#its bound to stick a round a while

[notsopersonalcharlie]

Ride Home

Snowboarder!Bucky x fem!skiier!reader

Note: I was watching my friend being taught to snowboard and thought of this. Gif is not mine

Warnings: none?

Bucky plopped down into a snowbank unceremoniously and started to undo the strap attaching his back foot to his snowboard. Steve and Sam had gone off to run some black diamonds, but he never had quite felt confident on his other side after the incident that left him with a prosthetic arm. Not that he didn’t trust it, but he had swapped sides for everything, writing, punching, even shooting. He was snapped out of his own shame spiral by a man, wearing a set of rather expensive and new looking gear, swearing at the woman who appeared to be trying to teach him. 

“When you said skiing I didn’t think you meant full fucking mountain day. I thought we’d get some drinks, hang out. This is fucking rediculous and these skis and fucking trash.” 

“You said you knew how! I thought this was-“

“I said I had been before, I thought at least you’d fucking be nice about it. May-“

“Just go get a drink then!” You sounded exasperated and Bucky took a closer look, noting the well loved outfit and skis. Clearly they had been used and were being cared for as such. 

“Aren’t you at least going to come?” It sounded more like a command to Bucky than a suggestion. 

“No, I’m going to ski, which is what I paid for a pass to do. I’ll come meet you later.” 

“Yeah well… don’t drink. You’re going to have to drive us back to the city.” The man stumbled away and you sighed, rubbing your forehead before kicking into your own skis and heading for the lift. Bucky cursed to himself after you had started moving and pushed his way up right behind you in the singles line. There weren’t a whole load of people waiting for the lift, it was getting towards lunch time, and he managed to get up beside just you on the lift. 

You glanced over at the snowboarder who decided he had to get on that chair with you, despite the mostly empty line behind you. He had all black gear with a crisp white jacket that had clearly been mended and bleached a few places. He rode goofy and his board knocked up against the edge of your skis when the chair rejoined the cable. 

“I heard that guy being an asshole back there. Sorry you had to deal with the shitty part of the male species.” The somberness with which he said it made you laugh a little. 

“Thanks he was, uh, a set up kinda. I’m new to town, and my parents decided the best way for me to make friends was to go out with one of their college friends’ sons. This is technically our third date and… wow I am spilling info on a stranger. Sorry.”

“No no, he sounds like he sucks. I heard you say he said he knew how.” 

“Yeah! He did! And I even asked before we came out here. Clearly he bought that whole… whole getup to impress me. It was so stupid.” You were waving your hands emphatically and Bucky couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, all I will say is that guys like that don’t actually know how to do anything.” Silence lapsed as you started getting closer to the end of the lift. 

“Uh, how would you want to ride with me and my friends today? Or ski I guess. I’m getting my footing back after an accident, but they’re pretty good and I’m sure they would love to have more friends.” You shrugged, hoping the cold air disguised the blush on your cheeks. Bucky had pulled up his goggles and pushed down his mask on the ride under the pretense of speaking more clearly, but you could tell he was handsome and right now was not the time to blow it. 

“I’d love to ride with you for a while. It’s my first time out this season and I could use an easy day.” He smiled and you both made your way off the lift. Your first run down you could tell that he was good, but kept holding back when he turned to his toe side. It was strange to watch since he seemed to favor it otherwise when he moved before. You told him as much at the end of the run. 

“Yeah, I…” Your conversation was halted as you got back on the lift. 

“I, uh, lost my arm kind of recently and I have a fantastic prosthetic, but still just… cautious.” You couldn’t help but let the shock show on your face. His motions seemed entirely unbothered aside from his anxiety about falling. 

“You look like you’re doing great. I don’t know you all that well but based on that run I feel like you shouldn’t be doing the easiest trail on the hill.” He laughed and you began an amazing afternoon riding, and convincing him to go up to some blue slopes where you spotted some of his friends, who waved but quickly surpassed the slow loping runs you were taking.

“Fuck, I do not want to ruin this amazing day with a car ride home with Dan.” 

“Dan?” Bucky asked. It was getting late in the day and his legs were sore, but he was having too good of a time. During a short break at one of the stops on the mountain he’d finally gotten a look at your face aside from your nose and the strands that were collecting snow beside your goggles. He hadn’t been able to stop picturing your face at every other event in his life since then. 

“The guy I was with this morning. The asshole.” He’d basically forgotten about the existence of the other man after spending the day with you. 

“Well, if you’re not totally opposed to riding a few more hours with a no longer stranger, I would be okay driving you back.” He watched your gears turning, deciding. 

“It would kinda be a massive fuck you to him if he had to sober up and drive home down this mountain alone.” 

“Oh shit, do you think he woul-“

“No, I have the keys. He doesn’t seem bright enough to check the car for keys himself though. You sure you don’t mind?” Mind? Bucky thought to himself, he wanted nothing more than to spend more time with you. 

“Not at all.” You finished the next run, a harder one which Bucky took flawlessly, and dropped the keys off at a nice looking car, grabbing your bag, before you followed Bucky back to a slightly beat looking older SUV. 

“I told Steve and Sam I would drop them down at Sam’s car. They’ll be here in a few minutes. What’s your address?” You dictated it to him, omitting the exact number or unit so you weren’t completely risking yourself. To be totally fair he didn’t have your full name or know all that much about you, yet. 

“And maybe my phone number…in case I forget something? Or in case you want a riding buddy again?” A sweet smile crossed Bucky’s face, blue eyes shining. 

“Sure.” You exchanged numbers and by the time you’d taken a goofy picture of him as a contact photo, his friends arrived. They didn’t comment on your position in the passenger seat. 

“So, where do you live?” You told them where about in the city and Sam opened his mouth to commend, but received an icy blue look from Bucky. You couldn’t help but wonder what else that icy blue stare could be for, but tucked the thought away for another time by yourself. 

“That’s mine. Thanks Buck, have a good drive…” Steve cuffed him on the shoulder on the way out.

“What was that about?” 

“Nothing.” You ended up talking for nearly the entire ride, and it was easy conversation. He told you about the snowboarding accident that had resulted in his lost arm, his job, his dog, Alpine. You told him about your roommate, your hometown, and how excited you were to have a fresh start after the absolute shitshow of your old job and friends.

“Where do you live?” The question was entirely for your own benefit, so you could find out how realistic ‘accidentally’ running into him at a store could be.

“I uh…” Bucky’s cheeks turned red when he told you. 

“WHAT? Bucky, that’s like an hour and a half the other way! Are you insane?” You were near your place already, and there was no use arguing with him that you getting out now to try to get another ride made no sense. 

“I just wanted to spend some more time with you. It was such a great day.” You smiled, blushing as you gave him the final directions to your building. 

“It really was a great day.” He stopped in front of your place, idling as you sat in a few more moments of silence. 

“Maybe we could have another great day? Skiing or maybe dinner?” You felt a little forward asking. 

“Well given there’s no natural way for me to accidentally run into you at the corner store, I guess that sounds like a great plan.”

#charliewrites #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #snowboarder!bucky #marvel #mcu #i love that everyone has decided alpine is right name for a bucky pet #enjoy my bucky phase #its bound to stick a round a while #more to come....

[heartfullofleeches]

Pumpkin Panic

Trickster Scarecrow Darling-

A wandering spirit of the forest who not as malicious as their fellow ghouls. They tire of tricking lost wanderers deeper into the forest and venture out themselves despite the pleads from the weeping woods.

"Don't go..."

"We'll miss you...."

"We worry for you, Y/n..."

The spirit comes across a doll in their travels made of cloth and hay hanging in a lone field. When they returned to ask the others, they told them it was deceitful tool used by the humans to scare off crows and other creatures attempting to feast from their crops. "How rude." - the spirit thought. They loved those little birds and their beady eyes. They used to feed ones scrounging for food and they'd bring them such lucky trinkets in return.

The spirit asks the scarecrow for permission to use it and chooses the field as their new home. They take as little from the land as possible to avoid question from its owners as they fed the small creatures who ran about. The resident of the farm was a grumpy farmer missing their left eye. The scarecrow stood completely still whenever they came to inspect their crops as warned by the others and their little crow friends, but the other humans seemed to unaware of this lesson. They watched from high on their post as they ran through the mazes of corn - unable to see through the tall stocks. The farmer would leave their home carrying that large stick as they did every night and wait at the mazes exit. The crows always flew south whenever they took aim.

The very next day, the scarecrow would find a new doll in themazes. They knew it was a doll because humans move and are very warm which the dolls were not.

"Good evening" - The scarecrow greeted. No response.

"Are you broken?" They spoke again to yet again met with silence. Silly scarecrow. They couldn't talk because they didn't have heads! As the seasoned changed they had watched the farmer take those large, round vegetables in the fields and craved silly faces into them to place around the farm. Maybe they could do the same. The scarecrow gathered tools from the shed and made new heads for all their new friends. The doll's refused to speak no matter what question they raised. Perhaps they were shy. As the days grew colder and their loneliness set in the sad scarecrow sought to give up on their mission.

Until one day-

"We.. came to see you."

"Home isn't home without you with us."

"We have always loved you, Y/n."

"Anywhere is home so long as we're with you.'

It was everyone from back home! They had felt the sorrow of their little wandering trickster and came to comfort them in new form. The scarecrow was so happy. Now that everyone was here and chose to stay they'd never be alone again. They even managed to get the farmer to leave their home for a time so the scarecrow could try out their bed. The scarecrow had watched the farmer care for their land and knew just what to do while they were away. Overtime the spirit became bound to the scarecrow and feel things just like a real human. They ate fruits and corn with all the little crows as they'd always dreamed. The other spirits made sure their smiles lasted eternity and a day and even brought them new dolls to fix every blue moon. The scarecrow finally had their happy end.

But the same could not be said for those who trespassed on their new land.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere zombie #yandere teratophilia #Scarecrow reader

[dawnstruck]

a traveler's shade

In his pursuit of Mizu, Taigen finally makes it to London as well. He ends up learning more than he bargained for.

Tags: Post-S1, Spoilers for S1, prediction/wishfulfillment for S2, Mizu/Taigen, female-identifying Mizu, WIP, 1/3 chapters

Chapter 1

年暮ぬ another year is gone  笠きて草鞋 a traveler's shade on my head,  はきながら straw sandals at my feet Matsuo Bashō, 1685 

London is a miserable place, covered in fog and soot and shit, the sky constantly overcast.

Taigen has been here for a week, and not seen the sun a single day. Most of the time, it has been raining too, turning the smaller roads into rivers of mud and sewage. The main streets are decked out in uneven cobblestone that become dangerously slippery in the damp. He has already had to exchange his wooden geta for softer zōri sandals, to avoid making an ass of himself. 

It’s bad enough that people are staring at him wherever he goes; he doesn’t need them to take him for a fool as well as a foreigner. 

Is this how Mizu feels, he wonders, each prodding gaze like pinpricks on his skin. He hears people whispering to each other, laughing sometimes, but he knows only a handful of words in their confounding language. Are they insulting him, ridiculing him, or do his paranoid ears just misinterpret the gibberish?

Round eyes, wherever he looks, always already staring back at him, so he keeps his back straight and his gait steady, and silently dares anyone to openly challenge him.

What would he do if they did, he wonders, with his hands on the heft of his broken sword. He may be a master of the blade, but what good will it do him here, where men carry revolvers concealed in their jackets. He has seen what a bullet can do to even the sharpest of katana, and he does not wish to experience what it would feel like to have one ripping into his flesh.

It’s a small mercy that, unlike Japan, the island of England has not closed its borders. In fact, they have done the very opposite, sending their ships and their guns into the rest of the world. After all, the greed of the white man knows no bounds.

As such, while Kyoto has always had something of a butterfly to it - beautiful and delicate and each part lovingly crafted - London is more of a centipede: a squirming, restless mass of feet, dark and disgusting and poorly fitting together.

But it also means that, while Taigen sticks out like a sore thumb in his uwagi and hakama, he is by far not the only foreigner to walk these streets. The port in particular had been swarming with people of all sorts, some of whom Taigen would have mistaken for old wives’ tales not so long ago.

He has seen tall strong men with faces as dark as coal and hair as coarse as wire brushes. He had watched a small group of people disembark a ship, whose skin was smooth like brass and who clad themselves in garments of leather, with feathers woven into their long braids. Once or twice, Taigen had caught the eye of such a stranger and felt a peculiar sense of kinship with them.

I, too, am far from home, he wanted to say. I, too, feel like a mute child on these unfamiliar shores.

Continue reading on Ao3

#Blue Eye Samurai #BES #Spoilers #Mizu/Taigen #Mizu #Taigen #Mizugen #Taizu

[coldharbor-claymore]

An autocannon round shook Adrian’s Roughneck as it collided with his left torso. His mech staggered backwards but he didn’t flinch, only moving to compensate for the attack as he unloaded his dual PPCs into the enemy’s Annihilator. One shot hit the center torso, the other got lucky and hit the cockpit. The Annihilator fell over itself as it crashed to the ground.

“That looked like a rough hit Bossman. You ok?” Kara asked as her Shadow Hawk came to rest beside Adrian’s mech. Adrian shook himself.

“Just fine. No damage beyond the armor. That could’ve been so much worse,” he noted.

“I’m detecting a couple more units over that hill,” she said as his minimal lit up with a beacon. “Looks like 2 Centurions and a Battlemaster.”

“You go right, I’ll go left, pincer maneuver them. Stick to cover.”

With that, the pair bounded over the hill and split off as they made their way over the hill and saw the distant targets. Kara weaved in and out of cover as Adrian made his way through the ravine of a ruined building, a PPC shot from the Battlemaster went into the wall behind him and he twisted his torso to fire at the centurion which was rapidly approaching him. He fired everything within range. His cockpit rose in temperature as the mech’s actuators hummed with the sound of stress. Both his large lasers and a PPC shot rang true. While his two medium lasers and the other PPC went wide, the shots colliding around the centurion’s left leg forced it to the ground unexpectedly as armor was ripped away and the mech’s foot was shredded and bent.

He heard a crackle from Kara’s radio as an expletive met his ear. He ducked into cover, giving his mech just enough time to cool off before dashing out again just as a volley of LRMs collided with his torso and left arm. His systems glowed slightly red as he closed the distance to the Battlemaster and unloaded. He missed having a targeting computer as his opponent’s arm swung towards him and collided with the Rougheck’s torso, bringing him to a halt just in time for some medium lasers to light him up. He threw his mech’s fist into the torso of the Battlemaster and heard the telltale crushing sound of an engine failing. He pulled backwards just in time to see the Battlemaster fall onto its rear and explode. He turned quickly and delivered a shot to the torso of the Centurion, punching through armor with a continuous burst of energy from his large lasers. Eventually, the ammunition caught and the Centurion went up in flames. He turned to see Kara boxing with the other centurion and heard a crack as she threw her Shadow Hawk’s fist forward and it collided with the opponent’s cockpit, not destroying it but leaving it open as Kara unloaded a medium laser into it while retracting her blow.

She turned to look at Adrian, smiling at her work.

