#half the time he just jabs his entire hand into the enemy and the enemy dies

[foxstens]

for the life of me i cannot understand why unity’s parkour and stealth is so beloved

[viennacherries]

LONGING

Dammon/Tav | NSFW | 4,318 words

"The second Dammon spots her for the first time in the Grove he knows he's monumentally and royally, without a shadow of a doubt (and pardon his language), fucked."

~~~

Dammon is completely enthralled with Tav. She's obsessed with him, too, but she makes him wait for it. He gets what he wants eventually.

Read it on AO3

~~~

The second Dammon spots her for the first time in the Grove he knows he's monumentally and royally, without a shadow of a doubt (and pardon his language), fucked.

She's absolutely gorgeous, all petite frame with strong muscles. Her skin is pale and covered in freckles, from her face to the backs of her hands as she shakes his in greeting. She has one of those smiles that tells him she's definitely going to cause problems on purpose. He knows as soon as he sees her that she's the one who saved the Archdruid and took out the goblin camp. She just has that aura about her that tells you she's absolutely deadly. Unfortunately, thats exactly his type.

It's even more unfortunate, because she certainly notices. She can absolutely tell that he's completely smitten with her the minute their eyes meet, and it's when he gets his first glimpse of that smile of hers. The one the says she's going to make his life hell and she's going to enjoy every minute of it. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to it.

Still, he's the absolute picture of cordiality and good manners. He thanks her for helping them, and even whacks a healthy discount onto his wares in the name of repaying her. He is completely polite and entirely appropriate.

She winks at him as she leaves.

He thinks about it for the next tenday.

~~~

When he sees her again at Last Light Inn, his immediate response is relief. The Shadow-Cursed Lands are cruel and brutal, and after what befell their caravan he was concerned her party wouldn't make it through in one piece. Especially taking into account her considerable affinity for finding herself in danger.

She's barely been at the inn a half hour before there's winged ghouls descending on them.

It's the first time Dammon has the pleasure of watching her fight, and it does nothing to ease the burgeoning flame he's been kindling for her in his chest. When he's done analysing her armour and has come to the conclusion she needs heavier plating, he just observes her.

She's lithe and muscular, and she spins around and through enemies as though she's dancing a pasodoble. Her every movement is precise, considered, calculated. She takes each step like she decided she would take it 5 steps prior, confident and assured. Her fighting style is just as elegant and brutal, all up close slashes and jabs that make quick work of her mark. And Hells, the way she wields her blade. It's a huge, hulking thing, just over half her height, but you wouldn't think it with the way she swings it around like it weighs nothing. The blade itself is simple, boring looking, and Dammon swears to himself in that moment he'll make her something better, something as brilliant and powerful as her. Something deserving of her finesse.

The fight's over almost as suddenly as it began, and he watches as she plants her sword into one of the floorboards, leaning on it with her forearms as she pants and tries to catch her breath. A long bead of sweat falls down over her brow, and she wipes it away with the back of her hand, smearing ghoul blood across her face in the process. Covered in viscera, and somehow she looks radiant. She catches his eye, smiles that awful smile of hers, and winks across the room at him.

She finds him later in his forge, while he's busy hammering out an old sword someone's donated to him. Dammon doesn't notice her til he turns to quench the metal and finds her leaning against the wall, watching him work.

"Tav, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He uses his scarf to dab some of the sweat off his brow.

She's got that grin on her face again as she trails her gaze over him, like she's appraising him. "Trust me, the pleasure's all mine."

He's covered in sweat, he can feel it dripping down his back and neck. It makes him think back to the fight earlier, when she was drenched in her own. He thinks about folding her in half, til they're both dripping with each other's exhaustion.

He clears his throat.

"You flatter me, truly," he's quite proud of how even his voice comes out. "What can I do for you?"

She smirks, "well, I was wondering if you had any suggestions? You seemed to be watching me earlier, so I assume you have a comment to make concerning my equipment."

He knows she's trying to tease him, but he nods anyway. He does have thoughts about her equipment, and now she's asked. That means it's not his fault if he rambles for entirely too long about the merits of different alloys.

"Yes, actually. I think you could do with some heavier plating. You favour fighting up close which is admirable, but it puts you directly in the path of your opponent's blade. You need something stronger to protect you."

Her smirk drops. She clearly wasn't expecting him to have actual advice. "I don't like heavy plating, it makes it harder to move around."

He nods enthusiastically, "yes, yes, you're constantly in motion while you fight. I believe your current armour is steel? It's strong, but some of it's integrity and strength has been compromised to keep it light, and even then you're only wearing half-plates. You need something just as strong, but far lighter. That way you can afford to wear more plating without losing your range of motion and speed."

Her eyebrow is quirked, and she looks somewhat impressed. "Interesting. What would you suggest?"

"Mithril, without a doubt. It's half the weight of steel but it's just as strong. You could wear a full set of plating and it'd feel identical in mass to the half-plates you have currently."

She nods thoughtfully, "I'll keep an eye out, then." The smirk finds its way back onto her face. "Was there anything else?"

There's a brief pause before Dammon speaks again.

"You need a new sword. That one's absolutely dreadful."

The laugh she lets out is musical, and it only serves to pour oil onto the flame in his chest. It roars up like an inferno

~~~

It's embarrassing, the amount of time he spends thinking about her. The image of her, pirouetting through the air as she sinks her blade through the skull of a monstrosity, haunts his every waking thought. Even sleep doesn't provide respite from her visage, and he finds himself waking up every morning achingly hard from another unconscious imagining of the ways he'd like to ruin her.

He wants to tear her apart beneath his hands. He wants to have her desperate and begging underneath him. Wants to tie her up and strap her down and use her until she's craving anything he'll give her, helpless and needful and falling apart at the seams. He wants to see the strong muscles in her arms bulge against her restraints as she writhes and pulls at her bindings, itching to touch him.

He wants her to do the same to him. Wants her to show him just how strong she is by pinning him down with one hand and taking what she wants from him.

It's getting really fucking inconvenient, to be honest. He thinks of her constantly while he works in the city, the bustle of Baldur's Gate around him not enough to distract him, the temperature of his forge only stirring the heat within him further. It makes him think of the way she'd looked at him that night at Last Light, like she was ready to devour him whole.

He lays in bed at night and fists his length desperately, smutty book held in one hand almost as tight as his cock in the other, imagining he's hovered over her, devouring her, filling her, anything and everything. It's depraved, the things he imagines, lewd and scandalous.

And then suddenly one morning she's at his door.

He doesn't hear her coming, so he's snuck up on once again as he turns to quench the commission he's working on.

She looks so different, wearing regular clothes instead of armour. It makes her look softer, but she's also wearing short sleeves which show off the muscles in her arms. It makes him a little weak in the knees.

"Tav? I'm glad to see you again! To what do I-"

"Owe the pleasure?" She doesn't let him finish. "To pleasure, I hope."

He's dousing the forge as soon as the words leave her mouth.

~~~

"Can I get you a drink? Tea? Coffee?"

She furrows her brow from her seat on his sofa, "anything stronger?"

"I've got a couple bottles of Arabellan Dry?"

"That'll do." She's smirking again.

He leaves the room to get the bottles and a couple of glasses, and when he comes back she's taken her shirt off.

"Here's what we're going to do." Her voice is firm but playful. "I've taken off a piece of clothing, so I get to ask you a question. You have to answer honestly. If you answer it, you take off a piece of your clothing and then you get to ask me something back. If you don't answer, I put all my clothes back on and I walk out of the door."

He gulps, "what if you don't answer?"

The smirk that graces her lips is absolutely diabolical, "oh, Dammon," the way she says his name is even worse, "I'll answer anything. I'm an open book."

He sits on the couch next to her, pours them both a glass of wine and hands her one. "Then by all means, ask away."

She looks delighted, and her gaze is predatory. "Do you prefer giving or recieving?"

Straight to the point then.

"I like both," he shrugs as he says it, "suppose it just depends on the day and the context. If I had to pick just one, though, I'd rather give."

She nods thoughtfully, but doesn't say anything, watching him expectantly. He downs half his glass of wine and then yanks his shirt over his head.

"What about you? Giving or recieving?"

"Hm. Repeating my question is a bit cheap, but I'll allow it this once. I like both, too. I don't have a preference, really, just depends on my partner." She's barely finished speaking when she stands to unbuckle her bottoms, pulling them off swiftly and sitting back down. The sight of her, dressed in only her underclothes on his furniture, makes his head spin and his other head throb.

"So you like being on top. You like being in charge? Dominating?"

He swallows around the lump in his throat and nods, "yeah. I like... I like making my partner beg." He can feel his skin flushing with the admission, but he keeps talking. "I like making them come undone underneath me until they can't take it anymore. I like making them squirm and give themselves to me entirely."

Tav's breath is caught in her throat, and he realises that she likes it. Wants it. Knowing that fills him with confidence, and he takes another swig of his wine before standing and slowly undoing his bottoms. He pulls them down slowly, teasingly, and he watches as her gaze follows the line of his body. He tenses the muscles in his arms as he lifts the discarded clothes and folds them, and he hears her breathing grow heavier. He places them to the side and sits down closer to her than he was before, lifting her wine glass to her lips and urging her to drink from it. She does, their eyes locked. A drop spills down the side of her mouth, and before she can wipe it away he leans in and licks it from her lips. Her eyes close as she groans in the back of her throat.

He feels high on it. Having her here, knowing she wants him, seeing how receptive she is to him. His next question comes easily.

"Do you like being tied up?"

Her eyes are hooded with lust when she finally makes eye contact with him again. "Yes." She fumbles with the clasp of her bra behind her but fails at undoing it, so he places their glasses back on the table and leans forward towards her, snaking his arms around her back and unclasping it for her. It falls away from her onto the floor, and he takes a breast in each hand. She hisses through her teeth.

"What do you want to do to me?" It's quiet. Sensual. Her voice is absolutely dripping with desire.

"What don't I want to do to you." He smooths his hands down her body, sliding one round to her lower back and slowly pushing her to lay down on the couch as he hovers over her. "I want to tie you to my headboard and taste you until your legs shake. I want to have you begging for my tongue and my hands and my cock. I want to fold you in half and bury myself so deep that you forget what it feels like not to be full of me. I want to absolutely ruin you, if you'll let me."

Their lips are so close now, a hair's width away, and the air is charged around them. When he speaks, it's a whisper against her skin.

"Will you let me?"

She groans out loud and surges up to lock their lips together. It's open mouthed and hungry, more tongue than lips, and they both moan into it as they finally taste each other. His hand is still at the base of her spine and he drags her upwards towards him, grinding against her as he does, and she lets out a beautiful little whimper that has him feeling hazy. He pulls away, just enough to speak.

"Use your words, sweetheart. You want me to ruin you?"

" Yes ."

He tuts. "Say please."

She moans, low and needy in the back of her throat. " Please. "

He stands quickly and lifts her into his arms, carrying her up the stairs to his bedroom. She wraps her arms around his neck and sucks and kisses around his collarbone, and the feeling of her skin against his, her mouth on him, has him absolutely feral.

He practically throws her down onto the bed, and she bounces a few times before settling and crawling her way backwards toward the headboard. The sight of her hair splayed out on his pillows and her naked torso against his sheets is going to haunt him for eternity, he's sure of it. He lets himself admire her.

"Stay there, gorgeous. Don't even think about moving."

She nods, reaching up to palm at her breasts, and she looks like a vision. Like a renaissance painting, a beautiful torment put there just for him. Her fingers brush her nipples, teasing and pinching them, and the subsequent hiss of pleasure she lets out shoots straight through him to his cock. It's almost painful how hard he is, but he's going to take his time with her. Going to take her apart and put her back together with his hands and mouth, smelt her down and reforge her into something new.

Dragging his eyes away from her feels like an impossible task, but he manages and turns to root through the drawer of his bedside table. He finally finds what he's searching for: a length of silky material that's meant to be a blindfold, but that he usually shoves between his teeth to bite down on when he's being particularly noisy. He hangs it over his shoulder and turns back to face her, crawling over her and wrenching her hands away from her tits. He pins them over her and she arches up against him.

"Your safeword," he starts "is 'forge'. You say it, everything stops. If you can't speak for any reason, you tap me three times. Doesn't matter how you tap me, can be your hands, can be your foot. Same deal, you do that and I stop completely no questions asked. Repeat it back to me."

She's panting, "safeword is forge. 3 taps. Stops everything."

"No questions asked."

She nods, "no questions asked."

He holds her wrists above her with one hand, trails his other hand down her arms, along her throat, and brings his hand under her chin. "Good girl."

She moans fully at that, arching and writhing against him at his words, and he feels drunk off it. Having her falling apart before he's even started, so helpless and ready for him. It's intoxicating. When he kisses her it's because he literally can't stop himself, he has to taste her. He nips and bites at her lips and she huffs and sighs with every touch, so responsive and so eager, and he could die right now a happy man knowing he's the one drawing these quiet noises from her.

He pulls away from the kiss, straddling her hips and sitting up on his knees over her. He keeps her hands pinned to the bed with one hand, and he pulls the silk length from his shoulder with his free one. She shudders as he drags it slowly along her torso, the soft fabric cool to the touch. He wraps it around her wrists to bind them together.

"Too tight?"

She tugs her wrists apart slightly and bites her lip, looking up at him through her lashes, shaking her head. He ingrains the image of her, below him and wanting, into his brain.

The free ends of the silk he wraps around the post of his headboard, tying them in a tight knot. Lacing his fingers with hers, he tugs at her hands to test it. The knot holds fast, and he hums in satisfaction. He sits back on his haunches to admire her, runs his hands down her arms to come to rest at her sides, squeezing the skin there. There's a little bit of give to her that lets him get a good grip of her, and she wriggles below him.

Her breasts spill towards her armpits and he can't resist, he brings his hands up to cup them both and teases both of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, rolling and pinching them into hardened peaks. She lets out more of her quiet little noises, needy and wanton and absolutely delectable. When he leans forward and latches his lips around one of the buds, she arches her back into him, making a choked noise of surprise and pleasure, and his cock aches with how badly he needs her. He teases it with his teeth, laves it with his tongue, sucks it into his mouth and tugs away from her gently until she's a puddle beneath him, and only then does he switch to the other nipple and give it the same treatment while he slowly drags her small-clothes down her legs and off of her.

Everything about her is soft and tender. He's never been with someone who wasn't a tiefling before, and her body feels so entirely different to his own. Her skin is smooth and pliant under his, far softer than he thought she'd be from watching her fight. Her skin is cooler than his, too. It makes him shudder as he positions himself between her legs, holding them wide open either side of his face, with his hands spread over the inside of her thighs.

"What do you do if you want me to stop?" He whispers it against her core, mouth just barely brushing against her skin, and she shudders.

"Safeword, or three taps."

"And the safeword is?"

"'Forge'."

"Good girl. I'm going to taste you, now."

He covers her with his mouth before she can respond, and they both moan in tandem. Her from the feeling of his tongue sliding against her clit, him from the musky taste of her arousal. She's like nothing he's ever had before, completely incomparable, but she tastes rich and delicious and he licks his way into her core to taste her deeper. He doesn't start slow or gentle, he's wanted her cunt in his mouth for months and he's going to enjoy it. He drags his tongue over her in firm, insistent lines, and uses the tip of his tongue to massage her inner walls. It has her keening, crying, shaking, and her legs wrench closed from the sensations. Obviously, that can't stand, so he curls his tail around one of her ankles and pulls , and now it's pulled out taunt and she can't move it any further than an inch in any direction. It also has the added benefit of freeing one of Dammon's hands, and he wastes no time in trailing it around her entrance and slipping two fingers inside her. He crooks them upwards towards her stomach, and she wails, canting her hips further into his mouth and his tongue where it devours her clit relentlessly.

He knows she close, because she can't stop her hips from stuttering, and there's a constant stream of breathy high pitched noises forcing their way out of her. He doesn't let up, increases his pace if anything, and then she's coming around his fingers. He pulls them out enough to fit his tongue underneath her, swallowing down every drop of her as she finds her release, licking her through it. He only stops when he feels three taps of her foot against leg.

He sits up instantly. "Are you okay? Do you want me to untie you?"

She laughs shakily, "no! Gods, no, don't. It was just getting too sensitive."

He smirks at that, "good. Now then," He comes up onto his knees between her thighs, trailing his hands along her stomach. She shivers. "I removed a piece of your clothing. If I'm remembering the rules of our little game right, that means you get to ask me a question."

She doesn't even hesitate, "Can you hurry up and fuck me?" A pause. "...Please?"

He chokes out a laugh, "goodness, Tav, how crass of you."

She groans, throwing her head back, "please, Dammon, I need you inside me like yesterday."

"Hm. Next time, you'll have to ask me nicer than that. But right now I'm so desperate to fuck you I'll allow it. I've waited far too long for this."

She smirks despite herself, "oh? You have? I had no idea , Dammon."

He growls a little in the back of his throat, and scoots himself forward on his knees, lifting her ass and resting it on his thighs. He pulls his small-clothes aside roughly to free himself, groaning at the cool air as it caresses his length, and uses one hand to guide it as he pushes himself to the hilt in one small movement. The smirk dissolves off her face as her lips part in a silent moan. He chuckles quietly.

"Don't play coy, Tav." He grabs both her legs under her knees, brings them together and hooks them both over one shoulder. "You know exactly what you do to me. You know exactly how long I've wanted you." He leans over her slowly, until her knees are pressed up against her own chest. She keens. "You know how long I've waited for this. Don't you?" He pulls out slowly, teases her with just the tip in and out of her. " Don't you."

She throws her head back, eyes screwed shut. "Yes, yes, Gods I knew! I wanted you too!"

He snorts into her ear, "well you have me, sweetheart. Or rather,"

He crashes his hips into her. She keens.

"I have you."

He wastes no time. He sets a brutal pace and it's everything he's needed since the moment he saw her. Her legs presses together makes her so tight he sees stars, folding her in half means his cock kisses that perfect spot within her with every thrust. It's everything he imagined. It's better than anything he could've dreamt of. She's slick and warm and beautiful below him as she cries out his name, hips bucking to meet his own every time he slams into her.

He can't stop himself from rambling, words spilling out of him on their own accord. "Hells, Tav, you have no idea how many nights I spent thinking of you like this. How much I've wanted to take you like this, pinned underneath me and begging for me. Gods, you feel incredible. So wet for me, sweetheart. Tell me how much you wanted me."

She tries and fails, just making noises and taking deep laboured breaths. It's completely obscene and it's perfect.

He groans, "where, Tav? Where do you want me to finish? Where do you want my cum?"

Her moan is downright pornographic, "on my stomach, Dammon, please. Want to see your cum all over me."

Her words have him moving frantically inside her, and when she clenches around him with her second orgasm he's lost to it. He pulls himself from inside her, tugs himself twice before spilling across her torso. He paints her pale, freckled body in his spend and he wishes he was an artist so he could immortalise the image on paper.

When he feels like he can breathe again, he tucks himself back into his small-clothes, crawls his way up the bed to untie her wrists and he rubs them soothingly. She sigh, sounding content and comfortable.

"Are you okay?"

She spits out a single laugh, before descending into hysterics, and it's so infectious. He laughs alongside her.

"Am I okay? Dammon, that was fucking incredible. I'm gonna stay in this bed for the next week in the hopes of a few repeat performances."

He can't help the grin that spreads across his face. "A few, hm? I quite like the sound of that."

