#it’ll at least get them to reconsider | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rachetmath · 5 months

Text

Jaune the Strategist

Jaune: Um… General Ironwood? I have a question.

Ironwood: What is it Mr. Arc?

Jaune: Why not release the video footage of Tyrian killing a bunch of people?

Clover: Are you crazy? If we release such a video it cause panic in Mantle.

Jaune: I hear you. But... isn’t the Atlas military already being framed for countless murders?

Ironwood: Yes.

Jaune: And no one in Mantle is willing to follow protocol because they don’t trust us right?

Ironwood: Well... yes.

Jaune: Okay. So why not use this to our advantage?

Ruby: Explain.

Jaune: I mean come on. Seriously? We have proof. We have video display. And if this has been happening for a while then we have dead bodies that can hold our case.

Ironwood: Mr. Arc, I’m going to need you to further elaboration.

Jaune: What’s there to- Look, Tyrian has been killing people for a while, right?

Qrow: Yeah.

Jaune: We have video proof that he committed the massacre at Robin’s party. We could just report this and clear Penny’s name.

Ironwood: That is true.

Jaune: Plus with the few bodies Tyrian left behind, which I’m hoping your Atlas soldiers investigated completely. Like the time and location of death. As well as how they died. Basically if Tyrian left multiple victims, can’t we compare them to the other corpses from the party.

Ironwood: Huh.

Jaune: Not only that but Tyrian has a poisonous tail. Didn’t some of them have a hint poison consumed or at least small pick to their bodies.

Ironwood: Oh. That is something to consider.

Clover: Okay, but still doesn’t change the fact if we tell the people a killer is on the loose it will cause panic.

Jaune: True. But it could also make people listen. Think about it, they’re already being invaded by grimm everyday. And now they have killer amongest them. Wouldn’t that force them to reconsider they’re options?

Clover: … My… My Oum he could right.

Marrow: Okay but what about Robyn?

Jaune: Mantle’s Champion? Happy Huntresses? Are you serious? Do you honestly think she would not make a killer her top priority?

Marrow: Huh.

Jaune: I’m just saying, why are we keeping this under raps and quickly turning to Martial law?

Ironwood: Wow… anything else Mr.Arc

Jaune: Why frame Penny?

Ruby: She’s the Protector of Mantle.

Jaune: She also a robot. With a human soul. Who recorded everything! Who so far never got hacked? So why her specifically? If anything I would have got Penny out the way and framed one of the Ace-ops. Specifically Marrow. Hell why not frame Robyn herself?

Marrow: Whoa why me?

Jaune: You know why.

Blake: But tell us why.

Ironwood: Damn he’s right. That absolutely makes sense considering he’s a Faunus and recent member of the Ace ops.

Jaune: Exactly.

Blake: Are you two serious?!

Jaune: Blake think about how much conflict that would cause. A faunus in the Atlas military. An Ace operative killed and injured a bunch of innocent people. Humans and faunuses mind you. Not only would that cause division amongest the people of Mantle but the school and the soldiers.

Ironwood: He’s right. We have faunases who attend this school and are apart our units.

Jaune: It’ll be chaos. Racism and Hatred in the air. And with that much negativity the grimm attacks would be sky rocketing to the masses. Screw trying to get Amity Arena up we might as well have focused our time on containment. Hell that would been a better reason to initiate Martial law. Something I think Robyn would agree to. Considering Fiona is a faunus and her teammate.

Ironwood: So basically framing Penny was-

Jaune: A stupid idea? ABSO-FREAKEN-LUTLY!! Who ever made this plan had to be dumb as bricks.

Watts: *sneezes*

Jaune: I’m mean now I might as well ask this question. Has anyone ever disagreed with Penny’s creation?

Ironwood: I mean-… ... actually... yes we had a few people who disagreed.

Jaune: Also if you have a file for Tyrian, then what about Cinder, Emerald, Mercury or Hazel?

Ironwood: Why yes we---- Hold up. You all saw Hazel?

Jaune: Yeah.

Ironwood: And you survived?

Nora: Yes. Though with our tails between our legs. How do you know him?

Ironwood: How do you think I lost half of my body?

Jaune: Damn. And I thought Ren and Qrow had it worse. How powerful is he?

Ironwood: He crippled Ozpin.

Oscar: (And he said he stood a chance. He could’ve killed us both.)

Jaune: (We’ll most definitely need to jump him.) An-anyways, back on topic. So, who out all the other people were against the Penny project? Simply put who hates Pietro the most?

Ironwood: Well… there was Professor Watts.

Jaune: Professor Watts?

Ironwood: He was an inventor as well. He was even to soul creator of the Atlas robots you’re associated with. However he died in accident.

Jaune: How long ago?

Ironwood: Months ago?

Jaune: Okay now that’s weird.

Weiss: So what Jaune? He died.

Winter: Yes but I understand why Mr.Arc is suspicious. In Cinder’s file, after committing four first degree murders she disappeared.

Jaune: Then she suddenly appears back at Beacon with a way to hack the military.

Clover: Tyrian was captured but then escaped and he disappeared as well.

Qrow: Then he came out nowhere and tried to capture Ruby.

Ironwood: Hazel disappeared once too.

Oscar: And then I saw him on my way to Mistral.

Jaune: Is any of this making sense?

Ironwood: Yes. Clover I need you to follow up on some the victims of the previous crimes. And Winter I need you look into Watt’s case. Lets make sure he’s dead. If not we need evidence.

Winter: Yes sir.

Ironwood: Well, Mr. Arc it seem I underestimated your intelligence. I will not call in Martial law.

Jaune: No-no. Keep it in mind.

Nora: SAY WHAT?! I THOUGHT YOU WERE TRYING TO AVOID IT!!

Jaune: I am. But Robyn could still cause trouble for us down the road. We need to be ready when she could take things too far.

Nora: But-

Ironwood: It’s only if she continues to be an obstacle.

Nora: *silent*

Ironwood: Alright. Everyone back to work. Keep an eye out for Tyrian. And if you learn anything you report to me immediately.

Ace-ops: Yes sir.

Ren: Yes sir.

*JNPR Dorm Room*

Nora: Jaune, I can’t believe you sided with Ironwood.

Ren: Nora, it is a constitutions plan. It’s not going to happen.

Nora: I’m just saying the people of Mantle are already having a hard time.

Ren: I understand but-

Nora: But what? That getting Amity Arena up is more important than helping the people.

Ren: What about the world? What about all of Remnant?

Nora: How can help the world if we can’t help a country?!

Ren: We can’t always focus on the small things Nora. We need to consider the bigger picture.

Nora: So after all we’ve been through before you want to throw that away?

Ren That not what I’m saying. I-

Jaune: ENOUGH!!

Jaune: Please. Stop arguing.

Ren: Jaune, look I want to say-

Jaune: Stop. Sit. Both of you.

Nara and Ren: *sit separately from each other*

Jaune: Look, Nora, I understand. I know Mantle going through hard times. Due to the trading routes and transportation being limited, people are starting to struggle to get in and out of city. Stores and companies are closed so people are having trouble finding work. And without work, they can’t make money. And without money they can’t pay rent nor provide for their families. Basically majority of those people might as well not have homes soon.

Nora: Then you know why Martial law can’t happen. It will make things worse.

Jaune: Yes. That is why I would rather keep it as a last resort. However, with Mantle’s lack of funding and resources, I almost can’t blame Robyn for what’s she’s doing. However, two wrongs don’t make a right.

Nora: Hmm.

Ren: Well said Jaune.

Jaune: And you. Don’t think I’m openly siding with Ironwood. I only did that because I need everyone on the same page.

Ren: Jaune.

Jaune: At Beacon, Amber, Ozpin and Pyrrha died. Then the world got divide. Mistral, we almost died.

Nora: We survived.

Jaune: Through the skin of our teeth Nora! We got lucky! And Hazel, Emerald and Mercury stilled escaped!

Nora: *hates when he’s right*

Jaune: Now Tyrian is here. And even if my theory on Watts is correct, we still don’t know what they’re up to. Not to mention, we’re keeping secrets too. Especially, about Salem., who may have sent them here to retrieve the lamp. And worse, kill Oscar.

Nora and Ren: … … …

Jaune: Look… … Basically what I’m saying we need to be careful. We are no longer students. We are hunters. Every move we make could jeopardize what we are trying to accomplish. Even the people we trust could be a problem if we’re not careful.

Nora: So you don’t trust Ruby?

Jaune: Yeah. But keeping these secrets could get us in trouble, or most likely, have a gun to our heads. And Ironwood has plenty of them compared to us.

Ren: So what should we do?

Jaune: We do what we started this journey for. We search for answers.

#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #weiss schnee #lie ren #nora valkyrie #penny polendina #tyrian callows #james ironwood #winter schnee #clover ebi #rwby marrow #jnpr #hazel rainart #rwby watts #oscar pines #qrow branwen #blake belladonna #robyn hill

223 notes · View notes

ofallthingsnasty · 4 months

Note

Pretty please could you do F, H, N, or Y for crocodile one day! I’m curious on your thoughts about him and I love when you talk about him 😭 my new obsession is the pug who he hates but tolerates just for you, so sweet 🥺

Yandere Alphabet letters a, i and q for crocodile hdsjahj anon I'm glad you like my rambles because they are so much fun to write 💕💕 regarding the little dog - don't be fooled, it's 50% him wanting to see you happy and 50% having even more leverage over you 🤭 mean man...

tw.yandere, violence, minors dni

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Uh oh, you might want to reconsider doing that. You call it fighting back, he calls it being an ungrateful, whiny little brat and it pisses him off. There are few things that make his blood boil when it comes to you, and being defiant and insulting him is one of them. Does he know that you’re here against your will? Sure. Does he care? No. You see, he views himself as some sort of provider - he’s giving you a life a million times better than your old one. You’re cared for, well-fed, nicely dressed, don’t have to work - really, your only job is to play house when he’s around (which he isn’t all that often, busy as he is). He doesn't even expect you to fuck him for it, he just wants someone to come home to, who will let him rest his head on their lap and caress it. (Of course, he oh-so-graciously ignores the gigantic power imbalance between the two of you when it suits him, especially when it comes to the bedroom. But generally speaking, I think he can be rather mellow compared to others, can even be reasoned with to a certain extent. Just be good for him.)

