#who would also cause my father to roll over in his grave

[kinokoshoujoart]

someone should really revoke my camera privileges

[shy-urban-hobbit]

"I'm telling you Geralt, my songs are definitely working."

"A few contracts not skimping on payment isn't proof Jaskier. It's coincidence." Geralt replied as he stuffed his newly purchased supplies into Roach's saddlebag. After two years, he didn't need to look to know the bard was probably doing his uncanny impression of a landed trout. His default expression when he thought himself gravely offended.

"Oh hoho. So it's proof you want? Fine, I'll get you proof you old cynic - wait, I'm here calling you old, how old are you? I know Witchers age differently but it's all so contradictory. I remember one text claiming you aged backwards. Backwards!"

Geralt was blessedly distracted from Jaskier's tangent by a small tug on his cloak causing him to look behind him and then down.

A small, tear stained face with huge, liquid brown eyes looked up at him. The hand that wasn't clutching Geralt's cloak fisted in the skirt of a green dress as she shuffled her small, booted feet. Witcher and child stared at one another and even Jaskier had fallen silent.

"Are you the White Wolf?" She asked in a small voice.

Geralt could only nod in response, keeping an eye and both ears out for angry adults about to accuse him of kidnapping.

"I can't find my Papa." She sniffled, voice trembling and eyes welling up.

He felt himself slip into Witcher mode, trying to think what could be snatching people from a crowded town in the middle of the day, "What do you mean you can't find him, has he gone missing or-"

"Sweetheart, do you mean you got separated from your Papa in the market?" Jaskier gently interjected before Geralt could start fully interrogating her. The girl gave a small nod, turning her attention to the bard now kneeling in the dirt next to her.

Geralt felt his face heat up. Right. Just a lost child. That was also a possible (and the most logical) explanation.

"It's ok, we'll help you find him. Won't we Geralt?" Jaskier's tone of voice leaving no room for argument.

It turned out that Jaskier's idea of helping was having the girl perch on Geralt's shoulders and scan the top of the crowd for her father while he stood playing silly little dittys to keep her from crying again. Geralt holding onto her shins lightly and trying to ignore the mess being made on his cloak by muddy feet.

"I see him! Papa! Papa!"

Geralt tightened his grip slightly as her weight shifted with her frantic waving. Waiting until he was clearly making his way over to them before setting her gently back on the ground.

"Mika! Oh thank the God's." He turned his attention to the two men, his eyes widened as he took Geralt in fully.

"You're-"

"Hmmm."

Geralt tried to hide his surprise as the man grasped his hand in a firm if slightly clammy grip. "My thanks Wolf. I swear, if I went home without her my wife would make sure I shared the same fate as that Hag from the song of yours." He said, smiling awkwardly at his own attempt at humour, "Come on Mika, say goodbye. Oh, here."

He reached into his satchel and pulled something out. Geralt could smell warm sugar as he handed it over. "It's not much, but I don't know a single person who doesn't like cake. I could do with cutting down myself." He said, patting his own slight paunch before taking his daughters hand with a final "Thank you." Mika turning back to give a wave which they both returned before the two of them disappeared into the crowd.

"What?" Geralt asked as they left the town. The bard hadn't stopped grinning at him like the cat who'd got the canary.

"Nothing. It just, the timing and everything. Seems Destiny agreed with me for once. The songs are making a difference."

"Hmm." Geralt fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Oh don't give me that." Jaskier said, swatting Geralt in the side as he unwrapped the package Mika's father had given them, "You saw as well as I did there were plenty of town guards around but she went to you. She wanted you. Oooh, maybe this would be good for a new song. The Gentle Wolf! Yes I- hey! "

"No cake for you until you stop." Geralt stated, popping a piece into his own mouth to hide his smile.

[dapper-nahrwhale]

Home is the first grave

(a leverage/the librarians crossover where Eliot and Jake are twins)

Eliot had spent most of his life learning how to appease angry occasionally drunk men. To force their eyes at him and not someone smaller and more vulnerable.

As always, the first angry drunk man was his father.

[link here]

Eliot had spent most of his life learning how to appease angry occasionally drunk men. To force their eyes at him and not someone smaller and more vulnerable

As always, the first angry drunk man was his father. In the small everyone-knows-everyone-knows-everyone-else-secrets little town he'd lived his whole life in, there was no escape. He'd been a protector his whole life. He had never known anything else.

Never.

Never .

Not since he'd been five years old and told he now had a little sister and he knew this is who he would have to be. For her. To cause trouble and force the eyes of an angry drunk man unto himself and not at her when they all screwed up.

It was one of many a game they played. Who can be quiet the longest. Who can hide the quickest. Who can run away the fastest.

Eliot always lost. It was his job . To lose the little games they made up and keep her safe from the angry drunk man.

He didn't always do his job. He didn't always want to do his job.

But he was a fighter. He was born fighting. He knew how to take the punches easily.

It was who he was , it was all he'd ever known.

The day his father sat him down after little Hannah was born and told him he's a big brother to a little sister now, and it was his duty to protect her, he never thought it would have to be from him.

But that's just how it went.

Eliot protected. He had to. It was all he'd ever known. And many a time, he did not want to have to.

Many a time he was exhausted and just wanted a break from it all.

(This is one of those times.)

“Go back inside, Hannah.” He hears the always creaky screen door open and the stomps of an angry 6 year old.

He also heard the clatter clunk of the old pick up truck tearing away down the dirt and mud driveway, most likely off to the bar.

Eliot is scrunched up on stairs of the back porch, knees tucked under his chin and holding them tightly.

If he held himself as tight as possible, he couldn't break.

He couldn't.

He scrubs the leaking tears away from his face. He's 11 now, he's too old to cry, even if his lip was definitely busted and his arm hurts funny and his head aches and he feels like tearing his shortly cropped hair out.

He covers his face with his hands and misses how his longer hair would cover up his face so he could hide his baby crying more easy. He didn't want her to see how much it was getting to him. He had to be strong, tough, he had to be able to fight. He couldn't afford to be soft and sweet. He had a family to protect.

“Ellie,” She says in the way only an exasperated world weary 6 year old in sparkly pajamas holding a stuffed pig can, “you're ah El- idiot .”

“Nice wordplay, make it up yourself, Hanna- Barbera ?” Eliot sniffed and gives a tight little smile at his own joke.

He can feel her eyes roll as she plops down next to him, “That's not my name.”

“And my name's not Ellie.” He says in a deadpan that he knows she thinks is his Serious Voice.

She gasps like that new piece of information upends her entire worldview. And because she's 6, maybe it does.

“Don't lie to me.” She grabs his sore face with stout determined fingers, dropping the stuffed pig in the dirt where it belongs.

“Ow-ow, ok fine, you're right. I'm Ellie. Ok, just lemme go.” He relents immediately.

“Fine.” She pushes his face away from her so hard he nearly falls over.

She takes advantage of his discombobulation and jumps into his lap, pig back in hand.

“I want Mama back. If she was here, maybe Papa would stop.” She settles down and starts absently playing patty cake with his hands.

He didn't ask stop what, he knew what she meant. Just stop .

But Mama couldn't come back. Hannah was very smart, smarter than Eliot that's for sure, but she still didn't really get it.

He didn't know how many more times he could tell her before she got it, “She's gone and she ain't coming back and the sooner ya grow up and get that then-”

Then Hannah bit his hand.

“Ow, what the hell?” He snatched his hands away from her mouth.

“Stop sounding like Papa an start sounding like Ellie! I told you you're ah El-idiot right now, not an Eliot!” She looked angrily up at him, and for good measure, stomped on his foot hard with her tiny sneakers. It didn't really hurt, but it was the principal of the thing.

“You're weird and I don't get you!” He shouted at her.

“You're weirder, El-idiot!” She screamed and slammed the screen door so hard the handle snapped off, locking him outside.

“Dammit, Hannah!” He tugged at the door but it didn't budge.

“I'm not talking to you or Pa anymore, just Brisket!” She hugged the stupid pig tighter.

“Brisket can't talk you know!” He banged at the screen. He didn't want to break it, because that meant he'd have to fix it but he was pretty pissed at her.

“Yeah she can!” Hannah shoved that stupid pig in his face.

“Uh-uh!”

“Uh-huh!”

“You're just mean because you don't got any friends like me and Brisket got!” She taunted him, accurately.

“I do too have friends! At least I got friends that are real.” Like Jacob, except not really, “Like you Hannah.”

“Well-well-well, we ain't friends no more when you're mean! ” She sputtered.

“Come on, Hannah! Open the door.”

“No!”

“The handles gone, I'm getting all bit up out here, come on.” He was, wafting away the mosquitos that had decided hed make a tasty meal.

“Nuh-uh."

“I'm sorry, I won't be mean no more, just please. I gotta fix it up ok?” He pleads. If it will get her to open the door, he'll do just about anything.

She hesitates, “Only if you do my hair all up for school tomorrow.”

“Ok.” He shrugs, he would have to do it anyways.

“And you gotta give Brisket a bath.” She adds with a thoughtful nod at the pig.

“No I don't.” That was in line he did not want to cross. It was just a damn stuffed animal.

“Yes, you do, or I ain't letting you back in.”

“Hannah.” Eliot gave his most stern dad-adjacent sternest look he could.

But by the cherry red rage flooding her face, it did not take well.

“I miss Jake more than I'd ever miss you !” She threw the door open to smack him in the face with it, “Ah least he's nice to Brisket!”

“Well, he ain't here either!” Eliot shouted back, holding his now definitely bruised nose. More so yelling at himself than her.

But she still cried the same no matter his intentions.

“Hannah, I didn't mean…” He reached out to brush away her tears and she ran.

He heard the thumping as she stomped upstairs to her room.

Well, that went. Badly.

“Stupid Jake, off at his stupid smartie school, makin me fix the damn door…” He muttered to himself as he set about fixing his mess.

Well, Eliot lied. He'd been a big brother for longer than 5 years old. He was born one, actually.

It's just. Jacob was smarter, he had a chance to get out of this little town that had its claws dug deep in them all. There's no other place Eliot can even think of calling home. He doesn't understand how Jacob was able to leave it behind so easily. Leave him behind.

He can get leaving behind their fucked up dad and this town too small for his big brain, but. He didn't realize he would be left alone with the rest.

There was no way Eliot would ever get out of this town. He'd live and die here, just like their daddy.

The thought made him sick.

At least Jacob got out, was at some fancy important private school for a semester. Maybe he'd come back, maybe he wouldn't. Eliot tried not to blame him for it.

Tried.

He couldn't help the course bitter feeling that flooded him intermittently.

He staved it off with projects around the house, with keeping Hannah occupied, with anything he could. If he sat and thought about it, he wasn't sure if he'd scream or cry or lose his mind.

He doesn't blame Jacob for trying to get out. He just wishes he could have gone with him.

It had been their own secret plan to get out of this town together. Out of this house, their room. All of it.

But that all changed when Mama died. It was sudden and unpredictable and everything just got worse after it.

And Jacob, always the more peaceful people person of the two, he couldn't always keep the peace. So it was up to Eliot to do that he was good at and fight.

And so, Eliot made damn well sure the eyes of the angry drunk man were always on him, not Jacob, and never Hannah. It was his job. And he'd be damned if he didn't do his job well.

So, really he can't blame Jake for leaving, just for leaving him.

-

(I've only seen the first episode of The librarians, so once I see more I'll do more!)

[i-did-not-mean-to]

April - Maedhros & Maglor

Ah, MoonLord my dear reader has come up with quite an interesting batch of prompts for me!

So, after all the smut, have some gen stuff :D

Pairing: Maedhros & Maglor

Prompts: Sibling relationships, Babysitting, war, musical instruments, heat

Words: 2005

Warnings: Sadness, regret, loss

“Don’t,” Maedhros said automatically as something whizzed past his head. It was only when he saw the charred bone—a bleak, white accusation—roll down the hill that he remembered where they were.

Long gone were the days when the twins would throw clumps of dirt and paper-thin skins filled with water at one another and their older siblings in mischievous glee.

His heart ached as he thought back on those blessed days of carefree annoyance; their mother, dutiful and devoted, would sneak off with his half-uncle’s wives to gossip about their husbands and unruly children, and he’d be left in charge of a whole pack of feral youngsters.

Back then, he'd been the oldest, but he hadn’t been able to fathom yet how terrible it would be to feel old.

“Food shall be ready soon,” Celegorm declared in a voice so hollow, that it was clear to everyone that he didn’t care whether his brothers would devour the spoils of his ruthless hunt like wild animals or shun them like petulant children.

Once upon a time, his steps had been so light that it had been impossible for anyone but Huan to hear him approach, but his dark deeds and bitter regrets had weighed him down so much that his every movement seemed to set his surroundings atremble with cold dread.

Habit drove the old-familiar words onto Maedhros’s tongue, “Come on, children!”, “Food is ready!”, “Wash your hands!”, but he didn’t speak any of them aloud—what for?

They were elflings no more, and the blood on their hands could never be rinsed off.

It felt to Maedhros as if he already sensed that terrible, blazing heat that had taken their father lick at his ankles, and he thanked the Valar for his prodigious height. No matter how voracious the flames of their Doom were, they’d have a far to go yet before consuming him whole.

Surely, it was also that secret fire’s pervasive, poisonous smoke that made his breath come in shallow, ragged bursts and drove tears into his bright, gentle eyes.

There was no place for pity or nostalgia in a war camp, and if he missed Caranthir’s rare fits of raucous laughter or Curufin’s earnest devotion to crafts of beauty rather than of violence, it was a small price to pay in the pursuit of Fëanor’s expectations.

Suddenly, the dutiful, unerring uncrowned king wondered why their father’s wrath and single-minded determination felt shockingly alive when everything else—their hope, their joy, their very vivacity—seemed to have died so long ago.

These things were not for him to consider or to know, though, and he turned his attention back to the gaggle of brothers, all beloved and regretted already, who closed in on the fresh kill like hungry wolves.

He wished Fingon could be there—he’d always been so good at distracting them by making a witty joke or feigning interest in the various interests that kept the infamous sons of a genius enthralled.

No, Maedhros corrected himself harshly, he was being unfair to one whose heart had ever been more generous than he himself could even fathom—thus, Fingon had probably genuinely cared.

He’d cared so much that he’d died for a cause that had never been his own, many times over, and Maedhros welcomed the crippling pain of loss and guilt washing over him like a wave of sharp-toothed darkness—he deserved to be denied even the comfort of mourning the death of his best friend and true love.

Some of his brothers might have wailed and raged, others would have curled up around the throbbing core of their suffering, but he was allowed neither.

