing the fellow bounty hunter uneasily. Din’s gloved hand rests instinctively on top of yours, laid flat against your stomach, his eyes darkening behind his helmet, unable to read his comrades face behind his own green weathered mask.

“In what regard?” Din speaks, his own tone scaring him.

Boba’s shoulders relax with a sigh as he looks you over again, “Little troublemaker,” Din hears a hint of playfulness in his words, a hidden note of admiration.

“We’ve crossed paths before. Can’t say I’m surprised to see them in such a predicament,” Boba gestures to your mangled shin and bruised shoulder. “How did this happen?” He asks and Din’s taken aback slightly by his sharp, disapproving tone.

“My bounty. Chased him down an alley, tried to corner him but he had allies. We were cornered and well…they…,” he runs a thumb over the back of your hand, his tone holding a hint of regret, “Well, they stopped him but-“

“Not without injury,” Boba responds, his voice a pitch lower, Din’s head turning once again, apprehending his friend’s sudden anger. Though was Boba’s anger directed towards the bounty or Din himself for putting you in harms way? He couldn’t tell.

“We should get them into the bacta tank immediately,” he lifts his head then, meeting Din’s piercing gaze. Though neither of them could see the others expression, Boba still cocks his head at the mandalorian, a wry smile playing on his lips. “You can trust me, my friend. I have no quarrel with your companion.”

Din hesitates, looking to the end of the room at the large metal windowed casket. “I’d feel more at ease if you explained your history,” he speaks, his head turning back to Boba who adjusts the blaster in his hand almost uncomfortably.

“Not my business to tell. I’d sooner face your wrath than theirs,” he nods to your face again, soft pained murmurs leaving your mouth now. Din squeezes your shoulder very gently, Boba watching him murmur sweet assurances in your ear, his cheeks warming underneath his helmet.

There’s no saying how long the two men stood hovering over your body silently, almost both deliberating how to move you to the bacta tank. Or more so not “how” but “who” would actually carry you there. Din found his hands slipping under your thighs and back, hoisting you against his chest gently, your head falling against the cold metal of his chest piece. You mumbled as he carried you over to the middle of the room. It took a moment for heavy footsteps to follow behind him, a gloved hand tapping buttons to open the glass chamber. Din laid you down into it while Boba watched him, analysing his movements with intrigue.

"If you can hear me, cya'rika," Din softly speaks causing Boba's fingers to stiffen above the control panel, "you are safe. This device should help the healing process. I will be close by. Do not fear. We are with trusted friends.” Din lifts his head almost seeking confirmation for the latter from Boba who nods once firmly. Din takes your hands in his as soft breaths leave your pained lips, he places your hands so that they are overlapping on your chest and then mindlessly taking the breathing mask Boba was holding out to him, placing it over your mouth and nose securely. Din forces himself to pull back from his protective hold against your hands, allowing the capsule to encase your body, filling quickly with the fluid as Boba's configures from the panel.

"How long does it take?" Din asks, his voice weak and rough, his eyes watering at the sight of your body so close yet feeling so far from him.

"Depends upon the injury," Boba starts, his eyes darting between the two of you; the Mandalorian he had come to known as a trusted ally and the trusted ally he had come to know for far more in his heart. "For this injury, perhaps an hour or less. Until then, we can wait in the throne room."

"I will not leave their side," the Mandalorian's words come out thick and unable to be coerced otherwise.

Boba sighs, his eyes back on your injury, the flesh of your ligament already re-growing, "they would not wish for you to stand by and wait. They'll be angry upon awakening if I know anything about their attitude towards injury in battle. There will be an air of shame-"

"It is not THEIR fault," Din argues, feeling an overwhelming sense of grief for allowing this to happen.

"I am not placing blame on anyone," Boba asserts, his voice lowering an octave to indicate to his old comrade that he means no threat. "But as I mentioned before, the...troublemaker and I have history. I know this. They would want you to take care of yourself while the opportunity allows it so that they can heal and awaken when the time is right."

Din shakes his head, his fists clenching, his visor focused solely on you and you alone.

He knows Boba is right.

You never did fare well when you got injured during a bounty hunt. You were self-deprecating, kicking yourself that you could have done better. It took the soft side of Din to convince you that you were good enough to fight alongside him. HIM who you called the best of the best, "a true warrior that I could only long to compare to. The fight is your religion. Your creed has taught you well." With all the sweet words of praise you've whispered to Din both in casual passing and intimately in the dark confines of your shared bunk, Din can only try to offer you the same but where he may excel in battle, he lacks in performance of admiration.

One which he vows to improve upon when you awaken.

"Fine," Din responds just when Boba's defeated steps move towards the large entryway.

"We will wait."

Some time later...

"Din..." you had started, grasping for your second blaster at your thigh. "There's another one-"

You are awaken abruptly with a jolt at the blaring sound of blaster fire colliding in your head. Your eyes widen, stinging and only allowing a fog of vision when you thrash suddenly, your hands thrusting forward, palms hitting a wall that you shove at mindlessly.

You're in water.

Or at least some sort of fluid.

Your movements are slowed. Your eyes blinking uncomfortably. There's some sort of mask over the lower half of your face, allowing air bubbles to escape above you.

You try to calm, your heart beating unsteadily.

One minute you were being shot at, the next you were here.

Where the kriff was Din? Grogu?

You moan out loud, trying to make some noise, your palms attempting to hit the wall blocking you from escaping.

Did they get hurt? Did Grogu get taken? Or were you captured and now laying in some sort of torture device awaiting your inevitable demise? What if Grogu was being dissected and Din was being beaten to death in the next room?

Fuck no. Calm. Calm down.

You close your eyes. Allowing your arms to drop slowly in the surrounding liquid.

Jumping to conclusion. Panicking solves nothing. I think better when I'm relaxed, you tell yourself, slowly but surely letting your fingers graze the surrounding hard bubble finding sharp edges beside your body.

There has to be a way out from the inside, you think.

Just when the panic returns, thoughts of Din hanging unconscious nearby or your sweet son laying on a ice cold table, your finger slips on something square and hard, causing a red light to blare in the liquid and a sudden suction sound to drag all the fluid down from your body. Your hands move quickly then, yanking at the mask over your mouth, the wall that you now realise was a windowed case, slides open. You cough, your hands going instinctively to your abdomen and leg, fingers smoothing over your skin exposed by the gaping rips in your clothing where the shots burnt through.

Healed.

Your eyes widen. Not a single mark of evidence that you were even shot to shit to begin with. Your neck snaps up, your eyes blinking away the remaining fluid taking in the room.

Wait...I know this place. Don't I? That banner.

Two banners hang from the stone ceiling above a large arched entry baring an embroidered signet you're all too familiar with.

"Well fuck," you say out loud, a grin plastering your lips.

You swing your legs off the side of the strange coffin-like device, your eyes overlooking it with a quirked brow. You slip off the side, wobbling slightly on numb legs, pins and needles in your feet as you wiggle your toes to rid of the discomfort.

Your legs carry you drunkenly from the room and under the large moss green banners, allowing one last grin to grace your features. You're not taking any notice of the water staining the stone floor with puddles as you pass through familiar rooms, carrying your fatigued body past a simple throne. You roll your eyes at it momentarily, a smirk on your lips when you stop at the sight in front of you.

Two visors snap to attention in your direction, standing in alarm at your unexpected presence.

“Huh,” you say with intrigue, overlooking the two men opposite each other at a table.

Grogu in the middle stuffing his face with soup, making a squeal of happiness when he sees you.

“This is a sight I never thought I’d see,” you murmur loud enough for them to hear, approaching the table while they both round it, Din more hurriedly than the green armoured man hovering near his abandoned chair.

Your full attention taken by the green bean making grabby hands your way, your smile gracing your features as Din manoeuvres your wet hair from your cheek and tucks it behind your ear.

“Are you well?” He speaks, gaze flashing to Boba whose busy looking over your exposed leg and stomach.

“I am, hey baby,” you soothe when approaching your small son, lifting Grogu from his high chair and bouncing him on your side when he takes your face into his hands, babbling a mix of mando’a and nonsense.

“Yes I’m okay, bean. I feel a lot better now. Please don’t worry,” your head lifts but it’s not Din who catches your attention, it’s the other armoured man, stood to your left, his wandering gaze lifting to your own.

“Boba,” you nod and he does the same back.

“Star-shine,” he speaks back and you don’t miss the way Din’s body turns rigid at the pet name.

You scoff, stifling a chuckle, “can’t remember the last time you called me that.”

Din’s hand slips to your side, gently tugging you further into him, his beskar cold to the touch against your wet skin.

You look up at him in surprise.

Din rarely instigated affection in the presence of others. It was then you realise he hadn’t turned his head from Boba, staring him down through his visor.

You’re distracted by what seems to be the growing tension between both men until you feel softness sliding over your bare shoulders, hands gently tugging the material around your body.

You smile.

“Fennec,” your body turns to meet a familiar grin, hands sliding around your wet hair to pull it over the blanket.

“You caused quite the worry,” she notes with amusement, her eyes glancing between the two warriors and back to you with raised brows.

Your cheeks burn when you realise neither helmet has turned back to you. Though unable to see their expressions, you had a feeling you didn’t need to.

“Din?” You try and sure enough the visor tilts back to you immediately, his stiff body relaxing and moulding into yours again. His fingers clutch your side.

“Mesh’la?” You look down uncomfortably at your wet clothes but before Din can respond, his shoulders lifting in realisation of what you’re asking, another voice cuts in.

“The trunk in your chambers houses some of your wares,” you mentally groan, watching Din’s body stiffen again.

Boba continues without a beat, “I’ll escort you.”

Fennec hides a smile when Din incapacitates.

“We’ll manage,” his hand taking yours possessively and wandering off towards a hallway just behind.

Fennec calls after, “on the right,” watching you both disappear and watching you get dragged into the room with a bewildered expression at the steel back in front of you.

She turns and looks back at the green helmet, dropping his visor from your direction back to her raised brows, “really?”

"It's been awhile," you say without a beat, tugging the long leather jacket over your figure, a shiver running up you while you stand outside in front of the palace.

“I didn’t think you would return,” the aged modulator responds.

Boba turns from his stance in the middle of the path up to the palace gate, his visor focusing in on you.

You allow a small smile to grace your lips as you walk to his side, watching the people of Mos Espa go about their daily markets.

“Not of my own choice anyway,” you tease and smile to yourself when the older man falls silent, his visor back on the market stalls.

Din had gone to fetch the Crest. You had offered to walk the short distance to it just on the outskirts of the town but your still uneasy figure had Din retaliating immediately and with a pressured look at Fennec who stood near the entryway to your room smiling curiously, he ordered her to watch over you while he went to retrieve the ship.

That was only a few minutes ago.

You left Fennec to babysit Grogu much to her narrowed gaze at the small child and her initial refusal. You had stifled an amused laugh when you left them to retrieve some fresh clothes and found her walking him around the palace rooms showing him artefacts from travels and battles. It gave you the opportunity to slip away to get some air. Grateful to have a moments peace since being encased in that tomb you now learned was a bacta tank.

“Thank you, by the way,” you spoke up, noticing the way Boba’s shoulders relaxed slightly under his rigid armor. “You didn’t have to help but you did. I’m grateful and in your debt if you ever need anything.”

“I think we’re past owing each other debts whenever one of us saves the others life. Would you not agree, star-shine?”

You smile slips only momentarily, “you’re angry at me?”

“No,” it comes out rushed and slightly raised. Boba falls silent a moment and you know he’s deliberating the delivery of his words before speaking them aloud. As was his nature as ruler of Mos Espa.

“Star-shine,” Boba spoke and you couldn’t mistake the way it shook slightly.

You turned looking to him.

“I know you are a wanderer. Content with roaming the planets to your own leisure but please do not forget that you have a home here in Mos Espa. In our home.”

He punctured the word “our” and you swear you saw the way his helmet tipped to the silver one you were now well aware of looming behind you silently.

Boba clears his throat, “at least, remember to visit when you have some time. I know Fennec would be grateful to see you. She’s very fond of you.”

You smile.

You understand what he means.

This isn’t about Fennec.

“I’ve missed you too, Boba,” you smile and you watch as his visor turns to the bustling market nearby like before, “and again thank you for answering Din’s distress call.” You turn your head, meeting the silver visor now looking down at you, a gloved hand seeking yours, “and allowing me use of your bacta tank. I know how important that device is for you. You look well.”

Boba turns back then and you notice the way his previously hunched shoulders relax slightly at your informality of which he wasn’t sure he could share with you.

“And you?” Boba inquires, his visor dancing between you and Din. “You are well?”

You are happy and safe with this Mandalorian companion you seek refuge with?

You nod, a peaceful expression on your face as your fingers intertwine with the gloved one tightening in your grip.

“You have history,” Din mentions, trying to seem nonchalant about prying for the information he so desperately needs to know.

You were both back in hyperspace now. The reunion pleasant but short-lived. You felt a small ache in your chest, missing the familiarity of the planet you were speeding away from but there was a relief too being back on the Crest.

“Somewhat,” you respond with a shrug, rocking Grogu to sleep in your arms, his small green hand clutching your shirt.

“He wouldn’t tell me how you knew each other,” Din added, pressing buttons to get the ship into auto pilot.

You smile, “probably didn’t want to upset you.”

Din turns in his chair then, swiftly, his boots stopping the full turn harshly against the floor of the ship as he meets your gaze.

“Did he hurt you?”

You laugh in response causing his cheeks to redden.

“More like the other way around,” you grin.

“Oh, what did he do?” Din asks and you clock the obvious innocent tone he’s implying, knowing full well he’s desperate for information.

You humor him. “Ner kar’ta,” you begin making Din’s heart race at his language gracing your lips, “it’s endearing how much you trust that I wouldn’t harm someone without reason. You truly think me so innocent?”

Din sways slightly in his chair, distracted by your beauty, his lips tugging up mirroring the smirk on your lips.

“To ease you, it was at the start of our relationship. It was how we met.”

You let off there. Not speaking another word, waiting for Din to press you further.

“Tell me,” his words reach your ears, oh so quiet and sweet.

You fight a smile.

“If you must know, I shot him.”

You giggle and Din sits forward with immediate interest.

“Why?” he asks.

You elaborate.

“At the time, I was seeking passage on a supply ship. One of which Boba and his allies choose to infiltrate. Of course he thought me a threat and of course I thought him a common pirate so we had a stand off which resulted in me shooting him point blank in the abdomen. Fennec appeared then. It seemed she saw right through me and stepped between us. She explained that the real pirates were these people that I was travelling with and I agreed to assist them for a price. Enough money for off planet travel to Naboo. She agreed, on Boba’s behalf and much to his rejection might I add. It seems Fennec took a liking to me.”

“A rare thing,” Din adds and you nod.

“So we took control of the ship. It was rather simple. They already trusted me of course. We landed it in Mos Espa and I assisted Fennec with getting Boba to aid. I housed with them for some time. Safe to say we didn’t like each other to start but with time, a sort of friendship happened.”

“And more?” Din asks quietly.

“Are you jealous, Din Djarin?” You ask, causing him to evade your intense gaze, head turning from you.

“I don’t mind if you are. I rather like jealousy on you, ner riduur.”

Din’s head flashes back to you.

It’s the first time you’ve used that term and one Din has yearned for quite some time since you started travelling and establishing a relationship, parenting Grogu between you.

“I just…I know it isn’t my business,” Din sighs, “but I just need to know if-“

“We only kissed, my love. That’s all,” you smile reassuringly.

Din doesn’t like any mention of the fellow Bounty Hunter touching you but his body does relax at the thought of the two of you progressing no further than a brief kiss. Though, the way Boba looked upon you and spoke to you betrayed any thoughts that whatever the older man saw of you was anything far from platonic.

