#but then the enemy soldiers offer to let the rest go if they turn over their leader and they do without a second thought

[befuddled-calico-whump]

thinking about a whumpee on a forced march through rough terrain

hands tied in front of them, on foot while their captors are mounted, sleeping out in the open, forced to beg for adequate food and water

maybe they're barefoot, a captured royal in silken robes

maybe they're in a torn suit or soldier's uniform

maybe they were stripped at the start, increasing the exposure to the elements, the humiliation

are they a terrified mess from the beginning, or do they try to endure with dignity? how long before they're stumbling, barely putting one foot in front of the other? how long before they fall?

[bookwormjust]

Imagine: The Battle with Hybern

The battlefield was a sea of chaos and violence, the air thick with the sounds of clashing steel, the roars of warriors, and the anguished cries of the wounded. You fought alongside the Inner Circle, your blade cutting through enemy lines with determination fueled by the need to protect your friends, your home, and the one you loved most—Azriel.

The battle against Hybern had been brutal and relentless, each wave of soldiers seeming more vicious than the last. But finally, after what felt like an eternity of fighting, the tide began to turn in your favor. You saw Rhysand and Cassian take down Hybern’s commanders, and Feyre wielding her powers with a fierce, unyielding resolve. Together, you and the Inner Circle had done the impossible—you had won.

Breathing heavily, you scanned the field, watching as the last of Hybern’s forces fell or fled. Relief washed over you like a cool breeze after the storm. Everyone was accounted for, everyone was still standing. Azriel, covered in blood and grime but unharmed, met your gaze from across the battlefield. His eyes, always so guarded and composed, softened when they found yours, a silent promise of relief and gratitude that you both had made it through.

You offered him a weary but triumphant smile, giving a nod that you were ready to head back to camp. You turned, sheathing your sword and wiping the sweat from your brow, already thinking about the hot meal and rest that awaited you. The battle was over. You could finally breathe.

But in the next instant, pain—blinding, searing pain—exploded in your abdomen. You gasped, the breath knocked from your lungs as you felt the cold, biting steel of a sword impale you from behind. Your body went rigid, your vision blurring as the world around you seemed to slow to a standstill. You looked down in disbelief, seeing the blade protruding from your stomach, dark red blood already soaking your clothes and dripping onto the ground.

You tried to cry out, to call for help, but the sound caught in your throat, coming out as a choked, desperate gasp. The pain was unbearable, radiating through your entire body, and you felt your knees buckle as you crumpled to the ground. The enemy soldier, one of Hybern’s men who had been feigning death among the fallen, yanked the sword free, leaving you to collapse in a pool of your own blood.

Your vision swam, the world tilting dangerously as you clutched at your wound, trying to stem the flow of blood with trembling hands. Panic surged through you, your mind screaming for Azriel, for help, for anyone. But the battlefield was vast, and everyone was scattered, the triumphant shouts of victory masking the desperate sound of your ragged breaths.

Somewhere in the distance, you heard the echo of your name—a voice you knew all too well, edged with panic. Azriel. Through the haze of pain, you reached out through the bond, grasping at the thread that connected you to him. Your vision was darkening, your strength fading, but you poured everything you had left into that bond, praying he could feel it, that he would find you before it was too late.

Azriel, you called through the bond, your mental voice weak and wavering. I need you.

You felt his presence rush toward you, a surge of panic and fear crashing through the bond like a tidal wave. Hold on. I’m coming. Don’t you dare let go, Y/N. I’m right here.

The bond between you flickered, the connection straining as your life force ebbed away. You could feel Azriel’s desperation, his fear clawing at your heart as he frantically searched for you. The pain was so intense now, every breath a struggle, and the edges of your vision began to blur, darkness creeping in. You could feel yourself slipping, the bond stretching thin, like a fraying thread ready to snap.

Stay with me, Azriel’s voice pleaded, laced with anguish. Please, Y/N. Just stay with me.

You tried to hold on, but the pain was overwhelming, the pull of unconsciousness too strong. You felt the bond waver, a sharp, tearing sensation that sent a spike of terror through you. The thought of it breaking, of losing him, filled you with a despair so deep it cut through the haze of pain.

And then, just as you felt yourself slipping away, you saw him—Azriel, his wings spread wide as he flew toward you, his expression twisted in anguish and fury. He landed with a thud beside you, immediately dropping to his knees. His hands, still slick with the blood of enemies, reached for you, trembling as they hovered over your wound, unsure where to touch without causing more pain.

“Y/N!” Azriel’s voice was raw, torn from his throat as if it physically hurt him to speak. His eyes darted over your form, taking in the blood, the way your breathing was shallow and uneven. His shadows swirled around you both, frantic and agitated, reflecting the chaos inside him.

“Az…” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whisper. The world around you was slipping away, the pain giving way to a cold numbness that seeped into your bones. You reached for him weakly, your fingers brushing against his arm, leaving smudges of blood on his skin.

Azriel’s expression crumbled, and he grasped your hand in his, pressing it against his cheek as if the contact alone could keep you tethered to life. “Stay with me,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “You’re going to be okay. Just—hold on.”

He glanced up, scanning the battlefield with wild, desperate eyes. “Rhys! Feyre!” he shouted, his voice echoing across the field. “I need Madja! Now!”

Feyre was the first to reach you, her face pale as she took in the scene. “Cauldron, no…” she breathed, dropping to her knees beside you. Her hands hovered over your wound, her magic sparking faintly as she tried to assess the damage.

“Faebane,” she muttered, her voice laced with urgency. “It’s in the wound. I can’t—my magic’s not working.”

Azriel’s grip tightened on your hand, his panic spiking as he looked between you and Feyre. “She’s losing too much blood,” he said, his voice a choked whisper. “We need Madja. We need her now.”

Rhysand arrived next, his face grim as he took in the sight of you bleeding out in Azriel’s arms. He immediately reached out with his own power, trying to buy you more time, but the Faebane lingering in your wound dulled even his magic.

“Madja’s on her way,” Rhysand said, his voice tight with the strain of keeping his composure. “Just hold on a little longer.”

But you could feel the bond stretching thin, the connection between you and Azriel flickering like a dying flame. The pain was fading, replaced by a numbness that spread from your wound outward, your body growing colder with each passing second.

Azriel, you thought weakly, your mind struggling to form the words. I’m scared.

Azriel’s breath hitched, and you felt the sharp sting of his own fear echoing through the bond. Don’t be, he said, his voice breaking. I’m here. I���ve got you. Just stay with me. Please.

The world was slipping away, your vision narrowing to a small tunnel where all you could see was Azriel’s face, his expression one of raw, unfiltered agony. You could feel him pouring every ounce of his strength into the bond, trying to keep it from breaking, trying to keep you from slipping away.

And then, at the very edge of your awareness, you felt a new presence—Madja, the healer, her magic immediately going to work as she kneeled beside you. You could hear Feyre’s voice, strained but steady as she relayed the severity of your wound, the presence of Faebane, the urgency of the situation.

Madja’s hands moved over your wound, her magic burning away the lingering Faebane and beginning the painstaking process of mending the torn flesh. The pain returned with a vengeance, sharp and blinding, but you welcomed it—it meant you were still alive, still fighting.

Azriel’s hand never left yours, his shadows wrapping around you both as if shielding you from the pain, from the fear. You felt his presence in your mind, his love and determination a lifeline that kept you grounded as Madja worked to save you.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours, every second an eternity of pain and uncertainty. But slowly, agonizingly, you felt the magic working, felt the wound begin to close, the bond between you and Azriel growing stronger, more stable.

When Madja finally leaned back, her face lined with exhaustion but her expression one of quiet triumph, you felt a wave of relief so profound it nearly made you dizzy. The wound was closed, the bleeding stopped, but you were still weak, your body trembling with the aftereffects of the Faebane and the blood loss.

Azriel exhaled a shaky breath, his eyes glistening as he pulled you into his arms, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. You could feel the bond between you thrumming with life, stronger than before, a testament to the love and strength that had kept you tethered to him.

“You’re safe,” Azriel whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pressed his forehead against yours. “You’re safe, and I’m not letting go. Ever.”

You nodded weakly, tears pricking at your eyes as you clung to him. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice hoarse but filled with all the love and gratitude you felt. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Azriel shook his head, his grip tightening as if to reassure himself that you were really there. “You don’t have to apologize,” he said, his voice choked with the remnants of his fear. “Just… don’t ever do that again. I can’t—” He broke off, unable to finish the thought, but you understood. You could feel it through the bond, the depth of his love, the fear of losing you that had nearly broken him.

“I won’t,” you promised, reaching up to cup his cheek. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Azriel’s eyes closed, and he leaned into your touch, his relief palpable as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmured, his voice filled with the quiet strength that had carried you through the darkest moments. “Because I’m never letting you go.”

The rest of the Inner Circle gathered around, their expressions a mix of relief and lingering worry, but you knew that with Azriel by your side, you could face anything. The bond between you, though tested, had not broken. It had only grown stronger, a testament to the love that would always guide you back to each other, no matter the darkness you faced.

[angelkhi]

love me, hate me - s.r

summary: steve rogers pisses you off, and you piss him off. but is it really ever that simple?

warnings: SMUT 18+ (MINORS DNI), p in v, switch steve & reader, face sitting, unprotected sex, talks of bodily fluids, enemies to lovers a little bit, slight hate fucking but also not?? feelings at the end sort of.

word count: 2.8.k

a little note: Happy New Year to you all! finished this at 4 am so not beta’d any mistakes are my own (seriously i just spelled mistakes as ‘mestayks’ so like sorry lol) half based on this request but also something i already had in the works that seemed to mesh xx

"Let's not forget who's doing who a favour." You chide, already irritated by presence.

"Please sweetheart, I'm doing you more of a favour than you realise."

"And how's that Mr Rogers?" You fix his crooked tie. Always picking up after him.

"You walk in there with me? There's no way you're going home alone tonight." He smooths out the collar on his shirt, checking himself over in the mirror. "Your little problem gets solved."

"My little problem?"

"Don't get me wrong, Yels, it's great doing it yourself but it would be nice for someone give me an orgasm every now and then."

"You fuckin pig! You were listening to my conversation?" You're embarrassed. Beyond embarrassed. If there's one person that doesn't need to know about your dwindling sex life it's Steve Rogers.

"It's kinda hard not to overhear yours and Yelena's screeching on girls night." Once again those fingers fly up into quotation marks and you have to blink yourself free from the daze you're slipping into.

Maybe Steve does have a point, you're significantly louder after a bottle or two of rose, but it doesn't give him the right to use your own words against you.

"You're a dick, Rogers. It's none of your fucking business how many orgasms I have." He's smirking down at you now, something in his eyes you've never seen before. "Let's just get this over with. I don't want to have to see your face any longer than necessary."

The two of you enter the ballroom together as planned, and heads turn almost instantly. The quiet gasps and turning heads boost his scolded ego more than nicely. But that's all it is. A soothing bandage over a painful wound.

Stark's infamous shindigs that rivalled even the most grand of galas, yet you are the only thing that matters to him in a room filled with expensive champagne and extravagant sculptures. He watches you from across the room, Bucky's latest debrief on Sam's irritating behaviour blending into the mindless background chatter.

You're done up to the nines, pretty hair twisted in some intricate up-do, and that dress. That fucking dress. He wonders if things would be easier if you knew how he really felt about you, that the trading of insults between the two of you is the only way he can resist pinning you against every available surface and fucking the attitude out of you.

You work your charm with everyone that comes up to you, offering you drinks and boring conversation. You know you're in charge, so do they, and so does he.

He spots you talking to a pretty redhead he soon recognises as Wanda, she's changed since he last saw her. But he much more notices the lingering stares and flirtatious touches, the way you lean into each other and laugh a little too loud. Jealousy is no longer a green eyed monster, but a blonde haired, blue eyed super soldier.

You happen to glance over at him in that moment, taking in his tensed jaw and white-knuckle grip on his champagne flute, expecting it to shatter under any more force. He watches as you smirk in his direction, and the go back to the conversation like he wasn't even there. Sam and Bucky pull him away to a conversation that is meant to be important and he loses sight of you for the rest of the evening.

The party starts to get a little too lively towards 11pm, the rowdy crowd excited about the looming new year. You find yourself at the bar, sick of your uncomfortable shoes, ready to get more than drunk, kiss a bottle at midnight and fall into bed with your vibrator once again. Someone slides into the empty seat next to you, speaking to the bar tender. You catch the 'and whatever she's having' and roll your eyes just wanting to be left alone at this point.

Your double vodka and cranberry is slid in front of you and you take a single sip before turning to the man next to you. He's attractive, with his full beard and long brown hair. There's something in his eyes but you don't care enough to find out that much about him. He shakes your hand firmly, introducing himself as Quentin Beck. You smile and thank him when he compliments you, you hum and nod when he tells you about his latest technological venture that sounds weirdly similar to Tony's, you smile coyly when he rests a hand on your thigh and offers to take you somewhere a little less private.

You're silently disappointed that this is the best you could do on a night like tonight but you're not one to look a fort horse in the mouth. He guides you through the crowd with a hand around your waist until the function room doors come into view and your excitement dims even further. Steve stands in the doorway, arms crossed and biceps bulging as he stares at Quentin and then his hand on your waste.

"Hey honey." He wraps his fingers around your wrist lightly, stopping you in your tracks. He stares down at you for a second too long, then diverts his gaze to Beck.

"Fuck off." Two words. Two are all it takes for Quentin to crumble.

His hand moves from your waist faster than you can blink and he's already being swallowed up by the crowd when you turn away from glaring at Steve. His fingers linger around your wrist but you shrug him off, and leave the grand ballroom stomping down to the elevator.

He follows you of course, right up to your door, pushing inside when you try and slam it in his face.

"Honey that guy was a creep."

"Don't 'honey' me you just ruined my one good chance of getting laid tonight." You kick off your shoes.

"Well I wouldn't call it a good chance..."

"What was that?!" You're about to fiddle with the zip of your dress but instead steve has your attention and an insane amount of audacity.

"M'just saying he wouldn't have been worth it." He pauses, sitting on your bed uninvited. "Doesn't look like he can find his car keys let alone please a woman."

"I guess I'll never know now." You scoff.

"Use me instead."

What in the sweet baby jesus?!

"How much have you had to drink?" You chuckle, and go back to working your zip.

"You know I can't get drunk. How much have you had to drink?" He retorts, reaching up to undo the zipper for you.

"Not enough for this to be a hallucination. What's in it for you?"

"An orgasm." Fair enough.

"Why are you doing this? Are you trying to humiliate me?"

"What? No! I'm just trying to apologise for ruining your New Years hook up." He looks sincere, but then Steve never lies. You on the other hand, would be lying if you said you didn't want to jump his bones at least twenty three and a half of the twenty four hours in the day. And he's offering himself to you on a golden platter. Why turn. it down?

"Strip."

It's a simple word, but it holds so much power. Starting something that may just fucking ruin you. But you want it. He wants it. The easy route be damned. Steve is quick to discard his clothing, looking up at you expectantly waiting for your next request. You simply just let your dress drop, carefully stepping over the expensive fabric and slotting yourself between Steve's legs. His eyes widen when he realises you'd neglected to put on any underwear that evening. She reaches out to touch you, rest a hand on your hip but you slap it away.

"Lay back." You kneel over his hips, excitement fizzling on your skin as he rests on his elbows, taking up an insane amount of space with his broad shoulders and wide thighs. He doesn't move any further, a sly smirk on his lips and wonder in his eyes.

"I said I don't want to see your face, lie the fuck back." You have him under your thumb, and your pussy, when he lays back against the cotton sheets you crawl across his body and rest above his face. His hands grip onto the backs of your thighs, usually light eyes dark with lust. 

"No touching." You thread his arms above him, resting forward and pinning them against the pillows. His response is muffled when you lower yourself onto his face. His tongue works wonders when he's not using it to talk and you definitely prefer it when he's not talking.

You grind yourself down against his pliant tongue, clit bumping his stupidly perfect nose with each thrust. You're taking what you deserve from him, what he owes you and you fucking love it. You love the fact that he could easily slip you underneath him, pin you beneath him and pull you apart but instead he's letting you use him, letting you grind yourself to an orgasm on his face.

"You're not so useless after all Rogers, fucking hell." His lips purse around your exposed clit and your thighs shake a little. You press yourself further against him, chasing your well deserved orgasm until you're panting above him half spent.

Lifting yourself off of him, you take in his flushed cheeks and blown out eyes. God he's pretty. Your hand strokes through his hair and he leans into your touch. Putty in your hands.

You reach back, your hands almost dwarfed by the impressive size of his pretty cock. You struggle to wrap your hands around him fully, but when you start stroking him slow but firm it doesn't matter. His face twists into one of pure bliss and his hips fuck up into your fist desperately. Deciding enough is enough you manoeuvre down his body, hovering over his painfully hard weeping cock. You drag him through your folds, almost slipping him in before bumping his engorged head against your clit until you're right on the edge of desperation and finally sink down on him.

You take him slowly at first, unable to stay quiet as he stretches you open. There's a slight sting but my god does it sting so good. Once he's fully sheathed you take a moment to accommodate, grinding down on him, twin moans coming from the two of you. You raise yourself up again, right to the tip and back down, slowly building the rhythm until you're bouncing on his cock, hitting spots you didn't even know existed panting for breath. 

"You feel so fucking good." You whimper chasing your own pleasure, fuelled by Steve's. He fists the bedsheets, so obedient trying not to touch you, but you look so pretty and broken and you're touching yourself whilst you ride him, clenching down on his dick so fucking perfectly. He's more vocal than. you expected, grunting and moaning and whining.

"Fuck I'm gonna come. Steve." Your fingers roll your taught nipples between your fingers, pinching and pulling. Steve's hips stutter for a moment, but then he's right there with you, fucking up into your perfect cunt until you're shaking on his dick, grinding your clit against his pubic bone and falling over the edge.

He doesn't give you a second to breath, wrapping his strong arms around you and placing you flat on your back. You're breathless, your vision is still fuzzy but then he's pounding into you. Lifting your leg above his shoulder opening you up up to him even more. You're well and truly fucked. Not a single word or thought or even sound registering. You're just wide eyed and open mouthed and taking what he gives you.

"Not so cocky now are we, hmm sweetheart." His thumb flicks your clit once and you're coming all over again, a loud scream echoing off of the walls.

"There she is. So fucking perfect, taking what you need. Did I do well, did I satisfy your greedy pussy or do you still want more?"

"St-Steve. More." You sound so broken, so unalike yourself but you never want to go back to her when you can be this.

"Course you fuckin do. Play with your tits for me, that's a good girl." He thrusts slow but deep, your weak legs held in position by his huge hands. He relishes in your flushed face and smudged makeup. Your hair has foregone the confines of bobby pins and it's splayed out on the cushion behind you. You're fucking perfect.

"Who's cunt is this?" Your eyes lull into the back of your head when he delivers a quick sharp tap to your clit. "Tell me who's cunt it is and I'll let you cum."

"Y-Yours. Yours Steve."

"Good. And who's fuckin dick is this tearing you apart?" It's all too much, you're on the verge of crying from the overstimulation. "Who's is it?"

"Mine."

"Good fucking girl." He punctuates his words with his thrusts, picking up speed once more and rubbing small quick circles against your clit. Your tears do spill then, dark mascara running down your cheeks when you explode all over him.

He fucks you through the orgasm, pulling out of you when you begin to claw at his chest, leaving pretty marks all over him. He kneels over you, furiously stroking himself to completion until he cums in long white ropes all over your breasts, chest heaving and panting. He collapses next to you, silent as you try to catch your breaths and wrap your head around what just happened.

It shouldn't surprise you when Steve gets up to the bathroom and comes back with a washcloth, but it does. It leaves you stunned. You try not to show it though, nor do you give him a glimpse at how disappointed you are about leaving.

"Damn Rogers, you really know how to hate fuck." Steve's gaze is frantic, but mostly confused.

"Hate? I don't hate you." His eyebrows are pulled together so tightly you're scared they might just fuse into one another.

"Could've fooled me." You pull up your underwear and pull on his shirt foregoing the tight dress.

"Look. I don't. Hate. You. Do you get on my nerves? Sometimes. But I could never hate you."

"So what? You wanna call the way you've treated me since I got here a proclamation of your undying love." He's silent. "You can't be fucking serious Rogers."

