#i like this earth pony and her scowl

[dapper-lil-arts]

Thought i might as well make an icon for my ponysona! fitting for that fimfiction website.

[pinkies-senses]

Dear Celestia,

Today…

Twilight bit the bottom of her lip, staring at the blank page that was supposed to be finished and sent off an hour ago. Her hooves sat crossed in front of her, already gone numb from staying in that position for longer than what would’ve been recommended.

There was nothing new to write to her mentor, today was the same as yesterday.

Reassure the ponies and other refugees, wait for a cure or Spike to report back to her, have guards check on Rarity’s health, vent to Cadence about sitting around and doing nothing, and… well… sitting around and doing nothing.

“Look on the bright side-” her brother said to her earlier that day, before completing that sentence with the dumbest thing she has heard slip from his mouth.

“-at least you get to relax and swap roles with Celestia and her sister. It’s about time they did something for once.”

That earned him a scowl and a smack upside the head from Cadence’s wing.

Twilight’s ears flattened against her head.

As if she enjoyed sitting there and watching her friends and people rot! What’s so “relaxing” about that??? The audacity!

“…and don’t get me started on the jab he made at you and Luna, Celestia! I get that he means well, but for buck’s sake! You can’t control your powers! If you tried, you’d accidentally go scorched earth! What does he not understand???”

Snap!

Twilight’s head whipped around to stare at her quill, which broke at the force of her erratic writing.

She wasn’t even aware she was writing down her own thoughts.

She threw away her quill and crumbled up the paper with her magic only to pause… and opened it up again.

What stood out to her wasn’t the words itself (The page held nothing important, just some rant she copied onto the page.), but rather how relieved she felt.

She hasn’t written anything about her feelings nor her personal thoughts in a long time, not when she has been so busy trying to run what was essentially a refugee camp and finding a cure for the parasite that plagues Equestria.

The only substance that has filled once empty journals has been research and documentation.

In other words… she hasn’t been writing for herself.

Twilight placed the crumpled page into an empty journal and flipped to the next page, pausing to think if she even has the time for such an unimportant task.

‘…Well. It’s not like I have anything to write about tonight.’

So there she stayed in that room full of crystallized furniture and velvety sheets, preparing a hot cup of tea and a snack for that night’s leisure…

End of prologue…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looky, a prologue! He ha Ho!

I’m really tired rn and I’m off my meds but tell me how the writing is! I haven’t written in a while so bear with me, goody goody?

Also eat grass, smoke fast, sled ass 💪

[ask-carmenpondiego]

Chapter 26: Timey Wimey Time for a New Era

“Its not a damned crush. I swear you busybodies have nothing better to fuckin do. Get back to whatever the fuck you were doin!” M exploded, the faintest blush upon his cheeks as he stormed off to his room, slamming the door. Wally shrugged, “Ah he’ll get over it! Its not like its his first.” Daring and Kiros looked at each other with a questioning look, Daring asking, “Dad, has he done this with that other girl Molli?” He thought back for a bit, “My memory that far back is a bit fuzzy still but I think that was pure hook ups to appease her or using her as a vent for frustration. I dont remember him being that tender to anyone really. But then again like I said, my memory.. aint what it used to be.” Kiros hmmed a bit and shrugged, “I think I’ll see what he’s up to, maybe he just needs a bit of a chat and not bullying.”

Daring raised an eyebrow. “Like bro bonding time? You have already known him how long now?” Kiros chuckled, ruffling her bobbed hair, “Just because we’ve been teammates for a couple decades doesnt mean I cant check in on him. He’s usually a loner out of all of us. He probably feels a bit of pressure to get you up to speed on things.” Daring scowled, thinking. “I think you should let him cool off for a bit. I know you have some high security access, you could teach me a few things. Plus he still kinda creeps me out.” Kiros laughed, “Him? Other than the horror show wanna be vibe, he’s a big grumpy softie. Come on, I’ll tell you more while I show you more of the research lab and library. You’ll need to know how to access the good stuff.” They headed out and Wally sighed, scratching his head. “Well.. it sure is more quiet around here.. its like a mini vacation.”

It in fact was not quite like a mini vacation. That night Wally tried cooking a meal for everyone… which turned out completely inedible. And the cabinets above the stove also became a charred disaster. For the entire month, everyone had some sort of take out as the kitchen was slowly repaired like new. Daring was actually learning the ropes and liking it, as the month flew by, once planning a heist of her own and borrowing her mother’s coat and hat. As luck would have it, the TARDIS showed up shortly before and a blonde maned pink earth pony mare stepped out in a bit of a baggy coat one would see from a thrift store, with a mechanical component and an odd looking sonic screwdriver. “Right, hello. I’m the Doctor, I returned with that thing you needed for your portal door.” M, being skeptical, gruffed, “What the fuck happened to the older silver haired gent?” The mare chuckled, “Oh, thats me, new face. I was forced to regenerate but thats no big deal right now. Lets get you up and running finally, yeah?” M crossed his arms after showing her the way again, narrowing his eyes. “Bah.. too cheerful. I was amused by the bickering before.” The mare Doctor shrugs and begins to tinker about the console and installed the component, buzzing her screwdriver here and there. “Yeah well, times change and so do people. I bet you could change too. Always so angry and cold. You should find someone you like and I dunno. Have a date! Or just hang out. Something with someone you dont mind spending time with, doesnt have to be romantic.” M snuffed in silent retort, looking away as she mentions dates and such. “I have no use fer that fuckin stuff.” The Doctor got up from being on her back and under the console, dusting herself off. “Aahh, I see that eye avoidance though. You thought of at least one person you would consider. Obviously you dont have to, I’m not going to force you. You do what you want. You know you best.”

M rolled his eyes and went over to the console to inspect it, “So is this ready to go? We can open portals and not be fuckin flagged or seen? No beacons or flares or anything?” She shook her head, “Completely off the grid! Now when you see Carmen again, tell her that she owes me one. We aren’t even fully yet! She still owes me from stealing Sexy from me twice!” M scoffs, “Eehh you know Red, she keeps her word, but she is a bit of a weird monster fucker.. I suppose Police Boxes fit that category some fuckin how.” Daring walked into the mech lab with an oversized red trenchcoat and hat. “Are you sure I need to wear this? Didnt she have a smaller size?” She sees the Doctor and blinks, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didnt realize I was interrupting something.” The pink mare beamed, “Oh my gosh lookit you! You shrank! No. Not shrank. You’re not Carmen. Who are you?” Daring kept trying to adjust the hat, “I’m her daughter Daring Do. She calls me Adora.” The Doctor beamed more, “Oh that is stonkin!! A family heist then?? Is it your first one? Oh you’ll have fun! Ol Marehem here will keep you safe. I’ve heard a lot about you and your brother. I hope to see him someday! For now, I do have to run. Just call if you need me!” She had looked at her watch and was already half in the TARDIS before Daring got anything out to say.

M snorted a bit, “Liked the previous Doctor better. More realistic and not so… chipper.” Daring pointed to where the TARDIS was already faded away, “Did I just meet the Doctor? She’s kinda all over the place, isn’t she? Is she always that hyper?” M threw up his hands, “I don’t know, they’ve all had their fuckin hyper moments. Especially when they are fuckin easily excitable. Anyway, lets get this fuckin thing started up. You said you want a heist on a different Earth if we got this running before yer mom got back. Sooo.. Where the fuck you wanna go?” He took a closer look at her and gave a face. “What? Do I disgust you or something?” She huffed. He reached into the shadow and pulled out a fake horn and a brown wig. He fixed the horn to the hat and plopped the wig onto her head. “She hasnt been seen since the accident, so no one knows her change in appearance. She is fuckin self conscious of what the media says, so put this on and from security cameras, you should look spot on.” Daring scowled as she adjusted the wig, “Why would it matter if we’re going to another world? And where did you even get this stuff?” M planted the hat haphazardly onto her head, “Hey, I dont ask where you get your fucking audacity but here we are.. just fuckin use it, and we’ll go from there. Its all her fuckin image reputation shit.. Alright, call yer troops and let’s head out fer yer first heist.”

Daring smirked, “Right.. um.. Oh one more thing to bring.” She had him follow her to the loot storage and pulled out a rolled up tapestry from a museum from their world’s Italy. “I saw that Mom already nicked this one. What if I play a prank she may appreciate? What if we switch the tapestries? Another Earth is sure to have one like this as well? Right?” M took a look at the label Carmen had made for it and he chuckled. “Ya know, I think that would be rather hilarious. Probably against her wishes of letting this go to the hands of someone she doesnt know but, then again, we are fuckin providing her with a technically more rare one. I’ll run it through 079 and see if there is another one of these elsewhere in the fuckin multiverse.” He scanned the tag from his phone and shortly 079 brought up a result and even more information.

“So the tapestry you were seeking is from Earth N37FL1X, it was in display in Italy just a while ago. Mostly populated by animated beings called humans. Very basic species, not very colorful except in culture and language.. and there are reports of what looks to be a young Carmen in her 20’s running about, stealing from an Organization called VILE, oh what a coinkidink and is pursued by a policing agency called ACME. Sounds familiar. Currently if you leave now, I can set the date to when they are in pursuit in a place called Moscow, leaving this Italian museum open for your little field trip.” Daring smiled, “Sounds good! Wait.. why am I excited about that?” M puffed on his cigarette and grins, patting her head, smooshing the hat a little. “Because you just made a basic plan of action and its working in yer favor. Yer mom gets the same way, must run in the family. Now, next thing to do check what kind of other security is involved. Just because this ACME group is preoccupied, doesnt mean the rest of the world is unguarded. 079, can you get the layout deets fer that fuckin museum? A simple fuckin sneak and steal should be an easy first heist.”

Later that night, Blendin came in exhausted and covered in glitter. “Ugh.. I am never doing that again..” He paused as he closed the door, “Hello? Anybody here?” The house seemed very quiet. Asta and Ninoga were off for their anniversary, while Drake and Vasha were off on their own air pirate adventures, Molli was glued to her phone with earphones in, and Wally left a note saying he went shopping for snacks. Blendin had texted Daring and she hadnt responded back yet so he went to a wall display and checked the rosters, finding out Daring, M and Kiros went off world and Skyggja and Sigryn were in their lab. Blendin almost had the whole house to himself. He went to his room and flopped into his computer chair, turning on his gaming tower, and putting headphones on his head as he grabbed a game controller.

He was just about to start a game when a soft set of black pawhands covered his eyes. “Aah! You’re getting fingerprints all over my glasses!!” He exclaimed, hearing laughter from the young sphinx, “Ty! What are you doing here? Arent you in Guardian training?”

The sphinx teen hopped onto Blendin’s bed, his adult coloration coming in finally. He was a little more filled out muscle wise than slender Blendin, since he was part of the wrestling team. His fur becoming a soft midnight with a slightly lighter brown stomach, his humanistic parts were still a honey brown, his human features becoming more of that of a handsome middle eastern man, though still lingering in the awkward teen stage. His black hair was resembling more of black iridescent rooster feathers as was his chest fluff and tail tip. His eyes were a golden honey color, and he was wearing a simple blue tunic and khaki board shorts, sandals on his feetpaws. “I’m done with training, I graduated top of the class and was even given the choice of my Librarian to guard!” Blendin hung the bulky headphones around his neck and turned his chair to look at him, “Thats awesome, dude! Who are you thinking of picking? Is it Emily? Please dont say Emily.. she is sooo insufferable with the fairytale sector.” Ty laughed, shaking his head, “No, I think she’s allergic to cats anyway..” Blendin raised an eyebrow, “You sure she aint just sayin that because she’s a Mouskin?” The feline smirked, “She sneezes all the time around me, I’m not picking her. I was actually wondering.. if perhaps I could pick you.” The young stallion tilted his head curiously, “But I thought Guardians and Librarians often become lovers. At least I think they used to-“ Blendin blinked as Ty suddenly was pressing his lips to his, their first kiss.

After a moment the kiss broke and both boys blushed, Blendin smirking, “Wow. How am I going to refuse after that??” Ty laughed as he leaned on the headrest of the chair, “I was thinking of maybe having a code name Wonderland. You know, Lion and the Unicorn?” Blendin snickered, “Are you calling me fat? That unicorn eats all the sweets while the lion wins the fight.. if anything you have more meat on your bones than I do!” They laughed and Blendin rubs the back of his head a little, “So does this mean that we’re a couple now too?” Ty shrugged. “I was thinking about leaving that part up to you, if you’d have me.” Blendin felt his cheeks blush even brighter than before. “Hells yeah!! I mean..If you want to, I don’t mind..” Ty laughed and ruffled Blendin’s hair, “I wouldn’t be asking you out if I didnt want to!…is.. is that glitter? Why are you covered in glitter?” Blendin gulped and shrugged with a grin, “Fairies?” Ty raised an eyebrow, “As much as that tracks, try again. I know your recent missions were not involving fairies.” Blendin sighed defeatedly, “Okay, fine, but you can’t let anyone else know… its kinda embarrassing.” The Sphinx crossed his arms, “Dude, I’ve seen you after taco tuesday when experimenting with tofu and bean burritos. There ain’t nothing I haven’t seen you do for some fuckin toilet time.”

Soon the date came by that the wives were due to arrive back. A new tapestry hung in a display in the loot storage from Daring’s first heist and switch, the kitchen was restored to near mint condition, and M was relaxing by the pool, a large dunking device sitting next to him. The device’s long arm was dunked in the deep end, the subject tied to was bubbling and thrashing for a good few minutes. The changeling didn’t seem concerned at all for their breathing. He reclined, arms resting behind his head, eyes shut behind some sunglasses, yet he was still dressed in a full black and dark teal suit. He crossed his ankles, his fetlocked hoof tapping the air as if he had a song stuck in his head.

Kalai had wandered down the stairs from the main floor, since the pool was currently residing in the open basement looking out towards the ocean sunset. “I thought you were going to meet us at the entry point, Mr. Tall, Dark and Moody.” She shapeshifted her clothes to be more fitting for the poolside, a golden bikini with a sheer hip wrap. M raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You gave me a date. Not a time. Besides, I got… distracted.” He nodded towards the commotion under the water. He looked at his watch and stood up, “Pardon me a moment..” he grunted, stepping on a pedal that lifted the device’s arm, showing a very disgruntled and soaked red changeling girl, Molli. “Now what have we learned about putting C4 in Red’s room while she was gone??” Molli writhed against the ropes and spit out curses at him, “Fuck you! You’re an asshole! She’s no good for you and you know it!” He stepped off the pedal, careening her back into the water, “Correct observation, wrong fucking lesson..” he chuckled as he resumed his spot on the lounge chair. “Should I even ask?” Kalai chuckled. M lit a fresh cigarette and shrugged, “Neh, just a crazy jealous ex who thinks every woman is out fer my cock, which is fuckin hilarious since I haven’t fucked in like two hundred or so years. Just ain’t interested. And who told her it was only women? There’s other people out there who would love a piece of this.” He gestured to his crotch with a small hip-lift and took a slow draw from his cigarette, Kalai shifting her weight to one hip and curiously tapped her finger to her chin. “Well, is it just women for you?” He let out the smoke in a steady blow, shrugging. “Since forever and fer now, I guess. Never bothered to want to explore it. Broads feel comfortable fer now but what really tickles my fancy is seeing who is stronger. If I can overpower them, I can control them and break them, feed off them. If they are stronger, I respectfully know my place.” Kalai smirks, nudging his legs over so she can sit on the edge of the lounger, receiving an annoyed flash of a sneer before he readjusts himself to let her sit. “So whats the deal with your sister in law then? She’s obviously weaker, or was for as long as you’ve known her, yet you treat her as equal or higher.” M gives off this groan of uncertainty, “Neeehhh its.. complicated. We found common ground and common needs that we could help each other with at the time and it just went from there.”

“She outsmarted you with logic?” Kalai chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “What? Fuck no. It was just a deal to help each other out. And she just kinda grows on yeh. She’s very persuasive.” M grimaced and scoffed at the audacity of the notion that he could be outsmarted by a simple mortal unicorn. “Well then what about me? Where do I stand?” She leans closer to him, batting her eyelashes. He looked over his sunglasses at her, looking her up and down before leaning his head back. “Eh.. hard to say. I recognize your powers differ from mine, yet are extremely similar. Not quite eldritch as I like to describe it. You do surpass me in power levels, but that could be due to age and experience easily.” She cocks her head a bit, with a confused gaze, “Are you calling me old? I’m not even middle aged yet!” M smirks, “I call it how it is. Yer older than me and I’m fuckin old compared to the fuckin morons on this planet. To me, you don’t look a day over 1,000.” She smiles, “So what you’re saying is you like older women.” He sits up and looks over his sunglasses again, “What I’m sayin is that I know my place around you and I’m comfortable with that.”

She smirks with an upward chin tilt and stands up, stepping on the device so the arm lifts Molli out of the water, coughing and sputtering. “And you were comfortable with leaving her underwater for this long?” Kalai sends out her vines and unties Molli and holds her, wrapped up like a python. She brings the little changeling closer to try to soothe her, reaching out a hand to brush Molli’s face. Molli in return hissed and shifting into a viper and bared her venomous fangs and was about to strike Kalai. “You will never sssteal him from me!! I will make sssure you dont sssee another sssunrisse!!! DIE!!”

M ripped off his sunglasses, seeing the fangs and noticing her particular venom, he turned himself into shadow, within what seemed like milliseconds if not instantly, took hold of the captured viper from the vine’s grip and forced her to her true form as he solidified, slamming her against the wall by her throat. His body suddenly bigger, and more monstrous, almost hulking with multiple limbs, most thin and spindly like spider legs, caging around them. Tentacles swarming as three sets of insect wings splayed open, his face almost looking skeletal with multiple glowing eyes, green with shades of red, bared down upon the offending changeling who clutched to the claws holding her throat, her hooves kicking for some footing to stand on, her own segmented eyes filled with absolute terror, he slowly growled at her, threatening sounds of his chittering sounded in the back of his throat.

“DID YOU LEARN NOTHING WHEN I THREW YOU TO THE SIDE CENTURIES AGO? AND YOU DEIGN TO RETURN TO ME AND THREATEN WHAT I HAVE RIGHTFULLY EARNED ALL BECAUSE I DO NOT RETURN YOUR AFFECTIONS? LET THIS MOMENT SET THINGS CRYSTAL CLEAR. IF YOU REMAIN AT THIS DOMAIN, YOU WILL CARE AND PROTECT YOUR TEAMMATES AND HOUSEMATES AS FAMILY. GENUINELY AND WITHOUT SEEKING REWARD. I TIRE OF YOUR GAMES AND HAVE WORN OUT MY HOSPITALITY AND PATIENCE. CHOOSE YOUR PATH TONIGHT. IF YOU CHOOSE TO CONTINUE THESE GAMES, I WILL DEVOUR YOU COMPLETELY WITH NO REMORSE. YOU WILL BE SPARED WITH NO ILL WILL IF YOU STAY AND CHOOSE TO TRULY BECOME A VILE AGENT OR IF YOU CHOOSE TO LEAVE YOU WILL BE SPARED BUT NEVER ALLOWED TO RETURN. MAKE YOUR CHOICE BY DAY BREAK.” Molli nods panickedly as he lets her go, dropping her to the floor and turning back towards Kalai, almost instantly back to his normal form, straightening his tie and putting his sunglasses back on, striding towards her. Molli ran back upstairs into the rest of the house to think about what she needs to do next. Kalai, on the other hand, watched M with his hulking form while biting her knuckle, her legs crossed tight. She stands to meet him as he returned towards her, her tail swishing a bit excitedly. “I apologize that you had to see that. Are you alright? Did she bite you at all?” He took her hand, examining it. Kalai let him hold her hand, a deep blush spread over her face as she looked into his shaded eyes. “N-no. I’m very fine. She didn’t bite me. Even if she did, it wouldnt do anything to me. Hell, I’m still holding and processing your brother’s disease in my own body so I can cure it fully. That is proving difficult but its not impossible.” She shifts the shape of her own body, as if dropping an illusion, her body riddled with small crystals ripping through her flesh before putting the illusion back on. M frowns, shaking his head. “I know you are helping but endangering your own life like this, you’ll run out of time.” Kalai laughed, “No I won’t. I’m practically life and death incarnate. This cannot harm me like it does your brother. So be at ease. I have it handled. Just like how you handled that girl back there.” She looked past him at the partially cratered wall. “That was impressively sexy by the way.” She reached up and fondled his tie within her hands, looking up at him. “Wut, That back there? That’s not supposed to be fuckin sexy..” M gave a questioning look, before she pulled his tie, bringing him closer like a leash. “Shut up and take the compliment.” He growled close with a smirk. “How about you shut up?” She grins, daring him. “How about you make me-Mmmh!~” He didn’t let her finish her challenge before his lips locked with hers, his hands wrapping around her hips. She melted a little as they kissed, her hands on his tie still. She pulled away first, softly giggling. “Touché.” He smirked, “So, did I do it right?”