The one person who might have understood and had wise words of comfort to impart was Turgon, and Maedhros knew that he’d probably never hear that calm, grave voice again.

That, he also more than deserved.

“Will you not eat something?”

Maglor appeared with a shallow, cracked bowl in his famed hands. He resembled their father’s family much more than their mother’s on the surface, but he had inherited Nerdanel’s gentle, calming smile and the look of indulgent fondness they all missed so desperately.

“I’m not hungry; give my portion to the…”

“Little ones?” Maglor laughed mirthlessly. “Do you know that, for the longest time, I was convinced that you abhorred sweetmeats and treats? You’d always pass on your cake to me, and I believed that it was due to a personal dislike rather than a sincerely stupid act of self-denial.”

Kneeling gracefully before his older brother, he held out the simple meal stubbornly.

“You need to eat, lest you fade completely. We need you—and I know how cruel and selfish that sounds, but we cannot do this without you. I cannot do this alone.”

And, because he remembered what his interim kingship had done to his creative, wild-hearted brother, Maedhros accepted the proffered bowl wordlessly, nodding his thanks.

“Eat, brother,” Maglor insisted; he’d known Maedhros for too long to be fooled by his courteous manners and his uncanny ability to dissimulate how much he was buckling under the burdens put upon him. “I shall sit with you and make sure that you’re honouring Tyelko’s effort appropriately.”

Grimacing, Maedhros took a tentative bite—the meat was chewy and tasted like wet coal, but he forced a smile onto his lips to assuage the swirling worry in his brother’s eyes.

“It’s not very good,” Maglor whispered conspiratorially, “but it’s warm and nourishing—that’s all we can ask for.”

Maedhros heard the “all we deserve now” even though it was not spoken, so he bowed his head in agreement and went on spooning the tasteless sludge into his numb mouth mechanically.

“Come over, sit by the fire with us,” Maglor went on as he took the empty container back. “Surely, you won’t refuse a bit of comforting heat out of petulant brooding and self-flagellation?”

Not sure whether his wickedly witty sibling was referencing the warmth of the reluctant but unbroken brotherhood or the mundane effect of the small campfire, Maedhros cocked his head and waited.

“I could play the harp,” Maglor went on, unrelenting. “Like in the old days when I’d help you babysit the horrors.”

Out of habit rather than real annoyance, Maedhros sucked his teeth. He might have been prejudiced, but he’d always staunchly claimed that none of his brothers was even half as terrifying as their female cousins.

Indeed, he’d ever believed that Finrod had been dealt the trickiest hand, but the mere thought of his former flippancy on these matters made him now flinch as if struck.

Too many of their kinspeople had perished, and he felt terrible for ever having had a single ungracious thought about them.

“Nobody wants to hear your howling,” Caranthir hissed, but—as per usual—nobody paid his ill-tempered outbursts any heed. Moreover, his two oldest brothers hadn’t forgotten the seemingly endless period when that little red-faced boy had only been able to fall asleep in Maedhros’s arms while Maglor hummed lullaby after lullaby.

“Father would not want you to isolate yourself,” Curufin agreed in Fëanor’s voice, mirroring Fëanor’s grave mien, moving his strong fingers in a perfect imitation of Fëanor’s gestures.

“I…I can’t stop seeing those who are no longer there,” Maedhros replied, shielding his sensitive eyes from the flickering light of the fire—he’d grown to dread the devastating element that had robbed him of all he’d held most dear.

If his brothers understood his words as a thinly veiled reference to their parents, he would not correct them, but he knew that his mazy thoughts comprised others whose very names had become anathema to the precarious survival to which they clung with despairing obstinacy.

Their Flight, the Ice, the burning of the ships, the confrontation at the feet of King Thingol—there had been too many incidents that had torn them apart, but—just for one dark, bleak night—Maedhros allowed himself to miss the children he’d watched grow up in the Blessed Realm until his chest hurt with suppressed sobs.

It was generally accepted that the Oath had erased all other considerations in their crazed minds, and—once again—he wouldn’t correct anyone who believed so, because the truth was so much worse.

He remembered everything: every ephemeral sandcastle, every scraped knee, every impromptu nap against the narrow, bony ribcage of a young, hopeful prince of yore.

How he wished that he could forget that he’d held, defended, comforted, and loved them long before they had righteously started loathing him! If he could excise those memories from his heart, he might well have reclaimed the Silmarils by now; instead, he was torn to pieces by contradicting loyalties until every minute movement made his body and soul writhe in agony.

Maglor had unpacked the battered, old harp he carried around in a worn, oiled skin as if in defiance of their present situation and their hopeless quest.

Little by little, the conversations died as the initially random, mournful notes melted into a variation of an old lullaby, overwhelming in its simplicity and never-changing beauty.

Eyes closed and lips pursed, Maglor conjured up visions of lush gardens and mellow, silvery reveries which stung and soothed their hearts in equal measure.

With every stroke of his calloused, weary fingers, the melodies grew more intricate and enchanting, and even the dead trees around them seemed to bend towards the life-giving solace flooding the barren clearing like a wave of pure light.

The last time his brothers had heard this piece performed, there had been many different instruments interweaving their precious song with Maglor’s flawless harp play, but the stark absence of a supporting accompaniment felt oddly fitting now as it perfectly mirrored his solitary, desperate effort to dispel the omnipresent, suffocating gloom miring them down.

Cruelly aware of how tense and unmoving his forcibly dispassionate mien must have looked, Maedhros tried to let the music drown out the painful knowledge that, had they lived, neither Fingon nor Finrod could have resisted joining their skill and voices to this pitiful concerto.

Alas, they had fallen, and no fire or flame in all of Arda could have replaced the healing, cheering warmth they might have dispensed.

“You have everything you need to succeed,” Fëanor had said as he’d lain, broken and burned, in the loving, trembling arms of his oldest son, and Maedhros had nodded, ready to swear any oath if only his words could soothe his father’s evident agony.

He’d been right, the disenchanted, weary minder of his quasi-orphaned brothers now realised; at the moment of his demise, Fëanor could not possibly have foreseen the terrible, devastating losses his sons would have to face and bear in the single-minded pursuit of their ill-fated vow.

It might well have been a wilfully naïve stance, but Fëanor—having himself left his beloved wife behind in the Blessed Realm—had been convinced that helplessly, uselessly yearning for those who were happy and safe within the keeping of their ungracious jailors was counterproductive and needlessly distracting.

Maedhros wondered how their father’s tune might have changed if he’d known his wife, his brother, his very followers to have died miserably.

In many a way, it was a mercy that he’d died before learning of Fingolfin’s arrival or his subsequent death—despite all his bitter words, Fëanor might not have stomached that knowledge as comfortably as he wanted to make others believe.

Through a veil of flickering flames, Maedhros caught the knowing, understanding gaze of his favourite brother, and his mouth curled into a genuinely fond smile as Maglor intoned a simple song he’d learned at Maedhros’s elbow so long ago.

For the first time in what felt like ages, comfortable drowsiness descended upon the camp as their younger brothers pulled up their bedrolls around their shoulders, bowed with grief and unspoken fear.

They’d sleep soundly tonight, and that alone was worth the terrible loneliness of the two elders whose wakeful watch would not end until the merciless sun came up once more.

-> Masterlist

@fellowshipofthefics: I am still on it :D

[mothwingwritings]

Taming Of Beasts

Fem!Reader X Zenos Yae Galvus

I wrote this right after I finished StormBlood a few months ago. Zenos is def one of my fav villians in Final Fantasy and I wanted to take a stab at trying to write something for him. :) I hope I did him an ounce of justice.

This is supposed to take place sometime between Heavensward and Stormblood. Ala Mhigo is still very much going through some shit in this little fic (and so is the reader, for that matter).

(Also Stormblood is free right now so if you have any interest and haven’t played, now is the time to act!!!)

Warnings: War, death, blood, spoilers possibly up to the point of stormblood? But not anything huge.

Victory had become too easy.

Over the past several months the thrill of the hunt had significantly waned, each battle presenting itself with less resistance than the one prior. Every adversary faced was now more apt to cower, roll over and submit then to stand up and fight. The empire’s spreading influence was quickly becoming far too overpowering for these backwater colonies to handle, and it was painfully apparent with each visit Zenos made that these hunting fields had long since held any interesting sport. Citizens who were once so eager to fight for their homeland now bared their stomachs like whimpering, scared dogs.

His father and the legion commanders saw it as a good thing, satisfied that the illustrious Garlean Empire was finally achieving what it rightfully deserved. With every passing day more land was claimed by the empire, and with the land came influence, victory, and boredom.

The successes were too easy and each day that dragged by in Ala Mihgo had grown lackluster to the empire’s crown prince. What was once an exciting hunting ground was now a barren isle, the lands that had brought thrilling promises of conquest now plagued by dwindling opposition, souring the once sweet experience he found roaming these fields.

Each step of his heavy sabatons sunk him into the earth, the dirt path softened with the spilled blood of the fallen. Droplets of the viscous red liquid stained the sole and sides of the dark metal, the agonized expressions of the corpses reflecting back off their bloodied surface as he paraded by.  Soon those bodies would be carted away, dumped in some unmarked mass grave to rot deep underground. There was neither honor nor peace in their passing, their miserable existences snuffed out as easily as blowing out a candle.

He smiled.

He was making his way towards a line of soldiers and survivors, and though the latter of the two outnumbered his battalion, they were far too broken to pose a threat. The group consisted of a varied mix of individuals, men and women, young and old, huddled together shoulder to shoulder. Most wept, while others remained silent and quivering. Held firmly in the soldiers grasps, none of the prisoners dared make eye contact with the approaching prince.

None save for you.

Wild was the only way he could describe you, ready to lunge at him the moment he took a step too close. Covered in blood, hair matted and tangled, outfit torn to shreds with gaping wounds peering out through the cracks, you were truly a sight to behold. It was obvious you had fought hard to earn your spot amongst the survivors, and judging by the more kempt look of your compatriots, you deserved it far more than they did.

While most of the prisoners shared a soldier keeping them in check, you had your own personal guard holding you under firm lockdown to prevent you from breaking free and causing issues. The soldier watching you seemed haggard, as if restraining someone as tiny as you had taken a great deal of effort. Zenos internally scoffed at the scene. There was no place for weakness in his battalion, he made note to exact due punishment later.

“Sir,” one of the men spoke as he approached, imperial salute following his words, “We have cleared the area. There was some opposition, but it has been dealt with.”

Zenos’ masked face scoured the surrounding area, finding far too many of their own men’s bodies mixed in with the mongrels. “Dealt with you say, but it seems you had quite the time taking over one small village.”

The soldier addressing him stiffened. “… It’s true, my lord. They did put up more of a fight than was anticipated. There is no excuse for the amount of lives our side lost.”

“If you are aware of that then it should have been avoided,” his cold words made the soldier visibly uneasy, his weight now shifting unsteadily between his feet, “but that may be addressed later. I see we have some cornered animals in our midst.”

The man quickly nodded, relieved to have the heat taken off himself. He turned to the disheveled group, causing them to flinch at the recognition.  “These are the enemy survivors, all of them active members of the resistance. Some, once trained, we believe may make fine soldiers. The others can be used as slaves, in the pleasure quarters, or as bargaining chips. Should my lord will it, we can instead kill them.”

A jolt passed through the crowd, a wave of sheer terror and indignation flashing across their muddied, bruised faces. Even you, staunch as you remained, shuddered at the flippant words that spilled from his soldier’s lips. The lot of you was nothing in the face of the Garlean Empire, and it horrified you that you lived or died at the whim of one man.

He did consider ending you all, leaving your final moments to be filled with dread and the futility of your efforts. How fitting it would be to have the final thought to flit through your fading conscious be your own ineptitude, the frailty you exuded trying to preserve your own existence for a chance at freedom. Your subjugation was inevitable, but he supposed being spared watching the rest of your brethren and kin being torn down until they were all nothing but toiling and obedient pets, cannon fodder, or corpses could be considered a nicety.

Mere inches separated you from the crown prince, and he took a moment to fully take you in. The unrestrained malice and fear dancing in your wide eyes, the tightly clenched fists held in place at your side, the deep grimace that engulfed your entire face. Your body shook in the guard’s hold, each quake relaying how clearly upset you were to be ensnared in this situation. If he ordered them to let you go, what would you do? Attack him the moment you were given leeway, or would you crumble to your knees in despair?

Musing on it piqued his interest. Hunched over before him, you looked so insignificant. Shuddering as you glowered up at him, he could tell you were on the brink of collapse but were doing your very best to hide your feebleness from him.

Your animosity was palpable, the kind that only comes when someone is pushed far past their limit. Your home, your family, your friends, his men must have taken it all from you. And now that you were captured, the torment you faced was sure to be dragged on, only guaranteed to end with your gruesome and painful death.

Zenos wondered if you realized how lucky you were to have survived to this point. Like a phoenix, you had risen from the ash of your past life, born into a new life of combat and strife, forged by the hells of war. The situation that was forced upon you was a truly wonderful breeding ground, an opportunity to mold you into something extraordinary.

But was it enough? You certainly had the look of a mad dog about you, but to show the true colors of a feral beast you would require more time. You needed more experiences to break you, rebuild you into a seething vessel of hatred, an avatar of merciless revenge.

If the process didn’t destroy you, how much more interesting would you become?

A slow smile crept across his lips.

There was a woman next you, older than you by at least two decades. Her manic eyes kept flicking to you, her chapped hands violently wringing the tattered rags that once resembled a dress. She seemed worried for you, and judging by the way your eyes darted to her every so often, softening with each quick gaze, it was fair to say she was someone important to you. Was she your mother, or perhaps an aunt? She was too old to be a sibling, but too young to be a grandparent. Maybe just a kind older woman you took a shine to? It mattered not, her end would happen regardless of her relations.

Zenos lifted his hand languidly, stopping once it had pointed to the woman beside you. She grew pale as he singled her out, her knees knocking so hard he was surprised she still stood. His hand swept over the remaining people, indiscriminately landing on two other elderly captives. An intense wave of unease spread throughout you, accented by the intense quiet that fell over the small crowd.

His lips parted, the words spilling out in a bored admonishment, “These three are past their prime and have no further use in this world.”

You froze, your face twisting into a look of unadultered dread. You knew what was coming next.

“Kill them.”

Without further fanfare, the soldiers nearest each of the chosen drew their weapons and fired. Three bodies fell with a uniformed ‘thud’ to the ground. Fresh blood streaked across your cheek as your companion made her way to the ground. Screams erupted around you, broken and gasping for their stolen loved ones.

Though your mouth had fallen open in shock, no sound spilled out.

