#except for when he's with Imogen

[happycattail]

I love the relationship between Orym and Imogen so so so much. Just thinking about their conversation after the hug...

Imogen: It's going to be okay? alright? Orym: I don't know how to thank you

Then the reassuring way Imogen touches Orym's face

Orym: Hang onto me, I'll hang onto you. Imogen: All right. Orym: We'll hang onto them. Imogen: Yeah. Orym: It's going to be fine. Imogen: It's going to be fine.

The two leaders of Bells Hells, checking in with one another, both struggling but still hanging on.

[bludhavents]

Professor Tavis

pairing: boyfriend!garrick tavis x reader

word count: 3.9k

summary: When hear about Garrick's new job from Xaden, you start to question why Garrick didn't tell you himself. He makes it up to you in the best way possible.

warnings: 18+ ONLY. smut. porn with plot. brief description of panic attack. professor kink tehe. unprotected p in v. fem!reader. ridoc being a protective best friend. super minor onyx storm spoiler.

Xaden looks past his cousin to Garrick. “I just need Professor Tavis.”

I can’t help but gape at the title given to my boyfriend. The title I am just now hearing for the first time. My head snaps up to gawk at him along with the rest of my squad. He winces, but slides by me on the steps and follows after Xaden without looking back. 

All of my friend’s eyes turn away from the men as they disappear and focus on me instead. 

“Professor?” Bodhi frowns. “Since when?”

I meet his round brown eyes and shrug my shoulders, turning back to face the map on the table. Apparently, I’m the only one who remembers that we’re trying to plan out our flight path. The rest of the group is murmuring around me now, gossiping about Professor Tavis. I try my best not to feel scuffed at the fact that I’m learning about my boyfriend’s new job along with the rest of my squad. Except, apparently, not all of them were so oblivious.

“He told me about it over breakfast. They just asked him to accept this morning,” Imogen says, and I straighten in my seat. She’s always been interested in my boyfriend, which is enough to make me jealous as is. Him confiding in her about his new status before telling me feels like a punch in the gut. Then, she piles on top of that feeling. “He didn’t tell you? That’s weird.”

The hair on my skin raises uncomfortably under my leathers. I swallow hard. 

“Shut up, Imogen.” Ridoc slaps her on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

“Let’s refocus,” Rhiannon supplies, drawing her finger from Basgiath to one of the isles on the map. I can’t make out which one it is through the unshed tears that are stinging in my eyes. “This route could work.”

The group argues again, all speaking over one another as they shove their fingers onto the paper and suggest their own ideas. My mind races as I sit amongst them, drifting through my recent memories with Garrick in an attempt to recall any reason why he’d have withheld this from me, but I come up with nothing. A small sigh leaves my mouth as I continue to stir over the pit in my stomach. 

“What’s wrong?” Bodhi asks, looking up from the map.

“Nothing! I’m just tired.” I rub my eyes and blink hard, trying to force myself back into the moment to help my squadmates formulate the plan. Ridoc nods from next to me, leaning his head onto my shoulder with a dramatic yawn. 

“Me too. Can we break for nap time?” He smiles cheekily at our friends. Every single one of them rolls their eyes at his antics, but Rhiannon relents. 

“Yeah. We can come back after dinner and look at it with fresh eyes,” she says, folding the map up on the table and tucking it into her bag. We’d been here over an hour already. “I’m gonna head to the training room if anyone wants to spar.”

Violet, Sawyer, Aaric, and Sloane all break off with her. The rest of the group goes their own ways, and Ridoc stays with me as we head toward the dorm wing of the castle. His footsteps are wider than mine, his long legs guiding him easily down the corridor. 

“Never took you for a teacher’s pet,” he teases, looking down at me with a wide grin that shows all his teeth. I laugh, shaking my head. 

“Didn’t know I was one. Gods, I can’t believe he would tell Imogen before me. I mean Xaden, I get, but Cardulo? What in Malek’s name did I do to deserve that blow?” I let myself rant to him. Nobody else is in the hallway around us. There’s no reason to hide my disdain for my situation when I already know that he’s tuned into my agitation anyway. 

“I wanted to punch her in the mouth!” He shouts, throwing his hands up. “I mean if you’re going to be a homewrecker, at least have some tact about it.”

My heart twists and pounds in my chest. Homewrecker. The humor of the situation is abruptly drained from my body. My pulse quickens quickly, and my jacket suddenly fits too snugly. I grab his wrist and stop walking, turning to face him with hot cheeks. 

“You don’t really think…” My voice trails off, not wanting to think about the possibility of Garrick and Imogen having any sort of secret relationship. 

“No, no, gods, no,” he hurries out, quickly taking a step toward me and wrapping me into a tight hug. He speaks softly into my hair. “I’m sorry. That was a poor choice of words. You know that Garrick loves you more than anything. It’s pathetic and weird and I’m so jealous of it. He’d never do that to you. Gods know Imogen has tried, though.”

I relax a little at that, but I can’t help the sob that rips through my chest. The past hour has been utterly overwhelming, and it feels like I can’t breathe through the stress. Ridoc holds me tight, running a hand up and down my arm as I wet his leathers with my tears. 

It’s suddenly too hot. I fumble with the zipper of my jacket, trying desperately to get it off of my body as anxiety surges. Ridoc replaces my hands with his on the zipper, then quickly unbuttons the collar and slides my jacket off of my shoulders. He tucks it under his arm and takes a step back. My chest aches with the force of my sobs. After a minute passes and I show no signs of stopping, he sweeps my legs off of the ground and carries me bridal style toward the dorm hall. 

My face stays buried in his shoulder the entire way, uncontrollably wailing. I try wiping my eyes on the sleeve of my undershirt, but it’s no use. The floodgates have opened and the tears just keep coming. It’s a panic attack.

“It’s okay, we’re almost to your room,” he says sweetly, pushing open a set of double doors with his hip. He keeps walking. “Deep breaths. Almost there.”

“What the hell happened?” A familiar voice echoes through the hallway, and a new set of tears rises behind my eyes, spilling over quickly as I choke out a sob. Ridoc stiffens beneath me as I dig my fingers into him, holding myself close to him. 

The anxiety that’s running through my blood isn’t just about the thought of being cheated on, because I know deep down that Garrick would never do that to me. It’s just overwhelming to have Imogen’s snarky comment on top of the stress of planning our trip to the isles, and keeping Xaden’s secret safe from the others. It’s too much, and it’s all weighing on me now.

Ridoc’s steps slow, and he bends over at the waist, setting me back on my feet gently. I release my grip on him only after he places a hand on my upper back. Through my tears, I first see the wetness running down his leather jacket, racing from the collar down to his stomach. Then, I look away from him and see Garrick towering over us, right next to my door. 

“I’ll be in my room if you need anything.” Ridoc moves a gentle hand to the back of my head before turning and shoving my jacket into Garrick’s chest, matching his mean scowl with one of his own. “Don’t look at me like that when I’m the one who brought her here, Professor.”

“Don’t start, Gamlyn,” he bites back. His knuckles are white where he’s holding my jacket.

“I’d watch your fucking mouth if I were you. It seems to be getting you in trouble a lot recently.” He crosses the hallway and steps into his room, slamming the door shut loudly behind him. Garrick’s lips are pressed together tightly, chest heaving with angry breaths. His eyes trail away from our friend and land back on me, softening as he rests a calloused palm on my wet cheek and tilts my chin up to face him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His tone is pleading, and hot tears keep falling down my face as I stare into his hazel eyes and search for my answers. If he was cheating on me, would I see it in his revealing eyes? I don’t notice anything different. When I look into him, I still see only my Garrick. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

He opens my door with one hand, using the other to urge me in front of him. He guides me all the way to the edge of my bed and sets my leathers next to me as I take a seat there. His tall form shrinks to my height as he kneels in front of me, placing his hands on my hips. 

“Sweetheart, please talk to me,” he begs, squeezing my skin. 

“I’m just a little overwhelmed.” I drag my cold palms over my face to wipe away the drying tears and take a deep breath, willing them to stop falling. “Everyone was asking me questions about you becoming a professor, and I didn’t know anything about it, you never told me. Then Imogen starts answering all of them, and I just-- I don’t know. It really upset me, I think, to have her know more about what’s going on with you than I do. Then when we were walking back here, I started thinking that maybe there’s a reason you would tell her before telling me, and I just…”

Garrick flinches in front of me and moves his hands to cup my jaw. His hazel eyes burn into my skin and force me to meet his gaze. I see his lips parted in shock and a deep furrow between his thick brows. He opens his mouth as if to start talking, but hesitates, swallowing hard. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” he admits, running a thumb to catch a stray tear in the corner of my eye. “I love you so much, sweetheart. I never ever meant to make you think that I was going behind your back. I promise you, with all of my heart, that you are the only person I’ve wanted to tell all day.”

“Why didn’t you?” My voice breaks, and I gnaw on the skin of my bottom lip. 

“I didn’t tell Imogen, first of all-- Xaden did. While we were eating breakfast, which was right after I’d gotten back from the meeting where they told me about the job offer.” He grasps my hand in his and brings it to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to my skin. I sigh, letting my free hand brush the hair above his ear. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions. That’s just what she told everyone,” I apologize, and he shakes his head quickly. 

“Don’t apologize, I don’t blame you at all,” he says sincerely. “I’m sorry that you heard it from someone else. I’ve been wanting to tell you all day, but you weren’t at breakfast, and then I got pulled into another meeting to discuss lesson plans, and then by the time I got out, everyone was working on the flight paths with you. I wanted to be able to sit down and have a discussion with you about it in private without everyone listening, and then fucking Riorson ruined that. I should’ve just asked you to come talk with me, and I’m sorry that I didn’t realize that until it was too late.”

I stare at the man in front of me, watching his chest rise and fall with slow breaths. A sweet smile graces his full lips as I hiccup, finally taking in my first full breath all day. His shaggy hair falls into his face as he bends over. I watch as his strong hands delicately untie my boots before sliding them off of my feet one at a time. It feels like I’ve been bathed in a pool of relief and his words are the water that cradles me.

“Come here,” I swing my legs onto the bed and pat the spot next to me. He removes his own shoes and lays in the empty spot, wrapping an arm around my body and tugging me into his side. Our eyes meet where we lay, and I press a kiss to his lips. My body melts into the taste of him, but I relent, pulling away. He groans in disapproval. 

“Why?” He whines. I giggle, feeling at ease here in his arms. He smirks down at me and leans in for another kiss, but I put my finger to his lips instead. 

“I want to hear about this job!” I prop myself up on my elbows, laying on my stomach as he narrows his eyes at me in disdain. Looking at the man in front of me, I wonder how I ever got myself so worked up. There’s nothing but concentrated love in his eyes right now, and it’s all for me.

“Later. Come kiss me right now, I’ve missed you.” He sits up, grasping my cheek and bringing his mouth to mine. I sigh into the kiss and he takes advantage, slipping his tongue through my parted lips. My hand on his chest pushes him back against the mattress, not breaking the kiss as I follow him down. 

We’re thinking the same thing, his fingers grabbing my hips to lift me onto his lap, but I’m already lifting my leg to straddle him. He pulls away from the kiss and attaches his lips to my jaw. I can feel his smile against my skin.

“Good, sweetheart,” he praises, “you know just what I need.”

I settle onto him, my thighs clenching either side of his hips. He uses his hold on my waist to push my body down harder onto him, a groan rising in the back of his throat as he rubs me over his clothed dick. Gripping me roughly, he drags me back and forth over and over. I press sloppy kisses up his neck and along his jaw, leaving one just below his ear before lightly grazing my teeth over his earlobe. 

Every part of him is solid beneath me. Solid arms, solid chest, solid stomach, and a solid dick working me just right. Garrick Tavis drives me crazy.

“I need you,” he says, stopping his movements and turning to stare into my eyes. His pupils are blown, revealing only the faintest sliver of hazel around them. I kiss him softly. Garrick has always been a tease. I appreciate getting to return the favor sometimes, and the perfect idea has presented itself. I kiss him again and he groans, bucking his hips up. “I need you now, sweetheart.”

“What do you need from me, Professor Tavis?” I fiend innocence, voice soft and low, looking at him with wide eyes that I’m certain are just as lust-blown as his. Garrick’s lips part and the next kiss he drags from my lips is feverish. His hands are gripping at my shirt, tearing it off of my body with no regard and discarding it to the floor carelessly. 

He grips my ass roughly, and I squeal as I’m suddenly lifted off of his lap and flipped onto my back, staring up at my boyfriend as he unzips his jacket and slides out of it easily. I sit up to help him with his shirt, but he pushes me back down.

“I’m a professor and you’re a cadet, our relationship is strictly off limits.” He slides his shirt over his head, and my pulse stutters. I reach a hand out to feel his packed muscle, trailing my fingers down the patch of hair that starts at his navel and dips below his waistband. He inhales sharply.

“Off limits?” I don’t look at him, instead I work on unfastening the belt around his waist. My gaze drifts below my hands, and I pull my bottom lip between my teeth at the sight of the bulge straining against his pants. 

“Strictly. So I need you to be really quiet for me, sweetheart.” He rakes his hand through my hair, fisting it gently at the base of my neck and pulling so that I meet his eyes. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Professor Tavis.” I nod quickly. He removes my hands from his crotch and steps off the bed. I frown, rolling to protest, but he’s quick to shut me up. 

“Take your pants off.” He’s already stepping out of his. “I can’t wait any longer.”

I don’t question him, the angry red tip of his stiff cock saying enough to prove that he’s being honest. My bottoms slide off quickly. I shove my panties off with them, baring myself to the desperate man in front of me.

“Bra.” Garrick’s voice is tight. He’s fisting himself, but not pumping at all. He’s waiting for me to follow his instructions. I unhook my bra and shrug it off. He hums in appraisal, bringing his eyes to my bare chest. I revel in the way his eyebrows knit together, like he’s physically pained by my beauty. This is what it felt like to be loved. 

“Professor Tavis?” I stand up from the bed, walking toward him slowly. He inhales sharply as I pause in front of him, nearly pressing my skin to his. “What should I do next?”

“Get on your knees, sweetheart.” He smoothes the hair at the top of my head as he commands me so sweetly. Seeing him like this, so affected by me, is driving me crazy. 

I lower myself to my knees in front of him, wetting my lips as I become eye level with his dick. Pre-cum is already leaking from the tip, and I open my mouth to lap it up, but he cradles my face and stops me gently. My eyes meet his as he towers above me, shaking his head softly. 

“Not yet, sweetheart. I want you to put your hand between your legs.” My breath catches in my throat in surprise. We’re both so desperate, and he’s dragging this out for so long, but I can’t find it in myself to argue with him as his cock twitches when I lower my hand down my stomach and dip it between my legs. The moan that tumbles from my lips is immediate. Garrick’s foreplay made my clit swell, and it’s the most sensitive that I’ve felt as I begin to stroke myself with my fingers. Letting the noises of pleasure escape as I start grinding with my hips is uncontrollable. 

“Professor Tavis,” I moan loudly as my head falls back. “Please fuck me. Please make me cum.”

I’m shocked when one strong arm wraps around my waist and hoists me up, but I don’t hesitate to wrap my legs around his waist. All plans of sucking him off are abandoned. He holds me tightly to him, molding his mouth to mine so fiercely that our teeth bump. The head of his cock teases my entrance and I gasp at the sensation. It takes him only two steps to reach the bed, where he pulls his mouth away from mine and lays me out on my stomach. The loss of contact makes me whimper.

“You’ve gotta be quiet for me,” he coos. His rough hands are a sharp contrast to his saccharine voice as he lifts my ass into the air and kneads it. I groan, jutting my hips back, and he tsks. “What’d I say? Quiet for me baby. Don’t make me tell you again. Can you do that for me? Can you shut that pretty mouth while I fuck you?”

The moan that leaves my lips is unstoppable, and he laughs darkly behind me before pulling my hips back. My cheeks flush at his laugh. 

“I want to be good for you, Professor. Please let me try.” He inhales sharply and then aligns his tip at my entrance. I push my hips back slowly, and he’s the one who can’t keep to himself this time. 

“Oh, fuck me, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he hisses, grabbing my ass and pushing himself further into me. I gasp as he bottoms out inside of me, feeling overwhelmingly full. 

He leans down over me, leaving a trail of kisses up my spine. His lips pause at my neck, and he bites me softly. 

“You’re such a good girl for me. So fucking good. Thank you, sweetheart.” He straightens his spine and pulls his hips back so far that the tip of his dick is barely inside of me, before he slams into me. I whine, my walls stretched out by his thick cock, but he only pulls out again, leaving me to wait before he rams into me another time, cursing as he finds a steady pace. His cock is moving at the perfect speed. I moan as he hits a sweet spot, and I feel him focus as he hits it again, and again, and again. 

I cry out. “Oh gods. Just like that. Right there.”

He keeps his thrusts perfect and steady, pushing me closer to my edge. Once his fingers wrap around my front and find my swollen clit, I let out a shaky breath. He continues his punishing pace as his finger circles my clit once, then twice, and it’s the perfect combination. I’m shattering around him immediately, my legs shaking. 

“Professor Tavis!” Waves of pleasure ripple through me, my orgasm prolonged by him chasing his own now, his dick pushing into me roughly. I’m still squeezing him, wetness dripping down my legs as he hits the perfect spot. “Fuck!”

“Fuck, I love you so much, sweetheart,” he moans, pace quickening before he stills. I tighten at the feeling of his cock twitching inside of me, filling me up with his release. He exhales deeply, fanning my spine with hot air. “Oh my god, you’re a fucking dream.”

He places a firm hand on my ass as he starts to pull his dick out, but hisses with the motion, and then pushes himself back inside. I turn my head to look back at him, watching as he does it again, backing himself out almost all of the way and then sliding back in. His eyes are fixed on the point where he’s entering, watching with deep breaths as he repeats it one more time.

“Sweetheart, you feel so fucking good. I don’t want to leave.” His voice is strained with pleasure, gaze trailing from where I’m wrapped around him up to my ass, then my back, and then he meets my face. The fire in his eyes is enough to melt me.

“So don’t. Stay inside and come lay with me,” I suggest, hoping that he does just that. He smirks and lowers himself onto the bed with me, holding me close to keep himself inside as he adjusts us so that we’re spooning now. I lay my head on his arm and sigh contentedly. 

“I love you, sweetheart. That was fucking hot.” He laughs breathlessly, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. I giggle, finding that I could really get used to this new job of his. 

[curawrites]

Bonded

Ridoc Gamlyn x fem!markedone!Reader

Warnings: Fourth Wing spoilers, Iron Flame spoilers, a little angst I guess, fluff, smut, cursing, dry humping, p in v sex, cumming inside.

