#why do I have so many characters in armor? I shot myself in the foot

[enderfalldl]

Merry Pride Month! Here's some of my OCs (totally not trying to force myself to draw my OCs pshhhhh)

[Left] The Duke [Right] BBG (neither have names yet)

[fallout4reactsblog]

could probably use some lighter courser ask storm prompts after all those whumpy angsty sounding ones, hmm. companions react to sole builds a raider cage but decides to see what happens if they bait it with fancylads, discovering later that it consistently traps coursers. each companion's personal part has them open it to find a different random courser inside, including named ones like x6, z2, & chase (who has some explaining to do). the jarring ooc surreality of the situation is amusing.

Ada: “You seem to be stuck.”

The courser inside glanced up at the sound of her voice, box of snack cakes in hand, and slowly nodded. “I didn’t realize it was trapped.”

“Usually this is baited with chems in order to trap raiders,” she said, beginning to fiddle with the release mechanism. “I am unsure why it is baited with cakes this time, but I’m sure it’s just a mistake. Don’t worry, you’ll be out shortly.”

“Thanks,” they said, slowly getting to their feet.

“Here, another box for your troubles,” she said, pulling one out of her bag. “Though I don’t believe I caught your name.”

They took it with a nod. “I’m X4-18. Nice to meet you.”

“I am Ada. My apologies for the inconvenience.”

“No problem,” X4 said. “Thanks for getting me out.”

In a flash of light, they were gone.

Cait: A rattle from inside the raider cage gave her pause on her way back home. She almost didn’t stop, the raider cage was sole’s problem after all, but what the hell. She was a little on edge today, and maybe beating the shit out of some unsuspecting soul would do the trick.

“Hi there!” A voice said from inside.

That gave her pause, but she went on fiddling with the lock. These things were usually baited with drugs after all. Wouldn’t be the first cheerful raider to come out.

The door swung open to reveal a blond courser, grinning ear to ear.

“I seem to have found myself in a bit of a predicament,” he said, sticking out a hand. “X7-22, nice to meet you. Don’t suppose you’re willing to help me out?”

A courser? Hell no. Slowly, she shook her head and started closing the door again.

“Hey! Wait a second, I’m sure we can come to some kind of agreement.” He shifted to stay visible through the gap in the slowly closing door. “There’s gotta be something I can offer you. Money? Supplies? Anything? Come on, talk to me-”

With a click, the lock re-engaged. She dusted off her hands.

Coursers in the raider trap. Now that was a problem for sole.

Codsworth: “Oh, dear.”

He slowly hovered around the cage. The courser watched him with wary, predatory eyes. Codsworth made a noise akin to a sigh.

“They never learn.”

The courser opened their mouth to protest, but he waved his saw arm through the air, cutting them off. “Sole simply refuses to listen! I told them nothing good would come of this, and now look where we are. A courser is stuck in the raider cage. No good!”

He poked at the lock, still griping. “The raiders I could understand. No-good hooligans need to be disposed of. But this is madness. What is there to gain?”

The courser had shrunk back into the cage, presumably having realized that this lock was not built to be opened by a Mr. Handy, and they were going to be stuck listening to what he had to say for a while.

At least there was snacks.

Curie: “Pardon me.”

An unfamiliar voice made Curie jump, and she spun to see a man with slicked-back brown hair staring at her from the raider cage. She stiffened and turned back around.

“Ah, c’mon,” he said. “Don’t ignore me. I’m harmless.”

“I have no interest in speaking to such an unsavory character as yourself.”

“Not even a little sympathy for a fellow synth?”

She glanced back behind her, eyeing the man in the cage. He gave her a slick smile.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Z2-47″

She frowned a little, gears turning. So he was a synth, and a courser at that. And by all accounts, she was a synth that needed to be brought back to the Institute.

...Hadn’t sole said something about needing to kill a courser?

She took one last look at him, still looking every bit like the cat that ate the canary, and put on her best smile. “Oh, but of course I will help you. I simply must find the person with the key. If you will wait but a moment, I will bring them.”

Not waiting for a reply, she went off in search for sole.

Danse: The trap’s mechanism was very simple. The cage was built so that you had to step inside to get the bait, then the weight triggered the door to close and lock behind you. Sole had built it to trap raiders in, usually baiting it with chems, though he couldn’t say how many times they’d sent him to go get Hancock out of there. That ghoul never learned.

Today, though, it was him eyeing the cage from across the street. Yesterday, he’d seen sole baiting it with no less than three full boxes of Fancylads Snack Cakes they’d pulled out of an old vault. That meant they were in pristine condition, untouched by the taste of radiation. He’d been too shy to ask them for one of the boxes, and now seemed to be his chance. He just had to get them out of there.

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he approached the trap, bracing one foot against the small step up into the cage and curling his right hand around the doorframe. If he leaned in, he should be able to...

Evidently, lose his balance and fall in.

With an unceremonious crash, he toppled to the floor, door slamming shut behind him. For a brief moment, he stared around at his surroundings, truly confused on how this had happened.

At least he hadn’t landed on the snack cakes. Might as well make the best of a bad situation, right?

Deacon: “Well this is awkward.”

Chase glared up at his mischievous grin as he asked, “So, how’s the weather in there?”

“Exactly the same as it is out there. Let me out.”

“C’mon, Chase. At least finish the snack cakes. That’s what you’re in there for, after all. Don’t tell me you ate them already.”

She glared at him in lieu of a response, and he fake gasped. “Chase, there was, like, three boxes in there!”

“Coursers burn calories very quickly.”

“Probably all that running and shooting and all.” He sighed and started to fiddle with the lock. “Well, no sense in leaving you in there. You’ve got work to do after all.”

“This stays between us. Understand?”

He laughed and said, “Sure. Between you, me, Glory, Dez, whoever they tell...”

“Oh, you’re impossible.”

Gage: The satisfaction he got from seeing a locked raider cage was like nothing else. Commonwealth raiders were stupid bastards, and if they were dumb enough to go into a very clear trap, well, they were dumb enough to die.

He chambered a round in his rifle as he swung open the door.

An Institute courser snarled and swiped at him with a very large, mean-looking knife. He narrowly dodged, shifting to dodge her second strike, and slammed the door in her face. An unholy screech of metal on metal echoed down the street, and he winced.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Coursers these days.”

The whole cage shuddered as the synth inside slammed herself against the door, shouting obscenities. He took a step back, debating whether or not he was willing to open it up again. On the one hand, there was a synth that needed killing. On the other, well, he still had one eye left, and he was keen to not lose it to a very pissed-off courser.

“Overboss!” he shouted up the street. “There’s some kind of feral thing in your cage.”

“What? Hold on, let me come look, just give me a second...”

A second was never just a second with the Overboss. He sighed and resigned himself to a very long wait.

Hancock: "Well, hey there.”

“Oh! Monsieur Hancock. What wonderful timing!”

Curie grinned up at him with a smile to light rooms, and he almost shielded his eyes against the brightness. Geez, this girl was bubbly.

“Whatcha doin’ in there, Curie? I don’t take you for the raider type, and last I checked chems weren’t your style. Mine, yes. Yours, no.”

“It is a funny story, really,” she chuckled. “I saw this box of snack cakes inside. They are in pristine condition, and one of my few vices, so for a moment I simply was blind to the fact that-”

“Snack cakes?” Sure enough, there was a mint condition box in Curie’s hand. “Holy shit, share.”

In a flash, he ripped open the door and launched himself at the second box of snack cakes. And damn, were they good. Untainted by the taste of radiation, they were perfectly balanced between sweet and sour, sponge still moist, coating still soft. Heaven in a crinkly plastic wrapper.

“Um, Hancock? Is it not rather cramped for the both of us?”

Oh, yeah. He’d landed right on top of poor, unsuspecting Curie. “My bad. I got excited.”

“Oh, no, that I do not so much mind. I simply wonder how we are going to get out now.”

Shit.

MacCready: “The way I see it, this stands to become a mutually beneficial exchange.”

Ol’ Z2 looked disgruntled, but asked, “How so do you mean?”

“I mean we could both gain something from this. I let you out of there, and you offer me something in exchange. Sounds fair, right?”

“Maybe.”

He rocked back on his heels. “So, what do you have to offer?”

Z2 frowned and dug around in a pocket. “I have some fusion cells.”

MacCready rolled his eyes. “No good. Sole’s got tons, and I don’t use a laser weapon.”

“I have a few bottlecaps.”

He squinted into the cage. “What, like, ten? Yeah, no. Not gonna cut it.”

“Well, then I’m afraid this won’t work out. Coursers travel light.”

MacCready tutted, tapping a finger against his chin. “I don’t know, that coat of yours looks pretty snazzy. Bet it’s well-armored, too, huh?”

Z2 looked almost offended. “Are you suggesting that I hand you my coat?”

“The way I see it, you don’t have much of a choice. You can hand me the coat and get out of there, or wait for a less sympathetic person to come along and shoot you like fish in a barrel. Your call.”

It took only a moment’s hesitation before Z2 agreed.

Nick: "...Danse?”

Former Paladin Danse’s head shot up, and for the first time probably ever, he actually looked happy to see him. “Nick?”

“What on Earth are you doing in the raider cage?” He cut him a sideways glare. “Don’t tell me you picked up a chem habit.”

Danse looked appropriately embarrassed, and held up a box of snack cakes. “No. These were the bait this time, and I rather foolishly thought I could retrieve them from the trap unharmed.”

“Isn’t the whole point of the trap that you can’t get them out without falling in?”

“Of course, and I knew that. I simply allowed my pride to get the better of me. I should have left them alone, but couldn’t resist the temptation.”

Nick just shook his head. “Well, at least you can admit it.”

“Would you mind letting me out? It has been a significant amount of time.”

“Yeah, fine.” He set about picking the lock. “I assume you’d rather keep this between us.”

“If that’s an option.”

“I guess. Wouldn’t want someone spreading it around if it was me.”

“I appreciate that.”

Old Longfellow: There was a long moment of silence. He stared into the raider cage. Reinhart stared back, still slowly chewing on a snack cake. The eye contact seemed to last forever as Longfellow tried to figure out what the actual hell Reinhart was doing.

“Did you need something?” Longfellow finally asked.

“Did you?”

“I’d like to know what you’re doin’ in there.”

“I’d like to get out of here.”

Longfellow folded his arms. “You answer me, and I’ll let you out.”

“I wanted the snack cakes,” Reinhart replied, sliding an open box across the floor. “Here. There’s still a few in there, if you want.”

“I’ll pass, you keep ‘em.”

Reinhart slowly slid the box back toward himself. There was silence again.

“So are you going to let me out, or...?”

“Right, right. Yeah. I guess I’ll go find sole, they probably have the key...”

Piper: Piper Wright looked and felt every bit like the cat that caught the canary.

“Well, well, well, look at what we have here.”

“Miss Wright-”

“For the first time, we have a courser who has embarrassed himself in media res. Incredible!”

“Piper, please-”

“X6, can I get a quote? What do you have to tell the people?”

She held out a fake microphone, which was actually a rolled up copy of the Publick. He just sighed and said, “Could you please let me out?”

“Not a chance!” she laughed. “At least, not until you tell me how you got stuck in there. I mean, c’mon X6, a raider cage? You’ve gotta be smarter than that.”

He visibly deflated. “Unfortunately, Fancylads Snack Cakes are a common vice among generation three synths.”

Piper practically crowed with delight. “Snack cakes! You’re in there for snack cakes!”

“Yes, if you could just-”

“Sole!” she shouted up the street. “You gotta come see this!”

X6 resigned himself to the fact that he’d never live this down.

Preston: The person in the raider cage was not a raider.

She glared at him through the bars. He could only stare back in shock.

“You’re a courser,” he finally managed.

“No shit.”

“How... how did you get in there?”

She hesitated just a moment before replying, “Snack cakes.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, “Dammit, sole. Everyone told you this was a bad idea, but you did it anyway?” To the courser, he said, “I’m sorry about this. We’ll get you out of there, promise.”

“Thanks,” the courser replied, then added, “I’m X9-96.”

“Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen. Nice to meet you X9. I’m no good with locks, so I’ll need to go get the key. Will you be okay in there until I get back?”

She shrugged. “So long as no more rifle-toting raiders come by, yeah. No promises I won’t kill him if he comes back though.”

So Gage had been by. Just great. Under his breath, Preston muttered, “Be my guest.”

[ironwoman359]

You Don’t Own Me (You Don’t Even Know Me)

Chapter 4

Navigation: Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6

Summary:  As the son of a Baron, Roman Sanders always knew that when he married, it would be due to a political arrangement rather than true love. Still, when he is sent away to marry an older, more powerful Earl, he is determined to make the best of his situation. Despite the Earl’s indifference towards him, Roman forges ahead and prepares to become the best husband he can possibly be, making new friends along the way. But when his fiancé’s demeanor turns from cold to cruel, Roman must shift all of his focus to survival, and find a way out of his marriage before it’s too late.

Ships: Logince, side Moxiety and Dukeceit

Content Warnings (overall): arranged marriage, abuse, attempted sexual assault, murder, poisoning, character death, hurt/comfort, angst Chapter 4 Warnings: possessive behavior, verbal and physical abuse, angst, allusions to abuse and murder 

Word Count: 4067

Read on AO3: here!

A/N: Co-written with @5-falsehoods-phonated​, check out his masterlist here and check out mine here! 

---

“And when I tried to get down, Remus spooked the pony and it bolted, with me still clinging to the saddle for dear life.” 

Virgil snorted, then immediately brought his hand up to cover his smile. 

“You wound me!” Roman said dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. “Eight-year-old me was certain that his life was going to end, and you’re laughing?” 

“I can’t help that the mental image of you dangling off the saddle of a pony and screaming your head off is the funniest thing I’ve seen all week,” Virgil replied. 

“Be nice, Virgil!” Patton scolded, even as he fought back giggles of his own. “I’m sure it was very scary at the time!” 

“You’re telling me,” Roman agreed. “I wouldn’t set foot near the stables for a month.” 

“I can’t believe that after all that you somehow grew up to be a competent rider,” Virgil said. 

“Well, I probably wouldn’t have if it weren’t for my older brother Remy. He started taking me with him when he went out on his rides; I felt a lot safer riding double with him than I did by myself.”

“Your brothers sound wonderful,” Patton said, smiling. 

“Oh, they’re the absolute worst,” Roman said. “But also I love them more than anyone.” 

“I hope we’ll get to meet them at the wedding!” 

Roman’s smile went brittle around the edges, and he forced himself to nod. 

“I hope so too,” he said quietly. 

Patton’s brow wrinkled, and Roman knew that look, that was Patton’s “I’m worried about you” look, and as much as he had come to view Patton and Virgil as his friends, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to get into the whole “my twin brother ran away from home to escape noble life and I haven’t seen him in years and might never see him again” topic with them just yet. 

“Well this has been great,” Virgil cut in suddenly. “But it’s getting close to midday; I need to get back to work, and you need to get to your little lunch date.” 

“Excuse you, it is a perfectly professional business meeting!” Roman protested, and Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Sure it is. That’s why you meet with Logan every single day and always perk up or get this silly smile on your face whenever you mention something that he said, most of which has nothing to do with business.” 

Roman gave Virgil a deadpan look. “Do you really want me to retaliate right now?” he asked, glancing pointedly at Patton. 

Virgil’s cheeks flushed pink, and he waved Roman away. 

“Go on, then!” he said. “Go have your perfectly professional business meeting.” 

“I will!” Roman said primly, but as he stood to leave, he shot Virgil a grateful smile, and Virgil nodded in return. 

After parting with Patton at the house’s entrance, Roman made the short trek down to the library alone. He hadn’t been sure how he would manage living at the Howard Estate at first, but his life had settled into a predictable yet comfortable routine since the engagement banquet. 

Patton brought breakfast to his room every morning, and after Roman insisted several times that he preferred the company, Patton now stayed to eat with him most mornings. After breakfast, Roman changed into his riding clothes and the two headed down to the stables together, where Virgil was waiting for them with Angel. Roman took his morning ride, and Patton and Virgil did whatever it was they liked to do when they were alone together. 

When he returned, Roman helped Virgil groom Angel, and the three of them often fell into easy conversation with one another. At midday, Roman took his lunch in the library with Logan, and he spent the afternoons on his own, exploring the mansion or indulging in his creative hobbies. All in all, his days were mostly pleasant, until dinnertime, of course. 

His nightly dinner with Lord Howard was, to his disappointment, the most boring and uncomfortable part of Roman’s day. It became clear to Roman after a few attempts of engaging with his fiance that Lord Howard wasn’t even slightly interested in talking with him; what he wanted was somebody to talk at. Roman sat, night after night, and listened to the earl rant about frustrating business partners, idiotic city officials, and even tiny annoyances like a scuff on his boot or a fly in his office. It was difficult to not feel like an emotional punching bag, and Roman always left dinner exhausted from playing the polite, doting fiance that Lord Howard expected him to be. 

Roman stepped into the library, and smiled when he saw Logan sitting at a table beneath a window, the afternoon sun casting golden beams of light through his long hair.

At least there were more positives than negatives to living at this estate. 

“Ah, Roman,” Logan said, smiling as he approached. “Excellent timing, I was just beginning to review my weekly report for Lord Howard. Would you care to assist me?”

“Always,” Roman said, sitting down across from him. 

They poured over the receipts and summaries and work orders together, and Roman couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer amount of work that Logan did every single day. 

“Honestly, Logan, you do almost too much for the earl. Especially considering what he pays you.” 

Roman had seen the payroll receipts for all the staff, and he couldn’t help but be a little insulted on the servants’ behalf. One of the ways Lord Howard kept costs down was clearly at the expense of his staff. 

“While I may agree with your sentiment, the fact of the matter is that if I did not do all this, the estate would fall apart,” Logan said. “And regardless of any...personal feelings about his lordship, there are far too many people who depend on him and his estate for me to consider stopping.” 

Logan paused, frowning as he scanned a document, then sighed. 

“For instance, his lordship neglected to sign off on a shipment of new armor to the city guard, despite my reminding him to do so three times in the last week.” 

He scrawled something along the bottom of the document and set it aside, and Roman raised an eyebrow. 

“Was that Lord Howard’s name you just wrote?” 

Logan fiddled with his glasses, and he glanced around the room before answering. “This is...not the first time that his lordship has neglected his duties on what he perceives to be minor issues. I, uh...take the liberty of correcting such oversights for him.”

“You can forge his handwriting?” Roman translated, and Logan nodded sheepishly. “That’s amazing!” 

Logan blinked, looking up at Roman in clear surprise. “I...it is?” 

“Are you kidding me?” Roman exclaimed. “Of course it is...you’re so talented, Logan, really. I’m not exaggerating when I say you’re wasted as a secretary.” 

“Oh...well, thank you, Roman,” Logan said, his cheeks flushing slightly pink. “I must admit, you also have far more potential than his lordship would care to acknowledge.” 

“I’ll get him to see sense soon,” Roman insisted. “Then maybe together, we can make some real changes around here!” 

“I wish I shared your optimism,” Logan said with a sigh. “But I am glad to share your company, at least.”

It was Roman’s turn to blush, but before he could think of a reply, the sound of footsteps caught his attention, and he looked up to see Patton approaching their table. 

“Sorry for interrupting, Kiddos, but I’ve been asked to fetch Roman here and get him ready.” 

“Get me ready?” Roman asked, and Patton nodded. 

“His lordship requests your presence at a business meeting he has in an hour with other estate holders. I’ve been instructed to dress you for the event and bring you to his lordship.” 

Roman forced down the twinge of discomfort in the back of his mind at the earl choosing an outfit for him like he was some sort of doll, and grinned as he got to his feet. 

“You see, Logan?” he said. “This is our chance!”

“If it is a meeting with other nobility, then I’m afraid I won’t be present,” Logan said. “Lord Howard does not wish for...commoners to be present at such negotiations. He instructs me on what measures need to be taken afterwards.”  

“That’ll be the first thing we change then, once I make him see reason,” Roman said. “You’ll see, this is going to be the start of something great!” 

“I hope you are right,” Logan said with a small smile. “Good luck, Roman.” 

“Thank you, Logan,” Roman said as he followed Patton out of the library. 

I’ll certainly need it. 

--- --- ---

Roman fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair, shooting a glance over to the earl to make sure he hadn’t noticed. The silky fabric that his pants were made of stuck uncomfortably to his skin and made his legs itch horribly, but he had been in similar attire before and had had plenty of practice in the art of keeping his poise while screaming internally. Thankfully, even though he was seated right next to Lord Howard, he had yet to draw his attention. Howard had been too occupied bragging about his various business exports for most of the meeting to pay much attention to him. 

Even through his discomfort, Roman had been learning a lot about his fiance, dutifully keeping mental notes on everything he heard, from which parts of land he had inherited to which ones he had bought or negotiated into owning. Overseas businesses and local investments both let his power reach farther than one might first suspect, and all that put together was what kept the Howard Estate with its acres of land, sprawling mansion and extensive grounds and highly specialized staff all running smoothly. 

It was a lot to manage, so it made sense that Lord Howard had Logan figure out most of the work and only signed off on the most important things himself. Having someone as competent as Logan run things in the background so the true estate head could make the actual appearances as the business leader was a strategy many nobles used to keep their properties under control. 

Craning his neck to look up at his fiance from his lower seat, Roman furrowed his brow in thought. He wondered just how much Logan did that the earl never saw anything about until he reaped the benefits of it. Sure, Logan was extremely capable, but relying entirely on one person to manage everything seemed a bit foolhardy to Roman.

Tuning back into the conversation, Roman perked up as another lord gestured stiffly at a stack of documents in front of him, smooth calculation clear in his tone of voice. Negotiations were something Roman had always prided himself in handling, and handling well. He had often spoken circles around his own father in their practice debates, and it was rare that Roman participated in a discussion without gaining something in his own favor. 

As neither party at the moment looked particularly stressed, Roman figured with a slight twinge of disappointment that such measures shouldn’t be needed this time. He would have liked to show off just a bit and make Lord Howard see what a useful asset he could actually be in their marriage, but he supposed that could wait until a more appropriate opportunity.

“I have most of the influence in this field anyway. Signing your bit of land over to me now would cause fewer problems for you in the future; especially if I don’t have to take it by force when I’m looking to expand.”  Punctuating his statement with a firm tap to the papers, the opposing lord sat back with a satisfied smirk.

The icy glare Lord Howard fixed him with was enough to wipe the smirk fully off his face, however, and he tilted back slightly as the earl leaned forward to fold his hands smoothly in front of him. 

“I’m not in the habit of signing away what’s rightfully mine, Lord Rilken, Baron of Vilvik.”

Roman flinched slightly at the way he practically spat the other man’s title…a title he shared, and had never once felt insecure about until this very moment. The way he spoke to these men, these people in positions of power, like they were nothing but dirt to be brushed off his own much more impressive riches- it was enough to make Roman want to run all the way back to his own estate and beg for another way, plead to wait for someone else to ask for his hand or to find someone himself. He stiffened in his seat and shook the irrational thoughts away. 

No, this is how one played the game when negotiating important matters. Put up a cold and intimidating front until the other person backed down or bent to your own suggestions. If anything, Lord Howard's act was admirable; it almost immediately shut down any arguments, even if it hardly held any semblance of tact. Realizing this would be a good opportunity to show his skills, Roman leaned forward and placed his own hands on the table in front of him, gaining the attention of the opposing business owners quickly.

