#ficbit

[fanfic-collection]

Witch: Loki x Reader

Short little fun thing about the healer that Loki saves, uh some violence so heads up

-

“Rest easy.” You murmured, kneeling down and placing your palm on the old woman’s forehead.

“Your healing is truly a gift.” The woman murmured, eyes shutting.

You placed your other hand over the first, trying to hide the faint glow coming from your hand.

“Witchcraft!” The old man cried out, looking closely at your hands. The old man, the crone’s husband, had been standing in the doorway as you spoke to the woman at her bedside.

You straightened up, recoiling away from her and looking at the old man in horror. “I- no! It’s not what you think it is.”

“Roger.” The old woman’s eyes opened and she sat up. “Quiet you old git, she’s done us a great service.”

“Nonsense!” Roger roared, backing from the room.

Your legs trembled, the effort used to heal the woman having taken a lot out of you. You looked at the woman, fully exhausted. Sinking to your knees, the old woman hurried to your side. “Sorry hun.”

You pressed your palm to your forehead, feeling tears well in your eyes. “You have to stop him.” Your voice croaked as you spoke, you couldn’t stand. “Gloria, please.”

Gloria pressed her lips together, pursing them. “I’m sorry lassie, I can’t.”

“But I saved your life!” You cried out, voice starting to return. In the distance, you could hear the echoing cries of Roger. “Please.” You added, begging softly.

Gloria frowned and shook her head. “I can’t stop him.”

“You know what I do, the lives I’ve saved. I trusted you.” Tears spilled from your eyes, running down your cheeks. You forced yourself to stand. “Please!” You cried out again.

Gloria’s gaze turned harsh, “what you did ain’t right. It’s an abomination.”

“Gloria.” You choked out her name.

The cry of witch grew louder. More voices added to the throng. The mob was approaching.

You looked towards the window, back to Gloria.

Gloria held up her hand and pointed at you. “Witch! The witch is here!”

The frenzied mob grew louder.

You spat a curse at her, no power in your words, after all you could only use these powers to heal. Pulling yourself to your feet, you ran to the door, fumbling with the handle.

Gloria’s fevered cries joined the throng, the accusation chanting in a deadly beat.

You rushed out of the house. You managed to take two steps of freedom when you felt yourself tugged to a stop. Something had grabbed at your skirts.

You spun towards it, but someone grabbed at your arm, then your other arm, your hair, more of your dress. The material tore away easily at the onslaught of villagers screaming at you.

You fell to your knees, hands over your head and took the brutal assault. Fists struck you, boots kicked you, angry words and jeers were thrown at you. A rock pelted your forehead and all was black.

You opened your eyes, laying on the floor of the only prison the town had. It had wrought iron doors and dirt for a floor. Your whole body ached, and you were cold.

You shivered looking down at your bloodied and beaten body. The scraps of your clothing barely clung to you, hoping to afford some modesty.

You pressed your hand to your forehead, where the rock had struck you and hissed softly. Forcing yourself to stand, once again, you moved to the window of the jail. You knew what they did to witches.

A short distance from your cell you could see the pile of logs stacked upon each other. There was a solitary pole in the middle of the wood.

Swallowing hard, you sank to your knees, pleading for anything that might hear you. But your pleas were answered with silence.

Morning came faster than you knew, the rooster of some farm crowing its greeting as the dawn chorus began.

Any other day you might have remarked on the beauty of the sky.

Angry people began to gather outside the cell, circling the pyre. You didn’t have strength left to defend yourself, to try and fight back.

They threw ropes around you, dragging you from the cell and out to the log pile. Someone drew a bladed weapon and pointed at you, motioning for you to move to the center of the logs. Another rope was procured, and your hands were bound above your head.

Tears ran down your face as you looked at the gathered crowd. “Please!” Villagers you had helped, people you had healed, they looked at you with murder in their eyes. “I’m not evil.”

A torch appeared in the audience, moving closer to your pyre, to your doom. The torch landed on the logs and flames rose up, tongues of fire licking at the logs, making their way towards you.

The acrid smoke caught in your throat, and you coughed, tugging futilely at the bonds. “Please!” Your cries were drowned out by the angry mob.

A burst of light appeared, slamming into the ground. The sky had split for a second and despite the growing heat, you as well as the villagers all turned to see what it could be.

A tall man in armor stood at the center of a rune carved into the ground by the beam of light.