“He confessed his feelings for me,” you add, grinning at the look of surprise you know would be plastered on Din’s face.

“I know I was shocked too.”

Din’s cheeks blaze, he’s always taken aback when you can tell how he’s reacting under his helmet.

Your smile slips, “I felt bad though.”

Din remains silent, knowing there is more to this story that you need to get off your chest.

“I’ve never seen him that vulnerable before. He’s usually so stoic. It wasn’t like I must confess, I have developed feelings for you. You know how he can be all formal and shit, yeah well, nothing like that. He was genuinely all like, shit, I think I’m falling for you. I don’t fucking know why.”

Din shakes his head in shock at what you’re saying. None of it sounds like the bounty hunter he fought alongside at all.

You shuffle uncomfortably, trying not to rouse your sleeping child, “There was a lot of cursing, believe it or not. A lot of pacing, his face was as red as the surface of Dathomir. You had to be there. I told Fennec. She didn’t believe me for a second then apparently he started venting to her in the middle of the throne room while they were waiting on a contact to show up because I was leaving the next morning.”

Din speaks the words that have been eating away at his brain while you’ve been recounting the story to him.

“Did you share his affections?” His voice betrays him, trembling at the last syllable.

“I don’t think so?” Your brows furrow, shaking your head in exasperation, “Did my heart flutter a bit when I would watch him in a fight? Yeah it did. I quite like how stern he can be. Makes me think how different he might be intimately but I don’t know, it just seemed more like curiosity than anything else. I still didn’t feel a want to remain in Mos Espa. I wanted to explore, see the universe. With or without him…it didn’t really matter to me.”

“Do you feel that way about me?” Din eagerly responds.

“No,” your answer is immediate, your eyes fixated determinedly on Din’s visor.

He’s silent when you explain.

“When we met, it was more than finding you hot when you beat the shit out of a bounty or curious about how sexy you looked under that helmet.”

Din’s fingers twitch, adjusting his seating position when his lower half feels like it’s tightening against his armor.

“it wasn’t curiosity. It was genuine desire. That’s the difference. It was the desire to wake up to you every day, regardless of what mood you might’ve been in. I craved your praise whenever you would tell me I did a good job watching over Grogu or when you were teaching me how to shoot. My heart still goes crazy whenever you’re even an inch behind me and I can sense your looming figure above me.”

Din’s heart pounds at your words.

“I am so in love with you, Din.”

Your eyes soften with your words.

Your lips plush as the confession he’s already aware of graces your lips once again. Spoken even more beautifully than the first time you had admitted to him, that the time you had spent together meant far more to you than business.

You wanted pleasure too.

You wanted it from him and in every way that he would give it.

And he’d give you anything you asked.

Din stands, his body gravitating to you, taking a knee before your chair.

You drop your head back, closing your eyes and inhaling sharply when you feel the cool metal touch your forehead delicately.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

You can’t fight back the smile twitching at your lips.

“I desire a life with you, Din,” his heart clenches at your words, his fingers brushing your lower back lovingly.

“And our son and whatever other foundlings you would want with me,” you smile shyly at him and he shakes his head with a chuckle.

“Mesh’la…I know you’re not teasing when you say that and I would be lying if I said it wasn’t a desire of mine as well,” your eyes sparkle up at him, surprised by this new information. “But what about seeing the universe? Travelling from planet to planet? Isn’t that what you want before deciding to settle down with me?”

You sigh happily, using your one free arm to slide up past his chest, embracing around his helmet and pulling him closer.

“I’ve seen the universe, Din. I have. I wake up to it everyday. Every time I’m in your arms.” You gaze sweetly through his visor, feeling the way his arms tighten around you.

“Close your eyes.”

An order.

One which you’re more than willing to obey knowing the outcome.

You close your eyes, hearing the sound of metal clattering on the near console before feeling soft lips caressing yours.

!!Bonus Scene!!:

You’re in the cargo hold having since put Grogu to bed, organising food portions in a trunk near Din’s weaponry. You thought the bounty Hunter was busy sat in his flight chair navigating to your next refuge, so it was safe to say you were scared shitless when his modulator sounded close behind you.

“Is he a better kisser than me?”

You smirk but it fades quickly when you turn around to face him towering over you, his body moving closer and crowding you so much your back hits the cold wall of the ship behind you. You take a moment, searching the darkened visor focused on you like prey.

You let a wry smile reach your hot cheeks, batting your eyelashes at him.

“You’ll have to remind me.”

It takes a second for the lights of the ship to go out, plunging you into darkness, a crash of metal against the floor and warm lips meeting yours hungrily.

“Where’s our boy?” He pulls back breathlessly, your heart pacing at the rugged tone of his voice no longer hidden by a modulator.

“In our bunk,” you reply, feeling his ungloved hands on your face, relishing in the feel of his calloused fingers dancing along your jawline. His hands slip down your arms, gently grazing the insides of your wrists making you weak before intertwining your fingers and tugging you back towards the ladder.

“The chair it is then,” Din responds, his hand guiding your lower back now against the ladder crowding up behind you while you remain blind in the dark. His hands taking yours and placing them against the cool metal to guide you up.

[oliversrarebooks]

roger, whats it like being fitz's thrall? (aka how does it feel to be living my dream... im not jealous... totally not living vicariously through you...)

Masterlist

January 1922

TW: mind control, conditioning, blood drinking mentions of past abuse, fear of death

"You have to get up, sir." 

Roger gently shook the lump of tangled blankets and sheets that most likely contained a vampire at its core. The only real indication that his master was within was the soft groan from inside, a mumble that sounded a lot like "leave me alone."

"I can't leave you alone, sir. You have a show at 7, remember? If you don't rise and shine soon, you won't have enough time to do your hair and makeup and make it to the theater."

"Uggggggh. Why'd I schedule a show so goddamned early? What is wrong with me?" The pile of blankets huddled in on itself more tightly.

"...I suspect there may be several things, sir," said Roger, unable to resist the obvious opening and knowing that a bit of banter might put his master in a better mood. "Regardless, you did schedule the show, and you do need to leave the house for it."

"Horrible. Torturous. Excruciating." The bedclothes rustled, and Fitz poked his head out just enough to take a look. "It's so early that the sun is leaking around the curtains! The sun could kill me, Roger, you can't expect me to get up in those conditions. I could die."

"I believe that's what the curtains are for, sir. To prevent you from dying when you're unjustly forced to wake up during the day." Roger sat down on the side of the bed. He'd done this often enough to know when he was in for the long haul, and he was quite capable of patience -- a good quality to have when serving Fitz. "You were looking forward to this show, weren't you? It's a large venue, and you have your new rotating box trick."

"Mmm."

"I'm sure it will go over splendidly, sir, and you'll be afforded all the praise and applause you deserve," he said. Cheap flattery rarely failed to soften his master's mood. "Aren't you looking forward to seeing the looks of delight on your audience's faces when you perform your new trick? And besides that, aren't you looking forward to being paid?"

Fitz seemed to be lowering both his blankets and his guard. "I suppose so..."

"Excellent. Then forgive me for this, sir." Roger grabbed the covers and pulled them away, as his master produced a sound not unlike a dying cat.

With lightning fast reflexes, the blankets were wrenched from Roger's grasp, and Fitz was clutching them to himself and huddling in the middle of the bed. "How could you? How could my own thrall do such a thing? Heartless, you're simply heartless." He curled up under the blankets and stubbornly closed his eyes as if to go back to sleep.

"Of the two of us, sir, it's technically you who is heartless." Roger sighed. It was always most difficult to wake Fitz in the dead of winter. The long nights enticed his master to stay out too late sampling the city's nightlife, and the cold made him especially reluctant to leave his chambers, which, thanks to the radiators, were as hot as a furnace.

He reached down to the blankets, intending to tug on them again. This time, despite Fitz pretending to sleep, he was faster than Roger, and grasped his wrist.

Roger felt a delicious, drowsy warmth coming from his master's touch, filling his mind with cotton candy haze. It was blissfully dreamy and intoxicating, and, most dangerously, it was sleep-inducing, enticing him to shut his weary eyes and rest.

"Go back to sleep, Roger," Fitz lulled. "Curl up here. Keep me warm..."

Roger was swaying on the spot, eyelids drooping, rapidly losing himself to enchanted slumber -- but he'd been caught by this trap on plenty of occasions, and each time it ended with Fitz regretful that he'd overslept and missed his obligations. It was that memory that kept Roger just awake enough to wrench his arm away and mostly free himself from his master's dangerous temptation. Fitz was making sad little grabbing motions as Roger moved out of range of his hands.

"I'm afraid that if you wish to use your powers on me, you'll have to leave your bed to do so, sir," said Roger, standing several feet away. "The sooner you get it over with, the sooner you can get to the pleasant business of washing up." They both knew that it was a bluff. Roger had been under Fitz's thrall for many years now, and his master didn't need hypnotic touch to compel him, body and soul. But it was a bluff that usually worked.

"Fine, fine, you win." With one final dramatic groan, Fitz threw off the covers and sat up. "I'll take my shower, then. But I expect you to attend to me when I'm finished."

"Of course, sir." Roger watched as his master stumbled into the bathroom, and in a moment he could hear the sound of running water and upbeat humming. Fitz loved long, warm showers as much as he loved rolling around lazily in bed. He'd spend at least a half-hour relaxing in the steamy waters and performing his elaborate and ever-changing skin care routine, one which involved enough distinct products as to cover most of the vanity table.

This gave Roger plenty of time to make the perpetually disheveled bed, the foot-high pile of blankets, and the mountain of pillows in every shape and size. He made quick work of it, picked up the dirty clothes that had been tossed on the floor yesterday morning. 

Housekeeping was Roger's primary responsibility apart from providing blood and humoring Fitz's varied whims. With only the two of them in a reasonably sized flat, it wasn't especially difficult or time-consuming compared to when he'd lived on his own, before he'd been snatched off the street by a vampire. He'd even come to enjoy the simple chores. He wasn't sure how much of that was due to his own feelings or to Fitz's coercion -- his master grasping his shoulders and softening Roger's mind, whispering to him how much he loved to serve.

Really, it hardly mattered any more.

When he'd finished tidying up, Roger got down to the business of setting out his master's clothes. Serving Fitz was really about anticipating his moods more than anything else. With a large venue, he'd want something particularly flashy -- something on the warmer side for a chill day -- deep blue, perhaps?

The door to the bathroom cracked open, Roger's signal to enter.

The steam was blinding, mixed with the almost overwhelming scent of flowers, as Roger entered. Fitz was fussing with his hair, as usual, despite not being able to see it in the mirror. "You simply must help me out with this," he said.

"Of course, sir," said Roger, taking the comb from him. This was a ritual they performed nearly every night Fitz went out. Even as the years went by and Fitz grew from a young vampire to a seasoned one, he still seemed so irritated at not being able to see himself in the mirror, sometimes requiring excessive reassurance from Roger that he was still handsome.

Tonight, though, his master seemed deep in his own head as Roger ran the comb through his hair, taking some pomade in hand to smooth it back. He pulled the longer hair into a neat tail, the sort of style usually reserved for unsavory sorts, but then, Fitz didn't mind presenting himself as a bit unsavory. Roger's tense shoulders relaxed as faint hypnotic power flowed from his master's proximity, fogging his mind at the same time it increased his desire to help fix Fitz's brooding.

"Is everything all right, sir?"

Fitz seemed startled back into the waking world by the question. "Of course," he said with his fake smile plastered firmly to his face. "Just running through the show in my head. If I'm going to be dragged out of my bed and into the cold this early, it had better be worth it."

"I'm sure it will be, sir. You're looking quite handsome this evening."

"Obviously," he said, lacking the usual cheer that punctuated their banter.

With Fitz's hair squared away, the two then left the bathroom for Roger to assist dressing him. "While the rest of this outfit is acceptable, this bowtie is just not..." Fitz seemed to be fishing around, thinking of what could be wrong with the bowtie, clearly eager to find some minor fault to distract himself from his own worries. "It's blue, isn't it? You can't have blue on a night that's already cold and gloomy, that won't do. It must be red. The color of excitement and passion!"

"I don't know what I was thinking, sir," Roger deadpanned, picking up the blue bowtie that Fitz had tossed aside and fetching one of his half-a-dozen red ones.

Fitz allowed Roger to fit him with the new selection. "That's why you should leave the thinking to me."

"I'm not so sure about that, sir."

That got a genuine smile from his master. "Come now, when has that ever not worked out?" he said. "With this outfit and your expert attention to my hair, I'm sure tonight's show will be an absolute triumph."

"There's not a single doubt in my mind, sir."

As Roger adjusted his master's cummerbund, Fitz leaned in a bit more, in an unsubtle fashion. The undercurrent of tension Roger had felt all night bloomed into something more recognizable: hunger. His master desired his blood, and, as always, Roger felt himself falling into a pleasurable daze, one where all thoughts fled from his mind apart from offering himself to his master.

"I think I'll need to feed from you when I return. You don't mind, do you?" Fitz whispered in his ear.

"No, master," said Roger, shivering involuntarily. "It's my pleasure to serve you."

"And it's my pleasure to feed," he said, grinning with his fangs bared. "Yes, I think that'll be just the thing to lift my spirits. Something to look forward to after the show."

"Yes, sir. I'll also look forward it." He meant that -- he had long since given up being troubled by his desire for vampiric feedings. He'd felt that desire even for his previous master's painful, harsh feedings, and it was far easier to accept Fitz's gentle trance of bliss.

A few minutes later and Roger had wrangled a semi-unwilling vampire into two layers of winter coat and sent him on his way. Sometimes Roger went along with Fitz to the theater, to help with makeup or hair or just for support purposes, but just as often he was left behind to his own devices. 

He didn't mind either way. It was nice to have a few hours to himself. He often spent the bulk of the time painting, something he'd never gotten to do much of even before he was taken by vampires. He wanted to eat breakfast first, though, especially given that his master might be feeding later.

Roger did hope he was. Sometimes he instead chose to feed on his volunteer from the audience, and that was always a bit of a disappointment, denying Roger the opportunity to fulfill his primary purpose in life. But Fitz seemed interested in feeding at home, and if he was going to do that, it would behoove Roger to be well-fed.

Soon enough, a generous portion of ham and eggs was sizzling on the stove. Fitz had made a promise early on that he'd always keep Roger fed, and although he forgot and broke promises all the time, he hadn't broken that one. Unlike his previous master, he never punished Roger with starvation -- a particularly spiteful punishment, since it also seemed to lower the quality of Roger's blood. His previous master did seem to enjoy punishment more than feedings.

When Roger's former master had been destroyed in a duel, Roger had assumed he was going from bad to worse. That feeling had grown stronger when he'd been dragged to a secondhand thrall appraiser and his worth was assessed at far lower than it had been when he'd first been bought. At the time, Roger had been little better than a beaten dog, cringing at every sound, barely daring to speak or think. He'd lost hope for anything better.

And, well, Fitz was far from the savior he'd often imagined during those days. He was still a vampiric master, a dramatic one whose moods changed like the wind. He could still effortlessly control Roger's mind, and he made Roger do all the chores in the house. Roger still wasn't free.

But rather than beatings and torture, Fitz's "punishments" generally amounted to snippy words and extra chores. There was always food, and he was allowed to paint and read and relax. His master might have a terrible habit of tossing out every piece of clothing in his closet when choosing what to wear and then telling Roger to clean it all up, but compared to what life had been like...

He hoped that Fitz came home safe. He'd strongly prefer to not change hands again, even if it meant dragging a protesting vampire out of bed each night for the rest of his life.

Roger had busied himself painting a bird from an illustration in a nature book when he heard the front door creak. "It's goddamn cold out there! Windy, too."

"Welcome home, sir," said Roger, helping his master out of his frigid coats. He was pleased to see Fitz in a better mood than when he'd left. "I take it your show went well?"