"Don't be like that, you gave just as good as you got." You scoff, but it's the truth. "Every time I look at you I want to fuck you, every time I see someone even look at you I wanna fuckin... I don't know!"

"Steve..."

"You terrify me. I have all these feelings for you, but you're so... you. You're so gorgeous, you're potty mouth and you're strong and you don't take shit from no one, not even me. I'm an idiot, I know that and I don't expect a sorry to fix anything, but I need you to know that that wasn't a one time thing, I want you."

"Well fuck. You have feelings for me?" He nods, simple, effective and oh so Steve Rogers. "I thought. I don't know what I though. I walked in here and you just stared at me and left, and I guess I though you took one look at me and decided I wasn't enough. So I decided I was gonna prove you wrong."

"I think you're everything. You've certainly proved me right." He looks angry, at himself at and the situation, but mostly at the fact that you'd ever thought those things about yourself.

"Right pair of idiots we are." You mutter, trying to lighten the you're-not-sure-what mood. He pulls you into his lap, rough hand resting around your waist.

"Aren't we just." He whispers against your lips.

"How many people did you tell to fuck off tonight? Just out of interest."

"Bout 15." He mumbles and then laughs, "don't regret a single one of them though."

You surge forward and press against him. His lips are softer than expected and his movements are so slow, so tentative. You arch into him, greed driving your need to make up for the last few wasted months.

A loud bang erupts from outside of the glass windows, popping into a concoction of golds and reds and pinks, until the New York skyline is littered with individual fireworks displays.

"Happy New Year Rogers." You whisper against his lips, though it turns into a breathless whimper when he pulls your panties to the side. "You get on my nerves too by the way. Like a whole lot."

"Yeah yeah. Happy New Year."

[tenderleavesbob]

Flowers and Deities continue!

"Yeah," Warriors admitted freely. He shifted on the ground and saw Twilight twitch toward him. Hyrule confirmed that the moblin's club had fractured bone, and even sitting on his blanket was painful. If Twilight wasn't so busy hovering over Time, Warriors knew without a doubt that he would be hovering over him. Instead, Wind frowned at him and started digging through Warriors's bag for who knew what. "The Fierce Deity made me nervous as hell. Mask hid the mask from me for weeks after the first time I saw him put him on. I was ready to break it in two."

"Because that sounds smart," Legend said, but he wasn't looking at Warriors. He was looking at Time's bag. Warriors had no doubt that the vet was itching to investigate such a magical item.

"I didn't care if it was smart," Warriors said with a shrug. "I was terrified that Mask was going to put on the mask one day and the Deity would refuse to let him go. Or it would grow bored of the enemies on the battlefield and turn on my soldiers instead."

The only thing scarier than the Fierce Deity turning its sword on Warriors's soldiers was the possibility of Warriors needing to raise his own blade in turn. He couldn't imagine it. He had tried, and he failed every time.

"Wind braiding some flowers into its hair helped. It made it harder to be afraid of it when it would show up with purple flowers in its hair."

Wind scoffed at him, but Warriors saw him preening. He offered Warriors another pillow and didn't stop shoving it at him until Sky helped Warriors better adjust his position.

Time was still sleeping off wearing the mask, not as young as he used to be. Warriors wouldn't mind staying at their new camp for another day. Trying to resume walking in the morning sounded like a nightmare.

"Is that why you called Time 'Mask'?" Sky asked. He took one of the blankets Wind had pulled out and tucked it around Warriors's shoulders. Warriors had lost more blood than he had thought, and it left him chilled. Since Twilight couldn't fuss over him, Warriors thought wryly, he supposed the duty fell to Sky.

"Part of it," Warriors agreed. He accepted the bowl of soup Wild offered him with a smile. He had watched the younger man make it, frowning heavily and making a thick broth from fresh bones. While Warriors hadn't had a chance to see his wounds and the resulting mess, the rest of the chain had. Based on the stains on his clothes, there had been a definite pool of blood.

Wild carried a bowl of soup in each hand and sat beside Twilight. Twilight paused from where he was checking on Time to gratefully accept a bowl. Wild grinned at him and then turned to the group. "I found a mask like that during my adventure. It had power to it, but nothing like..." He held his bowl with one hand and waved vaguely with the other. Twilight watched the soup splash in the bowl with clear trepidation.

"I'm used to powerful spirits," Twilight said, reaching up and steadying Wild's bowl, "but I never want to see that again."

Fear lingered in his eyes. Warriors smiled in sympathy at him. He understood.

It wasn't just the flowers and braid, but Warriors never felt comfortable talking about the war. No one would judge him. Everyone kept their own tales tucked behind their tongues. Remembering his own trauma was bad enough, but remembering Mask's and Tune's? How they had barely recovered from their latest adventures before they were dumped in a war?

Warriors remembered the battle, the moment, which had been the turning point with Fierce Deity. It was certainly not a story he ever planned to share, no matter how much he loved and trusted his brothers.

The battle had been awful. It had been late in the war, and whatever sanity remained in Cia's corrupted heart was falling apart. Ganondorf wasn't completely freed from his prisons, but he was free enough. Warriors remembered desperately loving his boys and just as desperately wishing the Goddesses would return them to their own times. They had seen enough, suffered enough.

Warriors didn't remember the blow which dropped him. He just remembered that it didn't hurt. He just remembered how Tune had seen him and screamed.

Things blurred after that. The shock of the wound and the blood loss, Impa told him later. Warriors never forgot the important things, though, like how gently the Fierce Deity had carried him off the battlefield, how Warriors's blood had stained them both, how the Fierce Deity had cradled him to its chest like Warriors was a child.

How the Fierce Deity had walked so carefully, letting Tune's short legs keep pace with them.

That was the moment when Warriors decided to trust him, and the Fierce Deity had never let him down.

That was certainly not a tale Warriors ever planned on sharing, though. "You should have seen the Deity sit while Wind braided his hair," he said. "It was weirdly adorable."

Wind preened while the rest of the chain stared at Warriors like he was insane. He only smiled back and started sipping his soup.

Warriors would also never share how he still had some of Tune's unused violets tucked in his journal. Some things were for him alone.

[simpcityy]

My Little Spawn Pt.7 (Dadstarion X Child!Reader)

Summary: Astarion was finally free from Cazador after being kidnapped by a mindflayer but he was stuck with one annoying task, you.

Disclaimer: I do not own Baldur's Gate 3 or any of its characters.

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), Cazador, language, violence, spoilers for those who haven't gone far in the game, mentions of blood, animal death...Uhhh...I think that is all. MAJOR SPOILERS IF YOU AREN'T IN ACT 2 YET.

Author Notes: (PLEASE READ) I hope all of you are excited for this chapter, I know some of you have been waiting for an update. I will be updating more chapters less, I got a new job, so I've been trying to focus on that. Thank you for understanding my lack being online. So, these next chapters will just be mostly fillers to move faster on act 3 so we can get some father battle. So, this chapter and the next might feel empty or rushed because we are on part 7 and we haven't reach act 3 and Cazador hasn't made an appearance yet. I want this series to have at least a maximum of 12 chapters. As always, Thank you so much for the support! I should be updating the master list with all the links of each chapter soon. Remember to Reblog and like if you enjoy this series. I am happy to start a taglist for this series since this week I will be working on a story well two.

Every time they settle down for the night, Astarion would be pacing and complaining how they are wasting time, you could be in danger. “Astation, we need rest for any enemies up ahead” Gale began only to be yelled at by the pale elf. Everyone was on edge with Astarions foul mood keeping their distance from him, even Tav. Tav mostly kept to themselves as Astarion only glared the meanest eyes at them, spewing over and over it’s their fault. “We could've found them already but here you are all lazing around.” He crossed his arms sitting at his tent. “Alright fangs, we get it.” Karlach looks over, carrying over wood on her shoulder. “You are always welcome to go on your own and find them. We are all worried for the little soldier, but we need to be smart about this and not endanger them more” Astarion only looks away and sits alone in his tent missing his little spawn. 

You were running trying to avoid the shadow curse taking over you. You somehow escaped that cell, but it cost the life of a guard. All you could see is their life drained. You felt so bad but yet they tasted so sweet. You vowed yourself not a single word of this to Astarion. You were scared he was going to get mad. You ran over to a fire staying close to it whimpering. Hearing footsteps near you, you quickly crouch behind a large rock and peaked. Hoping whatever is coming near is friendly. “Halt! Who goes there!” A feminine voice calls out. “Come out or arrows would be fired” They threaten. You slowly walk out of your hiding spot. Gasps were heard, “It’s just a child” the woman walks over and smiles “Are you okay? We won’t hurt you.” She kneels down holding a touch. “I escaped from a big castle…” You whisper, staying close to your rock. “Castle? Moonrise towers.” One of them whispers to their leader. “Come, we have a safe place called the Last Light Inn, you will be safe there. There are children of your age as well.  “She gently took your hand and kept you close. “Harpers lets go before the Shadow Curse gets us.” She commands and walks down a path. 

You felt lost inside this inn. You watched as those same Tieflings from the Grove were playing a quiet game. You slowly walked over “Hi…can I play?” You placed your arms behind your back. They only look at you before going back to their game. You turned around ready to walk back to the chair you were in, but a hand grabbed your arm and spun you back to the Tiefling children. “Hey now, is that how we treat a hero? If I remember correctly, they helped us out back at the Grove.” Mol grins looking back at the children “So I reckon you reconsider their offer.” Once they see Mol, they quickly move over offering you a spot. You smile “Thank you!” You quickly sat on the open spot playing with them. 

Hours passed and you met many people, you caught up with Alfira but you noticed she seemed sad. You also noticed there are a couple of Tieflings missing but didn’t question it. You met Jaheira and Isobel along with many more. You stayed by Mol’s side befriending her. You munched on a piece of bread given by Jaheria when you looked overhearing a commotion. “Stay inside, could be dangerous” Alfira told you two before walking outside. You didn’t mind as you kept eating but hearing a voice you’ve missed so much; you dropped your bread. 

“Astarion!” You yelled running outside tearing up. “Stay back little one!” Jaheira warns as you go outside and slip past her. Astarion looks overhearing his name and swore his dead heart had a heartbeat again when he saw you alive and unharmed. He picked you up quickly and held you close, placing your head into the neck of his shoulder “Oh thank god your alive little spawn” He didn’t care who saw him, he was feeling many emotions. He kissed the top of your head. Mol walks over “They are the ones who saved us, and that is their daddy.” Astarion looks up hearing Mol “I’m just a caretaker” He rolls his eyes. The group can see their spawn companion is back to his normal self. 

After the group minus you, take some herbal medicine that makes you say the truth, you stay near Astarions side. “What have you been up to little Spawn.” He brushes your hair as you sit between the space of his legs. “I was locked up in a castle when I woke up. There were these people and they called me beautiful artwork.” You look up at him. He frowns “So they know about your situation. “He sighs “They aren’t wrong, your kind is an artwork to those who have bad intentions. Usually…you would…” He tries to find the right words “Not be breathing, not even a second you were born. Which explains why there isn’t a high population of little spawns like you, well Dhampirs. “He explains though he knew you weren’t paying attention as you were busy watching a weed flow by the wind. He chuckles to himself as you were easy to get distracted. You got up from your spot and walked over greeting everyone you missed, getting hugs from left to right. You even got a pat on the head from Lae’zel. Nighttime came and you pouted at Astarion “But I don’t want to!” You wiggle around in his arms. You didn’t want to stay in the camp again. “It’s for your own good, it’s too dangerous out there.” He sighs “Tav say something” He motions his eyes over to you. Tav only looks over before looking over to you, “(Y/N) it’s safer for you to stay at camp. You don’t want Astarion to be worried sick again.” They pat your head. You only pout before huffing “Fine” You finally relax in his arm. “And you are never going to leave my side anymore” Astarion placed you over his hip walking to his tent. 

Over the couple of days, you were learning many things about nature thanks to Halsin. You giggle as he shifts out of his bear form. “Again! Again!” You cheered. “Alright alright.” He chuckles trying his best to keep up with your energy. More days went by, and a new temporary companion joined the group, Arabella. It took some time for you to warm up and approach her after Astarion told you to not question anything about her parents. You stood near her and kept silent before she broke the silence “You can talk to me you know; I am nothing like those children from the Grove.” She looks at you. Sitting down next to her, you look at the ground before looking up to Gale who was at his tent giving you the thumbs up. You took a deep breath and looked at Arabella. “Would you like to be my friend?” The Tiefling smiles “Of course. I think I need a friend at this point in my life. “ 

Hours rolled by and Astarion sighs walking back to the camp after successfully being able to get inside moonrise towers and become part of the group for their plan. “You know I can’t wait for when we stab them in the back” He smirks before looking over to see you and Arabella playing catch with Scratch. Scratch gets the ball whenever you fail to catch it and rolls away from you. “Were they able to play with other children over at Cazador’s palace?” Tav walks over to Astarion. The pale elf lets out a small smile seeing how happy you look. “No…Cazador never lets them out of the palace, never thought of it since I thought they were a spawn. Sunlight is our number one enemy after all, but I think this…this is making them feel more connected to their…human side you can say…I haven’t heard them complain about blood hunger. Maybe this distracts them” He hums before walking over “(Y/N), time a bath and do not fight me on this” He began before seeing you dart off. “Come back here!” He yells Tav only chuckles crossing their arms and lean back a bit watching you slip past Astarions legs and escape every time from his grasp. Everything was slowly going back to where it should, minus the tadpole and mind flayer situation.

[toshidou]

hea r me out ,,, sub ghost ,,,,

oh anon, how i love you

word count // 1.3k

tags // 18+ only, sub!ghost, dom!reader, rope, handcuffs, vibrator wand, ghost calls reader mommy and it nearly kills him and his pride but he did it (proud of him), face sitting, cunnilingus, hair pulling, multiple orgasms (from simon, lucky boy)

Simon Riley is not a man who gets the opportunity to let go very often, if in fact at all. He knows what’s expected of him, whether it be the stern, serious lieutenant, or the Ghost, a mere myth to military personnel all over the globe. He knows the role he’s been assigned, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t go above and beyond the expectations set for him. 

He once foolishly thought that he was a man who could cheat his own biology, somehow convincing himself that he could outrun the stress and near debilitating exhaustion. That was until you offered him a rather different solution. An arrangement that worked well for both of you, he remembers you saying. You weren’t wrong. Which is how he finds himself handcuffed to the metal bars of your bed frame; Hitachi wand tied against the entire length of his cock. 

“I wonder what your enemies would think if they saw you like this, hm?” Your voice cuts through the fog in his head, forcing his blurred sight to clear just so he could drink in the vision before him. You sit on the end of the bed, maddeningly far from where his body lays prone on the sheets, watching him with wicked eyes as he jolts when the tip of the vibrating wand presses firmly against his frenulum. 

“Going to cum on your pretty stomach for me again, baby?” He doesn’t miss the taunt in your voice, trying to hide the way his cock twitches pathetically at your condescending tone, unable to do anything but part his lips and moan. Being vulnerable was not something he ever thought could come this naturally to him, but something about you made it so easy for Simon to just forget about his place in the world, about the near back breaking burden he carries on his broad shoulders on a daily basis. You help him feel free, by taking away that burden and replacing it with blinding pleasure; all he had to do in return was give you his submission. It was the easiest choice he’s made in a long time. 

“Use your words big boy, I know it’s a lot, but I need you to be a good boy for me, okay?”

“Yeah, fuck, ‘m sorry,” he doesn’t miss the fond gleam to your eye, nor the hand that slides from his knee down to his upper thigh, hissing through his teeth when your touch causes his leg to twitch, jolting the vibrator against his cock, “‘s too much, gonna go fuckin’ insane.”

You hum in response, lidded eyes molten with lust come to rest on the flushed red tip of his cock, pearlescent beads of precum dripping in rivulets down his veined shaft, straining against the rope that secures it to the wand. 

“You mean to tell me that my big strong soldier can’t handle a little vibration?” Any response he has dies in his throat the moment you flick the tip of his cock, shame seeping through his veins when he realises that he just fucking came. Again. He doesn’t know if he wants your mercy, or more, but his dick apparently makes that decision for him, still painfully hard where it lays twitching like a heartbeat against his abdomen. 

“Please,” He grits out, eyes shining with tears formed through over-stimulation, “Please turn it off,” but glassy eyes only serve to widen the grin that stretches so prettily across your face. 

“Please who, Simon?” Oh god. His head droops, chin meeting his chest as he debates whether taking the near torturous, incessant pleasure would be easier than dropping the last of his pride, the last barrier to full submission you haven’t quite been able to squeeze from his stubborn brain. The debate, however, is short lived, cut off by the click of a button and strangled shout as the vibrations kick up a notch, doubling his previous torment. 

“Please mommy, please fuckin’ turn it off, God,” The momentary humiliation dissipates the moment he locks eyes with you, chest heaving with relief as the wand is finally switched off. You look near predatory, pupils dilated so heavily not a shred of colour remains, sharp nails digging so deliciously into the meat of his thigh as you use him as leverage to kneel over his wrecked body. 

“There we go, was that so hard sweetheart?” He nearly preens under your pleased gaze, going near dizzy with how quickly he finds himself sinking under your dominance. It’s nothing like the authority he’s used to wielding, harsh and unforgiving; you control him as easily as one does a puppet, with precision and grace. And he’s fucking obsessed with it, obsessed with you. 

“Want mommy to sit on your face, darling?” You must instantly catch the way he’s eyes widen, how his arms strain against the metal bonds above his head.

“Yes fucking please,” he rasps, saliva quick to settle heavily on his tongue at the mere thought of you seated so prettily on top of his mouth, unable to think of anything other than making you cum on his tongue. He’s practically panting by the time you come to straddle your legs either side of his head, unfocused eyes darting between your face, and glistening folds, so desperately eager to have the taste of you coat his tongue, his lips, his chin, marked so clearly as yours. 

“What’s the magic word again, baby boy?” 

The reply comes so much easier this time. 

“Let me eat you out, mommy, please, I’ll beg if I fuckin’ ‘ave to, just-” Clearly you weren’t interested in hearing anything else he had to say, cutting him off by lowering the rest of your body to met his mouth and rewarding him with the sweet taste of your cunt. He’s sinking deeper, he’s just barely aware of the feeling of pure emptiness and bliss that rolls over his consciousness, no thoughts in his brain other than pleasing you. His tongue laps in strong, desperate strokes against your pussy, collecting every drop of your arousal and swallowing it down like he’s a man starved, as if you were an oasis amidst a barren desert. 

He’s rewarded with your hands forming a tight grip in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp in a way that has his hips lifting off the mattress, groaning as he feels the way his biceps flex against solid restraints, desperate to sink his fingers into the soft warm plush of your skin. 

“Doing so fucking well, making me feel so good Simon,” Saccharine words sooth his addled mind, forcing himself to stay afloat just so he can watch the way you begin to fall apart atop him, hips canting against his mouth as you start to ride his tongue with earnest. You barely cast a glance down at him, as if the only thing you care about is chasing the pleasure that lies beneath you. And it really shouldn’t turn him on, the idea that he’s nothing but a vessel for your pleasure, but it really fucking does. 

It only takes a mere minute or two until you’re falling apart above him, your walls spasming around his tongue, thoroughly drenching his face and throat with your cum. He doesn’t stop fucking his tongue into your twitching pussy until you’re dragging your hips from his face, revelling in the frustrated and disappointed whine that slips from his arousal slicked lips. 

“No need to sound so sad, baby, I’ve got a lot more planned for us tonight. So be a good fucking boy and let mommy ride your cock until she’s had her fill.” 

Letting go may not have come easily to Simon, but with you, it’s as natural as breathing.

[lunarw0rks]

Through The Ashes | Chapter Five

Summary: You've been given an offer to join the 141 Task Force. Upon taking it, you find yourself ensnared with the mysterious masked man who won't take his eyes off you.

Warning(s): my attempt at slow-burn, canon-typical violence, mild language, mentions of violence, injuries, blood, hurt/comfort kinda??

A/N: I've been using dialogue from the campaign for these chapters, so hopefully it translates well enough. Thank you for all the support :) | Word Count: 3.5k

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Kiss Of Judas

Valeria remained completely silent during the entire helicopter ride, refusing to look anyone around her in the eyes. She never expected to be caught, at least not by foreign forces. She was a complicated woman in your eyes, always nearly impossible to read.

