#shaking off that fallout rust!

[enlichened]

i will say i have some GRIPES with fallout (the tv show. and in general) but its really capturing some specific horrors VERY well. in particular im thinking 1. nuclear war/bombs. the first scene of the show really conveys just how terrifying and inescapable something like that is. and 2. learning the whole system you grew up in is false, specifically learning about a vault experiment while living in it.

#weve had vault dwellers before of Course. almost every game! but most of them came from benign vaults in terms of experiments #like yes of course the cryogenics. yes yes the mind games. but 31 32 and 33 are like something youd FIND in one of the games. not come from #and the fact that we're learning it along with the people living there is SOOO something to me #and with the nuclear bombs. well. do i have to describe how awful and gutwrenching and impossible-but-somehow-true that is? #i could post about my gripes too and i will <3 especially because some of them are. important. but im kinda enjoying myself too a little #shaking off that fallout rust! #personal / #fallout blogging #fallout show #fallout show spoilers

[rad-roche]

been a hot MINUTE since i last painted anything so here's glori

where's that one post that's like we need more horrible soggy female noir detectives. i'm keeping that dream alive

#gloria roche #fallout #fallout 4 #sole survivor #dead man talking #rochedotpng #she will do the right thing but her idea of the right thing involves a lot more gun violence than nick might like #a femme fatale in that the femme walks over a landmine and it's nearly fatale #she has never done anything wrong in her life. ignore everything i said before this #i'm a couple months out of practice!! shaking the rust off #fo4

[reds-writings]

crashin' the party

(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)

a/n: a bit of a whopper that had me stumped for a bit. i sincerely hope you like it. i didn't plan to go this far with the jj universe but the more i do the more fun i have with these two! i'm going to rearrange my masterlist a bit and put these parts in a more chronological order! this part technically takes place before the events of if only tonight we could sleep. feedback is always cherished and my requests are open!

word count: roughly 6.7k

warnings: cursing, fighting (verbal and physical), two idiots being dumb, miscommunication trope, the boy's a liar, guns, mentions of drugs, rust self-sabotaging, marty being marty, ANGST, making up at the end, things can be a lil toxic, reader gets the shit end of the stick in most of this, etc

You hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something rather egregious was brewing behind your back over the past several days. Starting with the unfortunate shitshow that was Marty’s young thing of a mistress letting Maggie in on his line of transgressions due to a fit of spite. The fallout was more than unsavory which had him plenty distracted with trying to hopelessly pick up the shattered pieces of his now blown-up marriage. 

Then, Rust decided to take a few week's leave in the middle of the case. Which came completely out of left field given his obsession with having this all solved more rapidly due to the ever-shortening time limit Quesada had set for you all. A dying father in Alaska or something along those lines. He hadn’t exactly informed you of it directly himself until you rang him up the night he was supposedly set to depart. 

“Heard you were takin’ leave.” You idly twisted the phone chord between your fingers as you sat atop your kitchen counter. One of your coworkers at the precinct had mentioned it off-handedly earlier in the day and you were more than curious as to why everyone else seemed to know of Rust’s so-called last-minute trip and not you. 

“Yeah.” Rust’s static voice sounded back to you, sounding stranger than what was his usual. More dazed and gruff.

“In the middle of this case?”

“Mhm…”

“...Mind sharin’ why?” He was being more elusive than usual and it was starting to grate your nerves further by the minute.  

“Visitin’ my father. Anchorage. He’s dyin’.” 

Oh. 

“I’m uh...I'm sorry to hear that…when are you headin’ out? Need me to drive you to the airport or somethin’?-”

“Marty’s takin’ me. Tonight.” 

That made you even more surprised. It wasn’t like the two were necessarily all that chummy. You tried not to let it sting that there seemed to be a purposeful choice in having Marty take him instead of you. The dynamic between you two wasn’t at its most idyllic but you hadn’t thought it to be too strained despite recent events. Things with the investigation were just piling up, getting trickier and more stressful to manage as time ticked on. 

Sure, you guys hadn’t exactly been able to elaborate further on what was the bomb of feelings he had all but dropped on you but you hadn’t been taking it personally. At least not until now. Maybe he was starting to regret things. This was probably him pulling away so you’d get the hint to not be so keen on him moving forward. Were you coming off as desperate?  Suffocating?

Realizing you’d yet to say anything you cleared your throat a bit, “Thought Marty would’ve been too busy dealin' with winning back Maggie and everything...” The couple already managed to give you more than a migraine or two since things went to shit. On top of Marty’s deep-seated 'woe is me' bullshit, Maggie had managed to stop by demanding answers in a hysterical flurry to things you had no knowledge of or frankly any business in. 

“I won’t be back for a bit.” It was becoming apparent that he wanted to finish up this conversation sooner rather than later. 

“Okay…I guess I’ll keep lookin’ for leads and whatnot. There might be a girl I know from way back who’s tied up in the kind of crowd we’re lookin’ at. I’m hopin’ she might be familiar with Ledoux or somethin’. If there’s anything you want me diggin’ into just give me a shout I guess.”

He was silent for a moment you considered too prolonged.

“I gotta head out. Keep track of what you find. Marty’ll be watchin’ my place.” 

“You got it.” 

More silence.

“Bye, Y/n.” 

“Bye-” The line went dead before you knew it. 

Geez. 

The dial tone mocked you as you sat there in curling embarrassment. You don’t think he’d ever blown you off so bluntly before. Not even when you two first met. Your neck and face started to grow warm as you fought off the increasing sense of rejection brought on by your own insecurities and his sudden callousness. You were just overthinking things. Rust’s father was dying and it wasn’t like you could expect him to properly express what it was he was going through. You just had to be somewhat okay with standing by on the sidelines until he was ready to open up on the matter. 

You hadn’t heard much about Rust’s parents or his upbringing but from what little tidbits he managed to drop it wasn’t anything to be envious of. Things seemed complicated from the sounds of it so you had no doubt Rust was probably just having a tougher time trying to navigate what he felt in anticipation of the grief that awaited him ahead.

Meanwhile, after hanging up on you, Rust couldn’t help but bring a heavy hand to his eyes as he sighed through his nose. Marty eyed him warily as he sat across from him in the depressing confines of his partner’s apartment. 

“So you lied to her.” 

Rust didn’t bother meeting the blonde’s disappointed look. 

“You don’t think that oughta blow up in your face? She’s sharper than you may realize…ain’t some fragile thing who can’t handle her shit-”

“Don't need her on this, Marty.” Rust tried remaining passive at the mention of you. 

Things were becoming too complicated. A consequence of his pathetic failure to keep his baneful desires in check. Giving in to those false hopes had him feeling increasingly weak and cheap the longer he had time to sit and torture himself over it. To entertain such notions with you was cruel to an extent he found himself severely uncomfortable with. It wouldn’t work. Not in this lifetime or perhaps any other that would exist in the infinite hell that was the universe. If he backed away now perhaps he could still hold onto whatever little semblance of control he had left. 

“Don’t need her on this or don’t want her on this? There’s a mighty big difference, buddy.” Marty didn’t necessarily know about the recent developments between you two but it was apparent he was becoming aware that something was afoot. The pair stared at each other long and hard.

“This is a two-man job. No need for added weight.” Rust broke first, taking a long drag from the cigarette pinched between his nimble fingers.

“Sure, if that’s what you need to tell yourself. This is her case too and I don’t appreciate you havin’ me be part of some lie-”

“I can remind you that you haven’t had much of a problem with lyin’ as of late-” 

“Oi, don’t get all judgy with me just cause you’re scared of somethin’ you ain’t got the emotional bandwidth to fuckin’ handle on your own. Y/n’s a smart girl. Strong. It would be unwise of you to underestimate her abilities because of some holdup you’ve got-”

“Marty.” Was Rust’s final warning. The steeliness of it had the blonde’s hands going up in mock surrender. If Rust didn’t want to unpack his growingly obvious partialness towards you then he wouldn’t bother pressing. It’s not like he was much in the mood to help out the pissy curmudgeon he called a partner with any hypothetical advances toward you. Marty saw you as something similar to that of a little sister. He wasn’t sold on the idea of romance, if Rust were even capable of the notion, happening between you two. In his opinion, your heart was just too big for the likes of Rust. He didn’t want to see you put in the monumental effort of caring for the hopeless loner only to be sorely disappointed in return. 

The days following the odd phone call had that intuitive feeling in your gut growing all the more sour. You tried your best to find more on Ledoux but the bastard was practically a ghost. Any and all traces left behind were either long gone by now or slipping from you faster than you could blink. Marty wasn’t being much help either, hardly showing up at work or being in a perpetual state of buzzed when he did actually bother to grace everyone with his presence. 

Though, anytime you did really manage to catch him he couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye for longer than what he deemed necessary. Either the obvious bout of drinking he was throwing himself into was reaching a dangerously depressive territory or he was feeling guilty about something else entirely. He never was the best at bluffing when it came to things outside of the job. It was even more rare to find yourself in a situation where he had something to lie about to you in the first place. 

Something was definitely up. 

“Maggie talk to you yet?” You asked, setting down a styrofoam box of takeout in front of him as he sat miserably hungover at his desk. He took a peek inside and mumbled a quick ‘thanks’ before deciding to dig in.

“No…she ain’t answerin’ any of my calls. Her pops told me to fuck off plenty already so he ain’t an option of gettin’ through to her neither.”

“It’s a pretty big deal, Marty. It’s best to probably just…give her time to feel angry. Your constant pokin’ at her is only gonna drive her away further. Goin’ to the hospital huffin’ and puffin' like you did didn’t help your case either.” You sipped your coffee as you watched him rub at his eyes.

“I just needed her to hear me out. Hell, I even got Rust to go-” His stocky shoulders locked up suddenly, seeming to have caught himself in revealing too much before settling on shoveling more food into his mouth. 

Your eyes tightened in suspicion.

“Speakin’ of, you heard anything from Rust while he’s been away?” 

Marty shook his head a little too fast to be considered convincing, “Not a peep,” Obvious lie, “can’t imagine the intense bouts of angst he’s brewing up for himself all the way where he's holed up.” 

“Mhm. How’re you holdin’ up at his place? Need me to bring by anything? I know it ain’t necessarily the Hilton-”

“N-no! I’m good. No. I uh-...I got some groceries the other day. It’s a mystery how that guy survives with what little he keeps in his damn fridge. Just ridiculous.” He coughed and took a sip of his own coffee, avoiding your growingly pointed glare. He could feel sweat start to form on his brow and he knew he needed to head out before he fucked everything up even more. Having Maggie angry at him was already enough to deal with. 

“I bet. Listen-”

“L-Look I gotta get goin’. Regrettably, I drank too much last night and it’s honest to God catchin’ up to me right about now and I don’t need Quesada givin’ me shit. Sorry to bail on ya but I’ll see you later, a-alright? Thanks for the food.” Marty scrambled to get his stuff before semi-hurrying to scamper off. He could feel your eyes burning at the back of his head but he didn’t dare to look back. 

Unfurling your arms you sat your mug down and reached for the receiver on your desk. It was a last-ditch effort, dialing Maggie, to see if Marty’s slip of the tongue about Rust meant anything substantial. If they were chatting here and there while Rust was away that was fine. If Marty was having Rust get through to Maggie all the way from where he was that was fine too. If Rust wasn’t in Alaska at all then you’re sure that ugly sensation building within you would multiply tenfold easily. After a few rings the line clicked with an answer.

“Hello?” Maggie’s soft lilt came from the other line. She sounded a little less upset than when you last saw her but still tired nonetheless.

“Hey, Mags. It’s Y/n. Just wanted to see what you were up to. How’re you holdin’ up?” You tried to maintain an air of complete casualness. No ulterior motives to this call whatsoever. 

“Oh, hey! I uhm…I’m doing okay I guess. Trying not to let everything catch up to me all at once, y’know. It’s been hard…keeping what I can away from the girls. Marty just won’t quit it with trying to wear me down. It’s exhausting.”

“Yeah…I told him to leave you be but he never was much of an avid listener. We may work together but just know I ain’t takin’ his side on all this.” You offered up and it was true. Marty may have been your coworker for several years now and something close to a decent friend but this wasn’t something you were gonna coddle him about. The consequences of his petty adultery were ones he had to deal with entirely on his own. 

“Thank you. You should try telling Rust that. Marty’s resorted to having him try to talk me down too, if you can believe it. Not that it worked or anything but I’m getting tired of feeling like I’m the one who should feel guilty for walking away when Marty decided to fuck it all up in the first place.” The woman’s tone grew a touch more frantic as her rant went more into detail but you stopped listening at the mention of Rust. 

Y’know, the one who was supposed to be thousands of miles away right now. 

“He got Rust to talk to you?” You interjected, only feeling a tiny pang of guilt for cutting in.

“Y-yeah. It uh…well it didn’t go to well. Y’know him. He didn’t try to blow smoke up Marty’s ass too much but he brought up the kids which more or less set me off. I said some harsh things but he just wouldn’t quit it with the whole ‘men and women don’t work' thing and 'our only purpose is reproduction’ or whatever bullshit spiel he had on his list of many-”

“When did this happen?” 

“Earlier today. We met at some diner but it didn’t last long with him walking out. I do feel bad for getting ahead of myself but…I don’t know. If you see him could you tell him I’m sorry? I don’t want things being more uncomfortable than they already are between all of us…” 

Ice started to spread like some nasty disease in your veins. The way your heart was stuttering out of rhythm had you grasping at your chest. You held the receiver between your ear and shoulder as your mind went blank at her simple confession. You didn’t know if what was actively consuming you was pure rage or a deep sense of betrayal. He had lied. They both lied. Like it was nothing. 

Why?

Forcing yourself to sound unaffected you spoke up again, “Sure, I can do that for you. I’m sure he ain’t too hung up on whatever it is you said so I wouldn’t beat myself up over it. Sometimes he oughta be put in his place for what he lets slip out of his mouth.”

“You’re probably right. Thank you, Y/n.”

“No problem. I’ll check in with you later alright, Mags?” Your chest was starting to rise and fall at a rapid pace. You needed to get out of here. 

“Alright, Y/n. Thank you again. Take care.” Was her warm reply before you set down the phone almost robotically. 

They had really fucking lied.

It was well into the night by the time you found yourself parked outside of Rust’s apartment. The throbbing in your skull had grown exponentially since your chat with Maggie and the muscle in your chest had yet to cease its sickening pace. It felt as if you were experiencing everything from outside of your body. As if you had no control over your limbs when you clambered out of your car and nearly slammed the door off its hinges. 

They wouldn’t lie to you like this. This was just one big misunderstanding. It had to be! You’d rather be angry for nothing than have the impending doom of betrayal strike you in a way that you felt would be irreversible. 

