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doumadono · 7 months

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Warnings: violence, viking!Dabi, viking!Shoto, earl!All Might, viking!Hawks, viking!Natsuo, fem!reader, viking themes, viking!Bakugo, viking!Kirishima, blood and injuries, gore, childbirth, Shoto is a massive jerk

Summary: months after Touya's death, you finally convince Hawks to take you to the place where your beloved man passed away. Upon returning, overwhelmed by unbearable sorrow, you give birth prematurely, and it's clear who the father is. Little did you know, an envoy saw Shoto and brought some important news

Word count: circa 8,4k

A/N: if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, please let me know ♥

KVITRAVN - MHA VIKING AU • MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER • NEXT CHAPTER

ACT VI - THE PAST NEVER DIES

7 MONTHS LATER

Lying in bed, the white sheets felt crisp against your skin, almost blinding when you first opened your eyes. A gentle smile adorned your lips as a powerful, calloused hand reached out, delicately brushing a strand of your Y/H/C hair off your cheek. Turquoise eyes, wise and filled with affection, met yours. Touya smiled, his long fingers tracing the contours of your face.

"Do you know you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life?" he rasped, his voice carrying the remnants of a fading dream.

You nodded, recalling the numerous times he had expressed the same sentiment before.

"I mean it," Touya insisted. "I always thought Christian women were average, but you, my love, you're beyond beauty. You're a goddess. I can't take my eyes off you."

A soft smile played on your lips as you took his hand in yours, bringing it to your lips to kiss the place where scarred skin met healthy flesh.

Touya hummed, his gaze fixed on you. "I still can't comprehend why you love me. I held you captive. I ripped you out of your land. And I look like a monster."

Frowning, you moved, sitting up with a quilt pressed to your naked chest. "Stop it. You're not a monster in any way. Yes, our beginning was rough, but looking back, I am grateful you did it. There was nothing waiting for me there but an arranged marriage to some older man and a life of ordinary domesticity, taking care of kids and a homestead."

Touya grinned softly, his turquoise eyes holding a warmth that spoke of relief. "I'm happy you're not holding any grudges."

Shaking your head, you moved closer to him, laying your head against his scarred chest adorned with staples. "You're not only my lover. You're my best friend," you whispered, pressing a tender kiss to his chest.

His arm wrapped around your shoulders, fingers slowly rubbing the naked flesh, his quiet hum resonating within his chest with every breath he took. "So are you. You're the only one I trust."

Feeling his fingers lift your chin, you met his gaze before he pulled you even closer, brushing his slightly chapped lips against yours.

"Always," he whispered after breaking the kiss.

Tilting your head, you looked at him quizzically. "Hmmm?"

"I'll always love you, no matter what," he declared, his words filled with a sincerity that lingered in the air.

Leaning in to kiss him again, you felt his arm, still wrapped around you, suddenly go limp. Frowning, you looked down at him, only to find a pool of blood where Touya, your beloved man, once lay. He vanished like a fleeting mist.

Your heart pounded within your chest, a sudden fear gripped you as you called his name with all your might. "Touya! Touya!!!"

The room darkened, as if happiness had fled through the window, replaced by an ominous void. A sudden, searing pain gripped your abdomen. Clutching your stomach, you clenched your teeth, hissing as the unbearable pain washed over you. Trembling with waves of agony, you began screaming, choking on your own tears. "Touya! Save me, please!"

And then, abruptly, you woke up, gasping for air, the vivid nightmare fading into the recesses of your mind.

You looked aside, your gaze settling on Shoto sleeping peacefully by your side, one hand slipped under his head.

A scornful glare crossed your features as you pondered the man who had used you so many times, who hadn't hesitated to raise both hand and voice at you, the man who forced you to become his concubine. It baffled you that he could sleep so soundly.

How could he find peace in slumber when his hands were stained with the blood of his own father and older brother? The memories of his mistreatment of Natsuo, treating him like a discarded piece of trash on a daily basis, flashed before your eyes. You couldn't comprehend how he managed to find solace in sleep, bearing the weight of so many innocent souls on his shoulders. He had killed his own warriors, loyal to his father, without a second thought. The toll on Skjaldvargr was evident, with the population dwindling by half in the past month alone.

Shoto's apparent solution, letting cutthroats and offscourings from other settlements live among his subjects, only fueled your frustration. The ease with which he dismissed the lives lost and the suffering inflicted upon his own people left you in disbelief. As you watched him sleep, a bitter taste filled your mouth, knowing that the man beside you was responsible for a cascade of pain and death that stained the land.

With a heavy sigh, you touched your round belly, feeling the slight kick from your unborn child. "Hush, hush, my sweet child," you whispered, a tinge of sadness adorning your voice. "It's okay, we're good."

The revelation of your pregnancy had shaken your world. Torn between love for the life growing beneath your heart and a deep loathing, your emotions were a tumultuous storm. Shoto, forcing you to lay with him shortly after you lost your innocence to Touya, clouded the paternity of the child. The uncertainty haunted you, and you couldn't be sure whose blood flowed through the veins of the little one.

Praying dearly to Freya, you wished the child belonged to Dabi, not Shoto. The complexities of your emotions were woven into the fabric of each whispered prayer, as you cradled the tiny life within you, caught in the tangled web of past choices and an uncertain future.

Shoto stirred by your side, slowly opening his mismatched eyes, casting you a cold glance. "Why are you not sleeping?" he asked with an air of indifference.

Rubbing your belly, you spared him a brief glance. "The baby was kicking," you lied.

With a growl, Shoto sat up and pushed your hand off your belly, replacing it with his own. He rubbed soothing circles around the bump. "It's okay, little one, daddy's here."

A gag reflex surged within you upon hearing those words. Excusing yourself, you pushed his hand off your tummy and swung your legs off the bed, slowly getting up. "I need fresh air," you said simply, wrapping a thick bear fur around your shoulders.

Shoto scoffed. "You should be resting, Y/N. If you don't want to care about yourself, that's fine. I couldn't care less. But my baby needs some peace. Don't be fucking long," he growled, laying his head back on the pillow.

Without another word, you left the room as you sought solace in the cool night air, the thick bear fur offering little comfort against the chill that now surrounded you.

The guards in the throne chamber greeted you with acknowledging nods as you passed by.

The night air was cold, and tiny snowflakes swirled on a chilly northern breeze as you made your way through the Great Hall.

With a heavy sigh, you rested your back against the wall of the longhouse, your breath visible in the cold air with each exhale. The silence of the night surrounded you until a familiar voice broke through.

"My lady? Are you okay?" The figure emerged from the shadows, and before you could see his face, you nodded.

"Yes, Keigo. It's okay."

"Shall I wake the earl up?" the blonde-haired man asked, finally stopping beside you.

You shook your head. "No. We just talked."

As much as you harbored resentment towards Hawks for blindly following all of Shoto's orders, you knew the young man didn't have much of a choice. Natsuo had shared stories with you. Hawks, being older than Shoto and one of Endeavor's most loyal warriors, spent a significant amount of time around the young prince. He taught Shoto how to wield an axe and sword, how to fight, and how to survive in the cruel world. Endeavor's lack of time for his own children made Shoto grow fond of his older "colleague," and vice versa.

"You can't sleep again?" he asked, noting the weariness in your eyes.

You nodded quietly, your expression revealing the traces of a restless night. "Yeah, another nightmare with Touya," you confessed softly.

At the mention of Touya's name, a wave of emotions washed over you, and a few tears rolled down your pale cheeks. In an effort to regain composure, you bit your own knuckle, a physical anchor against the overwhelming memories.

Hawks watched you with a heavy heart, his concern deepening. “My lady, maybe…”

You shook your head in response. "Keigo, can I ask you for a favor?" you asked him.

The blonde-haired man furrowed his brows upon hearing your words but nodded slowly.

"Keigo, can you take me to the place where Touya died?" you asked, your voice steady but carrying the weight of the emotions you had long suppressed.

Hawks looked at you, concern etched across his features and a slight frown crossing his forehead. "Why would you want to go there, my lady?"

Taking a deep breath, you met his gaze. "I need closure, Keigo. For months, I've been haunted by the memories. I can't move on until I confront the reality of where it happened. I just... I just need to see this place. I want to pray there. I just... I just need it."

He sighed, realizing the depth of your pain. "Are you sure about this? It won't be easy, my lady, as the earl surely won't let you go."

You nodded, your eyes reflecting a mix of sorrow and resolution. "I have to do this. It's the only way I'll find the closure I've been seeking for months."

Keigo stood before you, torn between his loyalty to his earl and the plea you bestowed upon him. The weight of your words seemed to reopen old wounds that he had long tried to bury. "I'll see what I can do, my lady," he finally said, nodding his head with a conflicted expression.

He left just like that, leaving you alone in the quiet night.

Alone, you rubbed your tummy softly, seeking solace in the warmth beneath your hand. "Save us, Freya," you whispered as you hoped for protection and guidance in the tumultuous journey that lay ahead. “Save us from Shoto.”

7 MONTHS EARLIER

When Touya woke up, all he could think of was pain. Unbearable, burning pain that seemed to spread all over his body, with a particular intensity in his legs, even though they mostly felt numb.

The first moment he opened his eyes, he found himself in an unfamiliar place. Strange faces surrounded him, leaning down, their hands touching his face and shoulders. A potent herbal scent enveloped him, making him want to cough and vomit.

The women treating his wounds seemed a little scared, their eyes betraying a mix of apprehension and discomfort at his appearance. This made Touya not only feel uneasy but also fueled his desire to leave this unfamiliar place as soon as possible.

One day, when Touya awoke to find Earl Yagi Toshinorison by his bedside, he immediately understood his surroundings. He was in Toshinorison's settlement, known as Hvinverjadalr.

"It's good to see you awake," Earl Toshinorison greeted with a warm smile as he approached the young man lying in bed. "Are you feeling well today?"

Dabi, still recovering, looked up at the earl and responded with a hint of sorrow in his voice, "I feel pain, my lord. The wounds are healing, but it will take time."

Earl Toshinorison gazed sternly at Dabi, his eyes betraying a mix of curiosity and authority. He raised his hand, gesturing to the maids who were tidying the chamber. "Leave us," he ordered with a commanding tone.

The maids exchanged uneasy glances before hurriedly exiting the room, leaving the Earl and Dabi alone in the dimly lit chamber.

Silence lingered for a moment before Dabi broke it. "What happened?" he asked, his memory clouded with fragments of being sent north by his father, along with his younger brother and a contingent of warriors.

Earl Toshinorison, known for his calculating mind, cocked an eyebrow, considering Dabi's question. The earl regarded the injured man with a measured expression, his voice calm. "You were found by two of my warriors under a cliff, accompanied by the lifeless body of a massive wolf," he disclosed, his eyes studying the scarred features of the man before him.

The revelation hung in the air, a puzzle waiting to be solved. The details surrounding the scene raised Dabi's questions. "I... I don't remember..." he whispered.

"I need you to tell me everything you remember," the older man commanded, his voice firm yet tinged with curiosity.

Dabi, looking perplexed, met the earl's gaze. "The only thing I remember is being sent by my father north, along with my younger brother and our warriors, my lord."

The earl cocked an eyebrow, a calculated look in his eyes. "And who's your father?"

"Endeavor is my father."

Toshinorison jolted up from his chair, a frown crossing his forehead as he processed the unexpected revelation. "Endeavor? You're Endeavor's son?"

Dabi nodded solemnly. "I am. My name's Touya. I'm Endeavor's eldest son."

The revelation lingered in the air, casting a shadow over the room. The gravity of the truth seemed to echo through the walls.

Toshinorison sat back down, his gaze focused on Dabi's face as he spoke, "I'd never thought in my wildest dreams I'd have one of the most skilled warriors of Denmark under my roof." A soft smile played on the earl's lips, a genuine appreciation for the warrior's capabilities evident in his eyes.

Dabi nodded, acknowledging the earl's words. Gratitude shone in his eyes as he thanked Yagi. However, he wasted no time in getting to the pressing matter on his mind. "When will I be able to return back to my settlement?" he inquired, his tone a blend of eagerness and caution, uncertain of what the future held.

Earl Toshinorison looked down at Dabi, a solemn expression clouding his features. "Touya, your injuries are serious," he began, his voice carrying a weight of concern. "I won't allow you to leave until your body is fully healed."

Dabi met the earl's gaze, a mix of defiance and frustration in his eyes. "I appreciate the hospitality, my lord, but I've got responsibilities back at my settlement. I need to return."

The earl nodded understandingly. "I comprehend your predicament, but I cannot permit you to depart in such a state. Your health is of utmost importance. Once you're well, I'll personally ensure you're escorted safely back to your settlement."

Dabi's scowl deepened, but he couldn't deny the genuine concern in the earl's eyes. "And how long is that going to take?"

Toshinorison sighed, his gaze unwavering. "As long as it takes, Touya. I won't risk your life by sending you out prematurely. Your well-being is my priority now. With broken legs that would take several months to heal."

Dabi's frustration erupted. "A few months?!" he exclaimed, sitting up with a grunt, his face contorted with pain. "I don't have that much time, my lord. They must've thought I died."

Earl Toshinorison gently pushed the scarred man's shoulder, compelling him to lay back down. "Easy. I promise I'll send an envoy to let your people and father know you're alive," the older man reassured. "But, as I said, you need to stay with us a little longer. Once you'll be able to walk, I'll admit my best warriors to help you regain your fighting prowess."

Dabi nodded gratefully as earl Yagi got up. "Thank you, my lord."

Earl Toshinorison smiled faintly, nodding his head before he exited the chamber, leaving Dabi alone with his thoughts.

It took Hawks a few days to set everything in motion for the trip with you. The blonde-haired Viking hesitated to bring it up with his earl, struggling to find the courage.

Fortunately, the situation became more manageable when Shoto departed to meet earl Gizzor, who resided in the northern part of Sweden.

This afforded Hawks the opportunity to make the necessary arrangements without drawing undue attention to your impending journey.

Natsuo attempted to dissuade you from the idea, expressing concern about the risk involved in such a trip given your advanced stage of pregnancy. However, you were adamant and chose not to heed his advice.

One afternoon, the thralls assisted you in donning warm clothes, while Natsuo helped Keigo prepare a horse – a stallion that had once belonged to Touya.

"Don't try anything," Endeavorson snarled quietly, ensuring the proper placement of a snaffle on the stallion.

Keigo frowned at the younger man. "What was that supposed to mean?"

"I don't trust you," Natsuo replied, his expression tense. "I expect you to take good care of Y/N during this trip."

"Of course I will," Keigo retorted, his brow furrowed. "I serve the earl as best as I can."

"Of course, you do," Natsuo growled, his gaze intense. "If a single hair falls off her head..."

"Then what, my lord?" Keigo asked, his tone challenging. "What will you do?"

"I'll kill you." The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the seriousness of the responsibility Keigo now carried for your safety.

Keigo scoffed and casually walked closer to Natsuo. "Don't forget, my lord, that earl Shoto ordered me to take care of his concubine," he reminded with a wry tone. "So, do not fret, she's under good care."

As Keigo delivered his reassurance, you left the longhouse and headed towards the stable, where you found the men. "I'm ready," you announced, a sense of determination in your voice as you prepared for whatever lay ahead.

Keigo assisted you onto the horse, ensuring you were comfortable in the saddle. Soon, he mounted his own mare, a skilled rider at ease with his steed.

Natsuo walked over to you, his touch soft as he stroked your knee. "Be careful, Y/N. Stay close to him," he urged, casting a glance towards Keigo.

The hawk-eyed warrior, however, shook his head disapprovingly, silently expressing his disagreement with Natsuo's wry comment.

You nodded at Natsuo, promising to stay out of trouble.

Endeavorson acknowledged with a subtle nod and moved aside.

Hawks took the reins, urging his horse forward, and you followed closely behind.

The ride stretched across nearly two days, each passing hour marked by your repeated requests to halt. The biting cold gnawed at your bones, and bouts of dizziness swept over you, making it challenging to endure the relentless journey. The unforgiving weather seemed determined to test your resilience, forcing frequent pauses as you battled against the elements.

The landscape unfolded before you in a blur, a monotonous panorama of snow-covered terrain and desolate wilderness. The horses pressed on, their breath forming misty clouds in the frigid air. The repetitive rhythm of hooves against the frozen ground echoed the weariness that settled in your bones.

Each break served as a temporary respite from the relentless cold, a chance to regain your bearings before the journey resumed.