~~~

[yasssgiveusnothing]

Radiohusk Analysis: Husk Cares or Nothing Makes Sense (Part 2)

Husk cares about Alastor. It makes no narrative sense otherwise.

Let's talk about it!

Husk goes out of his way to help Alastor when it would be in his best interest to not care AT ALL about that man:

Husk goes to Al to warn him of Mimzy and ARGUE with him for Al's benefit.

Husk gets frustrated when Al doesn't heed his warning and thinks Al will get hurt.

These screenshots are from season 1 episode 5.

Here's the scene:

Let's delve deeper into it!

Narratively, that whole scene serves three purposes:

1. To tell the viewer Al is also on someone's leash.

2. To tell the viewer Husk worries and cares about Alastor.

We are shown Husk going out of his way to help Al, only for Al to tell Husk that he does not need to worry because Al has everything under control. We then see Al was correct as he jovialy kills and consumes his enemies without effort. In other words, what the viewer learns from this scene is that Husk needlessly worries about Alastor's well-being.

3) To draw parallels between Angel & Valentino and Husk & Al.

You might be thinking, Exactly! If Husk and Al are just lke Angel and Val, why would Husk care for Al or vice versa?!

Vivzie has been pushing this narrative that Al and Husk are parallels for Angel and Val this entire season. I don't think there are enough words to describe how this parallel doesn't work, but I'll try anyway.

A) Angel does not care for Val's well being.

Angel would not go out of his way to help Val like Husk helps Alastor.

B) Val does not care for Angel's well-being.

Val doesn't need to bribe his soul contracts to work with him.

Val straight up gives Angel no free will. (Unlike Al who does not force Husk to attend the bar, instead chosing to bribe him).

If Angel gives the slightest of attitude, Val does not hesitate to get physical immediately. (Unlike Alastor, who not only lets Husk shove a finger into his chest, but let's him speak his mind and does not immediately maim him for disrespecting him.)

C) Husk is not afraid of Al.

A man scared of Al would not argue with him or his benefit, nor go up to him and jab a finger in his chest. And yes, Husk was scared of Al when Al threatened him, but Husk fucking started it! He literally made a jab at the guy where it would hurt! If you made a jab at your pal and they start foaming at the mouth, you'd be scared too, but also know you lowkey deserved it and shouldn't be surprised it happened. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Al and Husk sit together without Husk shitting himself. Could you possibly imagine Angel sitting next to Val without wanting to disappear through the floor? Nope!

D) Al trusts Husk. Refer to my previous theory for more information.

E) Al does not regularly assault or overwork Husk.

Husk chills at the bar all day with access to infinite alcohol. This is the closest Husk will ever get to Heaven.

Alastor has not assaulted Husk ever. Unless we're calling the time Alastor pulls on Husk's chain and makes him fall to the floor an assault. Which, sure, fine. But that ONE push that left NO INJURIES was the only time Al has ever gotten aggressively handsy with Husk. And funnily enough, Husk was the first one to put hands on the other.

This 'assault' in comparison to the treatment Angel gets from Val pales CONSIDERABLY. In fact, the two duos are NOTHING ALIKE beyond there being a Overlord owns your soul dynamic, but with Radiohusk, that dynamic barely takes place as Alastor treats him more like a trusted pal than an object to be abused.

I also want to quickly go over how I feel Husk is out of character for the second half of this scene.

Husk is perceptive. He understands other people extremely well, which has been shown numerous times throughout the show as he reads the entire main cast and Mimzy. He is also a gambler, which means he knows when to bet and when to fold.

So you expect me to believe that Husk would say THAT to Alastor and expect him to take it well, especially when Husk knows it is a sensitive subject to him?

And Alastor's reaction is kinda valid. I mean, someone who you trusted with this information weaponizes it against you by spitting it back in your face! If Angel can have a meltdown over being someone's bitch, why can't Alastor? I mean, Angel throws a broken glass bottle at Husk's head, but Alastor pushes Husk and suddenly Al is as bad as Valentino?

With this, I conclude thtat:

Husk cares about Alastor

Alastor cares about Husk

Angel & Valentino's relationship does not parallel Alastor & Husk's.

Husk was out of character during the second half of that scene and was possibly a result of Vivzie desperately trying to parallel Valdust with Radiohusk.

[bella-rose29]

Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - Part 1

Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader, enemies to lovers, fake dating, set at Christmas (because I'm feeling festive)

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: swearing, lockwood is an arse, so is the reader, it's enemies to lovers what were you expecting really, Norrie is alive for the plot, I am British so if you're confused about words then that's why, mentions of extended family members being meanies, I think that's it?

Tag list is at the bottom (it's getting too long to put up here now), and as always if you would like to be added to/removed from it, then ask here or send me a note! <3

series master list

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!"

It was safe to say that Y/n L/n was not having a good morning.

George had been watching her over the top of his paper while she paced the living room on the phone, his eyebrows changing between furrowing and raising as he tried to figure out what was happening with only one half of the conversation.

"Are you... alright?" He wasn't the best at this sort of thing, but when it came to his friends he tried to put some sort of effort in to show that he cared about them. Y/n huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose and looking like she was about to break into tears. If that happened George would have to go and get Lucy, because he definitely had no idea how to deal with Y/n when she cried. Normally he went and made her tea and plated up some biscuits, and she always accepted with a grateful smile and a lot of sniffles and let him leave again when he stood awkwardly near her, shuffling his feet on the spot.

He got the feeling that wouldn't be happening now, and he'd be held hostage instead.

"It's my mum. You know I've got this family Christmas thing coming up, right?" She paused while George nodded, taking her hand away from her face to see his reaction, then continuing on as she gestured wildly. "She seems to think I have a boyfriend, which I absolutely do not-"

"What, really?" George exclaimed sarcastically, pressing his hands over his heart in mock surprise. Y/n glared at him, looking incredibly non-threatening in her very jolly Christmas jumper. He resisted the urge to snort, knowing full-well that his friend spent most of the time complaining whenever relationships were the topic of conversation, since she couldn't understand why she was still single.

"As I was saying," another glare was aimed his way, "Mum thinks I have a boyfriend, and my aunt overheard her on the phone just now talking about my non-existent boyfriend, and it was Aunt Linda-"

"The one who gossips to everybody?"

"Yes!" Y/n jabbed a finger in George's direction, expression wild and fierce. "The one who gossips to everybody! So by now I think my entire fucking extended family and every single family friend knows that I have a boyfriend, who does not exist, and thinks that he's coming to our family Christmas in the middle of fucking nowhere!"

"I thought it was your childhood town?"

"Which is in the middle of nowhere! Genuinely nothing but fields and forests and the general countryside for miles and miles. Oh, and to top that all off, my cousin will be there-"

"The bitchy one who makes you feel like shit who you also thought wasn't coming this year?"

"Yes. Her. And Linda is her mum so Steph'll definitely know." Y/n finished, throwing herself into the sofa with a groan, turning over slightly, and screaming into a pillow.

George was about to stand up and head to the kitchen to put the kettle on (Y/n normally screamed not long before crying full-out) when Lockwood poked his head through the door, frowning at the sight before him.

"Everything alright?"

"Y/n's having a crisis. Fancy a cuppa, Lockwood?" George properly got up now, glad that another member of the household was here to deal with the situation. Lockwood nodded, then frowned again when he realised that George was escaping and shutting the two of them in a room together. Lockwood absolutely could have left anytime he wanted, but it was likely that Y/n thought he'd volunteered for the role of caretaker and couldn't leave without looking like an arse, or starting yet another argument between the two of them.

George breathed a sigh of relief, then made for the kitchen. He'd need a cup of tea in a minute when Y/n realised who was there to comfort her.

~~~

"The fuck do you want, Lockwood?"

"I- uh... what's... what's the problem?" His voice sounded pained, like he really didn't want to be in the room, and Y/n rolled her eyes.

"If you don't care, then leave," she said, attempting to hide the wobble in her voice at the thought of having to find someone to drag to her family gathering for three days, where she would be interrogated and prodded and poked and watched every second of every minute of every day, and criticised for every tiny thing she did. She was dreading it, really, but at least the third day would just be her immediate family and her non-existent boyfriend. The first two days would be filled with inquisitive relations that hadn't seen her since last year, wondering about her job and why she hadn't pursued something more stable, or asking about her love life (that was completely uneventful) and why she wasn't thinking about settling down.

Lockwood's frustrated sigh brought her out of her thoughts, and she pulled her face out of the pillow enough to see him clenching his jaw as he studied the wall with a lot more interest than it deserved. "Fine. Vent if you need to. Can I help at all, or are you going to get on my nerves until you leave?"

"Do you always have to be such a dick, Lockwood? Or are you like that because you're compensating?"

"Fuck off."

"Lovely comeback," she snapped, turning to lie on her back, staring up at the ceiling instead of at her boss' face. If she looked at him any longer she might bore holes through his head with the intensity of her glare. Neither of them said anything for a minute, the only sounds the clock ticking away in the corner, counting down to her imminent doom, and George in the kitchen making tea. "My family thing, this weekend. Everyone thinks I'm bringing my boyfriend."

"You don't have a boyfriend though."

"I know that, Lockwood. But my family think that I do have one, and now I have less than forty-eight hours to find one." She heard him snort, and squeezed her eyes shut in the hopes that it would block out his next words.

"Good luck with that. Maybe Kipps'll volunteer? He needs the free food."

"Can't you have just the tiniest bit of sympathy for me?" She pushed up, moving to sit and direct her frustration at Lockwood. "I am in a near-impossible situation here and you're being insufferable right now!"

"Maybe you should take Lockwood," George said, and Y/n jumped at the sound of his voice in the living room.

"Where the fuck did you come from?" she asked, already eyeing up the plate of biscuits on the tea tray. "Wait," Y/n paused as she properly registered George's words. "Take him?" Lockwood looked just as horrified by the idea of it, shaking his head frantically.

"Yeah. Oh, here's your tea, Y/n/n."

"What about you, George?! Surely you could come along and help me out instead?!"

"I thought I told you already, I'm going to my own family's house for Christmas. Lucy's going to stay with Norrie, and Holly's spending the holidays with her girlfriend. Lockwood's alone, in this big old house, and you've got limited time and also limited options." Y/n was annoyed at how right George was, but she wasn't giving in so easily. Not when giving in meant spending three days with the one person she despised more than anything in the world.

"Fine, if you have no other options by the time you need to leave, I'll go with you. But I will not enjoy a second of it if I do," Lockwood finally ground out, and Y/n had to fight back a look of surprise at his words.

"You- what?"

"It saves being in this house alone over Christmas. I've done that one too many times now, and at least your family will be a distraction. And," he added, "a great way to see all your baby photos." His smile was wolfish, and Y/n wondered how anybody ever found it charming.

"Alright. But I'm finding someone else, so it looks like you'll have to miss out on this one I'm afraid." Her smile was simpering, sugar sweet and sickly with how faked it was.

George looked between the two of them, then sank back into his armchair with his tea. "That's that sorted then."

~~~

It was absolutely not sorted.

Y/n was panicking. A lot. Apparently nobody fancied spending Christmas with some random agent for three days in the literal middle of fucking nowhere with her entire extended family, which was incredibly inconvenient for Y/n.

She now was supposed to be leaving in roughly two hours, and was frantically shoving the last few things in her suitcase while phoning anybody that she could attempt to pass off as her fake boyfriend.

Anybody that meant she didn't have to take Lockwood.

Perhaps if he wasn't such an asshole all the time, she'd be less reluctant, but since the first day they'd met he'd been rude to her.

It had been after a job, three years ago back when she was a solo agent taking any work that meant she could keep a roof over her head and food in her belly. Her night had been long, making her tired and weary with how much her bones ached, and she was hardly looking where she was going when she turned the corner onto her street, making her bump into a tall figure. Her first thought when the two of them stumbled away from each other was how gorgeous this boy was, and her second was how utterly awful his personality was. She had apologised before she could see his face, already muttering excuses and explaining her lack of coordination, but within seconds he was opening his mouth and talking, telling her that she should have been more alert and "could she not stand on his shoes, they're new" and she'd taken a proper look at him and decided that yes, he was pretty, but he was also not particularly nice.

Then a few months later she'd seen an ad in the paper for a small agency that had needed a new agent, preferably with strong Touch, and had chosen to go along for an interview. What she hadn't expected was the boy from that night to be the one interviewing her, and evidently he was just as shocked to see her, his expression quickly settling into a frown.

"No thank you. We don't want careless agents like you, thank you very much." His words had stung more than she cared to admit, making the backs of her eyes prick and her throat close up with emotion. She'd almost turned tail and walked out the door (something she very rarely did), but a girl dressed mostly in blue and with an excited smile on her face came in to the room, asking if this was their new recruit. Apparently the boy couldn't say no to her, or the other girl that appeared a few moments later with her clothes all neat and ironed, or indeed the other boy with glasses and curly hair who had ketchup stains on his t-shirt. Within minutes of the three of them arriving in the room, Y/n had a job at the company as an agent with a strong sense of Touch, and was being given a biscuit and a cup of tea.

She had quickly learned that the first girl was Lucy, the second was Holly, and the curly-haired boy was George, and then Lockwood had introduced himself as the head of the company.

"Don't you have... supervisors?" she had asked, confused as to just how this company worked exactly.

"No." His smile had been tight, and he had left the room right after, pushing past his colleagues and heading up the stairs. Lucy had been quick to fill in the rest, explaining all the answers to every question that Y/n had, with Holly and George chipping in when she forgot something.

Lockwood had continued his behaviour from that day ever since, despite Y/n's best efforts to get him to like her, and eventually after a few months of attempted friendship offers, she gave up and leaned into the whole hating each other schtick that was apparently happening.

So no, she did not want to have to bring Lockwood to her family gathering for three days and pretend to love him. She didn't want to do that at all.

