#i love throwing enemies 10 miles so much

[harmoniouseclipse]

Finally got Jean on standard so here are some silly sketches of her <3

[emeraldiis]

Cross Country Love Affair // Montana (10)

A/N: fuck it 2 chapters in 2 days

CCLA Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary:  Bucky makes your blood boil like no other man can. In a twisted turn of events, the two of you are stuck on a road trip from hell. This fic follows Bucky and the reader from Florida all the way to Washington state. Nothing like being trapped in a car for fifty hours to break the ice. Distance makes the heart grow fonder. Or something like that.

Warnings:  canon typical violence, enemies to lovers, eventual smut, recreational drug use

It was nearly midnight when you finally pulled off the road in Montana. Sam’s new rule meant no motels, so you had to settle for some abandoned campsite just a few miles from the highway. It had everything you needed: a bathroom, cover from the road, and…well, that was pretty much it. The rocky ground bounced the van to and fro and you eased it to the back of the clearing, until finally throwing it in park and leaning back in your seat with a sigh.

Bucky was the first one out of the van, stretching his legs and wandering around the site. You waited a moment before following him, making a beeline to the bathroom. You didn’t have to pee that bad, really, but you needed a bit of space from Bucky and his piercing stare. Your mind was still in shambles from what he’d said hours ago, reeling from the unexpected confession. It wasn’t a confession, you reminded yourself again. He wasn’t being serious, it was more an off handed comment if anything. 

The bathroom was little more than a toilet seat over a hole in the ground, and you let your disgust distract you from your swirling emotions. There was no mirror, either, so you settled for using your phone camera to brush your hair through your fingers and rub your eyes. You’d been driving so long that your vision was swimming. Bucky had offered to switch a few times, but you’d declined under the guise of needing something to keep you occupied. It wasn’t exactly far from the truth; being alone with your thoughts right now wouldn’t do you any good.

When you emerged from the bathroom, Bucky was still pacing the clearing. “Stretching my legs,” he mumbled when you gave him a questioning glance. 

You nodded and let him be, walking over to the back of the van and pulling open the double doors. You grimaced at the slight musty smell and climbed in, then delicately picked up one of the blankets and gave it a sniff. To your relief, it actually smelled alright, and you couldn’t see any suspicious stains anywhere. 

“The back isn’t actually that gross,” you called out to Bucky. He paused and walked back, peering in.

“We’re going to catch so many diseases sleeping back here,” he said, eyeing the old blankets with distaste.

You shrugged and moved aside so he could hop in. You’d had worse. It wasn’t as cramped as it seemed, thankfully. You were able to sit down against one of the side walls and stretch your legs out. Bucky slumped down across from you, his legs parallel to yours.

“I wish we could turn the fairy lights on,” you said, casting a wistful glance at the string of lights crisscrossing the walls. The moonlight shining through the back window was more than enough to keep your bearings, but you had to squint to see Bucky’s face across the van.

Bucky shook his head at you. “It’d drain the battery, not a good idea.” He sounded exhausted, a rough growl to his voice that made your stomach flip. 

You grabbed a blanket to stretch it out beneath you, but something small caught your eye as it tumbled out of the blanket and to the ground. Hands reaching out, you bent low and narrowed your eyes, searching for the mystery object. Your fingers closed around a thin white tube. Oh, fucking jackpot.

With a mock cheer, you held your prize up, eyeing it with delight. “This is the best day ever.”

Bucky eyed the joint in your hand and twisted his mouth in disapproval. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on,” you whined, sounding like a spoiled child and not caring at all. “What’s the harm? This place is way safer than the motel.” You knew he was right, it was a bad idea. But you needed some stress relief, lest you turn back into the grumpy sourpuss that came out when you were tired.

He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. “I’m not saving you if we get jumped and you’re too high to fight.” A beat. “And you don’t even know what’s in th—ugh!”

You had shoved the joint directly under his nose, catching him off guard. “Go on,” you goaded with a small laugh. “Use your super soldier nose, what’s in this joint? Anything sketchy?”

Bucky’s eyes flew open and he glared at you, eyes glinting in the dark. “I’m not a drug dog,” he trailed off, then sighed after taking a small sniff. “God dammit. It’s actually fine, there’s only weed in there. Bit stale, though.”

With a shout of glee, you tore the joint away from Bucky’s face and shoved your hand into your jacket pocket. “Come on, I know I have a lighter here somewhere,” you mumbled to yourself. Finally feeling your fingers close around cold plastic, you whipped out the lighter and angled it in front of the joint. “Don’t tell Sam.”