“Looks like the exposure therapy is doing wonders,” Adrian commented as Kara pumped her mech’s fist in the air.

#battletech #mechwarrior #operation touchdown

[abyssal-ali]

She's A Knockout

Pairing: Jason Todd x Stephanie Brown, minor Bill the Henchman x Goon Named Jeff

Rating: T

WC: 2.7k Ao3 Masterlist

A/N: Inspired by this reel. Beta'd by Bambi<3

Steph blinked in confusion as the waiter appeared beside her with a pair of boxing gloves and what looked like a ring girl.

All she’d asked for was a box for her leftover chicken and waffles.

“Alright folks! This lovely lady right here will be squaring off against the reigning champion, Bill the Brute! I’m Jeff, your announcer for this fight. Round one!”

Steph slipped off her bar stool, the gloves an appropriate tightness and her hair swept back in a hasty ponytail by the helpful ring girl.

She wasn’t going to let anything get between her and her waffles. If that meant fighting a random Gothamite who thought it would be funny to let her waffles sog, so be it.

Feigning reluctance, she let Jeff guide her hands into a protective guard for her face as she swayed nervously on her feet.

“I’m not gonna punch him!” she protested, sizing up Bill the Brute. He was fairly lean, dressed only in shorts and a black pair of gloves to match her white ones. 

“Stick to your jab,” Jeff encouraged her, dropping his hand. “Fight!”

“I’m not gonna punch him!” she repeated, stepping marginally closer.

Steph gingerly landed a left hook, eyeing up his reflexes and how serious this situation (which she assumed to be a prank, considering the laughter and cheers of the other patrons) was.

“Harder!” boomed Jeff. “Knock him out! Hit ‘im in the head!”

“No! That’s mean!” she cried, bouncing a little closer, pretending to ham up the fight for the audience.

“Do it!” they began cheering, along with Jeff.

Bill the Brute ducked the first slow jab, but he missed her surprise right hook, collapsing at Jeff’s feet dramatically.

Steph’s mouth dropped in horror, thinking his decent boxing skills would have protected him from the full force of her blow.

The server behind Jeff banged his fork against his skillet, signalling the entire fight was over. 

Jeff seemed to think Bill was hamming it up for the show, raising her hand in victory as the ring girl wrapped the fake championship belt around her torso.

“And after one hard round, we have the winner by TKO, the new champion of the Hood and Dagger Pub!” Jeff and the patrons cheered.

Steph frantically piled her waffles and chicken into the box that the girl behind the bar had provided while she fought Bill the Brute, ducked her head, and fled the pub, ignoring his sales pitch for a boxing gym(?).

Steph mourned the loss of her new favourite pub as she ran down the street, waffle box tucked under her arm to help her aerodynamics.

They’d always had good food when she went, usually at the weirdest hours (which was strange that the pub was open that late–or early, if you preferred–but she didn’t dare go digging into its ownership or management lest she be conscience-bound to shut down her new haven). 

Her musings were cut short by the sound of someone pursuing her. She glanced back, seeing Jeff running behind her. 

Dang, what did he want? She’d paid before she requested the box. Had he found out she’d knocked out Jeff for reals and it wasn’t for show?

“Miss!”

It was noon, and there were several other people out and about on the fairly well-travelled street, so Steph made the executive decision to confront him here, and not accidentally acquire a stalker and expose her new Batgirl-haven. 

“Yeah?” she twirled her ponytail.

Jeff bent over a decent distance away. “You’re almost as fast as Boss,” he gasped. “That was amazing!”

Steph blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Your moves, miss,” Jeff panted out an explanation. “Boss saw you and wants to talk to you. You wouldn’t be needing a job, would you?”

“Excuse me?” she repeated, shriller this time.

Steph reluctantly entered the back room of the Hood and Dagger. It was a lot different from most back rooms she’d been in, and that wasn’t even counting the daytime and front door entrance she was unaccustomed to.

Jeff cleared his throat. “Boss, I got the lady!” he said proudly.

“Thanks, Jeff. I do hope you didn’t use your uh…work…tactics?”

The only thing she could see was the black-and-white hair of a man behind a computer setup so large Babs would be jealous, but just his voice sounded nice.

“Of course not, Boss! I can be subtle!”

Aw, poor Jeff sounded genuinely hurt.

Mentally preparing herself for another middle-age, morally dubious at best, sleazebag, Steph was entirely unprepared for the Boss who actually stood up, arm outstretched for her to shake.

He was young, though the jury was still out on his morals, but was inclined to acquit him on account of his face, which was handsome and graced with a gorgeous smile and– he had dimples?! 

Steph had clearly been knocked out by Bill the Beast and this was what her concussion-wracked brain had conjured while she was unconscious.

“Uh, hi. Um. Steph.” She shook his hand, which was large, warm but not sweaty, and had neatly trimmed nails. Steph was a sucker for nice hands.

He withdrew his hand after the shake, twisting it in a way that meant his veins were highlighted for her to drool over.

“Jason. Hi, I’m the owner of Hood and Dagger Pub. I apologize if Bill and Jeff’s little promotional stunt scared you off,” he smiled warmly, teal eyes meeting hers familiarly. “They’re a bit passionate about the boxing and all-round gym opening a couple blocks over, and when I gave them the greenlight to promote it, I didn’t quite expect such…creativity in the way they went about it.”

“Better creative and original than dull and mainstream, right?” laughed Steph. “It was fine. I thought I actually knocked Bill out.”

“His skull’s taken worse, I assure you,” chuckled Jason. “He likes to ham up his performance when pretty ladies are around…even if he’s happily in a relationship with Jeff,” he shook his head at the duo’s antics. Jeff had left to gossip with inform the other employees about the potential interview taking place, so he wasn’t there to defend himself from his boss’s slandering.

“I’m just relieved I can show my face here again,” Steph smiled. “I was so sad at the thought that I’d be banned for knocking out one of your employees, just when it’s become my new favourite restaurant and haven. The hours are a godsend for someone with weird hours like me.”

Jason inclined his head, silently requesting she continue her hot-guy-induced ramblings.

Steph would just like to state for the record that it wasn’t her fault he was almost as hot as she imagined Red Hood was behind the mask. He was her celebrity crush; sue her. She’d seen girls thirsting over Ghostface; this wasn’t any stranger.

“Yeah? What draws you to the Hood and Dagger, if I may ask?”

“The food is amazing; I love the privacy between the booths, so I can study in relative peace even at the height of the rush; it’s seemingly open 24/7, so I can get food when I’m too tired to cook, and I’ve even been able to have a nap after I stumbled in here for breakfast after pulling an all-nighter–in short, have you considered renaming this Steph’s Heaven?” she joked.

Jason grinned at her. “I will now. I’m glad you’re so pleased with my establishment. It’s my goal to have it open as much as I can, so people have a safe space to rest, study, sleep, just like you said. It’s a pub, but it’s not just for food and drink. I want to make this a safe haven for everyone as long as I can.”

“That’s really commendable,” Steph nodded. Her curiosity about Jason was urging her Bat-research (aka stalking) skills on, but now she really didn’t want to ruin this illusion he’d woven around her. He was the perfect guy, she could overlook some tax evasion or him secretly being Kite-Man.

“You look really familiar, though. Have we met somewhere before?”

“I…don’t think so? I’m fairly sure I’d remember a face like yours.”

He raised an eyebrow at her comment.

“I’m usually in the back cooking when I’m working here, so I wouldn’t have seen you here before as a patron,” he mused. “You’re at Gotham Gen?” he waved a hand at the hospital intern badge hanging off her shirt.

She nodded.

He frowned. “I haven’t been there in ages. Probably not. Hm, maybe I just need some sleep.”

“Long night? I can go,” Steph took a half-step towards the door.

“No, please stay. I asked Jeff to bring you here so I could meet you. I was going to ask you if you needed or wanted a job.”

“A job?” She raised her eyebrow. So far Jason had been quite decent, but if he suggested-

“At my new boxing gym. You look like you know how to fight–that’s a compliment, I assure you. I think a female employee would really help draw more female clientele.”

“A boxing gym and a restaurant? Wow, Jason, you’re sure not one-dimensional.”

He shrugged, dropping his head in a pitiful attempt to hide his grin. “I’m a well-rounded guy, or so my mom says when she tries to marry me off.”

Steph snorted. “What type of job were you thinking about at your gym? ‘Cause depending on how well you sell this, I just may quit the scourge of med school.”

“And the pressure is on,” laughed Jason. “Do you have formal training in any martial art or physical activity?”

Steph considered her Cass-mandated and Bat-supervised training. “Yep, although I don’t have any certificate to show for it.”

“Would you say good enough to be a trainer or coach?”

“Yep.”

“Confidence, I like that. Barely took you a second to reply. Thoughts on Red Hood?”

Steph blinked at the non sequitur. “Smash?”

Jason choked. “Sorry?”

“Uh…morally I don’t support him, but as a Gothamite?” Steph glanced around, leaning in. “And as someone attracted to men? Absolutely.”

Jason blinked again. “I…see. Well, if you want a job at Jill’s Gym, just talk to Jeff or Bill. And yes, they’re the ‘Jill’ in ‘Jill’s Gym’.”

Steph snickered. “That’s a clever name.”

“It’s apparently their ‘ship name’ or whatever,” Jason air quoted. 

At that, Steph outright guffawed, tears running down her cheeks while Jason eyed her stiffly. “You’re such a grandpa! ‘What’s a ship name? Kids these days and their newfangled names for each other’.”

Jason opened his mouth, but he didn’t retort Steph’s teasing, much to her surprise. What came out was much worse.

“Batgirl?”

Shit.

“Uh. No? I’m Steph.”

And why hadn’t she used an alias, maybe Minnie Malone, she bemoaned with all the clarity of hindsight.

“Yeah, but you’re also Batgirl, aren’t you? I’d know that mocking laugh anywhere,” Jason said. “It’s okay, I’m Red Hood.”

Heck!!!

She’d just thirsted over the guy to his face! About his alter ego! Steph debated just making another mad dash from the Hood and Dagger–wow, what a subtle name. Well, he literally wore bright red over his head and heart; she supposed that was on her for expecting subtlety from the man, who’d clearly never heard the word.

“Please tell me you’re lying, not the least of which because I just told you I’d smash your alter ego to your face,” she gritted past her hands covering her face in shameful horror.

Jason snickered. “No can do, BG. If it’s any consolation, I’d say the newest Batgirl is pretty smash-worthy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His teal eyes were right in front of hers. Was it hot in here? It was hot in here. 

“Can I maybe get your number?”

Steph looked up at him, worrying her lip between her teeth. “Sure, as long as you don’t give me one of your burner numbers.”

“Deal.” Jason fished his phone out of his back pocket. 

Steph typed in her contact information and texted herself, then handed it back to him.

“Best Gotham Blonde Girl <3?” Jason read off her self-appointed contact name and laughed. “Cute.”

“I am,” she batted her lashes at him. “So, I hear you know the owner of this really great restaurant?”

“I’m not taking you to my own restaurant for our first date, Steph. Give Alfred’s teachings a little more credit, please.”

“First date?” Steph asked. “Sounds good. In that case, I enjoy the Italian restaurant opposite Wayne Enterprises, the churro truck by Amusement Mile, and the diner in Robinson Park.”

“I’m aware,” Jason said dryly. “I've seen you demolishing a stack of waffles after patrol several times.”

Steph flushed. “Yeah, well, you stay up way too late reading on the gargoyle overlooking the Harbour!”

Jason’s hand gently settled on her cheek. “Been stalking me, have you?”

“I see you on my way to my much-too-early classes at Gotham U,” she retorted, leaning into his touch. “Kiss me.”

“Whatever the lady says.”

Steph’s arms wrapped around his neck as he kissed her sweetly, drawing him in and deepening the kiss.

His free hand ran up and down her side before settling on her hip and pulling her flush with him.

They broke apart at the knock on his door, where Jeff stood.

“Uh, I’ll come back later. Congrats, Boss!”

Bonus:

“Boss?”

Jason looked up, waving Jeff and Bill into his office.”’Sup?”

“Uh, we’re really happy you’ve found this girl, but…we thought you liked the new Batgirl?” Bill was brave enough to say what the whole Goonion had been wondering since Jeff breathlessly updated them on Boss’s love life an hour ago.

Jason considered them. “I do. She kind of looks like Batgirl, though, don’t you think?”

Bill and Jeff exchanged looks.

“They’re both…blonde…”

“As long as you’re happy, Boss,” they assured him. “Does she know about Red Hood?” “Yep, she’s cool with it.”

“Okay, thanks for telling us, Boss.”

Jeff and Bill left to update the Goonion. “She knows he’s Hood and she’s cool with it, and he still likes BG but he’s dating her because she reminds him of the girl he can’t get.”

Bill blinked the moistness in his eyes away. “I hope she doesn’t break Boss’s heart.”

Bonus Bonus:

“Move over, I can’t see,” hissed Jeff, nudging Gary with his bony elbow until he could peer through the window at Boss’s date with Steph.

They seemed to be having a good time, laughing and chatting, but the Goonion still secretly rooted for their OTP, RedGirl (unfortunately, the two vigilantes’ names weren’t the most conducive to ship names). Steph wasn’t bad as a second-place contender for Boss’s heart, though, and they’d rather see him happy than with a vigilante who didn’t see their Boss for the good man that he was (duffle bags with dubious contents notwithstanding).

Boss and Ms Boss stood to leave the restaurant, and the Goonion started their car to be ready to follow the couple to their next destination.

Interestingly, Boss took Ms Boss to his warehouse headquarters. They were sure moving fast, but if Boss trusted her, so did they.

“It’s usually a lot busier at this time,” Boss was telling Ms Boss when the Goonion entered the building through the back entrance, pretending they’d been out on a mission.

“Oh, there you are. I’d like to introduce you to Steph.”

The Goonion shook her hand and introduced themselves, taking her measure personally and agreeing that she seemed to fit Boss well.

They nodded at him approvingly before they tactfully peeled themselves away to their respective tasks, where they could more surreptitiously keep an eye on the couple, who were chuckling about something as they continued the tour.

They disappeared into Boss’s office and the Goonion winked at each other, preparing to give Boss some privacy, when the door swung open and out walked Boss in his work uniform…hand in hand with Batgirl.

Well, that explained some things. 

Jeff pulled out his phone to gather evidence for the other lieutenants. Too bad they were out on patrols and couldn’t see this for themselves. Dennis and Alicia weren’t going to believe this without his proof! 

Now seemed like a good time to revive the Boss Dating bets they’d had running…

#jaysteph #fic #ali writes #jaysteph fic

[mr-miss-anonymous]

Consequences

Word Count: 2,527

Relationship: Brainstorm/Perceptor

Rating and Warnings: M; Dom/sub undertones, mild sexual content, feeding/belly kink

It was going to be one of those days, and Brainstorm had known it from the moment he awoke from recharge.

To say he went out of his way to be a pain in the aft was most certainly inaccurate. He had his flaws like any other bot on the Lost Light, and it just so happened that his flaws tended to come out at the worst possible times. Namely, when he was overlooking an exciting new discovery that would change the world of science for the better.