Unfortunately, it was starting to look as though she wouldn't have a choice.

~~~

"Well? Please? Come on, I never beg for anything from you."

"I know, and I'm actually rather enjoying it."

"Prick," Y/n muttered, frowning at Lockwood. "You said that you'd do it if you had to. Well, you have to. So pack your bags and let's go; the train's in an hour."

"Fine. But I am not happy about this." He made his way back inside his bedroom, leaving Y/n stood outside the door (she refused to cross the threshold of this one particular room).

"Oh, because I am personally so ecstatic about this situation!" Her voice was thick with sarcasm, and Lockwood paused in his packing to glare at her.

"It's not my fault you couldn't find somebody to pretend to date you for three days."

"No, but I'll blame you anyway."

"Charming."

"Hmm. Hurry up."

"We've got ages, stop fretting like a mother."

"The train leaves in an hour, and it takes ten minutes to get there. Then you have to factor in maybe five to ten minutes of traffic, and difficulties getting through the gates at the station which is what, another five minutes? And then if there are any problems with the actual trains then we want to be early just in case so that a plan can be made to get a different one, and also if there aren't any problems then we at least want to be there early so that we can get on first and get a table. So no, we haven't got ages, we've got minutes before we need to go. Hurry up."

Lockwood had been staring at her in disbelief while she talked, his jaw slack and his eyes wide, but when Y/n glared at him again he went back to packing. "You really think that much about travelling?"

"There is so much that can go wrong with trains, so yes."

"Fine," Lockwood huffed, coming out of his room to cross into the bathroom, grabbing his wash bag out of the cupboard and shoving a toothbrush and flannel in. "Where's the toothpaste?"

"I've got some, so we can share. Trust me, you don't want to share with George. He's like a dragon with the way he hoards his toothpaste."

Lockwood gave her a weird look as he zipped up the bag, heading back into his room to finish stuffing items into the large bag he was taking with him as luggage. Y/n was sure he'd repurposed a kit bag for this, but if it meant she wasn't having to explain to everyone why she had failed at bringing a boyfriend that didn't even exist then she supposed she could forget about where the kit was currently being stored.

"Ok, I think that's everything," he said, running a hand through his hair as he stood up, yanking the bag up and over his shoulder. He was still in a suit, which Y/n thought was ridiculous since they didn't even have any meetings today other than the one with her family, and when they made it to the bottom of the stairs he grabbed his jacket and signature long coat. Y/n was already in her own winter coat, thick scarf wrapped around her neck and gloves poking out her pocket, her boots echoing throughout the building. They were the only two left now, since the other three had already left for their own Christmas celebrations, so Lockwood had to spend an extra minute finding the keys to lock up, and then another minute trying to put them back in his pocket. In the end, Y/n was so frustrated with how long he was taking that she snatched the keys from his hand and shoved them in the chest pocket on the inside of his coat, turning and dragging her small suitcase behind her into the pre-booked taxi.

"Sorry, he takes a while to do things every now and then. He's immensely stupid," she said, smiling at the driver as the man put her suitcase in the boot of his taxi. He looked concerned, frowning up at Lockwood where he was coming down the stairs, then nodded slightly, his expression morphing into confusion.

The drive itself was fast, and there were no problems at the station, but Y/n still couldn't help but feel that something would go wrong on their journey to her parents' house.

"The only thing that's wrong-"

"Don't say that, you bastard!"

"-is me being here."

"Oh. Well, that's true."

"Why couldn't you have just gone on your own?"

"You'll see when you meet everyone. Are you... will you be alright? I mean, it's literally everybody still alive in my family along with all of our close friends, which is near on fifty people, all in my parents' house."

"What are you trying to say?" Lockwood's expression was stony, and a coldness had come into his eyes that Y/n had only ever seen back when she was trying to be his friend and asked about his family. She had since learned that they had died when he was young, and had steered well clear of the subject afterwards.

"I just... it's a lot for me, and I do this every year. I can't imagine how awful this'll be for someone who's..." she trailed off, trying to find the right words.

"Who's family is dead?" Lockwood asked, more forcefully than he needed to.

"No, I didn't mean-" Y/n said.

"Sure," he cut her off, tone sharp and as bitter as the wind that was whipping around them. She tried to speak again, but he scoffed and turned away before she could explain what she had really meant by her words. Lockwood didn't seem to be relenting anytime soon, instead choosing to stare out at the tracks with a clenched jaw. The conversation died, and they didn't say a word until the train pulled up to the platform and they were attempting to find a good seat.

When they were finally sat down, bags secure and able to relax a little, Y/n sighed softly at Lockwood's still tense figure. He wasn't looking at her, which she supposed was a good thing because generally when he looked at her he was coming up with something rude to say. But if they wanted this to work, they needed to be talking.

And apparently, Y/n had pissed off her fake boyfriend.

Ugh, she thought. This is going to be a fucking shitshow.

part 2

Tag list (hopefully this is everyone): @anathemaloren, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @locknco, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @ran23sblog, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife

[smoshyourheadin]

spencer agnew enemies to lovers one bed trope

The Start Of Something

pairing: spencer agnew x f!reader

a/n: GUYS IM SO SORRY I KEEP POSTING SO SLOW I HAVE NO MOTIVATION MY BAD THIS IS LIKE RLLY BAD AND RUSHED LMAO I DONT LIKE IT i have better stuff otw i promise (also anon ily for this!!) requests are open <3

working at smosh is pretty great. you’ve been working there about two years now as a producer on smosh games, and you’ve made some darn good videos. the people are amazing, it’s so fun working with literal comedians all day. damien is so kind, shayne is so smart, courtney is so witty, ian is so… morbid? either way, everyone there is family to you. the one thing you don’t like however? spencer.

it all started during your first big project at smosh. you and spencer were both assigned to lead a new series of board af. excited to prove yourself, you put in countless hours to make sure everything was perfect. however, spencer, being spencer, dismissed your detailed plans, opting instead for a spontaneous approach, leading the episodes to be messy, and all around bad quality.

every day at the office is a battlefield. Spencer’s snide comments about your meticulousness clash with your jabs about his unpredictability.

“nice color-coded schedule you got there,” spencer says with a smirk as he passes your desk. “did you plan your bathroom breaks too?”

you roll your eyes, not missing a beat. “at least i won’t forget to show up to work on time, unlike some people.”

he scoffs and walks away, and you smirk to yourself because of how annoyed he gets.

you grew up in a structured environment, where planning and precision were key to success. your parents, both engineers, drilled into you the importance of preparation and hard work. spencer, on the other hand, thrived in chaos. raised in a floridian household with artists for parents, he learned to ‘embrace’ spontaneity and creativity, when in reality he’s just a lazy piece of shit, and this fundamental difference in your upbringings is your reasoning for the friction.

the entire smosh crew is buzzing with excitement for the upcoming vid con. however, ian and anthony made a slight mistake: not enough rooms. as luck would have it, you’ve been assigned to share a room with spencer, and, of course, there’s only one bed.

“great,” you mutter, staring at the single bed. “this is just perfect.”

spencer shrugs. “we’re adults. we can handle this. or are you upset this’ ruined your plans?”

you shove him off, tongue in cheek, and put your bags down.

“yeah, well, i guess we’ll just have to make do,” you reply, mustering a half-hearted smile as you unpack.

that night, as you both lie awkwardly side by side, you can’t help but talk. the conversation starts stilted but gradually, you begin to share your perspectives. you explain how his disregard for plans made you feel undervalued. spencer admits he never realized how much effort you put into your work and how his actions might have come across.

after that night, some subtle changes begin to occur between you both. one day, you catch spencer glancing your way with what seems like concern when you’re stressed. you find yourself defending his unconventional methods when others criticize him.

one day, you witness spencer dealing with a personal crisis - a call from his dad that leaves him visibly shaken. as you’re the only person who saw him, you offer him a shoulder to lean on. that day, you see a side of him that’s vulnerable and human, softening your attitude further, almost affectionate toward him.

as you start getting along better, both of you struggle with your growing feelings. you’re plagued by internal conflict, denying what’s becoming increasingly obvious. spencer starts bringing you coffee in the mornings, and you find yourself lingering in conversations with him to try and stay in his company.

a crisis at smosh forces you both to confront your true feelings. a huge chunk of footage from shayne’s turn on tntl is accidentally deleted, and the blame game begins. in the heat of the argument, spencer snaps, “why do you hate me so much?”

the words hang in the air, and you both freeze. finally, you confess, “i don’t hate you. i don’t think i ever hated you. i think i was just scared that my efforts would never be enough.”

spencer steps closer, his eyes softening. “i didn’t realize. i thought you just… hated me.”

you break. hot tears sting your face, and you bring your hoodie sleeves to your eyes to prevent your mascara from running. he wraps you in a hug, and you sob into his shoulder.

in the end, you and spencer are inseparable. the crew notices the change, teasing you both about your newfound closeness, especially angela who you used to complain to about him. you’re all lovey dovey now, finding joy in each other’s company and embracing the weird balance you bring to each other’s lives.

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 22

MASAPOST

this chapter kicked my ass, what with the allergic attack and continued insomnia epsidoe ;-;

Danny watched as Damian’s body froze in dawning horror. The hang-up sound deafened the room. The boy sat stock still. His arms trembled. The phone slipped out of his palm. He didn’t bother to pick it up.

“I… I do not understand.” Damian whispered. “I was speaking in plain English.”

But Danny understood. He understood now, where he never knew before. A lump grew in his throat.

How many people think about the movements of their tongues in speech? How many people actively plan out and execute precisely which movements their mouths make, judging distances, contours, contact time and aerodynamics? How many conversations has the average person had without a single thought towards any of these factors?

His siren brain turned Damian’s shell-shaken chirps into English words so seamlessly that it took active concentration to remember they weren’t English words, not any that a human could easily understand.

“Damian-”

“Do not ‘Damian’ me!” Damian’s fins turned into rigid spines, a reaction he only ever saw from sirens seriously trying to kill him. “We have been speaking in English this entire time! Why could he not understand me?! I have been-”

Damian’s eyes widened. His breathing hitched, then labored. His hands went to clutch at his throat.

“What have I been speaking?”

“Damian, I’m sorry.”

“When you threatened the sailor for his phone password, he complied immediately. You spoke human English to him!” Damian jabbed Danny’s chest, accusation radiating off every word.

“I know. Damian, I-”

“Father is a discerning man. He will not accept a phone call from a strange number twice! You could have squandered the only opportunity we have had to contact help for thousands of miles!”

The young boy’s chest strained to contain his breathing.

“Damian, you’re hyperventilating. Let’s slow down and-”

“No!” Damian backed away from Danny’s hands, like they were molten lava. “We need to contact father again, now! Show me how to form human words.”

Danny stuttered. He had never thought how to do that. He spoke in clicks to his enemies, and when he changed to human form, he’d speak normally again with his loved ones. Changing to human words in siren form was effortless to him.

Damian did not wait for his response long. The boy wheezed, and gasped. The boy’s throat clenched and throbbed as he spat out rasping hisses, and malformed syllables.

He sucked in another breath, and tried again. Each attempt ended up in failure. Damian’s breath grew shallower, his breathing accelerating further and further.

“No! No, no, no, no!” Damian muttered. The boy’s body slumped over, collapsed against the floor. “Why can I not do it?! What do I need? Show me!”

Damian’s chin wobbled His eyes wavered with tears threatening to come out.

Danny was at a loss. Heat scorched his cheeks, shame and guilt in tandem. “I- I- I don’t k-know. I never l-learned. I-it just came naturally to me.”

“I have lost my legs! I have lost my family. I have lost my age and my mental maturity. And you never saw it fit to tell me I have lost my voice too?! What else will you take from me?!”

Danny’s heart seized. A white streak dripped down Damian’s cheek. Then another. Danny lowered his head. “I’m sorry Damian. I- I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know this would happen.”

“What do you mean?!” The child wailed. “We have been swimming for two days! You have had so much time to consider, and yet you did nothing!”

“We can still contact your dad. I-I can speak to him. Or we could text. Or maybe-”

Danny’s nose prickled. Voices came from around the boat. Atlantean voices. More than ten of them. He raised his head, and spotted scores of soldiers announcing their presence in front of the boat. A couple of them in fancy headgear also sported Atlantean magic tattoos. Not good at all.

Damian wrenched a half-sobbing chirp too broken to understand. Danny scooped up the tiny, tiny child, and turned them both invisible. Damian pushed against his arms, but Danny kept firm. He shattered the windows of the room, causing the soldiers outside to yelp and ready their weapons. Without giving them anymore notice, he jumped into the water, speeding away from the scene.

Danny had lost count of how many hours he’d swum, Damian still clinging to his back. Whatever faint traces of warmth the boy had started to show him had long evaporated.

“Damian?” Danny prompted, for what felt like the hundredth time. “Damian, I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to.”

What did he mean to do?

Damian remained quiet, and terrifyingly still. All that came out was a tiny whine and a hiccupped gasp.

“Damian, I promise there’s an explanation for this. It’s-” Danny stopped. It’s what? What could he say to explain? That he was a full human until he was 13 years of age? That he’d had about 10 positive interactions with the other members of his ‘species’ his entire life? That he was not even what or who he said he was, a freak of nature, tainted and touched in ways he could barely imagine?

His only safety net was his secrecy. Danny’s mind flashed to armadas of GiW ships funded by Wayne Enterprises, his parents at the helm of the flagship, and Bruce Wayne soon after. He imagined swimming, and swimming, and swimming for the rest of his life, hiding away in the Mariana Trench and never seeing the stars again.

Damian had no reason not to tell his father everything that transpired during this journey. And he especially had the right to be very angry with Danny. After all, who else failed to save him?

But he was also owed an explanation of some kind. Maybe a half truth? Danny swallowed the lump in his throat. He cleared his mouth. Why were there tears blurry his vision?

“Do not speak to me.” Damian muttered. Nowhere was the boisterous, prideful ego. The kid sounded utterly defeated.

“Damian…” Danny begged. He blinked as fast as he could. The tears were even faster.

“The only reason I have allowed you to carry me is because I still wish to go home. But I do not wish to speak to you. Or speak, period.”

Danny let the silent tears fall freely. “Ok.”

Jack Fenton lay on a mechanic creeper, looking into the complex mesh of wires he and Maddie had concocted in a feverish haze over the course of a single day, and now it was sparking. That was worrying. No need to sweat it, though. Jack Fenton was nothing if not a mechanic, and he’d sort this issue out in no time.

Maddie was on the deck, carefully watching for any siren interlopers who might take an easy shot at them. With her at the helm, Jack had nothing to fear as he inspected the damage.

His eyes traced lines of wires and pipes. Hydroplasm tubes leading into combustion chambers fed by cooling units. Ahah! There it was! One of the cooling tubes was leaking. The bolts on the thing were just a bit too loose, and water was beginning to drip through. A layman might think a cooling tube being broken would cause issues, but the Fentons were nothing if not thorough. Their failsafe system kicked in, and forced the engines to slow down so as not to overheat everything. Let it never be said that Jack Fenton did not care for the safety of his children!

Actually, now that he thought about it, there were a lot more minor issues than he thought there would be. Nothing major, thank goodness, but he could tell why the SAV had been chugging lately.

Time to get to it! Now what tools would he need?

Jack Fenton sat up, only for his head to bang on a pipe. He fell back onto the creeper with a wheeze. Gotta keep an eye on where he was!

 “Dr Fenton?” Was that Brucie?

“Brucie boy! Please, call me Jack! Dr Fenton was my dad.”

“I’m sure Jasmine will soon be saying the same.” Brucie chuckled. “Jasmine told me you were taking longer than normal. Need a hand?”

“You sure about that? This isn’t the kind of thing you can find in an old Toyota.”

Brucie was out of his fancy suit and tie, and in more dirty work-appropriate wear. At least he had the spirit!

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem. I’ve done a few creative engineering projects myself. Some of my designs are sold by the company.”

Jack rolled himself back into the open air, where Brucie was already taking stock of the machinery. Jack’s eyebrows shot up.

“Huh. I didn’t know you were a hands-on type of CEO!”

“I try not to be distant from the people I’m working with in the company. This is your field of expertise, though. If I’d get in the way, that’s fine too.”

“No, no! It’s been a long since time someone’s been this interested in our work. Most people run away! Probably the sirens intimidating ‘em.”

“I can imagine.” Brucie’s voice became sombre.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Brucie, I didn’t mean to, well.”

“It’s alright. The two of us are in the same boat, anyway.”

Jack snorted. Brucie’s face cracked up a little. “Alright then. Come on down and I’ll show you what we need to do.”

Brucie wasn’t lying when he said he had experience. Guy was keeping up with Jack as he explained how the engine worked and why it wasn’t working now. It was like he was talking to a peer in the field! It was exhilarating, considering he and Maddie made up pretty much half of the entire field of siren research.

“Where do you even get enough energy to power this thing? I know it’s not oil or coal or any kind of fossil fuel.”

“That’s easy, Brucie! It’s hydroplasm! Same thing that makes up sirens’ bodies. Gives them their powers.”

Brucie coughed loudly, almost dropping the power cell he was holding up while Jack redid the seals. “So it’s siren blood?”

“I guess you could say that. Not like we’ve ever actually caught one.” Jack tapped the hydroplasm tubes. Thankfully those ones were still airtight and secure. “All this stuff is filtered from the big blue sea herself! Ain’t that neat?”

“It’s incredible.” Jack felt pride swell, for his and his wife’s hard work.

“You’re pretty incredible yourself, Brucie.”

Brucie’s eyebrow quirked. “I can’t say I haven’t heard that before, but it’s usually from women trying to get my attention.”

“I mean it! Most parents wouldn’t have the gumption to take to the seas and fight monsters from the abyss for their kids. And that’s fair! Not everyone’s got the expertise Mads and I do.”

Jack turned the last screw and tapped the power cell. Tight as a tourniquet.

“And not every CEO’s willing to get knee-deep in nuts and bolts either.” Jack continued. Truth be told, Jack had never thought of the possibility of meeting a rich person before. He always thought they’d be in some other kind of world, totally unlike anything he knew. Vladdie was different of course. They went back all the way to their college days, after all.

“Not every parent would personally invent an arsenal worthy of sailing the high seas and fighting through them to get their son back.”

Jack beamed with pride. “Come on, Brucie. You’re making me blush!”