They just wouldn’t do that to you.

Raising a shaking fist and pounding on the door, it sounded like you were there to raid the damn place like it was police business. You attempted to steady your breathing but as your impatience grew you found yourself pounding again when there wasn’t a fast enough answer. Marty and Rust’s respective vehicles were both here so there was no chance of no one being home. 

Before you unleashed hell on the door once more it swung open to reveal a frazzled Marty. He stood there frozen, jaw opening and closing, visibly at a loss seeing your figure standing in the doorway. He looked ready to just about shit himself. 

“Y/n! W-what-”

“Now, I know you know I ain’t stupid. So if you’ve got somethin’ you’re hidin’, which I know you are, you best 'fess up now-”

“I-I don’t know what-”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth. I called Maggie. I know he's here.” You felt like some feral cat with its hackles rising by the minute. It was a rare occurrence to find yourself this upset.

“Y/n that ain’t-”

“If you have nothin’ you’re lyin’ about, if he's really not here then let me in.”

He opened his mouth only to be cut off, unsurprisingly, again. 

“Now, Martin.” 

The two of you stared at each other and Marty felt an unsettling sensation lick up his spine. There was no stopping you, especially not when you were like this. He must’ve hesitated for a hair too long because before he knew it you were slamming past the doorway, nearly knocking the wind out of him in the process.

The sight before you had you halting in the middle of your warpath. There stood Rust, still as a statue, looking like a full-blown tweakin’ asshole biker as if it were second nature to him. In the back of your mind, info from files about him being involved in undercover narcotics work for quite some time sparked recognition but you couldn’t seem to connect it with what was playing out right in front of you. All you knew was that something was obviously about to go down and they hadn’t even the slightest intention of making you aware. 

It felt like one devastating punch to the stomach. 

“What’s goin' on?” Your voice sounded foreign to your ears. It felt like your head was being held underwater as you stared down the man opposing you. 

No one made a move to answer. 

“I said what the fuck is goin' on.” Your tone grew stronger and both men had the nerve to look sorry at your state of distress. 

“We have a line on Ledoux.” Rust ground out, having a hard time connecting with your gaze. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not tonight. Not ever. He didn’t need this. Didn’t need the distraction nor your wrath towards his pathetically selfish reasonings for not letting you in on any of this. 

“And it just slipped your mind to give me the heads up? In case you might’ve forgotten I happen to work on this case with the both of you dipshits too. If there’s a tip towards that meth-head fuck then I’d think it’d be common knowledge that I oughta know too.” You snapped, venom bitterly coiled its way through you as the rage taking up space in your body had you hardly seeing straight.

“You didn’t need to be involved. It’s undercover work to get a way in with Ledoux. I don’t need both you and Marty to worry about when I’m dealing with-” 

“Oh, fuck you! Fuck you both! That ain’t for you to decide. I can handle my shit just fine. You're tellin' me you two can throw yourselves into whatever shady bullshit it is your plannin' that could have you killed but I have to sit back like the clueless fuckin' idiot? Make that make fuckin' sense!” You were up in his face shouting now and it infuriated you that he was rearing back like some spooked horse to avoid your anger. 

Fucking coward. 

“Underestimatin’ me like this makes you just as bad as the rest of them in the department. If you think I lack the capability for any of this then you be a man and take that up with me. You don’t make that idiot over there lie for you.” You grabbed firmly at the worn leather of his stupid jacket and he just took it. His heart was hammering and he suddenly felt ill. This was all going wrong and his mind couldn’t keep up. Nothing wanted to pass the threshold of his lips. 

Seeing that he wasn’t going to reply you let go, feeling sudden shame wash over you at your burst of hysteria. Your eyes were starting to burn intensely as the weight of the current circumstances started to settle down on you, making you take a few steps back.

You felt like nothing. It wasn’t an experience you were necessarily new to but having it come from them had you more blindsided than ever imaginable. All you could keep asking yourself was: why? Marty’s never doubted you or gone behind your back. He was one of the only ones who believed in you when you first started out as some newbie of an investigator. You’ve known him for nearly a decade and looking at his pitiful expression now only had you feeling disgusted.

Rust you couldn’t even bother to pick apart any further. You had the impression he respected you enough on the job but that had been debunked in nothing short of just a few hours. Where did he get off? You weren’t some burden who’d just weigh the whole process down with your implied inferiority. None of this was making any sense and your heaving shoulders failed to stop their jittering as you took in the room surrounding you. An old red toolbox sat on the carpeted floor between two lawn chairs with a few guns, random documents, drug baggies, and whatnot scattered around. A black satellite phone on the dining table’s surface caught your eye and a sharp exhale left your nose. Your eyes drifted back to Rust. The bated silence that had blanketed the room was unbearable to the two men. 

“Whether you like it or not you’ve earned yourself an extra set of eyes. I’m sure Marty can catch me up on everything on the way to Tweakersville since y’all tell each other everything now durin' your lil’ sleepovers.” You snatched a pistol from the floor and tucked it into your waistband before stepping out. 

“Dyin’ father in Anchorage…what a crock of shit…” Were your departing mumbles as you disappeared out the door.  It took everything in Marty’s being to not let out the pettiest of ‘I told you so’s’. 

Rust only moved to bring trembling fingers to check his pulse. 

The resulting car ride between you and Marty was deathly quiet as you stared out the window. You could tell he wanted to speak up but finding the right words wasn’t coming easy to him. It wasn’t until you pulled up to the shithole that passed as a dive bar that he worked up the courage to blurt out his defense.

“I didn’t wanna lie to you.” You just scoffed and shook your head wryly.

“Yet here we are.”

“What we’re doin’ ain’t necessarily legal-”

“So? It’s ain't like I’m sheltered from the ways of a dirty cop. I’ve done my fair share of shit over the years.” The skin around your nails was becoming raw at your incessant biting and Marty ignored the urge to swat your hands away from yourself. 

“This wasn’t done out of thinkin’ you weren’t capable. You have to know that.” 

“You can say that but I’m still havin’ a hard time workin’ out any other reason why you’d try to fuck me over like this.” You fixed him with a hard stare and he could only sigh. God, were you stubborn when you wanted to be. He needed to save his own skin on this one, Rust be damned. 

“Hon, Rust’s throwin’ himself back into some old gang mess for the sake of this case. Now, from the looks of it, I’d say he ain’t too keen on having to do it at all in the first place. I’m sure you’re aware of what working narcotics can do to the mind of a man for the minimal time he’s set to do it out on the field. Let alone what it could do one working at it for four years nonstop. The man nearly died doin’ all this shit on more than one occasion. Shootins...cartel torture. Which brings me to my next point.” Your partner watched you intently as if to make sure you were fully listening. 

You made no signs of ignoring him so he continued,

“I don’t know what’s goin' on between him and you, if there even is somethin' going on, but it shouldn’t be hard for you to imagine that he’s strugglin' with it a whole lot. It’s obvious he don’t know how to come to terms with most of what he’s feeling so it’s hard to determine just what the hell he’d do when it comes to being interested in a woman. Let alone you.”

“I fail to see what you’re gettin’ at.” You knew exactly what he was implying but childish insolence held priority.

“Rust doubts you the least out of everyone around here. Perhaps out of everyone he’s encountered ever. You challenge his way of structure. All the Debby Downer bullshit he tells himself starts to lack any sense. Not bringin' you on this was an act of piss-poor self-preservation. He may not admit that and you may not bother to believe it but that’s just what I see. You know I wouldn’t vouch for him on shit like this out of charity.” 

The words sank in deep as you ruminated over them. It made sense but out of pure stubbornness, you didn’t really want to acknowledge it right then and there. When you had a clearer head you could probably find yourself empathizing with Rust’s decisions but you felt like you did enough of that already when it came to any other screw-up of his. This instance cut deep for another reason. Your trust had been breached to an awful extent and it just wouldn’t work if you had to fear it happening again. Romantically or professionally. It wasn’t up to him to make these choices for you. Especially when it came down to your line of work. You couldn’t tolerate that type of interference. 

“I’ll take that into consideration.” Is what you settled on before turning to people watch out of your rolled-down window. 

“I really am sorry, Y/n.” He spoke up again but you were too worn out to accept anything else at the moment. Even if you knew he was being sincere.

You ignored the nagging in the back of your mind that things would likely go terribly wrong sometime tonight. It annoyed you that being as mad as you were you still had half the mind to pray Rust didn’t end up getting killed doing whatever it was he was doing with that gang leader Ginger. You'd be devastated, fight or no fight. Marty had tried assuring you this was all meant to be quick and easy but you didn’t believe it one bit. 

Minutes passed before you and Marty made your way to split up inside the bar. Marty wanted to keep an eye on Rust and you just wanted to make sure Marty didn’t do something stupid. It was safe to say he stuck out like a sore thumb in his bright Pink Floyd shirt and trucker hat amongst the throngs of burly, tatted bikers prowling about. Your expression remained neutral as you felt the number of greedy eyes growing on you while you slinked around. The music was too loud and the thick haze of smoke stung your eyes. The smell in here was more or less repulsive, having you fight the urge to wrinkle your burning nose in disgust. Rust didn’t seem to be anywhere around inside, meaning he was striking the ‘deal’ somewhere out back where the other hoards of folks were hanging around.

It didn’t take long for a commotion to rise up with the unfortunate cause of it being Marty. He was bumbling out apologies as some big oaf all but dragged him out of the bar with people hollering after him. You tried your best to briskly follow, making it out in time to see the man get thrown onto his ass. Miscalculating your gait you just about slammed into the scary man from behind at his sudden stop. 

Meaty hands yanked at your shirt and slammed your poor back into a post near the entrance. “Just what the fuck are you doin', bitch.” 

Trying not to gag at the state of his breath you attempted to wiggle out of his grasp, “Was just tryin' to leave so you can get right up off me-”

The man shoved you again and took his huge mitt of a hand to your throat, “You and your punk ass friend don’t belong sniffin’ 'round here.”

“I don’t know that son of a bitch so fuckin' let go!-” A burst of stars entered your vision as his fist nearly sent you sailing down the old wooden ramp. A boot or two kicked at your curled-up figure, catching you in the ribs and stomach a few times. One even clocked you in the jaw and you hoped you’d still have teeth left if you were lucky enough to make it out. Heavy footsteps boomed against the growing crowd’s uproar and your adrenaline kicked itself up a few notches. The giant's paws cleared the way and jerked you up again, the force of it having your feet leave the ground for a split second. You were struck again, then once more before your hand fumbled behind your back and got a good grip on the pistol in your jeans. 

Cold metal jabbed into the grand protrusion that was his belly and it had him stilling almost immediately. 

“Unless you want a bullet or two in your fatass gut, I suggest you let me go.” You spat.

When you didn’t get an answer fast enough, the cocking of the gun’s hammer sure as hell had him dropping you fast. As soon as he did you smacked him across the face with the butt of it and sent him to his knees. A naive soul or two began to make a move but you were quicker in aiming the gun at them in warning. Blood from your nose leaked like a faucet into your gaping mouth as you struggled for air. They sure managed to get you good. The growing pain you felt all over attested to that fact. 

Once you were sure no one else would pounce, you spit on the big man and backed away with your gun in the air. You nudged Marty with your boot to make him get the hell up before you two booked it back to the car. According to him, Rust got roped into going down the Bayou with Ginger so you two had to make it out quick.

So much for quick and easy. 

You couldn’t even bother to check the time as you sat reclined in the car to wait for Rust’s signal. Marty parked at some mostly empty lot near a grocery mart and scurried inside to grab you a few things. The bag of frozen peas didn’t do much for your rapidly swelling eye or aching jaw. Your nose didn’t seem to be too broken but with all its nerves it made no difference in hurting like a bitch. The bleeding from both your nostrils and mouth had started to clot thankfully but you still sat wheezing from your abused ribs. 

“So much for being able to fuckin' handle yourself.” Marty huffed as he flipped through a tattered copy of Rust’s Nietzche. What was intended as a laugh came out as a wet rattle instead, making the blonde look at you in alarm.

“He let go of me, didn’t he? Not like you were much use.” Your tongue rolled around in the space of your mouth, forgoing the taste of copper in making sure none of your pearly whites were at risk of falling out. 

“How’re you gonna explain this at work?”

“I dunno. I’ll say I took a tumble down my staircase or somethin’. Who cares.” It was likely your lazy nonchalance was the result of a possible concussion. It was getting harder to keep yourself awake as you two were made to wait patiently. 

“Oh yeah. Casual tumble down the stairs. Makes perfect fuckin’ sense-” Marty’s bickering was cut off by the satellite phone’s sudden shrill ringing. You both shot up, adrenaline entering your systems once more, before he hurried to answer it. You could faintly hear a shouted line of demands before Marty confirmed what he heard and peeled off toward the location Rust had given him. You willed your hands to steady as you fumbled with the map you pulled from the glove compartment, making sure you weren’t going the wrong way.

The ninety seconds Rust gave was more like an eternity before you skirted up to the neighborhood that felt like an active warzone. As he was nearing the vehicle with a stumbling man in his clutches, who you assumed was Ginger, you leaped out of the car to open up the back and usher them in. You raised your pistol in a one-handed grip, keeping the other on the door as they stumbled inside. There was shouting from figures out following in the distance and gunfire that was making its way closer and closer. When they found themselves situated you slammed the car door shut and sent off a warning shot or two to keep the approaching group away. Responding bullets were your only answer, having you all but swing back into the passenger’s seat as they whizzed past you. Only one had managed to skim past your ear in sheer dumb luck, leaving your ear ringing something awful. 

With you safely inside, Marty sped off again at Rust’s sharp command. You couldn’t really hear their yelling over the pounding of your heart and the fact your right ear seemed to be temporarily out of commission from the narrowly missed bullet. 

You couldn’t dwell too much on the fact that with an inch difference it would’ve been your head. 

Hours later, daylight agitated your vision as you waited in the new setting that was Rust’s truck. After seeing the state you were in he all but hauled you with him to wherever he planned on taking Ginger, declaring he had some first aid kit he’d need to use on you. You didn’t bother putting up much of a fight when he ordered you to wait in the truck outside of the diner you stopped at after patching you up in the limited capacity he was able to. You were just too exhausted. You hadn’t even mustered the curiosity to get a good look at Ginger tied up in the back as you had driven. Probably safer that he didn’t get a good look at you anyway. 