“Whatever.” Bucky watched as you brought the joint to your lips, lighting it and taking a long drag. His face screwed up when you purposefully blew the smoke at him. 

The satisfying pull of smoke into your lungs felt almost orgasmic. You didn’t even cough, just sighed long and low and relaxed back onto the wall. “You want some?” You asked. Even if Bucky wasn’t capable of getting high, you figured it’d be rude not to offer.

He looked torn. His eyes flickered back and forth between the joint and your lips, until finally he groaned. “Fuck it, give it here.” You smiled giddily as you passed it over. Bucky closed his eyes and took a drag, letting the smoke billow out of his mouth before inhaling it through his nose.

“Who taught you how to French inhale?” Your mouth was open in a dumb look of surprise. It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, but here you were, blood rushing between your legs as you reached for the joint again.

Bucky shrugged and smirked at you, like he was completely aware of what he was doing to you.. “I’ve been alive over a hundred years, I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“No kidding,” you mumbled, taking another hit before passing it back.

When the joint grew too small to hold and your vision grew hazy, you snuffed it out on the van floor and tossed it to the side. “Holy fuck,” you said, dragging your hands across your face. Your tongue felt heavy. “I’m so high.”

Bucky snickered. “Weak ass.”

You tried to glare at him, but it was like you were moving through thick soup. Every movement was slow. And it felt amazing. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel anything.” 

With an exasperated huff, Bucky thought for a moment before finally admitting, “Okay, maybe a little.” He grinned and tilted his head back, closing his eyes again. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

You took a moment to admire him, his skin almost glowing in the low moonlight. He looked more relaxed than you’d see him in days, legs splayed out in front of him and neck stretched in a way that made you want to bite it. A blush rose to your cheeks as you tried and failed to turn your eyes away from him. Was it just the high, or did his lap always look so comfortable? 

Bucky snapped his head up to look at you. Ah, shit. You must’ve said that out loud. “You’re fuckin’ high,” he said, then snorted out a laugh. 

“It’s true, though,” you tried to defend yourself. “You got these, these huge ass super soldier thighs, and they look a hell of a lot more comfortable than the van floor.” You set your jaw, refusing to let yourself speak anymore. Turned out you couldn’t trust yourself not to ramble when you smoked, noted.

As your eyes adjusted more and more to the low light, you could see the red ring around Bucky’s irises. His eyelids had sunken down until he was staring at you from under his lashes, and fuck if that didn’t do things to you. “C’mere, then.”

Wait. Had he actually invited you to sit on his lap, or had you imagined it? You were convinced you were going to make an ass out of yourself before the night was over, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when Bucky was looking at you expectantly and crooking a finger, beckoning you closer.

Swallowing hard, you crawled the short distance until you were kneeling in front of him. “I’m too high for you to fuck with me right now, Barnes,” you warned. Part of you buzzed with anxiety at the thought that this could end up as a repeat of the earlier incident, but the way Bucky’s tongue flicked out to drag across his bottom lip told you otherwise.

“I said, come here,” he drawled as he took hold of your hips and pulled until you were straddling his lap. 

You were stunned into silence. Your heart raced and you desperately searched for something to say, anything to break the tension. It would’ve been so much easier if Bucky would stop staring at you like that. Like he wanted so much more than just your weight on his legs. 

He grinned lazily and eased his grip on your waist, fingers playing idly with the fabric of your shirt. “You’re so cute when you’re not insulting me,” he murmured.

“You’re high,” you said dumbly. It was the only thing you could think to say. You needed to take back control of the situation somehow, but you had no idea how. He had you wrapped around his finger like some sort of blushing virgin.

His voice was barely more than a breath when he replied. “So are you.” Slowly, his hands left your hips to trail over your thighs, the touch sending sparks up your skin. You watched suspiciously as his eyes flickered down to your lips, then back up, then down again. “Fuck,” he cursed softly. “This is a bad idea.”

You couldn’t keep up. “What’s a bad id—mm.” You were cut off as Bucky sat up to press his lips into yours. Your brain short circuited as you froze, mouth still against his as your head spun. Feeling your hesitation, he began to pull away, but your hands flying up to his hair held him in place. You decided to throw caution and feelings to the wind as you finally melded your lips to his and kissed him back with fervor.