He thinks he’s being more than generous, more than fair - for the position you're in. A lesser pirate would have killed you by now, he tells you, would have gotten a new toy already. No, no - he is here to stay, he wants to see you thrive, even.And if you throw it all in his face, spit at him, dare to fight him - oh, what he’ll feel will be beyond good and evil. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, darling.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Okay, good news first: When it comes to Crocodile, I’d argue that the worst experience is really limited to just one. I’ve talked about him physically lashing out at you in a moment of rage and in the weeks that have passed that thought kind of stuck with me. At his core, this man doesn't want to hurt you (deeply). Manipulating you with visual threats and possibilities is one thing, but genuinely injuring you to make you bend to his will? Not really his style. Yes, he does corporal punishments - but only because they’re so effective and can be done so quickly. (A classic action - réaction, if you will.) So, what exactly is that nebulous worst experience? It’s him either using his Devil Fruit powers or his hook on you. To even get to that point, he’d have to be beyond angry with you. It’s probably something that happens early on while you’re not yet acquainted with your new role and you dare to insult him, try to escape - maybe you spiral, his temper simply cooks over and- Trust me, he’ll never do it again. It’ll leave permanent physical damage. But it’ll also traumatize you into submission, which is the only good thing to come out of this, at least to him. You’ll both regret it. And you’ll both learn from it.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Spankings. Lots of them. It’s quick, efficient, shows you who is in charge, makes you sit a little straighter, makes you sweeter - he isn’t beyond mind games in general but when it comes to punishments, a quick correction is just more convenient. Manipulation and the likes are the long con, the work he puts in to undermine your self-esteem, to make you doubt your own feelings for your captor. But the spankings are the here and now, the thing that keeps the cat from sharpening its claws on the sofa.

You’ll learn to associate that telltale-look of tired disappointment with a sigh and over my knee, darling. He’ll ask what you’ve done wrong, will make you count, will leave you feeling so small, like an unruly child and not a fully grown adult - it’s a great way to keep you edge, to never let you forget who is in charge here, no matter how much time passes and in how many gifts he showers you.

And if it’s really dire - you get the belt.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

I always waver on this one. We know from the story that he isn’t afraid of planning, slowly building, waiting - Operation Utopia was a goddamn mammoth and he has the patience to wait on you for years and years to make it perfect - but. Doesn’t he deserve something soft? Someone to come home to? And what good is all that plotting and lying in wait and watching if he could have had you by that point already?He definitely won’t go ‘alright, that one’s spouse-shaped, put them in the bag’ when he sees you for the first time but he won’t wait too long for you either. Just long enough to gain sufficient intel, to get to know you a little better, to make your disappearance as smooth and seamless as possible. I’m not trying to sound harsh, but not only does he not want to wait too long - there are also other, more important things to do? He can’t spend months upon months learning about you inch by inch, he has an Ancient Weapon to seize and a country to overthrow. You can’t be mad at him when he pulls the plug at a certain moment and simply takes what he wants. It’s really only logical.

#omg that was waaaaay too much fun. thank you for indulging me!! kiss for you... 💕#tw.yandere #/crocodile #/one piece #yandere one piece #crocodile x reader

89 notes · View notes

emwritesstuff · 5 months

Text

DYNAMO | Steve Rogers x Reader | part 4.

HYDRA has made their share of human experiments. You're just one of them. One of the least successful ones. One of the least functional ones. At least your life in the facility gave you a few things: unwavering resilience, cool(ish) superpowers and a great sense of humor. Steve Rogers would strongly disagree with that last one. A single chance encounter with him reluctantly brings you into the Avengers Compound, and you're determined to make his life as miserable as you can. Feeling's mutual.

AO3 | Masterlist | Playlist (coming soon!)

notes: You meet an old acquaintance on your first mission as a probationary Avenger. Tensions arise from multiple fronts. The plot thicken's y'all. (warnings: mentions of human experimentation, violence, cursing, sexual tension) (5.1K words)

4: ENTROPY

Fury uses a laser pointer to indicate a location on the holographic map. The Avengers are about to be sent on a mission, and for the first time you’re invited for the briefing. It’s not the worst thing they dragged you to. There are snacks, and you get to sit and not get your butt kicked. You’re only supposed to help with the details of the facility they’ll be breaking into. “Our drone intel says it’s been evacuated; it’s completely empty. Of people. I doubt they left the security system disarmed.”

You nearly choke on an Oreo when he continues. “Which means it’ll be simple enough that we can send Sparky here for a test drive.”

“No!”

“No.”

You scowl at Rogers when he echoes your word. It’s one thing for you not want to do this – another entirely for him not want you to.

Completely different things.

Still. You really don’t want to go. Especially not back there, no matter how much Fury insists.

“Look. I know it’s part of my pardon, or whatever, to be a Revenger, okay? But I thought it was just so the government could use me as a lab rat and keep me locked up inside this building, which I’m fine with, by the way, thanks Stark for the mini fridge—”

“Y’er welcome.” Tony is leaning all the way back in his chair, munching on a cookie-Reese’s Cup-cookie sandwich.

“But not missions, alright? I’m not going.”

“Unfortunately, little-battery-who-could, you have no choice.” Fury puts his hands on the table, and you look at him. He has dark circles under his eyes, and you wonder if they were just part of his look at this point. “Or, you do. S.W.O.R.D made a big investment in you. It’s time to show them why – or go to the Raft.”

Your jaw went slack. A big investment.

An investment. An Asset.

Your eyes roamed the others present at the meeting – Tony, Natasha, Sam – and Rogers. You felt betrayed, and stupid for feeling so; none of this should come as a surprise for you.

Hands clench at your sides, opening and closing, weighing your options. You didn’t want to go back. Getting out had been hard enough.

“The Raft it is.” In a flash you’re up and everyone is set in motion at the same time as you – certainly to stop you from causing damage to government property.

Fury manages to suggest you reconsider before you storm out, fingers sparking as your temple starts to throb.

It’s Sam Wilson who reaches you at the elevator, and you curse how slow that thing was despite the building being filled to the brim with advanced technology.

Not advanced enough to make quicker elevators, apparently.

“Wait up, kid. Fury has a point, you know.” Sam raises his hands in front of his chest when you give him a nasty look. “Not about the investment thing. About the test drive!”

You cross your arms against your chest. “I’m not a car.”

“I know, I know—”

Natasha joins him on your other flank, essentially cornering you against the elevator doors.

“You’ve been holding back during training, so this is the perfect opportunity to—”

“I’ve been holding back because of the side effects, not because I care about hurting any of you!” It’s a half-truth. The migraines, nosebleeds, dizziness and everything else are annoying as shit.

But after two-something months, you have started to look forward to Pizza Fridays, to yoga with Wanda and to help Tony on his eternal quest of annoying Steve Rogers.

And knowing all of this you just recently got was at stake, balanced precariously on your Avengers performance, was harrowing. Because there is no way in hell you’re going to do well.

You know yourself. You’re not a hero. Not even close.

You’re not wired for that kind of stuff.

“I don’t want this! I don’t want to be owned by the United States Government, or S.W.O.R.D or any other acronym puns they come up with next. I’m done with that.” The elevator opens just in time, and you slip into it, but not quick enough that the two can’t follow you inside.

“So are we.” Natasha says, and she leans in as if she has a secret. Maybe she does. She looks around like she wants to tell you, but can’t. “We all got to sign some sort of Devil’s Deal after the Sokovia Accords, and Steve’s was this place. But this, is all temporary.”

“What do you even mea—”

“You’ll know. But in the meantime, use all the resources you got at hand to find your missing files.” She holds you by the shoulders, and you blink. She has a point. She has an excellent point.

You had agreed to all this circus for a reason, after all. If they wanted to use you, you might as well use them too.

“And kick some Nazi butt as an added bonus, Sparky.”

You exhale heavily, punching the button of the floor the three of you just left from. “Don’t. Call me. Sparky.”

“And what exactly are the bangles for? Style points?”

“Are you done being a smartass? I’m gonna explain it—but I won’t if you keep this up.”

Rogers is leaning against the wall, an amused little smirk on his annoying face while Stark – the inventor – gives you a taste of your own attitude. “You can see your vitals on this little screen right here. See? And if your brain activity spikes towards the dangerous level, it’ll beep so you can stop yourself before you go Weekend at Bernie’s on us.”

Tony finishes securing the two metal bands around your wrists and makes you get up from your chair.

“I have no idea what that is. Is it a club? I wanna go.” Tony looks at you in shock.

Then he looks at Rogers in shock when he speaks up. “It’s a movie, did you really not see—”

“Does he have to be here?”

“—it? It’s a classic.”

“It is a classic! Thank you. I’m actually surprised he’s seen it and you haven’t, Sparks.”

You put on your hands on your hips. “I’ve been a little busy these past few years. You know, escaping? Sorry if I haven’t seen one stupid old movie.” Rogers crosses his arms as Tony looks at you in disappointment. Only you could get them to agree on something. Awesome. “Does he have to be here?”

“I’m waiting for Bucky to finish his thing.”

“What thing? Can’t you do some sudoku outside his door like any other centennial?”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t answer, and Stark begins messing up with the software on your wristbands. On a screen you can see what you assume to be the 3D view of them, and as he works you can see your new accessories light up.

“Rogers. What thing?”

Before he can give some snappy response, Barnes himself appears on the door. “Deprogramming. Shuri comes once a month. Ready, Steve?”

You frown, another question ready at your lips, but Tony adds in. “For his murder words. Y’know, HYDRA’s favorite brainwashing technique?”

Steve scowls at Tony, but you don’t see it. You don’t see him clap Bucky on the shoulder, and say that he’s ready. You don’t see them both leave. You’re busy looking at your own hands.

The Wakandan scientist can do that?

Erase the programming from his mind, just like that?

“How—” They’re already gone when you look up. Tony is seemingly oblivious at the thoughts running a million miles per hour inside your head.

“Genius. That’s how. The bracelets are obviously not in your brain, but they can connect to your suit and give us the full body scans we need.”

“What? Wait.” You pause, just then registering what he had said. “My suit?”

“Yes, Sparky! You can’t go on a mission wearing those rags you call T-shirts.” You’re about to cuss him out when he asks FRIDAY to begin the grand reveal.

And grand it is indeed. A robotic hand descends, with a silver and dark grey tactical suit hanging neatly on it. It almost gleams under the fluorescent lights of the lab.

“Cool.”

“I know, I know. Don’t thank me yet though. It needs extra adjustments, but you can take this baby for a ride tomorrow. And we’ll fix whatever issues we find when you’re back.”

You have no words, and Tony knows it, looking at you smugly as you inspect the suit closely. It looks like it has the potential to… make you fit in. In a picture, at least.

The suit is really something. It has a set of lines on the torso, arms and legs that light up bright blue when you absorb electricity. It’s light and flexible. And it looks really good on you, as you find out the next morning.

Your butt looks exceptionally good in it, especially with the new set of muscle you’ve been building up. You spent a good five minutes staring at your rear in the mirror after you put it on.

“You look put together; I’m surprised.” Rogers said after you both entered the Quinjet, the first ones to arrive. He from his punctuality and you from sleeping very little the night before. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Thanks. Sorry I don’t have bloomers and a ballgown though, was running late this morning.” Giving him a sickly-sweet smile, you begin strapping yourself down on the farthest seat from him available.