“Do what right?”

“Did I seduce you?”

“You are how old and you forgot how to seduce?”

“I didn’t forget!!”

“You did! You totally forgot how to seduce a woman!”

M huffed. “I can seduce any woman I want!”

Kalai slid her neck to the side, “Then why did you ask?”

“I dunno, Red makes it look easy! And I tried being, I dunno, fuckin coy or something!”

“How can you forget how to seduce?! Its like forgetting how to eat!“

“Look, I don’t think you are aware, but I don’t like actual food.. like ever.”

“You don’t like food?”

“I can fuckin absorb emotions, why would I need food?!”

“Its called fun!”

“I don’t need food for fun..”

“And this is why you didn’t get laid for the past 200 years.”

That night, everyone had sat down for a well deserved home cooked meal by Carmen and Lekir, and a few more settings were placed for the new visitors. A Dragon King named Anorath had joined Carmen and Lekir for dinner along with a Lizard woman named Celica and the black and green Vixen Kalai, who had chosen to sit next to M. A fourth individual was also welcomed to the table, sitting by Daring. A tall and slim Kirin teen with some wolf like features, about 18-19 years of age. His long mane was an arctic blue while his fur was white, a single blue curved horn jutted from his forehead as much smaller horns ran along his hairline. He was exceptionally pretty, as Daring couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Instead of a normal Kirin tail, he had a canine one, yet still had the cloven hooves with long blue fetlocks. He smiled and joined in conversation, one would notice his teeth were also canine.

As Carmen stood to help serve the food, she clinked a glass for the undivided attention of the table. “All right, settle down, I know we’ve been gone a long while, longer for us than most you, but I wanted to say how glad we are to be back home! I wanted to thank Anorath, Celica and Kalai for helping us during this whole endeavor! And I wanted to formally introduce a new member to the family. Not new to me and Lekir but new to you all.. ya know.. time travel..” The table chuckled, and she continued, gesturing over to the Kirin teen, “I’d like you all to meet Aciano. He is our son. Lekir and I had a baby apparently. I have also updated my birth control to be strong enough for this demon Jirvi-Ketsru blood I have, since thats why this happened. My old birth control was not strong enough for my body anymore. So yeah. Thats fixed now. Um, so Aciano is going to be staying with us, he wanted to go see this world and see if he is interested in any special talents he may develop here. He’s a bit shy right now but I’m sure he’s grow into his place here with no issues.”

The table erupted into welcomes and laughter, Daring somewhat dropped her shoulders, “He’s my brother?! I got two brothers now? Dammit, I was hoping he wasn’t related!” Kiros nudged her with his elbow, chuckling. “That quick to change crushes?” Daring sputtered and glared at him, “What?! Psh.. No… what? Mm-mm nope. I have no idea what you’re on about.” Carmen smirked, “I just wish Blendin was here to meet you. He’s been rather busy with his Librarian duties. Oh! That reminds me, Adora, theres a magic show in town this weekend. Why not get aquatinted with Ace and show him around, you’ll have a blast! I just know it! Aaand I hear the magician has a new assistant you may like. I hear he’s your age and already has quite a following on Tik-Trot.” Daring blushed bright red and slouched, hiding in her wings. “Mother!! Stop trying to set me up with random boys! I’ll pick someone when I’m ready!” Carmen blinked, thinking she was mistaken, “So sorry, Would you rather me see if theres any girls you may like instead? Just let me know if thats what you prefer..” Daring hid more in her wings, groaning. “No Mom! I like boys but I don’t need any help finding anyone! Fuck!” Carmen raised an eyebrow, “Adora Knapsack Yearling! Language! We have guests!!”

M piped in “Oy, Red, give the kid a fuckin break, yeah? She pulled off a hell of a first heist while you were gone. Give her some slack. And mind you, she was the FIRST VILE agent to go across dimensions for yer precious loot. I’d say she deserves extra dessert or somethin!” Carmen beamed, “Thats absolutely wonderful news! Absolutely she can extra dessert! And You can help her write up the report after dinner.. which by the way, M. Hand me your plate, I’ll put it in the cupboard for you.” M scowled, in mid reach of a plate of stuffed artichoke. “Um why the fuck would I do that? I’m eating right here with the rest of yez.” Carmen smiled wide, motioning to Kalai, “Oh Kalai and I had a nice conversation about dinner and how you dont like food in general. So I’m not going to force you to eat if you don’t like my cooking..” M stood up, insectoid chittering could be heard faintly as his ears pinned back, “What the absolute fuck? I never fuckin said I didnt like your cooking! I just dont eat for fun! Appreciating the hard work of a home cooked meal is a whole ‘nother fuckin thing entirely!”

Carmen slow blinks at him, and gestures for his plate again, “And your appreciation is noted and welcomed, but I won’t force you to eat if you don’t like to eat. Now hand over your plate.” M scowls and keeps his hand on top of his plate. “Fer fuck sake, Red! I want this food! Yeah I can fuckin absorb all yer good feelings and shit but I like having fuckin solid food too even if I don’t need it to survive!”

Kalai smirked at him, “So what you’re saying is that you do like eating food for fun? You keep falling for her logic, I can see why you see her as an equal..” M glowered, “I will find where you fuckin sleep and I wont even bother making it look like an accident..” Kalai just leans towards him with a grin. “Mmm. Kinky.”

[middleearthpixie]

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Nine

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory. 

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it. 

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.3k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @legolasbadass @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here. 

Thankfully, the sun broke through the clouds and the brisk wind swept the storms out overnight. Nina lifted her face to the warm rays as she emerged from the damp cave. The chills were gone. She’d actually slept fairly well. And now they were very near the base of the mountains on eastern side. With any luck, the worst of the journey was behind them. 

The dull thud of boots on damp earth reached her ears and she turned as Thorin stepped out into the sunlight alongside her. “How do you fare this morning, Miss Nina?”

“I’m dry. And warm finally.” She held out his oilskin. “And I thank you for this.”

“Of course.”

“Is Dwalin joining us sometime this morning?”

To her surprise, he smiled. “I see you feel the same hostility toward him as he does you.”

She shrugged. “I give as good as I get.”

“As I said, he takes his duty seriously.”

“And as I told him last eve, if I’d wanted you dead, you’d both be dead by now.”

“Last eve?” Thorin’s smile faded. “When did you tell him this?”

“While you were brooding over here.”

“Brooding?” He glanced over in the direction she pointed. “I was not brooding.”

“If you say so, but it certainly looked that way.” She lifted her bedroll and moved to her pony to fasten it to the saddle. “What was on your mind?”

“Nothing you need worry about.”

“Ahh… you keep your brooding to yourself. Good.” She swung up onto the pony’s back.

“I do not brood.”

“Thorin, you were staring off into the dark forever.” She affixed him with a long look. “That’s brooding.”

“I was thinking.”

“You were brooding. It’s all right. You can admit it.”

He scowled. “There is nothing to admit. Dwalin! Where are you?”

“I’m coming. No need to holler at me, ye know.” Dwalin emerged from the cave, what remained of his dark hair poked up at odd angles and dark smudges shadowed below his eyes. He looked as if he’d been awake all night and she wondered if it was because he had himself convinced she was going to run them both through while they slept.

“No offense, but you look awful,” Thorin told him bluntly.

“Thank ye. I appreciate that.”

“Did you not sleep?”

“No, if ye must know. I didn’t.” Dwalin climbed into his saddle and there was no mistaking the darkness in his glare as he turned it on her. “Someone had to keep watch.”

“Keep watch?” Thorin swung up into his saddle and gathered the reins. “Over what? There was no one to worry about.”

“Aye, there was one.” Dwalin bobbed his head in her direction. 

Thorin glanced at her, then rolled his eyes. “Have you gone mad, Dwalin? I thought you were  joking, Miss Nina. You really told him that?”

She shrugged. “I did, yes. And it’s true. I’ve had plenty of opportunity to do you both harm and yet,” she shot Dwalin a pointed look, “you’re both fine. It’s almost as if someone has misjudged me and isn’t man enough to admit it.”

She didn't wait for either of them to respond, but clicked her tongue against her teeth and guided her pony back toward the road, smiling as she heard Thorin growl, “Would you stop already?”

Her smile faded then as Dwalin replied, “I’ll do no such thing. Perhaps you are swayed by a pretty face, Thorin. But I can promise you, I am not and I dinna trust her. Something is off. I just cannot put my finger on what that something is.”

“That something is that you’re letting your imagination run wild with you, my friend.” 

“We shall see.”

“We shall, indeed.” 

With a quickened clop of hooves, Thorin and his pony caught up to her. “I should apologize for him.”

“There’s no need,” she told him, shaking her head as she met his gaze. “I understand it. As you said, he takes his duties seriously. And it takes far more than that to get under my skin.”

“Just the same—”

“I expect no less from your bodyguard.” She smiled, glancing over her shoulder to find Dwalin directly behind her, his scowl firmly in place. “And besides, he doesn’t frighten me.”

She turned back to Thorin. “And he will eat his words when you both return to Erebor alive and well and in one piece. But, if he’s nice, I might let him season them first.”

“What was that?” Dwalin called back. “What did ye say?”

“She said you don't frighten her.”

“Don’t frighten her, eh? Well, she hadn’t given me a reason to. Yet.”

Nina bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Enough.” A heavy sigh wove through Thorin’s voice. “Let’s move, shall we? We still have to reach the river and cross it before we reach Mirkwood’s border.”

He didn't wait for either of them to answer, but urged his pony onward and she and Dwalin fell into step as well. 

All in all, it was a mostly pleasant morning and by the time they reached the Anduin River, the sun was high overhead, drying out most of the narrow, rutted road. 

At the river itself, there was no bridge but Thorin led the way to the Old Ford, where they could cross. Although she’d heard of it, Nina had never seen this crossing of large, flat rocks and she hesitated at the river’s edge. 

“What is the matter?”

She looked up at Dwalin, ahead of her now, and said, “I know it’s safe, but…”

For the first time since meeting him, Dwalin’s eyes were not frosty slivers of blue-gray ice. “Ye can cross. Ye saw Thorin do it.”

Idiocy swirled through her. “I know, but I cannot seem to make myself understand.”

He sighed as he swung down from his pony and holding the reins in one hand, came up to catch her pony by its halter. “Just sit back,” he said, urging her pony to move. He walked between them, the ford just barely wide enough, and when they reached the other side, he said, “Shall we keep moving?”

Thorin arched a single brow, but all he said was, “It’s probably best.”

And so on they went. The trees of Mirkwood appeared on the horizon, dark and almost foreboding. Thorin led them from the main road, to what he called ‘the elf-path’ which appeared to be so narrow and overgrown, surely it would be impassable. 

However, it must have been an enchanted road, for once they were upon it, the overgrowth appeared to have receded and although it grew no wider, the ruts and divots smoothed out a bit. 

The air felt different as they drew near the wood that was so thick, the trees appeared to form actual walls and as the sky grew softly purple and stars sparkled against it, an elf with long, sleek dark hair held away from his angular face with a band of gold and twigs, appeared as if from nowhere.

“Kindly state your business.”

Thorin remained in his saddle. “Tell His Highness King Thorin of Erebor has arrived with two guests. Lord Elrond should have sent word of our arrival.”

The elf bobbed his head. “He has, yes.” He looked from Thorin to Dwalin and when his gaze alit on her, a strange chill rippled through her. The elf’s eyes briefly widened, but then just as quickly returned to normal as he said, “If you will but follow me.”

Three more elves appeared and for a moment, Nina thought they were about to be taken as prisoners, but then Thorin swung from his saddle and Dwalin did the same. Both dwarves surrendered their ponies and, feeling a bit foolish from her paranoid thoughts, she did the same, offering up a wan smile at the elf who reached for her reins. “Thank you.”

“Of course. But,” he nodded toward the retreating dwarves, “you should catch up with your party. These woods are not safe at night.”

“Thank you again.” She stepped around her pony, paused to give its velvety nose a quick scritch, then hurried to catch up with the others before she became lost. 

Although she had heard of Mirkwood, she’d never been near it, never mind inside it, and it was like being lost in the thickest, densest, most uncomfortable forest imaginable. Leaves rustled from unseen creatures passing through, and although there were familiar sounds, every now and then, she’d hear something that just sounded… off… She couldn't explain it, but just felt it. As a result, she kept a close eye on Thorin, almost wishing she could slip her hand into his, as if that would protect her from this foreboding wood.

But that was silly. He wouldn’t protect her, even if she needed it. He was most likely just as suspicious of her as Dwalin was, for he would no doubt certainly trust his lieutenant’s caution. 

The path they walked along was narrow, strewn with crispy brown dead leaves and underbrush, twisted roots of trees that also looked half-dead rose marred the earth and the air was heavy with the scent of wet leaves. Nina felt as if her every step was being watched from something hidden amongst the trees and bushes, but whatever it was, it camouflaged itself perfectly, for all she saw were those trees and vines and felled limbs and logs.

A soft gold light appeared at the far end of the path and as they crossed over a swiftly moving stream, some of the heaviness left the air. They passed beneath an arch of elegantly entwined branches and vines and the heaviness vanished completely as a door swung shut behind them. 

The elf at the head of the line led them along an open wooded walkway and Nina tried not to look to either side, for it was a sheer drop into darkness and each time her gaze wandered that way, she stumbled. She would have fallen the final time, if Dwalin had not snagged her arm as she pitched forward.

“Take care,” he growled, righting her. “I dinna know what is to be found in those depths.”

Her stomach pitched as she nodded. “I know. I beg your pardon.”

“Dinna look down.”

“I’m trying not to,” she gritted, her jaw clenched as the urge to to do just that swept though her again.

With a gusty sigh, Dwalin caught her around the waist and pulled her almost flush against him. “Keep up.”

“I will.” She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

He grunted in return and as they came off the walkway and into an elegant throne room, he released her. “I think yer safe now.”

“Again, thank you.” She righted herself as Thorin moved closer to an elaborate dais of of woven vines and wood made to look very much like one of the trees around them. It was at least fifteen feet above them, possibly more, and at the summit, atop a throne of woven vines embedded with amber and tiger’s eye, sat Thranduíl, the elvenking of Mirkwood, his sleek, white blonde hair streaming down over his shoulders, held in place by an equally elaborate crown of the now-familiar vines and encrusted with glittering topazes, amber, and tiger’s eye. 

“Thorin!” Thranduíl’s low velvety voice echoed throughout the chamber as the king rose from his seat and slowly made his way down to them. “I trust you had no trouble on your journey?”

“Nothing worse than terrible weather, thank Mahal,” he replied. “I look forward to sleeping in a real bed.”

“I’ll wager you do,” Thranduíl replied with a grin. “I have chambers readied for you, and of course a hot meal, if you are hungry.”

“It would not be turned away, no,” Thorin said, glancing at her and then Dwalin. “And I think it safe to say I speak for all of us.”

“Then, Neston, please show our guests to their chambers. Supper will be at half-eight.”

The elf who had shown them to the throne room bobbed his head. “Aye, my lord.” Then to them, he said, “Follow me, please.”

Nina tried not to stare, fought not to gape about at the rustic beauty of Mirkwood. Spring was in the air, and the trees were coming back to life in bursts of green and brilliant colors like the snowy white flowers on the weeping cherry trees, or the deep plum leaves of the maple trees. Along the walkway, shrubbery bloomed as well, as did flowers of all ilks. For so long, Mirkwood had been dying and filled with decay, at least, according to the stories her mother used to tell her and her sister at bedtime. But now? The wood seemed to be coming alive once more and Nina couldn’t help but drink in the beauty. Such a far cry from the rundown and ramshackle houses that rose above the canals of Esgaroth. 

Thorin and Dwalin were shown to their chambers, and Neston offered up a serene smile as he paused beside a third door, at the far end of the walkway. “Please let me know if you require anything, my lady.”

“Thank you.”

He pushed open the door, then pulled it shut behind her and as she sank back against it, a peaceful silence settled about her, one she hadn’t felt in a very long time. She let herself savor the silence a bit longer, then moved to unload her sword and her pack.

Her room opened onto a peaceful garden, and as she strolled out into it and settled on the wide rail of woven vines, a heavy sigh rose to her lips. Leaning her head back against a woven pillar, she let her eyes close. She had set out with one purpose—to hunt Thorin Oakenshield down and make him pay for what he did. That was it. And she fully intended to do just that.

But…

You will do this, you ninny.

Her gaze went to her sword, resting against the wall just inside the doorway. She’d been so certain she’d be able to just kill him and be done with it. 

Trouble was, she didn't expect him to be so… so…

He wasn't the arrogant, singleminded, greedy dwarf who’d unleashed a dragon upon them any longer. In the short time she’d been with him, she saw a different dwarf from that one, and now her plans weren’t quite so clear cut.

A gentle knock came at her door. “Miss Nina?”

Speak of the devil. “Come in.”

The door opened without a sound and a few minutes later, he stepped out onto the terrace. “I’ve come to see if you wish to go to supper with me and Dwalin?”

“I’m not very hungry, truth be told.”

He moved closer. “You haven’t eaten much since we left Rivendell.”

“I don't eat much to begin with.” She shrugged as she rose from her perch. “That’s what happens when you live as I do. You learn to live with little.”

“But this evening, you do not have to live with little.”

“I know.” She smiled up at him. “But, I’m honestly not very hungry. You and Dwalin should go and enjoy. I only wish to sleep.”

“That I understand.”

“You did not seem to have much trouble sleeping, though.”

“I hide it well.” He moved by her to stand at the ledge overlooking the foliage. “But I haven’t slept much in quite some time.”

“Why?”

“Many reasons.” He leaned slightly forward, bracing his fists on the woven vines. “Over the last two years, since I set out with the Company—you’ve heard me mention them, I assume?”

“Yes. They traveled with you when you set out to retake your home.”

“Yes, well… it led to things I had not expected and I did things I ordinarily would not.”

Her heart sped up at those words and without thinking, she moved closer to him. She had to be careful here, lest she give herself away. “Things?”

He nodded, but lifted his head to stare out into the thickening darkness. As much as she wanted to repeat herself, to get him to continue, she clenched her hands into fists at her sides, her fingernails biting into her palms as she struggled to remain quiet.

A low sigh leaked through his teeth as he slowly turned toward her. “Things. I—I went a bit mad, I suppose. No, not a bit. I went mad. Mad with greed. Mad with blood lust. And I hurt many along the way.”

She swallowed hard at the soft sorrow in his voice, at the hints of pain clouding his pale blue eyes. This was her chance. She could make up an excuse to go inside, grab her sword and be done with it. 

It would never be easier than now.

But she couldn’t. Instead, she looked up at him and without thinking, let her hand come to rest against his upper arm. “Why?”

“When a dragon claims a treasure and sleeps on it for as long as Smaug slept on the treasure hoard of Erebor, it taints the treasure and… dragon sickness is a powerful thing, Miss Nina. And few come out from it. I’m not at all certain how I did, but… I’ve spent the last year trying to make amends for what I’d done. I’ve helped the people of Dale and those of Esgaroth.”

“What?” She fought to keep the astonishment from her voice, but she had no idea he’d done anything but destroy her home and her family and friends.

His smile was sheepish. “I’d given my word to share the treasure of Erebor with them if they would aid us with food and supplies to get us to Erebor. And then the sickness took hold and I turned my back on them.

“So, when I emerged from the sickness, I intended to make things right, but then I was wounded in battle with orcs and that put me on my back for months. So, now, I’m still making amends. As per the last missive I received from Erebor, both Esgaroth and Dale are well on their way to being restored to their former glory.”

“Do you meant to tell me, you are rebuilding both cities?”

