#took a break from comms to draw this instead of like. taking a nap

[vebokki]

take ur meds yall

[anika-ann]

Hands Too Cold, but Heart of Gold - Pt.1

The Recruitment

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader, Matt Murdock x reader (no SR x MM x r)

Word count: 2120

Summary: Avenger!reader AU, love triangle. Every hero has an origin story. Yours not soall that great. One more reason not to mention it during the first face to face meeting with DD. ...right.

Warnings: mention of death, mentions of violence, swearing, fluff, mild angst…?

Story Mastelist

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“No, no way. I’m not doing it,” you exclaimed resolutely, spinning on your heels.

Heavy, yet somewhat gentle hand fell on your shoulder, turning you back. You bit your lip and looked up at your boss and the closest friend in one person.

His eyebrow was raised in challenge. “Are disobeying your orders?”

You could hear his light teasing just like the serious note in his tone. And of course, Captain America’s authoritative voice was unmistakable. You just gaped.

“It’s a waste of time, St— Captain,” you bit back wryly and he made a disapproving face.

“Don’t pull that out, you know I-“

“Yes, Captain?”

His expression turned annoyed at the interruption and your snarky tone.

You knew you were being cranky, but trying to convince Daredevil, freaking Daredevil, the patron not-exactly-saint of Hell’s Kitchen, was not on your I’d-love-to-do-this list. More like the opposite. That guy was very obviously a lone wolf who loved playing on his own playground and you were not judgemental of that – he was dedicated to his home and that was fine. His way of saying no to joining the Avengers might be a bit rude, but given how many people – well, people – had been trying to convince him to step up to the plate and think on a larger scale than ten blocks, you couldn’t really blame him.

Steve’s hands caressed your shoulders and you bit your lip harder. His baby blue eyes were staring at the bottom of your soul, making you shiver. He had beautiful eyes, serious most of the time, getting incredibly charming when a spark of mischief appeared in them; and make no mistake, Captain America had a lot of mischief in himself despite the righteousness radiating from him to miles.

You blinked, trying to escape his gaze; it was annoying how it always sent your heart racing.

“Just give it a try. No one will be angry with you if you fail. I won’t either. But I believe in you,” he pronounced softly, making you swallow embarrassingly loudly when his thumbs caressed your shoulders.

Jeez, you were such a sucker for his ‘I believe in you’.

Of course, you had a good reason. His speech had been the one that inspired you to join the team. To stop pitying yourself and woman up – yes, that was exactly the term he had used, because his love for strong women was infinite –, to use your accidently gained powers to do some good. He had been the one to find you almost five months ago in the completely frozen lab – your work, not that you had intended it –, shaking, but not from cold. You had been scared to death – you had killed people. You had killed the people who had been trying to help you-- and he had come to you, slowly, putting his shield away despite your warnings and offered you a literal helping hand, promising he hadn’t been there to harm you and he had believed you wouldn’t have hurt him. That he had believed in you.

You fought tears at the memory – you always had. You had hurt him in the end – just a little frostbite really, nothing his super-soldier’s body couldn’t handle – and yet, you had felt almost as sorry as for taking the other people’s lives. But Steve Rogers hadn’t been mad at you. He had stuck around, helped you to get a hold of your powers and the two of you had become colleagues slash friends. Very close friends, actually. Also, you had a bit of a crush on him, but who hadn’t.

“Goddammit, Steve,” you whined silently and his face lit up as he realized he had won. Not from his boss position, no; he had won the way he always had, as a friend of yours.

“I knew I could count on you, Frosty,” he whispered, enclosing you in a short gentle hug.

You rolled your eyes. “You know, Rogers, for someone who napped for about seventy years in ice, you really are pushing your luck.”

Secretly, you loved the nickname he gave you. People called you Frostbite, but Steve never had, aware what kind of a painful reminder of what you had done to him and everyone else the first time using your uncontrollable powers it was. No, he called you Frosty or Snowflake, because he was a sweetheart. Tony, on the other hand, was a dick, calling you Elsa. The others called you either your first name, or your last name. And then there was Thor, calling you the Lady of Ice. You loved your team. It was a delight to work with them. A very exhausting delight.

“Nah, you like me too much.”

You scoffed. He was perfectly on point of course. “I still don’t understand why it’s not you coming, Captain Righteousness. I’m sure you would have handled him better, oh Star Spangled Man with a Plan.”

He let go of you, ruffling your hair to show how much he was still cranky about Clint showing you the videos, both old and rather recent ones. To be fair, you deserved that; but you couldn’t help but tease him about it; some of them were cute, while the others were just hilarious.

“Careful, you still have a problem for saying a bad word.” You rolled your eyes. You had said ‘goddammit.’ Wuss. “And I do have a plan.”