Rust’s plan b with Dewall didn’t seem to pan out too well either as he came back to the truck with a deep-set scowl. Shoving Ginger back into place all bound up before climbing in up front. There was still hope that Marty would successfully trail the cook to wherever his hideout may be but Rust’s silence was conceringly heavy. Though, now wasn’t the time or the place to get into it with him all over again. You must’ve dozed off somewhere during the ride because when you opened your eyes, well eye…the other having swelled completely shut by now, you were pulled over on some trail. Rust just sat staring out at the scenery, more than likely lost in a swirl of his own thoughts, taking a moment to collect himself. Ginger's form was long gone from the back. 

At the sound of you rustling in your spot, he merely glanced your way before looking away again. There was a tick in his jaw that didn’t escape you and you sighed knowing you’d have to be the one to buck up first. 

“It looks worse than it feels.” Lie. Even the scratchy croak of your voice called you out on it.

“I didn’t want you here for a reason. What good is it if you wind up dead-"

“What you want isn’t always what you get. Next time don't take me for some fool-” 

“Don’t be fuckin’ stupid-”

“And don’t you talk to me like you’ve lost your goddamn mind just cause of your pride,” You nearly thundered as you stared him down, “What happened, happened. It’s over. We pulled through with your wild-ass cowboy mission. Your panties can untwist now.”

A warm hand came to grip at your ribs, not violently, but firm enough to prove his point when the pain from your bruising nearly blinded you. Your own hand snapped up to grip at his arm as if playing a fucked up game of chicken. Who would break first? You’d be damned if it were you. Though the look in the man’s eyes had you faltering. You’d seen it before. That deep-rooted fear that bled out against his own will when it came to you more often than not. It seemed to hit him harder now that he was getting a good look at your battered and bloodied face in the afternoon light. Marty’s words from earlier felt mocking as they rang in your head. 

Rust doubts you the least out of everyone around here...not bringin' you on this was an act of piss-poor self-preservation.

The idea of anything with you made him scared. Scared for you and scared for himself.

“Why did you lie to me? Truly.” Your voice fell quiet, the fight in you left just as quickly as it had found you. 

He just blinked before letting his hand drop from you, however, yours stayed on him, “You’re a smart girl. You can work it out for yourself I’m sure.” He almost sounded sardonic.

“Maybe. But I’d like to hear it from you.” It might’ve been foolish to expect confessions of pure honesty from him but you’d keep giving him that option should he ever choose. 

When he said nothing you brushed a knuckle beneath his eye then across his sharp cheekbone. His tired eyes fought themselves from fluttering, trying not to let your touch utterly consume him whole. It proved to be even harder when your thumb swept feather-light over his chapped bottom lip before retreating completely.  

“Anything can happen, y'know. Anywhere, anytime. If you find yourself fearful of that fact pertainin’ to me then you need to let it go. If the idea of this,” You made a small gesture between you both, “is too much for you or you’ve realized you don’t want it anymore then that’s okay. I’m a big girl. I can handle just about anything. Your sanity and the sake of our professional partnership hold more priority over my whims. I don’t want my existence scarin' you to where it creates this big rift or you go to these dumb lengths to push me away.” 

Those long fingers of his fiddled with the ends of your hair, grounding himself with what little contact he was able to allow himself in the moment. He was still undecided on what he wanted to do with you. What he wanted to be with you. The paleness of his skin covered by the sheen layer of sweat from the comedown of whatever he likely took in the company of Ginger had him looking gaunt. Aged even. He found himself drifting between somewhere far away and being present here with you.

“This can’t happen again, Rust. Whether we’re something or not. Especially if we find ourselves workin’ together for however long down the road. It won’t work for me no matter the circumstance. Best believe I’ll be firm on that.” You flicked at this chin lightly, hoping some of the damage from the last twenty-four hours could be undone. 

“I’m-...I’m sorry.” Came the only remaining thing that could sound from his throat. And you’d take it for now. 

“I’ll get over it. Eventually. It might be a tall order but you need to get in the business of regulatin’ how you respond to your own emotions more.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” His final response was slightly choked but he didn’t give much else away after that. Sniffling, you leaned to the side on the truck's leather bench seat to rest your head on his shoulder once he twisted forward to face the wheel. An arm circled around your frame, his large hand finding purchase in your hair and you let yourself go for a moment as the truck began to roll forward. 

You continued down the path in a more comfortable silence where Marty would be waiting for you at the end to scout for Ledoux’s hideout. Soon this could all hopefully be over and done with. What would come after, though, you hadn’t the slightest clue.

a/n: forgive me, babes. they'll be happier (until 02). thanks for reading! i'll probably go back and edit this a bunch of times bc i'm neurotic like that!

#rust cohle #true detective season 1 #reds-writings #true detective #rust cohle x reader #rust cohle imagine #true detective imagine #marty hart #fanfic #matthew mcconaughey

[potatoesandsunshine]

WIP name game

tagged by @tameila 🌟 thank you!!! i just wanna apologize here for how there are so, so, so many of these. when i have an idea i create a document that very moment even when it’s just for a sentence. my storage space is in shambles.

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs. that last part will not happen i’m sorry. again, there are So Many. also i’m gonna sort them by fandom and nobody can stop me

Critical Role Campaign 1

a better name for fire

are your bags traveling elsewhere

flashpoint/ignition

get up and shake the glitter off your clothes now!

keyleth

never had the room to dream to fly

now is the season / of the hunter Death

the appeal of absolutes

the place where the river lets out

up where the air is light

Four Seasons

LAST TLOVM ONESHOT HIDING.MP3 FINAL_FINAL

Critical Role Campaign 2

a gentler sunrise

a tide that dreams of motion

an echo calling back

Beau & Fjord

food and conversation

glance now over the wrong shoulder

high noon somewhere

intriguing a dragon

Lo, Navigator

perpetual motion machine

the animal of destiny

the beau spoils yasha one

the cheese grater fic

the ridiculous shadowgast au

when all the silver-plated heroes start to rust

who will remember thy green flame

you’re fuel to a fire that’s fixing to die

it’s getting absurd i’m putting a readmore. they aren't all currently being worked on but i will talk about literally anything on this list.

Dimension 20

everything that flowers / flowers for itself

food people again

give your immortality to me

the gukgag/seacaster pairing you never knew you wanted

the most ridiculous isekai ever

the problem with delayed gratification

tonight might be my night to reminisce

Dragon Age

Bequests

hawkebastian bad ending

josie...

max ‘helen of troy’ trevelyan

not the same people that our old friends knew

the possession fic (shallow river, shining within her - the crane wives)

Fallout

the fallout 4 AU

f4

5. hey mister, that’s me up on the jukebox

6. there’s a local angel sitting on my right

Mass Effect

and then you live

ascends bright and calm the lord-star jupiter

The Zero-G Job

pluto shits on the universe

Untitled document

will there be flowers (after the war)

Star Wars

all roads lead toward the same blocked intersection

grease fire

Supergiant Hades

it’s done on a diamond, and for fun

taste of hot ashes on my tongue all day

The Good Place (i had actually forgotten about these! what a fun surprise!!)

i trust you’ve got nothing but good intentions

you don’t keep a ferrari in the garage

miscellaneous (this is a folder for WIPs that have less than 2 documents in the same fandom) 

better find another superstition

down along that devastation trail

god says yes to me

just like a torch

may your feet serve you well—and the rest be sent to hell

learn to wash your hands with fire

run for it, honey

she held her mouth up redly wan

Untitled document misc. 1

Untitled document misc. 2

winemaking

#tag game #thanks for tagging me!! i probably should have edited down the list like you did bc this feels a bit silly #i never ever throw ideas away they just live in their documents and eventually i get back to them. that's how i end up with so many

[softforloki]

Chapter 8: The Fallout

Chapter List

Word Count: 3,067

Summery: Loki faces the aftermath of Selene's confession....as well as the consequences of his own actions.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Explicit mentions of child abuse, neglect, and dead naming (cisgender character, just no longer uses birth name) at the very beginning. Scroll until the first break if these topics disturb you

. . .

Selene was writhing against him.

Loki was woken up in the middle of the night by something shaking against him. He opened his heavy lids, brain fuzzy and confused. He couldn’t see much in the dark, but he felt something moving. He heard whimpers. Memories of the hours before came flooding back with a sickening twist in his gut. Selene.

“Selene, you’re having a nightmare.” He realized, shaking her gently. “Wake up, darling, please.”

He turned her onto her back. Her face glistened with sweat, and her brow was furrowed. Loki smoothed his palm across her forehead, brushing hairs aside.

“What torments you, my love?” He whispered, broken and desperate. He pressed his hand against her heated skin.

Suddenly, Loki felt himself being pulled from his body. His consciousness was no longer in the darkened hotel room; he was standing in a large, unlit basement. He squinted against the darkness to see stone walls, metal support beams covered in rust, and a rickety looking set of stairs leading to a door.

“Damn it,” He muttered, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. His mother had taught him the spell only under the promise that he’d only use it with the expressed permission of the person whose memory he was diving into. He rarely used it, so he’d forgotten how easily activated it was- all one had to do was touch a subject’s head and wish to see into their mind. It was even easier when they were sleeping.

He was about to pull himself out of the memory, but then the door at the top of the stairs swung open and light flooded the basement.

“No, no please I don’t wanna go! I’m sorry, I’ll do it, please don’t make me go!”

Loki’s heart dropped to the very pit of his stomach. Dread pooled in his chest as he watched a young girl, bicep clutched by a woman who was yanking her down the stairs.

“I’m disappointed in you, Lilith. You should know by now that when you disobey, you get punished.” The woman tsked, a poisoned motherly tone curdling around her words. “You don’t want to listen? You get to sleep in the basement.”

“But I’ll do it! I’ll do it, don’t make me!” The girl- Lilith?-  protested, sobbing loudly as she tugged against her mother.

“I suppose we’ll see if you’ve kept that attitude after your time-out is over.” The woman replied blankly, throwing her down the rest of the stairs.

The girl landed with a painful sounding thump near Loki’s feet, crying out in pain. He quickly knelt down near her, reaching out despite his inability to touch, be seen, or heard by her.

“Do you understand me, Lilith?” Her mother asked, tone sharp.

“Yes,” She mumbled, voice cracking.

“Good. We’ll see you in the morning.” The woman replied curtly. She ascended back up the stairs, and left the basement, taking the light with her.

The girl crawled across the floor to an electric lantern Loki hadn’t noticed, lighting it. In the dim glowing circle he could now see her clearly. She had long, blond hair, hanging partially in front of her face as she curled into a defensive ball. Loki leaned closer to her, trying to peer around her hair to see her face. He gasped. 

It was Raven.

Only, it wasn’t. Her nose was different, her eyes were a slightly different shape, and she was older; eleven or twelve, perhaps. Not to mention the woman- who’d called her Lilith- had clearly not been Selene-

Oh.

Oh no.

Loki made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, scrambling ungracefully onto his feet as he watched a young Selene Lovelace, before she had given herself that name, rock herself back and forth, crying quietly. 

The sleeve of her shirt slipped off her shoulder. From his vantage above her, Loki saw a deep cut down the back of the shoulder. His finger tingled with the memory of the sensation of Selene’s scars, and he quickly moved to get a closer look.

Loki knew from his time as a warrior what blade inflicted wounds looked like. The cut appeared fairly fresh, no more than a week or so old. There was only so much he could see without being able to physically move the fabric, but he was certain it was not the only of its kind.

Bile rose in his mouth as he ripped himself away from young Selene. He squeezed his eyes shut, summoning his flickering concentration to pull himself out of the memory, to dismiss the spell, to get out of there as quickly as-

Loki woke up in a flash in the dark, still in his seated position on the hotel bed. He ran his fingers through his sleep-mussed hair, twining them together and folding his hands on the top of his head with a shaky exhale. 

His mind was racing a mile a minute. Thoughts, theories, and past interactions with Selene all swirled through his subconscious. He replayed the memory again and again, until he knew with grim certainty he’d never forget a single second of the encounter. He was so caught up in what he’d just witnessed, he very nearly missed present-day Selene lying below him, brow twitching from the nightmare she was still experiencing.

“My sweet love,” He whispered, pressing a hand again to her forehead. “I’m so sorry,”

This time, he focused his magic on a dreamless sleep charm. Green light glowed under his hand until Selene’s face relaxed, and she let out a little sigh. He laid his fingers gently on her cheeks, pressing a tender kiss to her brow. 

He watched her chest rise and fall with her steady breathing, taking stock of his situation.

He’d just inadvertently invaded Selene’s dream, where her mind had been playing out a memory from her past. A memory of a cold, lonely, and abusive childhood. He now had insight into her past, but at the cost of peeking into it without her knowledge or consent. Shame curdled in Loki’s gut, and he hung his head.

I have to tell her. He decided. She deserves to know what I’ve done and what I’ve seen. I owe her an apology, and the reassurance that she doesn’t owe me any sort of explanation of that particular memory or of anything from her history.

He allowed himself to sink back into the pillows and sheets next to Selene, and pull her slumbering body close to his. He pressed his face into her shoulder, snuggling into her. He closed his eyes and clutched her like a lifeline, as though he could beg forgiveness this way.

I can’t lose her. Not to this, nor to anything else that may come our way. She’s far too good for me, and I love her far too much to let something this wonderful slip from my fingers.

His eyes shot back open. He had no idea where the thought had come from, but he knew at that moment how true it was. He loved her. He loved her words, be they thoughtful and practiced or biting and witty. He loved her strength and grit. He loved her loyalty and compassion. He loved her mind, and her soul. He loved her, so deeply and so genuinely he felt his eyes burn at the pure power of it all.

He gazed at Selene’s peaceful face, a small smile pulling at her lips.

He loved her.

He smiled as well, pulling her gently into his arms, resting her head on his chest.

He loved her.

He did not sleep the rest of the night. He watched over her to make sure her slumber was peaceful and undisturbed. 

He loved her.

. . .

“MAMA!”

Selene laughed, gleefully scooping the squealing girl into her arms. “Raven! I missed you, birdie!”

Raven wrapped her arms and legs around her mother, clinging to her like a monkey. Loki chuckled warmly at the exchange as he stepped off the Quinjet’s ramp.

“I missed you too!” Raven hummed, disentangling herself as Selene lowered her to the ground.

“You’re getting too old to be picked up.” She grumbled, playfully pushing her daughter away. “I’m not strong enough for that anymore.”

“Nonsense,” Loki interjected, coming up on the pair. “You’re very strong, my dear, Raven’s just a big girl.”

“Loki!” The girl exclaimed, throwing herself at him, next.

“Hello, sweetness. Did you miss me, too?” He enthusiastically lifted her up, setting her on his hip and holding her up with his Asgardian strength. 

“Mm-hmm, a lot.”

“More than you missed Mum?”

Selene shot him a playfully dirty look. “Don’t turn my kid against me, jerk.”