The men continued working, patching up the cracks, filling in missing parts, and welding together pipes, falling into a new pattern that they weren’t quite used to. Occasionally they would bump into each other, or pass the wrong tool and would have to correct. These mistakes became rarer as the night went on, and a comfortable silence settled between them.

“I’m just- I don’t know what to say. The boys. After Alicia and her son, we promised it would never happen again. Moved all the way to Amity, filled the bay with equipment, made a fortress out of our house, and then what?”

Brucie looked down. “I’m sorry about your sister-in-law. And I’m sorry I was careless too.”

Jack reared his head up. “What do you have to be sorry for, Brucie?”

“It was very likely my carelessness in visiting Amity Island that provoked the attack on my son, and yours.”

Jack waved them off immediately. Preposterous! “The only fault to be had is Phantom’s. We’ll get our boys back, and make Phantom pay.”

Bruce screwed in the last piece. The fathers backed out of the room, and slid the protective panel back over the engines.

“Danno’s a strong kid. I’m sure your Damian’s a wildfire and a half too. Wherever they are, I’m sure they’ll have each other’s backs.” Jack whispered. He hoped everything he taught his boy would give him a chance, even a sliver.

Brucie nodded. The men shared a look, and shared whatever hope they could carry on this voyage over the ocean.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

First Meetings (Hero’s Shadow backstory!)

The highlands were particularly chilly today as Link looked out into the dunes of Gerudo territory. It was strange how he could be so close to barren heat while also freezing his butt off.

Trilling his lips, the half-Sheikah warrior stretched lazily, gaze drifting from spot to the next. He had been transferred to guard duty along the Hyrulian-Gerudo border for his new assignment. It was his first time truly far from home, and it was honestly pretty thrilling. Link loved to see and learn new things, and the Gerudo Highlands were so vastly different from the lush, wet valleys and mountains of home. Kakariko Village was tucked away near Lake Hylia, and Link had spent most of his youth swimming and rushing to the large Cracked Mountain - legend said an earthquake had caused the large split along its center, and it held mystical treasures within its belly, but all Link had managed to do as a child was get stuck halfway through and give his elders a heart attack.

Either way, he loved exploring, and this place was all entirely new. The Highlands were visible from the capital on the Royal Plateau, but he’d never really known what to expect of any of it. Now that he was assigned here, he wanted nothing more than to explore every inch of the place.

But at the moment he was on duty, and so he stayed in his position.

It wasn’t as if the Gerudo were particularly hostile. They were not part of the kingdom and needed to be watched, and they were a warrior people, making them more threatening than others, but still… they hadn’t really caused problems for Hyrule, nor vice versa. There was definitely a wariness between the factions, though, and it created tension.

Movement caught Link’s eye, and he turned, wondering if maybe it was another lizard (he had already collected three), when he realized it was a person. Small, far in the distance, but someone nonetheless. Curious and a little wary, Link crept closer, hand slowly resting atop his katana, and then he got a closer look.

It was a Gerudo. A teenager, from the looks of it - maybe even around his age. She had twin scimitars, and she was practicing with them, slicing hydromelons with ease. Link watched her a little while, watched the way she moved so fluidly, the way her muscles rippled with each twist and turn, the way her hair reflected the sun far more than the sands did. He felt himself staring a little too long, his heart fluttering a little, and he stepped back, a little overwhelmed. The girl seemed to sense his scrutiny, stopping and looking around before glancing upward at him. Link swallowed, throat dry.

She—she was—she was beautiful.

Link heard a sandal on stone, and his adrenaline immediately spiked, every nerve on high alert, just in time to see a shadow cast over him. He looked up and saw a large figure seemingly falling out of the sky towards him, large mace in hand, and Link gasped a little, rolling out of the way as the weapon slammed into the earth.

Grabbing the hilt of his katana with his left hand, the thirteen-year-old immediately went into action. The initial removal from the scabbard was a wide slash, pushing the figure—a man who bore Gerudo traits (but weren’t all the Gerudo women? That’s what he’d heard)—back a little to avoid getting eviscerated. The sun shone behind the man, blinding Link a little, and he changed his position, breaking the kata in order to get a better view. It gave his opponent an opening, and he took a large step forward, swinging the mace horizontally. Link ducked, thankful for his small stature, and jabbed his blade directly forward. His enemy twisted to the side to dodge, and Link’s flank was wide open, giving the man an opportunity to do a one-handed swing with his weapon.

It hit true, slamming Link in the ribs.

The young warrior went flying, hitting the cliffside and falling to the ground, trying desperately to catch his breath. He heard the person walk towards him, and then heard under his breath, in a bemused tone, “A child?”

Link gasped life back into himself, ignoring how his ribs protested, and he sprang back to his feet, gripping his blade with both hands as he did another sweeping cut to drive his enemy back. He jerked a little at the end of the fluid motion, hissing in pain. His ribs were definitely broken.

Did he have a fairy? An elixir? He didn’t remember packing anything, but—

Link’s eyes widened as the man strode forward purposefully, both hands around the leather handle of the enormous mace, and he swept it right where Link’s head was. Clapping his hands together, the teenager channeled his magic, feeling the air sucked out of his lungs as he disappeared before the weapon could land a hit.

Ganondorf stared, blinking at the blank space where the child had just been. Despite being caught off guard by the Hylian’s age, he was still armed and he’d still been watching his daughter, which merited a swift response. The Gerudo king looked around a moment, confused, before hearing clothes fluttering. He turned around wildly, still seeing nothing, and then the sun reflected off something bright just above him, and he looked up and—

The child was about to stab him in the head.

Hissing, Ganondorf pushed hard with his right leg, jerking his body to the side just in time for the Hylian to slice his blade across his shoulder and part of his chest. Ganondorf bit back a yell, his blood pumping faster than it had in ages, and when he’d finished dodging, he’d almost had to laugh.

He didn’t know how this child was actually managing to put up a fight, but this was actually kind of invigorating. The boy had even landed a blow!

Ganondorf knew he’d won, though, based on how the boy struggled to breathe, so he paused before continuing the fight. “Who are you, child?”

The boy immediately hesitated, clearly caught off guard by his change in tone, and he stood hesitantly in a ready stance. “My name is Link.”

“Link,” Ganondorf repeated, humming and putting the mace on a strap on his back. The Hylian hesitated, red eyes curious and hopeful and far too trusting. In an instant, Ganondorf pulled out his spear, slamming the boy’s abdomen with the blunt end. The child gasped, falling to his back, and the fight was over. Ganondorf approached him slowly, watching his chest heave as he struggled to breathe. He pulled out a red potion, plopping it on the ground next to the boy, and dug the sharp end of his spear into the earth beside the child’s light blonde hair. “Don’t watch my daughter again.”

With that, the Gerudo king walked away, wondering what in the world Hyrule Kingdom was doing sending children to its borders anyway. But he had to admit… he was impressed by the boy’s fighting prowess.

Link grimaced, turning enough to grab the potion and chug it, wondering what in the world just happened.

Despite reporting the incident to his superiors, not much was really done. Apparently, there was concern that this was the actual King of the Gerudo himself, and no one would dare cause problems by claiming the king had attacked a lowly Hyrulian guard. Link wasn’t important enough to merit a war. He also felt immensely guilty he’d even managed to bring about any concern for one.

Sighing, the teenager resumed his post the next day, a little more wary and more than a little put out.

When he heard a foot scuff on stone, he immediately drew his blade, wondering what kind of insanity he was going to deal with now.

Instead, he saw the girl he recognized from yesterday, carrying a basket and looking apologetic.

“Hey,” she said softly, holding her hands up to appease him. “I don’t mean any harm.”

“This is the Hyrule border,” Link warned, not moving.

“Yeah. I know.” The teenager replied dully, as if it were obvious. Well… it was, but still. What else was he going to say?

“That means you can’t be here,” he explained, though there was less force in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah,” the girl replied dismissively. “Technically I can’t cross the line. That’s somewhere between you and me. I’m still in Gerudo territory.”

Link lowered his sword, growing confused. “Yeah, but… what do you want?”

“I wanted to say sorry,” the girl replied, lowering her arms and gripping the basket with both hands. “My dad is… overly protective. But… yeah. You want food?”

Link blinked. Blinked again. “Uh… sure?”

The girl smiled, trotting over and grabbing a stick. She traced a line in the dry earth, easily creating a division between them. “There. There’s the border. I won’t cross this line. But we can have a picnic in the meantime.”

Link stared at her, then at the line, then back at her. And then he giggled. “A picnic sounds nice.”

The two sat across from each other, the center of the basket placed directly over the line, and slowly they started to eat and chat. And if they stayed there for hours until the sun started to set, neither really commented on it.

And if they saw each other the next day for another picnic, neither complained.

And if a King and Queen of the Gerudo stood exasperatedly at the bottom of the cliff the tenth time it happened, neither of them noticed.

[alicewritingstories]

Febuwhump Day 25: Waterboarding

CW: kidnapping, torture, restraints, drugs

AO3

---

Link wasn't entirely sure how long it had been since he was kidnapped. It didn't help that he'd spent part of the time unconscious; he could still feel the lingering traces of the drug that had been jabbed into his arm by someone in the crowd at the marketplace.

One thing that was certain was that he was now standing against a post, bound too tightly to even shift position. Even his breathing was restricted. A cloth was tied between his teeth tightly enough that his cheeks ached and another was over his eyes.

Dully, he wondered who was holding him and what they wanted. It wasn't as if he was short of enemies, but most of them would have cut his throat already and been done with it. The fact that apparently he had been wanted alive was worrying. It meant that either they wanted to take their time killing him or they wanted something other than his life.

Neither was a comforting thought.

Then he heard something: the rattle of keys in a padlock, followed by the scrapes of a chain being unwrapped and a door rubbing a floor as it opened. He raised his head, trying to give a show of strength and defiance.

Nobody spoke, but he heard footsteps, something heavy being put down, some rustling and scraping, and then footsteps walking away again, followed by the door closing and being locked again.

He frowned, confused, straining his ears to try to hear any talk from outside or any hint of where he was. Everything was silent except that he caught a faint sound that he could believe was half-stifled breathing. He couldn't even be sure enough to seriously wonder if another prisoner had been brought in.

He squirmed as best he could in his bonds, trying to find an angle to rub the blindfold away from his eyes, but it was no good. He just had to continue to wait to find out what was happening: something he had never enjoyed or been good at.

After a while, he heard a faint noise. This time he was sure: it was a soft, gag-strangled voice moaning as the other prisoner recovered consciousness. He tried to make some sound through his own gag in response, but had no way of knowing if the other prisoner had heard him; he just faintly made out some small rustles and shuffles that he guessed was the sound of an unsuccessful struggle against ropes.

Before he could come up with any kind of plan to communicate with the other prisoner or find out more about who they were and their state, he heard the door unlocked again. Again, he raised his head and squared his shoulders as best he could. Footsteps approached and this time someone grabbed the blindfold and pulled it violently away from his eyes.

They were holding a torch near his face and he had to turn away, closing his eyes against the sudden bright light.

"Captain Link," said a voice.

He looked up slowly, blinking away the watering at the corners of his eyes. It was still hard to see, but he did his best to focus and to keep his head up.

A hand grabbed his chin and held his head still as someone untied the knotted cloth tied around his mouth and pulled it free. He took a quick, grateful breath, licking his dry lips to try to moisten them.

"I'm sure you're wondering what's going on. You'll be relieved to know you're not the one we want."

He tilted his head with a scowl, not making the effort to speak aloud. His eyes had grown sufficiently accustomed to the light that he could see the man speaking to him, not that it helped; he was wearing a mask and only his eyes were visible. Link noted that they were green, a few freckles were visible on the bridge of the man's nose, and he had a Castletown accent. Useful information if he got out of here alive.

"We're interested in the princess. Answer our questions and you'll be untied and released once we've finished our work and kept safe and comfortable in the meantime. Refuse and you won't."

Link met his eye squarely, his jaw set.

"I thought you might not be interested in cooperating. Whatever else anyone says about you, you're a brave man and you've always been happy to risk your skin for her. Well, how about the skin of your little cousin here?" The man stepped aside and pointed. Now Link saw the other prisoner: a young boy in a brightly-coloured quartered tunic, gagged and tied spread-eagled on a table. Another masked man had just removed his blindfold and he was blinking in Link's direction.

Link had never seen him before in his life. He didn't even have any cousins.

"Strangers' lives mean nothing to you, we all know that, but he and the rest of the family have been asking around town for you. I guess you don't do a good job of writing home."

Both accusations stung. Neither was worth engaging with right now.

The boy's eyes had focussed on Link's face. His expression showed none of the fear Link had expected. There was some resemblance, he supposed, though in the circumstances it was hard to tell. But the question of whether whoever had left him at an orphanage when he was a baby had had family that might have tracked him down could wait. First, he had to get himself and the boy out of here.

Link's gaze went back to the man speaking to him. He wished he had Proxi, but wishes were wasted. He was going to have to speak for himself and he licked his lips again, unsure what to do. The boy knew too much now; they wouldn't let him leave alive even if Link managed to persuade them he didn't know him and therefore by their own logic he didn't care what they might do to him.

He did, he always did, but what he cared about didn't matter much to anyone.

"Let's start with something easy, shall we?" said the man pleasantly. "The royal kitchens. Are there any special precautions around the princess' meals and those of her closest retainers such as General Impa?"

Link glared at him.

"Ah, I see." The man turned and nodded to his companions. Before Link could react, one of them pinched the boy's nose closed while another dipped a bucket of water out of a barrel beside the table and tipped it over the boy's head. The boy let out a cry, strangled to a squeal by the now-soaked gag, and bucked against the hand on his face and the ropes holding him to the table.

Link swallowed hard, imagining trying to breathe through a mouth filled with wet cloth. The man holding the boy's nose held it a moment longer, then released it, letting the boy gasp in a breath.

There wasn't much choice for Link; he couldn't betray Zelda, not to save himself, not to save a stranger, not to save someone who might be long-lost family.

"Nothing?" asked the kidnapper.

When Link still stayed silent, the man nodded at his companions again. Another bucket of water was thrown over the boy's face. This time the man standing over him didn't plug his nose and his gasps were punctuated by sneezes, muffled coughs, and the occasional involuntary whimper.

Link gritted his teeth and stayed silent.

The man asked more questions, visibly more and more frustrated. Link kept quiet, though the boy's muffled cries as he struggled to breathe properly tore at his heart. He had to do this. It wasn't even as if it was the first time he'd let an innocent suffer for the greater good.

Then, out of nowhere, the door was smashed open. Link's head snapped round and he gasped as a tattooed man in shining plate armor ran in. The kidnappers were just as shocked as he was, which gave the newcomer - newcomers, he realized; three other men ran in after the first - a chance to make it almost to where he stood before the kidnappers could even react.

"Legend, Hyrule!" the armored man shouted. "With me!"

The man who had been waterboarding the boy drew a knife, but a slight teenager in a red tunic closed the distance before he could even get out the threat to kill his prisoner. The man who had been questioning Link didn't even make a threat; he drew his knife and brought it to Link's throat.

Link took a quick final breath and mentally said farewell to Zelda and his other friends.

Then a sword flashed past his face. The kidnapper reeled back with a cry, clutching at his hand. A young man in a white cloak stepped in front of Link, sword still raised protectively.

"Are you all right?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Link let out the breath he'd taken and nodded. He couldn't see past the man in the cloak, but he heard the clash of swords, shouts, and then coughing and someone saying, "OK, Four. Just keep breathing."

The man in the cloak relaxed and sheathed his sword, then stepped over beside Link to start cutting his bonds.

"You're Link?" he asked quietly with a small, comforting smile.

Link nodded. "The traitors?" he managed.

"Dead."

"Are you hurt?" asked the armored man, looking over from where the two teenagers were supporting the boy - Four. Now there was more time to look at them all, Link noticed that one of his eyes was closed, the lid marred with a long scar. He instinctively ranked him as a captain, though he wasn't wearing any uniform Link recognised.

He could once again see some resemblance between them and him. They had come for Four, so this must be the group his kidnappers had talked about.

He could see why they had thought this was his family.

Then he was distracted as the blood finally started to return to his cramped, numb limbs. As soon as he was no longer supported by the ropes, Link collapsed forward. The captain lunged forward to catch him and held him up as the one with the cloak kept working on the ropes.

"Are you hurt?" he asked again.

Link shook his head. "The boy - Four - is he all right?" he asked quietly.

The captain looked Link up and down and, to his surprise, he smiled. "Legend? Hyrule?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"I'm fine," said Four in a surprisingly low-pitched, steady voice, accompanied by relieved-sounding chuckles from the two teens. Then he coughed again.

Link had expected anger at what he had allowed to happen to Four. He'd expected to find that he'd burned the bridge with his maybe-family before it had even been built.

"You must be Captain Link," the captain said as he gently lowered Link to sit against the post, a hand still on his shoulder to steady him.

Link nodded.

"My name is also Link, but you can call me Time. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. These are Sky" - He pointed to the man in the cloak - "Legend" - the teen in the red tunic - "Hyrule" - the other teen, this one dressed in humble green and brown - "you've, well… you've seen Four" - Four waved with one rope-burned hand, covering more coughs with the other - "and Wind is keeping watch."

Link looked up at them all, still confused. "Who are you?" He asked. It was a start on the questions he really wanted to ask.

Time sighed. "That's a long story," he said. "And it's best told somewhere other than here."

Link forced an approximation of his usual bright, confident smile and at last the words came easily. "Well, then, when I can walk again you should come with me. Four should see a medic and I'm sure her highness would like to meet you."

Time nodded briskly, his own smile relaxing, and squeezed Link's shoulder. "In the meantime, you concentrate on recovering. You're safe with us."

And as the blood flowed painfully back into Link's swollen hands and feet, he believed him.

[spooky-pomegranate]

Pablo's Ghost (Part 4)

Colonel Carrillo x F Reader (18+) 🔥 Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: After ten months apart, Carrillo shows you how badly he’s missed you. (Part 1) (Part 2)(Part 3)