“It might prove advantageous to you both to simply form a partnership and share the land and business potential it holds. With as much power as the both of you hold over this branch, you’d be able to expand much faster and reap more benefits than you would if you spent all of your time attempting to take control over the others’ sections.” Pleased with himself, Roman glanced over to Lord Howard, expecting at least to have impressed him since he hadn’t really had the time to explain all that he had been trained in and what he could bring to the estate with their union. 

However, as he met Lord Howard’s eyes, ice ran through his veins. The earl was glaring, staring him down like a particularly resilient bug that he could hardly wait to smash beneath a steel-toed boot. The room went so quiet that Roman could swear that the other nobles were holding their breath, and glancing around in his peripherals, he saw everyone sitting around the table gawking at him as if he’d just committed high treason. Had he really said something so wrong? Was this not what was customary, nay, expected behavior of the soon to be co-owner of the estate? Shrinking down slightly as his ears burned red, he finally lowered his eyes as the earl turned away. Roman heard him take a deep breath before saying in a deliberately controlled voice:

“You must forgive my fiance, he hails from a country estate you see; he isn’t accustomed to the way things work here yet. If you would be so kind as to excuse us for just a moment so that I may explain a few things?” Not waiting for an answer, the earl stood and held out his hand for Roman to take. “If you would step into the hall with me, dearest?”

Recognizing the order under the request, Roman stood quickly and took Lord Howard’s hand, wincing at how tightly he was gripped and practically dragged out of the room. The door was opened just a bit too forcefully to calm his nerves in the slightest and he watched as Lord Howard seemed to barely refrain from slamming it back closed, instead closing it with deliberate calm before whirling around to face him and jerking his hand out of Roman’s to tower before him.

“Let me make this perfectly clear, you do not speak out of turn in these meetings. You do not speak above me or-”

“But I didn’t! I was only-” Roman didn’t register what the dull smacking sound echoing in his ears and making them ring was until pain bloomed and spread from his lower jaw to his entire cheek. Raising his hand to his face in disbelief, he felt a bit of wetness and looked to see blood on his fingertips. Fear and horror twisted in his gut as he realized one of Lord Howard’s rings must have caught on his cheek and opened a cut. His jaw ached and his teeth felt numb; the blow had been hard enough to rattle them in his skull. Romans looked up and flinched as he saw Howard’s hand still raised to strike should he choose to speak again, and he shrunk in on himself in an attempt to seem too small to expend more energy on.

“You,” The earl spat, “do not speak above me, or make suggestions on my behalf. You are not here to offer up useless opinions that were not asked for or needed. You were brought into that room to sit obediently and look pretty on my arm and that is the full extent that your role will ever be. Have I made myself clear?”

Roman hesitated for just a second too long, and Lord Howard reached down to grip his chin, tipping his head so he had no choice but to look his assailant directly in the eyes. “My dear, I believe I asked you a question, and I expect an answer.”

Biting back a whimper Roman nodded as much as he could with his face trapped in the steely grip. “Yes my lord, I understand perfectly. I apologize for overstepping, it won’t happen again.”

The answer, as demeaning as it had felt to say, seemed to appease the still seething man, and Howard dropped his chin and stepped back with a wolfish smile. 

“Very good, see to it that it doesn’t. Now, I believe we’ve been here long enough. If you’re done blubbering, you may join me.”

Startling a bit at the choice of phrasing, Roman hesitantly reached up to touch his face, wincing as he realized there was more than just blood on his cheeks. Taking a deep breath, he carefully wiped the tears away before plastering on a small smile and moving to stand just behind the earl. He was loath to go back into the room like this, humiliation and blood reddening his cheeks, but he didn’t dare speak up for fear of more punishment. As Lord Howard opened the door and moved back to his place at the head of the table, he hardly spared Roman another glance, and Roman had no choice but to meekly follow. 

Sitting down, Roman realized most of the people at the table were staring at him like one would a fresh kill, their expressions a mixture of pity and approval while they averted their eyes. Sinking down even lower as the meeting resumed, he realized this was to be the second part of his punishment. He was to learn and remember his role as Lord Howard’s betrothed and eventual husband. Sit still and look pretty, step a toe out of line and be punished, and make sure everyone in the room knew that the power held over him was just as absolute as the power the earl held over everything else. 

“I’m pleased to know some people still know how to keep common folk in line. Truly, the disrespect-” Roman’s ears rang as someone close by whispered to another just loud enough for him to overhear, making him want to sink down even lower and let the floor swallow him. 

The meeting continued on for what seemed like forever, but unlike before, Roman didn’t absorb a single word of what was said. The voices of the other lords washed over him as he sat as still as he could, hands clenched in his lap to keep them from trembling. When at last Lord Howard stood, Roman almost stood up next to him, but caught himself just in time and sent a questioning glance up at his fiance. 

Lord Howard’s lips curled into a smile, and he held his arm out to Roman in invitation. Roman swallowed down his revulsion and stood, slipping his arm into the earl’s and schooling his face into a pretty smile. Lord Howard covered Roman’s hand with his own, and Roman’s skin burned at the touch. 

“Well gentlemen, this concludes our discussion for the day, I do thank you all for coming.” 

One by one the nobles stood, nodding to Lord Howard as they filed out of the room. Roman’s cheeks heated as several of them swept their eyes over him as they passed, their gazes lingering on the bruise blooming on his face. When at last, every one of them was gone, Lord Howard turned his attention to Roman, all false pleasantries gone from his expression. 

“I trust that after today, any...confusion about your role here has been cleared up?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. 

“Yes, my lord,” Roman whispered, and the earl smiled. 

“Good. Now go clean yourself up. Dinner is at seven o’clock sharp, and I expect you to look presentable.” 

“Yes, my lord,” Roman repeated, and as soon as Lord Howard dropped his arm, he practically bolted from the room. 

He hurried through the corridors of the mansion, head down and eyes stinging. When he finally reached his room, he all but slammed the door behind him, and collapsed to the floor, his shoulders shaking as he released the sob he’d been holding back for the past hour. 

He let himself cry, for how long, he wasn’t sure, not only for the sting on his cheek and the shame that came with it, but for every doubt, every grief, every pain that he’d pushed down and bottled up over the past month.  

After everything he’d been through, everything he’d sacrificed, was this really his fate? Chained forever to a man who only saw him as something to own, to display, to use... 

Roman lifted his head slowly. 

“Remember all that we've taught you, and you'll do fine." 

His father had taught him everything he knew about business, about politics, about matters of the state. He knew how to act with decorum, how to spot an opportunity, and how to charm a room while negotiating, all thanks to his father’s teachings. 

But now, with tears running down his face and a bruise blossoming on his cheek, he remembered another set of lessons. 

Lessons his mother had given him as a teenager, after time had run its course and he was no longer the slightly awkward, gangly kid he had once been. 

“You’ve grown into a handsome young man,” his mother had said to him on his eighteenth birthday. “Your father believes that when you are married, it will be purely for political reasons. You need to know that this may not be the case.” 

Roman had tried to forget the lessons his mother had passed down to him, had told himself that he would never need them...but here he was, sobbing on the floor, the first of what he knew would be many marks on his skin if he didn’t tread carefully. 

Roman learned everything he knew about running an estate from his father, but he learned everything about acting from his mother. Thanks to her, he knew how to conceal his emotions, how to smile when his stomach rolled over and how to sigh when his skin burned. He knew how to mold himself into the perfect husband, because if he did not let himself be molded he would find himself broken before it was too late. 

“Too late for what, mother?” the younger him had asked, eyes wide and horrified, and she’d smiled in a way he’d never seen before. 

“Did I ever tell you the story of how your grandfather died?” 

Roman knew what situations were most likely to result in “accidents,” what weapons were easily concealed and what poisons were difficult to detect. He knew how to pluck a nose hair to bring tears to his eyes and slap his cheeks so they appeared flushed. He knew how to appear calm and collected when he was suffering, and how to appear stricken with grief when all he felt was relief. 

He had been preparing for marriage his whole life...every kind of marriage. And now that he knew the kind of husband that Lord Howard really wanted, he knew exactly what kind of husband he was going to be. 

Even if he wouldn’t be one for very long. 

--- --- ---

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[darkshadow90]

TVA Loki x reader: You accidentally escape from your Timeline

Summary: You accidentally  escape from your timeline. In your timeline Loki succeeded to taking over Earth and rules it with an iron fist. Life in your timeline is hell and he’s trying to kill you because you and a few others had the guts to defy his rule. You jump through a portal, and soon people in strange armor and Loki show up. It terrifies you, and you try to get away. Things don’t turn out the way you expect.

A/N: Hey guys. This is an idea for a one shot I had. It’s based on Loki in the TVA. I know there’s only been one episode of the Loki show, so I’m not entirely sure how accurate the TVA will be or how in or out of character the characters will be so keep that in mind when you read this. Also I’m not exactly sure how the Loki variants work or what they look like, so the Loki that’s trying to kill the reader looks the same as 2012 Loki, but has a more malevolent personality. I just thought it would be easier that way. Warnings: References to murder. Hope you like it :)

It had been a few years since Loki successfully took over Earth. He defeated the avengers and ruled over Earth with an iron fist. He had killed many people over the years for displeasing him in any way. He was vicious and cold. One day, everyone was required to attend a “ceremony.” There was nothing celebratory about it.  A man had been caught stealing food. Everyone was required to bare witness to his punishment. “You are all gathered here on this day to learn what happens to those who think it’s wise to steal from me.” He started this off like he did all his grandiose speeches. It wasn’t the first cruel lesson to the public, but this wasn’t any less bone chilling. “Can your miniscule brain comprehend why I’m so angry?” The man was scared for his life. “Because I...didn’t bow to you.” Loki bared his foot down on the man’s head. “Wrong. I consider myself a benevolent god. I know you mortals have limitations, but I will not tolerate disobedience. I would’ve accepted it if you had been honest, but instead you tried to steal from me and lied about it to the guards. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” Loki removed his foot from the man’s neck and grabbed his shirt collar, forcing him to look him in the eye. 

The man had tears in his eyes. “Please. I have a family. We haven’t had much food for weeks. I needed to feed them somehow. Please forgive me, my king. I’ll never steal again.” “Of course. Once again, look to him as an example.” Before anyone could react, the man began to disappear. His screams were agonizing. After he was gone, Loki turned back to face the audience. “One less mouth to feed.” Everyone was horrified. A few people near you were angry. You were shocked. Your shock gradually turned to anger. “How could you do that? He had a family!” One person yelled out. “You’re a monster!” Another person said. It gave you courage to join in. “You’re not a benevolent god. You’re absolutely cruel. You kill people for no reason. There’s nothing benevolent about you. We’ll never kneel to you!” He suddenly appeared in front of you. “It would appear the three of you didn’t learn from what just happened. Shall I give another demonstration?” The crowd began to panic. Loki walked over to you. He towered over you, holding that infamous scepter. His menacing presence made you quake with fear. “What’s the matter? You don’t have much bravado, do you little mouse?” Everyone began to scatter, including you. Loki wasn’t angry about it, and that worried you.

You ran as fast as you could. People were running aside you and some disappeared the same way the man disappeared just minutes ago. You suspected Loki was using his magic, but you didn’t see him chasing after the crowd. You were much more interested in staying alive. “Hey! Do you remember Stark Tower?” It was the man from earlier who stood up to Loki, the one who stood next to you in the crowd. “You mean Loki’s Tower? What about it?” “There’s a device there called the Tesseract. It can open portals. It may be able to get us to safety.” “How do you know all this?” “I don’t have time to explain now, so you’re gonna have to trust me.” You decided to follow him. The two of you made it to the tower. Whoever the man was, he made quick work of the guards. You wondered how he managed to be so skilled in combat. You made it to the top. There was a bunch of technology set up. “Excellent. Everything is still here. All I have to do is turn it on. When the portal opens, go through it. Do you understand?” You didn’t answer him. “Quickly! You don’t have much time.” You nodded. He activated the Tesseract which opened a portal. He pushed you through it.

You ended up in a grassy, muddy area. There was no sign of Loki or the man who helped you escape. It would appear he was right. You took a deep breath and sat down to rest for a moment. Before long, some people in strange armor, a man with short silver hair dressed in a suit appeared. To your horror, Loki was with them. He wasn’t wearing the green and gold armor, nor the horned helmet you were familiar with. Instead, he was wearing a dress shirt and tie, brown slacks, and a brown jacket. If it was his attempt to fool you, it didn’t work. “Okay, Loki, since it’s your third day and you’ve become more familiar with how our technology works, I’m gonna show you how we approach variants who aren’t a threat.” You heard the man tell Loki. “Y/N. I’m Agent Mobius with the TVA. We need you to come with us.” This certainly was a decent trick Loki was trying to pull. “No way! I’m not going anywhere with him he’s a monster!” Mobius held up his hands as if he cornered a scared animal. He signaled for the people in armor to put their weapons away. “It’s alright. We just want to talk.” The man seemed like he was being honest, but you couldn’t trust him. Not if Loki was there with them. You ran. “Wait. Come back!” 

You were running as fast as your feet could carry you. You heard them talking in the distance. “Sir, do you want us to go after her?” “No, she’s already scared enough--” “I’ll go.” “No, Loki, that’s not a good idea!” That was the last thing you heard him say as the distance grew between you and them. You kept running and found a large rock to hide behind. You weren’t able to stay in your hiding place for very long. “It appears the hunter has found his prey. This would’ve worked out a lot better for you if you listened to us.” “I’m not going anywhere with you. You’ll kill me just like you probably killed the guy who helped me.” “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” “I don’t believe you! Just go away. I’m not going with you.” “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” He started to walk towards you. You tripped and panicked, trying to scurry away from him. Your eyes filled with tears. “Please...” The word barely came out of your mouth. He grabbed hold of you to restrain you. You completely lost it, kicking and screaming tears were streaming down your face. It didn’t matter how much you struggled. He restrained you with ease. Your hands and feet were cuffed to render you immobile. He put something strange around your neck. It was some kind of collar. He picked you up over his shoulder. “I really didn’t want to do this, you know.” He said it as if he felt guilty about what he just did.

He carried you back to where Mobius and the others were. “Loki, was that really necessary?” “We got her, didn’t we? and we have the Tesseract from this timeline. Now we can fix this and you can talk to her about whatever you want.” Mobius rolled his eyes in exasperation. You were taken somewhere for you and Mobius to talk. Your restraints were removed. “Are you gonna kill me?” “No. The TVA stands for the Time Variance Authority. We monitor timelines and keep them in check. You accidentally escaped from your timeline. You’re what we call a variant. Loki, who has been working with us is not the same Loki from your timeline even though they might look the same. He took the Tesseract from your timeline and saved you in the process.”  “That’s not possible.” Mobius gave you a sympathetic look. “I know this is a lot for you to take in, Y/N. We can’t send you back even if you wanted to go back. So I might be able to do something better for you. Casey works in our Admin department and he could use some help organizing our historical files. Are you up to helping us out?” After talking for a bit longer you agreed to help and you found out Loki was indeed the person who saved you that day. Maybe there was more to him than you thought. Maybe he wasn’t so bad.

[amesstm]

Everything

Warnings: spoilers about a character death, angst, heartbreak, trauma, canon-divergent

Characters: Eren

Summary: After everything he put you through, he came back expecting a home to return to.

Eren’s POV

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The words shot through my chest and landed itself in my heart. The thing is, she didn’t say it with any malice or anger. She stated it as a simple fact; she was right, as usual. Her eyes froze me over in my place. Eyes, once filled with so much warm it could be compared to the loving embrace of spring, were now the icy winters in a tundra Armin talked about as kids. She looked at me expectantly, with now crossed arms and a frown imbedded in her face. The wooden peg, now acting as her foot, was also tapping away impatiently.

“I know, but I wanted to talk to you,” I whispered. Now that everything was over, I could finally be genuine. No more lies to myself, Armin, Mikasa. Not even to the love of my life. I took a step towards her, but she took one backwards further into her house.

“What is there to be said?” Now, there was no more impatience or frustration. Her voice gave up as she looked at the ground. Her hair swept to cover a bit of her face. I had to resist the urge to push it behind her warm like I used to. “What more can you do to hurt me, Eren?”

“What do you mean? This was our dream, Y/N. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Her head whipped up to look at me, eyes widened, and teared up. She shakily said, “I really didn’t want to believe it. That you would have so many of ou.. my friends killed. Sasha, Hange... and so many more that I can’t possibly name them all. I never dreamed of this.” Her voice broke and her face crumbled with it.

Whenever she would cry like this, I would always comfort her until she was able to speak or sleep. Reflexively, I moved to comfort her but she closed herself off. Like she always did, her chest would cave inwards as if the world wouldn’t be able to witness her emotions flooding to the surface. Retracting my hand, I shifted so my arms were crossed. I knew now to keep my hands to myself.

I looked at the floor, anywhere but her face. “But I got us what we wanted: freedom.”

“Freedom from what, Eren? I understand why you did it. I understand why you declared war on the world. But when you said I was your world, I didn’t expect you to hurt me, too.”

If that bullet didn’t take me down, the shattering in my heart did. No amount of crystals or armor from my titans would fix it or keep it safe from harm. I was completely exposed to what she threw at me. Deep down, I knew I deserved it. So, I took it.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” She sobbed with another shaky inhale that rattled her chest. “I did everything for you, Eren. I defended you when everyone discovered you were a Titan Shifter; I took a hit for you and lost my leg for you, causing me to be discharged; and I loved you when you hit rock bottom.

As she looked up from her hands to my face, her eyes were filled with anger. “And you took everything from me.”

“I did what I had to do,” Eren said. “You don’t understa-“

“Oh - but I do! I understand you came here thinking I’d hold to my promise that I would be a home for you to return to so you can die out from Ymir’s Curse. I understand you ripped my heart out of my chest everytime someone I loved died because it was “destiny” or something!” you spat.

“Y/N, I-“

“Just leave.” She said, defeated. “That’s what you did before and that’s what you can do now.”

She raised a hand to wipe the tears streaming down her face. A shiny object on her finger stopped me as I turned to make my exit. “What’s that?”

“My new everything.”

With that, everything I sacrificed to keep my world - her - safe, meant nothing.

[thefreakydeaky]

Call Out My name

Part Seven Title: Pretty

Characters: Negan, Reader, A stupid little prick named Rick Grimes, Garbage pail kid Daryl Dixon, Tanya and Frankie, Gregory, Mentions of Simon, Dwight,Sherri, Amber, Ezekiel, Maggie Rhee, Wives: Tanya and Frankie, and Lucille.

Summary: You belonged to him.Try as you might to pretend indifference, Negan’s very presence has awakened feelings in you that you believed had died with the old world.Is the ruthless King of the Sanctuary still human enough to fall in love?

Warnings: Language, Canon Typical Negan BS, Canon Typical Violence, A bit of gore, Angst.

Word Count: 3,557

“What did I miss?” Negan inquired as the door shut behind him.

"I dunno what you mean.” You struggled to remove your panties.

“Sin-since when do you get into cat fights?” His eyebrows raised as he watched you hop around clumsily. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Taking off my bra and panties.” You huffed pulling one arm into your dress to work open the clasps.

“Stop it.Here let me.”Negan shook his head in exasperation as he came to stand in front of you.

His long fingers gathered the soft material of your dress.He lifted it up over your head and slid it down your arm.

“Not that I’m complaining, but why are you gettin’ undressed?”

“I’m too hot for clothes.”

Negan grinned. “You sure are.”

“No.That’s not what I mean.Meant?Mean?”

“How much did you have to drink?” With one deft movement, he unclasped your bra.

He made it seem so easy.You pouted, glaring down at your exposed tummy pensively.

“I should be able to do that. I’m the one with boobs!” You complained.

Negan chuckled a smooth melodic sound.His warm hands slipped the bra straps off of your shoulders, freeing your arms, exposing your breasts.

“Panties too.” You reminded.

The hint of a smile played around his lips as he slipped the waistband of your slightly skewed underpants off of your hips.He knelt down.Something occurred to you as you watched him slide the thin fabric to your ankles.

“How come you’re home so early?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.” His index finger tapped the top of your foot. “Lift.”

You leaned forward to sturdy yourself, hanging onto his leather clad shoulder as you raised your foot.

Negan unhooked your underpants from around one ankle, guided your foot back to the floor, and repeated the process with your left foot.

“Are you trying to start a mutiny of the wives or did you get bored enough in there to start shit for no reason?”

Knowing eyes looked up at you.

“I didn’t start it! Sherri did!”

“Did she now?”

“She could start an argument in an empty house.”

“You act pretty high and mighty for someone who sucks the same cock we do.” Negan quoted watching for your reaction.

“Well she does! She was being a-a-a judgey mcjudgerson!”

“A what?”

“A jerk.” You amended.

“Sherri is always “a jerk”.What was different about today?”

You frowned. “The vodka?”

“No.” He replied standing slowly back up.

“...the me?” You mumbled guiltily.

Negan cupped his hand behind his ear gazing at you expectantly.

“Me, I was different, because I got mad.”

“Mhmm.”

“I was angry so I egged her on.”

“That’s not the Y/n I know.” He admonished, taking your chin in his hand.

He tilted your face up and looked you in the eye.

“She said somethin’ mean.”

His brow furrowed. “Mean?”

“We were playing Never have I ever...”

“Mhmm...”

“And Amber said ‘Never have I ever wanted to sleep with Simon.’ Obviously I took a shot.” You recognized the spark of jealousy in his eyes.

“It’s the way the game works!”You defended. “Then Sherri said “Simon?” And I was like 'What’re you surprised?' And she said 'Not even a little.'”

Negan took a deep angry breath.

You jumped back into your case to keep him from yelling at you.

“It was the way she said it.” You emphasized.”Like like I was dirty like I was below her.”

The corner of his lip pulled back in a near snarl.

You could already see how his needless anger would play out.

“And not just me.”You back tracked, “Tanya and Frankie too! I mean how can you blame me?Honestly, she freaking implied that we were sluts or whores or-or worse just cause we’re married to you.She forgets that we’re equals and talks down to us. What was I supposed to do, let her??No no no.”

Negan ran a hand through his hair.His anger had gone down from a boil to a simmer.He struggled to adjust.

“Ugh, I knew it!You’re stuck on the Simon part.You just don’t get it.”

“You were fightin’ over another man! How the hell do you think that makes me feel?”

“It wasn’t about Simon.I was giving you context so you would know how I went from putting up with her to wanting to kick her ass.” You explained, annoyed with his one track mind.

“What the fuck is so great about that scumbag anyway? What’s got y’all so obsessed?”

You sighed loudly.

“Nobody is obsessed! Amber was making fun, cause she thinks he’s ugly.”

“At least one of my wives is smart.”

You rankled at the bitterness in his voice.

“Well I can’t tell you why Tanya and Frankie wanted to sleep with Simon! I can only tell you why I did!”

“Why did you?” He wore a guarded expression.

You rolled your eyes.

“Mostly to piss you off. He’s got the whole second man in charge thing going for him and that works for some people, but for me, it was about how mad I was at you.”

Negan blinked, processing your words.

“You wanting to sleep with Simon was about Me?”

“That’s ... one hell of an over simplification, but yes. It was.You acted like a total dickwad from the second we met to the night I almost slept with him.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you put your finger to his lips in a shushing gesture.

“Yes, me wanting to sleep with Simon was about you.Ninety-five percent of the time I was talking to him, I thought of you.”

“And the other five percent?”