Raven giggled. “I missed you the same amount.”

“Ah. I suppose I’ll have to be satisfied with our shared status.” Loki lamented to Selene, hugging the young girl against him as she continued to snigger.

Selene rolled her eyes, moving to speak to Clint Barton, who’d been awaiting their return. Raven had been staying with the Bartons during his and Selene’s absence. According to her, she’d only trusted Barton with her daughter once he'd told her he had children on his own.

He watched the two of them chat, presumably about Raven’s stay, and how it went. Still holding the girl, Loki found himself drifting closer to them, but stopped short when he remembered last night. Flashes of a girl who looked far too much like the one currently in his arms crossed his vision.

Guilt once again overtook him. Who was he, to love this wonderful woman after he’d invaded her privacy? Who was he, to hold her incredible child after he’d gazed, uninvited into her own horror story of a childhood?

Immediately clocking Loki’s sudden mood change, Raven fixed him with a concerned look. “Are you okay? You got sad.”

Clever girl. Loki smiled tiredly at her, bouncing her a little on his hip so he could readjust his grip. “Some things have….happened. Things I need to work through. But rest assured, little bird, I will work through them. All is well, I promise.”

She squinted at him, and Loki got the very distinct feeling she was trying to decide whether or not he was lying. “Did something happen with Mom?”

Very clever girl. Loki laughed softly. “In a way, yes, but we will handle it. Everything will be alright.”

“Okay,” She replied, still unsure.

He chuckled, setting her on the ground and crouching to her level. “Come now, have you ever known me to lie to you?”

“You’re the god of lies.” She replied tersely, though she was smiling.

“My question still stands, little one.”

Raven pouted. “No.”

He smiled, tapping her lightly on the nose. “And I intend to keep it that way, both with you and your mother.”

He booped her again, as Raven laughed and shied away from his finger. “Okay. I believe you.”

“Good.” He grinned, getting to his feet. “Now, why don’t we save Mum from that conversation? She must be positively bored to death.”

A grin appeared on her face that Loki could only possibly describe as wicked, and Raven rushed over to Selene and Barton. She tucked her face in her mother’s stomach as she hugged her around the middle. Selene let her daughter steal her away from her discussion, burying her nose in Raven’s long, blond hair.

He watched mother and child hug once again, and he let himself smile softly. He watched Raven clutch Selene as though she were her whole world. He watched Selene cradle Raven with the sort of tender ferocity that might make one tear the world apart for the sake of their loved ones. Waves of love and fondness washed over him.

He loved Selene.

But he realized with a quiet, stunned chuckle that he was growing to love Raven, too.

. . .

Selene didn’t comment on Loki’s continually awkward, hovering behavior until later that evening. 

“Would you like to talk about what’s bothering you?”

He was helping her cook dinner; carefully stirring a pot of boiling noodles. He looked up at Selene, who’s attention was fixed on the beef and vegetable she was pushing around a sizzling pan. He chuckled ruefully. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?”

“Not when you’re being weird like this.” She replied, sprinkling garlic powder over her mixture. “I thought you were supposed to be the god of lies.”

“You’re the second person today to point that out to me, you know.”

“Well, you’re bad at your job.”

Loki shrugged with an overly dramatic sigh. He stabbed a fork into his noodles, blew on it, and popped it into his mouth, chewing contemplatively. Needed a few more minutes.

“Loki.” Selene prompted, eyebrows raised in question. “Are we gonna talk about what’s bothering you?”

“It’s less of something we have to talk about, more of something I should confess to you.” He admitted, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Now I’m scared.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, looking pointedly into the bubbling water of his pot. “Last night, you had a nightmare. Do you remember that?”

Selene hummed in thought. “Maybe. I think I remember a nightmare, don’t know what it was about, though. Why? Did I wake you?”

“Yes, but that’s not it. In my attempts to soothe your sleep,” He took another breath, slower and deeper this time. “I….I accidentally activated a spell that allowed me access to your dream.”

Selene was quiet. Loki forced himself to look at her. She’d stopped stirring the contents of her pan- in fact she’d dropped her spoon into it. She stared down at the quietly fizzling oil, eyes wide and unseeing.

“Darl- Selene?” He felt unworthy to call her any of the sweet names he normally would. 

“What did you see?” She asked quietly.

Loki moved the noodles off the burner and turned off the heat so he could give her his full attention. He leaned over to do the same to her pan as he began to tell her about the dream. He told her about the basement, the girl, the woman, and the brief yet horrifying exchange they’d had. He skewed his eyes shut as he told her about the name she’d abandoned, and the scar he’d seen on her back. Tears pushed against his closed lids.

Selene had yet to look at him. She twisted the beads of her crystal bracelets, her own eyes starting to water.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Selene. I’m not in any way asking for an explanation, I’m simply telling you what I saw because you have a right to know.” He held his hands out like a peace offering. “I witnessed a moment in your life that was vulnerable and private, and I deeply apologize for that.”

She nodded, and Loki was relieved just to have garnered any sort of reaction. She stared at his hands, but did not move to take them or push them away. “I’m upset with you. I understand that you didn’t mean it so I think I forgive you, but I’m still upset.”

“I understand.” He nodded, exhaling softly. “I wouldn't expect you to just be alright with this.”

She smirked, finally looking up at him as she took his hands. “I don’t take bullshit.” She joked quietly.

“No, you do not.” Loki chuckled, raising her hands to his lips to kiss her knuckles. 

Selene tightened her fingers around his. “You’re right. What you saw was a really dark part of my life that I’m not totally comfortable sharing at the moment. I think I’m coming to terms with what happened to me and I’m healing, but I’m not yet at a point where I feel like I can speak freely about it.”

“I understand.” He repeated, gazing earnestly into her eyes.

“Someday I want to tell you about it,” She continued. “You’ve been making things so much better and so much easier, but for now I’d rather leave this here, and maybe not come back to it for a hot minute.”

“Take all the time you need, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I will be here when you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Loki.” She said it with weight, touching his face briefly. She gestured to the food abandoned on the stovetop. “Now then. What say we put these together? I’m starving.”

“Oh- yes, of course.” Loki had nearly forgotten about dinner. He drained the water and carefully tilted the noodles into Selene’s pan, where she stirred them into her mixture.

“Can you set the table?”

“As you wish.”

Loki set bowls around the dining table as Selene glided down the hall, knocking on Raven’s bedroom door. “Dinner’s getting on the table. Wash up, please.”

Loki watched with a soft smile as the child skipped down the hallway to the bathroom as her mother rejoined him. “You know,” He began, chuckling lightly. “Given my personal history, I’m not at all surprised that in the two weeks of this relationship I’ve nearly ended it with my foolishness.”

Selene let out an unexpected bark of laughter. “Loki-love, you didn’t screw up that badly. It takes more than accidentally watching some of my worst trauma to get rid of me.”

“How could I possibly do worse than that?” He asked incredulously.

She twined her arms around his neck, bringing him down to her height. “I trust that we won’t have to find out.”

Loki hummed in ecstasy as she kissed him deeply. He settled a hand on her waist, the other clutching the back of her head. He lost himself in her skin, her scent, her lips, SeleneSeleneSeleneSelene-

“Ew! Mom!"

Loki startled away from the kiss, though his hands stayed firmly anchored to Selene. They stared rather awkwardly at the nine-year-old gaping up at them.

“Hey, kiddo.” Selene said casually, disentangling herself from Loki. “Hungry?”

“I knew it!” She cried, pointing an accusatory finger. “I knew he was your boyfriend!”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re very smart.” Selene ruffled her daughter’s hair affectionately. “Why don’t we sit down and eat? You can ask us whatever you want.”

Raven, a triumphant gleam in her eye, scrambled up to her seat at the table as Selene swept dinner into the dining room. As she scooped food into Raven’s bowl, she made eye contact with Loki. They shared a warm smile.

For tonight, all was well.

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki friggason #loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odinson x reader #loki friggason x reader #loki x oc #loki x female oc #loki x fem oc #loki marvel #marvel loki

[wander-over-the-words]

Since it’s Valentine’s Day, maybe I can shake the rust off that Fallout 4 fic which is technically kind of somewhat done and post it

cause I mean it is [Nick] Valentine’s Day

#wandering over the words #true my head is full of New Vegas rn #but I can't write anything V-Day worthy of that without spoiling the FUCK out of my longfic so #4 will have to do #nothing says Valentine's Day like a fic where Nick's worried af his brother's just sent his bf to die nrngrgn #Nick vc: please don't kill my partner. I happen to like him. A lot.

[casualcatastrophesincorporated]

How to open doors fast 101.

experimented with a technique that @fallout-lou-begas uses in there comics on this one, specifically I drew the door and wall once and the hole, the arm, and the open door all separately, then I used fire alpaca to cut them into there own separate layers and moved them into position, that way i didn't need to draw the wall over and over again. I think its still pretty messy, but for a proof of concept I think it turned out pretty good!

#my art #time to shake off some rust #the kid #Boone #craig boone #fallout #fallout new vegas #comic #need to practice panel layouts but for now these long comics are easiest to do

[kharonion]

Starting art streams again? Couldn't be me. 👀

Not only that, but also doing so as part of the Fallout for Hope team to raise money for St. Jude throughout December!

As of now, first stream is scheduled for this Sunday, December 5th, around 11-11:30AM CST/9-9:30AM PST! I'll post a proper link and such the day of!

It'll be a lot of shaking the rust off... but heck, I'm excited to hop back into it! ;;

#nyx blabbers

[squeak-the-cat18]

Song prompts #2

(All belong to the respectful artist, none are mine)

I'm goin in

Just know that we're alright

You gave me scars, beautiful scars

I'm not gonna fight back what I've become

Guess that growing up was never meant to be easy

Broken are the pieces I've been shaping lately

What is lost ain't gone

I wouldn't change if I could restart

I've read my bible; respect thy rival

Truth in my lies right now are falling like the rain so let the river run

All my friends are heathens take it slow

This town is colder now, I think its sick of us

Im shaking off the rust

Ive got my heart set on anywhere but here

Time to make one last appeal for the life I live

Ive become what i cant be

I don't want a trust fund baby

All this time the saint was a sinner.

Jokes on me, a stone cold killer

Just know I want the best for you.

Please don't go, no not yet. Just stay and hold me until I'm weightless.

Please don't go, I'm not okay.

Maybe in another life we could forgive

First things first, Imma say all the words inside my head

I'm the master of my sea.

I was broken from a young age

Seeing the beauty through the pain

Lonely souls that love the pain

You don't give a damn if I leave or stay

Have mercy because I ain't strong.

The fallout no it never clears.

Darling have mercy when the loves gone

Let me run, let my heart get away, you don't give a damn if i leave or I stay

Sound the bugle now, play it just for me.

I'm a soldier wounded, so I must give up the fight.

As the season change remember how I used to be.

Now I can't go on. I cant even start

There's nothing more for me, lead me away or leave me lying here.

If you lose yourself your courage soon will follow so be strong tonight.

There's not a road i know that leads to anywhere.

Darling stand by me

I wont be afraid just as long as you stand by me

Turn your face to the sun, let the shadows fall behind you, don't look back, just carry on and the shadows will never find you

Got lost in a promise of love I'll never know.

I'm waiting patiently, though time is moving slow

Keep your head down and make it to me.

Are you gone? Is this real?

Sacred to think, scared to feel

Is safer where you are? Are you free from all your scars? I hope you've left behind your pain

Take me down, pull me deep into the water, let me drown I beg you

If the sky we look upon should tumble and fall, or the mountains crumble into the sea, I wont cry, I wont shed a tear just as long as you stand by me

This world was just too cold to take ever since you've been away.

Now your gone I finally see, you could never be replaced, took for granted every day.

Wish I could turn back time, take all these wrongs and make them right.

If there is another life, had you found your paradise? Take me with you i cant do this on my own

Dear god don't save me, let me slip away, back to you, to a better place.

Remember who you are

Lay right down decide not to go on.

You slipped away right through my hands I'm left with this hell here in my head.

The moon is the only light we'll see

#sad writing prompts #angst #song lyrics #song prompt #writing promts #dialogue prompt #sentence prompts #sentence starters #dialog prompt #dialogue prompts #story prompt

[just-another-wasteland-merc]

Hey! Hey you!

Hehehe hi there. I'm announcing that I'm firing up my twitch again, but not for fallout.

Wait.

Huh.

Yep, you read that right. And I'm not streaming Mass Effect either! This Friday (meaning... Tomorrow), I'm going to be streaming Halo. From the beginning. Sort of to celebrate a little late on the release of Infinite, but to give a chance for interested parties to see how it started. Also, there's a small, little known fact about Merc, but I used to play online multiplayer so much that I was offered to go pro with a team (it was a long time ago and I don't remember the name anymore), but I turned it down.

So!

I'll post a link right when I go live tomorrow at 5:30p CST, so come on over as I shake off the rust and share one of my all time favorite franchises. I'll die a lot, there might be a hint of rage, but it'll still be fun and we can talk about anything y'all want in the chat!

I hope to see you tomorrow! 💜

#streaming! #merc is shaking off the rust #announcement! #see you tomorrow! #twitch #halo ce #we'll start with the first game! #halo

[livesincerely]

dude you should totally write a fic off run away w me if you like haven’t alr 👀👀

DARLING.

You know me. You know what I’m like. You know you can’t just drop amazing ideas like this in my inbox and expect me to leave them alone until I actually have time to do something with them... 😫😫😫

So.

So.

Background: Davey makes it through his SAT, then exits the building, throws up, and passes out in the parking lot, which isn’t the first indication that something’s wrong but it’s the beginning of the end for how much Jack’s willing to let him get away with it. He’s been a nervous wreck for months, not sleeping and not eating, anxious and irritable and so obviously neglecting his health that it makes Jack wanna scream. No one else seems to see it—Davey’s not a great liar but he’s excellent at deflecting, though that’s never stopped Jack from seeing right through him. Davey manages to hobble his way through the fall semester, keeping his grades up and finishing all his college applications through sheer force of will. His parents are so proud of him, he’s set to be valedictorian and he’s expecting to get several college acceptance letters, and he’s so worried about not doing anything to disappoint them. He and Jack get into several arguments about this that never come to anything except teary, biting stalemates.

Until finally, Davey gets his college acceptance letters. The envelopes come over the course of several weeks and he can’t hardly stand to look at them. Full rides to NYU, Colombia, UCLA, and several other amazing schools. Davey gets halfway through opening the first envelope, hands shaking so bad he can barely hold onto it, before he’s running to throw up. He realizes, suddenly, that unless something gives, he’s looking at another 4+ years of this: of working himself into the ground and being miserable, of never feeling like his wants are valid enough, of always competing and working and grinding, against others sure, but mostly against this imaginary, perfect, unattainable version of himself, of always living the life his parents want him to lead, and he can’t hardly stand it. He can’t imagine going to college. He can’t imagine not going to college.

