calypso707

[calypso707]

Reiner x OC Fanfiction : 1. Walls of Despair

The room was cold, the air heavy and stagnant, like a breath suspended in time. A young girl waited impatiently behind the door of this hell. Eyes fixed on the wall, her body trembling, as the smell of the entire house, a mixture of blood and sweat, began to tighten around her throat. But it wasn’t the smell that disturbed the child the most; no, it was something even more atrocious.

Her mother’s screams had stopped, replaced by irregular, trembling breaths. Though barely a few years old, she knew that something was wrong. The atmosphere, once so calm, had become heavy and oppressive.

Suddenly, a faint cry, almost strangled, the cry of the newborn, her little brother, pierced the air. He was born. Everyone had been waiting for him for months, expecting good news at the door. But reality turned out to be tragically different.

The doorknob where her mother was located began to turn, and the door opened after what seemed like an eternity to the young girl. Only for a horrible sensation to crawl up her spine as she saw who was behind that door.

You didn’t need to have lived through hundreds of births, to know that this wasn’t the expression a parent was supposed to have when their second child was born. The pale light of the candle in the same room flickered, casting shadows around the room, adding a monstrous quality to the drama unfolding within these walls.

“Is… is everything okay?” she whispered, an obvious nervousness in her voice.

But the response she had been waiting for never came. Instead, her father’s face contorted instantly, filling with tears. “She... she... Esha,” he said, his voice broken, filled with terror, as he collapsed to his knees, the baby still in his arms, presenting him to his daughter.

The child, so small, so fragile, made no sound. He was there, in a calm that contrasted with the entire situation.

Esha felt her legs give way. “What’s going on? Dad… dad, what’s happening…”

The words were stuck in her throat. Her father rushed to her, his eyes full of tears, still holding the baby. He tried to smile, but his face remained twisted in pain. “She’s dead. Your mother is dead,” he said in a breath.

She didn’t have time to think. She rushed into the room, toward her mother’s bed, her feet pounding on the floor like dull drums. Her gaze locked onto her mother’s body, lying there, pale and still, her face collapsed under the weight of the unknown. “Mom…” It was impossible. There was life in this room, wasn’t there? Everything had been fine just a few hours ago. People were smiling, everyone was excited for what was to come. “Please, wake up…” But the frantic beats of Esha’s heart, too fast to be natural, reminded her of the truth she refused to see.

She approached, her eyes fixed on her mother’s lifeless body. The room seemed to shrink around her, the walls slowly closing in on her, as if the whole world was about to collapse under the weight of this moment.

It was then, as her knees were about to give out, that her father caught her, holding her tightly against him, his body shaking with sobs. The baby, in his arms, seemed just as calm as before. She collapsed against her father, her eyes lost, not knowing whether to cry or remain silent. The pain was too immense, too impossible to contain. She felt her heart slowly breaking...

_______________________________________________

The darkness slowly faded, the edges of the nightmare crumbling like a mirage under the weight of reality. Well... It had been a long time.

Esha blinked, her heart still racing, she took a deep breath, her hands clenched on the sweaty sheets that surrounded her. Confused thoughts swirling in a whirlwind of sounds and suffering. A nightmare, yes, but not one that used to be a nightmare, because it had all really happened, and no matter how hard the young girl tried to move forward, this scene would always catch up to her in the night, reminding her that it would never be erased.

“Esha! Esha! Come play!” A shout broke the fog of her mind, and an involuntary smile appeared on her lips.

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if to erase the fragments of the nightmare, before reopening them to see Avan, her little brother, running down the hallway, already ready to pull her from her sleep.

“Esha!”

She smiled gently as she left her room, her steps light on the wooden floor. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she murmured, shaking her head.

This boy…Everything was fine, and everything would be fine as long as he was there.

Since their mother’s death, Avan had become her anchor. His smiles, his laughter, his little squabbles had lightened the heavy grief they had all been through.

He was an amazing child, yet heavily marked by the way he had been brought into this world, a world that had given him a far-too cruel welcome.

The two of them went down the stairs, the morning sun filtered through the windows, casting golden streaks across the wooden furniture and whitewashed walls. The house was simple, but it was theirs. She felt safe here, thanks to a father who had never stopped being present. He had strived to be both father and mother, balancing tenderness and discipline with infinite patience. He had wanted to rebuild everything for them. And even though the absence of their mother left an indescribable void and the shadow of her loss still lingered, subtle, in every corner, his determination to bring stability to his family had made them stronger.

He was already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. His movements were skilled and precise, part of the routine of every morning. Even after everything they had been through, even after the loss of his wife, he was still there, an unshakable rock. He looked up when he saw them enter, a faint smile forming on his lips. “Did you sleep well sweetheart ?” he asked in a calm but attentive voice. Esha nodded, her smile still light, though her thoughts were still a little behind the reality. “Yes, I’m fine,” she replied, but her eyes betrayed the shadow of unease.

Little Avan, all excited, bounced around her. “Do you want to play with me today?” He was all smiles, his enthusiasm overflowing. Esha smiled tenderly at him, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Yes, yes, Avan, I’m in,” she replied, more to please him than with real enthusiasm. But she knew these moments with him were precious.

They ate together, in the simplicity of their daily life. Their father spoke to them about his work, his tone light and full of humor, even though the wrinkles marking his face told the story of the trials he had been through. Avan would always listen, eyes wide, attentively, while his sister would sometimes be distracted, drowning a little in her thoughts.

The day passed, a soft routine tinged with the old sadness Esha tried to hide. Playing with Avan, simple conversations with her father, light laughter... It all seemed almost normal, almost like before.

Esha gently got up from her chair, getting ready to go play outside with her little brother. She held out her hand to him, signaling him to follow. “Come on, Avan, let me show you who-”

.

Suddenly, a roar pierced the air. A dull sound that made the walls of the house tremble. Then the ground vibrated, like an earthquake. Esha’s heart raced as she rushed to the window and instinctively turned toward the walls surrounding their nation, only to witness the atrocity about to unfold.

“Dad... dad…”

Her throat tightened as she saw the horror.

So-so this was what they called a.... Titan? But- Everyone within these walls had known about the threat that had been looming over humanity for years, the Titans. But all of this had seemed so distant, so out of reach. At the young age of Esha, the only atrocity that had crossed her life had been her mother’s death, almost making her forget the potential disaster that could come from the horror outside these walls. All of that was just in the history books, atleast until today.

But there, in front of her, in all its grandeur, stood that thing... That creature of unimaginable size, a being made of flesh, fire, and steam. It seemed to emerge from the sky itself, an imposing silhouette, glowing with light. The steam escaping its body burned the air, emitting a suffocating heat that made her choke. She wanted to scream, but no sound came from her mouth. Her legs refused to move, as if the very earth had imprisoned her.

Esha barely had time to collect herself before turning back to her family when everything suddenly went black for her.

-

“ESHA!”

She woke up, her body aching, her breath shallow. The heat of the day had turned into a suffocating, almost stifling warmth. Her eyes opened slowly, everything was blurry, screams, cries, and then the smell of blood... That damn nightmare again? Everything around her gave her that impression. Her eyes opened slowly, and she perceived figures running in the street, men, women, families in panic. Wait, but this isn’t—

“ESHA! HELP ME!”

A sharp noise pulled her out of her half-sleep. A chill of horror. A voice far too familiar. A scream far too familiar.

Esha jumped up, her body trembling with pain. She had passed out under the impact of the explosion. This was not just another nightmare. She was no longer in the house but outside, in a devastated street, surrounded by debris.

“DAD!” she cried, her eyes frantically scanning the wreckage.

He was there, his expression on his face telling her too well what she would discover next. It was only after that her heart clenched even more, and her eyes froze in immense terror.

Right next to her father, Avan, her little brother, his empty gaze, drowned in a pool of blood, his lifeless body lying under a huge debris.

“No... no, Avan!” Esha screamed, throwing herself at her brother. She touched his face, his cold skin, his empty eyes. Her brother was...

“Esha, please...” her father sobbed. “Help me get him out…”

He was already dead. Reality hit her hard, unlike her father, who was still drowning in the illusion of being able to save him. Terror, confusion, pain. Everything mixed into a whirlwind of chaos.

“Dad, please…”

The ground started to rumble again, but this time less intensely. Then Esha looked to the horizon only to see a horde of smaller Titans approaching directly toward them. They couldn’t stay here.

In one last effort, Esha stood up, trying to help her father. Her teeth clenched, and her eyes, filled with terror, she addressed her father desperately. “Dad, we have to go, please,” she said, her voice breaking, struggling to speak through her tears.

“Your brother… we need to save him… we ca-”

“He’s dead!”

The young girl suddenly shouted in a burst of anger, mixed with despair. Then her tone dropped immediately, giving way to utter hopelessness. “Please…”

The steps of the demons who had crossed the walls were getting closer and closer, louder and louder, as Esha’s father finally stood up, his gaze still trapped in an eternal nightmare. She grabbed her father by the arm in a last-ditch effort before running in the same direction as all the panicked families, looking back one last time at her house, at her brother...

end of the first chapter, hope you guys like it dont hesitate to share your feedbacks and sorry if there is a few mistake english is not my first language <3

[calypso707]

Chapter 2 : Scars and Sparks

The car stopped in front of a grand, imposing mansion—it was Charles Xavier’s estate. Everyone seemed awestruck and mesmerized by the building standing before them.

Asha was the last to step out of the car, her eyes sweeping over the façade with feigned indifference. The air carried a strange sense of stability, of permanence.

Erik broke the silence, addressing Charles with irony. “I imagine your childhood must have been particularly difficult.”

A small chuckle rippled through the group, and even Asha found a faint smile forming on her lips.

“This is your home now,” the telepath declared with certainty. “You’re safe here.”

Safe… A word that had long since lost its meaning for the young woman. But it wasn’t as if she had anywhere else to go.

Everyone took a step into the grand mansion, quickly dispersing inside. Raven led Hank through the halls,she was familiar with the place from her childhood with Charles. She wasted no time giving the others a tour of their new home.

Asha, however, lingered for a moment, her gaze scanning her surroundings as if expecting an ambush. Old habits died hard.

“You planning to stand there all day?”

Alex’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. He stood a few steps away, arms crossed, that unreadable expression still fixed on his face.

Asha rolled her eyes and started walking, ignoring him.

“This way,” Charles said, gesturing toward a hallway leading to the dorms. “You can each choose a room and settle in. There should be enough for everyone.”

She walked a few steps behind the group, her fingers fidgeting within her gloves as she studied the doors lining the corridor. She didn’t want a room. She didn’t want to be here. But she had no choice. And she, too, felt the burning need for vengeance against Shaw for what he had done to Darwin.