He nodded slowly. “I am, yes. It’s been interesting, as I am not accustomed to working so closely with Men, but Bard has turned out to be a decent enough fellow, so I think I’ve chosen wisely.”

Her mouth went dry at his words, her heart hammering her ribs with enough force that it sent the blood pounding through her temples as well. That was the very last thing she ever expected him to say and for a moment, hot tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She swallowed hard, fighting to blink them back. “You—you are rebuilding… and the people? Have you helped them as well?”

“Absolutely.” He bobbed his head, even as his brow furrowed. “Why do you ask?”

“It just… I remember hearing about the Mad King Under the Mountain but not much else.”

“The Mad King.” He offered up another sheepish smile. “That moniker fit me perfectly and was much deserved. But yes, I have done whatever I could. There is still much to be done, but as long as I am king, they will be looked after until the rebuilding is complete.”

“That… that’s kind of you.” 

“Kind? I suppose it could be, but I do it not out of altruism, but to assuage my own guilt, I suppose. I ruined many lives when we drove Smaug out of Erebor. And although unleashing him upon Esgaroth was never my intention, it was still my fault. And because of that, it was up to me to honor my word. So, that’s what I’ve been doing. 

“But tell me something,” he continued, drawing himself up to his full height, which was several inches taller than her, “why did you not tell me you were from Esgaroth?”

[thedecayingapplefiles]

Part One

Applejack fiddled with the video camera in her hooves, recording a video to send to her friends. The video feed was being stupid and not working, which mildly irritated the orange earth pony.

"Is this stupid thing on...? C'mon, work, dangit!" she huffed, tapping the top of the camera with her right hoof. Thankfully, the feed came up.

"Ah! There it is. Hey, y'all! You can see me, right?" She smiled, seeing herself in the camera feed. Remembering the situation she was meaning to record, however, she sighed.

"Unfortunately, I ain't recordin' this for fun... I-I think something's wrong with Applebloom. She won't eat, she hasn't come out of her room... T-The other night, her teeth just... up and fell out! All of 'em!" She scowled a bit, glancing behind her at her darkened bedroom.

"...H-Here, I'll just show y'all." She said, carrying the camera in her hooves as she left her room, heading to Applebloom's. The sound of creaky floorboards filled Applejack's ears, along with the sound of her own heartbeat and breathing.

She took a deep breath, then opened the door to Applebloom's room in what felt like days. Her face fell as she saw the state of her little sister's bedroom. There were deep claw marks on the wall, the bed was in complete disarray and the blankets looked... muddy? Dark red was splattered on the floor by her toy box.

"...Sugarcube...? You okay...?" Applejack asked, squinting in the darkness. She swore she could see the faint outline of Applebloom's head peeking over the bed. But as she got closer to Applejack... Something was obviously wrong. Her smile was unnaturally wide, her mouth full of jagged teeth. Her hooves seemed cracked, forming rudimentary claws. There were wounds all over her body. But her eyes... where were they?

"...W-What in the world...?" Applejack stammered, crying out as the thing that used to be Applebloom lunged at her, causing her to scream and drop the camera.

And then the feed cut off.

[rara-writes]

The Raven | LOTR - Chapter 4: Strider

Fic Summary: When the Nine were corrupted by Sauron, their daughters were cursed - no longer would they have beautiful, short human lives. Instead they would be wraith-hunters, tasked with tracking and destroying the shades of their fathers. As the ages have passed, only three warrior women remain, and the Nazgul have seemingly disappeared. Sage is convinced that their ferocity in battle has deterred their enemies. Liesel thinks peace has finally come to Middle Earth. Only Dinah doubts, and when she follows her suspicions to Minas Morgul, she sets the three huntresses on a path, the path, the one that will determine the fate of all Middle Earth.

Masterlist

The storm is inside Dinah.

           Rain washes away her calm. Thunder roars in her hot ears. Lightning flashes with her pounding pulse. And a cruel wind, low and foul, whispers in the gloomiest corners of her mind “you have failed, you have failed…”

           They fly through the cold corridors of the Prancing Pony, up the old staircases and down the lonely landings. Sam seems to know the way through the dark; he boldly leads, the prowling huntresses close behind and the other two Hobbits stumbling along.

           “They call him Strider,” Liesel murmurs. She accepts Dinah’s Bombadil daggers without pause, flipping them through her skillful fingers as if they were her own. “He’s a Ranger of the North. He’s been here a few weeks, but he never speaks to anyone. Every night he sits in the corner and smokes his pipe. It’s as if he’s been waiting for something.”

           “Or someone,” Merry grumbles. He and Pippin have armed themselves with pieces of furniture. The candelabra he wields casts odd shadows across his deep scowl. “What are the chances that this mysterious stranger goes missing on the same night Frodo arrives?”

           “This way,” Sam nearly growls. When he looks over his shoulder, his eyes slide to Liesel – not like they want to, but as if they can’t help it. There’s a thousand shouted questions behind his silent eyes, as well as something else, something warm and light amid this chilling pursuit.

           Pippin asks for him: “This may be a bad time, but… Who are you?” He trips over his own feet as he addresses Liesel.

           “I’m Dinah’s sister, Liesel,” she introduces with a smile. If they weren’t taking the stairs two at a time in desperate haste, she’d probably shake their hands.

           “You don’t look like sisters,” he remarks.

           Dinah suppresses a sigh, but Liesel laughs easily, if a little breathy from their quick pace. When was the last time she fought anyone? She holds the knives with familiarity, but that’s not something that can leave memory so easily. Endurance, quickness, vigilance – those are the first casualties of a peaceful life. “That’s true, I suppose,” she admits. “Maybe it would make more sense to say we are sisters by heart, rather than by blood.”

           Merry hums, as if he means to ask another question, when Sam stops abruptly in front of a shut door. Underneath the old wooden frame, there’s the soft glow of firelight and the drift of hushed voices.

           “It’s this one,” he pants.

           “Move,” Dinah commands. She paces back three steps.

           Liesel sighs. “Can’t we just try the knob and see if-”

           Dinah is already charging forward. She kicks the door down, and before the loud thud has finished ringing through the hall, Sam and the other two Hobbits sweep into the room.

           “Let him go!” Sam roars. “Or I’ll have you, Longshanks!” He brandishes his fists probably for the first time in his life – and means it for the first time, too.

           But Frodo is under no threat, nor does he seem particularly frightened by the Man at the window. In fact, he looks more startled by their sudden, furious appearance than anything else.

           The thief, the stranger… He stands in a peculiar way. He looks young, with shoulder-length hair and keen grey eyes, but he stands like someone much older, someone tired from knowing and living in the world.

           He sheaths his long sword at the sight of them, and to her surprise, he smiles at Sam. “You have a stout heart, little Hobbit. But that alone will not save you.”

           Dinah has heard enough. She steps fully into the room, slowly pacing around the small band of little warriors to stand across from the Man. The firelight does strange things – the way she holds her twin blades causes her silhouette to look almost winged. The eyes of the Dark Heralds twinkle knowingly beneath her sure grip. If a careful, imaginative ear were to listen very closely, a faint caw might be heard on the tense air.

           His face falls at the sight of her. “I have heard many tale of you,” he says softly, almost as if trapped in some horrible dream. “You are the one they call the Raven.”

           “I am known by many names,” she confirms. She can feel the curiosity of her friends on her back like little pinpricks. She wonders if Liesel, kind and good and worthy Liesel, has any idea what kind of reputation Dinah has forged for herself. “I would know yours.”

           “I am called many things,” he evades. “We haven’t the time to reflect – you know better than anyone what hunts him. They are coming.”

           Dinah narrows her eyes. “My companions and I left the Nazgûl on the other side of the Brandywine River at dusk. We have a few hours until they pick up our trail again.”

           “That was before,” Strider warns. “They have heard Its call.”

           It.

           She feels as though she has swallowed a large lump of snow. Her head rushes, and numbly, she looks at Frodo. He seems to shrink beneath her piercing gaze, paler and wanting to run, but all she can see – blurred as it is through her tunneling vision – is the bumpy outline of a chain around his neck, and where it comes to an end beneath his vestment, a circular brand pushes through the fabric.

           For the first time in her life, Dinah hates being right. She wants to be wrong. She wishes with all her heart it wasn’t true, but she knows it’s the one explanation that makes the most sense. There’s only one It this Man from the North could be referencing, one It that could summon the Nazgûl from their slumber, one It that could make them ride hard across leagues and leagues on a vicious, most determined hunt…

           Everything that Middle Earth endured so long ago, all the precious lives that were lost, all the hope that has fought relentlessly against the encroaching clouds time and time again… Everything comes back to It, which rests on the rapidly rising and falling chest of a wide-eyed Hobbit. The One Ring. It has been found.

           Dinah feels like she can’t breathe.

           “No…” Liesel looks between the three of them, those sweet green eyes as close to accusatory as Dinah has ever seen them. “You didn’t… Why didn’t you say something?” She whirls on her sister. “Don’t you trust me anymore?” Then she pauses, and the room has never been so silent. The patrons downstairs shout and burp and brawl. The rain lashes at the windows. The thunder rolls.

           Liesel looks at Strider. “This can’t be. It’s not possible. The Ri- It was lost ages ago. It’s been lost. It… It still is lost. It has to be.” Slowly, she turns to Frodo. Her auburn hair falls in her stricken face. “Isn’t it?”

           “I didn’t know.” Dinah finally finds her voice with a croak. She stares at Frodo, and she can’t bring herself to be angry with him. Through the waves of shock and sudden, striking grief, though the world is spinning out from beneath her weary feet, the truth is immovable. Dinah has only known these Hobbits for a few hours. Their time together has been spent on the run, out in the open. In all likelihood, he would’ve told her tonight – or she would’ve figured it out for herself – as soon as they shared their stories like they had initially planned.

           “I was going to tell you,” he says, a full echo of her very thoughts. His big blue eyes beg for belief. “I… I’m sorry.”

           Sam stomps between his friend and the humans, a durable wall as there ever was. He shakes as he raises his chin, but he looks them in the eyes as he sternly speaks. “Mr. Frodo doesn’t have anything to apologize for. He’s just doing what Mr. Gandalf said, you see. We’re supposed to keep It a secret. And if you know anything about what he’s carrying, then… Then you’ll understand, and you won’t be hard on him.”

           Dinah takes a deep breath. “I do. Liesel and I… We understand, more than we would like.” She lowers her head. Takes another even breath. Her heart is still pounding, but the fog of fear and horror is already starting to clear with the lighthouse of strategizing ahead. She always feels better when she has a plan. “Strider is right. We have to move.” She forces herself to meet Frodo’s gaze. “The burden you bear is a beacon to the Nazgûl.”

           “What are these Nazgûl?” Pippin suddenly asks. “You mentioned them earlier – you said that you hunt them. But why do they hunt us? Just because of a ring?”

           “And who are you?” Merry eyes Strider warily.

           “We will explain everything once we get you somewhere safe,” Dinah reassures. She glances at Strider, daring him to argue. “We all have a part in this story to share.”

           “They come here,” he says with authority. How does he know so much about the Black Riders? “We must create a diversion. Something to set them on a different path while we slip away.”

           Frodo walks down the row of Hobbit-sized beds, then stops and stares at a small carved headboard. “Dinah…” He says slowly. “You know much of the Riders. Can they… see?”

           “Somewhat – better at night than they do during the day. Light of any kind blinds them.” She looks at Liesel. Her tender-hearted friend stares into the cracking fireplace with crossed arms and suddenly glassy eyes, as if she sees the flames of sacked Angmar instead.

           “What if we stuff the blankets?” He suggests. “We raise the fire, light as many candles as we can. They’ll think we are here, asleep. They won’t be able to tell the difference until it is too late.”

           Strider nods. “Quickly, then.” With that, the Hobbits dart around the room, packing the sheets with extra pillows from the cupboard. Liesel adds logs to the fire, and Merry carefully removes each stick from his candelabra, scattering them on every flat surface. As Dinah stands guard at the door, with Strider watching the window, she thinks that if it weren’t a clever tactic to trick murderous wraiths, the little scene they created would be beautiful. There’s just something so soft about candlelight.

           When their work is complete, Strider informs them that his room is just across the drizzling courtyard. “There we can remain unseen until we are certain they have been deceived,” he explains.

           Dinah wavers as the Hobbits gather themselves in the hall. Liesel comes to her side, but Dinah doesn’t look away from the Man. It’s unsettling, how much he knows – how his presence alone commands respect and adherence in the bones of anyone who hears his sure voice.

           “I know what you’re thinking, but Dinah, we have no choice,” Liesel chides softly. “He hasn’t done anything to prove himself dishonorable.”

           “We’ve known him less than an hour, and during that time, he abducted Frodo.”

           She grimaces. “He thought Frodo was in danger. He didn’t know that he was under the protection of the mighty Raven.” Dinah looks at her quickly, worried. Behind Liesel’s teasing smile, there’s a devastating question in her eyes, one that Dinah doesn’t know if she will ever have the stomach to answer. Not to Liesel, who has always seen the best in her. “Besides, what does Sage always say? ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend,’ right?”

           “‘And if he’s not my friend, he’ll still make a fine drinking partner.’” Dinah rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t consider Sage someone to take advice from.” Though as she says the words, she remembers how her fierce friend’s coaching came clear to her at a time of great need earlier this very night, as she struggled in the cold swift current of the Brandywine.

           Liesel sighs. “This Man knows more about our fated prey than anyone outside of our Nine-”

           “Do you not find that incredibly strange? See reason, sister, not potential. Does it truly give you comfort that he knows so much?”

           “You will only know why he is so familiar with our story if we go with him and hear his. Everyone deserves a chance to be heard.” She glances at the Hobbits, who anxiously huddle in the corridor. “He’s the best chance your friends have.”

           Begrudgingly, Dinah follows as their seven silently steals away into night, dashing across the damp courtyard and sloshing through the front stoop. Strider leads them up the back staircase. When they finally reach his dark room, the Hobbits are shivering, wet all over again after finally drying from their first escape from the Nazgûl – but the fireplace remains full of ashes, and the candles won’t pop and dance. They sit in the blackness, and they wait.

           Strider has settled on the window’s ledge, and Dinah sits across from him in a rickety wooden chair. Liesel takes to the floor with the Hobbits, but even as she smiles at them encouragingly, they still stick close together at Dinah’s feet.

           She crosses her arms, feeling goosebumps painfully raise and refuse to fall in this bitter wet chill, and she clenches her teeth. Strider was right – his room offers a perfect view directly into the Hobbit one. Still, she chooses to stare at him, and he slowly looks away from the dreary downpour to return her gaze with tired eyes.

           “You do not trust me,” he says.

           “This should not surprise you,” she replies flatly.

           “I have often wondered what it would be like to meet one of the Nine princesses,” he shares. “Someone old who is not meant to be old. Someone who knew the Kings of Men in the before.” He tilts his head, offering her a small smile. An olive branch. “You are not what I expected.”

           Merry and Pippin sputter. “You’re a princess?” They ask in unison.

           Dinah’s cheeks are hot despite the rainwater dripping from her hair and the early autumn night stuck in her joints. “I am not a princess anymore,” she grits.

           “Don’t mind her,” Liesel advises. “She is a princess, as am I – no matter how much we may wish to be free of our lineage.” She gives them a small smile, but unusually it does not turn the green of her eyes into spring.

           Strider’s brows raise. “You are a Huntress as well?”

           She grins. “Did you think all of us would be so serious as dear Dinah?”

           “I thought princesses lived in castles in faraway lands,” Merry comments with a frown.

           “And wore pretty dresses,” Pippin adds. He openly eyes Dinah’s mud-caked boots and tattered traveling cloak.

           “We used to, a long time ago,” Liesel says. Is there a note of wistfulness in her voice? She reaches over and pats Dinah’s knee. “How much have you shared with your friends, sister?”

           “We haven’t had much time to become properly acquainted.” With a grunt, Dinah forces herself to sit forward. Her eyes are bleary; she rubs at them with the heel of her palms, then drags her hands down her face and rests her elbows on her thighs. “But I owe you an explanation from my own lips – no matter how much nicer Liesel would tell the story.”

           Her eyes stray to the window. She finds it easier to summon the dreadful words when she’s watching the pattering rain streak the fogging glass, so she stays with the storm and finds her courage in it. “Our fathers were once nine great kings who ruled over human lands. They were calculating, cold Men, always wanting more. Sauron knew this. He used their greed to corrupt them through their gifted rings.

           “When our fathers became his slaves, more shadow than Man, as their daughters we were unintended heirs to their dark thrones. Our kingdoms crumbled into ruin. Our families passed on – but we cannot. We have been cursed. So long as our fathers roam Middle Earth, conductors of Sauron’s bidding, we will never grow old or know lives of peace. We must hunt the ones who hunt the One Ring, and destroy them.”

           Dinah pauses and dares to look at her new friends. The Hobbits are listening solemnly, but not one seems repulsed by what she has just revealed, by the heinous truth of her blood.

           She clears her throat and forces herself to continue. “There were nine of us. One of the wraiths, now the Witch-king, took the kingdom of Angmar many decades ago. It was there that our number was cut down to three.” She stares at her worn boots. “Until we complete our task, our sisters will never have their rest. We are all that remains to right the Wrong of Man. I am Dinah, daughter of Jûru, the Herald of Mourning. She is Liesel, daughter of Sâkhla, the Cruel One. And…” She bites her lower lip. “Our other sister, who is somewhere in this world unknown to us, is Sage, daughter of Orôm, the Warmonger.”

           Somehow, Frodo is the easiest to speak to. “I found you this night after tracking the Nazgûl from Minas Morgul to your Shire. For months now I have heard much tale of their suspected movements, and I was determined to know why.” Her eyes lower to Frodo’s chest. “And now I do. War is coming to Middle Earth once again.”

           “No, don’t say such a thing,” Liesel interrupts. “I will not live through another war, and neither will you.” She brings her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. Her long skirt fans out on the floor, like she is the center of a poppy.

           “Dinah is right,” Strider relents. “I have been searching for answers myself. The Wild knows when Darkness is coming before any other place.” His knuckles trace a drop on the pane as he checks the streets below. “I was sent here by Gandalf, to wait for your party in case he was delayed.” He turns to Frodo. “I trust you know he would not miss your meeting if it were not beyond his power.”

           “You think Gandalf’s in danger?” Frodo wonders.

           “I think something has befallen him that even our wise Grey Wizard could not have foreseen.” He rests his hand on the long sword at his side. “These are dark times, and they will only grow the grimmer. We must be cautious.”

           Dinah is very aware of the sharpness in her voice when she asks, “How did the One Ring come into your possession?”

           “My uncle had It,” Frodo explains. He seems to recede beneath his heavy wet cloak. “He has kept It hidden and safe for sixty years. He didn’t know what It was, only that It kept him from aging, and could turn him invisible.” His hand raises, almost as if he wants to touch the Ring, but then clenches his fist instead. “Gandalf said Bilbo got It from the creature Gollum, who was tortured for information about the Ring’s whereabouts by the servants of Sauron. That’s how they knew where to find It. I was meant to hide It, and now they know It has left.” He hangs his head.

           “Don’t talk that way,” Sam gently scolds. “Mr. Gandalf trusted you with the Ring’s keeping, Mr. Frodo, and that trust wasn’t given lightly, neither. He knew you were the best chance at getting the Ring out of the Shire, and look how far we’ve come!”

           “And how far we still have to go,” Frodo remarks gravely. “Gandalf isn’t here, and I don’t know where he would want us to go next.”

           “I can think of one place in the world that Gandalf the Grey would have you go with such a burden,” Strider says. “I know the way. But we will not speak of it anymore until morning, when the shadows that chase you have passed and we have all rested. I see them now.”

           Dinah leans forward, the chair creaking beneath her as she peers out. Sure enough, dark shapes move in the little lit room across the rainy way. Blades held tall are cast across the walls, and they move decisively up and down, creating a shower of feathers.

           Then come the wails.

           They can be heard even over the booming thunder, even over the drumming rain, rife with immense ire. The Hobbits cringe, and even Liesel shivers.

           “What are they now?” Merry breathes. He doesn’t sound as though he really wants to know. “Your fathers.”

