#Cause most fighters were right handed and had specific moves that I'd be able to outwit

[phoebe-the-autism-fairy]

So today in my English lit seminar we got to have a look at English civil war swords and learn about how they were used (it was relevant to the module we're covering), and-

I think I would be a good swordswoman.

(@wholesome-dragon-lady will know. 😉)

[homosexuality-at-its-finest]

Thanks for answering my last ask about the requests! 🥰

If possible I'd like to request something: male reader is Steve Roger's adopted son (adopted after he came back from being frozen lmao) and the reader is secretly dating Peter Parker!

I don't know if it's too specific or too complicated, but I was imagining something like: reader is like an avenger too. He doesn't have powers but has fighting skills and is a very sneaky and swift fighter much like Black Widow. He fights occasionally but his father is always hesitant on letting him participate in highly dangerous missions, he's very protective of his son. That would all just be like background information just give the story some base, but the plot itself i was thinking was just about Steve discovering his son is dating Peter - and, with that, discovering reader is gay - and he gets protective, possibly interrogates Peter and stuff like that. Obviously very fluffy at the end with everyone happy but I guess you can just work on it how you think it's best! If it's too vague or too complex I can try to rewrite the request if you'd like ☺️

Maybe Steve discovers that during a mission! I think that would be interesting - if you like it of course!

Plot: Requested

Pairing: Steve Rogers & Son reader + Peter Parker x Male reader

Y/n: Your name

N/n: Nickname

H/c: Hair color

Warnings: Fighting, cursing, blood, protective dad TM Steve, character injury, coming out, supportive Steve, adopted reader, fluff, slight angst, kinda Steve’s POV

Word count: 1236

Being the son of Steve Rodger’s, aka Captain America had never been an easy feat. He had adopted Y/n after he got out of the ice, needing someone to have in the complete mystery the world was to him. He immediately loved the spunky boy, who was outspoken and reminded him of his younger self.

On many occasions’ Y/n came home with bruises littering his body, but a boyish smile adorned on his lips. The boy just seemed to find trouble without even trying, so Steve decided to teach his son how to fight. It was quite a surprise when Y/n was a complete natural, able to take his father down after a few weeks of training.

The teenage boy’s confidence only seemed to grow with training and fighting, and much to Steve’s displeasure his son ended up joining the avengers. It was one of the only times the father and son argued, going from screaming at each other to the silent treatment for days.

Steve had to admit, his son could kick some serious ass, even beating Clint during a spar, leaving the assassin on the mat groaning in pain and eventually tapping out. Then came in Peter parker, in all his geeky glory, immediately drawing his son’s attention. Steve was hesitant about the boy; he didn’t want Peter causing more trouble for Y/n in the long run.

The father couldn’t deny that his son seemed happier when Peter came into his life, spending most of his time with the young genius and his friends. It was like a moth to a flame, Y/n gravitated towards the boy in a way Steve couldn’t place a word to. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think his son was enamored with Parker. He promptly reminded himself that his son wasn’t gay (There was no issue if he was though) Steve just assumed his son would tell him if that was the case.

That belief was completely changed on a mission though, Y/n and Peter accompanied the team, taking down one of the last HYDRA bases that was left. He had to admit that the kids were holding up well, he could see his son flying around, adorned in all black, including the black mechanical wings on his back. Y/n had made those himself, claiming that they needed more air support than just Tony, Rhodey and Sam.

Every time Steve watched Y/n fly around he felt his heart jump out of his chest, he knew his son could handle himself, but damn it, it was a paternal instinct. “How are we looking up there?” Steve called over the comms, watching as the three flying beings fought off any air support, and diving down to help when needed.

“Well pops judging by the fact that we’re all heading towards the ground for support I’d day good.” Came his sons sarcastic reply, and Steve had to hold back a small smirk. Usually, he’d reprimand someone for talking like that, but Y/n was a special case.

“N/n could you head my way, kinda getting swamped over here.” Parker’s high pitched and young voice rang through the comms, and Steve watched as his beloved son took off once more. He could hear the two young superhero’s grunting and making banter back and forth over the comms as the fight continued.

What took the captain off guard was the sound of his son crying out in pain and the panicked sound of Peter calling out “Y/n!” It felt like someone had grabbed his heart and ripped it out of his chest as he heard Peter call “We have an agent down! Y/n’s down!” Never in Steve’s many years of life did he move as fast as he was right now. Anyone who got in his was down before they could even raise their weapon.

When he saw Peter cradling Y/n against his chest, fingers brushing through his son’s H/c hair, the panic only worsened. The mask Y/n wore was ripped off, lying on the ground beside him; and Steve could clearly see the blood leaking from his son’s side.

As the super soldier got closer, he could hear Peter rambling quietly. “It’s okay baby, I know it hurts.” The teenagers voice sounded so broken; it made his chest tighten even more. “Your dads coming and then we’ll get you to med bay, you’ll be good as new.” He reassured Y/n. Steve couldn’t even bring himself to care when Peter leaned down and pressed a kiss to Y/n’s lips, giving the other boy a tight smile.

From there everything felt like a blur, Steve carried Y/n to the jet and next thing he knew his son was in recovery, a tired smile on his face as Steve entered the room. “Hey pops.” Y/n’s voice sounded so tired and strained, it made Steve want to break down and cry.

“Hey kiddo, how’re you feeling?” He questioned, sitting in the chair beside his son’s bed, immediately holding his hand. “Like I got shot twice.” Y/n deadpanned, giving his father a cheeky grin. Steve huffed out a tired laugh, eyes running over his son’s bruised body. “Yeah, yeah that makes sense.” The soldier chuckled lightly, giving Y/n’s hand a squeeze. The two sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sound in the room was the rhythmic beeps of the heart monitor. After a few moments of psyching himself up, Steve spoke.

“So, you and Parker huh?” He kept his voice light, eyebrows furrowed slightly. His son’s cheeks flushed, looking away from his father. “Oh, uh yeah.” He could hear the beeping increase slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me kiddo?” He questioned, feeling a bit hurt that his son had kept something so important from him.

“I didn’t know how you’d react, being from the 40’s and all...” Y/n trailed off, eyebrows furrowed a bit. Steve felt his stomach twist a bit. Y/n was scared he wouldn’t accept him being gay? “Oh sweetheart, I don’t care if you’re gay, I love you no matter what, you’re still my baby boy.”