The trip passed mostly in silence, a thick tension hanging in the air. You found yourself at a loss for words, unsure of what to tell Hawks. There were things you assumed he knew, things you suspected he did, and the unspoken assumptions lingered between you like a heavy fog.

The rhythmic sound of the horses' hooves filled the air as Hawks finally mustered the courage to breach the unspoken divide. "How is it between you and earl Shoto?" he asked, his voice cutting through the chilly silence.

You glanced at him, the weight of the unspoken hanging in the air. "Complicated," you replied, choosing a word that barely scratched the surface of the intricate web of emotions.

Hawks raised an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and concern in his gaze. "Complicated how?"

You scoffed at his question, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "Are you seriously asking me how it is with him? You well know how. He's ruthless, and it doesn't change when we're alone. No, instead, he's even worse than when we're around people. I know he doesn't care about me. All he cares about is power and the fact I might be pregnant with his child. If it turns out it's Touya's, I'm sure he'll order his men to kill me and the child. So, nothing good is awaiting me," your voice carried a heavy burden of sorrow. "Even if the child is his, I'm sure he'll take the kid away from me and exile me," you added, resignation coating your words. "Either way, I'm fucked up, Takami."

He nodded thoughtfully, the lines on his face deepening. "I see."

The quiet lingered again, the horses' hooves maintaining a steady rhythm. The unspoken truths hovered in the air.

Hawks finally stopped his horse and dismounted.

Your horse halted as well, and Keigo, with a silent understanding, moved to assist you off its back.

Hawks pointed his chin north, indicating a small prominence in the distance. "It's there," he said, gesturing with a subtle nod. Without further words, he began walking in that direction, and you followed, the crunching of snow beneath your boots filling your ears.

Hawks stopped at the top of a small hill, near a cliff. "That's where he fell," he explained, his gaze fixed on the spot below.

You hesitated, feeling the strength drain from your knees as you slowly approached the edge. As you looked down, the world seemed to blur, and a wave of emotions crashed over you, a mix of fear and sorrow.

Hawks reacted swiftly, rushing to you with concern etched on his face. He wrapped his hands around your frame, providing support and shielding you from the potential of falling.

The warmth of his touch and the protective embrace offered a fleeting sense of security amid the storm of uncertainties that surrounded you.

“Y/N,” Hawks whispered quietly. “Do you want to sit down?”

You shook your head, hot tears streaming down your cheeks. "I can't, Keigo... How... how could that have happened?" you asked him, your voice choked with disbelief as you clutched his forearm. "He is... he was a great warrior..." Strong sobs shook your body, the weight of the loss pressing down on you like an unbearable burden.

As you shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks, he felt the weight of your grief and the burden of his past deeds pressing on him. The realization of the consequences of his actions began to dawn on him, and he started to rethink the choices that led to this moment. A somber silence settled between you, echoing the heaviness of the loss and the reevaluation of past decisions in the cold air.

You slowly sank down to your knees, not minding the cold snow beneath you. Pressing your hands to your heart, you gasped for air, the freezing wind ruffling your Y/H/C hair. "I know I shouldn't be crying over a man who ripped me off my land, but I forgave him long ago, and I love him so dearly... I forever will," you whined, the weight of conflicting emotions pulling at your chest as grief and love intertwined in a tangled dance. "I just wish I could tell him how much he means to me... to us," you added, gently rubbing your baby bump. With an empty gaze, you looked into the white void surrounding you. "I don't exist without him. I don't want to live without him." The words carried a profound ache, echoing the depths of your love and the fear of a future without the one who had become an integral part of your existence.

"Y/N..." Hawks whispered, placing his reassuring hand to your shoulder. "We should go back."

You looked at Hawks, your eyes demanding answers. "What happened here, Keigo?" you asked directly, the urgency and concern evident in your tone. "I know... I just feel in my bones you're not honest with me."

Hawks hesitated, reluctance painted across his features. "It was nothing," he replied vaguely, avoiding direct eye contact.

"Nothing?" you scoffed, frustration lacing your words. "You can't just stand by and watch Shoto destroy your settlement. Are you blind, Hawks? Blind to the destruction he causes, the lives he ruins?" The disappointment in your voice was palpable. "I may not be one of you, I'm a foreigner, that's true, but even to me, Skjaldvargr became home, and it truly hurts to witness it sinking under the spearheading of Shoto. Keigo, we need to stop him," you dared to say through sobs, raising your head to look into the man's golden eyes.

You saw Keigo hesitating, and deep inside, you sensed that a part of him agreed with your words. However, he remained silent.

Lowering your head, hot tears gouged trails in your pale cheeks, falling to the frozen ground beneath you. "He's going to get rid of us all once he doesn't find a purpose for us anymore. Mark my words," you whispered, the weight of your foreboding sinking into the cold, silent air.

Keigo suddenly opened up, his usual guarded demeanor faltering for a moment. "Look, Y/N, it's not that I can't see the destruction. It's just... I'm bound by loyalty. Loyalty to Shoto, even to his father Endeavor, may Allfather let his soul rest. As a warrior, it's not easy to defy the orders of those you've sworn allegiance to. I've known Shoto for a long time, since he was a little child, and I watched him grow. He's a fierce leader, a warrior of unmatched skill. And I swear to my life that I'll protect him." He sighed, conflicted emotions evident in his eyes. "But I do see your point. I can't ignore the destruction, the pain he's causing. It's tearing me apart too."

You slowly got up, looking up at the warrior. "Keigo," you whispered, your voice filled with a newfound understanding. "At first, I thought you were just a dumb marionette in the hands of Shoto, and I hated you with every fiber of my being. But now, I understand. There's only one way you can be freed, and that's by defeating Shoto. Do you think that's what Endeavor would want for his people, for his home?"

Keigo lowered his head, a heavy sigh escaping him. "Y/N, I've questioned my loyalty before, but it's not that simple. Defeating Shoto would mean betraying everything I've known, the code I've lived by. It's not just about me; it's about the years of service, the bonds forged in battles. But," he hesitated, glancing at you, "I can't ignore the destruction he's causing."

You looked up at him with sparks of hope in your eyes. "We need to do something. I don't ask you to stab him in the back. All I ask of you is not to stand in my way when I finally get a plan."

Keigo shook his head, and after a heavy sigh, and a moment of silence, he nodded, a subtle agreement to support your efforts.

You rubbed his shoulder gently. "Thank you for showing your true self, Takami," you expressed, a subtle gratitude in your touch. Glancing back above your shoulder, you shivered, not only from the overwhelming cold but also from the uneasy feeling building within your gut. "Let's get back home, shall we?"

Keigo nodded, and you both slowly descended the little hill.

However, you suddenly stopped. "Can you wait by the horses? I want to make a prayer," you asked, looking at him earnestly.

He agreed with a solemn nod, giving you the space you needed for your moment of reflection.

You found yourself in a white void, tiny snowflakes swirling in the cold breeze all around you. As you began to pray, your words were carried away by the frigid wind. "Oh, Allfather, hear my plea," you whispered, your voice merging with the stillness of the snowy expanse. "Grant my beloved Touya the rest among his ancestors in Valhalla. May he find solace and honor in the halls of the fallen warriors. Allfather," you continued, the words escaping your lips in the icy stillness, "grant Touya and Endeavor a reunion among the hallowed halls of your kingdom. Let them feast among the brave warriors, reunited in the afterlife. May their spirits know peace and camaraderie beyond the troubles of this world. I beseech you, Allfather, heed this prayer and let their souls find solace, together."

Your gaze shifted to the heavens. "Freya, goddess of love and guidance, lend me your strength. Guide me through the tumultuous path ahead. Even though I used to be a Christian, I am willing to pay with my life if needed. I believe in the power of your wisdom and protection. Help me, guide me, as I navigate the challenges that lay ahead. In your names, I find strength and solace."

With that, you let the silent void envelop you once more, the cold winds carrying your earnest plea into the vast expanse of the unknown.

Keigo waited for you and walked you back to the horses. With a gentle assist, he helped you mount Dabi's stallion, and soon, the rhythmic beat of hooves echoed as you headed back home.

The wind howled through the icy landscape, biting into the skin of Bakugo and Kirishima as they sat outside their hut.

Suddenly Bakugo scoffed loudly, his eyes fixed on a figure limping through the dirt path towards the longhouse of earl Toshinorison.

The man, using wooden crutches, struggled with each step, pain etched across his scarred face.

Bakugo's disdain was evident in his voice. "Tsk! Look at that cripple! He's not even able to walk without wincing like a pathetic bitch."

Kirishima shot his friend a sharp look and retaliated by throwing a tiny rock in his direction. "Quit it, Bakugo. He's not a cripple, and stop calling him names. He's Endeavorson, one of the best warriors of our times. That's not manly, calling someone names just because they're facing a tough time. It's only been three months since we found him, and he's already escaped death, man. Give him time," Kirishima huffed, turning his attention back to polishing his battle axe.

Bakugo rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "Did you fall in love with him, huh, shitty hair?"

Kirishima shot him another glare. "Quit it, I said."

"Or what, idiot?!" Bakugo raised his voice, challenging his friend.

Kirishima rose from his spot, attaching his axe to his thick, leather belt. "Or I won't let you sleep near the fireplace tonight, man."

"Oi! Don't get offended at me just because of some stranger, Kirishima!" Bakugo retorted, but the red-haired man paid him no mind. Determination gleamed in Kirishima's eyes as he made his way towards the man walking with crutches.

"Hey," Kirishima called out, his voice cutting through the icy air. "How are you feeling, Endeavorson?" There was a genuine concern in his eyes, a stark contrast to the disdain Bakugo had shown earlier. Kirishima's approach was both unexpected and kind, catching Touya off guard.

Touya, unused to such warmth, stopped in his tracks, wooden crutches supporting his weakened frame. He looked at the red haired, tall man, surprise mingled with a hint of suspicion in his eyes. "I... I'm fine," he mumbled, unsure of how to respond to someone who wasn't avoiding him or hurling insults.

Kirishima didn't seem deterred by Touya's guarded response. Instead, he persisted, "No need to act tough. We," he pointed his head to the blonde haired man sitting near a little hut, "found you under those snowy cliffs, barely hanging on. Must've been a tough journey, huh? How's the healing going? You're not pushing yourself too hard, are you?"

Touya blinked, the concern in Kirishima's words sinking in. A small, appreciative smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he replied, "It's been... challenging. But I appreciate your concern. Not many here bother to ask how I'm doing, but I understand. They're afraid of me."

Kirishima nodded, a determined glint in his eyes. "Well, we're not all heartless. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask," he smiled. "So were you able to remind yourself what happened on that cliff, man?"

Touya's gaze flickered with a mix of gratitude and hesitation as he continued to walk, Kirishima keeping pace beside him. The snowy landscape seemed to stretch endlessly, mirroring the uncertainties that clouded Touya's memory. "I... I've been trying," Touya confessed, his voice carrying the weight of the struggle. "But it's all foggy, like trying to grasp onto a dream slipping through your fingers, you know? I remember the biting cold, the shadows, and then... nothing. It's frustrating."

Kirishima nodded understandingly, his rugged features softened with empathy. "Must've been a hell of an ordeal. But you made it out alive, and that counts for something, right?"

Touya offered a faint smile, appreciating Kirishima's attempt to find a silver lining. "Yeah, it does. I'm grateful for the second chance, even if the details are elusive. Maybe with time, the memories will piece themselves together."

Touya's gaze lingered on the vast, snowy expanse, contemplating the unknown that lay ahead.

Kirishima, sensing Touya's internal struggle, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We're here for you, Endeavorson. Whatever you're going through, you don't have to face it alone," Kirishima spoke with sincerity. "I most likely won't understand fully what you're going through, but you have a friend in me."

Touya nodded appreciatively, grateful for the unexpected ally by his side.

The path to the longhouse was accompanied by a comfortable silence, broken only by the crunch of their footsteps on the dirt path.

Kirishima decided to broach a topic he had heard from Earl Yagi. "Hey, Touya," Kirishima began, a curious glint in his eyes. "I heard from earl Yagi that you were eager to depart as soon as you woke up. What's the rush?"

Touya's gaze shifted, his expression momentarily distant as he recalled the urgency that had fueled his desire to leave. "Yeah," he admitted, a hint of vulnerability in his tone. "My family... they must've thought I died. I just wanted to see them again, let them know I'm alive."

Kirishima's grin widened, sensing there might be more to the story. "Is it just about family, or is there a special someone waiting for you, too?"

Touya's cheeks tinged with a subtle blush, and he averted his gaze. "Well, there is someone. I want to see her again."

Kirishima chuckled heartily, clapping Touya on the back. "Ah, love! Now it makes sense. A man's got priorities, that's so manly! You're not alone in wanting to reunite with your loved one. We all have something or someone worth fighting for."

Touya's embarrassment transformed into a bashful smile, appreciating Kirishima's understanding.

The imposing structure of the Great Hall loomed ahead, its massive doors beckoning them forward. Kirishima came to a stop, turning to face Touya with a determined expression. "Just so you know," Kirishima began, his voice carrying a tone of sincerity, "I and my best friend Bakugo, that forever-offended blonde you saw earlier, were assigned to help you regain your prowess in fighting once your legs work well again. And just don't mind Bakugo, he has an awful personality, but he's a great and skilled warrior."

Touya nodded appreciatively, grateful for the information and the support he was receiving in this unfamiliar place. "Thank you, Kirishima. I appreciate the help."

As they approached the heavy doors of the Great Hall, Kirishima stepped forward, taking the initiative to open them for Touya. The creaking hinges echoed through the hall as the doors swung open, revealing the grandeur within.

"Go ahead," Kirishima gestured, a courteous smile on his face. "Take your time. And you can call me Eijiro or Red Riot, whatever suits you better."

Touya nodded again, his gratitude evident in his turquoise eyes. He slowly made his way inside, the warmth of the hall a stark contrast to the cold exterior.

Kirishima remained at the entrance, waiting patiently until Touya had safely entered the hall. "Good luck in there," Kirishima offered a parting wish, his voice filled with genuine encouragement. "And if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. We're here for you."

With that, Kirishima bid farewell to Touya and turned to go about his duties, leaving the Great Hall behind him.

The heavy doors closed with a resounding thud, enveloping Touya in the welcoming embrace of the earl's domain.

Earl Toshinorison, immersed in the weight of his responsibilities, looked up from the documents as he noticed Touya entering the room. A warm smile played on his lips, and he beckoned for Touya to join him. "Oh, Touya, come here, come here," earl Yagi greeted, his voice carrying a sense of camaraderie.

Touya, despite the lingering pain in his legs, slowly made his way to a long table and took a seat on a wooden chair with a heavy sigh. "Any news from the envoy, my lord?" Touya inquired, his tone laced with concern. "Forgive me for asking about this repeatedly, but it's already been several days, and we haven't heard from them yet."

Earl Yagi placed a paper on the table and set the metal stylus aside, giving Endeavorson a knowing glance. "You're impatient, son. I'm sure we'll hear from them soon. Don't forget your settlement is nearly four days away from here," he reminded, attempting to assuage Touya's worries.

Despite the reassurance, an unfamiliar, unpleasant feeling lingered within Touya whenever he thought about his home. He hoped for the well-being of everyone there, especially Shoto, praying that he had managed to escape the looming threat they apparently faced together. And then there was you, his beloved woman, whose name rolled off Touya's lips every relentless night.

Touya nodded in acknowledgment of earl Yagi's words, yet the unease persisted. The distant wait for news from his homeland weighed heavily on him, and the yearning for assurance about the safety and happiness of those he left behind lingered like a shadow in the depths of his thoughts.

Shortly after returning from your journey with Hawks, you began feeling unwell.

A day later, Shoto returned from his own trip, only to find you in considerable pain, experiencing contractions.

The burden of sorrow and sadness weighed heavily on you, prompting an untimely and challenging childbirth.

You lay on the bed in earl Shoto's room, the sheets already stained with your blood and tears. The midwives bustled around you, their faces etched with concern. The pain was unbearable, like a thousand knives stabbing you with each contraction. You screamed, the sound echoing through the room.

Shoto paced back and forth near the bed, his face contorted with worry. "Help her!" he screamed at the thralls, his voice filled with pure rage. "Help her or I'll hang you by the dawn!"

They scurried to your side, wiping your forehead with a damp cloth. The pain was indescribable, a searing, burning sensation that threatened to consume you.