Charles stopped in front of a door and turned to her. “You can take this one. It’s yours for as long as you want.”

As long as she wanted. As if she had a choice. But she nodded, a silent acknowledgment, and pushed the door open without a word.

The room was simple—a bed, a wardrobe, a desk, a window overlooking the vast estate. It was… normal. A striking contrast to all the places she had slept before.

“Not bad, huh?”

The same voice again. He was leaning against her doorway, his usual nonchalant demeanor in place, as if ignoring him once hadn’t been enough.

She exhaled, glancing around the room. “I’ve had worse, that’s for sure.”

“Not exactly a compliment.”

She turned to him, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Why are you still here?”

He shrugged. “Waiting to see if you set the room on fire.”

“If you don’t leave soon, you’re the one I’m setting on fire.” She flashed him a mock smile before slamming the door in his face.

She let out a slow breath and finally sat on the bed, gazing out at the courtyard through the window as if it were something foreign. Her mind remained restless, haunted by what had happened the night before at the CIA facility.

What did the others think of her after that? What would become of her? Would she ever truly control her powers?

Home. Control. Safety.

She didn’t believe in those things.

But maybe… just maybe… her new companions would teach her otherwise.

—

Weeks passed, filled with intense training. Each of them worked to master their abilities as the final battle against Shaw loomed ever closer.

Asha was no exception.

She had learned to generate energy blasts with more precision, projecting concentrated beams that struck their targets with formidable force.

Yet, one thing remained unchanged—the constant danger of human contact.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you,” Asha said hesitantly.

“Don’t worry,” Erik replied, his voice calm and reassuring. “I’m just asking you to brush against me. The moment anything happens, we stop.”

She took a deep breath and stepped forward.

Each step was laced with hesitation, as if everything could explode at any moment because of her.

As she lightly touched Erik, she focused all her energy on not harming him. But within seconds, his skin reddened under the burn—it was almost instant.

She jerked her hand away suddenly, fear creeping in—fear of herself, fear of their reactions. Her heart pounded wildly.

“Shit, I-I’m sorry, I—”

Erik remained impassive, glancing at his hand before meeting her gaze. “It’s nothing. I volunteered.”

Asha nodded, but the guilt was already eating away at her.

Charles placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

She turned… and locked eyes with Alex, who had just witnessed the entire scene.

Before he could say anything, she brushed past him with a bitter tone. “Enjoy the show? Maybe the mansion will be next to burn.”

He said nothing.

—

That evening, Asha found herself stuck on dish duty—with Alex, of all people. Naturally, the two ended up bickering.

“I can’t believe I’m stuck doing this with you,” she muttered, scrubbing a plate a little too aggressively.

“I’m just as thrilled to be here,” Alex shot back sarcastically.

“Always me ending up in the most annoying situations…” she mumbled under her breath.

Alex suddenly stopped, exhaling sharply, clearly not in the mood for more arguments.

“Aren’t you tired of complaining all the time? Acting like you’re the only one here who’s had a shitty life?”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he didn’t give her the chance.

“You’re not the only one who feels cursed by your powers. Or who’s had a shitty life. But you act like you’re different from us, always keeping your distance—”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, poor you.”

He threw down his towel. “Go to hell.”

He stormed out of the kitchen, leaving her alone at the sink.

Jaw clenched in frustration—at him, at herself—she slammed her fist against the counter. A plate slid off and shattered into pieces.

A curse slipped from her lips as sharp pain shot through her palm. She looked down, quickly pulling off her glove, and saw blood welling up on her hand.

Rushed footsteps made her lift her head.

Alex was back in an instant. “What happened?”

His gaze flicked from her face to her bleeding hand, and without thinking, he grabbed it.

Asha’s heart jumped, panic surging—she was about to scream at him to back off before another disaster struck.

But nothing happened.

And he didn’t let go.

Alex, after a moment of realization, finally grasped what had just occurred.

Their eyes met—shocked, speechless.

[calypso707]

Winter Soldier x OC Fanfiction : The Tale of Two Wolves.

Chapter 3 - No Quarter.

“Are you sure she's...” said a voice from outside the room, she recognized Grigor's.

“Are you contradicting his orders?”

“No, no, of course not...” said the old man, his voice trembling.

"She's our best element, she always has been. Always first in every discipline." added the other man. “And she proved it again today: out of our nineteen recruits, she's the only one to have managed to stand up against the Winter Soldier for so long.” retorted a firmer, more imposing voice. “From now on, she'll be his partner, Professor.”

The room Irina found herself in blended austerity and functionality. The dark concrete walls accentuated the room's coldness, and in its center was a large metal table on which lay maps, plans, files, photographs and other important information. As she approached the table, she slowly opened one of the folders there, scrolling through the documents before her eyes and carefully reading the important words. She'd been on missions before, many of them, reconnaissance, espionage and assassination but this time she had the feeling it was something bigger.

Dissident scientists, once at the service of the Soviet Union, were now working for a Western government on the development of a weapon capable of devastating an entire army without leaving a trace. They did not want to risk this weapon falling into the hands of their enemies, the program had to be stopped, and the data recovered, so that the Soviet Union could assert its superiority in the arms market. The presence of the Winter Soldier on this mission didn't reassure her at all, quite the contrary. She told herself he was there to keep an eye on her, like it was somehow a test. If the slightest mistake was made, he could easily make her disappear. It wouldn't be the first time that a widow had never returned to the academy, erased for a decision made too late or an action taken too early, the slightest negligence could sign her death warrant. She chased these thoughts away and tried to absorb the maximum amount of information before her eyes as the door opened behind her. She closed the file before turning around; it was the man who had been following all the training since Karenin's arrival. He was in his forties, maybe more, with a sober, professional appearance.

His face, marked by light scars, bore witness to his past as a soldier. He had regular but hard features, a piercing gaze and intense black eyes that seemed to scrutinize every movement. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, with leather gloves and a dark tie, giving the impression of being a man of class, more than an instructor or scientist. His posture was upright, every gesture calculated, and he exuded an aura of discipline and control. He clasped his hands together in front of him as he stopped about 1m from Irina.

"Hello, Irina. I'm Mikhail Vadimovich." his voice was low, measured, emotionless, but with understated authority. “I've been following your progress very closely for years, you're an excellent element." he paused. "From now on, we've decided that you'll accompany the Winter Soldier on his missions. Our two best assets on the field.” every word was weighed carefully. 

She hadn't noticed that he wasn't speaking to her in Russian; his English was perfect, the Slavic accent barely detectable. Irina continued to look at him without answering, this kind of flattery did nothing for her. He was one of those on top, one of those who decided who to keep and who to erase.

“Are you aware of the importance of this mission?”

“I'm aware of it.”

“Do you feel capable of it?”

“Yes.”

At least, she was trying to persuade herself of that.

He was straightening up. “Any questions?”

“Why with him?”

"We've given him another mission, concentrate only on yours. Collect scientific data and bring back a sample of the weapon." he replied. “No mistakes will be tolerated, set an example.”

“Understood.”

“You leave at dawn.”

He said no more and left the room, leaving her alone. In a corner, almost hidden in the gloom, was a makeshift bed, a simple black metal frame, a thin mattress and a carefully folded blanket. She had to get ready for her mission. She sat down in front of the metal table, her piercing gaze scanning all the information laid out before her: pictures of the scientists, reports, plans. She opened each file with clinical precision. Each detail became a piece of a mental puzzle she was striving to complete before she even set out into the field. They had to infiltrate a highly secured base. She began studying the maps of the area, memorizing routes, access and exit points. She didn't just observe them: she mentally recreated the terrain, visualizing herself in every nook and cranny, anticipating every obstacle if there was to be one. She absorbed information like a predator, studying the paterns of its prey. Sometimes, she would whisper key words to anchor critical points in her memory. Finally, she would mentally replay the entire mission, like a director revising a play. At each stage, she identified weak points, possible unforeseen events, and prepared contingency plans, her brain running at full speed, taking into account the things that could go wrong with the presence of the Winter Soldier at her side, she couldn't foresee his actions. If he decided, he could compromise her mission for the sake of his own, kill her if need be.

————————————————————

Somewhere in the Arctic Circle - 1953.

“According to the coordinates, this is it.” said Irina, pulling out her infrared binoculars.

They were just a few meters from a majestic mountain, the snow stretching as far as the eye could see around them. The icy wind swept through the powder, forming whirlwinds that danced beneath the gray sky. Gaunt trees, covered in a thin layer of frost, stand like silent sentinels. A few winding paths snaked through the snow, leading to a hidden clearing where they stood in the shadow of towering ridges, dressed in tactical winter gear for better camouflage. She bent slightly to look through her gadget. There, dug into the mountain, she noticed an access but no sign of life around.

“I'm not detecting anything, they must be inside.” 

“Let's go.” he said through his mask, looking at her. 

She nodded and pulled her radio out of her pocket, pressing the side button to inform that they were about to break into the mountain but heard nothing but a crackle, getting louder and louder. She repeated her message several times, but got no response - the location must have jammed the radio transmissions. She bitterly realized that if the mission didn't go according to plan, an emergency extraction would be impossible. She switched off the radio and put the device back in her inner jacket pocket before straightening up. 

They were on their own.

At first glance, the place looked abandoned. They were venturing into a series of frozen tunnels, but the further they went, the more they noticed installations to provide an important power supply to the base, here, in the heart of the mountain and soon they saw the first guards and behind them, an armoured door, a surveillance camera and what she was looking for, an access panel. She motioned to him to eliminate the individuals, which he did with ease, sending a knife into the back of one guard's neck and killing the other with his silenced pistol. She watched as the men collapsed on the floor and quickly approached the control panel, which he opened with ease using his bionic hand. She pulled out a small multi-function device which she used to hack into the security system. This device, an advanced version of a laptop, was equipped with an interface that allowed it to connect to a short-range wireless network. She entered through the access panel. Within seconds, she identified the main network of security cameras.

Thanks to her cybersecurity and hacking skills, she managed to bypass the basic protection measures - encryption and firewall - by exploiting loopholes in the surveillance system's management software. She deactivated all the cameras outside the base without leaving a trace, while activating a function that simulates a video loop: the surveillance images continue to display the two soldiers before Karenin eliminates them. While she did all this, the Soldier stood back, in a strategic position to detect if other guards were crossing the tunnels to reach the base. He was there to eliminate threats quickly and silently.

Irina tingled slightly, finding it a little more difficult to deactivate the alarms and cameras inside the base, on the other side of the heavy door they were standing next to. Her eyes scrolled rapidly past the small screen in front of her, she'd got rid of her gloves for mobility. 