The smile Y/n gave him put the sun to shame, making a smile spread across his own lips. “How long have you and Peter been together?” He questioned lightly, his thumb brushing over the teenagers’ knuckles. “6 months.” Y/n replied shyly, flush darkening under his father’s questioning. That continued for about an hour before Peter entered the room, and immediately the protective dad mode came out.

“So, Parker what are your intentions with my son?” Y/n let out an indignant sound, slapping his dads’ arm. Peter’s entire face flushed bright red, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “T-to make him happy, sir.” Came Peter’s shy reply, glancing over at his boyfriend for help.

“Pops, seriously? Leave him alone.” Y/n gave his father an annoyed look, making Steve shrink back slightly, his kid was slightly terrifying, okay? The father watched as the two boys interacted, watching them for a few moments, before excusing himself from the room. If he came back later and the two were curled up in bed together asleep, well he wasn’t going to say anything.

[hetalia-has-a-secretary]

Imagine a scenario, where the country representative develops romantic feelings towards their soldier, who 100% loves them back, but thinks about it as "I-its just a patriotic love, r-right??" And what's worse, it's a wartime, and the soldier is so loyal, that they're willing to die for their country with no regrets like a hero, without realizing how much it might hurt representative's heart. Even though the victory is extremely needed, (c/n) can't leave their soldier to sacrifice themselves, but they can't be together all the time either (cuz soldier is a mortal human, and country.. is a country). Note that they probably won't confess to each other until the war ends. (Or until some dramatic event, if you choose an angsty route)

So.. what do you think about it? I'd ask you to make axis&allies hcs on this, but I think it's a way too much xD You may choose any of countries you like to explore this~

This sat in drafts too long. I apologize for getting caught up in the Headcannons so much that I'd didn't do the exact thing you asked for... (I have a habit of doing this and I'm extremely sorry) but if the countries heard news that their soldier was injured they'd all 100% fight to get to them. I also changed the scenerios up a little For each country because it just fit better for the Headcannons. I.E I had a scenerio in my head, and it leaked all over the ask :3

Trigger warnings: Blood, mentions of violence, and amputations, minor mentions of alcohol. (If I missed anything let me know!)

Allies and Axis x Treasured!Soldier: Battle Scares.

Allies:

America:

The amount of panic set in was unbearable.

It was bad enough he had to painfully separate himself from England, but to hear news that he might lose his best soldier?

No, they were more than that, but he was so busy with the war he forgotten all but how he truly felt.

Even more so, he had to distance himself because a country and a human love was (at this time) unheard of.

He tried but seeing them laying on a dirty table, whiskey in hand to numb the pain, that was the final straw.

Running over and fighting past the nurses and doctors he stood at their side, caressing their face.

"Sir? Why are you here. I can still hear the gunfire. They're closing in on us..."

The soldier's illusions did nothing to stop Alfred from spilling his emotions to a mostly drunk, and badly injured human.

The worst pain came from the lack of response, and being pulled away from their table side.

Back at the main base of operations he was too distracted to be drinking over a victory.

To him, it was still worth the freedom, but not worth the loss.

Then it burned him at how many others felt this pain.

His head spun from the alcohol, but not being fully drunk, he was hyper aware of the whole place that had gone silent.

Looking around for the cause of the broken happy atmosphere he spotted his beloved soldier, crutches under each arm, and missing a leg.

Yet they still gave him the biggest smile.

"Was I not invited to the celebration?"

England:

"Too soon" he thought, no he begged to whatever cruel god would allow this to happen. How his soldier became cannon fodder was beyond him, but he's going to best the life out whatever general allowed them to go the first wave of attack.

Not only were they badly injured, but they were still somewhere in enemy territory. The other soldiers couldn't find his top combatant, but England is.

He was gone for hours, even if he found them dead, bleeding out, or worse they would be found.

Meanwhile the rest of his army grew sick with either guilt, or shame for not trying harder.

Back out on the field, underneath fallen trees and broken up rocks laid his gem.

His gem. He tried to avoid it. Tried to sweat it off as admiration, but it was to no avail.

Heart sinking, he screamed and hollered as he dug out the fallen soldier from the rubble and debris.

Soft groans made his heart flip as his treasured soldier shifted.

"shh, shh, shh, shhh- do not move love."

He tried to quiet them, but what they said next surprised him.

"Love, huh? I can't tell you how long I've wanted to hear you call me that..."

Blush across both faces, they made it back to base.

Since then his feelings towards them had grown, and he had them the new general of his army, that way they were able to stay as close as possible.

France:

This was the worst case scenario.

Everyone was celebrating in the mess hall, the final victory was won, but something was off.

When he realized his top soldier was MIA from the party his face paled. Panic setting in, he rushed around and questioned everyone.

How where they not accounted for? His heart ached and body was shaking viciously as he went to check their room.

Nothing. His soldier was nowhere to be found.

Tonight was the night he was planning on flooding a private room with his feelings towards them. But now...

Then it dawned on him to check the infirmary. He almost regretted it.

Sat up right, bandage on their side they sat. Alone.

He rushed over asking a thousand questions. Why, how, what.

He was surprised and utterly ticked off when they told him they had hidden their wounds, and had fixed themselves up.

He still had someone check them over, just in case. Despite their proper knowledge of these kind of wounds.

He wanted to say it. How heavy they made his to give feel, and how fast his heart would beat.

But he refused to cause any more strain to them. For now, they drank and ate in private. Plans of a new tomorrow giving them both reassuring hope.

China:

He froze, the enemies retreating.

All around him his men cheered but his heart lumped up in his throat as he darted over to a figure a few feet away.

The battle was exhausting, and a good handful of his calvary had fallen. Including his soldier, and close friend.

They had given a shrill shriek moments before the battle was won, and China couldn't see where they were through the fighting. Not until the enemy cleared way did he see them on their knees. A blade embedded in their back.

Once he rushed over the others followers through and it was a team effort to get them somewhere safe to examine them.

He was now under the assumption that his fighter was not going to make it to sun rise.

But he did not leave their side. He was not going to let them die alone, and though they faded out of consciousness, he took his time filling their ears with his confession.