We open on him calling Jack, crying and freaking out. Because he doesn’t know what to do and he just needs someone to be in his corner and advocate for him, because at this point Davey’s not even sure if Davey’s in his own corner. Jack opens all the envelopes and he doesn’t tell Davey what they say, doesn’t confirm if any/all of them are acceptance letters or anything, just reads through them expressionless. Then he closes them back up, tucks them into the inner pocket on his jacket, and says, “Davey... run away with me.”

“What?” Davey whispers.

“Run away with me, Dave,” Jack says. “Let me take you away from all’a this. We’ll hit the road, drive ‘til the pavement ends, ‘til we’re far away from all these expectations and standards and supposed to’s. Because it’s crushing you. It’s making you fucking miserable, and if distance is what you need to find steady ground and make a choice for your own sake, that’s actually about you and what you want? Then I’m your ticket outta town.”

“Jackie...” Davey says, utterly floored. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, stuttering with something like anticipation and fear and terrible, terrible longing. “Jackie, we can’t.”

“And why can’t we?”

“Because,” Davey insists, because one of them has to be reasonable. “Because, we can’t just pack up and leave. It’s the middle of the semester, we’ve got another three months of school left, we need to graduate, and fuck, can you even imagine the fallout? My parents would kill me, just hunt me down and murder me if I left.”

“I’m still not hearin’ any reasons not to,” Jack says, and he keeps looking at Davey with those warm, steady eyes.

“I just told you—“ Davey starts.

“No,” Jack calmly interrupts. “You gave me a bunch of excuses for not going, not reasons. There’s a difference. I’m waitin’ for something more along the lines of ‘my stupidly long legs make roadtrips super uncomfortable’ or ‘our friendship won’t survive us traveling together for weeks in close quarters’ or ‘I wouldn’t trust your rusted old Chevy to take us to the state line, let alone across the country,’ or even just ‘Jack, I don’t want to.’”

Davey’s mouth closes with a soft click, swallowing heavily around a sudden lump in his throat.

Jack keeps looking at him, and the intensity of his gaze is almost to much to handle, simmering with something quiet but fierce.

“I’m not gonna stand by and watch you kill yourself over a life that you don’t even want. Not anymore. Not when it makes you call me at one in the morning, sounding like the weight of the fucking world’s on your shoulders and you’re terrified to set it down. Not after seven months of watching you waste away right in front of me, moving around like a goddamn shadow, pale as a ghost and hollow inside. Not unless you can look me in the eye right now and tell me that college is gonna make you happy.”

Davey can’t speak. Something’s gone taut in his chest, like a piano wire about to snap. Davey could prevent it. He’s not sure if he wants to.

Jack steps closer and takes both of Davey’s hands in his own. His palms are warm, or maybe it’s just that Davey’s freezing, has been so painfully cold and lonely these past few months, withering away in the shadow of his parent’s expectations. But the tangle of their fingers threading together is like a balm on Davey’s soul—the spark that reignites the embers of a dying fire.

He’s so tired of being cold.

“I just want to know that you’ll be happy,” Jack says after a moment—softly, like he’s afraid he might shatter Davey if he speaks any louder, sending the broken shards of him scattering into nothingness. Davey’s not sure he’s wrong. “And I know you, David, and this isn’t making you happy.”

“This is crazy,” Davey breathes out, and it’s not what he means to say but it comes out regardless. “It’s... Jack, this is insanity.”

“Who cares about what’s sane?” Jack says. “Fuck sanity.”

“Jackie.”

“Tell me you’re happy,” Jack says, and the gentleness of the command doesn’t make it any less compelling. “Tell me you’re happy, that you think you’ll be happy with all this, and I’ll drop it. I’ll drop it right this second, I swear.”

Davey’s eyes slip shut. He breathes in and breathes out, feeling his ribs press against that band in his chest, the last threads of it holding fast.

“Please, Dave,” Jack murmurs. “Please.”

In and out. In and out.

And the wire snaps.

“Okay,” Davey says, fingers tightening around Jack’s, his lone anchor as the world tilts out from underneath him. “Okay.”

“You’ll—?”

“Let me pack a bag,” Davey agrees.

Cue road trip shenanigans. The only people that they tell before they leave are Medda, Crutchie, and Les. Both boys have some money saved up from their part-time jobs but Medda gives them a credit card to use on the trip and helps them get things set up to finish out their last couple months of school through online/remote methods. Even still, it’s a lot of frugal, simple, happy living on the road. They drive without any goals or expectations, taking in the sights and the beauty of the countryside, sleeping in Jack’s car and in various motels.

Davey starts to get better. Just, the freedom of getting to make choices for himself and dropping some of the stressors in his life. His parents are angry, then confused, then worried, then begrudgingly accepting, then actually accepting. Medda helps mediate back home, and they eventually realize that they’ve been suffocating their son. Davey makes no promises about coming home or continuing on with college.

At some point, Davey realizes that he’s in love with Jack and has been for a while. He’s not sure what to do about this, or even if he should do anything about it. Because Jack is wonderful, he’s the best friend he’s ever had, the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and the thought of anything jeopardizing that makes Davey’s heart hurt. Until, one night they’re out somewhere in the desert, staring up at the stars from the roof of Jack’s car. Davey’s been telling stories about all the different constellations, pointing out each one as he goes, and he turns to look at Jack only to find that Jack is already staring at him, and the look on Jack’s face is just....

“Oh,” Davey says, and he’d always imagined that a realization like this would hit like a bolt of lightning. Instead it’s like sinking into a warm bath at the end of a long day. “You’re in love with me.”

Jack blinks at him, then lets out a soft chuckle, easy as anything. “Just now realizing that, are we?”

Davey stares.

“You didn’t say anything,” he points out, perhaps needlessly.

“I wasn’t exactly hiding it,” Jack responds, tilting his head back towards the stars. “And ‘sides, you weren’t ready to hear it.”

A length of silence stretches between them, not uncomfortable but more charged than it had been.

Eventually Davey says, “What if I am?”

“What do ya mean?” Jack asks.

“What if I’m ready to hear it, now?”

Jack turns towards him, and for the first time some of the relaxation slips from his posture, his spine straightening from it’s casual slump into something more active, more engaged, ready to pursue.

“S’that so?” he rumbles.

“Yeah,” Davey says, wetting his lips. “That’s so.”

Something something, getting together, romantic moments on the hood of/in the backseat of Jack’s car, something something ending.

The whole thing would be very dramatic and romantic, but ultimately about how home and freedom can be in the safety of another person, just like the song. Tada, I guess? 😅😅

Working title, “we’ll be on the road like some country song”

00000

@bound-for-santa-fe

#newsies #jack kelly #davey jacobs #javid #*ask #*the writing desk #*editor's note #ideas for later #run away with me fic #I realllllllyyyyy did not need this prompt in my life right now so I hope you’re happy lol #look what you did #this was just a stream of consciousness dump so please excuse any typos #🤗😅🤗😅

[thesilkenlair]

(Casey Here!)

As much D&D as I play, you'd imagine I would eventually get around to illustrating some of their most iconic monsters! Which is to say, the ones that I personally find the most iconic. Which is to say, the ones I memorized when I was reading my dad's monster manual at age nine. Purple worm - Sandworms never go out of style. I've seen a lot of rad designs for this bugger over the editions, but I favor the slightly less reptilian older takes for this particular critter. It's kinda basic, but sometimes that's what you want. It's like a shark or a crocodile: Just flat out unchanged across the ages. Hook horror - I've heard it rumored that Gygax used a small Gigan figure to represent this monster. I can't verify that, but it definitely sounds right. Hook horrors are one of the very first things you meet when you play around in the caves, and they kind of remind me of the Father Deep monsters of the Hork Bajir homeworld that way. Mind flayer - Mind flayers! Basically, take all of your Dracula conventions and dip them in a fresh coat of Lovecraft. There's that old "decadent aristocratic upper caste system who literally eats the poor, but still somehow comes across as less evil than the actual real life 1%" setup that will never stop being relevant. Though personally, I see mind flayers as the first alternative for folks who want to play that monster-who-feels-the-urge-to-eat-their-friends-but-refuses-to-do-it shtick but don't want to deal with vampire baggage. You know, the furry option! ... Slimy? Rubbery? Do we have a word for anthro-cephalopods? I'm only a casual furry. Gelatinous cube - I'm not apologizing for giving this one a slot. Froghemoth - So, back when I participated in my very first long-term campaign, I played a druid. You've met Talia before. Naturally, I was chomping at the bit for the day I finally got to turn her into a froghemoth, and celebrated the day my wish was finally granted and she was allowed to chug human-supremacist-cultists like popcorn. Yeah, okay, the froghemoth is one of the classic vore-monsters. But it's a charming design in its own right. Kind of a freaky Hanna Barbara critter, like you'd see Space Ghost fighting. No matter how many artists draw it, they can never shake that inherent goofiness that third edition tried so hard to purge. I would probably cram them somewhere onto Fronterra if I was sure they were public domain. As is, I'm 99% certain that this is what Visser Three turned into when he ate Elfangor. Tarrasque - D&D's original kaiju! Kind of just takes the name and nothing else when it comes to its mythological origins, but I don't mind. The Tarrasque is that endgame "let's test the players" final boss monster... Or at least it's supposed to be. My DM reskinned it for our final Pathfinder session, and one of the PCs still nearly killed it in a single turn. Also, he let Talia turn into one, so maybe Pathfinder is just bullshit? Regardless, the Tarrasque has one of those simple, iconic designs. I've heard rumors it was based on the concept art for Fallout's deathclaws, and like the Gigan-figure, I can't verify this in any way. With its reptilian features, twin horns, spiny carapace and grabby fingies, it has an undeniable lizardlike quality that I can't help but find charming. Kinda feels like a more refined version of Zilla? Though for an insatiable eating machine, I notice a lot of artists give it very little belly to work with. Come on, this guy eats entire cities! Give him somewhere to put it! Rust monster - An icon of icons, the rust monster! Drawing its origin from a bizarre Chinese "dinosaur" toy, later designs have made it more insectoid in appearance, but never feeling QUITE like anything Earthly. It's the four limbs. Between the four limbs and the tail, it's hard to tell if it's an arthropod mimicking a vertebrate or the other way around. I'm pretty sure this is part of what inspired my ossaderm creatures for Fronterra. Also, Ryla can turn into one in our campaign. I have no shortage of havoc to wreak when the opportunity comes. Behir - Dragons in D&D are kind of... extra. Godlike beings, paragons of whatever personality trait they represent. Whenever there's something uber powerful in D&D, it gets compared to dragons. It makes them kind of unapproachable. Behirs provide all the essentials of a dragon - Serpentine body, scaly skin, horns, sapience, breath weapon, taste for human flesh - wrapped up in a smaller, weirder, IMO cooler package. You know, your Lambton Worms. A lot easier to port in and out of adventures, a lot less of an event when they show up, but still a formidable force in their own right. I like the behir. The behir knows how to taunt me just the right amount. Bulette - Another Chinese "dinosaur" figure monster, the bulette is actually another one I associate with Talia. Whenever we faced a problem that didn't have a glaringly and immediately obvious solution, she would turn into a bulette, whether it was for beating up robots, digging through obstacles, trampling smurfs, navigating labyrinths, distracting slashers with cute dog tricks... it was kind of her signature form. But shenanigans aside, the bulette is just an excellent monster. While the "land shark" shtick may be common, there's a lot more going on with the bulette's design. It's rumored to be a mad wizard's creation, as he combined a snapping turtle with an armadillo and mixed in a helping of demon blood to taste. Personally, I always considered that to be a neat little rumor to flesh out the world, but never assumed it to be true. The bulette just feels too naturalistic for that. Like some kind of protomammal or crocodylomorph, or weird triassic monstrosity. Magic and demons and dragons and so on DO affect the ecosystem. I always figured the bulette was just something that evolved to compete in this new biosphere. Owlbear - This one, on the other hand, I fully believe the "mad wizard was bored" explanation. Another chinasaur critter, the owlbear is frequently made fun of. What makes it scarier than a regular bear? It can't fly, so why have owl parts at all? Why trade fangs for a beak in what is at best a latural move? Well, first of all, fuck you, owls are creepy motherfuckers, and that alone is enough to justify it. But secondly, that's part of its charm. Besides some improved vision, the owl DOESN'T make it more dangerous. What makes the owlbear dangerous is that it's an insane, Frankensteinian monstrosity roaming uncontrolled through the wilderness! It doesn't need weaponry, its sheer temperament is enough to make it a worthy opponent. Sure, the practical threat might not be hugely above that of a bear, but storytelling isn't about numbers. Any asshole can go outside and get eaten by a bear. The owlbear is part of this world. The owlbear is a reminder of what magic can do. Someone somewhere actually made this thing, for whatever reason, and now the world is irrevocably changed because of it. Owlbears go beyond practicality. They bring the lore! Also, bears don't have very good eyesight, so the big owl eyes probably make them better hunters. Flumph - Is that a Japanese-style martian? Do we just have aliens in D&D? Dear lord, I love them! Okay, the flumph has got a sizable hatedom. And that hatedom can eat my ass, because the flumph is precious and perfect just the way it is! Flumphs are designed as a sort of sidekick-type creature. They're not very good fighters, but they bring knowledge and lore to the table. Whether they're aliens from some far off star, seeking your aid to prevent catastrophe, or psionic natives of the Underdark eager to bask in your positivity and hopefully stick it to the tyrants they're forced to share real estate with. My group generally treats them as straight up aliens, benevolent but strange. Course, we're all pretty strange, so we get along just fine. Otyugh - Okay so, the aberration creature type implies that this is something from another world that doesn't belong. And yet otyughs, which are aberrations, are an essential part of this world's ecosystem? Okay, I can buy the idea that an alien organism adapted to our world and is now a key part of it. Fronterra's got a TON of that. It just feels like after a point, the otyugh would be considered a beast? Otyughs are great. Every ecosystem needs a decomposer, and every fantasy story needs at least one dive into the sewers. Otyughs provide both, and are intelligent enough to keep the plot moving if it hits a snag. There's always going to be garbage, refuse, carrion, decay, things that need to be broken down and processed. Carrion crawler - The carrion crawler is pretty similar to the otyugh in that it's technically not considered a beast, and therefor must have its origins elsewhere, but feels so integrated into the ecosystem that it just feels like it belongs. They usually can't talk, so they're not just reskinned otyughs, but I still consider them pretty essential. Otyughs find a singular spot where waste is dumped and shovel it down at their leisure, while carrion crawlers skulk through the tunnels, actively seeking their food. The crawler got one of the most radical redesigns on the transition from second to third edition, but I can't really choose a single favorite. The oldschool tentacle-faced cutworm looks like it could be a real animal, while the googly-eyed Halloween decoration feels like it could be from another world, merely having set up shop here. Could there name apply to two wholly different creatures? If so, then I'm not sure which one mine would be considered. I kinda mashed them together into something that doesn't quite feel like either. But I like it for what it is. Maybe I'll sneak it onto Fronterra. Aboleth - Tentacled, telepathic sea creatures who turn humans into slimy minions, who remember everything their race has ever seen, and who are always plotting something behind the scenes. Yeah, the aboleths really crank up the Lovecraft elements. Actually, between the mind flayers, the flumphs and the aboleths, even the most oldschool D&D covered quite a few essential Lovecraftian bases. The flayers are your corrupt yet still recognizable humanoids who can be considered truly evil, the flumphs are benevolent-yet-bizarre guardians who know more than you, and the aboleths are the truly unknowable, sinister intellects. The fact that they can barely function on land honestly only adds to that, IMO. They're inherently difficult for a party to reach, and they offer some nice underwater adventure seeds. Not enough adventures go underwater. There's this perception that the ocean is bad for storytelling because so many writers lack the creativity to make it work. I wanna run an underwater adventure now. Beholder - Icon of icons! THE D&D monster! The beholder! Paranoid, jumpy, always five steps ahead and twenty steps perpendicular! Beholds are fun in just about every way. Between their wacky, diverse designs, their elaborate lairs, their eccentric personalities, their bizarre powers, you're never gonna run out of fun with beholders. Remorhaz - It's always been a thing that bothered me with environment-based monsters. Why does the ice monster who lives in the cold use ice as a weapon? Aren't most of the things it encounters going to be resistant to the cold? Sure, a cone of cold will still kill a polar bear, but a lot of the monsters in the tundra are outright immune to cold. A while dragon's not going to get much use out of its breath weapon fighting frost worms and frost giants. That's one reason the remorhaz sticks out to be. We have an icy tundra beast whose insides are a scorching furnace, which it can intensify and weaponize as it sees fit. Which also conveniently explains why its design - a sort of cobra-esque centipede - invokes warm-weather creatures, despite its icy environment. It's a nice subversion of the usual tropes, plus it's just a memorable, cool looking critter to begin with. On a smaller note, the remorhaz feels like a good loophole for Ryla's "no cold weather morphs" rule. Turning into something elementally affiliated with ice is no good, but a non-magical monster that survives the cold by superheating its insides? That seems perfectly viable to me!