True, Perceptor had warned him that the ratio of organic liquid to the inorganic and highly flammable material they often used behind closed doors was bound to create an accident, and he may or may not have quickly shrugged off his fellow scientist’s concerns with some poorly thought out remark about his given genius and Perceptor’s time spent struggling through the academy, but Brainstorm hadn’t meant any lasting damage.

At least, that’s what he had told himself when the first part of the experiment all but blew up in his face. If it weren’t for the mask he wore, he probably would have been confined to the medibay for the next three weeks. Oh, and there was also the part where Perceptor had grabbed him by the arm and practically flung Brainstorm over his shoulder as he rushed behind an overturned table. Still, it was an accident, and not nearly as dangerous as some of Brainstorm’s other failed experiments.

The pattern had repeated most of the day, following with Brainstorm putting in his two cents where Perceptor hadn’t explicitly asked for assistance, his bragging to a fellow colleague (or, in other words, Chromodome, one of the few mechs willing to stick around after talk of Brainstorm’s most recent explosion made its rounds through the ship), and—most tragically—bringing a reasonable amount of attention to himself while guzzling high-grade in Swerve’s bar.

In Brainstorm’s opinion, he hadn’t been outright intoxicated. He was drinking in the flow of conversation around him as mechs and femmes came in and out of the bar, some stopping by to congratulate Brainstorm on his most recent achievements while others paused in their waiting for orders to push for details regarding the explosion—details which Brainstorm was more than happy to give, that is.

“Oh yes, nothing to worry about,” he had said to a short and slim bot, one servo patting the bot’s shoulder while the other held up a half-empty glass of… well, something alcoholic. “A little soot on the walls here and there, some glass shards to pick up. Really, I’ve seen worse. I’ve done worse, and I can assure you all that this was nothing.”

A fairly sizable crowd had grown in the bar, most of the group having circled around the large booth where Brainstorm sat. Next to him was Perceptor, who struggled to fully enjoy his drink as the audience around his lab partner grew. Chromodome and Rewind had joined the pair some time ago, but left long before the group of curious bots could get to be too large. Having taken the seat against the wall, Perceptor wasn’t able to do such a thing, otherwise he would have left much, much sooner.

“You’d think Percy would’ve put a stop to it.” Swerve, who had appeared with a fresh tray of glasses, took Brainstorm’s near-empty cup and replaced it with one filled to the brim with bright blue energon. “Or did you somehow manage to rope him into this one, too?”

At that point, Brainstorm knew he must have drank far too much for his own good. The attention from the crowd was intoxicating, and despite the fact that most of the bots were hanging on his every word, he hadn’t quite gotten his fix just yet. As he sucked in a deep breath and flared his plating in what was meant to be an intimidating gesture, Brainstorm leaned forward on his forearms and flashed Swerve a grin.

“Who’s to say I’m not the one in charge behind closed doors?” Brainstorm asked, and took up the glass of energon for another indulgent swig.

The look of confusion Swerve gave him, followed by the unanimous silence across the entire crowd—which had grown much larger than it originally was, Brainstorm realized—easily succeeded in deflating the little pride Brainstorm had started to feel. To his right, Perceptor had gently taken the glass of high-grade from him and set it aside. Brainstorm had struggled to come up with a proper follow-up statement to try to make up for the startling (and very, very false) comment, but Perceptor had beaten him to it.

“You’re the one in charge?” Perceptor said, having managed to snake an arm around Brainstorm’s shoulders to pull him into whispering range. The words tickled against his bare faceplates, and Brainstorm couldn’t help but shudder as Perceptor continued. “Why don’t you prove it to me, then? Meet me in the lab this evening, 7 o’clock sharp. Bring your appetite, and don’t be late.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, but a demand, and Brainstorm knew it.

Despite the dramatic secret Brainstorm had tried to reveal over drinks at Swerve’s, he wasn’t one to disobey a direct order from his fellow scientist. Just like Perceptor had said, Brainstorm was standing outside the door a few minutes before seven. Perceptor had been pleased by this, of course, and made quick work of ushering the inventor inside.

From there, time was merely a blur in Brainstorm’s mind. Their dynamic was a little more black-and-white compared to the shades of grey that other pairs tended to display, and the moment he saw Perceptor step out of the storage closet with ropes in hand, Brainstorm had immediately turned into an eager, whimpering mess.

Most of the day’s events had merged into a forgettable, run-of-the-mill sequence, and all that was left in Brainstorm’s mind as he was spread across an empty table was the desire to please Perceptor as best he could.

The scientist made quick work of tying Brainstorm’s servos behind his back before they began. After helping Brainstorm to position his legs on either edge of the table, leaving plenty of room for his panels to retract and the future bulge of his belly to sag, Perceptor gently cupped a servo underneath Brainstorm’s chin in a beckoning gesture.

“Open up for me,” he said, and without hesitation, Brainstorm’s mask unlatched.

Beneath the mask, his expression was almost identical to the rest of his frame: bright yellow optics practically begged Perceptor to touch him as his mouth hung open, half-formed words spilling from him as condensation formed against the edges of his faceplates. His spike, which had quickly pressurized after Brainstorm had been given the signal, twitched in anticipation, and the lips of his valve clenched and pulsed against the chilly air of the lab, desperate for something to be pushed inside.

Perceptor took his time assembling an assortment of energon on a cart nearby. None of it had much to boast for in flavor, since the purpose of ingesting said fuel was mainly for weight gain in overly skinny or malnourished mechs. For what it lacked it flavor it made up for in texture, as most of the fuel was thick and filling. A single glass was enough to top off any average mech’s tanks, but Perceptor had gone to full lengths and gathered ten times as much. He was there to teach Brainstorm a lesson, and if he were to be successful, it would have to be a lesson Brainstorm didn’t easily forget.

“Do you know why we’re here, Brainstorm?” Perceptor asked, too busy organizing the energon options to meet Brainstorm’s gaze. This, of course, was intentional, and it only aided in spurring the inventor on further. “Why do you think I would want to be teaching you a lesson?”

“Because—“ Brainstorm trailed off with a keening whine as Perceptor turned, but was immediately disappointed when the scientist passed his side without sparing so much as a glance. “Because I—I disobeyed?”

“You’ve been awfully cocky lately,” Perceptor gently corrected. He stopped just in front of Brainstorm, his frame casting a large shadow over the jet that had Brainstorm caught in a full-body shiver. “You forgot your boundaries again. So tell me: will you be an obedient mech, or will I need to bring out the energon dispenser?”

Brainstorm twitched and jerked against the restraints, his valve flushing hot at the thought of being hooked up to the automatic fuel dispenser a second time. It was a little more dangerous than stuffing by hand, he knew, and Perceptor didn’t like bringing it up, but the thought of being on the verge of breaking his armor or heading into the medibay for ruptured tanks was tantalizing, exciting, arousing. Given the look on Perceptor’s faceplates, however, the dispenser wasn’t actually an option. Tonight was about teaching him a lesson, and Perceptor was going to be dragging it out for as long as possible.

“Drink up,” Perceptor said sternly, holding the first container of energon to Brainstorm’s lips. “We’re going to be here for a while, Brainstorm, so I suggest you make room in your tanks for a heavy load.”

Brainstorm needed little encouragement to begin sucking down the liquid energon. It was quite bland, and it lacked much of any flavor, but the sensation of it sliding down his throat and settling in his tanks with such a strong sensation, such a noticeable presence, was addicting. Brainstorm was a little too eager to drink the next container, and Perceptor quickly caught on. The jet gave a disappointed whine as Perceptor pulled away, setting the half-empty container down before walking off to the other side of the lab.

Left alone with his servos bound behind him and his tanks sloshing pleasantly, Brainstorm couldn’t help but beg for Perceptor to come back. At first, Perceptor ignored him, but when Brainstorm shifted his request to a more respectful question, Perceptor seemed to consider it.

“Ask nicely, Brainstorm,” the scientist chided him, only offering a small glance over his shoulder before returning to his work.

“Please?” Brainstorm said, his bottom lip protruding in the most pitiful manner. “Could you please give me more, Perceptor?”

Perceptor visibly tensed, and Brainstorm knew he had struck gold. While they had easily written off pet names such as ‘Sir’ or ‘Master’ due to Perceptor’s discomfort with being referred to as such, Brainstorm had quickly learned that the scientist often grew flustered when he spoke to him using his full designation. Of course, Brainstorm indulged in this as often as possible during their private sessions, and it had become a pattern for them.

Before Brainstorm could even blink, Perceptor dropped the datapad he had been working on and came back. This time, one servo drifted to stroke the outer rim of Brainstorm’s valve while he held a third container of energon to Brainstorm’s lips, gentle in his coaxing for the inventor to drink it down. The third concoction was much sweeter and distinctly thinner than the others, and Brainstorm indulged himself in a small smile once he had finished it off.

“Finally starting to learn your lesson?” Perceptor asked, his fingers dipping past the folds to begin stroking the inner parts of Brainstorm’s valve. As he pulled out, a trail of clear, sticky lubricant coated his servo, and he held up the soaked fingers for Brainstorm to suck on.

“Mm,” Brainstorm wordlessly hummed in response, his lips closing obediently over Perceptor’s fingers before he began to lick them clean.

“Good,” Perceptor breathed, his free servo having drifted down to rub against the forming bulge of Brainstorm’s middle. “Very good.”

An easy silence fell between the two as Perceptor continued feeding Brainstorm jug after jug of the thick, filling liquid. Before long, Brainstorm was straining at his bonds and gasping for breath, his belly bloated and bulging between his thighs. Perceptor didn’t put a stop to the steady feeding, though, and every time Brainstorm managed to polish off another container of energon, he gave the inventor’s valve the attention it needed.

“Almost finished,” Perceptor said, two fingers shoved halfway between the lips of Brainstorm’s valve as he gently tipped a cup of energon to the inventor’s mouth. To his surprise, Brainstorm turned away with a frown. “Just one more cup, and then you’re done. Drink up for me, Brainstorm.”

There was a look of hesitation in Brainstorm’s optics, and Perceptor could see (and feel) why. His overly stuffed tanks gurgled and groaned beneath taut plating, occasionally sending up small waves of gas that had Brainstorm’s cheeks puffing up in the most feeble way. Perceptor had been quick to try to rub away the discomfort, but his servos could only do so much between stimulating Brainstorm’s valve and pouring energon down his throat.

“I feel sick,” Brainstorm moaned, leaning himself back against the wall so that his overextended middle was on full display. As if to punctuate the statement, his tanks gave another audible groan that had him wincing in discomfort. “Are you sure that’s the last one?”

“I’m sure,” Perceptor said, having already slipped free of Brainstorm’s opening to begin rubbing more firmly into the creases of Brainstorm’s armor. “Finish this for me, then I’ll help you relax.”

Brainstorm hesitated for a moment longer, but quickly relented. With Perceptor’s help, he sat upright and opened his mouth obediently, ready to drink the final serving. He was a little startled when Perceptor cupped a servo behind his helm and tilted the container ever so slightly, forcing him to drink much faster than before, but Brainstorm managed to guzzle it quickly. To his relief, the last serving was nothing more than thin, watered down energon, and it settled easily in his overly stuffed tanks.

“There,” Perceptor said, reaching back behind Brainstorm’s frame to unbind his servos before stepping aside. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Brainstorm a satisfied nod. “I take it you’ve learned your lesson?”

Brainstorm nodded frantically as he readjusted himself on the berth, letting out a sigh of relief at having finally been released. He dug his servos into the bulging flesh of his middle, but was disappointed to find that the action did little to help alleviate his growing nausea. Before he could say a word, however, Perceptor was back at his side and guiding him to lie flat against the table.

“Allow me,” he said, gentle in moving the still-groaning inventor to a more comfortable position. He couldn’t help the teasing smile that spread across his faceplates when he added, “Still think you’re the one in charge here?”

“I’ve learned my lesson, Percy,” Brainstorm chided, no longer willing to feign hurt as Perceptor’s skilled servos began to knead his aching middle. He let his optics close and sighed in relief, one servo reaching to grasp at Perceptor’s side. “…thanks, by the way.”

“It’s my job, Brainstorm,” Perceptor reminded him. His smile only widened as Brainstorm stifled a rumbling belch, his servos having prodded a pocket of gas in the middle of the inventor’s belly. “There’s no need for thanks.”

#chubformers #transformers #brainstorm #perceptor #simpatico

[accidentalmistress]

Accidental Mistress - The Beginning

[More Accidental Mistress content can be found here.]

I know I'm a couple of days late on this, but, y'know, holidays and everything.

This is technically a prequel to all of my other Accidental Mistress works, in that it comes first chronologically, but it's not a significant time gap.

This is the story of how Noelle and Oraion met.

Title: Accidental Mistress

Word count: 3,870

Content and warnings: snz (male)

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

Some would argue that fate is immutable, that, try as we might, we cannot change a future that has been preordained. Others claim that fate is what we make of it, that our destinies are shaped by our own hands from an infinite sea of possibilities. There was one fellow who tried to argue that fate is like a chicken sandwich, but he never was quite able to satisfactorily explain why, and likely was only trying to sell more chicken sandwiches.

All three approaches are wrong, of course, because fate is actually like a river. In general it wants to flow in a particular direction, but it does on occasion break into several different branches, and, if you work hard and long enough to dig canals and build dams, there’s a chance you might be able to change its course.

Though she did not know it, Noelle Violette sat at the crux of several distributaries in the River of Fate, and her actions in the next few moments would decide the course of her life and change it forever. It was good that she did not know this, because she was nervous enough as it was without the added pressure.

The young witch sat on the floor in the highest room of the tower she called home, puzzling over a number of papers scattered beside her while she drew a rather large and intricate circle of magic runes, arcane symbols, and squiggly lines on the old floorboards with chalk.

“I think this rune goes… here? Or…” She picked up one of the pages and turned it around, adjusting her large, round glasses on her nose. “Oh, no I suppose it goes over there… But then where does this one go?”

She sighed and scrubbed out one of the runes she had just drawn with the edge of a sleeve, replacing it with a different one that, hopefully, was the correct one. Summonings were notoriously finicky things, and, seeing as she'd never performed one on her own before, she needed to be as careful and thorough as possible. The problem was that she didn’t have a diagram of the circle for summoning a familiar, so she had to sort of cobble one together out of the diagrams she did have. These were all either copied down from memory or taken from what few arcane tomes she owned.

If she took the circle for summoning a demon, which was certainly not to be taken lightly, but replaced some of the demonic runes with ones that instead signified a companion, and added in the most powerful binding spell she knew, theoretically the circle should summon some sort of companion entity that would be fully bound under her control. She couldn’t be entirely certain what kind of entity would answer her call, but she had to imagine that with her meager abilities it would be a small spirit or lesser demon, like a goblin or imp.