“You gotta be kidding me! Is ninety-five not enough?”

“Why wasn’t it a hundred percent of the time?"

“I hadn’t had sex in years!”

“Hmm...”

You interrupted his thinking with a slow languid kiss. He kissed you back savoring your affection.

“I don’t like drama,Doll.I’ll forgive you this time.You girls got sauced after all, but don’t you go making trouble again.”

“What about Sherri?”

“Collateral damage.”

You exhaled sharply at the sympathy in his voice.

“Dwight needed to learn his place and the only way to do that without cracking open skulls was to threaten him with Lucille.”His thumb stroked over your jaw lightly.

“That doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

“Sherri offered herself up in exchange for his life.That just so happened to fit my agenda.So, ‘mean’ though she may be she was telling the truth.” Negan looked down and away for a minute.The deceptively charismatic smirk he wore like armor returned to its place.

“Not for nothin’ but not one of us became a wife because we were lookin’ to put our feet up, except for Frankie.” You pointed out.

“Amber went through some really bad shit.She feels indebted to you for saving her.Tanya’s mom was sick, in a lot of pain, and needed morphine.We both know how I ended up here-“

“Sherri doesn’t know that.” He interrupted.

“That’s my point, she shouldn’t talk about what she doesn’t know.Talk shit.Get hit.Just sayin’.”

“You are impossible...Why don’t you go on and get that gorgeous bottom of yours in the shower? It’ll help you cool down.” He suggested.

“Won’t you come with me? You tried, entwining your fingers with his.

He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a small regretful kiss to it.

Negan’s sigh was bone weary.

“I’d love to, Darlin’ ,but Daddy’s got work to do.” He waggled his eyebrows at you.

Your face heated at the memory of your sarcastic remark.

“It was a joke.” You groaned.

“Not to me. I think Daddy might be my favorite nick name yet.” He taunted, watching you saunter to the bathroom to start your shower.

You heard his easy laughter receding as he left you to your own devices.

Not far from The Sanctuary, a militia made up of rebel misfits made their final preparations to dethrone the self-professed king.

Once upon a pre-apocalypse time, Rick Grimes thought of himself as a simple man.There was right and there was wrong,very seldom was there anything in between.When there was, it simply meant the situation needed resolving. Once resolved it would fall into one of those two basic categories and all was well with his world again.

However, that was before the apocalypse. Before his family’s survival twisted his morality into something neither black nor white, but a stormy weather grey. The many traumatic situations, trials and tribulations he and his chosen family had faced, forced his grey morality to stain a little darker, but no crisis had pushed him so close to the edge as Negan. Abraham and Glenn, along with so many others had lost theirs lives to the violent sociopath and his merry band of murders.He’d sworn vengeance on their oppressor.Now that vengeance was finally coming to fruition.

“...Those people who use, take, and kill, to carve out the world and make it their’s and their’s alone, We end them...” His soulful blue eyes took a moment to gaze meaningfully into the face of each member of his ragtag army.

“There’s only one person that has to die tonight”His gruff voice assured them, “and I will kill him myself.”

He could see his words already taking affect, giving their anger the justification of righteousness and their thirst for savior blood conviction.Rick kept watching, patiently as Ezekiel roused them with brotherhood and as Maggie Rhee gave them hope.Unlike Negan, it gave him no pleasure to manipulate minds like this.The ends he reminded his conscience would justify the means.

For the greater good!

His inner voice declared.He accepted the words as gospel.

The caravan barreled through the fences taking the few saviors, who weren’t out checking the far perimeter, by surprise. Four shots were fired into the air breaking up an impromptu meeting Negan was having with Hilltop’s incompetent leader.He and his men strolled out onto the platform to gauge the situation.

“Well I’m sorry” Negan apologized insincerity in his voice. “I was in a meetin’’.”

Upon laying eyes on Gregory, Rick Grimes snorted.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

Negan’s sharp eyes roved over the caravan of misfit warriors, taking in the army, the battle ready vehicles, their many firearms. All of this would not have given him pause, except for one thing, the determination and fury on their faces.

“Now, I don’t see a reason why we should have us a shoot out,” He snarked, wondering anxiously if you were at the window of his bedroom right now.

Hoping you had heard the warning shots and taken cover, he resumed his performance.

“I have to look out for the safety of my people. I can’t let myself get wrapped up in playing cops and robbers just because you want to find out if my dick is really bigger than yours.” He paused like a comedian building suspense before a punchline, “It is.”

He smiled confidently. “We all know it.”

“This isn’t a game.” Rick Grimes intoned, his solemn countenance causing Simon to mutter an epithet under his breath. “This is a reckoning and your time has come.”

The shoot out that followed was a chaos of ricochetting bullets, screams of pain, and shouted orders. Minutes passed like seconds. Simon called out to Negan, they had reinforcements coming.

As it turned out, so did Rick Grimes.Of all the surprises Negan imagined the colonies to have under their sleeves, not being able to count on his silver tongue to buy time or get him out of such an impossible bitch of a situation wasn’t one, the colonies using the entirety of their separate communities, young and old, wasn’t one, and a heard of the dead filtering into his God damn Sanctuary sure as fuck wasn’t one.

Rick the Prick’s first spray of bullets missed Negan by a second.He dove out of the way and down a flight of stairs. When he reached the bottom he was a little worse for the wear, but his body was still in one piece.He was also resourceful enough to pick up the gun of a fallen Savior and stay out of the crosshairs for a bit.

His brain went into survival mode, pushing him to shoot back, pulling him back behind the dumpster before he could get himself shot. Negan’s gun ran out of bullets all too soon.

“Sonuvabitch!” He ground out, running to the nearest port in the shit storm, a rusty old trailer.

His heart beat so damn loud, he’d forgotten how terrifying a herd could be when you had nothing, but your will to live and your flight response to get you out of it.He heard glass breaking.

Y/n

His pulse jumped in his throat.Of all the days for you to drink you had to choose today.He couldn’t bear the thought of them getting to you.They could hate him all they all wanted, he’d done his share of fucked up shit. He deserved it. What he felt he didn’t deserve was for the consequences of his actions to effect you.

Another spine chilling thought circled in his brain.

“Everyone of you go to your rooms!!”

Had he doomed you all? Like he’d doomed her? A memory of bright blue eyes and a very expressive face loomed over him ominously.

Different time.Different situation.Different woman.He told himself pushing her memory away, down deep in the coffin shaped box where he kept his grief.

A newer memory arose unbidden, He took your hand in his, kissed it softly, and looked into your eyes.All trace of bravado and falsehood dissipated as he let you see him. The real Negan and the effect one night with you’d had on him.

"Can I trust you, Y/n?”

“Yes, you can.”You laced your fingers between his.

“How can I be sure you won’t think my love for you is a weakness?”He watched your face cautiously.

“You aren’t weak.Neither am I.We have both put survival above everything else.”

You were resourceful.You were unbelievably resilient. Negan resolved to trust you to keep yourself alive.At least until he could reach you.

The trailer door blew wide open.Negan fisted the black material attached to whatever dickhead had been dumb enough to enter his refuge and pulled the door shut. The wide doe eyes of Alexandria’s creepy bald clergyman found his face in the dark.

The firing of live ammunition sounded from somewhere below you. In nothing, but a bra and a fresh pair of panties you ran to the wall of windows.Simon and a few of the saviors had taken cover and were taking their best shots at hitting something other than the corrugated steel the invaders were using as shields.Your mind went into over drive.You couldn’t see Negan out there.No sign of his black leather clad back anywhere.At least you knew he was alive.He wasn’t lying on the ground or you’d surely have seen him. A borage of bullets hit some of the panes of glass below.You dove to the ground and began crawling behind the nearest piece of furniture you could.Unfortunately, the closest was a sofa.Cushions and plywood wouldn’t be enough to keep you safe.You lay as flat against the floor as you could as the gunfire reached your floor.The cacophony out there went from loud to ear splitting within seconds.

A sharp angry pain caused you to cry out, but you weren’t willing to risk getting shot again to check the wound.Soon afterwards the shooting died down.They’re running out of ammo, you thought.They must need to make every bullet count.Your heart felt so heavy.Please Lord keep him safe.You prayed.You knew he wasn’t perfect by any means nor was he innocent, but you loved him.You couldn’t fathom a world without him.A moment of quiet passed as you reflected on your husbands many sins.You found yourself struggling to maintain your composure.You wanted so badly to fall apart, but there wasn’t time for that.There was no doubt in your mind that he would eventually come for you, but you couldn’t stay here and wait.It wasn’t safe.

You got onto your hands and knees and clambered to the closet.You cursed Negan’s stupid wives club bullshit for robbing you of your jeans.You only owned two outfits.A black dress with spaghetti straps or a white grass stained sundress.You silently fumed as you pulled the dress on.You owned exactly one pair of shoes these days and they were a pair of black flats, not made for trekking through the forest. You decided to take a pair of socks and Negan’s red kerchief from his night stand.The long tube socks you used to stifle the bleeding of your wound.You tied the kerchief around your wrist. As you left your bedroom behind, you quickly began assessing the damage.You found the parlor doors were wide open. Sherri was long gone, but Tanya and Frankie seemed to be waiting around for...something.

“He isn’t coming.” The statement left your mouth reluctantly.

You knew deep inside that he would come back, eventually. However, seeing the girls fall apart spurred you to action. “We have to go.”

“We can’t leave! We won’t make it!” Tanya cried, her eyes frantic.

“We will! We can!” They looked unconvinced.

“I’ve led a group before.” You sighed exasperated with their dithering.

Frankie’s eyes darted from the room you had just left to the parlor doors.

They’ll probably drag us out of here if we stay.” She said slowly to Tanya, “and who knows what else they’ll do to us.” She swallowed nervously.

“She’s right.” You told Tanya.”We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with here and we shouldn’t stick around to find out.”

Tanya nodded slowly accepting the dire straits you were in.Trying to ignore the fear and anxiety she was radiating, you lead them to the doors.The empty hallway was not at all inviting, but you had no choice except to slip quietly into it.Frankie and Tanya followed.There was shouting and shooting in the distance.The further you walked the closer the noises sounded.You peaked around the first corner.

An arrow whizzed toward you.You ducked back behind the wall, your breathing sharp and quick with shock.You stayed as still as possible, waiting for another arrow to come, but none did. Instead there were heavy angry footsteps.The face of a man appeared, haggard sweaty and holding a cross bow in front of him.Tanya and Frankie yelped holding each other tight.

“Weapons?” He demanded.

“W-we don’t have any.” Frankie stuttered.

“Bullshit!” He barked and demanded you put your hands up.

You complied, more for the good of the wives than for your own.Stout fingers and a large palm invasively explored any place you might be hiding a gun or knife.

“Get on the ground.”He commanded and moved on to check Frankie, then Tanya.

“Who are you?” He asked suspiciously.

“We’re...wives” Tanya sniffed between sobs.“Negan’s wives.”

He grunted more to himself than to you.Static crackled from the walkie on his belt.

“Darryl, You find anything?”

“I found the wives,”He sounded disappointed. “They’re unarmed."

“Go ahead and bring ‘em with you.”A deep voice intoned.

“Sure.”Darryl replied.

“Anyone else back there?” He nodded toward the direction you came from.

“No.” You stated evenly.

“Get up.” He grabbed onto Frankie’s arm and pushed her ahead of him.

“Ladies first.” He mocked, making you go back the way you came.

Daryl stopped at every room.Checked every space a person could possibly hide.When you got back to the parlor, he tore the place apart looking for any one hidden. He found no one. He checked the other rooms found them empty and called to someone on the walkie.

“All clear.” He informed him.

“Good.Meet us on the first floor.”

[astoldbycrimson]

The Language of Love & Longing

Summary: Reader is a blind force sensitive Dathomirian (and kinda maybe a jedi). You don't know where you stand with Din Djarin, but another injury gives you the answer you need.

Just a heads up that I made up many parts of the reader's native language, Paecian, because we have only been given 2 words. So I took it upon myself to make stuff up as I go. And the reader is in place of my own character from this series I am writing. Feel free to ask questions if you want backstory. There is a lot of backstory missing from this.

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x Reader

Warnings: Violence, injuries, near death experiences, angst, and some fluff

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5

---------------------

Din was a man of action and little words. While his face was hidden beneath his helmet, his body language gave away his expressions. His tone, even with the modulator, conveyed his emotions. There was a way to read the mysterious Mandalorian and you felt you could decipher his code with ease now.

The hunter cared for you, that was obvious in the way he spoke a little softer and relaxed in your presence. In the way he always kept an eye on you while you were on solid ground, guiding you cautiously without giving your weakness away. How he worried about you during fights, sometimes a little more than necessary for what was once traveling companions.

You noticed how he'd tried to keep the ship tidy and in the way you had memorized it, to prevent you from stumbling or stubbing your foot. How there was a place for everything and everything was always in its place, so you could find exactly what you needed whenever you needed it. 

Many of his acquaintances didn't give him enough credit, condemning him to be just another arrogant, disinterested hunter. While he was that way towards most others, he was quite soft and lively with you.

You constantly wondered where you stood with the Mandalorian. Were you together? Just close friends? Your answer changed daily because you honestly didn't know. Without Din explicitly stating how he felt, you'd never know for sure.

However, you did know that you were head over heels and in over your head. Fallen hard from where you had started. He had grown attentive to your needs, both biological and emotional. Din always made sure you had enough food to prepare a meal or two a day. Always ensuring you had access to clean water and a shower when you needed it. And all this just made you love him more.

As confident as you were in your own feelings, you shied from confronting him about it. You didn't want to make the situation awkward or uncomfortable to point that he'd have to ditch you at the next stop to avoid it all.

It wasn't until this last bounty that you finally started to piece things together.

The gunman had an advantage and was ready to strike, but you jumped in the way, taking several shots to the back and shoulder as your body shielded him from the assault. Then, without collapsing, you had called upon your saber and swiftly relieved the gunman of his head. And, high on adrenaline, you managed to headshot each of the lackeys with your blaster.

Once all enemies were accounted for, you turned to face Din, who was back on his feet. You raised a shaky hand to touch the side of his helmet. "I'm glad you're okay… mulovda." Then your eyes closed as you fell forward, right into his arms.

You heard him frantically call your name as you drifted into unconscious. You slipped in and out for a while after that, hearing bits and pieces of what your Mandalorian was saying as he rushed you back to the ship. 

"Kriff, (Y/N). Stay with me—open your eyes. Kriff. (Y/N), hold on. Almost there. You—me now… You're all—left… Kriff. KRIFF. (Y/N), cyar'ika, please, I—you."

---------------------

It was a while before you finally regained consciousness. You laid still a moment as you felt the familiar rumble of the Razor Crest and the comforting presence of Din. You tried to sit up, eyes fluttering open, before you hissed in pain.

"Jyunta," you cursed, laying back down.

Din was by your side in an instant. "Careful, (Y/N). Just… stay there. Don't move just yet." There was obvious concern in his voice, as best as the modulator could manage, as his hand brushed your arm. "How're you feeling?" 

"Like a herd of mudhorn ran me over, but I'll manage," you tried to laugh, but it hurt too much.

"Stop doing that!" He said with a little more force than was needed, than he intended, moving to pace around you.

"What? I can't crack jokes?" 

Din took in a sharp breath before stopping to give you what you could only imagine was a glare. "Stop… making light of this."

"I'm wounded, not dead, Guns. It's not that big of a deal." You rolled your eyes at him.

You heard the hitch in his breath before a gloved hand collide with the wall beside you. "Haar'chak! Can you be serious about this for 5 seconds, (Y/N)? You could've died!"

You jumped at the sound. You hadn't seen Din like this... well, ever. Never heard him filled with so much anger. The sudden jolt of your body had elicited a groan of pain as your injuries made themselves known once more.

And with that he was back at your side, kneeling to check on you. "Kriff," he huffed, "I'm sorry, I…" He couldn't find the right words to say. 

After a moment of tense silence, you finally opened your mouth. "I'm very aware of what could've happened, but that will never change how I handle things. I'm not gonna let you die, Din." You closed your eyes and turned your head away from him. "I won't apologize for what I did either." 

Of course he didn't expect you to. You were as stubborn as you were strong. You had made a habit of protecting him. It was how you two came to be. But he didn't like you repeatedly putting yourself in danger either. Not for his sake. He didn't deserve that kindness. You didn't owe him your life…

But why was he so upset by all this? How could one woman boil his blood so much? And why did his heart stop every time you got hurt? Why did it beat so loudly when you smiled or laughed? Din couldn't comprehend how one person could have so much power over him. He had so many questions and so little answers.

"Moo...luvduh…?" He finally broke the silence. Din knew he was butchering the language of your people, but he needed to know. 

This made your head snap back in his direction, eyes wide with curiosity. "Are you trying to say 'mulovda'?"

"You said that before you blacked out. What does it mean?" 

You silenced immediately as your cheeks flushed. You didn't recall saying that at all. And knowing he remembered it made your heart pound. Your mind was racing, trying to decide if you should be honest with him or lie to hide it all. He'd have no way of knowing the real translation or if you were lying. You could easily make something up to cover your little slip up.

But, as much as you feared saying it aloud and knowing the implications, you didn't want to lie to him. Or rather, you couldn't. "It means… 'my love'…" you replied, voice barely a whisper as you looked away, cheeks flushing even redder than before.

Din remained quiet. He had thought it meant something like that, well, maybe he hoped it did. That maybe you cared for him that deeply. And as you had laid dying in his arms, he had voiced his own response. He couldn't deny his feelings any longer then, knowing that you may die on him… because you had protected him like his family had many many cycles ago.

You had always found the good in him. Despite all the bad he did as a bounty hunter, all the death and blood, you always saw him. The quiet, honest type. The armor clad hunter with a surprisingly soft heart. A man who'd been broken and was just trying to live despite it all. You saw all the parts of him that he had carefully hidden beneath the reflective metal of his armor. 

Part of him worried about your words and the weight behind them. You were practically saying you loved him. Love meant closeness. Attachment. Vulnerability. Weakness. Those who wanted his life would mercilessly use you as a means to get to him. You would become his biggest weakness. Your love for him could ultimately be the death of you. Could he handle the weight of that? And if he couldn't… would he really be able to let you go?

"What does 'cyar'ika' mean?" You whispered, slowly turning back towards him after having endured minutes of deafening silence.

Din's cheeks flushed and his breath caught in his throat upon hearing that word. His heart hammered against his ribs at your perfect pronunciation. Like you'd been speaking his language your whole life. And despite having been gravely wounded, practically dying in his arms, you had managed to hear that single word and remembered it. Kriff. Maybe it was a sign from the Maker... 

He opened and closed his mouth many times, eyes darting between you and his hands. "...Basically… it means...it's the Mando'a equivalent to… mulovda." 

Your blind eyes widened and your cheeks glowed brighter than a newborn star. You raised a hand to touch the cold steel of his helmet, smile tugging at the edges of your tired face. "I like it. The way you say it... Can you call me that again?"

He felt as though someone had shot him straight through the chest. Like he was suddenly exposed to the entire world, without his helmet or armor to hide behind. The thought was utterly terrifying, but Din couldn't stop his hand from moving to cup yours. "Cyar'ika."

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 20

So, I basically set this fic in BBC’s Merlin, minus any of the actual characters. Any fellow fans out there? Anyway, I wasn’t sure what to do for today’s prompt for a while before this idea came to me, then I got to spend an afternoon researching. ;) Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

Read on FFN

Day 20 - Medieval

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: restraints, death mention, torture, dislocation, broken bones, mild blood, mild gore

The city of Prakkus was stuck in medieval times. At first, they thought it was just the architecture, which really did look like a citadel straight out of the Earth Middle Ages. Lance, Hunk, and Pidge had started in on the “dragons and knights in shining armor” comments right off the bat, which Keith had listened to with silent amusement. 

Then they actually got inside, and the natives - a pink-skinned, mostly humanoid race that called themselves Dornads - were all dressed in long gowns, tunics, and robes. It really did look like they had stepped into the pages of a history book. Even Keith caught himself looking around in awe at everything, and the Garrison trio’s commentary just became even more animated. 

It wasn’t until later, though, that they’d realize just how stuck in the medieval era these people were. Not until they were greeting King Uster and discussing an alliance, and Pidge brought up a holographic screen from her gauntlet, and the throne room exploded with shouts of treason.

Not until they were being accused of sorcery and dragged down deep below the castle, into a real-life dungeon lit only by torches along the walls and guarded by Dornads wearing polished armor.

Their own armor was taken, leaving them with no easy way out of the cell they were all thrown into. The only good news was that their flight suits still managed to keep out the chill, since in true medieval fashion there was no heating in the dungeon. 

Bright and early the next morning, they were woken by a guard banging on the bars of their cell door. 

“You.” He pointed a gloved finger straight at Keith. “You are the leader here, are you not?”

Hunk’s hand gripped his arm, but he shook it off and stood before anyone else could protest. “I am.”

“Come with me.” 

The others scrambled to their feet, firing off questions about where he was being taken and why, but Keith just followed the guard’s directions and stuck his hands out the gap in the door so that thick iron shackles could be clamped around his wrists. “It’s okay, guys. We’ll get all of this figured out.”

“Just tell them the truth, Keith,” Allura urges. “It may take some work, but surely they will understand if you explain it to them.” 

Right. Because he had always been so good with words, with explaining. That was her job, and Shiro’s job, not his. It was one of the many reasons he sucked at being the leader. 

But he could do this part. He could take responsibility for his team, take whatever they wanted to throw at him just to make sure the others stayed safe and unhurt. 

He was led all the way back to the throne room they had been in the day before, and shoved to his knees in front of King Uster. The man looked down at him in disdain from underneath his golden crown. 

“Black Paladin of Voltron. You kneel before this court today accused of the crime of sorcery. Do you recant?”

“Sir, with all due respect, I think there has been a misunderstanding. What you saw yesterday wasn’t magic, it was just an electronic -”

“Do you recant?”

Pressing his lips together, Keith tried his best not to be annoyed at the interruption. “There are other planets and races that are more technologically advanced th-”

“Do you recant?” The King was practically shouting now. “Your crime has already been pronounced.The penalty for practicing sorcery is death. However, if you recant on behalf of yourself and your associates, there will be no further punishment.”

Keith furrowed his brow. “So wait, you’re just gonna kill us without a trial? Without even listening to an explanation?”

“You really expect to need a trial after your crime was witnessed by so many, including myself? I suggest you recant now.”

“And if I don’t?” he shot back.

The King’s three eyes narrowed. “Then, Black Paladin, you will return to the dungeon to face the honed skills of my punisher until you do recant. Then you and your associates shall all be executed.”

So, torture. Right. Not something he was looking forward to, but what he was hearing was that the other choice was to admit to something he didn’t do and immediately get him and his team killed. If he refused, then he got tortured, but they all got to live in the meantime. That was more time for someone to come up with an escape plan, or for Coran to realize something was amiss and figure out how to get them out.

He lifted his chin. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

King Uster leaned back in his throne and flicked a dismissive hand. “Take him away.”

The trip back down was rougher than the trip up. The guard pulled him so quickly that his feet could barely keep up, almost dragging him down the stone steps. He had hoped that the torture would be happening in a separate area from the cells so that his teammates would be none the wiser, but unfortunately it was in an open space just down the hall. Down the hall past the cells.

“Keith!”

“Keith, what’s going on?”

He threw the best smile he could muster their way as he was yanked past. “It’s okay. Just...keep thinking.”

