#Born Free Treks

[muiromem]

Kathryn Janeway - "The Fates"

The Moirai of Greek myth. The youngest, Clotho - the spinner who controlled life, choosing when a person was born and weaving their thread of existence. The middle one, Lachesis - the allotter who measured out the length of this thread and decided a person's destiny. And the eldest, Atropos - she who was inevitable that ended a mortal's life, cutting the thread and choosing the manner of their death.

[elizabethsproctor]

then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, “though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” i said, “art sure no craven,"

chapter ii

Davos Blackwood x Bracken OC Davos is the eldest son of Lord Samwell of House Blackwood and the scourge of all the knights and squires of House Bracken. Though he thinks himself a knight and concerned with duty and honor, he spends most of his free time with his own squires, tormenting all the Brackens that they happen upon. Celeste Feathers is the bastard daughter born of Amos Bracken and a Summer Isle whore. At the chance of a higher dowry for her daughter, the baby was sent to live with her father in the wet and windy Riverlands until a husband was chosen for her. Though the two had a chance encounter as children, they have only heard stories about each other in the meantime until one fateful day near the boundary line in the forest. wc: 7.4k/11.5k chapter: 2/?

tw: nsfw (sex!), mentions of sa

It took Celeste the night, and the next night, day, and day after that to get her thoughts clear. She could still feel Davos's body on hers, and she wondered if anyone could see the scourge of her betrayal on her face, on her wrists where he had grabbed her. She had considered that, by day two, everything coercing her thoughts into horrible actions was fueled by lust but on the day that she was meant to meet him, she started to consider that she really wanted to see him. And he her. He had agreed, and she had made no promise of what would happen, but she was excited. Celeste was determined that she would stand her ground and say a million and one things that the boy would have no rebuttal to, or maybe they would talk about history or... perhaps he wouldn't even show. She shook her head. That wasn't an option.

She was overwhelmed with the thought that he was across the river, waiting for her and thinking of her. Her annoying and conceited enemy, likely stroking himself to her insults. It was enough to giggle about, but she maintained her composure. Celeste knew it was wrong for multiple reasons: she wasn't meant to venture from the castle by herself nor was she meant to fraternize at all unless her maidenhood be called into question. Especially not with a Blackwood. But he had been oddly gentle with her... as if she was someone that he could take care of. 

Celeste had always thought that the two houses could find their way out of war, and she surmised that maybe, in his youthful pliability, she could get Davos to hear her side. 

Though she had set the time aside to think, her thoughts had not settled on one single opinion. She had promised to meet him however, and her word was her bond. 

After supper on the second night, Celeste trekked into the forest, trying to find the same spot that she had met Davos before. It was around a fifteen minute walk, and she was sure that she had overshot it before she caught a glimpse of the boy's red cloak. Scoping the scene before she let a branch crunch beneath her weight, she approached him silently, her hand behind her back. 

"I brought you a gift. A peace offering."

Davos had spent the past two nights eagerly anticipating her arrival. He had tried to occupy himself with training, drinking and whoring to pass the time, but every hour of the night, his mind would flit back to the image of her, pressed up against the tree, her body writhing against his. 

When she finally crept out of the woods, he felt his heart begin to thump faster in his chest. But, he hid his excitement behind a cocky grin as he watched her approach.

"A gift, eh?" He mused, raising an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

She removed her hand from behind her back to reveal a linen, a pastry inside with a berry and cheese custard. A desert that she had taken before the remains returned to the kitchen for the servants. 

"Dessert," Celeste said. "My gift for granting me safe travels when last we saw each other. I know asking you to refrain from debauchery comes at a cost, sweet Lord." 

She handed the linen and pastry over to Davos and took a few steps back. "You can keep the linen. It's one of the few without my house's sigil knitted into its fabric."

Davos chuckled softly as he accepted the gift from her, holding it delicately in his hands. 

"Safe travels?" He echoed with a smirk. "I suppose that's one way of putting it. I was rather tempted to have my way with you, right there against the tree."

He looked down at the package, his grin widening when he saw that it was a pastry. He wasn't one for sweets usually, but something about the fact that it was a gift from her made it more enticing.

"I guess you do truly like me."

"It could be poisoned," she said quickly with a shrug, her cloak flowing in the wind.

Davos chuckled again as she shrugged and mentioned the possibility of the pastry being poisoned. He raised his eyes to meet hers, his smirk unwavering.

"I doubt you would go through all this trouble just to kill me, little vixen." He said, holding the pastry up for a moment. "Besides, I'd rather risk some poison if it means a chance to lick your berry custard from my lips."

Celeste frowned and rolled her eyes, briefly reminded that Davos was just a boy and his jokes were senseless. "It's hard to imagine that you're highborn and educated when you speak like an Iron Islands jailer... give it a taste, why don't you?" She pointed to the pastry in his hands.

As she frowned and rolled her eyes, Davos couldn't help but grin wider. He enjoyed getting a rise out of her, watching her try and maintain her composure beneath that cold exterior. 

"Iron Islands jailer?" He repeated, his smirk turning into a sly smirk. "Is that supposed to be an insult?"

He looked down at the pastry again, holding it up towards his mouth.

"I don't know... what if it is poisoned and you just want to watch me die from it, all because I won't... what was the phrase.. refrain from debauchery."

"We can have it together," Celeste suggested, walking towards Davos and placing her hands within his. She tore a corner off the dessert and placed it into her mouth, never breaking eye contact from him. 

"It's worthy of you. I've built up a resistance to the poison within the berries, but you should be fine. A bout of dysentery is usually all that men will suffer," she smiled, a bit of berry staining her teeth before she licked them and smiled, nodding at the dessert, insisting he try it once more.

Davos raised an eyebrow at her suggestion, watching her as she approached him and placed her hands atop his. The feel of her skin against his sent a shiver down his spine, and he found himself holding his breath for a moment.

When she leaned in and tore off a corner of the pastry, he watched with a mixture of fascination and trepidation as she put it into her mouth. Her words about the berry's potential poisoning made him hesitate for a moment, but the sight of her stain her teeth in berry juice pushed him over the edge.

"Well, if you say so," he murmured.

She grasped his hands again and moved them slowly, still holding the dessert, to his mouth until the pastry grazed his lips and he had hardly no other decision than to bite into it. 

"This is the part where you bite, puppy."

As her slender fingers guided his hands towards his mouth, Davos felt a stirring in his chest. He couldn't tell if it was excitement or trepidation, but he found himself unable to tear his gaze from hers as she moved his hands closer and closer to his mouth.

When the pastry finally made contact with his lips, he couldn't help but grin at her comment. "Puppy, eh?" He murmured before taking a bite.

The taste of berry custard flooded his mouth, and he chewed slowly, savoring the flavor before swallowing.

"Was that so bad?" Celeste asked, stepping away after she'd lowered her hands from the boy's. 

She returned to her former spot, a higher vantage point in the wood, above a dry ravine. She sat on the ground, her knees close to her chest as she looked up at the young man, the evening sun playing on his hair as the trees shimmied above them. 

"Must I anticipate an ambush or did you come here alone?"

Davos watched as she stepped away, taking her place on the edge of the ravine. The sight of her, knelt down, her knees drawn up to her chest, was almost enough to send his thoughts spiraling in all kinds of directions. He cleared his throat and shook his head, reminding himself to concentrate.

"No ambush, little vixen," he replied, his eyes never leaving her. "I came alone, just as you asked."

Celeste began again: "I asked you for nothing other than to join me once more," she said emphatically. "Which you did. Why?"

Davos chuckled as she corrected him, his smirk returning to his face. "Fair enough, you didn't ask for anything else. But I came, didn't I?"

He stepped closer to the edge of the ravine, looking down at her. "As to why I came, well... I suppose I had to see you again. There was a debt to be settled between us, remember?"

She furrowed her eyebrows as she looked up at him. "I owe you nothing. You know that."

He chuckled again, his smirk growing wider. "Oh, but you do, little vixen. You owe me for my good behavior that day. If I hadn't been on my best behavior, you might have ended up with a few... bruises."

Grinding her teeth, Celeste looked over her shoulders and at the tree she had, not long before, been pinned against. She wasn't sure if sorrow became or irritation, but she knew she wouldn't let him put her in that position again. She had come willingly.

"I wonder," she said, hoping he would implore her on what was on her mind.

He noticed the way her gaze flitted towards the tree, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. A sly smile crept across his face, and he decided to indulge her.

"Wonder what, sweetling?” He asked, taking a step closer to her. “Do you wonder what might have happened if I wasn't so good to you? What I might have done to you if I had just let myself take what I wanted?"

"No," Celeste shook her head, leaning back onto her elbows, making sure to convey to him that she was not afraid and did not have to guard herself.

Before she spoke, she wished away the migraine that was moving behind her eyes. He was startlingly full of himself.

"I wonder: are you so often rejected by the maids that you think the only way to bed a woman is to force her hand?"

Celeste sucked her teeth, as if to spit on him if he lunged at her. She had built him up in her thoughts during his absence, but she saw him for what he was. A criminal with a title.

"You told me that I was the one that no one wanted. Are we here again to revel like two damaged dolls thrown into the trash?"

As she spoke, Davos felt his smirk falter for a moment. Her words were like a punch to the gut, hitting him right where it hurt. He had never really thought of himself as being rejected when it came to the maids - he had always seen it as just... a game, a challenge. But her words brought him up short. Was it really true? Did he really have to resort to force because he couldn't win a maiden's affections?

He shook his head adamantly. "That's not true," he protested. "I could have any woman I wanted, whenever I wanted."

"Perhaps that's true, and perhaps the most fun part of it for the maidens is to act as if they don't want it. To act like they don't enjoy being pressed against a surface by someone much stronger than them while they fight against them and beg them to stop because the maidens know that without their dignity, their virginity intact, they're worthless, but deep down, they really want it, and they're hoping someone like Lord Davos Blackwood comes and takes it from them, ruining them for all other men," she said this all in flaming spite before jumping, taller than a man because of her place on the ravine.

Davos felt a pang of something deep in his chest as he listened to her words, her voice dripping with spite. He couldn't quite place what it was - anger, perhaps, or defiance - but he didn't like the feeling.

He clenched his fists by his side as he looked up at her, his mouth set in a hard line. "You don't know anything about women," he shot back, his tone harsh. "Or about me. I don't need to force myself on women. They come to me willingly."

"You don't force yourself? That's rich. What was two nights ago? Or your threats to hurt me today? Just for fun? Just a game?"

Stepping closer to him so that the sun would be hidden behind her, she began her diatribe. Possibly an attack on all knights, or maybe simply Davos, but he had made her sick to her stomach. Had they not shared a glint of something special the night before? She shook her head with deep scorn.

"You're small and not worthy of my time. Or a Lord's high seat. More than this, I don't think you would be able to handle a woman seeing you for how pathetic you truly are, so you debase her first. You're a bully and bad at it, Davos."

As she stepped forward and began her tirade, Davos felt a surge of anger and frustration coursing through him. He clenched his fists tighter and gritted his teeth, his body tensing as she continued to pour out her venom.

Her words stung deep, and he felt his pride and honor being trampled under her feet. He didn't like being called weak, especially by her. He wanted to reach out and shake her, to knock her off her high horse and show her who was really in charge.

"You don't know me," he snapped back. "You don't know anything about me."

Celeste moved close enough to the boy that her cloak lapped at his own in the wind. She squatted down, nearly at eye level with him, though a little lower. "Do you have your wicked way with women, Davos, or was I special? Is the future Lord Blackwood just a petty criminal taking what isn't his?"

As she moved closer, Davos could feel the heat radiating off her body, her cloak mingling with his own in the cool evening air. He clenched his jaw as she squatted down, their heads now at eye level with each other. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as she uttered her words, her voice dripping with scorn.

He wanted to lash out at her, to grab her and shake some sense into her, but he knew better. He couldn't let her see how her words were cutting into him.

"You're not special," he snarled, his voice low.

Celeste smiled, her heart sinking in her chest. "No, I didn't think so," she said, standing slowly and wiping her hands off on the tights beneath her tunic. She turned to walk away.

Davos felt a pang of guilt as he watched her turn away from him. He felt as though he had said too much, lost control of the situation. He took a step forward, almost involuntarily, as if to reach out and stop her.

"Wait." The words came out before he had fully thought them through, and he cursed himself for sounding so desperate.

Celeste stopped walking but did not turn around to face him. She had no desire to-- if he wanted to say anything, now was his chance, or she would leave with a worse taste in her mouth than she'd had before.

Davos took a deep breath, trying to calm the raging storm of emotions within him. He knew he had to say something, anything, to make her stay, to repair the damage that had been done.

He stepped closer to her, until he was standing directly behind her. He could feel her body tensing, as if she was prepared to bolt. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, gently, almost hesitantly.

"I didn't mean it," he said softly. "You are special. I was just... being a fool."

She turned her head ninety degrees, making note of Davos in her peripheral and sighed. "Being the member of a great house is a heavy burden, Davos. We cannot continue to squander what we've been given just as our fathers and our fathers before them. These small, petty things diminish us.. our character. I want to live in peace eventually... you can't go around hurting your lieges. Those women have fathers and brothers who fight for you and are willing to die for you," she finally turned to face him entirely. "The repayment you give them is poor."

Davos felt a pang of shame as she spoke, her words hitting him like a blow to the gut. He knew she was right, and it pained him to admit it. He was the eldest son, the future lord of his house, and he couldn't just go around acting rashly, like a spoiled child.

He swallowed hard, his eyes meeting hers as she turned to face him fully. He could see the disappointment in her eyes, and it stung him more than he cared to admit.

"I know," he said quietly. "I know. I just... I can't help myself sometimes."

"Then you're impetuous like a child," Celeste said with a shrug. "What can be done with you? Mad dogs have their necks broken," she said, tilting her head.

Davos gritted his teeth at her words, his pride smarting at her description of him as an impetuous child. He wanted to argue, to defend himself against her accusation, but he knew that she was right.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to keep his temper in check. He knew that he couldn't let her see how much her words were affecting him.

"I'm not a mad dog," he ground out, his voice low and dangerous.

"Then you must do better for yourself and for the people that serve you," she wrung her hands and stepped away from him again, but only to size him up. For the first time, she was no longer scared of him. "I had no misgivings about your tendencies, I knew you were a villain, but I had thought before that perhaps we were kindred spirits which was folly in and of itself. You are my sworn enemy, but for a second when we last spoke and you told me about what you had heard about me in passing," Celeste looked away wistfully. "I was mistaken, I'm afraid. We shouldn't have met again."

Davos felt a pang of disappointment as she stepped away from him, her eyes studying him as if he was some sort of exhibit in a cage. He wanted to reach out and grab her, to hold her close and make her see that he wasn't the heartless brute she thought he was.

Her words about kindred spirits struck a chord in him, and the memory of their last conversation came rushing back. He remembered how vulnerable they had been with each other for a mere moment. He did not want to let the fear that he would never have that again begin to grow in his chest.

"I'm not your enemy," he blurted out, his voice desperate.

Looking at the linen still in the young man's hand, Celeste frowned and shrugged. "I cannot tell east from west with you, Davos. What do we do here now? We are not enemies, but I cannot call us friends, and I fear the treatment you'd give me as a maid. Perhaps there is nothing for us."

Davos looked down at the linen in his hand, his mind racing as he tried to think of a response to her words. She was right, he knew that. They were not enemies, but they were certainly not friends either.

He clenched his jaw, his pride telling him to just let her go, to forget about this whole encounter. But there was something inside him that wouldn't let her leave, something that wanted to hold on to the chance that she might change her mind about him.

"We could... be friends," he said finally, the words coming out weakly.

Celeste sighed, calming her cloak in the wind. "Can I trust you?"

Davos felt a pang of guilt at her question. He knew he had not earned her trust, not in any sense of the word. But for some reason, the thought of her not trusting him made his stomach twist into knots. He wanted her trust, more than he cared to admit.

"Yes," he said firmly, looking at her with a serious expression. "Yes, you can trust me. I won't hurt you. I swear it."

Celeste took a weary step towards the boy, reaching for his hand to shake, as if to guarantee their truce but the shake became a slow grasping of arms as if it were to become a hug, but she allowed herself to be wrapped up in his arms once more, hugging him tightly as though they had just avoided their greatest battle: losing something so new and fragile so early. She listened to his heart beat.

Davos was surprised when she stepped closer to him, reaching out to take his hand for what he had assumed would be a handshake to seal their truce. But to his even greater surprise, she instead pulled him into an embrace, her arms wrapping tightly around him. He could feel her breath on his neck, her body pressed against his, and he found himself closing his eyes and holding her tightly.

He could feel his heart racing in his chest, the sound deafening in his ears. For a moment, everything else faded away, and all he could focus on was the feeling of her in his arms.

They held each other for a few seconds before Celeste looked up at the young man, her chin in his chest as she looked into his eyes and impatiently and irrationally, she hoped he would kiss her. In a depraved way, she envied the girls he must have taken advantage of, because at least they had had him. She could only imagine what his plump lips would feel like against her own or on parts of her body, and though she tried to push this desire deep down, she couldn't, but was it her fault? He had been the one to ignite her desire.