Chokes and tears filling his eyes he laid his head and slept.

Then morning came. He stirred but refused to look up at the body that rested before him.

That is until he heard a faint snore.

His face flushed and he sprung up, almost missing the fact their hand had made it's way into his. A silent acceptance of his feelings.

Russia:

The blood spilled from the enemies as he easily cut open into everyone of them. His anger raging inside him.

Part of him recognized his blood lust, the rest of him not understanding why.

The only thing that gave away to his true feelings was the tears that tricked down as soon as he saw his soldier staining the snow with their own blood.

Moments and blinding rage passed quickly as he stayed worldless, carrying his favored human to the closest infirmary.

He sat by their side as the nurses and doctors worked at them. Refusing to move, and dare they fail him, punishment would be considered.

Dark violet eyes hummed with regret, hatred, and sadness.

If anyone had stared long enough they would see the broken breaths he had, the only sign of his inner emotions.

He did not want to lose something- someone so precious to him. To be left alone and so quickly after building trust between them was more than he could bare.

The gasps and coughing of his soldier stirred him, and he rose from his chair.

They coughed up blood, and cussed. Eventually they gave Russia the news that they had been unconscious, but not too badly hurt, but complete recovery would take time.

He nodded and thanked them for their work and left. The only sighs of his true affection was the rich delicious food and paper flowers that would show their way to the soldier's room.

Yet the war wasn't done yet, so Russia had plenty of time to figure out his own feelings, and hoped that his soldier would help him with that.

Axis:

Germany:

Hands dug into the fabric on his knees. He was side by side with his soldier, yet somehow some stray debris had found its way into their arm, almost severing it.

He was also injured, but not as badly. His knee was scrapped up but that pain was nothing as he was forced to watch his top soldier squirm and writhe in pain as their arm was... Taken.

He wasn't allowed past the curtains, his own wounds needing to be addressed.

The only comfort he could offer was his words of pride, and praises for their courage. He knew it wasn't enough to help them as the screaming stopped, and he felt a creeping fear grow stronger. Concern over their life taking over.

Moments went by, and he was finally allowed up, so he waltz right past the curtains and stood beside their linen bed.

Grabbing a washcloth and water, he softly cleaned up what was left of the blood, both on the bedding, and on the outskirts of their less brutal wounds.

He would take care of them when the others couldn't. He would be the reason they would recover, he had to be.

The day they fully came too, they requested to see him specifically.

It was Germany who was in shock of their confession.

"I needed to get it off my chest, guess that meant the arm had to go too..."

They laughed and he almost choked on his tears as they asked for a hug. He obliged.

From there on out Germany kept his own promise to make sure their life was worth living for. With or without mutual feelings.

Japan:

He's never touched anyone before. But this was a dire situation. His general, and most valued fighter, had been struck down by the cares, and was bleeding badly.

Japan had managed to fight off the enemies ambush, and was ripping sleeves and excess fabrics to stop the blood flow. The sounds of his close friend echoing through the trees shook his core.

He struggled carrying him to a medic, and his concern never waivered.

He almost walked away, unable to handle their screams as their wounds were treated.

He decided to tough through it anyway.

In that time he reflected over the situation, and he didn't realize the tears that had fallen. He wiped them away as best as he could. But the memory of their skin against his hand had set forth an unfamiliar urge.

It wasn't anything romantic, but the desire to protect them had increased, and it took him weeks after they started healing to come to his senses and admit his feelings.

The air was silent, and if felt stale. What was being asked felt almost forbidden.

Almost.

Italy:

White flags, after all, were just white flags. And some enemies did not take treaties lightly.

With Italy being under control of another country, his own army had suffered greatly. His heart weighing heavier with each loss, or vanished person.

But the one that hurt the most was a soldier he had praised time, and time again for risking their lives when he,.or the others couldn't.

A few scratches here and there were almost normal, but one day they had returned badly wounded.

Italy felt a surge of panic and fear as he ordered anyone to help treat their wounds.

His guilt for not staying closer grew with each passing second. He grew depressed as days went by. His soldier not arousing from their slumber.

Then one day they were gone. Confusion and hurt swelled within him.

He was close to just accepting the fact he just lost someone he had come to love, and almost openly.

He grew more fond of all the rejected passes and flirtatious remarks he gave his soldier. It was a little cat and mouse game for them both. But you can only play with fire for so long.

Then the door to their safe space swung open. His dear soldier at the door way, an enemy map in hand, blood on their shirt, and a smug grin in their face.

They had successfully infiltrated enemy lines, and came back with an advantage.

Italy wasted no time holding them, regardless of the others, and whispered his love to their ears. His solider promising to submit to his past affections and remarks as soon as they have more time to breathe and rest.

Yeah- y'all thought I wasn't going to get this sappy. Y'all thought wrong~ (just kidding I got super sucked up in this prompt I don't think I answered it correctly but ya know what. The sappiness stays!). Ignore literally any and all inaccuracies Because I know nothing about history or how armies work. These scenerios are purely created to fit the prompt and my style of writing so... There.

[gokus-partner-and-lover]

The Gif Thing - Cell

Request: I have a huge dragon ball z crush on Cell. His voice and character gets to me :)

@imaginaryfanfic

It hasn't even been a year since the Cell Games had shaken the world into hell. People were preparing for an apocalypse. Most were still trying to comprehend the fact that super humans were real by the time that the event was over. And yet, despite the uproar it had caused and despite the horror so many had to push through, the world went right back to how it was before. It wasn't surprising - humans have the habit of only focusing on the relevant issues. Of course, thousands still fawn over Mr Satan, the man who supposedly saved them, but nothing else changed. No one understood what Cell truly was, so no precautions were even taken for a similar attack in the future. 

But you…

You are different.

You have not forgotten a single moment.

Every morning that you wake up, a part of you selfishly hopes that it was that time again, even though you were also afraid of death at the time. You remember one face - a face that was only known during those time - and you want it back. You want to be able to smile up at the face of so many people's nightmares: Cell.

You were never supposed to meet him. You didn't want to meet him. You weren't mad; you knew he was dangerous and you feared him. But to your dismay, the tournament he wanted to hold was right in your backyard. And despite how big the yard is - more like a whole reserve - it was too close for comfort.