The look of anguish the spread across your face was so appealing that he almost considered praising you for it. Cold, agonized distress suited you just as much as bitter rage.

With a flick of his wrist, he continued doling out fates. “The two on the end look sturdy enough to be soldiers, the three in the middle can be tasked with menial labor, and that one over there I am sure can find work in the pleasure quarters.”

“And what of this one, sir?”

The guard holding you gave you a rough jostle, seeming to bring you to your senses. Your eyes traveled slowly from the body at your feet to Zenos himself, the heartbreak you were suffering flickering out as it was once more replaced with thrumming anger. You gritted your teeth, eyebrows cinching as your chest began to rise and fall with erratic breaths. You were doing all you could to keep yourself together, but the final thread holding you was stretching so thin…

Zenos took a step towards you, the motion putting you on alert. You must have been ready for a death order, trying to make peace with the fact that this is how it would all end for you. With another step he was upon you, his regal form hulking before you. Your eyes fixated on his concealed face, a tempest of emotions swirling within them.  

His hand reached out towards you, and though your eyes sparked with a look of apprehension, you remained still. He latched on to your chin, giving a small pleased hum as he felt your flesh quiver in his hold. Upon contact, your face twisted into a look of sheer disgust which he found quite amusing.

You winced as he jerked your head this way and that, assessing the different angles of your face. Even covered in grime you were lovely, surely in more peaceful times you were sought after amongst the rabble to wed. His eyes flicked over your body, taking in each curve and valley viewable to him, the cuts and bruises that littered your skin only made you look that much more appealing.

“This one will serve me directly.”

Your eyes widened, a moment of silence spreading amongst the soldiers as they cast each other sideways glances. “My lord, are you sure,” the man holding you finally broke the silence, “This one is… Well, they are a bit unruly sir.”

He held back a laugh at the blush that passed your cheeks, affronted by the soldier’s choice of words. He guessed unruly was not how you would choose to be described in this situation.

“I can see that,” Zenos spoke plainly, releasing your chin from his grasp, “However a new personal servant is needed since one has recently passed of old age. This woman is lively and can handle the strains of the job. She will be trained in the role, broken down as many times as it takes till she understands her place.” He turned his back towards you and began his departure, his dull tone calling back over his shoulder, “If she can’t adjust to the position I will kill her myself.”

“Then do it.”

He stopped in his tracks, your shaky words the first time he had the pleasure of hearing your voice.  

“I’d rather die than serve you.”

Your voice warbled, but your message was loud and clear. It was a declaration you wanted people to hear. Was it to try and inspire your fellow man that lined up beside you, maybe place an ounce of fight back into the shackled and broken? Perhaps it was an attempt to boost confidence in yourself? Maybe it was simply an act of rage-filled defiance towards the man who personally led the charge which slaughtered your kin, their blood still freshly smeared across your hands and chest.  

It struck him then that you looked beautiful like that, scowling and full of fury, soaked in the blood of your loved ones and enemies alike. It surprised him that a mere pest could hold such radiance, his attraction to you stupefying as he turned towards you, your crazed eyes boring straight through his mask, locking with his own.

“Silence,” the guard holding you gave you a violent shake, “How dare trash like you address Lord Zenos that way, you impudent-“

“Enough.”

Zenos lifted his hand, the sharp command causing both you and the guard to instantly still, your eyes quickly casting to the ground in dismay. He could practically hear your thoughts as he made his way back towards you. Surely this was your now end, there was no way the crown Prince of the empire would let such insolence stand. You would be made an example of, another death to add to the killing field.

The thought annoyed him. Why were you so eager to die when you showed such promise?

He towered before you, his armored hand once more latching to your chin, forcibly tilting your head until he held your watery, conflicted gaze. He could feel you vibrate with anxiety in his hold, your jaw clenched so tight your face had turned red.

“What is it about the battlefield that makes people like you want to throw them self into deaths embrace so carelessly, I wonder? Is it lack of faith, or the overwhelming fear of the odds being stacked against you? Is it the heartbreak over having your loved one cut down before you? Maybe you are just tired of the inadequacy, of being so powerless before true might?”

Your face morphed into a look of disdain, a fresh tear sliding down your cheek carved a clear path through the filth that had accumulated on you.

“Don’t you find it a waste? All that potential building up inside of you, mounting with each hopeless assault against your people… I can see it in your eyes. The hunger to strike me down right where I stand,” he tightened his grip, causing you to cringe, “It’s an admirable quality to have, even for a cur such as yourself.”

Abruptly he pulled away, your head lulling forward from the lack of support. Zenos turned on his heel, stepping away to carry on with the next order of business.

“You have your orders,” He called briskly over his shoulder, “Make sure they are carried out with haste.”

The soldiers nodded, immediately falling into action as Zenos began his departure. He glanced once more over his shoulder as you were dragged away. With the wind no longer in your sails you were much more malleable, putting up little to no fuss as the soldiers ushered you to your fate.

The boredom he had long been suffering from started to diminish as he considered the future. A smirk ghosted his lips as he turned forward, a low hum accentuating his hurried footsteps.

“Who knew such an intriguing find would be buried within this rubbish,” he spoke in barely above a whisper, the words intended for no one but himself, “I am quite interested in what you will become, my little whelp.”

[pandora-morningstar]

Moriarty the Patriot: Enola Holmes general headcannons

((this is my version of Enola and what I think she's like in Moriarty the Patriot))

1) She's they youngest at eighteen years old. Not long after she was born her father died and when she was around six years old her mother disappeared, leaving her in the care of her brothers. Sherlock practically raised her since Mycroft was always busy.

2) She dresses similar to Violet Evergarden, it's easier for her to move around and run. No complicated puffy skirts for her just a simple petticoat and stockings under her dress, but whe she has to attend a fancy party she will dress more appropriate, she also dresses in her brother's old clothes. She wears her hair in a braid that's tied in a bun.

3) Enola loves dogs, when she was a six year old child she had a long haired Dachshund called Otto, Sherlock give her the dog to help cheer her up after her mother's disappearance. She had Otto for a long time and now has a short haired Dachshund called König, which is German for king, she got the idea from a German guest at the hotel she was living in.

4) She's smart and sassy, her and Sherlock often have battles of witts to see who can piss Mycroft off the fastest. She uses her intelligence to help solve cases and her sass either gets her out of trouble or in more trouble depending on who she's facing. It's usually up to her brothers or Louis to save her.

5) Speaking of her brothers, Enola is closer to Sherlock since he raised her and allowed her to become her own person. She still has that familial love for Mycroft but she can't forgive him for trying to send her to a all girls finishing school just because he couldn't handle her since she was Sherlock's double. When she started living with Sherlock, the first meeting with Mycroft was awkward and involved him shouting about her being a stain on the family name and how their father would be rolling in his grave. He finally shut up when Enola slapped him across the face, she clapped back at him by saying that he was the worse brother in the world and he should be ashamed that he skipped out on his duty as the eldest to care for her and Sherlock. Now the wedge between the eldest and youngest is bigger, Sherlock takes Enola's side everything.

6) She has met the Moriarty brothers before, she met Albert when she had to give Mycroft some documents. She greeted Albert with grace before dumping the folder in Mycroft's desk with saying anything to him and left, when asked about it Mycroft just replied that she's moody. She met William and Louis on the train with Sherlock and Watson. She found William very interesting but she didn't have time to analyze him because she had to distract Louis form stabbing her brother.

7) Her and Louis have a true rivels to possible lovers relationship, always saving eachothers butts form danger. They bond over the fact that their the youngest and most stable siblings in their families. They often have afternoon tea at the Moriarty estate and gossip about their brothers, they also enjoy walks in Hyde park, playing chess and Enola even asked Louis to pretend to be her sweetheart so Mycroft wouldn't get the idea to marry her to someone, he agreed and they both enjoy the chaos it causes. Unknowingly to them Jack and Bonde have already planned their wedding.

(8 Speaking of Jack, he likes Enola she's a funny girl and enjoys watching her interact with Louis, he taught her how to use a knife. Enola likes him too and sees him as a father figure, she was grateful to him for teaching her how to use a knife like he does. He also like König.

[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

Arthur's Sacrifice-part 8

Black Hand

Filomena and Lizzie bond

___________________________________________________________

Hands of Death ************************************************************************ Christmas was finally rolling around. Another few weeks of not seeing Luca and only hearing from him via tiny flower cards was making Filomena go stir crazy and underfoot trying to stay busy.

They were going to her Uncle’s again for house arrest, she meant Christmas. Polly laughed every time she said it that way. The two of them were growing ever closer as the days passed, almost phoning one another daily if the elder woman wasn’t at Tommy house.

She’d enjoyed the break at her fathers country house, only to return back because of her finance’s threats of the black hand.

At least there were interesting people here including her almost sister in law, Lizzie stark. Filomena really wants to know what to think about her. She was tall, leggy and had a dazzling smile. She also looked sad when she saw the roses delivered and the little note written in Italian with filo’s name on it.

“I had a good man, an Italian man, who loved me very much. He’d deliver flowers to me everyday even if he’d stayed over and was still with me in my apartment. I miss roses and notes like that.”

“Did you ever learn?” Filo asked curious to know if angelo had taught her to speak. She knew exactly what had happened between them, or rather what Luca had said at least. There were two sides to every story right?

“No, Only a few words like Amore, Bella and so on.” She blushed recalling them then inhaling her drink. I felt bad for her. It truly seemed to bother her that he was gone. Or perhaps it was because my uncle, who married someone else, got jealous and started the whole vendetta ending her relationship. I gave her a small shared smile.

“Yeah, I swear Italian men know like fifteen nicknames and only use the three most common ones.” Both women giggled at that. It was true at least for them both.

“ What was he like?” Filomena looked up at Lizzie softly grateful to have a nice moment with someone for once. Everyone else seemed to tell her to fuck off or ignore her all together right now except Polly and Lizzie.

“He was…nice. Always asked me about my day. If it wasn’t great or Tommy yelled at me for something in the office, Angelo would come over and cook for me, draw me a bath and bring me red roses.” She looked at her drink, Filomena could see the saline tears pricking the older woman's eyes. Remorse and loss….

“What of your man?” Lizzie asked, suddenly startling her. Oh boy, what could she say about her man right now? She looked down at her engagement ring. Still heavy on her boney finger and her bruised heart. She was still confused.

“Oh, my family wants to kill him.” She said nonchalantly hoping to sound like every young girl with a guy her family wasn’t sure about. Lizzie raised an eyebrow and chuckled softly into her gin.

“So he’s Italian.” She guessed and Grinned when Filo blushed furiously. If she only knew!

“He’s the talk of the house.” She felt bad leading the other women on. She wanted to blurt out who he was but wasn't sure it would go over well. She’s sure if Lizzie was here it was to stay safe from Luca and his family.

“Well it's not like he's Luca Changretta.” Lizzie said offhandedly, causing Filomena to freeze. Was she a gypsy witch too? What was with this family?! Her Italian mother who was a devout catholic would be turning over in her grave, didn’t Arthur ever mention it to her?

“Hahaha.” She laughed nervously. It had sounded fake even to Filomena. Lizzie’s eyes get huge. She reached out and touched the girl who was now buried in her own drink, eyes as wide as the rim of Lizzies glass.

“Oh, they all know….Tommy hates me because of it. John hates me for being Italian so….hard to win any friends other than Polly here.” Rushed and fearful the other women just stood there looking her up and down as if she’d suddenly sprouted devils wings and horns.

“Oh, Tommy nodded his head at me. He probably needs another drink, you know men.” Lizzie rushed off to Tommy’s arm. He looked around after Lizzie spoke and his Icey hardened gaze fell on his niece. Filomena shivered. She could read the room, it was time for her to lock herself in her room for the evening.

“Well that went well.” I said to myself as I descended the stairs. Tomorrow is Christmas. At least that's something to look forward to, right?

I bundled together a little thing of roses and tied it with a black velvet ribbon from one of my other bouquets. I wrote her Buon Natale, Merry Christmas, in Italian on a little note card and snuck into her room, leaving them on her bed. Hopefully. Just hopefully it would be okay. ______________________________________________________________

[haruhar-u]

The second chapter of the thing

a/n also written in February/March so different writing style

TWS for this chapter:

-Death of a parent

-mention of childbirth (not in detail)

-discussions of death

link to the first chapter

3am and I’m woken by a gentle tap on my head. I roll over to not y’know face the wall and see what or who the hell is prodding me. It’s Tian, he’s in tears and his hair is a mess.I get up and face him. “Hey, what happened?” I ask, sitting up then reaching out to smooth down his hair.  Screw my sleep schedule, Tian’s more important. 

“I wanna see my mom.” He mutters 

“This late?” I mean this has happened before, usually due to a terror revolving around his mom which he seems to get a lot. I always drive him since he doesn’t want to drive himself.

Tian nods. I grab 2 hoodies from the pile I had next to my bed. I put one on over what I wore to sleep and hand Tian the other, “It gets cold at night.”  

We then walk out to the car, I get into the driver’s seat and he gets into the front passenger’s seat. I drive about 10 minutes through the city at night, it was still quite busy, I suppose the saying ‘the city never sleeps at night’ is true. 

I pull up in the driveway of the cemetery and park the car. We get out and I follow him to his mom. It’s  about a 5 minute walk and we stop once we finally spot his mom, Guizhong Wu. He rested his head on the tombstone and started speaking to her in Mandarin. After I helped him light the incense stick as an offering to his mother. The tombstone was the cleanest one I’ve seen, there’s no moss growing on the stone and the grass around it is trim. He told me that when he was a child, his father banned him from visiting his mom, not even during the Qingming Festival which  I guess is like their version of Día de los Muertos. Even now he has to be careful to not bump into his dad here. He never told me why. 

A gentle breeze comes by and ruffles Tian’s hair and only his, I feel like that’s his mom letting him know she’s there. I make sure to keep my distance and give him some space. He gets up, bows three times to the grave and goes over to me. “We can go home now.” 

I nod and put my arm around him just cause I felt like hugging him but felt that’d be inappropriate right now. 

“Your hoodie smells like you.” He commented once we got into the car.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Mhm, I might steal it.” 

“Hey, can you tell me why your dad banned you from visiting your mom?” I’m scared this question may upset him and part of me thinks I’m stupid for asking but the other part of me knows I’ll understand him better if I know. 

“I’ll tell you later, can we go?” He says, avoiding my question. I think the part of me that thinks I’m stupid for asking is correct, stupid. 

I nod and start the car, “I’m going to stop by a 7/11 is that ok? My little sister is coming over soon and I wanna give her a lot of snacks”

Tian nods at me.