You expectantly raised your eyebrows, curious. He winked.

“I have you.”

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‘This is ridiculous. I’m tracking a man in a Devil suit in, myself in an icily blue catsuit, Captain America’s voice in my ear. What is my life?’

“Still copy?”

“Yep.”

“He’s around the Piers 42/44, heading North.”

“Rogers that,” you mumbled, not fighting the smirk that always found its way to your lips when talking to Steve via comms, saying ‘Rogers that’ instead of just ‘Roger’. It was just too funny and you needed funny in your life. Even if you could basically hear him rolling his eyes at that. Rude.

You created an ice slide, rising and falling to help you to move faster. Tony had designed special shoes for you to move easily on it, while not giving yourself a shiner – it had taken quite a lot of tries and lots of black-eyes plus one broken radius, but hell if it hadn’t been worth it. Ha, hell.

Never mind. You had a task to complete.

You saw him now, the Devil. He slowed down visibly, which surprised you. He had actually managed to disappear on Tony in the sewers once. He had walked away in the middle of Cap’s recruitment speech, ignorant. Sure, he hadn’t shaken Natasha off, but hadn’t agreed either. Thor and Clint hadn’t tried yet. You wondered what Devil’s strategy was this time.

He stopped completely then and you landed few steps from him, a bit wary. You had done your reading on the Devil; he was fast, efficient and didn’t hesitate to break a bone or two. Or six. To be fair, you read about why he did it, on what occasions, and you truly weren’t judgemental.

“Wasn’t expecting any black ice tonight. It’s only September,” he commented nonchalantly, his voice deep. Not necessarily hostile though – you took that as a win.

Perhaps Steve knew what he was doing, sending you – you weren’t as notoriously famous as the others who had actually been present during The Battle of New York were, so maybe the Devil found it refreshing or something.

You wordlessly let your icy toboggan-bridge disappear. “Daredevil.”

“Why are you here? Have your teammates not gotten the message yet? Did you draw the shortest straw today?”

“Something like that.”

“The answer is still no.”

“Why?” you asked, already guessing the answer.

Because he belonged in the Hell’s Kitchen. Because he was a vigilante, not a hero, not an Avenger.

“I don’t really feel like fighting aliens. And someone needs to take down drug rings and smaller things that escape your notice,” he replied wryly and you sighed.

“You think we don’t see that?”

“Press harder.”

“Sounds like you don’t, given what your friend is saying,” he noted and you closed your eyes in defeat.

Steve’s voice was quiet, for you only, but it wasn’t news the Devil had extraordinary hearing. You couldn’t quite blame him for not liking you coming alone and not alone at all. You reached to your ear, turning your communicator off.

Daredevil tilted his head, seemingly confused.

“You think they don’t see that?” you corrected yourself, letting out the doubts you had despite the warm (ha) welcome the Avengers gave you. “You’re needed here. What you do matters, which is why they are letting you.”

“Why are you saying ‘them’?”

“Do I look like an Avenger to you?”

“You sure call yourself that.”

“Well, I don’t feel like one. But I let them talk me down. I’m a destroyer, yet, they convinced me I can help. And maybe I found a calling. Maybe I found a way to possibly redeem myself,” you whispered, being sure the Devil would hear you. He heard everything.

“I am answering a calling. By doing what I do,” he replied, aiming for firm, but failing. Could he tell the emotion behind your voice, the way you opened unexpectedly (to your own surprise too)? Could he hear the regret? Did he imagine what had caused it? Did it move him?

“And I understand that. Actually, kudos for aiming for achievable goal of managing ten blocks of Manhattan and not letting your ego get in the way too much. I mean, these guys are trying to save the world, talk about unrealistic goals,” you noted, lightening up the mood a little.

You imagined the man behind the mask frowned. “I’m sorry, I’m confused now. Are you still trying to get me to join, or…?”

You chuckled. “Doesn’t look like it, huh? I guess that’s fair.”

The corner of his lips quirked in an approximation of a smile. Your heart skipped a beat. You bet neither of your Avenging friends managed to do that. Not that this was a competition or a manipulation – you were being completely honest. Painfully so.

“I… I’m gonna be honest with you. Steve wants you on this one. And frankly, I have no idea why-“ you paused, realizing how it sounded. “I mean— I know why, we can always use some help saving the world and stuff, but... yeah. So just once for now, let’s team up. No strings attached.”

“That was quite a direct strike. Didn’t see that coming,” he chuckled and you blinked, your eyelashes brushing your eye-mask.

Did he just chuckle? Did he laugh at you? Not that he didn’t have the right, but it was still a bit incredible. His face returned to the mask of seriousness. For some reason, it seemed softer now. “It was… Steve, wasn’t it? You say they convinced you, but you mean Steve Rogers.”