Shoto's face was pale as he watched the scene unfold. He glanced between your legs, his eyes widening at the sight of blood and gore.

Shoto's eyes darted away, an involuntary reaction to a scene that was unbearable even for someone who had witnessed his fair share of hardships. The weight of the sights he had seen in the past seemed to pale in comparison to what lay before him now. "Do something! She's in pain!" he roared.

"Push, my lady," one of the midwives urged, her voice gentle but firm. "You need to push!"

You bore down, your body shaking with the effort. You could feel the baby's head crowning, the sensation both terrifying and exhilarating. You gritted your teeth and pushed. You had never felt pain like this before, but you knew it would all be worth it in the end. "I... Can't..." you whimpered, your head rolling back to the pillows.

"Again, push now," the midwife said, her voice soothing. "You're doing great, my lady. Just a little bit more, and the baby will be here, my lady."

You pushed once more, using all of your strength, feeling the baby slip from your body, and you screamed in pain again.

The midwives rushed to clean the baby, their faces alight with joy. "It's a boy," one of them said, and you felt a surge of love and happiness as the first tears rolled down your flushed cheeks.

But your pain was far from over. The afterbirth needed to be delivered, and the contractions continued to rack your body. You screamed, the sound primal and raw.

Shoto's face was a mask of worry, but he remained silent, knowing that there was nothing he could do to ease your pain.

The midwives worked quickly, delivering the afterbirth and cleaning you up. The pain slowly began to subside, leaving you exhausted but relieved.

Shoto approached the midwife who was holding the newborn. After the baby was cleaned, it was passed to the young earl. He scoffed loudly, growing angry upon seeing a white down on the little boy's head and the pair of perfectly turquoise eyes slowly opening from time to time. "Fuck," Shoto growled with anger.

You begged the midwife to pass you the baby, and she took the baby from Shoto after he passed it with anger.

The baby was placed to your chest, and you slowly stroked the little head. It was Touya's child. Shoto's anger was now painfully clear.

You hesitated to meet Shoto's gaze, apprehensive of the storm brewing within him. His face was etched with pure rage, and for a moment, you feared his reaction.

Shoto, after a moment of tense silence, finally spoke, his voice cold and measured. "I should expect you to bear my deceased brother's child," he stated, his eyes locked onto yours. “Pathetic whore.”

As you glanced at him with a mix of fear and uncertainty, Shoto's expression softened slightly, yet you noticed a twisted grimace curling his lips. "However," he continued, "I'll raise this boy as my own son. Once you recover from childbirth, we'll lay together again. And again. And again. I'll ensure you give me my own heir."

You trembled at Shoto's words, the mere thought of having to lay with him again sending a cold shiver down your spine. The weight of his expectations, the complex emotions surrounding the situation, and the uncertainty of your future left you paralyzed.

Before you could manage a reply, Shoto simply left the room, leaving behind a lingering coldness in his wake. His parting words, a sharp and indifferent command to his thralls, hung in the air. "Clean that fucking mess."

You looked down at the crying baby nestled in your arms, his tiny features a poignant reminder of the complex emotions swirling within you. Gently, you pressed a tender kiss on the tiny forehead, feeling the warmth of your affection seep into the fragile being. "My little boy. My beautiful boy," you whispered, your voice a mixture of love, gratitude, and a tinge of sorrow. The tear that rolled down your cheek bore witness to the intricate tapestry of emotions woven into this moment.

With a heartfelt sincerity, you turned your gaze skyward and silently thanked Freya, the goddess who had guided you through this tumultuous journey. Gratitude filled your heart for the gift of Touya's son, a precious life that now depended on your love and care.

In the quiet moments that followed, the room seemed to echo with the soft cries of the newborn, a testament to the fragility and resilience of life. As you cradled the baby close, you vowed to navigate the challenges ahead with the same strength and determination that had brought you to this moment. And in the stillness of the room, you found solace in the love that already bloomed between you and the tiny soul entrusted to your care.

Meanwhile, Shoto sat heavily on the throne in the grand throne chamber, the weight of recent events evident in the furrowed lines on his forehead. The air in the room seemed thick with tension as he grappled with the tumultuous emotions swirling within.

Hawks, having learned from the guards that the child had been born, stepped into the chamber cautiously. "My lord?" he inquired, bowing respectfully to Shoto.

The red-and-white-haired earl glanced at his most trusted warrior, his expression a mix of frustration and agitation. "It's his," Shoto snarled, the words escaping his lips with a venomous edge. "He won't stop hounding me, even from the afterlife."

Hawks, recognizing the gravity of Shoto's words, remained silent for a moment, his keen eyes studying the earl's troubled demeanor.

"Is that Odin trying to punish me for my deeds? Apparently, the past never dies," Shoto's voice cut through the somber air, a question directed more to the invisible forces than to anyone present in the room. His mismatched eyes remained fixed on some distant point, as if seeking answers in the unseen. "All I ever wanted was to make Skjaldvargr strong like never before, so everyone would fear us," Shoto continued, his voice carrying a mix of determination and introspection.

As the room absorbed his words, Shoto's thoughts seemed to wander into the realm of self-doubt. "Maybe I made a mistake letting Touya die? Killing my father?" he whispered, the words almost lost in the echoes of his inner turmoil. A moment later, he shook his head, as if attempting to dispel the doubts that threatened to take root. "No. All these decisions were good."

Before the heavy silence could stretch further, a guard interrupted, stepping into the room with news. "My lord, an envoy from Hvinverjadalr pleads to see you."

Shoto's frown deepened, exchanging glances with Hawks, who maintained his silent vigil. With a reluctant nod, the earl acknowledged the envoy's request, setting aside the internal struggle for the time being to face the external challenges that awaited him in the form of the visiting envoy.

The guards led the older man into the throne chamber, where he was forced to kneel before Shoto, the earl of Skjaldvargr. Shoto, in a gesture of casual indifference, rested his chin on his hand, which was propped against an armrest of his bespangled throne, his mismatched eyes keenly observing the envoy.

The older man bowed respectfully and identified himself as an envoy from Hvinverjadalr, bearing a message from Earl Toshinorison.

Shoto's expression tightened slightly at the mention of the earl's name. All Might, known by that call sign, was a formidable adversary of Shoto's deceased father, Endeavor.

"What message are you bringing to us?" Shoto inquired, his tone measured and unwavering.

The envoy bowed once more before revealing the content of the message. "Our earl wants to let you know your brother, Touya Endeavorson, is well and alive in our settlement."

Shoto's eyes widened slowly, the weight of the revelation sinking in. The news was like a sudden gust of wind, sweeping away the hopes of his carefully crafted plans to turn true. A mix of disbelief and hope flickered in Shoto's mismatched eyes, and for a moment, the throne chamber seemed suspended in a profound silence as the implications of this unexpected revelation unfolded. “Is that so?” he ground his question out.

The envoy nodded his head, offering an explanation for the delayed revelation. "We didn't let you know earlier, my lord, as Touya was in a very serious health condition. Thankfully, Allfather helped him to survive and slowly regain his health."

Shoto's gaze shifted to Hawks, the unspoken understanding between them echoing in the charged silence.

Hawks felt his heart quicken within his chest, a mix of surprise and worry coursing through his veins. The news, while unexpected, carried a glimmer of hope, a flicker of a possibility Hawks hadn't dared to entertain until now. Perhaps Y/N words were prophetic?

Shoto's features remained composed, but the intensity in his mismatched eyes betrayed the emotions churning beneath the surface.

Shoto, with practiced ease, managed to summon a smile that did not reach his mismatched eyes. "Thank you for the news," he said, his tone wryly polite. The revelation about Touya's survival had stirred a tempest of conflicting emotions within him, and Shoto struggled to conceal the storm behind a veneer of civility. He leaned back into his throne, feigning casual interest. "Did my brother share any details about what happened?" Shoto inquired, a facade of genuine concern in his voice.

The envoy shook his head, "No, my lord. Touya doesn't remember much."

Shoto's grin, though slight, carried a complexity of emotions. It was a bittersweet acknowledgment, for while Touya's survival brought threat to all of Shoto's plans, the memory loss shielded him from the painful truth of Shoto's involvement in the events that had transpired.

"And for that wonderful news, you deserve a reward," Shoto declared, a saccharine smile playing on his lips. His gaze shifted to a guard, and with a small nod, the envoy's fate was sealed.

In a swift, merciless motion, the guard slit the envoy's throat, and the dying man was unceremoniously pushed onto the stone floor. The chamber echoed with the grotesque sounds of a life seeping away.

Shoto nodded at his guards, his demeanor betraying little emotion. "Clean the mess and dispose of the body," he ordered, rising from the throne.

Hawks approached the earl, his eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and concern. "What are you planning to do now, my lord?" he inquired, his tone laced with a sense of anticipation.

Shoto regarded him with a pointed look, his expression unyielding. "We are preparing for war," he declared, his voice carrying a resolute edge. "I won't allow our people to rally behind Touya. The truth of his survival will inevitably surface, that much is certain. So, we'll take the initiative. We'll inform them that my eldest brother, dear as he may be, has chosen to form an alliance with our notorious adversary, Toshinorison. It will serve as a perfect pretext to launch an attack on Hvinverjadalr, and sever the head of my beloved brother for his betrayal."

heathen wolves: @queenkhepri @indignant-alpaca @misafiryanki @roast-toast @within-eyesight @crystalwolfblog @haseki-huricihan @violet-forgetmenot @dagger-dragger @smartspot @alientobe @zero-sugar-null @peter-sommer @thedancingparrot @dearsunaa @greaterheart @krispyjellyfishzombie @vroobelek @doumaslotus @they2luv1naia

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lipstickghoulie · 2 months

Text

Walkin’ the Floor over You

Lucy MacLean/Cooper Howard, eventual smut, mind the future tags.

In which Cooper yaps and Lucy is fed the hell up with him.

Chapter One (word count nearly 2.5k, not explicit)

In the house that Cooper had grown up in, there had been a tangle of ivy going up one side of the stucco outside. It had been one of his favorite features of the old homestead, the beautiful and verdant green splayed out across the brownish-red like a scrawl of cursive. One day, he’d come home to the plants all gone and pitted cracks in the masonry all that remained of where they had been. His parents had explained to him that as pretty as it had been, it was actually damaging and needed to go. He had nodded sagely at the time, already an old-hand at pretending to understand the serious adult issues of the world even as a pre-teen, and put on the most brave face possible. If he felt a twinge of resentment for the ivy being removed at all, then that was between him and his god, wasn’t it?

Still, Cooper found himself thinking of that ivy and its soft and lively little leaves whenever he had to dash out his autograph as an adult, the ink across his own awkwardly smiling photo making him think of grasping vines. He grieved it in his own way even years later, the loss of such a sweet piece of nostalgic scenery. He always felt bittersweet tug on his heartstrings when he would drive past some adorable starter home and see the wisp of green creeping up a wall.

Maybe deep down, Cooper didn’t care that much if the things he enjoyed were destructive… especially if they were easy on the eyes.

It shouldn’t have been surprising that he had developed such a soft spot for the vault girl. She certainly was as pretty as a picture; those big waifish eyes like something some lovestruck painter would have committed to canvas with oil paints. At first, Cooper thought to himself that Lucy seemed better suited for his time than her own, even considering the vaults. But now that he really thought about it, she seemed too good even for the time before the bombs laid waste to all the American dream coated shells of ivy-decorated ranches and idealistic men that used to believe in doing the right thing.

Lucy was a creature that seemed outside of time and more like a perfect caricature of one of those superheroes from an Unstoppables comic book.

The memory of her biting off his finger and showing a shimmery vein of something darker underneath all that golden girl can-do attitude made him smile and Cooper’s cock twitch whenever he thought on it too long. It was gratifying in an odd way that he had been the only one to bring that out in her, to see that secret side of her that he felt like Lucy probably kept hidden even from herself. It felt like he knew her more than people she had spent her entire life with in that safe little vault of hers.

Sometimes Cooper looked down at his hand where his trigger finger had been replaced with hers, the image of herself with blood-greased teeth bared and eyes flashing and he knew that he was letting Lucy creep into the cracks of his heart and cause some damage already.

After so much time alone, Cooper was admittedly open to her causing some damage. For years, Cooper used to fantasize about traveling with someone else that he could trust and who wasn’t just waiting to sink a knife or a bullet into his back for their own benefit. The New York Times had articles about maladaptive daydreaming that he could remember surprisingly well after all these years; he could barely remember what his older sister’s voice sounded like but he could recall the exact font in the newspapers he’d pore over at breakfast while Janey giggled over the funny pages. But for Cooper, he didn’t think about it as maladaptive daydreaming, just hypothetical situations. Something harmless to help him survive each day out here in this terrible and brutal world, imagining the ‘what-ifs’. And hypothetically, he had always wanted someone at his side that was clever, beautiful, adapted well to problems…

If only she would talk to him right now.

Ever since they had started on this leg of their journey together, any ghosts of cheerful smiles and conversation seemed reserved for the dog alone and Cooper himself had been met with terse silence. At first, it didn’t irk him much since part of him thrilled at simply being near her, at having Lucy in his orbit. There was something thrilling about not only hearing the dull clap of his own boot soles hitting the ground as they traveled, at always hearing the answering echo of Lucy’s own and the patter of Dogmeat padding after them. Cooper hadn’t realized how painfully lonely he had been until even little reminders that he had company were enough to quirk up the corner of his mouth. His loneliness had settled into his bones like a break that had never quite healed right and now, the ghoul felt aware of it in a way that he had never quite allowed himself to be before.

It wasn’t until they were crossing what passed for a river around here, carefully making their way across the derelict remains of a bridge across it, that Lucy’s change in demeanor started to actually bother him. Cooper hummed to himself as he looked out over the brackish, murky water, remembering a time when it was clean and clear. When he used to see young kids with fishing poles and lunch pails trying to catch some wily fish on his drive to filming on set. Back when he used to wake up all hopeful and optimistic at what each day would bring.

Cooper peered over the worn guard railings thoughtfully, remarking, “Y’know, I heard some do-gooder had gotten some water purification project runnin’ some years back. It was supposed to provide free, clean water to all of the people across the Capital Wasteland…”

Lucy didn’t comment or ask any questions like he thought she might, her eyes fixed on the concrete underneath her feet. Cooper frowned, though he didn’t let that deter him from talking. Maybe she was keeping an eye out for possible danger, especially since feral ghouls had a liking for hiding underneath abandoned cars littering the roads and bridges. You never knew when dry-rotted and vicious arms might shoot out from under some mass of rusted metal and grab at you.

“Of course, whole thing got mismanaged to hell. Brotherhood of Steel spent more time arguing over how to best distribute the water and who was deservin’ of it than actually helping folks-“

“You certainly like the sound of your own voice,” Lucy interrupted flatly, her small little mouth a straight line of annoyance.

Cooper barked out a laugh despite himself, though it was fueled more by surprise than anything else. Well. It seemed the kitten was in a bitey mood. At least she was saying something, even if it was rude (or was by her Vault-Tec approved therapy speak standards anyways).

“Aw, vaultie, I thought you’d be happy to have some conversation about how things have operated out here in the real world. You seem the type to be real keen on learnin’ and absorbing information,” Cooper crooned, only partially mockingly. A lot of his barbs at her had less vitriol these days than they would have when they first met.

Lucy gave him a tired and annoyed look and said nothing else before glancing away to keep her eyes fixed in front of her. It was the same kind of look that one might turn on an unruly toddler throwing a tantrum at bedtime. Her patience had run out with him probably around the time of the Super Mart debacle.

Cooper was not a man who could let this go though. Despite his insistence on “taking things as they come”, it disquieted him more than he’d like to admit to see her sullen and silent. During his time ‘hypothesizing’ about what it would be like to have a traveling companion, he used to imagine all kinds of scenarios where he could discuss books he had read (and still occasionally skimmed through before trading for caps when he could find one intact), events from pre-bomb drop, etc. Lucy seemed particularly interesting to have conversations with, based on his previous interactions with her… if he could get her out of this funk.

Dogmeat stalked along, unbothered, alongside them, silent except for the sound of her panting. Cooper watched her for a few moments, trying to think of something else to say. Finally, he cleared his throat and tried again, “I used to have a dog back before the world went to hell. A beautiful creature named Roosevelt-“

Lucy came to an abrupt stop where she had been walking in front of him, whirling around to stare at him. Her eyes were incredulous, exasperated. Cooper found them easy to get lost in; huge, limpid pools that made his head spin faster than a hit of Jet. Even after everything, even with her shiny brown hair mussed and disheveled, her Vault jumpsuit rucked down and undershirt coated in grime and sweat… Her beauty was almost too much when turned on him directly. Like staring directly into the sun.