Your hands are shaking as you fiddle with the many buckles – where’s Sam when you need him? – and it’s easy to say you’re a bundle of nerves. It’s not just the mission. It’s the destination. It’s the chances of it all going horribly wrong and going to the Raft being the best-case scenario.

You don’t even see Steve until he’s right on your face, yanking the buckles off your trembling fingers sternly, and looking at you through furrowed brows. “I don’t think your ensemble allows for the bloomers anyways,” He rasps, and you hold your breath from the proximity.

His eyes look like the sea during a storm from where you’re sitting, framed by perfectly thick eyelashes and expressive eyebrows. The smallest freckle on his cheek.

Fuck this dude. You had your seatbelts all under control.

“But for next time I’ll expect nothing less than a ballgown.”

He’s off you in an instant, and you snort at his little quip. “When did you grow a sense of humor?”

“Always had it. Sparky.”

And the moment’s ruined. You’re not a cat, but you feel like hissing at him. “Don’t—”

“Morning, children!” Tony enters the Quinjet like he owns it – he probably does – and with his arms up like he’s a popstar. One of them is holding Cap’s shield, and you frown.

You’re still looking between them when it’s given to Rogers. “Don’t forget I want it back as soon as you’re done with this – you’re still in probation no matter how many times you let me beat you at air hockey.”

The image of Steve Rogers playing air hockey – and losing – is almost as strange as Stark having custody of the shield. The very symbol of everything he stands for, and he has to give it back like a pair of shoes at the bowling alley?

You and him are back to being the only ones inside the jet after Tony leaves. “If you’re gonna say something—get it off your chest now.”

“I just— I don’t understand. Why does he have it? You clearly wear it better.” You gesture vaguely to his very poster-like form, standing by the opposite row of seats.

He frowns, but for once it’s not at you. “Howard Stark made it. I trust you know what happened to him. Who did it.”

Your jaw goes a little slack. Taking out Stark Senior was one of HYDRA’s biggest victories, you remember it well. The date was almost a holiday for them.

You don’t know what happened last year in detail, but you can guess, given the time of things. The death of the King of Wakanda, and Barnes’s arrest. The whole Avenger vs. Avenger match was a media frenzy at the time, even though the motives were still somewhat vague.

All of that happened, and yet, they’re all still sharing the same roof.

It clicks for you like a puzzle piece.

“This was your Devil’s Deal! This place, the shield—” It makes you almost sorry for him, giving up so much for the greater good. And somehow it doesn’t surprise you at all.

It’s been his modus operandi since 1945, hasn’t it?

“Wow, you guys are here already?” Steve is looking at you like you’ve gone insane when Sam walks into your transport. He takes one look at you and grins, cooing at you as he would a baby. “Look at you, all cute strapped up on your seat.”

You roll your eyes and give him the middle finger.

“You’re late.” Steve says, finally placing the shield on the back of his suit. It makes him look like a buff turtle, and you have to keep yourself from giggling.

“No, you two are just early.” Natasha is the last to join you, Banner following suit at her back. Your eyebrows shoot up and she ignores your questioning look as she takes over the command panels.

You know well that Banner isn’t coming with, and you doubt his reasons to see you all off is friendship or worry.

He fakes it by checking the connection of your wrist cuffs to your suit, but Stark had done that already. You know he’s too shy to give out any information. You’ll have to squeeze it out of one of them later – a mission more difficult than this one, you’re sure.

Planning a strategy for it is almost enough to distract you from your nerves—almost. You try to focus on Sam’s ever good-spirited rambling while you’re in the air, but your hands are back to being unsteady and your breath becomes shallow when the F.R.I.D.A.Y announces initiating landing sequence.

You manage to be discreet about it, unclasping the seat straps with what only seems like your natural ungracefulness. Watching silently as the distance between you and the permafrost grows narrower.

The ramp descends, leaving you once again vulnerable to the cold wind of the Norwegian mountains.

You’re freezing and nearly bare, running desperately through the snow, against winds at your chest and bullets at your back when Natasha nudges you on her way out. The last to leave the safety of the aircraft, you walk until you’re facing the tall iron doors of The Brutskaten, the others having stopped behind you.

You scowl at it like it can see you, like its doors are the maw of a beast ready to swallow you back in and bellow a welcome back, child, after it’s satisfied.

“Seems like the power’s still going.” Sam says, and you turn to see him inspecting a panel to the side. “Which means the security system is still on.”

He and Rogers move their eyes to Natasha, who promptly shakes her head. “I can try my way, sure. But we have to be careful. This place isn’t something you just break into, it—”

“I got it.” Moving away from the entrance, you approach the panel. What are the odds of they erasing your code amidst all that hurry?

Could one credential still be left? There’s only one way to find, and you take the safest route. Your oldest form of identification. Hiking up your right sleeve, you expose your forearm and the numbers tattooed on them to the cold air. All the breaths are held as you offer them to the camera on the panel.

A soulless voice fills the silence, followed by the heavy groaning of iron.

Projekt: Blitz. Asset-7463. Zugriff gewährt. Dostup Predostavlen. Access granted.

Easy enough. You’re entering this hell again and the only thing you can think of is that you’re damn lucky.

The accumulated dust inside makes you cough as you walk through the doors. You and the others move quietly and carefully, making little noise despite Sam’s constant sneezing.

“Damn allergies.”

The place seems like it’s been evacuated in a hurry, supplies and papers scattered everywhere, no one bothering to clean up their messes. A lot has been left behind; Natasha skims through at least five manila folders that were just sitting out in the open.

Everything is monochromatic, grey and lifeless; the high ceilings have always reminded you of some sort of temple, in which God is order and obedience is a prayer.

You’re not very religious.

It’s almost too easy – you go through the Via Crucis that is going deeper into the fortress, clearing room after room with the others, ignoring the memories that surface so you can get to your main objective: the research labs. Next to it there is a room with computers and files that should provide you with all the information this place still holds.

Natasha takes to that right away, pulling Sam with her in the dick move of the century. You’re left to inspecting the lab – your lab – with Cap, his shield and his high-strung mood that you’re not sure where or when he acquired it. You guess it happened right as you landed here. It was all going so well, and then he saw you be allowed back in like its Prodigal Daughter.

Your palms feel clammy as you eye the row of medical beds in slight disarray, most without any bedding whatsoever – a good long while since its last use.

“Is this a bad time to announce I’ve been a double agent all along? You’ve all fallen into my trap, yadda-yadda.”

You smirk as you can almost hear a vein in his forehead pop, even though you have your back to him, inspecting a surgical table next to the beds. Nothing much but a metal tray and empty bottles of sedatives.

“Do you really think this is time for jokes?”

You turn to him with a shrug. “It’s called lighting up the mood, Cap, you should know by now I’m an expert at that. In more ways than one.”

Rogers crosses the room in an instant, leaving you to stare up at him. “You need to focus. I won’t have you jeopardizing this mission—”

“Or what?” You hiss. “You’ll send me to the Raft? Haven’t I been a good girl for you?”

He leans in. You’re almost chest to chest, and you stiffen because any movement seems dangerous. “You’re so far from it I’m surprised you know the words.”

“Oh yes. I’m bad.” You chuckle, and his gaze becomes stormy. It’s new. It’s almost exciting. Your voice lowers as you whisper to his lips. “What, are you gonna punish me, Captain?”

Dumb ways to die.

Arms cage you against a desk, and pink lips curl into a smirk. “If I have to… Is that what you want?”

You swallow. His eyes follow the movement before returning to yours. His fingers ghost at your hip. Your skin tingles. He knows. It’s like standing at a cliff. If you fall, it will be into pink lips and large arms. And you’re tethering at the edge.

He smells like aftershave and something sweet you can’t put your finger on. You don’t dare take another breath.

If there is a god inside this place, it’s the same one who put wheels on the desk. It rolls back and pulls you with it, separating you from him and from a stupid thing you don’t want to do. The coffee that was left behind on it spills over on your hand, and you groan as you wipe it away. It takes you a couple seconds to notice what’s amiss.

“Is that really what gets you to be quiet—”

Steve stares as you lower yourself to the desk’s height. As far as anyone knew, it has been sitting in here for two years at least. Except there’s steam rising from it. “Coffee’s still hot.”

Steve blinks at you, and by the time he’s processed it the alarms start blaring, casting everything in a menacing red glow. Nat and Sam run in from the other room. “I think we set off some kind of—”

“It wasn’t us.” You say, and they frown at you as the information registers in their heads.

“We’ve got company. Someone was here just now, must’ve triggered the alarm.” Steve explains and turns to you. “If you were running out of here, where would you go?”

You lick your lips, a list of names going through your head when Rogers’ question brings you back.

“The Hangar. This way.”

Almost on autopilot, you speed through the endless corridors with the others on your heel. It feels strange to be the one chasing, but you shake it right off once your sight narrows on your runaway target.

Doctor Steiner is a little weasel of a man, beady, evil eyes behind thin glasses and a gravely receding hairline. He’s still wearing a white lab coat even though it has probably been a while since he tormented anyone with his profession, stains all over it as if he had been wearing it nonstop for days.

The big gate at the end of the hangar opens up almost lazily, bringing flurries of snow inside. You barely register the vehicle he’s trying to start and make his escape on, a large ATV that was surely no match for the Quinjet outside. But he didn’t know that. You don’t remember it, either.

Your focus is on the grin he gives you. “My, my, Fräulein, how far you have fallen.”

Fingers crackle with energy. The light flickers. The ATV groans but fails to start. Your head hurts.

He chuckles as you stalk towards him. You don’t even remember you have three other Avengers behind you, managing to follow close behind you. You should cool it down.

But it doesn’t matter how much the freezing wind chastises your skin, there is fire blazing behind your eyes. “I want my files. I know you have them.”

He cocks his head. Your hand shoots out and a blast of energy makes the gate stop halfway up. “You were to serve a greater purpose. Now you walk with these… Avengers.”

The corners of your lips turn down. You’re trying to summon more electricity to your palms, but all that happens is little snaps of lightning between your fingers. Steiner tuts, very much aware of your tribulation. No, fuck no. Not now, come on!

Some reprieve comes in the form Natasha and Sam landing on the other side of the hangar, right by the gate. Steiner isn’t going anywhere with the ATV. He knows it.

You realize you’ve gotten too close when he points a gun right at your forehead. “The Baron’s shining star. Such a waste. But surely you know I can’t let my work fall into the wrong hands.”

Before he pulls the trigger, you channel every Volt running inside your body to fry his brains out. Your hands spark to life – the edges of your sight darken and the monitors around your wrists beep – but if he manages to put a bullet in your skull at least you’ll have done one thing right in your life.