Davos looked down at Celeste, his eyes meeting hers as she looked up at him with an expression that he couldn't quite read. He could feel her body pressed against his, and he found himself drawn to her, like a moth to a flame.

He could see the desire in her eyes, the way she looked at him, and it stirred something deep inside him. He wanted her, he knew that much. And he couldn't deny the way his own body was reacting to her closeness.

Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned down and brought his lips to hers, in a gentle, exploratory kiss.

It was a contrast to how he had treated her the day before. He held her tightly but kissed her lightly, almost the way one would kiss the forehead of a child to sleep. Perhaps she would ruin it all, the innocence of that pink and blue sunset, and perhaps she was impatient, but Celeste quickly placed her hands on the sides of Davos's face and kissed him deeply, fiercely and with a hunger that was not friendly.

Davos felt a pang of surprise as Celeste suddenly grabbed his face and deepened the kiss, her lips pressing against his with a hunger that he had not been prepared for. He pulled away abruptly and looked the girl up and down, incredulously. 

“Why denounce me then pull me in like some sorceress,’ he pulled his face from the clutch of her hands, his brow dressed in confusion. She was beautiful but he could see the cunning energy behind her eyes and could not stand to be manipulated for even a minute more. “Why come back if you think me a miscreant, Celeste?”

"Your threats felt more like invitations, you don't think?" They had both come back, hadn’t they?

"An invitation, you say? And what kind of invitation would that be?" He pressed himself closer to her. "Perhaps one to play a game of cat and mouse?"

“If you be the mouse, my lord.”

“Today you bite and I run, you take it?”

They stared at each other for a few seconds before he let go of her gently and took a step back, extending his hand towards her. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing towards a deeper part of the forest. 

She wasn't sure why she did it, but she did. Celeste took the boy's hand and followed after his long strides. He was a villain, a menace, an enemy to her house, but at times he could seem quite gentle. She was coy, acting oblivious to what could happen but followed after him quickly as they retreated further into the woods, past the spot she was familiar with.

They came to a clearing and Davos turned back to her, pulling her closer to him, his body pressing against hers as he tasted her, his tongue exploring her mouth as if he was trying to memorize every inch of her. He could feel the heat radiating between them, a fire that threatened to consume them both.

His hands cupped her face, as he spoke between feverish kisses: "I had every right to you, Celeste. You were on my family's land, and I was merely protecting what is mine, but I did not come here to argue with you today about propriety or dignity," he said, his voice growing softer.

“Then what,’ she began, flushed. “Surely you did not think I would give so easily,’ but this was in contrast to what her hands were doing. She had begun to undo her cloak and release her hair from her braids. “Such as a common whore.”

“A common whore,’ the boy laughed, taking a step back from the young woman as her cloak dropped to her feet. “You’ve acted as one. Running around the woods with no knights to protect you, then you talk about honor. No respectable lady would have been here in the first place, and even a first class whore wouldn't have come back after being shown the danger of it,’ he sighed with a chuckle before beginning to undo his own cloak and casting it on the ground for the two to lay upon.

“You say this in jest,’ Celeste muttered, half-serious and half-offended.

“Of course,’ Davos said, sympathetically, remembering that the viper, herself, was capable of offense. He crossed his arms, still feeling the pressure of her lips on his. “I do believe you want this, Celeste. I will make it gentle for you.”

She bit her lips in trepidation, unsure of what to do as her heart raced. 

"Help me," she asked, placing his hands on the strings of the back of her gown, a thin corset that he could undo quicker than her.

Davos felt a pang of excitement as he realized what she was asking him to do. He gently placed his hands on the strings of the back of her gown, his fingers working quickly to undo them as she had requested.

He could feel the heat radiating off her body, and his own heart was pounding in his chest as he pulled the strings loose, the fabric of her gown loosening around her body. He couldn't help but let out a soft, appreciative noise as he saw the bare skin beneath the fabric.

As he removed his hands from her back, Celeste looked down as the dress fell down around her feet atop the cloak. She still had on a thin undergarment, but beneath that, she was naked. The boy knelt down, his face resting on her torso as he undid the less of her tights and pulled them down roughly but without injury, as one would do having not practiced decorum before.

Celeste knelt down in front of him, a quiet wind whistling through the forest. She didn't know where things would go from there, but something in her wanted to show Davos what it felt like to be wanted, and she did want him. She thought that he must have wanted her to, the way his eyes searched her body. 

He couldn't help but stare at her, his eyes taking in every inch of her, the curve of her hips, the gentle slope of her neck, the heat radiating between them. He ached to touch her, to run his hands over her skin and feel the softness beneath his fingers.

"I'm not sure now," she said, placing her hands on his arms. Her nipples hardened in the chilling air, and she knew she didn't have much time to spend with him. "I've never done this before."

Davos felt a pang of realization when she spoke, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes, and it dawned on him that this was uncharted territory for her.

Falling back into his thighs, he put his hands on his waist and allowed his eyes to meet hers once again. He wanted to take care of her. "It's okay," he said softly, his voice low. "I won't hurt you."

Celeste bit her lip and nodded, holding onto him tightly as they kissed again, his hands trailing over her body before they slipped underneath her garment and landed around her round butt. He made small circles with his hands around each perfectly crafted cheek. After a few seconds, one of his hands slipped forward, caressing the outer lips of her precious spot. He felt her shiver underneath him. Pulling away from the kiss, he searched her eyes.

“Have you never been touched?”

Celeste shook her head. Davos moved his hand to his mouth, licking his fingers generously before touching her again, this time from in front, allowing his fingers to slide past her lips and onto her ripening pearl. Her hands were on his shoulders, and he felt her tense up when he touched her. They stared at each other in silence before the boy began to make generous circles around her sensitive spot to which she whimpered.

“Do you like that?”

The girl nodded shyly. Davos used his other hand to touch her chest before moving his hand to her neck, feeling the warmth grow as her entire body blushed. He returned to a position erect on his knees. Slowly, he pulled her undergarment over her head, revealing her smooth skin and soft body. Only her boots remained, but they would stay, it would take too much time to remove them.

“You’re beautiful,’ he murmured, his eyes taking in every inch of her body. He began to kiss her neck, his hands roaming over her curves before he moved to lay her down on the cloak. He kissed her ear and whispered abruptly: “You’re being very brave.”

Celeste rolled her eyes and smiled, before a sudden feeling of vulnerability washed over her. She hadn't expected to give in so easily, but she could not clear her thoughts. He was right. Why was she there if it wasn't because she wanted to feel his hands once more upon her body and his gentle weight atop hers.

Davos could sense her hesitation, but he was determined to make her feel comfortable. He leaned down to kiss her again, his hand moving to cup her breast as he did so. "Relax," he whispered against her lips. "I won't hurt you."

He trailed kisses down her neck and chest, taking his time to explore every inch of her body. He moved his hand down between her legs, teasing her gently with his fingers.

Celeste felt Davos's hands between her legs, a rush of electricity going up her back. The feeling was new to her, and the sudden wave of pleasure made her frown in embarrassment, her entire body growing red.

"Yes," she whispered, almost shrinking into herself as his fingers circled her clit before they made entrance to her moistening hole. Celeste clenched tightly, still unsure of the new sensation and suddenly disappointed that she had waited so long to be pleasured. She broke eye contact with the boy, her eyes rolling backwards.

Davos could sense her embarrassment, but he didn't want her to feel ashamed. He continued to tease her with his fingers, moving them in and out of her slowly as he watched her reaction. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his lips brushing against hers.

He continued to pleasure her until she was gasping for breath, her body writhing beneath him. He leaned down to kiss her again, his hand still moving between her legs. "Do you want more?" he asked softly, his eyes searching hers.

Celeste kissed the boy back, bringing his bottom lip into her mouth and sucking gently as she allowed her arms to move around him, pulling him closer. She had never been this close with anyone before in her life, and a sense of trust washed over her. She stopped for a second, a burning in her chest and wondered how many other women must he have bedded, deflowered? She couldn't reconcile her fear with her lust and dramatically exhaled, pulling away from the kiss, her head flopping on the ground as she searched his lustful eyes. He asked her a question.

"What do you mean?"

She felt the girl pull away from their kiss, and he dropped his head into the nape of her neck, slightly annoyed but patient. She seemed to be done with his fingers inside her, but when he moved them back to her throbbing clit, he quickly felt her body twitch and knew she was still in the mood for... something.

She moaned out a question and he looked her over, her breasts, then her soft belly and the uncut down above her womanly parts. Truly a woman, in all senses of the word.

He moved his hand from her wet parts and picked her hand up to place atop of his growing bulge, lifting his head to make eye contact with her. 

"Do you want to feel it, my lady?"

Celeste's hands pandered with trepidation over the boy's bulge, unsure of what the correct answer was. She bit her lower lip and nodded, retracting her hand slowly as she saw him begin to remove his belt.

Davos watched Celeste's reaction with a small smile as she hesitantly touched his bulge. He leaned in closer to her and whispered in her ear, "Don't be shy." 

He continued to remove his belt and pants, revealing his hard member. He took off his tunic and searched the girl's eyes again before taking Celeste's hand and placing it back on his member, guiding her movements as he moaned softly. Davos then moved his hand to Celeste's waist, pulling her close to him as he kissed her again, deeply and passionately.

As the kiss deepened, Davos began to move his hips, grinding against Celeste's hand as he pleasured himself. He broke the kiss and looked at Celeste with lust-filled eyes. 

"You really haven't done this before, huh?"

Celeste's heart was racing as the two kissed, she could feel the blood pulsing through his cock, and she could only imagine what it would feel like inside of her. He was bigger than she had expected, but after all, what had she expected? She began to feel the boy pushing himself in and out of the grip of her small hand, pleasant moans escaping his lips.

When he broke their kiss, she pulled away in surprise. "No, am I doing something wrong?"

Davos chuckled and shook his head, "No, no. You're fine." He leaned in to kiss her again, his hands roaming over her body as he did. 

As they kissed, Davos moved his hand back down to the girl's wetness, feeling that she was even more soaked than before. He couldn't take it. He broke the kiss again, looking at her with desire in his eyes as he whispered, "I want you. Do you want me too?" 

He waited for her response, his fingers tracing circles on her inner thigh.

"Yes, yes," Celeste nodded, still feeling his stiffened member in her hand.

Davos leaned in to kiss her again, his hand moving back to her wetness. He rubbed her clit with his thumb, eliciting a moan from her lips. He laid back onto the cloak, the girl hovering above him. He grasped at her breasts once more, softly but surely.

"I want you to ride me. It won’t be difficult,’ he led the girl up and onto his hips, rubbing his hand down her side. “I’ll help you, okay?”

His cock was at attention as he watched Celeste straddle him. He guided himself inside of her, groaning as she took him in. He could tell by the look in her eyes that he would have to take her slowly. She placed her hands on his chest and did her best to find a rhythm, but she was a novice, he knew this. Though it was difficult to concentrate with how wet and tight she was, Davos managed to guide the girl's hips up and down his shaft, her soft weight massaging his balls each time she came down on him again. He caught a few glimpses of her mouth, slightly agape each time she felt him reach inside of her, but he could not watch her for long if he wanted to last more than a few minutes. Moving his hands from her hips to her chest, he allowed Celeste to take control again and though her bounces were shallow, he smirked at how quickly she was learning, her beautiful breasts bouncing lightly.

When he began to toy with her nipples, moans began to escape from her lips. Davos squeezed them tightly before massaging them with his fingers, but it wasn’t long before he began to feel himself tense up.

“Go slower,’ he told the girl, and she listened. Instead she ground into him deeper and pulled up slower, the only noise around them being the wet sticky snap from her wetness peeling away from his hard cock. Davos pulled her close to him for a kiss, his arms wrapped completely around her as he began to thrust vigorously, the girl moaning them whimpering pathetically into his mouth. Their movements became more frantic, both of them lost in their desire for each other. Davos let out a low growl as he felt his orgasm building.

With a thrust and groan that had been built up, he felt himself release inside of her, his liquids slowly seeping from her and onto his thigh. Davos sighed, shaking, holding the young woman tightly in his arms. He moved his hands to her hair, massaging her scalp as his heartbeat slowed. From the corner of his eye, he saw her orange cape on the ground and shook his head. He couldn’t believe that only three days ago, he hadn’t even known what her voice sounded like. Now: he had been her first. He felt a sense of pride, but he knew now that things would be different. He would be partial to someone he should have never spoken to.

Davos kissed the girl’s forehead before repositioning himself so that he was spooning her naked body as she lay face down, her eyes closed.

“Are you okay?”

Celeste nodded silently, allowing herself to be caressed by the boy. The birds flew above them. The sun was on the horizon and they hadn't much time.

"When will I see you again?"

He looked down at her as she spoke, his fingers lost in her hair. He knew they didn't have much time left, and he wanted nothing more than to stay there with her removed from all the difficult questions they both had to ask themselves.

"Soon," he said softly. "I'll make sure of it."

Celeste sighed and turned over. She leaned forward quickly, wrapping her arms around her legs. "Of course," she said, rolling her eyes at the vague response. Of course she had been bed, and now she felt as though she would not see the young man again. She grabbed her under garment and tights, standing up to put them on, her back away from the boy.

Davos watched as she stood up and began to dress, her back facing him. He could see the tension in her movements, the way her shoulders were stiff as she pulled on her undergarment and tights.

He felt a pang of guilt, knowing that he had caused her frustration with his vague response. He could see the disappointment on her face, and he knew he had failed to reassure her.

He stood up as well, grabbing his own clothes and beginning to dress.

Celeste put on her gown, not worrying to tie it, as she didn't want to ask for help. She fastened her cloak tightly so that the give in her waist wouldn't be apparent if she were to encounter someone she knew. Searching the ground to ensure none of her belongings remained, she hesitated for a second to see if there was anything left to be said between the two.

Davos finished dressing as well, his eyes on her the whole time. He could see the uncertainty in her movements, and he knew she was hesitating, unsure of what to say or do next.

He took a step towards her, his gaze on hers. He wasn't ready to say goodbye, not yet.

"Celeste," he said softly, his voice hesitant. "Can I ask you something?"

"My lord?" she said, the darkness beginning to settle on their faces, their emotions growing harder to read.

Davos took another step towards her, his eyes on hers in the gathering darkness. He took a deep breath, unsure of how she would react to his question.

"Will you meet me again? Somewhere secret? Somewhere we won't be seen."

Celeste looked around her in shock, she wasn't sure if he could see that emotion, however. "I don't know of a place other than this. It wouldn't be safe...' she pandered. "I would fancy seeing you somewhere other than the shade of the forest. I'm not sure how to make this wish apart of our world though." She frowned.

Davos could hear the hesitation in her voice, and he knew that finding a secret place to meet would not be easy. He thought for a moment, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a solution.

"I have an idea," he said, a hint of excitement in his voice. "There's a secluded spot not far from here. It's hidden away, and no one ever goes there. We could meet there."

"Ah,' Celeste said aloud. "On Blackwood land, I'm sure of it." She shook her head. "Then it's not safe for me."

Davos felt a pang of frustration as she rejected his idea. He knew it wasn't safe for her to be on Blackwood land, but he couldn't help the desperation in his voice.

"It's safe," he said firmly. "I can ensure your safety. No one will see you, no one will know. Just trust me."

The sun was set, a few dying embers in the sky, and Celeste knew she would have to guide herself back by the moon. She was lucky, for once, that they hardly looked for her.

"Where shall I meet you? And when?"

Davos felt a sense of relief wash over him as she agreed to meet him again. He smiled, feeling a wave of excitement at the prospect of seeing her again.

"Tomorrow," he said, his voice low. "At midnight. Meet me at the riverbank, not far from here. Do you know where I mean?"

"I know," she responded. "I will meet you,' Celeste promised, stepping towards Davos in the dark. She could not make out his expression but she saw the shape of his face. On the tips of her toes, she grasped his face once more and gave him a parting kiss. "Bed no other maidens in the meantime, my friend,' she joked before slipping away.

He returned her kiss eagerly, feeling her soft lips against his own before she pulled away. He chuckled at her joke, a hint of a grin on his face.

"There are no maidens other than thee," he shouted into her retreating direction. "I'll be waiting for you, Celeste. Midnight, by the river."

tag list: @shifter-101

[deathbyathousandspiders]

HELL–BOUND. ₁

mcu!peter parker | zombie–apocalypse au. CHAPTER ONE.

IN WHICH you’re the last hope to saving the world from HYDRA’s destructive zombie outbreak.

read chapter two | three | four | five.

✨masterlist.✨

1.9k.

“You were born for this.” The words were tattooed on your existence, handwritten on your destiny. “We made you for this.” And your fate was embroidered with such words, such purpose, even as your footsteps echoed on the ashes of humanity. The last remaining remnants that society existed were crushed beneath your leather boots, and broken along the cracking pavement. 

It had been four weeks since the outbreak. Four weeks since you’d been kidnapped by HYDRA; since you’d been separated from the avengers, since the death of Steve Rogers and since the downfall of America. The rest of the world was slowly catching flame with the fire that HYDRA started, withering away at the mercy of people who were stupid enough to try and fly out to salvation. 