“Almost there.” 

She pressed a few keys and blew out a long breath once the system was deactivated. She stood up as she closed her device and went to rummage in the pockets of one of the guards to pull out a magnetic card. She slid the card into the reader and the door opened. Agent Karenin was the first through the door, making sure the way was clear by listening and scanning his surroundings. Once inside, he took up a position at the entrance to secure the passage. His role was to cover Irina, ready to intervene in case of threat. The two of them teamed up to secure the way. When they came across guards in the corridors or patrol areas, he took charge of neutralizing them.

Irina tried not to let the Soldier's violence disturb her too much; he was more direct and wasn't afraid to use brute force if necessary. He neutralized enemies with clinical speed, overpowering them or eliminating them silently, depending on the situation. He provided total cover. Thanks to him, they reached a control room containing the entire computer system without too much trouble. Without waiting, Keranin eliminated the engineers inside. 

No witnesses.

Keranin's coldness on this kind of mission unsettled her.

Her gaze lingered on the corpses for only a few seconds before she settled down behind one of the computers. She inserted a key into a port to transfer all the data before deleting it. She saw the Soldier walking around the room, looking for something. He rummaged through the pockets of the engineers he'd just murdered in cold blood and procured an access card. 

“Retrieve the data and delete everything,” he told her before leaving the room. "I'll be right back."

She watched him walk away through the bay windows and turned her attention back to what she was doing. The more she navigated through the data, the more her heart tightened in her chest at the discoveries she was making. She soon realized that innocent civilians could be involved in the project, that she had false information and that the biological weapon was not intended to make disappear an army but to test a form of mind control on large populations. Worse still, data showed that humans - including children - were being used in the experiments, and this weapon could be used and deployed in mist form. It wasn't totally perfected yet, genetic resistance could develop in for some people, rendering the agent ineffective, long-term side effects of this brain manipulation could also lead to mental disorders, psychological crises or uncontrolled dangerous behavior. This weapon, in the hands of any military power, would suppress free will. She was slightly startled when she saw Karenin return, stained with blood, he had certainly executed the dissident scientists. He was holding in his right hand a high-security container containing the famous mist. 

She removed the port key and managed to delete all the data stored on the base's computer network including all traces of her passage. As she stood up, Karenin used his bionic arm to destroy the electrical network and generators. At the same moment, a cry of alarm ripped through the air, followed by the heavy sound of boots pounding the ground. A group of soldiers, alerted by the detection of an anomaly in the security systems, were rushing in their direction. 

“Follow me!,” she said.

She led him into the east wing of the base, where there was a hangar with vehicles, but more importantly, the tunnel that would lead them to their freedom on the other side of the mountain. As she ventured into the premises, she simultaneously tried to manipulate her device to try and unlock the accesses that led to it. The Winter Soldier made sure there were no obstacles in their way. His hand grazed the butt of his rifle, prepared for anything. She saw the blinded door light blink red rapidly before finally flashing green. He went first, pushing the heavy door open with his arm and taking out those who tried to block their path. Suddenly, an enemy he hadn't seen appeared near him.

“Look out!” 

The blow he received in the face sent his mask flying, sending it a few meters to the ground. His assailant quickly drew a blade and managed to wound Karenin in the shoulder, who was destabilized by the fact that he no longer had his mask. Irina drew her weapon and shot the man in the knees, causing him to fall to the ground with a howl of pain, before the Winter Soldier snapped his neck to put him out of his misery. He kept his head down for a few seconds, his hair concealing his face. Finally, he straightened up to face Irina. It was the first time she'd seen his face.

The features of his pale face were angular, with high, pronounced cheekbones. His icy-blue eyes watched her through a veil of silence and calculation, as if he were still assessing whether her knowing his face posed a threat. His jaw was square and firm, pulsing under tension, covered with a few days' black, raspy beard that blended with the pallor of his skin and added to the austerity of his appearance. A thin scar crossed his chin, a remnant of a distant battle, but it didn't give him a heroic look, rather that of a broken man, forged by war. She looked at him for a long time, he had this strange look on his face, as if he carried a weight that no one could understand, and for a few seconds, he doubted. She now knew his identity, was he compromised? 

Irina took a few steps and picked up the mask from the floor, handing it to him. She noticed the wound on his shoulder, the blood rapidly soaking the white fabric of his tactical suit, but he didn't seem to be in any pain; he was used to this kind of injury. She nodded toward the exit and they ran through the tunnel until they reached the outside. Once there, they dashed into the icy darkness. The storm provided perfect cover. The wind howled around them, washing away their footsteps in the deep snow.

[calypso707]

Winter Soldier x OC Fanfiction : The Tale of Two Wolves.

Chapter 2 - To perfection.

Winter in Russia was harsh, making training more difficult, more painful. Heavy snowflakes began to fall from the sky in a slow, hypnotic waltz. Every day, a new confrontation with the man they called the Winter Soldier, every day, new recruits were wounded, while he remained unscratched. This had been going on for weeks now. As always, several individuals from the academy were present, some wearing lab coats, notebooks and pens in their hands. She remembered the first time she'd faced him.

“Next.” 

All the recruits looked at each other, none willing to take the plunge, to accept the challenge. Irina took a step forward out of line. She didn't have an appearance that immediately drew attention, but there was something about her allure that captivated, a discreet intensity that only revealed itself to those who took the time to look at her. Her body was sculpted by repeated training, every muscle finely drawn, not in a quest for aesthetic perfection, but out of necessity. She was athletic without being massive, her movements exuding controlled power and calculated precision.

Her height, around 1.70 meters, seemed perfectly proportioned to her physique. She took a few more steps to face her opponent. Her posture was upright, almost military, but there was a fluidity to her gestures, a lightness reminiscent of a dancer. Her face was fine, almost angular, but softened by harmonious features. Her high cheekbones framed her most striking asset: hazel eyes tinged with green, which seemed to be constantly analyzing her surroundings. There was a gleam of intelligence and determination in those eyes, but also a shadow, trying to remind her of the sacrifices she had made and the things she had lost. Her full lips were often pressed into a hard line, betraying her concentration and seriousness. Yet when she allowed herself a smile - so rare and fleeting - it lit up her face with an unexpected, almost vulnerable warmth.

Her pale skin bore the marks of various battles, with discreet scars here and there. Her hands were covered with wedges and small cuts, the kind of hands that knew constant effort and pain. The same hands that could also be precise, as when she used them to comb her long chestnut hair into a convenient braid. They were also capable of handling a weapon with cold expertise or offering a comforting gesture to a comrade in trouble.

Her aura was that of a fighter trying to hold on to her remaining humanity, or at least hiding it as much as possible from her instructors. Her spirit burned with a flame so intense it was almost palpable, an energy that drove her to always surpass herself. But sometimes, that flame flickered, and in those moments of vulnerability, she seemed almost fragile, like a star about to fade before shining again. She was constantly caught between her role as a weapon and her personal desires.

The Soldier stood motionless a few meters away from her, impassive at first, his calm was almost insulting. But when their eyes finally met, it was as if he really saw her. Perhaps he saw himself in her, and she in him. Irina felt her heart begin to beat rapidly, a sign of the apprehension she felt. He was a specter of death used to break the arrogance of recruits. But she wouldn't back down. 

Not today.

The first few seconds were the worst. The ones when she had to decide: attack or wait? She knew that hesitation was fatal against a man like him. Her mind weighed up the options at dizzying speed, but he beat her to it by attacking first. Without a word, without a warning, he pounced on her with the precision of a predator. His metal arm whistled through the air as he launched a left hook. She dived instinctively under the blow, rolling to the side to avoid being hit. But he was already there, anticipating her movement, his foot heading for her ribs.

She blocked with her forearms, but the force of the blow sent her tumbling to the ground. Pain exploded through her body, but she refused to give in. Taking advantage of her speed, she straightened up and launched a circular kick towards his head. He barely dodged it, his left arm catching her ankle on the fly.

“Predictable.” he said in Russian.

She responded with a cry of rage, twisting her body in an acrobatic movement. Her other leg struck his wrist, forcing him to let go. Falling back, she followed up with an uppercut that he easily decked. His left hand grabbed her wrist and, before she could react, he pulled her towards him, his metal arm pressing against her throat. He pulled her back until her back slammed into the wall of the stone building several meters behind her. She put her hands against his forearm, the metal was even colder from the icy air outside. 

In a desperate move, she grabbed his metal arm, planted her feet on the ground, and pivoted abruptly. The surprise gave her a split second to throw him off balance. He stumbled, just enough for her to slip behind him and strike the back of his knee. He fell onto his knee and she managed to grab the gun he'd clipped to his belt, she held him at gunpoint, removing the safety catch. She breathed rapidly and noisily, from the effort but also from the sudden uncertainty she felt. 

She could kill him, here and now, turn against the instructors. 

She could do it. 

So why didn't she?

She thought back to his gaze, to the semblance of humanity that had invaded her when their eyes had met. But it was too late, and it was a big mistake to hesitated so long. Before she could reach him again, he swung quickly and easily disarmed her, sending the weapon tumbling a few meters away. His kick was so swift that she only had time to raise her arms to block it. She was thrown against the wall again, the shock reverberating through her body, her breath catching. He was faster, more experienced than her. In a few moves, he had reversed the situation, his steely fingers gripping her wrists with implacable force. She was immobilized, her breath short, but she didn't flinch.

“Enough!” shouted an instructor, further away. 

Irina and this Karenin continued to stare at each other, she was panting while he was barely tired from their confrontation. He finally released her wrists and took a step backwards, standing straight and unruffled once more. And so it went on for days, Irina volunteering every time to face the Soldier, whether it was outside, in the ring, in the gym. She was always up for the challenge.

She remembered her last training session with him before they left on a mission. Her breathing was heavy, jerky, as if each inhalation took a chunk out of her energy. Facing her, Karenin remained impassive. There was no longer any hesitation as to who would attack first; from now on, her body was ahead of her. She leapt forward, launching a swift blow towards his face. A decoy. He dodged effortlessly, it was as if he could read her more easily now, and she felt a wave of frustration rising. But she used it, immediately following up with a knee strike to his side. This time, he parried with a fluid movement of his metal arm, the shock resonating as if she'd struck an anvil. He pushed her back with a sharp backhand, forcing her to take several steps back.

“You're still attacking like a novice,” he told her in Russian, his voice low and sharp, muffled under his mask. “Again.” 