Sighing softly, you dried the scrubbed plate, watching the world outside through the small window above the sink. Your chest felt tight at the memory of a ghost; he was dead. There wasn't someone coming in the distance; you had nothing to be searching for through the window. Not to mention, he was dangerous; you should not be hoping to see him in the first place. And yet, as you picked up the next plate, your mind still wandered back to the memory of the horror that paled your face when he landed on the grass in front of you so long ago. At the time, you wanted to scream, but you were too afraid to do so, and yet, his cold sneer only watched you and he did nothing. With each passing second that he did not move, one of your tense nerves was allowed to loosen. Then another, then another.

You chuckled softly to yourself, remember the surprise that grew on his face when you seemed to completely relax in front of him. It was such a fleeting moment of fear, and you had no clue why, but it never came back. You weren't afraid anymore. And before he finally left for the Cell Games, never having left after you invited him to have some of the tea you had on the stove, he admitted he had no idea why he didn't kill you either. 

Something stopped him.

He barely ever spoke for the entire duration that he stayed at your home, pretty much always just starting out the window like you were now, seeming to watch time pass. You studied your hand, feeling the ghost of his hard shell from when you finally tapped his shoulder to grab his attention. "Let's do something," you offered, "You should enjoy earth before you destroy it and all."

Something about his back as he stood still for so long, seemed almost lonely, and you weren't able to stand it any longer. And that was when you learned that this - the cell games and the killing of a few specific fighters - is all he was so perfectly made for. That was his fun. That was the only fun he was allowed to want.

It made his back seem so much sadder. 

And so, more determined, you had finally just dragged him away, "The ring you built isn't going anywhere!"

You clenched the plate tightly, squeezing your eyes shut as they burned mercilessly. When you heard he was defeated, you knew it shouldn't have affected you like that, but it hurt. To turn on the news that day and hear that he was dead: it was like a punch to the gut. You hated that it was by that punch that you realized how you felt. If you had realized sooner, you would have dragged him away from that spot sooner. You would have shown him more fun. You would have given him another purpose, even if it wasn't you. "Enough," you growled, wiping your eyes roughly, "I need to move on."

Even if that was possible, you didn't get the chance to try, and jolted at the unexpectedly loud knock at the door, jumping again in a rush to save your plate from being shattered against the floor.

"J-just a minute!" You called, trying to catch your breath, clutching the poor dish to your chest. But as soon as you were ready, you moved over to the door and pulled it open, and with a loud crash, the plate shattered by your feet, two giant, wide eyes staring up at the familiar face in shock.

You thought you were hallucinating, but the feel of the perfectly smooth, cool palm against your cheek, which patted your face to call you back to reality, cut through that theory without waver. "Cell," you said, as if you needed to hear it to truly believe it, "...you're dead."

He quickly looked annoyed, as if insulted you considered that to be possible, but inevitably, he broke the waiting silence with a simple, "So they say."

"You were dead!" You insisted louder, but just like you, he was confused but the tearful grin that unexpectedly moved to your lips, before stiffening as you crashed into his tall waist with a shell-crushing hug. He tried to push you off him, but you wouldn't budge, and eventually, deciding (making the excuse that) more force will hurt you, he hesitantly wrapped his arms around your shoulders, taking care to make sure your feet didn't step into the shards of ceramics.

"I'm not dead." He hushed sofly, gently stroking the head that seemed to be glued against him, "But I'd prefer if you keep that to yourself."

You didn't need any convincing and nodded quickly, knowing what would happen if people found out he was still around. It took days, however, before you finally learned about how he was disintegrated TWICE by the fighters who he had invited to the games, and as he was floating through space yet again, regenerating, he just couldn't seem to bring himself to go through with it. He saw no point. He didn't feel the urge. He didn't want to go through with his threats, so he saw no reason to heal. He couldn't remember enjoying a single punch. But then, after days of drifting aimlessly, he felt the ghost of one thing: the gentle pat on his shoulder you had given before dragging him away.

[fontainebleau22]

I'd happily read 'DVD commentary' of all of Homecoming, but if I MUST be choosy haha, could you do the saloon scene from chapter 4?:) I guess starting from where Billy goes up to the bar, and up to when he says he'll go after Vasquez after Vasquez has stormed out!

Thanks for the ask! Twobackground comments on this extract: first, these two chapters weren’t in theoriginal plan for the fic, which was to be entirely Goody’s point of view, andit was only because wanderingsmith said that I really needed to show Billy’sperspective too that I added them – I distinctly remember whining, ‘But I don’twant to write the whole wagon train trip to Odessa!’ Though in the end I was veryglad that she pushed me into it. But because of that, chapters 3 and 4 were less plannedout than the others, and went through quite a lot of changes. 

Second,I’ve been thinking a lot about dialogue recently, and have come to think that Icould do better with it than I have to date; specifically, reading otherpeople’s dialogue, I think I don’t put in enough comment on what my speakersare thinking or how they’re reacting, and this extract seems an example of whatI mean. If I had to write it again I think I’d do it differently, because I’mnot very satisfied with it now. 

The first round of drinks went downeasily, the burn of the whisky as welcome as the bath, and Billy went to thebar to fetch the second. 

He was standing, foot on the rail,when a voice behind him exclaimed, ‘Hey, I know you! I’d know you anywhere withthose fancy toothpicks: Rocks is the name, ain’t it?’ 

He tensed, bracing himself fortrouble, but the man addressing him didn’t seem threatening: he was plainlydressed, slightly flushed with drink and wearing an expression of pleasedinterest. 

Asnoted above, I took a long time to decide whether Billy should actually getinto the ring to fight, or whether he should just be tempted to do so, and in the end Iwent with the latter as less distracting to the narrative. But I wanted to makethe point that Billy genuinely gets a lot of his sense of self and pride fromhis fighting abilities. 

‘And?’ Billy asked warily, castinga glance back to the table where the others were sitting. 

Thisis obviously playing against the expectation of ‘Billy goes into a bar and getsan unfriendly reception’. 

‘My brother and I made twenty bucksbacking you in a fight, year or two ago. You’re quite the article - realquick.’ The man at his shoulder resembled him so closely that he had to be thebrother. 