But this virus wasn’t a disease, it was a creation. These infected people weren’t able to be cured, they needed to be stopped. And the only person who could stop it kept trekking on the pavement, white knuckles on a gun and a backpack. 

The fate of the world rested in that backpack, in your brain, in your blood. And you didn’t even give yourself time to process. You'd been running for days.

Natasha’s words still rang through your head like some kind of broken record, a senseless beacon of hope you tried to make some sense of. She’d come to free you, to inform you of the state world currently laid in. “If we get separated, I’ll find you.” She’d used the gravest tone you’d ever heard her muster. “And if you get lost, meet me in Massachusetts.”

You never would’ve thought that she’d be the one to get lost. To sacrifice herself just to get you out, and you knew why. You also knew you’d find her. You had to, needed to, or she’d find you. You’d find each other. Somehow, someway, soon, you'd be reunited. It was only a matter of time. 

But that was a week ago. 

Thank God you made it out, yet you were anything but hopeful. You could tell this was only the beginning. The start of something gut—wrenchingly inhumane. You were nearly out of New York, trekking on foot to Massachusetts like she’d told you to. Driving would put you at too much risk right now, especially when trying to journey alone. This helped you to better navigate your surroundings. 

Hearing the low glottaled groan of an infected, you craned your head in the direction. They were stuck beside a tree, webs restraining them to the trunk and their body deteriorating as the hours passed. The stench of their corpsing complexion alone was lethal. Still, you knew what you had to do. 

Aiming your gun, you kept your distance. Loading, squinting an eye, and firing like HYDRA was right all along: you were born for this. You made a clean shot, putting the victim out of their misery and continuing to trek along the ruins of a road. 

Until you heard a twig snap behind you. 

Your instincts were too fast as you loaded and aimed your gun once again, turning on your heel behind you to find yourself staring at a familiar face. Your eyes widened, lowering your gun only a little. 

“Peter Parker?” It was the first time you’d spoken in days. The words felt wrong on your tongue, and seeing him was something you weren’t sure what to make of. 

He looked older, matured, aged. Aged by the things he had to endure when the world ended; matured by the things he had to do to protect people, to witness the losses he did. He was older, in experience, in life, and in the days he knew were numbered. 

His hands were raised, but his eyes told you that he knew you wouldn’t shoot him. You were classmates, after all. Teammates, Avengers. Something more. You should’ve felt relief to have seen him, and part of you did. But the other part of you drove the actions that led you to put your gun in its holster at your hip and pace towards him. Peter stayed where he was as you slapped him across the face. Your blood boiled with rage. 

And he just let it. 

“This is your fault!” You spat at him, fighting the urges to punch him, to hug him, but even you knew that anger would get you nowhere; even you knew a huge part of you was undeniably grateful to see him alive. Unharmed. 

His jaw clenched and he’d finally averted his eye contact. Peter knew you were right, even as outlandish as the accusation was. “Y/N, please..” His voice was softer than you remembered it being, perhaps because of how apologetic his tone was. It almost thawed your anger. It almost reminded you that perhaps things weren’t as grim as you’d begun to believe. You couldn’t let it, though. 

Your fist raised to throw a punch. A roar far off in the distance ceased your actions. Your whole body froze, and Peter’s did, too. Cold blood and a trembling fist to your side, and you looked to Peter for a directive out of this. 

He grabbed your hand without hesitation, leading you into the forest beside you. Not a word was said. You were silent, invisible to your surroundings. Cutting through overgrown greenery, and stepping over fallen branches and knee–high grass. Peter led you past trees and bushes, over rotting bodies and patches of dry dirt, until you got to a twenty foot gate randomly placed in the middle of it. 

Like procedure, he placed his thumb on a touch screen and the gate opened, programmed to only open up a crack so he could squeeze through, and thus you behind him. The gate closed less than a second after you were through it, and just beyond it was a bolted door. 

Peter dropped your hand, unlocking the door and helping you inside. This must have been where he’d been resigning since the last time you saw him. He, too, had been taken by HYDRA when you were. He, too, had been worked and experimented on, just the same as you. And he, too, wasn’t a stranger to the way the two of you led the world to its demise. 

Did he know the part he played in all of this, though? Truly?

Silence reigned over the two of you as you calmed down, and Peter led you through the bunker he had been living in. There were walls of canned food, loads of weapons, working technology, and piles of papers. He’d been writing, documenting. 

Perhaps, he’d been alone. 

Peter was the first to break the silence. “Are you hungry?” He’d noticed you staring. “Cold? Want a change of clothes?” Even when the world had gone to shit, he still knew how to be a good host. Even when he knew you were upset with him, he knew how to make you feel comfortable. Seen. 

It took you back to moments before everything happened. Before everything changed. It brought back memories of a world you now only knew in slumber, things almost too painful to think about in waking moments. 

Taking a breath, you turned to face him. “Are you living here alone?” You ignored his questions. Typical. The query ached in your throat, you had to ask it. “Are there– umm.. Are there any of us left besides–”

“This is Natasha’s place.” He knew who you were trying to ask about. You watched the way he turned on a heater in the middle of the room. How his shoulders hung lower the deeper in thought he got, how many seconds were in between his answer and the realization that it might just be the three of you left. “I don’t know who’s left. Besides you and me, and Nat.”

And that’s when you realized the part she was playing in this; she had been protecting Peter, the same way that she’d been protecting you. The two of you were merely kids, after all. Clinging to the hope of getting back to a world where you could get college degrees, and they would mean something. 

You walked further into the room, following the warmth as it poured into the space. “When was the last time you saw her?” The rage you’d felt towards Peter just moments prior had already begun to thaw, already losing sight on where the anger came from. You were more focused, more worried, about Nat right now.

He sat down on a chair in the space, tapping his finger on the arm of it and bouncing his leg as he pondered. “The last I saw her, she was on her way to get you.”

That realization made your heart stop. Your feet glued to the floor, and your whole body froze. It seemed like Peter’s body caught whatever sensation of panic flooded yours. He froze, too. 

“Peter.. That was a week ago.” The words fell heavy from your lips, like the fate of the world was tied to them. And it was. 

He stared back at you, not daring to break the eye contact. Whether it was to provide comfort, or to better read your expression. “I know.” Even he understood the weight of this. The weight of whether Natasha was still alive, safe. Or worse. 

You looked at him, taking a breath. Realizing you were quick to your anger earlier, and realizing that maybe Peter didn’t know what role he played in this. Regret put you in a chokehold, the bitterness of death taking reign on the tension in the room. It stole any kind of wishful thinking you’d had, and made its dire presence known by sounding off in the ticking of a clock—hand. 

Grabbing your backpack, you went for the folder you’d kept inside. You fumbled to grab the papers, handing them over to Peter. “We need to find her.” 

A puzzled look danced across his face in the light. He wasn’t entirely sure what you were getting at, or what you handed him, which meant you were right. He had no idea what part he played in this. “We need to find her, and we need to get the fuck out of this continent.”

He looked through the papers, eyebrows pressing together as he processed the writings. “Y/N, what the fuck is this?”

“Did she tell you what our plan was?” You asked him, trying not to let your anxiety boil over. You needed to keep your composure. “Did she ever tell you what we need to do?”

“What the fuck.. What the fuck am I looking at?” He ignored your question. 

You looked at Peter and took a deep breath. Now wasn’t the time to panic, you knew it wasn’t. “Peter, I know how to stop this outbreak.”

Instantly, he met your eyes from where he sat, his entire expression changing the tone it directed at you. Misunderstanding morphed to confusion, curiosity. Hope. “How?” He forced the words out, needing to know the answer. 

“We need to find Natasha, and get to Wakanda.” You told him, hugging your knees closer to your chest. “When we get to Wakanda, they’ll know what to do.”

Peter wasn’t satisfied with that. “And then what? How does the world just go back to normal?” His questions were urgent, but not judgmental. He didn’t ask with a tone to attack you. In fact, the weight they gained told you he might’ve caught on to what you were about to say. “How do we cure these people?”

Anxiety ran a course through your system, gnawing at your insides and sending a chill down the length of your body. You stilled, minus the fidgeting of your fingers. Your breaths became trembled, and you procrastinated your answer. “We have to get me to Wakanda.. so that they can kill me.”

And the whole world went quiet. 

[littlejuicebox]

A growing brood.

Summary: Gale has just turned three years old and is adjusting to the idea of becoming a big brother. He and Astarion go out for a walk in the orchard, where the older man gets an opportunity to practice some of his stealth skills.

Tags/Warnings: all fluff, Dadstarion, parenthood, babies, mentions of pregnancy, brief mentions of Astarion’s past and trauma, idk what else

*

Gale is holding a toy sword he received on his birthday as he and Astarion walk along the back grounds of the manor. The child is swinging the wooden object haphazardly as he sings a babbled song his father can’t identify.

Astarion surveys the small orchard as they meander along the dirt path. He’d been sent here with the little boy at the request of his pregnant wife, tasked with determining whether or not the trees were ready to harvest. She currently stood on the balcony of their home, waiting for her husband’s signal. She wouldn’t make the trek out until then; it had to be worth navigating uneven ground and overgrown brush in her condition.

Picking fruit in the orchard had become Tav and Gale’s yearly autumn tradition. The first year they’d spent quite a bit of time introducing the little one to new fruits he had not yet tried.

Pregnant or not, she refused to miss the orchard harvest.

Astarion is secretly relieved when he determines nothing is quite ripe. He felt Tav was pushing herself too hard, going above and beyond to make their first born feel valued as he adjusted to the idea of siblings. But carrying the twins was starting to exhaust her and she desperately needed rest. She’d already overworked herself for Gale’s third birthday party just a week ago, despite Astarion’s protests.

The elf lifts his hand and shoots a ray of frost up into the sky. He knows his little love will see the signal and retreat back into the house. He hopes she will take a much needed nap now that their son is preoccupied with his father.

“CHARGE!” Gale shouts, running forward on two stubby legs with his toy sword in the air.

“Gale, don’t run in the orchard you’ll—“ Astarion starts, but before he can finish his chastisement the little boy’s foot gets caught on a particularly large tree root. He stumbles and falls onto his knees with a soft thud and a grunt of surprise. The toy sword clatters to the ground as Gale’s small hands extend in front of him to break the fall.

Astarion thinks they really need to dedicate outdoor clothes for the child. Traipsing around the orchard in gold threaded finery simply wouldn’t do. The older man’s eyes flutter toward the back of his head in exasperation as he walks over to the three year old calling, “Are you alright, Gale?”

The toddler stands back up, dusting off his hands. His previously pristine trousers are now caked in dirt and grass. He turns and nods to Astarion before responding, “I okay, Papa!”

A brood of their free-range chickens is clustered nearby, bawking as they peck at the ground searching for insects. The noise captures Gale’s attention and he forgets his sword, running towards the small cluster of birds.

“Chickens, guess what! I free years old now!” He shouts, holding his middle three fingers up to show the fowl his new age.

But as he approaches the chickens, they scatter off, deterred by the loud babblings of the boy. Gale huffs in disappointment. And then he shouts, “CHICKENS! Get over here now!”

The chickens bawk and run further away from the little boy, much to his chagrin. His shoulders sag dramatically as he pouts.

“You’d do well to learn that you’ll catch more flys with honey than vinegar, little prince.” Astarion lectures, coming up behind his son after scooping the forgotten wooden sword from the earth.

Gale blinks at his father, eyebrows crinkling in confusion, “But daddy, chickens doesn’t fly does they? My book say they doesn’t.”

The little prince was particularly fascinated by birds. At the child’s party a week ago, Gale of Waterdeep had gifted his namesake a set of twenty six children’s books listed A through Z, each covering the specifics of one bird. Astarion had just been held hostage by the three year old and forced to read “C” for chickens twice a few nights ago.

The elf had rushed through the first reading in an attempt to finish quickly and join Tav for a much needed tryst between mommy and daddy. Gale had refused to let him leave until he read the book properly.

“It’s an expression, Gale, it means— nevermind, it’s not important.” Astarion sighs, flailing his hand in a dismissive gesture. He isn’t about to waste his time explaining idioms to a three year old, “But maybe if you approach the chickens more quietly, they’ll come up to you.”

Gale considers this and then nods, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He begins walking toward the brood, trying desperately to be quiet. He’s just a few feet away when the chickens scatter again, clucking anxiously to one another. The careful movements of a three year old are still too noisy and abrupt for the birds.

The silver-haired boy groans in frustration.

“Watch me, Gale.” Astarion whispers as he hands the toy sword back to his son.

The elf crouches lower to the ground, easily engaging the predatory behavior he hadn’t used since turning mortal roughly four years ago. But the muscle memory alone allows him to silently and efficiently make his way to the group of chickens. Long-fingered hands dart out and quickly retrieve a spotted hen from the periphery of the brood.

Gale cheers before dropping the sword once again as he runs up to his father, wanting to examine the animal more closely. The rest of the flock members instantly run away when the little boy approaches, but he pays them no mind. Tiny fingers come out to gently pet the back of the bird.

“Good job, daddy!” The child exclaims, causing the older man to chuckle.

Astarion finds it entertaining that he is being praised for catching a harmless domesticated chicken. Gale truly had no idea that, only a few years ago, his father easily downed wild boars and a few bears with nothing but his fangs.

They’d purposely bought this estate on the outer edge of Rivington as a way to meet the nutritional needs of the prior vampire. In fact, Astarion had used the wild boar infestation in this very orchard to justify a lower price point from the seller and then quickly turned around and solved the problem with his hunting in a matter of weeks.

One day, Gale will know more about his father’s past.

But not today.

Today, Astarion is just a daddy catching a chicken.

Perhaps that’s who he truly is. Perhaps he doesn’t have to cling so hard to who he thought he was.

*

A light drizzle abruptly ended the walk in the orchard. Astarion scooped Gale up and hurriedly returned to the manor; the last thing he and Tav needed was the little boy catching a cold.

They were wearing a set of matching drenched curls when Astarion plopped his son on the back porch.

“Papa…” Gale starts, looking down at the toy sword he’s fiddling with in his hand, lost in thought.

“What is it, little prince?” Astarion asks as he removes his mud-caked boots before crouching to help his child do the same.

“When my other babies born,” He continues while lifting a leg, trying to help his dad remove the dirty shoes. The little boy had always referred to the twins as “my babies” and his parents simply shrugged it off as one of those strange things kids do, “You gonna love me, still, right, Papa?”

Astarion pauses.

Shit.

This was the type of sensitive, vulnerable, soft stuff that Tav usually handled so smoothly and Astarion felt sure he always fumbled.

The older man slowly places the child’s shoes down and then peers into his son’s round, emerald eyes. Gale was growing to be a much more sensitive and empathetic boy than Astarion had anticipated. The child might be the spitting image of his father, but his disposition certainly leaned more toward his mother.

It was something Astarion simultaneously feared and wanted to fiercely protect.

“Yes, Gale. I will still love you when your little brothers or sisters are born,” Astarion murmurs, bringing his hand up to gently brush it through his child’s unruly, wet curls, “You’ll still love me, won’t you?”

Gale nods and grins at his father as the worry in his little body fades away, “I love you always, daddy.”

The older man pulls his son into a hug, mostly to avoid Gale catching a glimpse of his father blinking back tears, “I will always love you, too, Gale.”

The elf lifts the little boy back up and heads into the house, planning to get them both into a fresh change of clothes.

The child may now be three years old and have two other siblings on the way, but whether he is three, thirty three, or three hundred… Gale will always be Astarion’s first baby.

And Astarion will always love his little boy.

[electronickingdomfox]

Star Trek TOS crew biographies

There are plenty of detailed biographies of the TOS crew, both online and in reference books. But I wanted to check what actually appears in the Original Series and the six TOS movies about this subject (that is, not counting secondary sources or later series). And the result is... very little, actually. I was surprised by the amount of data that I took for granted, just to find out it came from a novel or wasn't 100% set in stone. This is what I could find about each major character, just judging from the TOS series and movies. Feel free to add to this or correct mistakes.

James Tiberius Kirk:

Although in the series he's referred just as James T. Kirk, his middle name "Tiberius" appears in Star Trek VI. "Tiberius" was also his middle name in TAS episode Bem, and the novel The Galactic Whirlpool (both by Gerrold), as well as in Roddenberry's TMP novelization. So yeah, no doubts about his name.

He was born in Iowa (Star Trek IV) and had one brother, George Samuel Kirk, and three nephews (What are little girls made of?). Sam married a woman named Aurelan (Operation: Annihilate).

Kirk was 34 in The Deadly Years. Assuming each season is a year of the five year mission, he could be 33 at the start of the series. And this is the only reference for his age I could find. As for actual dates, I didn't find anything, except his statement in Star Trek IV that he comes from the late 23rd century. (It wouldn't be until Voyager episode Q2, that a date was given for the end of the five-year mission: 2270. This follows Michael Okuda's Star Trek Chronology, and all other dates for TOS are inferred from this).