“Mister Ghoul-“ She started to say but this time, Cooper cut in to correct her.

“Cooper Howard. You can call me Cooper.”

He had expected a bit more fanfare from the only I person he had willingly shared his real name with in years but she merely huffed out a ‘I’m so done with you’-style breath and steamrolled right over his dramatic revelation. If Lucy recognized the name at all, she evidently didn’t care enough to comment on it at this moment.

“Mister Cooper,” Lucy began again, annoyance coloring her tone in a way that he’d imagine would be similar in shade to a red Nuka-cola cap if it was visible and not just audible.* “You have been a downright beast to me and this has been one heck of a week. You can’t blame me if I’m not feeling particularly eager to listen to you monologue.”

Cooper hummed a bit, undeterred by her aggravation at him. Reasonably (or at least he thought so), he suggested, “Well, sweetie, it wouldn’t be a monologue if you would join in and ask some questions. Then it would be a downright conversation, wouldn’t it?”

It wasn’t that he didn’t care about his previous behavior towards her, per se. He supposed that in an abstract way, he felt a little bad about it, in the way that one might if a prank goes wrong. Cooper merely hadn’t seen her as much of a person back then and more so a walking, talking Vault-Tec advertisement in the flesh. It’s not like he had held it against her; after all, hadn’t he once been that naive? He just wasn’t going to give her any extra allowances beyond conversation for her idealistic views. Besides, he had stopped looking at most others as more than inconvenient obstacles to his goals at best and dangerous enemies-turned-possible-food at worst. People had shown Cooper over these past two hundred years that they were only looking out for themselves so why waste any consideration or kindness on them himself when it was emotionally exhausting to care at all?

But now that Lucy had proven him wrong, that she alone was different, and had done something nice for him without any benefit to herself? Cooper saw her as a person and a very, very interesting one at that. He had enjoyed messing with her admittedly and he suspected he'd have an even better time now if they could warm up to each other a bit.

Lucy was apparently not on the same page at all judging by how she was slowly blinking at him, taken aback by how casual he seemed in his response. Tersely, she spat out, “I don't want to ask you questions. I don't want to be… buddies and have conversations. I want to find my father, put this whole catastrophic section of my life to bed and see my brother again. We aren't friends, Mister Cooper.”

He couldn't help but smile crookedly at how the vaultie seemed to say “buddies” as if the taste of the word was sour on her tongue, like the very thought of it was too disgusting to even consider. Cooper would be offended if he didn't find it so damn cute.

Besides, he was confident that he could wear her down, ooze into her cracks the way that Lucy had with him. They were going to be spending a lot of time together on the road and Cooper Howard could be a persistent, dogged man when it came to getting what he wanted. He’d weave his way into her good graces steadily and surely until he found some fissures in her heart’s foundation in which to make his home. The Ghoul was not a man who was known to give up easily.

Still, Cooper held up his hands in a placating gesture, chuckling wryly as he murmured, “Alright, alright, sweetheart. I get the message, loud and clear. You aren't going to be making us friendship bracelets and carving our initials together in a little heart on a tree trunk any time soon. I completely understand.”

Lucy stared him down for a few stony moments before grumbling that she didn't understand half of what he had just said to her and turning away to keep walking. She seemed at least slightly mollified and satisfied that she had gotten her point across. Dogmeat chuffed out a happy noise and stopped her sniffing of some nearby concrete to pad after her.

Minutes passed in silence, the only noises the dog’s excited breathing and the dull swish of Cooper’s coat. He couldn't help himself though and remarked out loud, “Back before the bombs made everything so fucked, you used to be able to fish by this bridge-”

Lucy made a high pitched noise of fury similar to a tea kettle indicating it was ready on the stove top. It's funny what sounds you remembered even after not hearing them for decades. It was wild what memories your brain chose to hang onto even if they were irrelevant in the scheme of more important things.

“I. Don't. Care,” Lucy hissed out through gritted teeth, not turning to address him this time, her spine ramrod straight and tense from where he could see the lines of her back from behind.

Cooper attempted to bite back a grin and failed. Oh, he would wear her down alright. She just didn't know it yet.

But he’d get there and he’d have fun doing it.

#my writing #ghoulcy fic #ghoulcy #vaultghoul #fallout tv fic #cooper howard x lucy maclean #cooper x lucy #my fanfiction

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whumpbug · 3 months

Note

prompt for your beloved cowboy sillies!!!!! sheriff gets injured in a tussle and the only one available capable of bandaging a few scrapes is. you guessed it. cassidy.

UGH SETH YOU HAVE SUCH AMAZING PROMPTS dont be afraid to keep em comin i've already been in this waiting room for like 3 hours and i have about 5 to go </3

anyways i hope you enjoy! some parts i struggled with bc writing slump. BUT we're getting there! thank u for loving my boys seth!

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

“Honestly Delaney, you’d think you’d be better at not gettin’ shot at after all our run-ins.”

Gene bristled. “Why don’t you shut your trap.”

Cassidy let out a snickering laugh as he examined the graze wound in Gene's arm.

There had been a bar fight. Drunk men turned into toddlers with guns after a certain point, and it was usually unfortunate for anyone who got involved.

Tonight, that “anyone” included one Deputy Eugene Delaney.

The gun going off had been an accident. Gene was careless while trying to disarm the man, and when their tussle took to the ground, the trigger was jostled. It was a simple, unfortunate accident. The punch to the gut that came after, however, was not.

Gene was going to feel that one in the morning.

Once the men were wrestled back to their homesteads (with some choice words for Gene, of course), he finally retreated to town to lick his wounds before heading home for the night. A little whiskey for the wound and himself would do for just fine the night. He didn’t feel like dressing it properly, honestly. He just wanted to sleep.

That was until he showed his face.

The outlaw sauntered out of the saloon wearing that look on his face. The look that had everyone swooning over him. That stupid, vexing, insufferable look. Gene couldn’t see the appeal.

And that was what landed him in his current predicament. The outlaw insisted he knew more first-aid than Gene and that unless he wanted to go septic and die, he oughta let him have a look.

Gene obliged begrudgingly.

“This is gonna sting. You need something to bite down on?” Cassidy asked, pulling out and unscrewing a flask from his bag. He took a quick swig and offered it to Gene.

Despite himself, Gene gave a curt nod and accepted both offers.

Cassidy unbuckled his belt with his free hand before folding it slightly and slipping it between Gene’s teeth. His jaw flexed as he shut his eyes in anticipation.

As soon as the alcohol splashed onto the wound, every muscle in Gene’s body went rigid. A muffled, pained groan escaped him before he could stop it. Goddamn did it burn. He was sure he was going to leave permanent teeth marks on Cassidy's belt.

Cassidy chuckled. “It’s not that bad.”

“You want a turn?” Gene replied through clenched teeth.

Cassidy quickly and deftly wrapped the wound before sitting back on his heels.

“Unbutton your shirt.”

“What? No chance.”

“Don’t be stupid. I saw that lick you took. Probably broke a rib. Let me see.”

Gene grumbled as he carefully pulled open his shirt, angling his side towards Cassidy. He was sure he was imagining it, but he could have sworn he saw Cassidy's eyes linger for longer than they needed to.

Gentle fingers pressed into the already-bruising skin just over his ribs, and Gene barely swallowed back the gasp that threatened past his lips.

Cassidy clicked his teeth before speaking. “That’s gonna leave a nasty bruise, but it doesn’t feel broken. You're lucky, Delaney.”

Gene rolled his eyes and replaced the buttons on his shirt. “Great. Now get outta here before I decide to remember you’re a wanted man, Silver.”

“That doesn’t sound like a 'thank you',” Cassidy huffed, standing and offering a hand down to Gene.

Gene accepted, getting to his feet and brushing off his bloodied suit. “Fine. Thank you.”

Cassidy’s cheeky grin only got wider at Gene’s reluctance. He tipped his hat as he headed for where his gelding was hitched.

“Anytime, Delaney.”

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

#prompt fill #gene and cassidy #graze wound #patching up #whumpblr #whump community #whump fic #they make me ill they need to kiss immediately #its a budding crush guys i declare it so #THANK U SETH

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lordgrimwing · 6 months

Text

Brewing Darkness #05

[For C+C week hosted by @candcweek. Prompt: Contrast]

It would have been easier to just say that Celegorm came back different, Curufin admitted to himself, tossing another pitchfork-full of hay from the barn loft to the mangers below, but he couldn’t say for sure Celegorm was different or if, in his absence, Curufin had forgotten how he was really like—how his laugh cracked sharp and loud like a whip, how he watched people with the same intensity as four-legged game, how he knew just what to say to pick a fight, how rough he could be during sex if Curufin didn’t restrain him. Had he missed his brother so much over the months since he ran off that he’d imagined a softer version of him to soothe the aching wound inside him?

He didn’t think so.

(Caranthir rather smugly told him that, no, Celegorm hadn’t changed, he was just finally done playing nice and picking favorites. Their brother, Caranthir said, was exactly like he remembered)

But even if Celegorm was different, did it matter?

The whole family changed in his absence. The things he did around the homestead still needed to be done. In the beginning, everyone said they were only filling in until he came back, but months passed and they got used to the new routine until it felt normal, until there wasn’t a visible hole left behind. When he returned, leading his gray mare, field dressed elk flung over her back like he’d only been away on one of his hunts with Aredhel, the spot he’d left wasn’t there any more.

Did it matter if his presence felt jarring and wrong sometimes? Did it matter if the shiver that went up Curufin’s back when he grinned at him sometimes felt like a knife scraping over his skin?

The sharp edges would wear down with time. Things would feel right again.

He’d been telling himself that for weeks now.

Mangers filled, he leaned the pitchfork against the wall and climbed down from the loft, stomach grumbling for dinner. Before, Celegorm saw to the animals in the evening, fed them, hauled water from the well, but Curufin and Maglor took over that chore. They hadn’t considered giving it back yet.

Maybe that was part of the problem. Celegorm couldn’t fit back into the family if they didn’t make room for him. No wonder he spent more time in town and alone in the woods now when there wasn’t anything for him to do here.

Distracted by his thoughts, Curufin didn’t realize he was walking past the gray mare’s stall. There was no greater proof that Celegorm’s old spot was gone than how everyone else seemed to have lost hard learned lessons about his horse.

The horse raised her head from the hay as the elf walked past. With an angry snort, she lunged for the stall door. Her teeth collided with the side of Curufin’s head as she tried to grab his hair.

He swore and dove to the farside of the aisle where Maedhros’ giant gelding stuck his shaggy head out to see what the ruckus was about. The vile mare snorted, pinned her ears back and extended her neck to try to nip the gelding. He tossed his head to the side (he was too tall to toss it up) and went back to his food.

“You haven’t changed,” Curufin grumbled at his brother’s beloved, temperamental horse as he rubbed the sore spot on his head (it matched the sore spots elsewhere gifted to him by Celegorm).

She snorted and kicked the door.

“Same to you,” He grumbled and left before she got any more worked up.

The walk across the yard to the house was quiet.

Nights became steadily quieter after Celegorm left and his dogs slowly disappeared. They were always disappearing, whether because they were killed by a predator, found a place with better food, or just got lost in the shifting trees and mountains. More often than not, those that wandered back were shot to put them out of their misery. Normally he was always bringing more home or paying extra attention to new litter of puppies so that the population stayed fairly stable. Once he ran off, though, no one replaced the ones that vanished, until only a handful remained. The nights were quieter without the dogs. No one cared (at least not enough to go looking for replacements in town).

Only, the night bird calls seemed to be disappearing too over the last few weeks. They were all growing discomforted by the building silence. Fëanor had taken to shutting himself in a shed with some project late into the night as he worried over the changes.

Something moved in the corner of Curufin’s eye. He took two quick steps toward the house before chastising himself for being so jumpy. The homestead was safe. There was no reason to act like a scared child alone in the dark just because things were a little unsettled. He turned to look for whatever had startled him.

“Hey, Curu,” Celegorm said, slinking out from the shadowed trees. He had a bow and quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder but his hands were empty.

Curufin’s chest relaxed. He hadn’t realized Celegorm went hunting and it was rather late to be walking alone, but everyone was adjusting to a new normal. “No luck today?”

Celegorm smiled. “I was just practicing.”

“Pa doesn’t want anyone in the woods after sundown.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. It wasn’t exactly a new rule, the dense forest grew harder to navigate with every passing year, but their father became more serious about everyone being in the glen by nightfall since last summer (since Aredhel crawled home and Celegorm went chasing after her abductor).

“I lost track of time.” He said it in that way that always meant he knew he did something he shouldn’t and would do it again. He got them into the best kind of trouble when they were kids.

The smile was mostly nostalgia. “At least you haven’t missed supper.”

“You’d feed me, anyway, even if I did,” Celegorm said, throwing an arm around his shorter brother’s shoulder and giving him an affectionate squeeze as they walked to the kitchen door. His hand and shirt sleeve were wet and cold against Curufin. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Only if you brought something for me to cook.” They spent many fond nights over stewed rabbit or fowl.

Celegorm barked out a laugh, sudden and loud in the silent yard. “I’ll be sure to bring you something fresh.” His hand squeezed Curufin’s arm, fingernails nipping at his skin.

#uh oh #me and *the entity* are rubbing our proverbial hands together so hard right now #one more c+c snap shot to go to finish off their relationship --- i mean the week #celegorm's mare is a monster #she has killed and she'll do it again #she's the meanest crankiest horse #celegorm #curufin #c+c week 2024 #old gods au #the silmarillion #grimwing writes

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vibratingskull · 1 year

Text

Nice mornings are a gift from the Warrior

Gift for @ele-millennial-weirdo 😘😘😘😘

Thrawn x Ar'alani

Ziara opens her eyes, in the comfort of her own room. The fake sun pierces through the heavy curtains and illuminates the bedroom of a shiny ray, illuminating her stone fireplace and bookcase. She yawns and stretches all her body with a satisfied sign as her spine pops. Her eyes lazily travel over her different possessions until finding her clothes and undergarments on the floor. She frowns and looks under the cover to realize she’s naked. She also notices a pair of arms circling her waist and tummy and feels a presence behind her back.

She turns her head to see Thrawn, sleeping peacefully, as naked as her.

She turns towards him, observing his resting face, his deep and peaceful breathing, his disheveled hair as the memory of the previous night came back.

That was the night of excitement and wonders he once promised to her.

She traces his features with the tip of her fingers, lightly grazing the lines of his face.He slowly opens his eyes and meets hers. She blinks and a thin smile crawls on her face.

“Hi.” She whispers.

“Hi.” He responds in the same tone.

He seizes her hand caressing his face and kisses her palm before squeezing it lightly. The Irizy syndics are already not happy she brought a Mitth in the main homestead of the family, if they knew their Blood Irizy slept with him, in HER bed… She can’t imagine the heart attacks.

And frankly she doesn’t care.

Nothing could take that from her, this night and morning are theirs and theirs alone, no politics could soil them. They look into each other's eyes in silence, just smiling, the both of them.

As he smiles, her smiles grow larger, and then his grows larger, ect… Until her smile gets replaced by a giggle that he imitates. They laugh under their breath for a full minute until they lack air.

“Why are we laughing?” Thrawn asks, panting

“I have no idea.” She answers, trying to get back her breath. “I just… feel good.”

He nods.

“Me too.” he squeezes her hand again and she intertwines their fingers.

“Last night was…” She starts but can’t find a good adjective.

“Experimental?” he proposes

She considers it, licking her teeth.

“You know what? Strangely yes! It was experimental. But it was also great.”

“Thank you, I did my best.”

She pinches his cheek

“Hey! Are you implying I didn’t do my best?” She teases.

They sigh deeply into each other's eyes.

“It was my first time.” She confesses “I hope I was up to it.”

He shruggs.

“I do not know, I have no one else to compare you to. In my eyes you did good.”

“Thank you.” Somehow, knowing it was his first time too is comforting. “I didn’t guess you would be such a… devoted partner?”

“Was it too much?” he frowns

“No, no, no. I liked it.” She encourages.

She puts her forehead against his, squeezing his hand.

“I hope it’s early.”

“Why?” he wonders.

“Because you need to get back to your guest room. If they find you in my bed, I can’t guarantee your life.” She explains.