You still felt jumpy and wired from the whole operation as the adrenaline began to dwindle, which was not helping your impatience. Valeria was the reason for your condition, but also the reason you didn’t get the life squeezed out of you. And yet, here she was, not giving your Task Force any reach on where to find the missiles.

You opened the door with your keycard and stepped inside, seeing her sitting in the middle of the room—surrounded by your team and the allies.

Her eyes flicked up at you when she heard the motion, mirroring the look she had in her eyes when you were the one in the interrogation chair. You ran your tongue over the cut on your lip, keeping a blank expression.

“Las Almas needs me,” she purrs, giving Alejandro and you a glance. She was searching for any sign of emotion in your eyes as if testing you. You weren’t going to give it to her, or anyone else in this room who tried the same.

Alejandro bends down closer to her, hovering his face in front of hers. “Las Almas needs soldiers, not sicarios… And you,” he begins, looking back at you before he speaks, as if referencing what she let happen to you. “You disgrace the Army, Valeria.”

She wasn’t like Hassan.

He was too emotional when backed into a corner—he was cruel. She always kept a cool attitude about her, always steps ahead of her enemies. And she harbored one skill you hadn’t mastered yet—keeping your enemies close.

Ghost remains posed against the wall, only keeping his eyes trained on the target. “You’re a narco harboring a terrorist.”

Valeria maintains a grimace, carelessly leaning against the back of her chair. “Terrorism is good for business, it’s insurance.”

“Innocent civilians turned to ash, all to protect your drug game?” You finally spoke up, crossing your arms to your chest. When law enforcement is more focused on maimed civilians, they turn a blind eye to the war on drugs.

She ignores what you’re implying, too intelligent to admit that out loud. “To find your terrorist and your missiles, you need me.” Valeria tilts her head, observing the tightness you were carrying in your posture.

Graves approaches her from behind, gripping one of her shoulders with a gloved hand. “I want the missiles, I want the targets, and I want Hassan. You’ve got ten seconds or I’m gonna show you the difference between the military and me.” For once, his combativeness might get you the answers you needed.

To get to Valeria, you needed to mirror her. Ladylike interrogation was not the way she did things, so the opposite was all she knew.

“I can tell you where to find the missiles. When you return, I’ll tell you where Hassan is.” She never meets Graves’ eyes. “In exchange, you will let me go. And get the fuck out of Las Almas.”

“Deal.” Graves loosens his grip and nods his head to the rest of you.

Making a deal with her was not in the team’s best interest, not in the slightest.

Graves only saw the big picture ahead of him, and he didn’t pay any mind to the people he would trample to get to that goal.

—

The intel Valeria grave led your team to an oil rig miles out on the Gulf Of Mexico. Considering how horribly wrong your last mission involving water went, you were hesitant to see the team going along with it, even if it did lead to the missiles.

How could you be sure Valeria was being honest? She had no reason to. She had the entirety of your unit wrapped around her fingers, and that’s exactly how she wanted it.

Perhaps you were lucky you nearly died the previous night because you were going to sit the mission out.

You’re sat on your bunk, cleaning your pistol with a rag, being the only person left in the quarters. Your eyes flick up toward Ghost as he approaches. Usually you would ignore him, or have some snarky remark, but there were bigger problems everyone was facing.

“Do you think the missiles will be where she said they would?” You questioned, setting the rag on the mattress beside you.

“She knows if she gives us this, we’ll have no choice but to set her free.” He keeps his eyes on the ground, still refusing to look you in the eyes. “We’ve been through situations like this before. Terrorists are all the same—only out for themselves.”

You nodded and dropped down from the top bunk to face him. He turned around hesitantly, his face contorting in confusion.

You looked around the room, making sure it was clear before you spoke. “What about Graves? Is he only out for himself?” You muttered, leaning close to him.

“He’s an ally of ours, until we know otherwise, you need to act like it, Sergeant.” He grumbled while reaching for his pack. The truth was, Ghost didn’t trust any of them either. The way Graves forced you into the operation yesterday made him seethe.

Ghost blinked away the emotions that filled him. The flashbacks he had, hearing you struggle for yourself in his ear, the gunshot that followed with silence—all while all he could do was stay put on the hillside.

He grabbed his bag and looped it around his shoulder. “Just say put here, and don’t make any more enemies while you’re at it. Think you can handle that?” He added, looking down at you as if you were dirt on his shoes.

You knew you were right. The most spiteful people have their weaknesses, and Graves had one for sure. Even if no one believed you now, they would soon. You just hoped no one had to die for it to become clear.

—

You’re awoken by what sounds like a disturbance outside, and the voices are familiar. The team must be back from disarming the missiles. You look at the clock, seeing it’s early in the morning.

You sit up straight and gather your composure, curious about what’s going on. Whatever it was didn’t sound good at all.

“This is my base.” You press your ear to the wall, hearing Alejandro’s voice first.

“It’s not a base. This is a sizable covert facility, and I admire it.” Graves speaks next. “So, I’m taking it.”

You feel like your jaw dropped to the floor. You were right all along, and things were about to go very bad very fast. You climb off your bunk and put on your backpack, grabbing all of your gear. 

“Nobody needs to get hurt here.”

“Are you threatening us?” Ghost asks. You can practically feel the tension building, even if all you’re hearing is bits and pieces.

You peer out the window, seeing them standing at the gate. Alejandro is inches from Graves’ face; Soap is in the middle of it; and Ghost preemptively has a hand on his knife, searching for any excuse to use it.

Where are the rest of Los Vaqueros? The realization came that you hadn’t seen any of them since the team left.

A burst of gunfire filled your ears, making you jump. You didn’t have time to sit around and watch, and you weren’t going to be the next person sent home in a box. You grab your pistol and make sure it’s loaded and ready.

The compound will be swarmed with Shadows any minute now—and there was no time to regroup with your team.

You hear Graves’ voice again, but this time through a nearby radio, followed by the stomping of boots. “2-0, cordon the compound. If you find Ghost and Soap, keep them contained. Find the other one, she won't get far.”

You kneel behind the large structural pillar, watching as one of the Shadows patrols the sleeping quarters. He turns his back to respond, “Sleeping quarters are clear, Sir. No sign of her.” You crept behind him, jamming your knife into his jugular.

He goes down quietly, only suffering for a matter of seconds. The Shadow didn’t deserve your brutality. He couldn’t have known what hand Graves was going to play up until now. Still, it was better for them to be dead than you. And there was no time for a moral dilemma.

You jog to the armory, finding it cleared out. Graves was thinking way ahead of just taking the building, he was taking the inventory too, leaving your team with nothing. “Goddammit,” you muttered to yourself, before dashing back to the Shadow’s body. You winced as you ripped the rifle from the corpse’s stiff fingers.

You need to keep moving.

You advance to the upper level, wagering that it would be less noticeable to take one of the side exits up top. You do just that, finding a window in one of the offices to squeeze yourself through. Your feet prowl down the metal steps, keeping your eyes peeled for any hostiles. Lucky for you, the backend of the base isn’t well protected.

Your boots crunch the gravel below you, even when acting at your stealthiest. You reach one of the tall chainlinks bordering the perimeter, and loop one foot through it, taking each ascendant one foot at a time.

You reach the top, using the fabric of your shirt to protect your hands from the barbed wire. You carefully swing your leg over, and follow with the other, now descending down the other side. You drop down once the distance is close enough, taking only a second to catch your breath.

The easy part's over—now you needed to find an area that wasn’t crawling with Shadows on the lookout for your face.

The previous night's injuries didn’t make the ordeal any easier. You found yourself having to rest quicker than usual, almost letting out pained grunts when you extended your limbs. You needed to push through it, just like you did when you survived the tunnels.

You removed one of the backpack straps off your shoulders, leaving it to rest on one side, while the weapon rested on the other. You need to get out of here before another Shadow patrol rotates your way again.

The only sound in the distance was chirping insects, and faint traffic pollution from the city and the base behind you. Things were too quiet.

“Commander, possible sighting by the North Tower, engaging now.” You heard faintly, making your eyes bulge. Your feet carried you before your mind could decide to, making some distance between yourself and the noise.

You felt the rush of the bullets whizzing around you as you bolted until eventually you were knocked down by a lucky one. Your body tumbled down, rolling into one of the ditches. You felt a fiery sting on the fatty part of your hip, flinching as you pulled down the part of your waistband atop the wound. It was a deep slice, bloody and jagged torn skin.

Mercifully, the backpack slowed down the force of the bullet when it zipped through. It grazed your skin instead of being buried inside it.

“Approaching to confirm the hit, Sir.” The voice from before carries, as it echoes through the vastness of the humid air.

“Don’t confirm it—Finish it.” Graves chirps through, sending a rush through your veins. Once the Shadow finds you, it wouldn’t be a graze. If there was any chance of making it out of here, you needed to either choose fight or flight.

You muffled the sounds of agony escaping through your lips, biting into them instead. You scrambled to your feet, reaching for your pistol.

The soldier’s radio static grew louder as he examined the ditch, expecting you to still be laying there. In reality, you were behind one of the concrete dividers lining the path. Before he noticed you, you fired off one shot, dropping the Shadow. You followed the lights of the city in the distance, getting yourself as far away from where you fired as possible.

When you made it several yards away from the compound, finding yourself on a sidestreet, you finally utilized the radio clipped to your collar.

You turned the knob, finding the correct channel so it would go straight to anyone in 141 and not the Shadows. “This is 7-1, how copy? Anyone?” You grew frustrated at the lack of answer. “I repeat, this is 7-1. Anyone copy?”

The voice glitched at first, before it finally came through. He says your name, his tone filled with defeat and worry.

“How copy, Sergeant? You injured?” The reception finally cleared, allowing you to hear it clearly.

You sighed and cleared your throat. “I’m hit, but solid. I got a dozen Shadows chasing my tail. What the hell happened?”

Ghost doesn’t answer your question, but deflects. You sense it has to do with what he spat your way before they left. He knew you were right about Graves, and he wasn’t, and he couldn’t handle admitting that right now.

“There’s a church near the plaza. I’m heading there now. Any sign of Johnny?”

“No. You’re the first I’ve come in contact with. Was he hit? I heard shots before I got out of there.” You continue down the backroad, approaching the main district of Las Almas.

“Affirmative. Keep your eyes peeled for him. And watch your back, Sergeant.” The line cuts after he finishes his sentence, leaving you to stay alive on your own. Soap must be somewhere in the shops in the same prickly situation you are.

There was no time to search for Soap, especially if he’s left a trail of Shadow bodies through the city. You’re of no use out here when you’re bleeding all over yourself.

You needed to find Ghost.

—

Each time a gun fired in the distance, you had to double check you weren’t hit again, even though it felt foolish.

You finally reached the outskirts of the plaza, where the Church was sitting on the top of a hill. It looked almost ancient, tilting to one side. You hovered your finger over the pistol trigger as you crept to the door. You pushed it open, hearing it creak loudly as you did so. There was no light inside, except for where the night sky peaked through the holes in the walls, and one large gap in the roof.

Finally, you spotted his figure near the altar, knelt beside it. You limped up to it, meeting his eyes, which were all you could see given the dark clothing he was wearing.

You slowly dropped to your knees next to him, placing your pistol in the holster. “No sign of Soap while I was out there. Goddamn city is infested with Shadows.”

He nodded at your update, grabbing one of the stray candles off the altar. He fishes out his lighter and puts it to the wick, illuminating your battered appearance, while allowing you to view him.

You stare at him blankly for a few seconds, studying him as he takes the backpack off your shoulders, and begins to dig through it.

“I didn’t have time to pack supplies. There’s nothing whole in there.” You comment, watching as his brow tightens in concentration.

He still hasn’t uttered a word this entire time, simply returning deep glances through the warm candle fire. You flinch when he reaches toward you, but his hands are gentle and slow. He pulls up the fabric of your shirt only slightly, and pulls down the side of your waistband now turned a deep maroon.

You keep still as he examines the graze. He grips the sleeve of his jacket, and rips off a square of fabric with ease, beginning to pack the wound. You snuff out your struggles when he touches the tender parts, clenching your jaw instead.

For the first time, it wasn’t him saving you because he had to; he was because wanted to. He was showing an inkling of the tenderness buried deep within him.

He finished packing the wound with the tear of fabric, before carefully covering your bare hip with your waistband again.

You rise to your feet again, making sure not to put pressure on that side of you. You’re expecting hours of silence between you and him—hours of agonizing silence.

He finally speaks once his back is turned to you, as if he can’t look you in the eye. “You were right about Graves.” He sounded apologetic, like if he had just believed you before, none of this would’ve happened to you.

You tilted your head delicately, stepping closer to him. “Ghost… This isn’t on you. You couldn’t have known Graves would flip.”

He was looking down at the wood floor below him in disappointment, looking as if he wanted to curse himself. You reached out your hand, placing your fingertips on his forearm.

“Ghost,” you whispered. He shook his head and gathered himself before facing you, flinching away from your hand. His eyes had gone glossy, filled with angst.

“If this is about what I said, Ghost—It’s not a concern of mine anymore… We clearly have bigger problems.” You finished your sentence with a light smile, trying your best to lighten the mood. Your attempt to add comedy did nothing to ease him tearing himself apart inside.

“Did you hear me, Simon?” The first time you’ve said his name. He casted a look you’d never seen before. Not hardness, not anger, just torment.

“People like me don’t belong with people like you, Sergeant.” His exterior ran cold again, and he straightened his posture. “Everything that we did, everything you went through because of it, that was all me. Got it?”

You were stunned, completely stunned. You spent so long being angry at him, that you were blind to the truth of it. It wasn’t arrogance he used as a shield, it was his scars.

“Simon-” You repeat, feeling like you have been sucker-punched in the gut.

“Don’t say my name like it means something to you. None of it meant anything to me.” He snaps, stepping closer to you, using his frame to tower over you. The vulnerability he showed only last seconds before it quickly became a thorn in your side.

He lowered his voice to give his last blow. “I break everything I touch… I’ll break your heart, Love.”

You felt tears sting at the corner of your eyes. You tried to be stronger than this, but paired with everything you’d been through to get you to this spot, it was too much.

You quickly wiped them away and ripped your backpack from his grasp, slinging it back on your shoulder. You hurried toward the church doors, painting your face void of the emotions you were feeling.

Once you were outside, you radioed the frequency again. “Soap, how copy?”

He replied almost instantly. “Copy. I’m by the shopping district.”

Instead of following behind Ghost like usual, you led him. You ducked through alleyways, avoiding the Shadows rather than taking them out. There were still too many left to count. When you reached the shopping district, you and Ghost split off to take out each hostile one by one. With each kill, you followed the bloody trail that would lead you to Soap.

When you laid eyes on him, you let out a breath of relief. He was only hit on his arm, and it went through.

“Forgive me, Lass.” He was slumped against a brick wall, holding his injury. “But you look horrible.” At least you knew there wasn’t anything seriously wrong with him now. Focusing on him made you forget about your troubles with Ghost, even for just a minute.

“Well, it’s clear there’s no brain damage.” You said backhandedly, reaching out your hand to him.

You helped him to his feet and found an empty vehicle that was left behind, allowing him to climb inside. Ghost took the driver’s seat, you in the passenger seat. You kept your eyes trained on the passing views as Ghost sped out of the city, showing no signs of slowing down for anything.

Las Almas was soon to be a distant memory—a memory that lingered within you nonetheless.

—

You craned your neck up at the aquamarine sky, your attention locked to it. You had to find the beauty of this place somewhere, even if the experience was only filled with violence and heartache.

The rest of your team was finishing up business with Valeria. You decided to sit it out. The closer you stood to the plane, the faster you would be climbing inside of it when they finished their business here.

Price and the rest of the Task Force approached the cargo plane you were standing by, making you break your gaze with the sky.

“Good work here, Private.” He patted your back and then returned his hands to the collar of his tactical vest.

“It’s not over yet. Valeria was privy to a third missile, somewhere in Chicago. Might be another long flight.” You acknowledged the update, following him onto the plane. It never truly ends, does it?

There are only moves and countermoves until there’s no one left standing to shoot at or bomb.

TAGLIST: @neoarchipelago @ghostlythots @gothgirl6-6-6 @cloudyyjanee @ladyelissarose @almightywdm @glitterypirateduck

[vodika-vibes]

hi!! i’m back on the wrecker train bc i love him soooooo much!!!

anyways i was hoping to request a fairytale AU with wrecker please! i really love the princess and the frog (disney movie) so could you write something using that with a gn reader? i would also love for this to have romance and a sprinkle of comedy please!

absolutely no rush for this also!

The Soldier and the Frog

Summary: You visit a psychic on a whim, thinking that it’ll just be a funny story to tell your family when you go home from your vacation. The last thing you expect is for her to turn you into a frog. Well, no, the very last thing you expect is for the curse to be contagious, though you learned that the hard way when Wrecker, a nice guy who wanted to help you, offered you a kiss to turn you back to normal…only to turn into a bullfrog himself.

Pairing: TBB Wrecker x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1863

Warnings: None

Prompt: Princess and the Frog AU

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Hihi! Thanks for your request. I'm not so sure about this one, because I didn't want to follow the movie exactly, so I made a few changes. But also, I'm struggling to focus for long periods of time. Pain is very distracting, lol. I hope you like it!

“This isn’t so bad,” Wrecker offers as he hops from a fallen log down to the ground, “I mean, it could be worse.”

“Speak for yourself. You’re at least big enough that people will notice you,” You grumble as you carefully hop down behind him, “I’m so small that I’ll get stepped on.”

Wrecker laughs, “I’m not going to let that happen.”

“You’re a nice guy, Wrecker, but you’re still a toad.”

“Bullfrog,” He corrects as he slows and waits for you to catch up, “Don’t be so glum, all we have to do is find this witch-doctor and he’ll definitely fix us up.”

You sigh, “Yeah, yeah. I know.” You pause, “I just feel bad. You were just trying to help me and now you’re cursed too.”

“Don’t worry about it. Better to be cursed together than having to deal with this on your own.” He glances towards the sky for a moment, what little that can be seen through the thick trees, “We should find someplace to take shelter for the night.”

You won’t admit it, but you’re grateful that he’s here. In all honesty, you’ve never been the best at dealing with crises, you tend to panic and forget everything that you’ve ever learned in your life. And this, right here, is a crisis if you’ve ever been in one.

Of course, you never received any lessons on what to do when you’re cursed by a fake psychic and are turned into a tree frog. It’s a rather noticeable hole in your education, now that you’re thinking about it.

Wrecker seems to know what to do, at least. Or, if he’s panicking, he’s not showing it.

He leads you over to a tree and you follow behind him, “Hey, Wrecker?”

The much larger frog pauses and turns to look at you, “What’s up?”

“How are you so calm about this? I would think that panic would be a normal reaction to being turned into a frog.” You say as you hurry to his side. 

“Well, I’m a soldier.”

You make a face, “What, and the army prepares you to be cursed?”

He laughs, “No. Not like that.” He grins at you, “They do, however, teach us that panic is the enemy. If you panic you die. So I don’t panic.”

“Well, that’s one of us, at least.” You say dryly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” Wrecker lightly bumps you with his side, “Come on, it looks like there’s an opening at the base of the tree.”

He leads you over to the tree and investigates the hiding spot carefully, before allowing you to enter. Once he’s sure that you’re secure in the small opening, he squeezes in next to you, and rests his chin on the top of your head.

You think, for a moment, that you should be bothered by this. You barely know Wrecker. In fact, you’ve only known him for a couple of days, but you don’t think you’ve ever been so comfortable with another person in your life. 

“So,” Wrecker asks as rain starts falling from the sky, “We never really talked about how you ended up in this situation in the first place.”

You huff and rest your chin on your webbed hands, “It’s dumb.”

“Dumber than kissing a frog on the off chance of curing a curse.”

You laugh, “Okay, when you put it like that-”

His weight presses down on you slightly, though it’s comforting, rather than suffocating. “Come on, let’s hear it.”

“Alright, alright.” You pause, “So I came here on vacation. A ten day vacation to get away from everything. I saw the signs for a psychic and I thought it would be fun. A funny story to bring back to my family.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And, like, I’ve had such a hard time with relationships lately, so that’s what I asked about and…then I ended up like this.”

“Which psychic?”

“Sorry?”

“There are a lot of psychics in the area.” Wrecker clarifies, “Which one did you visit?”

“Oh.” You think for a moment, “Lady Violet, I think.”