Therewere lots of brothers in the Old West, like Earl and his brother. I did in oneversion give them names (one was called Lyle, I think), but they faded inimportance. 

‘Where was that?’ asked Billy,relaxing again. 

‘Fort Verde.No, but you should have seen him,’ he remarked to the room at large, ‘it was aneducation. Texan fellow there thought he had a fast draw, but this one – youdidn’t see his hand move. And those knives …’ 

‘Glad I was able to help you to aprofit.’ 

‘Let us buy you a drink – seemsonly fair.’ 

‘Appreciate it, but no thanks,’said Billy, gesturing back to the table. 

Yep.Not impressive. Needs more context, both exterior and interior.

‘You here to fight?’ asked thebrother eagerly. ‘Because we’d put our money on you no question.’ 

‘Could do,’ said Billy, glovedfists flexing unconsciously. And again he was at a loss: for all those monthshe spent suspicious and unconvinced that he needed a manager, now where wasGoody to put an arm round the man’s shoulders and hatch a plan, to set up themeet, to let him play the taciturn fighter? 

Better. 

‘Say though,’ said the first man,‘there’s a place out back of the horse dealer’s where they shoot targets: youcould take on the local talent there, make some money.’ 

‘Might be,’ he said, appraisingthem, ‘I could come, but it would pay both our advantage to keep it quiet.’ 

Idid like the idea of the two brothers boasting about making money from theprevious fight and thereby undermining their prospects in the current one. 

‘Sure thing, Mr Rocks,’ said thefirst man, raising his glass conspiratorially.

 Adverbs ...

 He took the fresh bottle back tothe table to confront three pairs of accusing eyes. ‘Should you be consideringthat?’ asked Sam directly, and the assumption in the question had him bristlinginstantly. 

Ihad Sam and Billy rubbing each other up the wrong way in every conversation from the moment they meetin chapter 3, and I hope it comes across that Billy’s just hopelesslyoversensitive because he feels guilty at leaving Goody behind and takeseverything Sam says the wrong way. 

‘It’s how I earned my and Goody’sliving for the last six years,’ he said shortly, ‘and it’s none of yourconcern.’ 

‘Cuchillero, how can you take the risk?’ asked Vasquez, concern inhis eyes. 

Theidea of Vasquez having a nickname for Billy I think came from Villa-Kulla, andit struck me as extremely likely, though I changed it to cuchillero(knife-fighter). 

Billy smiled, showing his teeth.‘Risk? I’m the best. I’ve been in more fights than you could count and I’ve wonthem all. I know a hundred tricks to make sure I’m the man walks out of thearena alive. You can come and watch me.’ 

Iliked this: Billy touched on his pride. Remember that the others never knew himand Goody before, not even Sam, so they have no idea of their history. 

‘Idiota,’ said Vasquez, ‘there’s always a first time.’ 

‘Like I said,’ Billy’s tone wasdeliberately even, ‘none of your concern.’ 

‘I would not be so stupid,’ hissedVasquez, ‘Joshua cannot do without me, and neither – ‘ 

Coulddo better with the context here again. 

Billy crashed the bottle down.‘Shut up.’ Teddy looked from one to the other of them in consternation. 

‘I will not. I will not carry yourcorpse home to Goodnight.’ 

There’sa lot packed into this line. First the practicalities: Goody worried that Billywould die on the journey, and be buried somewhere he’d never see; Vasquez showsus the other side of this concern – what would you do if your friend was killedaway from home? Second, Goody’s dreams see Billy dead through various causes(in a competition, at the river crossing), and this shows how easily they couldcome true. And obviously, Vasquez knows a lot of how bad Billy is feelingbecause he feels it himself about Faraday (though for different reasons) sohe’s overidentifying with him. 

The quarrel was beginning to drawattention and Sam leaned forward to intervene. ‘Vasquez, let it go. No need tobe talking about taking corpses home.’ 

‘You laugh, but it is serious,’snarled Vasquez. ‘The job, it is one thing, but this?’ 

‘I don’t need your permission,’said Billy flatly, ‘any of you.’ 

‘You think it is all the same asbefore?’ 

Thetransition point of this argument was one I struggled with for ages. I knewwhere I wanted it to go, and I knew who said what, but it took forever to makethe two parts of the quarrel bridge from one to the other, and (again) I’mstill not entirely satisfied with it. 

‘Nobody’s saying that,’ said Sam,‘but we all came through.’ 

‘Yes, we all lived. You were nothurt at all, and Billy is well again, and Goodnight too, and Joshua, and we areall as we were.’ 

‘Goody had it hard, and Faradaymost of all, everyone knows that. We all owe him. But he’s a tough man tokill.’ 

Context,woman! I really think this is not so good. 

‘Que pendejada,’ spat Vasquez furiously, ‘you, all of you, do notsee how he is.’ 

Sam laughed. ‘Come on, this isJoshua Faraday we’re talking about, the man who survived being chased, shot atand then blown up: he’s a walking miracle.’ 

Vasquez thumped his fists on thetable, making the glasses bounce and rattle. ‘No, you do not understand. Youwill not understand. You say you are his friends, yet you close your eyes towhat is in front of you. He lost his fingers. He cannot walk withoutdifficulty. He cannot ride for a whole day. He is deaf. And he is ashamed. I doall I can to make it as it was, I tell him what he cannot hear, I built a houseto make it easy for him, I keep away the people he does not like to see him; ifI died, what would he do?’ 

AsI’ve said before, I really want everyone to live, but given Faraday’s recklessand selfless act, I think this is the absolute minimum injury I can get awaywith if he does recover. I know some readers find it too gloomy, but I do planto write the coda to this series to show how Faraday and Vasquez end up in ahappy-ever-after too. 

The three of them stared, shockedto silence by the stark description. ‘I should not be here,’ said Vasquezheavily, standing up. ‘I wish I was not.’ And he stalked out, heads turningcuriously after him. 

The noise of the bar started up againaround them, but they sat in silence until Sam said, ‘I’m a damn fool, don’tneed anyone to tell me that.’ 

‘He really so bad?’ asked Teddy. ‘Imean, I know how he was hurt, but he recovered, my brother Henry said he wasdoing fine.’ 