Bucky groaned softly and leaned in closer, fingers digging into the fabric of your jeans as you kissed each other breathless.

It was all too much. The slick glide of his mouth, the strands of his hair tangled in your fingers, the daze of the high still amplifying your senses. You broke away and gasped for air, eyes wide and wild. As good as it felt, you knew that if the two of you were sober, this would never be happening. “We should stop.” It pained you to say, but it was the responsible decision.

“I don’t want to stop,” Bucky murmured as he ducked his head to nuzzle beneath your jaw. “Feels good.” 

You wanted to give in. You wanted so badly to forget everything from the past few days, but you couldn’t. Not when neither of you were in your right mind, when you’d be back at each other’s throats as soon as the smoke faded from your head. 

But it was more than that. Kissing Bucky had felt so right, and you knew that going any further would send you reeling into a hole that you weren’t sure you could climb out of. You couldn’t just be one of Bucky’s hookups, you couldn’t go back to normal if this didn’t stop right the hell now.

Heart aching, you untangled your hands from his hair and placed a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back. “Bucky.” you said softly but insistently. “No.”

He pulled away instantly, blue eyes wide and confused and hurt. It made your chest tighten, but you steeled your resolve. “But I thought,” he bit his lip and furrowed his eyebrows. “Did I read this wrong?”

With a heavy sigh, you clambered off of his lap and back to your side of the van. Now that you weren’t pressed against him, it was easier to think clearly, to arrange your thoughts in a way that made almost-sense. “I-it’s nice, but I can’t. We’re both high. Tomorrow we’ll go back to hating each other and, and I don’t want to make things worse. This just isn’t right.” You took a deep breath before dealing the final blow. “I don’t want this.”

“Yeah.” Bucky looked down at the floor, jaw clenched and face set in a stony expression. “Yeah, okay.” He grabbed a blanket from the pile and pulled it up, leaning back against the wall for a final time. “‘Night.”

The van fell silent. You knew he was upset. You were, too. But it was easier to pretend like your body wasn’t aching for his, easier to keep things the way they were. Slowly but oh so surely, you were falling for Bucky. It was entirely against your will, but all the feelings of hate and anger were dissolving into something far more intense, and that terrified you. You wouldn’t give him the chance to hurt you. You couldn’t.

Feeling empty and cold as you pulled your own blanket tight around you, you closed your eyes and let the heavy silence and lingering exhausting pull you into a dreamless sleep.

[aclosetfan]

I like to imagine Buttercup has no shame in wearing a dress because she looks good in one. From formal to sundresses, she could be that one chick that shows off her piercings and wear sandals to show off that one ankle tattoo. I think she's confident enough to dress in a liberated sense going off of the show.

I also like "cover up, Buttercup" because it does show how society could affect even a girl of her caliber. It can mirror how soft and vulnerable she really is. She cares what the people think of her, but it only works, if she's genuinely undesirable.

What I don't like is the "not like other girls" label people sometimes put on her. She is exactly like other girls, except she has power and strength to best her enemies.

It rubs me the wrong way because it's inadvertently saying "She's better without trying" and I don't agree.

"She's ugly, but she has a hot body and a pretty face, and all the guys wanna date her and chase her" And then she doesn't wear a dress because she isn't "girly" enough as if anyone would actually care.

I just want some clarity. If the reason Buttercup is ugly is because she's "tough" then I'm going to need some real "ugly" characteristics to go off of like, shes grown into an actual unlikable bitch, or she's so far removed from societal pressure, she picks her nose and spits in public. Shes gotten ocerweight over the years and lost her physique but can somehow still outtrun a man. Shes extremely annoying and loud and doesnt practice the best hygiene so she smells after gym class. She has scars and bruises all over her face from all the fights shes been in.

Not all of this at once, or hell, do all of it at once!

And, I dont care that people make her attractive. I care that it's overplayed.

Not saying pretty girls don't get flak, nor am I saying you gotta go the whole mile to make her undesirableness realistic. I'm just calling the spade a spade.

Being tough isn't enough for her to feel outcasted when she's a HERO. people worship it, Praise her and love her for her bruteness. And if you give her talents, the only haters are jealous girlies who cannot get on her level.

some guy telling her she isn't enough because she'd punch a man and win, shouldn't be enough to make her throw all her skirts away. 10 guys wouldn't if ten fold are still gonna be up her ass crack anyway.

Buttercup is literally flipping her hair and batting her lashes in the cannon series and people are still trying to give her Bunny's backstory.