Note: Sorry for the late post! Exam season has been kicking my ass and figuring the plot of these fics has been a bit tricky! I decided to include a little bonus that I wrote this for this story initially but didn’t end up working so enjoy! 💚

Tag list: @ttheslutttybookwworm @sheblogs @mazzer @luvly-writer @river-of-woe @celeste-fourthwing

You had always imagined that you would've been the kind of cadet to party when you finally graduated. But nothing felt worthy of a celebration after what happened at Resson. The deaths of Liam and Solei had scarred you deeply. They had been some of your closest friends along with Garrick, Bodhi, Imogen, and Xaden.

Losing them had put into perspective how much you were going to miss the remaining friends you had now that you would all be separated.

While Imogen and Bohdi would be staying at Basgaith for their third year, Xaden and Garrick would be deployed to their assigned outpost in Samara, as would you, except your outpost was in Athbyne.

Your summer was spent with them all of course, but you did prioritize spending time with Bodhi and Imogen more. Unlike Garrick and Xaden who you'd be seeing for your weapon smuggling endeavors, visiting the quadrant to see the former two was out of the question.

At least that's what you had thought.

It seemed that witnessing Deigh's death had caused your dragon Iskra, a beautiful red female morningstartail, to realize how fleeting a dragon's life could be.

In the many centuries that she had been alive, she had never taken a mate, until now.

You should have been happy for her, excited even and you were, truly. But her choice of mate only left you with questions..

“Remind me again why you decided to become mates with Aotrom..? He’s a fucking idiot of a dragon..” You sighed heavily in your mind.

Iskra lets out a sound that could be interpreted as a purr through the bond, “He makes me laugh.” She replied, her tone dripping with warmth as she watched Aotrom do some sort of mating dance for her.

You smacked your face into your palm with a loud groan.

Not only had she chosen an idiot for a mate, she had also tied you to his idiot rider, Ridoc.

Its not like you were completely unaware of his existence prior to your dragons mating. But back then he was simply another bed hopping first year that wasn't worth any of your time.

And now he was your... Fuck buddy? Lover?? You didn’t really know. It was complicated to say the least.

You were well aware that you had grown rather fond of Ridoc as the result of the bond, as did he towards you. Your relationship had even progressed beyond the point of meaningless sex and it scared you.

The secrets that you kept from him were far from simple. Not only were you hiding the fact that you were apart of the revolution, and that you've been smuggling weapons along side Xaden and Garrick to flyers so they could fight the venin, but you also had a second signet.

Startling you out of your trance, Ridoc had slithered his arms around your waist as he hugged you from behind.

He pulled you in close as he tucked your head under his chin, comfortably resting his own on top of yours, “And they say romance is dead.” He scoffed as he observed the scene before him.

You watched as Iskra walked to Aotrom’s side, dragging her tail under his chin in a soft caress as she eyed him hungrily. They must have been communicating through their bond, because before you knew it both dragons had taken off and were flying in the direction of the vale.

You shook your head in disbelief, "I can't believe that dance actually worked on her.." you sighed.

He only hummed in response as his arms tightened around you, “I missed you.” he said affectionately through your bond.

A blush crept up your cheeks, “I missed you too..” you grumbled, letting yourself bask in his embrace.

A grin spread onto his face as he lowered his head to your shoulder, “Awww your blushing, Y/n/n.~” he teased.

You throw him a glare from over your shoulder, “Don’t push it or I’m not staying with you this weekend.” You warned playfully.

He gasped dramatically, “You wouldn’t dare!”

You eyed him mischievously, “Oh but I would! Bodhi and Imogen have been begging me to go out with them so maybe I’ll do just that!” You smirked.

He rolled his eyes, “As if- You literally only spend your time here with them and Xaden if he’s here! It’s my turn.” He whined.

A soft sigh left your lips, “Well when two of your friend dies tragically you kinda want to spend as much time as you can with the others.” You tried to joke but it fell flat.

Ridoc looked at you with a saddened gaze, “Y/n, I didn’t know that was the reason..” He mumbled.

You blinked at him a few times before looking towards the ground, “Well I never really told you.. Anyways take me to your dorm already I'm dying to get out these flight leathers.” You huffed.

A grin returned to his face, “With pleasure.~” he teased.

-

“Gods Y/n/n.. please never stop wearing those nightgowns.” Ridoc muttered as he watched you brush out your damp hair.

After taking a quick shower, you had slipped into a short, gauzy, blue, lace trimmed nightgown you had bought off of a flyer during one of your weapon drops.

You glanced towards him, “You like em?” You asked, knowing very well the answer.

He nodded as he sat up from his previously laying position, “You have no idea how much I love them. I would literally give you money to buy more.” He said as he watched you braid your hair.

That made you snort, “I’d have to find time to go buy more.” You sigh quietly before walking towards his bed.

Ridoc pulled you into his lap, “The next time I’m in Athbyne we can go together. Then I get to pick out whatever I want.~” his hands found their way under the gauzy material.

Your cheeks warmed, “Mmm..~ That would be fun but I can’t have you leaving the outpost. The General would have my head if more cadets end up in danger near the border.” You say as you dragged your hands down his chest to his abdomen.

The excuse wasn’t a complete lie but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

A groan left his lips as he caressed your bare hips and ass, “You’re not wearing panties..~” he said huskily through the bond.

Your eyes meet his lustful gaze as a smirk tugged at the corners of your mouth, “I’m not wearing anything but this nightgown.~” you purred as your hips shifted against his growing erection.

His hands immediately traveled upwards to cup your tits, “Spoiling me tonight now are you?~” he grinned as he groped and squeezed your mounds.

Heat began to pool in your core as his hips moved against yours, “I’m just really in the mood..~” you bit back a moan.

Ridoc let his hands return to your hips as he guided them to grind against his, “I can tell by the way you’re soaking my briefs..~” he sat up and pulled you into a kiss.

Your lips melded against his as your fingers grasped at the elastic of his underwear. “I want them off. Now.~” you demand.

He smirked into the kiss, "You're so needy for me.~" he teased, nipping at your bottom lip.

You shoot him a flustered glare, "Don't even start.~" you huffed as you tried to hold yourself still against his moving hips.

The grip he had on your hips relaxed as he stopped grinding against you, "Fine, fine, fine.~" he rolled his eyes playfully as he let you sit up and away from his lap.

Your entire face flushed the second you saw the wet spot that stained the front of his briefs. Gods you had no idea you made such a mess. Before you could focus to hard on it, Ridoc was pushing his underwear down his thighs.

When you heard the thump of his underwear hitting the floor you couldn't stop yourself from sitting in his lap again.

A soft gasp left his lips as he felt your bare pussy press against his errection, "Eager now are you?~" he teased as his hands slipped under you nightgown again to caress your hips.

His touch made you shiver, "It took you long enough.~" you grumbled as you began to grind against him.

Ridoc groaned lowly, "Its not my fault that you're so needy tonight..~" he huffed as he guided your hips into a rhythm with his.

You leaned forward and kissed him passionately, "Shut up..~" you whined through your bond.

He smirked against your lips, "Never.~" he said defiantly.

Eventually you pulled away, panting softly as you pushed him down on the bed, "I need you..~" you muttered.

His cock twitched from how dominant you were being, "Need me how?~" he asked grinning.

Your hands plant themselves firmly on his chest as you rise to your knees, "Inside... I need you inside..~" you sigh as you hovered over his lap.

Not wanting to keep you or himself waiting, Ridoc reached under you to line his tip to your fluttering hole.

Slowly, you sink down the length of his cock, sighing softly as your pussy stretched around him, "Gods Ridoc..~" you muttered as he held you flush against him.

He held your hips firmly as he adjusted to the feeling of your walls squeezing around him tightly, "Fuck you feel so good..~" he sighed.

Using his chest as leverage, you begin to move on top of him, rolling your hips against his as you bounced yourself on his cock.

A breathy moan left your lips when you roll your hips just right, making his cock press against your g-spot, "Oh my gods.. that feels amazing..~" you pant as you rode him harder, chasing the pleasure that pulsed in your core.

Ridoc couldn't stop himself from moaning lowly as he thrusted up into you, "You're so wet and tight.. fuck!~" he muttered as your arousal pooled at the base of his cock.

Your thighs burned as you tried to keep up with the pace you had set, the tingling sensation eventually turned into numbness which spread down the rest of your legs. "N-no..~" you whimpered as you loss your rhythm, making your hips stutter to a stop.

Without you even asking, Ridoc planted his feet against the matress. "I got you Y/n/n..~" he panted as he continued to thrust into you, the hands that held your hips moved you against him.

Sweat dripped down your back as you sat up straighter in an attempt to relieve some of the strain on your legs.

Feeling the fabric of your nightgown sticking to your skin, you tore your hands away from his chest and pull the garment off, leaving you completely naked on top of him.

His cock twitched at the sight of your bouncing breasts, "Fuck you're so hot.~" he groaned as he thrusted up into you harder.

Moans tumbled freely from your lips as he kept pounding right into your g-spot, "Don't stop!~ Feels so good..!~" you beg as you felt your orgasm rapidly build in your gut.

Ridoc looked up to meet your half lidded gaze, "Are you close?~" he asked huskily through the bond.

Your pussy clenched at the sound of his voice, "Yes.. I'm-I-" you stuttered as his thumb rubbed your clit. "Gods.. I'm gonna cum..!~" you whined before throwing your head back as your eyes fluttered shut.

A loud whiney moan tore itself as your climax hit you full force, making your core tingle as pleasure wracked your entire body.

Your hips twitched and bucked against his thumb as he kept rubbing the sensitive bud. "Ridoc please..~" your eyes opened again, meeting his desperate gaze.

The sensation of your pussy fluttering and squeezing him tightly was tarting to become to much, "Oh fuck Y/n..~ You feel way to fucking good..~" he glanced to where you bodies met.

Your release had pooled at the base of his cock, forming a white ring as he kept thrusting inside of you.

He groaned as the sight pushed him over the edge, "I cant.. Fuck I'm cumming..!~" his thrust quickened messily.

Ridoc moaned lowly as he cummed into you, holding you firmly down on his lap as he panted.

Only the sounds of your labored breathing could be herd in his dorm as you both came down from your highs.

Eventually, you were the first to move, carefully removing yourself from his lap before sitting down beside him.

He propped himself up on his elbows as he turned his attention to you, "Are you okay?" he asked, noticing you were rubbing your hands over your stretched out legs.

A breathy laugh left your lips, "I'm just trying to regain feeling in my legs." you said before your eyes met his, "What about you, are you okay?" you flipped the question back on him.

Ridoc smiled softly, "I'm all good, Y/n/n.” He said as he stood up, “I’m just going to go get us something to clean up with, okay? I’ll be right back." he said as he handed you your night gown.

You took the garnement from him and slipped it back on, “Alright, thank you..” you said quietly before he walked off.

He was barely even gone for a minute before he returned with a warm, damp rag in his hand.

A breathy yawn slipped past your lips before you spoke, “That was quick..” you mumbled as you parted your legs for him.

Ridoc carefully cleaned his cum from your thighs and pussy before wiping whatever was left of his soften cock.

While you got yourself comfortable under the covers of his bed, he busied himself with putting his underwear back on and throwing the rag into his pile of dirty laundry.

Once done with that, he joined you under the covers and cuddled you from behind before pressing a soft kiss to your rebellion relic covered neck.

He nuzzled his nose against the marked skin gently before sighing contently, "Goodnight.." he muttered as he closed his eyes.

Your cheeks warmed, “Goodnight..” you whispered back quietly.

While the sweet gestures gave you butterflies, they also made your gut churn with guilt as you were reminded of all that you hid from him..

-

Bonus! (I couldn’t help but use the ShxtsNGigs podast “Do you miss me when I’m not around?” conversation as inspo for dialogue lol!)💚

After a long eventful week you were finally able to get some well needed rest. You were exhausted to say the least, both mentally and physically. Not only was your entire body aching from all the flying you'd done, but you were unfortunately forced to fight some fliers during one of your patrols. It killed you on the inside but you couldn't risk outing yourself as traitor to your fellow lieutenants.

By the time you had finally made it to your barrack, all you could think about was getting out of your flight leathers as fast as possible and going to sleep.

Using the last bit of your energy to open the door, you were finally able to gaze upon the one thing you craved most. Your bed.

But it wasn’t empty.

In it laid a shirtless Ridoc Gamlyn, comfortably tucked under your blankets, playing around with the wooden dragons Liam had made you.

A groan left your lips, “I forgot that you were coming here this weekend.” You sighed as you stepped into your barrack.

Ridoc set down the figurines on your night stand before he sat up in your bed, “I sure didn’t, been looking forward to it all week since I didn’t even see you last weekend.” He grinned as he watched you undress.

You rolled your eyes, “I didn’t know that I had to see you every time and since you’re probably wondering, I hung out with Bodhi an-“

Ridoc interrupted you as he scoffed, “First of all.. you’ve been spending a lot of time with Bodhi and I feel.. left out.” He admitted.

Your head turned swiftly in his direction, “What? I can’t hang out with my friend? I literally see you every weekend, Ridoc!!” You cried out.

“Yeah for the dragons! You only come to Basgaith because they can’t be apart!” He shouted.

You chuck your flight leathers to the side angrily, “You come here for them too you idiot!” You yelled.

Ignoring your point he continued, “If our dragons weren’t bonded you wouldn’t come see me every weekend!” He retorted.

Your hands ran down your face in exasperation, “I literally wouldn’t be able to! Not to mention this-“ you gesture between yourself and him, "Would have never-"

Before you could finish your sentence he cut you off again, “Do you miss me when I’m not around?” He asked rather randomly.

You stared at him in complete disbelief as you tried to figure out if he was actually being genuine or not, “What do you even mean by that?” You chuckled awkwardly.

He let out a frustrated groan, “When it’s Friday and you’re seeing me in the evening do you think ‘Can’t wait to see Ridoc’? Or do you roll your eyes and say ‘Ridoc is arriving tonight’?” He stared at you expectantly.

You take a minute to actually think about it before answering, “It depends-“ You admit.

Ridoc gasped loudly as a smirk slowly spread across his face.

Panic quickly set in as you realized what you said, “Wait- wait! Let me answer! Let me answer!! Let me answer!!!” You wave your hands around wildly.

Ridoc laughed, “Y/n!! I’m asking you if you miss me when I’m not around!!” He whined.

Your eyes roll dramatically. “You’re fucking ridiculous..” you sighed as you took off the remainder of your clothes before slipping into a nightgown.

After a beat of silence he sighed, “Go on then, tell me what you did with him. Gods I can’t even say his name- What did you do with him?” He asked as he laid back down and stared at the ceiling.

You shake your head in exasperation as you climbed into bed next to him, “You’re so jealous.” You teased as he dragged you into a spooning position.

Ridoc huffed, “So what if I am?” He brushed away the hair from your neck.

A shiver ran down your spine as his fingers grazed your skin, “Well, if you would have let me finished you would have known that I hung out with Bodhi and Imogen.” You sassed.

He rolled his eyes, “Like that makes it any better.” He huffed, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

An exasperated sigh left your lips as your eyes fluttered shut, “Goodnight, Ridoc.” you muttered as your body succumbed to its exhaustion.

You felt his lashes tickle your neck as his eyes closed, “Goodnight..” he sighed quietly.

[luvly-writer]

Bliss: The girl's reward

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Masterlist

For once, the chambers were warm and dim, candlelight flickering against stone walls, shadows curling lazily in the corners. Y/n lay beneath Xaden, breathless, her fingers curled in the soft ends of his dark hair, his lips brushing the side of her neck with teasing slowness.

They were tangled together in the sheets, finally alone, finally without someone knocking or whistling or—gods forbid—blasting a harmonica.

And then—

Footsteps. Murmurs. A goddamn snicker.

Xaden tensed above her. “No.”

Y/n groaned. “No.”

The doorknob jiggled.

And then— “I swear to the gods, Ridoc, if you even breathe near that doorknob, I will set your shirt on fire and tattoo ‘do not disturb’ on your forehead.”

Rhiannon.

“Honestly! They’ve been through enough. Let them have sex in peace!” Violet’s voice was sharp, fiery, and glorious.

“You just said sex,” Ridoc’s muffled voice whined through the door.

“YES, RIDOC,” Rhiannon snapped. “AND SHE’S MARRIED. TO HIM. IT’S LEGAL. MOVE ON.”

Sawyer added something that sounded like a half-hearted joke and got cut off by Violet’s, “Don’t make me call Tairn. I will.”

Inside the room, Y/n burst into laughter, head tipping back into the pillows, her curls haloing her face.

Xaden laughed too — full, deep, and free — pressing a kiss to her shoulder, then another to her cheek. “I think we’re finally safe.”

“Thanks to our queens,” she grinned, breath still catching from laughing.

He smirked against her skin. “Let’s not waste the moment.”

“No interruptions?”

“Not unless someone wants to die.”

And with Violet and Rhiannon guarding the door like avenging goddesses, nothing stopped them this time.

The dining hall buzzed with the usual clatter of plates, scraping chairs, and half-awake groans. Y/n strolled in looking distinctly glowy, her curls pulled up with little care, Xaden’s shirt yet again draped over her body, sleeves rolled up and collar loose around her collarbone.

Xaden followed closely behind, hair tousled, smirk smug, and faint nail marks very visible on his otherwise pristine back.

Rhiannon and Violet? Already seated, sipping their tea with suspiciously satisfied smirks.

Ridoc, slumped in his chair with a dramatic scowl, muttered, “I’m traumatized. I don’t care that they’re married. I don’t care how long they’ve been together. I deserve peace too.”

Sawyer, unrepentant and chewing on toast, added, “That’s on us for trying to prank people disgustingly in love.”

Y/n just hummed and kissed Xaden’s cheek as she sat down.

Xaden pulled his chair in and looked directly at Violet and Rhiannon. “As a token of appreciation, both of you are relieved of all duties this weekend. Full rest. You’ve earned it.”

Violet raised her mug like a toast. “Gladly.”

Rhiannon grinned, “I accept in full and without guilt.”

That was when Garrick groaned, dropping his fork. “Wait—what?! That’s the reward for shutting Ridoc up?”

Bodhi slammed his hand on the table. “We could’ve been the heroes! I literally told Ridoc to stop yesterday and he threw a pillow at me!”

Even Imogen blinked slowly and said, “I should’ve tied their mouths shut. Missed opportunity.”

Ridoc looked between them all and muttered, “Traitors, the lot of you.”