“Enough.” He said, raven black hair ruffling in the wind. His voice carried easily, even the flames seemed to cower back at his approach. “Wretched mortals.” He spat; the crowd parted around him as he approached you and the pyre. His green eyes stared at you intently, finally softening as his face grew gentle. “Maiden?”

You barely registered yourself shying away from his offered hand. “Who… what are you?” You croaked out, the last of the flames gone but still burned in your throat.

The man studied you for a moment before looking back at the crowd. They had not enclosed around him, no one seemed ready to move. “I am Loki, prince of Asgard.”

Hushed whispers filled the air, the realm of the gods, Asgard. Could he really be? The crowd grew uneasy.

You tried to fight back a sniffle, but tears fell freely. “Loki? Of Asgard?”

“The prince.” Loki nodded, smiling at you. He shot a nasty look at the crowd before snapping his fingers and the rope holding you to the pole came undone.

Your knees trembled, legs giving out as you sank onto the wood. Before your body fully crumpled though, Loki had caught you in his arms. His green cloak shimmered behind him before reappearing over you in the same shimmer of light.

More muttered protests arose, growing louder. Loki shot a quailing look at the crowd and their whispers fell silent.

“Asgard has need for a healer such as yourself, dear maiden.” Loki murmured, holding you tighter to his chest. His green eyes bore into yours. “Wipe away those tears. Though this world may reject you, I know what that is like. Do not fret, dear one, you shall find your place soon enough.”

[halfbaked00q]

thinking about. Q finding Bond sitting morosely at a bar after M's funeral, nursing an alcohol and with a mystery number already under his belt (he is actually only on his second or maybe even only his first.. he is too depressed in that moment to even drink :c)

sitting down wordlessly next to Bond, ordering his own drink and similarly nursing it- he senses that Bond isn't up for conversation or even company, but that there is still something reassuring about a familiar steady presence stolidly keeping a sort of mutual vigil at his elbow.

time ticks by and it starts getting late but Bond remains in place, unmovingly. Q lets out a gentle sigh - nonjudgmental, simply a susurrus of warm breath - and, slowly, telegraphing his movements, gets up from the stool. He lays a gentle hand on Bond's elbow (Bond registering the gentle pressure with a shock to his system- a sudden firm tether to a careening kite in a maelstrom), and tilts his head towards the door.

Wordlessly, Bond follows him up. Drifts close by like a helium balloon as Q settles the tab. Trails him back home, slowly but surely like a wary leashed shelter dog.

[specspectacle]

Well, in The Untamed, Wen Ning and Jiang Yanli had the opportunity to interact at least a few times beyond when she offered him soup that one time. And I imagine that Jin Ling would be eager to hear any stories of his mother, no matter the source.

Cooking for their siblings in Yiling, after the fall of Lotus Pier.

With Wei Wuxian preoccupied with finding anything to help Jiang Cheng, Jiang Yanli finds herself retreating to an unfamiliar kitchen to find comfort in keeping her hands busy by preparing food for her brothers. Only to find Wen Ning there, preparing food for his sister.

Wen Ning’s happy to help her find what she needs to make soup. He seems almost desperate to try to make up for what his clan has done to hers when he isn’t speaking. The fact that he’s already forced his sister’s hand into giving them sanctuary doesn’t seem to come into his consideration. Never mind that he rescued Jiang Cheng from Lotus Pier, that he had arranged for her parent’s bodies to be removed and respectfully cremated.

Jiang Yanli turns her head when Wen Ning goes quiet, pausing as she finishes chopping the lotus root. He’s looking out the window, an almost haunted look of longing on his face. And out the window, Wei Wuxian is crossing the courtyard, more texts piled in his arms, his face shadowed but determination in every inch of his bearing.

Looking back at Wen Ning, Jiang Yanli sighs as she reaches for another lotus root. It doesn’t take a genius realize that Wen Ning is profoundly lonely. He loves his sister and he seems to have loyal disciples. But that isn’t the same thing as having friends.

[confusedguytoo]

I don't care for the idea of Willow and Tara breaking up and I hate when writers have them stay broken up while acting like Tara never did anything wrong ever but I do have an idea for if the memory spell was a deal breaker

Tara: You violated my mind Willow, how am I supposed to forgive you for that? How can I trust you?

Willow: Maybe the same way I did when I find out you spent the first year we were together lying to me? All I cared about was you not going with your family

Tara: Maybe you should have cared about that! I did wrong then Willow. And if the lesson you learned from that is that anything goes as long we end up snuggled up together that night, then you learned the wrong lesson. That's not what I want from a relationship. In fact I can't accept it at all. No one should, not even you. But if you and whoever you find do end up accepting it... well I hope you don't have to zap each others minds to often and the spells never go wrong

[yarol2075]

Speak of the Devil…question

Will they also release Paul?