He hoped they’d know what he meant. It was all he had time to say, and he didn’t want any extra suspicion on them. But he really needed them to figure out a way to escape.

The torture room looked exactly how he imagined it would. There were chains dangling from the ceiling, clamps and knives and various devices of unknown use hanging on every wall. Keith was led straight to something that he was pretty sure he recognized before they even began strapping him down to it.  

It was a table of sorts, sitting at an incline. The shackles were taken from his wrists, only to be replaced with the metal cuffs attached to ropes on the higher end of the table. Identical cuffs at the low end were put around his ankles - after his boots were removed - so that he was lying on his back with his arms stretched up over his head. Though he knew stretched wasn’t really the word to describe it, not compared to how they were about to be.

Sure enough, the guard stepped to the crank on one end of the table, and a newcomer, the “punisher”, he assumed, took the place by his feet. 

“All you must do is recant to make this end.”

The cranks began to turn. The rope tightened. It went just past pulling taut to the point of putting pressure on his limbs before they stopped.

“Do you recant?”

“We didn’t do anything wrong.”

The ropes went tighter. A mild ache started up in his joints.

“Do you recant?”

“It’s called science.”

Another turn, and his knees and elbows began to creak.

“Do you recant?”

“No.”

His knees and elbows were dangerously close to pulling out of their sockets, and his hips and shoulders were popping.

“Do you recant?”

Keith swallowed a groan. You can’t scream. You can’t scream. They don’t need to hear this, you can’t scream.

The crank turned. His knees and elbows dislocated with a loud crack. 

He screamed.

“Keith!” he could barely hear from down the hall. Other shouts accompanied, but they all blurred together.

“Do you recant?”

Another turn brought the ropes tight again, and his dislocated joints cried out. His back arched, as if it could somehow relieve the pressure.

The punisher walked away for a moment, only to return holding a small piece of wood with round holes cut through it. He fit the holes over the toes of Keith’s right foot, then produced a wooden chisel and a hammer. 

Keith didn’t know what was coming for sure, but he knew he wasn’t going to like it.

“Do you recant?”

“Just do it,” he growled.

The chisel was wedged into the hole housing his smallest toe, then the hammer slammed into the end of it. He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose as the bone broke, but managed not to make anymore noise.

He didn’t, in fact, through all the other toes, until it was the big toe snapping. Then he let out a moan through his teeth that he hoped was too quiet for the others to hear. 

“Do you recant?” 

“No!”

Back to the cranks again. His shoulders weren’t going to last much longer. It took another two turns, and agonizing pain in his already destroyed joints, for them to simultaneously pop out of place. 

He screamed again, and his team echoed their own cries right back.

How hard would it be, his traitorous mind started to think, to confess to using magic? That’s all it would take to make him stop.

But the sound of his friends’ voices kept him from giving in. He had to stay strong. He had to. Otherwise they’d be dead by tomorrow.

“Do you recant?”

His hips were next, and hopefully last, to go. If they went any further, it would be his spine, and he was pretty sure they didn’t want to kill him. Yet. Though the pain was making his brain so fuzzy, he wasn’t even completely sure about that anymore.

The punisher leaned over him. “Do you recant?”

Keith couldn’t have answered even if he wanted to.

The cuffs were removed from his wrists and ankles, and he was jerked up from the rack with more force than necessary. A strangled cry ripped from his throat. The guard marched him across the room, though it was less a march than a series of stumbles on Keith’s part. His legs and toes were in more pain than he realized was possible, but if he fell then they’d just drag him by his also ruined arms. 

A coffin-shaped structure loomed before him. Two doors swung open from the front, revealing an interior filled with short spikes.

“Perhaps a night spent with the Iron Maiden will change your mind.”

The guard shoved him forward and adjusted him until he stood in the tiny space in the center. All his weight settled onto his dislocated hips and knees. Tears sprang into his eyes unbidden, but he gritted his teeth and refused to look away as the heavy, spiked doors came swinging in toward him.

Then it was dark. Completely, pitch black dark, and the only sound he could hear was his own labored breathing.

But he didn’t have to see the metal spikes to know they were still there. He could feel them, pricking at his skin every time he swayed the slightest bit in any direction. His legs hurt, so badly. He wasn’t even sure how he was standing on them at all, and had a feeling that it wouldn’t last for much longer. If he could raise his arms, he could brace himself against the walls somehow, but even if he had been able to get them past the spikes without shredding them he couldn’t will his shoulders to move.

Slowly, over the next...he didn’t even know, because time was impossible to mark in the darkness and silence...Keith found himself sinking backwards and to one side. He couldn’t help it. Yes, the spikes were embedding themselves into his flesh. Yes, it hurt. But at least it took his mind off the rest of his pain, just a bit. 

And as gruesome as it was, the spikes were helping to hold him up, by his ribs if nothing else, taking some of the pressure off his hips and knees.

It felt like hours and hours later when the doors opened again, leaving a barely conscious Keith to groan and squint his eyes shut against the torchlight that filtered in. There was a flurry of voices and movement, multiple pairs of hands grasped his arms, legs, and torso, and he was gently eased off of the spikes and out of the metal box. He whimpered as blood began to flow from the newly opened holes.

“I know, Keith, I know,” a voice whispered. “It’s alright. It’s alright.”

A gentle hand was stroking his hair. His eyelids fluttered open, and he could just make out the blurry face that hovered over him.

“‘llura…you...got out.”

She smiled tightly. “Yes. I just wish it had been sooner.”

“Why’d you do it, man?” He knew Lance’s voice, though he couldn’t will his head to turn to see him. “Why’d you let them do this to you? You could have just told them what they wanted to hear!”

“They were gonn’...” Keith clenched his teeth as a wave of pain washed over him, “ex’cute everybody. Had t’...stall. So you could get out.” The corner of his mouth turned up as he returned Allura’s worried gaze. “I’m the leader. ‘s my job t’ protect you.”

“Well, now I’ve officially made it our job to protect you.”

“No arguments here.” Lance stood. “I see Hunk and Pidge coming back with our armor. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Allura stood, too, picking Keith up in her arms. He bit back a groan. “Popsicle stand? What is a popsicle, and why are we blowing its stand?”

Keith let his eyes slip shut. “I could eat a po’sicle right now. Soun’s good.”

Lance chuckled and ruffled his hair softly. “Soon as we get back to the Castle, I’ll make sure Hunk makes you as many popsicles as you want.”

[motleymoose]

Homecoming Pt. 3: Bits & Pieces Ch. 2

Chapter 2 Niceties in Flames

Fandom: The Mandalorian, Star Wars Universe Characters: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin), Gender Neutral Reader, The Child (Baby Yoda) Words: 3k+ Warnings: Panic, Anger, Angst Adjacent, FINALLY THERE’S SOME SIGNIFICANT FLUFF

Summary:

Panicking is not the best thing to do in these circumstances. But you know what? I'm going to do it anyway, any chance I get.

Notes:

Thank you for continuing to read this fear-fueled panic-fest!

Be prepared, all you polyglots out there - some of the Mando'a I made up using a combination of mandoa dot com and lingojam. It isn't perfect, and it probably makes zero sense. But until google translate has a Mando'a option, you're just gonna have to deal with the nonsense (unless, of course, you absolutely know your way around the language. I am all ears for some tips)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Homecoming Masterlist

Big green ears greeted me with a friendly waggle as the tiny, wide-eyed creature clawed its way out of the Mandalorian’s grasp and half-fell half-climbed down the beskar armor to the floor. It peered calmly up at the dumbfounded Mandalorian, meeping softly. At once, all of the resentment I had been holding dissipated. I had never seen anything like it, yet I wanted to safeguard it from everything else in the galaxy.

Perplexed at the sudden emotional assault, I took a careful step back. Maybe it was a creature that could influence my thoughts towards it? I didn’t know what those types of animals looked like, but I had heard stories. Stories that never turned out well for the beings duped into protecting the creature.

“Wh-what is that thing?” I asked, unease edging into my voice.

Looking over to me, the bounty hunter inclined his head in bewilderment. “He is a foundling.” The visor dropped my gaze, focusing on the thing at his feet. “He wants to - meet you.” And then, to the thing, quietly murmured, “You sure about this, kid?”

Huffing in answer, the critter - no, child? - waddled briskly up to me, stopping just short of my boots. He leaned back as far as he could, contemplating me with his immensely warm obsidian eyes. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, I finally broke.

“Uh, what now?”

The child looked back to the bounty hunter one more time. The Mandalorian sighed in defeat. “He wants you to pick him up.”

I nodded nervously. Of course, that made total sense. The kid was short. If he wanted to meet me, he needed to see me face to face. Didn’t mean I was comfortable with the idea, seeing as he might be able to mind-control me. Anxiety began to eat away at my insides. I didn’t want to become some mindless, slobbering zombie to something as cute and puntable as the little green child in front of me. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I haltingly took another step back. The kid followed, gaze intent.

Frag, frag, frag, it would’ve been better if he’d just get the mind controlling over with instead of waiting for me to do something erratic and stupid. It was as if he wasn’t -

Oh for Force’s sake! Barely able to contain my utter disbelief in myself, I facepalmed and groaned quietly. I still had all my normal paranoia. Logically, that proved the kid wasn’t trying to control. If he were anything like the stories, both the bounty hunter and I would’ve been dog food long before now.

“... you okay?” the bounty hunter grunted.

My head shot up at the noise. You’ve got to be doshing kidding me. In the onset of my panic, I’d completely neglected the fact that the Mandalorian was there.

“Yeah, I’m fine. So fine,” I muttered, embarrassed.

Right.

Mind made up, I lowered myself to sit cross-legged in front of the child. Now that I was at the little one’s level, I held out a hand, palm up, and smiled weakly. “Su’cuy, ad’ika,” I greeted him. The child’s eyes widened in wonder, and he grabbed a finger in each of his small fists, cooing animatedly back.

Glimpsing out of my periphery, the Mandalorian had moved closer, standing within arms-reach of the little one. His breastplate visibly moved with each breath, and I got the feeling he was very uncomfortable with the interaction.

The child, giggling at nothing in particular, dropped my fingers in favor of my knee. He clumsily grasped the wrinkles in my borrowed jumpsuit, pulling himself to stand on my thighs. Flat little feet, three-toed to match his three-fingered hands, curled into the fabric. The warmth of his little body was comforting in a way that I couldn’t recognize, and I had the sudden and all-encompassing urge to protect him with my life.

Chubby hands made quick work exploring my mostly-empty jumpsuit, only finding a clean rag and a half-consumed rations packet in one of the chest pockets. Disappointed in his discoveries, the little one tugged at the front of my tunic and with alarming dexterity, shimmied his way up to my right shoulder. He perched there, one foot in my face and the other kicking at my shoulder blade, happier than a mudhorn in the rain and giggling trilly.

“You little scamp,” I laughed, tickling the toes in front of me. The child tittered, wiggling away from me. He managed to swing his leg over my shoulder, clinging tightly to my back.

Chuckling, I reached behind me to find his little feet again. “Think you can hide from me back there?” I was met with a shrieking laugh when my fingers grazed the kid’s stubby legs.

“He likes you.” Startled, I released the child and halfway rose. I had all but forgotten about the bounty hunter, and his modulated voice was jarring after all the happy sounds that came from the little one.

“I bet you say that to all the bounties,” I replied dryly, the bite in my voice softer than what it had been before. Did I have to like the Mandalorian? No, a big ol’ negative no matter how many surprisingly nice things he happened to do.

But the child, well. I could rein in my attitude for a little while, just for his sake.

Shaking his head once more, the baffled Mandalorian stepped around me and the child and slipped silently into the cockpit.

“Is he always so chatty?” I asked the little one, gently scooping him into my arms and returning him to his original spot on my right shoulder as I stood up to follow my taciturn host.

The child burbled incomprehensibly, which I took as an absolute agreement, and held onto my ear as I settled into the co-pilot’s chair. His little green body radiated warmth, providing solace that I didn’t realize I needed up until now.

I snuggled my face into his little cloth-covered belly. The child squealed in delight, slapping the side and top of my head excitedly. Snorting like a dewback, I grabbed the little guy and pulled him to my lap, tickling him until he wriggled out of my grasp. From the floor, he practically rolled to the Mando, patting him animatedly on the knee.

The Mandalorian was at the controls, tapping something into the Navigation. He promptly stopped what he was doing and reached down to pick up the child. Cooing in delight, the little one set his tiny hands on the bounty hunter’s visor for a long few seconds before pointing at me.

“Fine,” the Mandalorian sighed. He got up from the pilot’s chair, setting the child carefully in his place, and disappeared through the door. I could hear the faint clanging and rustling coming from the back. Quirking my eyebrow at the kid got me a slobbery grin, so I made a face. I was still making faces at the child when the hunter snuck back in, a lumpy package in his hand.

“Here.” He dumped the cloth-bound parcel unceremoniously into my lap.

My hands closed on it automatically. It was heavier than its size suggested, and even though it was lumpy, I couldn’t tell what was wrapped inside. I didn’t know what else to do, so I gaped at the bounty hunter. “What-?”

With a sigh that could’ve extinguished a thousand flames, the Mandalorian picked up the child and plopped heavily into the pilot’s seat while nestling the little one gently in his lap. “Open it.”

Fingers curling possessively around the bulging fabric, I dropped my eyes once more before speaking. “Why?” My heart skipped a beat, clutching the bundle to my chest.

“Just, it’s yours, okay? Open it,” he replied gruffly.

For whatever reason, my hands trembled as I undid the neatly tied knot holding the fabric all together. After a few fumbling attempts, the Mandalorian impatiently reached over and nimbly plucked at the knot. It fell apart easily, and he settled back into the pilot’s chair.

Unfolding the fabric, I was greeted with a delightful yet disorienting surprise.

“I thought...?” There, neatly bundled in the rough fabric, were all of my tools and parts I’d had in my jumpsuit. I couldn’t believe it. He’d saved all of my stuff. Heart swelling in anticipation, I sorted through the jumble of wires and wrenches and screws, my eyes sharp for a familiar silvery glint. But the more I dug, the more my heart sunk. It wasn’t there. My pendant, the last remnant I had of my home, was gone.

“Where is it?” I gargled, my tongue suddenly much too big for my mouth. “Where’s my necklace?” Dread blossomed in my chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the hunter huffed in annoyance.

The little one cooed softly, catching my attention. He was slumped in the Mandalorian’s lap, snoring gently as he dozed, completely unaware of the tension spiking in the room.

I lowered my voice, frowning. “My necklace. It’s on an old silver chain. A Mythosaur charm.” I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. “It’s from my caretaker.”

The bounty hunter froze, one hand poised over the flight panel. The little one stirred in his lap, and he laid a light hand on the child’s back to shush him. “What do you mean.”

A little flame of ire licked it’s way up my spinal column. I remembered having it when we got back to the ship. I remembered the steady, solid thunk of it swinging against my collar bone. He must have had it. It couldn’t have just gotten up and walked away.

“I want it back. Now.”

Turning his visor to me, he tucked the dozing child into the crook of his injured arm. “I don’t have it,” he warned in a deep-throated growl. “Everything you had on you is either ash floating in space or there.” He nodded his helmet at the bundle in my lap.

“Then where is it?”

“It’s a big ship,” he replied, turning back to the controls. “Things get easily lost.”

In my haste to stand, I barely caught the bundle of tools before they hit the floor. I turned on my heel and stormed out of the cockpit and down the ladder to the cargo hold, clenching my hands so hard that the steel and wire and other debris bit painfully into my hands.

Why was he lying? Could he even lie? I couldn’t recall a time where he wasn’t truthful, but that didn’t mean this time couldn’t be different. I tossed my beloved kit onto the bed and began sorting through it in a more organized and methodical manner. My favorite multitool, tiny spools of wire, the odd screw. My entire kit, from the biggest wrench to the tiniest washer, was spread out before me. Everything I’d had in my pockets had been returned.

But where was my necklace?

The pendant was a relic of Mandalore, and any Mandalorian worth their salt would recognize it for what it was just by the shape of it. I didn’t know the history behind such a symbol, only the little piece of information my caretaker had told me when he’d fastened it behind my neck. ”Ibic cuun aliit. Ibic cuun aliik. Ad’ika, bic gaa’taylir gar o’r buruk.” I didn’t understand what he’d meant at the time, yet I knew that it was important that I got the necklace back. It was a sign of allegiance. And that could have value to an outsider.

As I turned these thoughts over and over in my head, the guilt heavy on my shoulders, I inspected my tools for damage. But no matter what item I picked up, I couldn’t find anything remotely wrong with any of it.

Which was super weird, considering I’d been captured, beaten up, caught in a gunfight and then injured while on the dustiest and most polluted of planets in the sector. Surely my tools would show some sort of blemish or stain - probably my blood, in all seriousness - but they were clean and sharp and repaired.

What the ever lovin’ frag?

I didn’t want to add a whole other question to the pile that was already massive.

That meant I actually had to confront the doshing bastard.

I clambered up the ladder, face hot with anger and humiliation. “Hey, Mando! Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?” I seethed when I entered the cockpit.

The bounty hunter bristled at the controls. A shiny domed pod floated motionless at his elbow, the opening facing the door. Inside slept the child, covered lovingly with a worn blanket, his soft breaths coming out in steady little puffs.

Swiftly rising from the pilot’s chair, he crossed the cockpit in one stride, reaching me before I could blink. With a rough shove to the chest, he pushed me into the engineering compartment and slid the door shut.

The room was full of wires and blinky lights and tubes of varying sizes snaking their way in orderly chaos to other parts of the ship. I took a short instant to gape and ogle in awe at all the shiny tech. For such an old ship, the hunter had outfitted the Razor Crest with some wickedly stars-quality mech. Enviously drooling over the fairly-new looking alluvial damper valves and definitely new motivator wiring, I almost forgot the reason I was back up here. Facing down a glowering Mandalorian.

Right.

“Why?” The spite on my tongue tasted off but pleasant, and it welcomed the rising ire with relish. “Why did you fix my kit? Frag, save it for that matter, after all the doshing kriff you’ve put me through?” I hissed. The anger was becoming its own being again, a beast uncaged and wanting to inflict hurt.

Standing like a statue in front of the door, the only sign of life was the tapping of his gloved fingers on the cuisses. Not a reaction I’d expected from a bounty hunter. I hoped for equal anger, shouting, maybe a sucker punch. Anything that allowed me to physically unleash the rage and fear and blasted confusion roiling unpleasantly in my guts.

A small sigh escaped through his vocoder, and he began to fidget with the wrist fastenings on his gloves, pulling at the fingers one at a time. The familiarity of the movement, such a little, almost automatic thing for a warrior, made my heart squeeze painfully, briefly tempering my anger, and I couldn’t help but picture my caretaker.

All of the things that reminded me of my warrior, the one who’d kept me from certain starvation and subsequent slavery, were all but nonexistent in this one. His brusque manner and indifferent attitude made me long for the kind words from the man I called buir. But he was gone, long ago abandoning me to the whims of the colony. More than anything, I hoped he was dead. At least that wouldn’t hurt as much.

Clearing his throat, the bounty hunter angled his visor to gaze at the converter panels blinking peacefully above my head. “Most bounties, when I bring them in. They - they plead innocence. Try to buy me off. Run. But you,” he paused, inclining his helmet to look me straight in the eyes. A shiver went up my spine. “You were the first quarry to ever accept your guilt. You didn’t fight back, you didn’t beg to be released. You just… took it so - so sincerely that I -,” The rumbling timbre of his voice, both rich and gravelly, cracked, making the vocoder buzz in protest. He took a shuddering breath, returning his gaze back to the point above me. “I knew the warrant was… off. No private entity pays that amount of bounty out of concern. I’ve done things like that before, awful things I can never take back but,” he stopped again, bare fingers tapping slowly and deliberately on the cuisses, gloves grasped tightly in the other hand. “I - I’m sorry. I about got you killed out of a sense of misplaced duty. You warned me, but I didn’t - couldn’t trust you, not then.”

I gawped at him in astonishment. Of all the things I figured would come out of that masked mouth of his, never in lightyears would I have thought it would be an apology. Closing my jaw with a snap, I swallowed and thought back to all of my tools he’d saved and repaired and cleaned.

My gaze dropped down to my boots. I still didn’t understand why he was being so… so… not a bounty hunter, but now wasn’t the time to question it. Never look a gift Tauntaun in the mouth, or something like that. A rustle of fabric was the only indicator that the bounty hunter was waiting for me to say something. I inhaled deeply.

“Th-thank you,” I whispered. My breathing came easier. My head felt lighter. Frag, even the atmosphere seemed brighter.

The Mandalorian didn’t reply. I mean, why would he? He’d saved my life - albeit being the one who endangered it in the first place, but that was neither here nor there at the moment - and patched me up. He fixed my kit without a word. He was bringing me with him on whatever he was doing on Nevarro, a decision that I barely understood to begin with. If anything, he deserved a little thanks for not killing me or letting me die when it would have been the easiest, and possibly the best, choice to make.

The Mandalorian still hadn’t made a sound by the time I was done with my internal debate. He was probably as surprised as I was at my capacity for gratitude. Maybe there was a way I could pay him back, and I decided to propose my services right then and there.

Steeling my nerves, I peeked up from under my lashes. The engineering room door was wide open, and I was completely alone among the blinking lights.

_____________________________________

Notes:

”Ibic cuun aliit. Ibic cuun aliik. Ad’ika, bic gaa’taylir gar o’r buruk.” - “This is our clan. This is our sigil. Little one, it will help you when you’re in danger.” (please forgive me for mashing a bunch of words together)

Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod? - Are you looking for a smack in the face, mate?

[enchanted-prose]

#18 Blackberry Night iii

the last of our fancy antics

Word count: 2,384

Characters: Roden, Nila, Merry (Original character)

Enjoy!

Blackberry Night had a grip on every building and on every person. However, Renlyn and Amarinda’s strict color rule only applied to the castle. 

Roden wondered if he’d get an earful for skipping the grand party for something calmer.

Hopefully.

The instructions were clear. They were to meet outside the city gates beside the Roving River. He was to bring every weapon known to man, a full suit of armor, and barrels of pitch. 

Unfortunately for Merry and her extreme hatred for crawfish, Roden hadn’t been able to mobilize forces.

But he did bring Nila, who didn’t really mind crawfish. She didn’t really mind anything, much to the horror of her tutors. 

Merry was standing at the river bank, mud covering her bare feet. She waved. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Roden tilted his head in Nila’s direction. “Sadly, waging war against water bugs wasn’t able to find space in my schedule.”

“Lady Harlowe, it has been far too long,” Merry said, nearly scraping the ground with her head as she bowed.

“The pleasure-,” Nila mimicked the bow. “-is all mine.”

“Your trousers are impeccably tasteful, if I do say so myself.”

“They’re quite nice to tell the truth.”

Merry put her hands on her hips, “Did you do the braids in your hair?”

Nila shook her head, and pointed at Roden. He coughed. “I did them.”

As captain of the royal guard, Roden was responsible for ensuring that Princess Amarinda and Imogen were watched over during their travels. He rode outside their carriages and kept vigil outside their tents. During their travels, he was with them for almost every single moment.

Of course they’d taught him how to braid hair.

“That’s- bravo, Captain Harlowe, you’ve earned a little bit more respect from me,” Merry whistled. 

“They’re just braids,” said Roden.

“Very nice braids, mind you.”