Y/n just beamed and leaned into Xaden’s side, still wearing his shirt like a trophy.

“I regret nothing,” she said sweetly, grabbing a croissant. “Except maybe not locking our door sooner.”

“Noted,” Xaden said, already plotting exactly how to thank Violet and Rhiannon again. Preferably with bribes.

Later that afternoon, Violet and Rhiannon lounged under the soft golden sun in the courtyard garden — drinks in hand, legs stretched, soaking up the rare, blessed quiet. They were fully in their “reward weekend” era, and they were not about to let anyone ruin it.

Y/n strolled over, arms crossed, still in one of Xaden’s loose Tyrish shirts and soft pants, hair in a messy braid that somehow still looked regal. She dropped into the seat next to them with a happy sigh.

“He’s still grumbling, huh?” she asked, sipping from Rhiannon’s offered flask.

“Nonstop,” Violet groaned. “You’d think he walked in on something unspeakable.”

“I did!” Ridoc's voice echoed as he approached with a dramatic huff. “You people have no respect for a man’s right to peace and a sister who used to have a shred of dignity!”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Ridoc. Your room isn’t even on the same floor as ours. You’ve been complaining for the drama.”

He blinked.

Then put a hand over his heart like she’d stabbed him. “How dare you expose me like that? I worked so hard on my bit!”

Sawyer walked by with a plate of fruit and added, “He even practiced his monologue. I heard him muttering it in the mirror this morning.”

“You’re both dead to me,” Ridoc declared.

Violet, sipping lazily, said without looking up, “You stormed into their room uninvited. Your suffering is self-inflicted.”

“Also,” Y/n added sweetly, “I am reclaiming all my dignity in Xaden’s shirts. Thank you.”

Ridoc dramatically collapsed into the grass. “This family is cursed.”

“Correction,” Sawyer said, dropping a grape in his mouth. “This family is emotionally chaotic, and thriving. You’re just jealous.”

Violet and Rhiannon clinked their drinks together, smirking like goddesses of peace finally granted.

“Cheers to that,” Y/n said, raising her own.

The sun was warm but not overbearing, and the courtyard near the southern tower was shaded by hanging vines and flowering trees. Y/n lounged barefoot on a cushioned bench with Rhiannon beside her, Violet leaning back with a book across her lap, Imogen sipping slowly from a cup, and Quinn sprawled across a throw blanket with her head tilted to catch the breeze.

It was one of those rare, beautiful afternoons where nothing demanded their attention. Just girls, laughter, and peace.

That peace was momentarily interrupted — in the best way possible — when two Tyrish guards approached the garden, carrying trays. One held a carafe of chilled fruit juice, the other a gorgeous spread of sliced pears, peaches, and sugared berries, arranged with absurd care.

Quinn sat up. “What in the—?”

“Courtesy of the Duke,” one of the guards said with a smirk before setting the trays down and bowing.

Y/n blinked, already smiling. “Of course he did.”

Imogen raised a brow. “I’ve never seen someone so determined to win ‘Husband of the Year’ every single day.”

Rhiannon snorted. “He’s not even trying to be subtle anymore.”

Violet poured herself a drink, the ice clinking gently. “I swear he’s been plotting how to spoil you since Basgiath. Now he has resources, power, and the audacity.”

“And he uses all three constantly,” Quinn added, already popping a peach slice in her mouth. “Is this what we get for being your friends and you marrying him?”

“I am okay with this arrangement,” Imogen said with mock solemnity as she reached for a sugared berry.

“I feel like this is his way of buying our forgiveness for the trauma,” Rhiannon muttered playfully.

Y/n just laughed, eyes glowing as she took a sip from her glass. “He says I deserve to be pampered.”

“You do,” Violet said, “but I’m glad we get the perks too.”

“Honestly,” Quinn sighed, “you picked so well.”

Y/n looked down at her drink, a note tucked beneath the glass in Xaden’s handwriting: Tell your girls I said thank you for keeping you happy. Also, remind Ridoc he’s banned from the next tray.

She laughed again, full and unguarded. “He’s ridiculous.”

“And you love him for it,” Rhiannon grinned.

Taglist: @eepyfaerie @dreamdragonkadia @hiraethjules @nikfigueiredo @galaxystern08 @taleiaargenis @minidemont @poeticbookwormcat @eternallyrosefire @shadowhuntyi @messageforthesmallestman @iheartshopping @fangirling-galore @nesiris21 @itsbeenmyhonor @stelena-klayley @littlemissperfecttt @lagrandeourse @readinf @barbreadsbooks @profoundpizzasong @optimisticsoulstarfish @locatinginspo @lxnvmvrzx @im-a-weirdo-for-life @laterria201 @bestillmystuckyheart @casiiopea2 @ineednewdaggers @fictionalrelapse @smileysunshinesworld

[she-whatshername]

Bed days with Bodhi

You wake up to a sculpted body of dark tawny skin and the most beautiful pair of brown eyes staring at you. A smile etching his face as he takes you in. Gods, what a sight. You will never take his stares for granted.

He leans over and kisses your lips; tender and soft, as if he was waiting since dawn to kiss you. Taking the lead he gathers you in your arms, pulling you close and across his bare chest, letting you rest on top of him.

“Morning.” He hums.

“What time is it?” You murmur into his chest with sleep still on your voice.

“A little after 8”

You lift up your head, “8? Fuck we need to get up. We missed formation.”

“And yet the day continues.” He muses.

“You can get off the hook, you’re a third year. And your cousin owning the place we’re staying also helps. Me? I’m-“

He holds you close to him, keeping you in bed , “you’re my girlfriend. So you’re fine. And Xaden likes you-well, tolerates you. He doesn’t really like anyone except Sgaeyl and Violet.”

You chuckle, “No harm taken.”

“He probably tolerates you more than me and Garrick to be honest-“

“That’s not true.”

Both your heads snap up and look towards the other side of the room, eyeing Garrick who was leaning against the door.

“How did you-“

“You’ve got to reenforce your wards better Bodhi.” Garrick chastises with a smile, “I came to check in on you, concerned for your well-being and what do I see? You two in bed with an oh so obvious morning glow. Did you get any sleep?”

You flop your head back on to your pillow, ignoring the red hue to Bodhis face, “Garrick if you’re going to yell at us can you just do it in bed? I’d love to go back to sleep.”

You almost yelp as you feel the bed divot as Garrick does just that, walk across the room and climb into bed.

Bodhis jaw nearly drops open, “Get out!”

“Cmon!” He smirks, “it’s just like when we were kids.”

You laugh, closing your eyes, “just try not to snore.”

But of course he does. But no matter, all three of you end up falling back to sleep. The revolution wearing on you all. But in this moment, you pressed against Bodhi and cuddled in his arms, with Garrick sleeping on your side, all feels right and exactly as it should.

You stay asleep while Imogen comes into the room, ready to scowl at someone, but instead lays down at the end of the bed, eager to catch a few minutes of sleep. None of you notice the shadows creeping in to the room, slowly caressing all of you before settling back under the crack of the door.

[bodhiscurls]

say yes to heaven. ( bodhi durran )

in which the night of celebrating the callydr executions may bring too many tragic memories to the surface but it finally brings the both of you together.

note: this follows up from 'twilight zone' you do not need to read it but just for extra context!! reader and bodhi were soulmates pre-apoptosy and never quite fixed the distance that settled when you separated and you ended up being engaged to his cousin (boooooo!) this is a VERY long chunky monkey i apologise my head wouldn't shaddap

main pairing: bodhi durran x marked reader, mentions of xaden x reader - themes of angst, fluff, mentions of parents dying

you had never breathed even the slightest about the callydr executions to a single soul.

it felt as if once you voiced the echoes of screams, the terror, the ash of your father swirling within the wind and landing on the scorched earth then you'd never be able to stop the trembling that was destined to follow. if you recounted the 147 heart beats that broke in your chest per minute or the stream of tears that blurred the vision of your heartbreak then that pain would've never been just yours again; it would belong to those who had punished you and everything you had ever loved.

so you stayed silent in the preceding moments, you never leaned on anyone- just a silent grip to imogen's hand as she buried her wet face into your neck. you had to be strong for your friends, you had to be as strong as he was. and as one burden enveloped your life and set you alight, the least you could do was let a small one go; another secret you'd hold on to for life, except this one would be guarded by xaden riorson.

in the next years you entered bagsiath war college as a collective punishment but you never gave anyone a sign of weakness to berate. you were smart, you studied till the cracks of dawn peeked through the battered curtains of your dorm and started these dreadful mornings with running with imogen; and sometimes you thought if you ran fast enough and far enough, the past would never be able to catch up with you.

only it did in the form of your lost lover and his stupidly gorgeous face.

you trained as hard as you studied, you fought with the courage and stealth that your father had trained you for. you weren't just a rider, you were the general's daughter and you'd be as damned as he was if you'd ever let that legacy die with him on that fateful night. in plain terms, you worked hard for your title and rank, making wingleader in just your second year- a position that came with stares yet your skill on the mat and in battlebriefs silenced those who dared to challenge you.

you were the best and annoyingly enough the only soul who could come close to you was bodhi durran, your second and executive officer.

you never spoke casually, how could you? all familiarity died long before your parents did when a wrongful betrothal was set into stone. instead you discussed your cadets with a professionalism as chilly as the bagsiath air. you never met up outside of training hours, you never talked outside anything other than planned arrangements, you never let your gaze settle a little bit too long on the boy who you once promised forever, never let your tongue whisper a question that lingered in the stiff silence between your bodies on the flight field.

do you ever miss me, bodhi? do you ever miss us?

he never showed an inclination of making amends. the softness of his chocolate brown eyes held an edge to them, a constant warning that his soul was guarded and you were granted no access. in this light, he reminded you so much of his cousin, maybe the lack of friendliness runs in their bloodline you settle.

only it doesn't. he still laughs with garrick, still wrestles with imogen and dines with eya. he makes time for xaden at all hours and has even taken a liking to the sorrengail who's now an allocated person of interest.

sorrengail.

the name burns in your mouth and brands revenge in your mind. you may have given imogen the permission to break her arm, accepting responsibility as her wingleader. it was a joke, you'd argue (not.) but how could he watch over the girl who took everything from you, and how could he just carry on his life with such ease when you were here day in day out, burning with the tortures of the past.

the tortures of the past that has carried forth today; a party hosted to celebrate the end of a rebellion before it could even begin.

you were expected to attend as were all the marked ones. you would go, brave face and demolish any ounce of cowardice that wouldve been perceived by your absence but you wouldn't make nice. you would stand tall and then leave behind the faces of the real traitors and grieve alone like you always did.

like you knew he did too.

he stands now, a tall length that is near enough a shadow behind you. always a step behind and you internally scoff at the irony, how he could be so close but so far away at the same time.

"greystone is improving," his voice is stern, though its heavier with a different storm of grief brewing "however, his footwork feels a little lazy." you agree with a tight nod, checking over his scribbled notes in the margins and straight over yours. it annoys you how organised he is like a brick could crush into his head and he'd be ready for it, in fact he's had that marked on his calender two weeks ago.

"we'll pair him with kaesar. her temper can keep him on his toes," you stare ahead, discussing the marked cadets under your guidance. "they can start tomorrow. i've cashed in a favour from aetos, we have an extra hour in the rings they can challenge each other on the mat and we assess again." you thrust a tongue in your cheek, trying to appear level headed and take your mind off of the doomed night ahead of you.

"right," he clenches his jaw and a beat of silence waits. only this time it feels a little more suffocating than usual.

"durran," you prod. your shoulders are squared in line with his, eyes into the distance and onto the cadets. he pauses as if gathering the right words to say. except he doesn't say anything at all and for a moment it worries you, so you turn and face him, immediately regretting it as he doesn't hold your gaze for long at all.

staring at you with the same scorn from all those nights ago.

"about tonight," he starts slow and watches you carefully. your throat almost burns. you swallow the bile and stand straighter, there are people watching and you will not crumble. not today, not ever.

"what about it?" you brush it off with indifferenve

"most of us are not planning on attending this year," his voice is low, as if he too is cautious of who may hear his next words, "we're gathering outside, you are welcome to join."

welcome.

something jolts in your system and sets you alight. "thank you for the consideration and i understand if they do not wish to attend. howeverr i will be there as a required representative nonetheless, no hard feelings." you carefully put.

his gaze narrows down on you and scoffs, the first ounce of emotion hes shown you in years albeit its anger. "you always were better alone huh," to the untrained ear, bodhi durran sounds nonchalant like this is a small joke between friends, but you'd know the slight sneer anywhere and you turn to him with a defiance of your own.

"someone has to attend bodhi and if they cannot then i will be strong enough to hold this," you take a step closer to him and he doesn't flinch an ounce. from a distance it looks like a wingleader reprimanding her second in command. to two unresolved lovers who know every beat of every heart and every inch of their souls this is different. this is the pain of being sworn off and ignored, of being forgotten and left behind.

"you're not obligated durran," you spit, "so don't pretend like this invitation is coming from a place of warmth and welcome," you echo. "make no mistake here, i am following orders to attend and brave what our family have been burdened for years. i'll take this as a lapse in judgement cadet, considering today's rememberance but don't you dare for a second question my own and what i'd do for those i love." you stare into his eyes and hold his gaze, a warning that he's overstepped and for the first time he hasn't got a reason to be angry with you. its you harboring these feelings to him and it gives you an oddly weird slight satisfaction.

you stay like that in silence watching your cadets on the field. he doesn't leave until every last of them has turned in for the evening and without giving you another glance he speaks once more.

"requesting leave now, wingleader yln" another barrier he's purposefully put separating the two of you.

"granted. i expect those reports handed to me by tomorrow morning." you don't bat your eyes at the curt nod you receive and once he leaves you finally relax a little in your stance. you feel the earth shift beneath you and ground you steady. deep breaths in and out you focus, pacing yourself before you heave another finally heavy sigh and make your way back to your room to get ready for tonight.

duty runs in your blood and into the sketches of your bones. and when it calls, you must answer.

the wind bites at your exposed back almost cheekily, taunting you as you make your way up the steps to the dreadful hall hosting this celebration.

your curly hair is tousled into a bun instead of usually resting down your back, exposing your relic adorning the back of your neck. it was a reminder you welcomed that you were different to the sea of oppressors that lurked in the room above. that you stood for hope and the truth of the world that was out there and if you were branded then you would wear this symbol with pride for everything your father stood for.

you carefully picked up the edges of your floor length gown, you'd done your best to look pretty tonight. maybe if you coloured your lips enough, dusted your cheeks with a healthy flush of rose then it would do everything to hide the ugliness that brewed inside of you. with a whisper to the stars and asking for a field of luck you begin your entrance into the hall.

the air is warm and suffocating and immediately you find your place. you don't stop for niceties or introductions, your feet carry you to a corner where you stand- where you've stood for years as you watch a room full of people celebrate the most terrible night of your life. you stand straighter, appear taller and refuse to let an ounce of sadness permeate your aura and penetrate your walls of fearlessness. you built this reputation and now you had to endure it.

you stay like that for a while. silent and unmoving, you've had enough practise stopping your snarl from reaching the ends of your stained pink mouth that this statue-like esque comes naturally to you.

that is until you feel the ghost of a hand at the small of your back.

you mustve imagined it.

a flexed hand reaching out, teasing the air and then as if almost immediately like a curse it drew back. like it was never there. your back burns from the what almost and you meet the gaze of the boy standing at your side. not a step behind like always, but right beside.

"what?" he asks, a small frown playing on his lips.

"nothing," you almost choke, throat suddenly heavy with emotion. you clear it, swallow it down and stare ahead refusing to meet his gaze again.

"i've never let you do this alone what would change now?" he rolls his eyes lightly and tracks your gaze, hardening at each senior individual who played a part in your parents death. he breathes slowly and dangerously low.

"i've got this," you lower your tone. "you can leave." another scoff meets the tips of your ears and you turn back to see him move an inch closer.

"nice try but you're off the clock to be making orders wingleader, i'm here as a guest," he returns and the mention of rank sends a ripple of warmth through your body. no. you internally shake your head, remember your place. remember where we are. remember what you've come through.

hes quiet for a while which is strange for somebody like bodhi durran and as you sense his inner turmoil presenting its own monologue you whisper "just a couple minutes more" and he nods.

the moments eventually pass and when your presences have been marked and embedded into the shadows of this disrespectful celebration you finally escape.

not before you get your hands on a drink of something strong. stolen from the buffet table, its the least they owed you you decide. and then you falter for a moment and pick up a second glass to go.

you have no idea where bodhi has gone, most likely to his little friendship huddle you think as you go engage in a slow leisurely walk back to your room.

there's a faint buzz in the air and the chill of the night wraps around your skin. you're not so far gone that you're aware of your surroundings only that the tightness in your frame has long gone, the stilts you use to stand tall have collapsed into the earth and you can finally just breathe.

right now, theres no being strong for everyone. there's no wingleader, there's no one. there's just you and the small girl who still mourns the death of her own family member every single night. you take a deep breath in and stop when you see one of the training halls left open.

fuck, you were supposed to lock up before you left. but surely you wouldn't have been so careless? you never have been, but you rub at your temples in annoyance and get ready to carry on the journey back to your room to retrieve the keys.

only then a shadow in black and a crisp white shirt you mistake for moonlight takes your view. bodhi durran sits slumped against a wall, the key to the training room dangling around his fingers and he mindlessly plays with them. of course it was him. you look around him and notice that after all these years maybe you two still are the same given the fact that he nurses three empty drink glasses around him.

you paddle over barefoot, heels in your hands. another burden of the evening and take a seat next to his relaxed frame.

"rough night?" you ask and test the waters, voice small now that its not guarded by ill feelings of guilt and resentment. part of you feels as though you shouldn't be here, intruding on this space. it feels intimate seeing him tousled like this and you weren't privileged enough to see that- or at least sober.

"guess you could say that," he lets out with a small chuckle and the breath you didn't realise you were holding in escapes.

"you know," you start, and then stop.

he's turned to face you and its unnerving to suddenly have all his attention on you. no malice, no unkindness just bodhi. the boy you've always loved. he nods his head as if to encourage you further, listening with every ounce of his being.

"what you said about me earlier," you whisper, wanting to squash the uncomfortable encounter from the afternoon and you feel the slight tense of his shoulders again. "about doing this all alone i mean."