“Oh.” He lets out before closing back his eyes and burying himself a bit deeper into the covers “Then it would have been worth it.” He brushes his nose with hers. “Five more minutes…” he negotiates.

She smiles and presses herself against him, putting her head on his chest, he circles her form with his arms and presses her tighter.

“Alright… Five minutes…” She says drifting back to sleep.

#thrawn #ar'alani #admiral ar'alani #thralani

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zooophagous · 2 years

Text

Did you bring the trash bags?" Strauss asked his flinching companion. Troy held up a fresh roll of white bags. They were lavender scented, so sickly sweet that it nearly made the vampire gag. Perhaps it would do to cover what was going in them.

"You decide to take a more hands-on approach to raising your own livestock? Gotta say a vampire homesteader is a new one for me. Though I guess you do come from ye old butter churning days."

"The staff has grown tired of caring for the mice. They smell foul, and they bite. If they are to be kept for my consumption, it is only fair that I shoulder part of the responsibility." He pushed his way in to the garage. "Thank you for agreeing to help me. They would not allow me into this part of the institute without supervision. If I did not have help, I likely would not be allowed to have them."

"Yeah yeah... well. You owe me. I'm not really on board for what you're keeping them for. But I guess it's better than the alternative." Troy rubbed his neck uncomfortably. Whether out of fear for himself or empathy for the mice, was unclear.

"I do not expect you to dispatch any of them. Think of it as making sure they have comfortable lives."

The garage was dark and musty, and made mustier by the smell of dozens of large white lab mice that scurried back and forth in cages on shelves along the wall. Strauss did have to admit, the smell was pungent. The garage did not really have good ventilation for them.

"Start by removing the metal exercise wheels and the water bottles and placing them in the sink to be sanitized. I will go through and scoop out old substrate and replace it."

Troy obediently got to work, lifting out bottles and wheels and toys while the white mice scurried in fear from their ersatz caretaker. One large mouse clung stubbornly to the wheel, and Troy grabbed it by the tail to remove it. The mouse cried out in a shrill squeak of fear, and then promptly turned and sunk its small but sharp teeth deep into Troy's thumb.

"Motherfucker!" He cursed and dropped it back into its cage. "You know, I was always told that animals can sense a good person, but either I'm full of shit or I'm secretly evil."

"I never have that problem." Luther smirked, and reached his hand into a cage. A line of white mice obediently, robotically marched up his arm and perched quietly.

"Vampire sway over animals is cheating." Troy griped. "Now I know it must be BS, you're actually the one eating them and they listen to you just fine."

"Are you insinuating that I am not a good person?" Luther tilted his head coyly.

"I didn't say that. As a person I'm sure you're pretty average. But if it's any consolation I'm very sure you're an above average vampire."

"What makes you say so? Have you met many?" He carefully deposited his mice into a temporary carrier and began scooping out soiled substrate into one of the flowery bags.

"Well, no. But it's sort of the stereotype I guess. I mean, you never really hear about the nice ones."

"Well, Troy, I'd love to say that it is because of unfair prejudice but truth be told, I have met vanishingly few nice ones myself."

"Why's that, do you think?" Troy asked as he dumped a selection of water bottles into the deep bay sink against the wall. "Does making a vampire make you mean?"

"I think it is more because the mean ones are usually the ones that survive. A fledgling vampire has a very difficult existence ahead of it. The stupid easily get caught, but the soft hearted often... give up." He scooped a fresh helping of pine into the cage. It had a strong smell too, but it was more pleasant than any of the alternative scents in the room, so he could tolerate it.

"Oh yeah, I guess that makes sense. That sucks. Do you ever struggle with feelings like that?"

"Like what?" He carefuly tailed out the mice and replaced them in their cage, carefully checking them over for blemishes as he went.

"You know, like... ideation?"

"You are asking me if I have ever considered destroying myself?"

"Yeah."

"Yes. I believe every vampire has considered it at least once. But I am too pragmatic, and too much of a pessimist to believe that my station would improve if I did."

"I gotcha. You're better off as-is?"

"If there is a God, I do not believe he is done fucking with me."

"I see. So... if mean vampires are usually the ones that make it, how are you still here? I mean. I've known you for a bit and you've never been mean as far as I've seen."

"Mostly by heavy denial." He finished freeing the mice into their cleaned home, and snapped the locking cage lid back into place. "Denial of what I want, be it a live feeding or human companionship or a home or a career. Anything that puts me too close to other people runs the risk of our paths crossing in dangerous ways."

"Isn't that a little... I don't know. Puritanical?"

"Don't compare me to puritans. I despise puritans."

"No I mean... the 'denial of the flesh' or whatever... for someone who's pretty anti-church, you repeat a lot of their talking points."

"Hmm. Perhaps you are correct. I was raised a filthy protestant." He moved on to the next cage of mice, which obediently came to their master's claw. "I was born Martin Luther Strauss, you know. I dropped the 'Martin' because I hated it. Still, I cannot deny the culture I have been steeped in."

"Well, that's just part of being human I guess. Artemis says it's fairly difficult for older vampires to change, and you might be sort of a special case even beyond that because of how isolated you were."

"That, and I am loath to break my routine. New things can easily become dangerous things."

"Yeah, well." Troy trailed off, not really sure what to say. He collected another armful of water bottles which drippled all over his shirt. "...Not all desires of the flesh are dangerous, you know. I mean, even for you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, sure you have the vampire instincts to hunt or whatever. But you still have some human desires in there too right? There's lots of human desires you could indulge."

"What do you suggest?"

"Well. There's always creative pursuits. Singing and art and the like. You'd have to be trying pretty hard to kill someone like that."

"You haven't heard me sing." Strauss smirked.

"There's also the human urge to just be compassionate."

"You already know there's a reason I don't mingle with others well."

"I'm not talking about making human friends. Though arguably, you really need more of those. You can practice on these."

"These? The mice?" Luther looked down at the red eyed thralls sitting dumbly in his hand. "I eat the mice."

"That doesn't mean you can't practice being nice to them. Maybe it would even help, because technically you eat people too."

"How am I supposed to connect with this." He held up a mouse by the tail.

"Firstly don't dangle it like that. Secondly... just. Try being NICE to them, you know? Instead of using vampire powers or whatever to just make them listen to you, see if you can't befriend one the old fashioned way."

"Befriend. A mouse."

"People befriend animals all the time!" Troy held his hands out, palms up in exasperation. "I'd argue that the desire to befriend a little animal and be nice to it is one of the major human instincts! And I'm not just saying that because I'm vegan. Think of how many people out there have pets. Didn't you ever have a pet?"

"Yes, actually, I did. I had horses." He looked down at the mice again, who were now growing antsy as his sway over them faded. They began to scurry and try to leap away, some of them defacating on his hands in fear. "I was always very good with horses. I was a decent rider, too. But a horse is a soulful beast, they have more behind their eyes than a mouse."

"Give em a chance and they might impress you." Troy put his hands on his hips. "I mean, the Van Helsings gave you a chance. Think of it as paying it forward."

All of the mice save one had abandoned the vampire's hand, and ran off to the furthest reaches of their cage in abject terror of the predator. The one that was left sat calmly on his haunches and began to lick his front paws, and wash his face and whiskers. Strauss gently stroked its head with his thumb. Its little body vibrated slightly, he wasn't sure if this was alarm or if it were a facsimile of purring, like a cat.

"How do I be nice to it?"

"You're doing fine now. Don't chase it to pick it up and don't force it to come to you. Bribe it with food, everyone loves food, and if it wants down you let it down. Easy peasy. Oh, and this is important, you also have to give it a name."

"A name." Strauss said flatly as he placed the small rodent on his shoulder.

"Make it good."

"Troy the Second."

"I'm flattered but let's work on that."

#long post #writing #wayward souls

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book-place · 3 years

Text

Interruptions

Warnings: very slight maze runner spoilers (first book/movie), cursing?, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: The gladers x reader platonic

*not my gif*

Summary: Apparently having one day of peace and quiet is too much to ask for in the glade

A/N: This is my first tmr fic- hope you enjoy, it took me forever

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

You settled down against the outside wall of the homestead, and let out a small sigh of contemptment as the bright sun beat down on your face. The small breeze gently blew your hair, keeping you from sweating.

In other words, the day was as perfect as it could possibly get in the Glade.

Earlier that day the box had come up during its regular monthly time and brought up a new greenie as well as some boxes with the normal supplies. This time though, in one of the boxes was a book. There weren’t many of those in the Glade.

None of the boys seemed to have any interest in it, so you had taken it upon yourself to take it before it turned into fuel for the upcoming bonfire that night.

You don’t remember learning how to read, but you knew you could and you wanted to see what it was like.

It was your day off and you decided that you wanted to take full advantage of it.

You opened the cover, ready to dive into the new world when all of a sudden a voice called out your name, “Y/n!”

You looked up to see Chuck sprinting towards you as fast as he could, his face red as he panted.

Quickly closing your book, you stood up, “What is it Chuck?” You asked in concern, scanning the boy's body for any injuries.

He doubled over, resting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath, “Gally… trying to kill… me for spilling… water all over… him…” he finally managed to get out in between breaths.

You looked over his shoulder and just on cue, you saw a fuming Gally storming your way.

You sighed and moved to step in front of Chuck, blocking the young boy from the older one's wrath.

“Move Y/n.” He seethed once he was closer.

You changed your voice to a way that made it dip and crack in certain parts as you spoke, “This here boy is under my protection!” You grinned as you heard Chuck giggle from behind you.

Gally crossed his arms and glared even harder at you, “He spilled water on me!” He said through gritted teeth.

You took a moment to think about how to answer, “Well at least you're cooler now, it is a really hot day.”

This made the boy pause, before he rolled his eyes again and stalked off, mumbling incoherently. But you thought you caught some words, including, kill, lucky, and pasta.

You turned to Chuck who looked at you with wide, grateful eyes, “Thank you n/n.” He beamed.

You patted him on the back, “Don’t mention it, Chucky. I would just stay away from Gally for a little while.”

The boy nodded before hurrying away.

You chuckled and turned around to go and read your book again.

Sitting down with a sigh, you opened your book back up and tried again to start reading the first sentence.

You got two words in before another voice started calling your name.

You looked up in a bit of annoyance, but saw Frypan and quickly replaced the look with a smile.

Shielding your eyes from the bright sun, you looked up as he approached and then stood in front of you, his face sporting his normal large grin.

“Mind helping me out in the kitchen for a few minutes?” He asked that smile of his.

You let out a small, unnoticeable sigh and quickly glanced longingly at your book before putting on a smile of your own, “Sure, Fry. Lead the way.”

Even though it was your day off, you didn’t mind helping. You really didn’t. You just really wanted to read your book.

But Frypan knew that it was your day off and wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t really need help.

The two of you walked side by side in a comfortable silence for a moment before he broke it, “Thanks for helping me, n/n. I know it’s your day off, but I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” You answered honestly.

Turned out, one of his chefs was out in the Medjacks hut for the day because he dropped a knife on his foot while trying to make breakfast earlier that day.

It also turned out that he needed help for more than a few minutes, actually an hour, but you didn’t once complain.

You helped with whatever he needed, cutting, cooking, baking, or cleaning.

When he finally said that you could leave, you walked back to the Homestead and grabbed your book.

By now shade had covered your spot, so you set off to look for a new reading spot.

You found the perfect place and began climbing.

It was a tree that wasn’t too far off the ground, but just enough for some privacy, and the branch was big enough that you could lay down without worrying about it if you wanted to.

You got cozy in the tree, and were just resting your back against the bark when your name was yet again called.

“What the bloody hell are you doing up there, Y/n?” A familiar british voice called from down below you.

You closed your eyes and turned your face up, taking a deep breath before putting on a smile and looking down at Newt who had a worried look on his face.

“Just sitting up here.” You replied, hoping to get this conversation over as fast as you could.

As much as you loved Newt, you just wanted to read at the moment.

“We’ll get down from there, you shank.” His worried look didn’t leave, “You could hurt yourself.”

You sighed, “I’m fine, Newt.”

You leaned back against the tree and began opening your book again when his stern voice called out to you, “Y/n, get down here right now.”

It was no longer his warm, playful tone that he normally used with you, it was the tone of a second in command that wanted to get something done.

Letting out a huff of annoyance, you swung your legs over the edge and jumped down, practically giving Newt a heart attack as he quickly sprang forward to try and break your fall.

Once you landed on two feet though, he let out a breath of relief, “Please, love, just don’t go back up there.”

With that he walked back to the gardens, leaving you more annoyed than when you had begun.

As much as you wanted to disobey Newt and climb right back up into the tree, you didn’t want to risk him interrupting you again.

Your sights finally set to one of the openings in the walls, but more importantly, the wall right next to the opening.

Nobody was working around that area, so hopefully you would finally be left alone.

You walked like you were on a mission, not even slowing down to smile and wave at all of the gladers like you normally do.

You were almost there, about five yards away when you were stopped by what seemed like the hundredth person calling your name today.

You turned with a forced smile to Alby who was giving the new greenie the tour early, today instead of tomorrow.

The new greenie looked at you with wide eyes, only seeing you once before, when he came up from the box, but not having been in the right place to ask questions at the time, he hadn’t known who you were.

Your smile softened, you remembered what it was like to be a greenie, to be scared, not remembering your name and feeling like you were alone.

“Hey there, greenie. I’m Y/n.” You said in the same kind voice that you used for all of the greenies on their first day, to let them know that they were not in fact alone.

“H-hi.” He stampeded out, face turning red as he avoided looking at you.

Alby clucked his tounge, “Now that you’ve met the only girl in the glade, some rules,” he clapped the new boy on the shoulder with a friendly face but a tone that was actually opposite of it, “She is like a sister to each and every one of us here in the glade, so if you even think-“

You cut the leader off, “Leave the boy alone, Alby.” You rolled your eyes, offering the new greenie another kind smile.

He rolled his eyes and held his hands up in surrender, “I’m just saying-“

“Well don’t just say.” You said in a duh tone, grinning when the new greenie giggled a little. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” You gave a final playful wink to the greenie, ignoring Alby’s warning look before turning and going back to sit in your spot.

You did feel a little bad though, as you heard Alby lead the new boy off while lecturing him about the rules you didn’t let him say before.

But right then you had priorities, your book.

By then the sun had begun to set, meaning within the next hour or so, the doors would close for the night, and then soon after that the annual greenie day bonfire would begin.

With a sigh, you yet again sat down and opened your book, preparing to hopefully get at least the first sentence done by now.

You were so close, five words in, and then you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist, and then quickly pick you up and spin you around.

You let out a squeal of surprise, tensing your body up, and whipped your head around to try and get a look at who was spinning you around like a merry go round.

Minho.

He must have just gotten back from his run when he saw you sitting at the edge and decided to scare you.

You start hitting his arm, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to get the message across, “Put me down, Shuck-face!”

Minho let out a laugh and carefully set you down, then proceeded to place his hands on his hips as you turned to him with a glare.

“What was that for?” You demanded.

He just grinned and reached over to ruffle your hair, “You’re just too easy to scare sometimes.”

He then walked away, holding his stomach while laughing loudly, ignoring your yells at him from behind where he left you.

You let out a huff, crossing your arms and mumbling incoherent curses to yourself, all surrounding the dark haired runner, who you had to admit was one of your best friends.

You were just about to sit back down with your book when Thomas, who had taken the day off from running, ironically came running over to you.

“We’re starting the greenie bonfire!”

All you wanted to do was scream, you don’t care about some shucking bonfire, you just want to read your book in peace.

Begrudgingly though, as the doors began to close for the night, you picked up your book and stomped after the boy, who looked slightly scared for his life at the murderous expression you wore on your face.

By the time you reached the area, the boys had already begun to light the fire with some whoops and cheers.

Thomas hastily left your side and ran over to Newt, who stood with Alby and Minho, and began whispering something to them.

You were too busy to notice them all looking at you though, as you stomped over to Gally and snatched a jar of his special drink, before he could yell at you though, you continued to stomp until you got to a spot away from the others, but still slightly near the bonfire.

The whole glade seemed to notice you sulking, because you normally were in the center of all of the action, having fun with your friends that you considered your family.

Your back was facing the crowd of gladers so you didn’t notice Minho sternly talking to the new greenie before giving him a push towards you.

Newt and Alby could then be seen scolding the runner, but didn’t do anything to stop the poor greenie sacrifice.