"Of course! Didn't you say there wasn't a single doubt in your mind?" he said with a grin as he kicked off his shoes, leaving Roger to line them up neatly in the shoe rack. "The crowd loved it! The spinning box trick is a real winner -- I just need to think of some ways to jazz it up further -- perhaps doing up the box in spangles to really dazzle them..." 

He shook himself out of his train of thought, seeming to remember Roger was there. "All of that applause did have me work up an appetite, though," he said, stepping close and brushing his hand against Roger's. Roger could feel the influence flowing through him, stoking his need for the feeding. "Why don't you go start the fire? That and your blood will provide me with some warmth tonight, I think."

So he was going to feed. Roger tried to keep his face neutral to preserve a scrap of dignity. "Very good, sir."

Roger allowed himself to hum a bit of a jaunty tune as he stacked wood in the fireplace and lit the kindling, using the bellows to raise the fire higher. He could hear his master making a commotion in the bathroom, likely getting out of his fine clothes and washing off the stage makeup. By the time Fitz arrived in the parlor, the fire was crackling merrily.

"Ahhhhh," said Fitz, sprawling out onto the old leather couch and beckoning Roger close. "This is the life, isn't it, Roger?"

"It certainly is, sir."

"Well, I suppose I'm not technically alive. The point still stands."

His master put his hand to Roger's cheek, and Roger sank into the mind-numbing bliss that came from his power, the familiar sense of captivation and contentment. As always, he could feel his master's desire to feed, and as he dropped deeper into a trance, his hands came up to unbutton his shirt and pull his collar away.

"You really are an excellent thrall," said Fitz, and Roger soaked in both the praise and the sense of security that came from pleasing his master. "Now just relax and let me have what I need."

Sharp fangs punctured the old scars that would never heal, and Roger's pliable mind slipped further as his master began to drink. There was nothing but bliss and contentment and hunger and need --

-- and, as always when his master was anxious, the sound of ticking clocks and the undercurrent of a lonely void.

Perhaps the good reception to his show hadn't brightened his mood as much as Roger had thought.

Fitz drank hungrily as if to fill that void with his thrall's blood, and Roger could feel his senses buckling, his vision tunneling and his eyelids growing heavy. His master was overdrinking again. "Sir," Roger managed to say as he fought to stay awake. "Sir -- sir, you're --"

"Oh!" His master mercifully stopped. "Damn it, I'm sorry, Roger. I don't mean to do that, you know I don't."

"I know you don't," Roger parroted in a dazed voice, slumping against his master's shoulder, allowing his eyes to close now that the danger had passed.

Someday, his master was probably going to kill him. He'd drink too much blood, and Roger would fail to stop him in time, collapsing into his master's arms and closing his eyes for the last time.

But tonight was not that night, and Roger was glad of it.

Masterlist

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

[fanfic-obsessed]

Merge the Timestream AU.

This came about because the amazing @bitter-chocolate-stars muse for the AU idea Merging the TimeStream flew out and bit me.  I would highly recommend reading it first, because it is awesome and I could not do it justice.

Now onto the madness. 

It is a mission to a Force Temple, old enough that no one knows which side of the Force it was for (or if it was for a specific side).  There were rumors that there was an ancient artifact that could change the tides of the War, so The 212th and the 501st were dispatched to get it before the Separatists. 

Five people went into the final chamber to search(There was a description of the artifact in the temple. Only four words had been able to be translated-Past, Present, Future, and Knowledge): Obi Wan Kenobi, Anaking Skywalker, Ahsoka Tano, Commander Cody, and Captain Rex.  

It was these five people who were caught by the artifact.  Each of these five were split into three. The present version of themselves, a future version, and a past version. 

I bet you all can see where this is going. 

Obi Wan’s past version is from Melida/Daan, two days before Cerasi died. The future is Old Ben, coming directly from his own beheading on the Death Star. 

Anakin’s past is nine year old Anakin, hours before he would meet Qui Gon Jinn and Padme Amidala for the first time.  The future is Vader (I hope none of you are surprised), a month after he cut off Luke’s hand, and just after he fully realized that it meant his and Padme’s child had always lived.  

Ahsoka’s past is three years old, just Found by Plo Koon. Her future is Rebels Era Ahsoka, aka Fulcrum, before she found out that Vader was Anakin.  

Rex’s past was a physically four year old cadet, the only survivor of his batch (who were decommissioned because of their blonde hair mutation-Rex’s scores were so high that he was kept). The future is Old Rex, post Empire (I always headcanon that Rex survives to see the end of the Empire because of spite).

Cody’s past is ARC Trainer Cody, after the war had started but before he was assigned to be Obi Wan’s commander. His future had just deserted the Empire and doesn’t even know about the chips yet. 

Frankly it likely would have been better if one or more of those people had arrived unconscious. Alas this was not to be. 

Upon arriving, Little Ahsoka immediately started crying to the visible concern of both Cadet Rex and Child Anakin (both were concerned about punishment at the noise). Before anyone could even think to do anything, Vader pointed a dramatic finger at Old Ben and went ‘You’ and followed up with ‘Why didn’t you tell me my son lived?’

Old Ben caulked his head, ‘Even leaving aside I thought I had left you for dead for a decade, Darth, why would I trust you with your children after the march on the temple?’

Now Darth Vader rocked back on his heels, “Children?” and then a moment later “Leia Organa”

Old Ben sighed deeply, ‘Surely we can both agree that the fact you tortured your daughter does prove me right to keep them from you.’

‘I cut off Luke’s hand too’ Vader said absently

Old Ben just buried his face in his hands.

Now all of this was with the background tune of little Ahsoka still crying.  Former padawan Obi Wan is the one who reaches her first, and picks her up, smoothly herding Cadet Rex and Child Anakin behind him, away from the adults in the room.  Former Padawan Obi Wan is radiating a vicious, desperate protectiveness. 

The movement caused Old Ben to look away from Vader at the rest of the room. His brow furrows. He looks back at Vader, “Do you remember this?”

Vader’s black mask turns to take in the rest of the room, his breath rasps somehow louder than the crying Ahsoka. At last he says ‘I do not’.

Post Empire Rex snorts and says, with an unimpressed deadpan ‘It is probably Force Shit’. 

It takes another half hour to get any kind of semblance of calm and start to piece together what is going on. In spite of the fact that neither Old Ben, nor Vader want to admit who they are (for different reasons), no one in the room is actually stupid. 

There is a moment when Rex is obligated to give Old Ben shit for the fact that he told Luke that Vader killed Anakin Skywalker, to which Ben responds ‘I was just passing on what he’ points at Vader, ‘told me’.

At another moment Fulcrum throws up her hands and shoes at Old Ben ‘I thought you were dead, again. Why didn’t you tell me you survived.’ Old Ben blinks at her, ‘Leaving aside I also thought you were dead, my dear, for the last decade I have had the single highest bounty in the empire’ Old Ben looks to Vader, who nods solemnly after a moment, ‘I would have thought that would be telling.’ Fulcrum actually pouts and mutters, ‘I thought that was a plan by the Rebellion to draw Vader’s attention.’

There is just…so much trauma in this room. Like it is possible that this group has the highest concentration of trauma in the entire galaxy. 

Deserter Cody appears to be having multiple concurrent panic attacks, his face swinging between Old Ben and General Obi Wan almost constantly. Between the residual guilt of having his general shot at, the horror of the long held belief that Cody had caused Obi Wan’s death, the combination of relief and horror at the news of the chip in his head, the combination of relief and confusion at Old Ben (who is proof that Obi Wan Kenobi did not die on Utapau), the confusion of being confronted with two other versions of himself all culminates in the fact that Deserter Cody is going through some things. 

ARC Trainer Cody is going through less, mainly horror at the chips. He is also very much a shiny as far as his reactions to the Jedi are concerned.  He is confused at being transported from Kamino, and does not know if he was transported to the future or they were tanspote to the past.  Frankly by all measures ARC trainer Cody is one of the most stable people in the room. 

Current Cody is sure that his younger self should not meet any members of Ghost Company on the basis that he would never live it down. He is also facing the horror of the chips, confusion at the triplicatation that is going on. His horror is that much deeper than his younger self because he knows and cares for Obi Wan (Light CodyWan for the win).  He is also quite worried for his older self. 

Melida/Daan Obi Wan is still not sure if he is willing to let any of the adults in the room near the other children. He is also doing slightly better with the fact that he grows up to be a general then the fact that he went back to the Jedi. He is also very much a child soldier with all the trauma therein.

Old Ben is not sure if this would be his heaven or his hell. On the one hand he could feel in the Force that he was before Order 66, all the lives he had felt snuff out were alive and well.  On the other hand, there were three Anakins in the room, at least one of which hated him. Also he thought getting beheaded would get him out of dealing with more Skywalker BS.  

General Obi Wan Kenobi is more than a little horrified. His connection to the Unified Force means that he is perceiving echoes of Order 66 through the future counterparts AND the variety of trauma that exists in the younger counterparts simultaneously. In addition, both his younger self and Anakin’s younger self are each triggering unresolved trauma.  

Padawan Commander Ahsoka Tano is staring at her older self in awe, when she was not staring at Vader in horror. She has also been herded to one corner of the room by Former Padawan Obi Wan, despite the fact that she is 16 to his 14. 

Fulcrum makes the decision that she CANNOT deal with the Vader/Anakin revelation at this point and is blocking it out. Instead she is staring at Old Ben. And glancing at her younger self, wondering how much being Anakin’s padawan had damaged her view of the Order. 

Little Ahsoka has calmed, now that she was securely held by a warmer than average Cadet Rex. 

Post Empire Rex is so, so done. This was supposed to be retirement. Being dragged back to the clone wars is not retirement. It was nice to see Fulcrum again though.

Cadet Rex is the definition of stress. He is not sure what test is going on, nor who these new trainers were but he would not fail. 

Captain Rex is not sure what to do with the proof that he would survive the war.  Nor the fate of his general as he stares at the tall black clad being. 

Darth Vader, in addition to all the issues he always carries, is looking at his younger self covetously. Had he had a way he would have tried to possess his younger self, who has everything he wants. At the same time he wants to sit this younger version down and tell him exactly how to avoid everything that Vader is (It should be noted that Vader has no idea how to avoid all that Vader is). He is also boiling angry at every version of Obi Wan, though distantly looks at the little angry version and wonders if this was a way to get his brother back.  The knowledge of Luke’s survival is drawing him back toward the single selfless thing he has done in decades, but he is still very much a Sith. 

Child Anakin is deeply confused and frankly ecstatic that he hasn’t blown up yet. It is very clear they are not on Tatooine and nowhere near Watto. He is also not impressed that he somehow escaped slavery only to become enslaved again (in his perception Vader is also chip controlled and thus enslaved).

General Anakin Skywalker is freaked out by Vader, who is radiating a weird greed at him, and also by the implications of everything the future people have said. He is also heartbroken over Palpatine being evil (even Vader agrees, in his own way, that Palpatine is evil). Everything strikes deep enough that Anakin actually decided he needed a therapist (There is something about the casual way that Vader talks about torturing Anakin and Padme’s children that cements that decision).

It turns out that the Artifact is the entire temple, so removing it is not feasible. 

Like in the original idea, I am not sure if the past and future versions find themselves eventually returning to their own times, or if they are stuck in the present. Though there is something that is amusing about the Jedi now having to deal with three of each of these five people, one of which is a Sith. Particularly since Vader both wants to kill them all and wants to protect them all (to prevent Anakin’s Fall).

It does change so many things though.

[il-predestinato]

Elle, you are actually writing a Hogwarts AU???? 🙈🙈🙈 When is it set timeline wise? What year are they in? Houses I think I know, but the rest???

Hi Pi! Oooh, I mostly have notes on this one and not much written! Except for this little snippet (probably a cut scene rather than part of the fic). I'll share another super short snippet and then some rambling answers to your questions: 😁

Before Max could blink the sleepiness out of his eyes, he was already soberly aware that he was - most unfortunately - alone in bed. After a disgruntled rub across his eyelids, he was able to crack open enough of a slit to glare at the empty pillow beside his own. A head-shaped indent stared back at him mockingly. A torn piece of parchment sat neatly at the centre of the indent.

He snatched it up and frowned at Charles’ offending penmanship:

‘Had to take care of a secret Slytherin thing something’ followed by a creepy scribble of a smiling niffler (or perhaps a Dementor - Max couldn’t be certain, no matter how long he squinted at the poorly drawn lines; no one would ever accuse Charles of possessing artistic talent).

‘Meet in the Prefect's bathroom at 0800!’

“Maybe I won’t,” grumbled Max as he crumpled up the piece of paper. Of course you will, he can almost hear Charles’ self-assured, scoffing rebuttal.

He grabbed his wand from under his pillow and casted a silent “Incendio.” The Silencing Charm that Charles cast around Max’s four poster bed from the previous evening had likely worn off by now. He couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face as he watched as small embers transformed the parchment into ash. While Charles may be uniquely gifted at wandless magic, Max still had him beat in nonverbal spells - much to the chagrin of his Slytherin rival (sometimes friend always thorn in the side occasional bedmate).

-

Some notes:

Timeline wise: 2013-ish because they are 15 (fifth years)

Both are still born in 1997 (kind of cool that canonically both would be born at the height of the second wizarding war)

Max is a Gryffindor and Charles is a Slytherin

Story is a long-ish one shot. Title is "Unforgivable"

My base storyline is borrowed from a quest in the Hogwarts Legacy game (minor spoiler alert):

Charles has a sick family member at St. Mungo's who is suffering from a blood curse and is basically beyond all magical help. There is a secret Slytherin spell book hidden in the Scriptorium (think Chamber of Secrets, but a different room) rumoured to lead to a spell/artifact that cures dark curses, so Charles wants to retrieve it. Max is ... not a fan of this idea, because Slytherin was a pretty dark wizard and all around bad guy, so nothing good can possibly come out of this. But it's Charles so of course he chooses to help and goes down to the Scriptorium with him. There are a few tests (e.g. puzzles, speaking Parseltongue, etc.), each unlocking a set of gates, but you can't turn back because the gates lock behind you as well. At the last gate, there are a bunch of creepy skeletons (because people died here after getting stuck) and tortured faces on the gate/the world "Crucio" engraved on the floor. Max and Charles figure out that in order to pass the final test and not starve/die down there, they must successfully cast Crucio. And that's really the climax of the story. Who is going to cast it on who? Also, as Bellatrix explained in the books, you must have intent and truly want to cause pain and suffering to succeed in casting it... In the Hogwarts Legacy game, three characters are involved in the story: Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, and Y/N [aka. player character] (yes, don't worry, I'm laughing at myself for using this term given my well known 'love' for uh... imagines 🤢). Ominis refuses to cast Crucio. It comes down between Y/N vs. Sebastian. In my fic, Charles would be loosely based on Sebastian, and Max is a combo of Ominis and Y/N (sorry, I can't keep a straight face whenever I type this.) Let's just say I have an entirely DIFFERENT idea as to how this plays out between Max and Charles (can anyone guess?) compared to the game.

Other super random details from my notes:

Charles and Max have a fierce quidditch rivalry (yes, there was an inchident with a puddle, because the puddle is a universal constant, a fixed point in time and space if you will).

Both are Chasers (but they do like challenging each other to one-on-one seeker games).

Max made the Gryffindor team in his first year (just like the Boy Who Lived) which irks Charles (who made the Slytherin team in his second year).

Charles' Slytherin teammates include George (beater), Lando (chaser), and their new seeker (Oscar).

Max's teammates include Carlos (chaser, Head Boy) and used to include Lewis (chaser, graduated).

Max really likes the grass flavour of Bertie Bott's every flavour beans and one time, Charles bought like - 200 boxes of every flavour beans and spent all night picking out all the grass flavoured ones to put into one box to gift to Max.