“Do you like the ribbons on the ends?” Nila asked, holding up the ends of her two golden braids. A pair of blue ribbons were tied to the edges in immaculate bows.

Merry looked to the side and pointed to her own blue hair ribbon, “We match.”

Nila looked at Roden, her smile reaching her eyes. “We match!”

“Ah, yes, that you do,” he said. 

He’d have to start giving away different colors of ribbon.

“I hope you don’t mind helping me catch crawfish,” Merry scratched the back of her hand. “I slept in again and I didn’t get to pick my chore.”

“I’m good at catching crawfish, they get really big in Libeth so I’m not scared of the little ones in the Roving River,” Nila said. “The village boys like to have team contests with catching the buggers, everyone wants me on their team.”

“The crawfish here are small?!” Merry tapped her right shoulder and then her left.

Roden recognized the sign. Bymarian and outdated. Meant to expel evil spirits from entering the soul. Amarinda explained it to him several years ago.

“Sometimes they’re red,” he added. 

“With glittery black eyes!” Nila held her fingers to her face, imitating a pair of spectacles. 

“By the Saints! Do the Devils wander Libeth too?” Merry stepped back, disgusted.

Taking Nila by the hand, Roden stepped off of the main road, approaching the silty riverbank. “Haven’t seen one yet, but there’s a first for everything.”

A large bucket waited for them, supporting a series of sticks of varying length. There was a cloth inside the bucket, and upon further inspection, a sausage too. Nila sat down in the reeds and peeled off her boots. 

“I brought string,” Merry fished around in her patched apron pocket. “Do you have anything to cut it with?”

“Are you using a stick and bait like you’re fishing?” Nila scoffed. 

“Are you going to catch them with your bare hands?”

Nila tied both of her braids in a knot at the base of her neck, and slowly waded into the Roving River without a word. Roden tensed. She knew how to swim, but he still struggled with keeping a safe distance. 

It was hard to stay away knowing the various dangers that could occur at a whim.

“Right, well, ah, I don’t like holding crawfish, so I’m using a stick and string,” Merry mumbled. 

Roden motioned for the string, “Why don’t you like crayfish?”

“They’re scary and their pincers hurt. Don’t get me wrong, I like to eat them, but I don’t like looking at them.”

Completely fair. 

He cut through a length of string, handed it to Merry, and cut a length of string for himself. Nila’s fearlessness was completely different from Roden’s. The more he thought about crawfish and their spindly little legs, the less he wanted to hold one. 

“Jolly said you frequent the chapel,” Merry dug around in her skirt pocket.

“Yes, ah, I do,” said Roden. He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering just what Merry hoped to 

accomplish by pointing that out.

She frowned, still patting at her skirts. “I swear if I lost it-”

“Lost what?”

“I made you something. But I won’t tell you what it is, and it’s not a tart this time. I didn’t know Nila was coming, otherwise I would’ve brought something for her too.”

“She’d understand.”

Merry stuck her tongue out as she searched another skirt pocket. She gasped in delight, “Found it! Here, if you don’t like it, don’t tell me.”

A string of beads, bits of polished glass, stones, and another fish coin dangled from her grip. She held it from the middle to point to another charm at the top of the string: A silver shield bearing an ‘x’.

“Are these-?” Roden asked, holding the string up to the setting sunlight.

“Prayer beads? They’re a little unconventional, but I know that’s important to you and I’ve gathered too many stones, they needed a purpose,” Merry shrugged. “I bought the charm, and the coin at the end matches the other one I gave you.”

The unorthodox beads, mostly green in color, matched the springtime season growing between his ribs. Encompassing his bones. Roden held the string in his fist, unsure of what to say. Unsure of how he could describe what they meant to him.

“Thank you,” Roden grinned. “It really-”

Merry brushed her chin, “Ah, don’t mention it. It’s just trash I’ve collected over the past few weeks.”

Except that it wasn’t trash.

He wouldn’t put pressure on her. Roden knew exactly what pressure did to a person, and it rarely worked out in the end.

What turned a heart to stone?

Turned a smile to ice?

Pressure. 

“I caught one!” Nila shrieked, yanking her prize out of the water. The crawfish in her hand pinched at the sky, trying to reach backwards to attack Nila’s hand.

“Absolutely revolting,” Merry gagged as she dumped the sausage out of the bucket. She held her skirt in her hand as she stepped into the mud, holding the bucket beneath Nila’s crawfish. 

“You really did catch that with your bare hands.”

“She’s really our best offense when it comes to a crawfish battle,” Roden said.

The bucket found a permanent place wedged in the mud not far from where Nila stood. Her knotted braids came loose, resulting in both blue bows dragging in the river water each time she dove for a crawfish. By the time Roden had both poles ready for himself and Merry, Nila had caught three more crawfish.

“By the Saints, can I give her my wages if she always comes to help,” Merry put her hands on her hips. She yelped, and leapt away from the water. “Something touched my foot!”

“It’s probably just a plant,” Roden said. 

Merry nodded, and once again stepped into the water; Roden slid out of his boots and socks as fast as he could, splashing in after Merry. The silt between his toes conjured up unpleasant images from years ago.

But he’d ignore them for now.

His battle was with crawfish, not with boys his own age at the wrong side of a war.

“I can’t, I just keep thinking about-,” Merry swallowed. “-about one crawling over my foot.”

“A reasonable fear, your ankles are too small to put up much of a fight,” countered Roden.

“My ankles are most certainly not too small.”

Roden gestured for Merry’s hand, “Step where I stepped, there’s a rock you can stand on.”

“You found the rock first, you can stand on it.”

“I have hardy ankles, you don’t.”

“I caught another one!” Nila bellowed. “How many have you caught with your pole, Merry?”

“Fifty, but sadly, they are all invisible.”

Ultimately, Merry did step on the rock. Roden took several steps to the left, and tossed the sausage into the water. The silt sliding beneath his feet reminded him too much of a familiar substance he’d tried to avoid for as long as he could.

Distraction. He needed a distraction.

“Are you doing anything once you’ve captured every crawfish in the Roving River?” He asked, pulling the string a little closer to him.

Merry laughed, “Not exactly. It’s my first time in Drylliad for Blackberry Night, and I’m one of the only girls who’ll have to pass around tankards of ale to all the young lovers at the Dragon’s Keep.”

“Somebody will try to steal you away.”

“You’re right. Jolly has grand plans and apparently I’m the only one who can help with them. Something about getting all of the Gelynian’s in Regar’s army to demonstrate their signal songs.”

“My voice teacher’s Gelynian!” Nila called. 

“Then perhaps you can join us at the Dragon’s Keep and show off your skills,” Roden said.

“Really?”

“No.”

“Roden! I’ve been to the Dragon’s Keep before!”

Merry clicked her tongue, “You got yourself into this one, Captain.”

“Friends help friends?” Roden tried, once again tugging his string to a new patch in the river.

“Nila, love, the Dragon’s Keep is going to be horrifically crowded,” Merry explained. “Besides, somebody needs to make sure Roden gets into bed on time.”

“Exactly! Ah, Merry, your string’s gone tight.”

“My string’s gone- My string’s gone tight!” Merry burst, jerking the string up. The crawfish and sausage piece shot out of the water, and landed in the grass. An odd slapping sound confirmed that the crawfish hadn’t escaped to the water yet.

Roden caught a small crawfish not long after he picked up Merry’s for her. As expected, Nila brought in several. Her trousers were completely soaked, and river water dripped from her once pristine braids.

She looked like a mess, but the giddy laugh that came with every caught crawfish excused the dirt stains.

Merry and Nila began a spying game, each one taking a turn quietly spotting an object and letting the other try to guess what it was.The game was familiar, and Roden joined in after a few rounds, but gave up after Nila chose a tree for her object three turns in a row.

The silt. That slippery, dirty grip it had on his ankles and calves. It was nowhere near those old memories. If anything, the silt was cleaner.

But it felt too much like blood soaked grass.

The makeshift rod in his hand felt too much like a sword. He-

“Roden, can you help me?” 

A crawfish was swinging in a circle, picking off pieces of sausage. Merry held the string at an arm’s length. The crawfish waved a claw in the air. Roden nodded, and pulled the crawfish free from the sausage.

Mosquitos buzzed, signalling that it was time to either go home, or face the wrath of hundreds of cursed bugs. Nila had already pulled her boots on. She held the bucket with price, and pointed out each crawfish she’d caught. 

The roar from the Dragon’s Keep echoed all the way through the streets and almost past the walls. Merry gave Nila a tight embrace.

“Really, it means the world to me that you caught that many,” she laughed. “I’ll never doubt your claims ever again.”

“Good, because you shouldn’t,” Nila clasped her hands behind her back. “I’ll think of you when I see a crawfish.”

“Saints, I hope you don’t. Now hurry along, I’m not responsible if you turn into a fish from wearing those soaking clothes for too long.”

Nila stuck out her tongue, and bounded ahead of Roden. He lingered for a moment. “I, ah, I’d rather not be trapped in a room filled with nobles.”

“I don’t blame you, though Carthyan gentry is much more favorable than any other court I’ve been t- I’ve heard of,” Merry crossed her arms. “Are you sure wild noise and Jolly’s eternal lute playing is something-?”

She didn’t need to say it. Roden knew what she was hinting at; Merry wanted to know if he needed a quiet place.

And the answer was no, he didn’t. Quiet places left him alone with his thoughts, and Roden didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight, anyways.

“I can get past the lute,” Roden promised. “Can I come see you?”

“If you don’t mind watching me clean, then yes. If you stick around till I’m finished, we’ll steal an entire cake and eat it ourselves.  Or feed it to a very lucky pigeon. And you’ll get to see Gelynians belting their hearts out. That’s a sight to see.”

Roden caught himself nodding. The roar of noise at the Dragon’s Keep was different from the porcelain chatter that would undeniably be at the great hall. Nobody cared at the Dragon’s Keep, but everyone at court was waiting to rip somebody to shreds in a moment of weakness.

He could ignore what happened at the river if he was given the right tools.

Take the matter up with his father once the situation calmed.

“I’m glad I got to help you conquer crawfish,” Roden said, the prayer beads were almost heavy in his pocket.

Merry smiled, and patted his cheek, “Thank you for putting them away because I hate them.”

There was no need for goodbyes, Roden knew he’d be back. 

“Oh! And Roden?” She added. “Bring ink and a quill, I’ll bring flowers. We’ll toss something over the bridge.”

Tossing flowers and wishes into the Roving River, turning a blazing flow of death to a place of good memories.

He couldn’t stay away if he tried.

[cross-poison]

CLARITAS. The Mandaloran/Din Djarin x Original Female Character (Part 7)

A/N:  It's been a hot minute! I had a few weeks where I felt so burned out I couldn't get any writing accomplished... Hoping to change that in the coming weeks. Thanks for your patience!

WORDS: 2.2k || WARNINGS: None 

When Elliotte awoke the next morning, it wasn’t to the familiar sight of sunlight peeking through the shades of her bedroom balcony, but to the cool and soft darkness of the Mandalorian’s ship. She sat up quickly, readjusting to her surroundings and doing her best to pat down any bed head she’d acquired throughout the course of the night.

After a few moments, she’d willed herself to stand up and reenter the main segment of the ship but before she could get much further, she heard Mando climb down from the upper level and join her in the main area.

“You’re awake,” he acknowledged, “Here. I brought you this.” He turned a small purple object over in his gloved hand and passed it to her.

Ell took it from him and couldn’t resist a smile as she recognized the familiar round shape he’d offered her. “That’s very kind of you---but why are you giving me a grange fruit?”

The Mandalorian had no response readily available to such a question, aside from a slow tilt of his helmet. Then, after a long moment of consideration, “To… eat?”

Elliotte looked back down at the fruit and nodded slowly. “I appreciate the gesture, truly. Grange fruits are… a Listronus specialty… but they are incredibly toxic. Not for eating. But… excellent medicinal properties, and the skin can be boiled into a delicious tea when mixed with some of the local flowers. Very tasty.”

“Certainly glad I didn’t try to eat it myself, then. I suppose I’ll have to have a chat with the merchant who tried to pass it off as edible.”

Elliotte chuckled, scraping a fleck of dirt off of the grange fruit with her fingernail, “Try not to go too hard on ‘em. Everyone’s just trying to make a living around here---not that it excuses the selling of toxic fruits to visitors!” With a sigh, she let her arm drop to her side, “I apologize. We used to be more hospitable people.”

“You have quite a bit of knowledge about this planet… have you lived here for a long time?” Mando asked, quietly taking a seat on one of the storage containers across from her.

Ell nodded stiffly. “I’ve always lived here… This is my first time even setting foot on a ship like this! I’m impressed, I must say. All these boxes… and you said you practically live in here, right? So you must do a lot of travelling.”

“Mostly for work.”

“What do you do?”

“I used to be a bounty hunter. I guess… I still am, but I’ve got the kid now so I have more pressing matters to prioritize.”

Elliotte tried to hide the white-hot fear that coursed through her at the mention of bounty hunters. It had been a concern of hers for a long time that Listronus’s king would call for bounty hunters to shut down operations like Rhythimi’s… still, it was hard to believe that this particular Mandalorian would travel from so far for something like this. Ell felt he was being sincere… perhaps her bit of trust was misplaced, but he’d given her no reason not to believe him. “So you aren’t here looking for someone?”

“No. I’m just here for fuel.”

“Many are… I’ve seen a few travelers have to bite the bullet and settle down here. The king has monopolized all fuel resources and imports and distributes them in miniscule portions. There’s not nearly enough to go around.”

“You may find it difficult to believe, but this isn’t the worst planet I’ve been stranded on. I don’t mind staying here until my turn.”

Elliotte fell silent for a moment, gaze drawn once again to the grange fruit between her hands, “You know, if you’ll be here for a while, you’ll have to learn not to be deceived by tricky merchants. Maybe you could use a guide.”

“Are you offering?” said the Mandalorian, catching her by surprise yet again. Her eyes shot up, meeting the t-shape of his beskar as she carefully pondered her answer. “I can pay you for your time,” he continued.

The thought of money during her recovery period made her graze her fingertips over her sprained wrist. “Well… it’s not like I’m really able to work my regular job, is it? Sure. I’m offering. I’ll teach you how to deal with the locals and the nobility, and… which fruits are toxic and which are fine to eat,” she chuckled, “and… whatever else you’re hoping to learn about this planet.”

“Great. When do we start?”

“Right now?”

Mando’s armor clinked together with a metallic sound as he stood. Ell did the same, but before she headed for the ramp, she glanced just past his shoulder to the ladder to the upper level, where he’d taken the little green child the night before.

Mando followed her gaze for a brief moment, then brushed past her and made his way toward the ship’s exit. “He’ll be fine. This won’t be the first time he’s been left alone during the day.”

The harpist was quick to follow, squinting against the harsh sunlight as she stepped out into it. “I’ve overslept,” Ell noted, “If I was scheduled to work this morning, I’d already be starting with my third client.”

“Good thing you aren’t, then,” came the beskar-clad man’s reply, “Where would you like to start guiding?”

“The marketplace. Perhaps we can negotiate a refund for your grange fruit,” Elliotte said, increasing her pace so she could properly walk beside him as they returned to the city center. “I’m sure many places in the galaxy practice negotiations and trades---on Listronus, it’s a way of survival. If you play the right cards and talk to the right people, you can start with a grange fruit and end up with a house.”

By the time the stalls of the crowded marketplace had come into view, Elliotte had gone over numerous negotiation methods valued by the local Listronians, and as she came to a halt in front of one of the vendors, she held up the purple grange fruit to demonstrate. The man before her was short and stocky, a thick beard covering his lower face and a few orange-tinted blossoms wrapped around some of the fine hairs to add an interesting accent to his dark features.

This particular merchant’s stall was covered in decorative strands of beads, all hand-crafted and sewn together to create beautifully elaborate color combinations and designs. As Elliotte began to offer her trade, chattering quickly with the merchant in their native tongue, the Mandalorian reached for one of the bead strands in a nearby basket, turning it over to closely survey the craftsmanship.

It was rather cheaply made, with inexpensive strands of cloth wrapped around thin white beads that matched the color of the wilting flower petals in Elliotte’s hair, but there was still something simple and beautiful about it.

Mando was no expert in the Listronian language, but he’d done enough travelling in his time to be able to recognize a few words in his companion’s conversation with the merchant.

“....Wife… heart… ill…”

They discussed intently for a moment before Ell’s expression brightened and grew into a wide smile. She handed the merchant the grange fruit, and after it was in his grasp, the man gestured to the basket of bead strands. “Three.”

“Take three,” Ell followed up, offering the Mandalorian a smile before gently shaking the merchant’s hand. “May she have a swift recovery.” With that, she turned and made her way back to the Mandalorian’s side, just as he finished retrieving three strands from the basket.

As they moved on from the stall, Elliotte lowered her voice just a bit. “It’s not difficult to barter here… everyone needs something, whether it’s a piece of furniture for their dwelling or leaves for tea. Grange fruit, as I mentioned earlier, has great medicinal properties. Joju’s wife has been feeling ill this week, with a high fever and heart pain… the fruit will help ease her fever when prepared the right way. In exchange, we have three bead threads.”

“Why didn’t you just purchase them? They weren’t expensive,” inquired Mando, curious to follow her process.

“If you bought everything in the marketplace with credits, you’d be broke within weeks. If a merchant knows you can pay the full price immediately, they’ll raise it… that’s how you wind up convinced a grange fruit is edible.”

“Fair point… Now we have beads. What’s a step up from that?”

“Now, you consider who’d have the most use for beads. You’d have trouble selling beads to a fruit salesman---what use would he have for them, right? So instead…” Elliotte trailed off, smoothing her hand down the side of her dress and tapping at a few of the beads sewn into the fabric, “You’d be better off approaching a seamstress.” She nodded further down the row of stalls where two female merchants were sitting, smiling at customers and engaging in polite conversation while they threaded a pattern into a violet-colored dress shirt.

Elliotte maneuvered through the crowd, followed closely by Mando, until she came to a halt in front of the seamstresses. Up close, Mando noticed that they, too, boasted brightly-colored flowers in their hair. It was then he reasoned the flowers must have some sort of cultural significance on Listronus, but he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around how or why.

The seamstress closest to the front of the stall lit up as Elliotte drew near. “Ellie! Long time no see… glad to see the dress I made is holding up! Is your arm alright…? What’s happened?”

“No need to worry, Lisete. Just a little accident… and yes, the dress is marvelous. Comfortable… fits like a glove… absolutely perfect.”

Lisete was positively glowing by the time Ell had finished speaking about the quality of her dress. “Is there something specific you’ve come here for today?”

“My friend and I have just come to offer you these,” Elliotte said, passing her one of the strands, “Your beadwork is always so impressive, and I know you love to use many shapes and sizes in your patterns. Would you have any use for these?”

Lisete hummed thoughtfully as she pulled at the cheap cloth until a bead came loose in her palm. “They’re awfully tiny… but not useless by any means. I have a skirt that these would look lovely on. What are you hoping to get for them?”

Ell hummed softly, leaning down and folding her arms across the table. “I was wondering if you had any string… some firm but flexible string.”

Lisete glanced over her shoulder toward the other seamstress, who nodded and passed her a spool of rolled string. “We can offer you this. This is made from ostratine root fibers rather than our typical fabric threads… it’s stretchy and resilient, but not very comfortable if you’re hoping to wear something made of it.” “This is perfect, Lisete, thank you,” Elliotte said, “Would you trade the full spool for three bead strands?”

“Sure would.”

Ell passed her the beads and took the wrapped string before saying her goodbyes and making her way back into the marketplace.

“You’re good at this,” Mando stated.

“I’ve been doing it for a long time. It’s important to build up a bit of a reputation here in the market, so people know you won’t screw them over. Learn about them. Buy from them. They’ll come to trust you. Do you want to try the next exchange?”

“... I suppose.”

“Take a look at these stands… who do you think would have the most use for a string like this?”

The Mandalorian turned his helmet, scanning the nearby stalls slowly before settling on one at the opposite side of the aisle, where a lanky man was laughing and shaking hands with a customer with a handful of fish wrapped in parchment. “A fisherman,” was his answer through the modulator, “He can use the string for his poles.”

“Great eye. You’re a fast learner,” Elliotte replied, passing him the spool.

As Mando went to cross the street, a figure from further down the row caught his eye. He stood out in the crowd with expensive-looking robes made of fabrics that certainly weren’t being sold in the marketplace. The hood of his robe was fused with some kind of animal bone with various pointed tips, like a crown around the back of his neck. The skin around his eyes was decorated in royal blue paint, a color that only seemed to accentuate his worst features. He was balding, so he wore no flowers, but Mando still recognized him immediately as Listronian.

“Lord Miryus,” he heard Elliotte breathe from beside him, “He’s the one who sprained my wrist.”

“He did this?”

“Yes. He’s a nobleman who lives in the palace. It’s awfully pretentious that he dresses like that here in the market---the antlers and paint are a sign of status… as if any of us could doubt it, when he struts around like the king himself anywhere he goes.” Elliotte said, and Mando didn’t miss the way her nose wrinkled with distaste.

“If you have such a dislike for the nobility… why do you work so closely with them?”

“I need money. They like music… it’s like I said before---Everyone needs something; there’s always an exchange to be made,” Elliotte finally drew her gaze back to him and forced a weak smile, nodding to the spool of string in his hand. “Speaking of which, it’s time you pitch yours.”

[anansislibrary]

All of my thoughts on RWBY: taken from one of my videos here

If you haven’t watched RWBY yet... I honestly don’t know what to tell you. The show is genuinely one of my favorite anime of all time. It’s got an amazing cast of interesting characters, great writing, an amazing world to get immersed in. Every character you meet sticks with you, many of the fights are fast paced and memorable, and being a lore buff like me pays off in this world.

But RWBY isn’t... perfect, and having finished the newest season and rewatched the show from the beginning... I have some issues.

Don’t get me wrong, the new season had some excellent parts. The fight between Blake and Adam was literally perfect, and side note, idk why fans are saying Adam got nerfed for this fight or made weaker, when some of his only notable feats happen during this fight. The man lands hits like mortal kombat combos.

Anyway, I don’t want to just crap on the show so before I go into what I didn’t like, I’ll get into what I did. But before then, I’ll have to give you a brief rundown of the show. But before THEN I gotta give my obligatory plug

So make sure you like and subscribe if you enjoy this video and want to see more like it, and consider donating to my Ko-fi if you’re able to to help support my channel and help me make better content.

Without further ado

Here’s RWBY

Quick basic spoiler full rundown of the show.

Rwby takes place in a world callled remnant, with a shattered moon. Why is the moon shattered you ask? Satan threw a temper tantrum

Anyway

There’s monsters

Schools for people to fight monsters

Except no Because the main character’s school gets blown up by this BITCH NAMED CINDER, SCREW YOU CINDER.

Prompting Ruby and her Gucci gang to go on an adventure.

Got it? Good.

So here’s everything I love about the series.

I really like the character designs. Every single character has an excellent design and I could really do a video on how character design helps develop character and tell a story just using this show. Every person in the show has an interesting and cool design that helps you to remember and understand them.

An easy example is Weiss. She dresses like an actual princess, her color scheme and weapons are all very elegant looking and it hints at her high class status without even having to spell it out for you.

Plus I love how characters names are based off of fairy tales or mythology. For example, Sun, Sage, and the ironically named Neptune. The motif of fairy tales is fun too, for example Ruby being Little Red Riding hood, Ozpin and Glenda Goodwich being wizard of oz references, ironwood being the tin man and Leo being the lion, Qrow and scarecrows and all of that. Weiss and Winter both have names very directly based on snow.