Her instructors had taught her to never let the enemy into her head, but it was difficult, especially in front of him.  She regretted the fact that they'd never had any real conversations. She wished she'd known the man before she knew the weapon, but something told her he didn't know himself. She had the feeling that sometimes he'd forget her, forget that they'd ever fought together, but that wasn't the case today. Pain radiated through her shin, but she ignored the burn and changed tactics. She began to move in a circle around him, her fists raised, ready to block or strike. He spun with her, his gaze still fixed on her eyes, looking for her next move. Then, without warning, he attacked.

His right fist split the air, and she barely had time to swivel to avoid the impact. But he didn't stop there. His other hand, metallic, darted towards her shoulder. She had no time to avoid it, and the blow sent her reeling. She felt her collarbone protest under the impact, she fell to her knees, but immediately rolled to the side to avoid a kick that could have broken her ribs. She leapt to her feet, her breath short, her muscles taut as ropes ready to snap. But something had changed. A new clarity had settled over her mind. She'd never beat him by brute force, and she knew it, though she itched to try. She had to be faster. More unpredictable. She feinted a frontal attack, but at the last moment, she slipped under his arm to strike his exposed flank. The blow made him flinch, and for the first time, she felt his guard weaken. But he turned almost instantly, his elbow striking her temple. Her vision flickered, flashes of light dancing before her eyes. She staggered back, but refused to give in. She shook her head slightly to clear her discomfort. She began to move again, her legs burning with exhaustion but continuing to carry her. This time, she let her instincts take over. She attacked again, striking low, high, then low again, creating an irregular rhythm that forced the Soldier to adjust his defense. For a split second, he seemed surprised, and that was all she needed. She seized the moment, slipping behind him with feline agility. Her arm encircled his neck, seeking to immobilize him. But he was no ordinary adversary. With an almost lazy movement, he grabbed her wrist and threw her to the ground.  She crumpled heavily, expelling the air from her lungs with a painful groan.

He leaned over her, his face masked by a neutral expression. “You're tough,” he said, almost admiringly. “But even against me, you should strike as if it were your last chance of survival.”

But the semblance of humanity that remained in him held her back. 

“You never told me your first name, soldier,” she replied, in low voice. 

Irina could read the confusion on the man's face, even if it only lasted a fraction of a second; they stared at each other for a long moment, Irina still panting from the effort, and again, he was barely tired. For a moment, he seemed to be searching for himself. And then she realized that he didn't even know who he was, and answered only to the code name Karenin. Their repeated training sessions had aroused a certain interest in her, two individuals destined to be weapons, fighting fiercely to see who was the best. And it was always him. A round of applause rang out from the back of the room as the Soldier straightened up and stood straight as a sentry awaiting orders. Irina watched him as she remained on the ground for a few more seconds. She was used to receiving blows, and after a while, she didn't feel the pain so intensely. Finally straightening up into a sitting position on the mat, she watched the man in the suit rise to his feet.

“Let's get her ready for the mission.”

[calypso707]

Fanfiction - The Tale of Two Wolves.

Hey everyone ! Lately, I've been diving back into the Marvel niverse and my love for Bucky Barnes has returned. Recently, I read the novel about him and it made me want to write a little fanfiction about him. This story will be inspired by the comics, the novel and the Marvel movies. I hope you enjoy it.

Summary : She has been trained to become the best spy, an asset capable of overthrowing regimes. He, on the other hand, has been reconditioned to become a ruthless assassin, a ghost, both loyal to the USSR. Aspiring for freedom, they will both try to escape those who control them, but the only question is whether they will succeed or not.

TW : details of injury, wounds, anxiety, blood, probably some death, PTSD. For the romantic part, fluff moments, kisses.

Chapter 1 -

Widows start and end wars. They can make or break kings.

Somewhere in Russia, during the Cold War - 1953.

When she was just five years old, she and twenty-seven other girls were taken to the Red Room, a training center created under the Soviet regime. Its primary objective was to create highly skilled and specialized agents for espionage and other covert operations. The training imposed within these walls went beyond physical training, using biochemical enhancements and few years later memory implants. She still remembered the pain she felt when she receive her first injection of a bluish substance. Her ordeal had lasted several days.

“Your wounds will heal four, even five times faster than normal, you'll never get sick, you won't age, your hair won't fall out, your skin can withstand the wind and sun…”

These words still echoed in her mind, like all the battles she'd fought so far, sending her comrades to the mat, one by one. Every day, she saw her humanity crumble a little more. Every sunrise heralded a new challenge, a test designed to shatter those who dared to hope. The training she'd undergone since childhood wasn't simply a question of physical strength or precision; it was a war against herself and the silence that echoed around her in this facility was like a warning.

She'd been training for several hours now, most of the time set apart from the others, attending training sessions for hours on end, perfecting her skills over and over again. She knocked down her opponent, tackling him to the ground, but had badly anticipated the action of the second, who managed to punch her. Her vision blurred with the impact and a whistling sound persisted in her ears. She stepped back, pressing the back of her hand against her bloodied lips, raising her other hand in surrender.

“Clumsy. You are failing on purpose.” said a female voice from across the room.

She looked up at the woman who was dressed in a cobalt-blue suit, her blond hair impeccably styled on her head in a bun. Her hands were clasped in front of her and she took a few steps: “Again.”

She was constantly on the edge. At any moment, she could sink into darkness or find a glimmer of hope. But one thing was certain: when she looked in the mirror, she saw a transformation. Not yet complete, but inescapable. She was becoming what they wanted her to be.

One question haunted her, however: could she aspire to freedom?

She shook her head slightly to regain her composure and resume training. Lately, memories had been coming back to her in flashes, in her dreams or in the middle of a training session, causing her to falter during certain lessons. She couldn't sort them out, couldn't tell the true from the false, interspersed with ballet lessons at the Bolshoi Theater and fights, faces she knew and others that seemed totally unfamiliar. She could no longer afford to be distracted like this, or they would soon label her dysfunctional despite her being one of their best asset.

“Irina.”

She straightened up, trying to hide the fact that she was tense. Here, her real name was only used when she made mistakes, which was quite rare, or when her instructors gave her orders. As the old man rose from his chair behind his imposing solid wood desk, she twitched slightly as he approached her. He seemed to be scrutinizing her, as if trying to determine if she was hiding more from him. This man, Grigor Pchelintsov, she'd known him for as long as she could remember.

“Mrs. B thinks you fail your tests on purpose. I have trouble believing her,” he said to her in Russian. “Is something bothering you?”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

“You know you can tell me anything.”

“Some… Strange memories are coming back to me.”

For a while, she considered keeping this to herself, but she knew it would only be a matter of time before she betrayed herself. And she could use it to mask her desire for freedom. For some reason, she felt obliged to tell the truth, for that was how she had been trained. Honesty to instructors, lies to the public.

“Hm… What kind of memories?”

She remained silent for a few seconds, seeming to search for her words.

“You can trust me, tell me,” the scientist insisted.

She remained silent for a few seconds, seemingly searching for words.

“You can trust me, tell me,” the scientist insisted.

“It's hard to say. But I see a girl, long black hair and green eyes. I…”

She could be her sister, a camrade she knew, someone she killed. She could be anybody.

Grigor examined her for a long moment, raising his glasses to wedge them in his graying hair, thrusting one of his hands into the pocket of his blouse.

“Do you know who she is?”

“No.”

“What else?”

“That's it, I only see her face.”

He seemed to tickle something in his blouse pocket for a few seconds before finally nodding. He put his glasses back on his nose, looking more reassured.

“All right. Follow me, i will fix you.”

It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the clarity of the place. A woman was already present, impeccably dressed, her graying hair combed into a quilt at the back of her head, she was a pale copy of Mrs B. Her face was familiar. Grigor went inside a nearby booth, through which he could see what was going on. He nodded to her before she finally made her way to the seat in the middle of the room, surrounded by various machines. She settled comfortably on it, straps held down her wrists and ankles as the woman came to stand beside her, placing various electrodes on her forehead and temples. She opened her mouth so she could place the gag, which she bite down hard.

“Turning on the machines.”, said the woman.

A hiss echoed through the room as she switched the buttons on, one by one.

“Launch in 3, 2, 1…”

A pain suddenly irradiated her head and she closed her eyes, biting down as hard as she could on the cloth between her teeth. Her nails dug into the leather of the armrests. It didn't help her, it was worse than anything, more flashes were coming to her, more and more violently. Shocks were sent through her repeatedly, always stronger and stronger. The throbbing pain that pierced her skull became unbearable, and she endured the onslaught until she finally lost consciousness.

When she came to her senses, she slowly opened her eyes, she didn't recognise the room where she was and how she ended here. Grigor stood beside her with a small flashlight, moving back and forth over her eyes to examine the reaction of her pupils. He snapped his fingers next to her ears, to make her react to the sound; the buzzing she'd heard just a few seconds ago was only beginning to fade. He stepped back to let her straighten up, which she did carefully. She felt as if her skull would crack from the pain, but she must never fail, never. She sat on the edge of the bunk for a few seconds, assessing her physical and mental state.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

She took a few seconds before answering. How was she feeling ?

“Good.”

“Name?” asked the man.

She blinked several times before automatically answering : “Irina Milana Vasilkova.”

“Code name?”

“Lana Vasilkoff.”

“Section?”

“Black Widow.”

*

Pain was omnipresent, had become a part of her. It lived in her aching muscles, in her joints that screamed at every movement, in the bruises that covered her body like a second skin. But that was nothing compared to what she felt inside. Every successful task was a victory tinged with guilt, for she knew that behind every bullet fired, every blow struck, lay the shadow of innocence she was leaving behind. The cold gaze of Mrs. B and the instructors showed no mercy, no sign that she had the right to flinch. There was no room for error, and every failure meant punishment, humiliation or worse, obliteration. By not crying, she had learned to bury her emotions deep inside. But sometimes, when she closed her eyes to sleep, she still saw her old face: that of a girl who still believed in her freedom. And yet, there was also this strange satisfaction she felt in spite of herself. Every time she mastered a move, every time she defeated an enemy, she felt the power surge through her. Her senses had become sharper, her thinking faster. She was stronger, quicker, smarter than ever. But this power came at a price. She knew that by becoming a weapon, she might forget her humanity.

They had all been grouped together in the training room, the remaining nineteen of them. Camaraderie was rare, but precious. Among the recruits, the furtive glances they exchanged were a mixture of fear and solidarity. Sometimes a discreet smile, other times an outstretched hand in moments when exhaustion threatened to make her falter, these gestures were enough to remind her that she was not alone. But she also knew that this bond could be broken at any moment.

Here, everyone was both ally and enemy.

The instructor took a step forward, his hands clasped behind his back. He was the most terrifying of them all, the most violent. With each lesson, a certain apprehension crept over her, but she never wavered. She never would.