           “Wraiths,” Dinah tells, numb. She watches as the inn doors burst open and the furious Black Riders disappear into the most wretched night. “They are neither living nor dead, forever damned by their choices, yet slaves to a will that was never their own. Rings of Power distort the wearer’s heart, showing them their deepest desires and manipulating the innocence of their dreams all at once.”

           She crosses her arms again. “Whenever you put on the One Ring, Frodo, they will come. As long as you carry It, they will still hunt you. They never tire, never hunger, never feel anything but duty and pain.”

           “I should’ve warned Butterbur,” Liesel suddenly laments. “He has been so good to me. How terrified he must be right now, and to think that I could’ve-”

           Strider regards her, a hint of fondness hidden in his scruff. “There is no amount of warning that could ever render a soul ready to hear the cry of the Nine-”

           “Eight.”

           Dinah doesn’t know why she decided to tell them now, in this way. She didn’t even really decide, it just slipped out without her thinking about the gravity of her confession.

           Six pairs of eyes descend upon her laden shoulders.

           Liesel is the first to find her voice. “Dinah… Do you mean-”

           “Yes,” she breathes. Is this head-to-toe flush something of relief? Her heart is racing, her palms clammy. Not even the grip of her swords can soothe the powerful tide of her anxiety. “As of tonight, there are Eight.”

[intherainbowfactory]

Pony Rituals (13/14)

Scratch was getting away. I couldn’t let her. Immediately, I jumped out of the bush and did what none of the other changelings would have in a thousand years: I stood on my two hind legs and waved my hooves in her face like a maniac.

This had the intended effect of confusing her out of her reverie, but unfortunately, it wasn’t quite as stunned of a reaction as I was hoping for. There’s no way she’s seen stranger things, right? She just blinked at me with an eyebrow raised as the uncomfortable taste of awkwardness and exasperation washed over me and—is that a building hatred? Could she really hold me in such—

Nope, don’t care. Trait purged.

I ran up to her and shook her vigorously. “Scratch! Come with me! It’s about—” but then her glasses slid off her scrunched nose. Her eyes were just beautiful, and I lost myself in their sheer redness as I stopped shaking her and her eyes rolled gradually back into place, her mouth set in an O. Awwww… she looks just like a widdwe fwuffy red white and blue albino bunny! “Oh no!” I told her, before letting her go to pick up the strange crimson glasses for her (It’s the nice thing to do! The least I could do for the pony—Augghh! My heart), “I’ll get those for you, you precious little—!”

Nope. No time for that anymore. Trait purged. No more of that. It’s only CHANGELING thoughts, now! They are the only ones that can set me free! No more pony passivity, and no more traitorous thoughts against the Queen! That part of me is DEFINITELY dead! I’m putting my hoof down!

…I put my hoof down, shattering her glasses with an audible crunch. Oops.

Scratch jerked her eyes down to the shards of crimson at my hooves, bewildered, then up to my face, scowling and literally seeing red.

“Hey,” she yelled at me, “you broke my glasses!” A crowd was beginning to form around us.

I scowled and yelled back, emulating the centuries of changeling culture and instruction by emulating my prey. “I don’t care!” I shouted, “Also? Glasses make you look weird!” This was a masterful rhetorical play on my part, since I knew from experience that seeing through glasses made looking weird in all the ponies I replaced that had glasses. The ponies in the crowd—now at a decent, if still small, size—would recognize this fact and cheer me on in my hunt of the mind, allowing me to subdue my opponent, make them do what I want, control the world! Muahahahaha!

Instead, the crowd assaulted me with a vile leafy-green stench of disgust aimed right at my receptors, and also a few rocks in the case of a filly with glasses being dragged away, kicking and screaming, by her parents.

Hmm, I thought again as Scratch sputtered in outrage and looked around for a good response. It appears that my mental state is still clogged with suboptimal behaviours. Now, I’ve already purged my melancholy and my adoration for neoteny. What’s left?

Ah, yes. My ditzy nature. How could I forget such a liability as that? I mentally smacked my hoof into my face, inexplicably launching me into the side of a nearby bakery and embedding my head into it. On the other side, I saw an earth pony mare (so pink???) staring stock-still at me with a cake or something on a tray suspended on gloves stuck onto her hooves. The sight alone was enough to make me cringe. Yes, I told her, I definitely must get rid of my goofy nature. I did so right after the cake-thing deflated, right as the pink pony cried out “My soufflé!”, and right before I felt a tugging on my legs and I’m pulled out of the building and gently onto my back on the hard street.

An orange earth pony mare looked down at me. “Are you okay, hun?” she asks, running a hoof through my hair, no doubt for debris. If I still—I shuddered when I imagined this—felt affection for their race, I might have noticed the irony and supposed novelty of this action.

[bumblingbabooshka]

Listen I just want you to know- your posts about Tuvok and his family warm my entire heart 🥺❤️ I love them and I love your creativity!

WOW!! Thank you so much!!! I'm glad you like them because I love making them...Tuvok and his family are close to my heart. Here's a silly comic of an evening chat in the [REDACTED] family home. Varith, the resident horsechild, has recently discovered an ancient earth cartoon and decided to make it everyone else's problem.

Varith is in the midst of assigning his family members to different my little ponies. T'Pel is washing her hands in the sink. Varith: Koko [mama] is Appledash because she's hardworking and messy. Elieth is rainbow dash- Elieth: Because I'm cool? Sek: Because you are obnoxious? Elieth: Mother. Bullying is occuring. Varith: NO. Because he is confident and runs fast. Sek is Twilight Sparkle because he is smart and responsible. Sek sits at a desk in the family room, puzzling over a math problem and half-listening. Sek: Most kind, brother. Elieth: And a priss. Sek: Most UNkind brother. MOTHER-! T'Pel sighs. T'Pel: Please get along, children. Tuvok, cooking dinner, watches Elieth and Sek who are bickering out of view. Varith: Sasa [daddy] is Rarity because he is fancy! T'Pel gazes at Tuvok with a dazed expression. Tuvok glances back at her. They are both blushing. T'Pel: He's also quite pretty. Tuvok: That's Enough Outta You. (He is quoting something, an inside joke) Varith: And Asil is...Pinkie Pie! Asil is taken aback by this. Asil: EXPLAIN. Sek and Elieth comment under their breath. Sek: Dearest Pinkster. Elieth: Pie for a sister... Varith: Her hair! Asil scowls. He is absolutely correct. She cannot deny this as much as it paints her. Sek: I see it. Elieth: He's right.

[theangrycomet-art]

Please, Don’t Pretend you Care

Amko and Dendydot’s first mission on their own wasn’t exactly fun.

Aftermath of This.

-//-

It was a simple mission. Get in, ensure the communication towers were online and functional, get out. Easy as pie.

At least on paper.

Smashing his head against the forced fusion’s skull, his helmet cracked further down the middle. Great- not like Sterling hadn’t just gotten him this one or anything. A snarl escaped the both of them as Amko dodged a slashing claw, diving for one of its hind limbs. Wrapping his arms around the limb, he wrenched back, sending it toppling to its stomach.

“I liked this helmet ya piece of expired leftovers.” He grunted, leaning back as he swung. A blur of violet and he sent the science experiment gone wrong flying off the cliff. Its whimpering cries sounded their way back up the mountain as they tumbled down, ending in a quiet puff at the foot of the mountain. Chest heaving, Amko straightened, wincing.

Rubbing his gem, he thumbed the line where ruby met amethyst, stomach tight.

“Fucking Orange Diamond.” Muttering to himself, he slumped to his knees with a groan.

FUUUUUCK he hurt. He needed a nap. Maybe one of those stupid UV lamps that Enide kept recommending. And food. Lots of food. Hell, just something to chew on really. Raising his head, he sucked air through his teeth at the movement.  Clothes torn and scuffed; his eyes lingered on a spot. Right along his thigh, the red of his markings could just be seen peeking out of it.

A little hole. Shifting his arm despite its protest, he picked at it a bit, until he could fit his littlest finger through.

Now it was a slightly bigger hole.

Sparing a smirk, he turned his attention back to the shattered visor before his eyes. After a few minutes of squinting and fussing with the error buttons, he gave up. Wrenching the busted helmet off his skull, he tossed it off the side with a growl of frustration.

It made contact with the earth and stilled before gleaming white. An annoyingly cheerful chirp sounded off and his gem had reclaimed the armor piece. Raking his fingers through his now free hair, a sigh escaped his nose.

Dammit he liked that one. Now he’d have to go through making it from scratch again because life couldn’t be easy for him and give him nice things. No, he’d just break them. And technically he was still banned from Beardo’s shop, so no help there.

Groaning, he reached between his shoulder blades, running his finger pads along the smooth surface of his gem. At least he wasn’t cracked. Laying back down, he threw his arm across his eyes. He didn’t have any RQW drinks on hand or stored away, and he was definitively not going to borrow one from her.

“Are you alright?”

Jolting upwards, his hands slapped the ground at his sides, as he whipped around to the small green figure beside him.

Speak of the devil.

“What? Think I can’t handle myself?” He growled, lowering his arm away to his chest to glare daggers at her., sneering. “Or were just hoping for some interesting data?”

Crouched over his head, Dendydot stared back at him. Brows furrowed, her eyes flicked across his form his loose hair and torn clothes. Always assessing and analyzing. It was annoying.

“You were facing against a Forced Fusion.” She shrugged, movements jerky and sharp. He raised a brow up at her as she stood. “I cannot imagine that would be easy for you as Kaio, much less on your own. Besides you…”

Mouth flattening into that pointed little frown of hers, she seemed unable to find the words as she shook her head.

“You look haggard.” she finished lamely, proffering her hand. Staring at it with disdain, he pointedly backhanded it away as he sat up on his own. Brushing the gravel off his pants, his scowl deepened as he was washed in light. Clothes replaced, hair tied back in his usual pony tail behind his back up helmet, he glared down at her challengingly.

“I’m fine.”

“I do not believe that.” She said simply, unphased by the sparks spiking off his gloves. A moment of silence passed before he uncrossed his arms.

“Whatever.” Muttering, he threw up his hands in the air, hoping the movement would loosen the tightness in his chest. “It’s not like you would know any ways.”

“Amko-“

“We both know you don’t care so don’t bother to pretend.” Cutting her off, he shoved passed her and stormed back towards the edge. “You’re only here to examine the Comm Tower and I’m only here to make sure you don’t do anything stupid and get yourself killed.”

Sitting at the cliff’s face, he glared outwards, ignoring how his body felt like he’d come straight from the tumbler.

[anoriathdunadan]

Where the Stars are F***ing Strange

Pairing: Aragorn-Estel-Strider / OC Rating: Explicit Genre: Modern OC in Middle-earth, reader insert, gender neutral reader, 25th Gray Companion, copious references to The Princess Bride (because why not?) Warnings: so much swearing, canon levels of xenophobia and violence, character death, feral chickens Summary: Plucked like a fish out of water, you try to make the best out of a bad situation in Bree. Then, one day, this Hozier-looking dude showed up at The Pony.

Chapter 17 - Between a Cliff and a Hard Place

In which our fish must choose between a boat of villains and shrieking eels.

“Drink this.”  Estel raps the cup against the edge of your cot when you finally stir, stretching and squirming about so that you can hide your face in your pillow.  The barista had just called your name to come get your triple shot.  They even spelled your name right this time.

“Hala.”  Thunk thunk comes the cup again and your cot jostles.

“What?” you grunt.

Damn it.  Teeny tiny paper cup in your hand warming the tips of your fingers.   Foamy rim of fine bubbles about the espresso.  A dollop of half and half.  Should be in your belly.  It belongs in your belly.  It’s going in your belly.   Well, after it’s been on your tongue for long enough you can torture yourself with the memory of what coffee tastes like.

“Come.  Wake!  You have slept late enough.  I have somewhat for you,” Estel says.  “You are to have company soon, and best you be awake and ready to receive them.”

“Gimme a minute,” you grumble and sink back into a pleasant drowse.  It’s nice there. No sticky webs drawing you in.  No jerking awake in the middle of the night at every sound.  Now, where were we?

Wait.  That smells nice.

You squint an open eye at Estel.  He’s bent over you, cup in one hand, the other planted on the wall above your head.

In fact, it smells really nice.  I mean, it’s not coffee, but it smells rich and spicy.

He holds the cup by the tips of his fingers.  Oh good!  It’s hot.

But when you extend your hand for the cup, Estel steps back out of reach.

“Ai, no!” he says and, wagging his finger at you, he steps over to the bench and sets it down.

“Aye, ’tis yours.  I have prepared it for you,” he says, returning to the fire, where more of the milky tea simmers in a small tin pot sitting on a hearth stone, “and it shall be here on the bench awaiting you when you get up from your bed.”

You scowl at him.  Fucker thinks he has a fucking carrot. ‘Company,’ my ass.

So you get up, shuffle over to the bench, and promptly bring the cup back to bed with you.

“Ah!” he exclaims, making a grab for it, but you twist the cup out of reach, shielding it with your shoulder.

“Nope.  Mine now.”  You plop back down on your cot.

You take a cautious sip, the steam lighting on your cheeks.  Damn.  It’s good, too, the milk hot and frothy and the tea strong.  Fuck.  How’d he get the spices?  Cook keeps hers under lock and wears the key around her neck, if that’s any indication of how much of an investment they represent to The Pony.

Estel huffs and shakes his head, squatting back down in front of the pot.  Seems there’s more than enough for him, too.  He wraps a towel about the handle of the tin pot and, lifting it high, pours the tea in a long stream to the cup waiting below.  He does this back and forth rather expertly, pulling the milk into a froth.

“So, where’d you learn to make tea like this?” you ask, tapping at the cup with your fingernail and his head jerks up.

He seats himself on the bench, cradling his own cup between his fingers.  “You find it good?”

Of course you do. Shit.  Not quite like chai, but very close. His face brightens when you smile at him over the rim of your cup.

“Ah,” he says and rubs his lips together after his own sip, his tongue peeking out to catch the milk that clings to his mustache.  Dude needs a trim.  Things are getting a little bushier than usual.

“’Twas on one of my many travels when I was young,” he says.  “Far to the east, in the lands of Rhûn can be found such delicacies in each house or sold in the market.  Trade with those of the east has dwindled from what it once was, but still, atimes, you can find hearty folk of the Iron Hills who will still make the trip this far west on their way to the dwarves of the Blue Mountains or the elven folk of Lindon.”

You snort.  Of course it comes with a history and geography lesson.

“I came upon the last of their folk of the season on the Greenway.”  He slowly stretches out one leg at a time, angling them to the side of the hearth so that he can cross his ankles beneath your cot.  “They carried some of the spices that I recalled from my time about the Lake of Rhûn and the street sellers there.  They were happy enough to pay for my time should I scout the Road ahead on their way to Bree and help with the watch set about their encampments at night.”

Huh.  You suppose the sword should have given him away, but you hadn’t really pegged him for a merc.  “Do you often sell your services as a soldier?”

He shrugs.  “When I need coin or when there is an advantage of skill or statecraft I would wish to learn.”  A slight smile touches his lips and his look warms as he bites at his lip.  “Or should I come across somewhat special I would wish to give in gift.”

You nearly choke on your very excellent tea, completely forgetting your question about why the hell a vagabond Ranger would need to learn so much about politics.

Holy shit.

“You got me something?”

“I may have,” he says, raising his brows and giving you the barest hint of a smirk.  “But should you wish to discover it, you must first rise from your bed and prepare yourself for the day.  We have little time.”

Fucker.

God damn it.  You swirl the dregs of the tea around the bottom of your cup.

Okay, he wins.

And so you down the last of your tea, and, completely ignoring Estel’s chuckling, thank you very much, get up and go through your routine of washing your face, fixing your hair, getting dressed, etc etc etc.  Fucker firmly refused to give you any hints until you were scrubbed, bright-faced, and fully dressed.

“You satisfied?” you ask, turning around for his inspection and then stopping in front of him to give your best courtly bow, leg turned out and fingers touching your forehead before you spin your hand loosely in front of you and bend deeply from the waist.

“Aye, aye,” he says, grinning and waving you over.  “Come sit with me.” He scoots over and pats at the bench beside him.  Once you’ve settled next to him, he drags his pack between his feet.

Well, okay, whatever it is, it's smaller than a breadbox.

He opens the flap and rummages about inside.  And rummages around inside. And rummages around inside.

Good god, he’s taking forever.

His eyes are all but twinkling when he finally locates it, but then he halts, his hand in his pack clutching something.  He peers up over at you.  “Close your eyes.”

“Ah, c’mon!” you protest.  “You’re killing me here.”

“Nay, close your eyes or else I shall pack it away until the morrow and not take it out ere that, no matter what pains or complaints I suffer at your hands.”

Fucker.  Okay okay okay.

You close your eyes, though, shit, he’s sitting right next to you, so close you can feel the warmth coming off from him.  You are all tingly and twitchy from head to foot on that side.  So not helping.  God you wish he’d stop. Or, well, that you’d stop, or just something would stop.

More rustling and then he brushes against you as he straightens up from bending over his pack.

“Give me your hand.”

When you raise it from your lap he takes it and, cupping it in his hand, he -

Have you mentioned his hands are huge and completely engulf yours?  Because they do.  He should probably stop touching you like that.  You’ve never had a size kink before but you may just develop one.  Who cares about his dick, you want his hands on you.  You know, with how gently he’s supporting your hand all the while it’s pretty apparent he could probably crush you if he sneezed at just the wrong moment. It’s like he’s all warm and his muscles are all cushiony and strong and he’s kind of all over the place everywhere -

Oh.

When you open your eyes you find he has pressed a leather bundle into your palm, sandwiching it and your hand between his.  He is watching you very closely and smiles when you give him a quizzical look.

“Open it,” he says and jerks his chin at you, withdrawing.

So that’s what you do.  It’s heavier than you thought it would be from its size.  The leather is thick and worked with a repeating geometric design that is decidedly dwarven in make.

“What is it?” you ask, cuz you have no fucking clue.

“You shall see.”  He’s smiling, but then bites at his lip.

Adorable.  Abso - fucking - lutely adorable.  Like he’s all worried you may not like what he got you.  Shit, he could get you a bathroom scale and protein powder and you’d be over the moon.

All right then.  He is obviously enjoying the suspense.  Far be it from you to ruin it for him.

You lay the bundle in your lap and pull the thongs binding it apart.  The gleam of metal catches your eye as you unroll the length of leather in your lap.

Holy shit!

Your eyes burn as you brush your fingertip along the metal and sharp points of the scissors and tang of the straight razor, tap your fingers against the brush to watch the boar bristles rebound back, and pluck at the teeth of the combs of carved bone all tucked in their pockets that were made just for them.  Fucking little pocket with hair pins, a flask for oil, a pocket for soap, and a mirror in there, too, of finely polished metal.

“Oh, Estel,” you say, your voice gone all soft and wobbly.

“You are pleased?” he asks, hovering close.

“Fuck, Estel,” you say, blinking quickly. “Thank you.  They’re awesome.”

And they are.  You can’t take your eyes off of them.  Gorgeous in fact.  Not only are the scissor and straight razor well made, sturdy, and obviously keen-edged, but the handles are etched with interweaving designs that match the case they come in.

Shit.  He’s gone and got you a farewell present.  One final gift designed to help you stay afloat before he goes.

You look up to find him watching you, his face all soft and warm.

You clear your throat.  “We should try them out,” you say and make an attempt at a smile, glancing at his beard and that overgrown thing settled on his lip.

He blinks, surprised.  “Ah, well, you will have the chance soon enough.  I spoke of your skills to the master trader of the company I escorted to Bree when I obtained these from her, and she expressed the intent to see you make use of them after they broke their fast at The Pony.  She should arrive very soon should she not be at your doorstep even now.”

“Oh shit!” you say.  Oh god.  You launch yourself to your feet, clutching the bundle of leather to your waist.  It’s going to take forever to get ready.  You’re kinda out of practice given how sharply business dropped off after the trial.  Oh god.  You should make sure you’ve got enough clean towels.  Where should you put the kit?  Wait, you should get the fire started outside beneath the big pot to heat the water.  Oh, god.  You’re going to have to run to the market to fill your water barrel from the well.  Shit, she’s a dwarf isn’t she.  Soap.  Soap!  You’re going to need soap, then.  Wait.  Or do you have enough water?  Oh god.  Damn it, you should lay the bundle down on your bed already.