I put 7/11 in my  GPS and began to drive. Once we get there, I buy a whole load of snacks and instant noodles for Val for when she arrives from Australia in 2 weeks. I also buy a whole ton of snacks for Tian, as well as a slushie for him. I don’t want to have to take another fast-acting  insulin shot (already had to take one last night ), so nothing for myself. We don't care that it’s 5 am. Then we decide  to walk 20 minutes to Central Park to hang out. I don’t think we’re getting any sleep tonight, this isn’t our first all nighter so we’ll be fine!  

We sit on a bench near the Gapstow Bridge. Tian rests his head on my shoulder and I feel his hair brush up against my neck. The sky looks almost like a painting with the mixtures of pastel oranges and yellows with a touch of red and white fluffy clouds that look like something someone would take a bite out of. The sun peeks over the horizon, the reflection of the sun shows in the murky waters of the pond and the birds  start to come out and sing. I think I can hear a mockingbird among them, I really used to like birds when I was a kid, it was a stupid obsession really. 

I whistle the Mockingjay Whistle from the Hunger Games and  surprisingly a mockingbird whistles back. Tian looks up at me equally as surprised and I grin back at him. I didn’t expect a bird to whistle back. 

A little old lady walks by us and she smiles at us, “you two are a really cute couple.” 

Tian’s eyes widen and I awkwardly laugh “Oh, we’re not-“ she has already walked away. 

“Do we look like a couple?” Tian asks me

“I suppose so, but who really cares. As long as we both know it’s platonic” I shrug 

Tian nods then bites his lip, “I suppose you wanna know why my dad didn’t allow me to see my mom.” 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” I offer, I look directly at him.

Tian takes a deep breath, “He blames me for her death. So he basically sees me as a devil's spawn that’ll have to repay him for doing the bare minimum.” He blurts out. 

I wrinkle my brow, she died when he was just a baby, how the hell is this possible. 

“She died due to complications with childbirth from what I’ve heard. ” 

I put my hand onto his shoulder “Hey hey, it’s not your fault, you probably weren’t even an hour old. Your dad’s just delusional and wants someone to blame.” 

“I was never even allowed to celebrate my birthday…” Tian lets out a hollow laugh, “The birthday party you and Luka threw for me 2 years ago was actually the first time I celebrated it.” 

“Oh..” What am I supposed to say to that? ‘I’m sorry’, ‘I’m sorry this happened to you?’, ‘I hate your dad.’ Or just hug him. I decide to just hug him and not say anything. That’s the safe option, I would think. I pull him into a hug and hold him tightly, just like how I’d comfort my sister when she was younger.

Tian relaxes as he feels a lot less tense the moment I hug him. He doesn’t seem too upset about his dad. Sadly I think this means he’s used to how his father treats him. What kind of sick man would even treat his own son like that?

“He obviously never really cared about my hobbies or grades, I used to try to do really well when I was in elementary school to get his attention because I wondered why all the other kid’s dad’s loved them but mine doesn’t love me. When I got to high school, I just stopped trying and nearly failed and was almost held back a grade twice, so then I dropped out when I was 16.. And not many people are willing to hire a high school dropout.” He lets out a sigh, “I was kicked out when I was 18 and had to couch surf.” 

I blinked at him, taking a moment to process what he just told me. “How did you make enough money to go to the  concert where we met?”

 I was never really low on money (considering my parents send me money which is what I survive off of) as I grew up in a rich household and went to some fancy private school where the worst thing that happened to me were kids asking me to sing Despacito when it was popular because I speak fluent Spanish —the meaning of the song scared me as a kid— or when I realized I’m the heir to my family’s fortune, that’s weird to think about. I had everything I could ever ask for,a personal attendant and more as a child. My mom is the head of the Mexican embassy in Australia. My dad is a lawyer who immigrated with her. I have Australian citizenship because I was born there, Mexican citizenship because both my parents have one and American permanent residency. If you were to ask where I’m from I wouldn’t be able to answer. Honest

“I won a giveaway.” 

Now that I think of it none of us have a job since I rely on money sent from my parents, minus Luka , but he relies on his shop on Etsy anyway.  Luka usually tries to offer me discounts if I try to buy one of his paintings but I refuse the discount and pay full price. Ah, shit my mind is wandering again.

Tian laughs hollowly again, “the band’s all I have at this point.” 

“Then we have to get like famous and make loads of money!!” I declare, puffing out my chest and sitting up a little straighter.

This takes Tian aback. “You think we’re good enough?” 

I grin, “Of course, we’re the best band in the world!” 

“Really?” 

I laugh, “Perhaps an interpretative dance will make you understand better.” I say getting up from the bench and moving to stand directly in front of where he’s sitting. 

“Oh god, Micah please no.” Tian says while obviously laughing.

I start to play the air guitar or as I like to call it the air bass with as much energy as I have, “so you see this is us playing our instruments and just being ourselves,” then I start skipping around with my arms out, “and this will fans flocking towards us!” I sit back down next to him. I grin, “Does that explain my plan?” 

“I didn’t think you’d actually dance.” Tian pieces together while laughing uncontrollably. 

“Well I did, ha!” 

“How do you even think we can get famous?” Tian asks me once he stops laughing. 

“We do really well in performances and hope that we get lucky.” That’s  really all I could think of at the moment.

Tian looks at me and nods and I smile at him. Then I wrap my arm around his shoulder and pull him closer to me as his rests his head on my shoulder once more.

taglist: @xen-blank @krenenbaker @edith-is-apparently-a-cat @the-banana-0verlord

[pandagirl45]

I want to see something about Steve meeting Rhodey's family, please🥺

Ooh. That will be something I'd write eventually.

I like having rhodey mom and sister still alive. Not a big family, some members aren't there.

Steve tapped at the suitcase, even as rhodes drove out of the state to the place his boyfriend grew up. As the tall buildings began to dwindle and change, the intensity of steve energy began to shake.

He wonder if he can back out. Maybe have taken Tony offer to come with them. The silence was killing steve as he wondered how to explain... well, 'Hi I'm steve rogers, I have done a lot of questionable things. Also, your son is amazing.'

He looked at hos phone, a text from buck about meeting them there later. Visiting Maria grave. Isn't that a doozy. Steve wonder if he has to meet rhodes father. How would his father and mother take to rhodes dating him? Would they be painfully polite? Would they disapprove? What if they disown rhodey? Steve could jump out the car and sprint it to a train station. Hide away and wait till the desire to meet the family died off.

He met Tony! That was enough fami-

"Blondie, breath."

Wheeeeze.

Steve looked over, at a corner store, rhode smiled. Even with the colonel body looking calm, he can see the nervous energy in those chocolate eyes, "Jim," Steve rubbed at his face, "what if they hate me?"

"Then they hate you," rhodey leaned back showing a bag of pretzels, "it won't change this though, as much as that would suck not to see eye with them."

Oh. Steve wonders if this is karma for the shit he pulled during-

"Hey," Rhodes hand was on his cheek, rubbing his half-assed attempt at shaving before leaving, "It'll be fine. I'm an adult. You are. We both made mistakes. My mom, like most moms are protective. I'd be sweating bullets meeting your mom. The war machine, steven," Steve chuffed with laughter as rhodey grinned. Even if his mom would call him Steven, Steve wasn't sure if rhodes mom would like him.

Even with their small talk, Steve barely felt calm. Even when James open the door for him (huh, that was new), Steve didn't want to move. There was about two cars in the drive way besides rhodey. Even as rhodey knocked and opened the door. The sounds of music and laughter. Steve prayed that Tony comes so he can hide away.

"Boyfriend? Where?" It was teasing.

"Jeannie."

Rhodes looked around, back to steve who stood stalked still. Before he can move, he heard his mom strong but kind voice, "Jim, baby, why is that boy standing out there? Deer in the headlights."

Rhodey fondly kept his eye roll away, kissed his mom cheek, "he is nervous." Even as he said that, the pilot went over, grabbed the captain hand and took slow steps. Rubbing his thumb into the back of the hand.

The tall blonde swallowed as he approached closer. Bad guys, corrupt people, hell an angry cat, he can deal with but this, he wanted to melt away. Seeing Mrs rhodes, Tony fondly called her mama rhodes, rhodey little sister, dressed semi formal. It was a lot.

He held out his hand knowing his palm was shaking and wet, "hiimsteebrogersnicetomeetyou!"

Mrs rhodes blinked once, looked to rhodey then back to him. Rhodey rubbed at his back as she spoke, "I see why my son said you are a tall one." It was a tease, a faint pull of a smile, "come on, the chill."

Meeting his mom was a whirlwind. His sister was a lawyer, debating ethics with rhodey who was trying to get a raise out of her. There was a cousin or two, but he knows they were wary, a slow mumble of a 'white boy and being a danger'. Rhodey face must of said something, he went a spiel about wanting to upturn the entire government.

That is how he learned his father, Terrance, passed on. How he wouldn't even be proud what the hell was going on. There was a side to rhodey he was seeing in the flesh. Professional mask off. It became even more apparent as Tony bounced in, tackled the man, causing a rough house match to happen.

Bucky mingling with, rhodey aunt Steve believes. Even small. There was a lot.

Feeling a tap at his shoulder, steve looked over seeing Mrs rhodes in the kitchen. Food simmering. Going over, he swallowed. Impending shovel talk?

Impending talk about he isn't good for her son?

What?

"Now," she began eyes distant before they are here again, "my son, he is a stubborn man. Loyal. He can be insecure. When he told me he has a boyfriend, he was quick to jump to the conclusion I'd disapprove. He is intelligent but he is also crazy like his father. Crazy with love. Family. Duty. I'm sure you will or do know this."

He does. Funny. Quick to protect. A slow rage that can build behind the calm. Calculating. Handsome. Strong. Not bottle Strong.

Mrs rhodes sighed with a smile holding a spoon, dipping into some broth, passing it on to him. Steve held it in surprise, before taking a sip, "Take care of him for me? We need all the help we can get."

Blushing, Steve nodded, "its good, the broth and yes ma'am." He held the spoon. Mrs rhodes gave a smile, shooing him off to enjoy the game being set up. "Anthony."

"I'm coming mama rhodes!"

Steve felt his face hot, the warm hand in his neck, "you good blondie?"

"I'm good," he looked at his cards, even as Jeannie chuckled about blondie, a finger showing to her from rhodes, "the broth is good."

Something about her letting him try food being a sign of good faith. Steve wasn't going to jinx it, he was going swim in it.

[I can keep going on. Meeting the family is so great. Rhodey family revealing all the secrets to steve later]

[arjaandsimoni]

Shadow and Regret

Jaipur India, the evening after Indrajit revealed himself

“… and he said that if we try to stop him, he’ll send his rakshasa and naga armies to destroy Jaipur.” finished Simoni.

Nelen sat on the couch, his chin resting on his hands and his expression grave. He knew enough about India’s history (he’d been researching it since he moved in last summer) to know what kind of threat a being like Indrajit could represent.

Stephy and Sammi were standing by the bar with Tex, the changelings and their mortal friend glancing between each other. “Mm… not good, not good at all. Even if I called in mother’s soldiers we would be hard pressed to hold back such a force…” murmured Sammi.

Dawn was sitting nearby on the floor, her family all around her as she glanced around at them. The normally cheerful and sarcastic feline was quiet, realizing that the same event that returned her family to her might also cause such destruction was quite sobering.

“Hmph, so what? We just find this blue skinned asshole and I crush his skull, then he stops being a problem. Right?” she smirked, the cyclops standing against the far wall with her shirt half open, giving Scylla her feeding as if it were the most normal thing in the world… which to be fair it should be, though Nelen still felt awkward about it, as did Tex and Stephy and anyone else who grew up in America. Such feelings didn’t scrub out easy when you grew up with them.

“It won’t be easy Drusilla…” warned Nelen, “I checked with Iravati and she confirmed it. Indrajit wasn’t bluffing when he said he almost wiped out the Vanara singlehandedly during the war between Rama and Ravana. He’s powerful, extremely so. We got lucky getting the arrow to safety in the Temple before he could claim it and that’s likely the only reason he doesn’t have it already.”

Drusilla just shrugged but didn’t comment otherwise.

Finally however Stephy spoke up, “How’s Arja doing?” asked the boy princess.

Simoni sighed, “… she’s still up in our room. Its… um… yeah. Finding out that breaking Claiomh Dorcadas caused this is… she’s taking it bad. Really bad.” she replied.

Bad was an understatement.

Arja lay facedown on the bed she and Simoni shared, the girl’s face buried in a pillow as if hoping it could suffocate her. She knew that Franklin’s sword was a horrible weapon that would have been used for great evil, but by destroying it they had unleashed something that, if possible, was even worse. The Mundane Blades were things. They could at least be taken away from their owners and hidden somehow… but Indrajit was second only to his father in terms of power, and because of their actions at Castle Fullmoon he was free and attempting to revive Ravana.

Arja let out a small whimper. If he succeeded Sri Lanka would become an island of nightmares where the lesser rakshasa would indulge their cannibalistic urges on any humans they could lay hands on, and it would only get worse from there. He would likely attempt to conquer the rest of India along with it, and from there, who knows. Would he expand his desires further? These days there weren’t many entities in other countries who could stand up to something like him.

“Its my fault…” she whispered into her pillow, “… I only wanted to protect my people and stop Franklin from hurting them… but now Indrajit is back and its my fault…” she moaned, her words laced with despair and guilt.

As she lay there the sun dipped down below the horizon, and down in the wine cellar the resident nocturnals of their found family began to wake… or at least ‘rise’ in any case.

Nicu opened his eyes, sitting up and rubbing them. He ‘slept’ on a sleeping bag, the newly transformed vampire not wanting to use a coffin just yet even though Natasha insisted it was traditional. He rolled his eyes at that thought, then glanced over as he saw a message notification on his smartphone. “Huh? Who’s messaging…” he began, then his eyes flew open as he saw the name.

He snatched up the phone and read the message, then the next several, gritting his teeth as he did, then he rubbed his eyes and typed out a reply before getting to his feet and walking to the door, heading up to the rec room.

“Hey Nelen?” he called into the room as he walked in.

The magus looked behind him as the others looked over as well. Nicu felt a bit awkward suddenly, still not used to this new life with such an enlarged social circle. “Um… I got a text while I was… um… out… and someone wants to meet you at the Wulfshead tonight.” he nodded.

Nelen looked confused, “Who would message you to ask to meet me?” he asked.

Nicu grinned awkwardly, his small fangs shining under the lights of the room, “… well....”

The Wulfshead Club, a Few Hours Later

Nelen insisted on going alone, telling the others to stay behind and keep watch for any of Indrajit’s agents. The Rakshasa Prince had said he would send his minions if they interfered, he hadn’t said he wouldn’t do anything else after all.