Except you don’t get to. The bullet hits a shield first, the same that blocks your vision of the doctor as your pulled away by the waist, then maneuvered to stay behind Captain America’s back.

“Are you out of your mind?” His mouth twitches as if he’d received some of the blast instead.

Serves him right.

“I had him!”

“You had a gun pointed right at your head.”

“I had him, Rogers.”

“You’re so goddamned reckless—” He says, but the German protests of a now restrained Dr. Steiner stops him.

Natasha barks for him to shut up. “I think you have something we’ve been looking for.” Sam crosses his arms, and Steve steps towards the doctor. It’s strange to be on the same side of the ring, you realize.

You don’t necessarily hate it.

“Give. Me. My. Files. And then maybe I’ll let Cap here be benevolent and lock you up.” Your hands ball into tight fists.

“Empty threats. There are no files, Fräulein. It is all in here,” You’re sure he’d be tapping his forehead if his hands weren’t bound behind his back. “you need me more than I need you.”

“We’ll see about that.” Steve growls.

Your eyebrows twitch as your hope dilutes itself. He was probably right – as the head of the Brutkasten Research department, there was no one who knew you more than he did. If there were no files anymore, then…

Fuck it. You’d rather let your brain explode than have another “appointment” with him ever again.

“Look at what just happened. You have always been a liability. Useful, yes—”

You want to scream at him, but for some reason you can’t. The feeling that you were something HYDRA and Captain America could finally agree on makes your lungs burn and your words vanish, nails marking crescents on your palms already.

“Effective, even! But dangerous when not on a tight leash—”

Steiner doesn’t get to finish. Steve’s fist lands heavily against the side of his head, and he isn’t built to take that kind of hit. “Fuckin’ windbag.”

The doctor’s head lolls to the side, and you finally manage to breathe. You push the shock that comes with the act for later; there’s more important things at hand.

Dr. Steiner made Steve Rogers say fuck.

The Doctor from Hell is whisked away to a government prison facility as soon as you land – that means you don’t get to spend even 10 minutes under the same roof, and you’re thankful for that.

He manages a “I’ll be expecting your visit, Fräulein!” before Steve drags him away, and a shudder runs down your spine. Never seemed like a good date for that.

You’re also thankful Natasha is put in charge of his interrogation – you don’t hear anything about it, not even the intel she’s gathered. The knowledge that you’re being shielded from all of this should be comforting.

Still, as you watch Bruce scribble and cross off things in his notebook during your weekly check-up, you get restless.

Nothing new. Just his own theories and counter theories. Which means Steiner isn’t talking.

Which means the fucker is waiting for you.

You sleep on the idea for a couple days – it’s one of your worst, honestly. Nothing good can come from a chit chat with your old doctor, but at this point you feel like you don’t really have a choice. You’ve searched for your files. You’ve returned to the Brutkasten.

The last tether to your past and the possible answer to your troubles is sitting on a prison 40 minutes away from the Compound.

You already know Rogers and Natasha’s answer before you ask them, and Sam would never take your side, not on this. On Mario Kart, sure. That’s why your hopes are on the greyest morals you can find on site. The most questionable methods.

Nick Fury has an office on the lower levels of the Compound, past the conference room and behind so many security protocols it’s almost as difficult as getting inside a bank. You wonder if he is some kind of mind-reader or psychic, because you don’t get to state your business when the multiple doors open one after another.

“If you’re here, then it must be interesting.” He says as you finally get inside.

“Wouldn’t call it interesting—more like reckless and stupid.”

“Sounds like your style. I’m listening.” Almost offensive, but you don’t take it to heart.

It’s kind of true.

“I’d like to make a doctor’s appointment.”

“I knew you’d come, Fräulein.”

“That’s what she said.”

He chuckles. “You haven’t changed—I’m glad.”

You sit in front of Dr. Hermann Steiner, finally. His wrists are affixed to the table with magnetic cuffs, and you stare at him, ironically at your mercy for the first time. You don’t remember why you used to be so afraid of him.

Without his needles, his goons and his unbridled cruelty, he’s just a man.

He’s wrong, too – you have changed. Something in you has, you can feel the flipped switch. You’re not sure what or you simply don’t want to name it, but it’s there.

It’s in the way you stare at him.

“I take it you haven’t been very talkative lately?”

“Oh, my dear, what is there to say? They didn’t exactly offer me a place in the Avengers in exchange of my help.” His lips quirk up when you tense – the subtle insult hitting you on the jaw like a right hook.

“Then what would you want in return?”

“You.” He says, and now you feel like you’ve walked into the den of a single viper. “You have no idea what you are capable of, do you? Of the extent of your abilities. The potential is endless.”

You frown. “If you want to cause a power outage in the entire tri-state area, of course. Are you sure you’re remembering me right?”

Steiner smiles. “The Baron has never let me truly fine-tune you like I wanted. But if you allow me to—”

“I am not going to be your lab rat again.”

“Think of what we could achieve, my Asset! Of what you could achieve.”

You ignore the pet name change, splaying your hands on the table. They stop shaking like this.

“Tell you what. You tell me how I stop being the mess I am right now, and I’ll achieve getting Fury to let you have sunbathing time in prison. How’s that?”

He shakes his head, still with that stupid little smirk on his face, and you have to hold back from punching it out of him.

“This should be useful to you.” He slides a tiny SD card in your direction, and you wonder if he’s been holding it in his hands all this time, and more so – how he had smuggled it inside.

Your answer comes in the shape of a small wound on the back of his hand. Subcutaneous incision, one of the old methods. It makes you shudder. “The information you need is all in here. This will return you to me, I know it.”

Fingers hesitate but take the drive anyways. The smallest Pandora’s box.

“I already have a doctor. But thanks.”

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america fanfic #mcu fanfic #mcu fanfiction #emwrites

58 notes · View notes

missglaskin · 1 year

Note

for the first time in his life, Viserys begins to pay attention to Aegon, as the prince transitions from boy to man once realizing all his juvenile follies would not charm the reader. and it brings up a lot of mixed feelings for Aegon who isn’t used to having his father’s attention. but one thing is clear, it gives Aegon an advantage none of the other boys have because for the first time Viserys is really listening to him.

so maybe during a hunting trip on Aegon’s twentieth nameday, the prince is able to spin a tale of Aemond and Helaena’s love for one another. or maybe Aegon suggests wedding Jacerys to Baela and Lucerys to Rhaena to restore the Velaryon bloodline that had thinned over the years. or maybe even suggesting sending Daemon and Viseron east to reclaim Stepstones that had been overrun by pirates once again.

and Viserys listens to him, believing Aegon is innocently wanting to participate in court. and Otto will quickly catch onto the prince’s subtle manipulations and begin to ramp them up. ensuring that Aegon gets his way.

and who knows? maybe it’ll make Viserys reconsider naming Aegon heir because he’d love to see the reader being queen

Aegon playing the game of thrones and involving himself in the political making just to be able to win over the reader was not in my bingo card, but here we go. He could try to suggest wedding Helaena to Jace and maybe Aemond to Baela to resolve any family feud. But would probably settle on marrying Helaena to Aemond, Viserys was fond of Helaena (at least in the books) so he’d agree. And of course Aegon suggests marrying Jace to Baela and Rhaena to Lucerys to restore the Velaryon bloodline once more.

When it comes to Viserion and Daemon as you have said, send them to deal with the matters regarding the Stepstones. In doing so, Aegon essentially eliminates or postpones his competitions.

Otto obviously is the first to catch on and for the first time he expresses how proud he’s of Aegon. If Otto himself were to make these suggestions, it would have made Viserys suspicious of him. Receiving his grandfather’s approval would push Aegon more into involving himself in political matters and even have a seat in the council.

In the meantime, it makes him and the reader bond even further. Otto and Alicent would make Aegon and the reader be involved in court, greeting the lords who arrive or making friendly conversations with the ladies. Even have them do charity work and go out to greet the smallfolk. The court and the rest of king’s landing will see the two as potential suitors. It makes the people desire Aegon as their king and the reader as their queen. Otto ensures this revelation reaches Viserys ear.

Alicent may even make a side comment on how the reader would make such a wonderful queen, and Viserys can��t help but secretly agree. He possibly can’t reconsider the succession, can he?

#yandere concept #yandere house of the dragon #yandere hotd #house of the dragon x reader #hotd x reader #yandere asoiaf #yandere x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader

347 notes · View notes

crowfeatherquill · 8 months

Text

To Aid and Be Aided, Pt. 1

Astarion does not, generally, put much stock in the idea of the gods. Certainly, the presence of clerics and paladins and their ilk makes it difficult to deny that the gods exist -- the faithful miracles have to come from somewhere -- but they’ve never had so much as the time of day for him, so he’s not entirely sure why he should bother paying them any respect.

That said, the baths at the Elfsong may, somewhat, just a little, be inspiring him to reconsider that stance.

He sinks deeper into the water, letting it lap at his chin and lower lip, and closes his eyes. A good many of the bodily discomforts he incurred in the battle with his sire -- his former sire, he sternly reminds himself -- have faded entirely or are at the very least seeing themselves out. The wounds still sting, certainly, and the scar on his back throbs dully along with a pulse he had sort of forgotten he still had, but the reek of death has more or less vacated his nose, and though he’s sure they’ll all be saying their piece tomorrow morning, the aching in his muscles has, at least for the moment, abated.

Still…his mind reels. There is so much to process -- more than he thinks he may have ever needed to get through in the past, let alone wanted to. And even if he had, it wasn’t as though he'd had ample opportunity up to now anyway. But now…even here, away from that awful crypt and the awful smell, and the stale air still electrified with the immense power of the broken ritual, he can’t seem to stop thinking. No matter how much he scrubs at his skin, he still feels Cazador’s blood on him -- his master finds a way to claw and cling to him even in death. It makes him feel ill. It makes him want to crawl out of his skin. It makes him--

His thoughts stutter to a halt when he hears the doorknob turning and cold terror turns the gentle warmth of the bathwater to ice in his veins. He ducks further into the water, instinct screaming at him to try to hide as though it won’t be obvious as soon as the Master walks in that he’s here when he’s not meant to be -- hasn’t earned it. He very nearly inhales water as his panicked breathing and bone-deep compulsion to make himself small collide at precisely the point where his nose meets the surface of the water. He squeezes his eyes more tightly shut as the door opens, ever-so-slightly. Maybe if he keeps them shut, it’ll be better. Maybe he can go back to that dream he was having where he was free.

“Just me.”

The soft timbre of Tathlyn’s voice settles his racing heart with a gentle caress, and he feels his posture slacken slightly. Not enough to be comfortable -- every muscle in his shoulders and back is screaming at him -- but enough that he can open his eyes and raise the lower half of his face back out of the bath.

“Did you need something, darling?”