"I don't know what you're talking about."

A bald-faced lie, but Quentin liked his new status and place and wasn't going to break character for any reason.

Still...

"Have you tried asking them yourself? They might answer," he hesitated, "but possibly... maybe....if they haven't by now...maybe they can't?"

[contentment-of-cats]

Fun and Games

This has been kicking around in drafts for a few months. I was cleaning it out and...

With thanks to @shards-of-silver for getting me off my ass.

Upon promotion to senior lieutenants, there are perks.

Ensigns sleep a dozen to a barracks, junior lieutenants share a four-rack of bunks around a common area and share sanitary facilities. Senior officers of lieutenant commander or higher have their own private quarters increasing in size and amenities, and at flag rank a suite of rooms. But nothing beats the heady rush of getting your own room with a door that closes. Despite what the contractors say, those bunk partitions don't do squat to stop you from hearing every snore, fart, or wet dream from your fellow juniors. There's a corresponding increase in cubic storage along with the bigger room and one may trust the newly-minted senior loots to go a little crazy.

Thrawn as a new commodore aboard rearranged officers' quarters by duty station, so now all bridge officers are housed a literal thirty second run to the bridge or assigned six-man lifepod. Faro has always run a looser ship in terms of culture, and there are times when bridge officers' country is decorated for various holidays and observances. For example, observances of Longnight see small dishes of food and lanterns set out to guide and appease the spirits of those lost in the vastness of space. But today there is something new outside of Agral and Pyro's twofer.

A sign-up.

It's a datapad on a sticky at reading level with a stylus on a cord.

"Sign up for tabletop games night - Quests & Quarries, Pirates & Privateers, Hyperspace Hellscape, Ancient Lands Archaic Warfare, and other RP games coming to a horizontal surface near you!"

The list is growing fast.

A note above the hatch control says, "Game in progress. ENTER QUIETLY."

"Already the social hub," Faro mutters and then jumps out of her skin when Thrawn agrees with her. Even in boots, he moves almost silently. "Let a lass know, sir! You almost scared it out of me!"

Thrawn's shadow - Vanto - is not here or otherwise she'd have stood a better chance of hearing the approach. He is looking at the sign-up sheet and then at the door sign, then turns to her.

"These are not like Scrabble?"

Pyro's love of table games is legend. She even collects them.

"No, Commodore. These are, well, a kind of strategy game." Thrawn visibly brightens. His skin changes color, his pupils disappear as the nictitating membrane crosses them in a three-part blink. "Players create characters and ascend levels in different scenarios called dungeons. It's kind of like academy war-gaming, but more flexible and personalized."

"They will not mind if we enter and observe?"

"They'll snap to attention for a flag officer on deck or I'll have them cleaning the stormtroopers' urinals with ear swabs, but I do not think they'll object."

Faro taps the hatch open and as they step in Vanto barks, "Commodore on deck!"

The response is satisfyingly swift.

"Officers, as you were," Thrawn nods. "I do not wish to disturb the game in progress, only to observe."

Of course, the furniture is bolted to the deck, but there are an additional folding couch and two additional folding chairs added to the room and-

"Pyrondi, where did you get the holotop?" Karyn hasn't seen one in probably twenty years. This one replaces the low table normally issued to this accommodation, bolted down as per regs. "It's got to be a month's pay."

"I bought it at an antiquities shop on Coruscant. Lomar did the new innards, and then all of us wrote code." Us being - apparently - herself, Lomar, Hammerly, Barlin, Agral, Yve, and Carvia.

"Major Carvia, what is your part in this madhouse?" The man budges loots up the couch to make room for their captain and commodore in the armchairs. "Surely you're not a player?"

"I helped Pyro carry this up here and did the coding for groundpounder dungeons. No offense, but this bunch is all Navy." The major wags his finger at Pyro. "I will thank you, youngster, not to refer to items as 'antiquities' that I am old enough to have owned brand new."

"Everyone do a stretch, get some snacks, and we'll come back into it in fifteen?" Pyro asks and everyone agrees, getting up a little stiffly after hours gaming. "Sync and go."

Thrawn looks over the table, at first studying the current dungeon, but then with more interest at the leather-bound manuals of flimsi, and beautifully made sets of dice and other paraphernalia.