Eventually she sat back and scrutinized the circle with tired eyes. She was liable to keep fiddling with it all night, wondering whether this rune was drawn to exacting perfection, or if that squiggle was quite squiggly enough. Stalling—she knew she was only stalling at this point, on account of her nerves. After checking it over one more time, she declared the circle good enough. It was at that moment that her course on the River of Fate was chosen.

Time to begin the ritual. Noelle took a deep breath and picked up her wand, a short length of an oak branch she had collected and shaped herself. It wasn’t much to look at—it looked like a stick that someone had shaved the bark off of except for the bottom third, because that’s exactly what it was. It got the job done, though, and that was all Noelle cared about.

She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. She had to focus on what she wanted the spell to do, to infuse it with her intention. Then she touched the tip of her wand to the circle, and began to imbue it with magic, drawing the energy in from the environment around her and becoming its conduit. That was the major difference between witchcraft and other sorts of magic: most spellcasters relied on the power within themselves to fuel their spells. Witches took their power from the world around them to channel into their magical workings.

I want an assistant: someone who can help me further my studies and hone my abilities. Someone who will make me a better witch, a stronger witch. Someone who can lend me their power to supplement my own. Someone who—

Well, it wouldn’t hurt if they could be someone who would keep me company, and if they were a bit more pleasing to look at than a goblin or—

No, no, no! She had to focus! Noelle shepherded her thoughts back on task and tried to keep the idea of a magical helper foremost in her mind. If she was ever going to make any progress in her studies, she knew that she needed help. There was only so much she could do on her own with what knowledge she already had and what she could glean from books. A magical entity was the perfect choice: they would be a source of raw, magical energy that Noelle could access, and also be able to lend her additional control for complex workings. Not to mention any being of magic ought to possess some innate knowledge on the topic.

Oh, it would be very helpful if they were knowledgeable about different kinds of magic, and maybe also things like herbs and reagents. It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to…

Ugh, why did her mind keep wandering? And was she being too specific or picky? Would anything answer her call? Was there even an entity out there who would want to be bound to her, a witch with intermediate abilities at best and no coven to belong to?

Maybe what I really need is a little self-confidence… Agh, no, focus! Focus!

The circle began to glow with a faint light. Noelle’s pulse quickened. Surely that meant the ritual was working: something had accepted her summons. A sudden, searing jolt shot up her arm, and she cried out in surprise and pain. With gritted teeth she kept the wand in place on the circle, and kept feeding the spell energy. Ambient magic from the environment around her flowed into her body and down her arm, but something else flowed out as well—something torn from her in bits and pieces like so many ants tearing into the essence of her being. Perhaps this was the price she must pay for the services of a familiar: what better way to bind a contract for life than with the substance of her life itself?

The glow in the runes burned brighter and brighter, the light shining a vibrant violet that grew so intense Noelle had to close her eyes. Heat began to roll off of the circle in waves, and she realized that the floor was shaking. The pain in her arm made tears form in the corners of her tightly closed eyes. She thought she heard the rumble of thunder, but she wasn’t sure over the gasps of pain coming from her own throat.

A shockwave shot through the room that pushed Noelle back several inches and was accompanied by a fierce rush of wind. The smell of ozone and something like woodsmoke hung in the air. Even through her closed eyelids Noelle could tell that the blinding violet light had died away.

Did it work?

She cracked open her eyes and had to blink a few times to clear them until the floor in front of her face came into focus. She'd ended up lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. She was almost afraid to look up at the circle, but slowly she let her gaze creep across the room as she pushed herself back up to a seated position.

The first thing she saw was a tail. It had a great red plume of fur at the end but was otherwise bare, the skin being a very pale gray with mottled, stripe-like markings in a darker shade. As her gaze moved up the long tail, she noted that it was attached to a pair of trousers and, presumably, legs. The trousers were black and tightly fitted, nicely complimenting the deep mauve silk shirt that next came into view. The front of said shirt was open, revealing that same pale gray skin in the form of a slim torso so well-sculpted it could have been marble. By the time she reached the head, Noelle’s eyes were approaching the size of dinner plates. This was no small goblin or imp. This was a shockingly attractive man.

The hair that framed his face in long, sensuous waves was the same blood red as the fur on his tail. His eyes, currently looking about the room in some confusion, were of a similar crimson hue. From his forehead sprouted two horns, dark burgundy in color and curling like a ram’s. Around his neck was a red leather choker with a gold buckle, and a number of gold earrings pierced his long, elf-like ears.

Noelle placed both hands over her mouth. What had she just done?

“Where in Hell am I?” the creature muttered before his gaze fell upon Noelle, and he frowned. “Who are you?”

“M-me? I’m N– I-I’m N– I’m N-N-Noelle.”

“Well, N-N-Noelle, what District is this, and who is your Lord?”

District? Lord? Was she supposed to have any clue what he was talking about?

“Um… what?”

He rolled his scarlet eyes. “I assume another Demon Lord is behind this rather bold but ultimately foolish abduction. So which one is it? Can’t be a very powerful one judging by the state of this place. Unless they’ve brought me to some out-of-the-way location under some half-witted delusion of taking my life.”

“Oh… N-no, this is my tower. And I don’t serve anyone; I-I live here alone.”

Wait, did he say another Demon Lord? Then that meant that this entity was…

He scoffed. “Don’t tell me you expect me to believe that you summoned me. You must be some human slave left here to bait me. Look at you: all doe-eyed and helpless. Do you really think I’m stupid enough to feed on you and let my guard down?”

A shiver skittered across Noelle’s skin. She didn’t know what he meant by feeding on her, and she possessed no intention of finding out.

“Well, um, whether you b-believe it or not, I am the one who summoned you… somehow. I’m not a slave. I’m a witch, a-and I was trying to summon a familiar. I need someone to, um, help me with my studies. I thought I was summoning some kind of minor spirit or something. I don’t… know what happened…”

She trailed off as the expression on the demon’s face morphed from a sort of haughty boredom to intrigued amusement. He touched his chin with one hand.

“Dear gods, you’re serious, aren’t you? So you attempted to summon some subservient creature, but you botched it so spectacularly and shot so far past failure that you actually came back around and did something next to impossible. Do you have any idea what I am?”

“A… Demon Lord?”

“Ah, so you do have a bit of intelligence behind that innocent doe look!” He climbed to his feet, looming quite large over where Noelle still sat on the floor, and bowed with preternatural grace. As he did so, a pair of batlike wings emerged from his back, cutting a very intimidating figure indeed. “I am Lord Oraion Leroux, incubus and Greater Demon. And you, my dear, are about to learn an important lesson about the consequences of carelessly summoning those of my kind…”

He reached a clawed hand towards her, his eyes taking on a sinister red glow. Noelle flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and raising her arms in front of her, for all the good that could possibly do. After a few moments, however, she cracked open her eyes, and, while the demon calling himself Oraion was still pointing at her, she couldn’t actually pinpoint any effect.

“Um… i-is something supposed to be happening?”

“Eh?” Oraion gave a little surprised start, and then looked over his hand as though maybe it was somehow malfunctioning. He pointed at her again with renewed vigor, but still Noelle felt nothing. She was almost tempted to start screaming or something so he wouldn’t feel bad.

“I-I’m sorry, but… I don’t really feel anything.”

The demon took a step back, now looking at both of his hands with mounting horror.

“My power… What have you done?”

“I-I don’t… know?”

“What is this?” His fingers went to the leather choker around his throat. “Is this… a collar? You put a collar on me?!”

“What? N-no! Well, I mean, not on purpose. I-I did add a binding aspect to the ritual, but it's not like I asked for it to be a collar!”

The demon fiddled with the buckle, but the collar remained tightly fastened. Then he slipped his fingers beneath it and pulled, and from the way he was clearly straining he was doing so with great force. Still the collar would not budge.

“This… this thing is sealing my abilities! You will remove it at once, witch!”

If that was true, then that collar was the only thing keeping her alive right now.

“N-no, I think I'd rather you keep it on.”

An irate sneer twisted his lips as he took one menacing step towards her, his voice dropping to a growl.

“You will remove it, or I will make you remove it.”

A primal fear stirred in the depths of Noelle’s mind, like she was facing down a predator. Which, she supposed, she was. If the binding was strong enough to seal even a Greater Demon’s powers, however, then perhaps she wasn’t actually in any danger at all. She rose to her feet, trying to hide the trembling in her hands by clutching her wand in both. Oraion still loomed over her—he must have been at least a foot taller than she was. She gathered every ounce of courage she had and looked him in his crimson eyes.

“I… I don’t think you can.”

A storm cloud passed over the demon’s face and he took another step towards her.

“And what makes you so certain about that?”

“Um, well, if I’m understanding the situation correctly, you and I have entered into a contract of Master and Servant, and a contract-bound Servant cannot harm their Master. So, um, you can’t hurt me.”

“Hmph. Care to test tha—”

He reached out as though he would grab her, but then his body stopped dead, frozen in place. A snarl of frustration growled in his throat as he lurched at her several more times, but he could not reach her as surely as if a wall stood between them. Eventually he stepped back with a panting breath, running a hand through his scarlet hair as he began to pace.

“This cannot be happening. I am no Servant—I have servants!” He tried once more to snap the collar around his neck with no more success than his first attempts. “Agh! I cannot believe I’ve been summoned to serve some—some mousy witch in a decrepit old tower!”

His wings gave an angry snap, sending a breeze across the room before they vanished once more into the demon’s back.

“M-mousy?”

He ignored her, turning in a circle with his arms spread. “I mean, look at this place! It’s a dump!”

“W-well this is my attic, to be fair. Normally I would have done the casting in my workshop, but the notes said the ritual should be performed in a high place. I’ll admit it’s not the cleanest, but I hardly come up here!”

“Hmph. You can say that again.”

Oraion ran a finger along the frame of an old mirror that leaned against the wall, coming up with a thick layer of dust that he rubbed between his thumb and forefinger before blowing it off to float through the air. Noelle fidgeted with the end of the shawl she wore around her shoulders and tried not to think too hard about the remarkably handsome man stirring up dust in her attic.

“Somehow I doubt the rest of your little tower meets the standards of living I’m accustomed to either.”

If he was a Lord, then that meant he was nobility and thus used to living a life of luxury. Noelle, on the other hand, barely scraped by. No, she wouldn’t be able to provide Oraion with the kind of life he was familiar with, but that didn’t give him license to belittle her. She opened her mouth to say as much when Oraion suddenly doubled over with a hand pressed to his face. The retort died on her tongue and she instead took several cautious steps towards him

“Wh-what’s wrong? Are you all right?”

He grabbed onto her shoulder, to her surprise. It seemed he was capable of touching her—perhaps as long as he didn’t mean her harm? He peered at her between splayed fingers.

“Ngh- What dark magic have you cast on me, witch?”

“Me? I haven’t done anything!”

“Th-then what is this buzzing feeling in my face?”

Noelle felt something prickle the back of her neck. “B-buzzing?”

“Yes, here!” He took the hand from his face and pointed to the bridge of his nose. “Agh, and it’s g-getting worse!”

Heat began to creep into Noelle’s cheeks, and other places besides. The demon in front of her rubbed across his nose with harsh, urgent strokes using the side of his knuckle, causing the tip of his nose to grow pink. His eyelids began to flutter as his brow furrowed.

“Hhng, it- it burns and… tih-tickles. I’ve n-never feh- felt- hih- hiihh-!”

His chest, bared for Noelle to see through his open shirt, jumped as his breath began to hitch. Crinkles formed on either side of his nose as it scrunched up, nostrils twitching and flaring.

“Wh-what is hah-happening-? ih-hih… hihh-hhIIHH! HIHHTCHOO! HIHH’TCHOO! hihh-HIHHTCHOO!”

He sneezed directly into the space between them, three forceful sneezes that snapped his torso forward so far he almost butted Noelle in the head with his horns. A light mist hit Noelle’s neck with a glancing blow, eliciting a sound from her that she hoped could be interpreted as a cry of shock rather than the indecent squeal that it was.

“Guh -sniff- What the Hell…?” He took two fingers and rubbed them beneath his septum, making his nose wiggle back and forth. “W-wait a moment… I’ve seen humans do that before. Was that… sneezing? Is that what sneezing feels like? Demons don’t sneeze, what—?”

Noelle couldn’t even look at him, let alone answer him, her gaze fixed resolutely on the floor to her right. What was she supposed to do now? Her entire face felt red hot, and her thighs pressed together almost involuntarily in response to the feeling that blossomed there.

“Oh, hello…”

A teasing note in his sultry voice grabbed her attention and brought her gaze back to him, her heart pounding in her chest. Gods, was she that easy to read? Did he know?

The demon Oraion regarded her with a seductive, self-satisfied gaze, the predator closing in on the prey. His hand moved from her shoulder to her chin as he leaned even closer, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

“Feeling a little hot and bothered, are we?”

“Wh-what? N-no, I—”

“Now, now. It will do you no good to lie. Don’t you remember what kind of demon I am?”

When he had introduced himself, he’d said he was Lord Oraion Leroux, that he was a Greater Demon, and…

“A-an incubus.”

“Mm-hmm, and that means that I have an innate sense for when my partner is… i-is heh!… eh-heh’SHIU! -sniff- … aroused. And you liked that very much just now. Oh, but you are a fascinating one, aren’t you?”

Noelle’s entire body burned with humiliation and lust, with no telling which of the two was greater. When she spoke, she could barely manage to get her voice above a whisper.

“I-I can’t help it. I… I’m sorry.”

How was she supposed to feel with a gorgeous man, demon or not, sneezing with such deliciously hitchy breaths and desperate, vocal build-ups? Not to mention sneezing directly on her.

Oraion regarded her with some surprise at her apology, then his expression softened considerably. His fingers went from holding her chin to gently stroking her cheek.

“Oh, my dear, don’t apologize. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” For the first time since he had arrived, his voice actually sounded sincere. “It is a gift. You hold a key that opens a door directly to pleasure. There is nothing wrong with using it.”

“B-but it’s… strange.”

He shook his head with a chuckle. “Oh no, I have been around, and I assure you it is quite tame.” He took a moment to gaze at her face, tilting his head to one side and gently brushing some of her brown curls from her face. “Say… you’re rather lovely, you know? In a bookish, librarian sort of way. Perhaps this won’t be so bad after all. It should certainly prove… entertaining.”

“Then, you… You mean you’ll—?”

“Be your ‘Servant’? Hm, for now, I suppose. I have to admit: this is the most excitement I’ve had in quite some time. Be a shame to spoil the fun so quickly.”

A coy smirk tugged his full lips and he stepped back, rubbing his nose and sniffling.

“It seems this Master-Servant contract of yours has, ah, influenced me according to your tastes, resulting in—” He sneezed again. “Uh, well, that. -Sniff- I refuse to call you ‘Master,’ though; it doesn’t suit you at all. ‘Mistress’ sounds much better.” He laughed, like he was enjoying the sound of the word in his mouth. “My Mistress…”

“Um, o-okay. You can… call me that.”

“It wasn’t a request, darling. Now: how about you show me around this tower of yours. I’ll be living here for the foreseeable future, after all.”

“Oh, yes, of course!”