He walked into the Wulfshead, past the assorted eccentrics, hedge mages, outcasts, weirdos, and exiled or renegade hunters. A few waved to him, some gave him dirty looks, a couple called him out by name, some of them looked downright pissed at him. He expected that last one, the incident with the manticore turned the supernatural community upside down… but the truce held. Anyone who tried to take a swing at him would wind up thrown out of the bar, and possibly get removed from the approved list which could make matters especially sticky for them depending on where the door was pointing when they were thrown out.

Another band was on the stage tonight, singing This is Gonna Hurt by Sixx: A.M. Dawn would be annoyed she missed punk night.

He finally came to a booth at the back of the club with a single man sitting in it. He was wearing a three piece suit with a wide-brimmed hat shading his face, a drink sitting infront of him untouched.

“Ah, there you are… Nicu said he would ask, but I wasn’t sure you would come… I attempted to contact you directly several times, but you never replied.” the figure said, gesturing to the empty part of the booth. “Please, sit down.”

Nelen sat, a barmaid walking over with her notepad. He ordered a coke for himself, wanting to stay clearheaded for this one, the woman jotting it down and walking away. Nelen nodded at the comment about his silence, though it would be hard to reply with his phone destroyed. It was that or go insane from the constant pinging of message notifications.

“I have to admit, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” replied Nelen.

“Yes… well…” he sighed, taking off his hat and sitting it on the table, revealing the face of a man in his early thirties with short black hair and a neatly trimmed beard, “… I already failed Nicu once, and I will not fail him again, God willing.” sighed Rabbi Hofer, also known as Dumitru Lupei and Umbra, the Thief of Time. His left wrist was still paler than the rest of his body, showing the outline of where the now-destroyed Bracelet of Rhozanitsy sat for so many centuries.

Nelen nodded, taking his drink as the barmaid returned, then taking a pull from it before looking Umbra in the eye. “Right, lets get to the point. Why did you call me here.” he said bluntly.

Umbra chuckled, “You don’t trust me… I don’t blame you. But, this is of vital importance to you and your allies Fullmoon.” he sighed, then began to explain.

“When I was still posing as Rabbi Hofer in New Orleans, I received a commission offer to steal something from an Indian man. He wished for me to burglarize a temple in southern India and take only a single arrow. He said it was a historical artifact, nothing more.” he nodded, noting the faint flicker in Nelen’s expression when he mentioned the arrow, “However, I saw what happened with the manticore… I mean, we all saw that, and it got me to thinking. Is it a co-incidence that those who my son now…” he hesitated, “… stays with are in India, fighting such dread monsters? Do you know of the arrow he speaks of?” he asked.

Nelen’s expression darkened, “Yes… I believe I do. Who was asking you to get this arrow?” he replied.

“The name on the request was from a man calling himself Meghanad of Sri Lanka. That is all I had. He did not send anything else, no photographs or other identifiers.” he nodded.

Nelen nodded, “Yeah, that was his name before he took the other one. Okay, so… how much do you know of Indian legendry?” he asked.

The Rabbi shrugged, “… some, it is not my area of expertise.” he admitted.

“Okay… so…” he replied, then he explained the situation and the nature of their adversary, what they knew so far, and his goal of obtaining Rama’s Arrow to destroy it and free Ravana. “… and yeah, that was likely Indrajit himself who contacted you. Meghanad was his name before he took the name ‘Indrajit’ which means ‘Conquerer of Indra.’ So, yeah, he beat the king of the Indian pantheon.”

Umbra frowned, his hands around his half-empty glass as he stared into it. “… I see. I had hoped that my son’s…” he paused, ‘life’ didn’t apply here, “… future would be at least somewhat peaceful, even given his current nature, but crisis seems to dog at your heels Nelen.”

The magus sighed, “Yeah, story of my damn life.” he replied, “Still, this is a new problem. Half the reason we hid the arrow there was the rakshasa can’t enter the temple grounds because of Rama’s blessing on the place… but that won’t necessarily stop a mortal thief. Indrajit is smart, he at least recognizes humans have their uses besides stew ingredients.”

Umbra nodded, “Yes… and I turned him down as I had already claimed the Shamir and was preparing to use it, but it would be foolish to assume I was the only thief he’d contacted.” he replied.

Nelen drained the last of his soda, then stood, “Right, well I can at least send a warning to the priests at the temple that we’ve heard rumors the arrow might be the target of thieves. I dunno how many of them know about the real nature of the world, but we can try to stop them from getting to it.” he nodded. “Thanks for the heads up.”

Umbra stood as well, “Nelen… please. Should it come to a battle against this Indrajit… do not involve Nicu. The idea of my son suffering or dying again… it is too much to bear.” he whispered.

Nelen glanced at him, the nodded, “He’s barely out of the coffin, I’m not going to suggest a newbie vampire join us for this one… but it’ll be up to him in the end. I won’t ask him to come though.”

Umbra sighed in relief, “… I… confess I rather hoped he would come with you tonight…” he added after a moment’s hesitation.

Nelen shrugged, “I did ask if he wanted to tag along… but he said he isn’t ready for you to see him as a vampire yet.” he replied, turning to go, “… he did say to feel free to text if you wanted to though. He’s fine with that.”

Umbra chuckled, “… young boys usually are more comfortable with that.” he sighed.

Nelen smirked a bit at that, then nodded and with just a wave he began to make his way to the exit.

Umbra watched him go, then sat back down in the booth and clasped his hands together, muttering a prayer under his breath in Hebrew. He did not know if his God would protect a vampire, but he wanted Nicu to have all the help he could get.

Next Story

Previous Story

[chandlerxfitzgerald]

No Requiem // self para

Chandler never minded living in luxury's generous lap. He spent the money on designer clothes, owned the latest advances technology offered, and practically slept on silk sheets night by night. He even held the option being driven around the city by another, but today, this is something that required a trip alone. No private drivers means no one would judge him. True, he oftentimes enjoyed an audience of his flourishing dramatics, this time isn't the right moment for a performance.

He stepped out of the Rolls-Royce as soon as he pulled up along the edge of where he knew Douglas' grave sat and slung the duffle bag over his shoulder with a gentle huff. As he began the trek through the newly trimmed grass, he passed tombstones engraved by the names of the dead and placed aside the thought of how much he truly despised cemeteries. They were depressing, a reminder that a majority who ended up there had died at Urie's hands, at least that is what the young Fitzgerald imagined. Chandler finally reached the final resting place of the man who caused so much damage to everyone around him. The tombstone was tall, foreboding in a way, and a sculpted angel sat at the very top, looking down on him as if in mockery. Douglas was no angel in life, definitely not one in death. It may as well have been Lucifer's previous angelic form overseeing the former Hedgestone leader.

"Well, hey. Pops." Chandler greeted sarcastically, dropping the bag he hauled to the ground and sticking his hands in the pockets of his wool coat. His gaze briefly flickered the etching on the stone, the elaborate border lovely if it weren't for its place on a monster's marker. The header, Father, son, husband, dedicated leader forced a snort from the irony. Dedicated leader, Chandler's ass. "You're probably gazing up at me from Hell and wondering why I've wasted my time coming all the way here. I have a faction you cared more about than your own children to help run." He waved a hand dismissively and continued, "Personally, I think we should've cremated your ass and flushed what's left of your ashes down the toilet like the piece of shit you were. Would've been funnier."

"Morrigan's doing fantastic, by the way." Chandy couldn't deny the smug grin stretching his lips, glowing pride overtaking every inch of his being. "You underestimated her, Pops. She can be ruthless when she sees fit, she instrokes fear in an artful precision you never succeeded during your reign, and we both know who we have to blame for that. Don't we?" The thing they didn't talk about, those nights of torment and psychological warfare waged by their father leaving scars in different methods.

Chandler erased the memories from his mind for the moment. "She stole a page from your book, though. Messing with someone's head, forcing her victims to believe something that was not actually true just to make an example." He nodded once, "True, Momo knows you wouldn't have hesitated executing two traitors if you were still in charge, but she bloodies her hands when needed. She isn't the meek flower obeying under a dominate man that you thought she would be. The prize, the submissive whose only purpose was providing her husband a male heir. A sexual object incapable of thought." Morrigan rose above and proved her worth. "She's a kingless queen. And I her loyal second-in-command standing proudly through thick and thin."

His eyes hovered over the death date, practically burning a hole in the granite, as he fell silent for a long minute. "Do you know the day I remember often? I was fourteen. It had been about a month since I came to live in the mansion and you forced me to a suit fitting. You gave the spiel about how I was flying the Urie banner and shoved the responsibility of sharing duties with Desmond down my fucking throat." There was another pause. "That's also the time I finally understood how worthless you thought about your own daughter. You made me her replacement and I never asked for it." A sardonic chuckle exited Chandler's mouth at the next statement. "However closeminded you became, no matter my particular lifestyle, you'd rather suffer a flamboyant son than hand over power to a woman. I wasn't about to make it easy for you, Pops...I wanted you paying for it every goddamn day."

"Do you want to know a secret between us manly men with our superiority just because we have dicks? The same way you underestimated Morri, I underestimated you with your cruelty." Chandler began fidgeting with the sleeves of his coat considering the tightness those memories created constricting inside his throat. When most people experience severe trauma as the siblings endured, a brain would block out what causes the pain and buries it deep. Untouched, forbidding access until the person is ready if they ever reach the point in their lives. "Four days. You dragged me from my room to your office and subjected me to Morrigan's imprisonment. The whippings, every punch, I felt along my flesh as if I was there. You fucked with the temperature of my bedroom. Freezing cold with nothing to keep me warm but the sound of Morrigan's screams all night long as company. I couldn't sleep with that sound ringing in my ears. If I ever broke free from that room, I swore I would have hunted you down and separated your head from your body. Without question."

Chandler perceived himself as an overall friendly extrovert who could be bothered offering kindness to anyone that didn't deny his hand of friendship. He was the life of the party and welcomed the adoration, which made his interests of theater in his high school days reasonable. A temper tantrum and revealing the wrath wasn't synonymous with Chandler's personality, but as guarded as he is with emotions, he experienced them ten times stronger than most. "You were a suffocating presence in my life, Douglas. There was this," His hand hovered to the side of his temple, indicating his head, "This noise I couldn't silence. Your voice and her screaming repeating over and over like that fucking recording. I wanted to die. Believe me, those thoughts crossed my mind while I laid there in my bed. Shivering one night and sweating the next." The man's expression grew somber for a flicker and then drained completely of anything. "I was taunted by the pair of scissors in my desk drawer. The letter opener on my desk Dezzie gave me for my sixteenth birthday, it'd be that easy ending my suffering and spiting you in the process."

Another unspoken secret not even his psuedo sister knew and had she, it would break her heart surely. "I fought for Morrigan to stay alive, so I bided my time obediently. I knew the moment that diploma landed in my hand, I was gone. Away from Hedgestone, away from my responsibilities, from you. Running was the only option I had. Still...you didn't break me how you wanted." It sounded falsely confident and certainly, the sake of his self-esteem depended on faking until he could make it, and providing Douglas the gratification wouldn't ever materialize. "Then I arrive home to hear you and Dezzie perished in a car bombing. While my brother's death caused ripples of mourning in the community, yours was met with no deserving fanfare. As they say, the kingdoms never weep when the villain falls."

Chandler dropped to one knee beside the bag and unzipped it, removing the only object contained within and rising to a standing position. The brand new sledgehammer he purchased for this specific visit came highly recommended by the hardware store he purchased it from. The clerk clearly knew who he was the moment Chandy strutted through the door and was right forgoing asking questions as to why a Urie elite required the piece of equipment. "No one lights a candle to remember you, Douglas. No one prays while your corpse rots, certainly not me." Chandler gripped the handle and inspected the metal piece attached to the top thoroughly, "I want you to know the punchline. That boy you mutilated and tossed in the river like garbage, the name you thought you beat from your daughter, wasn't the one Morrigan was seeing. His name's Julian Reese."

Chandler raised the sledgehammer over his shoulder, uttering the small sweet victory, "You lose." The mallet's first forward swing landed right in the middle of the epitaph, poetically making contact on Douglas' name. The satisfaction instantly shot down his spine and slowly traveled from limb to limb. A euphoric experience exploding from pent up aggression and placing feelings underneath the floorboards. He lifted the hammer and struck the stone again with a forceful grunt, sending substantial sizes of rock flying every which way. It was a miracle he wasn't hit by anything, but he didn't stop there. Watching Julian take out his rage on a batting cage sparked the idea and he wasn't pulling his shots with losing complete control like the other did. While Julian feared the strength of his anger, Chandy thrived on his. The hammer created contact several times, enlarging the cracks along the surface.

The pedestal in which the tombstone sat on finally gave way with Chandler taking a small step backwards as the remaining pieces collapsed in on itself and sent the angel toppling to the grass, shattering in two pathetic slivers. There is a certain beauty when destruction happens, chaos St. Cascadia brings out in its citizens. That even the most civilized man like him could become monstrous when facing a tormentor. If Chandler cannot kill Douglas, he would erase the last piece of the Urie patriarch's identity. "No one will remember you now, bitch." Shooting a middle finger at what was left of the gravestone, Chandy stuffed the sledgehammer back inside the duffle and looped his arm through the straps.

As Chandler moved away from the ruins after a long minute staring at what he created, he stopped at another gravestone that wouldn't suffer the same fate by a million years. "Hi, Dezzie. Don't mind the mess beside you. Though, if we're being a hundred percent honest, you were always a witness to mine. This is one I don't want you cleaning." The wrath previously dissipated and melancholy formed in its place. A heavy heart. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for the funeral. You'd want me not blaming myself, but the second I leave, I lost you. I was supposed to be at your side and I wasn't, Dez. I was supposed to protect you and I couldn't because of my cowardice. We needed you." Chandler did his best pushing back the tears no matter how they stung. "I still need you." The sentence hung in the air. "But I'll protect her like we've always done and I will spend every day making you proud. I promise." He reached out a hand and placed it on top of the stone.

"I love you, big brother."

And somehow by design, Chandler almost sensed Desmond saying it back.

[georgiapeach30513]

A Losing Hand, Part 10

Summary: Andy comes to collect, partially in the past

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: mild

Warnings:  explicit language, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 2.3k

Previous

Series Masterlist

*divider created by @firefly-graphics​

Hearing the doorbell ring at the flower shop, your eyes drift up and catch sight of those dark menacing eyes. Except with you, there’s a kindness. Quickly averting your gaze you go back to arranging the flowers, trying to make yourself look invisible.