Every name in this show was very clearly thought out, and even abilities too.

Sun can make clones of himself just like in the myth, Blake has issues with running from her problems, so she can make clones, yang has anger issues and can go super saiyan, almost everyone’s power has something to do with their personality.

Salem is such a fun villain. I wish she could do more because she’s really sinister and scary. She’s such a fun villain to watch but she doesn’t do shit.

I also love the fight scenes, I love how bombastic and fast paced they are, and it’s really cool how every character has their own unique style of movement and fighting that vary between them. The fights in this show are quick and stick in your mind, and there’s an emphasis put often on how much a character can move in a short amount of time.

Cinder as much as I hate her is also a great villain, and that’s why I hate her.

Roman Torchwick is also a GREAT villain and The way he dies is satisfying as hell, and seeing Neo again made me scream.

The worldbuilding is my favorite aspect of the show. Now I’m weird and I like info dumps and that’s why I enjoy those World Of Remnant videos that expand on the worldbuilding so as not to bog down story with info dumps. The world is really fun to learn about, how humanity has evolved in terms of technology is fun to speculate on, for example since Grimm attacks are common and destructive, towns outside of major cities are less technologically advance because they often don’t have time to explore that and have to move from town to town quickly in an emergency.

The Grimm are excellent monsters with varying abilities that make them scary. I love the Apathy from the most recent season, and how it doesn’t just attack you like a Beowulf, Ursa, or Nevermore, but it drains away your will to fight back at all.

This show also has my favorite trope of all time MIXED TIMELINES

YOU GOT TRADITIONAL CHINESE CLOTHING AND DRESS AND ASIAN ARCHITECTURE ON TOP OF CELL PHONES TOWERS AND ALL OF THAT

this trope is so fun because it really makes a world feel unique.

The world of Naruto has all kinds of modern stuff, but until Boruto it was mixed with older tech and tradition, really selling how this is not our world.

Another thing I love: every weapon is a gun. That is SO fun.

Now as good as the show is, it does have problems. That’s inevitable though, all shows, movies, and books have problems, nothing is perfect.

Except Avatar. Avatar is flawless.

Me pointing out the issues I have with this show is by no means to say it’s bad, just to point them out.

I truly do have love for this series and I still cry about Phyrra and her death.

I love you baby.

But that being said, pointing out the issues a show has can be important for both understanding the pitfalls to avoid in our own writing, and helping creators fix issues later on.

A lot of hard work goes into making this show and I would just be an asshole if I did nothing but shit on the show.

No matter how many issues it has, I can tell the people making it love what they’re doing, and that always shines through a series no matter how many issues it has, just like a show or movie can do everything conventionally right and still be a soulless shit show.

Looking at you call of duty black ops 3.

So here’s the issues

Fight scenes

I love the fight scenes. I’ve said that, they really can be so fun to view and I find myself coming back to them a lot.

But I have issues.

Lemme just say first that I don’t like complaining against animation. Animators go through enough crap already and it feels mean to criticize them at times, but this needs to be said.

One, I hate how people throw punches in this show.

They swing so wide it’s annoying.

Okay listen. If you swing at someone with a punch this wide, and they know how to fight, it will not land. They will block or dodge. I know this because as my subscribers know, I am a martial artist. I know jujitsu and boxing, and I took taeqwondo.

This is a bad punch.

My theory is that they do it to emphasize the impact of a bit, but that’s not necessary. There are other ways to do that.

You could say “they’re animators they don’t know how fighting works.”

But Naruto exists and those animators get martial arts stuff down PAT.

Hell, avatar the last airbender depends on its animators being able to animate fights with consistent accuracy, and those characters use styles most people have never heard of like Baguazhang.

And I know this doesn���t seem like a big deal, but it is. It’s hard to really get behind fight scenes at times when the characters can’t throw a simple punch right.

And again it’s not like it’s impossible for animation to animate a fight.

There’s a scene during a fight in Naruto where Obito Uchiha kicks Kakashi, and Kakashi uses his foot to redirect the kick and pull obito off balance.

This is a real move, that people do, and it’s done accurately, but RWBY seems to struggle with accuracy in their fights. Which is fine when a character’s weapon looks like this, but not in hand to hand.

This issue comes up in sword fights too. The way Weiss fights annoys me because her sword is a rapier, and the most important characteristic of a rapier is that often times they don’t have blades, they have points, and when they do have blades, they aren’t meant for slashing. Rapiers were made to exploit the gaps in someone’s armor by stabbing them, and thus it is a thrusting sword, not a slashing one. A sword like a Katana or Khopesh would be good for slashing. Roman gladius can kind of do both, but not as good as either one.

The point is that if they’re gonna give Wiess a rapier, they need to stop animating her slashing with it. Especially when her rapier doesn’t appear to have a sharp edge.

My next complaint is wasted characters.

It’s very frustrating when RWBY takes times to show us a character, but then never uses them.

I didn’t even know sun had a full team sometimes because you never see them.

And furthermore it’s annoying when a fight scene will just stop so that a character can do a cool thing.

Oh no this robot is so hard to beat, how will we beat this dangerous and powerful robot

Oh wait, this character can solo it because the plot needs to pause so she can be cool then promptly never be seen again.

It is so frustrating and it makes it hard to actually know when a character is in danger.

It takes 20 hits to kill a Grimm in one scene, then like two in another.

And the reason for that is because the plot is being pushed aside for the sake of spectacle.

A character’s abilities will be made inconsistent for a chance to make them seem cool.

Like this scene where Tyrion is fighting qrow, he uses his tail to block bullets.

But why?

He has his Aura up, the bullets wouldn’t hurt him anyway! Then when he gets shot later after he looses his aura his tail comes off.

If he was fast enough to use his tail to block bullets he wasn’t even paying attention to, why can’t he do it now!

There is no internal consistency.

Like why are Grimm so strong if they don’t have auras? That’s not explained because they Grimm rarely serve the plot, they spectacle. Adam putting 20 kombo hits into yang to beat her makes sense. He has to wear down her aura to actually hurt her.

But 20 hits to kill a grim that then gets solo’d by a character later on?

No.

Then there’s hazel.

He annoys me.

His villainous motivation is that his sister joined a school for trained soldiers, then died because it was dangerous and now he hates Ozpin.

Dude what?

Like I get why he’s mad, but she knew the risk and someone had to sign off on her getting in for her to be able to go to beacon at all. A child can’t just register for a school especially one where it’s a known risk you could die.

Also another thing I hate is how characters will overreact to stuff in annoying ways.

This is mostly in the most recent season.

Spoiler alert here

But everyone finds out the history of Ozpin and Salem’s relationship from Djinn

And then they just all hate and distrust Ozpin.

Here’s my reaction to finding out about ozpins relationship

It’s just... not that big a deal.

Okay so he was pipping the villain at one point

Nigga so was dumbldore!

It’s just annoying how Ozpin didn’t really do anything but he still was treated like he was just a bad person when he wasn’t.

That whole plot point feels empty, and I found myself more annoyed with the characters for being mad at him and wasting time, than mad at Ozpin for wanting to get laid.

My next complaint on this nitpick fest is

Shit what was I gonna say again?

Oh yea, that annoying ass military lady and her whole reason for not letting the heroes into atlas.

That was so annoying and pointless. She really had no reason not to let them through, and her getting into a giant mecha to fight them pulled me so far away from the story because it was just too ridiculous.

The mecha is for fighting Kaiju grim but it’s taken down by like five kids and their drunk grandpa.

Which like... fine but I hate it.

I hate that whole sequence.

It didn’t have to happen like that, it was another fight purely for spectacle.

It made me mad.

Plus I really really hate mecha anime and mecha fights in general.

God I hate them.

I skipped almost every mecha fight in Voltron because I hate them.

Look the point is that rwby is definitely a good show and I love almost every part of it, but these issues really pull me away from the story at times and you can really sense how much of the story is less about progression and more about increasing drama like the Ozpin thing, or looking cool.

Please watch rwby it really is worth your time, just be aware of the issues it has.

[rinusagitora]

The love, lead, and the undead.

Fandom: Monster Prom

Characters: Vicky Schmidt, Damien LaVey, Brian Yu, Oz, Zoe, Vera Oberlin, Liam de Lioncourt, Amira Rashid (he/him), Dahlia Aquino

Pairings: Brian/Damien/Vicky, Oz/Zoe, Amira/Vera

Words: 3.8k

Summary: Canon divergent. Chapter 5/?. WARNINGS— violence, gore, drug use, smut; Oz and Zoe discover the meaning of his premonitions, and Vicky makes a fatal mistakes.

Zoe was kind enough to have brought Oz to one of her many dimensions of horror outside of time so they were able to brainstorm on Oz’s premonitions. The gurgle of lava or lungs filled with blood came with the slight breeze through the crooked window and Fear twitched hungrily from the volatile energy secreted by one of Zoe’s many homes.

A whiteboard materialized before them. “Let’s make this simple,” said Zoe, “you’re going to tell me every minute detail of your premonitions, and we’re gonna make a map of everything we can think of that connects to the details. Start with the first one.”

“I was watching myself wrap kilos of cocaine, but it looked like I was looking through a camera in my chest. When I looked up, I was staring down the barrel of a rifle. Someone screamed don’t move or something along those lines, I saw a flash, and then got a headache.”

“Okay, and the second one?”

“Well, there was blood and soot coming out of my fingers, my index fingers were bent backward, I saw blood and brains kind of floating around like soap bubbles. I started to fall forever. There were bright blue snakes in my eyes, as vivid as gems. I landed in a vat of bloodshed and lightning.”

“That is… that is intense.” Zoe finished her list on the whiteboard.

“Let’s start simple," Oz said. "The only person I can think would end up in a coke lab in any capacity is Brian. He’s got substance abuse issues. I know people say is pick of poison is alcohol, but I don’t see why he won’t escalate.”

“That’s a good start. Let’s take this into consideration, though: who could be on the other side of the gun?”

Oz shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest.”

“Oz… you think too highly of our friends,” Zoe scolded him. “I can think of several. Damien is wantonly violent. Vera and Vicky are regularly doing heists. Miranda has constant feuds with everyone under the sun. Polly will do anything for some drugs. God, there are so many fucked up folks at our school, I could go on and on.”

“Fair enough.” He pushed his fingers through his hair. “I’m… I’m not sure. Raiding one of these places isn’t in anyone’s modus operandi. Maybe Polly for shits and giggles, but she would’ve told us something, don’t you think?”

“I do. That’s the most we can do for now. Instead of getting our shit in a bunch, let’s move on.”

“The snakes kind of remind me of Vera. I’m not sure why else there would be snakes in my eyes.”

“That’s a good start. Why would they be blue?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, when you think of blue, what do you think of?”

“Depression, rain, the ocean, storms, the sky. Brian since he’s always depressed. Dahlia is literally blue. Aren’t Vicky’s and Faith’s favorite color blue?”

“Yes, good. What about the lightning you saw?”

“I mean… Vicky electrocutes herself for giggles. I think Calculester and Vera listen to thunderstorms to help them sleep.”

“Fantastic. What about blood?”

“Damien’s a demon. He’s constantly covered in it.”

“Great, great, great. This is enough for us to start with. Why don’t you call Vicky, Vera, and Dahlia? I’ll tackle everyone else we brought up.”

“Can do.”

Zoe’s nightmare dimension evaporated. They were back in his apartment, where Oz picked up his phone and dialed for Vicky. It went straight to voicemail. She must have been busy, but it made his stomach churn. He tried Vera next and she too didn’t pick up. Oz knew Amira kept tabs on Vera, though. He called Amira.

“Hello?” Amira grunted.

“Hi, Amira. I know it’s late but I need to talk to you about Vera.

Amira cussed in the background. "One second," he grumbled as he rummaged around. "You're Gucci. Is everything okay?'

"I don't know." Oz sighed. "Okay, suspend your disbelief for a minute. I've had a couple of premonitions lately. First I had a premonition about someone getting shot in a coke lab. Do you know anyone who’d be involved in any way with coke?”

“Yeah. Vera has a drug trade.” He hummed. “Come to think of it, I overheard Vera talking with Vicky about robbing a lab.”

Oz’s chest constricted. The likelihood one of his friends would have been murdered dropped, and while he wasn't particularly disturbed by the idea of murder, the chance of Vera and Vicky shooting a hardened criminal with buddies didn't put him at ease. “Is she with you?”

“She’s not.”

“I need you to text her to call me as soon as she can, Amira. I-I know I’m kind of being a dick, but this is important.”

“You’re fine, Oz. I’ll get in touch with her as soon as I can.”

“Thank you so much. Text me as soon as you can.”

“I will. Bye, Oz.”

Oz hung up on Amira and then dialed for Dahlia. Her phone went to voicemail. "Fuck!" he cursed as he threw his phone. It shattered and scattered across the floor like ceramic. Oz felt sicker and sicker, like something greater than themselves, Zoe and Oz, who were gods in their own right, incapable to turn the tides of something awful in motion.

Zoe hugged Oz. "Did she not pick up?"

"She didn't." He rubbed his face. "God, this is going in disaster."

“Look. We have a lead with Vera and Vicky. Let’s get some rest, baby.”

Zoe was right. Oz let her drag him into her bedroom where they were swallowed by a toothy maw made from red hot metal. Zoe dove onto Oz seconds before the universe vanished.

---

Vicky woke to her alarm with a sense of unease, like Eugene’s fingers were still in her hair, like his lips were on her cheek. The shadows were dodgy. Eugene’s phantom only felt more real when she only had two hours of sleep under her belt.

Shakily, Vicky dressed in leggings, a tee, and sneakers. Vera was outside of her apartment in a ratty, old SUV with her chauffeur.

“Morning. Are you ready?”

“No. I hardly slept last night. I need some coke so I can stop feeling like I’m running on fumes.”

“That’s not good. Here, just don’t overdo it.” Vera passed Vicky a partially unwrapped kilo of cocaine. Vicky gently scooped some onto her fingertips and quietly snorted.

There was only a second before she absorbed the coke. When it hit her brain, she felt great, better than the last couple of days treated her, at least. Like she was a big dragon atop a horde of warm gold coins and dispatched a platoon of pitiful knights with a swoop of her tail. She felt big enough to have swallowed Eugene and Stan whole as if they were no bigger than a grain of rice.

She sniffed. Her nose was a little runny. “That’s better. Where’s the body armor?”

Vera dropped a pile of heavy kevlar onto Vicky’s lap. She donned pads and a vest and a thick helmet. She attached two assault rifles to her vest and many magazines to her legs. She whooped as they turned, Vera slapped her back.

“You fucking ready?”

“I’m so fucking ready!”

They stopped. Vicky and Vera stormed.

Vicky kicked down the door and shot the coffee table. “Get on the fucking ground! Put your fucking hands up!” she screamed

“Fuck!” The three men and two women in the room hit the deck. Vera threw a jammer onto a shelf and secured the denizens with zip ties. She frisked them down and dumped their guns into her duffle bag.

“Who else is here?” Vera demanded.

“There are two more in the basement! They’re just kids, don’t hurt them, " begged a ghoul.

“We want your money and your drugs. Don’t move, and y’all will live,” Vicky said.

“If you take everything, we’ll be killed!” said a vampire.

Vicky slapped the talker with one of her rifles. “You’ve got me to worry about first! Shut the fuck up or I’ll blow your fucking brains everywhere! Have I made myself clear?”

The vampire nodded.

“How many guns are stashed here?”

“You gonna clean us out?” the vampire asked.

“I asked you how many guns are here! Do you want me to blow off your dick?”

“Let him go,” the ghoul implored, “he’s a dumbass kid. There are twelve guns. Two under the table, one behind the door, one in the bathroom, three in the kitchen, two behind the couch, and the rest were on our person."

“You get that?” Vicky shouted.

“Yeah! Just keep them busy!”

Vicky heard a snap. The young vampire, freed of the zip ties, charged her. She kicked him down and shot him in the chest, but she was tackled not a second later by the ghoul with a hunting knife in hand. He was only kept at bay thanks to her rifle barrel lodged against his neck. Vicky pulled the trigger. His disembodied head collided with Vicky’s, she shrieked something ungodly in her disgust and hopped to her feet.

“Fuck, bag what you got. We gotta go!”

Vera ran up the stairs and then they wildly shot into the living room as they escaped. They fell into the getaway car and sped away.

There were a few seconds, the longest seconds of Vicky’s life, where Vera and Vicky huddled on the seat as their chests heaved.

Vicky had shot someone.

It wasn’t the first time she hurt someone. When people got feisty during their heists, she shot them in the hand or foot, she even kicked some. But she killed one, possibly two people. She felt sick, even though her haze of coke.

“Did we get anything?” Vicky asked.

Vera howled with delight. “We got so much fucking money!” She opened her bag for Vicky to peer inside. “This was all just on a table down there. They had a bunch of kids counting it! I got three kilos on top of that. God, there’s gotta be at least half a million dollars in here alone. Baby, we are rich as fuck!”

Vicky’s eyes bugged out of her head. She eventually broke into a grin so enormous it made her face hurt. “Oh my god! We are fucking rich!”

“We’re in it now, baby!” Vera held her face and they hopped in place. “Oh my god, you’re amazing, you crazy bitch. I love you so fucking much! We’re set for at least another month.”

“You can go a month without doing this again?”

“Fuck no!”

Vicky couldn’t help but be intoxicated by the money and Vera’s own elation. There was just a learning curve, she told herself, she would catch up.

---

Oz woke and he was stiffer than rigor mortis and it felt like he was knifed in the lung. It made him crabby. Slowly, he peeled open his eyes, and groggily surveyed his surroundings. Normally, Oz was a pacifist, but he sincerely wanted to wring the neck of whoever thought it was a good idea to kidnap him and Zoe.

When Oz looked down, his chest ache made sense. He was skewered by an oily black rod that reflected red light by the candles above them.

“Zoe!” he rasped. “Baby, where are you?”

“Fuck, stop screaming. I’m right behind you. God, my head is splitting, there’s something in my chest too, " she said. Her voice came from behind him. They were tired back to back.

“I think it’s the same thing in my chest,” he replied. “What the hell happened back there?”

“I don’t fucking know. I think we got swallowed by… by magic, or something like us. We have a lot of enemies. It could be one of them,” Zoe hypothesized. “That doesn’t matter now, though. We have to get out of here. Can you move?”

“If any of you so much as twitch, we won’t only kill Vicky, we’ll kill all your friends.”

Oz recognized that voice and it made his guts churn with horror. He craned his head over his shoulder to try to look at Dahlia. “Oh my God, Dahlia, what the hell have you done?" If the Aquino family was after Vicky, that had to have meant a declaration of war against the LaVey. "Dahlia, you're a fool! If you kill Vicky, you're going to bring the wrath of the LaVey family down on the heads of yourself and your loved ones. You will all be slaughtered!"

“Oz, shut up!” Zoe snapped. “Dahlia, look, I know you’ve got beef with the LaVey, but you can’t do this. The entire eighth circle of Hell will come for your ass if you kill Vicky. They won’t be merciful and you know that! Don't throw your life away like this. Pull out of this while you still can.”

Dahlia threw a chair. It exploded on the stone wall across from Oz. “No! The LaVey had this coming for a long time now, Zoe, and if the two of you had just kept to yourselves, we wouldn’t have had to imprison you.”

“Fuck!” Oz screamed. “Vicky hasn’t done anything!”

“She has! She fucked Damien, and now we’re gonna kill her and use her to fuck over Damien.”

“You are sick!” he bellowed. “Dahlia, I will kill you if you lay a hand on any of our friends!”

“Oz, shut up!”

“You two are cute. The thing is, with that spear in your chest, you’re virtually powerless.”

It dawned on Oz the spear was the reason Zoe told him to shut up. She wanted to create a distraction so he could pull it out since it would’ve been less obvious if he did it thanks to his position behind her. God, she was so much smarter than he was.

“Fuck, Zoe, talk some sense into Dahlia.”

“Dahlia. I know what you’re going through,” Zoe said, as Fear crept its inky appendage to wrap around the hilt of the spear. “I was needed to create chaos for eons. It was the only way I felt loved and accepted. But you deserve better than this! There are hundreds of wonderful traits to your name that you can make something out of yourself with. You don’t have to be-”

Zoe screamed. It sounded like the cry of seagulls and whales. Extremely pained, so much so, even Fear faltered.

“Zoe!” Oz screamed, “Zoe, what’s wrong?”

Dahlia skirted around their seats and smiled at Oz. “I cut off your girlfriend’s arm. If you try to escape before we kill Vicky, I’ll be cutting off more than just an arm. The next one is that big ol’ eye she's got.”

Oz never hated anyone before that moment. He glared at Vicky with vitriol that made his inky skin simmer.

"As soon as I'm out, I will make you wish you only had the LaVey to worry about, " Oz promised. "There's no coming back for you, Dahlia. I'm going to kill you."

Dahlia didn't reply. She only left them in the dark.

---

Vera and Vicky counted their winnings that afternoon. They took three hundred grand from the lab, and the kilos they took would have sold for another four hundred fifty grand. They were almost a million dollars richer. It was almost enough for Vicky to spend the rest of her life in retirement.

And Vicky stayed high. Vera gave her the coke out of her car. Vicky refused to come down.

To celebrate, Vicky took Vera and her suitor Amira, Liam, and her boyfriends out to party. She was only a quarter of the way through an expensive bottle of whiskey and as terribly as she danced, she felt like she ruled the dance floor, intoxicated by coke, booze, and the bass-heavy music that blasted from the speakers overhead. The way Damien and Brian sandwiched her, with their hands on her hips and in her hair, simply overjoyed Vicky. It was almost like she hadn't murdered someone hours ago.

When the bartender presented her with a three thousand dollar bottle of whiskey tied with a boy. Vera and Vicky were showered with confetti from party poppers as Liam took a photo.

Brian wrapped his arm around Vicky. He reached behind them for a glass and held them in place as Vicky poured generous servings for everyone.

"To the splendid duo!" Liam cheered. They toasted, and Vicky was surrounded by friends and loved ones. She hardly felt ill even as the image of their head falling onto her flashed before her eyes for a brief moment.

Vera was dragged into the dancefloor by Amira and Damien was off to create mayhem. Brian, Liam, and Vicky were left at the bar.

"It's a little weird celebrating robbery," Liam remarked. "Don't get me wrong, there's worse, but it is a little weird."

"It is. I shot two people today, and I killed at least one. I think this is Vera's way of trying to help me feel better." Vicky hopped up onto a stool and slowly sipped her whiskey. She felt Brian and Liam burn holes into her head with their eyes alone.

"Babe…" Brian mumbled, "are you okay?"

"I don't know."

"Vicky, take this seriously," Liam scolded her. "We're worried about you. You killed someone today. I mean, that in and of itself is super fucked up, but you're my friend so I'm willing to overlook the legal repercussions for your wellbeing."

Vicky felt sick. "I'm… processing it, I suppose. It's kind of surreal. Vera says I would've died if I didn't kill them, and she's absolutely right, but… I don't know. Killing someone is different than what I thought it would be like. It's dreamlike. Like I'm looking into a box replaying the whole thing."

Liam pensively took a drink. "It's definitely not what anyone expects."

"You say that like you've killed someone too," Brian said.