As she led him down out of the attic, Noelle wasn’t sure if she’d just won the cosmic lottery by accidentally securing this Oraion as her Servant, or if she’d gotten in way over her head. All she could do now was trust in the course of her fate and navigate it as best she could. And she had the strangest craving for a chicken sandwich.

A Greater Demon under her control… What would Mother think, if she could see her now?

“Oh, and perhaps we should end our little tour in a room with a bed.” Oraion grinned at her in a way that made her heart skip a beat. “Then I can give you a thorough lesson on the care and, most importantly, feeding of your new demon…”

#accidental mistress #oraion the allergic incubus #noelle the awkward witch #snzfic #snz #snzblr #snz fic #sneeze fic #snz ocs

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group L Round 1: #L8 vs #L1

#L8: Teenage girl and her friends literally hack society

In the cyber city Tom Sawyer, society revolves around earning "Love," akin to receiving likes on social media. Citizens of this augmented reality exchange Love for public services and appearance-changing avatars via the Decoration Customizer, also known as "Deco," a hologram device implanted in an individual's eyes from early childhood. Under the government's careful management, the people of Tom Sawyer live a peaceful existence, outside the occasional appearance of Phantom Zero, a mysterious criminal who brings all Love to zero within their vicinity.

Berry, a mischievous girl fascinated by Phantom Zero, lives comfortably in the system of Tom Sawyer until her Deco malfunctions, enabling her to see a camouflaged prankster named Hack. Believing Hack to be Phantom Zero, Berry chases after the suspect and, in the process, begins to uncover society's most well-kept secrets. As it turns out, Hack is not the only person living outside the system's rules—and the vibrant colors of Tom Sawyer hide a darker nature.

#L1: Normal Girl™ accidentally joins Kansai’s biggest criminals

After the fall-out of a war between the Kanto and Kansai regions of Japan, citizens of Kansai now live in a dystopia. Criminals are bigger and badder than before, resulting in a specialized Execution Division rising to combat these ‘Akudama.’

An ordinary person accidentally wedges herself into the midst of a gang of the worst of the worst, and now she’s on the run with Kansai’s top Akudama to fulfill a cryptic mission. Her goal was to get back to her normal life, but one thing leads to another and she gets trapped, bound by her sense of morals to stick with her terrible team.

The team in question consists of a Brawler with a need to find the toughest opponent to fight, a Doctor who toys with lives, a Hacker who has run out of games to play, a Courier who always gets the job done, a Cutthroat with a kill count of 999 bodies, and a Hoodlum who was set for a prison sentence of 5 years. Joining them is the Black Cat, their mysterious recruiter, who promises great wealth to the Akudama.

Titles, propagandas, trailers, and poll under the cut!

#L8: Yurei Deco

Propaganda:

Without any spoilers, Hack can easily be interpreted as nonbinary in some sort of way (whether they’re transmasc, transfem, or otherwise androgynous/neutral/other aligned) and their birth sex is never revealed, which is a plus for me. Furthermore, it’s literally what would happen if you made a fun, hard science fiction series in the style of a Ted Chiang novel but aimed at kids and written rather optimistically. It still has the hard sci-fi elements of critiquing AI and social capital systems and whatnot, but it also has an upbeat, cheerful tone of a children’s show, and you know what? I really like cheerful, intelligent kids shows! It’s something that I could not only watch on my own, but also watch with my conservative family without being seen as inappropriate, and it’s a genuinely cute and fun show!

I also like the colorful, free-flowing art style, thanks to Science SARU’s art, and the diverse characters, not only in characterization, but in race, body type, age, and gender. And the plot twists in this show really excited me too! This is one of my favorite shows of all time, and I genuinely recommend people to watch this show as well! Sadly, it’s not dubbed, likely because of its relative unpopularity, but the Japanese voice cast is another plus, especially Berry’s seiyuu! Berry is genuinely her first voice role, and she KNOCKS it out of the part, especially at making Berry’s cheerfulness stand out. Another good point: the MUSIC. With diverse mixes of electropop, hyperpop, and bit-based sounds, it genuinely has such a unique soundtrack compared to a lot of 2020s era anime’s yakousei and anisong based soundtracks which, while I like some yakousei and anisong tracks, I’m just not fond of both genres.

Trigger Warnings: Unfortunately, as a Science Saru show, Yurei Deco is unfortunately very flashy on the eyes and thus very unsafe for epileptics, the photosensitive, and autistic people who have trouble with eyestrain, among others. There are also depictions of classism that, while shown as wrong and not good in the narrative, might trigger those who experienced class-based abuse.

#L1: Akudama Drive

Propaganda:

Akudama Drive is an anime produced by a video game company, and it’s amazingly a single standalone piece, unlike their other projects. The three people who lead the creation of the Danganronpa series (character designer, story writer, and music composer) came together and produced something so different from their usual pattern and it pays off.

The character designs are so fun, the music vibes hard, and the story is better than anything seen in DR before since (no offense meant) the cast all get fleshed out as individuals beyond a single trope. Everyone is depicted as morally grey, and it’s such a fun experience to watch the madness break out and root for the bad guys or the bad guys.

Every scene is so pretty, and you can see the color theory SLAPPING THE SCREEN, it’s so pleasing to look at. The voice acting is also top tier! The character evolution can literally be heard in the voices 🛐 The anime is a fun show with cool stunts and epic battles, but it’s still got some interesting social commentary if you’re the type that loves dissecting that madness. There’s a little something for everyone!

Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore, Rape/Non-Con, Self-Harm, Constant Flashing Lights and Screaming

If you’re reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

#anime #best underrated anime #polls #poll tournament #tournament #anime tournament #animation #animated show #group stage #group stage round 1 #tournament polls #group l #yurei deco #akudama drive

[mandosaur]

Dance of the Mythosaur and Dragon (2/?)

Fandom: The Mandalorian, House of the Dragon

Pairing: Din Djarin / OC

Chapter: II (Din)

Word Count: 4,788 Words

Estimated Reading Time: 17:25

Previous | Next

Grogu shovels the pretzels laid out for him as Din and Bo sit across from each other. The meeting room is once again empty after a round of negotiations and debate. An informant has let them know that the Targaryens have departed from Westeros on their small starship bound for Mandalore.

Bo runs a hand through her hair in obvious exasperation. Din has yet again objected to the marriage.

“Tell them we will trade something else. There is no need for a marriage,” Din remarks.

Grogu makes a tiny Patuu as he gnaws on another pretzel stick. His eyes watch him intently. Either the Force is allowing him to feel Din’s frustration, or he is just attuned to his adoptive father after so long of knowing him. Eitherway, the kid seems to sense his unease and looks concerned.

“And trade what? Funds? Mandalore doesn’t have those to spare. Food? We can barely grow enough to keep our own citizens fed. Weapons? The other clans will not allow us to arm a foreign planet with our advanced weaponry especially when they are so close to war. Soldiers? No clan would volunteer its fighters to a planet it can’t even place on a map. Beskar? The creed believes that it is for our use only. What could we possible offer them that isn’t a marriage?” Bo leans back in her chair, “It’s all we have to barter. You are Mand’alor, but your position is not secure. Anyone could challenge you for the Darksaber. Quite a few clans are unhappy with your rule purely because they view you as an outsider. A marriage could-“

“A marriage to another outsider? Yeah, that will win them over,” Din rolls his eyes, “I wouldn’t mind handing the sword to another challenger. You know I never wanted this throne.”

The Darksaber feels too heavy on his hip. He doesn’t like the weight of it. Every time he pulls it free and ignites the blade, he can feel something unnatural and eerie whispering to him and luring him down a path he doesn’t want to follow.

Had his covert not demanded he take up the throne on their behalf, he would have handed it to Bo Katan and been done with it. Let her take her ancestral throne back and lead the ruins of Mandalore for all he cared. He was never meant for a life of ruling anything bigger than a squad of bounty hunter grunts.

Bo elects to ignore him.

“You need a wife to solidify your throne and a child to pass on rulership-“

A gloved hand points to Grogu with his cheeks stuffed full of pretzels.

“I have a son. Din Grogu.”

Din’s voice is a cold warning, tense. His creed does not recognize blood over chosen family. Mandalorians believe the children you adopt are just as much yours as the ones that share your genetics. To weigh one child over another simply because their blood is not yours is to reject the tenets of a true Mandalorian.

“Of course you do,” Bo protests, “But Grogu is fifty and still hasn’t said his first word! It will take him centuries to ever be ready to rule. You are not eternal, Din Djarin. You will die one day. You need another heir to take the Darksaber and rule Mandalore while Grogu grows. That is why it is necessary to marry this princess.”

A pause dwells in the air. Grogu chews thoughtfully and his gaze sweeps over them both. Din wonders not for the first time how much he understands. Maybe his mind is evolved leagues beyond his tiny body.

“It had to be a princess from a backwater, skughole planet? There weren’t any clans ready to sell off their daughters to you?” Din’s voice is gruff again.

Bo stands from her chair and walks over to the Holo. A few taps and a holo image of Westeros is projected between them. The photos are blurry and unfocused.

“How much do you know about Westeros? Or the Targaryen dynasty?”

Nothing.

Din had never heard of any of it before the idea of a marriage contract had first been floated towards them.

“Westeros is an isolationist planet*. Isolationist planets are planets that never joined the Republic pre-Empire or any other galactic government body. Westeros was discovered during the establishment of the Targaryen rule. The ruler back then, Aegon the Conquerer, met with a representative of the Republic. When the planet was discovered, it was offered that they join the Republic and have access to all of our technology. Aegon the Conqueror refused.”

Another tap on the screen brings up a contract. The top part is both in Aurebesh and the same weird symbols from before. The title reads TREATY OF PERMANENT ISOLATION AND COMPLETE SILENCE FOR PLANETARY INDEPENDENCE FROM THE HIGH REPUBLIC. A mouthful if there ever was one.

“The Isolation Treaties, or the Lone Planet Accords, are treaties the Republic agreed to with planets who didn’t want to join the galaxy. The rules state that those planets must never interfere in galactic governance or trade or contact outside planets. In exchange, they are completely independent and do not need to obey Republic laws. Westeros is one of them. Aegon the Conqueror wanted his planet to be free from any outside rule and wanted to preserve the integrity of his line. If he joined the Republic, he would have had to bend to their laws and allow non-humans into his planet where they would ‘taint the bloodline’ as he claimed. For centuries Westeros has been completely closed off and its people outside of the royal family have no clue life outside their planet exists. The only connection they have to the outside world is a singe starship the Republic gave them centuries ago merely for emergencies or renewals of the treaties-“

“Then how did they agree to this contract now?” Din leans back in his chair. He’s never been one to trust easily. For an isolationist planet to suddenly break its treaty now…

“When the Republic fell, the Empire claimed it would continue to honor the Isolationist Treaties. That was a lie, of course, the Empire never honored its oaths. No doubt they would have begun invading isolationist planets had they not been too preoccupied with the Rebellion and their other genocides, but those planets remained without contact during its rule. But when the empire fell, the treaties ended too. The New Republic has already said they will reissue the treaties as soon as they are able to, but they are busy rebuilding. It will take them a few years to catch up. For now, Westeros is free to contact the outside planets while it waits for a renewal. That presented a great opportunity.”

A tap on the screen brings up more blurry images of dragons. A satellite somewhere far away from Westeros has taken imaging of the Targaryen dragons. With how far the photos were taken, the image looks like nothing more than blurry colored outlines across stretches of land.

“Westeros is controlled by the Targaryen dynasty. They are dragon riders. Their blood is special and allows them alone to control these beasts. Legends say they are descended from the very dragons themselves. Their blood would have made them prime targets for the Empire had it had time to invade their planet. We don’t need to do that. The Targaryens are fiercely protective of their dragons and blood. They practice incest to keep their bloodlines strong and their dragons within their family. A marriage to an outside planet has never been done before, but the expiration of the treaties gives us the perfect advantage. If you marry their princess, your children will have Targaryen blood. They will control dragons and protect Mandalore. The imperial remnants and any enemies who would invade our planet would think twice if they heard the roar of a Targaryen dragon.”

Din thinks of the Krayt dragon he fought ages ago. That beast had not been controllable. He doubts any wild animal can truly be controlled. Perhaps the Targaryens are con artists using fear to keep their citizenry at bay.

“They won’t give us their dragons. They’ll go back on their word once we send them fighters-“

“They have agreed to give us the dragon that belongs to their princess. Your future bride rides the Cannibal. It is the largest dragon in their planet previously untamable. Princess Daenys did what no one could before at a young age. She tamed it. The beast answers only to her. King Viserys Targaryen has agreed to gift us the dragon as his daughter’s dowry. Any eggs it lays will also belong to Mandalore.”

A blurry image of a dragon takes over the screen. It is a fearsome thing with scales black as midnight and green eyes. In the picture, it has something in its mouth. The image is too blurry to make out whatever it is.

“The Cannibal is a treasure. It is the largest dragon known in Westeros and the most feared. It’s called the Cannibal because it has devoured other dragons before. If Princess Daenys can control it, ride it in battle, then Mandalore will have a very powerful weapon. All it takes is a marriage-“

“And our soldiers. You said this planet is about to destroy itself in a civil war. They want our aid in exchange. How do you propose we do that? You said our warriors will never leave for a foreign battle. We can’t give them the aid we promised-“

Bo waves her hand dismissively.

“That is an issue for another time. For now, my priority is restoring Mandalore to its height. This alliance will give us what every other planet could never imagine having access to. Targaryen blood.”

Grogu hops on the table and peers at the image of the Cannibal. He makes little noises as he tilts his head every which way to analyze it.

Din stands from the table and scoops Grogu up, “Mandalorians can stand alone. We don’t need some spoiled brat with inbred blood and a cannibalistic lizard to fight our battles-“

“You haven’t even met her,” Bo hisses, “Our accounts say she’s lovely. Why don’t you at least wait until their ship arrives here before you decide to demand that they leave? Maybe she is exactly what this planet needs-“

The door closes behind Din hiding whatever else Bo was in the midst of saying. Grogu reaches a tiny hand for Din’s helmet as his ears drop.

“Don’t worry, kid, I don’t intend to let any of this happen. I’ll send those people packing myself if I have to.”

———————————————

“You know, you might just be the only guy in existence who is told he will marry a beautiful Princess half his age and be upset about it,” Peli huffs. She scans her hand of Sabacc as her droids toss more credits in the pile. From where he is, Din can tell it’s a bad hand.

Grogu paces around Peli’s shop as Din gets to work fixing up his ship using her tools.

He’s fled Mandalore for a bit and gone to Tatooine. Bo hadn’t been happy when he had announced he was leaving, but even she knew Din needed a distraction. If he had to sit through another meeting listening to other people plan out his life with no input from him, he’d take the Darksaber and slit his own throat.

A spark from the ship makes him curse. The electric charge has torn open his glove and his finger aches.

“I never wanted to marry,” he keeps his voice firm as he shakes his hand in pain.

Peli tosses another credit to the table and smacks a droid that tries to scan her cards.