Truth is, Buttercups the pretty one too, she's just the pretty one who'd knock a bitchs teeth out. Never stopped those types of women before from being oggled at.

Prime example

lol my response is under the cut because I don't want the post to be too long!

I feel like I've gotten a few ask now that critique stories that focus on the superficial aspects of the girls, like if they're described as "pretty" or "ugly." I'm starting to think that the frustration isn't so much that the girls are described as such but because it's just bad writing (a never-ending complaint I have, haha).

The previous anon also discussed Buttercup being either too feminine or masculine, and I just remembered that I hadn't responded. However, I believe she can be as hyper-masculine or feminine as the person using her character wants them to be. It doesn't matter to me as long as her characterization is consistent. Some people connect with Buttercup because she is the more masculine of the three girls, and that's wonderful and amazing. I love how she's become a character people identify with when they're messing around with their gender presentation.

Beauty and gender are all in the eye of the beholder, so what is ugly to one person can obviously be beautiful to the next. It's bad form then that people often use the word "ugly" when Buttercup is presented as "hyper-masculine." There's nothing ugly about being hypermasculine (and also, while I know you didn't mean it this way in your ask, either is being overweight). However, what's truly ugly is how a person presents themselves. A loud, obnoxious, mean-spirited, "bitchy" nose picker is probably going to be an ugly person like you described.

When writers focus so much on describing what a character looks like, especially characters they're writing fanfiction about, they're describing a "person" who the reader already knows what they look like or has their own idea of what the character should look like. Readers don't need to know how pretty someone is or what dress they're wearing if it doesn't lend to the story you're writing, which is really hard for a lot of amateur writers, like myself, because you can see the scene so clearly in your head and want to write it just that way, but giving readers every. single. detail. is actually doing yourself a disservice. Oftentimes, too much description makes the reader mad because "HEY! NO! they look like [xyz]," and then they click out of the fic.

I stay vague when I describe essential features. Like Bubbles has a dimpled smile, or Buttercup's hair is cut short. Maybe even, "Buttercup put on her favorite green sweater." Small shit like that gives readers a clue but still lets them copy/paste their ideas over mine.

But to make readers know "hey people find this person attractive but she doesn't notice," I practice SHOWING not telling. Like, Buttercup walks into a room, Butch observes all eyes are on her, she doesn't notice the attention because it's the same attention she's always dealt with, and because she doesn't pay attention to it, she comes off aloof or "bitchy" from Butch's perspective. How would Butch know any better? He can't read her mind.

That's why writing in other povs and making the character do things is so much more beneficial to their perceived attractiveness than just flat-out telling a reader "trust me, you'd bone her if you had the chance, she's so hot." You get a chance to establish personalities, relationships, and potential conflicts.

Another example is if you h/c Buttercup wears dresses, no other character is going to react to her wearing them. You state, "Buttercup put on her dress." If you want to specify what kind of dress you say, "it was her most comfortable t-shirt dress. She liked it because it had large pockets." Then, boom, that's it. In these instances, describing her appearance is used to convey her personality traits/motives (she likes to dress comfortably. She has a need for large pockets). You're not saying that Buttercup is a "GIRL WHO LIKES DRESSES BECAUSE SHE'S FEMININE, GOT IT?!? BUT SHE STILL KICKS ASS!!" Instead, you're giving yourself the opportunity to explain she likes to collect rocks (??) while also conveying that she likes wearing clothing that people could perceive as "feminine."

If Buttercup is forced to wear a dress that she doesn't want to wear, now, you have a bit of a story to stretch out. Her wearing a dress is odd. People irl would take notice of it, and therefore, you can make a bigger deal about it.

And if you want to show that she's "not like other girls," which I agree is an annoying trope, but I understand some people want to show "feminity" while still preserving their "masculinity," you can do this at the same time you're developing Buttercup's relationships. Example: It is remarked Blossom and Buttercup are both wearing dresses. Blossom and Buttercup both get their dresses dirty. The scene pans to Blossom being frantic about getting the dirt off, bemoaning her appearance. The scene pans to Buttercup, she is shin-deep in a mud pit, stuffing a particularly large bullfrog into her large dress pockets, next to the cool rocks she found.

A scene like that shows that Buttercup likes wearing dresses, but isn't afraid of dirt, rocks, or frogs, as opposed to Blossom, who may be reacting more "appropriately" to their situation, making it clear Buttercup has other priorities ("isn't like other girls" w/out explicitly saying "I'm not like other girls, I like dresses and dirt.").