The words spill from his lips without thought and his own voice sounds hollow and haunted even to him. Unsurprising, then, that Tathlyn’s head and shoulders come into view past the door in response. What does take him a bit by surprise is the way Tathlyn keeps his eyes averted -- careful not to look where he hasn’t been invited to, despite his obvious expression of concern. It blooms something warm and fond in Astarion’s chest in the same breath that he finds himself worried that Tathlyn may not want to look at him anymore after everything that’s just happened. The tangled mess of bitterness and tenderness only compounds the spinning in his head.

“Ah- no, not…not specifically.” Somehow as he speaks, Tathlyn manages to sound both soothing in that steady way of his and…a touch embarrassed? Ashamed? Astarion can’t quite parse the underlying emotion and it eats at him. “I just…are you alright?”

On instinct, Astarion reaches for humor.

“Fine, darling, you just gave me a bit of a fright. I suppose whatever etiquette lessons they teach in Menzoberranzan don’t have anything to say about knocking.”

The worry in Tathlyn’s expression deepens and suddenly Astarion feels shame stirring in his gut and clawing at his throat. Even absent any evidence of intent on Tathlyn’s part, Astarion still finds that the feeling makes him want to grovel. Beg forgiveness. Before he can, Tathlyn is speaking again.

“Stars…I did. You didn’t answer, so I thought…” he sighs, “I was worried. I didn’t mean to scare you. If…if you’re sure you’re alright, I can leave you be.”

Something small and sharp squeezes at Astarion’s heart when Tathlyn says this -- a desperation he would have considered lost to him not all that long ago. He doesn’t know what exactly he wants but he’s certain he doesn’t want to be alone. Not now that Tathlyn’s here.

“I mean- you could stay. After all, I was perfectly relaxed before you came along and now I’m practically back where I started thanks to you,” the words tumble out of him in a rush, sharper than he means them to be, “The least you could do is help.”

Tathlyn rests his weight against the doorframe a little and that wounded, sorry expression creeps back over his face. It makes Astarion want to shovel his words back into his mouth, no matter how much they might cut his gums.

“I think I can manage that,” Tathlyn says, softly, “As long as that’s actually what you want.”

It’s unnerving and endearing in equal measure the way Tathlyn has become so adept at cutting straight to the heart of Astarion’s words -- no matter how he tries to obfuscate. At first, he worries that Tathlyn’s hesitance has something to do with him. Then it strikes him that Tathlyn has never been all too adept at keeping his feelings off his face. If there were disgust there, he would see it, but all he sees is the way those delicate brows furrow -- the way the gentle mouth pulls off to one side as he tries to decide whether to push back or acquiesce.

Even after everything he's seen and come to know, Astarion realizes, his lover is still trying to protect his privacy. The emotion this elicits in him cannot properly be put into words. For the first time since crossing the threshold of Szarr palace, his mind stills and singular thoughts are able to pull into focus. He realizes, more fully, the weight that Tathlyn is putting on the agreement they made back at Moonrise. That he had genuinely meant it when he’d said ‘as long as you need.’

That he doesn't know if he can actually bear the thought of never feeling those lips on his skin again.

It almost brings tears to his eyes. Almost.

“I…it is, yes,” he says, softly, for lack of any better response and not trusting himself not to choke if he tries for more words.

Tathlyn nods his understanding and Astarion meets his eyes for the first time as he moves further into the room, closing the door behind him as he does. He looks so tired. And Astarion can hardly blame him. As exhausted as he himself is in the wake of everything that happened to them today, Tathlyn lost three companions, himself included. Even if he was able to bring them all back, it has to have taken a toll.

As Tathlyn draws closer and settles by the edge of the bath, Astarion continues to take in as many details as he can find. It’s better, he thinks, to focus on this than to keep trying to unravel the impossible knot of his own feelings on the matter.

“Where does it hurt?”

It’s a simple question. It should, in theory, have an equally simple answer, but Astarion finds he doesn’t know where to start. Tathlyn fills the time by fussing with the runes that govern the function of the bath. The water clears and Astarion realizes he hadn’t noticed it going cloudy with blood and grime. The temperature rises -- just slightly -- and the warmth starts to sink back into him where its grip had loosened as he sat, lost in thought.

“My…shoulders could use some attention,” he admits, though the words try to catch in his throat. He is unused to this, still -- being offered kindness that isn’t bait; that he’s actually allowed to grab onto and pull close.

Tathlyn shuffles around to sit behind him and strokes the back of one hand up his neck, taking a damp strand of hair at his nape in his fingers and tugging, gently. Affectionately.

“Sit forward,” he instructs, and Astarion feels his body move almost of its own accord.

It’s not like it was with Cazador. He could resist if he wanted to -- dig his heels in and refuse to budge, and Tathlyn wouldn’t force him. It’s almost because he knows Tathlyn won’t push that he can’t imagine ever fighting him on something like this. What would be the point?

He sees one of Tathlyn’s arms appear over his shoulder, reaching past him to take one of the bottles arranged on the far side of the bath, and gives to the impulse to pepper a few kisses up his forearm. He stops at the crook of Tathlyn’s elbow, resting against the soft flesh there, and Tathlyn pauses a moment to let him linger before gently pulling away. He still smells of sweat and hours-old blood. Astarion tries to ignore the dull pang of hunger that stirs at the thought.

It isn’t difficult to put the thought from his mind as the scent is quickly overtaken by whatever perfume must have been in the bottle Tathlyn took. And then there’s the feeling of Tathlyn’s hands across his shoulders, working gently to coax the tension out of the base of his neck, and suddenly there’s no room for anything in Astarion’s brain but the sensation of the warm, steady grip against his skin. And anyway why would he want to think of anything else? This is just fine.

He curls forward to rest his chin against his knees, presenting more of his back to Tathlyn’s reach, and shuts his eyes again. Tries to return to that easy, loose-limbed peace he’d almost found before, where his mind could wander in the absence of any pressing complaints from his body. Tathlyn’s hands continue their work, occasionally inspiring a wince or a sigh but never forcing past the barrier of pain.

Eventually, feeling a forearm slide over one of the larger knots in the meat of his shoulder, Astarion tips his head to the side and opens one eye. The intent is perhaps to catch Tathlyn’s wrist with another kiss before he pulls it back out of reach, but what happens instead shatters whatever peace the quiet moment may have afforded.

There is a long streak of red stretching across his shoulder where Tathlyn’s forearm has just been. It’s fresh, from the look of it, and mixes with the water and whatever oil Tathlyn has been using to avoid friction between their skin, dripping down his chest until it finds the surface of the bath and spreads -- a single drop into a rosy cloud in the water. He stares at it, transfixed, as the smell finally cuts through the aromatic oil, sharper than the trace of old blood that had lingered on Tathlyn’s skin.

This time the hunger is far from dull. It grips him by the throat and turns his stomach, forcing a shiver through him despite the warmth of the water. It shouldn’t feel this real. The phantom cling of Cazador’s cold, ancient blood returns to his legs and he digs his nails in against his upper arms, caught between the unpleasant memory and the equally unbearable present.

Thathlyn’s hands go still against his back.

“Stars…? What’s wrong, what happened?”

“I…” he tries to say it’s nothing. Tries to summon the breezy dismissal that always would’ve worked before, but it doesn’t come. He lets out a pitiful, half-choked sigh -- the only noise of distress he seems capable of producing, “There’s…blood.”

Tathlyn stops a moment, seeming to process, and Astarion hears the shift of fabric on fabric before--

“Ah. Shit. Thought I got that. Sorry, love, one second.”

It’s not the response he’s expecting and that in itself is enough to bring him out of the nose-dive he’s taking inside his own head. He blinks, confused, and turns to look as Tathlyn comes back into view, damp cloth in hand and ready to clean the blood off Astarion’s skin. But that doesn’t make any sense. If it’s real, what he’s seeing, streaked across his shoulder and chest, where could it have come from? It can’t be Cazador’s, surely, or it wouldn’t be this fresh, so how--

His eyes catch on something glistening wet against the skin of Tathlyn’s arm -- the one he’s using for support as he leans in to swipe the cloth across Astarion’s chest. He narrows his eyes and turns to look closer, and finds the source of the blood.

Tathlyn is bleeding.

Most of it runs down his arm to pool on the stone at the edge of the bath, but it’s also begun creeping into the fabric of his rolled-up sleeve. Now that he’s paying attention, Astarion can see a gash in the skin where Tathlyn must have raised an arm to fend off an attack his blades couldn’t catch.

Questions crowd to the front of his mind. Why did no one take care of this? What exactly has Tathlyn been doing all this time that his wounds were left un-tended? Had no one noticed? Had no one cared? Surely Wyll, at least, could have taken it upon himself to say something.

At the same time, though, he finds himself frozen, mesmerized by the presence of fresh blood so close. The smell has him well and truly captivated and he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the slowly-growing puddle of it by the palm of Tathlyn’s hand. He should lick it from the stone, from Tathlyn’s skin, should drink from the vein -- he finds himself starving all at once.

He can’t remember the last time he fed. Surely Tathlyn wouldn’t mind. He never minds. Always so ready to give whatever’s asked of him.

The arm moves out of his field of view, leaving only the small pool of blood on the stone and Astarion blinks, hard. Tries to force himself back into feeling like he has conscious control of his own limbs. This isn’t good. Whatever is happening to him, he needs to find a way out of this room before he does something he’ll regret.

He glances up at Tathlyn, absently, as he tries to concoct an excuse -- as the hunger threatens to swallow him whole -- and sees the grimace on his face as he presses the cloth to his open wound. Tathlyn meets his gaze and an awkward pass at a reassuring smile flickers across his face. Mostly it just looks like an apologetic wince.

For the briefest moment, the hunger is overtaken by indignation at the thought that Tathlyn would ever feel the need to apologize for being injured. He opens his mouth to say as much and the copper tang of blood ghosts across his tongue before the words can escape. It leaves him reeling. Tathlyn must see it in his face, because he frowns, looks down at his own arm and then at the blood he’s left on the edge of the bath, then back at Astarion in that careful, studying way he sometimes does when he thinks there’s something Astarion isn’t telling him.

“Do you want-”

“Yes.” The word forces its way out of his chest in an unbidden, desperate breath, and instantly Astarion is disgusted with himself.

It’s bad enough he nearly left what little soul he could still claim he had in the ritual circle in Cazador’s crypt. Bad enough that he’d considered ending seven thousand lives to preserve his own at the cost of the only thing that would have made it worth living at all. Bad enough that he’d turned to Tathlyn and piled the burden of that decision onto his shoulders alongside two fresh corpses he could barely lift on his own. Now he can’t even manage a little hunger -- as though all the lessons Cazador imparted with regard to keeping himself well in check were left back there with his corpse.

“No,” he corrects, firmly, “No, I. I-I’ll be fine. I’m…just give me a moment. Please.”