“Today, I would like to introduce you to your new trainer. One of our finest assets,” he announced, moving away from the door which slid open automatically.

The man who entered the room to stand beside the instructor seemed to be a perfect blend of brute strength and deadly precision. Every movement betrayed a restrained power, ready to explode. He stood around 1.80 meters tall, his silhouette shrouded in a black tactical jumpsuit. His left arm, a terrifying work of engineering, glinted metallic under the artificial light of the room. Engraved with geometric lines and adorned with the emblematic red star of the Soviet Union, it was an extension of his will.

Part of his face was concealed by a matte black metal mask that covered his features perfectly, smoothing every curve of his face with mechanical rigor. Only his eyes were visible, frozen like a Siberian winter, at once captivating and disturbing, capable of piercing to the very soul of anyone who dared to meet his gaze, scrutinizing every weakness, every intention. There was in those eyes a restrained pain, a muted melancholy, like a constant reminder of memories he would have preferred to forget. Around this mask, the soldier's skin was pale, marked by the icy wind and deprivation, with faint scars testifying to past hardships. Beneath this mask, there was no smile, no anger, just a profound emptiness.

His dark, slightly wavy hair fell in unruly locks around his face. It gave him a wild, almost untamable air. But this unkempt appearance was not to be mistaken for weakness. Every detail of his being seemed calculated, optimized for battle. His gait was fluid and silent. Despite his muscular build, he moved with an unsettling grace, as if the ground itself obeyed him. His reinforced boots hardly seemed to touch the ground, and every gesture, even the most insignificant, exuded mastery and control.

His aura was that of a predator. He carried not only strength on his shoulders, but also a magnetic presence that commanded respect, mingled with awe. He was no ordinary man; he was a living weapon, forged in pain and discipline, and honed by years of obedience to orders he hadn't chosen.

“Agent Keranin, the Winter Soldier will be your new combat instructor.”

Irina flexed slightly at the name. Her comrades tensed, and some of them took a slight step backwards. She'd heard of the Winter Soldier, but thought at first it was just a legend.

[calypso707]

Your works are so good!

If I may ask, do you only post your stories here on Tumblr? If no, may I ask where else?

Thank you!

Hi, thank you so much !

For my works i also post them on Ao3 (i have a preference for this one) : https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandora707/pseuds/pandora707

Do not hesitate to dm me, i don’t bite ! 🤍

[calypso707]

Chapter 1: First Bonds, First Threats

here's the first chapter guys ;) same as before english is not my first language so sorry if there's any mistakes and pls share me ur feedbacks :p

First Bonds, First Threats

Asha followed Charles and Erik through the hallways of a large building that seemed to belong to the CIA. She could already hear distant echoes of voices and laughter growing louder as they approached.

As they reached the door at the end of the corridor, Charles glanced at her reassuringly. "Ready?"

"I guess so," she replied, giving a vague nod.

Upon entering the room, she immediately noticed a group of young people around her age who, at first glance, seemed "normal". But in reality, everyone in this room was a mutant. And she couldn’t help but wonder what was their mutations.

Charles stepped into the center of the room with his usual kind demeanor. "My young friends, I’d like to introduce you to Asha Suryavanshi."

No one seemed particularly shocked by her arrival. They had all been gathered here in the same way.

"Asha, these are your peers. You’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other." Charles exchanged a final glance with Erik before adding, "We have things to attend to. We’ll leave you all to it."

With that, Erik and Charles quickly left, leaving Asha alone with the group.

She immediately felt the weight of curious stares on her. They were probably wondering what she could do, just as she had wondered about them moments ago. But she wasn’t exactly eager to get to that part of the conversation.

She cast a quick glance around the room they were in. Music was playing in the background, half-empty glasses were scattered around, and from the looks of it, the others had already started bonding. She had the distinct feeling of being an outsider.

Before she could say anything, a young blonde woman with bright eyes approached her with a warm smile.

"Hey! I’m Raven!" she said enthusiastically, before adding with a knowing look, "And don’t worry, we all seem a bit intimidating at first, but we’re actually pretty cool."

Asha let out a small laugh.

"You’re not that intimidating... but we’ll see about the cool part."

"I like her already!" Sean exclaimed, laughing at her remark.

Asha, unaccustomed to this kind of warmth, had to make a considerable effort just to get those few words out.

Raven gestured for her to sit on the couch. Asha gave a small nod and took a seat, staying slightly withdrawn but taking in everyone around her. She observed them carefully. Sean, always ready with a joke. Darwin, observant and laid-back. Angel, wary yet attentive. Hank, sitting next to Raven, seemingly preoccupied with his notes. And finally, Alex Summers—leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching the scene with amusement.

"So, Asha," Sean began, leaning toward her. "We’ve been picking code names for ourselves here. Got any ideas for yours?"

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond immediately.

Meanwhile, the others took turns explaining the origins of their chosen names, showing off their powers in the process; shattering windows, decapitating statues, shape-shifting.

For a brief moment, Asha almost felt comfortable in this setting. Surrounded by people like her, the atmosphere felt oddly familiar.

But even then, a sense of isolation lingered deep inside her.

She wasn’t like the others. Not really. What she had inside her wasn’t meant to be seen.

Lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed when the inevitable moment arrived.

Alex Summers approached her, smirking. "Alright, your turn. Show us what you got."

Asha leaned back slightly, crossing her arms, a knot tightening in her stomach.

"No thanks. I’m not interested in showing off my ‘gift.’"

Alex raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Why not? We all did. What’s stopping you? Even I—"

"I said no."

Her tone sharpened, and her gaze turned cold.

"What’s with the gloves, then?" he insisted.

She locked eyes with him.

"None of your damn business."

Just as Alex was about to say something else, Hank cut in.

"Alex, stop. She doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to."

The blond raised an eyebrow before muttering sarcastically, "Whatever you say, Bozo."

Asha rolled her eyes. What an asshole.

She glanced at Hank, silently thanking him.

The others, though intrigued, didn’t press further. The conversation quickly resumed, and soon, laughter filled the room again. The young mutants were drinking, dancing, and enjoying a rare moment of lightness in their otherwise chaotic lives.

But Darwin, ever observant, suddenly froze.

"What the hell was that?"

Boom.

A loud thud echoed from the roof.

Like something; or multiple things; had just slammed against it.

The noise repeated, growing in frequency and intensity.

Everyone turned toward the massive window; formerly intact, before Sean had gotten involved; and saw a nightmarish figure outside.

A man with red skin and a devil-like appearance was grabbing CIA guards, teleporting them away in flashes of crimson smoke; only for their screams to follow a moment later as their bodies fell from the sky, crashing violently onto the ground.

"What the actual fuck?" Sean choked out.

Before anyone could react, two massive tornadoes tore through the CIA troops.

And behind them, another man in a sharp suit approached calmly.

Asha felt a chill run down her spine as the two figures closed in on them.

Maybe I should’ve never come here.

Now, the devil himself and goddamn weatherman were after them.

Suddenly, an explosion shook the facility, sending tremors through the walls.

Fear and panic took hold of everyone. The group instinctively huddled together.

From behind the door, they heard a desperate voice yell:

"The mutants are just behind this door! Please; spare us! We’re normal!"

A loud crash followed.

Then… silence.

The group stood frozen as the two intruders stopped moving as well, waiting.

Then, the door swung open violently, revealing a man.

Not just any man.

Sebastian Shaw.

He scanned the room with sharp eyes, then smiled with false sympathy before speaking.

"This world will never accept you, my children," he said smoothly. "Why fight for them when you could join me? Rule this world, as mutants, as kings and queens."

A tense silence followed.

Then, Angel stepped forward.

"Angel, no…" Darwin whispered.

But she didn’t listen.

She walked straight to Shaw.

The others were visibly disappointed.

But deep down, each of them knew the weight of their own lives. They understood the rejection she must have felt, and why she choosed to follow him.

Darwin took a deep breath, exchanging a quick glance with Alex before stepping forward as well.

"You’re right," he said, moving closer to Shaw.

Confusion flickered across everyone’s faces; until, at the last second, he shouted:

"Alex, NOW!"

Alex unleashed an energy blast straight at Shaw, and Darwin shielded Angel behind him.

But Shaw absorbed the attack effortlessly.

He smirked.

"Adapt to this."

And then; he unleashed the absorbed energy into Darwin.

Right before their horrified eyes, Darwin disintegrated into ashes.

Nobody could do anything.

Asha’s breath hitched. The sight of Darwin’s charred remains triggered something inside her.

Too familiar. Too painful.

She turned away, unable to face the reality of it.

And then; Alex lunged at Shaw in blind rage.

One of Shaw’s men grabbed him instantly.

The young woman, hearing the struggle and refusing to watch another person turn to ashes before her, tried to intervene, grabbing the man’s jacket. But he immediately spun around, his hands closing around her throat, strangling her.

"Let's finish this. We need to leave," Shaw said coldly.

Asha gasped for air. Her heart pounded so hard it echoed in her temples, drowning out the sounds around her. Her attacker's fingers tightened around her throat, unyielding, preventing her from breathing. Her body fought instinctively, struggling to break free, but the man was too strong.

She felt panic rising, consuming every inch of her being. Her breath became short, erratic. Her lungs burned; but it wasn’t just from the lack of oxygen. Something else was awakening within her. A heat. A deep rumble at the core of her being.

An old anger. Long suppressed.

Fragments of memories shattered in her mind.

The suffocating heat of a summer afternoon. A familiar scream.

The stench of burning flesh. Her own trembling hands, covered in ash.

No. Not again. Not here.

But her body refused to obey.

The heat inside her swelled, spreading through her limbs. Her muscles tensed as her skin hummed under the pressure. The dim light of the room seemed to bend and refract around her, a golden halo flickering at the edges of her vision.

She knew what was coming.

A final shudder of agony coursed through her, and with trembling fingers, she grasped the edges of her gloves.

She ripped the leather off in one sharp motion.

Her bare palms met the man’s skin.

The scream that followed ripped through the air.

The man froze, his face twisting in pure, incomprehensible agony. Then, his entire body stiffened, consumed by an unbearable pain. The heat surged into his veins, igniting every cell, reducing his body to something raw and incandescent. His skin blackened in an instant, cracked, then crumbled into a pile of smoldering dust.

A single heartbeat later, there was nothing left.

Asha staggered backward, her breath rasping through her lungs. Her hands trembled, golden embers still flickering across her fingertips before slowly fading away. She took a step back. Then another.

Her legs nearly gave out beneath her.

A crushing silence fell over the room.