You mentioned that you like the idea that she'd be confident wearing a dress. Perfect! If she doesn't do it often, and you want to make a bigger deal out of it, you can be like:

Buttercup clicked her tongue as she picked through her closet, pulling out a black halter top dress Bubbles had made her buy two or so years ago. She examined the short number and grinned. When she tried it on, it was a bit tight around her ass, but her arms looked fantastic.

"You're wearing a dress!?" Bubbles gushed walking into the room as Buttercup checked herself out, "What's the occasion!"

"Isn't it obvious?" Buttercup turned around, flexing her arms and shoulders, and they really did look good in that dress, "I got a new tattoo!"

"Oh cool! Is that a bullfrog?" Bubbles asked leaning in to examine Buttercup's upper shoulder.

"On a cool rock!" Buttercup beamed, standing a little prouder, "Badass, right?"

The dress is important to the story. The writer was able to point out she doesn't wear them often, people are surprised when she wears them, she doesn't mind wearing them, how attractive her arms were, the tattoo, and that her ass stretches out the dress, which some people could also find attractive. It doesn't make her seem vain, conceited, or "better" than others. She just knows she looks good.

I mean, I think it gets the job done, and it isn't just a list of what she looks like.

tldr: Essentially, no matter how masculine or feminine you think Buttercup should present, literally, no one cares what she is wearing if it isn't important to the story.

[balladofthewhitehorse]

2, 10, 27 and 28 for the character of your choice!

Thank you so much for your ask! And unfortunately, I have England brainrot; But I'll try and do a couple for some other characters LMAO.

2: Do they have any daily rituals?

England, Scotland and Wales almost always make a cup of tea. It's not something they really notice, but the kettle is always switched on in the morning and they make a cup of tea, drag out whatever mug they like that day (subconciously, England always tries to find one that matches his top) and make a cup of tea. Scotland tends to open all the windows every day, to get fresh air while Wales will go outside and feed the chickens. England walks his dog. For them, it's something they scarcely notice, but it's so *human* for them. They get irritated if their daily rituals are interrupted, I'd say that much.

10: Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such? Oh, lmao - England absolutely doesn't recognise it as a neurosis. He has always been paranoid, on edge, and utterly *refuses* to light any candles, to eat food given to him by anyone who's not Scotland (he is aware his brother also has grave fears to do with tampered food, and thus is all too aware his brother would never do something so sneaky) or Wales (Wales is sentimental, England is aware). He sees it as common sense, but one cannot deny it is *odd* to see England throw away an entire tin of biscuits just because he didn't see them get baked.

27: What is their biggest regret? For Wales, it was being too sentimental. Sometimes they wish they were colder, tougher and far less patient with England. It's a terrible thing they know, but they wonder how much trouble they would've saved if they just did away with England when he was young. They keep this to themselves, of course, and look upon England with a sad sort of guilt, of anger. They don't like being manipulated by England. It happens regardless. (There are so many to list for all of them, so I just did one of Wales')

28: Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy? Oof. Now: England: Portugal, Portugal is their closest friend and he hates how he has treated them lately. It's a little bit by *proxy*, because well, his closest figure is technically *Scotland*, but he is England's brother. It is also known that England does not make friends easily and tends to assume the worst. Now, their worst enemy? England himself, his therapist would say IMO. But really, England sees the world as his enemy, and he's at that weary stage where he's all but burnt out. He's still saying France tho. Scotland: Ireland is his closest friend and there is not a day where he wouldn't go the extra mile for Ireland. Through thick and thin, they have been, and Scotland absolutely does not hesitate. As for his enemy...his own brother, England. Scotland *loves* his brother, but he cannot deny the severity of the wounds England has imparted. He *wishes* he could hate England, because then it would make it easier, but alas, he loves his stupid little brother. Wales: They're a lonely one. They get along easily with most and don't tend to consider anyone their best friend. Now, their worst enemy? They are rather self-critical and consider their own sentimentality to be their worst enemy and believe if they were a bit more cut-throat, they might've been able to defend themselves better. England, by proxy, is their worst enemy. After everything he has done, can you really blame Wales when they say they're not fond of their sibling?

[ramp-it-up]

Little One

#RampitUp1Kinktober Day17

​​Pairing: Ari Levinson x Agent!Reader

Summary: Ari is your superior for this mission. How will either of you survive the training?