Tathlyn’s frown turns inquisitive and he loosens his grip on his injured arm.

“I mean…it’s fine, really. If I’m going to be spilling blood anyway, better it doesn’t go to waste.” That shocks Astarion fully back into his body -- possibly for the first time since they’d entered Szarr Palace.

98 notes · View notes

annabtg · 10 months

Note

Γειά σου, Άννα 😘

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

I LEAPT at this one 😂

Γεια σου κορίτσι! ❤️

Fanfic writer asks here!

Well, since I answered about Mistletoe Mishaps in the previous ask, I've got you something really good for this one: Its sequel.

It's a short ficlet, almost complete, which I wrote down because I wanted to get it out of my head, and which I actually really like but don't really plan on posting officially because I like how the original story ends with that tantalising ending. Of course, every time I revisit it I reconsider that decision all over again.

Here's the good part! Cut for length (233 words):

“Alright, Evans? What’re you doing there?”

She turns around; with the edge of her eye, she catches his friends continuing their way down the corridor. “Just looking outside,” she replies. “It’s safer now that there’s no mistletoe hanging from every window frame.”

“I don’t think that’s going to keep the boys from wanting to kiss you.”

“Perhaps not. But it’ll weed out those who need to ask from those who don’t.”

He raises an eyebrow; he must have been trying for simply interested, but the fire in his eyes and his short breath as he approaches shows a little too much investment. “Plenty of those who don’t?”

“At least one.”

He pauses, just for a fraction of a second; then with one last step and no trace of hesitation, he closes the distance between them. His lips capture hers, his hands reach for her waist and pull her ever closer; she closes her eyes and her palms reach at his chest, fingers curling around his robes, and she lets herself be kissed, but breaks away before she completely surrenders to it.

He chases after her mouth blindly; she grins as their foreheads touch, forcing his eyes open again, wet and wild as though waking from a dream.

“Had a good Christmas, Potter?” she teases.

“Quite,” he replies, and his roguish smirk has never been sweeter. “But I think I like being back better.”

#mistletoe mishaps #without mistletoe #my snippets #lovely athena #fanfic writer asks answers

27 notes · View notes

darlingvernon · 1 year

Text

day 12: carols | boo seungkwan.

↳ the one about seungkwan almost ruining your date

◇ boo seungkwan x reader ◇ fluff | friends to lovers ◇ no warnings ◇ 636 words

authors note: this is for day 12 of @svthub december prompt challenge: carol. please let me know what you think. i hope you guys enjoy!

another note: i'm so sorry this is not my best work *siiiiiiiigh

◇ seungkwan is your bestest best friend in the world ◇ your best friend that you’ve been in love with for the past 5 years ◇ and thanks to your mutual friend soonyoung, you found out that he feels the same way about you ◇ for months you waited for him to say something ◇ or do something ◇ or for any sign at all ◇ but he doesn’t do anything ◇ so you take matters into your own hands ◇ because neither of you are getting any younger ◇ and you’ve both been idiots and waited long enough ◇ you plan to ask him out on a date ◇ and came up with a guise of going around town singing carols ◇ of course he agrees but because he’s so nervous about being alone with you ◇ scared that he’ll reveal his feelings and ruin the friendship ◇ he asks (threatens) the guys to come and join him ◇ soonyoung warns you of seungkwan’s plan ◇ so you tell the guys that they better start coming up with excuses to not ruin your date ◇ or they can start planning their funerals ◇ the next day, you show up to their house to pick up seungkwan ◇ “so, who’s ready to go around the town with me and sing some carols?” you ask ◇ when seungkwan looks at his friends, you make the motion of your thumb cutting across your throat ◇ “we’re all good to go, right guys?” seungkwan asks, looking hopeful ◇ “sorry, something came up,” seungcheol shrugs. “y/n, it’ll just be you and seungkwan. i hope that’s alright?” ◇ “that’s fine with me,” you answer and head to the door ◇ seungkwan panics and begs his friends to reconsider, asking them about their plans ◇ mingyu has to walk his dog ◇ seokmin is coincidentally doing the same thing ◇ hansol bought tickets to watch a movie ◇ jeonghan, who can’t be bothered listening to everyone else’s crap excuses, says everyone else is watching a movie with hansol ◇ soonyoung assures seungkwan that everything will be fine ◇ and that nothing could possibly go wrong ◇ seungkwan is about to panic some more but you call for him and suddenly you’re both out the door and about to make the rounds around town ◇ the next few hours fly by and both of you are having the time of your lives ◇ seungkwan even stopped panicking after the fourth attempt of you trying to hold his hand ◇ you think everything is going well during the date ◇ at least until you somehow run into soonyoung and the gang ◇ and seungkwan attempts to get them to join you guys again ◇ feeling dejected, you let his hand go and walk away from him ◇ seungkwan isn’t sure what happened but he knows you’re definitely upset ◇ so he chases after you to find out ◇ “what’s going on?” ◇ “why are you so hell bent on not being alone with me?” ◇ “that’s… that’s not what’s happening.” ◇ “then, why do you keep asking the guys to join us?” ◇ “umm, i—” ◇ “do you not like me?” ◇ “we’re best friends—” ◇ “because i like you and i even planned out this date—” ◇ “wait, what?” ◇ “what?” ◇ “this is a date?” ◇ “huh? i didn’t say—” ◇ “yes, you did—” ◇ “oh, would you look at the time? it’s time to go home—” ◇ “oh, no you don’t,” seungkwan says, grabbing your arm to stop you from running away. ◇ he decides it’s now or never ◇ cupping your face, he asks, “is this a date?” ◇ “it is.” ◇ “do you like me?” ◇ “i’m in love with you,” you confess. ◇ seungkwan laughs heartily. “i’m in love with you, too. have always been.” ◇ “good, now stop ruining our date by inviting them to come with us and kiss me.” ◇ “yes babe,” he leans in and just as your lips are about to touch, ◇ “wait, did they know about this? i’m going to kill—” ◇ “seungkwan!!” you whine, rolling your eyes and pulling him in for a kiss.

[ Challenge Master List ] - link to be added at a later date!

pls do not copy/repost my work

#svthub: prompts #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #seungkwan fluff #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #seungkwan scenarios #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seungkwan x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #seungkwan fanfic #seventeen #svt #boo seungkwan #kpop #kpop fanfic #kat: writings

60 notes · View notes

tsaritza-mika · 1 year

Text

On the whole Dorian thing...

I have... I’m gonna say mixed feelings at best.

On the one hand, companies and properties change hands all the time. This isn’t new in the least, and yeah, sometimes it concerns things that have become near and dear to me. One of my favorite anime is called ‘Full Metal Panic!’, and through the years, in both animated and manga form, it has been handled by many different people and companies. With every change there’s always been some trepidation because the characters and the story are really important to me, and I want them to be handled in the best way possible, because I love them so much. So far, despite running into issues that has left that fandom with years between updates to finish the animated portion of the story, the faith that it would be handled as it should be has been thankfully repaid.

So with this experience, I honestly wasn’t too bothered to learn about Dorian having more tales added to the Arcana. But, that being said, I’m also skeptical as well. I will admit that most of this skepticism has come from basically the salty attitudes of everyone else in the fandom. There’s very few people I actually interact with in the fandom, even a little bit, because so many of them feel like they already decided anything else that comes out for it will be shit, and have their heels dug in about certain aspects of the game and its characters, and I honestly have no energy to deal with that drama when I’m just trying to enjoy myself. Sorry my dudes, but it’s true.

I do have my hopes that those fans who have been taken under the mantle of ‘ambassadors’ will do their part to keep the characters and any new content that comes out true to who they are without bias, but that’s also a factor on why I’m a little on edge as well. Also, like many out there, I’m admittedly not thrilled about needing yet another app on my devices to get more content. I don’t believe that’s a good decision, but I understand why they still made it. Dorian is a company, and the best way to draw more attention to other properties is by having more people download the app and look through their stuff. I get it, but that doesn’t mean I like it.

Still, I will give them a chance to prove themselves. It may sound like a foolish leap of faith, but as a fan in general of many things, Dorian will be given the opportunity to put their best foot forward. At the very least, they do still have Gabriella doing the CGs for them, so maybe that’s a hint things won’t be as bad as the rest of the fandom has already decided it will be. The worst that can happen is that the new stuff is shit, and all of us uninstall the app and pretend it doesn’t exist. It’ll be sad, but that’s the truth of it. My only hope is that if the new tales that come out are good, and if they are quality tales, that maybe Dorian will reconsider and also have them available on the Arcana app at some point in the future, if for no other reason than the fact that it would be nice to have everything in one place.

#the arcana #arcana game #random opinion

13 notes · View notes

solasan · 2 years

Text

just to prove we are still here

star wars / kenobi series — obi-wan kenobi/original character (sivala sylwiri). 1.7k. first kiss stuffs :)

A smuggling route brings Sivala near the Tatoo System for the first time since Obi-Wan gave her his location. Domesticity ensues.

When she does finally kiss him, it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It’s morning on Tatooine. The twin suns have already begun to burn over the horizon; sweat gathers on Sivala’s brow, even if it’ll be hours yet until high noon, when the heat becomes truly unbearable. Her layers itch uncomfortably against her damp skin. She only makes it a few minutes past dawn before she’s shrugging off her over-tunic and leaving it folded on the bed her and Obi-Wan have shared for the last three days.

Shared. Sivala hasn’t had a bedmate since she was a Padawan. Not that— that’s not what he is, exactly. She’s woken tangled in his arms every morning since she arrived, and the thought of sleeping without him is so impossible that she’s concerned for the coming nights after she leaves, but they haven’t… touched. In that way. Honestly, Obi-Wan was once so renowned for his adherence to the Code that she’s not sure he’s ever touched anyone like that.

Not that she’s asked him, exactly. It’s a thought she’s considered now and again; perhaps more frequently since landing on Tatooine, where she can feel the rise-then-fall of his chest against her bowed spine at night. It’s so much harder to lapse back into loneliness when he’s within arm’s reach, tangible and solid and alive.

On some level, she understands that these kinds of ideas are unworthy of a Jedi; that the path of attachment all-too-frequently leads to the dark side. But here, that doesn’t seem to matter so much. The Code, the Jedi, her vows— strangely enough, it all seems so far away when she’s around her old comrade. There’s just… this. The quiet hum of his vaporator under the hiss and spit of breakfast rehydrating in his kitchen; the low whisper of the wind rushing through the stone chambers of his home. All the domestic sounds of the life this man has made space for her within, however temporary it is.

Make no mistake, this is still an alien environment to picture him in. He was once more suited for the cushy interiors of Coruscanti apartments than anything else, after all. But in the details— yes, there’s something of him there. How organised the space is; the few shabby books he keeps on-hand, stacked neatly in the corner. Even the pale browns and muted oranges of the cave fit him, so that there’s something… soothing about this place she’d never seen before four days ago.