Every pair of eyes was on her.

A lump formed in her throat. Slowly, she lowered her gaze to her hands.

They had taken another life.

A bitter taste rose in her mouth.

I should have run.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to look at the others.

The silence was palpable. But there was more than just fear in their expressions.

There was confusion. And shock.

Her gaze met Alex’s.

He said nothing. But didn’t look afraid.

Like he was trying to figure something out.

Her voice, rough and almost broken, finally cut through the silence:

"How’s that for a demonstration?"

No one answered.

Asha felt her head spin. She stumbled back and sank into a chair, overwhelmed by everything.

Shaw had used the chaos to disappear.

Panting, shaken by the commotion, it was at that moment that Charles and Erik finally returned, horror evident on their faces.

Charles, visibly disturbed, wanted to send everyone home. But Erik immediately protested.

"If Shaw has his army, we need ours."

Alex straightened, voice firm. "We’ve got nowhere else to go anyway."

Asha didn’t say a word.

But deep down, she agreed with him.

And so, the group set out for Xavier’s mansion.

[calypso707]

Introduction : Shadows of the Past

here's the introduction for my fanfiction with my OC Asha in the xmen univers. its an oc x alex summers fic to become. the story takes place during the movie xmen first class at first ! sorry in advance if there's some mistakes english is not my first language. please share me your thoughts and well, please enjoy it ;)

Shadows of the Past.

The rain fell softly on the cobblestone streets, enveloping the city in a damp veil, accompanied by the glow of the streetlights lining the central road. The sounds of traffic blended with the clinking of cups and the animated conversations filling the small café. Here, in this quiet corner of the district, the night seemed frozen in tranquility.

A young woman sat at a secluded table in a dark corner, hidden from prying eyes. Her name was Asha, Asha Suryavanshi. A shadow among shadows. A ghost forged and constantly rebuilt with meticulous precautions every time she moved from one place to another. Blending into the crowd had almost become a gift; alongside the one she desperately tried to hide. She could never stay too long in the same place, and for the past few years, she had lived a quite turbulent life, balancing between escape and survival. A chess match against enemies she never saw, yet whose presence was undeniably real.

The news of the world no longer interested her. She was vaguely aware of what was happening around her; the Cold War, rising tensions between nations—but all of that was mere background noise compared to her own struggle. Her life had become a cycle of observing, disappearing .

As she nervously played with the tips of her gloved fingers, her cup of black coffee sat untouched, growing cold. Asha was already planning her next destination. It was only a matter of time before she was found again.

Then, suddenly, the door opened.

The bell above the entrance rang softly. Yet, to Asha, it was deafening. Instinctively, she tensed, her senses immediately alert—something was wrong.

Two men stepped inside, their confident and controlled movements immediately drawing attention. They weren’t here for a simple cup of tea and that was obvious from miles away.

The taller man walked with an air of natural authority, his piercing eyes scanning the room with precision. The other, more composed, carried himself with a calm aura.

But something felt off, and right now, Asha felt as if the words "WANTED" were written across her forehead.

These two were searching for someone.

And that someone was her.

She moved quickly, grabbing her bag in a hurried motion, heading towards the back exit—

"Hey, don’t leave so fast. We just got here," the taller one said, catching the chair she had just vacated, subtly gesturing for her to sit back down.

As she turned, locking eyes briefly with the second man, her breath hitched for a fraction of a second.

She felt something;a presence, foreign yet delicate, brushing against the edges of her mind.

Like there were two of them inside her head now.

A gentle intrusion, but an intrusion nonetheless.

"Get out of my head."

Her voice was calm, yet the threat in it was unmistakable.

The young man with striking blue eyes blinked, momentarily surprised by her reaction tilted his head slightly, and then offered her a polite smile.

"My apologies, Asha. Bad habit. Would you mind sitting with us?"

He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, perfectly at ease, as if this were just a casual chat between old friends. The taller man followed, more reserved, but his watchful gaze remained fixed on her.

Asha was still reeling. Had she told him her name? No. Never. Were they here to take her back to where she had come from?

They didn’t have the same demeanor as the people she had spent years running from.

But then who were they?

And what did they want from her?

"I never told you my name. How—"

"We’re like you, my dear. I’m Charles," he said in a calm, almost soothing voice. "And this is my friend Erik. Please, sit. We mean you no harm."

She remained standing, hesitant, scrutinizing them both with confusion.

After a long moment of deliberation, she finally sat back down.

"What do you mean by ‘like me’?" she asked cautiously.

Charles smiled. "We are mutants, just like you. That’s how I knew your name. We were born with gifts; like you and your connection to the sun."

Hearing him say gift in the same sentence as sun felt like a slap.

A brutal reminder of a past she had buried under layers of lies and false identities.

Her jaw clenched.

How had they found her? Were they telling the truth?

How much did they know about her?

Could she trust them?

"You could have learned my name in a dozen different ways. Why should I believe you? There are people out there looking for me, people who wish me harm, and they know just as much about me. How do I know you’re not—"

Before she could finish, she felt a sudden shift.

The metal bracelet she wore; adorned with an amber gemstone; slowly slid off her wrist on its own, floating toward the hand of the man accompanying Charles.

Startled but unwilling to cause a scene, Asha immediately snatched the bracelet back, clasping it around her wrist.

"Stop that," she whispered harshly. "My mother gave me this. And I don’t want to attract attention."

Erik let out a small chuckle, crossing his arms.

"Relax. No one noticed."

Now, she had her proof.

Before her sat two mutants.

Two people who possessed abilities like her own; though she hesitated to call them ‘gifts’ the way Charles did.

No. To her, they were burdens.

But she was still confused.

She now knew who they were.

But what did they want from her?

"I don’t know what you expect from me, but I’m not interested," she stated coldly.

Charles didn’t seem surprised by her resistance.

"We’re not here to force anything on you, only to offer you a choice. A different path. One where you’re surrounded by others like yourself."

"I don’t need anything."

"Really?" Erik interjected, smirking. "You’re sitting alone in a café, hunted by ghosts. That’s not much of a life."

"Some people don’t have the luxury of simply moving silly objects or reading minds," she shot back, her tone sharp.

"Some of us are forced into a different kind of life because of what we are."

Charles met her gaze with quiet understanding before speaking again.

"We’re offering you a place where you don’t have to run anymore. Where you can be yourself."

She let out a short, bitter laugh. "A place? You mean a cage? I’ve heard this speech before. I don’t need to be saved."

"Asha," Charles said gently, "we are like you. We’re not humans trying to ‘save’ you. There is nothing to save. You are perfect as you are."

His words struck a nerve.

She had spent so long convincing herself that being alone was better. That it was safer.

But… could she have been wrong?

Erik, observing her carefully, leaned forward.

"You can stay here if you wish, waiting for someone else to find you."

He paused.

"Or; you can come with us and see for yourself what the future might hold alongside others like you."

A heavy silence settled over them.

Then, after a long moment, Asha grabbed her bag and stood.

"Show me," she said. "And I’ll judge for myself."

Charles and Erik exchanged knowing glances, satisfied.

Without another word, they exited the café.

Asha followed, still uncertain.

Had she just made a terrible mistake?

Or, for the first time, had she finally made the right choice?

---------------------------------------------

end of the INTRO. how did u guys like it ? feel free to share ur feedbacks :p

[calypso707]

Winter Soldier x OC Fanfiction - The Tale of Two Wolves.

Hey everyone ! Lately, I've been diving back into the Marvel niverse and my love for Bucky Barnes has returned. Recently, I read the novel about him and it made me want to write a little fanfiction about him. This story will be inspired by the comics, the novel and the Marvel movies. I hope you enjoy it.

Summary : She has been trained to become the best spy, an asset capable of overthrowing regimes. He, on the other hand, has been reconditioned to become a ruthless assassin, a ghost, both loyal to the USSR. Aspiring for freedom, they will both try to escape those who control them, but the only question is whether they will succeed or not.

TW : details of injury, wounds, anxiety, blood, probably some death, PTSD. For the romantic part, fluff moments, kisses.

Chapter 1 - The Red Room.

Widows start and end wars. They can make or break kings.

Somewhere in Russia, during the Cold War - 1953.

When she was just five years old, she and twenty-seven other girls were taken to the Red Room, a training center created under the Soviet regime. Its primary objective was to create highly skilled and specialized agents for espionage and other covert operations. The training imposed within these walls went beyond physical training, using biochemical enhancements and few years later memory implants. She still remembered the pain she felt when she receive her first injection of a bluish substance. Her ordeal had lasted several days.

“Your wounds will heal four, even five times faster than normal, you'll never get sick, you won't age, your hair won't fall out, your skin can withstand the wind and sun…”

These words still echoed in her mind, like all the battles she'd fought so far, sending her comrades to the mat, one by one. Every day, she saw her humanity crumble a little more. Every sunrise heralded a new challenge, a test designed to shatter those who dared to hope. The training she'd undergone since childhood wasn't simply a question of physical strength or precision; it was a war against herself and the silence that echoed around her in this facility was like a warning.

She'd been training for several hours now, most of the time set apart from the others, attending training sessions for hours on end, perfecting her skills over and over again. She knocked down her opponent, tackling him to the ground, but had badly anticipated the action of the second, who managed to punch her. Her vision blurred with the impact and a whistling sound persisted in her ears. She stepped back, pressing the back of her hand against her bloodied lips, raising her other hand in surrender.

“Clumsy. You are failing on purpose.” said a female voice from across the room.

She looked up at the woman who was dressed in a cobalt-blue suit, her blond hair impeccably styled on her head in a bun. Her hands were clasped in front of her and she took a few steps: “Again.”

She was constantly on the edge. At any moment, she could sink into darkness or find a glimmer of hope. But one thing was certain: when she looked in the mirror, she saw a transformation. Not yet complete, but inescapable. She was becoming what they wanted her to be.

One question haunted her, however: could she aspire to freedom?

She shook her head slightly to regain her composure and resume training. Lately, memories had been coming back to her in flashes, in her dreams or in the middle of a training session, causing her to falter during certain lessons. She couldn't sort them out, couldn't tell the true from the false, interspersed with ballet lessons at the Bolshoi Theater and fights, faces she knew and others that seemed totally unfamiliar. She could no longer afford to be distracted like this, or they would soon label her dysfunctional despite her being one of their best asset.

“Irina.”

She straightened up, trying to hide the fact that she was tense. Here, her real name was only used when she made mistakes, which was quite rare, or when her instructors gave her orders. As the old man rose from his chair behind his imposing solid wood desk, she twitched slightly as he approached her. He seemed to be scrutinizing her, as if trying to determine if she was hiding more from him. This man, Grigor Pchelintsov, she'd known him for as long as she could remember.