—————————————————————

There’s something to be said about expectations. While it’s true they often unceremoniously faded away when life can no longer compete with the vivid nature of dreams, expectations are born from observations. They’re created after listening, watching, and experiencing the world and people around us. They’re a dream of what could be based on what has been.

And your expectations of Carrillo were no different. They were created from your memories, from the years you had spent watching him, listening to him, and yearning for him. You didn’t mean to craft them, but they existed within you just the same.

During your time in Colombia, you’d seen Carrillo use his strength to be rough. His powerful arms pushed, grappled, and tossed his enemies around like they were nothing more than rag-dolls. His large hands clawed, punched, and dug aggressively into the flesh of those who dared to cross him. And his deft fingers jabbed, scratched, and squeezed around the throats of sicarios who tried in their wicked ways to tear his country apart.

But as you lay there beneath him, feeling his weight press down upon you every expectation you had of Carrillo was challenged. Where you had expected him to be rough he was soft. Where you had expected him to be fast he was slow and where you had expected him to be mean he was gentle.

The same arms that threw men to the ground carefully held you against him. The same hands that left bruising marks on his enemies, traced delicate patterns across your ribs. And the same fingers that squeezed the triggers of violent weapons, caressed you with a touch so loving it took your breath away.

When you had crawled onto your bed and spread your legs open for him you had meant it as a challenge. You’d hope he’d snap like a wild animal deprived of food and devour you whole. But he hadn’t. He’d told you he wanted to give you more than that. He told you that you deserved more than that. And it was then you knew that Carrillo wasn’t going to fuck you. He was going to break every expectation you had of him and he was going to make love to you. He was going to leave you satiated in ways you had never imagined.

It had started when propped up on your elbows and spread wide open, you had begged him.

“Horacio, I have never loved anyone the way that I love you. I want you. All of you. So please Carrillo… please, I can’t wait any longer. I want to lose myself in you.”

And then he smiled and answered you with a honeyed question.

“Then how could I ever deny you, mi amor?”

It was then he had moved slowly toward the foot of your bed, reaching for the hem of his polo and carefully lifting it over his head. His broad chest was exposed to you for the very first time and you couldn’t help but trail your eyes over his muscles, his beautiful skin, his patch of tufted dark hair that trailed deliciously from his lower stomach into his trousers.

And then you saw them—the healed marks, the remnants of Pablo’s fury, the bullet wounds. There were half a dozen of them, each small, round, and pinkish. The scars were a reminder of how hard Carrillo must have fought to get back here… to come home to you. They made your heartache and you whispered his name.

“Carrillo.”

At the sound of your voice, he moved.

Underneath you, the bed dipped as he sunk one knee onto the mattress and then the other. His hands tenderly reached for your ankles, his calloused palms touching you with a reverence reserved for the most delicate and holy of creatures. Then his lips followed, giving each joint a fleeting and dulcet kiss.

You wanted to tell him how beautiful he looked revering you, but your words caught in your throat. You were entirely too enraptured with the view before you. He was a vision you never expected. He was something so much sweeter.

Carrillo continued his adoration, touching and kissing every inch of you: your legs, your knees, your thighs, your stomach, your ribs. Nothing was left untouched, nothing was left unworshipped. And every time he reached a new place you managed to find a way to breathlessly thank him for his affection. Your hands stroked his arms, you brushed back his soft hair, and you trailed lingering lines across the taut muscles of his abdomen. All the while you offered him bawdy praises that’d dripped from your mouth like sugary syrup.

“You feel so good.” “You look incredible.” “You’re so strong.” You had said.

And that’s how you found yourself here with Carrillo’s body hovering over you and all of your expectations of him completely and utterly shattered. But it was perfect and you couldn’t get enough.

He brought his lips up to the shell of your ear.

“Let me see all of you,” he whispered and you willingly obeyed.

Wordlessly, with one arm you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra. Your breasts spilled out before him and Carrillo groaned. The vibrations of his moan reached straight to your core, and like adding fuel to a raging bonfire, your desire for him burned hotter.

Carrillo’s lips left the shell of your ear and he kissed down the side of your jaw, to your neck, and then lower until his mouth found your breasts. His tongue swirled slowly around your nipple before he sucked it gently into his mouth.

Still propped up on your elbows you couldn’t help but arch into his touch. You whined as Carrillo slid his hands behind your back to pull you closer. He continued to lick, suck, and kiss you until his mouth moved from to your other breast and again you cried out as he lavished it with the same rapt attention. It was all so much and at the same time not nearly enough.

“Please…” you whimpered.

You reached down and thread your hand through Carrillo’s hair, tugging at him until, with a loud and wet pop, he finally let go of your peaked nipple.

“Si, mi amor?” He asked innocently.

Carrillo's gaze met yours and you nearly melted in a puddle. The combination of love and lust he held behind his chestnut eyes was too perfect. But still, you wanted to see something more. You wanted to see him come undone.

“I want to taste you, Horacio,” you said before pushing forward and kissing him, your tongue swirling inside his mouth.

Carrillo pulled back, before resting his forehead against yours. He took a deep breath.

“Do you mean-” he started.

“Yes.” You didn’t let him finish.

Carrillo buried his head into the crook of your neck.

“Aye dios, dame fuerzas,” he mumbled into your skin before quickly pinning you to his chest and rolling you both over. You yelped in surprise at the abrupt way Carrillo moved you both with such ease. It made him laugh and it made you smile.

Your legs were straddling his still clothed thighs and your hands rested on his bare chest. You could feel his heart beat rapidly underneath your sprawling palms as you pushed yourself upright. His chest rose and fell more rapidly than it had before. You could tell that he liked this, you on top of him, his head resting against your pillow that smelled like your perfume. You wonder if he wanted this from the moment he entered your apartment. You wonder if he’d fantasized about this while you were apart.

Carrillo slid his hands down your back to your hips and his grip tightened ever so slightly as you leaned forward to give him another gentle kiss. At the feeling of his fingers digging into your skin, you unconsciously rocked your hips forward. And then you felt it… Carrillo’s desire for you, rock hard and still trapped underneath the fabric of his khakis.

“Mhmmm,” he groaned.

The bonfire inside you became an inferno. You rocked your hips again. Carrillo’s groan became a growl.

“Cariño,” he said looking up at you, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen them, “are you trying to tease me?”

Your eyes closed and your head fell back as you slide your hands down his chest and over his scars until they brushed the waistband of his pants.

“No. I just…” Your voice faded into silence as your fingers played with the button on his khakis.

“Are you nervous, mi vida?” Carrillo asked his own voice husky and low. You sighed before answering.

“No. I just want you so badly. I’ve wanted this for so long. I… I can’t believe you’re real. I can’t believe you came back to me.”

You leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss over a scar just below his right shoulder. Your lips lingered around the mark before moving to another scar on his chest. His skin, tan and smooth, tasted salty against your lips. Carrillo closed his eyes and stayed silent, letting your lips trace over every healed wound. When you’d kissed the last scar by his waist he reached for your cheek, gently cupping your face in his hands.

“You asked me to fight and I promised you that I would cariño.” You looked up at him, your eyes wide and glossy. “You have to know by now that I would do anything for you. Anything you ask of me, I’ll give it to you.”

“Horacio.” You whispered his name with the same holy reverence he had touched you with and it made his heart skip. He wondered what he’d done to deserve something as sweet and beautiful as you.

You slide further down Carrillo’s legs and as you did your eyes immediately fell to the place where you had ground against him. A wet spot remained, darkening the light fabric. With anyone else you might have been embarrassed but with Carrillo it only made you more aroused.

You made short work of the button and zipper on his khakis before Carrillo lifted his hips and you pushed his pants and boxers off his frame. And then the world stopped. Your breath caught in your throat. Now sprung forth from his underwear, Carrillo again subverted your expectations. He was slightly bigger and so much thicker than you ever could have imagined. The tip of his cock was reddening and a single bead of pre-cum leaked down the side.

You reached out tentatively and took hold of him in your hand. As you ran your thumb over his tip you tried to imagine him inside of you. You immediately felt a thudding pulse in between your thighs.

“God, you’re so big,” you whined as you began to stroke him slowly up and down, your fingers brushing over his bulging veins. Carrillo groaned and his hips shifted forward seeking more of your touch.

“I know cariño. I know. You don’t have to- hughhhh,” Carrillo’s voice cut out as your lips wrapped around his cock and you pushed him deep into your mouth. His head fell back against your pillow as you bobbed up and down, taking him as far as you could without choking. You hummed around him, enjoying his slightly salty and musky taste.

“You look so pretty like this,” Horacio hissed, after propping himself up on his elbows so he could watch you better. And god was he ever enraptured with the view. Your lips were stretching, your cheeks hollowing, your saliva dripping everywhere… god you were making him feel so good.

You pushed your head way down to his base and Carrillo dug his hands into your hair… fuckkk maybe you were making him feel too good.

“Querida…” he said, practically begging. “Easy, mi amor. I don’t want to be done with you so soon.”

Your heart fluttered as you pulled away and looked up. He was panting, his body strung tight with tension. He reached for your hands and as you interlocked your fingers with his he pulled you back towards his lips.

There was more fire behind his kiss this time. It still wasn’t bruising when he slot his mouth over yours and chased after your tongue but it was more intense. It was more possessive. It was more demanding. And it was unquestionably more exhilarating too. Knowing you had this kind of power over the strongest man in Columbia made the inferno growing in your chest spread.

You felt like you were burning. He felt like he was burning. You didn’t know how much longer you both could tease each other like this. You were going to explode. But Carrillo must have sensed your patient was running thin because he moved quickly, rolling you over again so your back was on the mattress and he was pressed on top of you.

You smiled so big that he couldn’t help but smile back at you.

“I like when you do that,” you said, squeezing his hands that were still interlocked with yours, “I like it when you toss around me like I'm nothing.”

Carrillo's eyes turned dark. He realized maybe he didn’t need to hold himself back as much with you. Maybe you wanted things to be a bit rougher, a little bit more aggressive. He could do that. He could be that man for you. He let go of your hands.

And then Carrillo reached in between your thighs and in one quick and powerful move ripped away your underwear, pulling it off your body and tossing it to the floor. You yelped again and his smile inadvertently turned wicked. He liked coaxing these noises out of you. These little whimpers and whines… they were better than anything he had dreamt about over the past ten months.

He slid his hand down your ribs, over your stomach, and then to your thighs. But before he could sink his fingers into your wet cunt, you pulled at his wrist, yanking his hand away.

“I don’t want to wait anymore. Please…” You begged as you pushed your hips toward him, rubbing up against his hard cock.

“Mierda,” he hissed before grabbing your hands again and pinning them above your head on the mattress. Carrillo kept you there with one hand while his other hand grabbed his cock. He lined himself up with you.

“Are you sure, mi vida? Tell me you’re ready.” Carrillo asked, his voice practically a growl as he slowly stroked himself.

“I’m ready,” your voice was ragged and desperate, “I love you.”

He pushed into you and you whined again, loudly. You really hoped Steve and Javier weren’t home right now, because you knew this was just going to be just the beginning of the noises Carrillo was going to draw from you tonight. You squeezed your eyes shut and dug your fingers into his hands, searching for something to ground you to bring you back to earth. The pain and pleasure coursing through your body made your head spin. It was perfect. He was perfect.

Carrillo didn’t know if he could move. He didn’t know if he could breathe. You felt so good wrapped around him that his mind was going totally blank. For a long moment, you both froze. You stayed motionless and joined together with his throbbing cock halfway inside you.

But eventually, Carrillo moved again, finding the strength to set a steady and slow pace. It was intoxicating and you knew he felt it too. Carrillo struggled to stay silent above you. He groaned and mumbled a slew of incoherent Spanish phrases in your ear. There was something about how pretty you looked, how tight you felt, how sweet you sounded.

And with every thrust, every roll of his hips, every single growl he gave you, it pushed you closer to the edge. You felt a knot tighten in your stomach.

“Horacio I’m going to…”

“Come for me, mi amor.”

Then with a particularly vicious snap of his hips, you felt the knot uncoil as the world went white and fuzzy around you. You called his name again and again as your back arched off the mattress and he finally let go of your hands. You wrapped your arms around his neck and his hands found purchase on your back.

“Me estás volviendo loco,” he said as he pulled you upright.

You both were kneeling together on the mattress as he continued to thrust up into you. The new angle sent you hurtling toward another orgasm. He was deeper now, inside you completely to the hilt.

“You’re so good for me, cariño… so good,” he breathed into your ear as one of his hands slid up your back and into your hair. You rested your forehead into the crook of his neck, trying desperately to hold on. But when he spoke next, you couldn’t control yourself. His words were too sweet.

“Te amo más que a nada. Mi corazón es tuyo… tuyo.”

That was it. You let go. You dropped off of a cliff and slipped out of your body as you fell. Carrillo felt your orgasm take claim of you. The pulsing waves of your orgasm were sluggish and each undulation took its time washing over you in long drawn-out swells.

Your body went weak. Your cunt spasmed around his cock, squeezing him, pulling him further inside you. Carrillo couldn’t control himself. He groaned low and deep and with one final thrust, he joined you. The knot you had felt in your stomach had tightened around his cock and you pulled every drop of his warm cum deep inside you. With heavy limbs, you clung to one another.

Carrillo gently laid you both down on the bed. You curled into his massive frame, resting your chin on his shoulder and your leg draped over his hip. He drew small and delicate circles over the skin of your ribs and your side. You both stared into each other’s eyes as you tried to catch your breath. Carrillo smiled at you enjoying the feeling of finally having you, holding you, being with you… but eventually, his smile faded and so did yours.

“I’m sorry cariño…” he whispered breaking the tender silence. His voice was so soft that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly.

“What?” You whispered back in surprise at the sudden shift in his mood. “Why are you sorry?”

“I should have come back to you sooner.” He said buring his head against your neck. Your heart ached. You thread your hand into his hair before kissing the side of his face.

“Why… why didn’t you? Why didn’t you come back sooner?”

Carrillo sighed before pulling back from you to look into your eyes.

“I wanted to be as strong as I was before.” He paused. You could see from the way his jaw was clenching and unclenching that he was trying to consider his next words carefully.

“I wish I could just run away from here with you and leave this all behind but…” his voice faded into the night. His heartbeat felt uneasy in his chest.

How could he be so stupid? Now that he had you he didn’t want to leave you, but surely you would leave him. Surely you wouldn’t want to go through this hell with him again. And he shouldn't ask you to. You’d been through enough pain already. You should just leave him tonight and never look back. That would be best for you.

“You can’t,” you said dropping your hand from his hair.

“No. I can’t. I’m sorry cariño. I know you deserve more, but I can’t let him win. Someone has to stop him.”

You sat up and Carrillo’s heart stopped. Was this it? Was this the moment you told him you couldn’t watch him fight Pablo again? Was this the last happy moment he would have in this god-forsaken country? Was this the last happy moment of his life?

Fuck. He should have said this to you right away. He should have told you the moment he walked in your door that he was still going to go after Pablo despite it all. Despite the odds stacked against him. Despite the fact that he’d nearly been put in the ground twice already. Despite the fact that he loved you.

Carrillo couldn’t look at you. Tears filled his eyes. The room felt cold as silence took hold.

But then your soft hand reached out and cupped his cheek.

“I know who you are Horacio.” He met your eyes and you smiled. “I knew if you came back to me you would still be the man you always were. A fighter. A leader. A warrior…” you paused, breathing deeply.

“You’ve always been what Colombia needs Horacio. It’s always been you.”

Carrillo felt like he’d surfaced from the depths of icy cold water. Oxygen flooded back into his lungs, burning him with a bitter sting. He sat up alongside you.

“I won’t let you do this alone.” You continued, your voice as sweet as honey. “I’ll stand next to you through it all. I love you. Te amo.”

Carrillo pushed forward and kissed you again. You were the most perfect thing he’d ever known. You were his beautiful and perfect cariño. His voice waivered as he whispered against your lips.

“Te amo. I love you.”

—————————————————————

[xhanisai]

Kim the unexpected matchmaker

AO3 / FFN

Pairing - Adrinette

Prompt - ‘Favourite Colour’

Summary -

Just as their classmates were about to launch their next barrel of questions, they were interrupted by Kim slamming the desk repeatedly with his hand, wanting their attention back on him and giving the flustered Marinette a single moment to breathe. The devilish, almost evil look he suddenly wore practically had Marinette's adrenaline jump-start instantaneously as she realised what he was going to say next.

"Kim! No!" She jumped over her desk (in a manner that had many of her friends flabbergasted with awe), her stance threatening to come over to him and teach him a lesson if he were to open his big, stupid mouth.

Sadly for her, monkeys like to play with bugs.

"Kim, yes!" Before he was grabbed by the tiny yet seriously strong girl, he quickly yelled out the rest of his sentence. "Marinette loves green because of Adrien's eyes!" She was unfortunately way too slow in muffling his mouth with her hand, her entire face reddening as the majority of the class watched her with smug, smug, cat-like smiles.