His aura has always been blue, in her mind’s eye. Maybe she should reconsider.

“Breakfast,” he calls, footsteps shuffling over stone.

Still halfway through packing away the blankets — as they have to do every morning, she’s learned, or else the sand will get into them by night — Sivala hums and gives him a distracted smile over her shoulder.

“Give me a minute.”

It takes some manoeuvring, but eventually she gets the fabric into place and locks the box away. Then she heaves a sigh and straightens, dusting her hands on her legs once, twice, three times. The sand on Tatooine. It gets everywhere.

“What are we eating?”

The light streams in behind him through the crevasse on the other side of the cave, so when she turns to look at him, she’s blinded for a moment. Long enough for him to cross the cramped space in only a few strides, then offer her one of the plates with a look she’s tempted to name sheepish.

“Hardly a local delicacy, I’m afraid. There’s little in the way of foraging all the way out here.”

Sivala reaches out, peering at it cautiously. It doesn’t look bad, thankfully; just sticky rice and rehydrated fruit, which is better than the carefully-rationed breakfasts they used to share in the old days, at least. She goes to say as much— and then realises he hasn’t let go of the plate yet, and neither has she.

The back of his hand is warm under her palm and questing fingers; calloused and somehow fragile. And it’s suddenly the simplest thing in the world, to lean forward and kiss him in thanks. Like something she’s been doing her whole life. Like— like something she’s meant to do every morning until that life ends.

It’s only quick. A peck. More than reflex; less than conscious choice. She can still feel the brush of his beard against her chin when she pulls away, like a bee sting. It’s a somehow pleasant kind of burn.

“Oh,” he says, afterwards.

Just that. ‘Oh.’ Nothing else.

Sivala studies him thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing. She doesn’t— think it was unwelcome, or it doesn’t feel like it should be unwelcome, but she suddenly finds herself a little less certain than before. He doesn’t seem repulsed, at least. More than anything, he just looks startled; the lips she just touched part slightly around a hitched breath, his brows arching over wide blue eyes.

And his aura has gone oddly quiet — after so long alone, she misses its low buzz, just a heartbeat away. But it isn’t panic that rises in her as she watches and waits. It’s… it’s something else. Something more cautious; not like facing an enemy, but like going into battle together again. Like placing her trust and her life in his hands the way she used to.

One of those hands twitches under her own now. Sivala licks her suddenly-dry lips, and he audibly swallows. She watches the movement of his throat under his beard and can only think, beautiful. He’s beautiful.

“Right,” he murmurs, more to himself than her. “Yes.”

“Obi-Wan—”

He puts the plates down on the hunk of rock they’ve been using as a table for the last few days. First his, pushed by the fingers she isn’t touching. She expects him to release her so he can put down the other, but he doesn’t; he just switches hands and places the plate beside his own. Like… like he doesn’t intend on letting her go.

When he turns back to her, he says so softly, “wait.” Like a plea.

So she does.

His hand turns in her own until their fingers tangle; his are oddly cold, for how hot the planet is, and on instinct, she tightens her grip until their palms brush. Something electric and alive shoots up Sivala’s spine at the touch, and she wants— she wants to pull away, or maybe she wants to lean in, but she does neither. Just inhales carefully. Exhales. Watches him watch her.

Watches him— step into her, his face set. He’s drawn close enough now that her arm has to bend at the elbow to accommodate his grip, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s… it’s strangely nice. She can’t remember the last time she stood this close to someone that wasn’t trying to kill her. She’d forgotten what it felt like.

“Obi-Wan,” Sivala whispers, his name plush and sweet and familiar on her tongue.

He shudders out a breath. Again: “Wait.”

With his free hand, he cups her jaw. His pulse throbs through his palm and into her teeth; she could count his heartbeats like this. Count the greys threading through his temples. Count his eyelashes.

She doesn’t do any of those things. She just— waits.

And then, between one moment and the next, he kisses her. He kisses her, and it’s achingly gentle. Like the press of his chest against her back in bed, Obi-Wan’s kiss isn’t an assumption or an imposition; it’s a comfort. Not alone, thumps her heart in triple-time. Not alone anymore.

Maybe he deepens it. Maybe she does. She’s not— things get a little blurry once his mouth opens against hers and she tastes his breath for the first time. Cinnamon and fruit and something spicy on her tongue. Home, for all she never thought it had a taste.

He makes a fragile little noise in the back of his throat, and that has a taste, too, something sharp and cold but somehow refreshing, like ice water behind the teeth. Leaning into him, she chases the sound with a small sigh of her own, luxuriating in the slow ease that kissing him brings with it. It’s like working through Shien manoeuvres before the sun rises, or the way that meditation used to feel to her. It’s— peaceful.

His fingers tremble ever-so-finely where they touch her cheek. With her free hand, Sivala follows the curve of his forearm from inner elbow all the way to wrist; encircles the delicate map of bones and veins between her fingers, and rubs her thumb over his pulse.

Not alone, she thinks again, this time for his benefit, because she sees no need to guard her mind here. You’re not alone.

Obi-Wan’s breath hitches, his grip on her cheek solidifying slightly as the knowledge settles over them both like a cloak or a warm blanket; a shield against the cold. Their kisses slow, become more lingering, unwilling to part for long. The whole planet has gone silent, but it’s not the kind she usually hates. It’s… reassuring. There’s only this: only them and the air between them and the feeling of relief that comes from it, like finally dousing a rotten wound in bacta.

He barely pulls away, resting his brow on hers, and Sivala feels his reluctance to put any distance between them like it’s her own. Honestly, at this point, it could be. It’s somehow harder to tell the difference between him and her, now, here, with Obi-Wan’s presence wrapped around her as it is.

She lets herself live in that cottony ambiguity for several more moments, just committing the feeling of it all to memory. In what’s probably the closest to meditation she’s come to in some time, she finds herself picking out the noises around her; his breathing; her heartbeat; a vaporator on the fritz. Such simple sounds, but somehow, they mean so much.

When she opens her eyes, he’s already looking at her.

“Hello there.”

She huffs a laugh. Presses her forehead more firmly to his. “Hello, indeed.”

There’s a hundred things wrong with the galaxy in this moment. Somewhere, a Force-sensitive child is being ripped away from their mother. Somewhere, an Inquisitor puts a lightsaber through an innocent. Somewhere, goodness is dying.

But here, this morning, there’s breakfast to be eaten and hopefully a few more kisses to be had. So that’s what they’ll do.

#this one is NOT going on ao3 im embarrassed #he's so ooc ok i KNOW he's so ooc shhhhh #anyways. feeling normal and fine over them today :)#my writing #ch: sivala sylwiri #long post /

20 notes · View notes

goneloot · 11 months

Text

UI design and Themes

UI sucks amirite. Since this game is an RPG, menus are one of the most important parts of the game since you’re gonna be seeing those menus a lot.

First is the functional side of things. Since in this game you need to aim your attacks, having to choose from a list menu then aim would mess with the flow so much. So, I made it so the transition from menu to aiming was seamless: a radial menu! Which also works thematically since now it’s a circular menu where you aim with your hands, like a clock!

That’s the other part, the visual flare. Since I wanted the menus are so important, I wanted them to not be generic menus. That’s where the themes of the game come into place! If you design your menu as “just a menu” it will look like that, a boring generic menu. If you want to design something that isn’t generic, you must think of a specific idea.

So that’s why almost every menu is love, apples or time themed.

The HP bars? Clocks and some flowers to represent apples. The evolution for the idea, at different stages (The bottom one is the final one).

Same for the foes’ HP bar. Also a clock. The first version was clearer on that theme, but it was ugly sooo.

The Dialogue Box? Clock. I don’t have the old designs for it, but I know I designed a couple before settling into this.

The options menu? Obviously apples. (And also the modifiers button? A polaroid. The back arrow? A Clock too.)

And so on and so forth.

So that’s my advice, I guess. Get a good theme and stick to it.

If you have a shallow theme the design will come out shallow, but if you have a very particular design theme it’ll come out unique. Maybe not good because , but at least unique.

The theme, of course, should relate to what you want your project to be. It doesn’t even have to be anything deep, at all, but you should have something.

Not to be mean, but I genuinely think that if your piece of art has nothing to say, has no themes to convey -even if those themes are as simple as “friendship”, “adventure” or whatever- I think you should reconsider. Thematic depth is not the opposite of fun and, at least to me, makes media much more engaging. Even if those themes are purely visual aesthetic. Even if those menus are just a clock hidden in every piece of UI.

If you want to experience the stupid apple menus, you can do so here.

#indiegame #paperverse #UI #the stats menu has a functional analogue clock #because I didn't know how else to fill the space #so I took that pic at around 9:00 PM

2 notes · View notes

mercurialrain · 2 years

Text

Day 11: Omens

When the King and Queen announced that they were putting forth a competition to see what man was worthy of marrying their daughter, Felix had rolled his eyes. Sure, this girl was a princess and marrying her would greatly increase your social status and riches, but was it really worth going through whatever hellish ordeal the royals had in mind? While the King was notorious for being a huge softie, he was also incredibly protective of his daughter, and the Queen was well known for her strategic mind and fighting ability. Together, whatever they dreamed up was something Felix wanted no part in.

Unfortunately, his mother thought otherwise.

“Come on, Felix, hundreds of men have failed but I know that you can succeed. It’ll help our people!”

He crossed his arms. The villagers hated him, why would he do this for them? “I have no great love for suffering on behalf of people that hate me.”

Amelie gave him her best puppy eyes. “Please, Felix? At least try.”

He groaned, knowing he couldn’t say no to his mother. “Fine.”

- - - - - -

That was how he found himself trudging through a forest on the edge of the country, with his hand firmly on the hilt of his sword. This forest had a reputation for swallowing people and never giving them back, and he refused to be its latest victim. He could see how easy it was to get lost, each tree looked like the next and there were little to no landmarks one could use to mark their spot. The canopy of the trees let only the slightest amount of light through, so navigating by the sun or stars was out too.

He finally stumbled into a clearing sometime around nightfall, judging by how tired he was. The clearing looked well used, with many footprints and doused fires. Well, if others had safely used it, so could he, though he wouldn’t be letting his guard down. He propped himself against a tree after starting a fire and closed his eyes before the sound of a twig snapping had him leaping up, ready to defend himself.

“Who’s there?” He asked, before mentally cursing himself for giving away his position.

He saw eyes glinting in the light of the fire and prepared himself to fight before a black cat stepped into the clearing, tilting its head at him.

“Oh.” His shoulders sagged in relief and he slid back down the tree. “You scared the hell out of me, little cat.”

The cat meowed, as if to say sorry, and made its way over to him, sitting close enough for him to touch, still staring at him.