“Mrs. B thinks you fail your tests on purpose. I have trouble believing her,” he said to her in Russian. “Is something bothering you?”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

“You know you can tell me anything.”

“Some… Strange memories are coming back to me.”

For a while, she considered keeping this to herself, but she knew it would only be a matter of time before she betrayed herself. And she could use it to mask her desire for freedom. For some reason, she felt obliged to tell the truth, for that was how she had been trained. Honesty to instructors, lies to the public.

“Hm… What kind of memories?”

She remained silent for a few seconds, seeming to search for her words.

“You can trust me, tell me,” the scientist insisted.

She remained silent for a few seconds, seemingly searching for words.

“You can trust me, tell me,” the scientist insisted.

“It's hard to say. But I see a girl, long black hair and green eyes. I…”

She could be her sister, a camrade she knew, someone she killed. She could be anybody.

Grigor examined her for a long moment, raising his glasses to wedge them in his graying hair, thrusting one of his hands into the pocket of his blouse.

“Do you know who she is?”

“No.”

“What else?”

“That's it, I only see her face.”

He seemed to tickle something in his blouse pocket for a few seconds before finally nodding. He put his glasses back on his nose, looking more reassured.

“All right. Follow me, i will fix you.”

It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the clarity of the place. A woman was already present, impeccably dressed, her graying hair combed into a quilt at the back of her head, she was a pale copy of Mrs B. Her face was familiar. Grigor went inside a nearby booth, through which he could see what was going on. He nodded to her before she finally made her way to the seat in the middle of the room, surrounded by various machines. She settled comfortably on it, straps held down her wrists and ankles as the woman came to stand beside her, placing various electrodes on her forehead and temples. She opened her mouth so she could place the gag, which she bite down hard.

“Turning on the machines.”, said the woman.

A hiss echoed through the room as she switched the buttons on, one by one.

“Launch in 3, 2, 1…”

A pain suddenly irradiated her head and she closed her eyes, biting down as hard as she could on the cloth between her teeth. Her nails dug into the leather of the armrests. It didn't help her, it was worse than anything, more flashes were coming to her, more and more violently. Shocks were sent through her repeatedly, always stronger and stronger. The throbbing pain that pierced her skull became unbearable, and she endured the onslaught until she finally lost consciousness.

When she came to her senses, she slowly opened her eyes, she didn't recognise the room where she was and how she ended here. Grigor stood beside her with a small flashlight, moving back and forth over her eyes to examine the reaction of her pupils. He snapped his fingers next to her ears, to make her react to the sound; the buzzing she'd heard just a few seconds ago was only beginning to fade. He stepped back to let her straighten up, which she did carefully. She felt as if her skull would crack from the pain, but she must never fail, never. She sat on the edge of the bunk for a few seconds, assessing her physical and mental state.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

She took a few seconds before answering. How was she feeling ?

“Good.”

“Name?” asked the man.

She blinked several times before automatically answering : “Irina Milana Vasilkova.”

“Code name?”

“Lana Vasilkoff.”

“Section?”

“Black Widow.”

*

Pain was omnipresent, had become a part of her. It lived in her aching muscles, in her joints that screamed at every movement, in the bruises that covered her body like a second skin. But that was nothing compared to what she felt inside. Every successful task was a victory tinged with guilt, for she knew that behind every bullet fired, every blow struck, lay the shadow of innocence she was leaving behind. The cold gaze of Mrs. B and the instructors showed no mercy, no sign that she had the right to flinch. There was no room for error, and every failure meant punishment, humiliation or worse, obliteration. By not crying, she had learned to bury her emotions deep inside. But sometimes, when she closed her eyes to sleep, she still saw her old face: that of a girl who still believed in her freedom. And yet, there was also this strange satisfaction she felt in spite of herself. Every time she mastered a move, every time she defeated an enemy, she felt the power surge through her. Her senses had become sharper, her thinking faster. She was stronger, quicker, smarter than ever. But this power came at a price. She knew that by becoming a weapon, she might forget her humanity.

They had all been grouped together in the training room, the remaining nineteen of them. Camaraderie was rare, but precious. Among the recruits, the furtive glances they exchanged were a mixture of fear and solidarity. Sometimes a discreet smile, other times an outstretched hand in moments when exhaustion threatened to make her falter, these gestures were enough to remind her that she was not alone. But she also knew that this bond could be broken at any moment.

Here, everyone was both ally and enemy.

The instructor took a step forward, his hands clasped behind his back. He was the most terrifying of them all, the most violent. With each lesson, a certain apprehension crept over her, but she never wavered. She never would.

“Today, I would like to introduce you to your new trainer. One of our finest assets,” he announced, moving away from the door which slid open automatically.

The man who entered the room to stand beside the instructor seemed to be a perfect blend of brute strength and deadly precision. Every movement betrayed a restrained power, ready to explode. He stood around 1.80 meters tall, his silhouette shrouded in a black tactical jumpsuit. His left arm, a terrifying work of engineering, glinted metallic under the artificial light of the room. Engraved with geometric lines and adorned with the emblematic red star of the Soviet Union, it was an extension of his will.

Part of his face was concealed by a matte black metal mask that covered his features perfectly, smoothing every curve of his face with mechanical rigor. Only his eyes were visible, frozen like a Siberian winter, at once captivating and disturbing, capable of piercing to the very soul of anyone who dared to meet his gaze, scrutinizing every weakness, every intention. There was in those eyes a restrained pain, a muted melancholy, like a constant reminder of memories he would have preferred to forget. Around this mask, the soldier's skin was pale, marked by the icy wind and deprivation, with faint scars testifying to past hardships. Beneath this mask, there was no smile, no anger, just a profound emptiness.

His dark, slightly wavy hair fell in unruly locks around his face. It gave him a wild, almost untamable air. But this unkempt appearance was not to be mistaken for weakness. Every detail of his being seemed calculated, optimized for battle. His gait was fluid and silent. Despite his muscular build, he moved with an unsettling grace, as if the ground itself obeyed him. His reinforced boots hardly seemed to touch the ground, and every gesture, even the most insignificant, exuded mastery and control.

His aura was that of a predator. He carried not only strength on his shoulders, but also a magnetic presence that commanded respect, mingled with awe. He was no ordinary man; he was a living weapon, forged in pain and discipline, and honed by years of obedience to orders he hadn't chosen.

“Agent Keranin, the Winter Soldier will be your new combat instructor.”

Irina flexed slightly at the name. Her comrades tensed, and some of them took a slight step backwards. She'd heard of the Winter Soldier, but thought at first it was just a legend.

[calypso707]

Heroes

Grey Warden, the Hero of Fereldan Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste and Rook, who will be next

Part of the promo materials I did for “The Coming Storm” by Lunavis. They turned out even more stylish, than I anticipated.

[calypso707]

aesthetistt

[calypso707]

OK OK I’M LATE BUT…

i just watched Arcane (well, i’m always late so……) and i am completely obsessed

and even though i don’t know league of legends at all, i really loved it and i am still amazed by the quality of the animation! (if you have any recommendations to discover the universe of league of legends without playing the game..)

it’s really refreshing to watch a series like this

each shot is impressive, we see the artists’s love behind it, love the characters (jinx and vi love love) and the soundtrack as well

can’t wait for season 2 in november!

let’s face it, when i saw vi for the first time, i questioned my sexuality, i mean……..

[calypso707]

Hey hey could I maybe request gn!Changeling Tav? I was so disappointed I couldn’t play one in the game lololol

I think it's a good idea, I was inspired by the mirror scene with Astarion when I wrote it! Enjoy! ♥♥

OS - Astarion x Gn changeling reader : I see you.

You were a changeling, a very rare creature, of which there were very few in all of Faêrun. The few that survived became monsters or were used against their will as cunning spies, political envoys or assassins. Your past had constantly been punctuated by abuse, manipulation, torture and experiments of all kinds. You had done things that still haunt you today, under the yoke of evil masters. Until you were kidnapped by mind flayers during one of your missions. These creatures had used you and implanted a tadpole in your brain so that you could become one of them.

Luck was never on your side. That's what you thought until the Githyanki warriors attacked the ship you were on. You had miraculously survived the crash of their nautiloid, you hadn't yet turned into a purple being full of tentacles and you had made some very strange allies. In the end, now that you think about it, everything that had happened to you wasn't so bad - you'd been able to escape your twisted past. Of course, there were a few drawbacks, such as the friend who had made your brain his cosy nest and the fact that you were constantly in danger. But you preferred this new life, surrounded by loyal allies.

At first, they were sceptical about the idea of having a shapeshifter around, but your ability had proved very useful on several occasions. You were able to use it to manipulate and trick your enemies, something you knew how to do so well. But there was no point in fooling yourself, your past was going to catch up with you, one way or another. Either way, you didn't want to think about it now. You wanted some peace. You took a few minutes to wash yourself in the river, to get rid of the smell of blood and goblins that was sticking to your skin. You sat by the campfire to warm up, as the night air was particularly cool this evening. You continued to blot your hair with a clean cloth, your gaze lost in the ballet of flames before your eyes. It was quite late, and everyone had gone back to their usual activities: Shadowheart was meditating, Lae'zel was sharpening her blade to better slice through her enemies, Wyll was enjoying a fine wine, Gayle was practising his magic, and Karlach was lying on her straw mattress admiring the stars.

Your gaze lingered on Scratch, who was running around the camp with a bone in his mouth. You smiled at the animal's carefree attitude: he had lost his master but had found another home, and he seemed to enjoy it. He walked past Astarion's tent who was standing with his back to you, you could just see that he had a mirror in his hand. It was the first time you'd seen him with anything other than an old manuscript in his hands. A special bond had developed between you thanks to a common thread: your crooked past. You hadn't told him very much about your life before though. You were similar, two beings broken by their master. The only difference between you was perhaps his appetite for blood. You finally got up and approached him, curiously.

"Are you looking at something?" questioned the vampire.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Another disadvantage of my condition, the lack of reflection."

"Do you miss it? Seeing your face?" you questioned. And what a question, of course he must miss it. You were about to add something but Astarion answered anyway.

"Do I miss looking at my reflection out of sheer vanity? Of course I miss it. I haven't seen my new face since my eyes turned red and I grew fangs."

"What colour were they before?" you asked.

"I.. I don't know. I can't remember. My face is just a dark shape in my past now. Another thing I've lost." He spat before throwing the mirror to the ground, shattering it.