It isn’t time for him to be here. He had already collected your father’s dues. And what’s worse, up until recently, he sent someone to collect, and now he did it himself. He whispers something in your father’s ear before slowly approaching you.

His ringed and tattooed hands slide onto the counter, and he taps his fingers on the wood, drawing the most attention to his marks and rings. Spades are all inked all over his body, and it doesn’t take a genius to know who this is. “Honey, you not going to help me.”

“What can I do for you today, Mr. Barber?” you ask sweetly. Andy tilts his head to the side, and gives you a soft smile, making your gaze go back to his hands. Your cheeks heat up, and your stomach draws up in knots. He should not be making you feel this way.

“I’ve told you before, call me Andy.”

“Andy,” you begin to ask looking back up at him, your words getting caught in your throat. “Has he not paid his dues?”

“He was a bit short.”

“Oh, I-I…if you give me a couple of days, I can make it up to you.”

“No need,” he responds quickly. That crooked smirk appearing on his face. “I have an easier way for you to make it up to me.”

“Whatever you need, Andy.”

His large body leans over the counter, and his hand wraps around your neck, bringing you closer to him, “Watch your words, honey. Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“Andy Barber,” he cocks up an eyebrow, wanting you to continue. “King of Spades.”

“Good girl,” rolls off his tongue, in a deep gravely timbre, feeling it directly in your core. A high from his words, spread throughout your limbs, causing you to feel a bit numb. Your thighs press firmly together, and you try to back away. “Do I scare you?”

“You intimidate me. I…I’ll help my dad pay. He-he…just…”

“Calm down. I won’t hold you to your words yet. But in the future, watch how you say something. You said anything?” you give him a nod, and he smiles back. “What if I asked you to dinner,” you let out a puff of air and look back at his hands. Refusing his question would not be wise, but also agreeing, puts you in the life you didn’t want. “It’s one dinner, I got your father’s permission. You had to have known I was coming in here for more than the dues.”

“The King also doesn’t collect.”

“Pretty and smart,” you finally dare to look up at him, and you can’t help but smile. “You like me coming here, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven then.”

“So what is it you do for fun?” Andy had been nothing but a gentleman. Holding your door open, listened to whatever you said, his hand tastefully resting at the small of you back. And even at dinner the conversation was easy, and it flowed.

“Surly counting cards for your father’s debt isn’t all you do.”

“You know about that?”

Andy takes a bite of his food, smirking at you, “I know everything. Especially about you.”

“That’s not creepy at all.”

“You think it’s okay for a father to let his daughter roam around at night, in the seedy part of town, and all because she has to clear his debt?” you give him a quick shake of your head, answering with a no.

“Exactly, his debt. He’s a coward, he’s a junkie. Addicted to the high of gambling, and sends his daughter to make more money, and instead of paying off his debt, he gambles it away. And how did you fix that?”

“I started taking the money to his bookie.”

Andy rolls his eyes, settling back into the chair. He looks you up and down disbelieving of how you, his sweet Daisy girl could come from such an incompetent man. “How did you know.”

“Had you followed,” you start to speak, but he holds up his hand. “I have this urge and need to protect you. You’ve got this disgusting son of a bitch father, who is supposed to protect you, and instead he lets you roam around at night, in pure Diamond territory. It’s pathetic. I’m offering you a safe place.”

“I can’t leave…”

“Before you make up your mind,” holding up his hand, he gestures for the check, “come by, look at the compound. You’d have your own room.”

“Not in yours?”

Andy takes a quick sip of his wine, watching you wiggle around. Looking down at your lap to notice how you’re clenching your thighs together. “I do have a big bed, if you wanted to share.”

“No.”

“Very well,” his voice darkens. Paying the check he quickly stands. Grabbing up your coat to wrap it around you, before gently pulling you to the car.

The ride to the Spade compound is silent. Feeling like an eternity, and a heavy cloud hangs over your head. You can almost feel Andy clenching his teeth. “Andy, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you’re not sure why, but your hand moves to rest on his. Softly caressing over his skin, and you finally feel him relax again. Even giving you a genuine smile.

Excitedly, he walks you around the compound. Giving you a tour of every room that should matter. “This is your room?” you ask. Your hand runs over everything you can. Pristine, immaculate and clean. Dark and foreboding, as most Spade buildings are.

“It is,” you look up at him through your lashes, and swallow deeply. “Do I make you nervous?”

“Yes.”

He walks as close to you as he can. His hand caresses your cheek, and his fingers settle on the back of your head, “Why?”

“Because…”

“Because, why?” your face moves closer to him, so close you feel his heated breath. You even grab up his free hand, placing it on your hip.

“Because I like it.”

“Good girl,” he whispers before slotting his lips on yours. His hands hold you tight to his body. Sliding around and down, before cupping the swell of your ass. Lifting you up he starts walking the two of you to the bed.

With a tickle of his tongue on your lips, you grant him entrance, and you have the first taste of your King. He knew it long before you did, that he was yours.

Settling down in between your thighs, his own thighs push yours further apart. His hands moving down to your panties, before you finally come to. “Andy no,” you pant, but still he doesn’t stop.

Going under your dress, he goes to hook his fingers, under your panties, “Andy, stop. Please, don’t.”

Finally, he pulls back to look at you, and he jerks his hands off. Holding them up in surrender. “What?”

“Just kissing.”

“It was fun.”

“It’s too fast. Just. Kissing.”

“Okay. Just kissing. But, you’re sleeping here. In my bed,” he starts unbuttoning his shirt, and that’s when you see the thick chords of muscle on his broad chest. Thick and toned, and you can’t help but to stare.

Andy gives you a little chuckle when he throws that shirt at you, “You’re drooling. You like what you see?”

“You know you’re attractive.”

“And that’s not what I asked. You can have every part of it. Your dad did say you were a sweet girl. Have you ever had a boyfriend?” ashamed you look away but shake your head no.

“It’s like you were made for me. That door leads to the bathroom. Go change.”

You walk into his bathroom, and quickly change into the shirt he just removed. The pressed white shirt smelling of his dark and mysterious cologne. Still those pesky butterflies turn your tummy into knots.

“You okay?” he asks, and when you open the door, he’s right there. “It’s a big bed. The compound is bigger. I don’t want you to get lost.”

“You can stay. Just kissing.”

He picks you up quickly and holds you tight to his chest. Giving you the biggest smile when you giggle. “Just kissing sweet girl.”

“You’re a pathetic man,” Andy’s fist slams down on your father’s desk, and he looks back out the door just to make sure you aren’t here.

“She’s my daughter. You can’t just keep her in Spade territory.”

“I’m giving her a fucking choice, old man. She’s choosing to stay with me. Sleeps peacefully every night, and then you go and make her feel guilty for your fucking debt. You got yourself into this mess. Why is it her problem.”

Your father goes to rub his hand over his neck, while Andy looks back out to the flower shop again. “You let her go into Diamond territory with no regard to her safety. I’m giving her the life you couldn’t.”

“Life of a murderer.”

“With a man willing to die to protect her!”

“And what about me?” he shouts at Andy, and Andy backhands him.

“Your debt isn’t her problem.”

“I need her. I’ve got problems.”

Andy looks at the pitiful little office. Even the run down flower shop. It won’t be long until it falls under anyways. “How much?”

“Two hundred grand.”

“I give you half. She’s mine. You leave her alone,” he starts to protest, but Andy screams. “She’s mine. Pack her fucking things, and I’ll have someone here to pick it up. She owes you nothing. She’s won well over two hundred grand for you. We’ve been watching. It’s not her problem that you blew everything she earned. I bought and paid for…”

“Andy?” you ask coming in at the tail end of the conversation. “What’re you…dad?”

“Your Andy’s now.”

“What?” you look from your dad to Andy, shaking your head. “No. No. No, I trusted you. No.”

Andy picks up his phone making a quick call, and a man you hadn’t seen comes in, and hands over a briefcase of money. “It’s done. We’re going home.”

You wake up to find the bed cold and empty. Looking around your room, is when you see Andy staring out the window. You give a quick rub to your barely swollen stomach before standing up.

Shadow, your wolfdog guard, lifts her head to look at you, until she sees you’re walking behind Andy. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you rest your head on his broad and naked back. “The bed is cold.”

“You hate me,” he answers coolly, trying to push your hands off of him. “Tomorrow is our wedding and you hate me. I’ve tried, Daisy. I’ve been patient. I have done everything you’ve asked of me. Explained my side of the story and you hate me.”

“No I don’t.”

Andy lets out a broken laugh. His eyes still never leaving the window. “Then why are you still fighting? Every damn day, it’s a fight with you. Sometimes the same fight, sometimes a new fight. It’s exhausting.”

“You scare me.”

“Why?” he spins around in your embrace. His face hard and stoic. “Please, tell me why I scare you. I have never let a woman treat me this way.”

“I don’t deserve to act like this? You took me from everything I knew. You made me stay with Lloyd as a punishment. If I disobey next time, what’re you gonna do?”

“I told you I was sorry for that. I’m not used to being soft with people. I can’t. I protect what is mine. And you won’t allow me. The wedding is off.”

“Andy,” you whisper, you pull at his hand to rest on your stomach. “This is yours.”

“What?”

“Dr. Banner confirmed it this morning. It’s too early to tell, but…pretty sure he’s a boy. This is your son. I don’t wanna call the wedding off”

“Why?”

“I want you,” Andy scoffs walking to the bed. “I want us to be a family.”

“Not good enough Daisy.”

“I…I’m sorry for fighting you. I’m fighting what I feel. I’m fighting the need to want you and need you as much as I do. I don’t want to spend a night with you not in our bed,” Andy starts to ask why again, and you just blurt out. “I love you, Andy. I was falling for you when you went to my dad and bought me.”

“You heard wrong. And I went along with your narrative of paying for you. I’ve told you this over and over again.”

“Andy, I love you. I want you. I need you. And so does our baby. We’re getting married tomorrow, and I promise I’ll quit fighting you with everything,” Andy bites as his lip and gives you a cocky smirk. “What?”

“Maybe keep acting like a brat sometimes. Just me and you though. Not around everyone. They think I’m losing my touch with you.”

You crawl into the bed, crawling up his body, before straddling his lap. Andy’s hands slide over your belly, and you watch his satisfied face as he tries to memorize the way you look right now. The way you feel, knowing how quickly you’ll change.

“I always wanted to be a dad,” his voice so soft, and without its power. He gave you that power over him a long time ago.

“I always wanted something that was truly mine.”

“We are,” grabbing at your waist, he pulls you closer, and kisses all over you belly. “Andy,” you giggle, which only makes him laugh right along with you. “Andy, stop. Andy!”

“You’re sure? You’re really gonna marry me? Get your mark and become the official Queen of Spades.”

He lays your body over his. Making sure that you are face to face with him. “Yes. I’m yours.”

Next

Masterlist

[lapileaferri]

Bring me Azaleas

Pairing(s): Dolores x Mariano, Camilo x f!reader

Warnings: Mentions of character death

Summary: When [Name]'s magical prowess causes her lifespan to deteriorate, she must seek help in the miracle her father left in the world. But when a band of grandchildren from the Madrigal family is lenient in letting go of the candle. How will she gain their trust? Most importantly, how can she shake off a chameleon who has attached himself to her like a leech?

Word Count: 1, 495

Chapters: Prologue, [?], [?]

A/N: Hello! Ferrie speaking! This is not my first fanfiction but it is my first x reader. There may be some people who might recognize me (you know who you are). I just want to say that if you ever feel offended or find mistakes, don't hesitate to let me know! I would love to hear from you and I also would like to learn your opinion.

-🎡

In the evanescent greenery of the background stands a girl clad in black as she stands over the grave of her not so recently deceased father. The smooth quartz of the tombstone and the intricately carved name show the wealth that her family accumulated over the years.

"Lady [Name], your luggage is ready" A handmaiden called out to her temporary master, it was already 2 years since her Lady's father died at sea. Yet, she wished she could convince her Master to stay, instead of chasing her father's fantasies like how Lord [Father's Name] did.

"Thank you, Hannah" The lady smiled from under her mourning veil hat. "You need not look so glum, I will return to the estate once I prove my father wrong".

"Is it really necessary, my Lady?" The maid inquired, she did not need to go on the trip and instead bask in the massive wealth her father left for her. "Colombia is so far away, I don't like the idea of you traveling alone".

[Name] knew of that of course, she had enough money to settle down in the countryside and assume the title of Viscountess despite her young age. But decided to find worth in her father's death by finding the town he once told her that he gave a gift to.

Choosing to ignore her maid, she turned to the gravestone once again. "I'll leave at dawn".

"[Name], have I told you my favorite story yet?"

The said girl stood over her father's sick body as her face is illuminated by the flickering of a candle. Her features stood out the most as she took a seat on an empty chair beside him. Lord [Last Name], looked pale and sickly all over suffering from a disease that promised him death before he can attend his daughter's wedding.

"You told me that story multiple times, father". The young girl rolled her eyes, continuing. "About how a town in Colombia was raided and you helped them by giving a mother of three children a candle that could give gifts to her descendants".

A gleam of amusement shone in the sick man's eyes as he spoke. "I took what remains of her husband's soul and allowed him to be with his family again as a house to love his family" he finished, chuckling.

"I want to meet that family again, [Name]". Her father smiled up at his daughter. As he inwardly cursed the heavens at how awful it will be to not watch his daughter grow. "Will you guide me towards their path, darling?" A youthful giggle was heard throughout the room, as [Name] looked fondly at him. "You have to become healthy again father, or else we can't go on adventures again!" That night, while [Name] was sleeping, the Lord of the [Last Name] family left to find the village once again.

The Sun resigns itself from its high peak to make way for the moon. Stars littered the sky like glitter twinkling under the dark abyss known as the unknown by many. Ships full of cargo pass by the traveling ship full of passengers. As our protagonist lays herself unto her bed left alone with only her thoughts.

'My body won't be able to hold it until the end of the year'. [Name]'s thoughts swirled as she tries to keep her magic from making an outburst. 'I have to find the miracle my father left that town with, or else I'll end up like mom'.

[Name]'s family wasn't just a noble family from England, they are a family of mages bringing miracles to help others. Most of [Name]'s relatives died during witch trials and hunts. Accusing her kind as someone who associates themselves with the devil.

The young girl placed a hand on her chest, a bright light filled the ship's suite as it dims a few moments later. Two golden floating orbs rest at her sides, as a result of her magic dividing.

How many times has she done this in a year? It must be over 100 now, even if her body was deteriorating slowly she doesn't know if this trip to Colombia will be worth it.