Charles is better at wandless magic - raw and uncontrolled power - but Max is better at nonverbal magic - precision and controlled power.

Charles is great at Charms and [hilariously] Divination (umm... he IS called 'il predestinato'), Max is great at Transfiguration and Potions. Both are excellent at Arithmancy (math nerds) and DADA.

Max's wand is vine, 12 ¾ inches, phoenix feather, reasonably supple. Charles's wand is yew, 12 ½ inches, dragon heartstring, fairly stiff. And yes, I spent like 30 minutes reading up on wandlore until I was happy with the choices. 🤣

[fetchmearum420]

Just finished re-reading Harry Potter so these are my thoughts are on book:

Philosophers Stone: fantastic introduction to the series, some very funny moments but also quite serious ones as well. Malfoy pisses me off. 9/10

Chamber of Secrets: I adore this book so much. It was my favorite when I was younger. It brings me so much nostalgia reading it. I used to be obsessed with Lockhart lmao. 10/10

Prisoner of Azkaban: cliche but it’s my favorite book currently. I mean it introduces Remus Lupin aka my baby for Christ sake. 100/10

Goblet of Fire: it could have been a little shorter but I still loved it. I disliked Ludo Bagman though, he’s quite annoying. No wonder they cut him out of the film. 9/10

Order of the Phoenix: my second favorite book. Umbridge makes me wanna break every plate in mh house. Also Harry deserves to break Dumbledore’s shit at the end lmao. 10/10

Half Blood Prince: I used to not like this one for years but now I really enjoy it. I hate how Ron treats Hermione though. He’s meaner than usual. And I feel so bad for her because she’s in love with him but he’s with Lavender and ignores Hermione. But ofc I loved the Tom Riddle story 8/10

Deathly Hallows: just finished this one today and I have to say, it was kinda lame. 90% of the book is so incredibly slow and dull. Of course the ending is great and anxiety inducing, but that’s it. For an ending to a series, it was lame. 4/10

Bonus: cursed child

Horrible. Absolutely disgusting. I refuse to believe it’s cannon. Harry isn’t Harry. He’s an ass hole. Harry in the real series isn’t an ass hole at all. Maybe arrogant but he’s never mean. That’s not him. He’s downright a dick to McGonagall and his own son. It’s torture reading it. But it gets ONE point for having Snape in it. 1/10

[shadowshrike]

Denizens of Astarion's Palace

Because I wanted to get it out of my notes, and I've seen some people doing fun things with Ascended Astarion lately, here's a little lore dump from one of my darker post-game verses.

Based on my Life, Loss, and Barefaced Lies verse featuring evil path Astarion and Shadowheart. There is no Tav in this verse, and Astarion had no romantic partner during the fight against the Absolute, so the focus is here is wholly on how he runs his palace.

Some spoilers for the fic, so if you plan to read it, you may want to hold off on this post until you're done. Hope this is fun for some of the other dark fantasy lovers out there.

Context

This covers most everyone who lived with Lord Astarion over the years. It starts with Cazador's Palace, which he stayed in until 15 years post-game, and then extends to the personal palace he erected after he burned Cazador's due to a falling out with Mother Superior Shadowheart. This guide cuts off at the time the fic begins - 20 years after the fall of the Absolute.

Lord Astarion's personal palace is a labyrinth filled with mirrors and light despite favoring black, red, and gold as his primary color scheme. Most imagery not of himself features dragons or bats. His grounds also host an extensive private garden filled with poisonous plants, avoiding gaudy, frivolous flowers. Other than the enormous moonlit belltower, Astarion's darker chambers used for torture or bloody rituals are kept secret, but even those drip with decadence.

All of the Vampire Ascendant's spawn can walk in the sun, although it is uncomfortable for them, unlike Astarion himself. They are turned in the same fashion as normal vampire spawn - death by vampire bite and burial. Although they are less ravenous than typical spawn, they still develop a twisted version of their mortal desires after turning and require regular blood to not turn feral.

Astarion's Spawn

Patrizia aka Trish

First Spawn, Mistress of the House Turned 10 years post-game Dark desire: To own Baldur's gate as Astarion's wife

A prized high-elven courtesan who kept her position at the top through ruthless sabotage of her competition, clever use of her clients' power, and obsessive attention to physical and social appearance. She was hired by Astarion for one of his big parties in Cazador's palace, and he drank her dry later that night during their 'private session', having finally grown comfortable enough with his powers to start building his army of spawn. She woke up in the nearby graveyard the next night with Astarion pacing around her grave, anxious and excited to have his first thrall.

As the oldest of his progeny, Patrizia is Astarion's right hand when it comes to managing the palace, preparing parties, and keeping tabs on Baldur's Gate politics. She aspires to become his dark consort one day. However, Astarion remains distant about his personal plans, will not allow her in his quarters, and regularly acts without her knowledge.

Patrizia works heavily with all the mortal staff who come and go from the palace. She is strict in her lessons on how to be a perfect host, exactly like she was as a powerful courtesan. She ruthlessly slaughters any charges who step out of line. However, Patrizia also disciplines clients and other enemies who threaten them with equally terrible violence.

Despite how seriously she takes her job, Patrizia can occasionally be ditzy when it comes to things outside her area of expertise and is prone to jealousy when others catch Astarion's eye. The only reason she won't risk killing the competition while they have his favor is because Astarion is known to end anyone who tries to separate him from his toys.

Tor (deceased)

Guardian spawn Turned 12 years post-game, died 17 years post-game Dark desire: To murder anyone who threatens the people he's employed to and punish cowards.

A huge tiefling male who was a sailor for years before he became a Fist. Unlike most of Astarion's spawn, who look delicate, Tor was good-looking in a more rugged way. His strength was terrifyingly proportionate to his size, and combined with his loyalty, stubbornness, and simple way of viewing the world, Tor was an ideal soldier.

After a Sahuagin attack on the docks at night, Tor was left for dead by two other greenhorn Fists who ran. Astarion killed the rest of the monsters and drained him, burying his body by the sea. Astarion greeted Tor when he rose again to introduce himself as his new employer, which Tor accepted much more easily than expected, on the condition he could teach the Fist who abandoned him a lesson.

Tor adjusted easily to spawn life and proved an eager, simple spawn, which quickly earned him the title of Astarion's favorite despite only being useful as hired muscle. His only complaint was that he could no longer go out to sea due to his vampiric sensitivity to running water. He and Patrizia butted heads often in the first years when she saw him as a threat to her position, but once Tor made it clear he had no romantic designs on their lord nor ambition to do anything but smash heads, they became the big brother and sister of the palace.

Tor was killed in action 5 years after he was turned while protecting the palace during a major ambush from Sharran rats.

Nindrol (deceased)

Useless spawn Turned 14 years post-game, died 17 years post-game Dark desire: To take whatever he can and save himself above all.

A dainty wood elf who frequented the flophouse while he was alive. Good-looking but cowardly, greedy, and not very bright, Nindrol regularly got thrown out of the flophouse when he pissed off the people he was trying to pick up or botched picking their pockets. It was a night like that when Astarion found him, a handsome elf mostly dead in the gutter outside the flophouse. Astarion turned Nindrol on a whim, remembering that Patrizia had said she needed a male helping hand around the palace for parties and assuming this beautiful elf had just made the unfortunate mistake of trying to sleep with the wrong person.

When Nindrol rose from his grave at Cazador's palace to Astarion and Patrizia's welcome, he swiftly put that generous thought to rest. Nicknamed "Nimrod" by the other spawn, Nindrol became the reason Astarion swore off turning anyone without a thorough background check ever again. Where he started out favored by Patrizia because she thought of him as a gift to her from Lord Astarion, Nindrol's incompetence and laziness swiftly darkened her disposition. He regularly found himself on the receiving end of Patrizia's whip. Tor refused to help him after witnessing Nindrol's cowardice with unruly party guests.

Nindrol was finally killed in front of the other spawn by Astarion after running away from the Sharran rat attack that ended Tor. Nindrol had been hiding his Shadow Plague wound for months despite the risk to his fellow spawn and was blamed for the rats finding their way into the palace.

Eislyn (deceased)

Sharran spawn Turned 15 years post-game, died 16 years post-game Dark desire: To destroy Astarion's coven in service to Shar so the Dark Lady can consume Baldur's Gate

A quiet and secretive human woman with a gentle voice and a love of assassination. She begged for Astarion's dark gift not long after Shadowheart and Astarion's falling out, which, on top of her loyalty to his current enemy, would normally have been grounds for execution. However, Astarion chose to turn her because he thought he might be able to learn Shar's plans through his powers of compulsion. Unsurprisingly to everyone but him, her mind was wiped of all specifics by Shar once she was turned.

Eislyn's turning was the most violent of all the spawn. Although Astarion didn't bother with traditional torture due to her experience with it as Shar's acolyte, he made sure to drain her slowly in the moonlit bell tower. She died while being forced to stare into Selune's light, repeating her devotion to Astarion and her love of the moon. When Eislyn clawed her way from her grave, Patrizia was the only one to greet her.

During Eislyn's year of service, she became Trish's errand girl in charge of dangerous jobs and menial labor. Eislyn was more than competent enough to do more, but Patrizia kept the worst tasks for her as a punishment for possibly earning Astarion's favor since Eislyn was granted his dark gift after begging instead of facing execution. This was a jealous delusion on Patrizia's part. In truth, Astarion found Eislyn pathetic. She was only tolerated because, in his shortsighted plans, he thought she might be a potential weapon against her old goddess.

Eislyn was ultimately killed while trying to assassinate Astarion a year later under Shar's orders by Arabella, who was visiting to tend to the gardens.

Arabella

Dark Druid spawn Turned 16 years post-game Dark desire: To create and keep a new family close at all costs.

After growing up wandering the wilds and Baldur's Gate, Arabella ultimately settled in the city 15 years after the fall of the Absolute while following the Weave's instructions to put an end to the Shadow Plague Shar had released. Remembering Astarion from her childhood and intimately comfortable with the undead thanks to Withers' influence, she sought out the vampire ascendant for employment. Arabella took over the care of his new garden of poisons with her dark, druidic gifts. This also gave her closer access to the nexus of the Shadow Plague since Shar was targeting Astarion. While researching if he was responsible for the spread of the illness, she witnessed Eislyn's attempt on Astarion's life and staked her for him.

Within the month, Arabella's study of the Plague led her to the conclusion that her mortal body would be too frail to continue her war on Shar. To improve her physical and mental strength, she asked Astarion to turn her. Enticed by having the powers of life under his command and their shared history when all his previous companions had denounced him, Astarion agreed. She was given the gentlest death of all the spawn and was buried in her garden. The entire palace greeted her when she rose again. She quickly became invaluable between her skill with plants, her calling to avenge her parents by stopping Shar, and her unique magic that blurred the line between life and unlife.

It is a joke among the older spawn that Arabella is the closest thing the master will ever have to a true daughter. She holds more sway over his emotions than any other in the palace, but everyone is certain that due to how they met, she is no competition for the role of consort. Arabella is easily the most dangerous of all the spawn, making her both the most prized by Astarion and the least likely to ever be granted his blood to become a vampire lord.

Marcado aka Marc or Markie

Conartist spawn Turned 18 years post-game Dark desire: To have all the riches and women in Baldur's Gate

A thief and pickpocket in his prior life, this human is so charming that many people assume he's an illegitimate child of the late Duke Ravengard. Marcado appears to be a good-looking, slightly slow, but kindhearted chap. In truth, he's a brilliant con artist. A member of Baldur's Gate's underbelly, Marcado wooed a tiefling noble named Lily, but her parents didn't approve of the union. When she found out he was going to be quietly killed by her family, Lily made a deal with Lord Astarion to have him turned instead and married in secret.

Marcado was drained with his fiancee holding his hand at her request. He was then buried within the palace grounds, where both his fiancee and Astarion waited for him upon his revival. Astarion oversaw their marriage not long after.

Marcado works at the graveyard, collecting intel, goods, and blood donors from grieving families. He does not feed from his wife, instead primarily targeting widows. No one dares to tell Lily that her husband is a playboy, and the couple seems content to act sickeningly sweet in front of others, quietly ignoring any indiscretions he might have.

Mortal staff

Akor

Chef Hired 3 years post game

Akor is a male Drow who escaped from the Underdark. He's the oldest regular staff member employed by Astarion after a few years of deadly turnover as Astarion settled into his powers and decided who he wanted around him. He earned the job by winning a competition Astarion held for the best chef in Baldur's Gate, wanting to enjoy his expanded palette to the fullest. Akor entered because he couldn't find employment elsewhere. His skills and practice with handling secrets earned him the job.

Akor's tongue had been severely cut by his former mistress, so he cooks using his other senses and doesn't speak. He's content keeping his head down as long as he's got a safe place to sleep. Akor also finds joy in the challenge of cooking exotic dishes from the surface to please the lord of the manor. He often requests gnome slaves to help him cook for particularly huge meals such as banquets, which Patrizia steals from the Underdark when necessary after she's turned.

As the only mortal who lives inside the palace itself, Akor is firmly off-limits to all the spawn and their guests. He's never explained to anyone how he escaped from his former mistress, but after seeing how quietly he moves and his skills with a knife, no one feels they need to ask.

Lily

Marcado's Clandestine Wife and New Money Baldur's Gate Noble Regular guest starting 18 years post-game, has been visiting Lord Astarion's palaces since just over 10 years post-game

Lily was briefly one of Halsin's charges who called him 'Daddy Halsin' as a child. Eventually, her parents were found after the Absolute's fall, and she returned with them instead of staying with Halsin and the other refugees. Although she was born into poverty, she climbed the social ladder with her family during the rebuild of Baldur's Gate and eventually became a noblewoman.

More guest than staff, the tiefling woman is considered part of the vampiric family due to marrying Marcado. She attended some of Astarion's parties with her parents when she was younger, so she knows vaguely what he is and takes his threats seriously. It also informed her decision to ask Astarion to turn Marcado in return for her political influence to save him from her parents, who disapproved of their relationship. They were married in secret after his death, blessed by the Vampire Ascendant himself to ensure her unwavering devotion.

Like her husband, she uses her innocent demeanor to lure victims to the palace or secure political deals for Astarion through her parents. Sweet but unbothered by evil, she's the 'devil in disguise' who will do anything for her undead husband. She's so blinded by love for him that she'll forgive him nearly any transgression and has even brought him people to feed on while he was too ill with the Shadow Plague to hunt.

Temporary workers and party 'favours'

Primarily collected by Patrizia after she's turned, these staff members are mostly from the local brothels but can be found off the street if she sees someone she thinks the master will like. Only beautiful mortals are invited to work at the manor, mostly women and elves. They are typically contracted for short periods of time, such as specific events, and sworn to secrecy. Make mistakes, visit forbidden areas, talk about the palace to outsiders, beg for Lord Astarion's dark gift, or refuse your duties after signing on, and you'll die.

Despite the looming threat of death, Trish takes extremely good care of her people. Payments are always prompt and in full. She happily and publicly kills any party guests who break the house rules, such as disciplining staff without Lord Astarion's permission or forcing themselves on staff members not specifically assigned to that sort of entertainment. The mortals are also considered off-limits as food to all but Lord Astarion while they're working, and he is so particular with his diet that they rarely fall prey to his appetite.

Palace creatures

Cats

Introduced to the palace after the Sharran rat ambush 17 years post-game to eradicate every last vermin on the grounds. Astarion had tried to keep his palace rat-free before because of Cazador's obsession with rats, but the ambush made him realize it was a necessity for safety reasons as well. Only the most prey-driven cats are welcome, typically well-bred ratters that cost a fortune or scrappy alley cats who are healthy enough to look attractive roaming the halls once cleaned up. They are required to become desensitized to mirrors since Astarion's palace is covered in them. They're minorly compelled by Astarion's influence to hunt, but they seek him out for warmth and pets after he has a heavy feeding at night of their own volition.