“Calm yourself!”  Estel laughs from where he watches you turning about.  “I had all prepared ere you woke.”

You turn on him, squinting and examining him closely.

“Ah,” he says.  He makes an attempt to reign in his amusement but he’s only partially successful.  “’Tis prepared to the best of my knowledge, but should you wish to know, the buckets are cleaned and the water is heating even now.  I have left the rest to your judgment.”

That’s more like it.

You roll up the leather kit and fasten it, laying it carefully on your cot.  Okay.  Linens first, set up a box for a seat with a pad of wool, and check the water heating outside, hopefully before it burns down the shed and your house with it.

“Later, mayhap, you may cut my hair,” Estel says, rising and going to the tin pot of tea cooling next to the hearth, “and we may discuss what foodstuffs you wish me to purchase on your behalf for the winter.  We could spend this afternoon at our leisure, but ’tis market day upon the morrow and we should arrive early and prepared, for I have duties to attend to after.”

Oh.

Yeah.

Fuck.

You pause in the act of rummaging through your basket for the towels you want.  “Uhm, yeah,” you say, standing and rolling the towel against itself and worrying it in your hands, “about that.”

At the tone of your voice, Estel stops in the act of swirling the tea about in the tin pot over the coals.

Fuck, this is really going to suck.  He’d probably be able to stretch what few pennies you have left pretty far, but you’re going to have to explain why you have so few, which is going to lead to talking about what led to that whole tangled mess of Blackthorn’s revenge and Ferny’s scheming and the whole fucking kangaroo court.  And, well, if you don’t tell him about what happened afterward, he’s going to figure it out pretty quickly on his own. Just wait until the afternoon sun beats down on the garden side of the house, things heat up indoors, and he gets a whiff of the odor.

They did everything they could, Bob and his friends, digging out the dirt of your floor and repacking it and replacing the rushes, scrubbing down your walls and giving them another coat of limewash, and replacing the woven ropes of your cot, but there’s really no getting rid of all of the smell.  It was fucking everywhere.

“Uhm,” you temporize.  C’mon, c’mon.  Just say it.  “Look, we do have some things to discuss, but, uhm,” this last comes out in a rush, “you’re going to have to promise me something first.”

He straightens up from where he was bent over the hearth. You suddenly have his full and undivided attention.  It’s a bit, well, intense.  He takes in a deep breath, looking at you like he’s preparing himself for something big that he’s been waiting a long time for and it’s a relief to get it over with.

“Hala,” he says, softly, “I swore I would forgive whatever acts you had been forced to.  Do you not recall it?”

“No, no, I remember.”  You do.  Kinda.  No, you do.

Well now that he said it, you do.

“Surely I have given you no reason for alarm,” he says, glancing at where you are crushing the towels in your fists.

“I just…”  Fuck does he look incredibly earnest.  That’s part of the problem, though, isn’t it.  “I just need to know that you’re not going to go off half-cocked yelling at people, or stalking, or beating people up, or taking revenge, or anything like that.”

He doesn’t answer right away.  Whatever he thought you were about to say, this was most decidedly not it.  Not only have you surprised him to silence, he’s looking a little like you just pulled back your arm in a threat to punch him, crestfallen and blinking and wary and thinking quickly, not sure which way to dodge.

Movement catches his eye and he drops to a crouch, removing the tea from the coals where it threatened to boil over the pot and swirling it about until it subsides.  He’s only half paying attention to what he’s doing, his eyes only partially focused.  Once he’s satisfied that the tea is done attempting to climb out of the pot, he rests it carefully on a flat rock near the coals where it can keep warm before he stands up.

Your knuckles hurt from where you’ve been attempting to twist your towels in half while you wait. Shit, if he gets it in his head to take up your cause, it’s likely to rebound on you spectacularly once he’s gone.

He glances pointedly about the room, and, for some reason, his voice sharpens.  “Does this have somewhat to do with what became of your things and how your house came to be refurbished?”

You nod, but then shrug because, yes? it is? but there’s a lot more going on.  He nods, too, though less in agreement and more in thought.  His eyes glance to a point high on your chest for some reason and then away, something wretched in his look. It’s all you can do to not hunch your shoulders and protect against your phone pushing against your tunic.  Shit.  It’s not showing, is it?

Estel scrubs roughly at his mouth and jaw.

“Hala,” he says at last, his look grim, “I can make no such promise.  I know not who you desire to protect and what they have done.  You, I can forgive, but now you ask me to extend my mercy ere even I know of their crimes?”

Oh god.  What the fuck are you going to do?

“I’m not exactly asking you to forgive them, Estel.  It’s just that I have absolutely no power here.  It’s just wiser to -” you attempt to explain, but he cuts you off.

“Wiser?  What am I to think of you,” he cries, gesturing at you with the cup, “when you refuse to confide in me and ignore my offers of aid?  When you could be free of it and yet you choose not to when you are offered the chance.”

You blink at him.  You are really fucking confused.  What the hell are we talking about here?  Help to get free of what?

And, Jesus!  The last time you told someone your secret, that you weren’t quite from here, they kicked you out of their home and set you on the Road to Bree with a loaf of bread and a note for Barliman that you were a reliable worker but not really quite right in the head.  Pretty much a mixed bag in the helpful department. Though, given your host’s reaction to you holding out your phone and begging him to look at it, at the time you were feeling pretty lucky pitchforks and stakes and burning piles of wood weren’t involved.

“Ai, Hala!  Will you not -”

“Hello to the house!” you hear cried outside by the Road and you startle, nearly dropping the towel in your hands.

Estel halts, falling silent and considering you, his mouth working. Shit, you’re not sure he’s about to erupt into shouting or tears or both.

He then bursts into action, grabbing up his empty cup, wrapping his hand in the cloth he had dropped by the hearth and taking up the tin pot.

“Strider?” comes the voice again.

“Ready yourself and I shall meet you in the garden,” he commands, backing his way out your door, opening it with his hip.

“Duriel, daughter of Gimlîth,” you hear him say when the door closes behind him, “good morrow to you and well met.  I trust you slept well.”

“And good morrow to you as well, Strider, and aye, I did.  You look well, yourself.  A fine morning, is it not?”

“Verily.  Come, make yourself welcome and we shall see should I have made good use of your spices.”

And with that, their voices soften to a murmur and you hear their footsteps on the path and the creaking of your gate as they go deeper into the garden.

Well.  That’s the best you’re probably going to get, isn’t it.  You suppose that it’s only sensible for him to avoid making promises.  He never really struck you as someone to act rashly, but it sure isn’t giving you much by way of reassurance.

God, you wish you had Estel’s confidence that something could be done about your situation.

You are so not looking forward to this.

Look, as glad as you are to see Estel again, there’s a large part of you that wonders if this is a good idea.  Maybe it would have been better if he hadn’t made it back.

~*~

“‘You seem a decent fellow,’” you say in as close to a Spanish accent as Mandy Patinkin himself managed, touching the cloth wrapped about Mistress Duriel’s face and testing its temperature, “‘I hate to kill you.’”

Estel scowls, scratching at his eyebrow where he sits with his back against your hut.  You ignore him.

“‘You seem a decent fellow,’” comes The Man In Black, aka Westley, aka The Dread Pirate Robert’s answer in your voice.  You shrug.  “‘I hate to die.’”

Mistress Duriel chuckles at this, her voice muffled beneath the warm cloth.

You unwind it from about the dwarf matron’s face and drop them in the bucket at your side.  You’ve got her seated on an overturned bin in front of you, the morning sun behind you and throwing shade over where she’s leaned back on the blanket on your legs.

Well into the prime of her years, what with the lines about her eyes and the white slowly lightening her dark hair, she’s got these lovely patches of white beneath her lip and from her temples to past her ears that you’re itching to get your hands on.  She’s got some negotiations over routes and remuneration with the other dwarven master traders coming up this afternoon.  They’ve booked The Pony’s largest parlor, and Mistress Duriel has every intent to make a grand entrance and slay the entire room with one look.  You intend to help her do just that.

In the meantime, since she doesn’t have a phone to keep her occupied and it’s not like you have any magazines like maybe Shield and Axe (cover story: 10 Best Oak Branches for Shields in a Pinch) or Better Gates and Chambers (cover story: Light and Splendor! This Season’s Wraps Pretty Enough for Your Elven Princeling), you’re attempting to keep her entertained with a story of the greatest swashbuckling contest that ever swashed and buckled its way across uneven terrain, spins and acrobatic tumbling and all.

“‘Begin’ declares Inigo and takes up his sword in his left hand,” you say, gesturing gallantly with your brush before giving the soap in the cup a scoop, “and so the Spaniard and the Man in Black circle each other, assessing the shuffle of feet and the dip of a shoulder here, the flick of an eye there, three opening moves considered and rejected within the first moments before they even raise their blades.”

Estel snorts.

Fucker.  It’s not like he’s not heard this part of the story already.  In fact, the meeting of the Spaniard and the Dread Pirate Westley is usually his favorite part of The Princess Bride.

It seems Mistress Duriel paid Estel in tobacco as well as spices from Rhûn for his services.  He leans against the back wall of your hut, drawing air through the long stem of his clay pipe, when he’s not snorting or huffing or whatever, and sending thin streams of smoke into the branches of the ancient apple tree that overhangs your roof from the other side of the garden fence.

You shake your head.  It’d be healthier for him if he shoved the whole packet of tobacco up his butt.  More entertaining, too.

“‘Ah,’ cries Señor Montoya, ‘you are using the ancient Gondolinian defense against me!’  He thrusts and finds it parried with a flick of the Man in Black’s blade but attacks again and forces him up another step of the fallen tower,” you say, daubing soap on Mistress Duriel’s cheek.  “‘I thought it best, given the rockiness of the terrain,’ says the Man in Black, his voice coming as a hiss through gritted teeth.  Inigo shrugs and bats away a slash at his shoulder, forcing him up another step.  ‘But the Fëanorian attack cancels out its advantage, do you not think?’”

Estel takes the stem of his pipe out of his mouth only to say, “There is no such thing.  And no matter how honorable either man is, no swordsman of any experience, much less a master, would begin a contest to the death with his unskilled hand.”

For fuck’s sake.

The brush sends up a glob of foam when you drop it in its cup.  You may have done so with a little more force than necessary.  “Hey, are you telling this story or am I?”

“Aye, you are most certainly making an attempt of it,” he says, brandishing his pipe, “but I am unsure should your changes improve its telling.”

“Please!” you say, flinging the towel over your shoulder and taking up the straight razor and gesturing at Estel with it. “If you think you can do better, you are quite welcome to take over.”

“Peace!  Peace!” says Mistress Duriel, raising her hands and chuckling.  “Ah!  Far be it from me to interfere in the quarrels between friends, but my dear Strider, forgive me, but I’ve had the chance of hearing you tell your tales during our travels.  Let Hala speak!”

“Thank you!” you say and return Estel’s dour look with sour one of your own.  He wipes at his mouth and, shaking his head, returns his attention to his pipe.

You’re sizing up the best spot to push at Mistress Duriel’s cheek and tighten the skin when she turns a stern look on you.  She’s got her chin all jutted out and her face screwed up like a displeased cat.

Here it comes.

“Now, you’ll not take off more than you need,” she says, straining her neck to catch your eye and giving you a look that could freeze the heart of the big guy, Sauron himself.

“I wouldn’t even dare,” you say.  You know better.  This is certainly not the first dwarven beard you’ve shaped up.  “You’re going to walk out of here with crisp lines and a nice, full, well-shaped, and oiled beard that would make Durin, Father of the Longbeards himself jealous.”

“Aye, and right you are about that,” says Mistress Duriel, unrepentant, but at least she settles back onto your lap, shifting her shoulders until she is more comfortably supported.

“As I was saying,” you go on, warming back up to your story of the greatest sword fight in the history of whatever world is involved, no matter what Estel’s opinion of it is.  You push your thumb along her jaw, drawing the skin of her cheek taut, and scrape the edge of the blade just below her cheekbone.  “Up the ruined tower stairs Inigo presses the Man in Black, blow by blow, step by step until his back is pressed to the broken battlements.  Down go stones to tumble into the surf far below the Cliffs of Insanity as their blades catch and Inigo pushes the Man in Black against the tower wall until it buckles and crumbles behind him.  ‘Why are you smiling?’ asks Inigo, his face just inches away, and the Man in Black’s grin deepens.  ‘Because I know something you do not.’”

You can practically hear Estel’s eyes rolling from here.

You turn your attention to Mistress Duriel’s other cheek.  “‘Ah,’” you say as the Man in Black and draw the edge of the razor down in short, gentle movements, barely scraping her skin. “‘But I am not left-handed, either,’ he says and with that Inigo stumbles back in shock and the Man in Black, tossing his sword from one hand to the other, is soon upon him.”

“Aye, Strider, you may have a point,” she says as you wipe the razor on the towel you’ve slung over your shoulder, and Estel grunts in response.  She winks at you.  “Och, these men of yours with their cavorting about and fine words.  Are they fighting or are they flirting? Give me my axe, dear Hala, and I’d have them both on their knees ere they’d drawn their swords.”

“Well, yes,” you allow and, switching the razor out for the cup and brush, “that is rather the whole point, isn’t it?”  You tap under her chin to urge her to lift her head back and start soaping up her neck.  “They don’t really want to kill each other.  I mean, they’re kindred spirits!  It took hardly any time at all in each other’s company to figure that out.  They’d be great friends if they weren’t at cross purposes and Inigo could get himself out from under his obligations to the Sicilian.”

“It would take naught but a child to put an end to them, such fools are they.”

So bitter is Estel’s voice that it shocks you into silence.  You’re not sure why but his words sting as sharply as if he had slapped you.  For a second you completely forget what you are doing and all about Mistress Duriel’s head in your lap and the brush in your hand.

Jesus. His face is so grim and full of shame he looks like he just might grind his teeth down to the bone.  He’s not looking at you with such deliberate care it’s very apparent that this last was for you and he regretted it as soon as the words popped out of his mouth.

Well.  Shit.  You have no idea what he is so unhappy about, but you’re sure to find out as soon as you two have a moment alone.

Great.  Add it to the list.

With a sudden jerk, Estel rises to his feet and goes to the hearth over which he had hung your big tub.  The fire has burned down to a few coals and, his back to you, he crouches down and busies himself with scraping out the ash and cleaning out the bowl of his pipe over it.

“Ah, don’t you mind him,” you hear and blink back down at Mistress Duriel.  She’s looking up at you with an expression you’re not sure you know what to make of.  “Go on with your tale, Hala.  Aye, they may be fools, but I find I wish them well and would know more of them.”

Oh.  Uh, yeah.

You recall yourself and, urging her chin up higher, dab soap on her neck.

Shit, where were you?

Oh, yeah.  Okay.

“And with that,” you say and switch out the brush for the straight razor, shaving Mistress Duriel’s neck with steady strokes and wiping the blade on your towel in between, “the Man in Black beat upon his sword and a great clashing of metal arose as the Spaniard was forced to retreat, step by step, one after another.  Down the stairs he stumbled, the Man in Black pursuing him. ‘Who are you?’ Inigo cried.  ‘No one of consequence,’ said the Man in Black and with a flurry of attacks cut off Inigo’s retreat to the boulders where he had hoped to hide.  ‘I must know!’ said Inigo.  If he was to die at this man’s hand, and it seemed that he must, he hoped only to know more of who had bested him so thoroughly.  ‘Get used to disappointment,’ came the quick reply.”

You’ve set down the razor at this point and are wiping at Mistress Duriel’s neck, but a low sound from Estel startles you into looking up.  He turns about and strides over from where he had been tucking his pipe and small knife into the pouch at his belt.  His face blank and giving nothing away, he bows to Mistress Duriel.

“Forgive me,” he says as he straightens, his voice low, “I am afraid there is much weighing upon my thoughts and I am not good company.  Should you need me to scout the Road ahead of your departure, I have things I must attend to.”

You stare after his back as he makes his way into the hut.  He goes through the garden gate and closes the door behind him.

“Ah, Hala,” says Mistress Duriel and sighs as she sits up, turning around to face you.  “Forgive me,” she says  and, taking the towel from your lax grip, finishes the job of cleaning the soap off her neck, jutting out her chin and rubbing gently at the skin.  “I don’t wonder I am the cause of your man Strider’s poor mood.”  She folds the towel on itself and taps your knee with it when you can’t think of anything to say to that.  “Now, don’t fret.  Give him time to settle himself.  I doubt not his temper much taxed by the shortness of his visit, and I am to blame for that, not you.”

She peers up at you, cuz, yeah, you’ve fallen silent and, despite all of your intent to show your customer a good time and reason to spread the word and send others your way, you’ve lost the mood and can’t seem to recover it.  You fiddle with the razor before dunking it in the bucket and swishing it about.  You wipe it off on the hem of your tunic and lay it on the bench in the sun to dry.

“I am sorry to steal him away from you so soon after his return,” she goes on, standing up.  “There is naught for it, should I keep both my goods and folk safe upon the Road.  But he must come through Bree on his way back to his own kin and you are sure to see him again when he is done.”

You nod.   Well shit.  Sounds like Estel’s duties aren’t here in Bree.  Awesome.  Just awesome.  Just enough time to get into things and not enough time to resolve whatever the hell Estel is going to make of them.

You force yourself to smile.  She is being terribly kind, after all, given the circumstances.

“Thanks,” you say and take the towel when she offers it to you.  You stand up and pat the bench.  “Now!  All right then, come have a seat and I’ll trim up your beard.  Do you want me to keep it full around your jaw or do you want me to straighten the sides?”

She recoils with more than a little horror as she sits and you grin.

“Full about the jaw, it is!” you say and grin, shaking out a clean towel to put around her.

“’Tis hardly a matter for jest!” she cries as you wrap her up, “You and your men and women with your beardless cheeks!  However can you stand it?  Och, what must it be like to kiss a face with naught on it but smooth skin!  Naught to tickle or warm the lips.  Like kissing an Elf, it would be.”

You snicker.  “And you know something about that, do you?”  You’ve come around to her front and start combing out her beard.  She’s kept it up well and it’s in good shape for all they’ve been traveling since early spring.  You’ll just need to trim it a little to sharpen the form up.

“Nay, no!” she cries, “and I’ll thank you for not spreading that about.  Aye, there’s enough gossip and rumor flying about the inn as it is.”

“Yeah,” you say, getting up closer and squinting so you can snip a path to her neck at the longest point of her beard below her chin, “there’s always something going around.  Keeps the room entertained and coming back for more.”

“Aye, well this may not,” she says and you glance at her for how rueful she sounds, “should all of the shouting coming from the innkeep’s private rooms be any sign.”

You snort, combing out her beard on the side and getting under her jaw so you can start creating a nice line from ear to chin.  You can just imagine.  Whole inn must have heard it.  Someone’s probably shorted the bill again.  “Yeah, Barliman’s no stranger to a good bellow.”

“Oh, aye,” she says, “but ’twas not him raising his voice but the matrons of Bree all come to voice their displeasure.”

Well damn, you kinda wish you hadn’t missed it.  That would have been a sight to see, or, rather, to hear.  Wonder what got their knickers in a twist.

“Seems there’s been talk of one of his folk whoring behind his back,” says Mistress Duriel and you nearly choke on your own spit.

Oh, god.

Oh, god, oh god oh god oh god.

Shit.  It’s not like they were talking about Cook.

C’mon c’mon c’mon.  Just breathe.

And so that’s what you do, breathe in deep, plaster a wry smile on your face.

“I never did finish my story, did I?” you ask, even though what you really want to do is borrow Mistress Duriel’s axe and mow down anything that stands in your way from here to Barliman’s office.

“Aye, indeed!” she says, “and what did those fools do when done with their prancing and waving about their swords, eh?  You cannot tell me it ended in one’s death by the other’s hand, but do not tell me they parted.”

“I’m afraid they did,” you say as you snip carefully at the hair beneath her jaw now that you’ve established a line, focusing closely on what your hands are doing.  Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think.  Just do, that’s all you need to do right now.  “‘I’d sooner destroy a masterpiece of colored glass placed in a window than kill you,’ said The Man in Black when Inigo was disarmed and begging for a quick end.”

“Ah, a shame it is,” says Mistress Duriel.  “Then they are fools, indeed.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, “it’s not the end of the story quite yet.”