“And I never wanted that Jawa I dated that one time to dump me in an actual dump pile, but life happens. A lot worse could happen than being told you’re going to marry royalty. Maker, some people would give up their soul for a trade like that-“

“Well they can have my treaty,” Din growls out, “And this laser sword while I’m at it.”

Din wishes Paz had won the sword when he challenged him all that time ago. He should have just feigned losing the duel just to be rid of it. Paz could have ruled Mandalore and married the foreign princess. Why did he have to bring all these troubles on his shoulders?

Grogu sits on Peli’s lap and rolls a credit chip in his tiny hand. Peli tosses her cards aside and a busted up droid chirps in glee as it uses its claw to rake in the credits on the table.

“Whaddaya think, kid? Don’t you want to meet the pretty Princess?” She directs the question at Grogu. Grogu makes a series of noises in response. Peli nods as if she understands, “See? Kid is happy.”

Din kicks off from underneath his ship and tosses the tool in his hand at a workstation. His ship needs a few more repairs to keep running as fast as it has. In his mind, he runs a mental catalogue of all the parts it needs replacing and how much it will set him back.

“I told myself I’d never marry. We’re a clan of two, not three.”

Peli shrugs and shuffles out another hand. This one is better than the last. She shovels some more credits at the pile and protests when a droid offers up a tiny piece of its circuitry.

“Oi, it’s gonna take a lot more than that you, pile of rust. Toss in that leg of yours if you wanna participate in this hand,” she points a finger at the droid which chirps out a series of binary Din guesses isn’t appropriate, “Look, there are bigger problems in the world than marrying a pretty girl, Mando. You prolly never thought you’d get this little one either yet here he is. The Maker has a way of giving us what we need when we need it. Who knows? Maybe a year from now you’ll be happily married and won’t be able to imagine life without that princess of yours.”

Din makes a sound at the back of his throat. He doubts it.

He’s long ago accepted that he was never meant for anything more than one night stands and brothels. A man with as much blood as him, one who can’t show his face, and is already married to his creed isn’t meant for princesses coming from a life of wealth and splendor. That girl will take one look at Mandalore’s warriors and their bloody armor and faint.

“Believe me, the marriage will never go through. That girl will board her ship and run away as soon as she arrives in Mandalore. Then I’ll tell Bo Katan I’ll never agree to another arranged marriage and tell her Paz’s son is my next heir.”

Peli wins the next round and Grogu raises his hands in celebration. The droid now missing a leg beeps out some more binary and awkwardly hops away in a fit of anger. Peli huffs and calls him a sore looser.

“I wanna invite to the wedding, Mando. What good is a King for a client if it doesn’t come with perks?” She stands up and shoves the credits into her pockets. Grogu wanders back over to Din.

“I’m not a King,” Din argues, “I’m a leader. Not the same.”

A king, he knows, is an absolute ruler. His word is law and his people must obey. The Mand’alor is not like that. His rule is reliant on the sword on his hip for validity and the will of the Mandalorians to accept him. At any point, anyone could challenge him and take the throne.

Peli ignores him as she shoves him out of the way. He’s made a mess of her tools. She disappears under his starfighter and begins to complain about the state of the once beautiful ship she helped him build. Din forgets his protests as he joins her underneath the ship and takes a tool from her as they get to work on repairs. His problems can wait.

———————————————

A tablet is handed to him as he walks down the halls of the palace. Bo has compiled a list of all the information she has on Westeros. Din scans it with boredom as he walks side by side with her.

“Prince Daemon will negotiate the marriage on behalf of King Viserys. Westeros has its own customs on marriage. Originally he wanted a Valyrian wedding ceremony, but I talked him down. Your creed forbids you removing your helmet and their marriage ceremony would involve everyone seeing your face. We managed to agree on a Westerosi tradition. I already hired someone to make you a cloak.”

Din taps through a series of documents scanning its contents as Bo begins to huff when she recalls Daemon has refused to write his correspondence in Aurebesh. Her negotiations are taking longer the more she needs to translate his letters.

His focus goes to the tablet. The Westerosi wedding involves a cloak with his insignia being wrapped around his wife’s shoulders to demonstrate he is now responsible for her well-being. A note from the tailor hired claims his Mudhorn signet and the Mythosaur will be used for the cloak. His Armorer has even agreed to make him a Beskar clasp for the cloak and will incorporate the shape of a dragon in regards to his wife.

“And the wedding?” He passes the tablet back to her. The entire thing is one big headache after another.

“It will happen as soon as possible. The Targaryens cannot leave their planet for long. Prince Daemon has his own wedding to get to. He will be marrying Princess Rhaenyra after the death of her husband.”

Din thinks back to the family tree he had been made to read the night before.

“Isn’t that his niece?” His voice is dry, disgusted.

Bo makes a sound, “Keep the bloodline pure, remember? In any case, there are preparations we have to do before the ceremony. Princess Daenys will have to learn Aurebesh and some ways of life of Mandalore. We will need to negotiate with Prince Daemon what the marriage will entail and what title Daenys will take. There isn’t an official title for the spouse of a Mand’alor, but Daenys is a Princess. Her birth demands a level of respect we can’t ignore. We also have to negotiate some other things. Westeros is primitive…they have one starship they haven’t updated since the first contact with their planet. That means Princess Daenys won’t be able to visit her home planet or get many messages across. We will have to provide them a new starship with more advanced technology. We don’t have many of those to spare. Plus, we need to discuss what will happen with the Cannibal. Westeros has its own keepers which are tasked with feeding its beasts and keeping their eggs secure. We have no clue how to accomplish this. They offered to let some keepers stay on the planet with us, but the idea of outsiders I can’t vet for their allegiance isn’t exciting. I’d much rather we have our own troops learn how to manage the dragons.”

They enter the forge where the Armorer is at work. Sparks fly as she hammers out a special clasp for his cloak. He can already make out the shape of a dragon. It’s an imitation of the painting of the dragon gifted to them some time ago. The clasp has a dragon on the left roaring with fire flowing out of its maw and the Mudhorn on the right poised to strike with its big horn.

A special new signet meant to show the unification of the Targaryen and Djarin clans. Din suspects he will have to replace his shoulder pauldron once the marriage goes through. Grogu will also have to replace his chest piece once his wife adopts him as her own.

“The new signet will be ready soon,” the armorer doesn’t look up as she works, “The Djarin clan will expand by one. I added the Targaryen dragon as a sign of respect towards Princess Daenys’ royal blood.”

The foreign words sound strange on her tongue. Din watches the figure slowly appear on the Beskar. The Mudhorn darkens as more details bloom across the surface.

“We will also need armor,” Bo remarks, “The Princess will need to take the creed with time. Westeros might forbid its women from fighting, but Mandalore needs a warrior at its helm.”

“If she chooses to take the creed, I will take her measurements and forge her armor. Until then, we do not have the Beskar to spare,” the Armorer finishes the clasp. She holds it up for their inspection.

It’s a nice work of craftsmanship. Din can appreciate it even if he isn’t thrilled at the idea of changing his clan’s symbol. The Cannibal has been replicated exactly as it is on the painting.

She turns around and begins to cool off the piece. Soon, it will be shipped off to the tailor for it to be added to the cloak. Bo has shown him rough sketches of it already. It’s a silver, heavy thing meant to mimic Beskar. It will wrap around his fiancée’s shoulders during the wedding ceremony and replace the crimson Targaryen cloak she will wear.

“You will memorize the Targaryen wedding vows and your bride will memorize the Mandalorian vows in Mando’a. The Westerosi traditions will be done in public. The Mandalorian ones will be kept private,” the armorer calls over her shoulder, “Only once you two have pledged the Mandalorian vows can you remove your helmet. As husband and wife, she will be allowed to see your face.”

Din presses his lips together. He had forgotten all about that tradition too. A sense of unease spreads through him. He’s never been one to care about his appearance, had always imagined no one would ever see him except for Grogu and imps at the base, but now he feels nervous. He isn’t young anymore and he doubts he’s handsome. What will happen when his new bride sees him? Will she be able to hide her disgust? Cry? Race after her unclebrother in law and demand to return to Westeros?

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and pushes the thoughts aside. It doesn’t matter, he thinks, better for him if she runs away screaming.

The water hisses angrily as the burning clasp is dumped in. The armorer holds it steady until it cools. Once it’s finally done, she drops it into some fabric to cool it off.

“When you took the Darksaber, you promised you would place the needs of this planet over your own. Was your oath false, Din Djarin?” The armorer lifts her head to peer at him.

He immediately straightens up.

“No.”

A firm, resolute answer.

He meant every word of that creed as much as he had the first oath he swore when he put on his helmet for the first time. He may not have wanted his throne, but he had accepted the title when his covert had asked him to take the helm. They needed a voice in Mandalore. With Bo’s faction of helmetless Mandalorians ruling, the worry was that his covert would be closed off from the planet. In order to unify both clans, he had accepted the responsibility of wielding the saber and ruling them both.

The armorer regards him quietly from her place at the forge, Bo turns to him as well.

“Then marry this foreign princess and solidify your rule. Raise warriors with her and let them mount the dragons that will fly over Mandalore. This is your sacrifice,” the armorer’s voice carries across the room,“This is the way.”

“This is the way,” he and Bo respond back.

The words taste like ash in his mouth.

———————————————

A line of Mandalorians forms outside Mandalore. Din stands tall with the Darksaber on his hip. His armor has been polished until it gleams and the new signet on his shoulders catches the light of the sun.

The heavy cloak fashioned for him has replaced his old cape. It’s a long, silver cloak which drags when he walks and has the Beskar clasp at the front with the new insignia. It matches the color of his Beskar perfectly and has a regal air that has made quite a few others stare. Even little Grogu had made a sound of surprise when he first saw it around his shoulders.

The procession is waiting. A transmission had arrived last night announcing that the Targaryen starship was close. Bo Katan had sent some of her men to meet them half way and guide them back to Mandalore. Their old model ship traveled too slow for their taste and their hyperspace was weak.

Some time late in the morning, the ship had been spotted in their radars. Axe Woves, piloting the second ship, had announced they were both close. He claimed the Targaryens wanted to ride their dragons as soon as it was safe to disembark from their ship. They had brought three with them although only one would remain.

Din knows it’s a show of strength. They wish to brag about their beasts and show Mandalore why they were chosen for an alliance. Still, his warriors seem intrigued having never seen a dragon in person.

Bo raises a hand to her helmet receiving another transmission. She motions for Din to get closer.

“They’ve broken through the atmosphere. The ship will hover to allow the dragons to disembark. Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon are at the front. Princess Daenys will bring up the rear.”

She nudges Din to stand up straight. He adjusts the cloak on his shoulders and grips the Darksaber in one hand.

The morning is quiet and some of the Mandalorians shuffle their feet. Bo uses her helmet to see up into the clouds to spot the dragons.

Some more time passes before finally she makes a sound. Dark shapes emerge from the clouds. He spots two of them right off the bat.

One dragon has a long neck and travels at a rapid speed. The second is the color of burnished gold and flies next to the first dragon. They are the first to break through the clouds and their form casts a wide shadow.

Despite himself, Din widens his eyes. All this time he had been imagining a Krayt dragon. To see these dragons in flight is something astonishing.

But the third dragon completely blows the other two away. A large shadow blocks out the sun as it emerges from the clouds. This dragon is massive, towers over them all, and his scales are blacker than oil. He opens his mouth and a fearsome roar shakes the very ground they stand on.

Din is rooted to the spot with his eyes trained on the third dragon. This is the Cannibal, he realizes. The wild dragon only one person in history has been able to tame. A shiver runs down his spine and he isn’t sure whether it’s one born from awe or shock.

The first two dragons touch down first in the space allotted for them. Prince Daemon hops off in full armor and waits for his niece. Princess Rhaenyra dismounts in a dress that looks more expensive than anything he has ever seen before. The two of them survey the crowd quietly.

Behind them, the Cannibal lands with a blow that shakes the ground. Some of the Mandalorians make stunned noises. Those closest to the landing area tense as if waiting for the dragons to strike.

It takes a moment for Din to see his bride. The towering form of the Cannibal hides her from view as she dismounts. When the beast finally lowers itself to allow her to safely get off, he sees her.

She’s dressed in a red gown the color of blood. A three headed dragon made of black gems is stitched across the front of the dress. Her hair is whiter than snow and pinned in an elaborate hairstyle at the top of her head. Her eyes are the color of rare gems.

He lets outs out a breath.

“Beautiful,” he hears himself say. He’s stunned at his own admission and clacks his mouth shut to keep himself from speaking out again. Thankfully, no one seems to have heard him.

Bo jumps into action. She turns her head sideways, helmet trained on his, and nods at the Targaryens slowly walking forward.

“Come,” she orders, “let’s meet your new bride.”

#the mandalorian #house of the dragon #din djarin #din djarin x original character #din djarin x reader

[swiftscion]

clair de lune

In urban areas, chalkos from the earth is hard to simply come by. What used to be here is now stored in a warehouse just outside the city limits, guarded heavily by city watch. A plan is made to raid the warehouse and take what you can for your own stores. But be careful: you won’t be the only mages on the battlefield, and the Chalkos dust in the air will make for an explosive battle. 4d2 Chalkos per post, lose -1HP at the start of each day.

She expected a battle, but is greeted with war.

Larcei’s body slams against tiled floors, her back arching and body forced into a short spasm as pain makes it rounds through her hot blood. It hurts, reminding her that she is alive and fighting. 

“GRAH!” she chokes, her pupils dilating with rage, “Y-you’re gonna regret that! You mages and your fancy tricks... How ‘bout I fight fire with fire?!” Isaachian feet kick themselves up and off the ground, sending their agile body with it. Before her foe can react--before they can ready another blast of their controlling wind magic--she turns to one of the nearby stores of chalkos. It is a humble barrel, its lid left half ajar. Seeing an opening, the length of her stellar Brave Sword enters the barrel. And a bright flash of light follows, and when she seizes her prized blade from the container, it glows with newfound strength.

“Keh! You think that’ll save you? Give it up, girlie. I’ve got that stuff runnin’ through my blood!“

But give up, she does not. The guard prepares their spell in the palm of their hand, and when they flicks it forward to unleash a hurricane at her, Larcei engages. Her movements are swift, her winged feet darting just out of harm’s way while keeping up her advance. With measured steps, death arrives. And its fury knows no bounds.

“Take this!” 

Swordarm swings, and when the gleaming edge--the extension of itself--slashes the side of the soldier, sparks of light fly from the open wound like a deluge of shooting stars. Those sparks then explode into an inferno, razing the guard and rending them neutralized by the time Larcei finishes her swing. She looks to her sword in amazement, surprised that her last-ditch effort actually worked. So much exposure to chalkos has enhanced her mother’s heirloom, allowing Larcei’s passion to manifest as magic during battle. 

“Huh, guess that’s the end of it,” she whispers to herself, before turning to her allies. The fires of fighting almost made her forget that they were supposed to be on a mission, staging a heist against this warehouse’s chalkos by nightfall. 