He sucks in a breath, “That would explain it.”

“What?” You squirm to look at him.

“Well, Lady Violet has something of a reputation.” Wrecker offers, “She targets tourists. Odds are, she would have thrown you in a jar and then blackmailed your family for your release.”

“...oh.”

“How’d you escape?”

“I jumped out a window.” You admit sheepishly.

Wrecker laughs, “Clever.”

“I didn’t even think. I just panicked and jumped.” You add with a laugh of your own, “I…” You pause, “I feel really bad for getting you involved in this, but I’m also really glad that you’re here.”

“I’m glad that I’m here too. Plus, this will be an interesting story to share with my brothers.” He lightly nudges you with his head, “Come on, let’s get some sleep, we should reach the Witch-Doctor’s house tomorrow, assuming nothing interrupts us.”

You settle under him, “You know this Witch-Doctor?”

“Well, know is a bit strong of a word,” Wrecker allows, “But I know of him. He’s a decent sort. He’s worked with some of my brothers before.”

“So this magic thing is normal, then?”

“Not normal so much as not abnormal.” Wrecker corrects, “Now, stop your fretting. Everything will be fine. I promise.”

You believe him. How could you not?

Slowly you drift to sleep, feeling safe and secure with Wrecker pressed against you, even if you are both little more than frogs.

You wake several hours later, to the sound of Wrecker speaking with…someone. You blink bleary eyes and notice that you’re no longer in the tree where you fell asleep.

No, it looks like you’re in a house of some kind.

Surprised, you jump up to where you hear Wrecker’s voice. He glances at you and favors you with a small smile, before he focuses his attention on the man speaking to him.

“Awake at last,” The man, who looks more like an ancient troll, says kindly.

“Did you sleep well?” Wrecker asks as you walk over to him and peer up at the green skinned man.

“I think so?”

“Good.” He nods towards the man, “This is Yoda, he’s the witch-doctor that I was telling you about.”

“Master of my art, I am.” Yoda confirms, “Curious, this case is. Strong, is the pall of magic.”

“But you can help?” Wrecker asks.

“Yes, yes.” He hobbles away from the table that you and Wrecker are sitting on, going over to a wall of books, “Simple, this curse is. Easy to reverse.” He turns his gaze back towards you, “You are the vector?”

“I…what?”

“He’s asking if you were the one who was originally cursed,” Wrecker clarifies.

“Oh. Yes, that’s me.”

Yoda hums and turns back to the bookshelf, “Only a moment, this will take.” He pauses and carefully lifts you and sits you on a chair, before carrying Wrecker to another chair.

You watch as Yoda hobbles over to a work table, and mixes some items together, before he walks over to you and sprinkles something over your head. You’re vaguely aware of him doing the same thing to Wrecker, but then there’s the sensation of being lifted, and you squeak as you, now human again, fall off the chair.

A large hand appears in front of your face, and you look up at Wrecker, who’s grinning at you. He’s human again too.

Gratefully, you take his hand and allow him to hoist you to your feet.

“Thank you Master Yoda,” Wrecker says, “We appreciate you helping.”

“Happy to help, I am.” Yoda replies as he lightly pats Wreckers knee, and then motions for the pair of you to follow him.

He leads you through his home and pushes open a door, revealing a bedroom, “Um…what’s this?” You ask.

“Not safe to travel,” Yoda warns, “Frogs require less than Humans,”

You’re not sure you completely understand, but you get the basic idea. Essentially, you and Wrecker are going to be hit by a wall as the last couple of days come back to bite you.

“Thank you, Master,” You offer politely.

He smiles at you and lightly pats your hand, before he hobbles away, and you’re pretty sure he mumbles something about properly punishing his wayward apprentice, though you’re not positive. 

Wrecker ushers you into the room, and shuts the door behind him as you sit on the edge of the bed. There’s only one, though it’s a big enough bed for both you and Wrecker, not to mention three other people, if you had to guess.

“How are you feeling?” Wrecker asks as he sits next to you.

You consider his question seriously, “Honestly. Tired. How about you?”

“Same. Though I suppose I’m not surprised.” Wrecker moves so that he’s stretched out in the middle of the bed, his eyes closing as he sinks into the soft bed, and you watch him for a moment. 

“Hey, Wrecker?”

“Hm?”

“What happens next?”

He cracks open a single eye, “What do you mean?”

You hesitate. Honestly, the idea of being separated from him makes something painful lurch in your chest. “Just…what happens now?” You try to clarify lamely. 

He’s thoughtful for a moment, “Well. We rest and recover from our ordeal. And then we go back to the city and you go home.” There’s a frown on his handsome face as he says that. “Although. I’m not sure I like that.” He admits.

“Which part?”

“The ‘you leaving’ part.” He smiles at you, “I’d prefer it if you stayed.”

You watch him for a moment, “You hardly know me, Wrecker.”

“We just spent a week together as frogs.” He points out, “We’ve avoided crocs and birds and frog hunters. We’ve bonded.”

You laugh quietly, and kick your shoes off, before you crawl into the middle of the bed next to him, dropping your head on his shoulder, “Well, I’m glad that you’re thinking the same thing as me.” You admit.

His arm folds around you, and you feel, more than see, him sigh in relief. And then you feel warm lips against your forehead, “We’ll make it work. Together. Just like everything else this last week.”

You shift so that you’re able to see his face properly, “I’d like that.” You admit. And then, quickly, before you lose your nerve, you lean in and press your lips against his, before you pull back.

He stares at you, stunned. And you’re about to pull away from him, only for his hand to press against the back of your head and pull you down into another, deeper, more proper kiss.

“This is much better than kissing a frog,” Wrecker mumbles against your lips, before pulling you back into the kiss carefully maneuvering you so that you’re laying on top of him.

And that’s about when the exhaustion slams into the both of you. You tuck your head under Wrecker’s chin, and he folds himself around you, and you both drift off to sleep.

You have no way of knowing what’s going to happen from here on out. But so long as you and Wrecker are together, you’re not worried.

[seramilla]

More Fluff!! (Hopefully this isn't too long)

Lucifer's Rebellion has been going on for years now. Everyone has lost someone they loved and they're all tired. Lucifer, Lilith, Micheal and Heavenly Virtues (no Elders were invited) meet up in secret to, hopefully, find a way to end the fighting. They argue for hours before finally coming up with a plan: both sides would offer up their top generals' hand in marriage. They hoped that this would allow some kind of trust to slowly, but surely, blossom in both side.

At first Sera and Carmilla were a bit peeved by the idea when they were told of their roles. Carmilla thinks Sera is a stuck up bitch and Sera thinks Carmilla is just another bloodthirsty revel. Both of them decided to let off some steam in the nearby woods. During Sera's walk, she felt a sudden large spike of magic and immediately went to its source, only to find Carmilla blowing a couple of conjured training dummies, breathing heavily as sweat fell from her brow. Cue gay panic Sera. (Note: Neither of them know what the other looks like, both always wore a mask and full armor when on the battlefield)

Carmilla, sensing she's being watched, turns around and sees a tall and beautiful angel watching her, blushing so much she looked like she was about to-. Yep, she fainted.

Carmilla quickly catches the strange angel and gently lays her down, finding her more enchanting up close.When Sera wakes up, she's confused at where she was before the recent events caught up with her and she's back to being a blushing mess. "Woah, woah!. Calm down. Don't want you fainting on me again" She heard a voice jokingly say beside her. When Sera looks over she sees the angel smirking down at her and she nearly faints again (A/N: Dang it Sera, that's your future wife!! Get it together)

Thankfully, Sera managed to stay awake and the two actually have a great conversation. Well, after they got over the "your my enemy" talk. Unfortunately, everything must come to an end and they return to their own camps, both promising to not fight if they ever see each other in the battlefield. It's only when they're back at their own rooms that they realize... They never asked the other what their name was.

When the leaders finally decided it was time to introduce the two betrothed to one another. Imagine the bitterness from Seramilla, as they are about to meet their future partner. The confusion when they see each other and the joy they felt when they realize this is the angel they're gonna be spending the rest of their existence with.

Both sides had probably been worried about a potential alliance. The fighting had been going on for so long, that even in angelic terms, after decades or centuries of war, both sides had been skeptical that this idea would even bear fruit. The soldiers and officers are tired, disgruntled, and low on morale. None of these angels or demons know each other. They wonder what in the Hell the leaders in both camps had been thinking concocting this plan!

Carmilla and Sera, however, are pleasantly surprised that their betrothed happens to be the person they met in the woods that night. At any rate, it's not as...devastating as either of them thought it would be. Some of the other matchups are horrible...absolutely atrocious. But the first time both Carmilla and Sera meet on equal terms...at a banquet scheduled for each of the couples to mingle and get to know each other in a more casual setting...Carmilla and Sera seem to be the only two who even remotely get along at first.

They dance. Carmilla is a great dancer. Sera less so, but Carmilla teaches her the steps. As an orchestra plays, Carmilla leads, and despite being much shorter than her counterpart, she manages to dip and twirl Sera in spectacular fashion, moving her partner across the dance floor as smoothly as a swan navigates calm waters. They dance until both are out of breath and smiling in each other's faces. They are so close to kissing...but eventually, they pull away in embarrassment. This is supposed to be a date...but unfortunately, not just a date for them. All eyes are on the pair, as during their dance, they've become the center of attention.

[majesty-madness]

A Past Encounter - Bucky Barnes x reader (nsfw)

Summary: Being in a relationship with Bucky, Y/N prided herself on knowing him quite well but when she’s accidentally teleported back to 1940, Y/N discovers that there is a whole other Bucky that she has yet to meet. The sweet flirt that had everything going for him before his unfortunate capture by HYDRA.

Word Count: 2300+

Warnings: modern Steve & Bucky, court proceedings, recently researched knowledge of the U.S Executive Branch procedures (I tried), light amount of politics, politicians (no one mentioned by name or related to real life), arguing, mentions of the Winter Soldier, court case involving Bucky that isn't fully written in this series, 40’s in general, 40’s Bucky & Steve, 40’s Bucky, small 40’s Steve, angst

a/n: not proofread. Commissions are available so don't forget to check that out!

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter Twelve

Eerie is the morning air before the grand jury of the U.S government, especially when meeting with the President himself and of course, the dear Secretary of State. There was no helping it, the chance that they might get Y/N back was well worth the dread that grew in the pits of their stomachs. 

With Tony’s well established reputation, and the compelling wisdom of Steve’s character, they managed to swing an audience with the President much quicker than normal. The morning of the hearing, the tension around base was near palpable. 

“How long do you think it’s going to take?” Sam asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee. 

“It’s hard to say, a couple of hours at least.” Natasha sighed as she sat down at the kitchen bar, already dressed in a clean, feminine suit. 

“And that depends on how much time they want to stall before addressing the real issue.” Bucky quipped while rounding the corner from the hallway directly into the kitchen as well. 

Sam took a sip of his coffee then spoke again. “So I shouldn’t be expected back in time for dinner?” 

Natasha scoffed, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Don’t worry, you’ll be back before your curfew.” 

Bucky didn’t say anything, not in the mood to deal with jokes or sarcasm. He hated going to court and the last time he went to court, it was over the matter of whether or not he should be pardoned for the crimes he committed as the Winter Soldier. The prosecutor at the time made a pretty compelling case of sending him to prison for the rest of his natural life, however thanks to numerous testimonies and the thousands of pages of scientific research conducted on him in the time he was brainwashed by HYDRA, the judge ordered that he be excused. He defended the man by stating he was not responsible nor at fault for the atrocities he was forced to commit by such a formidable enemy. 

That case had been a long, grueling one. The thought of going through it all again turned his stomach in knots. More than anything, he wished he could be with Y/N right now. 

Just then Tony and Steve came walking in, both dressed in suits. “Alright kiddos…” Tony started, “You got your bags all packed? Lunch money? Go to the bathroom one last time?” 

“What? They’re not gonna let us go to the bathroom?” Sam sarcastically asked, setting down his cup. 

“Guys, let’s focus please. We’ve got to go, they’re expecting us in an hour.” Steve gently scolded as he approached the team. 

Natasha sighed, staring at the counter for a few seconds then hopped off of the bar stool. “Well don’t want to disappoint them.” 

“I don’t know about that. I always found a strange euphoria in the disappointment of authority.” Tony casually remarked, sticking his hands into his pant pockets. 

Both Sam and Natasha offered a light laugh before Steve ushered everyone out to the jet with little to no question. The flight to the hearing was all but silent, everyone stuck in their own thoughts, contemplating what they needed to be prepared for. When they felt the jerk of the technologically advanced plane coming to a stop, they snapped their heads up and suddenly remembered where they were.

They stepped off the plane onto the runway, shoes making the quietest noise as each step made contact with the concrete. Despite the low risk of danger, Bucky’s heart was in his throat. The pounding throb of the living muscle leaving him feeling short of breath, and his hands twitching in and out of a fist especially as several guards and officials lead them inside of the capitol building.

“This way, the President, Vice President, and the Cabinet are preparing for the hearing.” A well dressed man said, gesturing to the big rustic doors of the building who they learned the night before was Tony’s attorney. 

Steve, who stood at the front of the group, politely nodded at the statement as they were then led down a hallway. At first it was just that, a long corridor but quickly cascaded into a tall opening with a single staircase spreading into two, one going left, the other going right. The archways lining the top floor held up by stone roman looking pillars, the round bulbed lamps giving off an orange glow contrasting of the bright light of morning. 

Instead of going up the staircases, the man led them off to the side which laid another set of doors; dark chestnut with a glossy coat making it shine. The man pushed the doors open easily revealing the rows of individual chairs, forming a half circle across the entire room, all facing the higher placed chair stain a deep brown color where the President was already sitting. 

The Vice President was there as well, sitting not far from the President with the rest of the officials taking their places in the room. And of course, one of those individuals was the Secretary of State, Thaddeus Ross; the very man who told them to leave the situation alone. Steve, Tony, Bucky, Natasha, and Sam all seemed to notice the man at the same time, sparing each other knowing glances. They all watched him as they passed some of the others, returning the icy glare that he was giving them before curtly turning their heads to take their seats in front of the President. 

Once everyone settled down in their chairs, an older woman with graying stood with a piece of paper in her hands and began to read aloud. “The court is now in session, and we will be discussing the appeal to overturn the decision to cease an outside investigation by the Avengers into the retrieval of retired SHIELD Agent Y/N L/N. The attorney of the plaintiff may now read their opening statement on this matter.”

The woman sat back down leading Tony’s lawyer to stand. He briefly cleared his throat, then spoke. “Thank you. Today we are here to discuss the details in which the decision was made by this court on the matter with the disappearance of Y/N L/N caused by the influence of a known supporter of-"

“HYDRA. A known terrorist organization set on the deconstruction and disorder of the people on a global scale and this man, James Buchannan Barnes was an asset to the schemes.” 

The people inside the courtroom muttered in hushed voices at the statement all the while Steve and Y/N shared scared looks before glancing to Bucky who sat at the front of the room, cuffed, dressed in a prisoner jumpsuit. He spared them his own look, not one of fear but of shame. 

“Now I ask the jury, the people, how can we let such a man walk free when he has caused nothing but death in his wake?” The prosecutor tried to reason with the jury, cleverly keeping an eye on their reactions.

“After all the testimonies, the evidence presented, we know for a fact that this man has killed over one-hundred people in his time with HYDRA. The world knew nothing of his existence until it was brought out into the light when he made an attempt on Captain Steven Rogers life; a born example of who makes this country strong.”  The man continued in his persuasion of the jury. 

Y/N again looked to Steve, witnessing his jaw clench and the concern swimming in his blue eyes at the remembrance of that day. She couldn’t help but feel the same, seeing as how as the Winter Soldier, Bucky had attempted to kill her too. 

“Think of your loved ones, your children, do any of you want your children to have to fear for their lives when one man could make them disappear off this earth, never to be seen again? I wouldn’t, and I know that none of you would because it would go against the ideals of justice, freedom, and peace this country was built on. And that is why I ask the jury to please think of a future in which we turn a blind eye and allow criminals to wreak havoc on our peaceful lives.” The prosecutor took one last to the jury, then the audience, then the judge then finally sat down at his table. 

There was a whirlwind of whispers amongst the people in the courtroom in the moment of silence before the defense attorney made his statement. 

“The defense attorney may make his case for Mr. Barnes.” The judge announced, hand gesturing to the suited man sitting next to Bucky. 

The D.A. gave Bucky the best reassurance he could offer with a nod and a tight lipped smile. He stood from his chair, clearing his throat as he did so and approached the jury. “It is indeed a fact that James Buchannan Barnes was involved in the many assassinations over the course of seventy years due to HYDRA’s advanced science, but it is in that very science that brings us to only one conclusion; he was brainwashed.” 

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat at the mention of his years of torture. While she never saw it happen, she knew the effects it had on his psyche. The nights he woke up thrashing in his bed, screaming, crying like he was going through it all again and every time she’d talk him back to reality, realize he was safe. 

“Following the incident in Washington, Agent Natasha Romanoff released highly confidential documents to the public to reveal the dark truth about HYDRA and in these documents was a file about the procedures conducted on Mr. Barnes in order to make him cooperate with their demands. In each session, they would strap him to a machine and electrocute him for hours at a time all the while recounting a series of trigger words and suddenly he’d be a weapon for their purposes.”

For a moment, Steve’s gaze ended in his lap upon hearing just a sliver of how much pain Bucky went through; he couldn’t imagine how it felt to actually be there. 

The D.A. continued, “Now I ask the jury to consider this question, is it fair to condemn a man when he was stripped of his free will? Is it fair to punish him for decisions that were not his own? I wouldn’t think so. A man who is not free to choose is an innocent victim in a scheme much bigger than himself, bigger than any of us. Someone like that should be given a chance, a chance to live the life that was taken from him for seventy years.” 

Bucky’s heart pounded so hard within his chest that it almost hurt, each breath of air shorter and heavier. 

“We are not savages, we are not hypocrites who dispose empty justice, we are the goodness that the generation after us will look upon for guidance. We set the path for righteousness, and it is our duty to make sure that the innocent walk free.” The D.A. witnessed a few of the jurors nodding, making him nod slightly back and much like the prosecutor, he looked to the people, the judge, then sat down. 

There was a moment of silence, allowing the words of both the prosecutor and defense attorney sink in, allow the jury to formulate their opinion. 

“At this time we will allow the jury to step away and come to a conclusion of whether James Buchannan Barnes is guilty or innocent. Please lead them to the conference room.” The judge said to one of the police officers standing by the doors. 

It felt like a lifetime as the jury walked out of the courtroom, and felt even longer as everyone waited for them to make a decision. Y/N was beside herself, constantly on the verge of crying at the fear that Bucky might be convicted and spend the rest of his life behind bars. Steve offered her a few words of encouragement which did make her feel the slightest bit okay. 

But when the jury met back inside, the small relief vanished. 

“As members of the jury, we have come to the decision that-” 

“We will deny the appeal to continue the investigation in the retrieval of Y/N L/N.” 

The team looked on in disbelief, mouths hanging open and eyes wide at the statement. “What?!” 

“It came to the attention of this court that due to the delicate circumstances in regards to Henry Tallis’ influence over some U.S. officials it would be best that the case be investigated by members chosen by this court alone and not be left in the hands of a third party even if the Avengers.” The President explained professionally, voice staying even and an average volume. 

Steve instinctively looked back to his best friend, seeing the anger on his face masking the heartbreak in his eyes. He wanted to spare some kind of comfort, but even Steve felt the despairing sting of hopelessness. 

________

She let out a guttural scream as she flipped the wooden table on its side. The sound of clattering tools and scratching of wood echoed in the small room. It was late in the night with no one around to hear, but even if it wasn’t she didn’t care. 

It wasn’t working, none of it was working! 

Y/N spent hours and hours trying to understand, trying to get it to work, trying to get home and it amounted to nothing. All this time amounted to nothing, she was stuck and now it was forever. Forever she would have to live the rest of her days in time she never belonged to, forever alone with the truth. 

As soon as the realization settled, Y/N crumbled to the cold ground eventually flopping on her side. The tears flowed freely down her hot face, the sobs wracking through her body with new vigor after each one, her body shaking uncontrollably, and the deep ache of sorrow entrapping her heart. 

She would never see him again.