~*~

Somehow you get through shaping up Mistress Duriel’s beard and refreshing her braids and the beads and swirling hair cuffs of precious metals and chips of clear gems that decorate them.  She looks awesome, like she’d as soon take an axe to her fellow master traders as say “hello,” and they might just beg her to do it.

When you open the door it is to find Estel sitting upon the floor, holding his sword with a scrap of cloth while he sights down its length and runs a whetstone along its edge.  The grinding of stone on metal stops abruptly when you enter and he looks up.  He sets his sword and the stone down upon the rushes but waits until you’ve placed your bundle on the cot before he speaks.

“Hala,” he says quietly, holding his hand out to you.  When you take it, he holds it warmly in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles like a kiss.  “I must beg your forgiveness.  I have wronged you,” he says and lets you go.  “Should I quarrel with you, I should not do so in front of our guest. I fear for you, and, in truth, Hala, I fear for myself and those who look to me, but it is no excuse for the manner in which I treated you.”

“Yeah,” you say and fuss with the hem of your tunic.  You’re having a hard time meeting his eyes.  “You, uh, you kinda made me feel kinda small back there.”

He winces at that.  “I should not have.  I will not do so again.”

You nod.  “Thanks,” you say but when he shuffles about and it looks like he’s going to get up, you hasten to add, “Uhm, I’ve, uh, I’ve got to go to The Pony.”

“It cannot wait?” he asks, surprised, and, well, more than a little disappointed, watching you closely when you shake your head.

“I need to talk to Butterbur before the lunch rush or who knows when I’ll get a chance to speak to him alone.”

You were really hoping that you wouldn’t see that wary, spent look on him again, but there it is, lurking behind his eyes where he’s trying to hide it.

“We will talk when I get back,” you say and he nods.

“Do you wish me to attend you?” he asks, and it seems he really does want to be as helpful as he can to you, but you shake your head.  This conversation you’re about to have is going to go a lot better if Strider the Ranger isn’t sitting in the corner glaring at Barliman Butterbur.

That’s pretty much all you’ve got to say.  Everything else is going to have to wait until you get back.  But, still, you pause before you open the door.

“Estel?”

He looks up from where he had been studying the cold hearth and the remains of your breakfast together, something sad and resigned in his look.

“I’ve never lied to you,” you say, as if that’s somehow enough.

It doesn’t help.

“Mayhap,” he says and, at least, gives you a brief, small smile, though it doesn’t exactly warm his face.  “But neither have you told me all of the truth.”

Well, you can’t argue with that.

~*~

Your conversation with Butterbur goes about as you expected.

“Do I still have a job?” you ask, sitting on the bench that lines the wall across from his work table, and Butterbur sighs, looking troubled, but, unfortunately, not indecisive.

It’s usually a mess of piles of letters and notes and invoices and tally sticks, but today Barliman’s office is surprisingly well-organized, papers and letters in their cubbyholes.  He’s got a whole system for going through them and keeping track of what he has and has not recorded in his daily logs and, with business going as it has lately, more time than usual to actually keep everything up to date.  There’s a tall chest with shelves and doors behind him that he keeps locked and the key at his belt.  That’s where the money goes at the end of the day.  Something like an abacus hangs from the wall to his left, beneath which are his books lined up in their chests.  You have no idea how many generations his accounting goes back, but the notes are certainly well preserved.  He keeps them wrapped up and locked in their chests. He pulls out the latest out and sits at his table, making meticulous notes of the comings and goings and debits and credits to his accounts at the end of the day while you and Nob and Bob and Cook clean up the common room and kitchen after close.

About this time every morning, he’s usually in the kitchen checking on Cook’s progress and assigning duties to the staff, but not today.  Today, he’s pulled out his accounts and been going through them, running his hands through his hair.  So not a good sign.

He rubs at his forehead, scratching his scalp, seemingly at a loss for words.  Also not a good sign.

Well.  Shit.  You can’t say as you blame him.  You’d probably do the same thing in his place.  You’re just one person he employees, after all, and that just when he needs an extra set of hands.

You find you can’t look at his fingers fiddling with his inkwell or his books or his tired, well-meaning face any more.

Shit.  Shit shit shit shit shit.

Your head is in your hands, elbows propped on your knees where you can’t quite keep them from jiggling up and down.  Fuck, it’s all you can do to keep from swearing in front of Barliman.  And you are not going to cry, god damn it.

“Ah, Fish, I would keep you on,” he says, “but they’ve threatened to keep their menfolk from frequenting The Pony and shaming any women who show their faces in the common room or take rooms for hire as strumpets and harlots should I not do somewhat.  I have naught but my reputation hereabouts to ensure their business when the weather grows cold and travel upon the Road dwindles to naught.  Had we a better summer and not had the trouble with rough men making the good folk of Bree uneasy in the common room, I’d let them know just what they could do with their rumors and threats.  But, aye, Fish…” here he trails off for a moment as he turns the inkwell around and around and around.  He points in the direction of the common room with a rough gesture.

“And there’s Harvey Tunnelson out there just the night afore bragging as loud as he can raise his voice that he’d bedded you in the stables and paid you for your time with his friends both at once.  It don’t matter that Bob vouches you’ve not stepped foot in there in nigh a month, what with you being friends and all.  ’Tis all but luck the matrons of Bree didn’t call for Bob and Nob’s removals as well.  What ill words they’ll say of Poppy I don’t know.”

Well.  Shit.  Harvey Fucking Tunnelson.  Of course.  Who else would it be.  Your gorge might have threatened to cut off your breathing at the thought.

“Well, Harvey’ll not show his face here again,” Barliman says and slams the inkwell into its place on the writing tray.  “I’ve booted the lot of them out, Harvey and his two friends, not that they don’t usually make themselves scarce with the winter.  Off to wherever it is that they go to hole up.  That kind of talk’s not welcome here and I made it plain that should they attempt to set foot across my threshold again, I’ll beat them off myself and not wait to send for Harry.”

Well, that’s something, you guess.

That can’t have been the first time someone’s brought up the idea that you’ve been hustling or whoring yourself out on Butterbur’s property, though.  Harvey’s not what you would call an independent thinker.  He got the idea from somewhere, not stirring shit up himself on his own impulse.  And it would have taken some time and effort for Mistress Blackthorn to whip up enough moral outrage to arrange a delegation to confront the innkeeper.  You can just bet who the source of all the rumors leads back to.  And his name begins with Bill and ends with Ferny.

Well, fuck.

“Now, Fish, don’t you worry.  Just lay low for a little, aye?” you hear and look up to find that Barliman’s closed his book and slotted it back into its place in the chest.  He leans on the table, watching you.  “Stay out of trouble, aye, and I don’t wonder this will all blow over and we’ll see you back here in a month or two.”

Fuck, yeah.  That’s so not going to happen, not with Ferny whipping up rumors whenever you get a little too close to having anything you can count on other than him.  You just don’t have the heart to tell Butterbur that, though, not with how eager he seems to be to make sure you’re okay with his solution to the squeeze that he’s in.

Yeah, probably a really good idea that Estel didn’t come with you.  He’d be pissed.  But he’s not the one who’s going to be here over the winter.

You rub at the tops of your thighs for a moment and then stand up. Well, this isn’t the only painful heart to heart you’re going to have today.  Might as well get to the next one and check it off, too.

“Och, Fish, wait a moment,” he says and then, turning away, pulls out a drawer where he keeps ready cash and rummages about. “Here you go. I put aside a little somewhat for you, to tide you over.”

He counts out about five pennies into his hand and, pausing for a beat, gathers himself and turns to offer them to you.  “A bonus, as it were,” he says when you take them.  They’re warm from being in his hand.  Real copper coins this time, not the tin you usually get.

Well.  Fuck.  So much for not crying.

“Now you need not pay me that back,” he says, pointing to the coins in your hand.  “I’m more grateful than you know, you getting along so well with my folk.  Not all Big Folk I’ve had here do.  And it not being right your kindness to them being used against ye like it is.”

He waves away your stammering attempt at thanks and you wipe at your face with your sleeve.  “Aye, well, I should have been more help to Ruby, though, aye, that’s neither here nor there.  But I’ve learned my lesson, that I have, even should it be too late for her.”

“Aye, but Fish,” he says as you put the coins in that pocket hidden inside your tunic, snug up against your phone where they slide against its smooth surface and settle to the bottom.  “You can’t come to the kitchen door in the back this winter,” he says, his face sad and a grimness settling on him, “not like last.  What you work out with Cook or Bob on your own, I won’t pry, but you can’t be seen about these parts, aye?”

“Okay,” you say, cuz what else are you going to say, and he nods and takes a breath, the most unpleasant part of this conversation over for him.

He stands up and comes out from behind his work table, shuffling between the corner of the table and the wall to escort you to the door, so that’s where you go.

“Now, this isn’t goodbye. Do what you can to keep your nose clean and we’ll see your face here ere the midwinter feast, if not sooner.  I’ll need the extra hands then, that I will. And it will all be forgot and be as it was before, aye?”

“Thank you, Mr. Butterbur,” you say, meaning ‘goodbye’ actually.  Cuz that is what this is, really.  The bonus was truly a lovely gesture, but let’s not fool ourselves here.  It’ll hold you until midwinter, yes, but not any further, and there’s no chance of the pressure on him going away, not if Bill Ferny has anything to say about it.

Of course Ferny took a shot at Barliman.  Can’t have the second most powerful man in Bree sticking up for you, can we?  And so publicly, too, at the trial where everyone could see it.  It would be just the kind of thing Ferny would do; set out the bait and wait for Mistress Blackthorn to start salivating all over it.  That he caught Harvey Tunnelson in his net was just a bonus. A nice little shitty cherry on your day.

You would like to say that you popped Ferny a good one on his smug little fucking smirk when he comes up behind you as you make your way down the stairs into the courtyard of The Pony.  Fuck, almost like he was waiting for you, isn’t it.

Down he goes and your knuckles burn.  You’ve caught him on his jaw and bloodied him and knocked a tooth or two loose.  He’ll wear the shame of it on his face in purple and red and green for long enough that it’ll warn off anyone else that would have a go at you.

But, you didn’t.  You don’t.

You can’t.

“In need of work, are ye?” he asks, as if he didn’t already know.

They’re right there, on the tip of your tongue, every curse and imprecation you can yank out of every language and cultural tradition you had at your disposal, both in this world and the one you vacated.  They’re all lined up and ready to go.

And there they die, unsaid.

Cuz it’s not just you.  You keep coming straight at Ferny and he’s going to not only take you down but also anyone that helps you.  They’ll be marked and harassed and cornered into a rock and a hard place.  Barliman can take care of himself, but  Cook?  Poppy or Bob?  There’s not a single one of them who should have to choose between their well-being or yours.

Fuck. Even Estel, for all his cunning and the sharp implements at his disposal.  He’s barely tolerated here as it is, but he wouldn’t keep coming back if he didn’t have something that required his presence here.  You don’t know what it is, but it tightens his jaw and jerks him awake to keep him company on those nights he rises from your floor and sits in his spot at the back wall and watches the moon rise instead of sleeping.

Fuck.

“Come now, Fish,” Ferny says, his hands in his coat pockets, rocking on his heels. Fucker’s taken heart with how long you’ve been silent. “I’ve got somewhat you could do.  I’ll even let ye fill that bag of yours full of my very own taters I’ve set aside for the winter as payment, eh?”

Is that what your soul is worth these days?  A bag of potatoes?

He cocks his head at you, smirking.  “It’s naught even so onerous as your work with the nightmen, or have you forgot what that was like?”

Fucker.

It’s a wasteland of choices you have in front of you.

Fuck it.

“Okay, yeah,” you say.

[orangegreet]

Photo by Peter Chiykowski on Unsplash

It was an impulsive decision she made, veering off the road.

Trotting her tired pony through the bog, Alina thought to reach the pond directly by cutting through the grounds.

She only realized the graveness of her error when the beast whined, its hooves stuck in the thick mud.

Alina cast a glance above at the unforgiving sky.

Meaning only to get the weary little pony a drink, she ended up stranded in the treacherous earth between road and house where few could notice her.

In earnest, she raised pleading cries toward the manor—pleas which were lost as the rain began to fall.

All that could be heard were the sheaths of water which fell in cascading waves over the grounds.

The vast estate around her might have been beautiful with the help of the sun gleaming down on its features but in the gloom of autumn dusk and the haze of rainfall, everything was colored into shades of gray and black.

How terrible this journey had become. A sickly old pony for a sickly little woman. Together for a week of travel from their coastal home in the south and up into the ever-dreary wilds of the north country. It had been a long, arduous journey.

Only now to be nearly swallowed by the grounds of Blyth Fell? It was a poor omen.

How deeply troubling to be so far north from everything she had ever known and completely at a loss for what to do next. Would she die here, helpless and sodden?

The thought throttled her heart and she melted into a shroud of self-pity.

No one would hear her. No one would see her what with the rain and the closing of the day. She would surely catch her death within the hour.

Or perhaps she would grow so weak as to slip off her horse and become pulled into the earth herself where the mud would expand into her ears, her nose, her throat.

Drowning in sludge on the eve of her employment—it would be a fitting end to her tragic little life.

When her tears began to fall, she was thankful they could blend in with the rain drops running down her face; the tears and droplets would be fast friends in their wallowing.

So preoccupied was she that when two large hands clamped around her waist, she shrieked in fright and kicked at her assailant.

“Calm yourself, blamed woman!” The gruff voice shouted above the din of the storm.

Sharp eyes cut into her own, black and menacing to her enervated state.

“You are in need of assistance and I am unfortunate enough to be passing by.” He told her. Water covered his face and dripped from his nose and his jaw.

Alina was dumbstruck by his beauty.

Enough that her tears abated for the moment.

“I will have to set you by the carriage.” The man continued.

Her eyes lingered on the dark, wet locks curling from under the brim of his hat. She nodded in acquiescence though he had already begun to tuck her over his arm like a paper doll and trudge up the hill.

A great, black carriage stood at the top of the slope, door ajar and horses nudging at the road in impatience.

“Inside.” He commanded, setting her down with haste. Alina stepped into the shelter obediently and watched as the man worked his way back to the front of the coach.

The driver already had one of the horses unhitched and together the two men trailed the steed back down the hill toward her distressed pony, stopping just short of the bog land.

Alina tried to watch their progress through the carriage window, eyes squinting through the bleary haze.

After a few minutes she thought she saw her that her pony had drifted further away even as the black stallion veered back.

The window fogged. She wiped it away with her wet sleeve and pressed closer. Her sweet, dear little pony was now very deep in mud. The base of its hauches no longer visible.

The carriage door swung open and she shrieked.

The dark haired man cast her a haughty look and then shifted into the carriage, moving across from her while he rummaged in his belongings beneath the bench.

“Ah, there.” He was holding a long musket aloft with one hand and stuffing the muzzle with another.

“Should be quite fine.” He leveled the rifle and, as if remembering her existence, looked up again, “Ah, yes. I’m afraid the beast will need to be put down. Look away, if it please you.”

It did not seem to make a difference for him.

His eyes skipped right over the horrified look on Alina’s face and he swept out of the coach again, door rattling in his wake.

The black tails of his coat billowed behind him in the wind and she swore he adjusted his hat into a perfect tilt as he balanced the firearm and aimed.

Bang.

Even the tragic sound of mercy was muffled by the rain.

Alina was too shocked to make any noise. Mouth agape, she watched the blurry figures through the window as they slogged back up the hill to reattach the black horse to his harness.

She was too shocked to do more than shuffle away from the door in a daze when the man stepped inside again.

Saddle bags dropped at her feet and he reached into the bench seat to remove a rag.

He tapped the front window once seated and the carriage took off again.

The pause in their journey suddenly felt as natural as if they had made a stop-off to pick wildflowers.

The man eyed her warily as he cleaned his gun.

Alina opened her mouth to speak and closed it several times, the carriage jostling her as she floundered for words.

“I never intended to…that is, I meant to...It seemed prudent to get the pony some water. We do not—that is to say…I never fathomed such terrain…” her hand covered her mouth in shame before she could continue.

“Hmm.” He smirked and returned to his task. “Well in your desire to care for the poor beast, you quite ensured it’s doom.”

Though tears sprang to her eyes at the condemnation, she found her anger at last and glared.

He chuckled in surprise. His face crinkled with mirth. Even in cruelty, he was beautiful.

“You are most welcome, by the way. For coming to your rescue.”

Great thanks indeed. The man was more monster than gentleman in her view.

Manners won out eventually and she mustered a gracious nod. Her words were still heavy in her chest.

The dark eyes remained on her, studying her features even as she forced her gaze back to the window.

“Pardon me, sir. My wits fled me for a few moments and now I am unsure. Could you deliver me to Blyth Fell? I should like to have walked from the road so as not to be an inconvenience. Or if your coachman would be so kind as to stop here, I can find my own way.”

Alina shifted to pick up the saddle bags which contained all her belongings. Everything left to her in the world.

“You are an orphan, are you not?” He was smirking at her again.

“How did you…” the cruelty of his smile cut through her question.

“I told my staff I wished for an orphaned governess this time.” He said, simply. “Our last one was far too home sick. All her free time spent holed up in her room writing letters to her sister or someone similar. I did not heed the particulars closely, you see.”

He examined the shine of his gun as he buffed. “Only her misery. That which she spread about the hall like a plague. It was a relief when she resigned her post.”

The way he looked at her was as a predator to cornered prey. Alina gulped.

Did he just kick his lips? A trick of the mind, surely.

Her words bubbled up from the tangle of her insides, “Then you are Lord Kirigan.”

He blinked and then smiled again, “Indeed. And your name, miss?”

“You know I am an orphan in your employ and you have yet to learn my name? I am hired to be governess to your children, am I not?” The venom with which the words whipped out of her mouth astonished them both.

Apparently, the little pony was not as forgotten to her as it was to her companion just now.

Alina reddened in her cheeks and ears while Lord Kirigan stared dumbfounded for a moment.

“I apologize, sir. It has been a long journey on my own and I have quite forgotten myself.”

He adjusted his collar and seemed to right himself at her admission. “Quite right. As if I am allotted the time to learn every detail of someone whom may or may not withstand the trial period in my employ.”

Alina’s heart raced under the threat. Enduring the long journey back south as a disgraced ex-governess was not comforting in the least.

She collected herself, straightened her posture and introduced herself.

“Miss Starkova.” The Lord held her name in his mouth a moment longer than usual and she was struck again by his dark eyes, watchful as they collected the details of her across from him.

“Unusual name for this part of the world. Am I to assume your credentials are adequate?”

A retort rose to her mind and she bit it back, nodding and listing off the education and training she accomplished in Weymouth. Alina would need to tamp this urge to defy him if she intended to keep her employ beyond the carriage ride.

As if she had manifested the ending with the thought, the carriage came to a stop.

Her head tilted as she looked up at the manor through the window. Lord Kirigan made no move to leave, watching her first with open curiosity and then a scowl.

The coachman opened the carriage door and Kirigan exited.

The rain had morphed into a light drizzle. The Lord straightened his coat before turning back to the carriage and offered his hand to the new governess.

Hesitating for only a moment, Alina’s fingers slid over his warm palm.

Once more, her eyes met his. A heartbeat of energy or perhaps merely her pulse could be felt in the space where they touched. He narrowed his gaze at her and then wrenched his eyes away, dropping her hand after she descended the carriage.

“Ivan will see to your bags.” Lord Kirigan called over his shoulder as he entered the house. “Welcome to Blyth Fell, Miss Starkova.”

Alina watched him recede into the dark entry before her, unable to look away even as the drizzling rain collected at her brow and ran down her face.

[theultimatebalooka]

Lee from the tea shop- an atla oneshot(maybe?)

The gaang walked out of the Jasmine dragon with smiles on their faces. They didn't have any meetings or meet and greets to go to today, so their formal attire was traided for simple clothes, like the ones they wore when they fought the fire nation together. Zuko had his hair pulled back into a simple pony tail as he held hands with Sokka. It was peaceful. Until a tiny body barreled into Zuko, knocking him back into the path. The rest of the gaang got ready for a fight, but Zuko laughed.

"Kai?!" The small figure looked up and beamed at the fire lord. It was a young man their age, but he was short and had choppy brown hair.