At age 13 he witnessed the massacre of Tarsus IV (Kodos was governor twenty years ago, in The Conscience of the King).

At age 18 he had just entered the Academy and was tormented by Finnegan. At this time he also met Ruth (fifteen years before Shore Leave).

He served in the USS Republic as an ensign, at some unspecified time after his Academy years, where he reported Ben Finney for negligency (Court Martial).

At age 21 he visited the planet Neural and befriended Tyree (thirteen years before A private little war).

He teached at the Academy as a lieutenant. One of his students was his friend Gary Mitchell (Where No Man has Gone Before).

He was a lieutenant in the USS Farragut at age 23 (eleven years before Obsession), where he first encountered the cloud creature that massacred his crewmates.

Kirk had a relationship with Areel Shaw when he was 29 (four years before Court Martial).

He became captain of the USS Enterprise after Pike. If we suppose TOS first season happens during the first year of the five-year mission, Kirk was around 37 at the end of this mission.

There's a big gap of fifteen years between Space Seed and the second movie. And apart from the five-year mission, most of those years are unaccounted for. Kirk's been an admiral for two years and a half at the start of TMP. But we don't know if he became an admiral right after the Enterprise's mission, or much later. That is, we don't know at what point of that gap take place the events of TMP. Around this time, both Spock and McCoy had retired from Starfleet, though they both returned when Kirk took the Enterprise again for the V'Ger incident.

By The Wrath of Kahn, Kirk should be 48 years old (fifteen years since he left Kahn stranded in Space Seed). If David is around 30, Kirk's relationship with Carol could have been at the Academy, but it's also possible that David is younger.

The third and fourth films happen shortly after The Wrath of Kahn, but no idea how much time elapsed since then and the fifth and sixth films (though see the info for McCoy).

Spock

Known simply as "Spock". His full name is considered unpronounceable for humans, though the novel Ishmael gives it as "S'chn T'gai Spock".

His parents are Sarek and Amanda (Journey to Babel). Amanda's last name was never given, though TAS episode Yesteryear, some novels, and the 2009 reboot film establishes it as "Grayson". Spock also has a half-brother: Sybok (Star Trek V).

I couldn't find anything about Spock's actual age during the series/movies.

He was betrothed to T'Pring at age seven (Amok Time).

He probably joined Starfleet eighteen years before Journey to Babel, since that's the time he spent not speaking with Sarek. If he joined Starfleet at 18 years old, he'd be 36 by season two (but that's just a supposition).

He was part of Pike's crew thirteen years before The Menagerie, during the events in Talos IV. He'd be 22 by then. Spock served under Pike for eleven years (also from The Menagerie). That means Kirk had been captain of the Enterprise for at least two years before season one.

After that, Spock's career runs more or less in parallel with Kirk's, so I won't go over it again.

Leonard H. McCoy

His middle initial first appears in Star Trek III, as well as the name of his father: David. The novel Provenance of Shadows explains the middle initial as "Horatio", but other novels call him "Leonard Edward McCoy" (???).

Much of his biographical background comes from the "Writer's Guide" by Roddenberry and Fontana, but never made it to the series. That includes the fact he's 45 (by season one?) and born in Georgia. As well as the fact that he's divorced and joined Starfleet as a result of this, and that he has a 20 year old daughter (Joanna). Presumably, the story of his divorce and Joanna would have appeared in The Way to Eden, but the story was severely altered. His daughter is mentioned, but without name, in TAS episode The Survivor, and in several novels. The Gold Key comics call her "Barbara" instead. His ex-wife is given different names in the novels and comics: Honey, Jocelyn, Joan, Gillian...

No idea when he joined Starfleet (that depends on how long was his marriage), or when he met Kirk.

Ten years before The Man Trap, he had a romance with Nancy Crater. Though in the episode he sometimes says he knew her twelve years ago, and other times ten years ago. Either it's a mistake, or the relationship simply lasted two years (though McCoy's doubts about Nancy remembering him, imply the relationship wasn't very long).

At some point, he visited Capella IV for a few months (Friday's Child).

He served in the Enterprise for 27 years (Star Trek VI), but only under Kirk, it seems. If he was 45 when he started, he'd be 72 in the last film, and Kirk would be 60 years old.

Note on McCoy's age in later series

The "Writer's Guide" statement that McCoy was 45 at the time of TOS, was contradicted by later series. In TNG episode Encounter at Farpoint, he's said to be 137 years old. While in the episode The Neutral Zone (also from TNG season one) the year is 2364. As both episodes probably happen in the same year, McCoy would have been born in 2227. Since, according to Voyager, the five-year mission lasted from 2266 to 2270, McCoy would have been 39 at the start of the mission. I'm following the Writer's Guide figure, however, because I consider this document more relevant for TOS itself. After all, many things that are facts in later series, aren't the same in TOS, and viceversa. Also, considering that the age of the characters seems to be close to the age of the actors, I find more likely that McCoy was 45, and not 39, at the start of TOS. To give you an idea, Shatner was 36 in season two (Kirk was 34), Nimoy was also 36 (just as Spock) and Kelley was 47. The twelve year gap between Kirk and McCoy, would be almost the same as the eleven year gap between Shatner and Kelley.

Montgomery Scott

Very little about him, but at least we got his full name in the series. He's supposed to be Scottish, and has lived in Aberdeen (Wolf in the Fold).

Apart from being Chief Engineer in the Enterprise, he was engineer advisor in a freighter, running from Deneva to the asteroid belt (Operation: Annihilate).

Uhura

We never knew her first name in TOS! This is one of the things that surprised me the most. However, "Nyota" is her first name in the reboot films, the new series, and well before that, the novel The Entropy Effect.

She was probably born in east Africa, since her native language seems to be Swahili (the language she reverted to when her memory was wiped in The Changeling). Thanks to user @sapsuckers-and-stardust for pointing this out.

Very, very little about her bio background. Most of it has to be collected from novels or comics, and those never intended to be coherent with each other.

Hikaru Sulu

Though his first name was unknown for a long time, it was revealed to be "Hikaru" in Star Trek VI. But before this, he was also called Hikaru in The Entropy Effect.

Sulu was born in San Francisco (Star Trek IV).

Again, almost nothing of his bio in the series/movies. Though the DC comics explored his character significantly. And in Star Trek: Generations, he had a daughter, Demora.

By Star Trek VI, he was finally a captain of his own ship, the Excelsior.

Pavel Andreievich Chekov

His full name appears first in The Way to Eden, where we also learn he had a romance with Irina Galliulin at the Academy.

Chekov has no siblings (Day of the Dove).

He's 22 by season two (Who mourns for Adonais?).

After serving in the Enterprise, he was first officer in the USS Reliant during The Wrath of Kahn, though he returned with Kirk after the Reliant's destruction.

Christine Chapel

She abandoned her career in bio-research to sign aboard the Enterprise as a nurse, and search after her fiancé Roger Korby (What are little girls made of?) Strangely enough, a few episodes before, she had confessed her love for Spock. She chose to stay in the ship after finding out Korby was dead.

By the time of TMP, she was a doctor in the Enterprise, though she doesn't appear as part of the crew in the later movies.

Janice Rand

She served as a yeoman in the Enterprise during the early five-year mission, but disappears from the series afterwards.

In TMP, she's the transporter chief. And in Star Trek IV, Janice is seen at Starfleet Command, along with Chapel.

By Star Trek VI, she was the communications officer of the Excelsior, under Sulu.

[shadowtriovibes]

pt. iii: sweat it out

pt. i: break a sweat || pt. ii: blood, sweat and tears || pt. iv: never let 'em see you sweat

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.3K

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV sex, fluff and smut, quidditch jersey porn, sexy massages, dirty talk, romanticizing doggy style

Summary: born of two requests: "what about sebastian fucking the reader while she's wearing his quidditch jersey. i can see him going feral when he sees his last name on her back" and "Maybe for Part 3, MC is giving Bash a much needed massage after all of his HARD quidditch practices and games… in nothing but his jersey."

Sebastian reluctantly turns over onto his stomach so that you can sit astride his hips. As soon as you rest your weight on top of him, he exhales tiredly as if he’s just set down a towering stack of books at the librarian’s desk – like he’s let go of a weight he hadn’t realized had slowly become so burdensome in his arms. "Relax," you murmur. "I've got you." Then he tilts his head to rest on his folded hands. You know he can’t quite see you at an angle this, but you still catch just a glimpse of his warm brown eyes before they flutter shut.

Climbing all the way up to the Room of Requirement after one of his weekend Quidditch practices must be excruciating for Sebastian, you think.

After practice, he’s usually sore just about everywhere – from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet he positively aches. Having seen him in action you know that he’ll often race upwards of a hundred kilometers on his broom simply doing laps around the pitch and tracking down the school’s enchanted practice Snitches.

To make matters worse, he’s forced to skip breakfast to be at the pitch by sun-up on strict orders from his captain, who goes on to keep the team well past eleven. Now he must be starving, but if you know your love, he’ll steadfastly ignore the temptation to go straight to the Great Hall for lunch and instead make the trek up to the seventh-floor corridor.

That’s precisely why you’re waiting for him there.

In the mornings when he has practice, you like to treat yourself to a bit of a lie-in and lazily wait around for his return so you can have lunch together. You would be happy to meet him downstairs when he returns to the castle, but lately, Anne and Ominis have protested whenever Sebastian joins the lunch table straight from practice still flushed, sweating, and covered in mud from the waist down.

(Those two have become exponentially more autocratic since they started courting.)

Thus, Sebastian usually decides to be a gentleman and change first.

In the months since the start of Quidditch season and Sebastian’s first overnight stay in the Room of Requirement, he’s slowly started bringing in his belongings until he’d effectively moved out of the dormitories and into a shared nest with you. Most of his clothes were there by now, along with his endless piles of library books and his cherished personal collection of secondhand novels from Tomes and Scrolls.

You assume he’ll probably want to quickly strip off his mucked-up robes and find something clean to change into so he can escort you downstairs for lunch. But despite the exhausting morning he must have already had, you don’t feel quite enough pity for your Sebastian to take it easy on him when he finally arrives.

When he enters the room, he finds you lounging on the bed reading one of his beloved Muggle novels – wearing nothing but one of his Quidditch jerseys.

“Sebastian!” you call out happily when you look up.

“Morning, love,” he answers as he shoves the heavy door closed.

“You’re finally free,” you joke, closing your book. “I thought I’d have to come down to the pitch soon and challenge Imelda to a duel to get her to set you loose.”

“I won’t mind seeing that,” he laughs. “That would have been quite chivalrous of you.”

He shrugs out of his Quidditch robes and pulls his own soaking-wet shirt up over his head. You watch longingly as his core flexes – all those hours on a broom have made him exceptionally well-defined, and you wish you could simply get on your knees right then and there to spend your morning tracing your tongue over every delineated band of muscle.

“You know,” he teases, pulling you from your reverie. “I had planned to just put on a clean shirt to go down to lunch, but it seems you’ve nicked my spare.”

“Did I?” you say, feigning innocence. “I just grabbed the first thing I could find, I swear.”

Sebastian glances at you skeptically before sitting down at what has become “his” desk to take off his boots. You frown when you catch him wincing while he bends at the waist.

“Are you hurt?” you ask him softly.

“No,” he insists. “Just sore all over.”

“Bash,” you croon. “Poor babe.”

“Come off it, I’m fine,” he laughs. “I just need some food and a nice long bath and I’ll be grand.”

You climb off the bed and saunter over to him in his chair, appreciating the way his eyes skim across the hem of his pilfered jersey. With every step, your hips sway and tease him with quick glimpses of the tops of your bare legs.

“Are you sure?” you ask sweetly. “Because if you’re feeling poorly, I can take care of you.”

Not even the promise of dry clothes and a warm meal could pull Sebastian’s attention from such a tempting offer, especially not while you’re wearing his clothes.

He sits back in his chair while you kneel in front of him to carefully unlace his Quidditch boots. After you take off his pads as well, it’s just too easy to climb onto his lap and wind your arms around his shoulders.

Sebastian’s gaze dips down to the space between your legs. He lays one palm flat against your thigh and uses his thumb to ruck up the hem of the jersey just a bit.

“You haven’t got anything on under this, do you?” he asks knowingly.

“Not a stitch,” you breathe.

Sebastian groans quietly and wraps an arm around your waist to hold you tightly against him.

“Leave it on,” he says in a low voice. “I want to see you in my jersey the entire time I’m taking you apart.”

“Not so fast, Sallow,” you counter. “Let me give you a massage first, it will help with the soreness.”

“A ‘massage?’” he asks hopefully.

When you merely raise an eyebrow at him, he looks simply crushed.

“You’re joking,” he says flatly. “You… you actually mean to ‘take care’ of me? In an actual ‘nurse-me-back-to-health’ sort of way?”

“I mean both the regular way and the devious way,” you laugh. “But if you’re aching right now, it’s not going to be much fun for you.”

“You are sincerely wrong about that,” he argues, but you’re undeterred.

“Let me do this first,” you bargain. “I promise you’ll feel better afterward.”

There’s a bit more whining and attempts to seduce you as you wriggle free of Sebastian’s lap and tug on his arm so he’ll walk over to the bed. He strips down to the garment layer he wears beneath his uniform pants and kindly allows you to shove him onto the bed.

He’s peering up at you expectantly, obviously hoping you’ll cave and climb onto his lap once again.

“Turn over, Sebastian,” you say with a fond eye roll. “On your stomach.”

“You’re malicious,” he gripes. “An evil, wicked sorceress.”

Sebastian reluctantly turns over onto his stomach so that you can sit astride his hips. As soon as you rest your weight on top of him, he exhales tiredly as if he’s just set down a towering stack of books at the librarian’s desk – like he’s let go of a weight he hadn’t realized had slowly become so burdensome in his arms.

“Relax,” you murmur. “I’ve got you.”

Then he tilts his head to rest on his folded hands. You know he can’t quite see you at an angle this, but you still catch just a glimpse of his warm brown eyes before they flutter shut.

Go on, he says without words. Touch me. I trust you.

You think you could just stay here all day with your hands on his slightly-chilly skin. Warming him up to your touch, you skim your hands across his firm shoulder blades, along the tops of his sun-kissed shoulders, and then down the solid expanse of aching muscle in his back. He’s so broad beneath you, you think, even on his stomach. Without his height to add to the imposing figure he usually cuts, he nevertheless looks perfectly capable of rolling you off of him should he desire.

Knowing that there’s very little he could desire less sends an excited shiver through you. It’s a privilege, getting to be gentle with a man like Sebastian.

After all, except for when his hands are on your body, Sebastian is anything but gentle. He’s headstrong, impulsive, and obstinately ungovernable when he knows he’s in the right. Physically, he’s grown into a body that matches.

You shouldn’t be surprised that despite playing as a Seeker, Sebastian is not the kind of athlete who relies on being lithe and quick on his broom. Whenever he finds himself in a dead heat for the Snitch, he routinely throws his whole body into a maneuver and hurdles himself into his opposing Seeker to knock them off their path.

He’s brutish on the pitch and offers no apologies for it, though he will extend a gentlemanly hand whenever he bests the other Seeker to their prize.

Worst of all is that he has no fear of mutually assured destruction. He wants to win, sure; but more importantly, he wants the other team to lose. If that means both he and his opponent must crash into the ground in a pile of torn sports robes and grass stains before being hauled up to the Hospital Wing by an exasperated Nurse Blainey, so be it.

(Needless to say, you aren’t the only one who calls him “Bash” anymore.)

You consider all this while you quietly work through some of the larger knots that have built up in the muscles of his back. His body has kept hold of a momentous amount of trauma over the years, and if you can help dissolve even a fraction of it with your hands, you’ll be overjoyed.

Carefully you splay the palms of your hands against his bare skin and concentrate hard on spreading warmth and relaxation through the striations of Sebastian’s muscles. You visualize your magic wrapping through the infinitely small tears and bruises he’s endured to diffuse a relief that emanates a warm, pinkish glow you can genuinely see.

“What’s happening?” Sebastian asks, his voice slurred.

“How do you feel?” you whisper.

“Incredible,” he breathes. “Are you…? Is this magic that you’re doing? Ancient magic?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” you admit softly. “Regular magic, ancient magic… It’s probably a bit of both.”

“How did you–?” Sebastian asks before trailing off in a lazy, satisfied moan. “Merlin, it feels good.”

“Anne’s been showing me some of the healing magic she’s been studying with Nurse Blainey,” you say softly. “It’s actually quite interesting, Anne is quite talented with–”

“No more talking about Anne for a little while, love,” Sebastian grits out. “Just – just keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. Please.”

You giggle softly while you slide your hands down further to the base of his spine, where you know for a fact he carries an unjust amount of tension. It’s precisely there that he stores his worries about upcoming N.E.W.T. exams, his all-important role on the Quidditch team, and the pressure he puts on himself to succeed so he can take care of Anne once you all graduate – you too, now, even though you insist you’ll be equals in every way possible.

“Feeling a bit better?” you ask him hopefully.

“Can’t remember the last time I felt this good,” he mumbles. “You should be a Healer.”

“I don’t know about that,” you demur. “I rather like the idea of only doing this for you.”