1Kinktober Kink: Anal

Word Count 3K

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk, mutual pining, enemies?to lovers, sparring, virgin reader, power dynamics, undercover mission, faux marriage, mile high club, fingering, dirty talk, oral (m receiving) vaginal sex, Sir kink, size kink, anal intercourse. Not-so- private sex act. Not Beta’d. All errors my own. Dividers by @firefly-graphics

A/N: This is my first Ari fic and I have to confess: I haven’t seen the movie, I know nothing about the agencies involved or the politics really, I kind of made all of that part up. The reader is in a sort of Widow organization and, again, I made her allegiance up.

This for the 17th DAY of #rampitup1Kinktober! TYSM for following me! 🧡

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

You’d dedicated yourself to the order at 17. You believed in what you were doing, so much so that you agreed to be sterilized a year later.

And you took a vow of celibacy.

After all, you thought, you probably wouldn’t live long and temporal things such as sex and children were hindrances and dead weight.

And love?

Well, love was for fools, not for fighters.

Until you encountered Ari.

There was something about him. His passion, his dedication, and his soul that set yours on fire.

The fact that he was jacked and his eyes seemed to reach out and want to drown you in their endless pools did not help your cause of being alone in this unexpectedly long life.

Living 10 years beyond the time you vowed to die was exhausting alone.

Perhaps it was fate that led you to Ari.

The first time Ari saw you, he saw a 27-year old idealistic child who had experienced the world, but not anything of real life.

He also saw a beautiful woman who had been neglected of carnal pleasure.

Being assigned to be your supervisor on this joint mission was convenient, because he could gauge your dedication. That was part of his mission for his superiors.

His mission for himself was quite different.

Sparring with Ari was exhilarating, partly because he made you dig deep and get better, but also, you could put your hands on him legitimately, and him on you. You began to look forward to the daily briefings and beatings at the hands of your superior.

In more ways than one.

Ari dodged a spin kick that was nearly perfect and grabbed your leg, throwing you on your back and allowing him to lunge for your head.

Your legs shot up and enclosed his, tripping him onto the mat and allowing you to straddle him, your elbow in the perfect position to break his nose.

Then you made the mistake of looking him in the eyes.

“You’re beautiful when you’re riding me, y’know that?”

You hesitated at that a second too long and that gave him the opportunity to grab your arm and twist it behind your back, and get behind you, his short-clad crotch planted firmly in your ass and bare chest against your back.

Your own chest heaved as you felt the hair on his torso around the back of the sports bra you were wearing and you tried to control your pebbled nipples.

No man, or woman for that matter, had ever affected you this way. You felt his cock get hard as he held you there, yet he didn’t release you.

“You’re going to risk your life for some pretty words and some dick? You need to focus.”

And with that, he threw you down on the mat, where you lay for a second to get yourself together.

You got up and stood before him at attention, staring off into space as he circled you.

You frustrated Ari to no end. He knew that you could have easily killed him just then if you had only concentrated. He also knew he should have killed you because you faltered.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, Sir.”

What was wrong with you was there had been several weeks of sexual tension that you finally admitted to yourself. Even though you weren’t riding Ari, you’d break your vows for the chance, you realized. So he would have to kill you to get rid of you now.

You were in love with Ari Levinson.

Ari walked beside you and admired your profile. Sweat made your dark skin glow and your body… he looked you up and down. Your body was perfect. He’d had to jack off several times a day to keep himself under control.

He could command you to fuck him, the superiors had decided that if that must be for the good of the cause and mission, so be it. It was his job to break you in. But for the first time in his life, he didn’t agree.

He didn’t want you to be his because of a command. He wanted you to give yourself willingly. And he was a smart man, but he was just now realizing the signs.

Ari walked behind you and stood very close to you, his heat warming your up, yet making you shiver. He saw your reaction and smiled, but dropped it when he walked around to face you.

“Get packed. We’re on the move. Mission begins tomorrow night in New York. You have your gear in your room. We leave in two hours.”

And with that, he walked out of the room to go jack off again, but you didn’t know that. You were left with your head spinning at the thought that the mission was tomorrow, and would most likely be finished soon. That meant you would have to leave Ari.

You dropped your head for one minute, then raised it and sucked it up as you headed to your room.

You were surprised at the gear in your room. In the middle of the room was an Hermès trunk, filled with a selection of high end wardrobe, complete with matching Birkins and shoes. Laid out on the bed were several evening gowns, which looked as if they would fit you perfectly.