"I'm four hundred years old. Of course, I've killed a couple people." Liam brushed his hair back. "All I can really say is time dulls the feeling. You'll learn to cope."

Vicky thought she coped pretty well before Liam decided to pry into her business, but she kept that to herself. She took the whiskey bottle and Brian onto the dance floor instead. Damien jogged over to them. They drank and danced.

“You,” Damien teased as he impolitely pried her whiskey out of her hands, “are beautiful in this lighting.” He took an impressive swig, held her chin, and kissed her. Whiskey drowned her mouth like arousal drowned the junction between her legs.

“Fuck,” she groaned. She kissed Damien’s neck, and then Brian’s behind her. “Let’s go to the bathroom for a quickie,” she whispered.

Brian and Damien never protested as she dragged them into the handicap stall.

Damien shoved Vicky against the wall. He sunk to his knees and pushed her pants and underwear around her ankles. His tongue slipped between her legs. Brian held her by her neck and kissed her. He played with her breasts through her blouse, and clumsily, thanks to all the booze and coke in her system, she slipped his cock out and stroked him.

Brian proved needy, however. Not long into their foreplay, he grumbled for Damien to move, he pulled her shirt over her head and then kissed her when he tossed it onto the floor. She was perfectly content to allow him to ravage her. As he fumbled with her bra, she kissed him and help his biceps with her hands. He grabbed her by her wrists and held them above her head. With a giggle, Vicky wrapped her legs around his hips.

He slammed himself inside her. Vicky adored it. He wanted her so badly. She must have been so pretty in the fluorescent light, with the way he stared into her eyes and wordlessly grunted. He tucked his face into her shoulder. He gnawed on her bolts. Electricity coursed through him and it made him quiver inside of her.

“Please fuck me harder,” she pleaded, “I need it so badly.”

Brian pulled himself out. Vicky protested until she was flipped around and bent over. He reentered her and rode her furiously. When Vicky looked over her shoulder, Damien poked her mouth with the head of his cock. She happily swallowed him, albeit clumsily between her inebriation and Brian’s roughness making her whole frame shake like a house shook in an earthquake. They shook her entire world.

Brian became sloppy. Damien pulled him out and they switched positions. He backed her up so Brian could fit between her face and the wall. She pulled him into her mouth, so deep she choked. Nonetheless, she happily bobbed with Damien as much as she could. Brian stroked her hair. He groaned and not seconds later, he came into her throat. She must have been so pretty, the way he slipped down the wall as Damien finished her off. Cum dripped down her chin as she came with Damien. She gurgled. Her legs shook as she was filled and filled.

Damien pulled himself out of her pussy. Brian passed him a wad of toilet paper to wipe up the mess. Brian pushed himself to his feet and held Vicky.

A knock came from their stall door and Vicky yelped.

“If you guys are finished in there, I’d kind of like to have a dance with my business partner, " Vera said.

“Oh shit,” Damien grumbled.

"I'll be out in a second!" Vicky replied. The three of them fixed their clothes and Vicky tumbled out with a sheepish smile. Vera was as uncharmed as she was drunk.

“Come on, let’s get you some dignity back.”

“I better be your favorite slut, at least,” Vicky said. That made Vera laugh.

Vicky was pulled back onto the dance floor. Amira handed her a drink with Kahlua and orange bitters before they took her into their sweet, sapphic arms. Vicky loved having girls for friends.

“You were amazing today!” Vera said. “I can’t fucking believe how much we got!”

“I shot someone. The cops are gonna be on our ass if they don’t have friends.”

“Yeah, but they would've cut your throat if you didn't do something. I’m glad you’re okay, and you know I’ll help with anything if you get in trouble. A lawyer, maybe some assassinations if we can’t rig the trial.” Vera laid their foreheads together. “Vicky, you’re my best friend. You and I have done so much together. I want you in my life forever. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

Vicky grinned. “Like sisters?”

“Like sisters, honey. Like I want to plan your wedding with you and all that gross, lovey-dovey shit.”

“I want that too. I want you in my life forever, Vera,” Vicky confessed. She hugged Vera as they swayed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Crash and burn. But that’s not important because I’m here now. I’ll be here forever.”

“Me too,” Vicky said.

She felt okay. The sickness from her murder was still heavy, but Vera held her like family, and that was comforting.

[thefanficmistress]

Mother May I?: Requested ☆

Requested by : @deepestfirefun​ : My bestie! - This one may be a 2 or 3 parter.  “You are part of the crew of a movie where you are playing Richard´s character´s nearly 18 years old daughter although you are on your mid 30´ with your babyface, it works. At first, you are distant toward Richard as the female actor who playing your mother always seems to snatch you to herself not giving you and Richard a chance to develop your relationship on the movie and outside shooting.

But little by little you start to seek him out when you need quiet moments or rest, although you´re not very affectionate person, but with him that side of you starts to grow and Richard is more than fine with it as you seem to rely on his protective side to make sure you get your rest and much to your “mother`s” annoyance, it becomes a routine of you two and gradually yours and Richard´s relationship starts to blossom. For some unknown reason, she gets angry about it and isn´t one to sit by and watch you two hit it off so well.” ____________

Warnings: Fluff Pairing: Richard Armitage x Reader, Richard Armitage x Female Character, Richard Armitage x OC Context © me _______________ TAG LIST: @deepestfirefun @shikin83 @catthefearless @patanghill17 @aelinninielelain @xxbyimm @nowiloveandwilllove @nellindreams @hails270105 @armitages-gisborne @jassy2101 @abiwim @anemiechen @nelswp​ @fizzyxcustard @purplerain85​ @armitageadoration​ @princecami​ @princess-of-erebor1992 @leah-halliwell92​ @vaneaustin @nellindreams​ @raindrops-on-roses142 @wilhelmyna @pixiedurango​ @theincaprincess​

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged. _________ Current Requests: JANUARY - Closed @purplerain85 ( A Kiss in the Wild ) - RA Request : Release 1/6/2019 @deepestfirefun ( Because I love you ) - RA Request - Release date : 1/13/2019 @nowiloveandwilllove ( My Friend, My Beloved ) - RA Request - Release date: 1/20/2019 @deepestfirefun  ( Mother, May I? ) RA Request - Release Date :1/27/2019 Current Requests: FEBRUARY - CLOSED 2/3/2019  - @purplerain85 ( Just Rest Dear ) - RA Request 2/10/2019 - @deepestfirefun  ( Spy to Smitten ) - RA Request 2/17/2019 - @ nowiloveandwilllove ( Remembering Us ) - RA Request 2/24/2019 - Closed - Personal posting. Current Requests: MARCH - OPEN Message me if you would like a FanFic Sunday Request.  __________ PART ONE: You were new to town, and a new crew member of the new show Richard was working on. A modern telling of a Vampire classic, Dracula. Richard was of course Dracula, and you were playing his young daughter Erizabeth. A character that was half human, half vampire, and 18 yrs old. You were youthful, and still had a babyface for being in your 30’s, but you were small and curvy enough to get away with it. You always got complements however when you were in your costumes. First in your old gowns, and makeup for when you did a flash back, and then even more when you were in your modern clothes. You were selected due to your looks, and you couldn’t complain. You FINALLY got a job, and big one. As a bonus you were going to spend time with a well-known actor Richard Armitage. However, the actress playing your very immortal human Mother always seemed to get in the way of that.  You didn’t want to crowd Richard at all, so during the first reading of the script you sat on the opposite end of the table and only looked at him when needed. However, whenever you looked at him, he was always shyly look back at you, and his cheeks were very flushed. He cracked a lot of Dracula jokes, and you laughed at them all. Even the bad ones. You only had a brief chat with him when he officially introduced himself to you at the snack table. You were extremely nervous, but you shook his hand and started to speak. However, the actress playing your mother interrupted your brief conversation, and in fact took it over. She slowly slithered her way between you and Richard, and you slowly slipped away. You did however look back at Richard, and he had a very sweet smile on his face, but every few moments, his eyes would dart to you, and that smile changed slightly to something else. Longing perhaps? Couldn’t be. So, you never paid any attention to it.  It was 10pm. A ruin castle on a hill, under which goats are grazing. Clear skies, full of stars, and fields below the castle. It was a beautiful location and as you walked up, your agent rushed you to your trailer. Walking by many of them, you spotted Richard who stepped out of his with his phone to his ear. You caught a glimpse of him, clad in black, with dark armor. A long thick, torn cape draped over his shoulder with an underlining of bright red. His hair was parted on one side of his head but fell beautifully thick and long around his face. Raven black extensions to match the pale skin, and dark lined makeup of his eyes. His blue eyes were piercing. When he looked up, his lips curled into a smile and he waived at you.  You tried to smile back, and wave, but you were pulled around the corner too fast.  Your agent opened the door to your dressing trailer, and dragged you in. Waiting inside of your dressing trailer was 3 of the costume designers and your hair and makeup artist. They were all speaking to you all at once and wanted to cut out blocks of time with you to get ready. They all agreed that the dress should be first at it was the most difficult. Today you were shooting directly with Richard. You had many shots with him before. Spoke to him briefly, but you never actually had a one on one with him. You wanted to honestly but could never bring yourself to it. Most of your shots and scenes were with your co-star, who played your mother. She always seemed to pull you away and tell you that Dracula never was in Erizabeth’s life, and it had to look like you had no chemistry and had to have an awkward relationship. She even got the director to agree. So, when Richard asked you out to dinner for one on one, you turned him down. The scene was a flash back, Dracula’s Castle, a night in paradise when his daughter wakes to a new world and accepts herself as a vampire. She makes her first kill, and feeds on human blood. Youthful, beautiful, and dressed in a gown the color of blood wine. Bordeaux-colored taffeta, 3 types of black lace and finished with black ribbon.  The bodice clung to your curvy shape and provided a rather smooth flow into the skirt. The balloon sleeves hung off both of your shoulders, and are covered with a "veils" lace, decorated with lace and lanyard. The flounces, in the back, are longer so as to cover the lacing of the body. The skirt is gathered in folds around the waist and decorated with 3 different laces and finished with ribbon weaving. Between your breast on the bodice was a beautiful Cameo brooch. Your hair was pulled back on both sides of your ears with red ribbon and your hair was raven black. Falling in long cascading ringlets. After your hair and makeup, you are given a new part of the script and directed to the castle location for the scene. 15 minutes later, you are escorted to the set, and there you find Richard in the corner, pacing back and forth. Most likely going over his lines and getting into character. You decided to do the same as you stepped into the room. Candles, roses, a Victorian gothic bed, and extras are everywhere, playing dead. Blood over necks, wrist, face, and mouths. One extra was sitting at the foot of the bed, getting into character. He was nicely dressed, with blood running down his neck. His hair was tussled, and his makeup made him look at though he was drained of color, and very thin. You approach him. “Hi!” You said as you reached out to shake his hand. Your eyes drift over to Richard in the corner, who now sat down in a chair, with his eyes closed, and each hand resting on his knees. You look back at the man in front on you. “Hey! (Y/N) Right?” He asked as he took your hand and rose to his feet with a smile. The makeup, weird as it was made him look rather handsome. He looked like a Gothic, Romance Prince even. And if this guy was a dying Prince, then Richard would be the gorgeous bloody King. “Right! I’m supposed to kill you today.” You joke after releasing his hand. “I just wanted to introduce myself before I put my lips on your body.” You gestured towards his neck, and then crossed your hands in front of you politely. The guy chuckles and then sits on the bed and leans forward on his knees. “I definitely wouldn’t mind that.” He cooed back. You blushed and looked way shyly. “You look absolutely beautiful by the way. I can see why the character would be enchanted by you.”  “Thank you. I’ve never worn something so lovely, and might I add heavy before.” He pulled your hands apart and slipped them over the dress. You grabbed the fabric on both sides of the skirt and pulled it up as if you were going to curtsy. You place the fabric back down when you heard a shuffle in the corner and looked. Richard was walking towards you. He was so tall, and his shoulders were board. Dressed in black leather, with a velvet doublet with silver buttons, with white puff sleeves, with lace over his hands. His makeup was complete now, and his hair combed and curled to perfection. He was rather intimating to look at, especially for playing Dracula, but he approached you with a smile.  “(Y/N), Jona! Hello!” he said, as he reached out and shook Jona’s hand and then turned to you and rested his hand on your shoulder. His hand was so warm, and when it slid off your shoulder, it left a tingling sensation. “Hi Richard.” You said softly, almost bashful. He was so handsome, and so close to you, that it made you nervous to even look at him in the eyes. You were always nervous when it came to him. He would bring you coffee in the morning or leave it in your trailer with a note. He would always ask if you were hungry, or needed a quiet place to rest, when a shoot went longer than planned. He was just genuinely kind and sweet to you. “Wow, that dress…you look stunning!” He said, as his eyes travelled up and down your body. His eyes lingered a bit longer on where your cleavage was, and then his eyes shot up to yours. They grew soft, and almost dark.  “Thank you!” said excitedly. It was stupid. You felt like a school girl too shy to talk to your crush. You couldn’t help it. You honestly hoped that when you were in front of the camera that they didn’t pick that up. You’re supposed to be his daughter in this movie.” I think you make a great Dracula! I’m so excited to actually see you in your outfit.” You reach out and touch his cape, “It looks so cool.” Richard smiled and reached out to rub your arm again, and as his hand slid down your arm, your hands slide through each other’s, and linger. He was holding your hand so softly, and your fingers dance in his grip. He looked down at your fingers, and then back up at you with a closed mouth smile. You wanted to always keep that image of him smiling at you in your mind, but then again you were warned about him. About how he was with female co-stars. You hear a set of steps walking up to you, and a pat your shoulder. You turn to see the brown eyes, and stunning face of your co-star. Samantha Colley, she glanced down just in time to see your hand leave Richard’s. Very nervously, you pulled your hand away from Richards. Her hair was pulled back and made thick with extensions to fit the time period. She was dressed in a bright blue gown that almost looked like yours, but it didn’t. She wore a crown in her head, and a bloody bite mark on her neck. “Good evening everyone.” Her voice soft, lyrical. “Richard, you look smashing.” She sang, as she stepped between the two of you, and slipped her arm into his. For someone who told you to not get so close to Richard, she always seems to push you aside, and get close to him.  “Samantha.” Richard said, his voice a little distant. Not at all like his energized welcomes. He looks over her head at you, and you look away. As you turn your back to them, you and Jona start to talk again, and you try not to focus or listen to the conversation going on behind you with Richard, and Samantha. You didn’t want to show that you were interested in him, and you definitely didn’t want to upset Samantha. You weren’t sure what the deal was with the two of them, but it was awkward on set when they both were in front of the camera. Incredible chemistry when they had to be in each other’s arms, and when they kissed. It choked you up and made you mad at the same time. Through the entire night, there were 8 take. All from different angles, all done different ways, and each time it ended, you would go and get water, and stand off to the side for them to reset. You would think about the scene over and over in your head. How you slowly rose from the bed, with a man begging for his life at your feet. Your “father” slowly walking into the room with a feline grace and adorning you with a ruby necklace and a kiss on your forehead. God he was breath taking. Just the very presence of death. The moment, Richards hands would graze your skin, or press your body against his in a hug, it thrilled you, but you had to remain focused. He was your “father” in the scene. You would seductively remove Jona’s shirt from his throat, and press your lips to his skin, and present to bite. Then after a while relish in the bliss of being blood thirsty. Every shot, every kiss, every take simply wore you out. Your hair was fixed, your makeup touched up and the blood removed from your face and cleaned off your dress. Right after the last shot you walked over to your make up team by default. Exhausted and cold. There was a breeze going through the ruin castle, and you didn’t have a jacket. So, you wrapped your arms around yourself, but you were still shivering. As you looked out of one of the windows of the castle, you saw the city in the distance. The sunlight was coming up from over the rolling hills, and the color of the foreign country was coming into view. Funny how only a few hours ago that this land was completely covered in darkness. Another breeze came through and you closed into yourself again. The sound of steps sounded behind you, and then the warmth of a heavy fabric wrapped around you. You slowly turn to thank your savior, and before you stood Richard. He was smiling as he closed it around you fully and rubbing both your arms. “How’s that?”, he asked “So much better. How can I every thank you? You always seem to take great care of me.” You say as you pull the front of the cape over your chest. You delighted in the warmth, and the smell of Richards cologne. “You can let me take you to dinner or make you dinner.” He suggests with a smile. It was the most beautiful smile you had ever seen. Sweet, gentle and kind. Something about him just screamed “I’m all yours, you just have to take me.” and you wanted.   He then sees the look of surprise on your face, and may have thought that he over stepped, and not that you were gazing at him longingly.  “Ok, maybe not dinner. How about the festival tomorrow? The one in town?” You knew that you shouldn’t. Not after what Samantha told you, but why was there something in your gut screaming that you could?  “I... “ 

PART One END.

[sweettoothshipperrotg]

okay I know I said last one but,,,,,, i couldn’t help myself- SO how about Superhero AU? With FrostedNature? (loveuthankubye)

Oh you and your promises of not sending more prompts. LIKE.YOU.COULD.HOLD.OUT (don’t you worry baby it’s fine, your prompts always make me happy :3)

Sorry this took so long, but I’ve finlly completed it.

Based on: ‘You’re my arch nemesis but our best friends are dating…I guess I’ll play nice in civvies, for now’ AU

Hope you enjoy!

SECRET IDENTITITES, MY FOOT

Jackson Overland Frost couldn’t believe his eyes when Bunnymund introduced his girlfriend’s best friend.

This was supposed to be a nice evening. He had cleared up his schedule specifically for tonight (if he kept on canceling every time something “came up”, Bunny would probably have strangled him) and was more than ready to enjoy his first free night in three years.

Luckily, he had been spared his friend’s backlash since Tooth’s friend also had to unexpectedly rain check their outing several times.

It wasn’t like Jack didn’t like the idea of his friend now being engaged (albeit, it had shaken him a little). Toothiana was a lovely woman, a bubbly behavior that balanced Bunny´s down to earth personality. The aussie had never been in such a long relationship before, but on the four year mark he decided to pop the question.

Jack, as the newly designated best man, was having a hard time handling his responsibilities for his friend’s wedding, his job at North’s store, and his “extracurricular activities”.

The couple had declared that their two friends had to meet in order for their nuptials to smoothly continue.

Toothiana had told him a little about the future bridesmaid. Emily Jane was a no-nonsense successful botanic researcher who Tooth had met at college and become friends with.

To anyone else such a friendship would have seemed rather odd, but considering that he had and Bunny had become friends when the blue-eyed boy was getting his ass handed to him during a bar fight, he understood. His opponent had managed to throw him over the table when Jack had tried to be a knight in shining armor and save one of his friends from a rather insistent ex-boyfriend. Aster had knocked the douchebag with a mean right hook and helped Jack up from the floor.

They had been besties ever since.

Now he was at a fancy restaurant in a five-star hotel, surrounded by his two friends and sitting in front of a stunning woman in a black dress who was sending intense glances his way.

Not in the sexy sense, more like “I want to murder you with this very steak knife I have in my hand” kinda way.

Although his presence had never warranted such a reaction from anyone he had met, there was a little problem.

He knew this woman.

And judging by the recognition in her eyes when they shook hands for the first time, she knew him as well.

Despite his best effort to keep his night job and his personal life separate, it seems it had come back to bite him.

The woes that betides a superhero.

Yes, he had superpowers. And yes he spent most of his free time as a vigilante making the streets of Burgess City a little safer to tread.

By now, Jack Frost had become more than just a fable among people.

It had been quite a decision when his ice powers manifested for the same time after his close call with death at the local pond he used to skate at with his little sister.

He remembered the cold and the dark water that surrounded him. He can even recall his sister screaming out his name from the surface. But then he woke up in a hospital bed after being unconscious for days and with his mother and sister asleep by his bedside.

His powers took two weeks to show themselves.

A glisten and a flurry of ice shot out of his hand into the tree next to him and covered it with an intricate and budding frost pattern. And the rest was history.

Had it not been for the present tense atmosphere, he would have chuckled at his memory of his first years as a superhero, running around with a mask and in an old blue hoodie. What a reckless kid he had been.

Thankfully his current supersuit was now more outfitted for combat and to handle his powers. North had been very helpful after Jack had busted into his shop to stop a large robbery.

And yes, of course North knew of his double life (the ex Russian scientist was his go to tech guy, after all). A superhero couldn’t keep down a stable job as easily as the comics made it look, and he had rent to pay.

In his many comings and goings he had faced many different foes: the low life criminals that preyed on the streets, the low level grunts of the mafia families, even a few corrupt leaders of the crime syndicates that sat atop of the city.

But none had been such a challenge like his arch nemesis. Persephone.With such a taste for dramatics, no wonder the universe had decided to search for someone to meet her match.

Her phytokinetic powers had him gawking at her when they first met at a bank robbery – that she orchestrated!

With a graceful swoop she and her plants had descended upon him and confronted him in one of the most engaging combats he had had in ages.

He was quick and nimble, but her defense and her strikes knocked the wind out of him.

Luckily, he had entertained her enough for the police back up to arrive.

She had left him fighting off thorny vines and unable to follow her and end the dance they had started.

Jack Frost had encountered the mysterious woman several other times.

She seemed to dabble in several types of crimes, but was quite adept to burglary. The high-class type. Although those pompous fishes could do with having a little less money, the upper class victims were outraged at the inability of the police to catch the masked villainess.

The mystery that was Persephone had kept him awake many nights. Unfortunately, it wasn’t all from a sleuth-related nature.

Her sly smile was ever present when he closed his eyes, so was her taught yet lithe body he had felt during close quarters combat and her alluring and taunting voice.

In other words, his imagination was playing against him. And he was losing, part of him wanted to put her behind bars so he would stop thinking of her so damn much.In another universe, these two characters would have never recognized the other; oblivious of their double life until some convoluted hand of destiny revealed their identities at a more inconvenient time.

But it seemed that fate had other plans.

His mind was brought back from his machinations all of a sudden.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this call.” Emily’s voice apologized profusely to her friend. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

She sauntered out of view, almost as if she knew that his eyes would follow her.

“I…uh…I gotta use the restroom” He spluttered and excused himself away from the couple.

Jack passed the restrooms, and made his way to the open courtyard the hotel had.It looked quite pretty with the lights that illuminated the ornate fountain.

She was there, with her back to him and appearing to admire the abundant yet harmonic greenery that surrounded them.

Oh how freaking convenient.

He approached, carefully as you would to a deadly animal. The frost was starting to surge on his palm but yet he didn’t attack. The place was secluded but not enough for a full on battle to go unnoticed.

“Of all the places in this city, I find you here.” She still did not turn to face him. “How odd, isn’t it?”

Jack didn’t answer, sizing her up. He felt relief that she hadn’t take the steak knife with her, but that feeling burst when he realized she was far more deadly without it.

“And here I was planning such a show for when we met again.” Persephone said in her usual tone; the type of confident voice that came from always holding all the cards.

“Eager to see me, sweetheart?” The word escaped his mouth before he could help it.

They had slipped into well-known roles; their war of wits just as accelerating to him as their physical warfare.

“Flirt all you want, Frost.” Her head turned to glance at him, a smirk blooming in her lips. “But you’re not handing me over to the police just yet.”

The plants around them swooshed, but not because of the wind.

“Really?” Jack clenched his jaw, his muscles tensing. “And why is that?”

She now fully turned around and stepped forward, but he held his ground.

“Because you wouldn’t want to break your dear friend’s heart, would you?”