Sebastian’s soft groan sounds like one of assent.

You channel magic through him for a few more moments until you notice that he finally feels less inflamed beneath your fingertips. Then you let the glow fade away until it’s just you and Sebastian, no more magic thrumming between where your bodies touch.

He’s quiet for several long moments and you wonder whether you might have simply magicked him to sleep.

“Bash?” you whisper. “Are you alright?”

All of a sudden, he’s remarkably alive beneath you. He cants one hip to tip you off of his back and onto the bed beside him, earning an annoyed huff out of you when you land on your rear. But before you can put the words together to protest, he’s parting your legs with his hands so he can settle between them and rucking up the jersey until he can see your bare core.

“You’re incredible,” he tells you earnestly. “I feel better than I have in months, love.”

“Th-that’s good,” you stutter, a bit bewildered.

He continues, “And I’m going to return the favor right this minute.”

You barely have time to blink before he’s kissing you breathless and rocking his hips against yours. You gasp sharply into his mouth and he swallows the sound, pressing his tongue against yours in that filthy way that he knows gets you soaking for him every single time he does it.

“Bash,” you whine. “Slow down a little.”

“Not a chance,” he says against your neck. “I want you, you made me need you.”

…Merlin, did you?

You try to focus while Sebastian stretches out the collar of his own jersey to suck claiming bruises along your collarbone. Did you overdo it on the healing spell? Possibly imbue him with a little too much “love?”

But then he confesses, “You’re irresistible in my clothes like this, d’you know that?”

You breathe a sigh of relief when you realize that that’s what’s got him so worked up. It’s you in his colors, his rumpled clothing with his damn name emblazoned on your back.

That quickly gives you an idea.

“Let me turn over,” you grunt as you try to squirm out from underneath him. “Sebastian, please.”

He looks thoroughly displeased when you sit up, so you placate him with one more filthy kiss before he won’t have access to your mouth for a while. Then you settle on your elbows and knees, jersey shoved up to the middle of your waist.

Sebastian says some foul words under his breath when he sees you arch and present yourself for him. You wish he’d just bury himself in you, patience and preparation be damned. Together the two of you have discovered that there’s a time and a place for slow, intimate lovemaking just as much as there is for desperate, urgent, feral fucking.

You know which one Sebastian is craving.

“Take me like this, Bash,” you say breathlessly. “So you can see whose name I carry.”

He leans over you and drags his hand across the “SALLOW” stitched in thick, white letters across the broadest part of the jersey’s shoulders. Then he lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a growl as he grinds his hips against yours.

“I need to be inside you,” he grunts. Behind you, you can hear him shoving his base layer down his thighs before he drags two fingertips along your slit and uses your wetness to stroke his cock. “I can’t be patient.”

“Don’t be,” you insist. You sway your hips invitingly and arch your back. “I’m ready.”

“You need my fingers,” he tells you. “I’ll give you enough, I won’t hurt you.”

You stun him by reaching a hand back and showing him how you can press two fingers against your entrance that easily sink inside. You moan softly at how different the angle is from how you usually touch yourself, but it works to get the point across to Sebastian.

“I’m ready,” you repeat. “I was waiting for you.”

Sebastian traces a thumb along your slit beside your fingers, pulling you open a bit to let himself look his fill as you spread your wetness around wantonly.

“Is this what you were doing while I was at practice?” he asks. “Laying in this bed in my clothes, playing with your pussy, and thinking of what I’d do to you when I got back?”

Now that’s a word he most certainly picked up from those Muggle books he likes to read, but it makes you squirm desperately nonetheless.

“Yes,” you whimper. “B-but I waited for you to finish.”

“That’s a shame,” he murmurs. “I suppose I’ll have to make sure you’re properly seen to, since you’ve been waiting so long.”

He presses his thumb against your entrance with your two fingers and when you can easily take it inside as well, he decides you’re indeed plenty ready for his cock instead. His gentle hand on your wrist coaxes you into pulling out, and then he lines himself up and starts to press inside.

You whimper his name as you collapse onto your elbows. He feels impossibly big like this, and despite your insistence that you were ready for him, it’s a toe-curling kind of stretch that has you panting and trembling beneath him while your body alternates between its animal instincts to rear back or submit.

“Good, you take me so well, love,” he groans. “How do you feel?”

In answer, you loudly groan into the pillow you’ve bunched up beneath you.

“Sounds like you’re enjoying yourself,” he says smugly. “Hold on tight for me, alright?”

After a few easy thrusts to ensure you’re properly braced for the full weight of him, Sebastian starts to relentlessly pound you down into the mattress. He supports you with his forearm wrapped beneath your hips and one broad hand pressing into your back – right below where his name is inscribed.

You’re fiercely loud in bed with him, but even when you’re whining and nearly sobbing for him, you can’t drown out the sound of his foul mouth.

“Take this cock,” he grunts. “Take it all, it’s what you wanted, right? For me to fill you up?”

“Yes!” you wail, knowing he expects an answer.

“That’s right,” he growls. “You want it all, I’ll give it all to you, always.”

He leans over your back and grinds in deep and you feel a twinge that isn’t entirely pleasure, but you wouldn’t dare ask him to stop – it’s too good, especially when it’s straddling the line of being too much.

“I’m gonna give you everything,” he confesses into your ear. “My seed, my name on your back, I’ll give you anything you want.”

“Give it to me,” you slur. “Go on, Bash.”

“I will love, I will,” he grunts. “But I’m finishing you first.”

He keeps murmuring filth into your ear while he works a hand underneath you to rub quick, firm circles against your clit the way he knows you like. He talks about how sweet you are for him, how you’re the best thing he has, how he wants to keep you right here for as long as you’ll let him, but whether he means in this bed or in his arms you can’t possibly know.

He deftly works you to a breathtaking climax – quite literally you lose your breath, and he just keeps drawing it out with his eager fingers and his cock buried deep in you for so long that you wonder when it will ever stop. When it finally relents, you rest your cheek against the pillow and lie boneless, content to let Sebastian hold your hips up so he can work himself toward his finish.

“Want you to keep it all inside,” he says mindlessly. “Keep it in, keep my jersey on too, fuck–”

When he spills in you, he grinds his sensitive cock against your hips for as long as he can take it to make sure you stay full of his spend. Then when he pulls out, he tucks that damn jersey back down over your ass as if to make the claim, Our work here is done.

You lay exhausted on your stomach while Sebastian cozies up behind you. Within minutes of catching your breaths his stomach growls, so you know you won’t be there for much longer, but neither of you seems to be in any hurry to untangle yourself from the other.

Eventually, you have to ask him, “...So, ‘my name on your back,’ hmm?”

You expect him to blush and stammer, or start talking about how maybe, someday, when he feels like he’s satisfied some sort of redemptive goal that will make him feel like he deserves it, that could be a reality.

Instead, he kisses behind the hinge of your jaw and murmurs, “I meant it. Whenever you want it, it’s yours. Just say the word.”

“Fine, but if I get the name, I get to keep the jersey,” you sigh.

He buries his nose in your hair and happily mumbles, “I think we’ll have to negotiate that one.”

[specialagentartemis]

Black Women writing SFF

The post about Octavia Butler also made me think about the injustice we do both Butler, SFF readers, and Black women SFF writers by holding her up as the one Black Woman Writing Sci-Fi. She occupies an important place in the genre, for her creativity, the beauty and impact of her writing, and her prolific work... but she's still just one writer, and no one writer works for everybody.

So whether you liked Octavia Butler's books or didn't, here are some of the (many!!! this list is just the authors I've read and liked, or been recommended and been wanting to read) other Black women writing speculative fiction aimed at adults, who might be writing something within your interest:

N. K. Jemisin - a prolific powerhouse of modern sff. Will probably have something you'll like. Won three Hugo awards in a row for her Broken Earth trilogy. I’ve only read her book of short stories, How Long ‘Til Black Future Month? and it is absolutely story after story of bangers. Creative, chilling, beautifully written, make you think. They’re so good and I highly recommend the collection. Several of her novels have spun out of premises she first explored through these short stories, most recently “The City Born Great” giving rise to her novel The City We Became. Leans more fantasy than sci-fi, but has a lot of both, in various permutations. 

Nisi Shawl - EDIT: I have been informed that Nisi Shawl identifies as genderfluid, not as a woman. They primarily write short stories that lean literary. Their one novel that I’ve read, Everfair, is an alternate-history 19th century that asks, what if the Congo had fought off European colonization and became a free and independent African state? Told in vignettes spanning decades of political organization, political movements, war tactics, and social development, among an ensemble of local African people, Black Americans coming to the new country, white and mixed-race Brits, and Chinese immigrants who came as British laborers.

Nnedi Okorafor - American-Nigerian writer of Africanfuturism, sci-fi stories emphasizing life in present, future, and alternate-magical Africa. She has range! From Binti, a trilogy of novellas about a teenage girl in Namibia encountering aliens and balancing her newfound connection to space with expectations of her family; to Akata Witch, a middle-grade series about a Nigerian-American girl moving to Nigeria and learning to use magic powers she didn’t know she had; to Who Fears Death, a brutal depiction of magical-realism in a futuristic, post-war Sudan; to short stories like "Africanfuturism 419", about that poor Nigerian prince who’s desperately sending out those emails looking for help (but with a sci-fi twist), and "Mother of Invention" about a smart house taking care of its human and her baby… she’s done a little bit of everything, but always emphasizes the future, the science, and the magic of (usually western) Africa.

Karen Lord - an Afro-Caribbean author.  I actually didn’t particularly like the one novel by her I’ve read, The Best of All Possible Worlds, but Martha Wells did, so. Lord has more novels set in this world—a Star Trek-esque multicultural, multispecies spacefuture set on a planet that has welcomed immigrants and refugees for a long time, and become a vibrant multicultural planet. I find her stories rooted in near-future Caribbean socio-climatic concerns like "Haven" and "Cities of the Sun" and her folktale-fantasy style Redemption in Indigo more compelling.  And more short stories here.

Bethany C. Morrow - only has one novella (short novel?) for adults, Mem, but it was creative and fascinating and good and I’d be remiss not to shout it out. In an alternate-history 1920s Toronto, scientists have discovered how to extract specific memories from a person—but then those memories are embodied as physical, cloned manifestations of the person at the moment the memory was made. The main character is one such “Mem,” struggling to determine who she is if she was created from and defined by one single traumatic memory that her original-self wanted to remove. It’s mostly quiet, contemplative, and very interesting.  (Morrow has some YA novels too. I read one of them and thought it was okay.)

Rebecca Roanhorse - Afro-Indigenous, Black and "Spanish Indian" and married into Diné (Navajo). I’ve read her ongoing post-apocalyptic fantasy series starting with Trail of Lightning, and am liking it a lot; after a climate catastrophe, the spirits and magic of the Diné awakened to protect Dinetah (the Navajo Nation) from the onslaught; and now magic and monsters are part of life in this fundamentally changed world. Coyote is there and he is only sometimes helpful. She also has a more traditional second-world epic high fantasy, Black Sun, an elaborate fantasy world with quests and prophecies and seafaring adventure that draws inspiration from Indigenous cultures of the US and Mexico rather than Europe. She also has bitingly satirical and very incisive short stories like “Welcome to Your Authentic Indian Experience” about virtual reality and cultural tourism, and the fantasy-horror "Harvest."

Micaiah Johnson - her multiverse-hopping novel The Space Between Worlds plays with alternate universes and alternate selves in a continuously creative and interesting way! The setup doesn’t take the easy premise that one universe is our own recognizable one that opens up onto strange alternate universes—even the main character’s home universe is wildly different in speculative ways, with the MC coming from a Mad Max-esque desert community abandoned to the elements, while working for the universe-travel company within the climate-controlled walled city where the rich and well-connected live and work. Also, it’s unabashedly gay. 

And if you like audiobooks and audio fiction (I listened to The Space Between Worlds as an audiobook, it’s good), then Jordan Cobb is someone you should check out. She does sci-fi/horror/thriller audio drama. Her works include Janus Descending, a lyrical and eerie sci-fi horror about a small research expedition to a distant planet and how it went so, so wrong; and Descendants, the sequel about its aftermath. She also has Primordial Deep, about a research expedition to the deep undersea, to investigate the apparent re-emergence of a lot of extinct prehistoric sea creatures. She’s a writer/producer I like, and always follow her new releases. Her detailed prose, minimal casts  (especially in Janus Descending), good audio quality, and full-series supercuts make these welcoming to audiobook fans. 

-

Nalo Hopkinson - a writer who should be considered nearly as foundational as Octavia Butler, honestly. A novelist and short story writer with a wide variety of sci-fi, dystopian futures, fairy-tale horror, gods and epics, and space Carnival, drawing heavily from her Caribbean experiences and aesthetics.

Tananarive Due - fantastical/horror. Immortals, vampires, curses, altered reality, unnerving mystery. Also has written a lot of books.

Andrea Hairston - creative and otherworldly, weird and bisexual, with mindscapes and magic and aliens. 

Helen Oyeyemi - I haven’t read her work but she comes highly recommended by a friend. A novelist and short story writer, most of her work leans fairytale fantastical-horror. What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours is a collection of short fiction and recc’ed to me as her best work. White is for Witching is a well-regarded haunted house novel. 

Ashia Monet - indie author, writer of The Black Veins, pitched as “the no-love-interest, found family adventure you’ve been searching for.” Magic road trip! Possibly YA? I’m not positive. 

-

This also doesn’t include Black non-binary sff authors I’ve read and liked like An Owomoyela, C. L. Polk, and Rivers Solomon. And this is specifically about adult sff books, so I didn’t include Black women YA sff authors like Kalynn Bayron, Tomi Adeyemi, Tracy Deonn, Justina Ireland, or Alechia Dow, though they’re writing fantasy and sci-fi in the YA world too.

And a lot of short stories are out there in the online magazine world, where so many up and coming authors get their start, and established ones explore offbeat and new ideas.  Pick up an issue (or a subscription!) of FIYAH magazine for the most current Black speculative writing.

[wyked-ao3]

Wyked's intro

Hey, I'm wyked (wicked) been on Tumblr a while now and finally got around to my intro

About me:↪ Wyked, she/her/psycho

↪ writer questionnaire here and here and another one here

↪ I'm 23 and would prefer not to interact with minors.

About my blog:↪ it is fanfiction and original work so if your following for one block the other (starting this as of 9/22/24) #fanfiction #fanfic or #original story .... respectively also I will tag #nsfw for gore/smut etc.

↪ Reader, writer, nerd,

↪Alpha/Beta reader, idea bouncer. (Send a pm if your looking for an extra set of eyes, just tell me what your looking for. I can be brutally honest if that's what you're looking for but I'm still listing my favorite parts regardless.)

↪ Introvert trying to step out of my shell some.

↪infj or intj the multiple test tends to balance it so I'm not sure but I usually relate more to the infj.

↪Taurus born

↪I'm most likely dyslexic (teachers agreed, but didn't get a official diagnosis) so sorry in advance for the typos and lack of proper punctuation (punctuation is my nemesis but I do try in my writing to get it correct)

↪I write mostly fanfiction multi fandom

↪ I'm currently writing my first original work. TPKODR of TPCG series

The pirate king of deaths redemption

The pirate's cursed god series

you can find my work here

↪I have a discord group for ao3 fanfiction writer's and we have a few members doing original works as well, you can find it here

Additional information that will update frequently probably

↪My current game fandom's

Zelda (it's more link than Zelda but whatever lol) I have played (wind waker , orca of time, twilight princess, and a little of skyward sword)

Elder scrolls (Skyrim is my favorite)

Devil may cry 2-3

Red steel

Assassin's creed (can't wait for the new one…although I'm still not sure about upgrading from the PS3 lol)

↪My movie/series fandoms

Merlin, Twilight, Supernatural, Lucifer, Grimm,Once upon a time, Stargate (all), Primeval, Criminal minds, NCIS, Star trek, Harry Potter, Hannibal, Marvel, Harley Quinn, Shadow hunters, Arrow, How to train your dragons (all), Troll hunters (they ripped my heart out) Avatar the last Airbender, Avatar (blue), Jurassic world, Jurassic park, Dragon prince, The last of us?(Not the biggest fan of it but I do read the fic's and wrote for ot occasionally, Lost, Charmed (original), Originals (didn't finish it….I'm a softie okay), and to be honest I'm forgetting some… may edit as I remember or hit a phase where they are my favorite show again….

↪Anime fandom's…..some I'm only in due to my sister but it still counts…..

Black Butler

Heavens official blessing

Skum villain D

emon king academy

Welcome to demon school iruma (I love this)

Fairytail

↪My Never seen but I could probably convince you otherwise do to my sister's rambling list that will update as I remember names

Inuyasha

↪My interest

Herbs,plants,trees, mushrooms, nature (I can keep going) animals,fish,corals and aquatic plants, invertebrates, mythology, pirates, knights, druids,shamans, hanfu, feudal era, history involving any of the above.. writing, gardening, wood carving and burning, sketching although I think you get more detail with wood burning……I can keep listing but most of that will not be covered here so I will stop now but feel free to drop in my inbox to chat

I will add more eventually here

↪My mutuals original story recommendation list

My favorite western, time loop horror romance by @tragedycoded I can not recommend this enough it got me hooked on a western.