Your head snapped up as you sensed a presence slowly and hesitantly sitting down next to you.

You glared slightly at the greenie as he nervously shifted under your gaze, “What do you want, greenie?” You took another swig of your drink.

“I-I-erm…” this time you noticed as he glanced over to your friends, who stood staring that the two of you intently, but as soon as they noticed you looking, they looked away.

You sighed, softening up a bit once you realized that it wasn’t him you were mad at.

You quickly glanced back at your friends before leaning in and whispering something to the new boy.

Even though they were across the fire, the small group of boys leaned forward and strained to hear what you were telling him with no avail.

You pulled away from the boy with raised eyebrows and he quickly nodded before scrambling up and scurrying over to Thomas, Minho, Alby, and Newt.

Your back was still facing them so they had no indication on what you were thinking.

“Well?” Minho demanded, “What did she say, greenie?”

“She-she, umm…” the boy stammered, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Alby huffed, “Spit it out, boy.”

“She said that if you… shuck-faces have something to say to her then go over and say it yourselves you… pieces of klunk.”

He quickly went away after that, scared that he angered the other kids on his first day.

They, however, just stood there in shock. They didn’t know what got you in a bad mood, but it had to be bad if you told the greenie to deliver that message to them.

Slowly, they each extanged a weary glance before cautiously walking over to your hunched over figure.

Newt got there first and gently put his hand on your shoulder, “N/n?”

By now, Chuck and Frypan had sensed that something was wrong and came over to stand with their friends.

You harshly shrugged the blonds hand off, not even turning to look around as you gulped down another sip of the mysterious drink.

“Hey,” Minho’s voice was surprisingly soft, “What’s wrong?”

At this, you finally turned around, a hard glare on your face, “What’s wrong?” You asked in outrage, “What’s wrong?” By then heads had turned to your group and the voice quieted, “I don’t know, why don’t you shuck-faces tell me!”

Everybody in the glades eyes widened.

You were always calm, collected, and constantly cracking jokes to help lighten the mood.

Minho turned and accusedly glared at Thomas, “What did you do?”

“Me?” Thomas asked, glaring back, “I’ve barely seen her all day!”

“Oh yes, and me being in the maze gives me a perfect opportunity to talk to her all the time!”

“Both of you, slim it!” Frypan finally snapped, making his presence known. His voice then softened along with his face, “Are you okay, n/n?”

You looked right at him and let out a laugh, it was void of all humor before shaking your head, “This is so stupid.” You put your head in your hands after dropping the now empty jar onto the grass next to you, “I’m so stupid.”

Newt quickly sits next to you on the ground, Chuck quickly following his actions and sitting on the other side, “Hey, hey, hey.” His British accent coming out thick, “You’re not stupid. If it’s enough to make you upset, then it’s not at all stupid.”

You sniffled, looking up at him.

“Newts right,” Chuck piped up, “but if you tell us what it is, we can help you.”

“Or you don’t have to tell us at all.” Fry insisted, letting you know that you only have to tell them what you’re comfortable with them knowing.

You managed to smile up at him a little, “It’s just…” you trailed off, looking around, you saw everybody wearing small smiles, but you also saw the rest of the gladers trying to listen in.

Alby noticed too, because he turned around to the group and loudly announced, “Okay, back to what you were doing and mind your own shucking businesses.”

They all quickly turned around and started doing something to keep themselves busy.

“I…” you looked down, playing with a blade of grass, “I’ve been trying to read my book all day… but things kept coming up with all of you.”

Noticing the guilty looks that quickly took over their faces, you rushed your next words, “And that’s not your fault of course… it was just my day off and I don’t know the next time that I would get to try and read it again.”

They all looked at each other and all nodded, coming to a silent agreement.

“Hey,” Thomas called to you softly, crouching in front of you, causing you to slowly lift your eyes to meet his, “How about this? Because it’s our faults, you take tomorrow off to read your book with absolutely no interruptions.”

You looked at him with wide eyes, “But what if someone needs something?”

“Then they can go to anybody else.” Minho said then rolled his eyes, “It’s about time these shanks learned to solve their own problems anyway.”

You broke out into a wide grin, “Thank you,” you looked around at each and every one of them, “All of you.”

Soon after that, you all got back to your normal greenie day festivities as if nothing happened.

And true to their word, you got the whole day off the next day and nobody once interrupted you.

Mainly due to the fact that Alby warned them all that he would personally throw them off the cliff if they tired, but Chuck thought it was from him ‘chasing them all off’, Alby just let the kid have his fun thinking that.

But above all, it was indeed a very good book.

#platonic #tmr #maze runner #tmr fic #gladers x reader #platonic imagine #tmr thomas #tmr newt #tmr minho #x reader #tmr x reader #maze runner x reader #the maze runner #tmr thomas x reader #tmr newt x reader #tmr Minho x reader

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smileplushomestead · 8 months

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brekkersbane · 4 years

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Just Another Glader—Newt

Pairing: Next x fem!reader

Trigger warning: Alcohol, drunk Newt, jealous Newt

Fandom: The Maze Runner

Genre: Non specific

Requested: No

Word count: 1163

Summary: Newt is struggling to admit to Y/n that he has feelings for her, so on bonfire night he decides to get a little bit of help.

Newt sometimes wondered why he was appointed second in command. It's not that he didn't like it. Sure, it was a lot of responsibility having to help run The Glade, but that wasn't something he couldn't handle, and unbeknownst to him he was the glue of the Glade. He wondered because he didn't view himself as anything particularly special. Why not Gally, or Minho? Sure they were both hotheads, but they could get people to rally. Of course Newt didn't view himself as anything lesser, he wasn't insecure, just didn't quite see himself as special. He was equal to everyone in his mind. Just another Glader.

And unfortunately, when you're pinning after the only girl in The Glade, being "just another Glader" doesn't help you much. And that was another thought Newt ranggled with on the daily.

Y/n. The perfect balance kind, quirky and mischievous, and Newt wasn't the only one after her, not by a long shot. At first when people started to proclaim their quote unquote, "undying love" for her, she turned them away gently telling them they were very kind, but she didn't feel the same. But after the first half dozen she started to get impatient. If any boy (besides maybe Newt, Minho, Chuck, Alby or Thomas) got anywhere near her she sent them away with a withering glare, and continued doing what she was doing, and reasonably so.

Newt and Y/n were friends, so at least he knew she cared for him, just not in the way he wanted her to. Apparently, Minho had had enough of watching Newt stare at her while she worked, or ate, or talked, or really anything, Newt could have watched her for hours, but Minho took the snap.

Minho was eating dinner with Newt and telling him about the maze, various patterns they'd already been over dozens of times before, both were starting to loose hope about ever getting out, much to Alby's chagrin, but Minho went over it with Newt every day anyways. Or Minho was trying to. "So we ran section 8 today, and Thomas seems to be adapting pretty quick— Newt, are listening to me?"

Newt was staring at Y/n as she chatted amiably with Chuck and Thomas. She laughed at something Chuck said and Thomas gave ruffled her hair with a fond smile. Despite the brother sister type of relationship they seemed to have, Newt felt jealous cloud his vision quick as quicksilver.

As Y/n busied herself swatting Thomas's hand away, Newt busied himself clenching his fists and sending Thomas a cool look. Minho slammed his fork down, causing Newt to snap out of his daze, and a few boys to raise and eyebrow at the keeper of the runners.

"Alright that's it, shuckface! If you don't tell the shebean soon, I'll tell her myself. If you're gonna be pissed at Thomas, it better be for a reason better than this." he said.

Newt looked at Minho warily, knowing full well what he meant. "Tell her what exactly?" he asked with feeble hope that Minho meant something else.

"You know very well what. I'm tired of you gazing at her like she's the shuck sunset while I'm trying to talk to you." Minho snapped, crumpling Newt's hopes like a ball of paper. Newt sighed, knowing he was probably right. "Besides, if you don't make a move soon, Thomas will. And then where will you be?"

Newt scowled, teeth grinding together audibly. "You think Tommy likes her?"

Minho scoffed, if he would have had more hair he would have flipped it. "Yeah, Thomas and every other guy in this shuck place. Do something soon, or I will."

***

As it turns out, Newt did find a way to muster up the courage. Or alcohol dosed Newt did. It was bonfire night, meaning Gally was in an okay-ish mood, which meant Gally's special drink. No one knew what was in it, just that it made them feel "alive". Newt was never one to want to get wasted, but he figured if he was going to spit out how he felt to Y/n, he might as well not remember her rejection in the morning.

"Bottoms up." he muttered too himself, gulping down some of Gally's drink.

Y/n sat on a log beside a clearly intoxicated Minho. Normally, she could put up with Minho and his antics, but when he got drunk he got a little too flirty for her taste.

"Hey Y/n, I think something's wrong with my bed," Minho shrieked out a giggle like an intoxicated hyena. "You aren't in it."

Y/n thunked Minho on the head. "Go bother Thomas, you twat." she said with an eye roll.

Minho skipped off in his drunk stupor, but was quickly replaced by someone else. Newt slung an arm around the girl and sent her a grin.

"'Ello, love." he slurred. "You had some of Gally's drink yet?"

Y/n groaned, hand immediately flying up to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration. How had someone gotten Newt drunk? He never drank, not once in the two years she'd known him. "Can't say I have." she said. "Have you?"

Newt held his fingers very close together for the girl to see. "Maybe a teeny bit." He giggled.

She stood up quickly, and offered the lanky blond her hand. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

Newt took her hand and stumbled after her towards the homestead. Most Gladers slept in hammocks, but being second in command has the occasional benefit, such as a room in the homestead, and staying away from the cult of Gladers who enjoyed practicing spirit summoning rituals (God knows where they'd learned them) in the dead of night.

After bumping into several walls, and tripping over multiple stairs, a severely exasperated Y/n managed to haul Newt into his bedroom.

"Go to sleep, Newt. You'll feel better in the morning." That was a lie. The only thing he would have in the morning was a pounding headache and a world that appeared to look like a giant pinwheel of death, but she needed to convince him to close his eyes for at least a few hours. A pout appeared on Newt's face as Y/n moved for the door.

"Don't gooooooo." he whined, a childish look of abandonment crossing his morose face.

"Alright." Y/n murmured. She sat down on the floor next to his bed, and after some convincing, got Newt to try and fall asleep. She sat in silence for a few minutes. After a solid forty five minutes or so, she assumed he was asleep, and quietly crept towards the door, but before she could slip through the door and back to her hammock, the girl heard a quiet whisper waltz across broken silence.

"I love you" murmured from Newt. Y/n smiled softly at his now sleeping form.

"I love you too, Newt."

#newt #tmr #tmr x reader #gladers #newt x y/n #newt x reader #newt x you #drunk newt #bonfire #newt imagine #thomas #minho #drunk minho

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

Text

April Contest Submission #12: The Seal-Wife

Words: ca. 1,500 Setting: Scottish myth AU Lemon: no CW: coerced marriage

Long ago, when the world was younger and smaller, a township stood atop the great cliffs of Clo Mor. It was home to many, and one of those was a young woman named Anna. Anna was the apothecary’s apprentice, and a forester’s daughter besides, and so full well knew she the lore of the wild lands beyond the steadings, of the rivers and lakes, and of the great and endless Sea. She was a happy girl, or so folks would say, with a ready laugh and rosy cheeks, and her flame-kissed hair and emerald cloak left aught but smiles in their wake.

On the day her life would change forever, Anna walked the paths that led down the great cliffs, gathering golden samphire for her mistress. She stepped without a care down narrow ledges scarcely a hand’s-span across, for the heights held no fear for one who had walked their length since she could put one foot before another. Above her the sea birds squawked in their endless debate, and below her the waves beat the endless rhythm that every child learned in their cradle, and all things were as they should have been.

All things, save one.

On the rocks, far below, a patch of white seemed to glow against the umber cliffs. Anna climbed down, flower basket in hand, to see what had washed ashore. And when she had gotten a little closer, Anna was shocked to find it was not an old sailcloth, or a goodwife’s bedsheet blown far astray, but a woman. Naked she lay upon the sand, and for a horrible moment Anna thought her drowned. But her paleness was no corpse-pallor – her flawless skin was like cream on ewe’s milk, and her silver hair shone like moonlight. Anna could not help but drink down the sight of her from her stony perch. But then she spotted the tawny mass of fur piled next to the woman, like an old fireplace rug, and her breath caught. For the fur was no fur, but a sealskin, and the woman was no woman, but a maighdeann-ròin, or a selkie, as most folk named them, come to sun herself upon the shore.

Anna crept down the path as quickly as she dared, staying silent with all the craft she could muster. Two things she saw, as she came close. First was delightful confirmation that the selkie in her human form was the most breathtaking, exquisite creature Anna had ever laid eyes on, and so intent was she on her pale lips and the rise and fall of her breasts that Anna nearly stumbled from the ledge.

The second thing she saw was her brother, Kristoff, creeping down the rocky beach, one hand outstretched towards the sealskin.

Anna screamed, and half-ran, half-fell down the remainder of the cliff-side path, but it was too late. The selkie stood tall, and Kristoff was on his knees before her. In one fist she clutched fast his sandy hair. In the other, a knife of knapped flint pressed tight to his neck.

“Please!” Anna begged. She stumbled to a stop a respectful distance away. “Please, my brother wished no harm upon you. Please, do not hurt him!”

“No harm?” The selkie turned, and even through her terror the creature’s beauty struck Anna like a blow. She dragged Kristoff forward by his hair. He was a strapping lad, but she swung him forward with the same ease that Anna had swung her now-forgotten flower basket. “Tell your sister why you came upon me like a thief, man-o’-the-cliffs.”

Kristoff’s fearful eyes met Anna’s, and she prayed that he spoke true, even if his words damned him, for she’d been taught that selkies hated lies with a fury.

“It-it is said that if you can steal a selkie’s sealskin, she’ll not be able to return to the sea, and that for it’s safe return she’ll… she’ll have to… barter with you…” Kristoff’s voice trailed off, laden heavy with shame.

“Do you hear him, lass?” spat the selkie. “He intended not only to take from me what is mine, but to use it to compel me into some filthy act that he hasn’t even the gall to name.”

Kristoff’s eyes would not meet hers, and Anna knew that the selkie had the right of it. She felt disgust curdle in her stomach. “It’s just a story. A-a foolish lie boys tell each other when they’ve had too much drink and their blood is up,” Anna pleaded quietly. “Like pissing on wild oats or leaving mistletoe under the bed of a boy you like. It’s plain as day that he couldn’t have done you harm. Please, let him go.”

“Intention counts for naught, then, does it?” The selkie was still for so long that Anna was certain that her words had swayed her heart, but then she brought the flint again to Kristoff’s neck. “Nay, `twas my skin he sought to steal. And it’s his skin I’ll take in restitution.”

With a cry, Anna hurled herself at the selkie, and vainly she tried to pull the blade from her brother’s throat. But, however delicate her frame, the selkie’s arm was as iron forged, and Anna dropped to the ground at the creature’s feet, sobbing.

“Please,” she cried. “you have the right, but if it’s a skin you must have, take mine, I beg you!”

Kristoff cried out at this, but as hard as he thrashed in the selkie’s grip, he could not free himself. The selkie bent down and lifted Anna’s chin with the hand that still bore the knife. Her smile made Anna’s race. “And a far prettier skin it is, lass.” She sighed. “But… a man should pay his own debts.”

Anna clutched at her hand desperately. “If not my life you’ll take, then name your price. Anything I have, any service I can render, it is yours. Please, there must be something.”

At this, the selkie seemed to hesitate. “A… considerable offer, lass,” she muttered. She rose to her feet and offered her hand to Anna, who took it.

“My name is Anna,” said she.

“Well, Anna, tell me true: are there any oaths that bind you to the people of the cliffs? Any claims upon your person? Any debts you must repay?”

Anna did not hesitate. “No,” she lied.

The selkie pursed her lovely lips. “Say it out loud, Anna. Swear to it, on your brother’s life and fortune.”

“There are no oaths that bind me.” Kristoff sputtered at the lie, but Anna silenced him with a furious glance. “No man has claim upon me. I have no debts. So I swear, on my brother’s life and fortune. And my own.”

Her brother fell back onto the rocks as the selkie released her grip, and he gaped up at both of them.

“You are fortunate, little man, that your sister’s love speaks to your character better than your actions,” she said. “Now, go. Return to your homestead, and tell your kith and kin everything that transpired here today.”