Wolves

Started answering Astarion's call within a year post-game. A strange city-dwelling pack that runs through Astarion's tunnels and the sewers. They live so close to Baldur's Gate so they can answer their master's call. Their main den moved to the garden of Astarion's new palace after he burned Cazador's to ash. They feed on the city much like the other vampires do, stealing livestock or eating Astarion's enemies when compelled to hunt for him.

Bats

The palace bats roost mostly in the moonlit bell tower, one of the few dark areas in Astarion's palace that is not under lock and key. Astarion rarely calls on them or cares for them, but they are content feeding off of the city and Sharrans that the spawn torture while bathing them in Selune's light at the bell tower. They recognize Astarion in his bat form and give him a wide berth unless he commands them close.

Cave bear

The newest addition to Astarion's menagerie, who typically dens with the wolves. A huge, man-eating creature whose potent blood can make even the Vampire Ascendent drunk. It was forcibly taken from the poacher who trapped it after Astarion killed the woman in cold blood for asking an unreasonable price. The bear primarily feeds on Astarion's enemies, rule-breaking partygoers, or whatever scraps the palace cook throws him.

[rosi-babi]

i hate having emotional issues! my brain invents so many relational problems that don’t exist. i feel like i’m in an emotional torture chamber sometimes aka my own brain

[darknesslioness]

Nutcracker Story List (4/2/2019)

It’s been a while since I have posted one of these, so here you go!

These are the works for @shinyzango’s characters and my own currently on the “to-do” shelf.

These are the writing projects still in my line of sight. I have no idea when any will be done, even the ones currently being written. It’s impossible for me to set a due date and finish accordingly, so fair warning. 

CURRENTLY IN DEVELOPMENT (Partially Written):

The Bindings of Monsters – (Inspired by El Matador Del Mar from Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales. Previously known as El Monstruo De Sus Corazones.) A curse made in hate can turn a man into a lifeless doll. So what turns a living doll, the purest of hearts . . . into the truest of monsters? There have always been monsters in the world, both within and without, both hidden and in plain sight. But all are bound, tethered by the bonds that create them, by the bonds that enslave them, and by the bonds that undo them. Hark, little nutcracker. You shall know all three. FIRST CHAPTER CURRENTLY AVAILABLE HERE.

Cat and Mouse – A written version of the fan art of the same name that I did for ShinyZango. This would be the before, during, and after events of the mentioned image. (Image is on my Tumblr and Deviantart)

Remote-Controlled Soldier – Hans and Clara run into something terrible and Clara suddenly finds herself at the end of Hans’ blade. Now the question is: Fight or flight? 

COMING SOON-ISH (Outlined/Story-boarded Only):

Don’t Bleed Out for Me – (Inspired by the SVRCINA cover of Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons, as well as I See Fire by Ed Sheeran) A Collab with the-vampire-inside-me. Hans and Clara are once again under attack, but this time … Clara might not make it out alive.

If a Tower Hits the Doorframe, Does it Fall? – A cute, little tale about Daemon’s trouble with anti-nutcracker doorways (aka, nearly every doorway in existence) and Althea’s immense enjoyment of it.

A Different Path, A Similar End – Alternate ending to Daemon’s and Althea’s story mentioned in Night of the Nutcrackers’ Requiem; What if Daemon was lost before he disappeared, while protecting the one he loved the most?

Come Away, Little Lass ­ - (Inspired by Come Away to the Water by Maroon 5) Clara hasn’t been sleeping well. She hasn’t told Hans . . . but within her dreams, she is being hunted.

Who Knew … – (Inspired by and written with Who Knew by P!nk) After months of searching, Althea comes home for an honoring ceremony that her village had decided to hold … because they had given up. It’s a funeral without a body … and Althea … can barely hold herself together.  

Earth & Sky - A collection of random, romantic prompts featuring Daemon and Althea. May also feature some for ShinyZango’s Hans and Clara. 

Straight For The Castle – (Inspired by Castle by Halsey and Zira’s Lullaby from The Lion King II) With the Nutcrackers gone, the Mouse Queen can finally take what is rightfully hers; a kingdom fit for a rat’s nest.

The King’s New Crown – (Inspired by and written with Emperor’s New Clothes (w/ sound effects) by Panic! At the Disco) His mother is dead. Her crown is now his, but it is not good enough. He’s going to take an even bigger crown … and a whole kingdom to pillage with it.

I am open to any further ideas, but I have the right the refuse them. If accepted, I hold no guarantee on if and when the fiction will be done, but will give credit where it is due if completed.

LINKS TO COMPLETED NUTCRACKER WORKS:

Are You Kitten Me?

Another Reason

Dance in the Middle of Time

Night of the Nutcrackers’ Requiem

The Heavens Will Guide You

Althea’s Epilogue

[bubblyqueenn]

My Thoughts On The Russian Sleep Experiment

TW:gore, violence, insanity, borderline torture, just disturbing shit in general

The russian sleep experiment was an experiment held in the 1940s AKA WW2. There were 5 subjects who varied in age, these subjects were war criminals, the 5 subjects were told that if they took part in this experiment that was supposed to run for 30 days they could be free for the rest of their lives, so without hesitation they agreed. Now, u might be wondering what the russian sleep experiment is, the russian sleep experiment is an experiment that took place during world war 2. There was a couple of scientists that had created a stimulant that prevented sleep, and this was a great thing to have during a war, imagine the possibilitys!! but before the scientists could use the stimulant they had to test it out, so they did, they got 5 subjects and put the subjects in a room, and for 30 days the subjects would be exposed to a gas version of the stimulant. ANYWAYS. the subjects agreed to take part in the experiment. And so it began. The subjects were kept in a sealed chamber where they were fed dry food and had beds with no bedding, there was a single toilet with running water and that was it. the researchers monitered the subjects as the experiment went on. For the first 3 days everything was fine, the subjects would talk amongst eachother and such. But by the 4th day things started getting weird, the subjects started talking about strange topics such as their trauma, their nightmares, the battles they fought and more, but the scientists weren’t concerned so they continued with the experiment. by day 5 things were lookin a bit worse, the subjects were showing signs of psychosis such as talking to themselves and being paranoid of one another. On day 6 the subjects were going insane, their own minds were turned against them, the subjects were experiencing horrific hallucinations and only now had this caught the scientists attention but the scientists just shrugged it off stating that this was most likely an affect of either the sleep loss or the gas. As the days passed the condition of the subjects became worse and worse, their mental health was deteriorating and they were going insane. By the ninth day one of the subjects was running around the chamber screaming like a banshee, The subjects were going insane and the scientists did nothing about it. the subject screamed for hours before eventually tearing his vocal cords, little did the scientists know that that would be one of the more tame events of the day… After the subject had ripped his vocal cords the scientists found the subject asleep on the floor which was concerning to say the least. As the days passed the subjects only got worse. Unexpectedly the subjects went quiet, the scientists yelled into the room that they were coming in and if the subjects behaved then one of them would be let go here and now. One of the subjects replied muttering that they didnt want freedom anymore. The gas supply in the chamber was cut off and replaced with fresh air, but to the scientists dismay the subjects started yelling and crying for the gas to come back, this is when the scientists realised, the subjects became addicted to the gas, uh oh. The scientists had no choice but to come into the room, and when they did they were met with a horrifying sight, one of the subjects had been slaughtered and the other subjects had terrible injurys, they had peeled the flesh from their bodys and their fingers had the tip of the bone sticking out from them, it was a bloody mess. There was blood streaming from the subjects wounds and there was tremendous blood loss, the worst part? these wounds were self inflicted, meaning the subjects went so insane that they had ripped off their own skin The Scientists fled for the guards, asking them to take the subjects to the operating room. (part 1)

[lepusrufus]

A cold day and a death wish

Aka, that time Esteria saved Daniela's ass, earning Alcina's respect. Warning for gore!

---

January 20th 1983

Romanian winters sure were frigid in the mountains, so unlike the seaside climate she had grown accustomed to during her lifetime. A lifetime of being stuck in an unwanted family who fiercely shoved their ideas down her throat from the moment she had opened her wide blue eyes into the world.

Esteria shook her head to chase away the past's blurry memories and wrapped the blanket she had taken from her bed more tightly around her shoulders. Of course, the new state her body found itself in did not aid with keeping her warm, blood circulation all but becoming progressively useless since her infection, leaving her extremities perpetually cold. You win some you lose some, she thought with a chuckle.

It was the middle of the day, not that it mattered given the gloomy skies above. Esteria preferred to keep any activities she did in the afternoons, when Lady Dimitrescu was sure to be asleep in her chambers. It was best for the both of them really, as the woman was obviously displeased with what she saw as an invasion of her home in Esteria's presence at the castle. And in all fairness, she wasn't completely in the wrong. Mother Miranda had taken a particular interest in observing the development of her infection and, when she had to go away for a few months, she had apparently shoved that task onto the Lady's shoulders. And that, of course, included Esteria staying at the castle for the time being.

The three daughters would occasionally get up and roam around at any and all hours, doing god knows what, but Lady Dimitrescu was always a woman that stuck to her routine. And besides, the daughters could be quite pleasant company at times, happy to make conversation over a cup of tea, or blood nowadays, or showing her whatever project they were working on at the moment. Sometimes it was a painting while other times it was a new torture device. At least they kept things interesting, right?

The cold marble of the main hall's floor came in contact with skin and she mentally cursed herself for not putting on any shoes, or even socks, before leaving her bedroom. This place was so damn big and had her occasionally stopping to check her surroundings and make sure she had taken the right path, even after over a month of being there, and that only prolonged her walk in the uncomfortable temperature. She just wanted a cup of water and to return to her warm bed.

She was shuffling her way past the stairwell and towards the kitchen when the deafening blast of a gun, echoing ominously through ancient hallways, made her freeze in place. It was close, much too close for comfort.

Her head turned slowly, in an effort to locate the source of the sound but a second shot made her jump in place, eyes snapping to the hall leading to the entrance. Surely no staff member was instructed to shoot something inside the castle, and the daughters seemed to prefer more archaic weapons, so to speak.

Blanket promptly forgotten and left to limply slide off her shoulders and onto the floor, quick steps were taken towards what she hoped was nothing but a misstep. Quick and deliberate, moving close to the wall and keeping to the shadows, hiding as much as possible given her rather tall frame and stark white hair. She passed by grand paintings hanging against the beautifully patterned wallpaper and maneuvered around antique vases, all with precise footsteps, like a predator stalking its prey.

Up until a third shot, this time accompanied by an enraged scream, broke the silence.

"Filthy man-thing!"

Daniela's voice reached her with an unusual high pitch to it, although the growl that came after was no less fierce. There was an odd strain to it too, something that Esteria realized must be caused by pain.

No.

She hastily reached the entrance hall, cool air from the door left wide open hitting her in the face like the world's coldest slap across her features. It made her lips twist into a snarl at the sensation.

Snarl that turned into a growl when her eyes fell upon the scene unfolding there.

Daniela, the ever so sweet youngest daughter, slumped against one of the marble pillars surrounding the portrait of her and her sisters and trying to stop her knees from buckling and giving way to what could only be immense pain. Her sickle was held tightly in one hand, knuckles turning white from the effort, while her eyes sparked like angry mismatched embers towards the man in front of her. A man, who she did not recognize, with a shotgun pointed directly at her, face contorted with anger.

Upon noticing Esteria, he took a handful of stumbling steps back, the barrel now moving between the two women frantically.

"Stay back!" She did. Esteria did not have Alcina's healing abilities and was not particularly keen on getting a bullet to the face. For now. "You wretched witches! Y- You took my wife from me. She came here for work and never came back!"

Daniela groaned for a moment, apparently gathering her strength to reply. "Maybe she doesn't want to go back." Her voice, despite coming out raspy, was sickly sweet, the same tone she used so many times before when toying with her prey, but now the dripping malice behind her words was on full display.

The hunter stomped forward, aiming for another shot, and that's when Esteria's body finally reacted, jumping forward.

Transformations were never painful, no, it felt more like a really good stretch. A stretch of bone and skin down to the very cells, that made her body tingle for a meager moment until a gangly beast with wide eyes like the deepest caverns full of water and silt took her place. The one thing that required some getting used to however, was the mild disorienting sensation that came with her normal vision being completely replaced by black and white and all the grayscale in between, forming fuzzy silhouettes that were brighter or dimmer according to heat signatures.

Long talons screeched against the smooth floor when she pounced, crashing into his body within the blink of an eye.

The shot was fired, however not at its intended target but ending up embedded somewhere in a wall behind them. It broke something priceless for sure, but no matter. There was something more important to deal with at the moment.

The man thrashed under the weight of her claws, his hands trying in vain to push or cause any form of damage. His voice mixed terror and rage in screams that all but scratched against her eardrums.

And he was an intruder.

Not in her home, no, this was not her home to begin with. But if nothing else, she respected Lady Dimitrescu deeply and her daughters had grown on her more than she would like to admit. Hurting Daniela certainly warranted punishment. And punishment she delivered.

Her mouth opened in a fraction of a second, elongated jaws forming an unnaturally wide angle and sharp fangs glistening in the low light. Without another moment of hesitation, she dipped her head, maw clamped shut around his face and those same fangs digging their way through scalp and skin and bone and everything that lay beneath. Sickening cracks, that were more felt than heard with the irking scraping of bone against bone, were accompanied by pained screeches. Esteria shook her head slightly, the movements dislodging some fragments from her mouth and tongue, and then she jerked her head back. Still shut jaws took with them a good portion of the cranium, that was promptly spat out and sent rolling on the marble floor smearing it in crimson, finally putting a stop to any sound or movement from the man.

There was no time to dwell around the corpse however, as a small whimper made its way to her ears. In a moment she was back to her normal self, although her robes were hanging rather loosely and were now soaked in blood on the front, and taking long steps towards the source of the noise.

She kneeled in front of Daniela, who was now also on the floor. "Hey. Hey darling, I'm here, what's wrong?"

One hand came to gently caress a pallid cheek, making sure to use the back of her hand to avoid her talons causing any further pain. She almost recoiled at how frigid the skin was. Frigid and cracking, feeling almost crystalline under her fingers.

Surprisingly enough, Daniela clung to her, shaky hands grabbing fistfuls of her robes and slumping forward with a couple choked sobs.

"P- please. Take me-... take me out of h- here."

Esteria did just that, scooping the girl into her arms and quickly walking down the same hallway she had come from. A few servants were starting to gather around, wide eyed, having heard the commotion and coming to check on what was going on.

"Shut that damned door," Esteria all but barked while stepping around them, although everyone quickly jumped out of her way.

She did not wait for an answer, as she started to make her way up the stairs, when her eyes landed on none other than Alcina Dimitrescu, coming down and freezing for a moment upon noticing the shaking form of her youngest daughter in her arms. The Lady's face contorted with anger, but before any accusations could be made, Esteria spoke up, voice coming in a rushed breath.

"A hunter came in. Please just-... where should I put her?"

Alcina did not answer her however, opting to bend down and take her daughter into her own arms, features immediately softening upon hearing a small whimper from Daniela caused by being shifted around. She cooed at the girl for a moment, whispering words of reassurance that were far too quiet for anyone else to hear.

She turned around, heading back up without another word, and any sensible person would take it as their cue to get lost and mind their own business. But growing up in the woods like some Peter Pan wannabe didn't make sensible people now did it. Esteria followed along, quick steps barely keeping up with the Lady's long determined strides. She followed until they reached a bedroom unfamiliar to her, though by the furniture and decorations, she could assume it was the youngest's chambers. She stepped inside and watched as she placed her daughter on a small couch placed right in front of the fireplace, soft furs covering the patterned cushions.