#RiftWitch #My art #D&D #DND #Dungeons & Dragons #D&D monsters #Purple worm #hook horror #mind flayer #illithid #bulette #froghemoth #tarrasque #rust monster #behir #owlbear #flumph #carrion crawler #aboleth #beholder #remorhaz

[gingerhulksmash]

The sketchbook.

Hazel has gotten used to throwing away little scrap bits of paper bearing any marks of her boredom during senate meetings, but she’s beginning to regret it now, as she’s bundling old meeting notes into a recycling bag. They never contained anything vital to the meetings, just stickmen blowing rude speech bubbles, games of hangman and tic-tac-toe, Jason’s chicken scratch scrawl asking did she want to get donuts after the meeting? She can’t remember if she’d said yes, or if she’d smiled, or if she’d told him she had drills to run.

She hopes she’d said yes. She hopes she’d scribbled yes, I would love to get donuts with you, so he had known for sure that there was nothing else she’d rather have done that day. If she’d known what was coming, she’d have asked him, after every meeting, and stretched out what should have been a longer friendship. What should have been more time with her first friend in Camp Jupiter. What should have been more time with someone she saw as a—

As a—

She’s getting distracted, and her eyes are starting to prickle. With a shuddering sigh, Hazel goes back to gutting Jason’s old desk. Purging it of all traces of it’s former occupant, though she’s fighting the urge to have it towed towards his funeral pyre. Whoever sat at it next wouldn’t be quite so deserving, not of the title, not of the office, not of the desk so covered with the imprint of his late night work and coffee spills, she begins to wonder if they couldn’t conjure Jason’s soul from out of the grainy wood itself.

But, she reminds herself, it’s just a desk. No more a part of Jason than the office, the chair, the pages and pages of work scattered around. As she plucks the sheets from the drawers, her fingers brush the soft leather spine of an old sketchbook. She gasps quietly, fingers jarring with uncertainty — as if she’d found a diary, some private relic that Jason would have forbidden her to touch if he’d been there.

He is not there, and Hazel pulls the book from it’s hidden corner of the desk drawer, glancing around to make sure she is completely alone. 

Inside is a comfortingly familiar mess of writing, and drawings. Almost every page is stained with coffee or ink — after the Giant War, Jason’s hands had developed a slight tremor, and she sees it in the unsteady lines in the details. The pages are dated, signed, almost pedantically. Habits of a boy whose life had been pulled out from under him, once, twice, thrice. An ache in her chest tells her that he was making sure he forgot nothing, that he had something to fall back on to remember himself, if no one else did. Then, as she turns the pages, loose pieces begin to fall out. The first one she picks up again knocks the wind out of her a little.

She’s looking at her own face, sketched clumsily in blue ink. He’s not the most articulate artist — the eyes are uneven, the light seems to be coming from all directions, and not a shadow or crease in the clothes visible — but the light strokes of the pen, the careful curve of her nose and every stray hair, speaks volumes. Signed, dated, and labelled with her name, he has captured a moment she can’t remember at all. More loose sheets contain faces of friends, Frank, Reyna, Gwen, Bobby, Dakota — it goes on, and on. The sketches get better the closer they get to his last visit. She makes more appearances, as do their new friends. She gets misty eyed over drawings of Leo and Piper, passages written about Festus and how to repair him, just the way Leo taught them in case he couldn’t do it himself. 

The margins are full of birthdays, important dates, minute sketches of New Rome and Camp Halfblood, flashes of scenes from quests. He has not travelled far, and the places he has been allowed were chained to danger. But to anyone who had not known Jason, it read like a How To Remember Your Friends guide. Like a memoir. He’d even kept all the little notes that they had traded in senate meetings, wedged in between loose sheets and sometimes glued to the pages. He’d kept the ridiculous drawings as if they were precious photos. It’s getting harder and harder to keep a straight face. 

The last piece she picks off the floor is an old drawing of Thalia. She’d recognise the face anywhere, even with Jason’s haphazard drawing; blue eyes overlined so vividly, the blue ink had seeped through to the other side of the page, the hair an inky splash, and freckles dotted across a rakish grin. It was not signed, or dated, but it had one sentence scratched across so messily, he must have written it in a fit of something.

She’s real, his writing reads. She’s real, her name is Thalia Grace. She’s not imaginary. I’m not the only one. My sister is real. 

Something wet splatters on the page, and the ink bleeds blue down Thalia’s face. Hazel forgets to clean the rest of the desk, forgets she is surrounded by scraps of paper, and dust, and cobwebs. She sits on Jason’s chair, rests her head on her arms, and bawls.

——————————

Waiting for Nico to appear sends her back to her first days at Camp Jupiter. Hazel doesn’t know if she’ll see him, if he’ll warn her of an absence or a visit. Today of all days, she does not blame him for hiding a little. They grieve the same loss in different ways, but she needs her brother here, too. She needs the reassurance, and the understanding, and the presence to prove to her she’s not on her own.

Just like in old times, when her stomach is in knots about Nico not showing up, it’s a Grace who approaches her with a kind hand on her shoulder. But when Hazel turns to face Thalia, her heart leaps to her throat.

Thalia looks like she’s been quietly rusting the past few days. Pale, shoulders slack, her hair dripping down her face. She is not wearing her circlet, her eyes look bloodshot and grey. If someone told her that grief could rob a soul of it’s immortality, Hazel would have believed it from just one look at Thalia.

But there she stood, with a strained smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, looking through Hazel.

‘You wanted to see me?’

Suddenly, Hazel feels like this is the worst idea she’s ever had. Jason’s sketchbook sits heavy in her bag, weighing her thoughts down until there is no room for words to form. All she can think to say is how are you, but it is the silliest question in the world right now. 

‘I did,’ she sits as she speaks, gently prompting Thalia to do the same. 

Thalia remains standing for an awkward minute, wondering perhaps if Hazel has worse news for her. She seems to decide it isn’t possible, and sits, avoiding eye contact all the while.

‘Will you be leaving soon?’  ‘Don’t know. We have some business to attend to while we’re here,’ Thalia’s voice is brittle, too. 

Hazel has seen every sign of crying except the tears, and she can’t help but wince internally at how similar that was to Jason. The closest she’d ever come to seeing Jason weep was the night he had told her about Mount Othrys, and even then, he had held his composure for her sake. He did not like to make others feel obligated to comfort him, and she understood. If Thalia was anything like that...

‘You can’t take a few days off?’  Thalia makes a noise that might have passed as a laugh. ‘Hunters don’t get sick days, Levesque.’

It’s eerie. He’d almost said the same. Praetors don’t take sick days. 

They fall into silence. Hazel wishes Nico would appear soon, so that someone who knew Thalia better could deliver the book. So someone who knew Thalia better could handle the fallout. So someone who knew Thalia better could talk about her brother, and not make Hazel feel stupid for ever thinking of Jason as her own family, when Thalia had more right to cry and scream and break down than she did.

But that didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel fair. And the anger hits Hazel as soon as she’s thought it. If rifling through that sketchbook had shown her anything, it was that Jason had been as desperate for family all his life, as she had been desperate to not feel alone when she reached camp, too. Nico and Thalia could come and go as they pleased, but Jason and Hazel — they had been the ones left behind, they had been the ones to pick each other up again. They had been the ones to reach their hands out, with every fear of rebuke and rejection, to any other lonely soul who might be in need. 

Just as she starts to think, I should keep the book myself, Thalia sighs. 

‘If I don’t do my job, someone else suffers,’ she says, after a long pause. ‘What would I do with my days off, anyway?’

To this, Hazel has no answer. 

‘Are you taking any days off?’ Thalia continues, finally turning to look at her. ‘No. I... I can’t,’ ‘Why not? He’s like a brother to you, too.’

Again, her eyes prickle. A lump in her throat makes it hard to speak for a few more seconds, and in lieu of an answer, Hazel reaches a shaking hand towards Thalia’s. Thalia squeezes her fingers back weakly, and sniffs.

Slowly, Hazel reaches into her bag, and draws the sketchbook out. It feels heavier than anything she’s ever held before, but she holds it tightly, for fear that a second of slack grip would send all the pages flying into the air, never to be seen again. Gingerly holding it in her lap, she pulls the hand holding Thalia’s to rest on the cover. 

‘What is that?’ ‘It’s Jason’s,’ immediately, as Hazel says it, Thalia stiffens. ‘We used to draw together, now and again, when he had time. He, um. He kept a lot of the things I drew for him, and — and drew some of his own,’

Thalia is looking at the book as if it’s going to bite her, but before she can pull her fingers loose, Hazel closes her hand over them, too soft to constrain, but quick enough that Thalia might understand it as a plea to hold on.

With a shaking voice, Hazel finishes. ‘I want you t — I think you should have it.’

‘What am I going to do with it?’ The rasp in her voice tells Hazel she might cry, or yell. Maybe both. Both might be good for her, for Hazel, too.  ‘Look at it. On your days off,’ Hazel offers. ‘Look at it now.’ ‘I can’t. I didn’t even know he liked to draw,’ ‘That doesn’t matter,’ 

She peels the cover open, blinking furiously to ward away any tears, and lets Thalia try. When she doesn’t move, when Hazel can hear her breathing become difficult and tight, she turns the pages for her, shows her the friends and adventures scribbled there, the notes, the reminders. Her hands shake as she shows Thalia all the drawings of her, her eyes begin to blur. 

‘He loved you so much. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t know this about him, he’d have wanted you to have it,’ her voice cracks, at long last. ‘He barely knew me at the start and he loved me, he wouldn’t have cared if — if you didn’t —’

Thalia’s hands on her face, wiping away her tears, are what alert her to the fact she’s crying. Through her hazy vision, she can make out Thalia’s stony expression, fighting valiantly to not break. How like Jason; these are the habits of someone unaccustomed to having the space and permission to feel. She was no older than Hazel, something she remembers with another swoop of pain — Thalia had died at thirteen, too. She understood the gravity of a second chance, and now the pain of having that blessing tainted by loss, by grief, by danger.

Before she knows it, Thalia has pulled her into a hug, one arm tight around her shoulders, the other hand at the back of her head. She lets Thalia hold onto her, until it feels like she is being leaned on in turn, until she hears the quiet shudder of a sob that gets louder and more heartbroken.

The book, still in Hazel’s clutches and pressed to her front, is forgotten and unimportant for the moment. But when this is over, she knows Thalia will take it. When this is over, Nico will come home to Hazel. Tyson will go home to Percy. The cohorts and cabins in both camps will close in on their loved ones, and Thalia will vanish into the wilderness with nothing but this book, and it will be all she has of him. Paper, ink, a leather back that will slowly but surely break apart over the years as it’s yanked open to bring Jason back to life, for a moment or two. 

Hazel holds Thalia until her sobs subside to a tremor, and thinks, maybe, she doesn’t have to be alone. Maybe after this, when this is all over, Thalia will visit, they’ll get donuts, and pore over the book together. Maybe she’ll teach Thalia to draw, and they’ll draw together. That would have to wait — for now, she will make do with the comfort she is being offered and has the chance to give back. She’ll hold onto Thalia, and Thalia will hold onto her, and as he should have been there in person, Jason was there between them, with his family.

#jason grace #hazel levesque #thalia grace #drabbles #This was a rush job but god was I angry #Mostly about Reyna but #I'm saving THAT rage for a better fic. #this isn't proofread at all oh gosh

[domesticatedantelope]

pursuit

Part One: Preludes

Pairing: Colt x MC // fallout AU

Rating: M (language, canon-typical violence)

Word Count: 2.6k

For RoDAW Day 2. Inspired by this spectacular edit from our lovely host @choicesarehard.

*     *     *     *     *

It should have been an easy job.

Find the library, find the supplies, make it back alive.

Another day in fucking paradise.

i.

Colt can’t remember the last time he slept.