If you like gay pirates, kidnapping, drama and found family that will keep you on your toes then check out @the-golden-comet 's story (read the warning)

↪My mutuals fanfiction recommendation list (it will change as I think of some I added the recommendations last minute so oops)

If you are into sarcastic lovable OC's and mandalorians from star wars check out @lillybaaaka 's work

she also has a fem Harry Potter/startrek crossover that I'm in love with lol highly recommend it, it's more startrek then Harry Potter

if you are into the bat family you should check out @gods-graveyard 's work

if you like bananafish fanfiction then check out @gioiaalbanoart she has several amazing ones but my favorite so far is this one

if you are a Zelda fan who ships Ganon and Link then I highly recommend you check out @the-golden-comet just make sure to read the warnings

[brain-rot-central]

A preview of something I'm currently working on.

Born from an idea that Astarion would struggle immensely in the first few months after the events of the game. Healing trauma is rarely ever linear; there are many ups and downs to trek through before making it to the other side with newly found knowledge and strength.

Astarion's story encompasses so much of what one does to just survive when that's all they have left. This is a take on what his first few months post-main story might be like.

TW: references to disordered eating, abuse, adult themes, depression, poor mental health. Absolutely not "cute, cuddly Astarion." Our boy is sad, here.

You've saved Baldur's Gate from the Cult of the Absolute, destroyed the Netherbrain, and removed Cazador from the realm of the living. You both weren't sure what would come next. Your feelings for one another bloomed on the battlefield, fighting side by side. Neither of you knew if you'd see the following day, or what that day would bring. 

Your fires burned brightly, intertwining out of a mutual desperation to live. To be free of every puppet master pulling at the strings of your destiny. To return to living a life that was truly your own.

Yet, now that it was here…

Both of you were clueless how to navigate the aftermath.

You'd agreed to an attempt at cohabiting. Astarion had his reservations at the beginning, though he’s since thawed to the idea. As for yourself, it took a bit of time for you to adjust to living with another person. 

You lived alone prior to the Nautiloid. You were an urchin, having grown up on the streets of the Lower City for much of your life. You kept various blades hidden throughout your dwelling on the off chance an unwelcome visitor decided to drop by overnight. Astarion found most of them not long after moving in with you. He was slightly unsettled, but stated whimsically that he'd think twice before upsetting you going forward.

It had been months since the defeat of the Netherbrain, though Astarion still harbored many doubts. He'd often struggle with intense feelings of inadequacy and shame. He’d be ridden with such intense guilt that he'd lock himself away in your study for days, slipping out quietly during the night to hunt. He didn't dare let you see him in such a state.

And he didn't hunt often during these particular odd spells. Astarion will use his insatiable hunger as a form of self-discipline, purposely starving himself for days on end.

It's a repeating cycle. You don't quite understand why he does this to himself, and your attempts at getting him to speak never succeed. You settle on giving him space as being the best course of action.

When he inevitably emerges from his isolation, a different sort of hunger envelops him.

He seeks you out from your place within the house. Arms wrap around your waist from behind, and you feel the weight of him fall against your back. He buries his face in your neck, and you hear him inhale a shaky breath.

“Oh, hello,” you say to him, softly. “Are you feeling better?” You turn your body within his arms to face him. You push yourself onto the tips of your toes and nuzzle your nose against his.

He groans in mild protest and closes his eyes as you kiss the tip of his nose. “Somewhat,” he replies. He casts his eyes to the floor. “Missed you,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Guilt clouds his eyes as he stares at the ground. “I missed you, too, Astarion.” He winces his eyes as you speak, his brows furrowing. Your words pain him, though you never quite understand why.

“I… I-I’m sorry,” he says with a shaky breath. You feel his hands begin to roam up your back. He grasps handfuls of your dress within his palms.

You step back from his hold, his expression dropping and his eyes staring wildly into yours. He's beginning to panic, overwhelming feelings of disgust and rejection displayed on his face. He's ready to run. He needs to hide again.

You bring your hands up to clasp each side of his face. “Astarion, listen to me,” you tell him, sternly. “I don't know what's going on in your head all of the time, but I'm here.” You guide his forehead down to rest upon your own. “You do not need to apologize for your darkness. I am here.”

The panic in Astarion's eyes begins to settle, and the tension ebbs from him. You step closer to him, still holding his face. Your lips graze his, and suddenly he's on you. One of his hands holds the back of your head and he crashes his lips onto yours, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth.

He asks to deepen your kiss with gentle passes of his tongue, and you part your lips and accept him into your mouth. Your arms come up to wrap around his neck and you moan into his mouth.

“Need you,” Astarion begs between kisses. “Please, darling.” His voice is hoarse and rushed.

You pull your mouth from his, a small string of saliva connecting your lips in a brief moment. ‘“Do you hunger?” you ask, resting your forehead once more against his.

“Always,” he breathes out.

“Take me, then.” You kiss him gently once more. “Lose yourself in me, tonight.”

He shutters above you, hearing the same words he's deceived you with once before. He played a game in the beginning. Had a carefully thought out plan, designed to have you within his thrall. His plan fell through horrifically, and these same honeyed words now carry a more significant meaning.

Living with Astarion is intense, to say the least. Cyclical.

Nights of passion come in waves where you lay panting together, letting the breeze cool your sweat-soaked bodies. The only sounds heard during your couplings are the repeated slapping of his thighs meeting your behind with each of his thrusts, and your wanton moans as his length drags deliciously against the inner walls of your cunt. He fucks his apology into you thoroughly, and you couldn't be more happy to accept it.

This part of the cycle always starts off the same. You inform him that you're going to freshen up, and make your way into your shared bath. Astarion takes this as an opportunity to make your otherwise drab bedroom inviting for the coming main attraction. He places candles around your bedroom, lighting them as soon as he hears you stepping into the tub.

He blots on a bit more of his signature cologne: bergamot, brandy, and rosemary. He knows you enjoy this scent, knows that it brings you comfort. He strives to please you in every way possible, especially if it means making such a selfless act more enjoyable for you. He wears his ruffled blouse untucked, and loosens the laces of his trousers just enough to allow for what's to come.

You’re freshly bathed, a towel wrapped around your torso as you emerge from the bath. You enter your shared bedroom while drying your hair with a smaller bath towel, looking around to survey the soft ambiance of the room.

You see Astarion laying out on your bed. He's laying on his side and your eyes meet, the flickering candlelight causing his eyes to shine like gemstones. His eyes are hooded as he watches you move toward the bed.

You sit on the edge of your shared bed, feeling a faint flush spread across your face as you hold his gaze. Astarion glides a hand over the space on the bed next to him, a clear invitation for you to come closer. Your breath hitches and you bring your hands up to undo the towel covering your body.

You watch his eyes narrow as he follows the towel fall freely off your chest. His chest rises as he sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes scanning over your now-bare form. You feel paralyzed within his sight, though also proud. His reaction to viewing your naked form is similar with each encounter, solidifying that this is likely genuine. The thought brings you a sense of peace, willing you forward.

You begin to climb onto the bed and toward your vampiric lover. The bed dips beneath your palms and an all too familiar scent floods your nostrils, becoming stronger as you inch closer to him. You realize then that Astarion had reapplied his cologne while you were in the shower, just for you. The smell is intoxicating. So enticing, that you mindlessly continue crawling toward yet another brush with death.

A rush of uneasy energy surges through you as you reach Astarion. You fold your legs under you, and shaky hands come up to gently cradle both sides of his face. His eyes are molten lava that is melting through your core. He’s refuted your past claims of him charming you prior to these encounters, and your doubts continue for this very reason.

On these nights, your body becomes his. His to possess and manipulate however he pleases. You subjugate yourself to him, trusting him to take only as much as he needs from you. Trusting him to take you through the night and deliver you safely to the dawn. He's been honorable, thus far.

Though, there is always a time for everything.

His hand comes up to cover your own on his cheek. Astarion turns his face into your hand, kissing your palm. “Are you sure you want to do this, love?” he asks. His voice is a soft whisper.

Ruby red eyes glare up at you through hooded lids. His expression is soft, pleading. You quickly realize he's asking for more than what he's said. It's the one question he's never dared to put to words, though asks repeatedly in other ways.

You sigh and nod your head. You know the question he truly is asking, one that he's yet to ever form into words. “Yes, Astarion. I trust you. I trust you to not lose control.”

He seeks the constant reassurance that you accept him as he is. A constant reminder that he is more than the monster Cazador created.

[tylermileslockett]

Theseus #5 (The Minotaur)

Theseus treks deeper and deeper into the heart of the Labyrinth, under the low light of the torches. The air grows more stale, the stench of death, ever fouler and more oppressive. But Daedalus’ secret directions prove true, and Theseus successfully navigates to the heart of the labyrinth, where he finds the Minotaur in slumber. Catching the beast by surprise, Theseus fights and grapples with every inch of his power, eventually killing the beast after a brutal, bare-handed struggle.

The Minotaur backstory begins with King Minos of Knossos (Crete) receiving a beautiful, sacrificial white bull from Poseidon as a symbol of the god’s favor. But King Minos, favoring the beauty of the white bull, sacrifices a lesser animal, angering the god. Vowing revenge, Poseidon makes the Queen Pasiphae, a daughter of Helios and a sea nymph, and known as a goddess of witchcraft, fall in lust after the white bull. She enlists the help of Crete’s ingenious inventor and architect, Daedalus, to construct a hollow, wooden cow, which Pasiphae hides within, mating with the white bull. The offspring is the Minotaur; having the head and tail of a bull, and body of a boy. As the child comes of age, he grows savage and bloodthirsty for human meat. Receiving a prophecy from The Oracle at Delphi, Daedalus is once again recruited, this time to build an inescapable labyrinth with which to hold the beast in captivity. The creature having been born from such a scandalous act, imprisoned, and then killed by Theseus, certainly gives the monster one of the more empathetic and tragic backstories in Greek myth.

After Theseus and Princess Ariadne escape Knossos, King Minos imprisons Daedalus and his son in the labyrinth as punishment for failure. In the tale made famous in Ovid’s Metamorphosis, the inventor constructs flight wings form feathers and wax, escaping the island through flight. His son Icarus, fails to heed his fathers warning about flying to near the sun, and the wax melts, sending the boy to his death in the sea below.

Like this art? It will be in my illustrated book with over 130 other full page illustrations coming in Aug/Sept to kickstarter.  to get unseen free hi-hes art subscribe to my email newsletter

Follow my backerkit kickstarter notification page.

Thank you for supporting independent artists! 🤘❤️🏛😁

[neverchecking]

Day 5: Sweat- Twilight

Smut so Minors Do Not Interact. If I find out a minor has interacted with my blog, I will block you.. Thank you!

Smut CW: Sweat, licking of said sweat, country boy

This is Day five of My Kinktober so be sure to come back and check out the other days! Friendly Reminder that all of my smut is tagged 'Cindersins' including this, but this will also be tagged as 'Cinder's happy halloween' along with the run of the mill smut tags.

Kinktober Masterlist <<< Day 4 >>>Day 6

Everyone knew that farming was a…taxing business. Being a ranch or stable hand was not an easy job. Certainly not one anyone could do. They had to be born and bread or carved out of the depths for it. 

Twilight had been born, bred and raised on farm work. Anyone with working eyes could see that. See the way his biceps had bulged and curved, or with how broad his shoulders were. Made for carrying heavy stacks of feed or, in his case, wrangling Ordonian goats. Not an easy task by any means, but one he was more than willing to take up. The feeling of pure dopamine after a job well done kept him hooked, and the steady, slow consistency of it all brought him comfort. But more than anything, it made him work. Made him push his own limits to the point of nearly snapping, only to drive right past those pre-conceived notions of restrictions and carve out new ones for himself. It had made him sweaty, yes, and gave him an odor that eventually even the goats would avoid, but the feeling of pure accomplishment won over any negatives. Threw them to the ground like worthless maggots as he trampled his way forward. 

His shirt had long since been shed as he continued moving around hay in the back of the barn, his entire chest coated in a sheen of sweat that shined in the dusk of the ever falling sun. It was getting late, and you would worry in that same adorable way you always did, but he had wasted too much time in talking to Rusl this morning and had fallen behind on his chores. He’d feel guilty for the rest of the night if he didn’t finish, even if Fado had long since waved him off. It was his own conscience that wouldn’t let him rest until the day's work had been completed. Although, he wasn’t overly excited to delay going home to you. You’d understand, it’s who you were. Just as hardworking and resilient as he was, if not more. You believed in seeing a job until it’s end, even if it wasn’t necessarily a good one. You were just perfect like that. One of the many, many things he positively adored about you. 

Throwing down the pitchfork, he ran his forearm along his forehead. It came back, coated in sweat, but it was shaken off. The job, at last, had been finished with the last goat’s pasture finally cleaned, and he was free to leave. Free of the torment of his brain and it’s need to torment him. 

Just as he turned to make the trek back to you (After a dip in the river of course), he nearly shouted at the sight. You were there, hanging onto the pole of the stall and staring him down much like a predator would it’s prey. Your eyes never left his chest as your other hand fiddled with the gold band on your finger. 

“Ya’ okay there, darlin’?” He dared to ask, hoping his racing heart calmed itself. “Scared me half to death back there.” 

You blinked then shook your head, as if snapping out of some sort of trance. “Yeah, yeah, just…Do you trust me?” 

What a foolish question. He would rip out his still beating heart and give it to you if you asked because he knows you’d use it for something worthwhile. He’d tear the kingdom right out of Dusk’s grimy claws if it meant you could have it because he knew you’d run it perfectly. He would side with Ganon should you so wish since he knew you had his best interest at heart. 

Still, he nodded. 

You stepped forward, hands reaching for his chest before they glided against his pecs, thumbs brushing just against his nipples. It wasn’t something new, you had an odd fascination with his pectorals and he knew it, but the look you were giving them was something he had never seen from you. It was hungry and laser-focused, nothing deterring you from whatever you had deemed necessary in this very moment. 

He licked his own sharp canines. “Sweetheart-” His mouth suddenly clamped shut as his entire body went stiff. Your tongue dragged right between the valley of said pecs, licking up to the curve of his collarbone before flicking away with the sweat collected. Your saliva, which was quickly cooling along his skin, shined much in the same way the sweat did, marking no real difference to what you had done. Not to the visible eye at least. But to Twilight? 

His entire head was screaming at him, pushing him to move or do something, but it was as if he just couldn’t. He was stuck. 

“Sorry, I just- I don’t know what came over me, but-”

“Do it again.” 

You paused. “What?” 

He gently grabbed your hands, holding them away from your chest. “Do it again. Lick e’ry inch a’me until ya can’t taste anything else. Until every time ya look at me y’er reminded of what ya did. Do. It. Again.”

You swallowed. When you hesitated, he leaned in close with a gruff growl. 

“I said, do it again.”

[hyuuukais]

⋆₊‧⁺˖⋆˚.⋆ ͙͘͡★ LOOK UP TO THE STARS

pairing ▪︎ han jisung x fem reader

synopsis ▪︎ sent out on a mission to a neighbouring QZ that's gone radio silent, y/n falls into the hands of a post-rebellion group after things go terribly wrong. giving up on rejoining her squad, she joins the group on a trek to find a missing member, the group leader's sister. what's supposed to be a not-so-simple trip out and back to their base becomes a one-way ticket to the end of everything they know.

warnings ▪︎ gen

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER ONE

SQUADS & REBELS

▪︎ SQUAD 143 NOTABLE CHARACTERS

Squad Leader Lee Minho ▪︎ stoic and blunt, an intimidating teacher. Knows more than he should, protector of y/n, at least, he thinks he is.

Cadet L/n Y/n ▪︎ one of the best students of her year; could be the top student if only her unarmed hand to hand combat improved. clumsy in day to day life, but sharp and precise with a weapon in her hands.

Cadet Kim Seungmin ▪︎ y/n's best friend since she arrived at the QZ 13 years ago. a strong and sarcastic fighter, unwilling to submit to authority. would do anything for the people he cares about, but they don't need to know that.

Cadet Hwang Yeji ▪︎ y/n's roommate born and raised in the QZ, knows that place and the surrounding area like the back of her hand. a fluid fighter and smart girl, on her way to becoming another squad leader.

Cadet Shin Yuna ▪︎ brought to the QZ as a young child with no recollection of the outside world, growing up beside karina like a sister. y/n's other roommate specializing in medicine.

▪︎ SQUAD 144 NOTABLE CHARACTERS

Squad Leader Seo ▪︎ driven by unstoppable determination and loyalty, she's gunning for her squad to be the best of the best. fiercely protective of her members, not just because one of them is her brother.

Cadet Seo Changbin ▪︎ a friend of seungmin's, a strong and valued soldier. gets away with more than he should.

Cadet Shin Ryujin ▪︎ another friend of seungmin's. top of her class, don't care attitude. mess with her or her friends, and you're done for.