Thisis trying to get at the difference between what Faraday feels and how he seemsto other people; that a lot of the condescension or mockery that he thinks hesees is in fact internally-generated. 

‘Goody once said to me, some paidmore than others for Rose Creek, and he was right.After he was well again, I thought it was over.’ Sam’s face was clouded. ‘I’mto blame, for not seeing how it is.’ 

Ihad written Winter’s Lease: Septemberalready by the time I wrote this, so the echo is a deliberate one. 

‘We all are,’ said Billy, pushinghis glass away untouched. ‘I’ll talk to him.’ 

…and the lead in to the scene that I always knew was coming: Billy and Vasquezsharing cigarettes in a hotel room, to match the intimacy of Goody and Faradaysleeping in the same bed.

So,overall, B-: could do better!

[sleepyfan-blog]

omg those prompts, omg, I've been trying to figure out which could be the most positive one but I think I'd really like to see #6 or #3 for Conhayth? If you don't mind, that is. :3

@aridette

A/N: I knooow! It’s such a striking prompt set and I’d be delighted to write one for you~ :3 I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: minor character deaths, templars are assholes, angst, canon-typical violence

Pairing: Conhayth

Word count: 3,911

based on the prompt:

3) “I’m useless to you now.”“Oh please, you were always bloody useless. I love you anyway.”

Connor and his father had been working together forseveral years. Haytham had come to him months ago, with a letter in hand and athunderous expression on his face. The Templar Grandmaster had stolen a pieceof correspondence from General Washington – which would have infuriated Connorhad not the information on it caused the anger that had been coursing throughhis veins at the time to turn from his father to the rebel leader himself.There was horror in equal amounts as well – for according to the letter writtenin Washington’s own hand - the other had been culpable for the burning ofseveral native villages, including his own, towards the end of the seven yearswar. His father had warned him that Washington might do the same thing again,as some of the native tribes had sided with the British against the Patriots ina desperate gamble, hoping that they would enforce the treaty boundaries thatthe colonists not only ignored but blatantly disregarded and violated on aregular basis.

There were tribes who had sided with the Patriots,and more still who had decided to remain neutral during this conflict, but allWashington could do, if he was found out to have ordered such a thing was toclaim ignorance as to whether or not the village was friendly or enemy, andunable to stop his men in time, if they had been an allied or neutral villageor not. That information had brought the two of them together. That sharing ofinformation from his father – who could have just as easily hidden thisinformation until he, Washington and Haytham were all conversing with oneanother to reveal that bit of information – prompted Connor to confess why hehated Lee so much. Some of his anger had faded when he knew for a fact that Leehad not been the one to set fire to his village. He still wanted justice forbeing screamed at and choked as a small child but… His desire to actually killLee had diminished. Particularly when he found out that the Templar also had awife and twin children to whom he was devoted to and fought both wars toprotect them. As for Washington… The man was a symbol of the rebellion and oneof the most visible Patriot leaders, and killing him would cause a great dealof chaos.

The two of them had grown closer as they had workedtogether. Much closer. Connor remembered the long, tiring ride from a smallfrontier village that the two of them had stayed in overnight on their way fromaiding the Patriots to Boston with a warm fondness. It had been a couple ofyears ago, and Haytham had brought him to the other’s Bostonian home, pressinga kiss to his lips as soon as the door had closed behind the two of them andtheir horses had been stabled. That had been the first of many kisses. Some hadlead to sex and others had lead to the two of them being wrapped up in one another,off to sleep before they could do much more than kiss.

Connor knew that his recruits were understandablyhesitant about working with the Templars, but as the war against the Britishcontinued and the Colonial Templars proved themselves to be trustworthy andhelpful allies, the divide between the Brotherhood and Rite – at least in theEnglish Colonies – began to heal. More than that, it was interesting just howwell some of his recruits and his lover’s people. Connor was currently inBoston, checking on Duncan, Stephane and Clipper. A small frown appeared on hisface as he realized that none of them were at their usual haunts – and none ofthem were on missions. Connor asked of them to friends and acquaintances oftheirs, and not a one of them could say where any one of the three of themwere. Connor had come from Homestead, and they would have sent a messengerpigeon if they had reach the (small) stronghold that would have reached him onthe road.

However the longer he wandered the streets,searching for his recruits, he heard of a public hanging. The city wascurrently under control of the British, and several supposed Patriot traitorshad been caught and were to be executed in less than an hour at fortIndependence. Connor ran as fast as he could to the fort, intending to see ifthis was a trap, or if actual patriots had been captured. If the latter wastrue, Connor needed to find and rescue them before they were killed. It wouldbe easier if his recruits were with him, but that was likely what they weretrying to do – rescue the Patriots before they were killed.

Connor could not get into the fort as the guardswere on high alert – and from their sharply polished accents, had just arrivedone of the recently arrived supply ships straight from the heart of the BritishEmpire. He would not be deterred, so he hid behind a stack of boxes andwhistled lowly, waiting patiently for one of the guards on patrol to come overand examine the source of the sound. Once one of the guards did come over,Connor killed him swiftly. He knew that the sound would attract the attentionof the other guards and dispatched them just as quickly.

He scrambled up the side of the fort, keeping lowon the wall as he moved from one spot of cover to the next, searching for theentrance to the cellblock, where the prisoners would be kept just until theywere dragged out to be executed (and Connor knew this from miserableexperience). Unfortunately, there was a crowd of only half-willing (from themuttering he heard around him. Connor had pulled his hood up so that his facewould not be seen) citizens, waiting for the prisoners to be dragged forwardsand executed. Connor counted six nooses hanging and a terrible premonitionflashed before his eyes.

But… That couldn’t possibly be true! His recruitswere skilled fighters and good at escaping guards. More than that, each of themwere local leaders of the areas of the city that they lived in and were bothwell loved and protected by the citizens around them. But his fears wereconfirmed as one by one, his recruits were dragged up to the front of crowd byguards, a noose tightened around each of their throats. Like hell was Connorgoing to allow this to happen! His body was moving before he could reallythink, a smoke bomb in his hands as he leapt onto the platform, throwing thedistraction device down so that it obscured the sight of everyone around –including the shouting guards. He knew that time was precious, so he started tocut down each of his recruits, handing one of them a knife after he cut themdown and their hands apart so that they could help him free the rest.