When he blinks, the sunlight etches blinding trails behind his eyelids. There’s no wind in the city of angels, just a choking heat that makes the road ahead shiver in his vision, oil slick puddles the sickening color of rust. Black asphalt cracks beneath his feet, the shattered streets he’s walked since he was old enough to hold the rifle in his hands — since his father left him stranded in the corpse of old Los Angeles and told him to fight his own way home. 

He swallows down the memory and skirts the skeletal remains of an old station wagon, the doors and windows hollowed to a metal husk. The city center always smells like rot and melted rubber. With a sneer, he yanks the bandana out from underneath his collar and tugs it hastily over his nose. 

Three days of walking, darting through side alleys, dodging ferals and mutants and rival raider gangs. Would have travelled safer with another gun at his back, but he moves faster on his own — and more importantly, he draws far less attention. 

Gunshots crack the silence, and in two swift steps, he pivots and slides into cover behind the nearest building. His back to crumbled brick, he steadies his breathing and listens for the rattle of return fire. From the carry of the echo, the fight’s still a few streets back, and absently he runs a palm over the ammunition in his pocket, feeling the weight of the grenades hooked into his belt. 

Beyond the shells of empty homes, he spots the sprawl of the observatory, high up in the hills above the city. The library will be another half a mile through the open streets, and with a twist of irritation, he can hear the distant gunfire growing steadily closer. An inhuman roar tears through the deafening pop-pop’s of rifle shots, resounding off the nearby buildings and kicking the rapid rhythm of adrenaline into his pulse.

Of course it’s fucking mutants. 

And from the sound of it, an unholy amount of them.

The sun is just starting to set behind the bones of old Los Angeles, dipping low over the ocean, and Colt steals a swift path through the slowly growing shadows. He’s charted most of these byways himself, cutting through a back alley and vaulting himself up over a dumpster, the rusted chain links of the fence clattering noisily when he leaps over and lands with a cloud of dust on the other side. He spills out into the middle of the street, and a guttural cry shrieks in alert to his right. Three hulking figures break into a sprint in his direction, yellowed muscles bulging as they charge him with ear-splitting snarls.

“Fuck!” Colt has no time to catch his breath, lungs aching as he leaps back into motion. He grits his teeth past the protest in his weary legs, fumbling under his coat for the rough surface of a frag mine, fingers catching as he sets the charge and flings it carefully behind him. 

The super mutants scream a chorus of bestial rage, and he hears their footsteps pounding hard against the pavement as they tear a swift pursuit.

Then, blissfully, the rapid beep beep beep of warning before one of the unlucky bastards finds the gift he left them, and a localized explosion lights the dark of setting dusk. Pained growls die to whimpers in his wake, buying him a moment to break ahead. His ears ring from the blast, but a frantic laugh lifts from his lungs, manic with relief when he slips through the sharp-edged brambles of a desiccated bush and emerges in an empty parking lot alone. 

He rips the bandana from around his mouth, leaning on his knees as he drinks in deep lungfuls of air. Across the buckled asphalt of the lot, a shambled building overgrown with ivy seems to barely stand against the darkening night, and he rises to survey the property with narrowed eyes.

The library awaits.

ii.

Nobody appreciates good literature anymore.

Mercy thumbs gingerly through the worn pages of another ruined book, and feels her heart break just a little at the state of it. The notes inked in have long since faded, half the paper scorched to ash, another volume — and all precious knowledge housed therein — now permanently lost. 

She plucks out the few pages left intact and tosses the rest in a heap with all the others. Against her will, the sting of tears builds at her lashes, and she swipes angrily under her eyes, refusing to let them fall. She’s made it this far, found the only place that might hold any whisper of salvation, but the deeper she works through haphazard stacks, the more destruction she discovers. 

The clank and whir of metal joints hiss as one of the protectrons ambles down the hall outside, and she watches the bot forge through its patrol with some small amount of comfort. The office drones were little more than scrap when she uncovered them, and now their tinny voices keep her company on the longer nights alone.

She forces a slow, steadying breath into her lungs, and sets her shoulders.

Somewhere in this godforsaken mess, she knows there is a prize worth finding. Worth leaving her life and everything she loves behind. 

There has to be.

iii.

The adrenaline is fading.

It takes Colt longer than it should to scale the building, his fingers shaking as he hauls himself up onto the edge of the roof. A winded sigh heaves from his lungs, bruises and freshly bleeding scrapes throbbing a vast array of pain across his body. He feels the onset of fatigue weighing his limbs, but pushes stubbornly past it, trekking toward a busted skylight at the far end of the building.

He drops through and rolls to break the fall, landing in a crouch among a maze of slanted bookshelves. Dust motes spiral up at the disturbance, his boots crushing moth-eaten carpet as he straightens and inspects the room around him. 

Chairs and upturned tables litter the ground, filing cabinets stacked into a slapdash barricade against the door. He takes a step and nearly stumbles over brittle, long-dry bones, the edges jutting out from rotten clothes. 

A flare of annoyance chatters at the back of his mind. 

All this fucking trouble for a bunch of burned-out books. 

There better be something good here. 

The first filing cabinet gives way with a squeal of creaking metal, and he’s got another wedged between his shoulder and the palm of his hand when the sound of weighted footsteps clomp steadily louder toward the door. 

He lets the cabinet fall back into place with a groan of irritation, reaching for his rifle. 

“Initiating search for hostile target,” the grating voice of a protectron rings out in warning.

Rolling his eyes, Colt braces his boot against the last remnants of the barricade and shoves with the full force of his strength, growling at the resistance before the furniture all comes crashing down into a heap, freeing the doors and his way out.

He grabs for the handle just as the protectron barrels through, sending him sprawling back onto the floor. He kicks himself into a roll, narrowly avoiding a laser beam that singes through the carpet and leaves a smoking scorch mark where his head would have been.

Colt scrambles to his feet, ducking into cover behind a mangled reading desk. He waits for a break in the jets of red light that soar overhead, and peeks over his cover just enough to land a few shots into the protectron, bullets pinging off its metal frame. The fourth one cracks through the translucent dome at the top of its head, and he’s lining up the shot to bring it down when the bot fires off another streak of searing energy that shreds open the leather of his armor, burning into his skin with a scalding rip of pain. Gritting his teeth, he struggles to hold steady and releases a wild spray of gunfire until the robot crumples and collapses into the dust. 

There’s a beat of quiet, just the hissing gasps of his own breath as he climbs shakily to his feet. Lifting a hand to his shoulder, he grimaces at the heat that radiates from the laser burn, throbbing like a knife wound in his skin. “Shit. Shit, shit.” A quick search through his pockets finds the last remaining stimpak in his hand, and with a grim sigh he uncaps it, sinking the needle into the muscle of his shoulder. 

The medicine works quickly, easing the worst of the pain to a more tolerable ache, the burn still pulsing with a vengeance in his skin. He’ll need to clean and dress it before long, but only once he’s certain there’s no longer any threats within the building. Any supplies he finds won’t be worth a damn if he’s too dead to drag them back to the garage.

Colt slings his rifle over his good shoulder, pulling the silenced pistol from the holster at his hip instead. With one last glance back at the shattered wreckage of the protectron, he palms his weapon and slips out through the door.

The hall is dark, the overhead fluorescents long since gone to ruin. He creeps forward with careful steps, placing his feet where the carpet will muffle his movement, pausing to listen at each barricaded door. A feeling of unease settles between his shoulders when he catches only silence — no alarms, no tripwires, no army of protectrons swarming to defend the empty halls. 

At last he reaches the towering double doors that lead to the main atrium, and that sense of growing dread has sweat gathering hot at the back of his neck. Cautiously, he extends a boot and pushes one door open, just wide enough for him to fit through. 

Colt steps into the atrium, his eyes sweeping immediately over every surface of the room before coming to rest on a slender figure taking cover at the far wall, two arms wrapped around the barrel of a sniper rifle trained firmly in his direction. He freezes where he stands, his pistol clenched between his fingers, and just as he’s rushing to calculate if he can land the shot before she kills him, the girl behind the rifle hisses out, “Don’t move.”

His jaw tightens in response, but he remains still. 

“Drop your gun.”

“If you’re gonna shoot me, you might as well just fucking do it.”

“Don’t tempt me. Drop it. Now.”

With a withering glare, Colt slowly lowers his pistol to the ground, raising his hands to show his palms above his shoulders. 

Only then does she lift her eye from the scope of her rifle, and he’s stunned briefly speechless to see the face that scowls back at him, round-cheeked and soft with youth, a scatter of dark freckles strewn across the tan of her skin. “Who are you?” she demands across the open space between them, the question sharp-edged with suspicion. The rifle remains fixed in his direction. “And what do you want?”

Colt feels the hot pressure of sudden anger pounding at his temples, seething up his spine to squeeze around the nape of his neck. If he made it this far just to die to some kid with a sniper rifle…

He works to keep his tone even. “Same thing everybody wants, sweetheart.” A twinge of satisfaction flickers through him when her eyes narrow into a glare in response. “Weapons. Caps. Supplies.” His gaze darts past her, where a pile of white medical crates sit stacked against the far wall, before flicking back to meet the dark brown of her eyes. “I guess you just found ‘em first.”

With a look of disdain, she inspects his armor, pausing at the spiked plate that hangs over his left shoulder. “You’re a raider,” she accuses thinly. 

“I’m a person,” he snaps back. “Just trying to get by. Same as you.”

“You shot my robot.”

“It shot me!” 

Her eyes pass over the fresh laser burn still glowing angry red against his shoulder, and the accusation slowly starts to lapse from her expression. “I’m sorry about that,” she mutters then, and he’s shocked to hear a thread of genuine remorse in her tone. “I had them on high alert. There’s been —”

“Super mutants, yeah. I met ‘em on the way in.”

“Did they follow you here?”

“Not that I could tell.”

The girl lets out a tired-sounding sigh and finally climbs to her feet, letting the rifle rest against her shoulder, and it’s almost comical how small the weapon makes her look. She’s tamed the dark waves of her hair into a tight braid down the center of her back, a faded coat draped loosely around her shoulders, and just past the broken teeth where a zipper used to hang, he spies the unmistakable blue of a jumpsuit. 

He could almost spit. Vault dweller. Of course. 

“Not gonna kill me then?” he sneers, and his temper roils when she rolls her eyes at him.

“Not unless I need to.” And her grip tightens around the stock of her rifle. “Don’t make me need to.”

Cautiously, Colt lets his hands drop back down to his sides, a small measure of tension falling from his shoulders when she makes no move to shoot him. “So now what?”

She considers, drumming her nails at the surface of the reading desk where she stands, a calculating look in her eyes as she studies him. “I’ll trade you for them.”

“You’ll trade them.”

Her shoulder rises in a shrug. “If you want them so badly. A trade seems easier than killing each other, doesn’t it?”

He eyes her carefully. “And what exactly do you want in return?”

Something heavy passes over her expression, a weariness that sits strangely on such a delicate face, there and gone again in an instant. “I’m looking for something. I’ve been looking for something, something hidden here in the library, and I can’t figure out where.” Frustration — almost desperation — cuts into her voice. “You help me find it, and the supplies are yours.”

Colt levels her with a deliberately slow look. “And what’s to stop me from just shooting you right now and taking everything for myself?”

At that, she manages to almost smile. “The fact that you won’t make it out of here alive.”

She’s bluffing. He’s almost sure of it. But she waits patiently for him to make the call, that same small, infuriatingly gentle smile on her lips, and somewhere past the angry cage around his heart, he thinks he might almost respect her for it.

“Fine,” he groans, and makes a show of stowing his rifle into his bag. “We have a deal.”

Her smile brightens, fully formed, the dark of her eyes warm with something like relief when she steps around the desk and crosses the room to stand before him. She’s even smaller this close, peering curiously up at him as if they hadn’t just nearly killed each other. “What should I call you?”

He meets her gaze with a scowl. “Colt.”

“Colt,” she repeats, as if trying out the sound of it. Then she nods in vague approval. “My name is Mercedes, but you can call me Mercy.” And she reaches out to shake his hand, daring to laugh when surprise knocks the glare from his face. “A pleasure doing business with you.”

#rodaw #colt kaneko #choices rod #colt x mc #violence cw #guns cw #blood cw #lope rodaw #it's fallout verse so. yknow... all the works #this was supposed to be a one shot but writing fallout again is actually ridiculously fun so! behold part 1 of ?? to be seen #thank you again to the amazing rodaw hosts! #this has been such a blast to do #ship: power couple #mc: mercy castellano #dom writes

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 86

Hey everyone! Hope you’re all keeping safe and healthy, as much as you can.

This week, I decided to let everyone see how exactly Sophia and Arthur interact.  You know, since they are theoretically friends from Before and all that (they really, really are friends, I swear).  Thank you to @baelpenrose for helping me with this chapter, which you did immensely.

After a decadently scathing review of an ancient fairy tale and some quick thinking to keep Nixe from lighting the book on fire out of principle, I found myself actually regretting that I needed to return to work. This time escorted by Alistair, who was ostensibly returning anyway from a meeting with the current Head Archivist, we set a brisk pace while quietly discussing my schedule for the next week.  By the time we arrived back at our shared office, my head was spinning with the thought of all the Council meetings I had in my future.

Having worked up an appetite and refusing to make important decisions on an empty stomach, I queued up two bowls of etouffee, along with a heaping plate of cornbread and butter. While my assistant provided more and more details around each of my peers’ agendas in regards to testing various ecological building methods - how could there be agendas behind something like that - the door hissed open and a familiar brunette man strolled to my rescue.

Before I could even greet him, Arthur sat down and snagged my yet-untouched meal. "I gave Charly a treat. No reason. But she seemed very enamored of the glittery pens." Unfazed by my attempts to recover my food, he took a bite before giving the bowl a critical look. “This is really good, Sophie. You should try some.”

Scowling, I stepped back over to the food console. “Why did you give her a treat?”

He paused to swallow another mouthful of my lunch. "Phenomenal self control in the face of rage"

"You heard?" I winced before returning to the table with my second attempt to eat.

"Who didn’t? And I'm not saying I condone violence, but her aim was superb, I must say."

"Arthur, she bit him." 

"Very clever use of weapons at hand, I agree." Still nonchalant, he slathered butter on a slice of cornbread.

“That’s real butter - “ I tried to warn.

He just waved me off with a spoon. “No whey, I already tested it. Besides, Miys was able to do something about that, just to make my life easier.”

Shaking my head, I finally got to try some of my food. "You gave her caffeine, didn't you?" I asked hesitantly, returning to the topic of Charly.

"I will neither confirm nor deny" 

"That's a yes." 

"You can't prove that."

"Is it... is it on the pens? Is that a thing?" 