Kristoff staggered to his feet. “I’m not going anywhere until someone tells me-“

“Kristoff!” Anna shouted. “Kristoff, please. Do as she says. And tell mother and father that I love them.”

He made as if to protest again, but finally he nodded in grim acceptance, and Anna and the selkie watched him scrabble up the cliff path until he was out of sight.

“That’s that, then.” The selkie turned to Anna, and she was somehow even more beautiful with the righteous anger gone from her face. She stepped closer still, and all at once Anna remembered that she was naked. Color leapt into her cheeks, and she had to struggle not to retreat from the selkie’s advance.

The selkie laughed softly. “Why do you blush, dear Anna? Could it be you’ve guessed what boon I intend to ask of you?”

“I have,” Anna said. And know full well she did, for if it wasn’t her life the selkie wanted, then only one thing would balance the scales against her brother’s insult.

“Lovely and canny. How lucky I am.” The selkie leaned forward, and Anna shivered as her lips brushed against her neck. Her hair smelled of salt and something wild. Anna yelped as teeth sank into her flesh, but in a moment the pain was replaced by a breathless, luscious feeling that rolled from her scalp to her toes and back again. She would have sagged to the ground if the selkie hadn’t held her fast.

“Elsa,” she mumbled to the air, though she knew not why.

The selkie held her tight as she caught her breath. “My mark will let you live in comfort `neath the waves for so long as you bear it,” she whispered into Anna’s ear. “And you read my name from it, just like that! Truly, the moon smiles down on me, to bless me with such a fine wife this day.”

And from the cliffs of Clo Mor, far above, Anna’s brother watched as the selkie led his sister by the hand into the great and endless Sea, until the red of her hair was lost in the churning foam.

#elsanna #submission #April 2021 contest #prompt: break

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haughtshotgun · 4 years

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12 and 50 pleasseeeeeeeee

SORRY THIS IS SO LATE MY LIFE IS MESS AS FUCK RIGHT NOW 🙃 thank you 😊

12. Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss.

She wanted to hate Waverly for hiding her, hiding them, but she couldn’t. Hate was the opposite of what she felt for the brunette who was on the makeshift dance floor, circled by a group of her preppy friends. Nicole did loath these parties though. The thumbing music and sweaty frat boys eying women like prey made her stomach coil. The ginger brought her beer bottle to her lips and took a long swig. As she did, hazel eyes caught her own and Nicole removed the beer from her mouth with a smirk.

Wordlessly, the ginger left the room, hoping Waverly would take the bait. Nicole walked down a dark hallway to a tucked away corner of the college apartment. It wasn’t long before she heard light footsteps following behind her. She emptied her beer and discarded the bottle on a side table.

“Hey, sexy,” Waverly cooed as she came into view. Her chestnut waves framed her face as she wore a wicked smile. The brunette’s baby blue crop-top teased just the right amount of skin and instantly Nicole’s hands were on the tone expanse of stomach muscles. “Fuck!” Waverly exclaimed at the surprised touch.

In an airy laugh Nicole whispered, “That can be arranged.” Hands found the back of her head, fingers gripping her auburn locks to pull her closer. Their lips met in a searing kiss. It was all teeth and tongue, want and need. Nicole felt her body abuzz with desire as Waverly pressed her against the wall with a thud. The vibration from the wall caused the beer to fall off the table, crashing onto the pine floor with a deafening smash.

“Shit!” Waverly cursed, eyes wide with shock. Nicole begrudgingly removed her hands from warm skin and took one of Waverly’s in her own.

“Let’s get out of here,” the ginger suggested, her true intentions playing through the smirk on her lips.

Waverly gave a quick nod and peck to Nicole’s lip, the action making her heart flutter. With a squeeze of a soft hand, Nicole guided them out of the apartment through the back entrance. They giggled as they jogged away from the scene of the crime with their fingers laced and beer blushes tinting their cheeks. Nicole felt like she was flying next to Waverly when they suddenly stopped, the brunette halting them in their tracks.

“Waves?”

“Go on a date with me,” Waverly blurted out, her chest slightly rising and falling. The ginger blinked dumbly for a second, her tilted like a confused puppy and eyebrows furrowed. “I’m done hiding you, hiding this. Let’s do it right, Nic.” Hazel eyes glimmered under a street light and Nicole could feel her heartbeat in her throat.

“God, Waverly, yes,” Nicole chuckled and wrapped the smaller woman in a tight hug.

They stood there like that for who knows how long. Front pressed to front, arms securely around each other, fearing if they let go one would float away. They soaked each other in under the new light and for the first time in a long time, Nicole felt at peace.

50. A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck.

Canon Compliant

Waverly marveled at Nicole. She was frozen in place on the porch at the sight of her. Her auburn mane was tamed in a loose bun with a flannel wrapped around her waist as her defined back and arms swung an ax down on a log of wood. There was a faint outline of sweat on the ginger’s blue tank top and each time metal met wood a soft grunt left full lips. The lemonade Waverly had fully intended on giving to her fiancée was now dripping condensation on her fingers, a clear sign of her distraction.

She collected herself, waited until the ax was stil, and called out, “You make a sexy lumberjack, sweetie!” Nicole turned on her booted heel with a beaming smile on her mouth. “Brought you some lemonade!” Waverly walked over to the ginger on the lawn while Nicole took a moment of reprieve from the laborious housework and sat on a stump, ax placed carefully off to the side.

“How did I get so lucky?” Nicole chuckled and Waverly dismissively waved the thought away.

Once in front of her fiancée, she sat on Nicole’s lap and handed her the glass. “It’s not luck. It’s destiny.” Waverly watched as honey eyes sparkled with happiness in the afternoon light.

The brunette rested an arm on sturdy shoulders and smiled at the feeling of a soft hand at the small of her back. She licked the pad of her left thumb and brought it up to the smudge mark on Nicole’s cheek, a souvenir of her progress.

The older woman nodded knowingly and let out a breathy chuckle before bringing the drink to her lips. The combination of her fiancée’s body heat all around her and the way Nicole’s lips pressed against the glass made Waverly bite her lip in want. Nicole removed the lemonade from her mouth, setting it on the grass. Waverly replaced the newly empty space with her needy lips, humming at the sour taste she found there. Arms quickly wrapped around her middle and pulled her closer as their lips moved together in a metered rhythm.

Waverly was first to pull away. Her lips trailed down to the point of Nicole’s chin and she gently nipped the ivory skin there. “Baby,” the ginger moaned lowly. Waverly smirked against the ridge of Nicole’s jaw, alternating between playful bites and smoothing presses. Hands soon slipped into the back pockets of her jeans and fingers gripped her ass through denim.

“Nicole,” Waverly groaned into soft skin, her hips betraying her with slightest rock. She kissed along Nicole’s jaw to the hinge and gently sucked on the skin there. Even with a thin layer of sweat on the ginger’s skin, now salt on Waverly’s tongue, she still tasted like vanilla dipped donuts. The hands at her ass kneaded with more purpose and the brunette hummed happily knowing that only she could do this to Nicole.

“W-Waves… I’m all gross and sweaty,” Nicole weakly protested when Waverly moved her lips down her neck.

The brunette just chuckled and continued, switching between hot, opened mouth kisses and teasing flicks of her tongue. Waverly, even with the slight brine of Nicole’s hardwork in her mouth, loved every taste of her fiancée - and she knew how to get more. With determination, the brunette skated her lips down to the junction of Nicole’s neck and collarbone. Without second thought she clamped down on sensitive skin and sucked, relishing in the way her fiancée whimpered and jerked at the action.

Waverly released the flesh in her mouth when they were suddenly lifted. “That’s it.” Nicole’s voice was stern as her hands gripped the back of Waverly’s thighs.

The brunette smirked in victory, wrapped her legs around Nicole’s strong middle, and asked in faux confusion, “where are we going?” She peppered sweet kisses to Nicole’s cheek as the ginger carried her up the porch and into the homestead.

With a throaty chuckle, Nicole replied, “We’re going to get clean then so, so dirty.”

Waverly didn’t even attempt to stifle the moan that fell from her. These were the things they did to each other and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

#apersonofmanywords #nicole haught #wearp #wayhaught #waverly earp #writing prompt

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corinthbayrpg · 3 years

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NAME. Armando Salavieja Roa AGE & BIRTH DATE. 447 & November 4th, 1574 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Genderfluid & He/They SPECIES. Cubi OCCUPATION. Artist & Bartender at Ambrosia FACE CLAIM. Pedro Pascal

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: violence, gore, suicide, the sex ) Colonial Chile, 1617

The stench of gunpowder and gore clogged the air, as thick and suffocating as the mud the conquistador’s knees sunk into. Through the tears and the muck caked into his lashes, Armando stared into the blurry heap of red, swimming matter he struggled to cradle in his arms. Seconds ago it was the most beautiful composition of human features the heavens had designed, lips that relished the taste of sweet figs and Armando’s name; treacherous dark eyes that softened when they landed on his companion, unscathed and victorious, only seconds ago. Seconds. Now it was all running together, slipping through Armando’s pleading grip to join the muck of the battlefield. He retched until his ears were ringing and his lungs burned, his body sapped from this heady business of war and grief.

He was left with a musket, a single snuff of powder and bullet, and a war-battered horse that was more fit for meat than a mount. Altogether it was a great show of generosity, considering the depravity of his sin. It was impossible to know how long he stayed there, slumped in the gore, until he was wrought of emotion.

Months ago, watching women and children succumb to cutlass and rifle and rotting fever, Armando had come to the conclusion that their God had not crossed to these uncharted lands with them. Even if he had, he knew there would be no negotiating for his tainted soul. So, with the long barrel pressed precariously beneath his chin, he shut his eyes and pleaded to any deity that would listen.

“Perdoname,” Armando spit through clenched teeth, “Que mi mayor pecado fue amar.” With a final, shuddering breath, he pulled the trigger.

Only... there was no crack of white-hot pain or blinding light, no smell of burnt gunpowder on the air. The woodlands went still. Blood drummed like a battalion in his skull. A sudden chill tore down his spine, alerting Armando that was no longer alone. He’d prayed, and someone… something had listened. It was bristling and primal, something much more ancient than the God he knew. Before he could speak, it had wrapped him in a warm, spiced plume of smoke, much how a mother swaddled her child. She sealed his wounds between the veils of time, his taker-in of wayward things, and offered respite from his sorrow.

Armando, with nothing but his immortal soul left to lose, signed it away.

The deed fulfilled, the indiscernible shadow was gone in a litter of silken white feathers, the smoke dissipating behind. The woodland life resumed its chatter. The grief was gone, now replaced by an equally-encompassing numbness and… and hunger. He was ravenous, though no food would satiate him, only pleasures of living, giving flesh.

The newbred incubus found relief within a small encampment of Spanish settlers, and wrapped them tightly in his coils. In a week, he’d wasted the camp of its souls, each of them enraptured by him until their dying breath, which Armando was delighted to find always tasted the sweetest. The high of consuming a human life was unlike anything he’d felt before, but the euphoria plummeted fast and hard, leaving pangs and more lustful hunger in its wake. He was a new creature entirely, propelled through the world by lust and yearning and instinct, and the unbending anguish he’d felt not even a week prior was now a lifetime away.

Until, when he’d had his fill, his dead lover appeared at the husk of a homestead he’d created. Armando’s heart would’ve stopped, had it been beating. It was as if the shape had separated from the fog itself, a mirage cast of perfectly-cast light and shadow. There was no mistaking him though, albeit his strong features were gaunt and sapped of color. An expansive, purplish scar flayed like lightning across his face, tangled high into the roots of his hair.

“Estabas muerto,” Armando stammered and reached to trace a finger along the frayed skin. “Te abracé, te enterré. Como estas vivo?”

He flinched when a cold hand caught his wrist before it could reach his blackened lips. “No estoy vivo ni muerto,” The shadow replied.

‘Pastor’ was the closest word he could find for it, a shepherd of sorts, called to herd the souls of the settlers onward before Armando beat him to it. He was an unbound soul, a taker-in of wayward things, without a sturdy enough vessel to withstand Armando’s newfound hunger. Even a single night would be enough for the cubi to consume the reaper’s flickering soul entirely.

And so, the star-crossed lovers were bound, never to consummate their eternal binding of spirit. The decades began to run together, Armando’s eternal pining drowned in hedonism of every shape and flavor. Pirate ports, private palaces, military outposts - anywhere there was a lascivious craving, he could be found entertaining it, leaving only sourness and death behind. His lover visited intermittently through the channel of dreams, though this illusion of intimacy could never be enough to satiate them fully. In time, the rift grew wider between them.

Decades stretched into centuries, and each turn of the clock came with a new vice to entertain. The incubus took up painting portraiture along the way, an art he found to be incredibly intimate in its nature, with the bonus of allowing for the disarmament of willing models through his prominence and charm. With his hunger qualmed, his victims’ living image was forever captured in oil-cast splendor. Armando found it all quite poetic and generous of himself to provide such a flattering life beyond life. A recurring motif throughout his art was a scar-ridden face with striking features, one that would be the quizzical discussion of many European parlor rooms into the early 19th century.

When painting portraiture fell out of fashion, he took up the camera. Armando found photography to be a flattened bastardization of the world, wholly devoid of life. His portraiture, by contrast, restored life through tactful illusion, while the photograph only staled it. Still, the medium allowed for new cliente, each earnest visitor leaving a bit less whole by the end. Armando’s series gained him renowned acclaim, particularly a series following several subjects over what appeared to be decades of hard living. Few knew the truth of his subjects’ cause for wasting away, but the artist fled San Francisco before anyone could wise up to it.

With the Americas still spent and breathing hard, Greece beckoned, and Armando, a creature driven by basest impulse and desire, followed.

PERSONALITY

+ self-assured, vivacious, perceptive - arrogant, compulsive, self-indulgent

PLAYED BY THEO. PST. She/They.

#nonbinary #taken #cubi #pedro pascal #armando salavieja roa

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episomalvector · 3 years

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Fly on the wall.:~)

Send ‘fly on the wall’ for a Drabble of my muse talking to someone else about your muse | Still Accepting

_________

Oversized limbs brushed through the halls, brushing and flitting along every little piece of her homestead. They all had places like this while they observed-- little run down homes where they could find solace and a place to be away from their subjects. This little one, however, hadn’t found it necessary to check in recently. It was time that the main body checked in if the duplicate wasn’t going to.

‘Little Rat... you are making things difficult.’

Soft brown eyes flick upwards from the cup of tea that she cradled in her hands-- letting them focus on the large, lanky body that filled the doorway to the room. Cold, blackened limbs gripping the frame as it pushed forward-- blind eyes shifting through the room until they stare into hers. The main body must not have been pleased if it was here-- if it was mad enough to let its maw rip open to bare rows upon rows of predatory teeth. They weren’t for necessity-- they were for show.

‘You’re becoming too close--’

“It’s not what you think.”

‘I know you better than you know yourself.’

It pushes itself forward, a clicking sound escaping its throat and maw as it’s larger set of upper arms help lead towards its duplicate. Oh how long had it been since it had been like all of its pretty little rats? The disarming face and the proper manners of such a sweet young girl. Never mind that it felt like it had lived an eternity-- near a century-- and that its life had been nothing that it have ever thought of. The fact that it was able to get out of the lab without being noticed? That could be a problem.

‘It’s hard to admit that I believe another is corrupting you.’

“I continue to be myself and nothing more. Subject Akahiro, Daken has done nothing but teach. I’ve been learning about him and his existence just as you have asked all of us.”

It was something that seemed to happen with all the duplicates-- they got a little interested in one thing or another. It was something that the prime body had done its damnedest to stop-- but it felt as though the duplicates truly became their own beings after so long. But while it didn’t find most of the duplicates as something that could ruin everything? It seemed like the one that had found its way to observing Daken was learning some traits that were putting them all at risk.

‘Your actions draw attention.’

“We’ll be fine.”

There was a part of her that wasn’t thinking about how she wasn’t concerned for herself and the other duplicates. However? She was thinking about how much she was actively enjoying her time with Daken. It wasn’t feelings of love or admiration in that sort of sense-- but rather? It was like feeling she had found a sort of kindred spirit. Sure, they both had their own unique origins-- but they were seeming to bond over quite a few things. She was also learning new things.

‘What you do doesn’t only reflect on yourself, Rat, you are one piece of a whole-- one of many. Stop being selfish-- and stop putting yourself into compromising situations with the subject. Intimacy isn’t something that you are signed up for-- perhaps it’s already time that you distance yourself from the subject. Perhaps it’s time we consider your termination and replace you with a rat that hasn’t gone... so native.’