Not wanting to simply sit by, she helped by gathering a few extra blankets, gears finally turning in her brain, and handing them to Alcina, who by now was gently stroking red locks as Daniela all but glued herself to her mother's lap. Golden eyes snapped at her but the blankets were accepted, unfolded and quickly wrapped around the shivering girl.

Esteria couldn't help placing a hand on Daniela's shoulder and giving it a gentle reassuring squeeze, although she was unsure whether or not it was felt through the multiple layers.

She didn't look at the other woman when she spoke, eyes fixated on her hand, seemingly finding her talons of interest at the moment. "Are they… weak to the cold?"

It was barely a whisper and the reply took so long to arrive that Esteria started to think she had only imagined asking in the first place.

"Were it not for the fact that you're Mother Miranda's pet project, I would kill you for knowing that." Alcina's tone was flat, but the conviction it carried left no room for interpretation on the truthfulness of her words.

Esteria chuckled. That sure was a way to thank someone for saving her daughter.

She decided to take that as her cue to leave, raising slowly and making her way to the door left ajar. A mental note to change her robes and take a bath before returning to bed was also made, the sticky sensation on her skin quite unpleasant. Before she could get a hold on the door handle and exit the room however, the Lady's voice called out for her, uncharacteristic tenderness making its way where sharp pointy edges were mere moments ago.

"Thank you. I'm glad you were there to intervene before any real damage was done."

Esteria managed to hold back a grimace and a snort, remembering that some damage had definitely been done, although most likely to an antique decoration or painting hit by a stray bullet. Keeping her expression under control, she half turned her head, fond smile adorning her lips.

"Of course my Lady."

"Just call me Alcina."

[alvadee]

Here’s something I’ve been thinking about after rewatching PotO at the RAH because that gave me a fresh look at the story again:

Personally I assume the Phantom ruined any chances of having a real romantic relationship with Christine in the ALW universe by killing Buquet. I think, depending on actress though, that most Christine’s would have forgiven the Phantom his freak out after the unmasking and would have been open to meet the him again if he had approached her civil and non-threatening. Not saying it would necessarily have turned romantic but I think despite now knowing he’s deformed and the opera ghost (aka blackmailer and accident causer) she would have been open to be in contact again because she also knows his Angel of Music side. 

Which brings me to the killing of Buquet which was...kind of stupid. I mean in Leroux Buquet’s death is, well an accident wouldn’t be correct because there shouldn’t be a torture chamber in an opera house, but at least Erik did not intent to kill him and caused his death indirectly. In ALW Buquet just gossips about his face. And what he says scares the ballet rats and contributes to the Phantom’s reign of terror and ultimately strengthens his power in the opera house, so it wasn’t even such a bad thing. We can only assume it hurts his ego. And I guess here the personal interpretation of the Phantom comes into play. Does one consider the Phantom so far gone that he either doesn’t realize that Christine won’t associate with a murderer or is he so blinded by rage by Buquet calling him ugly that he forgets only in the moment when he runs into him? Or does he assume (like Leroux Erik) that Christine would not have wanted direct contact with him out of her own free will after the unmasking fiasco anyway?

Having written that down it should be the last one but the whole thing with Madame Giry warning Buquet really seems like Erik is just like “he gossips, he has to go. I don’t care or consider how this murder could reflect on my potential romantic life”. And that the musical doesn’t give a good enough reason why the Phantom kills Buquet and why now is something that imo weakens the Phantom’s characterization in ALW. Because I feel so much of the love story the musical is centered around is decided by that murder, it’s basically the point of no return for the relationship that might have been possible for him and Christine.

That’s why I wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t killed Buquet. In ALW verse I think we’re supposed to assume that the previous “accidents” were in the vein of regular theater accidents (maybe dangerous but not deadly) and Buquet was the first escalation in that direction. 

What do you guys think would have happened if the Phantom didn’t murder Buquet? Would Christine initiate contact and try to talk/meet him again before the premiere of Il Muto? Would she still take Raoul onto the roof top with her after Carlotta croaks if she hadn’t just see the Phantom murder someone right in front of her? Would she still tell Raoul about him and want to flee?

[ladyeliot]

Your legacy is my nightmare [½]  Re-written

Avengers: Age of Ultron / Post Civil War

Pairing: Avengers/Tony Stark x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Your past was marked by Tony Stark, ever since a Stark Industries bomb hit that restaurant when you were 10 years old, during an attack on Novi Grad, the capital of Sokovia. From that moment on, the rage for revenge took hold of you, but things didn’t turn out the way you expected.

Warnings: Angst. Trauma. Deaths. Violence.

Word count: 5378

A/N:  Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

Reader Powers: Psionic Force Projection. Psionic force fields that she can manipulate in various ways. 

When you were five years old you discovered that there was a completely different world inside that magic box. A world that seemed far away from the small town you lived in, a world that could capture your attention, that made you laugh, that grabbed you, and that you dreamed of living in in the future. It was then that American sitcoms became your world.

Your childhood in Novi Grad, the capital of Sokovia, was like that of any other child, totally happy. You were an only child, you were born and raised in a hard-working and extremely loving family, your parents loved you and you loved them, because all they wanted was to make you happy. Your birth took place on a sunny morning in June, creating the tradition that every birthday you went out to do something special, something out of the ordinary routine of everyday life. On your sixth birthday your parents took you to the amusement park, discovering that you weren’t too fond of Ferris wheels. During your eighth birthday your parents opted to take you to a football match, which you enjoyed quite a lot. On your ninth birthday, the three of you took a little trip to the mountains, discovering that you were completely allergic to wasp stings, but on your tenth birthday, everything changed.

For several weeks you had been pestering your mother to go to the new restaurant that had opened in the city centre. Remember that you were madly in love with American sitcoms from the 1950s, which were constantly on reruns on Sokovia television, so you couldn’t have been luckier when you found out that they had opened an American-style restaurant in the city centre. Your mother used to make excuses for not going, but not because she didn’t want to, but because she wanted to wait until your tenth birthday to go and have lunch with the three of you as a family, and that’s how it happened. The morning of your tenth birthday, Novi Grad dawned bright and shiny, there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and the sun was shining. It was Saturday, so there was neither school nor any job that would prevent you from spending the day apart. Your face changed to excitement when you discovered a note along with a special breakfast, informing you of a surprise lunch at Fred’s, the American-style restaurant. At the time you thought you were the luckiest girl in the universe, and that nothing and no one was going to change your mind, but things never work out the way you expect them to.

At around 13:15 you were seated at a table, and you yourself had decided which table you preferred, opting for the one right next to the large window, where you could watch the crowds passing by on the street. While your father informed the waitress about the menu you were going to have, you played with the bottle of ketchup while looking out of the window, on Saturdays the centre was usually crowded and that put you in a good mood. A Jukebox harmonised the atmosphere with typical songs of that decade, you had no idea what the song was, but you knew that you had heard it before in some sitcom. You were delighted, you seemed to be part of one of those comic scenes that made you laugh night after night, however something outside caught your attention, making you drop the bottle of ketchup from your hands. The scene was strange, people were no longer walking, running, no longer laughing, shouting, but you barely had time to utter “Mum…” before a bomb smashed through the large window.

Trauma. An inconsistent word that has so many negative connotations for the person who suffers from it. You never thought that a life filled with numerous catastrophic experiences could ever find the meaning of the word ‘Peace’ again, yet there you were, searching for it. The placid singing of the water crashing against the stones of the riverbed was the best melody you could wake up to every morning. After so many years you had found a place away from civilisation, far from the terror of humanity. A hut in the middle of the green and brown fields of Wakanda, a place where nothing and no one could disturb you. You could say, you could barely remember the time when you were at peace with yourself, maybe your childhood, but there was nothing left of that. However, the harmony around you, together with the humility of country life had given you back all the strength you needed to be able to go on with your life.

But now the question is how you came to Wakanda and why. It had been almost a year since a terrifying experience in the maximum security prison for humans with superpowers, also known as the Raft, prevented you from ever finding inner peace again. During the indeterminate period of time you were held in that underwater facility, the guards did terrible things to your brain. Fear for your powers caused them to take the initiative in using brain torture methods, the only way they discovered that was effective in overriding them. It left scars on you that would last a lifetime, if you made it out of there alive, which you came to believe would be impossible.

The next question is how you came to find yourself in that situation, but we’d better go back to the beginning, when that bomb hit that American-style restaurant in your hometown of Novi Grad. The darkness came moments after the projectile pierced the glass of that building and found its way into the ruins inside, creating a gaping hole underground. The loss of time and space came upon you, when you opened your eyes there was nothing, it was all darkness, yet a red, flickering light was just a few centimetres from your face. You could not move, your limbs were confined by the debris, you could only see the light that slightly illuminated the small air chamber in which you found yourself. You saw that metallic object in front of you, which had written on its side words that were engraved in your memory forever 'Stark Industries’.

It was a long period in which tears silently flowed from your eyes, it was indescribable the way fear clung to your body, with a small hope of being found that flickered on and off with that red light. You hardly knew what that light meant, that it really was a 'lucky break’ for you, at least that’s what all the news said when you were rescued two days later. Eventually you discovered that the bomb must have exploded, that like your parents and all the other members of the local, you must have died.

Your life after that did not improve, but you found them, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. Your similar experiences during the bombing of Sokovia brought you together, they had also lost their parents and now you were three orphans who were confined from house to house waiting to come of age and flee the place.  The country of Sokovia became a war zone, with US troops frequently invading the streets, causing protests by the locals to intensify. During your youth you were a very active part of them, along with the twins, especially those against 'Stark Industries’. What those experiences generated was that the hatred you had hidden for Stark resurfaced again. The three of you wanted to purge your nation of foreign conflicts, so you met a division fighting for the same thing called HYDRA. You joined together, hoping to change the world, hoping to seek peace and freedom again, but that is not what happened. That group had very different ideas, ideas that you three were obviously not a part of, yet your innocence played a trick on you. Stucker, the leader of the division, offered you power, an outlet in the fight against violence, and you accepted, exposing yourselves to a series of physical experiments, called the 'Miracles’ programme. The programme consisted of exposing your bodies to radiation emitted through a sceptre that you had no idea what it was. Thirty-two people participated in the experiment, only you three remained alive. This caused a series of supernatural powers to develop in each of you. In your case, the psionic force took control of your body.

At this point HYDRA had got what it wanted, three superhumans to fight the Avengers, including Iron Man, aka Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries. It was impossible to admit that this was too juicy an incentive for you to pass up. The Avengers travelled to Sokovia with the intention of stealing the sceptre that gave you your powers. It was then, at the age of 25, after fifteen years of waiting for that moment, that you came face to face with the creator of the bomb that killed your parents, in that HYDRA operations centre in Sokovia. For the first time you could look him in the eye.

“Hey, J, a quick infrared scanner to the room,” he said in the middle of that wide ship, he had shed the suit, which was now operating on its own.

“The column to your left, I detected a human presence, with radiation levels off the charts,” the suit spoke up, discovering your position.

There was no point in staying hidden, it was the opposite of what you wanted, you wanted him to see you, to have the courage to look you in the eye, to not know who you were and let him know. Tony turned quickly towards that column that the inner voice of his suit had informed him about and bumped into you. The moment came. The brown of his iris projected towards you, he looked terribly harmless, he raised his left hand and Iron Man’s limb covered his own, projecting the palm of his hand towards your body. A smirk of arrogance amplified on your mouth.

“I mean you no harm,” his voice came out fast.

“So late,” you whispered without wiping away the smile, as you slowly raised your palms, creating a psionic field in a circular shape.

Just as Iron Man’s limb had attached itself to yours, the entire suit suddenly encircled your body. At that very moment you projected the psionic field towards him, starting a fierce battle in the middle of that ship. A battle that lasted no more than ten minutes due to your lack of ability to control, manipulate and project your powers. But that would be the first of many times you were to encounter him, that first encounter left you with a thirst for vengeance that would eventually fade, but at that moment it was impossible for you to know.

Things evolved over time, from HYDRA you came to ULTRON, who immersed you in his power, told you he was coming to save the world, but also to wipe out the Avengers, trapping you again in his intentions, believing his were the same as yours. Baron Von Strucker was killed shortly after by Ultron, now it was just the four of you, Ultron, the Maximoff twins and you.

At Salvage Yard, on the African Coast, was the second encounter. Your little group had headed out to meet Ulysses Klaue, an international criminal and underground black market arms dealer, to obtain the world’s most durable material, vibranium, however the Avengers also showed up, making the encounter more interesting. Thor, Captain America and Iron Man stood before the four of you in the middle of a gorge of corridors inside that container ship. There was Iron Man again, covering the body of Tony Stark inside.

“Are you comfortable?” Pietro turned his gaze to a set of missiles that were located on the lower deck. “Like the old times?

"This was never my life,” Iron Man replied, his voice neutral.

“Of course not,” you interjected, stepping to Pietro’s side. “He’s just the enforcer, isn’t he?”

“You can still walk away from this,” Captain America interjected, offering a nostalgic gesture from under his helmet.

“Oh, we’ll do it,” you said with marked indifference. “When the time comes.”

“I know you have suffered,” Captain America commented, eliciting a broad smile from you.

“You know that…” you whispered with a grin, lowering your gaze to your hands where psionic force was slowly concentrating through your fingers. “I really don’t care if you know.”

“It’s about me,” Tony’s stiff voice hit the mark.

“Bingo,” you said wryly just as a wide psionic field formed between your hands offering the signal for the battle to begin.

Disproportionate beams of light slammed into your pupils, energy bursting from each of you, causing the others to stand on guard and find their opponent to carry out their actions. Ultron’s minions moved to counterattack, while you scattered without a specific destination. You had had weeks of training to be able to face the new encounter you all knew was coming, and you could feel your control over your powers becoming more extended, but to do so you had to have your full attention focused on your actions.

The clash between you and Iron Man sent you off course, into a maze of dark corridors and passageways that were only illuminated by the energy coming out of that armour. Your psionic strength kept at bay the radiation that poured from the palm of his gauntlets and the monorail on his chest, causing it to bounce hard off the iron blocks of the walls.

“I’m not who you think I am,” Tony Stark’s voice came through the armour.

“Very subtle when you hide behind a mask,” your words caused the mask that covered Tony’s face to be exposed.

You stared into his eyes, feeling the energy burning inside you, feeling it building up in your hands, so you raised the palm of your hands without holding back, letting all that power come out and collide with the stealth lightning that Tony Stark let out of the palm of his hands. As if the two segments of energy were fighting a battle of their own they connected. With each draw of energy, exhaustion began to wash over you, knowing that you couldn’t last much longer than a couple of minutes in that situation. The clash caused sparks to reach each of the four sides of that corridor, denting the iron, melting it, but neither of you noticed.

At the third minute you pulled your hands away and threw yourself to one side so that its beam would not hit your body. Almost out of breath you dropped to the ground holding your palms up, Tony stopped the repulsor bolts of his gauntlets and turned his gaze upon you, but just as he took a step to approach you, a sharp, screeching noise caused you to change the destination of your gaze. What your eyes saw caused a nightmare to cling to your memory, the ceiling began to collapse, your exhaustion prevented you from creating a psionic field, your body became unresponsive and your mind locked. Your only institute was to close your eyes as tightly as you could, not knowing what was going to happen, but at that very moment when you heard how everything started to collapse, arms caught your body clutching it against a rigid chest and pulled you out.

So it was that once again a new failure was added to the list of your interventions. When you opened your eyes your body was lying prostrate in a corner of the main ship’s nave, where it had all started, but where there was no one left. The consumption of energy you had expended had left you without a shred of power within you. You looked up, your eyes a representation of the terror that had just reminded you of that moment, barely able to keep your breathing calm, and barely able to keep the words in your mouth when you saw Tony Stark’s face in front of yours again, before he looked away and walked away.