"Lee! I knew it was you! Guys, you can come out know! I told you it was Lee!" The rest of his friends looked confused as the short man- Kai- helped Zuko off the ground. A young man and a young woman stepped around the corner. They were all in greens, laughing as they pulled the fire lord into a bone crushing group hug.

"Agni save me! I don't need two friend groups who love touching me! Let go guys!" He struggled and finally jerked himself out of the grip. He stumbled and grabbed onto Zuko and Toph to balance himself.

"You're in big trouble Lee! Why didn't you tell us you were the crown prince of the fire nation?!" The woman punched his shoulder while giving him a playful glare.

"Ow, do you have to hit so hard? If the Dai Li had over heard me telling you guys, I would have been arrested on the spot. You know that." The tallest of the group reached out and forced Zuko into another bone crushing hug. He was genuinely sobbing, snot running down his face as he cried.

"My baby's the fire lord! My little Lee is ruling a whole nation of spark makers! I'm so proud of you!"

"Nalin! I can't breathe!" Zuko once again struggled out of his grip.

"It is kind of a bummer. You made the best tea in the Earth Kingdom! No, In the world! Now we wont get that tea!" He laughed at the woman.

"Jin, I still work at the tea shop sometimes." Those words just made the taller man sob louder and babble about...something. Kai snickered.

"How much you wanna bet you're still a big baby when it comes to my noogies?" Zuko crossed his arms and looked down.

"You should be careful. I dont think someone of your size should be threatening anyone taller than a five year old." Zuko smirked as Kai kicked his shin.

"How about you come down here and I'll show you a threat?"

"No, I think I'm good up here thanks."

"Hey babe? Do you want to introduce us to your friends?" Sokka looked confused as he wrapped his arm around Zuko.

"Oh right! Guys this is Nalin, Jin, and Kai. We were neighbors when I lived here. Guys, this is my fiance Sokka, his sister Katara, Toph, and Aang."

"Fiance?!" They gaang watched as Nalin's lip trembled. Jin clamped her hand over his mouth.

"Alright pal, we get it. You're proud of your son. Enough with the water works alright?" Toph crossed her arms.

"How were you three able to get so close to him?" She had a confused scowl on her face. Kai raised an eyebrow.

"Can I pick a fight with herm. She's shorter than me!"

"Be my guest. She'll beat you then I wont have to hear you."

"I went on a date with Lee and he gave me a coupon for a free cup of tea."

"He helped me take care of my little sister when she was sick by making her tea and soup."

"I broke into his room by accident and got one of his dao swords pointed at my throat." The gaang looked mildy horrified as Kai shrugged.

"Wait, why Lee?" Katara asked.

"Yeah, Lee is such a common name. And you're...uniquely essentric." Aang said with a lopsided grin.

"Exactly Lee is such a common name. It makes it easy to blend in when you have to specify which Lee."

"And Lee from the tea shop is the most popular Lee."

"And LEEast to us!" Zuko groaned as Sokka burst out laughing.

"Nalin stop! It wasnt funny then and it isnt funny now! Oh agni you've killed my future husband!" That's when the rest of the gaang started laughing. Zuko snickered and laughed with them. He may not see these guys oftain, but he still cared about them.

(AAAAND IM DONE. I'm tired. I only post after midnight when I should be asleep. Have this garbage.)

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

The Wages of Sin

Before I found tumblr, I seriously believed I was the only person on Earth whose pulse went up when Samoa Joe appeared. He just broadcasts pure dominant energy and power. I miss seeing him in the ring but I’m glad he’s still on my tv on a (mostly) weekly basis. 

Pairing: Samoa Joe x reader

Word count: 3,732

Content advisory: BDSM smut

It was all you could do not to roll your eyes at his expression when you came in the door. It was always the same with men: they called to have a computer technician come over and when a woman showed up, they looked at you like there had been some mistake. Some would even be so gauche as to ask if you were qualified to do this sort of work. This guy wasn’t that bad but when he saw you, his eyes swept up and down over your body, lingering on your breasts longer than he should have before he waved you inside with nothing more than a grunt. 

“The computer’s in the office,” he informed you. “First door on the left back there. Off the kitchen. It’s been slowing down for a while and now it won’t even start up.”

“Ok. Other than slowing down, have there been any other problems you’ve noticed, Mr…” 

“Joe,” he grunts. “Joe is fine. And yeah, there have been a bunch of programs crashing.”

“Well, Joe, why don’t we have a look and see what the problem is?”

You head in the direction that he’s indicated and enter a neatly organized office space. There’s a desk in one corner, but the room is dominated by a large section coach flanked  by a couple of odd looking benches. It’s strange, because there’s no television in the room, no books, nothing that would indicate this was a place where one would sit and relax. You shrug it off. Maybe he likes to take a nap after he’s done working. Maybe this is where he takes women to seduce them.

Immediately, you try to push that image from your mind. You hate to admit it, even to yourself, but when he gave you that once-over, you’d felt a shiver run through your whole body. He was massive and while at first glance he’d appeared fat, you quickly saw that he was just powerfully built. As he stood behind you and watched what you working, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt, pushing them up and revealing forearms like iron girders, the kind of arms you could imagine holding you down with ease, choking you, forcing you to do whatever he wanted. 

You try to shake those thoughts out of your head and focus on the task at hand. You boot up his computer in safe mode and, once you’re able to get a look around, it’s clear that the problem is a large number of files that have taken up so much space that the computer barely has any available memory to launch or run anything. On top of that, there are multiple malware programs that are deviously working away. You’ll have to work on those right away in order to get the computer stable enough for you to see the files and try to clear out some space. 

He stands behind you as you start to untangle the electronic knots, his breath heavy and incredibly distracting. 

“This is gonna take me a while,” you tell him.

“Well I’ll leave you to it then.” His tone is friendly but there’s a dark undertone to it, like he can see inside your mind and know that he’s having an effect on you. 

Once he’s gone, you settle down and focus on the task at hand. He pokes his head in a couple of times but leaves you alone otherwise. It’s just as well because what he’s got is a real mess and it takes a lot of work to identify and then scrub the malware. Normally, you could run a program to deal with the majority of the work but his computer is so unstable that it can’t run anything, meaning that you have to do everything manually. 

Thirteen programs. It takes two and a half hours but you’re finally able to remove all traces of the thirteen programs that have contaminated his hard drive. The early winter light is already starting to fade and now you have to start isolating files. Protocol is that you identify duplicates and separate them onto a second drive without ever looking but everyone takes a peek to see what secrets a client has. Nine times out of ten it’s porn, usually varying flavors of vanilla. It’s never happened to you personally, but a couple of the people you work with have found photos or videos of kids, something that immediately gets reported to the cops. (Peeking at a client’s files is unethical but not illegal, meaning that what the technician sees is fair game.)

When you see that the files are almost all videos, you figure you pretty much know what you’re in for. The nature of the videos, though, is more than you bargained for. This is hardcore stuff, all women getting flogged and bound and taken roughly in every hole as they scream in pain and ecstasy at the same time. There are dozens if not hundreds like this and mixed in among them are videos of Joe himself, proudly displaying his naked body and a thick cock that you can imagine would be rough to take even under normal circumstances.   

Watching all this, you feel your breathing grow faster and that familiar wetness in your core soaking your panties within minutes. The fact is that you’ve desperately wanted a man who’d take you like this, who’d use you and brutalize you, but you’d never found one. You’d eventually had to dump your last boyfriend because the sex was so boring you found yourself repulsed by it. You’ve watched plenty of videos like these at home, but knowing you were only a couple of rooms away from a man who clearly indulged in these activities a lot makes you squirm in your seat, trying to get some friction against the seam of your jeans to relieve a bit of the pressure. 

Your eyes flicker towards the benches you’d noticed when you came in and now you know what their purpose is. You open another file, Joe again with a woman tied up and bent nearly double, his hand wound around her pony tale as he pounds mercilessly into her. 

Looking once again at the benches, you imagine him strapping you to one and whipping you, making you beg for him. 

The woman in the video is screaming non-stop about how good he feels, how she deserves what she’s getting, welcoming every vile slur he hurls at her. 

You’re so caught up in what you’re seeing and in what you’re imagining that you don’t notice that the sound on this video is a fair bit higher than in the others, and are caught totally off-guard when you hear the voice behind you. 

“See something you like?” he drawls. 

Right away, you feel not just your face but your whole upper body grow hot with humiliation. It’s one thing for you to be fantasizing but this is you getting caught invading a customer’s privacy. Even if it’s understood that everybody does it, you’ll be lucky to keep your job if and when he complains. 

“Not really my scene,” you lie. “But I don’t judge. I just need to sort through stuff to free up some space. I’m going to install an external drive and move your videos there. It’s an extra charge but it’s not too much. You can call the office to find out the exact amount if you want.”

Joe gives a noncommittal sound and walks away without another glance. Your cheeks are still burning an hour later when you’ve dutifully moved the files onto the external drive, careful not to open a single one, even though you’re dying of curiosity. Trembling, you pack up your stuff and prepare to make a shame-faced exit. You’re wondering if you should just apologize to him, maybe say that you opened one of the files by accident and just started poking around, not quite believing what you were seeing. You’re unable to decide if that would be better than saying nothing and trying to pretend that nothing had happened. He’s standing in front of the door with an unfriendly look on his face. 

“Well,” you begin unsteadily, “you haven’t lost any files. There wasn’t any permanent damage, so other than moving some stuff to an external drive, everything will be exactly the way it was, but it’ll run a lot faster.” 

He folds his arms and looks down his nose at you without speaking. It takes you a few seconds to figure out what to say next under the weight of his stare. 

“There were a bunch of malware programs I had to remove. That was what was causing most of the problem. There are certain sites that tend to… have… lots of those things. Anyway, I installed newer antiviral software that should block them.”

You sound completely lost and you are. You feel like, rather than registering a complaint with your employer, Joe is preparing to kill you and eat you for violating his privacy. In the interest of getting out before you’re made into a main course, you opt to stop speaking and to leave the subject of your intrusion out of the conversation. 

As you reach for the doorknob, though, Joe presses his arm against the door and his scowl deepens. 

“You lied to me,” he seethes. 

“Excuse me?”

“Before. You were lying when you said you weren’t interested in those videos. I can always tell.”

“Oh,” you murmur, “about that. Look, I’m really sorry that I was going through your-”

“Yeah, that’s not what we’re talking about little girl.”

“It isn’t?” You feel yourself shrinking back from him and he leans closer as you do, until your back is pressed into the doorframe.

“No,” he purrs. “We’re talking about you and how you were turned on by what you saw. We’re talking about how your panties are probably still soaked because you were so excited.”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times as you fight to think of something to say. His broad chest is just inches from you, heat radiating from him and clouding your thoughts even more. 

“I have to go,” is what you’re eventually able to croak. 

“Is that so?” he hums. “Well I’ll tell you what. I’m gonna go get into something more comfortable. If you want to go, you go. I won’t stop you. But if you want to find out what I can do to you, what I can make you feel, then you get back in the office and wait for me.”

He steps back and heads up the stairs without another syllable, leaving you with a decision to make. There are assuredly better ways for you to find a man to dominate you. But you’ve seen what this man can do and you’ve felt the power and confidence roll off him, leaving you quivering inside and out. You take a deep breath and head back down to his office. 

He makes you wait. It’s a good fifteen or twenty minutes before he reappears wearing nothing but boxers, a towel over his shoulders and an arrogant expression that says he never had any doubt you’d be here. 

“Eyes down.” It’s an order, you know, even though he speaks as quietly as ever, and you immediately comply. 

You’re able to see him toss the towel on the sofa and you hear him opening something- a drawer?- and then close it again a second later. Whatever he was looking for, he knew exactly where it was. 

“Top off and hands behind your back.” His voice is behind you, even as ever. 

You comply right away, stripping yourself of your sweater and t-shirt, hesitating a little at the thought of removing your bra. 

“Everything off,” he whispers, much closer than he was before. 

Keeping your eyes on the floor, you remove it and try to steady your breath. You feel a light line traced across your back by something you can’t identify. It’s thin and pliable, but has some strength to it, like the branch of a sapling. It makes you shiver as he continues to move it softly back and forth across the widest part of your back. 

“So you like snooping around in other people’s things, do you?”

“No,” you stammer, “I don’t usually do that, I don’t know what I was-”

Immediately, there’s a sharp crack as he brings the branch-like thing, a riding crop, you guess, down on your back with force. You give a short scream and your breathing speeds up as you feel the pain leak from the narrow band of impact across your skin. 

“You’re lying to me again,” he taunts. “We both know you do that kind of thing all the time, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp, trying to focus on anything but the pain and at the same time feeling the juices pooling between your thighs.

“What a bad girl you are.” You flex your muscles, anticipating another strike but he does nothing. You let yourself exhale and relax just a little and that’s when the second blow comes, even harder than the first. The scream you give is louder and tears spring to your eyes. Behind you, you hear him hum in satisfaction and it reverberates in your core. 

“You were watching quite a few of those videos. I saw you,” he continues, to your shame. “Tell me, what did you like the most about them?”

“I- I don’t know…”

This time, the strike hits the flesh of your inner arm, exposed because you have your hands clasped behind your back, the way he told you. 

“If you’re not going to be honest with me, this is going to be a very rough night for you.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” And there’s a sharp impact on your other arm that draws a sob and a long whine. 

“Get to the point, little girl.”

“I liked seeing you. I got turned on by what you were doing to those women because I’ve wanted someone to do those things to me.”

He presses himself against your back, running his thumb roughly along one of the whip marks he’s made there. “Now was that so hard?”

You shake your head, struggling to keep your eyes fixed on the ground as he circles around you. He presses the handle end of the riding crop- you were right about that- under your chin. 

“Look at me.”

You do as you're told, more tears dripping from your eyes as you lift your head. 

“Already crying? Are you sure you want this?”

“I do,” you assure him, nodding your head vigorously. 

“It only gets rougher from here,” he warns you. “So if you want it to stop…”

“I want to keep going.”

“So you think you deserve to be punished.”

“I do.”

“You know what you did was wrong. And you know that you’re a filthy girl for liking what you saw so much.”

“Yes.”

“That’s ‘yes, sir’” he corrects you sharply. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you think about doing things like that when you’re by yourself? About big, mean taking whatever they want from you? About them hurting you and using you?”

“Yes.”

You hear the sound of the riding crop cutting through the air, but not in time to brace yourself for the impact. It hits right across your nipples and if you had thought that the blows to your back and arms hurt, they were nothing compared to this. 

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir,” you sob. 

He snaps the riding crop across the same point, the center of both nipples, making you shriek. 

“Show me your hands.”

You lift them for his inspection and he whips your palms repeatedly, like you’re a misbehaving child. 

“Now take off the rest of your clothes,” he instructs. “And give me your panties.”

You move to follow the order, flinching in pain at having to use your wounded hands. He paces in front of you, seeming impatient but letting you take the time you need to get fully undressed. When you’re done, you offer him the garment he requested, which he snatches away from you. 

He smirks as he rolls them around in his hand. To your relief, he places the riding crop on the desk behind him before he approaches you. 

“What’s this?” he sneers, wiping the soaked cotton over your face. “Is this because of what you saw?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You liked it even more than I thought. You really are a dirty little slut. Do you think you deserve to be punished more?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ask me.”

“Please, sir,” you stammer, “I want you to punish me because I’m a dirty slut who got turned on watching your videos.”

He gives you a smirk that carries just a hint of approbation. “Very good, slut. Go kneel on the sofa, ass out, arms on the back.”

You scurry over and do exactly as you’ve been told. Once you’re in position, he follows you, hovering over you. 

“Your eyes stay straight ahead,” he cautions. 

He kneels on the sofa beside you and reaches down, producing a pair of handcuffs already attached to the old-fashioned heater, obviously installed for the purpose of chaining women in place. You let him take your wrists and manacle them, flinching because the metal is actually hot on your skin. Once again, he disappears behind you. 

His hand comes down on your ass with a thunderous noise and you swear you can feel the reverberations in your skeleton. You let out a half-gasp, half-cry but before you’re able to regroup, he smacks your other cheek just as hard, if not harder. He continues this, increasing the pace as he does until you’re screaming and crying. 

“Have you learned your lesson?”

“I… I think so?”

“I don’t know,” he muses, “your pussy is dripping. I think we might need to look at punishing you another way. I think I might have to pound that slit with my cock to show you what happens to dirty sluts who go looking at things they’re not supposed to.”

“Yes, sir, you should.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“Yes, please, sir, I want your cock.”

“What’s that?”

“Please fuck me, sir. Show me how bad I am.”

He bends over you, pushing his boxers off, and whispers harshly in your ear, “Well as long as you’re absolutely sure.”

You nod and he accepts that, grasping your bruised ass tightly and ramming into you like a jackhammer. He pounds relentlessly, leaving you with nothing to do but take what he’s giving, gasping and mewling in ecstasy as each brutal thrust seems to increase the sensitivity of your cunt, the sensation of pleasure flooding through you. 

“Is this what you needed?” he snarls, panting. 

“Yes, oh god, yes!” You’re a little shocked at the volume of your own voice but all you want to do is scream because what he’s giving you is what you’ve fantasized about for so long, what your body has always known it needed but could never get. You can feel every nerve rushing towards climax and just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge, he pulls out, pressing the tip of his dick against your tailbone, just above the crack of your ass, and he comes, the hot liquid trickling down between your ass cheeks and your swollen lips in streams. He traces the flow with his thick fingers, up and down, making you whine in need. Finally, he grabs the towel he brought with him and wipes you off. You’re still whimpering, moving your hips all around, searching for any kind of contract. 

He gives a dark chuckle and you hear him walk away. You want to cry but he’s back in a moment, close by you. Immediately, he starts to wind a rope around your legs, soft like silk and strong. He binds your thighs to your calves, your ankles together and then he flips you over, the chain on the handcuffs pulling your arms taut. 

You could not be more vulnerable, spread open before him. He wipes his dick across your chest to remove the remaining mix of your juices. 

“I’ll bet you think you deserve to come, now, don’t you?” 

“Yes, please sir.”

“Why should I let you.”

“I’ve tried to be good for you, sir. I’ve done everything you asked. I’m sorry I lied to you before but I told you the truth after. And you just turn me on so much, sir.”

He smirks again and plants his tree trunk of a thigh on the sofa between your legs. 

“Like this,” he growls. “You want to get off? You fuck yourself on my leg like an animal who doesn’t know any better.”

Part of you wants to resist, but you’re so desperate for it that you press yourself against him and start grinding into his thigh. You can feel the powerful muscle beneath the flesh as he flexes, giving you a little more friction. It’s still slippery and the way that you’re bound makes it difficult to move the way you need to, but you’re able to make it work. 

“Are you close?” he rasps. 

“So close, sir!”

“And am I good to you, letting you cum on my leg like this?”

“Yes, thank you!”

You thrust yourself even harder against him to add just the little bit more pressure that you need, moving faster as you can feel your orgasm ready to burst through you. 

And with a nasty grin, he steps back. 

Your clit is so engorged that the sensation of air hitting it is actually painful. Although you’d like to remain composed and be angry, you just sob, tears welling up yet again. 

“Why?” you cry at him. 

“You don’t get to cum until I decide you’re ready.”

“Please, sir, I’m begging you, I need to.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Not yet.”

He pulls his boxers back on and grabs the towel, heading towards the door. 

“Wait!” you yelp after him. “Where are you going?”

He laughs again, deep and almost demonic. “I’m a busy man. I’ve got a lot of things to do.”

“Aren’t you going to untie me?”

He smirks and throws the towel over his shoulders again. “Oh no. You’re gonna stay right there until I’m ready to use you again.”       

[alison-anonymous]

club snubbed ♡ t.l.

Club Snubbed ♡ Tom Lucitor Imagine 

Requested: @technolilly thank you so much Darling for requesting this, I hope you enjoy it!❤❤

Warnings: Fluff, angry Tom, FEEL THE HEAT IN THIS ONE MY DARLINGS

Summary: Star and Marco bring the reader to a fancy ball with them, and Tom (Reader’s long term crush) begins “club snubbing” the reader the entire time. Reader can’t figure out why he’s ignoring her until Pony Head and Star explain to her and convince her to do the same thing, but things get a little heated when Reader decides to dance with Marco... 