~(x)~ . . . "Pink this, pink that, ugh! Don't you like any other colour, something more regal and obviously so much more better?" One very annoyed and extremely pompous Chloé Bourgeois huffed loudly, hands dramatically gesturing towards the god-forsaken, practically neon yellow jeans she decided to wear for the day, beady blues directing a nasty glare at her sleepy enemy. Much to her ire, the girl she was glowering at simply took one glance at the blinding clothing article, made a comically disgusted expression and went back to mindlessly sketching out designs in her notebook, taking a sip of coffee from her travel mug in the process. "I saw that, Marinette Dupain-Cheng! But what should have I expected from a ridiculously stupid peasant with ridiculously no taste? Only the most elite would appreciate REAL fashion! Hmmph!" The mayor's daughter's words were left on deaf ears, half of the class immersed in their own individual conversations whilst the other half yawned and rolled their eyes at her umpteenth attempt at riling up the clearly unbothered class president. Marinette stared forlornly at the empty seat ahead of hers, pondering on why the love of her life was quite late to the extra hour of studying she booked for the whole class in the morning, prepping them for the exams later in the afternoon. She let out a pitiful sigh, her blatant pining a source of amusement for Nino and Alya whilst simultaneously being a source of nuisance to the chattering Lila (who was babbling about some random lie as usual) and a growling Chloé (who didn't appreciate being ignored for the millionth time). "As a matter of fact," Marinette finally replied after finishing off one of her brilliant sketches, peering into the distance with her chin resting on her spare hand. "I really do like other colours too." She then cheekily grinned at the rich blonde who raised a brow and eyed the jeans that looked like a neon street sign. "After all, they all look so good on me therefore I don't have to keep relying on one colour all the time~" Perhaps it was the lack of sleep and energy within her that caused her to stir a little trouble this time around and take a jab, the sound of the spoilt brat's infuriated squawks like music to her ears. "But that aside, there is one colour that's very close to pushing off pink from my pedestal," "Oooh? Really? Is it black~?" The mischievous and eager smirk on Alya's face and the waggle of her perfect eyebrows had the designer roll her eyes endearingly, using a finger to push away her best friend's face with jest. Alya barely budged, continuing to wear the Cheshire grin without an ounce of shame. "Just because Chat Noir is my favourite hero and that I love making merchandise of him and drawing designs inspired by him doesn't mean black is one of my favourite colours," The raised brow that Alya gave Marinette after hearing her answer had the shorter of the duo take a little step back. "...Bu-uuuut, it is in my top five and it always makes me feel warm and cosy...probably my third favourite colour..." "Is it blue? Because you rock that colour," Nino queried, receiving a 'Nope~!' from Marinette. "What about red? I honestly feel like it suits you way more than pink," His opinion almost had her heart stop to a halt, reaching too close to her alter ego which has to remain a secret at all costs. Shaking her head again, Marinette took a huge gulp of her coffee. "Well~" The sickly sweet and well-exaggerated saccharine voice from the back suddenly quipped, equivalent to nails tearing through a chalkboard to Marinette's ears. "What about tangerine? Or rusty peach? Or even apricot?" The taunting smile that rested on Lila's perfectly painted lips made the devil on Marinette's left shoulder scream with murder in her mind. "Any shade of orange is an absolute favourite of mine and it's just so in today. And since we're both experienced in the design industry, it wouldn't be a surprise if you're just as fond of the colour as I am, no~?" Hah. As if Marinette was going to take the bait. After all, everyone knew she often avoids orange like the plague when it comes to her creations, usually. And if she were to express her distaste for the colour right here right now, the lying wannabe fox would turn it around and somehow villainise the caffeinated girl against the class. Again. "Certainly, orange is very in these days," Marinette began, slowly turning around so that she could face the smirking brunette at the back of her seat. "Especially since Rena Rouge's debut!" An impish smile rested on her rosy lips when Lila's calm demeanour faltered for a split second. "Rena made the colour look so good~! Her beautiful skin contrasts the sharp shade of orange- and the way her movements in battle make her look like fire??? Ugh, I am obsessed!" It took Marinette everything not to look at Alya, knowing fully well that her best friend now wore sparkling hazels and that her butt was wiggling with anticipation to grab her in a huge hug (which she hoped she wouldn't act upon because a) secret identities and b) as far as Alya is concerned, only Ladybug and Chat Noir knew she's Rena Rouge). "I guess I like orange more than I thought...but it isn't in my top five, let alone the colour that's ready to take pink's place. Plus, I rarely wear it because it's so hard finding a shade that actually goes well with both my complexion and hair without it standing out too much." Marinette then tugged on the pretty, handcrafted blouse she wore today, a smile still playing on her lips as the olive-eyed girl silently seethed with fury and sheer hate. "The colour closest to orange that goes really nicely with me is peach pink~! Maybe you should try out this colour one day, Lila. After all, orange is your favourite colour regardless of the shade, right?" Lila didn't get a chance to open her mouth again as Kim suddenly slid towards Marinette's desk with a silly monkey-like expression plastered on his face, the athletic boy leaning into the tiny girl's space and snickering. For some reason, it also caused a little bloom of dread to grow within her tiny frame... . "I know what colour it is~" If he had a tail, it would have been wagging in excitement and glee, especially with the way his grey eyes glittered with amusement. He was met with a challenging look from Marinette, beckoning him to proceed. Taking an extremely dramatic step back and clearing his throat into one fist obnoxiously, standing behind Madame. Bustier's desk with the rest of the class now curiously attentive, he proceeded with his answer. . "It's GREEN!!!" . Everyone whipped their heads towards Marinette, their inquisitive faces wondering if the class himbo was actually right for once. And with the way she wordlessly gaped and sputtered over her coffee...it looked like Kim hit the jackpot. "That's strange. Of all colours, green?" "Well, green IS a mix of blue and YELLOW so that option isn't TOO bad-" "But that colour is SO last season! This highly established artist once told me that-" "It is an interesting colour but I hardly see you wear it so why-" "Mec~! Don't tell me that it's actually Carapace who's your favourite hero, hmmm~????" Just as their classmates were about to launch their next barrel of questions, they were interrupted by Kim slamming the desk repeatedly with his hand, wanting their attention back on him and giving the flustered Marinette a single moment to breathe. The devilish, almost evil look he suddenly wore practically had Marinette's adrenaline jump-start instantaneously as she realised what he was going to say next. "Kim! No!" She jumped over her desk (in a manner that had many of her friends flabbergasted with awe), her stance threatening to come over to him and teach him a lesson if he were to open his big, stupid mouth. Sadly for her, monkeys like to play with bugs. "Kim, yes!" Before he was grabbed by the tiny yet seriously strong girl, he quickly yelled out the rest of his sentence. "Marinette loves green because of Adrien's eyes!" She was unfortunately way too slow in muffling his mouth with her hand, her entire face reddening as the majority of the class watched her with smug, smug, cat-like smiles. "It's! It's! It's not JUST because of THAT!" Marinette tried to babble her way out but her brain cells were completely scattered and her hands clenched themselves against her chest. "I mean yes! Sure, Adrien has the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen! But that's not just why I love green! Even Chat Noir has gorgeous green eyes too! They both have such pretty green eyes!" She was met with endeared giggles and awes and coos from her friends, the designer becoming even more overwhelmed and embarrassed on the spot. "Gu-uuuuuuuys!?" "Hehehehe~" Kim's cheeky cackles earned him a hard smack on his shoulder from Dupain-Cheng, making him squeal like a five-year-old and rub the offended bicep with a pitiful pout. "You! This is all your fault!" "Pfft, me!? I didn't tell you to like green because of Adrien's eyes. That's all on you!" "But!" Marinette began to pout this time around, Rose's high-pitched coos in the background becoming louder as she relished the free entertainment. "It's not my fault either! He has the most gorgeous eyes I've ever seen! The way they go bright and sparkly like glitter when the sun shines on his face! The different shades of green and gold within that make them look like emeralds! The way they make you go all fuzzy and happy when he looks at you! The way they capture you under a spell when he's talking to you!" She then jabbed a finger at Kim's chest, face beyond red and baby blues slightly watery with discomposure. "It's! Not! My! Fault!" . . . "...You...you like my eyes that much?" The sudden yet familiar and sweetly soft voice from the classroom door had Marinette freeze on the spot, as if she was just struck by lightning (and she totally wished she was so that she could turn into a pile of ashes and be blown away by the wind). Turning around, all the colour drained from her complexion as she immediately faced one, rosy-cheeked and very bashful-looking Adrien Agreste. Marinette instinctively jumped back a few steps, even shielding herself behind Kim's larger body as the blond teen ventured closer. "H-H-How much of that did you near- I mean! Hear!?" She was like a tiny kitten hiding behind its big brother and all it did was melt Adrien's pounding heart anew. Warmth and adoration flooded his features as he padded even closer, hoping that she would come out of her temporary hiding space. "All of it~" The little 'Eeep!' he received as a response only made his urges to hold her close expand by a million times, the feline within quite displeased that she was clinging onto Kim rather than him. Perhaps a little bit more than displeased because it took Adrien everything to fight off the growl that wanted to leap out of his throat. "Duuuuuude. He's not gonna bite. Stop being a wuss and go to him." Kim teased, receiving a punch this time around on the shoulder from the feisty heroine in disguise, the athlete mustering everything to keep the pained wails escaping his mouth as his arm throbbed with intensity. 'At this rate, she's gonna break my arm. My job here is done~' Skipping away from the protesting Marinette, Kim pulled a childishly immature face at her. Thankfully, before she could annihilate him for it, Adrien caught her attention once more with a gentle caress on her cheek with the tips of his fingers. . "Marinette, you have no idea how happy you made me," He beamed with joy, big, beautiful green eyes peering down on her slender frame as Adrien gave in to one of his many desires. One hand lovingly cupped her nervous face whilst the other brought one of her petite hands to his chest. "I never gave much thought about my own eyes before...even getting sick of seeing them with those silly pictures of me everywhere..." He averted those treasured eyes away from her for a split second, the redness within his own cheeks becoming more and more prominent. "But hearing you talk about them like that? And even becoming one of your most favourite colours? Someone amazing and talented and wonderful as you? I'm so happy, I can't stop smiling!" The pure elation and unadulterated delight that radiated from his blissful frame melted away every single one of Marinette's anxieties and worries, alleviating her heart to the point where she felt like she was floating on cloud nine. "I-I-I hope you continue to smile like that...I'm glad you're happy," Marinette wasn't able to face him any longer, peering down and fiddling with the hem of her blouse with her free hand as her cheeks ached with how widely she was smiling. However, Adrien had other ideas, his fingers tenderly trailing from her face to her chin, lifting it so that their gazes could meet. The intimacy made her lightheaded beyond words. "It's funny...because my favourite colour is blue," He leaned in, a subtle yet wild (and strangely familiar) smirk now playing on his mouth and those beloved emerald greens now glimmering with a mischief that would rival all the cats in the world. "The exact same shade as your beautiful eyes~" . "NOW KISS!" The bleat of Kim's request (desperate suggestion) had the duo snap out of their rose-tinted bubble, both Adrien's and Marinette's cheeks now bright pink with the realisation that they had an audience all along! (And barely noting a very demonic looking Chloé being restrained by Alix, Sabrina and Max from going berserk whilst a furious Lila Rossi angrily razed through her own notes like a paper shredder). "Kim! Why you little-" Marinette's threat was swiftly cut off by the press of soft, soft, illegally softness, her bottom lip captured by satin and silk and the heat of Adrien's burning hands clasped behind her neck. He pulled away quickly before she could act (and kiss him back like no tomorrow), the soft sound of their lips parting like an echo to her extremely flushed ears. Adrien had his eyes adorably averted to the side, a fist pressed against his mouth, hiding his lower face as he too bloomed with more colour. "Maybe...just maybe, he had the right idea after all, hmm?" He murmured into his heated skin and then faced the wonderful girl that he's been smitten with from day one- "You owe me a thousand chocolate croissants for hooking you up with the boy you've been in love with since forever~!" "KIIIIIIIIIIM!!?!?!?" . . . ~(x)~

[yeahcurrahhe-e]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐗𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐘

〚 𝐒. 𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 〛

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➛ language, injury

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 ➛ @softguarnere : I was wondering if I could put in a request, in the meantime? Maybe 11 from the prompt list for Sid from The Pacific? — prompts used (I did both 11’s): “you’re annoying, you know that?”, “this sounds like you’re flirting with me”

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 task to attempt to determine which was more tormented at patrol assignment.

Leckie gambled that it was the young Philips boy, hubris as he jabbed his smoldering cigarette towards him, the blonde in question pinched in a sulk besides their CO a few feet away. Hoosier, with a rivaling cocksure flair, scoffed and pointedly gestured at the female soldier on the CO’s opposite side, namely how her face was teetered with the heavy pull of a grimace.

Nevertheless, they could both agree that either would prefer an unforgiving Jap bullet to the head, rather than be within the same plane of existence as the other.

“Don’t be too excited there, Private,” their CO nodded at the Philips boy, who lacked any acclaim for his ability to mask his balloon of disappointment, as it swell up his sun-beaten face.

There was a divine moment — for Y/N and probably her only — where the Private’s face cramped into an unblinking expression of perplex, as if his brain couldn't comprehend the humiliation from the remark. A meager smile played on her lips, spared from any callout from their officer by the shadow cast over it by her helmet.

Yet, Sidney saw it, poking out like a thorn in his periphery, his thoughts exacting in on how she adorned the smile like a blazing sheen on her skin.

And, by the absolute cruelty of God himself, now he had to trek off into a landscape of enemy territory with her pride — as it existed as an entirely distinct entity — and she herself.

“Don’t let Private Philips and his adolescent attitude deter you out there, Sergeant,” the officer asserted towards Y/N, a dry chuckle ricocheting around the lame cigarette crooked in his lips.

“Might just have to charge you for babysitting, Lieutenant,” she effortlessly quipped back, though there was the fleeting sidelong glimpse to the joke’s patsy, as if to provoke.

Sidney’s eyes narrowed, lips curled and pursed as if mentally preparing himself to sputter out some half-thought defense; a flimsy bandage for his raw and swollen ego.

Beyond thoughts absorbed with gripes of the heat, the sunburn that bruised his fine skin, and a passing acknowledgment of Leckie and Hoosier’s obnoxious eavesdropping, he could spare a moment for the wherewithal that she was baiting him. To see if he would make a further fool of himself.

There’s a twitch of a frustrated clench in his jaw and fists, and then a tightly drawn smile towards her; not this time.

“Marines ain’t paying any of us for that,” the officer goodheartedly patted her shoulder with his departure, voice then carrying in a beckoning towards a throng of lanky replacements by the CP tent.

“Marines ain’t paying you either to just stand there and stare at me like some pretty boy,” she chided, evident of exasperation for him and the growing stickiness painting her skin.

“Aw, that sounds like you’re flirting with me,” he called shrewdly towards her, buckling the remainder of his gear against his back.

She subtly bowed her head towards the remnants of the rainforest’s tree line, a shadow gracing the vague pink on her cheeks as her temper writhed to get in a wily remark itself, “Let’s go, Philips.”

And, as the pair trudged in path to the canopy of green and earthy browns, shoulders drawn in a brood as if they were marching towards their deaths, Leckie turned to the boy from Indiana,

“Bet your ass a carton of Lucky Strikes that they either kill each other or realize their dumbass likes the other.”

His hand accordingly is propositioned towards Hoosier, the sandy-haired soldier promptly clasping it to secure their deal.

“Bet.”

—

JAPANESE AND AMERICAN ARTILLERY and shell-casings had been scattered in a cemetery for weapons within the rainforest that is nature’s cathedral.

Her seedy, military-issued boots are useless against the uneven and unpredictable terrain, the soles of her feet strident with more aches and blisters as they slip on discarded mortar shells and spent bullets.

The compact windows of the canopy yielded the graceful ease of the moon’s beams, the radiated hues scattering across their path, shadows seeming to deliberately touch all the obstacles that threatened her balance. It was all just salt in an already festering wound. It couldn’t get worse.

“No offense taken, Sergeant,” he blurted, eyes flashing to her moon-kissed silhouette alongside him, Southern drawl poignant on the acknowledgement of her rank.

Their contrast in ranks yet similarity in age, had been something of a smoldering cinder in whatever inferno churned between them from the days of basic training. It was searing brightly as he spoke.

“Yet, you always manage,” she rolled her eyes, begrudgingly investing in this conversation rather than rooting in the irritation with the war-polluted terrain.

“I am going to allow that,” he briefly pursed his lips, mended his temper with a concise nod to himself, and continued, “Thought I’d just say how I’m surprised you were so dandy with being my personal babysitter on this patrol. I figured you would have done a lil’ more kicking and screaming.”

Her eyes fashioned with the churns of ire towards the leering blonde next to her, “I decided to do some charity work, I guess.”

Sidney subtly clicked his tongue, curt taps of his fingers against his rifle’s barrel as he peered out at the silent foliage, “Always like you to go above and beyond. You’re just like every pretty girl back home in Mobile — tripping over themselves to get attention. ‘Ya know that?”

Y/N tilted her head towards him with a gleam of a sharp smirk as she mused, “Oh, does Sidney Philips think I’m pretty?”

“Pfft…you need somethin’ to make up for that ugly personality of yours,” he shrugged, lithe fingers bounding into a rhythm against the rifle, the hazy reverberations swirling around their tension. Respect for rank was as discarded as the patchwork of ammunition beneath their boots.

His mama would just about throttle him with bare hands now; she had raised her boys to be walking, animate books of discipline and manner (she would often chide over supper about how she wouldn’t have her boys running about town like a flock of heathens, pulling girls’ pigtails like the Holland brothers).

She inhaled subtly, but evident enough for an awareness to be made for her exasperation; if they weren’t in the very nucleus of a Japanese soldier nest presently, she would have readily throttled him herself.

“You’re annoying, you know that?” she whispered firmly, her own pique challenging his, not deliberately, but it was a fair competition as it sought to bleed from him through murmured curses and a firm clasp on her rifle.

When a hasty and curt rebuttal wasn’t cast back at her, she poised a brow and turned towards him.

His stare is sternly planted on the tree line to her right, baby blue eyes nearly fire in water as the hues churn with panic and thought.

A tide of anxiety swarmed into Y/N’s agitation, a fleeting glance spared to the tree line — to the silhouettes that poked ever so subtly out from the weathered boughs of the trees, to where murmurs of Japanese were swapped in haste as they planned. She’s certain they hadn’t spotted them by miracle of a dense weeds and orchids obscuring their position.

The irked stare that she had held with Sidney, glitched with currents of anticipation — as if she expected at any moment for him to run off, forsaken her to the enemy.

Yet, he didn’t.

He now studied her in return just as keenly and subtly shook his head. An implicit denial of her assumption.

“Go,” they simultaneously enticed the other in a hushed demand, only serving to be the waters for an ill-timed dispute.

Y/N peered at him through narrowed eyes as if he had three-heads, “I’m the ranking NCO here. This isn’t a time for half-thought heroics, Captain America.”

Sidney rolled his eyes, nearly too belligerently, and sobered the absolute temptation to just kill her himself with a drawn inhale, “I will cause a distraction while you book it back to camp to inform the others.”