"Please, Lieutenant, explain." Thrawn settles in one of the armchairs, accepting one of Pyro's fruit teas and a packet of sweets.

"Well, first these are the handbooks for players and dungeon masters. These others are for aspects - beings, arms, character classes." Pyrondi takes a small bag and empties it into her hand. "These are my dice."

"Is a gambling chip counted as dice?" Thrawn looks intently. "These are thystine and aurum leaf, correct?"

"If a binary decision is needed, yes, it counts. They are thystine, but as you can see, every player has their set and aside from the chip they can have sets of seven to fifteen, it depends what games they play."

Vanto's set is doonium, which makes Thrawn smile fleetingly. Carvia's is some kind of bone or ivory. Agral's is synthetic fireopal. All sets are as individual as the player.

Oh, no. ART.

"And what about the crystal ball?" Karyn asks. It's a perfect sphere set on an elaborate base.

"Oh, that's a toy I picked up from a junk dealer. He said it didn't work, but when you ask it a yes-or-no question it gives you a nonsensical answer. Watch. Is the mess going to serve hash for firstmeal again?"

The sphere roils with smoke and then shows a wavering answer in its center.

Better not tell you now.

"See? It gives positive, negative, or non-committal answers. To be fair, I don't want to know if we're having hash again."

The players filter back in and take their places as Thrawn is given a rough crash course in play. Pyrondi looks around, sets up a triptych screen to hide her materials and plans, and then asks if everyone is ready. Snacks and drinks to hand, all affirm and the game resumes. Karyn watches her superior as he watches the game with eyes bright. Pyro is a force of chaos and order, handling players firmly but also throwing wild situations at them. The dice can't be rigged or fooled on a dice pad, holding them firm.

Thrawn reminds his officers that night phase is coming, and they have watch coming up. The party breaks up with others putting the room back to order and bidding good rest.

"If you do not mind, Lieutenant, Captain Faro and I will join for the next game."

"Please do, sir. The more the merrier."

Karyn almost groans but holds it in.

"As I remember, you said the same thing before you wiped the walls with me at Scrabble."

Pyro only grins. "Good rest, sirs."

[darkpuck]

thank you tremendously, but also im going to kill you violently and with haste

for commander no-chill himself, loqi tummelt

Loqi looks at the package in his hands, then squints suspiciously at Legio. "What's this for?" he asks, wary.

The younger man may be Verstael's son, but it's clear by the way he grins that Chancellor Izunia had the raising of him. "Why, it's your birthday present."

He's never actually told anyone his birthday, but then again, it's a matter of public record. The package itself is small and soft, which rules out anything that might explode.

With a sigh, he gives in to Legio's expectent expression and his own curiosity and tears off the garish wrapping paper. Inside is a t-shirt: simple black cotton but heavy enough in his hands that he knows the material itself is quality. He shakes out the t-shirt and looks at the design on it, then looks at Legio. "Thank you tremendously, but also I'm going to kill you violently and with haste."

Legio cackles like a loon and bolts off into the base, Loqi hot on his heels like they're both children.

The only sign of their passing is the crumpled wrapping paper and the shirt, which simply says, "Third Impact Was An Inside Job".

[tielan]

fic: “soldier, killer, bodyguard, wife“ [Shuri/Bucky]

Tinker, tailor, hunter, sailor; Soldier, killer, bodyguard, wife.

Something about Bucky Barnes makes Shuri nervous.

"America makes me nervous," says the young Dora Milaje who's been assigned to be Shuri's companion. "The White Wolf is nothing compared to that!"

Perhaps it is that he doesn't look like a wolf in America. He somehow blends so seamlessly in among the people that even Shuri's regular bodyguards don't spot him most of the time. Shuri has known the White Wolf as a 'broken white boy' in need of her help. The man who quietly orders iced donuts before intercepting the white supremacists who decide that this is the perfect opportunity to throw down with the 'Wakandan bitches' is anything but broken.

He does it without throwing a single punch himself, or even getting detained by security.

He even manages to avoid the cameras!

Shuri watches the security feeds over Zoalen's shoulder while the other Dora Milaje mutter to themselves around the edges of the room. "Isn't that why Nakia wanted him to be my bodyguard in the first place?"

"Yes," Zoalen says frankly, "but it's one thing to know it and another to see it in action."

An hour later when the White Wolf slouches into the Embassy, Shuri is waiting for him.

"Here." She hands him the box of iced donuts that she got delivered to the embassy, and watches him blink in surprise.