________

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[odditycircus-2002]

Medusa!Reader and Shang Tsung in Mortal Kombat 1 Story Mode Part 10

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Spoilers for MK1 Story Mode ahead: Proceed with caution

You went with Liu Kang, Geras, Sindel and her daughters, Tanya, and the former Lin Kuei brothers who saved you, back to Ying's Fortress in Earthrealm. You made your way to the main courtyard with Sindel along with the two ninja brothers. Occasionally taking out any soldiers posted on guard duty, which included you turning them into stone before they could scream and tipping them over the steep cliff the walls sit on. When you arrived there, you followed Sindel to shut down the soul stealers when splitting up the group on behalf of Lord Liu Kang's suggestion.

There you did what you do best in combat, cutting down enemies with your blades and poisoning the rest, sometimes even using their stone selves as shields. While Sindel knows that even the Healers in her court are taught some combat, it's still a bit surprising to be reminded of your more violent tendencies. Although, you both missed being in one another's company even with kombat involved.

Unfortunately, you could do nothing as some floating hooded figure sent Mileena and Tanya flying into another section of the courtyard, not when you were busy trying not to get your head sliced off. Even worse, some soldiers were quick thinkers and used their shields or swords to spot you when you took off your mask. Fortunately, you were able to rely on the others, including Liu Kang, to occasionally help take out Shao's loyal soldiers in your blindspots. It wasn't too long before every one of the soldiers was disposed of and the soul stealers disposed of. You quickly rush to the women's side when you see them, already conjuring a thousand different scenarios on how they may need healing. However, what you weren't expecting was to find the floating hooded figure wearing the face of Outworld's late Emperor, Jerrod. Jerrod who has always treated everyone in the palace, including you and your fellow trainees, well. The Emperor who saw you, a young woman from nowhere, had great potential. When you saw that it is him, you gave a bow.

"My Emperor, how we have all missed you, dearly."

"You seem to have come far, Y/N. Please, attend to Tanya. I believe she may be suffering from broken bones."

You don’t waste time getting to work and luckily for you and Tanya, her ribs weren’t broken as much as some were cracked and internal bleeding. Both which isn’t hard for you to fix with a little magic. You’re also not surprised to hear from Jerrod that it wasn’t Li Mei’s fault for his death. But one problem at a time, all of you have two Sorcerers to defeat.

Kuai Liang and you lead the others through the maze of tunnels within the mountain until you find the gigantic chamber housing the Dragon Army. You had to swallow back some venom that threatened to spill from your lips, not noticing how a few drops spilled on the stone warrior you hid behind when you found Shang Tsung and Quan-chi smugly watching their animated army train for the upcoming battle. To think, in a past timeline, you would’ve joined them in their heinous crimes!

You glance towards Sindel in concern when Mileena offers to distract the Sorcerers so the rest of you can surround them. Luckily, the heiress’s plan goes off without a hitch thanks to her compelling performance that would’ve had you fooled. You sprang into action at Mileena’s signal, automatically going for Shang Tsung’s neck only to barely avoid a magical blast from Quan-chi, thanks to Mileena’s last-minute interference. Shang Tsung reaches for his neck before letting out a patronizing chuckle. Quan-chi smirks in amusement.

”For someone that appears to hate you so much, she seems incredibly determined to end you herself.”

”A most romantic gesture.”

You give a hiss “Will it still be considered one when I make you watch me tear out your beating heart?”

You and Mileena fight together against the Deadly Alliance, your hydromancy being the perfect counter against Shang Tsung’s fire magic. It felt good seeing the Sorcerer’s smug expression morph into one of fear when they almost repeatedly get bit by your snakes or you. Mileena managed to knock out the crown Shang Tsung used to control the Dragon Army during the fight. When the Sorcerer realizes it’s no longer on his head, you put one scythe to this throat and one to Quan-chi’s to keep either of them from reaching for it. Yet nothing could ever be that easy, could it?

You expected to see the Sorceress Lord Liu Kang warned about earlier, rather than another version of Shang Tsung and… You??? Your counterpart was lovingly holding the other Shang’s arm and wearing a complimenting regal outfit like him. What shocked you the most was that she had your features, but Ashe wasn’t wearing a mask! It also appears the Shang Tsung, you know, seemed just as baffled. Your other self’s gaze landed on you with such contempt that it threatened to make you curl into a ball. You let out an undignified squeak when she grabs your face with her claws, threatening to break the skin.

“I have to agree, darling husband. Even with our interference, she barely proved useful. What more, your poor copy lost this one to a bloody savage.”

She then pushed you away, causing you to stumble in place. You barely heard Liu Kang explaining what’s happening as Your mind reels from the information that another YOU not only caused your accident but is also MARRIED to Shang Tsung?!? And apparently, Lord Liu Kang once turned another version of you into sand at your request?!?

”Of course, I tried to make Shang Tsung in my timeline but it just couldn’t beat the original.”

Your counterpart gives a longing look toward the other Shang Tsung, who takes her hand to kiss it.

”So when he found me again, I was so overjoyed that I didn’t mind exterminating all life in my timeline. Not as long as I can be his side for all times.”

”Always”

You felt like vomiting at the two Titans. Your other self giggled when the Shang Tsung and Quan-chi you knew voiced their outrage at being pawns and left to slaughter. Titan Shang Tsung then holds the crown the other Sorcerers made up to your Titan Counterpart, requesting a kiss for good luck. She obliged, causing a venomous glow to spread throughout the crown from her lips before Titan Shang Tsung crumpled it like paper to control all the souls within it. They both bid all of you goodbye before teleporting away, leaving behind a dark alternate, Sindel and Raiden. You hold up your scythe to Shang Tsung’s throat once more.

”If I sense any treachery from you or Quan-chi, I will finish you both.”

Shang Tsung only gives a chuckle as he agrees that’s fair enough.

It would appear that all of you were facing foes more powerful than initially thought when the other Sindel shrieked to halt you long enough for Raiden to electrocute the ground. This attack causes Mileena’s serum to wear off and her Tarkatan symptoms to become apparent, giving her enough edge to defeat Raiden. But there was still the other Sindel to handle.

You always knew your Empress to be a force of nature, but this new one was entirely new! All of you fought her at once, but she annihilated you like you were nothing but bugs to her. This Sindel knew to use her hair to strike you in the head before your stone gaze could affect her, causing you to fall to the ground and hit your head against the stone beneath with a resounding CRACK.

When you came too, your ears rang, and everything sounded underwater, the world around you shaking. Your head feels fuzzy, and you distantly note that you may have a concussion. However, when the name "Sindel" is heard, your hearing and vision immediately focus again. Kitana was shaking you and telling you Sindel was severely injured. You swiftly get into action as you are led/dragged by Kitana to wear a bleeding Sindel lies.

You feel your face pale behind your mask, and your heart races before you steady yourself and narrow your eyes in determination. You first use water from your flask to wash away the excess blood from Sindel to see where the bleeding is coming from, then you tear open her clothing for better access. You bark for Jerrod to carefully bend Sindel's knees and for him and Kitana to talk gently to her and keep her awake. You then dig into your apothecary bag to pull out some pain-killing seeds for Sindel to chew on before you get to work stuffing gauze in her wound, and then more cause before attempting to patch her up with a slightly wettened bandage. However, soon, more blood leaks through and completely drenches it, and Sindel's skin becomes cold and pasty. It's as you feared; the other Sindel stabbed her in the stomach artery and lost blood too fast.

You've never been the praying type but you fervently pray to Deliah and Argus under your breath to save Sindel.

"I'll do anything asked of me and pay any boon, just please, please, please, save Sindel. Save my dear friend. "

Sindel puts her hand over yours.

"You did your best, Y/N"

Your eyes fill with tears as you are gently pushed to the side by Kitana so She, Mileena, and her father can be around Sindel as she takes her last breath, naming Mileena Empress of Outworld. Your hands are still stained with her blood. Although Jerrod absorbs Sindel's soul into his body, it comforts you little, knowing you failed. You reluctantly follow Lord Lui Kang out of the fortress, leaving behind Sindel's body.

A/N: I make no apologies. 😈😈😈

[nrdmssgs]

Darker matters (part 8)

Masterlist Previous part

Angst Pairing: Nikolai x Olga 'Zhar' Samoilova Summary: The completion of the rescue mission Warnings: Swearing, mention of kidnapping

Thanks: My very important people: @siilvan, @homicidal-slvt, @sofasoap and @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot. @pale-elysium I love you so much.

Zhar barely catches, what exactly Ghost and Krueger are growling at each other. One of them points to a now empty window frame, and Olga looks there. The lower threshold of the frame is painted with a dark scarlet, and reddening wet lines stretch from the window sill to the floor. She gathers all the strength to concentrate and remember, what happened, but two men shouting above her make it almost impossible.

Their voices echo, mix together with the noises of the battle unraveling on the lower floor. Olga can only make out something about medic evac. For a split second she's afraid, they are planning to send her off, but then Ghost shakes his head.

Krueger curses, looking from Ghost to Zhar. Then he finally leans closer to her and asks, ‘how's your pain limit, commander?’.

“Ask my burnt ass,” Olga winces. 

“She's going to be alright.” Ghost stands up and takes the gun out of the holster. “Behave, commander, and I'll bring you a gift. Served just as you wanted.”

He disappears around the corner to Krueger's displease. He doesn't hide it, frowning while he undoes Zhars vest and pulls the med bag closer. It takes him a few moments to stop the stream of frustrated thoughts regarding the outsider among them in such a critical mission and concentrate fully on his commander's wounds. 

“Ok, lets, oh fu-” He pauses, glances at Olga's paling face. “Let's make it quick - I promise to be gentle, you - to not fire me, if it hurts too much.”

***

“Affirmative, out.” Iskra flips the switch on her comms and turns back to the rest of her team. 

“Krueger got Zhar, we're not waiting for them. Once again: two people, who leave this shithole on their two,” she points at the door leading to the lowest level of the base, “are Nikolai and Sedmi. I want every other one dead by the time, we are done.”

“Which ones of you are assigned to get Sedmi?” The question sounds from the darkest corner of the hall and only the outlines of a white skull mask give away the fact, that somebody actually stands there.

Others turn their heads towards the voice, but nobody answers: they've already heard through comms, that they have a ‘guest star’ today, but none of them is sure, if the man is worth of their trust.

“Us three,” Iskra points at herself and two other soldiers. After all, if Zhar trusts him - that means something. “You with us?”

“Won't even notice me.” Ghost checks his gun and takes a step forward.

***

By the time, they descend to the subterranean level of the base, Iskra is sure: this is the place, where they keep Nikolai. They've checked every meter of the upper levels and Sedmi and Nik were not there. 

Their shadows cling to every corner and the hum of machinery reverberate through narrow passages. 

Iskras group stops right before the long dark hall and waits for their technician to work his magic. He manages to bring the lamps back to life only for a few short moments, but that's enough. The flicker of harsh fluorescent lights offers much needed glimpses of the subterranean battleground. Silhouettes of enemies materialize in the shadows, and hungry for blood Chimeras press forward.

Short, bright flashes of gunfire and dim flashing lights from cameras and alarms briefly illuminate scenes of brutality. Chimeras are trained to fight quickly and with maximum efficiency. But now the fatigue and irritation accumulated over the long weeks of preparation for the operation are making themselves felt: soldiers do not hide the pleasure with which they are slaughtering the remnants of Sedmi’s army.

Leading her men forward, Iskra loses the sight of Ghost, but that doesn't bother her anymore - she's too concentrated on her goal. Every step forward comes at the cost of sweat and grit, as the enemy, cloaked in shadows, retaliate with a relentless determination to protect their bargaining chip - Nikolai.

The moment, when her eyes meet Sedmis marks the shift in her fighting style. If Iskra was searching for anything, that could point her in the right direction before - she now was full of determination to get that man. 

Iskra sees desperation in his face, sees a cornered animal instead of a warrior, and stops holding back. She follows him, as the man runs to a door at the end of the hall, closes the gap with relentless strides, feasting upon the fear, that she catches in his eyes, each time he looks back at her.

There are not more than a few meters left between them, when bullets trace the air right above Iskras head. She drowns to the floor, distracted by enemy fire and curses, hearing, how Sedmi frantically fumbles with the lock.

In the heat of battle, out of the corner of her eye, she notices a blurry shadow gliding very close. Her gaze catches on a large silhouette, and, clinging to the wall, she turns around and sees Ghost. He appears behind Sedmi’s back so quietly that he remains unnoticed until rises to his full height. With a precisely controlled movement, he hits the enemy in the temple with his elbow, and Sedmi falls to the ground.

***

Nikolai thought of the possible scenarios of him finally meeting Olga again almost constantly. To kill time, to forget the physical pain, to remain calm, to not let intrusive thoughts with other scenarios in.

He forgets his plans for a short time, when the door to his room is opened and he sees Iskra. 

“Iskorka, spasibo, moya zolotaya.*” Nik smiles as she walks in and sets him free from the restraints. 

As if sensing the question, that eats him alive, Iskra says ‘she's here, now let's go get you to the medics, commander.’

Despite him being perfectly fit to fight the remnants of Sedmis army, Iskra leads Nikolai straight to the stairway. He doesn't protest though, sensing, how worried she is about finally getting her commander back. Nik glances around and takes a mental note about an unsettlingly great number of enemy bodies, lying on the floor.

“Chimera partnered with someone for this?”

“Chimera grew bigger, while you were away,” for the first time Iskra, always so concentrated and serious, smiles.

Nikolai doesn't have too much time to think about her answer though, because when they emerge on the first floor - they meet Zhar. 

Nik freezes, stops in his tracks and just watches her pass by, seemingly not even noticing him. She looks nothing like a month before, when they saw each other last time. She's just a wraith, a mere shadow of herself: skin pale to the point, when it looks grayish, jerky movements, cold, lifeless eyes. Olga advances forward steadily, but it doesn't escape Nikolais eyes, that she uses the wall as support to avoid falling.

Ignoring Iskras hand, clasping to his shirt, he takes a step to Olga, all the scenarios of him holding her, hiding her from any harm and finally comforting her coming back to life in his head. Iskra calls out Zhar, saying, they have Nikolai at last. Olga doesn't slow down or turn to them. The words, that she throws over her shoulder, feel like a punch in the guts, like an invisible wall, that stops Nik.

“Get him as far as possible from here.”

***

Sedmis head is killing him with a potent ache and deafening ringing noise. At first, he doesn't want to open his eyes, but the disorientation makes him feel dizzy to the point, when he has to see, if he is lying on the floor, sitting, or really being constantly swirled around, as he feels.

Blinking against the dim light, he becomes aware of the confining reality - the good news is that he's seated. Immobilized and tied to a chair, yes, but seated. You won't seat a man, unless you don't want to speak to.

The bad news is the man, dragging a table to the center of the room. Sedmi heard of this one.

“So you are the guy, the bitch assigned to kill me? How do they call you, a Phantom?”

The man ignores Sedmi and touches the light bulb flickering above his head. Blinking a couple more times, the lamp lights up with a dim but even light. As he looks right at it, Sedmi notices drips of blood running down his mask and gear. 

“How is it going to happen. You shoot me? Ain't no way, Price would let you keep me.”

His captor slowly squints, looking at him, but not turning his head from the lamp. After a few minutes of silence, he walks behind Sedmi and tightens up the knots, restraining him.

“My job here is to keep you alive.” Sedmi doesn't like, how this mans voice sounds. There is a big part of calmness there, but there is also an anticipation. 

Zhar enters the room and Sedmi relaxes: despite the coarse texture of the ropes biting into his flesh right through his clothes, despite the masked silent enigma standing somewhere behind him, Sedmi feels, he might after all regain control over the situation. When it comes to Olga - Sedmi always knows, where to push to make her do stupid things, she might regret later.

“So you bring this beast with you, and he's the good cop here?” Sedmi chokes on quiet laughter, his shoulders shake, but almost immediately feels the men hand gripping the back of his neck.

“How much did you pay him? And for what? How would he explain getting involved in an operation to save an ass in the international-class criminal?”

Zhar doesn't react to Sedmis rant - she leisurely sits down on the opposite chair and throws a folder with some papers on the table. Her captive continues to hurl insults and questions, but Olga’s unfocused gaze pierces through him, and her hands rummage through all her pockets. Finally, her face comes to life, and she takes out an inhaler in a bright children's case and places it on the table right before Sedmi.

He falls silent as soon as he sees that. The room seems to tighten its grip on him, amplifying the gravity of the situation. He swallows hard, tasting the metallic tang of fear.

“Where's he?” Sedmis first question is barely audible. None of his captors reacts to it, so he asks once again. Only this time he screams.

“Where's he? Where is my son?! What did you do, you sick fuck?!” 

“Now you're asking the right questions…” Olga answers in a calm tone, contrasting with his shouts. Then she looks up and addresses to her colleague.

“Can do it alone.”

No answer from behind, not even the slightest movement. Zhar sighs with some unhealthy hissing sound escaping her lungs and her gaze falls back on Sedmi.

“Last few weeks were quite busy, hm?” She leans forward, her fingers trace invisible lines on the desk around the inhaler. “Monitoring Chimera newest hires, cutting off our supply chains, listening to my phone calls, talking to me, sending that guy after my informants… And taking care of Nikolai, of course. Did I miss anything? Side jobs, reports to your friends?”

Her captive remains silent, catching every word, that escape her lips.

“So many things to do, so little time for your family. At first, I did believe, you were smart enough to not have one. But Chimera is a creature with many eyes and ears. While you were enjoying me failing terribly at following your orders to ruin the company - my many eyes were watching, where you send your most trusted men, my many ears were listening to your late night talks. Ada was right by the way - you should have brought more time with her and Luka. Such a beautiful wife, such a sweet little kid.”

Sedmi shudders, his hands involuntarily try to stretch forward, but his captor has tied him securely.

“My first intention was to visit your big shiny villa, the one with the million dollar view. Ada talked so much about the incredible treats that your personal chef made you there… I just had to check it.” Zhar takes a folder and drags the first paper out of it.

A photo falls on the desk before Sedmis eyes and what he sees on it makes his heart skip a beat: his and Adas bedroom burnt. Black walls, iron bed base merely peeking from a huge pile of ashes, dark pieces of fabric and plastic, empty picture frames laying on the floor.

“I have Lukas room too, have a peek.” She throws another photo before him - Sedmi doesn’t risk looking at it. 

“Where are they?” He growls at her.

“Don't you act as if I could find them in your main property. We both know, it's not like that.” Zhar seems to miss his question completely. “To be honest - I wasn't surprised either. It would be too obvious, and besides, it would take so much more men to actually guard such a place and not just make an impression. So I moved further to your other secret harbors.”

Sedmi feels that he slowly but surely becomes a helpless spectator in his own harrowing drama. Images lay bare the shattered remnants of what once were sanctuaries. His and Ada's houses, every room and every memory, are now not more than charred skeletons standing as grim reminders of Zhars wrath. The wrath, that becomes somewhat familiar to him after yet another photo.

“Nikto… That bloody merc was claiming to be incorruptible. Did you pay him, blow him? How did you convince that bastard to make a full theater play for me? Fucking beautiful…”

“You think, Nikto was your weak link?” Olga methodically flips through the photographs, each depicting the ruins of familial havens. “Nikto was your best man, Sedmi: he never betrayed you - he was assigned to scare me and Nikolai, and he did just that. I only helped him a little. But enough about him - it's Ada and Luka, we are looking for, right? So many places, they were not at.”

She picks a photo from a folder and the corners of her lips jump up for a brief moment. 

“Now this place is special. A modest one, a secluded fortress. Your mother's house,” her whisper cuts through the silence like a blade.

Sedmis heart plummets, the chill of despair seeping into every fiber of his being. He could watch Zhar taking the keys to his kingdom, his men, his property - but not the fates of those he holds dearest.

“You fucking insect.” A spasm runs through Sedmis body making him shiver. “Sitting here, jerking off at your mightiness, after you killed a defenseless boy and wom-”

“I never said, they were dead.” Zhar rises on her elbows above the desk. “What, you think, I`m making this show just to tell you, I killed your beloved ones? No Sedmi, my dear seventh friend. I have other plans. Want to know, what are they?”

He nods, and Olga continues leaning forward to him.