Cadet Yang Jeongin ▪︎ went missing last year after being mistakenly sent on a real mission before he was ready and hasn't been seen since. no body was found, he's been assumed dead amongst his peers.

▪︎ REBELS NOTABLE CHARACTERS

Bahng Chan ▪︎ unspoken leader of the group. would put his own life at risk for everyone he cares about, even if he just met you. takes care of the others, but who takes care of him?

Hwang Hyunjin ▪︎ best hand-to-hand fighter in the group, hands down. thinks his worth is tied to his skills. has a secret creative side and always carries a sketchbook with him, capturing his friends in soft moments.

Han Jisung ▪︎ a skilled sniper, and not just with a gun. can hit almost any shot as long as he can focus. pretty much at least good at most aspects of combat, and he's funny too!

Lee Chaeryeong ▪︎ another skilled sniper, quiet and stealthy. sees a lot, hears a lot, says nothing about any of it; you can trust her. lost her sister when a QZ attacked her camp as a young kid and met chan not too long after.

Lee Felix ▪︎ resident doctor and beam of positivity. the apocalypse calls for hard times, but he always shows the silver lining to those around him in an effort to cheer them up, even if only for a moment.

Bahng Hannah ▪︎ chan's missing sister. a free spirit and curious person, always yearning for knowledge. a lover of music and art, somewhat sheltered by chan from the doom and gloom around her.

[ateriblewriter]

Rae of Sunshine (q.h)

Family is Everything Series

Series Masterlist

Request things

a/n: sorry if this makes no sense.

July 2031

"Come here baby." Quinn scooped the tired two year old out of the water and into his waiting arms. The two of them had been playing outside all day, it was time for a little break.

The summer had gone by a little too fast for his liking and it was almost time for the family to make the trek back to Vancouver. The Hughes family as a whole had celebrated practically everything this summer. From cup wins to birthdays and even a wedding. Nothing affected him more than his baby turning another year older.

"No Daddy. Down. Play in water." The small curly brunette child tried squirming out of her father's arms. Eden wasn't ready to done playing in the water she so deeply adored. She had just turned two, and she still thought she was ruler of the family.

"Eden, it's time to take a rest." Quinn's grip on his child tightened. He was not about to let her go ever no matter what she tried to do. "Auntie Ari and Uncle Lu are coming back today.” He watched as her face lit up at the mention of his youngest brother and new sister in law. “But you need some quiet time first."

“I big girl. No need nap.” Eden wriggled herself free, splashing down in the water.

“Get back here stinky.” Quinn chased after his daughter, giving her a little more time before he captured her, holding her closer this time. “You don’t need to take a nap. We could go inside by Mommy or we could sit in the hammock and chill for a bit.”

Eden in his youngest, and last child. Once Eden Rae was born he made a big promise to Y/N they were done having kids. He would make sure of it, something she gladly agreed to.

Out of his three children Eden was most likely his favorite. He knew he shouldn’t have favorites, as that could cause problems down the road. But he had had the most time with her when she was a baby. She was born during a low time in his life when he was still trying to get over a terrible injury and his marriage had been in shambles. His little Rae of Sunshine had been there.

And then there was the accident that almost took her from him. He didn’t know what he would do if any of his babies didn’t survive that terrible day. Eden had the worst chance of not making it out. He stayed by her side for hours watching her making sure she was still breathing. Even though he wasn’t at fault for the crash, he still wouldn’t have forgiven himself if hadn’t they survived.

"No mommy. Only daddy." Eden yawned and rubbed her tired little eyes. She puckered her lips and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, blowing Quinn a kiss.

"I'm not going anywhere, don't worry." Quinn smiled lightly, starting to hum the song they had started singing to her while she was in the hospital. The child laid her head on his shoulder, her eyes getting heavier, the prospect of sleep getting harder to resist.

"Sing, daddy."

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray." Quinn wasn't the greatest singer in the world, but he would do anything for the child.

 He didn't even get halfway through the first verse when he heard soft snores. He still continued to sing softly, trying to soak up the time before his baby grew up and didn't need him anymore.

[officialunitedstates]

And there I stood on the precipice right outside the great verdant castle, its walls and gates themselves towering over the South Atlantic on the border between Português y Español. 500 years of colonization had led to the great structure behind me, and billions of years had led to the ocean before me, yet we call one a marvel and the other a geographic fact. How many had looked upon this same ocean, with their back at the same fortress, with their mind on the same thoughts I now drew? I picked up the soil from below me, letting it sift and slide through my hands. Gravity cleaned them completely. Even the specks of the earth did not dare stay with me. Then, out in the distance, a dot of gray. A ship? It had to be, simply deduced. What else would dwell far out amongst the blue; what else would dare? And on that ship, was there anyone with a spyglass, a telescope, who would venture their eyes upon the upper coast and spot me, peering without aid onto their vessel? Many paths, one self, and one mind to use to compensate the course, to steer and navigate the soul. I had been here before, I thought, throughout my life, yet never had I reached the same climax of suspense, the same clifftop. I had distractions back then, I had mortal others, but most terrifyingly I had a freely-provided shovel and endless soil to bury it all away in a nice and clean pile. And still more, I never dared climb the cliff to begin with; I never dared to stand with the castle at my back. My civilization, my decade, wasted? Yes, wasted. 10 years of lies, of angst, of waiting for nothing to happen. Who was I to do this to myself? Who was I to meander through the maze of society's corruption and seemingly attractive pits? Where was I hoping to arrive if not back at the original start after trekking through mire and empty mirth? What was I if not pitifully self-righteous, ignorant, foolish. He laid my path before me 29 years ago, when all the doctors thought I may have not even started it, or reached it only to succumb to some of the worst afflictions humans face. But then I was born, free of it all. I thought myself as burdened these past years, but no, I was in fact weightless. I had only to take the easiest steps with the lamp at my feet and the light on my path. To follow the one who had laid that path before me. I had only to progress, to trust, to believe, to pour out. What could I do now but smile? Rejoice in knowing that I have turned the corner, that I had climbed the cliff, that I had the great, green castle at my back, and that I had the great, blue ocean of possibilities in front of me, endlessly spewing forth water and life. I did not need to climb up this mountain to see it, but now that I had, my vision was clear, and I could see in all the good and great glory what awaits before me, and what awaits everyone else as well.

[neppys-lil-hub]

Gotham's Newest...hero?

A fanfiction about the newest member in the Bat Family! Luciana Soto has had a...strange life, but it takes a turn for the worst when villains attack her school, Gotham University, and things just spiral from there.

This fic is for fun, it will avoid the "adopted by Batman" trope (sorry), and it does center on a queer women of color! Characters that will get plenty of attention (because of my personal bias) are Stephanie Brown and Cassandra Cain, but you will see most other Bat Family members and even guest DC characters in certain moments.

This is not a crack/joke story, or a short fic, it is a full blown story with a big character arc, a unique villain, and more!

Enjoy~!

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Chapter 1: I took a bullet for a clown

(4654 words)

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“So where will you go for the summer?”

“Hm? I’m sorry, what?” Luciana asked, her gaze returning to her best friend, Stephanie Brown. Stephanie was a pretty girl, with white skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes. She was wearing her signature purple hoodie. Today was their lazy day. The one time a week neither had classes and both forced themselves to put homework on hold. Simply to hang out. 

“Oh, I’m going to stay here and take two summer classes,” Luciana said easily, taking a bite of her food. The restaurant they were in was attached to Gotham University, their school, and eating on the outside patio together made this Luciana’s favorite spot. 

“Again?” Stephanie asked, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to see your family?”

“Oh, they understand it,” Luciana replied dismissively. “I’m the first in my family to go to college! The faster I graduate, the faster I can make actual money, and the faster I can help them.”

Luciana was an American-Colombian girl, a child of immigrants. Stephanie had heard the story a million times: How they had trekked from Colombia to Mexico with nothing, waited nearly a year to be allowed in, and then worked odd jobs to pay for the travel to New Jersey. Luciana herself had been born only a few months after they had entered the country, by luck not design, and had put her family on the path to citizenship.  

“Sure, but are you even enjoying college? You’re here for free, Luz, on a scholarship! Don’t you think you should…relax a little?”

Perhaps it was unfair but Luciana always got annoyed when Stephanie pointed this out. It had always felt like a privileged idea to the Latina. Choosing play over her studies. She couldn’t afford to do that. Not when her family was counting on her success. Not after every day they had endured to get her here. But that wasn’t Stephanie’s fault, and in truth Luciana knew her friend was right and wasn’t just being privileged or ignorant. She really cared and Luciana really was a bit obsessed with her studies. 

“I’m relaxing. Right now. With you,” Luciana said with an annoyed voice. “Besides, I have no friends back home, and you live here in Gotham.”

“Fine!” Stephanie said, slamming a hand down on the table. “Then as your friend here, I will ensure this is the BEST! SUMMER! EVER! Even with your classes going on.”

“Oh gods…please don’t,” Luciana groaned, hiding her face in her hands. Stephanie had always been free-spirited, humorous, and adventurous—the opposite of the naive, dutiful, workaholic Luciana. 

“Oh come on! We could do so many things. You can drive, right? We could go to the beach, the boardwalk, Cape May, the theater, the movies-” Stephanie kept rattling off a list of wonderfully distracting activities for the summer, still standing in front of the table as she babbled off. Luciana couldn't help but sigh, her eyes softening as she watched her friend get excited.

Then Luciana heard an explosion. She only had a moment to think What? Before the shockwave sent her, Stephanie, and the other people eating around them to the ground. Glass broke. Tables flipped. Food fell on top of innocent students. People began screaming all around them. Luciana’s heart was racing as she looked up, first seeing that Stephanie was on the ground but alright, and then looking around. Next to the restaurant was a grass-covered quad, and across the quad, there was a new, large, smoking hole. A van began to drive off the street and across the grass, sending panicked students running in all directions. It was covered with pink and green graffiti, with faces drawn on the sides, and random words like “hi!” and “Robber Mobile!” painted on too.

“Everybody out! Down the street!” Luciana yelled, just as men and women with guns and white masks began climbing out. She pushed herself up and grabbed the girl beside her, easily lifting her. “Go down the street! Call the cops! Don’t stop!”

Then she grabbed the next. And the next. Others started to recover from the blast themselves, some running away down the street as well, many simply looked around in shock, and more watched the criminals pull out the van and walk into the building across from them.

“Come on! GET UP! DOWN THE STREET!” Luciana yelled over the chaos, her voice clear and firm. More students seemed to come out of their daze. Finally, as the patio appeared empty, Luciana turned to Stephanie. “We need to-”

Her heart leaped out of her chest. Stephanie was gone. So was her stuff. The criminals were across the quad and in another building, not threatening them. But it seemed Stephanie had just run. Without grabbing Luciana or even making sure she was ok. The Latina felt a lump form in her throat, but gunshots rang out and brought her back to the present. She hit the deck and covered her head, looking up for the culprits. More gunshots rang out from the building the criminals had entered. Too far to threaten Luciana but surely there were more students there. 

“Fuck…” Luciana muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

Luciana stood up and dashed inside the restaurant and towards the school. Her adrenaline was skyrocketing, her jaw clenched, and she was more afraid than she'd ever felt before. She made her way through the halls, looking to evacuate any students or (gods forbid) any wounded. As she sprinted out of the restaurant she first noticed the alarms weren’t on, so she pulled the closest fire alarm she could find. The ringing began to sound out through the building. Not just this one but any attached buildings as well. The food court, the sciences building, and the engineering department. They’d all start heading outside if they hadn’t already.

“Help!”

Without a second thought, the young woman was on the run again. She went down a hallway and towards the voice calling for help. She was quick to spot the victim- A black girl younger than her sitting among the glass of a broken window. She had small bleeding cuts over her and a nasty bruise. 

“Hey, I’m here! It’s ok, come on,” Luciana started. “I got you, si? Vamos.”

“I- I can’t- I-”

Luciana had never seen someone go into shock but she assumed this must be it. At least it was similar to what she had seen in movies. Without hesitation or talk she closed the distance, her tactical boots crunching on the glass, and lifted the girl. She grunted but the girl was skinny and, thankfully, Luciana had always been strong. She carried her a few feet away and set her down away from the glass, looking over her.

“Hey, it’s ok. I’m gonna help you, yeah? And then you’ll be safe,” Luciana said in a soft and reassuring voice, gently looking over the girl, pulling her arms out to see if they were injured, and looking over at her back. 

“H-H-Harley Quinn,” she sobbed, her face a mess of tears. “They- they shot into the roof. They-”

“Did she say where she was going?” The Latina asked, ripping off a piece of her white linen button-up and tying it around a particularly nasty gash on the girl's arm. She knew she had to keep a level head. The girl would stay calm and anything she learned she could tell the police. 

“The Applied Physics Lab,” the poor girl said, watching as Luciana tied a knot with the fabric from her shirt. 

“Ok, cool,” Luciana said. Her major didn’t require her to go to that lab. She had no clue what a supervillain could want with it. “Well, if someone like Harley Quinn is here, we need to go.” She offered the injured girl a hand, standing up. “Yeah?”

The girl watched Luciana for a few moments, who smiled reassuringly, and then slowly took her savior's hand. Luciana was quick to pull her up and guide her by the shoulder, walking briskly towards the restaurant and the outside. The girl she was helping still seemed in shock and not all there as Luciana kept a vigilant eye out, checking every corner and constantly behind them. When they turned a corner, nearly at the restaurant, that’s when both girls heard a gruff voice.

“Stop!” A woman ordered. Luciana heard a distinctive Click! of a gun’s safety going off. “Don’t move!”

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” Luciana reassured. The girl she was helping froze completely, eyes wide with fear. “Just follow my lead, si? Come on.”

“Turn around slowly,” the voice ordered. Luciana nodded, still guiding her rescue by the shoulder until both of them had turned to face one of the criminals attacking the school. A woman dressed in all black, with a white mask, and an AR-15. She was flanked by two men sporting the same gear. 

“Seriously, there’s only these two?” One of the men asked. 

“Taking hostages was an afterthought- She didn’t think there’d be a safe to crack,” the other sighed.

“Zip it, both of you,” the woman said, giving her new hostages a nod. “Alright, we don’t want to hurt anyone else. You listen to what we say and everyone will be fine. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Luciana answered for both of them, but the student she was helping began to panic. Her breath was quickening and she swallowed hard. Her eyes looked around as if she was getting ready to bolt. Luciana squeezed her shoulder in warning.

“Alright, they’re going to approach you and cuff you. Don’t fucking move,” the woman warned. She then gave her partners a nod. 

The two men began to approach. They let their rifles hang off their shoulders as they both took out handcuffs. One approaching Luciana and one approaching the other girl. Then things started going wrong.

“Wait!” Luciana yelled, feeling the student she was holding move. 

The girl ran. The woman aimed her rifle, ready to fire. One man seemed ready to grab the student and the other was still about to grab Luciana. The Latina moved as if time had slowed down, as if she could react at a higher speed, although everything only took a few moments. She grabbed the man about to cuff her by the balls and throat, surprising him greatly, and as he made a choking sound she pushed him into the woman. She cursed and raised her rifle, firing at the roof as both of them fell to the ground. The third criminal grabbed Luciana from behind, forgetting the escaping student when he heard his partners struggling, and Luciana screamed angrily as she felt her arms get pinned to her sides. She made a loud growl, almost like an animal, and slammed her foot into his. He cried out in pain as she pushed back with all her weight and knocked them both to the floor.

“Fucking grab her, there’s no one else!” The woman ordered. 

“Get the fuck away from me!” Luciana yelled back, pulling one arm free from his loosened grip. She punched him in the face once, twice, three times and he finally let go.

“Don’t shoot her!” The woman ordered again, stopping the man next to her who had raised his rifle. That was a mistake. Clued into the fact they’d no longer shoot Luciana did the most logical thing: She ran. 

Sprinting had never been her forte. She had loved cross country. She loved tests of endurance. But at this moment, filled with adrenaline and panic, she may as well have been the Flash. She thought of nothing but pushing her legs to move faster and faster, arms swinging tightly beside her, tight breaths forcing their way out of her lungs. She quickly began to outpace the slower criminals, her shirt flapping in the wind. Luciana ignored any corners and turns, focused solely on going as far as she could without stopping. She passed a sign that said “Applied Physics Lab.”

Wait, wasn’t that where the criminals had gone? Was Luciana’s last thought before a wooden bat appeared from around the corner and swung full force. She didn’t even have the time to cry out before it hit her, stopping her dead in her tracks and knocking her flat on her back. Pain exploded in her head and her vision went dark, white spots dancing in the void. 

“I knew you guys were useless!” An oddly cheery female voice said, with a Brooklyn accent. A hand grabbed Luciana by the hair, forcing her to sit up. The student cried out in pain, blinking her eyes repeatedly. “I heard you shooting and came to check it out. Didn’t I tell you not to kill these poor kids?” 

“One of them ran,” the woman’s voice answered as she caught up, panting from the chase and leaning on her knees. Luciana heard the footsteps of the men catching up after her. “I reacted. But no one got shot! It’s all good.” 