By the time the smoke cleared, all six of them werefree and each was moving as fast as he or she could manage, heading for arooftop. Connor leapt and scrambled up to a roof, before turning around andgrabbing Stephane, who he had heard stumble and gasp behind him. Horror filledthe young Mentor as he realized that the Frenchman was gurgling in pain as hewas stabbed through by the bayoneted rifle of a smirking redcoat, who proudlywore a Templar cross. Connor threw the dagger he had been holding at the smugbastard’s neck, hoping that if it didn’t kill him, that it would at leastdistract the other from firing for a few moments.

His eyes scanned for the others – Clipper was makingdecent time and Duncan was right behind him. Dobby had already disappeared intothe crowd. Jacob… Jacob had gotten cornered by several guards and Jamie hadturned back to help. Connor drew his pistol and shot the guard who had beenclosest to the two of them, killing him with a headshot. He reloaded his pistolswiftly and shot one of the guards who was aiming a rifle at Clipper. Just ashe killed that guard, another pistol shot rang out and… Duncan stumbled, andfell.

Clipper turned and dove after the former priest,out of Connor’s sight. The mentor ran after his recruits, determined to try tosave at least some of his recruits. By the time that he had gotten to Jamie andJacob as the two of them were closest, each had defeated a half-dozen guards, butthey just kept coming and coming. Both of them looked bedraggled and neither ofthem had any armor and were armed with the knife that Connor had given him anda sword pilfered from a dead guard each.

Jacob spotted Connor as he started to close in onthe guards, shaking his head and shouting “You need to run, Connor! They’reafter you! We’ll fight our way out of this.”

Jamie nodded and tried to get the younger man torun, able to disarm and kill the closest guard to the three of them “Go,please. We will run after you do. Duncan needs help.”

Connor was unhappy about leaving the two of themthere. He tossed Jamie – who had a hand free – a smoke bomb and ordered “Stayalive and run as soon as you can.” and did as his recruits asked, trusting themto do as they had promised him.

He reached Duncan, Clipper and Dobby fightingseveral dozen guards and just managing to dodge the bullets of severalsharp-shooters who were posted. Duncan had been hit in the gut and was bleedingheavily. The former priest was fighting like a man possessed – then again,given where he had been shot, all Duncan could do was hope for was a quickdeath. Clipper was aiming for one of the enemy sharpshooters, and managed toget off a kill shot.

Dobby called up to him “Connor, they are lookingfor you specifically, get out of here! We can handle them. You’ve trained uswell. Get out of the city if you can manage it, as fast as you can.”

Connor protested “I can help you fight, and –”

He was interrupted as he heard an officious,British accented voice call out “First rank, ready, aim and fire!”

Dobby lunged and grabbed Connor as the man spoke,twisting so that she shielded him with her body as a dozen musket shots riddledher body, spraying Connor with her blood, but protecting him from harm. Shechoked out “Run, Connor. Please! You’ve lead us, and you have the ability tolead others. Stay safe, and stay alive. For us, aye?” A small smile appeared onher face as her eyes closed.

Connor gritted his teeth as a dark glare appearedon his face as he prepared to charge the line of red-coats to kill those whohad taken the life of one of his dear friends. A hand landed on the back of hiscollar and he was yanked into one of the barracks.

When he whipped around to face who had grabbed him,it was a bloody Jamie. “Mentor, please. You need to run. Templars fresh fromEngland have arrived and they managed to track each of us down and capture usin the night. They have a strange Object in their possession – a golden baubleof strange and terrible power. You need to survive this so that our order cansurvive. We’ll be right behind you. I promise.”

“… Fine. But the rest of you better survive. I willnot be able to finish this by myself.” Connor growled back, trying to get Jamieto look him directly in the eye. He wasn’t going to be the only one to survivethis, if he had to carry two of his recruits on his back while they kicked andscreamed in protest. With a steadying breath, the two colonial Assassinsrejoined the fray, with Connor reluctantly freeing as Jamie went after the seaof red-clad soldiers, helping to keep the foot soldiers at bay while Clipperdealt with the sharpshooters.

By the time that Connor had gotten back to theBoston safe house, he was near the point of collapse. It had taken him hours andhours to get back. There had been dozens of guards everywhere, and Connorpartially waited for one or more of his recruits to also escape fortIndependence, watching the walls and hoping that they would make it as well. Hehad very nearly went back into the fort, to try and rescue at least one ofthem, but their utter insistence on him escaping alive kept what were quitepossibly all of their final wishes honored.

He collapsed in the foyer of the small house,closing the door and groaning softly. He had a couple of small sword cuts froma surprisingly swift guard captain who had come upon him suddenly a little overan hour ago. He had killed the guard captain – who was shouting for assistance– and managed to hide until the guards had stopped searching for himimmediately. The injuries hurt quite a bit, but were not life-threatening. Whathurt more was the fact that his recruits had been caught and killed…Possiblyall of them… By and on the orders of Templars.

He had trusted his father and lover… And this iswhere it had gotten him – his fellow Assassins slain – he should have listenedto them when they said that it was a bad idea to try to ally with the Templars.That it could only end in pain and misery. That his piece of shit father wouldbetray him when it would hurt the most, and by the spirits, it was true. Theyhad been right and had paid for his miscalculation with their lives.

As if summoned to inflict maximum pain, Haythamappeared from the doorway on the far end, looking immaculate and untouched byeverything as always. He frowned a little at Connor’s disheveled andblood-covered state, asking with a look of mockingly false concern on his face,and voice deceptively worried “Connor, what happened?”

Connor glared daggers at his father, barely managingto stand –he was so exhausted and the rage and betrayal was causing his limbsto shake – biting out angrily “As if you don’t know. I’m useless to you now.”He would never again trust the other, and he certainly wasn’t going to beanother one of the other’s pawns.

Haytham huffed a little, coming closer and daring to put a hand on hisshoulder. “Oh please, you were always bloody useless. I love you anyways. Areyou done being strangely overdramatic and ready to tell me what happened?I just got a frantic message from John, saying that one of your recruits hadbeen captured by the new regiment that had arrived earlier this week fromEngland.”