She didn’t know what the prime body wanted from her-- she did everything that it asked for and received nothing but scorn in return. What did it honestly expect-- with all things concerning Daken considered? It had the same information that she had before she went to find him. Before she kept herself low and watched him for what felt like an eternity before finally approaching him.

The duplicate brushes a long lock of her black hair out of her face, her attention glued to the enormous monster that had, once, been just like her. It drops its face-- the sharp maw opening to left out a soft hiss. A warning. One that the duplicate received loud and clear, and in response? She touched along the top of the things’ snout-- it was hard to explain its anatomy when it was everchanging and ever-disturbing.

“No. I don’t need to be repurposed-- I promise, I haven’t compromised what it is you sent me to do. I’m doing everything you’ve asked and learning what it is that the subject has to teach. He isn’t corrupting me-- how could he? Don’t you think that’s something that’s a little-- delusional?” No, that wasn’t what she really wanted to say. “It’s not like he could interrupt our communications or change any part of me, right?”

That was something she was, actually curious about-- sometimes she wondered if there was a way for his pheromones to cancel out the lines of communication that she had with the prime body. A way that they could almost be used to mask her-- to interrupt her own chemical signals.

‘See that he doesn’t, little Rat... because if we feel that you’re not accomplishing your mission? We’ll shut it all down-- I’m sure he’d care just as much as we would if you were terminated.’ It slowly moved its head back and began to find its way out of the room. A warning was enough for now-- and if the duplicate continued acting odd? There would be no more warnings. ‘We don’t have to be killers like he is, Rat. We are scientists. We observe and learn-- that’s the purpose we serve in life. You are not programmed to be a butcher or a thug.’

She didn’t feel she was acting so odd, though. Not as she watched the lumbering creature leave the room-- the fact that it found its way here was problem enough. It was the one who chose Daken as one of their subjects-- it knew what he was. But... whatever, this didn’t matter in the end did it? She had fun with him-- and it’s not like he made her do anything she didn’t want to. Mami watches after where the creature had left for another few moments... and then there was a phone in her palms.

‘Don’t continue to disappoint us, Rat.’

Her head tilts to regard the, now, empty hallway. Speaking of Daken... she’d rather take her chances finding her way to him tonight instead of letting the prime body sneak back at some point.

[Txt: Daken] Two questions.

[Txt: Daken] Are you busy... and can I stay with you tonight?

[Txt: Daken] I’ll treat you to dinner and whatever you want to do to have fun.

#+let me explain the process+ (asks)#// I was gonna do it at work #but then I realized you're gonna get a whole wall of text #I'm not gonna say the main body find Daken threatening #but like... it do #goreverine

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

Text

Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck Restrospective: The Raider of the Copper Hill! “You Got Rich Son”

Hello all you happy people! And welcome back to my retrospective of the Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck! It’s been far too long, almost three months since we last checked in with Scrooge and frankly I feel i’ve been spacing these entries out too much for this one and for the retrospectives that aren’t paid for in general. So expect at least one McDuck adventure a month till I finish, possibly two when I can swing it like this month.

Now i’m done beating myself up, when we last left off a younger more naive, more optimistic and less experienced Scooge took up a career as a cowboy for Cattle Baron, gained his first sidekick in the form of his Horse Hortense, and took out some cattle thieves with the help of Teddy Fucking Roosevelt.

This chapter marks the end of the story’s first act. The first act is about a younger and far nicer Scrooge: still onrey and still a cheapskate, but still a good kid and far more outwardly friendly and welcoming, a far cry from the bitter untrusting man we come to know. This chapter is one of the reasons why, as Scrooge learns a hard lesson about wealth and success, the sacrifices one needs to make for family and about sticking your hand in a lightbulb while it’s plugged in. So join me under the cut as Scrooge meets another valuable mentor, one of his greatest enemies, and about 50 feet of barbed wire.

We begin with the end of Scrooge’s time as a ranch hand and cowpunch. With homesteaders moving in and dividing up the land, Murdo simply dosen’t have the space for cattle baroning anymore and has to let Scrooge go and head back to texas. We do get a great bit of Scrooge wrapped in barbed wire, having gone to cut some down so Murdo could move the herd out.

So with his Job done and parting on good terms with his old boss, Scrooge sets up his own homestead on some land near the Anaconda Silver Mine, trying to make it as a prospector, starting on the path that would eventually lead him to riches.. in about a decade and a half.

So Scrooge bemoans his rotten luck over Dinner with a stranger, Marcus Daly owner of said mine... who just.. randomly sat down to have dinner with a 17 year old.

Marcus belays his own woes: While Scrooge has failed at what he tried to do, having gotten into both steamboating and cattle punching too late to go anywhere with either, Daly has a silver mine that’s full of copper: decent amoutns of it but still not what his investors wanted.

Both however find their fortunes reverse in an instant in the weirdest way possible. The light goes out at their table and Scrooge tries to adjust it only to electcute himself. To his shock...

He finds out it’s running on electricty, which is starting to become widespread.. and requires vast amounts of copper wiring. Scrooge is back in the game but finds trouble getting equipment as the local seller naturally is a jackass who jacks up the price. Scrooge instead sells the gold teeth his dad gave him to the nearest gentleman after talking him into it. . And i’ts not even the weirdest transaction i’ve seen this week.

For the record those weird things are the guy on the left’s skinflakes, his power is to make naked golems of himself out of his dandruff and skin flakes and what have you, while the guy on the right is paying for a mutant with a star for a head. So yeah a scottish cowboy selling his ancestor’s dentures to pay for mining gear is refelshingly tame after all of this.

So we get the comic equivleant of a montage as Scrooge starts his work at prospecting, making a portable homesteader shack as a miner owns any land he lives on, and moving around to try and find it, but he runs into a problem: with his last two careers he had mentors to help him learn what to do: Pothole taught him riverboating and Murdo helped him learn to ride the trails. Here he has no one and while you can self teach a lot of things prospecting isn’t one of them.

He end sup finding one though as a rich gentleman asking about the mine happens to wander by: Howard D. Rockerduck. If that names sounds familiar it should as he’s indeed the father of exactly who your thinking of and we meet a young 10 or so year old john who asks him to stop dealing with a grubby workman. We also find out whose responsible for him turning out ot be such a piece of work as his mother’s response to his father telling him “I used to be a grubby workman is well... word’s cant’ do this amount of classist bulslhit justice.

Seriously his unnamed wife is so odious it hurts. And how the fuck did an honest, kind man like Howard end up with this bitch? It’ sbaffled me every time i’ve read this: did he marry for money? is he a gold digger? go down gold dig get down? Is she just THAT good in bed? Did he just make a horrible mistake one night? Did she lie to him about who she was? Was she replaced by a skrull? I have questions no duck comic has properly explained.. and if they have please tell me. Also it does tickle me we’re getting a bit with a duck named howard though sadly he wears a top hat instead of a nice little bowler. And if you don’t know who howard the duck is.. shame on you. And if you’ve seen the movie.. my deepest sympathies.

While Howard laments wanting to horsewhip his son, this was a century ago with change mind you standards were different and also John sucks. Howard crticizes Scrooge’s techqniue after introducing himself, and Scrooge and him get into a bit of a tizzy, with Howard offering to teach him for two cents.. but the hostility quickly desolves hours later as Scrooge realizes Howard was right and he’d been doing things completely wrong and the thrill of hard honest work again has washed away any ego driven competiviness.

I”ll get more into Howard in a second but he does eventually strike copper, and while the vein is full it’s also thin. But Howard has one final trick and takes Scroogey for an ore test. I tried to find more on this but just found a lot of ways to do it yourself and what not. I”m now really intrigued how they did this and found the content of minerals. I know it’s a dull subject but i’m curious how they did it with the technology of the time. Did they just use acids like I found? If so how’d they get them? I do say this is one of the great qualities of Rosa’s works: he makes you want to learn more about history. I looked up more about TR after the last chapter and now I want to know how the hell metallurgy worked in the late 1800′s.

We then get an intresting interacton as Scrooge.. warmly greets the townsfolk and vice versa.. yes the same Scrooge who as an adult would be introduced proclaming...

Is warm, optimistic and wholeheartedly belieives...

As you can probably tell by Howard’s reaction and what Scrooge becomes.. this story’s all about shattering that notion and is the first of two to shatter the poor kid’s trust in people and make him into the bitter old sod we know.

The sample comes back 55% positive... which leaves Howard rushing to get Scrooge to a court house. As it turns out there’s an old, very real for the time, mining law called the Law of Apex: whoever owns the land closest to where an ore vein is on the surface owns the whole thing... so legally Scrogoe owns the ENTIRE ANACONDA COPPER MINE, which at this point as detailed in the time skip has gone from struggling to utterly thriving and sucessful. Whoever owns the land at the time the Judge rules it gets the mine.. and Scrooge’s friends, who seconds ago were concerned about him being dragged into court.. are now all scrambling to take his fortune, something Howard dosen’t seem at all suprised about.

But while this may be a kinder, more naive Scrooge McDuck, it’s still SCROOGE MCDUCK. His response is to cut a nearbye power wire and swing it tarzan style over to hortense and ride her back ahead of the mob... with the electric wire slapping her rear and causing her to go extra fast.. and also quit. So Scrooge stands alone but manages to take out some of the ruffians with his shack while John and the Judge rush to the site. As for Scrooge well... you want to see what a McDuck family beserker rage against an ENTIRE angry mob of opportunistic assholes look like?

And this isn’t even the most badass thing Scrooge will do this series. Or even in the next few issues. That’s how awesome this series is: fighting an angry mob SOLO with simply his pure rage and whatever he can grab and throw. And he WINS. He’s exausted and passes out, falling out of the sky on his final opponent.. but he took out what was at the LEAST 50 men, and ONLY passed out because one of them threw dynamite in his out house.. and even THAT didn’t kill him or put him out, simply casuing him to land on said dynamite throwing idiot and wins.

We find out Rockerduck actually was one of the mine’s owners but helped Scrooge anyway: he has more than enough money and all it’s going to do in the end is go to a greedy brat. Marcus Daly shows up and while he’ll get the law overturned eventually, he still has to shut down while that happens and finds the right officials to bribe. And this is the 1800s... you gotta go by train to do your bribes. You can’t just do that shit over email and hidden bank accounts. Daly offers him 10,000.. but given what Scrooge could earn even before he got his mine back, Scrooge turns it down.

However this victory is bittersweet as Scrooge warmly greets his friends.. only for one to cuss him out and the other to tell him to get loss. We then get one of my faviorite exchanges in this story.

This whole Panel is a masterwork. The sheer INNOCENCE on Scrooge’s face, almost looking like Donald, desperately wondering what he did, when as Howard points out.. he did nothing wrong. He simply got successful and they resent him for it.

This has been a hard paragraph for me to write as I want to tread carefully. People do have good reasons to scorn the rich or celebrtiies sometimes. Some rich people or those in the media are genuinely terrible. Jeff Bezos, Tucker Carlson, Mel Gibson, Louie CK, Joss Whedon and even someone as low on the totem pole as Doug Walker is odious. And of course we all can think of one odious example of rich bastard i’d rather not think of, especially when thinking of John D Rockerduck and what he’l lbecome as an adult that i’m not giving a pleasure of the name drop but came to mind.

But even for good people becoming succesful puts up a barrier between you and other people: Fans of yours will admire you or write fanfic or what have about you without even knowing you, i’ve been on that side, and some people will hate you just because without valid reason, especially in this day and age. Success breeds resentment and even people you trusted and loved can sometimes turn on you. It’s the double eged sword of achieving your dreams: You get what you wanted but you often loose what you had.

And it was no diffrent two centuries ago, with Scrooge’s friends only being friendly as long as it suited them, turning on him first to steal his chance at glory and then to scorn him for daring to achieve it. Some people.. are only there for you as long as your not above them. And sometimes you can be happy. Look at Tom Hanks, who has a lovely family and a long and storied career. Or Linkara, a youtuber who has been at this for over a decade, has tons of fans, a loving wife with her own succesful channel, and just recently got contacted by his childhood heroes. You CAN be happy and successful.. it’s just very hard to make it that far.

One of the central points of life and times is that’s often not the case: You can get what you want but it comes at a cost. And it’s how you pay that price that will determine how happy you are. Another central point intertwined with it is it’s not the journey but the destination, and i’ts how Scrooge takes that journey that ultimately leads him where he ends up good and bad. And we get an all to telling all too foreboding hint in how he takes everyone he knew for at least a year turning on him overnight.

When faced with his first real loss on this Journey that wasn’t material.. he dosen’t care. He has his money and riches and that’s enough. And as we’ll see that attitude will cost him greatly. Howard is irate for a moment, hoping he wasn’t wrong in trusting Scrooge.. and indeed, for now, turns out to have placed his faith in the right person as Scrooge gets a telegram: his family needs him. And while he could stay, turn his back on them, and earn MILLIONS.. he tells Howard to tell the owner he’s taking the deal. For now when given the choice between his family and his fortune, SCrooge will choose them. Sadly.. that won’t hold true forever.

With this being the end of his time in the story, as he has a still insufferable John buy him a horsewhip for horrific but darkly funny reasons, as John brags about how rich his father is not realizing he’s buying his own whupping tool, i’d like to touch on Howard D Rockerduck and how amazing he is. Rosa managed to pack a throughly interesting, throughly engaging character into only 8 pages. While Rockerduck DID show up earlier in of ducks dimes and destinys, he wasn’t really fleshed out or named and only showed up for one page so still 9 pages total.

But in those we see a kind and noble man whose easily what Scrooge COULD have been, kind, noble, generous, hardworking and willing to give up money to help people. He’s a good man.. but even he’s seen the sacrifice Money brings. He’s clearly lost friends, lost a sense of peace, and married the wrong Woman, whose poisoned his children into a spoiled brat who will only grown into an even more spoield adult in both continuities.. if raised quite a bit earlier in the 2017 cartoon as he was made scrooge’s contemporary there rather than a child, but semeantics. Point is Howard hismelf isn’t wholly satisfied with his success.. and that’s what he and Scrooge will forever have in common, with Scrooge, likely as a result of meeting the Rockerducks, fearing an indadiquate inheritor and someone squandering what he worked hard for. Though his reasons for not taking up a wife as we’ll see eventually, if outside the main 12 part story but I intend to cover the subchapters in their own time, aren’t entirely motivated by avoiding goldigging but a broken hard and his own stubborness.

For now though we bid Howard and america adue. Scrooge however for once ends an occupation with less bitterness. Unlike his last two ventures where he made it out with only enough to get to the next one here he made it out ahead: he now has a decent suit, likely bought for him by Howard given he hasn’t cashed the check yet, I know this as it’s a major plot point for next time, 10,000 dollars.. and experince. He may of not gotten all the money he was due on this venture, but he learned more valuable skills and he feels with a land like america, the next opportunity to earn some dough is just waiting for him to get back. And as the chapter ends he muses that maybe the country could use a symbol of this countries boundless opportunity...

Final Thoughts for the Raider of the Copper Hill:

This chapter is one of my favorites. It’s nicely paced, something Rosa himself admits was often a struggle as he had to cover years at a time, has a wonderful new mentor for Scrooge, and sets up a lot of the tragedy to come in the last act beautifully. It’s a nice closer for our first act, showing Scrooge has come out of his first trip to america wiser, more experinced and more hopeful, but at heart still the same kind and noble kid he left Glasgow as. The next act is about the change of that boy into a man, how he will finally find his fortune after some more adventures.. and how the last viestges of his kindess and optimisim towards others die at the hands of a certain fake scotish gentleman.

Next Life And Times: As is tradition for this series act openers, Scrooge returns home.. and just in time to get his castle back, fight a duel and go to heaven and back. So an average McDuck tuesday then.

If you liked this review follow for more. And if you liked it a lot join my patreon so I can keep making these and hit my stretch goals. Even at just the 2 dollar level you get access to my discord and your pick of shorts whenever I do a series of them and with Goofy and Donald’s birthdays being the next ones to be celebrated you can’t pick a better time. patreon.com/popculturebuffet See you at the next rainbow.

#ducktales #the life and times of scrooge mcduck #the raider of the copper hill #scrooge mcduck #john d rockerduck #howard d rockerduck #howards bitch of a wife #mining #prospecting

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