You escaped his gaze – or you thought so. Escaped the way the glassy eye-covers of his helmet burned through you. Whatever.

“Yes,” you whispered. He didn’t comment on that. But you would swear he relaxed.

“How did you get your powers?”

You froze almost literally at the direct question. Well, he sure wasn’t beating around the bush. What was it to him? Was it a test? Did he want to know you before saying no? Was he considering a yes? Did he trust you?

You licked your lips, fighting a shiver.

“Untested treatment. I had a rare liver disease and they tested a treatment with some chitauri crap on me. I always had troubles with thermoregulation. The meds messed it up on a completely different level.”

“I’m sorry.” And he genuinely sounded as if he was, his voice dropping.

“I didn’t ask for this. I hurt people. I’m paying my debt, because I think it’s the only thing I can do apart from creating icicles and toboggans for kids and do some cold-drying of fruit for missions,” you said seriously and his shoulders slightly shook with laughter. You found yourself smiling too. Dammit, how did you switch from misery to joking so fast in one sentence?

“No strings attached?” he asked slowly and your mouth literally fell open. Did he just-

“Did you just-?”

“Yeah. How bad it can be? Plus, your friend is approaching with the jet, I guess he didn’t like you turning your comms off.”

“Oh I’m gonna be on detention for like a week, okay. Or until they need another cold-drying, Tony’s addicted to his dried blueberries.”

The Devil chuckled once more before a cute smile settled on his lips. He took several steps closer to you. “I’m sure they’re delicious.”

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Part 2

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Tags:  @murdermornings​ @mermaidxatxheart​

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Heya, people :) I decided to share one of my older fics with the tumblr, I hope a few of you will like it O:-) Whenever you want to be (un)tagged in anything of mine, shoot me an ask or a message or something like that. 

Thank you for reading :-*

[tk-duveraun]

Title: Fallout 3/4 Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Rating: T Genre: Romance & Drama Warnings: Some violence Summary: Continuation of Resilience. Morathis continues to try to convince Fox to do something they both want him to do. Notes: NO MERMAID AU

Parts: One Two

The Mandalorian camp is loud, boisterous, which includes loud, but the volume needs a second mentioning, and far too unorganized for Rathi’s personal tastes. He’s only spent one other evening in the camp, just to get the lay of the land and to watch Fox flirt with his girlfriend, but he’s here again on the promise of watching them spar.

While Fox and Hound are still outside of the ring, a helmeted Mandalorian walks up to Rathi. His armor is just as bright as everyone else’s, but Meshurok’s gemstone sigil is on his shoulder. Rathi nods at him. “Ty’lk.”

“Hullo, Morathis. Heard tell from the alor that your Sith is going to be hiring us on after this,” Ty’lk says.

“Faximil is impressed with Hound’s leadership,” Rathi says. He looks and looks back at Hound. Neither she nor Fox are wearing their helmets and from the way their bodies are angled, it’s obvious there’s some level of intimacy there.

“And it has nothing to do with a personal request from one Lieutenant?”

Rathi turns and raises an eyebrow at the blank t-visor. “Would it matter if some request of that nature was involved?”

“We’re not a matchmaking service.”

Rathi turns back to where Fox is finally entering the circle. “Your leader found the work on offer amenable. I don’t believe the existence of ulterior motives, if there even were such a thing, matters. It’s rather a reach to think a Sith would pander to that sort of request to begin with.”

“You all love the curséd dar’jetii for a reason. Maybe he does listen.”

Before Rathi can come up with a suitable answer, Fox whistles a piercing and unnatural note. The crystals in Rathi’s chest flare to life, though thankfully not enough to shine through his uniform. Fox shouts something in mando’a, but aside from his name and a few clan names, Rathi has no idea what was said. Nevertheless, he jogs with Ty’lk up to Hound. “What’s going on?”

“What, you don’t speak mando’a, too?” Hound asks with irritation, even as she gestures for them to follow her out of the camp.

“Of course not; it’s difficult to get more Outsider than Ascendancy,” Rathi says.

“The Jedi are approaching the camp and I can’t reach Imperial command,” Hound replies. She draws her vibrosword as they enter the trees and then primes an EMP with her free hand.

Rathi draws his cursed dagger and changes his gait to a stalk as they move forward. When he sees the Jedi, he hangs back and watches Hound toss the EMP in. The kid flinches as his distorter fields drop. As he takes his time settling into his stance and taking deep breaths, Rathi strongly considers just tossing his dagger into the child’s heart.

“You’re all very tired. Yes, you just want to lay down and take a nap.”

Rathi grimaces as the kid’s Force energy from the Mind Trick is sucked into the crystals in his chest. He settles on merely maiming the padawan and throws his dagger at his arm.