“You will live a long life. And I will teach you, how to do it. You see, I know, who has a grudge against me. A year ago I orchestrated an operation with one particular fixer. We closed a jar with spiders, shook it well enough, and you guys started ripping each other's heads off. There is a reason why they call you Sedmi or ‘the seventh one’. You are part of them: a union, a cartel, a friend club - I couldn't care less, how you call it. But I know, there are many of you there: ‘the first’, ‘the second’, ‘the god knows which’ one... Many spiders not happy with a jar, I and Nikolai closed a year ago.”

She pauses, looks Sedmi in the eyes and touches his face.

“You will walk out of this military base on your two. It won't be easy, but eventually you will figure, how to set yourself free. Your army will be nonexistent anymore. You won't try to contact your bodyguards, because their bodies are lying on the ground at the crashsite of Nikolais helicopter. You will spend some time searching for Ada and Luka and find them at some point. You may as well give this back to your son…”

Zhar pushes the inhaler closer to Sedmi.

“You will find new ways to fund your life, purchase new place to live in, take your kid to school, make sure, your mom is back to normal after all the stress, she had to live through, take care of Ada…”

A faint smile blooms on her lips. 

“But whatever you do - I want you to do it with one thought behind everything. When you hire new soldiers - I will know each name. When you buy a new house - I will have all the information on the deal even before you.”

Zhars whisper sounds right above his ear.

“I will know, your sons teachers names, I will choose the doctors, monitoring your mother, I will hear what your wife talks about with her friends on their kitchens while you're not around. I will see and hear and know everything, there is about your new little life. And from now on if any member of your group, I troubled a year ago, plots anything against the Chimera - it is your problem, Sedmi. If I even think, that something starts boiling up - it is your headache. And if I am not happy with your performance - I won't kill you, don't worry. You will live long enough to see your beloved ones agonies. Every last one of them, begging for a quicker death.”

Sedmi feels the masked mans grip tightening on the back of his neck once again, as Olga stops in mere inches from his face. The table creaks as she leans back, her hands never leaving the desk, as if she would fall as soon as she stops holding on to it.

“If you were waiting for a good time to say, that you got me right - this is your moment to shine.” She looks at him, not blinking, not even breathing, it seems. 

Sedmi looks around, but his gaze can't concentrate on anything: the walls are blank, sterile, the lonely lamp above them stopped swaying a while ago. It feels as if everything around him, including Olga, is dead: empty shells pretending to be rooms, furniture and people. 

And she, this half-burnt piece of meat is the very heart of this stillness. Sedmi doesn't fight the sudden urge to make her at least a bit more alive, and spits into her face. 

Immediately, his face is being slammed against the desk - the masked one doesn't say a word, but he knows well enough, what he's doing. Pain pierces through Sedmis head like red-hot needles, and the world goes dark for a moment. Once he manages to rise his head once again - Sedmi notices, that photos of his destroyed houses are now painted red. He watches his saliva slowly flowing down Olgas jawline.

Zhar asks him again, if they are clear and this time her captive is more cooperative.

“C-crysh- Crystal clear.” It hurts even to speak, after the masked one turned his mouth into a bloody mess.

Sedmi gathers all his strength, and before Olga and the masked man leave the room, he speaks again.

“Hey Phantom-boy… You think, you're the hero, saved the day, punished some criminal piece of shit?” Zhar and the masked one freeze on their way to the exit.

“Of course you do. Think, I'm a waste, bloody trash. Well, it takes one to know one. So if you're thinking, you chose the right ally - look at her once again. That bitch, you're serving so well, is not a human anymore. Shes not even a creature - this one is a mold. Stops at nothing, eats up anyone, when it gets hungry. Today she's on my walls, but who knows where you find her tomorrow. So before you put on your ‘good boy’ collar this evening - think of your family in her hands.”

An unsettling silence permeate the room, broken only by the distant echoes of indistinct sounds. Olga holds up an open palm in a wordless request, and her colleague takes his knife out of the holster and gives it to her.

“Make sure, we don't get interrupted,” commands Zhar and the masked one leaves her alone with Sedmi.

Iskorka, spasibo, moya zolotaya.* - Sparky (Iskra is Spark in russian), thank you, my golden one

[envysnest]

Pity the Mayfly (ch. 2/?) - an Astarion/Tav fic

AO3 Link Here

Chapters: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6

You had come to the Gate to forget your past, discard your elven name, and pursue alchemy against your family's wishes. On a visit to your old keep, you're found by the Nautiloid, and everything tilts sideways.

Trigger warnings for this chapter: Descriptions of endometriosis and adenomyosis; mentions of dubious consent; discussions of infertility/miscarriages (nothing graphic, just hypotheticals).

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

There’s screaming on the path ahead, where the cliffs give way to dense woods. Instinctively, you run towards the sound. Someone grabs your robes by the collar; you’re dragged, backwards, into the shade.

“What—” You struggle in the assailant’s arms and kick behind you. “Let go of me!”

“Stop that!” Astarion hisses behind you.

“Astari—mmph!” His hand over your mouth thwarts you.

“Are you dense?" he snaps. "There’s about ten goblins and a bloody gnoll. Let them kill each other.”

“Let go of me!” you shout into his hand: lggoofme.

“You know what?” he chirps. “I was quite beginning to like you. "Astarion lowers his voice to a growl. “And I was trying to keep us both from getting killed.”

Shadowheart and Lae’zel run by you, their respective weapons drawn. Gale is close behind; you can already see protective runes sprout up around him. If you let these people die, you’ll never forgive yourself. And you’ll have to be alone with—

You kick behind you again. Your heel only collides with Astarion’s thigh, but Astarion lets out a puff of air and drops you all the same. You rush into the bright sunlight, round the corner—

Tiefling soldiers yell and shoot their weapons from atop a large wooden gate. There’s a scuffle underway below, one Lae’zel is eagerly plunging herself into: goblins, howling with glee, and a gaggle of terrified humans. Shadowheart spears a goblin in the chest; Gale works through the familiar incantations for Haste.

And Astarion was wrong: there are several gnolls.

In the middle of the fray stands a human knight, fencing off enemies as they approach. He turns to engage a gnoll, and you hold your breath at his bright, confident smile. When the gnoll snarls, he rolls to the right. The gnoll overcorrects as it lunges forward; the knight had feinted successfully, and the gnoll lands on its snout. The knight rapidly moves his hands, setting up an incantation you recognize well. When he twists his wrist, a lightning bolt strikes the gnoll. It yelps, seizing.

Human warlock, you correct yourself.

Gale nods as you join him. “Nice of you to drop by, Tav.”

You roll your eyes. “Let’s finish this quick.”

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

When the goblins and gnolls are dead, you learn something interesting: the warlock also has a tadpole.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” he says to you. His right eye is all smooth stone; the scars across his face are striking. “I’m Wyll. Many thanks for the help back there.”

“Don’t mention it,” says Shadowheart to your right. “I’m going to see about this gate.” She takes a step towards it before turning back to Wyll. “Shadowheart,” she says, and she points to herself. Shadowheart points to you. “That is Tavvendish.”

“Tav is fine,” you say to Wyll.

Wyll nods at you. “Tav it is.”

Someone rests their chin on your left shoulder, and you stiffen. Rosemary fills your nose.

“What a handsome, brave, dashing knight you are,” Astarion purrs from your shoulder.

Wyll gives you both a lopsided smile, taking a step back. “Well,” he says, turning his hand this way and that, “A warlock, really.”

You feel yourself turn bright red. You shrug Astarion off of you, but he doesn’t seem fazed by your disinterest. Rather, Astarion seems very interested in Wyll.

“My my,” says Astarion. “A man of many talents.”

Wyll thumps his fist against his chest. “You’re talking to the Blade of Frontiers.” Wyll bows to you with a flourish. “At your service, my lady.”

You offer him your hand. Wyll kisses it briefly, so perfunctory that you barely feel it. You feel the tension leave your shoulders.

Astarion taps his foot beside you, suddenly irate. “And where’s my introduction?”

Wyll gives him that lopsided smile again, his cheeks darkening. “Why, saer? Do you need a kiss as well?”

“I don’t need one,” Astarion says, a delicate hand to his chest, and he-- Oak Father preserve you-- bats his lashes at Wyll. “But I wouldn’t say no to a man like you.”

Wyll throws back his head and laughs. “And how the gentleman flirts!” He beckons to Astarion. “Alright, you jealous rogue. Give me your hand.”

Astarion does. When Wyll takes his hand, kissing it tenderly, Astarion giggles and fans himself.

You feel your face heat up all over again.

Lae’zel materializes by your side. “This is a waste of time,” she says. “The tadpole grows in our skulls by the minute.”

“Lae’zel’s quite right,” says Gale behind her. “Let’s find a healer, and quick.”

Wyll drops Astarion’s hand, much to the other man’s frustration. “Agreed. This cannot wait.”

With no enemy to guard against, the tiefling soldiers open the gate for you. As it rises, you look around at your strange, motley party. There have to be more survivors of the Nautiloid somewhere; you remember seeing other ships just like it as it passed through the Hells. How many more of you are there?

“Tavvendish, darling,” says Astarion. “I have a question.”

You turn to him. “Yes?”

Astarion shakes an amber bottle in your eyeview.  “This was very useful against those goblins back there. Whatever do you put in it?”

It’s the last of your Lesser Harpy Spider venom. 

Your eyes widen.  It had taken weeks to breed all the Lesser Harpy spiders you needed for it, and the rest of your venom stash is back on your shop bench. This single bottle— the one Astarion now dangled in front of you, like a trinket— is meant for the healers of Fox’s Keep: a crucial ingredient to its corresponding antivenom.

You think back to when he had pulled you against him in the shade. He wasn’t being protective at all; he had been stealing from you.

You swat at Astarion’s hand, but he’s faster, and the bottle vanishes before you can reach it. Your hand meets thin air instead. When you meet Astarion’s eyes, he twirls his wrist. The bottle reappears: a simple sleight-of-hand, one that makes you feel incredibly foolish.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Bastard,” you snarl, and you make a grab for it again—

—only for Astarion to hold the bottle up in his opposing hand.

“Ah-ah,” Astarion says, still wearing that infernal smirk. “Say 'please.'”

You bristle. “A drop of that will kill you, you know.”

He looks at the bottle with interest. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” You smile at him with gritted teeth. “Want to find out?”

“Mm.” Astarion looks up at the sky, pouting in thought. He looks back to you with mirth twinkling in his eyes. He leans in. “I’ll settle for learning where you get it.”

This makes you laugh. There was no way this prissy, Upper-City elf could milk venom without being bitten. You’d get a chance to test the antivenom again, and Astarion would learn his lesson. “Done,” you say. “Give that back.”

Astarion’s smile twists into something self-satisfied. He looks you up and down, and then he offers the bottle, pinched between index finger and thumb. 

You snatch it away from him. Astarion giggles. You shield your pack from his eyes and tuck the venom into a different pocket this time.

“Don’t pickpocket from me again,” you grumble.

He holds up a hand. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sister.”

The gate lurches open with a groan. Just inside, one of the elder tieflings stands nose-to-nose with a human soldier. They’re screaming at each other. 

“—if you had just opened the bloody gate—”

“And what?” the tiefling booms. “Unleash a horde of goblins on our camp, compromising the druids further? You’ll forgive me my caution, Aridin.”

The human— Aridin— rears up on his toes, looking at the tiefling as if he wishes to smite him. “Caution cost us lives. If you,” he jabs a finger into the tiefling’s chest, “had as much caution as sense, my men would still be standing.”

Shadowheart shakes her head beside you. “I’m not getting involved in this,” she mumbles. “I’ll tend to the wounded.”

You look between the two men. “What’s happening?”

Aridin glares at you. “Zevlor couldn’t open the gate in time, and now my friends are dead.” He turns back to the tiefling, hissing, “It’s a coward’s excuse.”

A muscle ticks in Zevlor’s jaw. “Hold your tongue, Aridin. Were it not for this coward, you’d be dead, too.”

Aridin takes a deep, noisy breath through his nose. “Wish I was,” he spits.

You hold up your hands. “Stop, both of you. It’s over. You’re alive. There’s nothing we can do about the dead.” You look up at Zevlor. “Next time, open the gate sooner.”

Zevlor looks down at you with his eyebrows raised. There’s a long pause, and you worry, for the moment, that you’ve overstepped. Your mother always said you had a mouth on you, after all.

You clear your throat. “Sorry.”

“No, I…” Zevlor shakes his head and turns back to Aridin. “I’m deeply sorry,” he says with a small bow. “Mistakes were made on my part.”

“You can say that again,” sniffs Aridin, but he’s less on-edge now that he has Zevlor’s apology. He nods at you. “Thanks for the help,” he mumbles, and then he’s shouldering past Zevlor with a sour expression.

Wyll whistles in appreciation. “A natural diplomat. Well done, then, Tav.” 

He shakes Zevlor’s hand firmly; Zevlor’s mood immediately brightens. Wyll smiles at him, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Good to see you alive and well, Zevlor.”

Zevlor puts an appreciative hand on Wyll’s back. “Invaluable as always, Wyll." He turns to you and offers a hand. “You and your party won us our victory today. We owe you a great debt.”

You nod and shake his hand. You open your mouth to rebut, but Astarion interrupts from behind you: “We take gold, thank you.”

Zevlor’s brow creases. “Oh. Yes, well.” He lets go of your hand. “We…”

Wyll levels Astarion with a look. “We couldn’t take your coin,” he says to Zevlor. “My party is always ready and willing to help.”

“Are you serious?” Astarion snaps at him. “How does this help us with the tadpole?”

“We need access to the Emerald Grove,” Wyll says, now ignoring Astarion entirely. “We need a healer for an illithid parasite.”

Zevlor sighs deeply, pinches the bridge of his nose with frustration. Something about his hand bothers you, and you’re not sure what. “I’m afraid the Grove is closed to outsiders,” he says. “We have no eyes on Halsin, and with our location compromised, we may lose more. The druids will not be welcoming.”

“Druids?” you ask. They were close cousin to the wood elves, though their ranks were more diverse than any keep. Anyone could become a druid, a wood elf included, but wood elves kept almost exclusively to themselves.

Wyll groans. “How the fates taunt us. This is of the utmost urgency, Zevlor. Is there anything you can do?”

Zevlor shakes his head. “I’ve barely been able to find something for this,” he says, and he turns his hand— the very same hand that had bothered you— towards Wyll. There’s a scar on his left thumb joint, in that soft skin between thumb and index finger.

Wait.

You recognize that scar.

“May I see that, saer?” you ask.

Zevlor looks at you, looks at the scar. “See what?” he asks. “This?”

“Please,” you say, offering your own hand. “I’ll only be a moment.”

Visibly hesitant, Zevlor offers his hand. You take it in both of yours, turn it this way and that in the sunlight. On his thumb joint lies a small, interrupted semi-circle: two arcing lines, each terminating in deep puncture wounds.

He chuckles-- nervously-- above you. “Hurt terribly,” he says. “Bitten by a snake.”

“A rosebush viper,” you say softly, wonderingly. You release his hand. “Where?”

Zevlor raises his eyebrows. He tucks both hands behind his back. “Why, here,” he says. “Though it’s been a short while.”

Your head spins. Rosebush vipers were native to lands much, much further east than Baldur’s Gate. You had never seen one in the wild; you had only read about them in your books. Their territory was limited to the mountains of—

“Do excuse her,” says Astarion behind you. “She’s a little far from home.”

You wince. Wyll glares at Astarion again.

Zevlor coughs politely. “Indeed,” he says. “The nearest keep over is Otter’s Keep, along the river.”

Oh, yes. You were very far from home. You had never even been to Otter’s Keep; wood elves didn’t usually contact anyone beyond their immediate neighbors. Your heart thunders in your chest. “I’m too far east,” you breathe. “What—” You swallow and look up at Zevlor. “Where did the Nautiloid take us?”

“Where is your home keep, little one?”

“My mother is Fox’s Keep,” you say, “but I currently reside in the Gate.”

You can hear Astarion roll his eyes at your shoulder.

Zevlor deflates with relief. “Another Baldurian! I am in good company.” He furrows his brow. “But a wood elf, too? I’ve never seen your kind in the city. I thought such extensive travel was forbidden.”

“Baldurian wood elves do exist,” you lie. You gesture at yourself. “I am one of them.” You point to Zevlor’s hand again, at the snake bite. He eyes the bite scar thoughtfully. “I’d be happy to make an antivenom for the rosebush viper, if you’re in need.”

Astarion growls something unintelligible. When you turn to him, he’s already walking away, towards where Shadowheart hunches over the fallen soldiers. Lae’zel stands some yards away, keeping watch for more enemies. Gale has climbed up to the gate’s topmost ramparts, where he nods along to a tiefling’s story.

Zevlor gives you a polite smile. “We may have need of you yet,” he says. “With the Emerald Grove closed to outsiders, my people are in need of another healer.”

You scratch the back of your head. “I’m not…quite a healer. That honor belongs to Shadowheart.” You remove your hat, worry the brim in your hands. “I specialize in venom and poisonous things.” You hurry to add: “I also make their antidotes.”

“A dangerous woman,” Wyll muses next to you. “I’ll have to stay on your good side, then.”

Zevlor’s smile widens. “Indeed.” He gives you a small nod. “I’m sure the children will appreciate you. They’ve been getting nipped left and right, no matter how we warn them.” He beckons you. “Come along, then.”

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

Once everyone has settled to camp, you take stock of everything you have:

One tent, one bedroll, several changes of underthings and casual-wear, two pairs of robes (one now irreperably, horribly dusty), your books (Ten Easy Charms, Faerun Mycology Guide, a biography about Sadoris the Swift), one glass pipe, your notebooks, your staff, your makeup, your snakeskin hat, your ingredient pouches,a handheld mirror, several herbal tinctures, one bar of soap, four bottles of Lesser Harpy Spider antivenom, one bottle of Lesser Harpy Spider venom, several myriad poisons (including one bottle of Malice that may or may not be expired), and one healing potion. The tiefling camp had been generous in trading, at least to a fault.

You step out of your tent and stretch. Everyone has set up in a rough circle. You had chosen to stake your tent next to Lae’zel; the way she nodded at you in approval made you feel warm. The night is surprisingly chilly, compared to the blazing heat of midday, and you’re grateful for your long-sleeved blouse. Shadowheart, her tent set at the exact opposite to Lae’zel’s, meditates in silence. Gale, to her left, is buried in a book. Wyll lies on his bedroll just outside of his tent, dozing under the stars.

You look just past Lae’zel. Astarion sits on a mat just outside of his tent, hunched over a pile of fabric. His hand moves methodically. He’s mending something, you realize. 

Quietly, trying not to disturb him, you walk across camp to his tent. The man doesn’t look up, and you stand several feet from him, watching him work on his doublet.

He furrows his brow in concentration. His hands— fine-boned, pale, delicate— tremble as he works. His stitches are so even, they may as well be made by machine. This creature is so different to the Astarion you met: he is quiet, even contemplative, as he works gold thread through velveteen. You can see his spine through the thin, worn fabric of his shirt.

“I know you’re there,” Astarion says without looking up. “You’re blocking my light.”

“Oh.” You step to the left, towards his tent. The campfire behind you illuminates Astarion’s profile in orange.

“Much better.” He pulls the stitches through; they snap taught. He’s good, you think, as good as any professional tailor. There is fine embroidery on his doublet, gold waves as sinuous as smoke, and you wonder if he stitched that, too.

When you don’t move, he tenses. “What do you want?” he says to the fabric.

You wring your hands. “You’re quite good at that,” you say, nodding at his doublet.

Instantly, the tension melts from his shoulders. He looks up at you with a beaming smile. “Why, thank you, darling. At least someone notices.”

You gesture to the mat next to him. Astarion swings his legs out of the way, and you sit cross-legged next to him. 

Astarion turns his doublet to show you what he’s working on: an impressive rip now mars the doublet’s right side. It’s too early to see what design he’ll mask it with, but the gold thread he uses matches the doublet’s existing embroidery.  “One of those goblins caught me,” he sniffs. 

You rest your hand on your chin. “Really? I thought you weren’t trying to get killed.”

He levels a glare at you, but there’s no heat behind it. “And I thought you would listen to sense.” He picks up his needle and resumes his work.

You think of what the tadpole showed you of his mind: how claustrophobic it had felt, how much it made you yearn to scrub your skin raw. As abstract as it was, it brought up such horrible feelings in you. Familiar feelings.

Had— had Astarion seen—

“Can I ask what you saw?” you ask. “Earlier. With the tadpole.”