"it's not that i want to do this alone," a fumble of fingers and you glance down into your lap. "it's just that i've never had anyone to do this with," you whisper and the air stills between you.

its rare for you to disclose to anyone other than imogen how you truly feel at times. before the heartache of losing your parents you could count on your fingers the amount of friends you could trust but slowly but surely you only had one left standing. maybe its because youre the only person scarier than her that imogen keeps you around, you snort gently.

as if knowing youre stuck in your head, he reaches out. the movements slow but his hand rests on yours, settling your fidgeting into a stillness. it burns his touch does, unfamiliarity and everything that feels like home at once.

"there's a lot of things i regret that night," he sucks in a deep breath and meets your gaze slowly. "i regretted not being by your side when it was his turn. i watched and i wished it was me instead," his voice cracks. you scoot closer to him, resting your head onto his suit-clad shoulder.

"bo-" you catch yourself and try again, "bodhi?" he hums lightly in acknowledgement and you fight against the swam of bees stinging your stomach to get your words out.

"do you think they'd be proud of us?" in the distance you can make out the sound of footsteps and a grumble but you ignore both and look up to the ceiling. he takes the time to wrap his arm around your side, tugging you closer as if he's had this all memorised and rehearsed. its scary how natural this feels between you two and for a moment you get a glimpse at how things used to be before everything went to shit.

"yeah," he breathes. "i don't think there's a single world out there where they wouldn't be" and those words build bridges in your heart where the memories had left pieces of your soul deserted.

you sit in the silence the two of you, wrapped in each others limbs. minds hazy from the drinks but more so the nostalgia that stops you both from moving forwards in life.

"you look like her, you know," you whisper, too afraid to be loud and ruin the tranquility. a smile spreads across his face at the mention of his late mother and he looks back at you.

"you don't look like him at all," and your heart falters. "but then i remember his character and his valour and love and its etched into your entire being. you're him but you're you and..." he pauses, contemplating his next words. you watch him softly curse, waiting in eager anticipation for whatever he chooses to tell you next.

"i miss you." your heart soars.

"bo," the nickname slips and he tugs you into his hold, "i've missed you so much," the tears softly travel down your cheeks and into the cotton of his shirt. he rocks you, arms wrapped around you as if holding you this close will erase all the years of distance between you.

"you have to know something bodhi," you pull back, "i never wanted the engagement, i never did," his heart lurches and he nods like he's known this his whole life. he tries to shush you, tell you its okay but youve got to get the words out before you never have the courage to utter them again. "the day of the executions," you tremble and he tightens his hold, "i gave the ring back, i couldn't do it, i think my father would've wanted me safe but i didn't need xaden for that," you whisper, "i think he would've wanted me happy and when i was with you i was the happiest i've ever been," you confess. the weight of a truth that has sat with you long enough. bodhi didn't know when you and xaden had ended, he never pieced the timeline together letting his anger simmer as he tried to think of when the two of you had started.

only it never had because bodhi was it for you, will always be it for.

"i didn't know," he breathed. "i didn't know," a tear escapes from his eyes and you catch the stray, wiping it away and letting your hand linger on his cheek and cupping his jaw.

"i know-" he cuts you off again.

"i thought if i hated you then it would make not wanting you easier," he rambles, "you were promised to xaden, i wasnt allowed to want you- to love you-"

"bodhi, i know it's okay," you smile softly, tears glistening and you sit in the quiet of forgiveness and understanding. it was a long time coming but youre glad it did. you didn't think jumping back into being the love of his life was the next step but for now you'd settle for this comfort- this ease. where he could be him and you could be you.

you lean back onto his shoulder and close your eyes. one beat turns into two and then into three and before you know it youve taken refuge into his hold and drifted off into a dreamland where nights are always like this minus the you know, executing your parents part. bodhi hums a soft tune, a habit echoed from the reminensce of when you were kids and you smile.

this feels like heaven.

from outside the door, xaden riorson stands. his shadows sweep the perimeter and enclose the two of you in, hiding you from public view.

he curses himself for not arriving earlier for getting hung up on the parapet that he failed as friend to be there for the two of you but deep down he knew that you both needed this. he hated himself for how you and bodhi ended that the day you handed him back the emerald ring it was a brief relief taken off his shoulders before he was swallowed in his own grief.

he may have lost his father that day but you gave him back his cousin- his best friend and family.

its why he sneered at violet so protectively, an action that will haunt him tomorrow until he apologises but he couldnt just stand there. not when violet sorrengail, the youngest of a bloodline that destroyed your lives (albeit not her fault) was peeking in through a private moment she shouldn't have known because even now all these years later, you and bodhi's history was a secret xaden would guard with his life. it was the least he owed you.

" go back to your room, cadet," he barked at the pad of footsteps. her eyes tilted up at him in suspicion, who was he protecting?

"but-"

he cuts her off with a glare and a shove to the wall as he holds her in place. "that was an order," he seethes, his shadows a force behind him. all violet could see was darkness and it terrified her. xaden lets go and takes a step back, giving her enough room to scurry away. she thinks about taking a look back but decides better. whatever is in the air tonight does not concern her.

xaden resumes his post outside of the door, standing tall like a liutenant who could'nt be reckoned with. and he did that all night, scaring away cadets and even imogen who thought she could get a few extra hours of training in but decided from the look of the wingleader that tonight was not that night.

for all that you two had suffered and all that had been asked of you, it was the least that xaden riorson could do for the two people he loves the most.

the next morning comes with uncertainty and it irks you to your core. you don't know how you got back to your room, you missed your run with imogen and just about made it to drills on time, sacrificing the time do your hair and scrub yourself clean.

bodhi durran however is on time and he looks as if last night had no wear on him at all. a soft smile plays on his lips as the sight of your wild messy hair pulled back into a high bun- similar from last night and at how he can still recognise the signs of slumber on your face. you don't let that affect your leadership however, you bark orders and correct stances. you plan attacks and train signets, you advise cadets and assess challenges all whilst he stands a step behind you mind catching up with your quick thinking.

it feels exactly like the routine the two of you had built up since obtaining your positions only now the air is softer- something your cadets would never understand.

bodhi doesn't reach out for your hand, he doesn't press a kiss goodbye- he knows it's not what you do. the two of you have never been favourable of having your business public and he'd never want anyone to assume you were each other's weaknesses to exploit.

he does however lean over when you check something off your grid, lingering in the space right over your shoulder in the middle of drills.

"what are you doing," you breathe slowly and the sober acknowledgement of the sudden proximity.

"reading, obviously," he scoffs, a chuckle slipping through his throat. at the tickle of his warm breath on your neck you immediately elbow him back hard, putting a space between you.

he clutches his abdomen where you've striked and laughs.

"bring your own clipboard tomorrow, executive officer," your voice is clipped but your eyes tell a different smile and he looks over at you in adoration.

then you resume your positions and finish training for the day. he walks you back to your room, a new task he's set for himself wanting to be by your side always to make up for lost time.

"do you want to come in and talk over strategy plans?" you hesitate and then invite at the door. he looks over with a grin, a different kind of strategy plan on his mind.

and he'll always say yes to heaven.

[southern-gothic-comic]

Page 96

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(Author's Notes)

Panel 1: They seek shelter for the night in a cramped garden shed, huddled close together amid various gardening implements. Laudna, pillowing Imogen's head in her lap, tucks a blanket around her to keep her warm.

Imogen: You don't reckon anyone'll find us in here?

Laudna: Not on a night like tonight. Probably not even until spring, but I don't think it's a very good place to stay. Although it does remind me of the little shed I was living in when I met Pâté!

Imogen: Is this gonna be a story about you findin' a dead rat in a shed?

Laudna: Oh, no! He was an alive rat back in those days. But it's not really a story.

Imogen: Remember it for me? I'd like to see him.

Panel 2: A flashback commences. The newly-Hollow girl opens the door to an abandoned farm shed, looking inside hopefully.

Laudna: (VO) If you like. It was about this time of year, actually.

Panel 3: It's empty, and the only occupant is a solitary, scruffy rat living in a nest in the corner. He scurries back inside at the intrusion.

Laudna: (VO) Right around Winter's Crest. I had only been on my own -- and well, dead -- for a little while, and I was lonely. I think he was, too. Rats are very sociable creatures, you know.

Hollow One: Oh, I'm sorry. I don't mean to intrude. Are you alone here? 

Panel 4: She sits down against the wall near the nest and opens her satchel, taking out a stale heel of bread and preparing to eat it.

Laudna: (VO) He reminded me a little of home.

Hollow One: Do you mind if I sit down?

Panel 5: But the bread is too hard for her to bite into and she spits out a tooth into her palm in dismay.

Laudna: (VO) Nothing was thriving in Whitestone in those last few years except the rats, the crows, and whatever they were in the woods that looked like wolves but weren't, you see.

Hollow One: Oh . . .

Panel 6: She sets the bread down outside the rat's nest instead.

Laudna: (VO) I've always been rather fond of rats, though.

Hollow One: Here. You can have it.

Panel 7: She lies down on the floor to be at eye level with her new housemate. As he emerges from the nest and begins nibbling the bread, a slight smile alights on her face.

Hollow One: You look like you're having a hard winter, too . . .

Imogen: I'm glad you two found each other.

[samcarter34]

Since people seem to once again be having trouble remembering the order of operations, let me just remind everyone:

The ability Laudna possesses to feed Delilah is Hunger of the Shadow. In the fight with Bor’dor, Laudna used that BEFORE Orym’s head nod. Bor’dor attacked them and her response was to do the thing she knew would give power to Delilah. Matt even makes the sound of Delilah’s heartbeat.

The spell she used after the head nod? Whither and Bloom. The same spell she later attacked Orym with, which isn’t even a warlock spell.

And speaking of the head nod, you want to know what’s it’s prefaced with? ‘Laudna you can do whatever you want.’ And Marisha responds by saying that Laudna is ‘barely present’ because she’s having ptsd flashbacks to all of the times something horrible happened to her and she couldn’t do anything about it. So she kills Bor’dor because it makes her feel in control of the situation.

And yeah, the 4SD where Liam says Orym thought Delilah might come back. Except y’all somehow took that and made it seem like he’s the one who shoved Laudna over the edge when what actually happened is that Laudna flung herself off it because betrayal is triggering to her.

And the sword. The sword which apparently wasn’t triggering enough that Imogen contemplating whether the Vanguard were good guys didn’t cause any reaction. Or for that matter, make her object to Ashton’s ‘this is permission statement.’ But she saw Orym wearing it, got uncomfortable and then all it took was one sentence from Delilah for her to decide to steal it. Delilah, who mutilated her, murdered her, has been possessing her for decades, and who basically held her soul hostage when BH wanted VM to resurrect Laudna. But what Delilah didn’t do? Tell Laudna to steal the sword.

I wasn’t around for campaign 1, but in campaign 2 I definitely noticed a trend that people who were all ‘I love women! Female characters rock!’ would, the second one of their alleged faves did something controversial (or just something they didn’t like) would find a way to shift the onus onto someone else so she could remain blameless. And that is definitely continuing this campaign, and if anything is getting worse (which, not to get into speculation, but I wonder if it’s because all of the female characters this go round are more traditionally feminine than last campaign.)

I think the reason Orym’s been getting raked across the coals so hard by certain parts of the fandom is actually because of this. Because Imogen’s repeatedly gone ‘what if the Vanguard have a point’ and Laudna agrees with everything she says, whereas Orym’s been pretty consistently ‘no, the murder cult that murdered my family are bad guys.’ And well, can’t go around admitting that our faves did something wrong.’

And so we have a situation where Laudna attacks Orym, but somehow that’s Orym’s fault because the possibility of Laudna doing something wrong ruins people’s lesbian cottegecore fantasy. But the thing is, that whole thing was all Laudna. She chose to listen to her first murderer when Delilah said ‘maybe it’s cursed’ and then she chose to blanket the room in magical darkness (sorcerer ability, not warlock) chose to cast an area of effect spell to destroy the thing Orym was using to sheath the sword (sorcerer spell, not warlock) and, upon hurting Orym, chose not to drop said darkness, which meant Orym couldn’t see who attacked him. And when she got caught, she tried to downplay what she did, tried to say that because she didn’t mean to hurt him it didn’t count, refused to apologize for actually hurting him, kept shifting her argument (and even low key got called out on it by Imogen when she asked Laudna why she’s want its power inside her if she thinks it’s so evil.)

There is an alternate universe where Laudna wakes Orym up and they have what probably would have been an intense discussion about the sword (and that might even have been what Marisha was aiming for before Delilah got involved) and THAT truly would have been the ‘both sides are equally right’ scenario, but that’s not what we got. And you can say Orym shouldn’t have taken the sword unilaterally (but somehow Laudna’s allowed to unilaterally steal and absorb it?) or that she’s being manipulated by Delilah, but the fact is that Laudna’s an adult and is responsible for her own decisions. Yes, Delilah is a powerful and malign presence that they all downplayed/ignored, but, to use Marisha’s addiction metaphor, making amends with those you’ve harmed is a part of recovery for a reason. Because ultimately, you are the one who did that. Yes, it does immensely suck for Laudna that she’s been handed the cards she has been, but it’s up to her to make the best play she can.

Wow this got long, but my overall point is that Laudna is a character with her own agency and makes her own decisions (well, Marisha makes them, but at this point y’all should know she’s not conflict averse and is willing to have her characters make controversial character choices). And really, take all that away, what’s left? How much onus can you take from a character before you might as well go look at a painting?

[utilitycaster]

An ongoing theme, with regards to the gods (as opposed to Predathos and the Imperium) is that of free will. The gods are stringent in collecting on promises made, and the Betrayers will use initial consent as license to act freely, but it’s notable, in a campaign where nearly all the main player characters are shaped by entities that never once gave them a choice, the gods require an invitation. Except, worryingly, Predathos, a being of nigh-divine powers who does not seem bound by this limitation. And, of course, mortals can do as they will.

When Lolth overtakes Opal, the fact that Opal assumed both the crown, and the title of champion, willingly, is repeatedly mentioned, in DM narration and by Lolth herself. Lolth also mentions to Dorian, (perhaps untruthfully, though the events of EXU indicate this might be genuine), that she wished for him to become her champion instead - but he did not put on the crown, so she can’t have him. Obviously, Lolth takes many liberties with Opal once given entry, but she can only speak to people or act through someone who has permitted her. We see this too with Asmodeus: it is ultimately Zerxus’s choice not to walk away and face his death, but make good on his pact; some degree of initial consent is needed. K’nauth and Judicators are also both explicitly described as voluntary: once permission is given, they are bound, but this is no different than the contracts of warlocks and notably, with the gods, while we’ve seen them make deals under dire straits, we’ve never seen such unwitting participants in their pacts as Fjord with Uk’otoa or Laudna with Delilah among the gods. All entered in control of their faculties, to our knowledge, though not necessarily with the full knowledge of what it entailed.

The Prime Deities are differentiated from the Betrayers in that they continue to provide free will to their champions and their faithful. The Raven Queen accepts Vax’s trade of his life for Vex’s, given without any direct communication from her, but she quickly does begin to communicate clearly; when Vax communes with her in Duskmeadow, she tells him what she wishes, putting him much more at ease. Later, after his death, she gives him an option to either remain dead, or to have a little more time left with Keyleth, Vex, and the others of Vox Machina before he completes his task and returns to her, and he makes a choice. When Morrighan asks for guidance, the Raven Queen’s response is to ask “why are you fighting, and what are you fighting for?” and stresses that she wishes to lay out the exact terms before Morrighan agrees to anything. When Percy asks her what to do she, ironically enough for a goddess of fate, tells him he possesses the capacity to do great things of his own accord. All of Vox Machina’s divine favors come willingly, only after a conversation; the Wildmother first reaches out to Fjord before he decides to accept. And mortals have the capacity to resist even these promises; Opal is only partially successful but she does not give the Spider Queen two deaths and she does not leave alone. Fy’ra Rai finds herself able to go against Lolth’s wishes even when the Wildmother does not wish to intervene; it is her choice not to kill Opal but to go with her.

When mortals express doubt in the gods, it’s typically not their actions. It’s because they don’t think they meddle in the matters of mortals enough. As mentioned, Percy struggles with the open-ended nature of the Raven Queen’s advice. Essek, frequently considered an “anti-god” character is actually quite mild in his doubt and ultimately more frustrated at the clerics of the Kryn Dynasty than the Luxon itself (put a pin in that). Ludinus Da’leth states the gods should have prevented the Calamity, despite us knowing that the Prime Deities avoided intervention and that ultimately, while the Calamity had a number of causes, mortals (Vespin, Laerryn, much of the city of Avalir) were at the root. Ashton and Imogen’s frustrations with the gods have both ultimately been that they asked for assistance and did not receive it.

The extension of the Prime Deities’ belief in the free will of mortals is sufficiently strong that even during the Age of Arcanum, when many mortals rejected them, and when they did not require mortal intermediaries, they still chose to preserve it until the Calamity began. Each major action by the gods as a group is ultimately one to preserve themselves (the sealing of Predathos; the destruction of Aeor; the current campaign’s truce) or to preserve mortals (the Primes during the Schism and in creating the Divine Gate).

Contrast this with Delilah, who seizes control of Laudna and who is never stated to have asked permission for any of her actions. Compare to FCG, designed by Aeorians to lose control and kill. Compare to Chetney, bitten by a werewolf in the wilderness (and the others of the Gorgynei as well) - indeed, what control he has is the legacy of magic granted by the Raven Queen and by a nature spirit tied to the Wildmother. Contrast this now with Predathos, whose Ruidusborn had no say in this connection and indeed, many are motivated in service to Predathos with the goal of freeing themselves. Enforcers within the Kreveris Imperium refer to themselves as The Will, and Elder Barthie refers to those who oppose them as being made “pliable”. Chetney’s loss of control under Ruidus is deliberately triggered by the Weave Mind, with whom he made no deal.

If we (in my opinion, rightfully) reject any argument that denies the right of sentient entities to self-preservation, we are left with the following accusations of the gods: failing to stop wrongdoing by mortals (both in their name and unrelated); and acting in accordance with pre-existing agreements. The latter we can also reject; it is not perhaps kind of the gods to hold people to their contracts, but this is not unique to them and as discussed extensively above, they do require that, at least initially, the promise be made willingly.