On your dresser was a case full of very convincing jewelry, gems that looked very real, although you knew they couldn’t be. Another case contained luxury skincare and makeup.

You felt very giddy for a girl who never played dress-up, but spy.

You were on your way to the airport, showered and dressed in posh traveling clothes, Ari by your side, similarly attired.

“What is the assignment? What is the duration?”

You needed some answers.

“We are married, darling. We are the Beckers.” Ari looked at you and texted out an American accent. You smiled back and did the same.

“Of course, Dear.”

You smiled at Ari and his heart skipped a beat, although he continued.

“We’re in New York for the season and to peruse artwork for our collection. Of course the artwork in question would do great things for the cause. Four weeks, although it could be a little longer.”

You never in your 10 years in the life had you wished for a mission to last longer. You just nodded and looked ahead at the road ahead.

You boarded a private jet, being greeted by the pilots as Mr. and Mrs. Becker. The mission had begun.

You heard Ari inquire about the plane as the attendant served wine.

“And the bed, is it a king sized?”

The attendant frowned as he looked from Ari to you. You had no clue that this plane had a bed. It was a 10 hour flight.

“N-no Sir. It is only a queen.”

Ari tsked. “It’s a shame. The Missus and I would like to take a proper ‘rest.’”

He winked at you and you reached over and took his hand, looking him straight in the eye.

“Sorry Sir, Madame. I hope that it’s comfortable.”

“We’ll make do,” you smiled at the attendant as Ari chuckled and caressed your hand with his thumb. Electric currents shot from your hand to your cunt.

After a leisurely, delicious dinner with excellent wine, you were led back to the bedroom portion of the jet.

You started to speak and Ari held his hand up to his lips and silenced you. He started some music, then nodded.

“This is quite the show.”

Ari nodded slowly.

“It is, isn’t it? I’ve recorded some sounds to play of… lovemaking… to make it belivable….”

Ari reached for his recorder and you stopped his hand.

“Why do we need a recording?”

Ari did not want to believe the real question you were asking.

“Because that is the cover, we are a randy married couple who cant keep….”

You threw yourself at Ari, landing on his lap as you sat him down on the bed. Your lips met his and you bit his lip to get him to open. You slipped your tongue inside as he groaned from want. You were a virgin, but you had been kissed.

Ari chuckled.

“What was that, Little One? What are you doing? This is a different sort of attack.”

He’d never called you that to your face, only when he was alone and in his dreams.

You started taking off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. He didn’t resist.

“I say we go for method acting.”

Your eyes were on your hands as you undressed him. Ari took your chin and tilted your head up to meet your eyes.

“What are you asking, Little One? Use your words.”

HIs eyes were so spellbinding and he looked so sincere. Damn, he was a good actor.

“I want you to take me. Here, on the plane. May as well get it over with.”

Ari looked at you questioningly.

“That is why we were paired? It was decided that I be of use that way? Part of your job is this mission, but the other part is to… break me in?”

You’d heard tale of others and how it went for them. You were grateful it was Ari.

You were beautiful, deadly, and smart. Ari was in awe of you.

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want to do…”

Inside, Ari was thrilled that you’d considered it, and wanted it. It would make some things so much easier.

You stood up and took off your top. You revealed a translucent lace bra, which clearly showcased your nipples. Ari licked his lips as he watched you turn around and take off your pants, bending over to push your ass in his face. He wanted to grab it, but restrained himself.

You turned back around. He appreciated you in the lingerie. He’d taken his time and picked it out, guessing correctly that it would look amazing on you. He’d never dreamt that you would be so willing. He had no idea how willing you were.

“This is part of my training. Yes?”

Ari wanted to throw you on the bed and take you roughly, but you were right.

“Yes.”

He stood up and pulled off his pants, revealing a large, hard, and leaking monster of a cock, at least that’s how it appeared to you. Then he sat back down. He looked up at you.

“Keep in mind. You will get the complete education tonight. But your body has been conditioned to take almost anything. On your knees.”

You obeyed, confronted with the large organ in front of your face as he fisted it, hand sliding up and down the large shaft, making the shiny red head disappear and reappear. There was some liquid a the tip, and you looked at it and then up at him, curiously.

Ari could not help himself. To have you on your knees and so innocent for him, it was almost more than he could take.

Ari smiled. “That’s a normal part of it. Taste it. Give me your mouth. Open.”

You did as you were told, and Ari grasped the back of your head and brought you over to his cock.