Astarion puts his needle down at that. He looks off into the middle distance. “I saw…a very tall woman, putting something on my head. A snake, biting into a jar.” He picks up the needle again. “Nothing else besides. You really ought to get out more.”

Relief floods over you in a wave.

Astarion smiles at his doublet, and all at once, the moment breaks. His hand stills. He tilts his head to you, just-so. “I rather had hoped you’d let me see the Witch Bolt, darling.” He glances at you sideways with a grin. “It sounds like it was agonizing.”

You make to rub your eyes, remember your eye paint, and drop your hand again. “I’m glad it didn’t take my sight. I wouldn’t be able to work.”

He continues mending. “You promised you’d tell me about that poison.”

“It’s not poison.” You lean back on your hands and watch the fire. “I do carry poison, but that was spider venom in your hand.”

“You’re a Baldurian, aren’t you?” He pulls the stitches taught again. “Where might one acquire spider venom in the city?”

“From me,” you say.

Astarion’s eyebrows shoot up as he works. His eyes slide to yours: he’s impressed. You’re glad to have startled him for once. “Aren’t you afraid of the dreadful little things?” His nose wrinkles. “Or are they,” he waves a hand, “Servants of Silvanus, or some other woodling drivel?”

You turn back to the fire. “Everything has its purpose,” you say, and Astarion snorts with obvious disdain. “They don’t frighten me. Though my youngest sister, Mellia, may agree with you. Spiders and insects terrify her.”

“I don’t suppose you have relatives in the Gate?”

You shake your head. “Just me.”

Astarion frowns at the doublet. “That’s queer,” he says. “A wood elf, living on her own.”

You pointedly ignore that comment. “What about you, brother?”

“Oh no, darling,” Astarion says with a smirk. “I was an only child.”

You groan with jealousy. “What’s that like? You must have had the washroom all to yourself.”

Astarion makes a thoughtful noise, tilts his head this way and that. “I do enjoy a hot bath,” he says finally. He looks up at you through his lashes. “And I don’t enjoy sharing.”

You have nothing to say to that, so you draw your knees to your chest and hug them. A long silence settles between you two. Crickets sing from the bushes; a log snaps in half in the fire. Your mind drifts back to Zevlor’s scar. Rosebush vipers were known to be reclusive, and they had heat sensors on their snouts; it was unlikely one would come so near to your camp. Zevlor must have startled one in the underbrush. The children, too, must disturb their nests during their playtime. The rosebush viper was not deadly, but its bite was excruciating.

“Let me ask you this, my dear,” Astarion says finally. He points the embroidery needle at you. “Would you rather die as a mind-flayer, or die by the venom in your pack?”

“The venom,” you say immediately. “No question. It’s painful, but it’s also quick. You would lose your consciousness for the shock of it. Though…” You trail off. There were a great many toxins less violent than the Lesser Harpy Spider’s venom. “There are…other options.”

Astarion smiles again. “Such as?”

You look up at the sky. “I don’t have it with me, but Dragon’s Head viper venom will put you to sleep before you know what’s happening. Combine that with oil from a poppy seed, and you’ll die quite peacefully.”

Astarion leans away from you out of the corner of your vision. “Impressive,” he says, with not a small amount of admiration. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?”

You rest your cheek on your knees and smile at him. “Does that appeal to you?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “The way you describe it, Tavvendish,” he drawls, something dark and heady in his gaze, “it just might.”

You startle. Astarion smirks, looks you up and down again— leers at you.

Your heart flutters in your chest, and you snap your head towards the campfire. “Mind-flayer or venom?” you ask.

Astarion shrugs in your periphery. “I’d quite like the venom as well,” he says airily. “Though I think I’d rather a nightshade.”

“Nightshade’s too easy,” you say to him. “It’s boring. Everyone does nightshade.”

Astarion points the needle at you again. “Mind yourself, sweetling. This is my tent. Yours,” and he points the needle towards your own tent, “is that-a-way.”

You shake your head as you stand up. Your head spins, briefly; you blink the spots away. “We’ll graduate you from nightshade,” you say. “You need something more…” You drum your fingers against your chin as you think. “Stylish. Maybe an Oil of Scarlet Bane; it doesn’t wash off easily. You can use it to coat a dagger.”

When you look down to Astarion, he’s watching you, lips slightly parted. “Do you always give free advice on how to kill you?” he asks, and he waves his needle in the air. “Just…to anyone who asks?”

“It benefits you to keep me alive.” You stretch. “Safety in numbers, right?”

He rests his chin on his hand and smiles up at you. “Don’t suppose you have enough poison for all of us, darling?”

You turn towards the fire to hide your blush from him. You shrug, making a show of nonchalance. “I’ll…I’ll see what I can do.”

“Run along, then, woodling.” He makes a shooing motion with his hand. “And don’t come back until you’ve killed that worm in your head.”

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

At the Gate, you introduced yourself as “Tavvendish.” You got away with it, if only because there were no wood elves nearby to say otherwise. Occasionally, a high elf gave you an odd look, hit you with a prying question, but they stopped quickly when they saw your wares. You began small: simple antivenoms and oils, rare mushrooms you had foraged yourself. You built yourself a small, but loyal, following. 

You apprenticed under a human man named Horst in exchange for the room above his shop. Malice sold particularly well, and drow poison was a rare treat. But one year, you strike upon a method for synthesizing something like wyrm poison for half the price, and Horst shook your hand so hard you thought he’d take off your arm. Business boomed after that.

You created antivenoms and antidotes, too. Your customers brought you dead things and asked, what is this, can you help, and you spent your nights dissecting venom sacs with glee. Occasionally, your customers brought you something alive, and this was even better. You milked the venom yourself and lost yourself at your workbench, studying its effects for days without end. A viper’s fangs sinking into taut leather; a spider crawling up the walls of a jar; your client’s face lighting up at seeing their custom antivenom; it all lit a fire in you. 

The city was full of forbidden knowledge. You spent your scant gold on scrolls and books and novels. Your necromancy improved. Before long, you could raise your own corpses and test your wares on them. You read about the old alchemical masters and re-created their work in the shop, learning from them and tweaking accordingly. You practiced in your room, practiced outside of Sorcerous Sundries with the other wizards.

You didn't miss wood-working a bit.

Horst and his wife had a son. You tutored the child from babe to man, passing on the elder Horst’s learnings as you went. When the elder Horst passed, his son became your new employer. 

Fox’s Keep is full of venomous things, and you start bringing your concoctions home during regular visits. You suffer being called by your elven name each time. The awkward stares, the cold shoulders: it’s almost too much. A wood elf doesn’t leave her keep, save to visit the neighboring keep, or to start her own. You were an aberration to your own people. Elder Mayanna Gardener always eyeed you on your way to your family's home. If you smiled at her, she'd clutch her broom tighter to her chest and sniff disdainfully. You stop smiling at her. Decades pass, and you stop meeting her eye entirely.

You are childless, and this distressed your family more than the Gate did. “You left our keep,” your father said one weekend, sneering at your pointed hat, “and you can’t even continue the family line? Hopefully, your siblings have more sense at your age.”

“I’m trying,” you snapped, and it had been true. But Baldur’s Gate was full of wandering hands and eyes. Not everyone is intent on settling down. A wood elf, for Baldurians, is a novelty, something for people to have and enjoy and experience. Over time, you grew numb to invasive questions, bawdy jokes about large families, the endless innuendo.

“I’ll bet you breed nicely,” said one date, laughing at your scornful expression.

Eventually, you stop hoping for a spouse at all. Perhaps marriage was yet another wood elf custom you weren’t made for. You began to feel like an alien thing, a paper cutout of a person: something other. You suffer all the jokes about inbred keeps with a smile. You let people touch and have and discard you. Some of them were kind: there was even a darling tiefling for a few years.

But everything always ended.

And then things become worse.

Your temper flared at nothing. You spent trance grinding your teeth. Your stomach rejected meals without warning, even when you were starving.  Orgasm hurt; your monthly blood hurt; everything hurt. You bled and bled and bled at the slightest provocation. Twice a month, you curl up on your bed, cast a simple Heat charm on the bedding to soothe the ache. The room always becomes unbearably hot, as fiery as the Hells, and you shiver as if caught in fever. It's sometimes so bad, you think of dying. Occasionally, you thought you were dying. 

And it was unpredictable. You kept crackers and bread around, poked hesitantly at new foods, tracked your cycle with religious fervor. You wrote down all your symptoms: couldn’t eat. Became ill after mince pie. Spotting visible. Lost consciousness. Can only stomach fruit. Why am I still bleeding? Your clothes never fit; your head swam; you were angry and you wanted to cry and it hurt. Potential lovers fretted and sneered and turned their backs. You bled on them; you bled on their beds; you cried with the humiliation.

You finally saw a healer in the Upper City when you couldn't stand it anymore.  She had examined you with a tight, terse frown. During the exam, she had pressed down into a particularly sore spot on your belly, making you yelp.

Afterwards, she sat you down on a bench and told you the horrible news: that women like you didn’t always have children. Sometimes, the children died before birth; sometimes, they never grew at all. Sometimes, they even grew in the wrong place. 

Your blood rushed in your ears.

There is always luck, the healer said, putting a sympathetic hand on your shoulder. But it gets harder with time. 

You begged her for help with the pain, asked her how to make yourself fertile again. The healer sighed and listed all the herbs you were already taking.

When you mentioned this, she said to try more of them. Higher dosages. As if you weren’t trying hard enough.

You walked home feeling numb.

You sat at your window, watching the street. You watched young couples hold hands, nuzzle in dark corners, cart around their awful, squealing children. You simmered with jealousy; lover’s hands are rough on you, and there would be no children for your trouble. In trance, you lived the week of your Trial all over again, and then you moved on to the next person who had their hands on you, and the next, and the next. More siblings appeared in Fox’s Keep, and then spouses, and then nieces and nephews, and all you felt was angry.

You cut a little too roughly into venom sacs, damaging them. You stopped sketching. You spend your weeks at your little window, staring and staring and staring, at everyone who had what you didn’t.

Your faith in Silvanus sputtered and died within you.

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

Your side twinges angrily when you wake from trance, but you are no mind-flayer. The sun has just risen, and you can already feel the day’s sticky heat pressing in around you. 

When you undress, you find pinpoints of blood in your smallclothes. You growl in frustration. Your blood was supposed to be over; perhaps the tadpole had taken its revenge on you in other ways.

You exit your tent and shield your eyes. Wyll and Gale have already made breakfast; Lae’zel and Shadowheart eat at opposite ends of the cookfire from each other. You smell burnt bacon. Gale is pouring fresh cream into a vat of scrambled eggs.

He nods at you. “Morning!”

You scowl back.

“Oh, look,” says Astarion from Shadowheart’s side. Unlike her, he doesn’t have a plate. “You made it another day.” He holds up both hands and wiggles his fingers. “Praise the Oak Father.”

“You’re looking surprisingly elven yourself, brother. Or, wait…” You make a show of leaning in, widening your eyes in mock fascination. “Your skin’s a little…blue.”

Shadowheart chokes back a laugh. 

Astarion shudders and holds out a hand. “Don’t you dare. You’ll give me indigestion.”

Wyll hands you a steaming cup of coffee. “No one’s looking illithid yet,” he says. “Perhaps someone’s watching out for us, Silvanus or no.”

You’ve barely situated the cup in your hands when Gale hands you a full plate of bacon and eggs. “I hope you slept well,” he says to you with a smile, and you roll your eyes. 

“As well as one can,” you reply.

Wyll raises his own cup of coffee to yours. “Drink up, then. We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

As you sit next to Lae’zel, you sip at the coffee. Immediately, you recoil. It’s watery and bland, but it’s all your party has for now. You long for your coffee press at home. The eggs, at least, are fluffy and rich, but Gale’s burnt the bacon to a crisp. It disintegrates into salt on your tongue.

“Team!” Gale claps his hands together. “What’s on the docket for today?”

Lae’zel raises her fork next to you. “We should make our way to the creche,” she says, cutting the fork through the air. “Only the gith’yanki have the cure for this parasite. We should waste no time in heading west.”

Shadowheart pipes up. “I firmly disagree. We would be better served finding the druid. Less chance of death for the rest of us.”

Wyll nods at the ground, his arms crossed. “Shadowheart is right,” he says, and Shadowheart sits a little straighter. “Finding Halsin would actually be the safest option here, and it would help the refugees stay safe.”

Lae’zel looks vaguely chastised. She ducks her chin and steps back, scowling. “You waste our time. Are we certain this druid has the cure? Either we take a risk, or we take the guarantee. My people can cure this tadpole. There is no doubt.”

Gale strokes his beard, squinting out across the Chionthar. “A salient point, Lae’zel, but Wyll and Shadowheart argue strongly for finding the druid.”

“And there’s still the matter of Karlach,” says Wyll gravely. “I must find her. It’s up there with the tadpole in my mind.”

Lae’zel scoffs. No one’s listening to her; you feel a pang of sympathy.

You turn to her. “Lae’zel, which way is the creche?”

“West,” she says immediately. “I suspect Creche Y’llek is closest. I saw a red dragon cross the skies this morning, just before sunrise.”

Shadowheart raises her eyebrows. “How do you know it was red if the sun wasn’t up?”

Lae’zel points her fork at her from across the fire. “A red dragon is promised to Vlaakith’s finest warriors,” she says, with not a small amount of pride. “Their wingspans are large, and their tails have but a single segment.” She sits back. “It was red. This I know.”

You think of the rosebush viper again. “We’ve got to be near Rosymorn. Zevlor had a rosebush viper bite. That species is only found within the Rosymorn mountain range, maybe as far east as the Sea of Shining Stars.”

Lae’zel nods at her. “Then Creche Y’llek is indeed nearby.” She makes a fist. “We will be free of this tadpole yet.”

Wyll sits on the other side of you. “We must exercise caution,” he says. “We are well-equipped, but not so well-equipped as to survive both a red dragon and advocatus diaboli. I vote we neutralize the latter on our way to the former.”

Shadowheart gestures to you, disbelieving. “So, what, that’s it? We just ignore the druid and walk into certain death at the hands of the gith?” She stabs impatiently at a strip of bacon; it crumbles under her fork. “Forgive my lack of good cheer.”

Gale crosses his arms and paces. “Zevlor doesn’t think the druid is far,” he says. “His scouts report a goblin camp out west, in an old temple dedicated to the goddess Selune. He may be there.”

You point to Gale. “Then we head west and see what we see.” You point to Wyll. “Wyll hunts for his mark.” You point to Shadowheart. “We look for Halsin.” You point to Lae’zel. “We head in the direction of the creche. Someone’s got to have a cure for this thing.”

Gale stops pacing and turns to Astarion. “You’ve been rather quiet over there, Astarion. Care to weigh in?”

Astarion stares at Gale.

He shrugs.

Gale blinks. “Well, alright. We have our answer.” He turns a slow circle, looking at each of your party in turn. “All in favor?”

[dancingships]

Mal hated Aline’s Powers. DEBUNKED.

Malyen Oretsev may have voiced his concern or fear during hard times but those moments pale in comparison to everything he sacrificed. If he hated Alina’s powers, or her duty to Ravka, he’d have left. He wouldn’t have branded himself Alina’s soldier then sacrificed his life so that she could defeat her enemy. In reality, he was the only one to love Alina for Alina and not for what she could do for them.

Mal awed by Alina’s Powers

He frowned but then he reached out, letting his fingers play in the light, and said, “That’s really something.”

-Shadow & Bone, Ch 18

He shut his eyes and turned his face toward the sunlight that radiated from my hand. Then he tilted his head, resting his cheek against my palm. The light glowed warm against his skin. We stood that way, in silence, until the watch bell rang.

-Siege & Storm, Ch 6

“I didn’t hear anyone laughing,” Mal said. “For someone who has no idea what she’s doing, I’d say you’re managing pretty well.”

-Siege & Storm, Ch 13

“Can you do more with it?” he asked. “No. Just …remnant of what I did in the chapel.” “You mean saving all our lives?” “…It’s just a carnival trick.” “It’s something you took from him,” he said. I didn’t think I imagined the satisfaction in his voice.

-Ruin & Rising Ch 3

“You’re glowing.” He ran a finger down my forearm where the sleeve had ridden up, watching the play of light over my skin, a smile curling his lips.

-Ruin & Rising, Ch5

Mal not being afraid of Alina

While everyone else is afraid to approach her, he steps right up. The first time she was losing control. The second time they didn't know what was happening but the building was shaking. Act now, asks questions later.

The same thing happens in the books too. Mal prevents her from destroying the entire ship after getting the Sea Whip. Then when Alina defeats the Darkling in the chapel and it's crashing down he runs back in to pull her out. And there's a moment in the underground temple where Alina thinks Mal is afraid of her powers but he was more afraid of losing her and didn't want her to have to make a kill. He knows killing another person isn't easy. But he says later he had faith in her.

Mal supporting Alina becoming Queen

“I came here for you. You’re my flag. You’re my nation.”

-Siege and Storm, Ch 18

“I wasn’t afraid of you, Alina. I was afraid of losing you. The girl you were becoming didn’t need me anymore but she is who you were always meant to be. Strong." He looked away. "Luminous. And maybe a little ruthless too… Ravka is broken, Alina…The girl I saw in the chapel could change that."

"Nikolai's a born leader. He knows how to fight. Knows how to politic. But he doesn't know what it is to live without hope. He's never been nothing. Not like you or Genya. Not like me." "He's a good man," I protested. "And he'll be a good king. But he needs you to be a great one."

-Ruin & Rising, Ch 7

“I don’t need any of that. Just…” He dropped Nikolai’s hand and looked away. “Deserve her.”

-Ruin & Rising, Ch11 & Season 2

“And where will you go?” “I’ll stay by your side as long as you let me.” His jaw set. “I’ll do what I have to do to keep you safe.”

“And I’ll keep marching because the firebird is all I can give you.”

-Ruin and Rising, Ch 13

"Because you were meant for more. I'll get you the firebird. That's all I have to offer / We've known for a while now that you were meant for more."

-Shadow & Bone, S2

These last two are so important because it shows that Mal knows they have no future together. Alina needs to become queen and she can't do that if she's with him. A lesser man would just walk away since they won't be getting anything in return. But Mal doesn't. He stays to get her what she needs, the only thing he can give her, before they part ways for good.

Mal believing in Alina

"You will destroy the fold. Just not today."

- Shadow & Bone, S1 Ep 8

"I wanted to make you human,” he said. “All they see when they look at you is the Sun Summoner. They see a threat, another powerful Grisha like the Darkling. I want them to see a daughter or a sister or a friend. I want them to see Alina.”

-Siege & Storm, Ch 16

“How did you know I’d be able to summon?” I asked under my breath. He glanced at me, and a faint grin touched his lips. “Faith.”

-Ruin & Rising, Ch 2

"You could have struck down the Apparat and all his Priestguards, but you didn't." "I wanted to." "But you didn't. You've had plenty of opportunities to be brutal, to be cruel. You've never taken them." "Not yet. The firebird-" He shook his head. "The firebird won't change who you are. You'll still be the girl who took a beating for me when I was the one who broke Ana Kuya's ormolu clock." I groaned, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "And you let me." He laughed. "Of course I did. That woman is terrifying." Then his expression sobered. "You'll still be the girl who was willing to sacrifice her life to save us at the Little Palace, the same girl I just saw back a servant over a king."

-Ruin & Rising, Ch 7

"I know, I know. I don't get it. I just know there's no way to live without pain-no matter how long or short your life is. People let you down. You get hurt and do damage in return. But what the Darkling did to Genya? To Baghra? What he tried to do to you with that collar? That's weakness. That's a man afraid." He peered out at the valley. "I may never be able to understand what it is to live with your power, but I know you're better than that. And they all know it too," he said with a nod back to where the others had gone to make camp. "That's why we're here, fighting beside you. That's why Zoya and Harshaw will whine all night, but tomorrow they'll stay."

-Ruin & Rising, Ch 14

"I know you can do it someday. You'll get there. I just don't want to see it kill you in the process."

-Shadow & Bone, S2 episode 1

"She's worth it, Sir"

-Shadow & Bone, S1 (talking to his captain about going after Alina)

Mal sacrificing for Alina

“The Darkling wants that stag. He wants it for you, so I'll find it. It's the only thing I can still give you. The only thing.”