♡♡♡ 

You want to know what one of the worst feelings in the world is?

No, it is not shoving yourself full of chocolate fondue because you already accomplished that not even an hour ago. It’s being invited to a dance with these high hopes of getting to finally win over your crush for five years and he ignores you the entire time. 

It all started with Star bringing you and Marco along with her to some fancy ball that you had never once heard of during your time on earth. But she was your best friend after all, so even with some convincing about her trying to get you and Tom together, you were already strapped in for the ride. Even Marco got a little excited about getting to wear his new tux to the dance, but you had a feeling that deep down he was planning on trying to make a move on Star tonight ;) 

Anywho, things were going amazing for the first couple of hours. You were mingling, dancing, stuffing your faces with the h’orderves table. Well, some people tried to eat the table, but you know what I mean. When Tom showed up as fashionably late, you felt your heart stop. Maybe this was your chance! Maybe tonight could be the time where you could finally get him to see you as more than a friend. But then when the dancing began, things started taking a turn for the worse...

“I don’t understand,” you muttered, stabbing another mashmallow with the fondue fork angrily. But before you could shove it into your mouth, Ponyhead was quick to fly by and snatch it out of your hands. “Hey! That’s my feelings that I’m supposed to eat!” 

Ponyhead spat out the stick back onto the platter and shook her head, starry eyes sparkling. “Girl, come on. We both know what’s going on here. You’re upset because Tom’s club snubbing you.”

Your eyes widened as you turned just in time for Star to throw her arm around your shoulders, chiming in on the conversation that she had obviously been eavesdropping on. “Ooh yeah baby!”

“Club snubbing?” You asked in confusion. Ponyhead and Star exchanged a knowing glance.

“Club snubbing is when someone basically ignores you to get them to fall in love with you. Everyone knows that, doll,” Ponyhead explained, nudging your head to look over at where Tom was. You watched carefully as the girl he was dancing with dipped him, and as he rose up, you swore he was staring at you the entire time.

“Oh my god.” 

“Yep, he got it bad,” Star giggled. 

“How do I fix it?” You asked, your heart already beginning to pound at you being in the exact same room as him. Star and Ponyhead giggled once more, each pushing their cheeks against yours as you all stared across the dance floor.

“Do you want to do things the fun way?”

♡♡♡

According to Star and Ponyhead, the fun way was just another way of saying giving him a taste of his own medicine. You had been forced to dance with literally almost every single guy in the room (even one who constantly stepped on your toes) and not once did Tom even glance your way. You weren’t sure which was more infuriating, the fact that he wasn’t noticing you or the fact that you felt like he didn’t care. 

It was a mix between you trying to control your emotions so you didn’t cry and some pushing from Star and Ponyhead to go to your last resort: dancing with Marco. He was pretty excited to dance, mostly because no one else had asked him and he hadn’t yet had enough rounds of punch to have the courage to ask Star. Marco was a pretty good dancer, and due to the new tux he was sporting, you both didn’t look too shabby out there together as he guided you through a casual waltz. 

“You going to do it?” You teased him slightly. His nervous brown eyes found Star in the crowd, talking to some of the other Mewmans and a little admiration tingled in his eyes.

“I want to, but... It’s not as easy as I thought it would be.” You gave him a sympathetic smile as he twirled you. 

“Hey, you’re an amazing guy and I’m sure that-”

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER!” 

Before you knew it, all you could see was fire. The drapes covering the windows had flames lapping their way up the walls. The punch table now had some dancing fire to compensate for the lack of flavor. And Tom was levitating above the two of you, his eyes a white hot yellow and his mouth embedded with a deep scowl. It didn’t take you too long to realize that he was jealous. 

YES! You internally cried. You got back at him!

And then he threw fire at Marco. “Tom!” You screamed in horror as Marco quickly swiveled the both of you out of harm’s way. “Stop!”

You turned back around to face him, e/c orbs pleading to him as he prepped to throw another fireball at your friend. Of course you had wanted to get back at him, but not like this. You had never seen him this angry before and while it did make you feel good knowing that he cared, it also worried you about him setting the whole place on fire. 

In a matter of minutes, you were able to successfully lure Tom down to the ground and out onto one of the ballroom’s patios where the two of you could be alone. Tightly shutting the doors behind you, you made your way over to the railing and sighed, running a hand through your hair. Tom slowly made his way over to you and gave you a sorrowful glance.

“I’m... I’m sorry, Y/n... I don’t know what came over me. I guess I just-”

“You got jealous,” you finished for him, giving him a sideways glance with your half open eyelids. A soft smirk coated your lips as you noted the irony of it all. His beautiful ruby red eyes widened and he opened his mouth to defend himself, but you playfully nudged him. “Admit it. You were.”

“Alright fine,” he scoffed, but a smile still played across his lips. “Maybe I was... a little bit jealous. But you were too!”

“Only because you were ignoring me,” you crossed your arms over your chest and stared across the skyline. Your smile slowly faded. “...I really like you, Tom... But I get it if you have interests for someone else.”

His eyes widened once more to the size of saucers. No way, no way could the girl that he’s had a crush on for years now have the same feelings for him. 

“No! I really like you too! I just... didn’t know how to deal with my emotions so I tried... ignoring you.” He looked away from you, obviously embarrassed. You gently rested your hand on his arm and gave him a warm, knowing smile.

I guess love really does work in strange ways. 

♡ a.a.

[regrettablewritings]

Preferences: Guilty Pleasures

Characters: Okoye, Lucifer Morningstar, Dewey Finn, Peter B. Parker, Ahkmenrah

Okoye

Okoye is straightforward and stony upon first impressions. And, admittedly, even afterward. The only real difference is that, if one gets to know her better, they might find shock in the fact that in spite of her appearance, she Dora leader actually likes sweets. However, it’s not sweet things in general that Okoye feels guilty for enjoying: It’s Starbucks.

Starbucks is the antithesis of everything Okoye is associated with: Supremely un-Wakandan, a chain establishment, and overall just not worth the absurd cost. Not to mention superbly unhealthy when compared to the rest of a fighter’s typical diet. But yet you can bet that every time she needs to go out of the country or off-continent, there’s an invasive shout for joy at the possibility that she might be able to get her hands on a Frappucino (followed by an internal scolding).

She can’t even explain exactly why she likes it; there are plenty of good, even healthier sweet things back in Wakanda -- heck, back anywhere else!

But it’s a bit like when someone craves the cheap taste of school pizza over a legit pie cooked in a stone hearth: She just loves the sugary sweetness, the application of whipped cream to an already tooth-rottingly saccharine icy drink, the addition of chocolate. But Bast, she also hates it. But ever since T’Challa practically shoved a grande cup of caramel frappucino into her hands, she hasn’t felt entirely the same.

Against her better judgement, she’s more or less unintentionally tried 45% of the menu drink-wise. She doesn’t particularly care much for the food part of the establishment, though if she should ever find herself in one during the fall, she might indulge in a chunky slice of pumpkin bread under the conviction that it’s healthy enough for being gourd-related. Never mind that it’s just a cinnamon mixture with more sugar than actual pumpkin-derived anything.

Really, of all those mentioned on this list, Okoye is the one who probably feels the most disappointed in herself whenever she indulges in her guilty pleasure: It’s a betrayal to her patriotism, to her dignity, and to her attempts to eat healthy. But damn, if this type of betrayal doesn’t taste so addicting . . .

Lucifer Morningstar

The thing about Lucifer is that it’s actually a bit hard for him to feel any regrets over liking anything; he’s the Devil, after all, so his whole thing is about embracing the things that make you feel good. And even besides that, he’s mostly managed to skate by in his time on Earth by categorizing things as Stuff He Likes, Stuff He Tolerates, Stuff He Doesn’t Bother With, and Stuff Humans Seem to Enjoy But He Doesn’t Quite Get. It’s a tad restricted of a system but you can’t argue with results.

However, just because something is difficult doesn’t mean that it’s impossible. The Devil can, in fact, recognize absurdity in liking certain things. Hence why, to a point, he’s fallen prey to his own bizarre pleasures: The Devil has guilty pleasures, and it’s in stupid YouTube videos, Vine, and TikTok.

After he finally drank the Kool-Aid and got himself a smart phone, it was only a matter of time before Lucifer fell down the rabbit hole that is YouTube prank videos and strange uploads about nonsense and animal humor. It was also only a matter of time before he found himself stumbling into Vine compilations. The Celestial is terrifically mystified by the creative power of humans, managing to tell entire stories and peak comedy in only a span of seven seconds. But he’s also quite loathe to have realized it’s been long defunct by the time he’s discovered it.

He’s even more loathe to find himself making references in his daily life: He has actually quietly blurted out, “I sure hope it does” in response to seeing a Road Work Ahead sign, causing Chloe some confusion (and Lucifer lots of embarrassment). He has referred to a culprit as “Jared, Age 19″. Since discovering Vine, there has been at least one night wherein he and a bed mate were sitting there with barbecue sauce on his tiddies, but that was by sheer coincidence.

But eventually the Vine compilation well dried up, and the inevitable transfer over to TikTok happened. And Luci honestly doesn’t know what to make of TikTok. He would describe it as Vine’s Molly-addicted cousin based on its obsession with dancing, but the dances are so stationary that even that doesn’t seem quite right. The videos on the platform are also much more . . . bizarre. And some of them admittedly trigger a fight-or-flight response in him, to which he always chooses the third option of freezing if only so he can keep watching the train wreck unfold before his eyes.

The trouble with TikTok, he’ll admit to himself, is that it’s not as easy to find iconic content the same way he could with Vine. However, this isn’t to say that he hasn’t found anything worth watching over and over and over again . . .

(Let’s just say the “Wolf Pack Compilation” lives in his head rent-free, and he’s both too amused by it and too overwhelmed by its vibe to try and evict it.)

Dewey Finn

Dewey is . . . a special case. Given that he associates messy living and indulging in one’s pleasure a part of the rocker lifestyle, he’s generally quick to embrace whatever makes him happy. He’s very upfront about his interests and is arguably almost incapable of feeling shame. But it’s in there: Deep down. No, not in himself -- in his Spotify. Specifically, a Spotify account made on an email he never uses because it was made specifically to create this separate, uber secret playlist.

One marked “Actual Musical Bops.”

Dewey hates musicals: They’re cheesy, uninspired, gaudy, ridiculous, totally aimed at chicks with weird fantasies that he could never aspire to, and the music is just overall unimpressive. And yet, somehow, against his music elitist nature, a handful have managed to slip through the cracks. At the very least, a handful of numbers have clawed their way past his defenses and into his ear, where they now live rent-free.

In spite of his best efforts, the problems are that he’s a New Yorker, so it’s inevitable that he hears a song or two; and also that, as an instructor (to wealthy New York tweens whose families can afford frequent tripes to the Great White Way, no less), he’s definitely going to wind up hearing about some shows and their stand-out numbers: Against his will, he knows the lyrics to “My Shot”; he has cried in the secrecy of his apartment to “When I Grow Up”; in the never-necessary reason he needs to remember how many minutes there are in a year, he sings it inside his head; hell, he’s even found himself trying to figure out the electric guitar riff from “The Phantom of the Opera” during his down time.

What’s all the more embarrassing is that, given how he presents himself as a music elitist, there’s just no way he can come back from this if anyone were to know. He has to catch himself when he finds himself humming “Johanna” in the teacher’s lounge. He scowls at himself when he can’t sleep and gives in and starts playing “No One is Alone.” He wants to kick his thick ass every time he realizes he’s excited to have stumbled across a “slime tutorial” on YouTube, this one with better quality than the last. The reason he actually put a password on his phone wasn’t out of privacy like a sensible person would, but out of a need to make sure that no one ever found out that he had downloaded the entire Beetlejuice soundtrack, including jankily-recorded songs that never made it to the official cast recording for whatever reason!

And should anyone ever find out about any of this, Dewey has a plan: “Oh, I’m doing research. I’m studying these songs so I can give the kids a lesson on what not to do as actually competent musicians.”

But the lesson would never actually come. Mainly because he keeps prolonging his “research” . . .

He’s also developed a bit of a soft spot for My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic due to some students gushing about it, but he would rather sooner die than ever be associated with the term “brony.”

Peter B. Parker

Peter is at a point where he’s too tired to really care about the idea of guilty pleasures. The way he sees it, there are bigger priorities at stake than worrying about someone finding out about your love of some hokey activity or food or form of entertainment.

Besides, he’s a New Yorker: There’s way weirder stuff for people to just not pay any real attention to. Hence why he thinks nothing of his bizarre eating habits. And no, this isn’t referring to his disastrous appetite: This is about his tendency to eat food with his hands. Foods that, well, he really should probably utilize eating utensils for.

To be fair, this habit has always existed in him in some form or another, especially since, as Spider-Man, he often needs to eat food on the go. But during the time he spent living the life of a depressed bachelor, it came out in full force. On the rare occasion he wasn’t eating a food that deserved to be eaten by hand, he often found himself loathing the idea of doing the dishes afterward. There would be days he’d feel only slightly less depressed; enough to make a box of Kraft Mac n Cheese in the pot, but not enough to avoid cutting out the middle man.

He’s thankful the craptastic apartment wasn’t also see-through because if it were, he’s positive his neighbors would’ve thought they were bearing witness to a man’s breakdown as he wept into a pot of macaroni and cheese, his hand full of the stuff, while wearing a Spider-Man costume. (And, to be fair, they actually would be.)

In addition to this, there were also those nights where he would be prepared to actually tuck in to a plate of spaghetti, only for some crime going on elsewhere in the city to drag him away. By the time he’d return, the plate would’ve been cold and his energy too depleted to want to even dream about cleaning more than he already had to.

The great news is that he’s thankfully done a 180, now able and willing (if begrudgingly) to clean up after himself. But bad news is that this feral man will still eat a fully-loaded baked potato like an apple. In a park. In front of women and children. He’s just too tired to care anymore. He’s aware of the guilt in this as a concept, but he’s also aware that he needs to take whatever happiness he can get out of whatever he does. And if that means eating everything by hand, then so be it!

Ahkmenrah

Funnily enough, Ahkmenrah doesn’t seem to experience much of any shame for enjoying the things most might feel the need to hide: He’s constantly curious and has missed out on a lot over the centuries, so why should he feel bad for wanting to indulge in them? Celebrity gossip is just a more fun version of the palace gossip he’d grown up hearing as a boy; reality TV is like watching a play, but with much more fights, less deaths, and more faulty romances; and sloppy meatball subs are like a feast for a man of his time!

Besides, he’s a king: Kings shouldn’t have to feel embarrassment over what the common folk might think.

And yet . . . It took some time, but eventually Ahkmenrah did experience it: Guilt in his pleasures.

He couldn’t even recall where it had all started. Maybe he was searching for more content to swallow after the most recent season of his new favorite show had ended? Whatever the case, he wound up biting off more than he could chew when he stumbled upon . . . fanfiction.

The adorable yet sad thing is that he didn’t even think anything of it at first. It wasn’t until he brought up a ship he’d invested his last few nights awake exploring on the computer: Nobody knew what the crap he was talking about, so of course he felt the need to explain it. But the more he talked, the more perplexed his friends looked. And the more he could feel his cheeks and ears burn.

Oh, he thought. Is this . . . embarrassment? Is that what this feels like? Oh, this is just foul.

Thankfully, nobody pressured him to keep talking about it, but the poor king sure as heck didn’t feel much of a desire to talk any further about it. But he needed to talk to somebody about his newly acquired “feels” as those online were calling them.

Joining fanfiction-oriented sites was the next obvious step, of course, but he’s experienced mixed feelings about it: On one hand, it’s nice to talk with people who share similar views and excitement about a fictional couple. But on the other, the digital wars that have broken out both disturb him and bring out the worst in him.

Like, of course there are bigger things to deal with than whether or not So-So is better off with Him-Ham, but if you truly think that Blah-Blah and Himhaw are a healthy relationship, then you can go do a service and bury yourself in the desert sands to provide substance to the hungry beetles with your flesh --

Suffice to say, a lot of the guilt in this pleasure seems to come from the fact that Ahk can get a little too emotionally invested if the work is really good. He tries to limit his interactions to commenting and praising certain works, and encouraging content creators. However, he’s also contemplated contributing his own pieces of fiction to the fandom . . .

[awthredestim]

Commission for @fernindt It was cold.  Lance Corporal Sunny Days blinked dully, staring at the dusty ground in front of her muzzle.  The dust of Epsilon Sigma Delta was a dusty grey, save for where some dark patches of moisture had soaked into the thirsty soil.  That seemed odd to the guardsmare. It was a good thing Commissar Cheerilee wasn’t here.  The horrible mare would probably freeze Lance Corporal Sunny Days with a disapproving glare and order her to her hooves with some platitude about 'only in death does duty end'.  And frankly, Lance Corporal Sunny Days didn't feel like standing just yet.  Celestia, but it was cold... Sunny coughed wetly, shivering against the unnatural chill in the air.  She shook her head and tried to concentrate.  She was forgetting something important. Something to do with the wet patches.  Was it raining, finally, after two months of sun-baked rock and blast furnace gales?  That might explain the cold. “Still alive, Lance Corporal?” barked a sharp voice at her side.  Sunny Days froze and looked up, struggling to focus on the blur of red and black which had floated into view.  After a moment it resolved into the grim features of the regimental commissar, the mare’s scarred face set as always in its unforgiving near-scowl. Buck. The commissar had caught her.  Sunny’s back ached dully at the thought of another unavoidable lashing.  She still bore the marks from the last time the earth pony had applied the whip so expertly— and then awarded then-sergeant Sunny Days with a demotion and three weeks of latrine duty, effective immediately.

Sunny tried to rise, but flopped back onto the soaked dust like a sack of parsnips.  Her throat was so dry.  “M-ma’am, it’s not what it—” Cheerilee waited for the mare’s wet coughing to stop, then crouched to speak into her ear with surprising gentleness.  “Lance Corporal Sunny Days.  Focus on me.” Despite the numbing cold, Sunny felt an icy tingle run down her spine.  The commissar seemed almost… sad?  “Yes ma’am.   F-focussing.” “You have served the Princesses well, Lance Corporal.”  The dark mare reached slowly into her storm coat and withdrew a bulky, squat shape— her bolt pistol. “B-but—”  Sunny’s sluggish mind turned over.  She blinked dust out of her eyes and looked over her withers.  Her guts didn’t churn at the sight.  They couldn’t— not sprayed across the landscape like they were.  How was she even still alive?  She— Thinking became an impossibility as the pain finally found the wailing guardsmare.  Her eyes rolled, bloody foam frothing at her mouth as her head whipped back to focus on her commissar.  Cheerilee’s mouth tightened— as did her hoof on the bolt pistol’s trigger.  The screaming cut off, leaving a blessed, desolate silence. Cheerilee let out a breath and re-holstered her pistol, then deftly wiped the blood from her muzzle.  The gray dust turned it into an ugly smear.  It had been… so long since she had rested.  Perhaps she could lay down for just a moment. “No…  Not just yet.  Only in death does duty end.”  An uncharacteristic smile tugged at the corners of the earth pony’s scarred mouth.  Reaching down, she secured the dead Lance Corporal’s ident tags, then moved on to the rest of the shattered squad.  If she hurried, she might be finish before the next attack.

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Sometimes I feel bad for the people who commission me. Don't get me wrong, it's not related to the drawing itself

(I think? Maybe? Please let me know!)

but to the after-drawing, the upload and sharing part, the moment where I burst into their office slamming the drawing on the table and go

"GIVE ME A FLAVOUR TEXT TO GO WITH IT!"

and they lift their hands up like they're in a gangster movie as they go

"I just wanted a drawing, I'm no writer-OH PLEASE GOD DON'T HURT ME I HAVE CHILDREN!"

and looking at it from this perspective I realise I've been really rough on many of you lately. I'm an artist, not Stephen King's publisher, I have no right to demand a novella worth of text from you guys.

But that being said, :iconfernindt: has been knocking it out of the park with the writing for these, so I hope you guys are looking forward to some really good flavour text, and perhaps some alright drawings. One day I will explain why I keep putting myself down all the time, it's not out of some sense of false modesty, trust me. It's a bit more complicated like that.

Please, let me know what you think of it in the comments. I appreciate and every single one I receive.

You can check the WiPs over here.