She returns to them, treating herself to a quick glance at the full moon through the only window in the facility. “Hey, guys,” she calls, albeit quietly, “check this out. You can stick your weapons in this stuff and use it to fight off the guards!” 

Roll 4d2 = 2, 2, 2, 1; +7 Chalkos!

UP NEXT: @nagavoice; starter for @laslow @atypicalsenerio

#IC #EVENT THREAD (CLAIR DE LUNE) #NAGAVOICE #ATYPICALSCENARIO #LASLOW #KEbattlefield2023

[djservo]

gigglesnervously... this is so unlike me completely forgot about sending this ask to you. but now i have, so i simply must know how was your march reading? also any other media you've picked up i love your words

IMO BABE u could send our monthly round-up message 1 day before the month's over or 1 week After it's over and I would likely still be horribly unprepared LOL 💟 3 reads in march!

God's Beauty Parlor: And Other Queer Spaces in and Around the Bible by Stephen D. Moore

this was so funny to read in public, flipping through various pictures of Jesus and biblical scenes on the plane and subtly angling the cover to assure my fellow passengers that It's In A Queer Theory Way, Not Evangelical Way... LOL substance-wise, this was a bit all over the place. of course I'm not a biblical studies aficionado, but I've read similarly dense ethnographies/nonfiction to expect a sort of cohesion necessary when sharing extensive research with an audience you must assume doesn't know even half of what you know. it's the basics of essay-writing, even. and while I understand that when the referential material is something as grand as the literal bible (and its numerous interpretations) there are bound to be footnotes and context necessary for #background, the sheer amount of references took me out of it too many times. so tedious to have to flip to the back of the book every paragraph to read another supplementary 5 paragraphs simply to understand the context for 2 lines; it felt like a chore to pick this one up, or like a heavy commitment that made it impossible to read outside of a dedicated afternoon saved for reading alone. still, somehow, I never loathed it enough to give up reading entirely because the topic itself was so—and I hate to use this word, but—niche that I knew it was either sticking with this or endlessly scouring the internet for random sources regarding biblical queer theory that would likely lack the cohesion even more compared to a dedicated research book. I definitely wouldn't recommend this to anyone that doesn't have vested interest in both of those things, but I'll admit I'm already seeking out Moore's other writing (with a long, premature sigh of fatigue)

Le Livre Blanc by Jean Cocteau

years ago I listened to an Eve Babitz audiobook (Eve's Hollywood, I think) where she mentions a Jean Cocteau quote she has pinned on her fridge: "the privileges of beauty are enormous." I'd made a note of it and kept going back to it without ever actually checking Cocteau out (when I looked it up, it never linked it to a specific work of his so I assumed it was just a one-off quote). back in january when I read Against Interpretation and watched some Robert Bresson films in preparation for Sontag's Bresson analysis, I watched Les Dames du bois de Boulogne ('45) which was written by Cocteau. then, when perusing a bookshop the next month, I found this bite-sized read buried on the staff picks' shelf. I knew nothing about it but picked it up thinking it'd be an inconsequential dip into his writing, and LO AND BEHOLD, this is the book with The quote (though worded differently): "beauty holds vast privileges." it felt so special and serendipitous to come across this quote again, from its origin no less! I don't think I can attempt a review of the story itself without bias knowing its historical/societal context, so I'll just emphasize how special it feels to have come across this the way that I did

The Stranger by Albert Camus

I'd think it'd be more infuriating, or at the very least Tedious, to read about someone so unmoved/uninvolved with his own life, but I think the grip it held on me came from the baited-breath expectancy of a dramatic epiphany (which, spoiler, never came). not to bring up Bresson again, but this really did remind me a lot of his films with its cold and almost methodological feel—no purple prose or indulgence, just hollow shells of men going through the motions of life and dealing with the facts of the matter. cyclical, unfeeling, unaffected—you want him to "get better", but you end up questioning Why or what that would even look like. I just know the beanie-wearing menthol-smoking IPA-drinking philosophy bros go crazy with this one

with my head hung in shame, I must also report to you my first DNF of the year: Directed By Desire by June Jordan </3 here's where I think I went wrong:

1. I'm admittedly not big on poetry. I enjoy it when I read it and try to read a casual amount throughout the year, but not enough to delve into a 600+ page collection

2. the fact that this was a 600+ page collection (her collected works)!! I liked what I did read (I logged the books I did get through on goodreads for reference if/when I'm ready to pick back up on her poetry where I left off), but it's the type of commitment that would be more suited for an author I've been a longtime fan of vs. simply dipping my toes into the works of for the first time

3. my own incorrect approach to poetry. I used to think it was as simple as picking up and putting down here and there when I have a free moment, but that does such a disservice of stripping away the context, especially from a figure so revolutionary on various fronts like Jordan. like it's one thing to just read through a poem, then the next, then the next, but a different thing to read a poem and sit with it and absorb and analyze it. or IDK maybe I'm just too nonfiction-minded and unnecessarily making things harder for myself, but I feel almost as if a True reading of a poetry (for me) from now on would require so much more than just reading the poetry itself ykwim.. ok my brain is broken bye LMAO

I've already talked so much but since you asked about other media I'll quickly list off my top watches:

tv: Survivor (s7 baby!!) + La Casa De Las Flores (a lush and campy telenovela that feels like it's set at pee wee's playhouse—I can't get enough)

films: The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie ('72) dir. Luis Buñuel; The Lickerish Quartet ('70) dir. Radley Metzger; Pulse (2001) dir. Kiyoshi Kurosawa; early Juzo Itami films, particularly Tampopo ('85) which instantly cemented itself into my letterboxd top 4 (a change I usually reserve for the end of the year)

#why is it that the less i read the more i ramble LMAO i hope i get through more than 3 books this month so i can stfu <3 #asks #cheesehair #reads

[thebrownssociety]

Coyote VS Acme - Chapter One

Hey! So this idea is based off the now-cancelled film Coyote VS Acme, but it's not going to have any humans in it. I don't know where they were going with the eternally-unlucky lawyer Wile.E originally hired, but that's out the window.

I do not own Warner Bros or any Looney Tunes character in any way shape or form.

The coyote was hungry. No change there then - he'd spent all of his life one step away from starvation. As it was he was licking his lips and massaging his stomach as it protested in anger. What he wouldn't give for just one roadrunner...

*Zoom!*

...Well. Talk of the devil. The coyote reached out a hand longingly as the bird shot past him. He just managed to graze his feathers. The coyote looked down at his hand imagining having a whole bird to feast on. A whole bird...

With renewed vigour he took out his ACME Catalogue [Good for all your household needs!] and studied it intently. 40 pages and he was already a quarter through! But now he needed something special in order to finally catch his prey.

Ah! His finger landed on number 39. ACME Sticky-Net (Catch what you need with one swift throw!) ah! That was perfect. He wrote his details on the slip, popped it into a post-box and waited. Approximately 30 seconds later a large parcel fell from the sky. The coyote reached his hands out for it expectantly, only for it to land on his head and squash him flat. He didn't care however as he was to excited, practically salivating at the mouth at the mere thought of finally getting to eat!

He quickly got the net out of its packaging and found it instantly stuck to his hands. With frustration the coyote pulled and pulled but couldn't get himself free. Finally in desperation he stuck his foot on it, hoping to get enough downward force to pry it away from his hands. Of course that didn't work either and he ended up hopping around in one leg while silently cursing his life.

It was then that the roadrunner appeared and went "Beep, beep!" next to him. The coyote shot about a mile into the air, landing literally on his head. The roadrunner smiled, beeped again and legged it. The coyote glared. At least he was out of the net now, but still, that Roadrunner was a pain. Never mind - today was the day that the coyote would win! With an evil smile he rubbed his hands together and pictured a roast roadrunner. He looked round for the net and found it covering a nearby cactus.

After smacking his hand against his head, the coyote hurried over and pulled the net off. Well, he tried, but it refused to let go of the cactus. The coyote let go and had a small temper-tantrum, jumping up and down and nearly pulling his fur out, but then he had an idea. He grinned and rubbed his hands together.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

[A short time later]

If the mountain wouldn't go to Mohammed, then Mohammed would go to the mountain. Or in this case if the roadrunner wouldn't come to the cactus...

The coyote grinned devilishly and did a little dance of joy. This was bound to work! In the distance he saw the roadrunners tell-tail lines of smoke, and hurried to position behind a couple of rocks. This was where the net - now stretched between the rocks like a make-shift catapult - was waiting for him. Wile.E took the other end of the cactus and with careful precision - it was very sharp after all - and waited...and waited...and waited. After about thirty seconds he frowned and peered round the rock. Where was...?

"Beep beep!"

The coyote jumped a mile in the air, releasing the cactus in the process. It propelled forward and impaled itself [somehow] in a rock. Wile E by now was on his way back down again and he looked down to where the bird was inquisitively looking up at him. With a sudden rush of anger he paddled himself through the air so that the roadrunner wouldn't either catch him or laugh at him when he fell. When he was a suitable distance away he allowed himself to carry on falling, sticking his tongue at the bird so that he knew the coyote had outsmarted him again-

*crunch*

The coyote stopped dead. His eyes welled up and he let of a squeak of discomfort. He leapt of the cactus as if his bum was on fire [which to be fair, it pretty much was] and ran around in a circle before remembering he had brought at paddling pool not to long ago. He reached into his hammerspace, removed the pool, blew it up quickly and then started searching through his hammerspace for the water...where was the blasted water!?

"Meap, meap!"

The coyote turned to see the roadrunner holding a hose that had water coming out of it and gesturing for him to step aside. The coyote did so, and the roadrunner started to fill the pool up.

As soon as it was deep enough to get his ankles in, the coyote leapt into it and allowed the water to cool his burning backside. When the pain subsided he set about removing the cactus spines. After a short while he felt better and looked up to thank the roadrunner, only to see he had already gone.

The coyote sighed and relaxed back in the pool. Fair enough, after all the roadrunner had helped him, so he deserved a break. As he was relaxing he caught sight of the net - still stuck to the rocks. He glared at it, what was that thing made of!? Glue, paste and rubber!?

As he simmered silently, he thought over the inventions from ACME that had failed. As well as the net there was the cement shoes meant to attach to the roadrunner and slow him down. Great - except they didn't come in roadrunner's size. The coyote had been getting water out his snout for a week following that.

The car that broke down almost immediately after starting, the fly-trap paper that was to sticky, the paint that was meant to paint roadrunner heaven and instead painted cooked roadrunner. The coyote almost broke his jaw. The batman suit, the multiple rockets, the catapult that broke as soon as you put a rock onto it and finally the snow machine that created water because the desert was to hot. Ok, in the final case that might not actually be ACME's fault - but the rest were!

Where was their product tester? Their inventors? Wile.E seethed, practically turning red with rage as the water started boiling around him. WHAT WERE THEY DOING WITH HIS MONEY!?

He banged his fist against the pool, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down. Did they not realise he could have been seriously injured with their malfunctioning products!? If he was a human - a real human, not a toon one - he'd be dead by now and that was a fact.

The coyote growled slightly as he got out the pool. Someone should hold those ACME fools to account! A few foot away he stopped as a lightbulb flicked on above his head. After all, why not? Why shouldn't it be him? He knew ACME products better than anyone else after all. If they couldn't get it right for their most loyal customer, then what were they doing to their worst? He grinned, liking the idea.

Now it was just how to go about it...

#coyote vs acme #looney tunes fanfiction #Roadrunner #Based Off #Poor Wile.E #Beware of Cactuses! #wile e coyote

[seaorchid]

Trigger x End | Kaname Toujou

Once upon a tale, there was a two couple. One is called Kaname Toujou and the other is called ??? They were a very cute couple.

They often have a cute date and alike. But alas good time never last, as the end have come for them.

The world at its final hour. But the devil who wish to end all humanity saw the two and can't help but strick a deal with ???

To be the source of end but to be with the one another. It was an odd deal but alas, ??? Have agreed so they could save the one they love and the loath they have for the people who did their love harm, just because he wish to shine as a bright star. And so the end game have began.

.

.

.

Kaname who suffered and was in a coma for a long while finally awaken, not remembering anything but seeing the person who smile as they seat beside the bed, happy to see him finally awake.

"kana~ I'm glad your awake~" the stranger (who's name he forgotten yet he felt so close and attach to the stranger) softly kiss his forehead. "Who... Who are you?" He mumble as a soft blush appear on his cheeks.

"Me? Well... I'm just me. " The stranger seems to refuse to tell their name. He was so curious why would they hide it.

.

.

.

But alas the unknown bound and pull they have made him stick with them, he would held their hand, blushing like a young boy in love as they walk in the ruined land, searching for survival or searching for the unknown.

They walk through city to city, holding each other hand. Sharing warmth under one blanket and telling tales he have forgotten.

Oh the happy times. He wish it could last but curiosity kills the cat as he cannot handle not knowing his beloved name.

"i-... What's your name? Please. Please I swear I won't ask again once you told me." he and you are on top of a busy city, a lively city at the time of end. One of the surviving cities.

.

.

.

That you two need to destroy

.

.

.

"ahaha~ kana is so cute! Your a curious one indeed... I wanted to spend more time doing couple thing with you in this round but alas... It's time." You smile so sweetly as the fireworks behind you start to explode in the sky.

"hah...? Wha... What does supposed to mean...?" He suddenly felt intensely dread, he don't understand it. Why does he felt this way?

"My name is Yuu. And I will meet you again later kana. I love you" They give a soft kiss in his lips before they suddenly turn into beautiful sakura petals covered with blood, spilling into him, drying him red.

"Y-yuu...? YUU?!.W-WHA.???? ahhhh.. m-my Yuu.. ?? Why... Ahhhhh...

NONONONONONONO...

NOOOOOOOO!!"

Oh the angst he felt as memories flash in his mind, the pain in his heart as he remembers the feeling of watching them go... Watching them parish once again because of his curiosity... Oh such curiosity that will trigger the end.

Oh the innocent soul who thought they survive the catastrophe suddenly all don't know the danger of a angst full living bomb. And they all went with a boom

Good bye unfortunate souls..

once again another city have fallen. No souls but one have manage to survive.

.

.

.

And it's no other than Kaname who once again forgot everything. Lying in the ground, hugging what is left of his love.

.

.

.Not from afar the devil brought another form, a copy, a medium of Yuu. The trigger. The yuu in their new body run toward kaname in worry, they can't help but felt sadness from the sight of his angst face, yet they cannot do anything.

This is their life now a trigger and a bomb of the end. To wake up kaname and those hateful human suffer for being too pitiful to accept kaname and do him wrong. They glare at the hateful devil who only smile as he stare at them with his blue eyes, shark like teeth shows as he chuckled.

"It's a deal isn't it? Fufu... Such a cute pitiful couple.." he was saying more but Yuu don't listen and carried kaname on their back and start their journey once again.

"Give us more time this time, ok?"

"That's not my control. A human will always be curious, little one."

"Shut the fuck up. I know your just excited to end the world."

"Fufu. I am here to reset the humanity after all... After all I am the devil of the end. And you two are my weapons. Mg pitiful adorable couple I truly love watching from the shadows..."