"Pffft,” he scoffed. “How lazy.”  I stared at him intently until he rolled his eyes and groaned. “The ink in the pens disappears after an hour, glitter and all. She'll love them."

I couldn’t really argue with that, so instead I shifted topics slightly. “So. The guys mentioned asking you to be part of my escort detail?”

He nodded. “I couldn’t make it today, but I moved some stuff around.  Should be good to go.”

Something fell into place in my mind. “Wait. Did you send Nixe?”

“Is that her name? The mermaid?” I nodded, so he continued. “I mean, yeah.”

I sputtered, fortunate I didn’t have food in my mouth. “You don’t even know her name and you sent her to fill in?”

“Well, I know it now.” When I didn’t let the glare stop, he set his ill-gotten spoon down firmly. “Sophia. Sophie. That woman is almost as tall as one of your boyfriends, taller than the other, and has endurance enough to probably win a fight while holding her breath.  She has an enormous soft-spot for kind people - which you are - and every inch of her screams don’t fuck with me.”

“Because people think she’s crazy,” I scowled in accusation.  “She’s actually really sweet.”

“Well, that too. She’s also strong as fuck, and truly believes she is an exiled queen of a race of warriors to boot.  I’m willing to bet, if she punched that wannabe warlord? She’d put her fist through him.” He picked up his spoon and smiled. “So, yeah.  I asked her to walk you to the archive. She wanted to head down anyway, so….” He shrugged before finishing off the etouffee. “Besides, she was also the person I figured was least likely to need to resort to violence.”

That got a smirk out of me. "Since when don't you condone violence, oh peaceful reformed warlord?"

"Stop putting your words in my mouth, Sophie. I absolutely condone justified violence."

"Excuse me? Weren't you just praising Charly for -"

"I also said justified violence, to be fair."

Before I could have an aneurysm, Alistair stepped in. "Mr. Farro, sir, Councillor Kalloe asked me to pass on this declination of access to your personal sword?"

“You asked for your sword back? Arthur…”

He scowled at my assistant, shaking his head before muttering. “You absolutely did that on purpose, you traitorous, limey dick.”

“Arthur!”

“You should not have been such a cad to have stolen Miss Sophia’s lunch,” Alistair sniffed, unimpressed.

All I could do was rub my temples and focus on deep breaths. They don’t actually hate each other, I reminded myself firmly. “Arthur. Sword. Why?”

“I’m sure I don’t have to explain the anatomy behind why it’s a lot harder to intimidate someone when you’re… oh, about a head shorter?”

“Arthur….” I was feeling like a broken record, especially when he smirked at me and I realized he was probably counting how many different inflections I could use on that.

“Besides, it’s time someone showed that Game of Thrones, Mad Max reject what a real warlord can do,” he added airily, staring at the ceiling.

I choked on my last bite of cornbread, pounding the table and gasping for air before I could respond. “Wait, you mean to tell me your professionalism is offended? Are you serious!?”

“Yeah, I’m serious.” He didn’t even bother looking down at me. “I earned the title, protecting my students, and he’s just some bullying, conspiracy-peddling amateur who wouldn’t even rate a decent Fallout villain.” Finally, he glanced back at me. “Besides, if he’s the guy he thinks he is, he’ll understand that threatening another leader’s people is met with violence.”

“Oh, another leader now?” I asked skeptically.

“Oh hell no. Not me.” He shook his head violently before gesturing with his spoon again. “You. Xiomara. Grey. Your people.”

“You know I don’t believe violence is the answer,” I said softly.

“I know. But right now, it’s the question. The answer may end up being yes, no matter how much you don’t want it to be.” He gave me a meaningful look before his expression hardened. “If it comes to that, and I think you, or Charly, or anyone else I care about is in danger? That Viking-wannabe is going to find himself on the wrong side of the airlock.  You won’t have to make the hard decision, fight all that empathy you have floating around in there.” He tapped his temple. “I’ll make the call, me and Xiomara.” Like a switch flipping, his features relaxed again. “I just need her to give me back my damned sword.”

Alistair cleared his throat politely, arching an eyebrow at the man across from me. “Dare I even ask why you have a sword?”

Arthur pointed at himself and enunciated slowly. “War. Lord.”

Nonplussed, my assistant waved the response away. “Yes, yes, I understand all that. You’ve certainly said it frequently enough. How did you come by it, I mean? You are both from the Colonies, after all.”

I snickered at the back-handed insult, waiting for Arthur to clarify.  To be honest, I was mildly curious about it, myself, but was certain enough that I didn’t want to know the answer that I had never asked.

Arthur straightened himself, and in the worst faux-Italian accent, explained “My sword has been serving the warrior sons of the Farro family since the days of the Medici.” Dropping the accent, he clarified. “I was a history teacher, Before. I used to show the sword to some of my classes, and even took a few lessons in the style the sword was used in.  Then, when the End happened… it saw battle again.” He paused for a moment before scowling. “Which is why it better not be rusted when I get it back. It’s a five-hundred year old weapon.”

“Is that how the two of you know each other?” Alistair continued, pretending to be entirely unimpressed by the provenance of an antique sword - I wasn’t fooled, he was an archivist.

Arthur, however, looked completely baffled. “The sword? No? What in the -”

“Teaching….” Alistair clarified wearily.

I snorted hard enough that my sinuses burned. “Oh gods no. I don’t think we ever even lived in the same state. And I only taught for…. Two years? A year and a half? Not counting the whole - “ I waved a hand around my head vaguely “-Interpersonal communication fiasco. And he was still in high school at the time, I think.” I glanced over, but Arthur just shrugged.  “Anyway, we actually met in an online group, almost a decade after I quit teaching, one dedicated to writing.” Pausing, I glanced around at my office. “I don’t think we ever imagined anything like this, though.”

“When did you first meet in person?” Alistair asked, still curious.

I felt my face flush scarlet, while Arthur just tipped his head back and roared with laughter. After several minutes, he managed to get himself under control enough to point an accusing finger at me. “We met, face to face, the day she marched her self-righteous ass into my office and railed at me over Charly Harper’s grades.  I’ve been chewed out by every form of indignant parent ever, but that was a new one on me. She was about to pick a fight with me on behalf of every student ever taught by anyone.  And Xiomara was standing there, just letting her!”

“I’m not sure she knew who she was supposed to restrain,” I clarified.  “Even once we calmed down, it probably took a good fifteen minutes to realize who we were looking at.”

“Wait, so you met in person on the Ark?” Alistair sputtered in disbelief. “Mr. Farro, I have heard you, on more than one occasion, refer to Miss Sophia as being like a sister to you, yet you only met less than a year ago?”

It was my turn to scoff. “In person, maybe. But we met over twenty years ago, and two lifetimes away.”

Arthur nodded. “Italian families work differently than British ones. Even those who moved to ‘the colonies’,” he deadpanned. “And I’m sure everyone on the Ark and probably on Earth is aware of her annoying ass tendency to adopt strays.”

“Yeah, hokay, stray number one,” I mocked gently.

He just made a ticking gesture at me. “Thus, our initial clash. There was a miscommunication that affected a member of her ‘family’, and she was shooting to verbally kill at a hundred paces.” Clucking at me, he admonished, “Tyche was much more threatening, just for reference.”

“Carrying seven knives will do that.”

“Ten, actually, six for throwing.”

I shrugged nonchalantly as Alistair’s eyes tried valiantly to escape his head. “She’s not going to give up a ranged advantage.”

“Tell me the truth, is she actually any good with those?” Arthur asked, leaning in.

“They were actually for me.”

“They’re kind of an impractical weapon, but I wouldn’t put it past the Reid sisters to get good with them.”

Alistair, on the other hand, was still sputtering. “Miss Reid,” he scolded. “You mean to tell me you can throw knives?!”

“I can also kill a squirrel at thirty feet with a sling and a stone,” I shrugged. “Girl’s gotta eat.”

My assistant looked queasy, Arthur just looked mildly impressed. “Why was Tyche carrying them, if they were for you?”

“Because I was angry enough to do something stupid,” I admitted. “It was more so I wouldn’t use them.”

“So… on the off chance I need to know what your phenomenal sister will use in the event she is the angry one, what should I be watching for?” He leaned forward on his folded hands like an eager student.

All I could do was scrunch my face in confusion. “Pain? Blood? Think what Charly did to Jokull, plus rabies, no sense of self preservation, and absolutely no concept of ‘fair’. I mean, she can throw, for sure, but she isn’t above just becoming full-on possessed if she feels the need to attack.”

“Did she really almost beat herself unconscious on a bulkhead?”

“Yep.” I popped the ‘p’. “Although, that person almost killed me, so it’s probably better they got the sentence they did than ten minutes with my sister.”

Arthur nodded in understanding. “Probably more merciful, yeah.”

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#the miys #found family #humans are weird #food #backstory #aliens #scifi #original scifi #original fiction #my writing

[sneezedarling]

When Its Cold- MacCready/Sole Sneezefic

Hey guys. I hope you enjoy another fallout 4 fic, this time with Sole as the sneezer

“You alright, Mac? You’re shaking,” Sole glanced over at him.

“That’s because its fuc- freaking freezing. Aren’t you cold?” MacCready wraps his battered coat tighter around himself.

“It’s the middle of winter, what did you expect?”

“I thought we would still be asleep at the ass-crack of dawn not hiking through the middle of nowhere,” MacCready side-eyes Sole, hat pulled low over his eyes.

“Yeah, well the faster we get this done, the faster we can get back to the settlement with proper beds and good blankets, but by all means, if you’d prefer to spend more time out here just enjoying my company I’m not gonna stop you,” Sole smirks and turns towards MacCready, eyes full of amusement.

“You’re a pain in the neck sometimes, you know that right?” MacCready rolls his eyes.

As Sole throws him a wide smile in response, MacCready fiddles with the sleeves of his jacket. He can’t help but stare at Sole as he realises how untrue his previous statement was. Nothing about him was painful and, cold be damned, he was willing to do whatever it took to spend as much time with Sole as possible.

Sole’s emerald eyes shine and his pale skin seems to glow in the light of the rising sun. The fiery orange hair spilling across his forehead had been the first thing MacCready had noticed about him when Sole approached him in The Third Rail that night and now it matched his cold-bitten nose and cheeks. MacCready’s studying Sole so intently he doesn’t notice the twisted piece of rusted scrap metal on the ground in front of him until he’s tumbling forward. He throws his arms forward, bracing for impact but it never comes.

“Woah, easy there cowboy,” Sole’s hands on his arm are the only thing keeping him from going flying.

As Sole pulls him up, MacCready looks to the ground, praying the embarrassment tinting his cheeks is masked by the effects of the cold air.

“You good?” Sole asks, removing one of his hands to brush his hair out of his eyes.

MacCready adjusts his hat and flexes his fingers, trying to push some warmth into them, “yeah, yeah all good.”

Sole gives him that smile again before turning back the way they were going. They walk like that for a few minutes in silence before MacCready hears a small gasp from beside him. He glances over at Sole who’s staring up at something. Mac tries to follow his eyeline but can’t see anything. He’s about to say something when he hears another soft gasp from Sole. One hand comes up to hover in front of his face for a few seconds before he lowers it, shaking his head as if to clear it.

Sole sniffs and scrubs at his nose as MacCready raises a questioning eyebrow. When Sole meets his eyes all he gets is another sniff and a shrug in response. He watches as Sole’s expression falters, eyes falling closed and an identical gasp tumbling from his mouth as it hangs open. He barely gets his hands up in time to avoid hitting MacCready.

“Heh…Hep’tschoo! Heh’ESHOO! Heh’ktch!” Sole pinches his nose to stifle the last outburst, eyes watering.

“Woah, boss! Ble-”

“Hep’tch! Heh…ehhh…Oh f-for fu-uhh fuck’s s-sake…”

“Bless you.”

“Hih!...Heh’ksht! Ep’tchh!” Sole pinches his nose harder as he lurches forward in quick succession.

“You really shouldn’t do that, I read somewhere that it pops your braincells.” MacCready keeps his eyes trained on Sole as he sniffs hard and rubs his eyes. “Also, it looks like it hurts.”

Sole doesn’t answer, his eyes drifting out of focus once again and breath hitching as he reaches up to his face. His nose twitches and flares as Sole becomes increasingly more frustrated with the sneeze eluding him.

“Heh…hiiih…H-Heh’tshoo! C-Chri-ihh…ehh…”

“Bless you. Bless you again?” MacCready resists the urge to reach out and swat Sole’s hands away from his quivering nose.

Sole sniffs and rubs aggressively at his nose, shaking his head in response. Goosebumps ripple across his bare arms as a shiver runs down his spine.

“You look cold, boss. You want my jacket, or something?” MacCready rubs the back off his neck as Sole raises an eyebrow.

“Never took you for the chivalrous type, Mac.” Sole’s smiling now.

“I’m not,” MacCready clears his throat, trying to get rid of his oddly defensive tone. “You just look cold and if you freeze to death out here, I will have gotten up early for nothing, so do you want it or not?”

Sole laughs softly. “I’m fine and you’re just as cold as I am. Keep y-your ja-ahh…Hep’ktch!”

“What’s the matter with you? You sick?” MacCready tries to make eye contact but Sole’s too busy gearing up for another sneeze.

“Hih’tchh! No, no I’m fine. I-ehhh…Etchoo!”

“Yeah, you look fine. Real convincing.” MacCready steps closer.

“No, I am. This happens sometimes…Hep’ktch…when it’s c-cold…heh…Heh’tsh!” Sole roughly pinches his nose to lessen the noise of the sneezes punctuating his sentence.

“Did you miss the part about popping braincells? Stop doing that!” MacCready pulls Sole’s hands away from his face. “There’s an old apartment complex just up here, we should stay there until it gets a bit warmer.”

“Mac, I’m f-fine,” Sole’s face betrays his words as the pre-sneeze expression takes over again.

“You’ve sneezed like twenty times already and its freezing, waiting an hour or two isn’t-”

“Heh’tchoo! Eshoo!” Sole sneezes into his shoulder because Mac’s still got his hands.

“…Isn’t going to make that much of a difference.”

“Hih’tchoo! Hetshiew!” Sole sniffles softly as he snaps forward with one last, itchy-sounding sneeze.

“Bless you. Let’s go?” MacCready looks at him expectantly.

Sole pulls one hand out of MacCready’s grip to push a piece of hair that has been displaced by the sneezing out of his eyes and rub his red nose, a small smile forming on his lips, “yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

As they walk, Sole begins to move his other hand but MacCready twists their fingers together, pulling Sole close enough to bump shoulders as they walk. When Sole raises an eyebrow, MacCready just shrugs, making Sole smile wider. 

#Fallout 4 #Sneeze #cold #sneezefic