The former, unfortunately, will not be stopped by destroying the gods. Ultimately, such people as Tuldus, Bor’Dor, and the people of Hearthdell were oppressed by their fellow mortals. In-world, we have seen zealotry in the name not just of the Prime Deities but that of countless lesser ones, notably Uk’otoa; if only the Prime and Betrayer gods are at stake, this simply creates a power vacuum to be filled by other entities vastly more powerful than mortals. On the other hand, should all power-granting entities be devoured, setting aside the upheaval this will cause in society, this leaves no shortage of room for oppression on the basis of race or political affiliation, both of which we’ve seen. The Tal’Dorei Campaign Setting’s original incarnation, prior to the further development of Wildemount for Campaign 2, even stated the Dwendalian Empire forbade all religion and was still an authoritarian one. Colonization is the end goal of the Weave Mind and indeed the motivation for killing the gods per Edmuda. It also is not unheard of on Exandria for reasons not attributed to religion, notably the settling of the Menagerie Coast by Marquesians, and Tal’Dorei (formerly Gwessar) by human settlers from Issylra. And, of course, as we know in our real world, you do not need provable deities for religion to develop nor for colonization and oppression. Mortals do these things in reality and Exandria, whether or not the gods exist, and destroying the gods in Exandria achieves no prevention, only carnage.

Returning, finally, to Essek: when we look at the major characters who are PCs or are aligned with them who have expressed frustration with the gods, the only one who has much of a case for being influenced by the actions of a deity is Percy, who is staunchly on the side against Predathos. One could split hairs and note that Vecna was not a deity at the time of the murder of Percy’s family, his own torture, and the destruction and occupation of Whitestone, but rather merely a power-hungry wizard extending his lifespan via unscrupulous means, but Percy’s own choices render this moot. Meanwhile, the gods simply did not alleviate Imogen and Ashton’s experiences, both of which were in part due to powers caused by entities the gods, in fact, failed to sufficiently destroy (Predathos and Ka’Mort specifically) and mostly perpetuated by mortals reacting to Imogen’s abilities or Ashton finding themself orphaned on the outskirts of a notoriously rough city and later, caught as the fall guy in a failed heist by a morally questionable wealthy collector.

It is my belief that Keyleth’s anger is, on some level, extended towards someone who can’t respond nor change and who she feels she cannot be angry at, and that is Vax. Vax made the deal and the Raven Queen collected; Vax decided to take the Raven Queen’s second offer. He was forced into neither, and as discussed later, he likely would have responded poorly to a True Resurrection attempt given his faith. Vax is dead because of Vecna, but neutralizing Vecna didn’t fix it. I think Dorian’s anger at Lolth meanwhile is valid, but it’s also something I’d imagine he feels he cannot direct towards Opal, even though her actions are a part of it. And I’m sure both Keyleth and Dorian blame themselves, to an extent, whether or not that is rightful. The gods make just as convenient a scapegoat for those hurt by mortals as they do an excuse for cruelty.  But I don’t think killing them will bring back Vax, and certainly not Cyrus. Much as Derrig and Will and four other Ashari lie permanently dead at the hands of Otohan Thull despite her demise, and Orym’s trauma remains, killing the gods will not undo what happened to Imogen or Ashton. And since their main crime is considered to be inaction, killing them does not end suffering (and, indeed, should we dig into the infrastructures of Exandrian society and cosmology, may very well drastically increase it). It merely confirms that no one will receive their favor rather than only some; a bringing everyone down to your misery rather than striving to elevate all. An apt, if slightly tongue-in-cheek comparison to the real world is the fact that the cause of student loan forgiveness has been hamstrung and neutered by people furious that, since they didn’t receive help, no one else should - it is a self-centered and retaliatory mentality to lash out so far in jealousy that one would willingly destroy the life of another with the goal of increasing universal suffering.

Sources:

Timestamps available upon request but here are the episodes I’m drawing from. Printed works include pages.

Lolth, Opal, and Dorian: see 3x92-93; see also EXU Prime episode 8, EXU Kymal episode 2 for Opal willingly accepting and EXU Prime episodes 5 and 7 for the Spider Queen trying to get Dorian to put on the circlet.

K’nauth: EXU Calamity episode 2

Asmodeus and Zerxus: EXU Calamity episode 4

Judicators: 3x43

The Raven Queen and Vax: notably 1x44 (initial deal), 1x57 (Duskmeadow communion), 1x103 (her offering him the choice to pass or to become a revenant). Percy is also in 1x57.

The Raven Queen and Morrighan: 3x93.

Vox Machina’s divine favors: 1x104-1x106

Fjord and the Wildmother: 2x65; powers granted in 2x76.

Fy’ra and the Wildmother: 3x93

Essek’s feelings: see the final portion of this excellent post from essektheyless

Ludinus on the gods: 3x45

For causes of the Calamity, see EXU Calamity in its entirety, but Vespin specifically is episode 4, many of Avalir’s actions (including ignoring the hall of prophecy) are episode 2, and Laerryn denying the Arboreal Calix needed energy and casting Blight are in episode 3).

Ashton on the gods: 3x65

Imogen on the gods: 3x79

See page 12 of The Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount regarding the Prime Deities’ choice not to enforce their will during the Age of Arcanum.

Sealing of Predathos: 3x43; destruction of Aeor: EGTW 121; Truce mentioned in 3x67 and has appeared in 3x89 (Vezoden) and 3x92-93 (The Wildmother and Lolth).

Schism: EGTW 12; Divine Gate EGTW 13-14.

Delilah seizing control: 3x23

FCG’s design: 3x32 and 3x45

Chetney and Gorgynei (history and control): 3x40-41

Weave Mind control of Chetney: 3x91

Goals of Ruidusborn: multiple but see 3x48 and 3x89, 3x92 for a strong example with Liliana.

Imperium practices: 3x84

Tuldus: 3x44. Bor’Dor: 3x63. Hearthdell: 3x60-61.

Actions of Uk’otoa: much of Campaign 2 but notably 2x98 and The Mighty Nein Reunited.

Original description of the Dwendalian Empire: Tal’Dorei Campaign Setting (not Reborn) page 99

Goals of the Weave Mind: 3x85

Colonization of the Menagerie Coast: EGTW 17 (largely a peaceful one); Colonization of Tal’Dorei: Tal’Dorei Campaign Setting Reborn page 18 (explicitly stated to be against the wishes of the elves; led in part to the rule of Drassig and Scattered War).

Percy and Vecna: Vecna ascends in 1x106; the events of the Whitestone Occupation begin prior to campaign 1. Percy is in multiple war councils against the Vanguard and notably appears in the plans for a distraction to allow Bells Hells to take the Bloody Bridge in 3x81.

Imogen and Predathos: the revelation that Predathos may be within exaltants comes in 3x92; 3x83 and 3x87 both have involuntary experiences due to Predathos and see Liliana’s arguments in 3x48 as well as Imogen’s discussion of Gelvaan.

Ashton and Ka’Mort: emotional fallout most notably in 3x78; Evontra’vir’s description of what happened with the shard in 3x74. Memories of the Hexum Manor heist can be seen in 3x35.

[kitscutie]

hey! I'm not sure what all to put in an request. I'd love a kit connor x reader (fem preferred) about dating or fluffy things! Legal age of course

you belong with me (kit connor x fem!reader)

𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝗄𝗂𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗋 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀ꜱ: 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾!

ꜱ𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗄𝗂𝗍'ꜱ 𝗃𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽ꜱ 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋ꜱ 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 '𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍ꜱ𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋'.

𝖺/𝗇: 𝗁𝗂! 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾ꜱ𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗇ꜱ𝗐𝖾𝗋, 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾ꜱ𝗍ꜱ 𝖼𝖺𝗇 ᖯ𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 ꜱ𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺ꜱ ꜱ𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝖺ꜱ 𝗍𝗁𝗂ꜱ ^ 𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 ꜱ𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇! 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾ꜱ𝗍ꜱ 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇!

It all started during lockdown. You received a call that you had gotten the role of Florence Smith (a very British surname) in the new show 'Heartstopper'. You were already familiar with the comics - perhaps even a fan.

Florence was Imogen's shy but sweet friend that tended to sit in silence while the other characters spoke, though she did have some key roles too. Most importantly being that she was Nick's girlfriend at the start of the show until he realises he has been hiding his true self and meets the wonderful Charlie Spring.

Their relationship was supposed to be pre-existing, supposedly having dated for a year which meant you and Kit had to seem pretty comfortable and 'in love'. Even when you had just met.

The rehearsals began and all of the cast met, including you and Kit. The first time you saw him it almost felt surreal, he quite literally embodied your ideal man. Golden hair that fell effortlessly into all the right places, freckles littering his skin in a way that reminded you of constellations and most importantly and amazing personality.

You were shy at first, much like everyone, you had only done small jobs and this was completely different, an actual Netflix show with seasoned actors. It was a lot of pressure.

He never made you feel like the under dog. Like the one who didn't know what you were doing, in fact, he went out of his way to help you out. Pointing out who did what, talking to a crew member when you weren't quite sure what to say and it all warmed your heart.

It didn't take long for you two to become best friends. You were both in your final year of A-levels and it was complete and utter hell, though he made it a little more bearable. Both of you were currently working at D's in drama which wasn't quite ideal and so, you became revision buddies.

Days at each other's houses turned into nights together, and it all just felt so incredibly right. You never had a friend as good as him, someone who treat you so humanely, even if that was the bare minimum.

It all scared you to be honest, feelings evident to everyone except him. Even fans.

They would point out the small things, like how you would sit on Kit's lap whenever there were no chairs available in the back of one of Tobie's vlogs, even though Joe and Bash did the same. Or the way the two of you were often seen playfighting in the back of behind the scenes clips.

It wasn't like you hadn't kissed before, practically every scene your characters shared up to the break up contained a kiss and so it became easy to see it all as, well, real.

The hugs, the handholding and the pecks on the cheek. It all felt so real and then it was gone. And filming was over.

It didn't really effect how often you saw Kit, the cast became best friends outside of filming and so you still saw him every day, though it felt different.

The bubble you had been living in no longer existed, the two of you were real people not characters and even realer was the crush building inside of you for your 'best friend' and no matter what Joe told you, you couldn't see the boy liking you back.

Shortly after filming ended the first season got released and it was crazy. Not only did you have an influx of followers but an influx of people 'shipping' you and Kit.

It was stressful, feeling as though your secret was being revealed even if Kit saw it all as fans being fans, it was as if they could see right through you.

The two of you would laugh about it, the way they made compilations of him 'being in love' with you for ten minute straight. Or how they would tweet that you held onto his hand for a little too long at a red carpet. Deep down you both knew, it meant more.

Slowly he began to flirt, little things to gage your reaction, and when it made you blush instead of laugh and slap him in the face he realised maybe the theories weren't all that crazy.

Flirting became out right date proposals and it all felt so surreally perfect. He could have anyone and yet he wanted you.

By the time filming for season two rolled around the pair of you were official and known to the public, not exactly on your own terms but there was only so long you could walk on the street together without giving into the urge of holding his warmer hand.

Now instead of playfights and handshakes the cameras would catch the two of you napping together on set or cuddling on the sofa in a cast mates living room.

"I love you." He told you one cold night in December as you watched 'The Grinch'. It was your favourite Christmas movie. He knew that.

"I love you too." You replied, leaning up to place a kiss on his jaw line from your position lying with your head in his lap.

You knew at that moment, you belonged together.

[arcadecoconut]

sadly the finale was about what I expected. some nice character beats, some cool theatrical moments, but it all loses a lot of its shine when you stop to think about the plot because it's thematically and logically just nonsense. Like, teeth gritting, arms thrown up 'sure, I guess' levels of silly. A tragic lack of ... Follow through? Impact? Meaning?

And this is not me trying to be a hater! Bells hells weren't my favourite party, but I still liked them! I wouldn't have invested so many hours into the campaign if I didn't enjoy them! But the utter lack of consequences renders their own journey a little pointless, no?

Like, what was the point in agonising over the risk of Imogen and Fearne becoming vessels if becoming a vessel was super easy and bore no risks? Why spend so long debating what should happen to the gods if the gods apparently have no bearing on the state of divine magic in exandria? (divine magic and even divine intervention still works fine even without the gods in place? Come ON.)

Divine magic is fine, nothing has changed except the gods are now mortal, but predathos isn't going after any of the divine champions or other sources of divine, he only likes the specific god-flavour of divine apparently?

The main villain of the campaign is totally fine! Ludinus is living out his cottage core fantasies sipping tea and the main party of the campaign don't even bother to inquire about him in their own epilogues? they don't even care enough to follow up on the escaped villain of their own story?

It just feels like it renders all of bells hells achievements and big swings kinda flat if there was no real risk of anything negative happening anyway. Some nice moments for the shippers I guess, but personally I just felt like it lacked substance.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi, an another prompt, because I love your writing. I understand it takes time to fill.

Prompt for stronger ties: Magus and Alec enjoying their honeymoon and maybe meeting Ragnor and Cat. Or The Institute, and Alec’s family panicking over his disappearance.

SFW/ NSFW

thank you for the understanding <3 and I appreciate the prompts! last part here

this was supposed to involve Cat and Ragnor but Malec are having too good a time on their honeymoon currently and Alec has decided that since Izzy and Jace are at least safe, they can handle the fallout along with all the people who have more authority than him (aka Lydia/Imogen/maryse etc).

Alec's tired, okay? Nothing has been going his way AT ALL, his whole family got implicated in treason (again) and then actually committed several flavors of treason and also implicated Alec. so Alec is tired. maybe he'd be less 'fuck them' if he'd been there to see Jace and Clary 'heroically try to save the day' except they didn't save the day and he knows that.

Suddenly one thing goes his way. he saves his sister. he might lose the institute but that's better than losing himself to a marriage that isn't doing anything to help his family when push comes to shove. Alec has a marriage now that actually gave him something worthwhile (Izzy not being deruned when Lydia couldn't do anything)

alec's like: this one thing? this is mine now. goodbye and ty for coming to my talk.

i hope you enjoy <3

-lumine

the stronger of claims

Alec wakes to silk sheets as soft and luxurious as he’s imagined Magnus’ many shirts are. Golden light dapples across his body and he groans, despite his muscles being fine he feels as if he’s been thrown through several layers of concrete by a demon.

The bed smells like Magnus.

That’s the only thing keeping him calm and then there’s a deep chuckle against his back and Alec realizes there’s an arm around his waist and cool rings pressed against the skin of his belly.

“We go' marri'd.” Alec means to be articulate but it comes out in a hoarse slurry of words and Magnus laughs again, louder this time.  His warm muscles shake Alec’s body with his humor and Alec presses back into his warmth greedily.

Whatever it is that has Alec unable to think straight, being closer to Magnus helps.

“We aren’t married darling, we’re bonded. Which is something far more permanent than marriage. In fact, even by Clave standards a bond like ours is higher than marriage. So give your pretty head a break, your attachment to Lydia is no longer viable.”

The small pulse of sadness that went through Alec at the thought that they aren’t actually married is swept away by relief at Magnus’ words.

“Good.”

That’s about all he’s able to say really and if he had more energy, Alec would turn so he can burrow his nose into Magnus’ chest.  Instead he just wiggles back, content when Magnus chin slots against his shoulder, stubble tickling Alec’s skin.

“Izzy?”

Magnus wouldn’t be here, calm and with the magic between them settled if she weren't okay but still, Alec has to ask.

—-

“Safe and sound though demoted for the next year and with a few other restrictions, shadowhunter business. Once I knew she was safe I didn’t pay quite as much attention I fear.”

A lie, but Alexander is too tired to listen beyond the relief of knowing his little sister is safe.

Alexander falls back asleep before Magnus can ask him anything important and while he’s already moved the loft, that doesn’t mean Magnus needs to be obvious about where they are and staying in Brooklyn is obvious.

Within half an hour Magnus is booked at one of the most private and luxurious selkie run resorts and is portaling both himself and Alexander to one of their private bungalows. The one half of a wardstone he’s been given is the only reason the coordinates even work, or they’d have to take a boat. 

After all, they can be tracked on land but on the water, they’ll be untraceable.

Instead it’s out on the ocean, magical stilts holding up water worn wood and crystal and ocean mined rock that create a paradise of beauty without interruption.  

Mundanes can’t sail through this area, it doesn’t exist to them and the wind wards will redirect their boats and bodies, no matter what.

It also means they’ll be completely impossible to track, which will be necessary once Alexander’s family remembers he exists and is missing.

Honestly, the fact that over twenty-four hours have passed since Alexander first came to him and yet Magnus has yet to receive so much as a text or fire message.  That kind of behavior says more than enough about his boy’s family.

They’ll need to make a stop at the Labyrinth after their honeymoon. Alexander’s new status will need to be documented and recorded and the vows he’ll need to swear as Magnus’ consort will need to happen as soon as possible.

But still, after this.

Alexander wakes to sunshine, cradled by both Magnus arms and the hammock he magicked them both into.  

There’s awe on his face as he looks around and almost knocks them both out of the hammock and into the water with a laugh as he sits up.

“Keep it up and I’ll let you fall in the water.” Magnus threatens and Alexander just grins cheekily at him, as if the pain of the new bond has finally faded and then his boy tips himself out of the hammock.

Magnus curses.

Not from the seawater splashing him, but from the fact that Alexander doesn’t immediately surface.  There’s a moment where concern and terror grip him, and then Alexander is surfacing further away, a look of delight on his face and he’s holding... Magnus deliberately drops his glamour to get a better look.

“Why are you holding a fish, Alexander?”

Alexander grins at him, hair slick and half in his eyes as he treads water.

“To eat? It seems pretty isolated out here. Aren’t you hungry?” While Magnus could eat again — he’s made sure to eat while Alexander slept — it’s not surprising that his boy is ravenous. What is surprising is that he caught a fish rather than just asking for something.

“Yes darling, but that’s what I have magic for.” 

Alexander looks dubious as he swims closer, somehow holding onto the slick fish with only one hand before pulling himself and the fish up onto the dock where he drops it pointedly in an empty bucket. Magnus resigns himself to losing this argument even before it's begun.

“But fresh fish tastes the best.” Alexander has his arms crossed and is pointedly staring Magnus down as Magnus tries to avoid looking at both Alexander and the suffocating fish he can hear flailing around the bucket .

“I can summon us the freshest of—” Alexander’s eyes darken with sadness and Magnus sighs and deliberately doesn’t pinch his nose. “Do you know how to dress and cook fresh fish?”

Alexander does it seems.  

He’s a little unsure and lacking in confidence once they get into the kitchen but it seems he knows how to clean and dress a fish.  Magnus even summons an apron for him, some dark purple piece he’d once gotten for Cat and Alexander just asks Magnus to help him tie it.

The real hiccup starts when Alexander summons a small blade to his palm, the knife glowing and bright as it unfurls.

“If I use an adamas blade to clean the fish, will you be allergic?” 

It’s such an absurd thing to consider but also an absurdly thoughtful check-in and Magnus has to kiss Alexander. Ignoring both the still wriggling fish and the small glowing blade his consort is holding. Magnus is also trying not to mention how there is an entire knife-block and drawer full of sharpened knives already in the kitchen that Alexander could use instead.