Yuu already walk fast to ignore the devil whisper. They want to put kana on a bed already than listen to this bitch.

.

.

.

"who are you?" The cycle once again continue and it will continue till there's nothing left but them.

#ensemble stars #ensemble stars x #ensemble stars x reader #ensemble stars x y/n #ensemble stars x you #kaname toujou #kaname toujou x reader #kaname tojou x reader #kaname tojou #🌊 archive: Surface

[levmada]

First Times Anthology, Extra 4: Beast

work summary » Intimate, vulnerable, gentle. Concepts Levi is a stranger to, until you.

ch.summary: You want a pet. Levi tries to be supportive.

content/warnings: Levi deflecting trauma as usual, past injury, soft and fluffy

wc: .9k

a/n: DELETED SCENE TIME. its not necessary to understand the story, jus filling in the blanks of the canon plot with some fun :) i wrote this back when i read We Have to Do Something in one night and the end hit me like a train. we are at the cabin from the last ch

・work masterpost・

taglist: @peace-for-levi | @sckerman | @jayteacups | @levi-my-beloved | @alominum | @mwuah | @midtwenties-angst | @ackermandick | @halloweenmedic | @katty | @notgoodforlife | @chaotic-nick | @b-o-n-e-daddy | @levisbrat25 | @1-800-mocha | + link to sign up

“What if we got a pet?”

“No.”

“Then why’re you cleaning the doggy door?”

The cabin, for some reason or other, had a flap built into the front door that could be locked or unlocked with a red mechanism. It was locked now, as Levi was sitting criss-cross, dragging a handheld scrub brush in fierce up-and-down motions.

“I’m cleaning it because it’s filthy,” Levi replies, far-away and distracted. There’s streaks of midnight grease lining the door flap—seems to him it’s been there longer than the Walls.

Then he realizes what you’re insinuating, and meets your coy smile with quite the opposite. “You want a mangy beast prowling around the house, the one we’ll be living in one-fourth of the year.”

“Not a beast!” You toy with your fingers, a silly grin leaking into your smile, just imagining it. “And, the door’s already here; we have everything we need. I think it would be nice.”

Your logic is horrifically flawed. Whether this mystical, idea-borne pet would even stick around for the better part of the year while you and he are gone is unlikely, but there’s already a little door, already a feathery bed fit for a small dog, or a large cat. Like what the cabin is quickly becoming for you and Levi, a haven, it could be like that for the occasional stray, too.

The glitter in your eyes is too appealing. “I can fix the door,” he argues, toying with the thread-bound rag, “I’m good with my hands.”

“Oh, I know you are. Fingers too.”

His face scrunches under the kerchief tied neatly around his face. “Tch… That’s not what I meant... Whatever.”

Levi pointedly swivels away from you, entirely focused on the grease, which he scrubs with renewed vigor. Where his sleeves are neatly rolled up, muscles and veins flex beneath his skin—it’s possible he’ll accidentally take the door off its hinges if he keeps up.

As the words leave you, you pad over and crouch behind him, flopping on your bottom: “Sorry, honey. Didn’t mean to change the subject.”

But after this morning, you really did.

“If not, I don’t mind,” you go on quietly, the rattling door tapering off a little as your palm lands gently on his back. “Have you ever had a pet before?”

The acrid stench of the stuff he’s scrubbing stings Levi’s nose. He quits on the grease for a moment and gives it some actual thought.

Back then, Isabel liked bringing home all sorts of critters with big, round eyes and crusty fur. He’s told you all about it before. They never stayed long—partly because she would make friends with just about any animal, including moles or mice, and anyway, it was always another mouth to feed.

There was one time, maybe. The cloudy memory only comes to mind now that you ask, but there was a mongrel he used to feed, a puppy. He couldn’t pet it because its snowy fur was stained ash-grey with dirt, mud, and flea-shit, tangled to hell. Whenever he tried to comb it out with his fingers, he got bugs himself, and the owner of the place his mother worked, where he lived, raised hell.

He should’ve stopped then. Left the animal alone, and it would find its own way. No kid about the height of anyone else’s knees would understand that, though. Not when he knew what it was like to go hungry, frowning at the dramatic concave of the dog’s ribs, hearing it cry.

“—so I fed it, and naturally it started coming around a lot more.” Back to scrubbing. Your arms, snug around his waist, tether him from floating away too far into the past. “One day, I didn’t have food—or maybe it was old bread, and the dog didn’t like that.” He never even named it. “I prefer cats.”

Its teeth tore the hell out of his forearm. It was no longer an option, keeping it from Mom—he needed stitches. Nobody else would do it, no money for a doctor. As a necessity, she knew how to sew, but as kind and soothing as his mother’s words still sound, clouded by memory, every single thing about her shook, even the image in his own mind.

She tried her best, and she never raised her voice or gave him hell about it—only, it grew low and serious, the way only motherly voices can: “Never, ever scare me like that again, baby. I know the dog was hungry, but you need to eat. You’re gonna be okay. Everything’s gonna be fine—I know it is, okay?”

“O-Okay. Okay, okay. M’sorry. Sorry.” And even deluded by the pain, he still remembers every word. He didn’t know any better, and she hushed him.

“It’s okay, You’re going to grow up to be big and strong, okay, baby? Show me you understand.”

He shakes his head a little, takes his shivering hand away, and clenches it into a fist. His words trailed off moments ago, but the memory didn’t. “Never mind. If you’re gonna keep pestering me, then a cat.”

Left a strung wire by the quiet story, you take an even breath, and carefully kiss the back of his head, where the blanket of his undercut is all prickly.

“Maybe we can make better memories than the old ones,” you suggest, gently. “But honestly, I’m happy just to be here with you.”

Visibly, his shoulders relax, and you feel the tension leaving your own body when it leaves his. No matter how nice the idea of a furry pet sounds, you couldn’t bear it if he didn’t agree—it’s impossible to pretend to be normal.

“Thank you,” he murmured, watching you softly over his shoulder. You exchanged a short kiss.

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#levi x reader #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman angst #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x you #aot levi #captain levi x you #captain levi x reader #levi x reader fluff #levi x mc #levi x y/n #anthology

[inamindfarfaraway]

As a rule, I take my fandom projects very seriously. I pour my soul into every fanfic and try to make my OCs feel like real people. But sometimes you just need to be silly and cheesy and kill the part of you that cringes, or at least kick it so it leaves you alone for a bit. So… I made these.

My Lalaloopsy OCs

Name: Headline Heard-It-First.

Gender: Female.

Type: Large.

Sewn From: A newspaper.

Birthday: 3rd of May (World Press Freedom Day).

Appearance: She has fair skin, black button eyes, pink cheeks and magenta hair in a curly ponytail tied with a cyan bow. She wears a cyan suit jacket and trousers, a yellow shirt, tie and socks and magenta shoes. She has a magenta spiral-bound notebook and pen.

Pet: A female black mouse with a round, metallic, cross-hatched silver head resembling a microphone, a black nose, button eyes and whiskers. The insides of its ears are magenta. Headline likes to hold her.

Bio: Headline Heard-It-First is the best journalist in Lalaloopsy Land! She’s always eager to hear about and share her friends' adventures. Sometimes she jumps to conclusions and forget to check that what she thinks is really true, but she's so dedicated to the truth that she'll set make sure the facts win out in the end. Her name comes from the dramatic, eye-catching headlines she loves writing and the news reporting saying “you heard it here first”.

Name: Panel Heard-It-First.

Gender: Female.

Type: Little.

Sewn From: A newspaper.

Birthday: 7th of October (International Newspaper Carrier Day).

Appearance: She has fair skin, black button eyes, pink cheeks and short magenta hair, loose and curly. She wears a black flat cap, magenta shirt with yellow buttons, black skirt that has white squares drawn around it with a black stick figure running in each of them, cyan trainers and yellow socks.

Pet: A female black dog with white speech bubble markings, long floppy ears and a white rolled-up newspaper tail with black stripes.

Bio: Panel Heard-It-First is Lalaloopsy Land’s littlest cartoonist! She’s a quiet but passionate and imaginative, artist who draws comic strips and panels next to Headline Big Scoop’s articles. She is very curious about the world and can put a fun twist on nearly anything. She also helps deliver the papers while walking her dog. Her name comes from the panels she draws and the news reporting saying “you heard it here first”.

Name: Hour Clockwork.

Gender: Female.

Type: Large.

Sewn From: A watch strap.

Birthday: 12th of December (12/12, like the two rounds of a twelve-hour clock).

Appearance: She has brown skin, black button eyes, pink cheeks and purple hair in cornrows wound into a high bun held with a bronze gear. She wears a green dress with a bronze skirt hem and cut-off sleeves resembling gears, purple belt with a bronze gear buckle, purple shoes likewise with bronze gear buckles and a purple watch on her left wrist.

Pet: A male wolf with bronze fur and a black nose and button eyes.

Bio: Hour Clockwork the best clockmaker in Lalaloopsy Land! She’s perfectly punctual and likes everything to be as neat and precise as possible. However, she can be tightly wound and impatient. She prefers to stick to a routine. She is an excellent planner and engineer, good at putting things together and making things work, even - or especially - when they’re complicated. Her name comes from an hour, a unit of time that clocks measure, and the workings of a clock that are as regular she is.

Name: Minute Clockwork

Sewn From: A watch strap.

Type: Little.

Birthday: 11th of July (the date Big Ben struck for the first time).

Appearance: She has brown skin, black button eyes, pink cheeks and purple hair in round afro pigtails held with bronze gears. She wears a purple T-shirt that has a white analogue clock face on it with the black hands pointing to six o’clock, bronze gear-shaped skirt, green tights, bronze shoes and a purple watch on her right wrist.

Pet: A male purple hummingbird with a green breast and tail and black button eyes.

Bio: Minute Clockwork is Lalaloopsy Land’s littlest clock enthusiast! She’s excitable and hyperactive, but never gets bored because she’s so playful that time flies for her. She loves to tinker with clock parts, watch the inside of her sister’s clocks move, find out how fast she can do things and race her friends. Her name comes from a minute, a small unit of time that clocks measure, and the smooth workings of a clock.

#lalaloopsy #lalaloopsy ocs #i’ve never even owned a doll but i thought the designs and characters and concept of this toy world of children was fun #and spent way too much time daydreaming about developing the characters and having actual stories with them #because i was an autistic child who could only get overly invested in media or not care about it at all #and it turns out i’m still that person to an extent! #and i got nostalgic and found a lalaloopsy wiki #lalaloopsy land needs a journalist because who else will recklessly chase after dyna might? #hour’s pet is a wolf because ‘what’s the time mr wolf?’ #minute’s pet is a hummingbird because the fast wingbeats are meant to parallel the endless movement of a second hand #yes minute is left-handed

[astral-dragons]

WE'RE GONNA HAVE A RAVENLOFT HEIST BABEEEYYYYY-

So Sylviel helped the Martikovs fight off the werewolves, Adrian and Davian going down during the fight, but luckily being stabilized before they could die. When Elvir mentions that this is the third time in the last month that the winery has been attacked by werewolves, Sylviel suggests setting up traps, and that's exactly what they do.

Meanwhile Fenro and Ireena head back inside Van Richten's tower and Fenro takes a moment to actually look around, finding a map that presumably belonged to Van Richten with notes written on it, a tome that he quickly realized required the magic of its original owner to open, and a strange orb that prevents divination magic within a certain radius. Fenro asks Ez if the tome is Van Richten's and she seems quite certain it's not. Fenro rounds everybody up including a still sleeping Marcus (quite grumpy his sleep was interrupted) to head back to the winery.

The journey back to the winery is... strange, actually. The group running into some hunters who tell them to be wary of the things that lurk in the woods. Later, they realize they are being followed by a not-so-sneaky spy, who when caught, tries to... take some of Fenro's hair? When Fenro fights back though, she panics, running into the woods (Zuleika's being blackmailed by Strahd oooohh drama~)

Arriving back at the winery, they update everybody else on the situation, and Dimitry comes up with a long shot idea to have all the casters try casting a spell on the book. Dimitry casts Spare the Dying, nothing, Ez tries Prestidigitation to a similar effect, Fenro tries Dispell Magic and nothing happens. Finally, Sylviel steps up to the chopping block, casting Charm Person on the book with finger guns and a pick up line to boot, and it works! Everyone gathers round to find out what's inside the book:

A journal written by a currently unknown author claiming to be Strahd's arcane advisor. They mention a massacre, the incident that turned Strahd into a vampire, and how they chose to stick around regardless. They also mention doing research with someone named Azalin on de-tangling souls from objects, something they were interested in as to learn how to prevent such a thing from happening to their phylactery as they worked to become a lich. After their work with Azalin, they were given a sentient sword by Strahd and told to destroy it, something they found odd as Strahd doesn't usually waste powerful artifacts like that, as well as the fact that the bindings used on the blade were not strong enough to hold a fiend or undead's spirit as Strahd had apparently claimed. They follow through regardless, destroying the blade of the sword before it was stolen by their apprentice, one Patrina Velikovna, who was killed before the author could find out what she did with it. The last entries in the journal detail their excursions to a place called the Amber Temple, where they hope they'll finally find the magic they need to become a lich.

Fenro immediately puts the pieces together about the sword, certain now that Strahd was lying, though still not entirely certain whose soul could be bound to Susan.

The party discusses their options, and Ez is adamant that she wants to go rescue Van Richten as soon as possible, knowing that if he is still alive, he'll be living on borrowed time. Not only that, but now that Strahd has Susan, it's only a matter of time until he's able to destroy it. Everyone agrees that they should go to Castle Ravenloft next, but they need a plan. Fenro mentions again that he has an open invitation from Strahd and that he could use it as not just a distraction but also to bargain with Strahd for the sword, not knowing where it might be kept; they argue for a while over if they even have anything Strahd would want, and Ireena reminds them that Strahd wants her. Fenro, Ismark, and Izek all immediately turn the idea down, and the only other thing they think to bargain is offering to destroy Susan for Strahd. Although he doesn't want to hand Ireena over to Strahd, Fenro does ask that she go with him as both moral support and to hopefully keep Strahd from attacking Fenro again, and she agrees to.

During this, Dimitry offers to send a message to Escher to see if he can find them a safe way into the castle; Escher tells them about the Northern Tower and the shaft leading down to the crypts, telling the party he'll try and meet them at the bottom. Team Infiltration has a way in!

As for bargaining with Strahd, they all agree to discuss it on the road to Ravenloft tomorrow. For now, they all settle in for the evening...

I'M LITERALLY SO EXCITED AND ALSO TERRIFIED. THIS IS GONNA GO SOME SORT OF WAY AND I'M HERE FOR IT.

Also hmmm wonder what could be up with Sylviel being able to open Khazan's the mysterious tome 🤔🤔🤔 Maybe it has something to do with that potential Strahd saw in Sylviel...

Anyway, I've got stuff to plan haha, wish us luck!

#curse of strahd #dungeons and dragons #dungeons & dragons #dnd #d&d #curse of strahd spoilers #cos spoilers #cos dnd #blood relation dnd