That was a turning point, for the next time you met Tony Stark face to face, you were on the same side. After the battle at Salvage Yard, the four of you, Ultron, the twins and you travelled to Seoul where Ultron’s true intentions were revealed. Ultron intended to create a genocide of humanity as a whole, he intended to create an enhanced body to dispose of his own. This horrified the three of you, causing you to flee from his power, causing Ultron’s wrath to prevail, creating a conflict in Seoul, in which the Avengers appeared. But the important thing in that was that the three of you joined the Avengers to save what had been your city, the place where you were born, Novi Grad.

You knew of Ultron’s plans for humanity, his intention was to create a device that would lift the city of Novi Grad into the sky, then drop it to Earth in a meteoric impact. On the way back to Sokovia, the place where it all began, a host of inexplicable feelings came to you, anger, shame, humiliation, hypocrisy… all related to your actions. Silence was present over the three of you, no conversations except those present to plan actions upon your arrival.

“Ultron knows we’re coming. Odds are we’ll be riding into heavy fire, and that’s what we signed up for. But the people of Sokovia, they didn’t. So our priority is getting them out, ” the words coming from Steve made you nod, keeping your eyes averted. “All they want is to live their lives in peace, and that’s not going to happen today.” You felt Tony’s eyes on you, you looked up to confirm it, but this meeting of glances made you uncomfortable, changing your position. “But we can do our best to protect them. And we can get the job done, and find out what Ultron’s been building. We find Romanoff, and we clear the field. Keep the fight between us.” He paused. “Ultron thinks we’re monsters and we’re what’s wrong with the world. This isn’t just about beating him. It’s about whether he’s right.“

Those last words crashed into you, you had been asking yourself the same question for weeks, you also needed to have an answer to it. So that’s how the end of the beginning began. You could never imagine what it would be like to see hundreds of people running through those streets again, the streets where you had grown up, where you had fought for your ideals and where you were now saving all those people so that the events you had experienced would never happen again. Each of you had a specific area, your mission was to guide the population to the safe side, protecting them from Ultron’s minions. Everything seemed to be going as assured, however time ran out, the ground began to crack, creating cracks, splitting the earth, causing an area of the city to rise into the air.

The terror of the scene brought you back to your childhood, you leaned against a building keeping your breathing as calm as possible and looked around you, the horror was present again, the screams of the people made a dent inside you, you closed your eyelids as tight as possible and put your hands to your head trying to erase that sound from your mind. Your back was slowly sliding down the wall until you were sitting completely on the ruins of the building.

“Hey!” Steve’s voice sounded close to you. “Are you okay?” his question barely got an answer from you, you felt his hand resting on your shoulder. “Hey, look at me. Are you okay?” you opened your eyes again and with a terrified look on your face you nodded, looking for the strength to face it. “I need you, those people need you, I know this is crazy, I know you’re terrified, but so are they.” You looked around you contemplating the massacre. “You can help them, they are your people.”

Again, Steve’s words gave you the courage you needed to find the calm within yourself, stand up and do everything you could to stop those robots that Ultron had built and turned into his allies. You knew what your mission was, you had a mission now and you couldn’t let it paralyse you.

“Stark, you worry about bringing the city back down safely. The rest of us have one job: tear these things apart. You get hurt, hurt 'em back. You get killed… walk it off.”

The population was congregated in a specific point of the city, there was no solution to evict them if that part of the city did not come down and land again, until a ship, the Helicarrier, appeared between the clouds to create a solution to one of your problems, the eviction of the population. Now all that was left to do was to get that piece of land back in place.

“Avengers, time to work for a living,” Tony announced over the intercom. While the population was getting to safety in the boats, you as a whole had gathered at the church in Novi Grad, where Ultron had located the core, or rather the button, with which he would bring the city down, destroying all of humanity.

“What’s the plan?” you asked, confused by the situation.

“This is the drill. If Ultron gets a hand on the core, we lose,” Tony replied pointing to the vibranium contraption in the centre of the shattered dome.

In front of you hundreds of robots captained by Ultron approached without stopping their pace. You sucked air into your lungs, awaiting the arrival of one of the most crucial moments of your existence, perhaps the most crucial, for in a few hours you could possibly be extinct along with humanity.

“This is exactly what I wanted. All of you, against all of me,” Ultron also had his plan and that was. “How could you possibly hope to stop me?”

“Well, like the old man said,” Tony looked at each of you. “Together.”

The battle for survival began. You thought the previous battles you had fought were the ones that could change the course of your destiny, the ones where you had faced Tony Stark, but you couldn’t have been more wrong, that was nothing compared to what you were going through right now. Each of you was part of that team, your energy was renewed every time you used it because you were fighting for a reason, the strength in you shone through. You were all a team and you were getting through this together. One by one Ultron’s robots fell, until there were none left standing, but it wasn’t over.

“We gotta move out. Even I can tell the air is getting thin. You guys get to the boats, I’ll sweep for stragglers, be right behind you,” Steve asked just after the last robot was down.

“The core-” began Tony after he had bared his face, but you barely let him finish his words.

“I’ll protect it,” you said firmly, giving a slight nod to yourself, “it’s my job.”

Tony connected his eyes with yours offering you a slight nod, just before he covered his face again and flew away. “I’ll stay with you,” added Wanda to whom you offered a faint smile before everyone disappeared from the scene and Pietro was ordered to return to you once everyone was in the boats. Everything seemed to be going according to plan, only a few straggling robots were presenting themselves to you with the intention of overthrowing your mission, but something happened. You felt your friend’s body collapse right behind you, you turned your head and saw Wanda’s face distorted, your eyes widened in confusion as she began to utter a scream that made your eardrums ring. She fell to her knees, causing her powers to spiral out of control in the crash, destroying every element in her path, so you had to create a force field around yourself in the hope that you would be unaffected. Your thoughts began to connect, trying to find an answer to his attitude, and you found it. Pietro.

You both walked through the streets, but she scattered within minutes Wanda disappeared in search of Ultron, leaving you there, but there was no one left to fight with, or fight for. It was at the very moment you questioned the functionality of your existence that Novi Grad plummeted thousands of feet into the air, offering you the answer to your question. Your eyes closed but you were no longer afraid, on the contrary, you had been able to find peace, everything came to an end in the same place where it all began. But as if someone had been watching over you, you felt arms holding your body and slowing down the frantic rhythm of the plummeting fall. You opened your eyes and found yourself being held by Iron Man’s armour.

“ I got you,” he said flying in the opposite direction, managing to dodge the ruins of that city. “Now Thor!”

A new turning point that changed the course of your actions and your destiny lay before you. Despite your best efforts, nearly 120 lives were lost during the Battle of Sokovia, including that of Pietro Maximoff. It was a before and after, symbolising the power of war and what could be its fatal consequences. For you it was a judgement, a learning experience, feeling guilty for much of what had happened, for helping HYDRA, for helping Ultron, to elaborate his actions. Your guilt led you to rethink your future, the course of new events led you and Wanda to a new country. You arrived in the United States, welcoming the New Avengers Facility as a new home. Offering you a roof to sleep under, training for your powers and a new family, though you didn’t feel that way at first.

You spent many hours in search of solitude, at the end of that green esplanade, when the tall oak trees were beginning to remind you of home. It was one afternoon in the first week, when you were still adjusting to it all, and you found yourself reading, leaning against a tree trunk.

“Hiding?” Tony’s voice pulled you out of your reading. “Oh, Sylvia Plath, great,” you looked at him, but offered no response, so he opted to sit awkwardly right in front of you on the grass. “Listen, we haven’t had much time… you know,” he took off his sunglasses and shrugged. “I’ve been looking through the files and … I know what happened to you… with your parents.”

“You know,” you said with a raised eyebrow, putting the book aside. “Do you also know what happened to the other thousands of people or do you only have a file on me and a file on Wanda and Pietro?”

The confidence in your voice was at odds with the insecurity Tony was showing, so when you saw him turn his head to the right side as he crumpled his face you opted to do what you had been thinking about for the last few days, call it a day.

“Listen. I’ve spent many years imagining what it would be like when I had you in front of me,” you began to say calmly, keeping your gaze fixed on your fingers as Tony watched you with his head cocked to one side, listening to you intently. “In what I was going to tell you, in the way I would let you know the pain I felt inside, because to me you were to blame for everything bad that had happened to me,” you paused, took a breath and thought about what you were going to say next. “But the moment I had you in front of me I didn’t say anything I had planned to say, I let my anger and pain guide me, and it didn’t do any good. The same thing happened the second time, and the third time it was pointless because there was something much more important to fight for.”

“I…” Tony interjected.

“Please, let me finish,” you cut him off, causing Tony to nod and turn his attention back to you. Sadness clouded his features. “So now I have you in front of me again I just want you to know that I have realised that…” you paused causing Tony to make a slight gesture of approaching you, but when you started to speak again he stopped. “I have no intention of you bearing my ghosts, but I need you to know that I spent two days under the rubble waiting for Stark to kill me,” your voice cracked, and Tony’s eyes reddened. “Watching your name light up on the side of that missile every time that flashing red light illuminated the darkness, hearing that beeping sound that I still can’t erase from my mind, terrified that my breathing would cause that bomb to detonate because my limbs could barely move.”

For the first time you raised your face to meet wide open brown eyes, reddened and unable to hold your gaze for long. Tony’s face was pale during those moments, his body was no longer upright and he was nervously running his hand over his lips.

“With that said, it only remains for me to let you know that I will not let the hatred and vengeance of a ten year old consume me,” you looked back down at your hands, allowing Tony’s eyes to fall on you again. “I’ve seen the power that resentment brings with it, I don’t want that for myself,” you connected your gazes. “Then I suppose I must forgive you in order to move forward.”

Silence. Silence flooded the room leaving heavy breaths in the air that symbolised the tension of the situation you were both experiencing for the first time right now. There was no right answer to everything you had said, it was clear to you that Tony didn’t know how to act at that moment. You sat cross-legged on the damp grass, watching him, seeing how he couldn’t hold your gaze since you had explained that you saw his name reflected in that missile. Yet he fought against it and focused his brown eyes on yours.

“I promise you…” he began stiffly, but again you cut him off.

“Tony, don’t promise me anything,” your voice was soft, as if you were talking to a small child.  "Please.“

After your denial of his action, he only nodded. He merely nodded as he intertwined his fingers and began to fidget restlessly with his left leg.

"Then I don’t know what you want,” his tone offered an enormous insecurity marked by nervousness.

“That’s the point. I don’t want anything, Tony,” you said without fidgeting.

“All right,” he nodded confusedly, rising quickly but awkwardly from the grass in an attempt to get away from the situation. “So… I hope it’s all to your liking.”

With that said, he turned his back on you and left the same way he had come. Leaving you under the shade of that oak tree with Sylvia Plath.

Now, too much had happened since then, much of it was why you found yourself in Wakanda trying to juxtapose all that had happened, but what you didn’t know was that on that placid morning when you went for a walk along the banks of that small riverbed, Shuri and T'Challa would come to inform you that he was there and that he had asked to speak with you.

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[thisismyhell]

Hired to Kill 1/?

Plot:  On the run after killing your abusive ex husband, you end up as a thief in Gotham. Living in your quiet apartment, you’re surprised to enter your home only to find a bald man dressed in black laying his weapons out on your dining table. Apparently he works for Penguin, aka, the person whose mansion you just ransacked for cash and valuables. He’s here to kill you, but what he isn’t prepared for is that you may be more qualified than he to take out a hit. So when you bring his tied up a gagged ass back to his employer, the 3 of you have a conversation on how to move forward. Will you leave the mansion alive and independent? Or will you be forced into partnership with your attempted killer?

Warnings: one mention of reader killing themselves as a threat

Words: 1,800

___________________________________________________________ It was pouring rain by the time you left the property with your bag of prizes. About an hour earlier, you broke into the mansion of some rich guy you had been stalking. He seemed the vulnerable type, what with the amount of guards he always had trailing behind him. So you waited them all out, until they left for the better part of the evening to attend the man’s club. You didn’t give a shit what he did, you only cared about his stuff. And he had a house full of stuff you could steal and sell on the black market. 

Once you were back in your building, you started itemizing everything you stole in your head. You’d be damned if you missed out on some extra cash. You entered your small apartment, only to begin hearing someone … whistling? Setting your bag down quietly on the floor, and taking your gun out from its holster, you slowly made your way to the source of the sound. You then met the eyes of a tall bald man, dressed in all black, whistling while he unpacked his collection of weapons on your dining room table. He smiled at you, charmingly. 

“I was wondering when you were going to show up”, he said through a stupid grin. “Do you know who I am?”.

“Frankly I don’t really give a shit who you are”, you said still brandishing your weapon, “but I sure would like you to leave”. 

The two of you held a brief standoff, until the man rolled his eyes and introduced himself. “My name is Victor Zsasz. You’ve probably heard of me -”

“Nope.”

“Well, maybe you’ve heard of the scariest assassin in Gotham -”

“Try again”

“Okay listen. I work for Penguin, you know, the guy you just got home from stealing from?”

You lowered your weapon, taking in his introduction. Seems like you weren’t as stealth as you thought you were. Or maybe you just didn’t realize who this Penguin guy really was. “How did you find out so quickly? How did you beat me home?” 

“You must not be as smart as you are cute. Do you really think a man like Penguin would live in his house without security cameras? I watched you break in and steal shit from my phone. You really didn’t think of that?”

“I’ll be honest, I was more worried about getting enough valuables than I was about the sanity of your boss”, you slithered. 

Victor chuckled to himself, and it seemed genuine. “Miss y/n, you must realize the moment you set foot onto his property you were way in over your head”.

“Maybe. But what are you going to do about it?”

“Y/n, isn’t it obvious? I am going to kill you, and bring your dead body back to Penguin to gloat. Now come here and sit down”.

You sat down at your table, now a display of horrific instruments. Was he going to torture you? Why did he bring so many weapons just for killing a thief? Maybe he had a vendetta out for something. Now sitting in front of Victor, you realized you could not care less about his intentions. Because there was no way this night was going to end the way he plans on. You looked up at him, smiling to yourself. 

“What? Why are you smiling? I’m literally here to kill you, and you’re smiling at me?”

You couldn’t dignify that with a reason. Instead you replied, “tell me what you think you’re going to do to me”.

Victor gawked at you, smirking. “What I think I’m going to do to you? Y/n in case it wasn’t obvious before, I am a very successful assassin. Everyone knows this. What makes you think you’re so special?”

You smiled, “because if you are so successful, then all your victims are dead. Which means you must be the one telling everyone. And how foolish do you think I would be to think you wouldn’t embellish every killing story you tell people?” 

He stared at you, seeming a bit irritated. You shared a look of silence, before Victor started to unbutton his suit jacket. Then his vest. Then he took off his tie, and his black button down dress shirt. He gently set them down beside his collection of guns and knives, and kneeled in front of you with a stare that could kill. “Do you see all these scars over my body y/n? I did these”. You looked over his upper half, noticing tally marks covering his pale skin. 

“I did these, to represent every single person I have killed. This is just the upper part of my body. And after I kill you where you are, y/n, I will add another scar to my resume”. 

You looked at him in the eyes, challenging him. “And yet, dear Victor, you kneel before me”. 

Before Victor’s questioning look can change, you grab his head, kneeing him in the face. As he bounces backward in pain and brandishing a bloody nose, you flip your table covered in  weapons over, making them unreachable. Now it’s just you, and him, and the knife in your boot. You go to reach for it, but he grabs your wrist, throwing you against the wall. You bounce back, grabbing the knife before it even hits the floor, and swing at Victor. Slicing him across the chest. “That’s for thinking I wouldn't do it first” you snarl. He tries to lunge at you, but you lunge right back toward him catching him off guard. Your forehead clashes with his nose, causing it to bleed a lot more. He bends over in pain and you take the opportunity to double elbow him in his spine. He lands on your dining room floor, and you kick him in the head knocking him unconscious. 