“I’ll be fine darling. Also I’m summoning bread and side dishes. We are not eating just fish, Alexander. There is a limit to my tolerance.”

There’s a huff of protest but when Magnus looks at him, Alexander is grinning down at the fish he’s cleaning, eyes soft and cheeks vibrant with delight.

It’s a look Magnus has never seen on Alexander before and while that shouldn’t be too much of a surprise — they barely know each other all things considered, it means something. Magnus doubts that this is a normal or frequent expression on Alexander's face and yet something as simple as this, teasingly arguing about dinner is enough to bring it out.

They eat on the dock.

So far Alexander hasn’t asked a single question about why Magnus portaled them somewhere else and seems to be ignoring everything else beyond enjoying himself.

Magnus summons a thick blanket and they sit in nothing but boxers with their feet in the water as they eat.  The fish is delicious. Flaky and succulent and with plenty of lemon and from Alexander’s smug face, he knows exactly how good it is.

However, Alexander’s face when he bites into the bread Magnus summoned is just as delighted and before Magnus can tease him, Alexander’s already recanted his previous statement.

“So from now on, I’ll fish and you summon everything else?” Alexander asks, almost eager as he eyes the now empty basket of bread and Magnus summons another, just because he can.

And of course for the way Alexander smiles at him, crumbs catching on his growing stubble until Magnus wipes them away.

“I’d rather not eat fish every meal, Alexander. The selkies running this place might consider your efforts an effective show and try to woo you away from me.”

Alexander scoffs at the thought and Magnus laughs, because while he’s not completely joking he also simply has no wish to eat seafood for every single meal.

Besides, he plans to keep them there for at least five days. That might be a bit long considering whatever crisis the shadowworld is currently going through, however Magnus kicked up a bit of a hornets nest for the Clave.

It will be days before Imogen Herondale thinks of anything besides her newly ground grandson, something Magnus will still need to explain to Alexander at some point.

AN:

Alec: i'm with Magnus and we're on water so we can't be tracked. I know nothing. i'm living my best life... oh fish. Magnus might like fish too.

Magnus: ... look I understand that fresh fish is best but that doesn't mean I want Alexander fishing with his bare hands when his hands could instead be on me?? is this hard to understand? I can summon fish still alive so they're the freshest of fresh but I want my consort's hands all to myself. this is not complicated.

Alec *wakes up in paradise aka Magnus' arms and in a really nice place*: so this is new- nice. I meant nice. this is totally normal and where I went to sleep. carry on.

Magnus: ... you don't want to know where we are? or how long we'll be here? or even why we are here?"

Alec: if I ask questions then you'll give me answers and right now, I just want to exist with you. reality doesn't exist outside us right now. that's my stance.

Alec: I don't have to marry lydia? I don't have to wear her rune? or kiss her? or make medically induced babies I don't want with her? I am on vacation and I don't care if the institute explodes or implodes or whatever. it goes to hell whether i'm there or not and literally everything is above my pay grade right now. that's what my mother, Lydia and imogen exist for. they can deal with it.

Magnus: darling, don't you need to return to the Institute at some point? i'm not complaining, you just haven't mentioned it once

Alec who is sharpening a wooden spear to use for fishing looking up, eyes glinting violently: what institute, Magnus?

Magnus: your... ah. well I suppose it's not really your institute anymore, is it?

Alec: no. no it isn't. therefore, are the problems mine?

Magnus wisely shaking his head: no darling, of course not.

Alec: when they want me back, they can contact me. I currently don't hold an active rank in the Institute. I'm technically just an off-duty Commander sometimes pulled onto teams. and while Lydia's been relying on me to run things behind the scenes, she can just do them herself or delegate. this is our honeymoon, isn't it? why are you trying to cut it short?

Magnus: you're completely right. forget the institute. I shan't bring it up again, now darling did you say you saw oysters?

*honestly i'm still not sure what path Alec's going to take in this verse. he's kind of at the point where he's not sure either

[callsign-rogueone]

fractured - b.d.

Bodhi Durran x reader You break your arm, but Nolon isn't available to mend it. Bodhi takes care of you in the meantime. [request] words: 1.1k 🏷: no book spoilers. she/her reader in an established relationship with Bodhi. mentions of injury (broken arm) but no blood and no description of how it happened. just some fluff of Bo taking care of you.

Bodhi is out of his seat as soon as he sees you exit the exam room, looking a little worse for wear -- your arm is in a sling, the bridge of your nose split, and you’re walking slowly, like your legs are sore.

“There you are,” he breathes. “Xaden said you were here, but nobody would tell me anything. What happened?”

“I fractured my arm in two places,” you explain, “But Nolon is busy, so until he’s done with whatever else he has going on, I have to heal the old fashioned way.”

You leave out the details of how it happened, and hope that he won’t ask. He doesn’t -- he just takes your bag from your ‘good arm’, slinging it over his shoulder before you can protest and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You give him a pained smile, letting him lead you back across the bridge to the rider’s quadrant, where everyone is sat down for dinner, in the middle of a spirited conversation. You slip into your normal seat, thankful that nobody seems to notice your condition or make a scene -- until they do.

“What’s with the sling?” Imogen asks, raising an eyebrow.

Every head at the table turns toward you. Great.

“Nolon was unavailable,” you answer in a tone that does not invite any more questions -- that seems to be good enough for them, but you still get a few worried glances and pitying looks from your friends in response.

You poke at your food, attempting to cut it with the side of your fork and failing -- it isn’t sharp enough. You set the utensil down, giving up; you aren’t that hungry, anyway, not after the painkiller the healers had given you, which isn’t doing anything except make you nauseous. You really hope that Nolon will be back tomorrow, because living like this is going to suck.

Bodhi notices your dilemma and slides your plate toward him, wordlessly taking your knife and fork and cutting everything into bite-sized pieces for you before he gives it back.

You thank him quietly, managing to eat half of it -- better than nothing, you suppose. Maybe you’ll feel better at breakfast.

He’s sitting on your right, your uninjured side, and he keeps you close to him all through dinner, tucked into his side.

When everyone is finished, he picks up your bag again, carrying it upstairs to your room, right across from his, following you inside and setting the bag on your desk chair. “Do you want help changing clothes? I promise I’m not just asking because I want to see you naked.”

You don’t laugh at the joke, kicking your boots off roughly, not caring where they land. 

“I’ll be fine,” you answer, turning your back on him. You’re sick of this, of feeling like a child, of being coddled and given those concerned looks all through dinner, like you can’t handle yourself -- like you haven’t had worse injuries, like you hadn’t run the gauntlet and bonded a dragon and literally everything else this terrible school asks of its students.

You try to tug your shirt off, hissing in pain at the movement of your arm. Hot tears start to flow down your cheeks as you continue to struggle, the fabric getting stuck on the thick wooden splint the healers had put around your forearm as a temporary fix.

“Hey,” Bodhi coaxes, “let me do it.”

You sigh, admitting defeat and taking a few steps toward him, allowing him to help get your good arm out of the other sleeve first, and gently untangle the shirt from the splint, tossing it into your laundry hamper with practiced ease.

He wipes away your tears with a gentle brush of his thumb, cradling your cheek in his hand. The familiar softness of his touch relaxes you near-instantly.

“I know this is frustrating for you, and I know you’re a badass independent woman dragon rider, who can take care of herself, and that’s one of the things I love most about you, but it would be easier -- and it would make me feel better -- if you let me help you. I love you, and I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Love you too.”

You stay like that for a moment, leaning into his hand and closing your eyes -- you’re exhausted.

“We’ll go by the healers before breakfast and see if Nolon is back,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But until then, I’m gonna be here to help you, okay?”

You make a soft sound of acknowledgement, working up the courage. “Stay the night?” you ask softly. 

“Gladly,” he answers. “I’ll even bring extra pillows.”

There’s a moment of soft, comfortable silence that you want to linger in forever -- you really don’t feel like trying to shower with this thing on, or to lay down in bed; even with Bodhi by your side, it’s going to be uncomfortable, especially with how much you usually toss and turn during the night.

“I never asked you how this happened,” he realizes.

You stiffen, silent.

He looks at you with a seriousness you hardly ever see, deep concern with anger simmering underneath. “I need you to tell me who did this to you.”

You shake your head. “Nobody hurt me.”

He doesn’t look like he believes you -- you could very well be lying, because you don’t want him to go off and beat someone up just because they bested you in a challenge, but there weren’t any challenge fights today; they’re over for the rest of the school year. Had someone gone out of their way to injure you, to make an attempt on your life? 

“My love, I’m serious. If someone tried to-”

“I tripped over my own shoelace and fell down the flight of stairs by Kaori’s classroom,” you interrupt quietly. “Half a dozen first-years saw the whole thing.”

He knows you well enough to know that you’re telling the truth, that what he’s seeing is genuine embarrassment -- the shyness in your voice and the warmth of your cheeks give it away.

He laughs in relief, and at how deeply unserious this whole situation is. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing.”

“It’s okay,” you say, shaking your head with a slight smile. “It’s pretty funny.”

It’s hilarious. You’d completed your first year largely unscathed, sustaining no major injuries, but an untied shoelace had nearly done you in.

“That’s it,” he declares, “I’m tying your shoes for you every morning from now on.”

You laugh, wincing when the motion jostles your arm and sends a jolt of pain through you.

“Oh, honey,” he soothes. “C’mere.”

You settle into his arms, leaning against him as he embraces you, careful not to touch your splint.

“I love you,” he whispers, nudging his nose against yours.

“I love you too,” you reply. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Always, my love. Always.”

[slytherin-pen]

To Be Seen

pairing: Sloane x Dain

word count: 1.1k

tags: set post-OS, no spoilers though just a brief theory, slightly angsty

summary: It’s Show & Tell day at Liam’s school and he tells his class about the war his parents fought in except…he only talks about Dain.

a/n: inspired by mothers always getting the short-end of the stick in books (and real life tbh), but also slightly inspired by that Hermione moment in Manacled iykyk. written for day 7 of Slain Week by @empyreanevents

Slain Masterlist

“—and my daddy won the war while riding a big, red dragon!”

The room erupted in a chorus of wide-eyed gasps and exaggerated “oooohs” from the first graders sitting in a half-circle on the floor facing the front of the classroom. The teacher chuckled from behind her clipboard, then turned a patient smile toward Liam standing proudly in front of the class.

“And what about your mommy, sweetheart?”

Sloane stiffened in the back of the room. Her arms were folded, her jaw clenched so tight her molars ached. The chairs for visiting parents were child-sized, far too small for anyone older than prepubescent age. Some of the larger parents, like Dain, opted to stand instead of squeezing themselves into the chairs. But the chair wasn’t the only reason for Sloane’s foul mood. She watched her son flounder for an answer.

Liam blinked and scratched the back of his neck. “She…was there.”

A few of the other kids turned to look at her. A couple of parents did too, curious but not unkind. A few sympathetic looks, too. Sloane could hear the blood whooshing through her ears.

Just there?

The teacher moved on, ushering up the next child. Everyone clapped. The moment passed for them.

Not for her. When Liam had told them he was going to tell his class about the war, Sloane had assumed she’d be included. Apparently that was a mistake. She and Dain had told Liam about the war plenty of times—as much as was appropriate for a seven year old. She thought he knew about her involvement, how she had fought for their home just as much as Dain had. As anyone else on the battlefield. Just because she had been set up in Riorson House or only briefly ran onto the battlefield didn’t mean she hadn’t fought. Right?

The walk home was quiet. Dain, holding Liam’s hand, was doing his best to keep the mood light, asking about snacks and recess and whether the class hamster really did bite someone’s finger off.

Sloane walked a few paces behind. Liam had smiled so wide when he’d talked about Dain. Beamed, even. His shoulders had squared like he knew he was descended from someone legendary. And he was.

But her? She was just there, apparently. A footnote in the story. The fine print at the end of a document.

When they walked through the front door of their house, Sloane immediately spotted Imogen rising from the couch.

“Hey, guys,” she greeted quietly. “I somehow managed to get both of the little monsters down for a nap but they should be waking up soon.”

“That’s great. Thanks, Imogen,” Dain replied.

Sloane kicked off her boots and went straight to the kitchen, her motions stiff. Cabinets opened. Tea was made. She heard Imogen and Dain talk some more until the front door opened and closed again signaling that Imogen had left.

Sloane stared out the window, unmoving, cup of tea in hand until Dain’s voice drifted in from the living room.

“Go start on your drawing, bud. I’ll come help in a second.”

Soft footsteps padded upstairs. A moment later, Dain appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she replied, voice flat.

Dain studied her carefully. “Is this about what Liam said?”

She didn’t answer.

“He’s only seven Sloane, he doesn’t know any better.”

Sloane looked over her shoulder to glare at him. “I know how old our son is.”

Dain exhaled and stepped inside. “He didn’t mean it like that. He was just excited. You know how he looks up to—”

“I don’t care what he meant,” she snapped, spinning around, teacup trembling in her hand. “I don’t care if he meant it or if he didn’t. I care that even though I was there, I’ll never be included in the stories. That while I was using my signet to cure people, the only thing anyone remembers are those who were doing the killing. And I don’t mean to sound entitled or ungrateful, and it was fine when it was everyone else or random strangers, but he’s my son Dain. My own son.” Her voice cracked at the end. She set the cup down as her hands gripped the counter and hung her head.

Dain approached her slowly. “That’s not true,” he said softly. “I remember you nearly reaching burnout multiple times vivdily. I remember Violet’s cries of joy when the red veins finally disappeared from Xaden’s eyes. I remember it all.”

Sloane scoffed. “You’re my husband. I’d certainly hope you’d remember, but no one else does. I’m just the mom who forgets to sign up for the fundraising bake sale. The mom who doesn’t always have the boys’ laundry done on time and they have to wear those terrible, tacky outfits. The mom who—“

“Survived,” Dain interrupted.

She went still.

He moved closer, slowly, like he was approaching a wounded creature. His fingers caressed her arms and she felt a shiver ripple through her.

“You survived,” he repeated. “And you’re doing it better than some people if I’m being honest. But it’s not a competition, because at the end of the day, I know you. I know how hard you fought for this new life we’re living. For our friends and your home. And if you need me to remind everyone at the next potluck then I will, but I don’t think you truly want that.”

Sloane’s throat burned. She looked away.

“You’ve never been ‘just there,’ Sloane.” His voice dropped. “You are everything.”

She hated how fast tears sprang to her eyes.“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just wanted to be… seen. At least by my own kids.”

Dain pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on her head. “You are. By me. By Liam, too. Even if he doesn’t have the words for it yet.”

She shook her head. “I’m being ridiculous,” she said with a sniff.

“No you’re not,” he soothed. “I can’t imagine I’d react much better if it had happened to me. But one day he’ll grow up and he’ll know exactly who his mother was. It’s just at this age…you can’t blame him for focusing on the fighting off the back of a dragon part.”

Sloane didn’t respond, just nuzzled further into his chest as he rocked them slowly. She understood what he was saying. And she wasn’t truly upset with her son—of course not. This was probably just some old wound that ran much deeper than the war. Another difference between her and her brother. Where he had jumped in front of danger to save his friends, she was always being told to stay back. To stay within the safety of the fortress that was Riorson House.

Later that night, Sloane sat on Liam’s bed, watching him scribble on parchment with chalk sticks in various colors.

Liam turned around and presented his drawing with a proud little flourish. “Look mommy, it’s you!”

It was messy, but she could make out the red blob meant to be Thoirt and the stick-figure version of herself. Standing tall with a smile on her face and…holding a sword.

She smiled down at him, a chasm of emotions opening up inside her. “Thanks, baby. I love it.”

Liam grinned, causing the same dimple his namesake had to appear. “I’m going to show everyone how cool my mom is at school tomorrow.”

She ruffled his hair and kissed his forehead. “Let’s get you ready for bed now, hm?”

After she tucked him in and told him goodnight, she grabbed the drawing off the desk. And later in bed, Dain didn’t say anything about the fact she had been staring at the drawing for an hour with tears streaming down her face. He just kissed her hair and laid his head on her shoulder as he stared at the drawing too.

Slain taglist: @abolitionistlawpluscoffee

[l1ve-l4ugh-lov3craft]

I have...another rosekiller microfic

something something...evan's in the hospital cos he tried to unsubscribe himself from life and barty visits him or whatever. enjoy, lads

*****

By the third week of Evan’s hospital  stay, the receptionists all knew Barty’s face. Every single one of them, no matter which shift he came to visit. They also all knew, with the ease that only came from familiarity, how each encounter would go when he showed up at their office down to a tee. 

Good morning, Linda or Harvey or Imogen or whoever was at the front desk that day. He was here to see Evan, right? Why, yes he was. Well, we’ll phone his doctor, but there’s no promise he’ll be willing to see visitors. 

And he never was. Poor Linda or Harvey or Imogen would press their little button to call the main phone line to connect to one of the hospital psychiatrists, and Barty knew every time from the way their face fell just the smallest bit after a moment or two, that he was going to have to turn right back around and head out the way he had just come not five minutes before. He wasn’t ever mad. Hell, he knew how much the hospital sucked, and he probably wouldn’t want to see anyone if their roles were reversed.

Except that that didn’t stop it from stinging just a little bit when he got that same, “I’m sorry, looks like Evan’s not seeing visitors today,” that he did every other fucking time.

So to say that his hopes weren’t very high when he once more sauntered into the same lobby he’d frequented for nearly a month with no success would have been an understatement. He led himself down the hall that technically joined with the patient dorms just as he normally did and stopped at the plain grey receptionist desk yet again.

“Diedre,” he winked at the middle aged woman he was by an adequately familiar face to.

“Barty,” she smiled kindly upon seeing him, “Here for Evan again, I expect?”

“Always,” Barty replied. He went for a smile and a tone that was far more lighthearted and hopeful than he felt. 

He picked at a loose bit of skin on his thumb while Deidre punched in the numbers to call the main line. It rang just once before a doctor picked up.

“Hi there,” Deidre said in that same sickly sweet professionalism voice all the receptionists had, “Is Evan-”

“Barty?”

That voice. Oh, here was a definite risk of neck damage in the way Barty whirled around at that voice. He went nearly lightheaded to hear it, turning in the direction it came from and stopping frozen in place when he found him. 

In pretty much every way, Evan looked the same. Same bleached locks (though the rings and crystals he’d put in had been removed), a pair of grey sweatpants and a Slipknot jumper that Barty had absolutely seen him in before, same neon green nail polish he’d put on last week that was still hanging in there somehow. He was just Evan Rosier, his Rosie.