“You know, they usually say that black cats are omens of bad luck,” Felix remarked, wondering why he was talking to the cat. The cat stiffened at his remark and he almost wondered if it understood him, before dismissing the thought as preposterous. “I’ve never believed in such stupid things as harbingers of good or bad luck though. To me, it always seemed like people trying to pass the buck for their own shortcomings.”

The cat relaxed before climbing in his lap, purring up a storm. He hesitantly petted the cat between the ears, his pets becoming surer as the cat pushed its head into his hand. He didn’t remember drifting off, nor did he remember the cat staring at him with unusually knowing blue eyes before drifting off itself.

- - - - - -

Day broke, and Felix was awakened by the cat headbutting him.

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” he grumbled at it, standing and stretching out his achy joints.

The cat walked further into the forest, pausing when it realized he wasn’t following, before meowing at him insistently.

Well, it can hardly lead him more astray than he would get just wandering around on his own. He shrugged and followed the cat. They walked along for several hours, the cat seemingly knowing every twist and turn of the forest before they came upon a cave, upon which the cat sat at the entrance, watching him again.

“What, do I go in?” The cat bobbed its head once, surprising Felix. He’d really have to reconsider what he knew about this cat after he did whatever this was. He went into the cave and turned to see if the cat was following him, just in time to see arms grab the cat and the cave entrance slamming shut.

“Hey!” He pounded against the rock, but he knew it was useless. His only option was to go further in, which he did, coming across a girl with auburn hair standing in the middle of an open room.

She smiled, but the smile held no warmth. “Another contender.”

Something in Felix told him not to draw his sword and he let his hands stay by his side, not actively belligerent but ready to defend himself.

“If you have made it this far, I see you have found favor with Bluebell.”

“Who’s Bluebell?”

The girl waved her hand and the cat appeared, tied to a stake in the ground, yowling furiously.

“Your feline friend, of course. I’m afraid she doesn’t quite like me at the moment.”

If the gleam in the cat’s eyes was anything to go by, the cat was actively planning the girl’s murder, which wasn’t all that far out of the regular character of cats, so the girl couldn’t have hurt Bluebell all that much.

“Not sure I’d be pleased with someone tying me to a stick underground either,” he responded drily, eliciting a laugh from the girl.

“True.” She waved her hand again and a tunnel suddenly appeared, lined with gold and jewels. “Interested, contender? The others were as well. Tick tock, better find the way out.” With a snap, she disappeared and the walls began to shake, dust raining down on his head. All of his instincts told him to run towards the entrance and save himself, but he stalled and looked at the cat, who was frantically pulling at the stake with no success.

“Damn it!” He ran to the cat and began to untie it. There were many intricate knots and even with his nimble fingers, he was having trouble. He finally undid it and picked the cat up, ignoring all the riches and just sprinting down the tunnel until they made it outside. The cave collapsed behind them, blanketing them in a fine dust.

He lay on the ground coughing until everything settled. He took the offered hand and got up, looking at his surroundings.

Wait. Offered hand?

He whirled around, ready to pull out his sword before seeing a woman there. She squeaked and put her hands out, immediately defusing his alarm.

“Sorry! I just wanted to help you up, I promise.”

“Who are you?”

She looked confused for a moment. “You really don’t know? I’m Princess Marinette.”

“Have you been here the whole time?” His brain was whirling a hundred miles a minute, trying to fit together pieces of information that didn’t seem to click.

“Um, sort of?” She started playing with her fingers, blushing. “You know me better as Bluebell?”

“You’re a cat?” He hadn’t meant for it to come out so blunt, but she laughed.

“Sometimes. It’s a sort of familial thing. I’ve gotten better at controlling it.”

“Oh. That’s interesting. So wait, if you’re here, did I pass the trial or whatever?”

Marinette grinned, rocking back on her heels. “Yup! See, the test was to see if you’d save an innocent creature at the possible expense of your own life. The other contenders either never made it that far, only saved themselves, gave up after a few knots and left me, or stopped to grab riches on the way and wound up ‘dying.’” She made finger quotes around the word. “It was all an illusion made by Alya. She’s who you met in the cave, she’s a witch.”

“Is it rude to say that I hate magic?” He asked, only half joking.

She laughed again, a sound that Felix quite enjoyed. “No, I get it. Unfortunately, if you choose this life, you’ll be stuck with it forever.”

Choose. He still had a choice. “Then I choose you.”

Her cheeks flushed bright red and she stared. “Really? That easily? Even with all my… oddities?”

“Yes.” He had a feeling that if he let her go now, it would be a mistake he’d regret for the rest of his life. He didn’t know her yet, but he fully intended on getting to know her.

Marinette held out her hand and Felix took it, noting how soft it was. “Then we shall go to the rest of our lives.”

- - - - - -

Six months later, Marinette and Felix were married. They had fallen deeply in love with each other and the kingdom considered their wedding to be the happiest day of the year, with every citizen celebrating their happiness.

Felix still didn’t like magic, but it had gotten him his wife, so he supposed it was alright.

Ish.

#felinette #marinette dupain cheng #felix graham de vanily #felinette spooktacular #I know it's late my bad

15 notes · View notes

fferal-archive · 2 years

Text

@fiddlingonthetympanic sent an ask (in September) (I am very grateful) (I wish I had the ingenuity and energy to match this):

Eventually, Krakoa spat out seasonally temperate zones; the island grew as the mainland shrank beneath the rising tide of seawater.

They’re too tired to party all night–Krakoa’s seasonally temperate zones developing really sucks the energy out of everyone–no matter how wonderfully batshit the Thoroughfare of Masks was throughout the month, or how much of a distraction Bob-Cat needs with all his kids grubbing for candy with their other parents. The last straggling trick-or-treaters were skulking their way through the trees, many of them darting out to snatch bits of candy from colorful platters before older members of the Wild Hunt could leap out and catch them with a swipe of the claws. (That was all part of the game.)

Woolf’s fending off Bob-Cat and Daken in the gnarled ‘doorway’ of the pod, but in that annoyed, half-hearted manner that really means ‘you’re both still getting laid.’

“Go–off, you two idiots!” She writhes between them, batting Bob’s clawed fingers away from the white fabric of her dress with a huff of exasperation and a gentle shove to Daken’s side. (The latter is sniffing at her. Right time of the month.) Another authoritative push sends Bob-Cat into the pod after him. “Start without me. Put the tape on or something.”

“Thanks for pulling me out of my dad-funk, you guys.” He pauses, reconsidering his language before giving an apologetic grunt, slinging one hairy arm around Daken’s neck as the other gnaws at him like a chew toy. “‘You two’.” He gives a little sigh, a chuckle, and a laissez-faire shrug, allowing himself to be pulled deeper into the pod. “My bad. We’re never too old to check ourselves, are we?”

“Hey. Bob-cat. Blow me.” Daken’s voice faded into the background, as did the telltale swish of the Krakoan biomattress beneath their weight.

Woolf lingers in the doorway, breathing deep the crisp, sugary air and smoke. Ghoulish candlelight flickers from behind the carved faces of fruits, vegetables, and G-d knew what else. The laughter of children rises and falls within the shadow of the trees. ‘A good night,' she decides, reaching to brush her fingers over the warped turnip jack-o’-lanterns she’d hung outside earlier.

When she glances down, the child is there at her feet, smelling of overripe pumpkin and moldering leaves. Her eyes widen beneath the white, wide brim of her hat, a seasonally appropriate breeze rustles the hem of her dress.

Kid’s carrying a giant orange sucker, and it’ll be a miracle if they don’t choke on it before the night’s done.

Her brows draw together in an apologetic frown. “I don’t know if I have any candy left, honeybee.”

Black button eyes gaze up at her from a burlap sack–face. They’re so–expectant that she tips back the brim of her hat and sighs. ‘How things are done,’ she realizes, then sighs. ‘Gifts for the children.’

“Let me get something from inside. D’you like spicy n–” A pumpkin sails past them, exploding against the trunk of a nearby tree with a wet, hollow thunk; Woolf makes a garbled sound of shock and frustration as one Raw Dog–newly reborn as a teenager, as all mutants are eventually-stops his shenanigans, raising one hand in a not-so-apologetic wave.

“Sorry, ma’am!” A pause stretches between the three as Dog Howlett shifts. “You smell–uh– look nice tonight?”

Fire Knives raised him to be polite to women at least. She glowers at him, then darts back into the pod, briefly hissing at the men inside to ‘keep it down, there’s a kid!’ before returning with a little bag of spiced nuts from a leftover party bag, dropping it into Sack-Child’s treat basket. “Here,” she murmurs, reaching out as if to pat them on their burlap head before pulling her hand back. “Sorry. You caught me a bit late.”

The child scurries away without a word, and she feels a weight leave her shoulders as she foils her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes at the teenager vandalizing his way past.“You should have some respect for tradition, Dog,” she calls disapprovingly “The roots of this sort of thing run deep!”

Then, she leaves him to mull the importance of the old ways in favor of watching an old mummy-themed porno while eating Hunt-jerky off of washboard abs.

“When I told you to get started, you really ran with it…”her voice fades away, and “Raw Dog” Howlett and the strange, solemn trick-or-treater are left relatively alone, one with an oversized sucker and candy bucket, the other with his general douchebaggery and disrespect for the holiday season.

A bare foot punts a jack-o’-melon like a soccer ball.“Go to bed, yo,” is all Raw Dog–whose birth name is Wild Dog–tells him, sniffing loudly and rubbing a hand over his runny nose as the sad remains of fruit rind and candle wax drips down the side of a stone ledge.“The grown-ups have things to do.”

Black button eyes glint.

___

Woolf wakes up in a pile of man-flesh in the middle of the night, her nostrils flaring at the scent of drying blood. She grunts, spitting out a mouthful of Bob’s hair even as she runs a hand along a sleek, bare thigh. (Daken’s, judging by the thick pelt of manfur.) Blood. Too close.

Don’t like that.

“S’mone g’see what that is,” she mumbles, less concerned about the vaguely familiar smell than its proximity to her ‘autumn-summer home.’ “Bob. Up.” At his rrroooorrwl of protest, she nudges the thigh-haver. “You. Fang. Up. No kids vandalizing my porch tonight.”

Daken eventually does drag himself outside, muttering and bitching about family. The blood smells of Raw Dogging, you see.

So does the severed head hanging strung alongside the turnip jack-o’-lanterns, its eyes glassy and staring, lips split wide by the bright orange sucker jammed into its mouth.

“Tell your nephew to clean up his mess!”

#fiddlingonthetympanic #( ⬛ ) save.#murder cw #blood cw #gore cw #! definitely need to write up the krakoa+ npcs #! i ADORE raw dog as a concept #! not to be confused with the original dog howlett #! i also adore this murder child #( ⬛ ) verse — krakoa+.

7 notes · View notes