That sent a rush of fear through his blood. Instantly, a sharp spike of ice was forming onto his hand and was inches away from her neck. She didn’t even flinch. “If you dare harm Bunny or Tooth-”

“Spare me the theatrics, Frost.” She said calmly, as if she didn’t have an ice blade to her neck ready to run her through. “I’m not going to hurt any of them.”

Ok, that had him baffled.

“What?”

“I happen to truly care for Toothiana, and I even like Bunnymund enough to entrust him the safety and happiness of the only true friend I’ve ever had.” She firmly explained in all seriousness. “I would walk through burning coals for her and make anyone who hurts her wish they were dead.”

“What I meant to say is that we happen to be their best man and bridesmaid, quite crucial to their wedding if memory serves me right.” Emily continued to explain. “And I think it would put a damper on their wedding if I were to get rid of you or, in the most unlikely case, for you to send me to prison. That’s why I’ve decided we should reach a compromise.”

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

“A truce.” She replied with a confident smile. “I don’t go around on my nightly activities and you don’t try to throw me in jail while our friends are planning their wedding. Heck, we might have to work together to make it happen so it would be useful to not be at each other’s throats.”

Jack Frost had not expected this at all. Was she truly going to just play nice with him until their friends were married?

It felt like he was missing something. Once more, she had pulled the rug from under his feet.

Jack shook his head to clear out the fog, as the wheels spun inside his head. “How can I trust Burgess City’s top criminal to keep her word?”

“I guess it’s all about a leap of faith” She stepped closer and gently placed a hand on his chest, the ice dagger now pressing firmly against her skin but she paid it no mind since she was finding him far more interesting. The conflict that battled within those blue eyes of his was positively delicious, and so was his accelerated heartbeat. “Aren’t you heroes all about that, anyways?”

Silence stretched over them, both enemies sizing each other up for the others next move. But, in the end, it was him who spoke.

To be honest, he was probably making the biggest mistake of his life.

“Fine.” He warily acquiesced. “We play nice until Bunny and Tooth get married, but if I find out that you’re at it again then the deal is off.”

“Sounds good to me” She grinned, trying to suppress the mix of anticipation and adrenaline that had her self-control in such shaky grounds. “Now would you kindly put the icicle away? I need to get back to our table before Tooth gets worried.”

The spike vanished, and he retreated back so her influence would stop messing with his head.

She made her way out of the garden, but turned around to end their encounter with one last warning. “Don’t worry, once we cart them off to their honeymoon we can go back to destroying each other like always”

He didn’t grace her with an answer as the sharp click of her stilettos faded away in the distance.

Jack combed a hand through his hair and sighed.

There were definitely going to be some interesting months ahead of him.

TADA! Hope you liked it.

If you feel like sending asks, don´t hesitate to do so (it might take time but I’ll eventually get there, I promise!)

[crashdevlin]

Hands

TITLE: Hands

AUTHOR: @crashdevlin

PAIRING: Clint Barton X Reader

RATING: Explicit

SUMMARY: Y/n was on the fast track to being a high-level SHIELD agent until Hydra came out of the woodwork. Three years later, she’s working for the Avengers. Written for @fandom-and-feminism and @fadingcoast‘s Marvel Smut Writing Challenge.

NOTES/WARNINGS: Genius!Reader, SHIELD Agent!Reader, brain damage, angst (cause of brain damage), self-worth issues (cause of brain damage), masturbation, elevator sex, oral sex (fem and male rec), a bit of dirty talk, unprotected sex, semi-public sex

PROMPT:  Character A speaks multiple languages and Character B thinks A can’t speak their language, until A reveals they have heard all the things B has said about them, and how bad B wants them.

The first time it happened was the first time he walked into the Avengers compound and saw you. Even from across the room, the very large room, even with your own eyes focused on Tony Stark (who was running down the specs of an Iron Man suit he was midway through creating in such a rapid fashion that you couldn't help but think he was trying to overwhelm you with tech talk) you could feel eyes on you. You maneuvered yourself so that you could see who was staring at you in the reflection of a high, tilted window over Tony's head.

You watched as Clint Barton grabbed Natasha Romanoff's attention and his hands flew into action. *Who is the new girl?*

Romanoff's hands are impossibly fast, so fast that you almost didn't catch her spelling your name out, alphabetically and following with *Ex-S-H-I-E-L-D, out of commission since S-H-I-E-L-D fell.*

*Operation or Technology?*

Natasha smirked as she made a 'V' with her right hand and slid it through the cup shape of her left hand. *Both.*

Clint's eyes went wide. *No shit?*

*Semester with Technology, summer with Operation. P-h-D in Chemistry and Mechanical Engineering. Highest mark given on my Operation course.*

*Shit.* He looked away from you and picked up his quiver from the ground. You had to read his lips for the next bit. "Too smart for an idiot like me."

"I'm gonna go ahead and stop you, Mr. Stark, because the last thirty seconds you've just been spouting nonsense. I've researched your work, especially the mechanical complexity of the Iron Man Suits marks 1 through 35 and Obadiah Stane's Warmonger armor. Mark 1 is actually my favorite because it was built with practically nothing besides your genius." Your eyes fell to Tony's face, which was looking a bit proud but mostly just shocked. "I recognize that I am not as intelligent as you, sir, I think there's only a handful of people who come close, but do spare me the bullshit. I need to save the brainpower I've got for real issues."

"Right. Welcome to Team Avengers." He said, with a smirk.

"Thank you. Now, if you don't mind?"

"I do not." He said, gesturing away from you.

You smiled and walked over to Natasha. "Agent Romanoff!"

The redhead smiled at you as you approached. "We're not SHIELD anymore, y/n. You can call me 'Natasha'."

"Right. Of course."

"And this is Clint, also no longer SHIELD." Natasha said, nodding at Clint.

You smiled. "Of course I know Hawkeye." You offered your hand and he took it with a nod. "I did a study on you for extra credit in my Marksmanship class."

"You what?!" His eyebrows scrunched together.

"Yeah. I mean, I didn't really need to do the extra credit but it did boost my GPA to a 4.8 and that was nice." You dropped his hand and tucked your arms behind your back. "Besides, I had a weekend free."

"A 4.8? I didn't think there was a 4.8." Clint said.

"What can I say? I'm an overachiever."

"How's the head?" Natasha asked.

"Doctors say it's as good as it's gonna get. Got a gnarly scar, though." You said, flipping your hair to show the scar across your scalp from the Hydra bullet that had you in a coma for months and extensive therapy afterward.

"Your first battle wound. Nice." Natasha said with a smirk.

"What happened?" Clint asked.

You chuckled and dropped your hair. "Hydra doesn't really take 'no' easily. When they took the Tech Academy, they tried to convince me to turn and I spit in their faces... and shot three of them." You shrugged. "So they shot me back. I'm sure they thought I was dead."

"But a bullet can't keep this one down. Was it three months in a coma?" Natasha asked.

"No, six months in a coma, eighteen months of physical and cognitive therapy. I'm at about seventy percent which is..." You gave a small sigh, a flash of depression shooting through you. "...good as it's gonna get, but still, apparently, good enough for Tony Stark."

"We're lucky to have you. You at seventy percent is better than most of the agents that ever came out of the SHIELD academy." Natasha praised.

You nodded, not really believing her. "Thanks, Natasha. I just work harder than everybody else."

"So... sorry... you're not gonna be in the field, then?" Clint asked.

Natasha touched the fingers of her right hand to her forehead, then brought them down to a 'y' shape. *Why?*

Clint smiled as he turned to Nat and quickly responded. *She hot and broken. She would make me distracted.*

*I'm not?*

*I'm immune to your charisma. No distracted.*

"I'm offended, Clint." Natasha said, obviously not meaning it. "She'll be fine in the field, won't you, y/n?"

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth. "I'll need to do extensive training with the team before I trust myself in the field. You know, learn limits, yours and mine. Luckily, I'm good for more than just kicking ass, so... Anyway."

"Have they set you up in one of the rooms, yet?" Natasha asked as the two of you walked away from Clint.

"Yes. I'm right down the hall from Captain Rogers' room."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second time it happened was after you'd been working with the Avengers for about a month. Tony was throwing a party. You learned quickly that Tony liked his parties, small and big. You usually went for the wallflower approach for his parties, especially the big ones. With that much going on, it played hell with your concentration. You supposed it was good practice, though, since a fight was almost never gonna happen in an isolated environment.

"~ey, y/n. ~~~~ rink?" Clint's voice came across in pieces.

You turned on the couch to look at him. "What?"

"I asked if you wanted a drink." He answered as he sat on the arm of the sofa.

You gave a nervous chuckle and shook your head. You gestured at your temple. "I don't think that'd be a good idea."

"'Cause your brain thing?" He asked softly.

"Yeah. It's not..." The words stalled in your throat. "I..." Your eyes clenched closed as you fought to get your brain to cooperate.

"Hey, it's cool. Don't stress. That makes it worse, right? Water?"

"Thin Q. Fuck. Thank. You." You stressed, forcing a deep breath.

"What did I just say?" He smirked as he jumped up and rushed to the bar to get a glass of water. You smiled at him as he handed you the glass. "So, have Tony and Bruce come up with anything for the... you know, to get you to a hundred percent?"

You balanced the cup on your knee and sighed. "Uh, they're working on a.... a... not a hat... a... god, it's bad tonight." You tried to shut out the music and the conversations around you as you took a deep breath and tried again. "A helmet that will help heal the remaining scarring and then they're planning to... something with the synaptic connections." You shook your head in frustration.

"Hey, it's not-"

"Don't tell me it's not so bad, Clint." You snapped. He raised an eyebrow at you as you looked down at your lap. "You don't know what it's like... to be... I'm a genius. I was top of my class, every class, and now I can't remember the word 'helmet' and I can't trust myself to do my damn job without fucking it up." Tears popped up around your eyelashes as you spoke. "Do you know how many times I've had Tony come behind me and check my work to make sure I haven't fucked something up so bad that I'd get you all killed? Do you know how many times he's found problems?"

You barked an unamused laugh. "I don't. He doesn't even tell me. He just fixes it and moves on. I don't even know why he hired me."

"Y/n..."

"I'm such a waste here." You stood, quickly, ignoring the glass of water that fell to the ground at your feet. "I'm... you... I... fuck. Why is my foot wet?" You looked down, seeing the overturned glass. "Damn it!"

"Hey, just sit back down. I'll get a towel." Clint said, softly, without an ounce of pity.

You knew that most of the others at the party, the non-Avengers and non-SHIELD agents, they would likely assume that you were just drunk, as you cried while Clint dried your foot off. Natasha, however, knew that wasn't the case. Her hands went to work as soon as Clint looked up at her. *She okay?*

Clint looked at you as you wiped at your cheeks. *She overwhelmed.* He stood and looked down at you. "You all right?"

You looked up at him and nodded, slightly. "Sorry to unload on you like that."

"Don't apologize." He walked away to stand with Natasha, but he must not have wanted anyone to listen in to their conversation because he started to sign to her. *She wants to be herself again.*

Natasha shook her head. *She was in a C-O-M-A for six months, C. She has brain damage. She's lucky to be alive.*

*I know. She knows. Does not make better. She thinks she should not be here.*

Natasha smirked. *Afraid she will leave?*

*N., don't start this again.* Clint turned to walk away but the redhead stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

*You have a thing for her. Why don't you just tell her?*

*She has enough worry. Maybe when she better.*

Natasha gave a pointed look at the archer. *And if she doesn't get better? Spent a month hearing you cry about-*

*I don't cry.*

*You do. All the time. You tell me how pretty she is, how sweet, how smart. I am your best friend, but I can't keep hearing about how much you want to fuck her. Man up.*

Clint looked offended. *Fuck you, N.*

She smirked as she signed. *Will that bring your balls back?*

*Why do I talk to you?*

*No one else knows Sign Language.*

You bit your lip and stood, silently excusing yourself from the party to go to your room. No wonder Clint was so nice to you, he wanted in your pants. Not that you were opposed to that idea, the revelation just couldn't come at a worse time. While you were dumbed down and frustrated, not feeling even seventy percent of your former self... how could you even begin to entertain the thought of sex?

But as you lied in bed, you did entertain the thought of sex with Clint. You entertained the thought of his muscular archer's arms, his blond hair and blue eyes. You thought about those calloused fingertips on your ankle as he dried your foot, imagined how those fingertips would feel on your other, more sensitive places. Your hand slid under the band of your pants and between your legs, fingertips sweeping across your clothed lips for the first time since before you got shot. You gasped at the feeling, trying to move slowly even as you started to get excited.

You didn't realize how much you'd missed this feeling. The heat slowly rising under your skin, blooming between your thighs. You slipped your hand into your panties and brought your middle finger between your lips. "Oh." You breathed out as your finger slid into your entrance. You slid it out, pulling your hand up to circle your newly-wet finger around your clit. You started to repeat the action over and over, adding your first finger to the middle one. It didn't take long for you to throw out the plan of moving slowly, rubbing furiously at your bundle of nerves. "Fuck!" You moaned out as your body exploded with your first orgasm in years. "My god." You panted.

You sat up, pulling your hand from your pants and looking around the room. "You know what..." You whispered to yourself, before stomping out of your room and back into the party. You zeroed in on Clint and walked up to him with a confidence that you'd only been faking since you woke up. "Hey."

"Hey, y/n." He looked down at you from his spot on the balcony, his feet hanging over the railing. "You feelin' better?" He shouted over the music.

"It's a little louder than-"

"What?!"

You chuckled and raised your hands. *It loud here.* You signed at him.

Clint's eyes widened. *You sign?* He scrambled to his feet and hopped over the railing to land at your feet.

"When I woke up, I couldn't talk. I had damage to my vocal cords from the intubation, so I had to learn ASL. The simplified, non-verbal communication fit really well with my capacity at the time... and it was interesting, learning different dialects of ASL. Like, did you know that there are three or four different ways to sign the word 'fellatio'?"

Clint's mouth made a surprised 'o'. "Uh. I mean... yeah. They're all pretty much pantomiming the act. There's only one for... you know, for women. Why didn't you tell me that you could sign?"

"You don't use it very often. I never use it, anymore."

"But, I do use it. Nat and I use it for coded communication."

"I know." You smirked up at him. "It's kinda cute for you guys to stand there, having these conversations that you think are secret. She's pretty affectionate when she thinks no one can hear her. Until you frustrate her, of course."

"Frustrate her?"

"Yeah. Then she tells you to 'man up'."

His eyes went wide and you kinda loved the amount of light shining in the bright blues. "You saw that?"

You shrugged. "I've got brain damage, not eye damage. You were literally twenty feet away."

"Yeah, speaking of... you seem really-"

"I went and rested and thought about things and got my brain situated and decided that I'm not gonna let you use my damage as an excuse for your cowardice."

"My what?"

"Laziness more accurate?" You asked, smirking.

"Hey, whoa. That's kinda rude, y/n."

"Clint. Seriously. I'm saying I'm interested. Do you need to adjust your hearing aids? Or should I sign it?" You made a 'V' with each of your hands and tapped them together, then pointed at yourself. *Fuck me.*

"Are you drunk?"

"No. You know I haven't had a drop."

"Then this is some of that poor judgment shit that comes with the-"

"Why would it be poor judgment, Clint?"

"Because I'm me. You know me. I'm not worth-"

"Oh, my god, dude! I thought I had self-worth issues but you are ridiculous." You grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and pulled him down into a kiss. His hands immediately grabbed your hips, pulling you closer to him as you opened your mouth and licked his lips. You let go of his shirt and wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his and forcing his hands to slide back to your ass.

"About damn time!" Tony yelled across the room as he started toward you. He was drunk. Tony usually was by this point of the party. "We've all been waiting for you to make a move since I hired her, Barton."

You both pulled out of the kiss to look at the billionaire but didn't give up your embrace, holding onto each other as your teammates surrounded you. "He didn't move." Steve said, taking a drink of beer.

"She did?" Tony asked. "Wow. You know, I expected better of you, y/n/n. Out of all of the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes in this building, you pick that one?"

You chuckled. "Let's just chalk it up to the brain damage putting me on Barton's level and leave it at that."

"Hey. Rude." Clint responded, slapping his hand across your ass. You jumped and giggled. "Anyway, Stark, if you were that invested in me making a move, why didn't you say something?"

"Pepper told me not to."

"We all did." Steve said, smiling. "Because it's less his business than it is Natasha's."

"He complained to me about it for a month. It's my business." Natasha said.

"You know this asshole was using my TBI as an excuse not to step up? Who does that?"

"Someone who knows he's a stress magnet and wanted you to get well before he added shit to your manure pile?" Barton answered.

"You think I can't take your stress? I survive every day with the knowledge that I'm never gonna be who I was before Hydra got a hold of me. I can handle you, arrow guy."

"Yeah, we'll see." He pulled out of the embrace and smirked. *My bedroom or your bedroom?*

"Mine. Duh." You pulled him toward the elevators. "You know, I've seen your medical file, Hawkeye. A few more concussions and you'll be just as brain-fucked as I am."

"So, I got, what, two weeks?" He joked, tapping the 4 button on the elevator.

"If you're lucky." You smirked at him as the doors slid shut.

"You sure you wanna do this, y/n?"

"Clint." You shook your head. "Hydra has taken so much from me. My brain, my career, my friends, they've taken three years of what should've been an active and acrobatic sex life. They're not taking any more. Fuck me, dude. I'm not a glass doll."

"All right, but if I break you, the only one you have to blame is yourself."

"Your dick's not that big, Clint."

"You haven't even seen it, yet!" He said, offended.

"You wear a tight leather suit on missions and tight jeans at parties. I'm more aware than you think."

"Maybe I'm a grower. Ever think of that?"

"Every guy's a grower, Barton. That's basic male anatomy."

"Yeah, but some guys grow bigger, like exponentially, than other guys."

You rolled your eyes. "Clint. I want it no matter the size, okay? You don't need to be all defensive. I haven't been laid since two weeks before I got shot. I'm not looking for some monster-"

"Look." He grabbed your hands and pulled you closer to him. "I'm not trying to be some compensating asshole here." He placed your hands on the bulge in the front of his jeans and you ran your fingers across an erection that was a lot bigger than it always seemed in his super suit.

"Oh. Well... still don't think it's gonna break me, but let's get to bed and let's see."

"That sounds like a challenge, babe."

"Are you calling me a pig or a child because either would be weird considering how hard you are for me right now?" You squeezed him through his jeans and he grunted.

"Woman. I meant 'woman'. Hot, sexy, super-genius... fuck, FRIDAY, how long's it take to get to the fourth floor?"

"It takes exactly forty-five seconds to get from the ground floor to the support staff housing on the fourth floor, Mr. Barton, assuming there are no stops on the floors between. However, I was instructed by Mr. Stark to run the elevators on their slowest setting. He said we needed to allow Miss y/l/n time to come to her senses." The Irish-accented AI explained over the unseen speakers.

"What a prick." You laughed. You shrugged. "All right, then. He wants us to spend our time in the elevator? Boss' orders. Hey, FRIDAY?"

"Yes, Miss y/l/n?"

"I think we're gonna need you to hold this elevator right where it is. Do not open the door for anyone except us. And, FRIDAY? It's 'Doctor y/l/n'."

"Yes, Doctor y/l/n."

You turned back to Clint and moved your hand from his bulge to his belt, flicking it open and going to work on his button and zipper. He looked down at you with wide eyes. "Are we really gonna do this here? I-I mean, I'm cool with it, it's just... you've never really seemed like the 'Love in an Elevator' kinda chick."

"It's a completely enclosed space, Clint. No windows. No one around. This is nothing. I once had a quickie in the elevator at the Triskellion."

"The one on the outside of the building?"

You nodded. "With all those windows, yeah." You hooked your fingers in his waistband and pulled his jeans and tight briefs down to pool over his black boots. "Wow." You raised your eyebrow as you wrapped your hand around his dick and ran your hand from the base to the tip. "Your tighty-whiteys are the reason you don't show, Barton."

"Those are black." He ground out through clenched teeth.

"Whatever. I've got brain damage, you're gonna mess with me about a damn color?" You didn't give him an opportunity to respond, licking the tip of his cock and letting your tongue slide along the underside.

"Fuck, y/n." He grunted, throwing his head back to thud against the shiny metal of the elevator paneling as you started bob back and forth on his dick. He moved to grip the railing tightly, his knuckles going white as his breathing picked up, heavy and hard. "You are... You are so good at that."

You pulled back and stood, leaving his dick wet and ready for release. "Thanks. You any good at it?"

"What is with you challenging me tonight?" He asked, annoyed as he pushed you against the opposite wall. He dropped to his knees and pulled your jeans and panties to your feet. "You're the one who hasn't done this in a bajillion years." He knocked your knees open wider and dove in, tongue first, licking his wide tongue at your clit as the thick middle finger of his left hand slid into your entrance.

You had to hold onto the railing to keep from falling over as he assaulted you with his tongue and fingers, sliding another in to join his middle finger and pumping them hard and fast, curling them every other time they were fully inside of you. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Yeah, yeah." He muttered, licking his fingers as he stood and grabbed your shoulders, turning you around and bending you over. "Spend the last half hour challenging me and bein' a bitch. I'll fuck you. Fuck you 'til you can't move."

You slapped the wall of the elevator, your head hanging as the thick head of his cock pressed into your entrance. He pressed in slowly, pulling a moan out of you which turned into a whine as he grabbed your hips and pushed in the rest of the way with one hard thrust. "Fuck, Clint."

"You know, I didn't know you were such a dirty fucking whore. Making me fuck you from behind in the elevator, when anyone could see us on the cameras."

"Didn't make you do shit." You groaned. "You just rose to the challenge, arrow guy."

He snapped his hips forward several times, causing your head to drop forward. "Doesn't matter. You're dirty as hell and I fuckin' love it!" He muttered behind you. "Come off so sweet and perfect, but you aren't. Fuck, y/n."

"Reserved ain't the same as sweet. And fuck, Clint, harder."

"Sure thing." He said, tightening the grip he had on your hips and starting to pull you back against him with every thrust of his hips. The sounds of skin slapping against each other and the squelching sound of wetness filled the elevator, barely overshadowed by staccato moans and grunts. "Shit. I... y/n, shit." Clint groaned, moving his left hand to your shoulder and his right hand to sweep across your clit, urgently.

"Don't cum in me. Don't you dare-"

"Shut up!" He growled, his thrusts beginning to stutter. He took a deep breath, his fingers rolling your clit. "I won't, just fuckin'- Just cum already so I can."

"Such a gentleman. Letting the lady go first." He pinched your clit lightly and you moaned as your climax rolled across you. Clint gave two more pumps of his dick into you and then pulled out. You dropped to your knees and wrapped your lips around his cock, enjoying the twitching of the muscle as he filled your mouth with cum.

As you swallowed and licked your lips, you looked up at him as he panted, looking down at you with blown-out blue eyes. "You know... I don't think you're a lady." He chuckled, reaching down to correct his clothes.

You smirked as you stood, taking your pants and panties up to your waist as you did. "I'm okay with that. You?"

"Eh. Who wants a lady?" *I'd rather have a dirty whore.* He signed with a smirk.

"Well, you've apparently got one." You licked your lips and took a deep breath. "FRIDAY, take us to floor four, please."

"Yes, Dr. y/l/n."

*Dirty whore not done yet.* You signed, before leaning up and pressing your lips to his. Clint smirked, following you out as the elevator doors opened. No, you were not done by a long shot.