“Do not. Give me that. LIE! The captain of theguard was a Templar, and there were more in the group of soldiers! They knewwho each of my recruits were and how to find them! How could they have knownthat, if you or one of your people hadn’t told them.” Connor hissed, eyesnarrowing to furious slits as he tried to wrench away from his lover’s grasp,swaying a little and staggering into Haytham. He was more injured and exhaustedthan he first realized. He had to get out of here, he had to get away fromHaytham before he passed out and was easy prey for the Grandmaster –not thatthere was much left of his Brotherhood – and little that Haytham did notalready know. Except…

Except the location of Davenport Homestead. He hadyet to bring the other to his – to his Brotherhood’s - oasis of safety and calmin the colonies. Part of it was that they all had to be in full agreementbefore they took any Templar there… And partially because he worried whatHaytham might do to the small, peaceful village, as the other meddled. It waswhat Templars did.

“I did not give them the names and locations ofyour recruits, Connor. I would never betray you in such a way. I have beenbetrayed at such a level, and I would never do so to another person… Especiallysomeone whom I love as dearly and care as much for as I do for you. I do notknow how they got that information but… I arrived here in Boston an hour ago,after I had gotten a message from Pitcairn, saying that one of your recruitsmight have been detained by some of the regiments who have recently arrived. Acouple of the men and commanders are Templars, but they are not under my commandand as of yet, none of them have reported to me to ask what the standing ordersare, nor how to interact with Assassins here.” Haytham answered truthfully,steadying his heavily injured son, hoping that Connor would believe him.

Connor stared hard at him, trying to decide whetheror not he was going to believe Haytham. Achilles’ mistrustful words rattledaround in his mind. But there was the years that they had worked together,loved one another (or at least, so Connor had believed they had) to bring aboutpeace and prosperity. There had been more than a couple of times when it mighthave been to Haytham’s advantage to betray Connor’s trust… but Haytham hadn’tdone so. He had even censured Lee for what the volatile Templar had done to himas a child, and promised that once the war was over, and his usefulness as aperson of import within the Patriots waned, that he would allow Connor to seekjustice for his crimes.

“I…” He activated his second sight, and Haythamshone a bright, soothing blue. If his lover had betrayed him, then the otherwould have shone a bloody red in his vision, whether Connor knew it for certainor not. He clung to Haytham and buried his face into one of the other’sshoulders, trembling a little “I… I saw three of them fall. The… The otherswere surrounded and… They begged me to run. I wanted to stay and fight but…Jamie… Told me that one of these new Templars was in possession of a goldenobject of terrible power… and that they were after me specifically…”

“… For now, let us hope that your other threerecruits survived. You need to get cleaned up and rest. We will deal with therest of this when you have healed. I will have my people gather information. Iwill speak with them later this afternoon, if you would like. Or…” Haytham pausedas he continued to gently pet Connor’s hair. He had started to do so whenConnor had first started to cling to him tightly. Haytham’s other arm hadwrapped around Connor’s waist, trying to help the other to keep steady andclose. “Or tomorrow, if you would rather I stay close tonight. I can send acouple of pigeons to the others, as there is a coop on the roof of this house.Which would you prefer?”

“… I… I would rather you stay close tonight.” So hecould watch Haytham. So that he knew that Haytham was safe. If his father diedor was captured today as well… Connor shuddered a little at that thought. Hehad lost more people whom he cared for than he had ever wanted to again today.

“As you wish, Connor.” His beloved murmured,pressing a kiss to Connor’s forehead as the other deftly carried him up to oneof the bathrooms. “I was just about to take a bath, so the water I hot, but youneed it much more than I do. Do you know how much of that blood is yours?”

“Most… Most of it is other peoples. Mainly… MainlyDobby’s. There was a… A firing squad and she…” Connor couldn’t say it, abjectmisery and guilt flashing across his face.

“Protected you, so that you would survive?” Haythamoffered quietly as they entered the bathroom. There was a large, claw-footed tubnear the fire to help retain the water’s heat. As Connor started to stare atthe fire and tremble more, Haytham tugged his lover’s chin down so that theslightly taller man was looking him directly in the eyes. “Connor… Today hasbeen a terrible day. Losing… Losing so many people at once is a hard thing toswallow. But you need to focus. In order to avenge them, and to make certainthat their deaths were not in vain.”

Connor nodded absently, tugging off his clothes –he was covered in blood, and he desperately wanted to get clean – not that hewould ever be free of the sights of his friends deaths in such a violentfashion. “Yes, Haytham. You’re right, of course I just…” Connor hadn’t criedsince he was a small child. It was one thing that the fire seemed to haveburned from him. But he was closer than he ever had been, to breaking down intoa sobbing mess.

“Take your time, Connor. Let me help you, andtogether we will get to the bottom of this. Those responsible will be killedfor trying to disrupt what we had been able to do here.” Haytham responded,voice firm but caring as he guided Connor into the bath. “Would you likesomething to eat, or a bit of tea to drink? How long has it been since you havehad anything?”

“I have not eaten anything since… Since before Iheard about the hanging, and that was in mid-morning.” Connor answered, voicesounding to him. As if another person was speaking, rather than himself. Hewould need to contact Aveline and tell her what had happened, so that shewasn’t caught off-guard. With a shake of his head, he snapped out of thestrange mental daze he had gotten into. Haytham was right. He needed to focus.“Could British Templars be trying to interfere with the war, now that they arehere? Would their interests align more with the Empire in which they live in,rather than with you, and their fellow Templar brethren in the colonies?”

“It can happen that different sects of the TemplarOrder find themselves on opposite sides of war. Generally we try to worktogether, rather a lot like different chapters of your Brotherhood worktogether, despite differences that their country of birth have. But it wouldnot surprise me if that was the case.” Haytham responded, a small sigh escapinghim as he shook his head. “I will bring you something to change into. Wash upwell, mm? I’ll make certain that there’s something here for you to eat.”

“I… Thank you rake:ni.” Connor responded, curlingone hand around one of Haytham’s arms, gently tugging the other closer to himand sitting up a little in the bath to kiss the other on the lips for a coupleof moments, enjoying the simple but loving gesture before letting go.“You are welcome, Ratonhnhake:ton. I will be backsoon.” His lover promised, staying until Connor had settled into his bathbefore leaving to get what he had said he would.