When the object hit the floor, you flinched slightly. You felt guilty for having brought back painful memories. You wanted to make up for it. You looked at him for a long time, squinted your eyes and took a step towards him. You learnt the contours of his ivory face by heart, the smallest detail to engrave it forever in your memory. You scrutinised his carmine eyes, which had the power to pierce any being, the slight wrinkles in the corners of his eyes that became more obvious when he smiled, laughed or got angry. His light hair that fell gracefully around his pointed ears, in pretty curls. His lips, slightly pink, on which you had placed countless kisses.

"What?" said Astarion, not understanding why you were watching him like that.

"I see you." you replied, looking at him.

"And tell me, what exactly do you see?"

"I'll show you," you said simply. "Close your eyes"

"What?"

"Shut up and close your eyes," you sighed.

Astarion looked at you, hesitant at first before finally closing his eyes. You didn't like it when your companions watched you transform, because it wasn't pleasant to watch in the first place, and on top of that, it was painful for you to change shape. You could feel your bones growing, your skin stretching, you could feel all the changes taking place in your body. But you were prepared to endure this discomfort to give Astarion comfort. And so you took on his appearance. You finally cleared your throat to get the vampire's attention, and he finally opened his eyes. He seemed surprised at first, deeply surprised and disturbed by what he had in front of him. His exact copy. He was so confused that he didn't know how to react.

"It's… Is it me?" said the former magistrate at last. "Is that what you see, every day?"

"Yes."

Astarion was examining you meticulously and he finally approached you, examining every detail of your face. Or rather his face. You could see the pain in his eyes, but also the gratitude. He was recapturing something he'd lost two centuries ago, seeing himself again for the first time. You could feel that your power was going to dissipate very soon due to fatigue, but you wanted to try and hold on. For his sake. He deserved it. He raised his hand to touch the white curls on your head but finally pulled back after a few long seconds and turned his head away, looking… So vulnerable. You shook your head to dispel your power and resume your appearance, and you came to regret your action.

"I'm sorry. That was inappropriate, maybe I shouldn't have…"

"No, no. It was a nice gift you gave me," Astarion said finally. "It simply reminded me of what I really am, a miserable spawn."

You could hear the pain in his voice and you moved closer, grabbing his face between your hands so that he would look at you, which he finally did. He wasn't a miserable spawn, he was a prisoner of his twisted past, he was still suffering from the abuses he had experienced, but he was more than just a spawn. He was an ally, a friend, a lover, and you wanted to cherish and spoil him until your heart stopped beating. You wanted him to see himself as you saw him.

"You are much more than what Cazador made you. You don't have to pay the price for your past, you're free now." you say, without taking your eyes off him. "You are Astarion, amateur of art, literature and old brandy. You are quick-witted, mischievous and impertinent, eloquent and incredibly charming. All these things define you more than your red eyes and fangs. And I'd like you to know how grateful I am to have you by my side."

Astarion looked at you, astonished by your words. He had let his guard down, in front of you, once again. He had allowed himself to do it, and every time you saw him like that, so vulnerable, your heart was writhing in your chest with pain. He was good at hiding his feelings, but with you he showed himself as he really was. A deeply broken soul trying to forget the weight of his past. The vampire wrapped his hand around your wrist, smiling slightly.

"I think I can live without mirrors. Besides, seeing yourself through someone else's eyes isn't so bad." replied Astarion. "Seeing myself through your eyes is enough for me"

_______________________________________________

Thank you for reading it, feel free to check out my other writings on Astarion! ♥︎♥︎

Astarion x gn reader : On your skin (pt 1)

Astarion x gn reader : A thousand thanks

Astarion x gn reader : No place for love

Fic : Astarion x Fem! bard Tav : Fruit of the Poisonned Tree

[calypso707]

Hey hey could I maybe request gn!Changeling Tav? I was so disappointed I couldn’t play one in the game lololol

I think it's a good idea, I was inspired by the mirror scene with Astarion when I wrote it! Enjoy! ♥♥

OS - Astarion x Gn changeling reader : I see you.

You were a changeling, a very rare creature, of which there were very few in all of Faêrun. The few that survived became monsters or were used against their will as cunning spies, political envoys or assassins. Your past had constantly been punctuated by abuse, manipulation, torture and experiments of all kinds. You had done things that still haunt you today, under the yoke of evil masters. Until you were kidnapped by mind flayers during one of your missions. These creatures had used you and implanted a tadpole in your brain so that you could become one of them.

Luck was never on your side. That's what you thought until the Githyanki warriors attacked the ship you were on. You had miraculously survived the crash of their nautiloid, you hadn't yet turned into a purple being full of tentacles and you had made some very strange allies. In the end, now that you think about it, everything that had happened to you wasn't so bad - you'd been able to escape your twisted past. Of course, there were a few drawbacks, such as the friend who had made your brain his cosy nest and the fact that you were constantly in danger. But you preferred this new life, surrounded by loyal allies.

At first, they were sceptical about the idea of having a shapeshifter around, but your ability had proved very useful on several occasions. You were able to use it to manipulate and trick your enemies, something you knew how to do so well. But there was no point in fooling yourself, your past was going to catch up with you, one way or another. Either way, you didn't want to think about it now. You wanted some peace. You took a few minutes to wash yourself in the river, to get rid of the smell of blood and goblins that was sticking to your skin. You sat by the campfire to warm up, as the night air was particularly cool this evening. You continued to blot your hair with a clean cloth, your gaze lost in the ballet of flames before your eyes. It was quite late, and everyone had gone back to their usual activities: Shadowheart was meditating, Lae'zel was sharpening her blade to better slice through her enemies, Wyll was enjoying a fine wine, Gayle was practising his magic, and Karlach was lying on her straw mattress admiring the stars.

Your gaze lingered on Scratch, who was running around the camp with a bone in his mouth. You smiled at the animal's carefree attitude: he had lost his master but had found another home, and he seemed to enjoy it. He walked past Astarion's tent who was standing with his back to you, you could just see that he had a mirror in his hand. It was the first time you'd seen him with anything other than an old manuscript in his hands. A special bond had developed between you thanks to a common thread: your crooked past. You hadn't told him very much about your life before though. You were similar, two beings broken by their master. The only difference between you was perhaps his appetite for blood. You finally got up and approached him, curiously.

"Are you looking at something?" questioned the vampire.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Another disadvantage of my condition, the lack of reflection."

"Do you miss it? Seeing your face?" you questioned. And what a question, of course he must miss it. You were about to add something but Astarion answered anyway.

"Do I miss looking at my reflection out of sheer vanity? Of course I miss it. I haven't seen my new face since my eyes turned red and I grew fangs."

"What colour were they before?" you asked.

"I.. I don't know. I can't remember. My face is just a dark shape in my past now. Another thing I've lost." He spat before throwing the mirror to the ground, shattering it.

When the object hit the floor, you flinched slightly. You felt guilty for having brought back painful memories. You wanted to make up for it. You looked at him for a long time, squinted your eyes and took a step towards him. You learnt the contours of his ivory face by heart, the smallest detail to engrave it forever in your memory. You scrutinised his carmine eyes, which had the power to pierce any being, the slight wrinkles in the corners of his eyes that became more obvious when he smiled, laughed or got angry. His light hair that fell gracefully around his pointed ears, in pretty curls. His lips, slightly pink, on which you had placed countless kisses.

"What?" said Astarion, not understanding why you were watching him like that.

"I see you." you replied, looking at him.

"And tell me, what exactly do you see?"

"I'll show you," you said simply. "Close your eyes"

"What?"

"Shut up and close your eyes," you sighed.

Astarion looked at you, hesitant at first before finally closing his eyes. You didn't like it when your companions watched you transform, because it wasn't pleasant to watch in the first place, and on top of that, it was painful for you to change shape. You could feel your bones growing, your skin stretching, you could feel all the changes taking place in your body. But you were prepared to endure this discomfort to give Astarion comfort. And so you took on his appearance. You finally cleared your throat to get the vampire's attention, and he finally opened his eyes. He seemed surprised at first, deeply surprised and disturbed by what he had in front of him. His exact copy. He was so confused that he didn't know how to react.

"It's… Is it me?" said the former magistrate at last. "Is that what you see, every day?"

"Yes."

Astarion was examining you meticulously and he finally approached you, examining every detail of your face. Or rather his face. You could see the pain in his eyes, but also the gratitude. He was recapturing something he'd lost two centuries ago, seeing himself again for the first time. You could feel that your power was going to dissipate very soon due to fatigue, but you wanted to try and hold on. For his sake. He deserved it. He raised his hand to touch the white curls on your head but finally pulled back after a few long seconds and turned his head away, looking… So vulnerable. You shook your head to dispel your power and regain your appearance, and you came to regret your action.

"I'm sorry. That was inappropriate, maybe I shouldn't have…"

"No, no. It was a nice gift you gave me," Astarion said finally. "It simply reminded me of what I really am, a miserable spawn."

You could hear the pain in his voice and you moved closer, grabbing his face between your hands so that he would look at you, which he finally did. He wasn't a miserable spawn, he was a prisoner of his twisted past, he was still suffering from the abuses he had experienced, but he was more than just a spawn. He was an ally, a friend, a lover, and you wanted to cherish and spoil him until your heart stopped beating. You wanted him to see himself as you saw him.

"You are much more than what Cazador made you. You don't have to pay the price for your past, you're free now." you say, without taking your eyes off him. "You are Astarion, amateur of art, literature and old brandy. You are quick-witted, mischievous and impertinent, eloquent and incredibly charming. All these things define you more than your red eyes and fangs. And I'd like you to know how grateful I am to have you by my side."

Astarion looked at you, astonished by your words. He had let his guard down, in front of you, once again. He had allowed himself to do it, and every time you saw him like that, so vulnerable, your heart was writhing in your chest with pain. He was good at hiding his feelings, but with you he showed himself as he really was. A deeply broken soul trying to forget the weight of his past. The vampire wrapped his hand around your wrist, smiling slightly.

"I think I can live without mirrors. Besides, seeing yourself through someone else's eyes isn't so bad." replied Astarion. "Seeing myself through your eyes is enough for me"

_______________________________________________

Thank you for reading it, feel free to check out my other writings on Astarion! ♥︎♥︎

Astarion x gn reader : On your skin (pt 1)

Astarion x gn reader : A thousand thanks

Astarion x gn reader : No place for love

Fic : Astarion x Fem! bard Tav : Fruit of the Poisonned Tree

[calypso707]

kinda like his huge titt- arms

have a good day!

request here!

[calypso707]

I’M NOT CRYING OK, YOU ARE!!!

breaks my heart every time, he deserves the world, love him so much

[calypso707]

my desire to write dark urge x astarion keeps growing day by day..

what if..