Unfortunately for the kid, Hound fires a volley of shots, one of which hits his leg, but the bigger problem is that he moves into the path of the cursed dagger and it nails him just under his collarbone instead of in the shoulder. The blackening skin is immediately visible from the collar of his robes.

Rathi steps forward as the kid falls to the dirt with a howl of pain. Hound reaches the kid first and kicks him onto his back far more gently than Rathi would have.

“Please don’t kill me! I surrender! I’ll do anything!”

“We’re not going to kill you, brat,” Hound says. She kneels near his face and sticks the barrel of her pistol under his chin to make him look her in the eye. “Who’s your master and what’s his party trick?”

“Master Nicabre,” the kid says.

Rathi’s breath leaves him in a loud hiss. He knows that name.

“He can Mind Trick-”

“Leave him, Hound. We have to go.” Rathi doesn’t wait to see if Hound is going to follow him before he sprints off through the trees. After a moment, he can hear the two Mandalorians clomping behind him.

“Morathis, what’s the problem?” Hound asks.

“Nicabre has a personal vendetta against Faximil and his Mind Tricks can spread from person to person as they come into contact. If he can separate one of Fox’s party, he can infect the entire camp.”

“He only took the kid from Tiyaar with him. So he just has to kill the Jedi Master and keep Atonai in line, kriff. This is bad. Do you know where you’re going?”

Rathi holds up his tracker without breaking stride.

“Little paranoid, don’t you think?”

“You’re too naive if you think this is the first time Fox has almost died,” Rathi calls back over his shoulder. His blood is pounding in his ears and his breath is wheezing around the two crystals in his lungs when he finally breaks into the clearing.

Fox has his back to him and his deactivated vibrosword in hand. The kid from Tiyaar has his blade out and active while he stands in an aggressive posture. The Jedi is dead in two pieces on the forest floor.

“Fox? Tiyaar?” Hound calls out.

Rathi doesn’t wait for a response from either of them before drawing his blaster and shooting Tiyaar’s weapon out of his hand. The kid howls in pain and leaps at Fox, even though he’s unarmed.

Ty’lk tackles the kid to the ground and holds the struggling warrior still while Hound breaks the seal on the kid’s helmet and jabs him in the neck with a tranquilizer. Despite the commotion, Fox remains still and silent in concentration.

Hound gets back to her feet and brushes the loam off her knees. “Take him back to the camp and hand him over to the Imps. I want them to fix his hand, on Faximil’s tab, and make sure the jetii’s spell is broken.”

Ty’lk nods and picks the kid up in a fireman’s carry. He doesn’t question any part of the instructions as he leaves.

Hound pulls out her comm and calls back to the camp, instructing one of the Mandalorians to find the padawan and take him back for questioning. “Oy, Morathis, is that knife of yours going to kill him?”

“No, but your people should be sure not to touch the blade.”

Hound rolls her eyes at him and doesn’t include that in her instructions. Once that’s done, she stows her comm and crosses her arms over her chest. She stares at Fox, her expression hard and cold.

Before Rathi can ask what her problem is, Fox comes back to himself with a visible, full-body shake. He turns and blinks at them. “Rathi. Carina.”

“So, Fox,” Carina says, “when, exactly, were you planning to tell me you were Faximil?”

Rathi masks his initial surprise, but the grimace is clear on his face when he reexamines the Jedi’s corpse. There’s no mistaking that cleave for the work of a vibrosword, certainly not by a seasoned warrior like Carina.

Fox rubs the back of his neck and glances at the ground for a moment before meeting Hound’s eyes. “Eventually?”

Rathi groans and rubs his temples.

“Oh, don’t act like you’re not a party to this, Morathis,” Hound snaps.

“My identity being secret is a tactical asset. If Nicabre had known I was in the camp, he would have waited until I left to attack. If we had fallen in love-”

“Would you have told me, then? Would you really? Or would you have just moved the goalposts to some other vague point so you never had to deal with the consequences of your lies?” Hound shouts her accusations at them and Fox flinches from each one.

When she seems to be waiting for a response, Fox lifts his hands as it to ward off further yelling. “I’ll cancel the contract with your clan father. I’d rather just end this here without any more-”

Hound interrupts him. “I don’t care what you’d rather. You don’t get to decide for me.”

Fox flinches again and his expression is twisted in pain and regret, but under Rathi’s cold facade, he isn’t bothered. He’s not sure if Hound knows it yet, but barring some catastrophe, she’s not going to turn her back on them.

Well, Rathi thinks as she walks away without another word, once she comes back she won’t leave again. She wouldn’t be half as upset if she was willing to give Fox up. And I’ve heard the whispers; she’s not sending their Afflicted children away anymore. They’re two of a kind.