“Evan,” he breathed. Like the word was puched out of his chest.

Evan’s face was painfully blank for a heartbeat or two, then it crumpled, “Oh shit, Barty.”

Barty didn’t even bother to wait for Deidre’s permission to run to him, and no one would have been able to stop him even if there had been an issue. Evan stumbled, tripped on those damn yellow socks with the rubber on the soles, and fell the rest of the way into Barty’s arms. He caught him, crushed him close, and decided he would never ever let go. This was where he would spend the rest of his life; in this bleached fucking hospital hallway, holding onto Evan Rosier for dear life. 

He didn’t even realise he’d gone misty eyed until he turned his face to tuck it into Evan’s neck and he felt the damp fabric. He breathed him in. Tried to convert him to memory - every single piece and part of him. He really felt like he might slip away if anyone took Evan from him now. 

“Fuck, I missed you,” he whispered into the barely there space between them.

There wasn’t even hesitation when Evan replied, “Me too,” and leaned the side of his head against Barty’s.

He was going to kill Barty. Really he was. Sounding so…so fucking…sincere like that, like he really had been missing him just as badly as Barty had. He didn’t realise he’d needed to hear it -those words. Somehow he hadn’t noticed the way each failed visit attempt had been wearing on him. He realised all at once that there had been a little voice he’d been ignoring, one that told him he’d lost him. That Barty had dropped Evan off at that hospital and he wasn’t ever going to get him back. But instead, it was wrong. Instead, Evan missed him, and maybe that shouldn’t have made him as giddy as it did. 

There was a pointed cough from Deidre behind them. Barty was fully in support of just ignoring her and continuing on as they were, but Evan had always been the more sensible between the two of them. He pulled away but kept his hands on Barty’s shoulders like he couldn’t bear to stop touching him, which did all sorts of funny things in his chest.

“How about you two take one of the visitors rooms just down the hall there?” Deidre said kindly, pointing to the row of doors a few metres down. 

Evan nodded, sliding a hand into Barty’s and tugging him along, “C’mon.”

-aaaaand i dunno they go in and Barty’s like ‘you were ignoring me for like weeks and now you’re just fine what happened?’ and they probably argue about it for a bit but then they make up like rosekiller do and Barty fills Evan in on life things and they chat but i don’t feel like writing it. anyway every time Barty comes back after that, Evan lets him and he probably gets discharged like a couple weeks later yeah-

[mrderofcr0ws]

HEADLOCK

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

that was the name written on a gravestone in brooklyn with no body below it since the sergeant had been pronounced dead in 1945.

the body that once belonged to that name was now hydra's most prized possession— but the winter soldier was not the only danger locked away down in the remote siberian facility. you were there, too. a monster made from horrors most refused to believe could be real.

two trained killing machines.

one bound to commands and trigger words.

the other bound to instinct and bloodlust.

it had been a long time since either of you had seen the sun. you could get out with his help in the brief, painful moments of clarity he had. when he answered to that long forgotten name, you could escape together.

but bucky was often buried under that brooklyn headstone-and the winter soldier who slept in the bunk below you nearly every night was a danger to even you.

this is a fic that explores bucky's time in hydra. the content warnings are as follows: torture, manipulation, angst, pain, psychological horror, graphic descriptions and language, poetic comparisons to cannibalism, hurt with minimal comfort at times, stockholm syndrome, smut, degrading, power imbalance, canon divergence. 18+ fic.

— DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT WARNING —

THIS SPECIFIC CHAPTER OF “HEADLOCK”CONTAINS A NEW SET OF POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING CONTENT ON TOP OF THE ONES LISTED ABOVE THAT PERTAINS TO THE TRUAMA OF THE READERS CHARACTER. THE LIST IS AS FOLLOWS: kidnapping, themes of stalking, implied sexual abuse and assault, drugging, mutilation, and trafficking.

bucky x fem!reader (you have a given name in this fic for the sake of making writing easier, but it will be used sparingly)

word count: idk i write on tumblr... but this one is really, really long, guys, im ngl… (roughly edited)

<- previous part

author note: this chapter is heavily inspired by the song “strangers” by ethel cain. i recommend giving it a listen after you read to deepen the experience. on my masterlist, i shared my bucky playlist that i use to write this fic, too. music is a big source of inspiration for me — the title of this fic and each chapter’s title are a direct reference to the imogen heap song ‘headlock’ (except this one) — and a lot of what i write has songs to go along with the emotions that i try to capture and portray. i hope you enjoy if you decide to listen to the song or take a peek at my playlist.

sorry in advance, everyone.

-crow

PART FIVE —

— WITH MY MEMORY RESTRICTED TO A POLAROID IN EVIDENCE.

a girl had been born to a mother and a father in a small romanian town in 1919.

her mother tended to the house and grew the prettiest flowers in the front garden. she had flowers that bloomed in every season and she had the longest hair anyone had ever seen. her father was a factory worker. he helped manufacture car parts like steering wheels and headlights. he was a strong man. strong like an ox who could lift his two children over his head like they weighed nothing at all, even when they grew to be too big.

this girl had a little brother and her little brother went on to become a scholar as they got older. a scientist. a virologist determined to cure the sick. he moved away to a bigger city when he was old enough and had enough money in his pockets. but he was a good boy. a kind one. he always sent money back home. he sent his sister pictures of the city he lived in and wrote to her every month.

the girl stayed with her parents.

she stayed with her mother— and she and her mother opened a flower shop out of their garage together. it had been her idea. her mother was hesitant. she did not see the value others could find in flowers grown from their garden— but the girl had heard the compliments. their neighbors always had nice things to say as they crossed paths. she saw how people would stop and stare outside their house.

with a bit of persistence and a sweet charming smile, her mother came around to the idea.

for years, she and her mother sold the prettiest flowers for the prettiest shiny pennies. they spent the spring knee deep in dirt, planting seeds and dirtying their nails as they giggled together. in the summer, they would fan themselves off and drink cold iced tea under the shade of their garage head, selling out their flower supply in a matter of days.

she had a good life.

she had been a happy girl.

in 1943 at the age of 24, the girl had met a man deployed to her town during world war ii. an officer.

he took a great liking to her and came to visit her every day. she paid him no mind outside of small conversations and pouring him a glass of iced tea when he asked for one. he paid a dollar every time and she slipped it into her pocket. her mother always beamed when he came by. hospitality was her trade and she welcomed the solider each and every time he popped his head into the garage.

her mother would’ve been cross with her if she knew that her daughter was taking a dollar from him for a cup of iced tea— but it was their little secret.

the girl now grown grew used to his presence.

she grew used to his persistence, too.

he wasn’t so bad to be around when he brought chocolates. he had learned how to swoon the stubborn girl who had caught his eye— and the officer asked on her a date.

a man on deployment shouldn’t date but what else was there to do in that tiny romanian town.

and she agreed.

of course, she had. she’d grown fond of him. a foolish little thing with a crush, she had come to enjoy his visits. when he asked her out, he’d brought her a new dress for the occasion and promised to have her home by 9 o’clock.

how sweet things could sour so terribly…

she never returned from her date on july 9th, 1943.

her mother never saw her again and all the flowers in the garden died. her father lost his strength and he could hardly lift himself out of bed. his brother grew sick with grief and he left the city to return home.

it was all a story.

it was a sad story that filled you with dread knowing there was no way to change the fate of the poor girl who had been stolen away.

but that’s all it was.

just a story.

you had no memories of pretty flowers. no memories of doting parents. no memories of a little brother. there was no house you could close your eyes and picture. there was no town to call home. there were no neighbors. no friends. no officer.

the pictures in the folder made your throat sting. the girl in them had your face. it was the face you could not look at in the mirror— but her story meant nothing.

her story was not yours.

yours had only began where hers ended.

that was the difference between you and the winter soldier— and if nick fury was trying to appeal to a better side of you he believed had to exist by handing you that folder, he was wrong.

whatever hydra had done to you in the very beginning, it was different than what they had done to him. you had no memories— but he had his. they were buried under the rubble of the thousands of pieces they shattered him into over and over again. like shards of a broken mirror, everything reflected off of each other. it was too hard to make sense of— and that is why they tortured him.

they made it too hard for him to sort through the pieces by jumbling them up each and every time he got the courage to try.

your mind was void of everything that came before. it was a blank white space like the room you sat in now.

that is why manipulation and brainwashing could not work on you the way it did for him. there was nothing they could toy with. there was nothing they could take away because they already had— so much so that you could only see the blocks that built your story for yourself when they were placed in front of you within the folder.

pictures of the girl named isla were not the only ones paper clipped to the pages holding any and every bit of information there was about her. a picture of her parents. a picture of her and her brother. a picture of their house in romania. your heart ached as you rubbed the pad of your thumb over the picture of this girl’s mother— but there was no lightbulb.

there was no click.

there was nothing you could recall about this woman— of either women in those pictures.

but you knew one face in that folder better than you even knew your own.

as you flipped the page, his face was clipped to the top of the sheet of paper with the red logo at the top.

hydra.

a hydra document.

a hydra officer.

nikta patrova’s face stared stone-cold back at you.

“stop it,” a far, far away voice cried out. “don’t touch me! please, stop! stop!”

you shut your eyes and all you could see was the blank white void. in every direction you looked in the space behind your eyelids, it was nothing but white. it wasn’t anything at all.

“get off me!”

the ground below your feet began to tremble.

the sound that echoed in the space between your ears was the awful, terrible crackling sound of ice giving way. kukukuku.

the void in your mind was not a void at all.

it was a landscape of unyielding winter— and the ice below your feet shattered, sending you sinking into the freezing depths of a darkness long sealed away.

the smell of blood burned your nose as you crawled through the tall grass under a moonless sky. one hand after the other, you heaved yourself across the dirt. across the grass. across the field.

he tugged you back by your ankles and a sharp, petrified gasp ejected from your lungs. you screamed as you twisted and writhed on the ground like a snake with its head cut off. your nails dug into his arms. blood painted your nails as you tore open skin— but he only snickered.

“shhh,” he hushed as he covered your mouth with his large, calloused hand. “come on, don’t be this way.”

you bit down on his hand and blood stained your teeth. he hissed, pulling his hand back. he put the wound in his mouth, grunting as he suckled on the hurt.

“you little bitch…” he whispered.

the dirt suffocated you and you choked on it each time you tried to draw breath. it stuck to your blood stained mouth as he pressed his palm down into the back of your head and held you in place. on a breezeless summer night, the rustle in the grass was no fault of the winds.

you never saw that field by the river again.

you never took the path back into the town you called home.

and you never returned to the house with the prettiest flowers in the front garden at 9 o’clock.

“get up,”the officer said. he grabbed you by your elbow and hoisted you to your feet. “walk.”

it was hard to walk. you had been cramped in the trunk of that dirty, rusty car for hours. the sun was too bright. you stumbled alongside him as he guided you by the back of your neck towards a warehouse.

you hit the floor hard as he shoved you inside. you scraped your hands on the concrete floor. your knees, too. you looked up with tears in your eyes. in the warehouse, men dressed in dark uniforms stood around a circular table.

“nikta,” one of them turned. a general. he glanced at you with little interest. his next words were in a language you didn’t understand. “what is this?”

nikta grabbed you by the roots of your hair. a cry escaped you and you reached up to grab his wrists. he dragged you over to the table of uniformed men and whispered two words you could not understand.

two words that had damned you.

“she bites.”

you cried ceaselessly in that dusty, dirty trunk when he shoved you back inside it.

you cried ceaselessly when he and the group of uniformed generals forced you onto an airplane.

you cried ceaselessly as you were put in chains and led inside one of hydra’s weapon facilities.

you only stopped crying once they put you in a cell.

you stopped crying because you weren’t alone.

“hey,” a low, soft voice whispered.

you turned at the sound. through the metal bars to your left, you saw the silhouette of him. you wiped your face off on your arms and winced as you made your way across the cold stone floor to the bars separating you both.

“you alright?” the pale, blue-eyed man asked you. he had bruises on his face and bags under his eyes. his short, dark hair was a mess across his forehead. “christ, they roughed you up pretty bad, huh?”

“i…i don’t understand you,” you whispered through trembling lips. you spoke no english. you spoke no russian like the guards did. you had been drowning for days in words you didn’t understand.

his eyes widened, “romanian? you speak romanian? i mean— you’re romanian?”

it felt like god had heard your prayers to hear him speak the only language you understood. you couldn’t help but cry. you placed your hands atop his on the bars and wept like a baby.

“yes.” you cried. your head dropped and you curled into yourself. big, wet tears left streaks on your dirty face. “you— you are, too?”

“yeah. my grandparents moved from there to america.” he said with a smile. he squeezed your hands and rubbed them between his, trying to warm up your fingers. you hadn’t noticed how cold you were.

“how long have you been here?” you asked in a whisper, glancing around at the cold, desolate cells around you. he had been the only one down here before you showed up.

his smile faltered but he tried to keep a brave face. “only a little while.”

he was lying and you knew it, but you didn’t push.

“what’s your name?” he asked as he settled down to sit directly across from you.

“isla,” you told him softly. you sniffled and wiped your face on your sleeves. “my names isla.”

“isla,” he grinned as he said your name. “it’s nice to meet you. i’m james but my friends call me bucky.”

“james,” you said with a small smile.

“bucky,” he corrected. he gave your hands a soft squeeze and whispered like a promise, “we are friends now, isla. call me bucky.”

“friends.” you agreed, squeezing his hand back.

they left you to rot in your cell for more days than you could count.

but they always took him away.

like clockwork, they came each morning to take him and brought him back each night. every day got worse. he lost more and more weight. you tried to share the food they would toss at you but he would politely decline. every time he tried to eat it would all come back up, anyways.

he would apologize to you profusely after he tossed up nothing but bile in the corner of his cell. you would have to cover your ears at the sound of him gagging. the air would smell like sickness. he’d apologize for it over and over again as you sat together with the iron bars separating you.

the time passed slow but he made it all a little easier.

he was a talker.

he would talk about anything and everything even when he didn’t feel well just to keep the quiet away.

he hated the quiet.

he told you about where he had grown up. about his parents. about his sister. he told you about his best friend steve and how they had turned him into a super soldier.

captain america.

you knew that name. you had seen a picture of him in the newspaper not too long ago. he was spotted in europe traveling around to boost the moral of the america troops.

bucky took that news as bravely as he could.

his best friend was on the same continent as him— but no one knew where he was and he doubted very much that they had any resources to spare towards looking for him.

he made his peace with it.

it was you who did not.

“bucky,” you murmured.

“hm?” he asked without opening his eyes. he was holding your hand through the bars like always, exhausted and cold. the two of you were trembling, trying to seek each others body heat despite the bars between you.

“do you think we’ll die down here?”

he opened his eyes and met your gaze. he pulled his hand from yours and slipped it through another bar, placing his hand on your cheek. he wiped the tears off your nose and shook his head.

“nah,” he whispered with a smile. “you and me? we’re going to live until we’re a hundred, darlin’.”

you giggled and placed your hand atop his, pressing your face into his touch. “a hundred?”

“at least that, yeah.” he chuckled.

you slept easy that night.

but the next morning, it wasn’t bucky they took.

“let her go!” he roared, slamming against the bars of the cell. he tried to grab at the officers who dragged you out and into the hallway. “isla!”

you reached for him, the tips of your fingers grazing.

the officer who had stolen you away once before stole you away again once more.

that was the last time you saw bucky.

that was the last memory the girl in the pictures had before you took her place.

you opened yours eyes and stared at the folder in your lap. you brought your hands to your face, touching the tears pouring down. you wiped at them. over and over again until your skin was raw, you wiped your face dry.

the imaginary lightbulb above your head flickered.

nikta.

the hydra officer who had stolen you away and made you what you were— it was all him. every single bit.

he chose you to be weapon-v.

he brought you to hydra and threw you at their feet.

you were his project and they froze him year after year alongside you so that he could keep his eyes on you.

and yet in the end, he turned the gun on bucky and you killed him for it…

why would he have done that after all this time?

you could’ve been sick all over yourself at you saw his stone-cold glare in the picture beside yours. you grabbed the picture out of the folder and let out a bereaved scream. you tore it to shreds as disgust spread across your skin and infected the marrow of your bones.

you fell back against the bed and cried into your pillow. your clawed at the mattress. rage vibrated in every cell of your body. you could’ve torn the room apart— but you were weak. fear made you weak.

the despair you felt knowing there were so many more gaps to fill in froze you still on the bed as you shed tear after tear.

you wanted your mother.

you curled into yourself despite the way your wound protested and clutched the photo of your parents to your chest.

they were long since dead by now.

and you should’ve been reaching the end of your time, too, but you were nearly still that young girl they lost all those years ago.

— ☆ —

“i want everything you have on him.”

nick finished placing down your food but you pushed the small table away. you weren’t hungry.

“the files we have on sergeant barnes are classified.” nick said with a sympathetic frown. “sorry, kid.”

“i’m classified,” you hissed out from between your sharp teeth. “give me the damn files.”

nick stared at you for a long, painful moment.

tears were brimming on your lashes and you tried so hard to fight them— but you couldn’t.

“please,” you begged in a broken voice. you closed your eyes and the tears fell free. “i need to know what happened to him.”

“let me make a call.”

you looked up but nick was already out the door. a soft breath of relief escaped you and you turned your head. the food was steaming beside you. freshly prepared.

you swallowed your pride and ate it.

it wasn’t too bad…

— ☆ —

when you saw nick again, he had a file in his hand. not only that but an agent behind him wheeled in a television. your brows pinched together as you sat up.

“here’s the deal,” nick said, holding up the folder. “i show you everything i have on barnes and you tell me everything i wanna know about the two of you. got it?”

you nodded once.

you’d decide whether or not you’d tell him anything of substance when he asked the questions.

his folder felt as heavy as a headstone in your hands.

you placed it down on your lap and ran the tips of your fingers over his name.

SGT. JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

HOWLING COMMANDO

[ DECEASED ]

you held your breath as you opened the folder.

a massive stack of papers with every bit of information there was of him greeted you. your heart sank as you skimmed the old, aged ink.

his name. his birthday. his height and weight. his birthplace. his parents names. his enlistment papers. his mission logs.

the medical report from the day he’d been brought back to his company.

you had not been with him the day captain america broke into the hydra base and freed his friend.

doctor zola had sent you away three days earlier to the siberian facility in the mountains. when bucky was freed by steve, they were pulling out all your teeth and reconstructing your jaw.

the answer to the longstanding question between the two of you was now answered.

you had been made first.

you bit the inside of your cheek as you picked up the note smooshed between the next two pages. the crumpled, stained piece of old parchment had his handwriting on it.

you touched the words written in pencil.