“Ugh…” Luciana groaned, her vision slowly coming back. She could hardly think with the throbbing in her head. She blinked again to see the blurry version of Harley Quinn. Pale skin, blond hair tied into two pigtails, the tips of one dyed pink and the other blue. She was wearing boots, knee high socks, shorts, a tiny top, and fingerless gloves. All of it was red and black but coordinated so the color jumped from side to side in a spotted color scheme.

“Oh, you’re ok,” Harley Quinn chided. “I might not be the physical kind of doctor but I promise it’s just a concussion. Now, I need ya, but if you’re good I’ll make sure to give you to the police. Deal?”

“Maldito puta de mierda,” Luciana muttered quietly, weakly grabbing Harley’s wrist with both her hands and vainly attempting to tug her off. The hit had completely sent her body out of whack. It was like punching someone in a dream and having no strength at all, or being a flimsy marionette.Frustrating. Weak. And feeling not in control.

“I’m gonna take whatever that was as a yes!” Harley cheered. “You two: Grab her. Don’t let her run off again. The safe will be open soon.”

“If the safe’s not gonna take awhile then why did we need a hostage at all?” One of the men asked as both of them grabbed Luciana. The woman pulled her arms back and cuffed them together. 

“It’s called insurance, duh,” Harley replied, walking away. 

The three thugs, with Luciana cuffed and in tow, followed Harley deeper into the Applied Physics Lab. She groaned loudly, her head hanging and her feet dragging, as they took her. They went all the way to the end of the hallway where another two lackeys were kneeling in front of a wall. Luciana looked up as the group stopped walking, seeing the two were working on a safe. Or, seeing a blurry image of two figures curled over a piece of wall.

“What’s in there anyways boss? It’s gotta be worth a lot of money to raid this place in broad daylight, with all the kids,” one of the men asked.

“Do I pay you to talk or get the job done?” Harley asked, tapping her foot impatiently as the lock of the safe was slowly fiddled with. 

She’s hiding something, a small voice in the back of Luciana’s head said. She’s hiding something.

“Harley…Quinn…” Luciana groaned, each word making her head pound. 

“Hm? You’re still awake? Gosh, you’ve gotta feel terrible!” Harley said with a grin. Luciana frowned as she watched. Her words were humorous, cruel even, but her face…it held the tiniest bit of concern.

“Why don’t you tell them the truth?” Luciana said through gritted teeth, each word was a battle.

“Excuse me?” Harley asked, immediately narrowing her eyes in annoyance. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, deflecting from the guy’s question? Tell them what’s in the safe.”

The two men working on the safe did not stop, but one did look over his shoulder. The other three watched Harley carefully. Luciana had realized they had not been briefed on Harley’s prize. 

“Well? What are we risking so much for?” The woman, who Luciana had pegged as the ring leader by now, insisted. “You promised this score would get us paid.”

“Oh shut up! What would this brat know about anything? You’re gonna get cold feet with me because she’s running her mouth?” Harley demanded. She leaned back, crossing her arms and giving her hired help a judgemental look. But Luciana could hear the tension in her voice. She saw how Harley was still gripping her bat. 

“You know, word on the street is you’ve gone soft,” the armed woman said. “And I thought it was weird when you worried about hurting the kids here. No sneaking around. Letting most of them get away.” She pulled out a pistol and held it against Luciana’s head. “What’s in the fucking safe? Tell me, and we’ll keep going like nothin’ happened.”

“Hey!” Harley barked, her frown replaced with an angry look. “I’m paying you good money. Don’t do that to her.”

Shit, shit, shit, shit! Luciana thought, her wide and panicked eyes meeting Harley’s. She had intended to cause issues for Harley, if she could, in an attempt to at least buy time. But she hadn’t meant to risk herself further. 

“Then tell us what’s in the goddamned safe,” the thug insisted. She clicked the safety off and Luciana’s heart skipped a beat. This lady did not care. She’d shoot her. Kill her in cold blood. 

“Ugh…well, you’ve done it now kid,” Harley said, giving Luciana a pitiful look. She sighed. “Fine, fine, I’ll tell you.”

Before Harley could reveal the truth a loud Thunk! reverberated through the floor. Everyone turned to the two lockpickers to see they had opened the safe. The large metal door had fallen to the ground, cracking it. One of the lockpickers reached in. 

“Hey! I told you I’d grab it!” Harley complained.

“What is it?!” The woman yelled to her partner, still holding the gun to Luciana’s head. 

Before anyone could speak another word someone else joined the fray. Luciana caught from the periphery of her vision a flash of purple. The woman’s gun was hit out of her hand, clattering to the floor and away from Luciana’s head. Before Luciana could turn her head a series of grunts and blows could be heard. She managed to catch the woman who had threatened her collapsing onto the ground, unconscious. 

“So, you guys want to let the girl go? Or do you all want some of this?” Spoiler asked, her voice full of confidence. Luciana tilted her head, as confused as everyone else by her sudden appearance. 

She was wearing a skintight black bodysuit with a purple bat logo plastered to the chest. Purple boots, belts, gloves, and armor on the torso decorated her. Blonde hair spilled out from underneath the purple hood and sharp blue eyes took in the situation. The vigilante’s eyes met Luciana’s for a moment, her concern clear as day, and then she tensed. 

“Get the bat!” Harley yelled at her goons, grinning widely as Spoiler sprung into action. 

Luciana fell to the floor as Spoiler punched one of the men holding her, the other letting go to raise his rifle at the hero. This time she didn’t try to meddle or help. Luciana held her hands over her head as gunshots rang out, and the quieter sounds of melee combat followed. A second body thudded to the ground next to Luciana. Her head was still pounding from Harley’s blow and she couldn’t even think about getting to her feet. Of running. Instead, she finally looked up. 

Spoiler was left facing the two lockpickers, armed with rifles and knives, as well as Harley Quinn herself. The lockpickers had been smart enough to keep their distance, waiting for a shot and bagging whatever was in the safe, while the women fought in a deadly dance. Spoiler was aggressive and unrelenting, with no order to her blows. She punched, kicked, spun, and threw random objects as they appeared in her sight. Harley was just as unpredictable, giggling and smiling as she nimbly dodged the hero’s attacks, or simply deflected them with her bat. 

They’re not serious, the voice in the back of Luciana’s head said. 

What? 

Luciana narrowed her eyes, watching as Harley glanced at the two lockpickers. Spoiler threw another punch but hesitated for a fraction of a second. Almost intentionally. The villain took advantage to grab her wrist, spinning her into the wall between the other two thugs harshly. Luciana flinched. 

See? 

Luciana watched as Spoiler quickly recovered from the blow, beginning to fight the last two hugs. She was making short work of them. Harley chuckled and leaned down, grabbing the bag with the contents of the safe, which had been dropped. It was almost like that was rehearsed. Like they were…helping each other? It made no sense to Luciana. None at all. 

“No you don’t,” the woman, who had been knocked out earlier, said. Luciana looked to the left to see that thug get on her knees, hands scrambling to pick up her pistol. Spoiler was still finishing the other two thugs. Harley was walking away with her back turned. The woman picked up her weapon and in a split second Luciana reacted. 

Bang! 

What happened next became very unclear for Luciana. She heard Spoiler scream in anguish and found herself held in Harley’s arms. Her hands, on instinct, were clutching the new gunshot wound in her gut, pressing down weakly as if to stem the blood. Her vision blurred and her head was still pounding from earlier. Thinking became a nearly impossible task. 

“Luciana!” Spoiler yelled. Luciana found some small part of her mind wondering how the hero knew her name, but she couldn’t focus on that question. Spoiler’s hands clutched Luciana’s, pressing down painfully on the wound. “You’re going to be alright. You hear me? Hey?”

“Bats? We need a pick up now,” Harley said, tapping a communicator in her ear. 

They were working together. The realization gave Luciana great satisfaction. The voice in her head had been right. The way Spoiler and Harley’s fight had aroused her suspicion, how perfectly it had been working out for them both, Harley’s reluctance to admit what was in the safe, or to hurt anyone. She had been working with Spoiler. Luciana chuckled softly, groaning in pain.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey” Spoiler said, her voice impossibly soft. She cupped Luciana’s cheek in one hand. Blood stained it. “Don’t laugh. Don’t move. And don’t sleep, ok? Just stay calm. We’re going to get you out of her.”

“I knew Harley wasn’t bad,” Luciana said softly, her mind dizzy. All she could feel was herself slipping away, and that one bit of pride. If she had to get shot for someone at least it hadn’t been a super villain. Not really. 

The world seemed to fade to black. When Luciana regained consciousness she was in a car that was driving way too fast. Someone was sitting right behind her, holding Luciana securely in their arms, and red stained bandages were wrapped around the wounded girl’s torso. 

“What?” Luciana asked softly, her head rising from its slumped position. 

“Hey, are you still with us? Stay awake,” Spoiler’s voice said. She was the one holding Luciana upright in this car. “We’re going to get you help. We’re almost there.” She sounded anxious. Deathly afraid, even.

“Don’t feel bad,” Luciana pleaded. “This isn’t your fault.”

“No, Luci, don’t talk like that,” Spoiler said. “Shut up. You’re going to be fine.”

“It’s not your fault-”

Spoiler took a bottle of water; A large, black, metal one and poured it over Luciana’s head. Suddenly, the world became clearer. She could hear, see, and think better. She could feel her pain more. Luciana gasped and blinked several times, looking around the vehicle. She felt one arm hold her firmly as the other held the bottle to her lips.

“Drink,” Spoiler ordered. Luciana didn’t think twice as she grasped the bottle and desperately downed the rest of it, ignoring the droplets that spilled down her chin. She was just so thirsty. It almost felt like a lifeline- Keeping her aware. 

“Where are we going?!” Luciana asked, panicked. “I- Ugh!” The pain from her concussion (thank you, Harley) returned in full force as she moved. Spoiler pulled Luci back against her. 

“Someplace safe, ok? You don’t have to worry,” she promised. “We stemmed the bleeding. A doctor is going to fix you up. One we trust.”

“Wait, are you talking about, like, stitches?” Luciana asked, swallowing hard. “Or is the bullet still in me?”

“...”

“Is the bullet still in me or-”

“Yes, yes it is!” She replied quickly, a familiar tone of annoyance present in her reply. “But it’s ok, we’ve got you. Just keep calm and breathe.”

That familiar tone began to bother Luciana. She tried to look over her shoulder but her gut filled with pain, forcing her to look ahead. She looked down to see blood had leaked and stained her jeans and boots before she got bandaged. A lot of blood. She began to feel woozy at the sight. The effect of the water was short term. Her head was throbbing and her vision was going in and out.

“Hey, you ok? Try to stay awake. We’re almost there, yeah?” Spoiler said, her voice alarmed and full of worry. “Hurry up!”

“Trying!” A voice in front of Luciana and Spoiler called. The voice was awkward. Foreign. But not an accent Luciana herself recognized. She would have tried to take a look at the driver but then their destination came into view: Wayne Manor.

“What…?” Luciana murmured. Her vision was darkening. But why Wayne Manor? Wasn’t that out of the way? Surely, there were hospitals closer to Gotham University?

“It’s ok,” Spoiler reassured once more, her voice gentle. “It’s ok.”

“Ay no,” Luciana murmured, feeling herself losing consciousness. Her head fell back and her vision went dark. Before she lost all sense she felt the car going underground, entering a tunnel or something of the sort, and then she was out.

Finally, Luciana woke up one last time. Her eyes shot open and were looking up at a roof. She felt disoriented and lost. There was some sense that time had passed. Not just a few minutes but a long time. And gods did she have to pee. Her first thought was that she had blacked out. She wasn’t proud of it, but it happened. Sometimes she had too much to drink and woke up with no memories and Stephanie making her breakfast. 

“Ste-” She tried to call out, but her dry throat cracked and irritated, the name turning into a fit of coughing. She covered her mouth and sat up. Or at least she tried to. The pain in her lower right side shifted like a tight thread through her stomach and she groaned, laying back down. 

“Steph!” Luciana called out loudly, one arm shifting to cover her eyes from the light. What had happened, exactly? “STEPH!”

“She is not here,” a strange voice said. The same from the BatMobile. Luciana blinked in surprise and suddenly remembered the drive. The rush. The gunshot wound. 

“Que pasó?” Luciana murmured, lifting her head to look down at herself. Her heart skipped a beat.

An IV drip was inserted in her arm. She was wearing a hospital gown. She was clearly not in her college dorm. Her head had a pounding headache that she was just becoming conscious about, and her gut throbbed lightly. Her heart began racing as a figure stood up from a seat in a shadowed corner and walked into the light, revealing herself.

“Orphan?” Luciana asked, eyes widening. 

[dailyadventureprompts]

Villain: Brother Humble, the Unlikely Usurper

Your party has been hired to escort a delivery to a monestary high in the mountains, not the most glorious job, but it pays well. Word is that an early frost has stirred up the monsters in the region and has the local bandits looking to fill their larders before the snows force folk off the roads. Best to be quick, quiet, and be ready for anything. 

It’s a hard few days trekking up the mountains, and the heroes’ feet are aching by the time they catch sight of their destination. The monks are happy to welcome them but even more happy to receive what they carry: A large reinforced box containing the bones of one of the members of their order, lost  for some years while she was out on pilgrimage and now finally returned home to rest. Such an act of charity has more than earned the party a few nights of rest and hospitality and the monks, who happen to be as skilled brewers as they are devout souls, are more than happy to provide. Among the crowd of holy hermits the party might just notice a dour faced monk in fraying robes unloading their cart despite wearing ankle fetters, though their hosts ask them to pay no mind: Brother Humble is always in a sour mood and not even an act of god is going to change that. 

Screams wake the party that night, followed by sound of the great bell and the smell of smoke. The monks are being slaughtered, and before they can do a thing about it the part of the monastery they’re staying in catches fire. Just as they’re forced to flee they catch sight of Brother Humble, smiling toothlessly as he runs one of the other monks through with a sword of unearthly black metal, laughing as the world around him burns. 

Adventure Hooks: 

Trying to divert the mad monk from his slaughter turns out to be a hopeless task, as despite the fact that the old man should barely be able to lift the sword he fights with an inhuman strength and speed and a skill that far eclipses the party’s best. He’ll toy with them at first but should any of the heroes try to make a stand he’ll make sure to give them something to remember him by: a brutal scar, a missing hand, a burn as he presses their body up against the building as it goes up in flames. Should they somehow manage to hold their own he’ll bring the whole place down on top of their heads, leaving them to wake up and pull themselves free of the rubble in the morning. 

Though well protected in a concealed compartment within the saint’s bone box, there’s a chance the sword will be discovered during the journey either because of the party’s curiosity or a random encounter mishap. In such a case, the party will feel a calm will wash over them as they inspect the blade, a presence intoning that they are a sacred weapon sought by the monk, and it was sent to the monastery so that a great wrong may be righted. What the party do from that point is up to them, though their might be forces that would steal the sword back should they wander too far astray. 

If you’re using this adventure as the launchpad for a campain, consider the party ending the first leg of their journey taking a rest at a local outpost, or friendly mountain town before continuing on to the monastery. Not only will it give your party a break from the action and a chance to connect before shit goes down, but it will also prove a poignant moment when they limp back into the haven with whatever few survivors managed to escape the massacre. 

Background: Before he was a monk the man known as brother humble was named Firodon and he was the disinherited elder sibling of the realm’s previous soverign. Born to rule and a peerless swordsman, Firodon was unfortunately a monster who awnsered any flaw or failure with anger and delighted in petty acts of violence. He wasn’t thinking of the consequences when he dangled his youngest sister over the castle ramparts, he just wanted the brat to know her place. The ensuing fall would mean the girl would always need a chair to get around and showed the king and queen that their eldest was unfit to inherit their name, letalone a crown. 

A hunting accident was contrived, and while it would have been easiler (and saved everyone else a lot of grief in the longrun) to put a bolt through the back of prince Firodon’s head his parents were goodhearted people, and thought that with a little guidance the boy might grow beyond his wickedness outside the pressures of royal expectation. And so a body was produced, a story concocted, trusted servants sword to secrecy. Firodon was dragged to the monestary in chains and finally humbled. The queen and king might’ve been right in their thinking. Though Humble raged at the indignity of his birthright denied, life in the abby was good for him. The rigors of life living so far from the palace gave him an outlet for the energy that spurred his darkest impulses, and the monks were not affraid to correct him when he was wrong, as so many others had when he was crown prince. He was not happy, he never allowed himself to be, but he found peace, or atleast he would have had the sword dreams not started. 

Firodon’s family decended from an ancient line that first rose to power through a compact with Orcus, the now dead god of oaths, part of which involved the bestowal of Dominion, darksteel sword of great power and the service of a spirit set to watch over and guard the royal house. Working from behind the scenes this spirit served Firodon’s parents faithfully, as was its role, but upon their deaths its protection transfered not to their chosen heir but to their displaced eldest child who had never abdicated and was thus the “rightful” king in accordance with the ancient pact.  Since that day it has been working tirelessly to put the sword in Firodon’s hand and see him back on the throne regardless of how much blood it needs to shed in order to do so. 

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