You arrive at Penguins about an hour later, rolling in Victor Zsasz, the most successful assassin in Gotham, right up to him in his chamber. Victor is still unconscious, shirtless, gagged and bound to a 2 wheel standing trolley. You slap him across the face and he wakes up, confused and sweating from the pain of his broken nose. 

“I believe this belongs to you”, you drawl while making painful eye contact with the man who ordered your prisoner to kill you. Victor starts to mumble, and you rip away the duct tape from his mouth harsher than you probably needed to. “OW?!” he screams, glaring at you. “Unnecessary!”. You roll your eyes and direct your attention to Penguin. “So. I broke into this place a few hours ago not realizing you were smart enough for security cameras. I came home to this idiot telling me you sent him to kill me. He failed. And now I am standing here with him, alive, as a warning”. Penguin opens his mouth for the first time, “What can I do for you, y/n?” “You can all leave me the fuck alone. I got what I wanted and got to hand this guy's ass to him as a bonus. He spent his time with me gloating, instead of killing me”. Penguin thought about this, and Victor seemed embarrassed. “Penguin, I assure you that is not all that happened-” “Yes he’s right. I also broke his nose”. 

“Give me Victor’s job. And pay me double. Or I will break back into your mansion and kill you, while all your security watches on their phones”. 

Penguin looked stunned, “And what is stopping me from killing you right now?”.

“Because I have a gun in my holster and a knife in my boot. And if you even think about jumping me, I’ll kill all 3 of us right here. Right now. And then your empire will fall, and you will be forgotten. Killed where you stand by some thief, in front of all these cameras laughing at you”. 

Victor and Penguin share a look, one more pleading than the other. “Do it, boss. She’s quicker”. 

Penguin considers his assassins words. “Okay, y/n. You can work for me. But consider this a trial basis. More people than you realize are under my command. You have 30 days to earn my trust and prove to me you are better than Zsasz. And if you do not, I will have a hit on you. You seem the type to value your privacy, and I would hate to have all of Gotham threaten that”. 

You understand the threat looming ahead of you. If you were in over your head, it was far too late now. Back home at your small apartment, you smell him ahead of you. Victor followed you home. 

“Do you really think I’d let you walk away that easily? “, he purrs. 

“Well, we both know what happens when you threaten to kill me”. 

He’s quicker than before, shoving you against the wall with his forearm against your throat and a dagger in his hand. You smile up at him. “I see you had time to get dressed first”, you spoon feed him the advantage. He sneers down at you, not easing any of the force or tension coming from his large form. He takes a lock of your hair between his fingers, smelling it. “Don’t be mistaken, miss y/n. You and I will be spending quite a lot of time together. See, as you will be working to kill people for Penguin, I’ll be ahead of you stealing the spotlight. You’ll have to be quicker than me, in every. Possible. Way”. He emphasises the last words by pulling you up to him by the lock of hair. You are face to face with the man while standing on your toes. 

You looked him in his big eyes, not daring to look away or blink. “I love a challenge, Victor”. You see his pupils dilate at the sound of his name leaving your lips. He moves his thigh between your legs, causing your own eyes to dilate as well. He removes his forearm from your neck, moving instead to place an open palmed hand on your sternum, though continuing to press you against the wall. You let him play control for just a moment longer, before using all your strength to push him so you have now switched positions, now with Victor against the wall of the hallway. You look up at him coyly, “Sounds fun. Now get out of my building before I change my mind about you”. “And how is it you feel about me, y/n?”. You don’t miss his wink. “I think you know how I feel about you, Zsasz”, you purr. You get off the man, and he leaves your building and quietly as he came. 

This is going to be an interesting job, you thought before entering your apartment and cleaning all weapons from the dining room.

[nightwishesworld]

True Colors Snippet

So I wasn’t going to do this since the fic won’t be ready until next week at the earliest, but I’m super excited about this and want to give you guys a little sneak peek. It is a Mother Miranda x fem oc (aka Izabela)

If you guys want I can link her character bio so you can see what she’s all about? Let me know

Warning: Lots of angst! Gagging and suggests blood and violence if you look close enough but I won’t make you read the details here.

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

“Don’t you dare talk about my children like that,” Izabela barked. “Each and every one of them is a treasure, of course, how would you know that? I’m the one that raised them! I’m the one that took care of them every single day and made sure they were loved! All you’ve ever done is reject them all their lives.”

“Because they are not children! They are experiments who have long since lost their purpose in our lives.”

“Yours perhaps, but never mine. I will always need my children.”

“Which is why I still keep them around.”

Izabela stopped. The way Miranda said that so calmly made her uncomfortable. How cold has this woman become? She shook her head, letting her rage consume her again. “Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor, Miranda. Whether you like it or not they are a part of our family.”

“Was there ever a family to begin with?”

She was gawking at this point. Miranda seeming completely unfazed by her own statement only fueled her rage. “You and I certainly were! Though I’m not surprised you don’t remember. It has been centuries since you’ve looked at me without needing me to run your stupid errands for you or do your dirty work. Gods, I can’t even remember when you last told me you love me.”

Miranda said nothing. She could see tears start to form in her Sparrow’s eyes. It pains Miranda to know she’s the reason they’re there, and she hates it. Her feelings for the younger woman should not be affecting her like this anymore, not after everything they’ve put each other through. But she can’t help it, even after choosing those failures over her, she still loves Izabela.

“You’re a mother. Your children are supposed to tell you how much they love you. Or do they not tell you anymore?” Miranda tsked. “It’s about time you noticed.”

“Of course they tell me. They love me more than they’ll ever love you!”

Miranda gave her a smug grin. “Then why is it my attention they crave and not yours? If they truly love you the way you say they do then shouldn’t you be enough?”

Izabela didn’t give her the satisfaction of responding. Truthfully she didn’t know if she could find the words to even say anything. Not being enough to satisfy her kids’ needs has always been one of her greatest fears and it gnawed at the back of her head every day. And Miranda knew it. 

“Do you really think, after everything you’ve put them through, they could still love you?”

Shut up shut up shut up!

“They look to me now because they see now what a burden you are to be around. Dead weight on their shoulders.”

Izabela slammed her fist against the wall. “Liar!”

Anyone other than Miranda wouldn’t have been able to see the heartbreak in Izabela’s eyes. She puts on a brave face, but they have known each other far too long for something as simple as masking her emotions to work. Miranda knew damn well her words were sticking, she could see it plain as day in Izabela’s glassy eyes.

“They see you for what you truly are, a used up old breeder with no reason to be here; a pawn. A single chess piece in my game to bring Eva home. You are nothing to them.”

Just watching the woman walk away so arrogantly made Izabela’s blood boil. Then she did something she’s never done before.

“A selfish bitch like you doesn’t deserve to be a mother!”

Izabela regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. Her heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach when she saw the seething rage on Miranda’s face as she turned around. She strode back to Izabela, reaching out for her with her metallic bird-like talons and wrapped them around her neck.

The sharp tips of her talons pierced Izabela’s skin, drawing blood to drip down her neck like beads of sweat. She grabbed Miranda’s hands and tried desperately to pull them off of her, but it only made her grip tighten more. 

“It seems you’ve gotten bold in your years of solitude and have forgotten your place.”

“My place?” Izabela gasped. “We are equals. We run this show together, remember? You’d still be in your cave turning people into lycans if it weren’t for me.”

“You have long since outlived your usefulness. You’re worthless to me now.” The words spilled from Miranda’s lips before she could censor herself. But it was too late to turn back now. Even if she just made the only woman she’s ever loved cry her eyes out. 

“I thought you loved me,” Izabela cried.

“I do, Sparrow.” Is what Miranda wanted to say. But instead she swallowed her tongue and grimaced. 

Miranda’s silence was enough of an answer. Izabela’s eternal heart stopped beating. After nearly a millennium of pain and denial it finally shattered; turned to dust inside the void of her chest. She is completely numb now. No amount of pain or happiness could sew her heartstrings back together again.

When Miranda said “A punishment is in order,” Izabela didn’t bat an eye. 

She let Miranda drag her by her hair down to the lower chambers of The Stronghold. Their lycans and lackeys looked at them curiously, but Izabela could hardly bring herself to care. She knew she deserved what’s to come. Miranda has a reputation to hold up after all, can’t have followers see her not punish someone who speaks against her.

Izabela must have disassociated during their walk because the next thing she knows she’s being pushed to the ground in the middle of one of the ceremonial rooms. It used to be a torture chamber before she and Miranda moved in and spruced the place up. They left most of the shackles hanging from the walls and a few spiked chairs to keep the malevolent atmosphere, but the room is largely unused nowadays.

She heard Miranda walk back to the other side of the room and told Izabela not to move. All Izabela could do was stare down at the ground. The rustling sounds of metal captured her attention, but only for a moment, not enough to make her move though. Miranda knelt in front of her and took a hold of her wrists. Cold iron shackles clamped around her wrists and Miranda attached the other end of the small chain to a half circle hook in the stone floor. Her clothing from the waist up is cut off so there is no buffer between her and Miranda. Pointed metal claws tipped her chin up just enough so the two were looking at one another and forced Izabela’s mouth open.

“You deserve this, my Sparrow.”

Miranda carefully removes her stole from her shoulders and wraps it in a tight ball around her fingers until it’s small enough to fit in Izabela’s mouth. The ends of the stole are left hanging so Miranda takes them and ties them in a tight knot behind Izabela’s head, properly gagging her. She ran a hand up and down Izabela’s smooth back a few times and felt goosebumps cover her creamy skin.

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

redemption trope: what do you think are the right and wrong ways to write it?

The biggest areas I see people stumble in are why we want the subject to be redeemed and how the rest of the world reacts too it.  

Believable redemptions are hard if it’s a heel turn out of nowhere, and they can have a shaky start if it’s a character that has otherwise been completely and unquestioningly awful the entire time.  Ideally, you want to make the redeemie someone the audience can empathize with even before they even consider hanging their ways.  Everyone holds up Zuko as the baseline example but it’s for good reason.  Even before he  joined team avatar, even back when he was actively hunting the Gaang, his reasons for doing what he did were established.  He was a dishonored prince scarred and cast out of his home as a child by his own father for standing up for soldiers’ lives.  We still didn’t root for him to catch the avatar, but we understood why he tried and felt bad for him.  This was before switching sides was ever on the table as a possibility.  I was a little kid following the show as it originally aired who had only seen regular cartoons before that, so Zuko changing Allie genres was not a possibility in my mind.  But by the time it came around, it made perfect sense, even if my stupid child mind didn’t know why.

The next thing to note is how the rest of the world reacts to the redeemi.  One of my big pet peeves with villain deku fics, even forced villain, is when he commits serious crimes and no one cares.  And I’m not talking stealing or anything, I’m talking about casual murder every other chamber.  But it’s too a person we don’t know, so it’s okay.  Even when they are a good person deep down, if they still do bad things, they need to answer for them.  If every character accepts them wholeheartedly, and everyone who doesn’t is treated as automatically wrong and close-minded, that’s just narrative magic, aka the author knows everything is fine so they don’t put in the work to actually get there.  This was one of the points that inspired Butterfly; i wanted a villain deku who committed real violence that was given the narrative weight such things deserve.  Even at the end, when people realized that he was still a child who suffered a lot, he still murdered and tortured others right up to the end, and they could not forgive him.  For a redemption, the people who have that reaction shouldn’t be vilified for that alone.  There should be varied reactions from different characters which the redeemi must work to individually atone.

[yicruz48]

How Adam Glass’s Teen Titans Run Perpetuated Racial Stereotypes

Damian Wayne/ Robin (Arabian and Chinese): 

-> In Teen Titan’s Annual #1 Damian, steran Arabian character, had a BOMB strapped to his chest. This obliviously perpetuates the Arabian suicide bomber stereotype.

It’s unfortunate, and deeply saddening considering this stereotype is infamously attached to Arabs there is even a name for it called “The Three B Syndrome.” Which according to  Mazin B. Qumsiyeh, who is a director for the American-Arab  Anti-Discrimination Committee is, “ Arabs in TV and movies are portrayed as either bombers, belly dancers, or billionaires.”  

And it is horrifying that this annual most likely went through editorial and yet was still published. 

-> During Adam Glass’s Teen Titan’s run Damian arrests criminals under his base (essentially a torture chamber) and after that doesn’t work he proceeds mind-wash criminals along with his teammates. This behavior could be looked at as terroristic, again, perpetuating harmful stereotypes about Arabians. 

Xiomara Rojas/ Crush (Half- Czarnian, raised by someone presumably latino):

-> Here I am making the assumption that Xiomara Rojas is Latina although I am pretty certain she was raised by (a) Latino(s) (assuming most likely her adoptive father is Latino). Plus “Xiomara” is a pretty common name in Spanish-speaking countries just as her last name “Rojas’ is.

-> She is portrayed as thickheaded, aggressive, dangerous, violent, and verbally aggressive which pushes the “The Chola” and “The Fiery Latina” stereotype.

-> Xiomara’s adoptive parents (David and Lisa Rojas) are portrayed druggies who are frequently running away from their crimes which are a common stereotype used against Latinx people.

->Me, personally, being Latina, I couldn’t help but feel offended by this. I talked to my mom about this and she told me, “ I don’t like her origin. Her origin is a common stereotype used against Latinos. You’ve heard it before, from Trump, that most of us are apparently drug dealers, rapists and commit crimes.”    

  Wallace West/ Kid Flash (Black): 

-> Despite being a part of the core three of the Teen Titans and being called the “moral compass” of the group, Kid Flash AKA Wallace West’s role in the Teen Titans is small. 

->  He usually is there to emotionally support other characters but like how commonly Black characters are written in media, he seems to have no aspirations of his own despite being written in The Flash as very intelligent and has been mentioned to be a prodigy engineer. Personally, it is disappointing to see that the only thing writers seem to focus on when it comes to Wallace is his romantic relationships.

Emiko Queen/ Red Arrow (Japanese): 

-> Even Red Arrow’s characterization in Teen Titans feeds into the stereotype that Asians are seen as stereotypically  “competent but cold” despite Emiko shown as the opposite in Green Arrow.  

Conclusions:

->  Arabians, black people, and Latinos tend to be portrayed in the media as associated with crime, writing the Teen Titans being involved in locking up prisoners illegally as well as mind-washing criminals just proves this comic consciously or unconsciously agrees with that sentiment.

-> It is sad that this group in the most diverse Teen Titans we’ve seen with Arabian, Latinos, Black, Japanese and Chinese members yet the worst incarnation of the Teen Titans. So much for DC preaching about diversity and representation. 

-> Damian, Wallace and Emiko are portrayed much more positively in other comics as well as shown to have development to not do things such as lock up  and/or brain-wash criminals in their basement. 

For crying out loud, Oliver Queen (Green Arrow) , Emiko’s older brother is against locking up people in prison for the reason already so much people are incarcerated. I believe Emiko would adopt that same belief. 

Wallace West knows Barry’s father was unfairly arrested in jail. HIS OWN FATHER died in priso. Wallace would also be against these actions. 

Damian’s development over since 2006 to 2018 has proven that this regression would’ve never happened, especially with such weak reasons as the events of No Justice and Black Mask blowing up his favorite restaurant. 

-> With the amount of negative stereotypes this comic should literally be shown in an example of how-not-write-about-a-diverse-group-of-characters. 

This is one reason why I made a petition against DC comics and to hold the writers and editors accountable for publishing this content despite portraying harmful stereotypes about people of color. 

I would really appreciate if you haven’t already to sign the petition and re-blog this so more people are aware. 

Also like I said, this is one reason I made this petition, so please read the petition for full context on the other side of this petition that has to do with Damian’s regression.