——————————————————————————

santa,

her name is isla and i need help to find her.

i have to get her out.

i told her we’d live until we were 100.

- bucky 12/25/1944

——————————————————————————

“oh, god.” you cried, clutching the note to your chest.

guilt burned through every inch of you.

how could you have forgotten him?

the sweet-hearted soldier who held your hands and wiped away your tears. how could you have forgotten that? it was as clear to you now as the moment it had happened— but where had it gone?

where had it all gone?

where had he gone?

you brought the note to your lips and held it against them. it smelled old and worn. when you closed your eyes and tried to picture his face, the only thing you saw was winter and his blank, icy stare.

it was hard to imagine them as one person— just like it was nearly impossible for you to see yourself as the girl in those photos.

bucky hated the quiet. you could recall so vividly now how he hummed a soft, jazzy tune each night you both would grow too tired to talk. he would run his fingers through your hair and hum until he exhausted himself.

winter was quiet. far too quiet.

they weren’t the same.

you and isla weren’t the same.

not anymore.

as you flipped the page, you saw the date at the top of the paper and your heart sank.

1945.

bucky had never found you.

though he tried, a years time had passed and there was no trace of you. you where a ghost in the snow and there were bigger missions for him to see out.

you didn’t blame him.

you couldn’t.

because even if he had found you, you wouldn’t have been able to recall his face.

it was fight in the freight-car that got him killed. he was hanging on to the dangling door for dear life as steve tried to reach him. but it broke. and he fell.

bucky was pronounced dead on january 9th, 1945.

the winter soldier project was resumed on january 9th, 1945 when he was found by hydra soldiers who took him to the facility in the mountains.

you were in your first sleep when they brought him in. underneath the floor frozen in a cryochamber, neither of you had any idea that you were together again.

he didn’t know that you had lived.

and you didn’t know that he had died.

a little less so than before, but you two were soon to become strangers to each other once more.

it broke your heart to read that there were no efforts made in finding him. it was accepted throughout the whole of his platoon that the fall had killed him and it was too dangerous to try and find his impact sight in the mountains.

his friends believed that he was alone and broken in the snow all this time.

and you hadn’t even remembered him.

you covered your mouth with your hand and stifled a sob as you saw the pictures of him. a collage of four. a couple paperclipped to the back of the folder. you wiped away your tears before they could fall and you tried through hardest to see through them as you pulled the piece of paper with all of them glued down out of the folder.

“hello, soldier.” you whispered, touching the picture of him in his uniform.

he was handsome.

you had forgotten how handsome bucky was.

you brushed your thumb across the photo of his face with the cut on it. you knew that cut. you had dabbed your sleeve against it to try and stop it from bleeding. it was one of the last things you had done before you were taken away.

how bittersweet it was to know that photo had been taken of him after he had been brought back safe.

you unclipped the two photos on the back of the folder carefully. a soft smile curled across your lips at the picture of him and his buddy captain america.

his best friend steve.

it was nice to put an unmasked face to steve’s name.

it was strange to see him with short hair— to remember him with it. it made it all the more hard to accept that his man was the same man you had spent every single day with up until your capture.

he was the same man you shared a cell with.

he was the same you are every meal with.

he was the same man you showered with.

he was the same man you punched and kicked and bit and fucked.

but it wasn’t the same man it all.

the man in these pictures was someone you hadn’t seen in a long, long time despite the fact that you had been with him just yesterday.

bucky was a ghost.

sometimes, you heard him whisper and you could see the remnants of him flickering in winter’s cold blue eyes— but bucky had died a long time ago.

and so had isla.

there was only the two of you.

you and winter.

you should’ve given yourself the grace to mourn them — bucky and isla — but it was too late to start.

you placed the picture of bucky and steve down and picked the other one up. you hummed audibly at the sight of his smile. it made you smile. something so automatic. something so sincere.

he was with his squad.

with a charming smile and a cigarette between his teeth, he was surrounded by his brothers-in-arms.

you were careful as you put everything back into his folder— as careful as placing flowers into a casket. you took one last look of the photo of him with the cut on his face.

you kissed the small hurt like you should’ve done back then to comfort him.

you held the folders out for agent fury to take. he was sitting in the chair by your bed. he had stayed quiet and let you…

grieve.

“will you keep them together?” you asked in a whisper. it was such a stupid request but it meant something to you.

those were more than just folders.

they were graves.

“sure,” nick said with a small nod.

you swallowed hard and looked anywhere else. your gaze fell upon the tv. “what is that for?”

“you said that you wanted everything we had on barnes.” nick said as he stood up. he clicked the lights off and flicked on the tv. “this is the rest of it.”

your brows drew together and you watched the screen intently as the camera fumbled. whoever was moving it was doing a piss-poor job of it. you could hear the clunky audio of the tripod bumping into things.

when the camera was finally set up, you saw the bar from the picture. it took a moment to find them but the camera settled on the two of them: bucky barnes and steve rogers.

you sat forward and ignored the pain it brought you. you could hear them laughing together over the music. over the chatter in the bar, you could hear his voice. they had no idea they were being filmed. they spoke like teenage boys as they caught up with each other.

“i really don’t like this whole ‘you’re-now-taller-than-me’ thing.” bucky said as he took a sip of his beer. “it freaks me out. i used to be able to fit you in my pocket, little man.”

steve chuckled and glanced over at him, “i like it.”

“of course, you like it. now you know what it’s like to look down at a woman and see her cleavage from above.” bucky said, wiggling his eyebrows.

steve blew a raspberry and rolled his eyes. “you’re a real dog, buck, y’know that?”

“woof! woof! woof!” bucky barked, throwing his arm around his best friend.

the two of them downed their beers together before the camera turned off.

the tv screen flickered and you watched as nick changed the tape. when the next video started, you sat back in your bed and let the tension in your shoulders drop.

it was an army home-video. the cameraman made his way passed each and every person in the squad. you saw him in the background.

shirtless with two human arms.

it made you smile.

he was shaving in front of a small mirror. as the camera man walked around and he caught wind that he was being filmed, he started flexing in the background. he kissed his muscles and winked.

“look at barnes,” laughed one of the soldiers.

“guys, c’mon, this is supposed to be a serious documentary for roger’s whole big thing. we are living through a historical moment in time. it’s important!” the cameraman complained.

“oh, this is important alright.” bucky said as he walked up to the camera. he leaned in close to it and batted his eyelashes. “hello ladies. like what you see?”

the camera turned away. “you’re going to fog up my lens, jackass!”

“oh, great heavens!” bucky cried out in a god awful posh accent.

the camera turned in time to catch him with his middle fingers up. he hid them behind his back and bowed politely, “good evening.”

“roger’s, how the hell did you put up with this guy?” asked one of the soldiers.

“to be fair, bucky did a lot of putting up with me.” steve said as the camera turned towards him.

“he used to be the size of my pinky picking fights with guys who could toss him over their heads like a sack of potatoes.” bucky said. he stepped into frame beside steve as he pulled on a shirt. he pointed at the camera and said, “america, i want you to know that our nations hero used to be an instigator and feral little street rat that used to not only get his ass royally kicked but mine, too.”

“i will not confirm or deny anything at this time.” steve said with a bow of his head.

“barnes when you’re not getting your ass kicked, what’s it like being captain america’s best friend?” one of the soldiers asked. he held the end of a hairbrush towards the two of them and pretended to interview them.

bucky grabbed ahold of the brush and started screaming into the camera. the whole room erupted into laughter.

steve took the fake mic and said, “for those who don’t know, that means ‘i love you,’ in german. isn’t he just so kind?”

the two of them laughed together, smiling at each other before the tv went black.

music began to play.

your breath got stuck in your throat as the melody floated through the air towards you. it struck you in the heart. the trumpet’s melody was familiar.

this was the song he would hum to himself.

clips began to roll across the screen of him. videos that had him in the background. some more soundless videos of him walking around the bunks and sticking his tongue out at the camera. there were clips of him walking alongside his platoon— walking with steve in his captain america uniform.

the last clip of him ever taken was a video of him right before the howling commandos followed captain america onto the train.

he never returned from that mission.

and you couldn’t help but notice how nervous he looked on the screen in front of you.

you wanted to reach out and save him— but nick shut the tv off.

for a moment, the room was completely dark. it was so dark that you expected to feel the bed rattle as he tossed and turned somewhere below you in his bunk.

but he wasn’t here.

and when nick turned the lights on, you were faced with the horrible emotion now pressing down onto your chest for the first time.

you missed him.

you missed winter.

you couldn’t show it because you could not be weak now of all times— but you were afraid. you had been told so much. shown so much. you remembered so much.

all you wanted was him.

and you missed him.

you missed bucky because isla missed bucky and that part of you — no matter how fleeting she was now— had the privilege to know him for even the smallest amount of time.

and that was a gift.

a gift that you promised yourself you would never forget again.

“now,” agent fury said as he sat down beside you. he pulled a recorder out of his jacket and clicked it on. he placed it on the table beside your bed. “i want answers.”

“you told me that shield knew more about either of us than i could imagine. what questions could you possibly have for me?” you asked before he could.

he grinned at you. “your friend agent nikta patrova defecting from hydra to join shield may have bought him a few brownie points, but we’re only selling lemon tarts right now. you, miss constantinescu, happen to have enough lemon tart points to buy out the whole lemon tart bake sale shield is hosting.”

“i’m not fond of word games.” you said with a roll of your eyes. “and don’t ever call him my friend. he is no friend of mine.”

“yeah, i put that together when you threw a knife into his chest and nearly killed him.” nick said.

nick watched your face go pale and your shoulders tense. he glanced behind him, as if he could see nikta from where he sat right now.

“he’s…alive?” you asked in a whisper.

“he is.” nick said.

“go on and ask him all your questions then. he will know more than i will.” you said with a scowl.

“miss constantinescu, im going to be straight with you. the questions i am going to ask you are not to find out intel about project winter or project vampire. you’re right. we know all that. that’s why you’re here with me now.”

“this,” nick gestured between the two of you. “is an interview.”

you recoiled the smallest bit. “what?”

“an interview, miss constantinescu. shield has known about your existence for some time now thanks to agent nikta’s guilty conscious— and it’s taken a lot to find you. it’s a known fact that you and sergeant barnes are highly trained and lethal expert assassins, but all it takes is one look into either of your project files to show loud and clear that you two are only following orders in order to see another day.”

“that is why shield is offering you a chance.” nick said as he leaned back in his chair.

“a chance…” you repeated the word. it didn’t feel right coming off your tongue. “what kind of chance?”

“a chance to do the right thing.” nick said. he crossed his arms against his chest, maintaining a lax posture as to not put you anymore on edge.

if only he knew how much worse seeing him pretend to be casual made you feel.

“and my options are?” you asked softly.

“you join shield today — right now — and your record is scrubbed clean. fresh start. a new life for you while working for us— helping us bring down hydra at its most weakest spots.”

nick shrugged, “or you go to a maximum security prison in the middle of the ocean where you will never see the sun again.”

you closed your eyes and you couldn’t help but laugh. covering your mouth with the tips of your fingers, you giggled.

“something funny, miss constantinescu?” ageny fury asked, raising his brows.

“yeah. yeah, you know, it’s really funny to me that you think i have a choice in all this. you think that just because you showed me a folder of the woman i once was and i shed a few tears over some dead soldier that what? i’m not the monster you’ve been told i am?”

“i am much worse,” you whispered like a reluctant promise, as if you were trying to spare him from the truth. “i know no other life than the one i was made for. i kill, i eat, i freeze, and i do it all again.”

“there is no choice for me, agent fury, because hydra will come for me. they will come and they will find me. i will not jeopardize what little space i’ve carved out for myself in the rock of my cell for a fresh start that won’t last when they find me. when they know i’ve betrayed them, they will take me from him— and that is not something i can live with.”

“aren’t you alone now?” nick asked. he glanced around. “where is the winter soldier?”

you laughed a again. “men like you think you know everything, don’t you?”

“don’t i?” nick smiled at you and scooted his chair closer to your bedside. “you know, i find the nature of you incredibly fascinating. they did a lot of work on you. you are technically a super soldier— but they gave you special teeth and rewired your olfactory nerve. i know of your dietary habits but they use a strange word in your files that i can’t help but think is a bit out of place.”

“bloodlust. that’s what they call it when you fall into spells of rage. you can wipe out of a whole platoon of men all with your teeth, isn’t that right?” nick asked.

you said nothing.

“but see, here’s the thing i just don’t believe. i don’t believe that you become this insatiable, feral monster at the sight of blood. if you did, then you sure kept a tight grip on yourself on the street yesterday when it was raining blood.” he said.

you tried to lie. “my mask was stuck.”

“bullshit,” nick said, pointing a finger at you. “i call bullshit because i’ve spent a long, long time reading each of your files and i’ve gotten real good at reading between the lines.”

“i believe that you have codewords of your own, don’t you, miss constantinescu? just like the winter soldier, when they are said you have no control over what happens next until someone snaps you out of it.” nick said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

you leaned towards him and asked in a whisper, “are you expecting a gold star from me?”

nick smiled. “so it is true then.”

“in situations that seem dire, the winter soldier will do what needs to be done.” you said with very little feeling.

“and what is that?” nick asked.

you took a slow, deep breath and met his eyes.

“he will let me off my leash.”

nick sat back in his chair and nodded. “and is this the only instance you know of that there are words used to control you?”

you swallowed hard. “i don’t know. i used to think not but…i don’t know anymore.”

“sometimes,” you bit your lip to try and stop yourself but it all came rushing out. “it’s like there is more missing than just…just the gaps from the black sleep. my memories from before they’ve always been gone, but sometimes….sometimes i’ll wake up and i won’t remember going to sleep. sometimes i don’t know how long i’ve really been out of the ice for.”

“i applaud you for trying but the reason why you can’t appeal to the side me you’re hoping to reach, agent fury, is because she isn’t there.” you said as you looked at him. you shook your head and shrugged your shoulders, “she’s gone and i have a feeling that most of the time, i am too.”

“and the sergeant? it’s the same for him?” nick asked.

you nodded. “worse. they steal things from him. his past. his memory. his ability to feel. they strip him of it all. but with me, i think…i think they have found a way to put me to sleep while im awake.”

“and thats why it frustrates me when people talk about me and him like we’re different. we’re not. as much as i wish we were, we are one big puzzle. if you tried to put all his pieces together, it would be incomplete. it’s the same for me. to see the whole picture, you have to put us together.” you said softly.

nick said nothing for a long, long moment. you watched as he grabbed the recorder off the table and clicked it off. you lost some of the tension in your shoulders and eased back into the bed.

“do you know what the red room is?” nick asked.

“no.” you said. and it was the truth.

“the red room is hydra on meth and they pump out assassins like seahorses. hundreds at a time. they take these young girls and they put them through the worst of the worst— much like hydra has done to you and sergeant barnes.” nick said.

he rubbed his hand over his jaw, “in the red room, they sterilize the girls so that they cannot become mothers. it’s a way to control them. to make sure they never have anything that is more important than their job.”

“what does this have to do with me?” you asked.

“when you were in surgery,” he stopped himself. he cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “we confirmed the reason behind nikta patrova’s fear. you have a uterus and — from what we know about assassins like you and the girls who come from the red room — it is by no means unintentional that you have it.”

your brows drew tight together. “what are you saying?”

“do you get your period, miss constantinescu?” nick asked.

“sometimes,” you nodded. “but why does it matter?”

“the first piece of intel shield got from nikta of you two weren’t your laundry lists of assassinations or records of your personal projects as the winter soldier and weapon-v. shield received a project folder called winter solstice.”

“winter solstice is hydra’s next step to creating its next generation of weapons like you and sergeant barnes.” nick said. he frowned at you and you didn’t know why.

“so what? they’ll be making more soldiers like him? monsters like me?” you asked.

“not exactly.” nick said, his face twitching with unease. “nikta patrova has done a lot of bad things— most of them to you — but even for the worst kinds of men, somethings are just too much.”

“hydra wouldn’t be making the next generation of weapons themselves.” nick said,

“you and sergeant barnes would be.”

your heart stopped— time had stopped.

you closed your eyes and shook your head. over and over again, you shook your head.

instinctively, you placed a hand over your belly.

“that…that wouldn’t be…” you couldn’t find the words. “that’s not…”

“ethical?” nick listed words off for you. “possible? legal? true?”

you looked at him.

he frowned at you, “shield believes that based off the information nikta gave us that projects winter and vampire were merged in the hope that you two would make…little winters and vampires.”

“that is why you have a choice here, isla.” nick said as he stood up. he crouched down beside your bed and folded his hands beside yours. “it took a us a long, long, long time to find you both and it’s a good thing we did, even if we only got one of you away in the end. we won’t let you go back. we can’t. it’s not safe. most of all, it’s not right.”

“how long?”

“what?” nick asked.

you swallowed hard and asked, “how long has shield known about project winter solstice?”

“project winter solstice was put into motion twenty five years ago and nikta patrova sent it to shield almost immediately after it was drafted and accepted.” nick said.

you pressed your lips together in a thin line. tears stung your eyes and you did your best to blink them away. you opened your mouth to speak but you couldn’t say the right words.

“do…do he and i…” you couldn’t finish as your lips began to tremble. you covered you mouth with the tips of your fingers and stifled a sob. “do we have…”

“as of right now,” nick said as gently as he could, “there are three known children to have come from project winter solstice that belong to you and sergeant barnes.”

you closed your eyes and fought to stomach the idea. you couldn’t picture it. you couldn’t imagine it in the slightest. you touched your stomach and winced as the wound reminded you it was there.

it couldn’t be true.

but it was as true as isla constantinescu story was.

“i want to see him.” you whispered. you opened your eyes and looked at nicholas fury as tears slipped down your cheeks. “i want to see nikta patrova and i want the truth from him.”

nick nodded once and stood up with a sigh. “you’re real lucky that you didn’t kill him with that knife, kid.”

hey, guys, i’m sorry. let me get that outta the way. sorry, guys. i told ya this fic was gonna hurt! anyways, hope you enjoyed as always 🖤! also, i hope the pictures added a little something something to the reading experience. i wasn’t too sure how i felt about it at first but it grew on me. lmk your thoughts and pls lmk if you listen to strangers by ethel cain.

expect another update in a day or two unless something pops up for me irl. as always, let me know if you want to join the taglist. thanks so much for reading, guys. you all make me giggle and i look forward to feeding you with each update.

with the most love ever in the world,

crow. next part ->

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