-Shadow & Bone, S1

For the first time, I realized that Mal had no idea why I’d fled the Little Palace, why the Darkling was searching for me. The last time I’d seen him, I’d essentially ordered him out of my sight, but still he’d left everything behind and come for me.

Shadow & Bone, Ch 16

This time he didn’t blush or turn away. “It’s a promise to be better than I was,” he said. “It’s a vow that if I can’t be anything else to you, at least I can be a weapon in your hand.” He shrugged. “And I guess it’s a reminder that wanting and deserving aren’t the same thing.”

Ruin and Rising, Ch7

“I came here for you. You’re my flag. You’re my nation.”

-Siege and Storm, Ch 18

“Save them. This once, let me carry you.” His gaze locked on mine. “End this,” he said.

-Ruin & Rising, Ch 17

"I'm not afraid. Because I get to save you. And you get to save Ravka."

-Shadow & Bone, S2

"You know I'd lay down my life for you. Alina, you're a living Saint. I might not be enough. You need all the help that Nikolai can offer you."

-Shadow & Bone, S2

Mal Loving Alina

"I wanted to make you human,” he said. “All they see when they look at you is the Sun Summoner. They see a threat, another powerful Grisha like the Darkling. I want them to see a daughter or a sister or a friend. I want them to see Alina.”

-Siege & Storm, Ch 16

He would kiss her neck and whisper new names in her ear: beauty, beloved, cherished, my heart.

-Ruin & Rising, last page

"You are all I ever wanted. You're the whole of my heart."

-Shadow & Bone, S2

Maybe that's why I wrote this letter, Alina. Maybe it's a promise—that I'll survive tomorrow and the day after that, and somehow, no matter what it takes, I'll see you safe again.

What is she? She's everything, you dumb son of a bitch.

Mal’s letters - actually just his entire letter. It really puts into perspective his state of mind when he finds her at the Little Palace.

“Maybe that brought us together, but it didn’t make us who we are. It didn’t make you the girl who could get me to laugh when I had nothing. It sure as hell didn’t make me the idiot who took that for granted. Whatever there is between us, we forged it. It belongs to us.”

-Ruin & Rising

There was something fierce and almost desperate in the way he held me, as if he could not have me close enough.

That time he got himself purposefully sent to jail just to be with her

-Shadow and Bone S2

Because I would always be the first person he turned to when he saw something lovely, and I would do the same. Whether I was a Saint or a queen or the most powerful Grisha who ever lived, I would always turn to him.

-Ruin & Rising

[mandrakebrew]

JanAUary 5: Monster/human

Words: 1,423 Rating: Teen Content Warning: oc x canon, talk of blood, alcohol

From this prompt list, I will be exploring this au more later on, it's too much fun not to

Transylvania has a bit of a vampire problem. If not for that fact, Skull Face might have perished with the rest of his family when his village was attacked during WWII. He was a child, and in far too much pain to truly understand what he'd been offered at that hospital days later. Now he's stuck somewhere between here and hell. A parasite feeding off others to survive.

However, there are a few things that make him feel alive again. His favorite human, for example.

Who's now currently sipping on a glass of wine, waiting for their commander to arrive. They'd offered him a key, and told him he's welcome anytime. He explained that it wouldn't work like that. Skull Face had to be invited in every time.

One of the annoying drawbacks to being a vampire.

When Palmer finally hears a knock on the door, they go and open it. The crisp winter air blowing inside as they do. The XO is standing on their doorstep. His pale face illuminated by the apartment's light a stark contrast against the night and his dark clothes.

“Evening.“

”Evening,“ Palmer smiles at him. They start to lean their body outside, as if going in for a kiss.

As Palmer predicted, Skull Face attempts to wrap his arms around them and drag them outside. However, they jerk back inside, leaving him empty handed.

They laugh at him, his face quickly turning from surprise to annoyance.

“Something the matter?”

He sighs, “You know what it is.”

”Alright come in then, you're letting in the cold anyway.“

”And here I thought you liked the cold,“ He enters, shutting the door before removing his hat and jacket. Skull Face, lacking body heat, was nice to hold during the summer months. Something Palmer took advantage of often. Apparently he had made a note of that.

”I do, but not that much. My electric bill doesn’t like it either.“

”So, how was work?“ Palmer asked as they walked over to collect their glass of wine they left on their coffee table.

”It was fine,“ He answered following behind them. He sat down on their couch, expecting them to join him.

Instead, they sat in their armchair, outside his reach. They know why he's here. It's been exactly eight weeks since the last time he fed on them. He's a very punctual man, especially when it comes to this.

”What are you doing?“ He is not a patient man, however.

”We have plenty of time, you know. The sun doesn't rise for a few more hours.“ Palmer responds, taking another sip from their glass. Even if that wasn't the case, it wouldn't be the first time he'd slept through the day in their bedroom.

Also the doctor would be lying if they said they weren't testing their own patience right now. Though unlike the commander, they enjoy the building anticipation.

”You don't think it's been long enough?“ It's not their blood that he's after, not entirely. Palmer alone would not be enough to keep him going. Between his position at the CIA and Palmer being a surgeon, getting blood bags wasn't difficult. He also catches the occasional enemy soldier while out on long missions in foreign countries.

No, he's after something a bit more... Tactile.

”Let me finish my wine at least,“ It was the last glass of the bottle.

They had learned if Palmer drinks beforehand, it gets in his system when he feeds on them. The only way he can actually get drunk.

They'd asked him the day before, and he had no qualms about it. Though it had been less his desire to get drunk and more him not wanting to stop Palmer from doing so.

Skull Face huffs, and resigns to waiting.

A small laugh escapes through their nose. They then down the rest of the glass in one go. Their commander's been patient enough, they decide.

Palmer sets the glass down, before going over and straddling their commander's legs. Their shirt comes off before they pull his head forward to kiss him.

Their tongues meet, and Palmer pushes theirs inside his mouth in order to nick it on one of his fangs.

An action that causes him let out a small moan, before gripping their hips and pulling them closer.

After a few moments of this, Skull Face lifts them up and maneuvers them so he's on top of them, supported by his elbows and knees across the couch. His mouth trails down from their mouth to their neck. The faded smell of antiseptic still clinging to them. Underneath it, and more importantly to him, he could smell his reward.

He pulled back a bit, looking at the collection of faded scars from previous feedings. That was another thing about this he craved. Evidence that this had happened. Evidence the doctor was all his.

Palmer felt the same. They were a nice reminder of him on nights they had to be apart. Though it was a slight pain in the ass to cover them in foundation. A small price in their eyes.

Skull Face runs his still gloved hand over their hair before pulling gently to get them to tilt their head. His other hand resting on Palmer's bicep.

Palmer gasps when he begins to kiss their neck again, left arm wrapping around his torso. Their neck was always sensitive, something their commander took advantage of.

The only warning they get is a swipe of his tongue along their neck before they feel two points of white hot pain. But that quickly fades and is replaced with spreading warmth. It's something in the saliva, the commander had once explained to them. The glycoprotein Draculin, or some variant of it that vampires had. Palmer can't really recall at the moment. Not with his body slowly relaxing onto them more, or the small sounds of pleasure he's letting out right next to their ear. His thumb absentmindedly rubbing their arm and his other hand slowly running through their hair.

Idly letting the blood run out of their neck before swallowing, he's in no rush now. Palmer's long since shut their eyes, hand moved to the back his head. A mix of affection and his position as their commander quells what fears they should have. The first time Palmer saw him feed, he was very much not taking his time. In some jungle, Palmer walked in on Skull Face with a soldier's limp body pinned to the wall. It had been days since he last ran out of blood bags and he was desperate. That's how Palmer even learned what he is, his status as a vampire being on a very need-to-know basis.

The XO's head was beginning to buzz from the hot alcohol-laced blood, and the warmth of the doctor's body underneath him made an addicting combination. He feels his body relaxing even more on top of them.

Some time passes, Palmer isn't sure how much, and eventually their commander pulls away a bit before licking the wound with his tongue to clean it. He fully moves off of them to retrieve the first aid kit already sitting out on the coffee table.

Palmer sits up, and feels their blood trickling down their chest.

Before dressing the wound, he moves and cleans the spot again, before placing a square bandage over it. Before he can get to the blood on their chest, Palmer wipes it up with their fingers, before offering it to their commander.

Still high on his bloodlust, and possibly the alcohol too, he has no issues taking their fingers into his mouth. His tongue running over them to clean what little blood is left before he pulls his mouth away. There's a look of hunger in his eyes that makes Palmer shudder. He lunges forward to capture their lips again.

Palmer tastes their own blood on his lips, which only intensifies when their tongues meet. The doctor pulls at him until they're lying back down again, his body weight pleasantly on top of them.

Eventually they both come down from their respective euphorias, save for the alcohol, though that pales in comparison. Skull Face settles his head in the crook of their neck. Maybe it just started, or maybe Palmer missed it before but there's a deep rumbling in the commander's chest. If they dare bring it up, he'll stop.

Before drifting off, they make a mental note to suggest doing this in one of their beds next time, having no desire to move their vampire now.

[mara-tevith-solo]

Give Me a Reason

Chapter 4! Yay!

Pairing: Recom Lyle Wainfleet x Na’vi/Avatar curvy!reader

Warnings: a bit angsty, a bit feeling denial, trying to not love the enemy, flight training, mentions of past war, mentions of past child losses because of the war

Rating: 18+

Words: 2.5k+

Taglist: @luciddasher​, @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed​, @perseny​

Up and up your group climbed, moving slower than hunters normally moved, adding nearly a whole day to the journey. It didn't take long to break the tree line, the group stopping to take in the new view before continuing.

The entire climb up into the mountains, Spider goaded the soldiers, easily outpacing them all as he scrambled up the thick vines as though they were flat surfaces. "This is why the kids dubbed him 'Spider'." You confided to Quaritch as you caught your breath well after midday, the Recoms happily joining you as Spider gloated from his perch a few meters above. You'd pushed them hard after they'd eaten, trying to move at a more Na'vi pace, trying to encourage them to push their own limits.

He passed you his canteen, not even having taken a sip yet "The kids from the clearing." He hummed as you took him up on the offer, passing it back to him without drinking much. You nodded silently as he took it, drinking a little as well before putting it back on his belt.

"For a while, they were the only kids in the Clan, many not having survived the sacking of Hometree, and the those that did became adults way too quickly." You didn't sugarcoat your words, you didn't mince them. Quaritch had a Universe worth of atoning to do if he wanted you to wholly trust him with Spider.  

He looked away from you with a scowl, though his eyes were dark and heavy with shame from what you could see. You didn't push him further, nor call after him as he stood and walked away "Let's move, people." He ordered sharply as he took the lead, leaving everyone else to scramble and follow after him.

"What'd you say to him?" Lyle's voice appeared just off your shoulder, his tone displeased as you watched him try to not scowl at you.

You shrugged innocently "I just pointed out that Spider and the Sully kids were the only kids in the clan for awhile." He understood your implications immediately, what you were calling all of them though he didn't understand why. He genuinely thought you both, at least, were starting over again. Fresh slate and everything. His skin paled and took on a green caste simultaneously as he pushed ahead with his Colonel, leaving you to walk in the middle of the procession.

You slept alone that night, not that you truly minded. Or at least you had somewhat convinced yourself you didn't. Zdinarsk had first watch that night, Lyle being allowed to rest though he stayed away from you. Spider seemed to like the distance, sitting between the two of you as he ate with a smile on his face between breaths. "Can you sing again tonight, Mom? That other song this time?" He hadn't favored you singing him to sleep since he began puberty, though you supposed that he wanted the extra comfort in your stressful situation.

You nodded with a soft smile, knowing that it was going to turn heads and call attention, but you didn't have it in you to say no that night, instead steadying your breathing and taking the leap "Never thought I'd find an angel undercover, who made a change to everything." You could see Lyle staring at you from the other side of Mansk, but neither of you acknowledged it, neither of you said anything about it "From my heart to my last name, hey, hard to tell, when he fell, that boy was Heaven sent. And every night when I close my eyes, before I say amen..." You stopped singing again at the sound of Spider's soft snores, sighing softly and avoiding eye contact with everyone as you laid down to sleep, stiff as a damn board. Singing your First Dance song had never been a problem before... but singing it with an audience, one of which had been the damned groom... it made you uncomfortable after the fact. At the implications it held. You were having a difficult time keeping an emotional distance from Lyle, you'd already failed the physical part of it. You'd failed it spectacularly in fact, and you were still fantasizing about it. Damn man and his addicting dick.  

"So, what's this 'shaheyloo' thing we need to do?" Prager asked, moving up to stand next to you on the overlook while you all rested, calling back to a conversation several of you had had over breakfast.

"TSA-hey-lu." You enunciated patiently with a friendly smile "it is the bond a Na'vi bodied person makes with their mount, sharing their mind and being with each other."

"How do you do it?" Lyle asked, appearing on your other side with his arms crossed and resting on the rifle that dangled from the strap oddly around his neck.

"You connect kuru," You pulled yours forward and held up the end, the tendrils dancing in the sunlight as though they were happy for its warmth "and you do so gently."

"How do you know if you're being gentle?" Prager asked, not quite meeting your eyes as he talked, soft lavender tinting the tips of his ears.

"You have to focus on it until you're more familiar with it. Practice makes perfect." Your words were full of gentle understanding as you spoke, vaguely remembering days where you had been in his shoes.

You remembered the Pali Tsu'tey had you learning on, a stubborn stallion who'd rather mind his own instead of minding you. You remembered how he had purposely been difficult and aggressive towards you, bucking at the worst moments. You'd quickly gotten good at staying on, moving from wrapping yourself around his neck to just gripping with your legs. Tsu'tey would bust up laughing every time like it was something out of a comedy. You'd bitched him out the one time the Pali managed to buck you off right into a shallow pool, a rock striking the side of your head so hard you looked like a crime scene. He'd made you walk back to Hometree alone, though he had found you later with a full healer's kit and helped you properly clean and care for the gash.

It was midday on the third day when you finally reached the Rookery, everyone groaning in relief and sitting down for a rest. You'd pushed them harder than ever that day, left them with little energy to even ask many questions, a catch twenty-two, sure but you weren't on a time crunch.

You whistled as soon as you were behind the waterfall that marked the end of the path, the sound shrill and piercing to your ears as you waited, listening for one particular roar amidst the hundreds on the other side of the water. "What are we waiting for?" Mansk asked, shifting his weight nervously. Before anyone could answer him an Ikran burst through the water with an exasperated drawl, fanning her wings to purposely get you wet.

Others cursed as you laughed, shielding your face from the water before pouncing on the beast, arms around the base of her neck for a hug that she reciprocated as best as she could, purring loudly "This is my Ikran, Issa. When you all have chosen yours, she and I will be teaching you to fly better." You couldn't contain your beaming smile as you turned back to the slightly tense Marines.

"Wow." Prager murmured as he came closer to inspect Issa, staying a respectful distance away but his adoration made the Ikran puff up and preen.

You gently grabbed one of her kuru and brought it forward so that they could see "Remember, they will try to kill you, so make the bond as soon as possible."

They all nodded before you patted Issa again and led them over the narrow passage that led to the Proving Ground, opening to the Rookery. Everyone went low, making yourselves as small as possible as you hid behind menial cover that mainly made the Recoms feel better. "I got this." Quaritch's words pulled you from your staring, over to the tranq gun that he was grabbing from Lyle.

"Kehe!" You snapped loudly, gripping the muzzle of the air rifle and pushing it down harshly, your tail hitting the ground on either side of you in anger, your ears pinned to the sides of your head. You could not believe that they were even thinking of doing something so dishonorable, the curses and rebuffs primed and ready on your tongue.

Spider though was laughing, taking a whole other approach with the man, hitting him right in the ego "Kids younger than me do this with their bare hands." He scoffed, shocking his head.

Quaritch turned his attention to the teen as you turned your glare onto the others, daring them to test your temper "Jake Sully did this the hard way?" You couldn't help but roll your eyes, knowing, just from that question alone, that he was pitting himself against Jake, trying to be the better of the two.

"What do you think?" Spider scoffed again, coming to the same conclusion as you as he all but side-eyed his father.

Quaritch looked genuinely stuck for a moment as he mulled over his options, his pride not letting him even consider using the air rifle that was still under your control, sighing as he jerked it away from you and handed it back to Lyle. You were sure to pin the Lieutenant with your best 'I fucking dare you' glare the mere moments he held onto the accursed thing "What are we doing, Colonel?" Lyle asked softly, looking for direction as he began breaking down the rifle to stow it back in his pack. He didn't look you in the eye until it was packed away, a hint of shamed lavender across the bridge of his nose. You both turned away from each other and watched as Quaritch approached the many Ikran, moving with sure movements. An Ikran picked him almost immediately, a beauty of a beast with a deep blue base color and splashes of bright coral smattered against bold gold striping. Even with a beige underbelly he was striking. And, judging by the ferocity of his roar, he had a personality to match.

His form wasn't half bad, unconventional, but not bad as he punched the Ikran in the face and immediately dove under the head when the beast tried to batter him with it. It was like they were dancing as the Ikran whirled right as Quaritch jumped, twisting in the air to match the Ikran's movements until he was latching onto the kuru and holding on for dear life as the dragon tried to buck him off. At one point he hit hard, hard enough to wince loudly as he wrapped his legs around the base of the neck "Did we mention you're supposed to tie the mouth shut first?" Spider called to him as he laughed.

Quaritch just stared for a moment, pausing in his efforts just enough for the Ikran to almost buck him off again, snapping his out of it "Thanks a lot kid!" He yelled back before they were both diving off the cliff.

"Move up! Move up!" Lyle ordered though you were already jogging cautiously to the edge, remembering the last time you'd been that close to it. "Can you see him?" He asked, though you couldn't tell if it was directed at you or someone else. You waited for nearly a minute before Lyle was calling it, his voice soft and mournful but not wholly feeling "Alright, let's call it. Oscar Mike. Come on." The other Recoms were slow, almost hesitant to follow him, leaving one of their own behind, the founding member as it were.

Quaritch had chosen that moment to reappear, whooping and hollering from the back of his Ikran, fist high in the air as he celebrated "Ya! That's right!" He cheered, looking like a kid who'd just gotten a first place trophy.

"Get some!" Lyle cheered as well, all of the Recoms excited to see their Colonel, see him successful.

"Who's next?" Quaritch called as he and the Ikran swooped overhead, encouraging the others to step up. You rested a hand on Spider's shoulder as though to pass the mantle on to him before you were rushing back to Issa, her crooning welcoming you from the small cavern. She was vibrating with excitement and anticipation as you made tsaheylu and hopped into the saddle, her screech loud and proud before she was leaping through the waterfall, free falling into the air below. You couldn't restrain your excited yip, the sound peeling from your throat as you laid low to her neck, eyes closed against the wind until her wings snapped open and you both began the climb back to the others. Issa flew high over their heads, what looked like Ja wrestling with an Ikran while the others turned their attention to Issa momentarily. As she tucked her wings in for another free fall you chirped an invitation to Quaritch; it was time to start the fun part of lessons. He whooped as his Ikran turned to follow you, diving down enough to fly side by side with Issa as she opened her wings to glide in the open space. He took a place nearly brushing wingtips with Issa, sharing wind as Issa began teaching the two how to bank and share the wind, how to not take the wind from the rest of the formation. One by one, the Recoms joined your column until only Spider was left. Issa broke formation and flew high again, angling over the glade. He stepped near to the edge, watching and waiting for the cue to reach out and jump. You positioned your feet as Issa flipped over, flying upside down as you stood from the saddle, reaching for Spider as you passed over his head. As soon as your hands were locked you were pulling him to the saddle and Issa was corkscrewing towards the forest, screeching her exhilaration as Spider whooped happily from his spot in front of you. Spider was still laughing at the thrill when the others joined you, Quaritch taking point "That was some fancy flying, Wainfleet." He praised through the throat comms.

You laughed into the wind as you patted Issa on the neck just ahead of Spider's leg "You can learn how to fly like that too, it just takes practice and trust."

He nodded in slight trepidation and determination before shifting his focus "Let's head back to base, these Banshees need saddles."

"Yes, sir." Filtered through the comms from multiple different voices as he began leading in the direction of Bridgehead, the trip was easily going to be much much faster now that you all had the best form of transport Pandora had to offer. You knew it wouldn't be as fast as it was with you and Jake, but you were almost willing to bet money that, given a year, you'd have them all embracing Eywa.