You see, [Name] was born with a very large amount of magic. She was born to do great things for humanity but having too much magic has consequences. Too much magic will mean that her spiritual core will slowly be feasted upon by the forces of magic she was born with. Which will result in her early death.

'Just like mom', the girl's eyes furrowed as she stared blankly at the floating orbs beside her. 'The only way to prevent that is to eat some of the spiritual core of someone who is equal terms in my own power'.

'Which is the candle that father left behind'. She concluded, closing her eyes as an exasperation left her lips. 'If those humans so much broke that candle, I'll have to travel to the In-between to eat my spiritual core's fruit as an alternative.

[Name] shivered at the thought of eating that fruit, despite how other greedy mages would love to eat her spiritual core because of its purity and mana. The girl finds it rather gross to eat your own spiritual core's fruit. 'Right, what was the name Father gave that town again?'

She gave a smile as she mumbled the name her father gave that magical town before her body gave in to sleep. "Encanto"

"Welcome, patron!"

A man grinned toothily at his client, a fifteen-year-old girl with her usual business smile on. The owner of the Hotel sweatdropped at the lack of response. "H-here is your room key".

It has been 3 days since [Name] traveled from London to Colombia and she was exhausted. She would rather use a portal to just enter that accursed village. 'Why on Earth did father travel all this way?' A tick mark appeared on [Name]'s forehead as she still kept her business smile on. Making the person holding out a key in front of her cower in fear of her hidden anger.

Still keeping her business smile, "Thank you for your hard work" [Name] said. Imaginary flowers bloomed around her as her beauty shined.

Other people who were watching the interaction with curiosity had their mouths drop to the floor. The foreign stranger glided with grace and superiority as she turned the corner. An old man who was also watching scoffed, "Foreigners".

Childish cries haunted the [Last Name] mansion as the Lord's only daughter shrieked in pain. [Father's Name] gritted his teeth as he menacingly asked the doctor who was bowing in fear for his life.

"Why is my daughter still in pain?" [Father's Name] inquired rather calmly, but the doctor didn't dare look up to meet his face.

"Y-your Grace, I apologize but don't know the problem"

[Father's Name] glared at the incompetent doctor already planning on where to send him if his daughter ends up dying. It wasn't until another cry of pain reached his ears that he moved his gaze to glance worryingly at [Name]

"Send him to the depths of hell"

A cloaked figure appeared in front of [Father's Name], kneeling. "Yes, your Grace". Pleas and shouts begging for mercy were the last words that he heard.

"Daddy, am I going to die?" 5-year-old [Name] asked, clutching her chest as sobs escaped from her lips. "It hurts so much, I don't want to die."

"I'm scared, father"

[Name] gasped for air as she clutched the place where hell wreaked havoc when she was younger. Sitting up, [Name] let out uneven breaths from the nightmare. It seems as though she relived through that event that bought chills up her spine.

It has been 10 years since that incident and even though the scars that she got were fully healed (courtesy to her father's many apprentices). She still shows much fear of dying. That, she might end up like her mother that was a [Nationality].

Suddenly, [Name] looked up to see the two magic orbs she summoned flash straight at her and fuse with her at an unhealthy rate.

'What?' [Name] coughed out blood from the sudden fusion. 'They weren't supposed to fuse with me until after 3 days! What's happening?'

A bright blue string suddenly appeared connecting her chest to the outside of the building she was currently staying in. Getting up and patting her nightgown down, [Name] walked towards her room's window and swung it open wide.

[Eye color] eyes widened at the sight, a blue string was leading its way towards the mountain ranges of Colombia. And it seems as though the civilians still walking out at night didn't seem to notice the floating blue light.

'This is father's magic!' [Name] exclaimed in her thoughts as she summoned a cloak and hastily put it on. 'It might be leading me to the miracle!'

'I'm coming, father!'

Tags: @your-girl-mj

[marvelsbanner]

Part of a Team

Summary: Wanda is the newest Avengers recruit and she’s having a hard time finding her place in this new life- maybe she can find it in you?

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x y/n, you

Warnings: Brief mention of death and blood, minor language (if you squint theres kind of compromising situations? nothing outright sexual)

Word Count: ~2700

A/N: Reblogs, likes, and comments are VERY much appreciated, all mistakes are my own! xx 

**I don't own marvel and if I did Natasha would be alive**

Something was wrong. You were just in Strucker’s lab- just on the trail of one of the enhanced twins. The alarms were going off around you and your boots clanged on the metal floor- before you froze in your place, a red haze overtaking you and suddenly you were thrown into the daylight.

-

You felt tingles run through your veins and down your spine; your head throbbed. You felt vulnerable, seen. What the hell is going on-

You’re in the forest, you think. No- there are rocks. Big rocks-

Focus.

No, not rocks. Graves. Gravestones. Where the hell are you?

You drag your heavy feet over to the nearest, it takes a moment for your vision to focus.

Who’s grave? Who’s grave? Oh god.  No no no- this, this can’t be-

Natasha Romanoff.

You felt like throwing up. This couldn’t be real. You dragged yourself to another stone situated nearby: Clint Barton. Beloved husband, father, and friend.

It felt like you couldn't breathe, you were just there with them. You were just there.

Your body jerks as cold hands grab your shoulders and spin your body to face them-

Steve.

You throw your arms around his neck, “STEVE! Oh god Steve! You’re okay- you’re.. cold” you feel something wet and sticky on your hand, pulling it back and seeing red. So much red.

“Steve..” you quickly stumble back, tripping in the process. It’s then you see- it’s too late. His body was grey and lifeless. He falls onto his knees and then collapses totally. You scream and scramble backwards, head hitting another gravestone in the process.

You turn to face it, to read another name of one of the team members you’ve come to call family- but it's not one of theirs. It’s yours.

It’s your name. A graveyard for the Avengers, Earth’s mightiest heroes.

Suddenly your body jolts and you take a sharp intake of breath- your ears are pounding. Everything hurts. But you see her- the enhanced. She’s looking at you with a look you can’t describe. It’s not fear, it’s not anger.. Pity? Empathy? You can’t look away from her, the glowing red eyes capturing you as their prey.

And then there was black.

-

A few weeks later and you’re back at the tower. Things have changed- the entire world has changed, really. The battle opened up new doors- literal new doors to new realms- that the world had previously thought impossible.

The team had expanded, with Steve’s friend Sam joining the team, as well as Vision, the synthezoid that helped the team to defeat Ultron.

There was also her.

Wanda Maximoff was one of the enhanced twins from Strucker’s experiments, you eventually learned. It was voluntary, but after learning about her backstory you think you would have done the same in her place. 

She lost her brother- Pietro- in the battle and she took it hard. She didn’t come out of her room when she could help it. Clint was rather protective over her, maybe it was the fatherly figure coming out of him- maybe he was feeling guilt over being the one Pietro sacrificed himself to save. Either way, he was able to get her out of the room a few times and get her to eat. Vision also struck up a strange friendship with the girl- but then again, Vision was easy company, and rather empathetic for a synthezoid.

Everybody took a hit from when Wanda messed with their heads, some more than others.

You didn’t talk for a week.

Didn’t even talk with Clint’s kids when they wanted to play with you.

You didn’t hold it against her. She proved what a valuable asset she was to the team as she fought alongside the group. She did what she thought was right at the time, and that’s not something you could hold against anybody.

Ever since the Battle, Wanda has been staying in the Avengers facilities with the rest of the group, an official Avenger, but you could tell she was still uneasy around the team. She only talked when she was directly talked to and didn't come out of her room but for a few times a day for food and training, sometimes not even then.

And then there was you.

She seemed to avoid you like the plague. You weren’t even sure you two made eye contact for the entire first few weeks she was there.

At first you thought she just didn’t like you, that something about you rubbed her the wrong way, or something you had done had offended her.

But it was her eyes that gave it away- the same soft look that she gave you right after exploring the deepest and darkest parts of your mind that day at Strucker’s lab. She knew from the second it happened that she had hit a deep nerve, and she would continue to give you that damn look every time she thought you didn't notice her.

But you always did.

You couldn’t help it, the way you were drawn to her. She reminded you so much of yourself before joining the team, broken, and alone in your head. You wanted to know her. You wanted to be there for her, be someone to her, you didn’t want her to keep walking on eggshells around you.

And so, you told her.

You found her in the kitchen late one night. She was wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a garnet tank top with a plain gray robe overtop. Her hair was a mess, roughly shoved into a ponytail and her hands were cupped around a mug. She was blowing on what looked to be dandelion tea, and as you got closer the fragrant earthy smell confirmed your suspicions.

She looked adorable.

And slightly startled to find you alone with her.

“Evening” you said as a greeting as you made your way to the counter top.

She gave a tight-lipped half smile with a timid “Hi” before going back to blowing on her tea. She made a slight movement that looked like she was going to try to slip away before you continued,

“You did really well in training the other day. Cap can’t give you enough praise” you say, taking a seat on one of the counter barstools.

She looks puzzled for a moment over your attempt at small talk before getting out a “Thank you.”

You both stood there in silence for a moment, just looking at each other, feeling the air grow thicker with each second ticking by.

“I like the pajamas” you say with a small smirk. You yourself were still dressed for the day in your leather jacket and black jeans. You could have sworn you saw flush creep up her neck before she swallowed it down with a sip of her tea.

There was another silent moment as she gave you a quizzical look, “I don’t quite understand what’s happening here.” She says with a vague hand gesture to the space between them.

You gave a slight chuckle, it was very on-brand for Wanda to be straight to the point.

“Look, Wanda,” You rotated your body on the stool to face her more comfortably,

“I see the way you look at me when you think i’m not looking. You avoid me at any given opportunity, I actually think this has been the most words we’ve exchanged in your whole time living here.”

She raised her ducked head to look you in the eyes and gave a small shake to her head, “I don’t understand.”

You don’t break eye contact, but simply offer a small smile as you reply “I’m not afraid of you, Wanda. And I don’t hold anything from that day against you. All is forgiven, and I would like to move past that. I understand you believed everything you were doing was for the right reasons, and the only thing that it shows me is your dedication and loyalty to a greater cause. Even if it was the wrong one at the time.”

She looked shocked, to say the least. Her mouth slightly opening and closing as she pondered what to say in response.

“You all should be afraid of me. You see the chaos I’ve created and you think you know what I can do,” her voice caught before she continued, “But the truth is I don't even know what i'm capable of. I don’t belong here.” she says softly.

You give a sad smile before slipping off of the stool and moving closer to her.

“We all thought that, at one point or another. We’ve got a whole freak circus here, we’ve got more baggage than Delta flies in a year- that's, that's uh, an airline. My bad.” You elaborate after she gives you a puzzled look, holding back a smile at your stuttered explanation.

“Aaand I ruined the moment.” You give a small chuckle, before continuing “But my point still stands. Nobody belongs here more or less than anyone else. We’re all just here, that's the truth of the matter. We’re just a bunch of unlucky misfits trying to figure out how to work as a team. Just give it a try, and maybe you’ll find you fit in better than you imagined you would.”

At some point during your speech you had moved close enough to take her hand, and you look down at it now, blushing before going to move it away.

Before you could, she gives your hand a squeeze before moving in to place a gentle kiss against your cheek.

“Thank you, y/n.”

And with that she slips away to her room, leaving you alone with your racing heart and her lukewarm mug of tea.

-

The next morning you found yourself awake bright and early for another morning training session with Nat and Steve- but you had a guest this time.

“Wanda” you greeted, which she returned with a timid “Good morning.”

“I’m glad you could make it” you say, sincerely.

“I decided to take your advice.” She replies with the smallest smile pulling at her lips.

The two of you stood there for a moment, just taking each other in before Steve cleared his throat, “Alright, we should get started then. Wanda, I'll spar with you to start. Nat, you take y/n. Try not to kill each other, please.” He said with a humored smile.

You make your way towards the corner with Nat on your heels. She gives you a quizzical look with a raised brow, glancing between you and Wanda. You roll your eyes and shake your head, only responding with a pointed “Later,” before your legs sweep under hers and an arm wraps around her torso, flipping you both to the ground and landing with you on top of her.

“Using my own move against me, that’s a low blow y/n.” You both laugh, and you barely respond with a “I learned from the best” before she wraps a leg around your waist and grabs your wrists with one hand, flipping you over and pinning you to the ground. She winks and replies “Damn right you did.”

It went like that for another half an hour, the two of you going back and forth battling for the upper hand. Natasha was the one who had trained you since the beginning, and you could almost say you were near her equal now. Well, you could at least give her a run for her money in a spar.

The two of you were panting and glistening with sweat, cheeks flushed from the exercise when she gave you a mischievous wink and called out to the other two, “Hey grandpa, I think I’m done getting my ass kicked by y/n for the day. I want someone easy, come spar with me”

If looks could kill, the look you were giving her would have the assassin dead on the floor.

Steve only looked amused, grabbing a towel to wipe his own sweat as he responded “Bring it on, Romanoff. Try not to break anything, though. I’ve been told they want my bones for the Smithsonian” Nat rolled her eyes and gave a pointedly fake laugh before they made their way to the other side of the gym, leaving you and Wanda alone.

“Hi” you greeted. She responded with a small smile and a “Hi” in return.

She looked as though she were still catching her breath, the rise and fall of her chest was noticeably fast and her face was still adorned with a glisten of sweat and pretty pink flush.

The same flush you saw from her last night, standing in the kitchen with the dim light around her.

Oh God you were in deep now.

“Nat and I were just wrestling around, hand to hand combat kind of stuff, but I see you and Steve were boxing so it's up to you what you’d like to do.” you say quickly.

“Well.. I do have this,” She waves her hand to show her flicker of red powers “for missions, so I don’t think I really need that kind of training.” She says with a smirk, “But I admit, you seem like a good teacher. Maybe.. some basics?”

She was pushing it. Pushing at this, the same way you were pushing last night. Alright, maybe you could run with this.

You give her a teasing smile, “Alright then. We’ll start slowly. May I?” You ask, reaching out for her, but not quite touching.

“By all means” she says, and you can feel the familiar flush creeping up your neck again. You release a puff of breath and shake yourself out of your thoughts before stepping closer to Wanda, and in one fluid motion you had one leg behind hers, your left arm resting against her upper chest and your other at the small of her back, pushing her flush against yourself.

You could hear the small gasp she let out, smirking to yourself.

“This is a simple take down, easy to get out of, but good for beginning. Now i'm just gonna pull you down as slowly as I can-”

You bring her left leg out from under her and carefully let the two of you sink to the floor, leaving you straddled on top of her and pinning her arms to the ground. The air suddenly felt a lot warmer.

You meet her eyes, breath hitching as you feel her pulse quicken beneath your touch.