Their toss of banter is disrupted by footfalls against the anchored roots of close trees. The steps have the sound of someone who is actively failing to remain sly as they wrongfully presumed the roots would muffle their approach — someone untrained. Someone they could overpower, if necessary, she deduced, easing away the lax strands of her hair that dangled from her ponytail and into her vision, preparing to have to do the worst with her rifle.

Abruptly, there was a pressure encompassing her forearm, and a hand plucked her beneath the atypically serious gaze of Sidney Philips, chests essentially against the flush of the others.

She twisted around furiously so she could push him away, the essence of a scowl on her face that was glorified by the moonlight.

Yet, he swiftly thwarted her mid-shove, muttering hastily, “Don’t think. Run.”

Now, she peered up at him incredulously, a flit of refusal collecting simultaneously upon her expression and tongue.

“I’m the NCO here, not you, Philips.”

“You’re gonna argue right now?”

“Yes, when you’re disobeying a superior and about to sacrifice yourself to a bunch of fucking Japs.”

“You need to be able to go back and get more help.”

In a moment, he was more or less yanking her towards the vacant path back to camp, her boots fleetingly scuffling before she amended her pace to his curt strides.

“Sidney-” Y/N blurted in a coarse whisper as he jostled her towards safety.

“Don’t think for once,” he mumbled hotly, hands trembling ever slightly as he assured that his weapon was prepared for firing, the dull sound of the safety clicking off accompanying it, “I got this. Go get backup.”

Do you? she nearly beckoned, but he’s already got one boot sloshed down in a divet of mud, furtively moving against the green sea of foliage that conceals him from the Japanese soldier lurking beyond it.

She begrudgingly hastened the remainder of the path towards the assembly of tents, nearly halting when a raucous bang! of a bullet reverberates against the velvet dark of the night.

“Fuck.”

And she’s turning around before a second thought — self-preservation — persuades her otherwise.

—

TRULY, THE LAST TEN MINUTES HAD ALL BEEN A BLUR.

In her half-concussed mind — a departing gift from the butt of a Japanese rifle — she could recall through the radiating ache that Sidney and her had managed to scramble into a sprint away from a remarkably pissed off and bloodied Japanese soldier, the sole survivor in a patrol of four. The two of them had more or less tumbled into the recess of a weedy valley mere inches outside of their camp.

Somehow, in the inundation of chaos, the pursuing enemy, in a brain fog spun by blood loss, had lost them in their frenzied trajectory of escape. Most likely would die before finding them again.

Not a moment was forgiven to silence for the sake of her pulsating head, as Sidney stood over her as she lay in the cavity of the Earth, arms entangled over her eyes as if to mitigate the discomfort.

“What were you thinking?” he commenced lowly through gritted teeth, tone vigilant of the reality that more patrols could be lurking in the twilighted rainforest.

“You told me not to think — just run!” she countered fiercely yet quietly, leaning her arms away from her face.

“Yeah, run away, not run into the middle of the shitshow!” he snapped through the soupy mugginess of Peleliu, easing himself onto the arid soil. He gestured irately towards his crimson and bruised face, “Especially since it didn’t do anything but piss them off more.”

Y/N fluidly propped herself up from her flailed recline on the ground, challenging his own stature where he sat, the graceful ease of moonlight through the canopy, grazing over the dirt and slight laceration on the bow of her hairline.

With a strangled whine in her throat from the anguished blasts of soreness in her head, she hauled herself closer to him, “Oh, I’m sorry that my life saving skills aren’t good enough for you. You can just go ahead and file your complaint right up my fucking ass, Philips.”

The one small comment had stirred the hurricane in the both of them and their blazing eyes strung in a tightrope in the biting air. Their steady breaths canopied in front of their faces as they glowered at each other, a verbal silence prevailing beneath the din of insects and the droning discord of his fingers thrumming against his weapon’s wooden exterior.

“I am so fed up with you, you know that?” she muttered, her hushed tone more of a menace that it should be as it crippled their long silence, and words nearly a copy of her earlier ones. He would hear them this time.

His aimless fingers halted in a hasty reaction, almost cramping at the abrupt cease of movement in their achy tendons as he stopped. And he laughed,

“Why? Because I don’t fall on my knees in your presence, declare that I would do absolutely anythin’ for you?”

He then leaned forward with his elbows braced on his knees, pursing his lips fleetingly and in spite of the gash — one she now takes regard of in their proximity — at the corner of his bottom lip, “Believe it or not, but the world doesn’t revolve ‘round you.”

The fury that then irked amidst the injury on her face made him aware that his cruel attempt to inflict a cut into her ego had opened a Pandora’s Box.

Therefore Sidney Philips mentally prepared himself for a reprimanding of his life.

“For fuck’s sakes,” Y/N mused, teetering on a bout of rueful laughter, “I don’t know what redeemable quality the lieutenant wanted me to see by assigning my ass on patrol with you, or what makes you think you’re hot shit. If the Japs don’t kill you first, I just might do it myself out of pure annoyance and frustration.”

Sidney simpered slyly, as if she hadn’t just shamed and threatened him within a duration of seconds. A finger came to be poised towards her, “What kind of frustration we talkin’ about?”

She stilted an eye roll through the veil of the inflaming crimson on the apple of her cheeks, “The kind that will make me snap your neck.”

He scooted a daring few inches towards her, hearing how she huffed as if to humble the fluster that cascaded over her by their closer proximity.

A smell of cigarettes and gunpowder swirled around her wits as he shifted to crouch in front of her, only enabling the champagne pink on her complexion that betrayed unspoken emotions to the surface. A shit-eating grin appeared against his supple bone structure, the simper only true to the mischief that was now integral to his heart’s song. He knew exactly what he fucking was doing.

Something akin to a grunt rumbled at the back of her throat, an effort to chase away the nervous blisters in her throat, as she remained propped with her elbows on the mantle of the dirt. A slight gesture was supplied towards his battered uniform and bloodied lacerations where bubbles of crimson still crested, as if to distance the conversation, “You’re making a mess.”

“Got anywhere else I can bleed?” he deadpanned, beholding her gaze that expressed a continuing conversation of contempt, ire, and something else. Rather than have his mind amble into the bait of what if, a half-assed wave was mustered over her own tousled appearance and the injuries incurred over her exposed skin, “You look like Hell, too.”

Glancing towards her once more, he could see the bewilderment and exasperation still amidst the muck on her face from their ordeal; there was so much blood and dirt on her own olive uniform, and what skin was haloed by the moonlight. Her face was blemished with a mix of the dirt that had been flung up by their frantic, muddied dash to the outskirts of camp, and blood that may not be entirely her own. A far cry from the manicured, strait-laced girl that he met at Basic.

Then, some remissed corner of his mind took note then of how the moon’s expanding rays entangled with perfect molds in the curves of her hair, the kink of hair that brushed her forehead teasingly. His jaw lifted with a pleasant twinge at his lips after a few moments of wading in those foreign tides. Maybe that girl wasn’t too far.

“War is Hell,” she halfheartedly smiled herself, the fire and gold of frustration in her eyes dripping away as her mind relented to the exhaustion she physically felt.

“Sure is,” he exhaled with alike exhaustion, thigh incidentally nudging against own, kindling a small wildfire on her skin. The crimson that burgeoned within her cheeks, dwelled too near for the comfort of a resolve to utterly despise him — she had to, she always had — along with the smoldering cinder of something else that bided between them now.

Before any action of separation could register in her rigid muscles, he was already tilting her chin up with his finger. Her face flushed remarkably in the brilliant moonlight. Slap him, punch him, do fucking anything! an overwrought line of thoughts brimmed against her mind as the only notion of intelligent life that emitted from her was a hitched breath.

For a few obsessive seconds too long did their eyes then trail the other’s. Don’t think about how his blue eyes were fashioned from electric heavens, don’t think about his wind-tousled, blonde curls, don’t think about his how apparent his Southern roots were in his voice when he got excited, don’t think about how when he’d smile, vague dimples would crease at its edges, don’t think about how when he grazed her thigh, it felt as if stars frisked around her skin, don’t think about how he fidgets with his hands…and don’t think about how he was looking at you now — as if the entire world could crumble around them, and he wouldn’t blink.

Fuck.

“What are you doing?” an unnatural lapse of confidence rushed into her voice, a tirade of continued opposition fervent at the corners of her mind not dulled by the movement of his hand beneath her chin.

“Testing a theory,” he mused, clicking his tongue behind his teeth - a rather smug sound when paired with the subtle smirk playing on his lips.

“Care to elaborate?” there was a shard of her trademark attitude as the tinge of a wry smile cast across her expression.

“That you don’t truly hate me,” his hand loitered towards her cheek, his thumb discreetly skimming the faint line of exhaustion beneath her eye, the warmth of his finger rearing goosebumps in its dragging wake.

Y/N’s steadfast ego couldn’t acknowledge how much of a fucking hot disaster Sidney Philips was making her as she sat there, clothes fresh from a dance with the Devil, half-concussed and bloodied, with her mind frayed by her injury and by the boy in front of her. I am supposed to hate you! her gumption was stalling beneath the frazzle that anchored in her head.

“Prove it then. I don’t believe you,” the words just fell out of her mouth before she could even stop to reflect before blurting it.

Sidney drew her face completely to his own, pressing his lips fervidly against hers. Her subconscious yearned to memorize every inch of his warm lips and how his hands were situated on her. She then tread a few fingers through his disheveled hair, his breathing almost instantaneously steadying with the slight yanks at the tufts of his hair brushing his neck.

“What about now, Sergeant?” he more or less panted after a few moments, both of their lips fairly swollen pink. His broad eyes sought around hers so acutely, as if anticipating rejection.

“More than I’d like to admit,” Y/N murmured, a tentative shiver poured over her spine at the warm breath that flittered against her skin as he laughed.

And, somewhere over the ramshackle barbed fence of the camp, watching after being jolted awake by the pair’s ruckus, Hoosier bitterly flung a fresh carton of Lucky Strikes at Leckie’s head.

[tarnishedinquirer]

Case: Morne Massacre pt 2 (Castle Approach)

Heading south along the road, I encountered a ruined wall. If there was ever a gate here, it was long gone. A scar of some past battle, perhaps? The entire land has been scarred by battle, so it's a safe bet.

Just past the wall was the map stele, but as I approached, the ground ahead exploded. I was so startled, it took me a moment to realize that it wasn't some spontaneous detonation, but the impact of a colossal ballista bolt. I fought back the instinctual panic. Was it a warning shot, or was I out of range?

A second impact confirmed the latter, so I was safe. For now, at least. The rain and fog obscured the source, rain which the voice helpfully informed me was "redolent of lament."

Now, just as an aside, I know I talk about the voice a lot and treat it as a simple fact of my current existence, but I want you to understand just how distracting it can be sometimes. All I have to do is glance at a new item I picked up and some old man starts shouting in my mind's ear. Leads me to ignoring things I shouldn't, just so I don't lose my train of thought. I especially have a tendency to ignore Ashes of War because the voice rarely has anything interesting to say about them, but I'm starting to learn they can say something about the area. For instance, about a half malm back, I picked up an ash for an arrow skill called "Mighty Shot." All the voice had to say was that it's a powerful bow shot. I ignored it at the time, but now, it seemed to foreshadow my current predicament.

Which is to say, it wasn't a ballista firing bolts at me. It was a giant firing arrows. And as I drew closer, it became apparent that it wasn't just any giant. It was a clay giant—a golem. I'd heard tale of such things before, but never seen one myself. I didn't allow myself even a moment of awe at seeing this mythical automaton, this pinnacle of magical engineering, as even a moment's hesitation would invite destruction. Instead, I spurred Torrent forward, faster than it could draw and aim, and turned my critical eye on the creature.

It was mighty, yes, but it was also weak. A creature built by mortal hands must ultimately follow mortal laws. It could not move and fight without putting significant strain on the materials that made it. It would need constant repairs, and from the glow of molten ichor oozing through the cracks in its frame, this one had not received necessary maintenance in a while. The worst cracks were in its ankles. So much weight on such spindly joints.

Perhaps in mythic times it would've had backup. Soldiers to protect its weakness, or maybe even other golems with melee weapons. But it didn't have any recourse once I was beneath it. I jabbed at its weak points with sword and spell until it shattered. All support lost, ichor spilling out in a torrent. The clay crumbled until it was nothing but shards of broken pottery.

Before going into the castle, I noticed a sword monument overlooking the sea. This one had the inscription:

The siege of Castle Morne A lone hero fights for his vengeance Only to fall at the hand of Lord Godfrey

Hm. This hero must be the one who destroyed the gate in the perimeter wall. If he fought alone, he would have to be someone of godlike strength, but for some reason, he goes unnamed. Monuments exist as propaganda, and the point of this one is to glorify this Lord Godfrey by also glorifying his enemy. I'll make a profile for Godfrey now, and maybe the nameless revenger, if I find more info on him.

Questions:

Who was the Nameless Revenger?

Who was Lord Godfrey?

Where did the golem come from, and why was it guarding this castle?

[luimagines]

Remember that story I mentioned like a month ago? Yeah... ummm.. It's done now! May or may not have used it as motivation for an annoying English essay

Anyways!

No Fis, Twis, or Skys were harmed in the making of this fic. Pure crack, no angst. Promise!

Also not entirely sure why this is Legend’s POV, it just is. 

The group had been walking around in Hyrule’s hyrule for a few days. It had been oddly peaceful. So much so that Legend was beginning to feel on edge. It seemed like they were far overdue for something to go wrong. Unfortunately, in this case, the vet’s instincts are rarely wrong. 

Not ten seconds after Legend had had that thought, Sky tripped and fell into a plant. A strange smoke engulfed him. Legend could feel the power emanating from it. 

“Everyone get back!” Hyrule shouted. The others complied immediately, confused as they were. It was the Traveler’s hyrule after all. 

“What the hell was that?” Legend and Four asked at the same time, the Smithy’s eyes flashing from green to blue and settling on purple. Sky was sitting in the bush, eyes closed, swaying side to side. 

“The pollen from those flowers makes people… a little loopy. It’s not uncommon for them to try to fight everyone and everything in sight.” Hyrule answered, “I think it’ll only last for fifteen minutes or so?”

“Love the certainty,” Warriors replied as Sky stood up and drew the Master Sword. 

Sky let out a primal war cry and charged at the nearest rock. It was a massive thing and completely dwarfed the enraged hero. He started hacking away at the thing. Legend would have laughed, he was going at it like it was his worst enemy after all, if Sky hadn’t obliterated the thing in four swipes. With the rock destroyed, Sky looked quite pleased with himself and turned to face the group fully. The look in his eyes was completely insane. 

For an instant, Legend was reminded of Wild with a fire rod. 

Then Sky was charging again. At Twilight this time. He jumped up, raising his blade high. It looked as though he were thoroughly prepared to slice Twilight’s skull in half. “THIEF!” Sky growled as he swung down. Nobody bothered to move though. Fi would never actually hurt one of her masters. Normally the magic that keeps her from harming one of her master’s would also burn her current master’s hand, although one should not underestimate Fi’s dedication to the chosen hero. 

The master sword was enshrouded in light. The blade connected with Twi’s head. There was no blood or burnt hands. Only confusion. The master sword was… bent? More accurately, it appeared to be made out of foam. 

The holy blade of the chosen hero. The master sword. The weapon passed down from hero to hero throughout Hyrule's history. Had been reduced to foam. A mere child’s toy. 

Sky proceeded to continue jabbing, slashing, hitting, and whatever else he could think of. Shouting all the while.

“HOW DARE YOU??”

“IT WASN’T YOURS TO TAKE!!!”

“GIVE IT BACK!!!!”

“I'LL FIGHT YOU!!!!!”

etc. 

Legend would have facepalmed, but in truth the sight was so comical that he couldn’t look away. Though he would have to find out what on earth it was that the Rancher had apparently stolen later. Especially because Sky and Twilight had just been chatting and laughing amiably not five minutes earlier. 

As much as Legend and the others were struggling to comprehend what was happening as it was, apparently Sky had decided to take a page out of Wild’s book. The Skyloftian hero turned tail and bolted up a tree. He proceeded to literally hiss at the poor Rancher and drew his slingshot. He then proceeded to pelt Twilight with little foam balls, Fi having managed to pacify all of his weapons with her magic. The attacks bounced uselessly. Legend locked eyes with Four, who’s eyes were red now? No matter. The two came to a silent agreement to convince Wind that he should use those foam balls to play fetch with Wolfie later.  

Legend was ripped from his schemes as his normally gentle friend let out a screech that honestly sounded like some kind of demented imitation of a bird. The next second, Sky was in the air. Apparently having decided that his various projectiles were no good, he opted to yeet himself at his “opponent.” Seven heroes all geared up to try and break his fall, but Twilight just sighed exasperatedly. A defeated, I-guess-this-is-my-life kind of sigh. 

“I got ‘im” the Rancher drawled as he reached up and caught Hylia’s Chosen easily. Sky must’ve drawn his sword at some point while he was in the air because he promptly brought the useless foam instrument down onto Twilight’s head. The larger man didn’t even flinch. He just kept holding Sky, by the armpits, off the ground and at arm's length. 

Sky continued to pummel him with the toy sword as the rest of the group stared. Bug-eyed and jaws on the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, Legend saw Wild and Wind -- almost robotically -- lift up their cameras and take blackmail pictures.

Legend was too flabbergasted to notice the shift in the Skyloftian’s demeanor until Sky was laughing his head off as he continued to bonk Twi with the sword -- albeit much more gently than before. Looking more carefully now, the look in his eye was no longer deranged, just mischievous as he continued to writhe and squirm and hack at his companion. 

“Ya back to yerself yet?” Twilight asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, I’m having a great time over here,” Sky spoke between giggles. 

“Glad ta hear it,” the Rancher spoke as he dropped Sky, a mischievous glint in his own eye.

There was a confused squawk (and the distinctive click of Wild’s camera) as Sky hit the ground. Not seconds after that, Sky’s weapons returned to their rightful, deadly state. 

“Okay, boys. That’s enough of that. Fun’s over, let’s get a move on.” Time spoke and began walking. 

“Buzzkill,” Sky muttered as they all began walking. 

- Glitter ✨

first of all!!!!!

omg, Glitter, I forgot you mentioned this. But you did not disappoint! XD

Love the idea that Legend and Wind are going to try and get Wolfie to play fetch. Is this before or after Wind learns of Twilight's little secret?

Also, what did Twi even do to make feral Sky so angry at him? XD

He completely singled him out for no good reason. Unless he ate the last slice of cake. then that anger is completely justified.

Scheming Legend- his ultimate form!!!

I loved this! Thank you for sharing. <3

[tiredassmage]

imbalance

‘Tyr can have a Moment. As a treat.’ Aka, I wrote an entirely different fic because I had a revelation about what would have been a banger line to include in something already written and now I need to fit it in somewhere sknsklfnsdf.

(One day this man might snap like a glowstick entirely, but until then, the very, very, very close call on Quesh. So close you could almost say I robbed him.)