You clear your throat and begin again, “Like I said before, it’s easy to get out of, but you want to keep the element of surprise. Use your opponent's body weight against them, if you can twist your wrist to slip it out of their grip and use your hips to to flip-”

Before you could even finish she had you pinned beneath her, wind knocked out of you from the impact.

“Like that?” she said, looking down at you through hooded eyes, thick accent teasing- flirting?

You were suddenly very aware of your close proximity and compromising position- flush against each other with her hips straddling your waist; close enough to feel her rapid heartbeat. 

“Yeah- that was- that was good” you sputtered out, barely able to hear yourself over the rapid beating of your own heart. Or maybe it was hers- you aren't sure you could tell the difference between up and down right now.

She gave a proud smirk and opened her mouth to say something before a certain synthezoid floated through the gym walls, clueless to the moment he was interrupting.

“Mr. Stark requests a team meeting and would like you to meet him in the conference room.” He said simply before turning and leaving through the wall again.

Wanda gave you a look that seemed to say we’ll finish this later and moved off of you. You missed the heat of her body immediately.

She offered you a hand up and you gladly took it, the two of you walking side by side in silence to the meeting, shoulders bumping and small smiles shared between you two as you think to yourself that maybe you could get used to this. 

[redorich]

You- you. This AU. This Welsknight and Ghostbur fluffy, found family AU has completely ruined me. My brain has conjured up fluff and it’s adorable and I had to reread everything posted about this three separate times because it’s so good!

Me: homework?

My brain: SilverDuo! (Which I have mentally started calling them because they have silver skin/armor)

Seriously, some of my head canons for this fic (hope you don’t mine me putting a few here…):

Wels teaches Bur how to shine armor, so that it gleams in the light and looks better. They sing and laugh as they clean and polish steel and iron plates in the sun, a picnic lunch nearby for when they’re done. In return, Bur weaves flowers from the gardens into Wels’ hair as he braids it. As time goes on, the braiding gets more complicated, Ghostbur pulling on his memories of doing Techno’s hair. They reserve hair time for evenings in the house or under the stars.

Wels’ hair grew out when he was unconscious, and he’s not used to its length, but he finds that he’s fond of it because of how gently Bur braids and styles it. While Wels doesn’t like how tangled it can get, he’s glad he has the reminder that he’s not alone whenever he feels the petals and stems of flowers on his neck, tucked into his armor.

Bur can’t stand minecarts or mineshafts because they remind him of the rails in the train station, and the loud thundering of subway cars that would never stop for him. But he does love to fly with his new Elytra, and while the rockets scared him at first, he soon got used them. He loves the wind in his face and floating on silver wings. It reminds him of the nice memories of his father, the few he has left from before the SMP.

Both Wels and Bur love to sing and write poems, so they decided one night to have a competition to see who could write the sappiest platonic love poem for each other. Bur, to Wels eternal embarrassment and delight, won the knight over with a full-on soliloquy. Wels had Ghostbur in stitches as he rapped a hilarious but heartfelt song. Both were bright red/silver by the end of it, laughing hysterically, and kept copies of the recordings of their poems in their Enderchest. They declared it a tie.

Bur misses Friend. Often. Wels offered to help him make a grave to remember his blue companion. The grave sits down the road from their home, surrounded by cornflowers and daisies. It reads,

“In Remembrance of Friend,

Cheeky Blue Sheep and Beloved Companion

May you rest in a warm field with lots of grass and colorful sheep friends”

Wels has frequent nights where he can’t fall asleep unless Ghostbur is nearby, terrified that he won’t be able to wake up again. Bur will hold him tight, humming the same song he would hum to Tommy during the Revolution and early Pogtopia. It took several weeks for Bur to quietly open up about Tommy. Wels secretly loves the idea of a mini-him, bright blue eyes (though now a duller grey) and matching blonde hair, going around and cursing out his enemies while charging them with no chill whatsoever. Of course, he would never admit it, because he’s a proper Knight that Shuns Swearing™

Ghostbur can possess people, but had no idea until a lovely outing suddenly became dangerous. He and Wels had been out exploring when a thunderstorm rolled in, causing a light drizzle to fall almost instantaneously. In a panic, Bur lunged toward Wels, who was scrambling to pull his shield out and hold it like an umbrella. To both of their shocks, Ghostbur phased right into Wels. They could hear each other’s thoughts and feel each other’s panic. It took them ten minutes in the soaking rain to calm down and another 5 to struggle over to a tree, sheltering from the rain. Wels’ eyes were a brighter shade of blue than usual, closer to white. His hair had also darkened just a shade. Thankfully, however, he still did not burn in the rain. After finally figuring out how to separate, Bur and Wels agreed to save that for emergencies, but also resolved to practice sharing a body occasionally, just in case they needed it. They also agreed to set a time limit cap for an hour at most, afraid it would become permanent if they weren’t careful. (It did result in them becoming closer, though. It’s easier to understand someone when you’ve literally shared a body with them.)

(Right, back to homework now. Hope you enjoy the little headcanons I hold, I swear the multiply by the minute when I’m not looking lol.)

aaaaaugh if i had gotten this sooner i would have been able to fit more of it into the current arc 😫 hope this works haha

-------

“Carpeted kitchen!”

“Absolutely not,” Wels says, pouring M&Ms into his popcorn. A few fall onto the couch, and he scoops them up before they fall between the cushions. On the TV, a young boy discovers that his dog is really quite good at basketball.

“Hand me some popcorn,” Ghostbur entreats, and Wels hands it over his shoulder for Ghostbur to pluck from Wels's fingers with his lips like a horse, because Ghostbur's hands are currently tangled deep in Wels's hair.

“But can we have a cool biome?” Ghostbur asks as he weaves strands around and around in a tiny fishtail braid starting at Wels's temple. “Something unique, like a mountain or an ocean!”

“You know, Zedaph actually builds his base in a mountain every season?” Wels says conversationally. He hands Ghostbur another handful of popcorn. “But wherever we build really just depends on where everyone else has already set up.”

Ghostbur makes a pouting noise with a mouth full of popcorn.

“Aren't you literally allergic to water, anyway? Why do you want to live in an ocean?”

“Hm,” Ghostbur says dismissively, then avoids the question for no reason at all. “Do you think I could possess someone?”

Wels shrugs, and Ghostbur scowls when the motion dislodges some of his fragile in-progress braiding.

“I don't see why not. I imagine you'd have to be in some pretty dire straits, though.”

“Why?”

“Well, wouldn't it take a lot to, like, phase into someone?” Wels asks. The TV shows a heartwarming scene between Bud the golden retriever and a high school boy named Josh.

“I guess, if you want to be lame.”

Wels snorts, then changes the subject back to the first topic. “Do you want to learn how to build medieval style? It's my favorite, but we can try something new if you want.”

Ghostbur considers for a moment as he ties Wels's hair off with a hot pink elastic. “Medieval, he decides, “but something smaller-- like a home. With little buildings for different things, and maybe a river in the back, just to watch the water flow from a safe distance…”

Wels can practically see it in his mind’s eye. He smiles. “Yeah, I think we can do that.”

[mca-attack21]

Damsel in Distress part I

This is a two part Arthur Pendragon x Reader based on the season two episode four of the show. Enjoy! Also you can find more of my writing here: Masterlist

Merlin woke up to a feeling of foreboding. There was something in the air that made his stomach turn with dread. As he prepared to go wake his clotpole of a master, he tried to push this feeling out of the forefront of his mind. But even as he made it down to the kitchen there was this sense of apprehension in the air. He hoped that he would run into you somewhere in the halls and that you would be able to set his mind at ease. He however was not so fortunate.

Instead, he trudged onward, setting Arthur’s food down and opening his curtains before declaring a half-hearted, “Rise and Shine” before quickly gathering some of his clothes to be washed. Arthur didn’t even have time to come up with a jest before Merlin was out of the door. Merlin busied himself, quickly polishing Arthur’s armor and completing other daily chores. He mentally prepared himself to deal with the prince as returned to his door.

“Ah, there you are, I was beginning to think you were avoiding your duties. And what’s this?” he asked, watching as Merlin laid everything out, “You’re actually doing your job for once? Are you feeling alright?” Arthur joked.

His smile soon turned to a frown as Merlin ignored his comments. He shrugged it off and allowed Merlin to help him dress and put on his armor. While Arthur was looking over some papers on his table he noticed that Merlin had already made his bed and was starting to take the dishes from the table.

“Merlin, clearly something is upsetting you,” Arthur pointed out.

“It’s nothing sire, do you need anything else?” Merlin asked with his back against the door.

“No, that will be all,” Arthur dismissed, sending a concerned glance towards his friend as he exited.

Merlin took leave and went back to his chambers to help Gaius. He tried to occupy his mind, but nothing he did seemed to ease that burning pit in his stomach. Something had happened, was happening, or was about to happen, he could feel it.

Somewhat abruptly, he decided that he needed to see you. He went to seek out Morgana, as you were filling in for Gwen while she was taking care of her brother. He knew that wherever Morgana was, you wouldn’t be far away.

It was in his search that he saw a few of the knights rushing for an audience with the king. Something had happened. Merlin followed at a close distance and listened in.

“As you know Sire Morgana, her maid, and a few knights rode for a pilgrimage to her father’s grave early this morning. They were meant to be back by now, but there is no word or sign of them. That was until one of the patrols came across one of the knight’s horses. I am afraid something went wrong..”

“Send men out immediately. Arthur, you will lead the search, do whatever you must to bring her home,” the King ordered concerned for his young ward.

“Of course father,” Arthur answered before hastily making an exit. Merlin was right on his heels, and left to prepare their horses.

---

The mercenaries had both you and Morgana in a tent with a guard posted right outside the doors. The two of you had come up with a plan, it was risky at best. However you were both aware of the fact that the further away from Camelot you traveled, the less likely you were to ever see it again.

“Are you ready for this?” Morgana asked, preparing herself.

“As ready as I’ll ever be”

She was about to step forward when you grabbed her arm, “No matter what happens, I want you to take any opportunity you get. Don’t worry about me. Promise.”

“There is no way I’m leaving without you.”

“Morgana, you have to promise me. I cannot bear the risk otherwise.”

“I promise, but only as long as you promise me the same. We take any opportunity we get.”

With that, the plan was in motion. Morgana demanded that she be allowed to bathe and you both were escorted to the river by two of the men. You took the distraction of her undressing to manage to disarm one of the men and tossed Morgana the sword just in time for her to take out the other. The two of you started running back towards the castle, but there was another mercenary that intercepted you. Being as you were the one with the sword you opted to fight him, thankful for the many hours you had spent training with Arthur when you were younger. Morgana turned back to help you.

“Go, I will be right behind you!” you shouted, watching her hesitate, “Morgana go! Now!”

She turned and ran only looking back when she heard your scream in the distance. She quickly picked up her pace again and ran without looking back. She pushed through the aching in her muscles until she was faced with a crossbow aimed at her face. Relief filling her features as soon as she saw its holder.

“Where’s Y/n?” Arthur asked immediately.

Morgana merely shook her head and Arthur turned before his face could give him away. Merlin pushed down his own feelings and went to Morgana to make sure she was okay and offer her water and food. They set off immediately for the castle and soon came the reunion between Uther and Morgana. She begged him to send out another search party for you, after all you had saved her life.

“I am not going to waste the time and resources on a servant girl who has most likely already been executed as she provides no worth to the mercenaries without you,” he explained to Morgana. The words cut Arthur deeper than any sword ever had.

“Please, there is still a chance. Arthur?” she turned towards him hoping he would take her side.

“I’m sorry Morgana, father is right” Arthur managed before turning and exiting a very angry Merlin on his heels.

“How could you say that? How could you possibly agree with him after everything that you and Y/n have been through? I knew you were a clotpole, but this, this is unforgivable!” Merlin all but shouted.

“Merlin Shut Up!” Arthur raised his volume before regaining his composure as he entered his chambers, “Of course I don’t agree with father, but there was no point in making a scene about it. We will pack and leave at first light. We will find her, one way or another.”

Merlin was speechless for a moment, before uttering an apology for overreacting before. He was then quick to leave and make the preparations for the next day as it was already early night.

The next morning he was surprised to see that Arthur had managed to not only wake himself up, but dress himself. He was looking over maps as Merlin entered. Soon the two of them were off on their quest to save the damsel in distress. The rode for the better part of the day before coming to a caves that were inhabited by wilddeoren. As they made it through the other side Arthur let out a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding, “I can’t believe the Gaia berries actually worked.”

“Hold up, you mean to tell me that you didn’t know that they would work before you lead us in a cave with giant flesh eating rats!”

“I mean not for sure, I heard stories, but I figured we’d find out one way or another.”

“Now you tell me?! Oh! Oh, what's that wilddeoren eating? It's all right. It's just Merlin. You trying to get us both killed?”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't've risked your life like that,” Arthur said a new hint of seriousness in his voice.

“I didn’t realize that even the great Arthur Pendragon could fall victim to the blindness of love,” Merlin joked.

“What in the world are you going on about?

“Your feelings for Y/n. Why can’t you admit that you like her? I mean you are risking your life and even your father’s wrath just for a one in a hundred chance of rescuing her.

Arthur scoffed rolling his eyes, “She is just a friend, I’d do the same for you. In fact I seem to remember disobeying my father before in order to get you an antidote when you decided to get a few days off my drinking out of a poisoned chalice.”

“That was different and you know it. Besides, anyone who has ever seen the two of you together can pick up on it. Why is it so hard to admit you like her? It’s only me, just say it,” Merlin encouraged.

“I can't! How can I admit that I think about her all the time. Or that...I care about her more than anyone. How can I admit that...I don't know what I'll do if any harm comes to her?” Arthur confessed struggling to keep his emotion in check.

“Why can't you?”

“Because nothing can ever happen between us! To admit my feelings knowing that...hurts too much.”

“Who's to say nothing can happen?”

“My father won't let me rescue a servant. Do you honestly believe he'd let me marry one?”

“You want to marry Y/n?”

“No! I mean maybe someday...I...I don't know...Regardless, it's all talk, and that's all it can ever be.”

“When you're King, you can change that. If she feels the same way, she would wait for you.”

“I can't expect her to do that, it’s not fair to her. Besides, we don’t even know if she’s alive,” he said regretting the words even as they left his mouth because they caused his stomach to drop.

“I’m sure she’s fine Arthur. She knows that you’ll come for her and that hope will keep her alive.”

The words seemed to offer Arthur some comfort, “Come on. We've got a long trek ahead. Oh, and Merlin...if you dare tell anyone about this, I promise I will make your life a living hell.”

“You mean more than you do now?” Merlin joked, earning a playful smack from his friend.