Cipher Nine makes an unscheduled stop on Quesh searching for answers. He’s told more graceful lies, but when friends look like foes and foes may be friends, you take what you can get. Cautiously.

Rating: T // Canon-typical violence.

“Do not follow me.” Cipher Nine nearly growled the words without so much as a glance over his shoulder. “Stay with the ship. Kaliyo’s handling security. And keep an eye on Doctor Lokin. I still don’t trust him.”

“Agent-” Vector tried again with a frown. They’d been circling around this since Nine had initiated their docking run with Quesh’s orbital station.

“What part of my instructions were unclear?” Nine rounded on them with a fire burning in his pale eyes, accentuated by the sharp draw of his brow, parallelled lines of the grim frown set across his lips.

Something twitched down Vector’s spine, but he refrained from flinching. Nine had been irritable since Taris. Maybe Kaliyo didn’t notice, or didn’t care to notice, but he was also restless. The younglings worried.

They reported increased pacing. Trouble focusing. Uncharacteristic.

They doubted Djannis was completely oblivious and, despite her gruff attitude, a part of them still dared to believe she wasn’t completely careless, but Nine had always been efficient in deflecting her barbed jabs.

“We are not looking for trouble, agent,” Vector said carefully. Their eyes narrowed slightly as they watched him. They wondered if he agreed. They did not mistrust his judgement, but Nine played by the rules of engagement just as much as he edged their boundaries. Their presence here on Quesh seemed to be further into the latter than they were accustomed to.

Intelligence had not directly authorized their presence here and Nine had not extensively discussed their reasons before landing. They had simply set course and had been told to stay out of trouble.

Nine held his gaze for a long moment in silence before he sighed. The mask flickered. One hand reached up to his temple. An increasingly common tic as of late. “There’s always trouble, Vector.”

The Joiner’s frown deepened. “Which is why we ask again to accompany you,” he said. “It isn’t safe.”

Nine shook his head. “No, Vector. This is one thing I must do alone.”

Stubborn. Vector inhaled deeply to exhale slowly. “Very well, agent,” they relented. “Just… take care of yourself. We will await your return.”

He could not shake the worry twining through him as he watched Nine disembark. Idly, they entertained a youngling that appeared from beneath his sleeve.

They hoped they were wrong to worry, no matter that he had found he would, regardless of assurances. Even in their relatively shorter time together, they had made more enemies than Vector could count - some far more nebulous and undefined than others.

As of the moment, some of them could have even looked like friends. Human betrayal was such a delicate, devious mess.

x-x-x-x-x-

Quesh wasn’t going to be making any vacationing lists anytime soon and that was well without the spat between the Empire and the Republic over whatever toxic fad currently had the galaxy’s throat.

Routine, surprise inspection. Tyr’s eyes narrowed slightly as his head dropped a hair further, avoiding direct eye contact with any Imperial personnel in the area. Cipher status cleared his landing, but, much like Hutta, he doubted the veil would hold up well under an even half-decent inspection. It’d make the cover up more difficult, at the very least. The less people that knew he was here or “why,” the better.

This was a gamble. It tasted as vile as the stinging air against his eyes. A hand in his pocket held fast to the list of increasingly revolting chemicals. Something itched, tweaked at the back of his mind, or maybe the front, or perhaps it slithered down his spine, twining between the muscle and bone, draining slow like a poison.

Maybe it did all of this.

He struggled to trap the urge to grind his teeth together. If only it was as easy to trap a thought as it was to pin a traitor beneath the heel of his boot.

The cursed blessing of a Cipher had always been the ability to skim through the waters of Imperial life as a ghost - enough authority in squared shoulders and a determined, steady stride to warn anyone within range of the vibroknife doubtlessly concealed somewhere on his person and the silent threat that there wouldn’t be enough people left to ask questions - meaningful ones, at any rate, yet with enough anonymity that most didn’t think to question another face in the crowd.

The facility wasn’t far. The lack of outer security should have been disturbing - or was it lucky, perhaps? Nine’s eyes scanned the stark walls silently as he moved forward. With something this close to the guarded chest of Intelligence, physical guards weren’t his concern.

His eyes closed a moment as he hitched in stride. He could have come up with a better lie about his presence here. Reported inspection might circle back to Intelligence.

Gears grinding, halting, catching, that drain of poison dripping down the back of his neck and lacing his blood again.

Would you tell a soul even if they hadn’t lodged it in your throat? Would you trust them?

He exhaled through his nose. He could lie again. Improvisation. Basic rule of operations.

“Administrator Kroius.” The sharpness carried nicely in this hollowed hell of a place. Nine affixed an almost too-pleasant smile as he settled with a threatening patience into parade rest and pinned the scientist in his sights. “You were told to expect me.”

“Yes, yes, the intelligence operative.” Scan the room. A glitch in the system. Interference on the holo display. Nine’s eyes surveyed quickly as the Anomid gruffly joined him, carelessly sidestepping bodies and leaving a droid behind at the counter. “You’d think for all we’ve done for you people, you could at least afford a courtesy warning.”

Nine’s eyes locked back on target. “Am I inconveniencing you, Administrator?” Fingertips played against his gloved palm.

Eyes widened. Nine’s smile twitched slightly further across his lips. “N-no, no, of course not,” Kroius stammered.

“Then you have the compounds I’ve requested?” Nine produced the list from his pocket - just in case the reminder was necessary.

“Shortly, shortly!” Kroius snapped his fingers at the astromech. “Oh-seven, fetch! Now!” Clawed hands steepled. “I’m sure you’ll find everything satisfactory, agent. We’ve long shared a mutually beneficial relationship with Intelligence.” His eyes were anywhere but the operative.

“You’re holding out on me, Administrator.” Nine’s voice dropped lower with the threatening hiss of a viper. “Spit. It. Out.”

“It’s just… the Dimalium Six,” Kroius said. One clawed hand toyed along the edges of his vocoder. “We’re… out. The Republic confiscated that particular chemical mine some time ago and their security is-”

“Not a problem,” Nine said. “Tell me what you know - everything. Maps of the area, what kind of security?”

The Anomid huffed. “You’ve seen their forces? Snipers? Battle drones?” The agent's gaze didn’t waver, so Kroius huffed again. “Of course, why would it matter to me?” He shook his head. If he’d been capable, Tyr imagined he might be rolling his eyes.

The Administrator prattled for a time - some half-caught comment about appreciation that would have made a Sith eager to crush throats. An itch. An insatiable one. The hum and weight of a vibroblade twirled in his hand, balance shifting over the wrist, or the heated barrel of a blaster, humming from the inescapable march of a plasma bolt.

The chemical supplier. He was involved. He deserves the punishment. A snarl twitched delightedly at the edge of his control.

“Operative?” Kroius cocked his head.

Nine blinked and inhaled, held the breath for a moment. He hadn’t moved and his fingers had stilled their warning song against his palm. A Cipher was never unarmed.

Scan the room again. No surveillance. Just a whisper of his passing. Spilled chemicals and a single blaster shot. No evidence. No loose ends.

The truth of those files in the low light of blacked out Intelligence Headquarters was burned against his eyes. Castellan Restraints. Considered and approved for limited use. Thought irreversible. Thirty days to six months.

Codeword-

It was a simple matter to draw the pistol, in his hand before he’d even blinked, pulled and pressed against the sick bastard’s head squarely between the eyes. The droid beeped and whirred something in alarm, but Tyr’s eyes were glaring down that barrel.

“Agent, I-”

“How many?!” This wasn’t where he was going to get answers. Inopportune location. Inappropriate subject with presumably limited knowledge.

His eyes narrowed and he nearly scoffed. Presumed. As if he’d make that mistake.

He doubled down on the stance, stepping closer as the administrator shrank back from the pressure.

“Answer me, you scum,” he growled. He pressed harder on the blaster. It’d be satisfying if it left an imprint. Evidence that could be burned away in the explosion, if necessary. They’d struggle to find a corpse. “How. Many? How many operatives?!”

“Agent, I don’t understand-”

“Liar!” He hugged the trigger tighter. It’d be so easy. His breath baited in his lungs like a pack of jackals singing to the death throes of fallen prey. “You deal in these chemicals, Administrator, and I’ll be damned if you don’t know a whiff about their uses!”

“Hallucinogenics, loss or alterations of memory, I-” the Administrator stuttered under his blaster. “It’s all well within Intelligence’s demands, I swear!”

Intelligence. All of the air left his lungs in one go. His grip slacked around the blaster and the pressure eased. Tyr looked farther than the end of the barrel and slowly backed off, drawing Nine’s sights off a potential target.

Maybe a justifiable one.

He closed his eyes tightly again and one hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

It was a shot that’d burn fine the whole way down, maybe even ride like a high for a couple hours before inescapable reality wormed its way back in: he was playing with fire with a half-baked plan more akin to a wild acolyte’s prayer to a half-rotted echo of a once powerful Dark Lord than a bloody strategy.

Witnesses or no, there would be questions. What was he doing on Quesh in the first place? What was his involvement? Was there any correlation between the deep cover Cipher operative appearing to a highly secretive Intelligence ally and a massive explosion of unstable chemical compounds?

Fuck. When was the last time he’d slept?

“Who-?!” Administrator Kroius flapped his arms, apparently having relocated his misplaced indignation. “Who do you think you are coming in here like this?! ‘Routine’ inspection? Why, I never-”

“You will not speak a word about this. To anyone.” Nine fixed a withering glare on the scientist. “You wouldn’t want me to make another unscheduled, unannounced visit, would you, Administrator Kroius?”

Kroius took a hesitant step back as the Cipher rounded on him, squared him up in his sights again. 

Nine’s eyes narrowed. “Good man.” And an exhausting act. Nine holstered his blaster. “Now, as for the Dimalium Six.”

“You’re a crazy one,” Kroius muttered. “You’re still going after that?”

“And you won’t lay hands on it again, understood?”

“What?”

“Not another drop - not for Imperial Intelligence, not to anyone, not from you.” Kroius raised one clawed hand, but remained silent in Nine’s penetrating stare. “Don’t worry about them. Remember what I am, Administrator.” He stalked languidly towards his prey, letting a step or two drag for emphasis.

Kroius had the good sense to stay put. A hound was usually given to the thrill of a chase.

“I… didn’t catch your moniker, operative.”

“Cipher.” Nine turned without so much as a dismissive glance to the astromech and collected the rest of what he’d come for. “That’s all you need to know, Administrator. Try not to let it keep you up at night. Bad for health, I understand.”

“O-of course, Cipher. I-”

Nine’s narrowed eyes pierced him over his shoulder as he stuttered.

“It’s not really my decision to make, Cipher, but-!” He raised a clawed hand to stave off the fiery spark ready to ignite in the agent’s eyes again. “I assure you, I will do everything in my power to comply.”

“See that you do.”

Cipher Nine left with his head held high even as it ached sickeningly, twisting a poisoned blade in his heart.

One shot could have ended all of this.

Coward.

How many more agents were going to pay the price because he hadn’t pulled the damn trigger?

You've changed nothing. The cost of maintaining cover, biting back the bile that rose in his throat - a good agent even when no direct command had been inescapably issued to worm its way through him, to hollow out whatever remained that wasn't utterly Cipher Nine. Pride of Imperial Intelligence.

Right. Pride. As if it wasn't the root of this whole damn cancerous mess.

Nine shook his head in a vain and fruitless attempt to clear it. There was still the chemical mines, a job to finish. It may yet be enough - however temporary - to cut the beast at the source.

[phlebaswrites]

Myths and Marriage

Summary:

Izuna knows how this is supposed to go.

But no plan survives the first contact with the enemy.

Rating: Mature Fandom: Naruto Relationship: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara/Uzumaki Mito Word Count: 927 (Complete)

Entry for Naruto Polyamory Appreciation 2022 @polyam-naruto​

Mythology AU / Sharing clothes

Past present, and future lost, we're seeking The rapture, we have been so focused on our cage We're bound in our places, bound in our ways so No one ever told us we could run away — Shireen, Running from Wolves

This story is for @greencuttingmat​ who suggested 'impossible tasks' for the Mythology AU prompt, playing on the many myths of families who set impossible conditions for marriages they don't approve of.

Izuna unrolls his list.

He's been working on it for most of a month now - being stuck in his futon with a broken leg has given him a lot of time to plan, as well as a grudge against the healer who couldn't fix him faster.

"You have been taking advantage of nii-san for long enough," he glares at Hashirama-san. "I accept that you are Mito-hime's husband, just as nii-san is, but the two of you are not married to each other."

"Do we have to be?" Hashirama-san yawns in his face, half dressed in nii-san's haori and clearly having been up all night, doing activities that Izuna has no desire to imagine though the teeth marks on that tanned neck are a prominent clue. "I mean, as you said, we're both married to Mito."

"You may not live together without the blessings of the gods." Izuna jabs his finger into a naked chest, cursing in his head at the way all the Senju seem to be as tall as trees. "Our Clan Head sharing a household with his lover is a bad example for our children."

"Alright then," Hashirama-san picks up the other end of the list and begins reading. His eyebrows go up and only get higher as he works through the items. "New gardens for the entire village, rebuilding the kitchen in your house, I'm to brush Madara's hair every night for a month, ceremonial clothing for the wedding... we're to move into the Uchiha compound...?"

"Yes." Izuna keeps his tone firm, leaving no room for argument. "You have to do all of it."

"Really?" Hashirama-san is grinning at him and Izuna hates it. "Brushing Madara's hair? You know he won't let me."

"Then it will be your job to convince him," Izuna crosses his arms. "That's part of proving yourself worthy."

"Izuna-kun, we don't actually have to do this." Hashirama-san waves the list, covering his smile with his hand. Good. At least the man is smart enough to know when he's being annoying. "We could run away, you know, we don't have to live here."

"You don't have to live here?" Izuna knows that he's screeching and he doesn't care. If nii-san will fuck this man for half the night, he deserves to be woken up with noise. "This is your fucking village!"

Read the rest on AO3.

[taughtdefense]

❝ no, you’re not fine. you can’t even walk properly. ❞

YOU’VE BEEN TRYING YOUR DAMNDEST TO GET USED TO THE BULLY KYLER, THE TRAITOR MITCH, & A HANDFUL OF OTHER EX COBRA KAI MEMBERS AT MIYAGI-DO. they’re fucking invading, is what they’re doing. you’ve vented to your parents about that, certainly. your mom tells you to keep your head up, your dad offers (jokingly) to handle it. you kind of want him to.

it takes one of your friends's hands on your arm to calm you down enough, for you to remember the fact that they’re apparently now on the same side now. we’re all friends now. johnny had said firmly, after he’d stepped in to break up a near-rumble between mitch, edwin, miguel & tory. they’re not the enemy anymore. you had scoffed, but placed a hand on miguel’s shoulder, leading him away from the pair, tory taking a moment to glare at over her shoulder at mitch before storming away.

it’s a little hard to believe that their nightmare is basically over. with kreese dead & rotting, silver also rotting in prison for his crimes ( including assault with a deadly weapon & [technically] murder in the second degree… twice—also a technicality ), & cobra kai essentially defunct from what you’ve seen, it should make you feel better.

you don’t. you just feel… a little bit empty. without your rage burning you up from the inside out after your death experiences, you thought you’d calm down, go back to normal. like everything around you would go back to normal, like it’d be like old times again. where it’s just you, sam, robby & your friends training with miyagi-do, with a handful of new additions.

that was a naïve hope. you realize that now.

unfortunately, kyler remains a persistent thorn in your side. he always finds an opportunity to throw his ego around, loudly bolstering about his status as top dog, the self-satisfied smirk on his face. it frustrates you to no end. you & him had been sparring, even though you helped kick his ass during the dojo fight. unfortunately, you manage to get distracted for a split second by johnny barking out an order to the first set of brown twins ( chase & rosalie ) & that’s all the time kyler needs to deliver a quick jab to your face, which connects with the side of your face, then kicking your leg out from under you before you can even react, his ankle catching your foot. as your entire world tilts abruptly & violently, you instinctually twist your body to get yourself upright with your other leg, heading for the sparring deck, stuck in a fucking rapid twisting motion from the attack, &—

CRACK!

the side of your head collides with the sparring deck, & your ankle—

❝ FUCK! ❞ you howl in pain, laying on the side of the sparring deck, your hand shooting down towards your ankle, balling up the fabric of your sweatpants. your head slamming against the deck accounts for the sudden spell of dizziness. thankfully, your earplugs stay in your fucking ears. your face is contorted in agony, face bloodied, panting in pain. your ankle feels like it's swelling in an alarming way, & you don’t need to be a doctor to realize that kyler made you roll your fucking ankle.

it’s like a bomb goes off in miyagi-do: all nearby trainings come to a screeching halt. multiple heads snap towards your location atop the sparring deck, & wade lets out a litany of colorful, loud curses. your dad drops the kicking paddle like it burned him & rushes towards you in a way that makes you a little dizzy… well, dizzier.

❝ eth! ❞ hawk shouts as he jumps up onto the deck, but only after @stcrgirl gets to your location first, because she’d been closer than he had been over by the koi pond, bending down next to you. you gasp in pain, looking up at her with agonized, dark brown eyes.

robby, sam, miguel & tory are immediately rushing towards you, too, & miguel’s eyes are wide with half-rage over kyler having hurt you, half-concern over your injured state. you groan loudly, opening your eyes to try & fucking breathe—only to see kyler staring down at you, eyes wide like he’s surprised, but you immediately clock that the corners of his lips are pulled up into a fucking smirk. he manages to school his expression, but YOU KNOW.

yeah. that definitely wasn’t an accident.

you swallow another gasp of pain as wade clambers over to your side, concerned. miguel comes up from behind you as the rest of your friends start crowding around you, & miguel places his hands on the side of your face, gingerly placing your head onto his lap to elevate your head. ❝ i-i’m okay, i’m fine, i’m f-fine. ❞ you gasp out to your friends, partners, & dad, voice trembling.

❝ no, you’re not fine. ❞ courtney replies. you wave off her concerns, gritting your teeth, stubborn as always. you don’t want anyone to worry about you. your friends have done enough of that, lately. you shake yourself out of & bat away wade’s hand with a slightly frustrated—more agonized than anything—grunt, attempting to stand up. miguel makes a quiet, worried noise, eyebrows furrowing. you huff in agony, trying to stand upright ( & ignoring hawk’s outstretched hand, too )—only for your leg to give out from under you, your ankle screaming-burning in agony. fuck, fuck, fuck. ❝ you can’t even walk properly. ❞ your friend continues. you suck in a deep breath, tears of agony gathering in the corners of your eyes. you settle back, placing your head back on miguel’s lap, trying to will away the black spots, the dizziness. you’re slightly comforted by the fact that your partners are here, that your dad is here, that your friends are here. if this had happened while you were alone with kyler, or if you somehow got hurt while training alone at the dojo… yikes. that wouldn’t have been good.

to top it all off, you definitely have a concussion, too, because of how hard your head slammed against the sparring deck. you fight down a wave of nausea, breathing heavily, a mixture of anger & agony clear on your face. you grit your teeth, your hand curling up into a fist at your side, knuckles going white. your assailant says nothing, only appearing to look guilty. he does a decent job of it, too. prick.

fucking kyler.