“Stick out your tongue.”

You did so and Ari swiped his cock up and down its length. You looked up at him while he did it and his eyes almost shuttered closed. His lips parted and he licked them.

Damn, you were making him fall apart. Your little innocent hot mouth was driving him crazy.

“So good, Little One. Now, suck it.”

You smiled and leaned over, sucking the tip, not really knowing how to hold your mouth. As a result, saliva spilled out and you reached around him to clean it up, sliding your hand up his shaft to collect it. Suddenly you felt Ari shiver and moan. You looked up at him in surprise.

“Holy Shit!” Ari gasped. “Keep doing that. Holy fuck, yes!”

You smiled and moaned appreciatively in your throat as Ari watched. You sensed movement and your eyes went to his balls, which were drawing up against him. You tentatively reached out to feel them and Ari moaned again.

“Shit, girl. You’re a prodigy.”

You picked up on his cues and started stroking his shaft and kneading his balls as you sucked him, trying to go as deep as you could.

The fact that you were so into it made Ari start to loose control. He grabbed you under your arms and threw you on the bed as you giggled.

“You’re trying to sidetrack the lesson. Let’s move on.”

You couldn’t see him come apart so fast.

Ari leaned down and started kissing and sucking just below your ear.

“We’re going to move quickly, the advanced course, but I’m going to get you ready for me.”

Arr’s whisper was doing things to you; you could feel yourself clenching around air and you moaned as he took his time trying to find what made you react and how. When his mouth reached your breasts, you went wild, and he took note.

As you were squirming under his mouth, he trailed his hand down your side to your hip and over to your mound. He parted your lips with his pinky, and the rest of his large hand grabbed rubbed both holes.

You keened loudly, and Ari chuckled in your ear.

“Now that’s what they need to hear.”

He didn't say that he needed it, too. He slowly slipped one finger in your pussy while his pinky ghosted your puckered hole.

“Fuck, Ari….”

He looked down on you, your beauty in this moment unmatched.

“D’you like that Little One?” He smiled as you nodded. “You are little, pussy so tight.”

He pushed another finger in your cunt and his pinky into your ass. Your back arched as you lubricated his hand and your mouth opened in a breathless moan as your eyes fluttered closed.

“Fuck, so, so good, Ari.”

“Hmm.” Ari grunted, done in by you. “You think you’re ready?”

You opened your eyes, blazing. “I’m always ready.”

If Ari wasn’t in love before, he was now. His unoccupied hand smoothed your hair back and pulled, causing your smiled to widen.

“My brave Little One. I always wondered if you’d be a hellcat in bed. Wasn’t expecting that the first time.”

“Have you ever met me?”

You were laughing at him while he shifted, tip of his penis probing at you. Your laugh turned into a scream as he slid into you with a little resistance. He kept steady and he was home in your tight wetness in no time.

His face was in the mattress to gather himself as you panted and whined. He looked up at you when he thought his look was more stoic.

“Are you ok?”

You looked at him and nodded, “I’m good. I think I will be better if you start moving. Sir.”

Ari literally growled as he complied with your reverse order.

“You are going to be the death of me. One way or another.”

He shook his head and buried it in your shoulder as he started pumping, speeding up with intensity as your wetness multiplied. When you opened your legs and wrapped them around his back, was when he let loose reared up and started circling your clit with his thumb.

Your eyes rolled back into your head and you started chanting, “Yes,yes,yes,yes,yes…” And Ari started swiveling his hips, searching for that spot that would make you…

“GOOOD GODDDD!”

Ah, there it was, you came around him, a shuddering, whimpering, mess, loud enough to have the desired effect upon the crew.

Ari grunted to hold himself back, but he wasn’t finished.

He pulled out of you as you lay curled in a ball, reeling from the sensations. He went to his bag and retrieved something.

“Up up up up.”

Ari pulled you up on hands and knees and rubbed your magnificent ass.

“Here’s the honors portion.”

And you felt something cold on between your cheeks.

“Oh!”

You jumped and shivered at the lube.

Ari took pity on you and guided you to lay down in front of him.

“This part can be very pleasurable, if you relax.”

Ari’s whisper in your ear was making you hot again. Your nipples perked up and Ari snaked his arm between you and the bed as his other opened your leg to play with your clit.

You started moaning and writhing within moments, and grinding your ass against his cock. Ari had to bite back yet another moan.

“Now Little One, grab my cock and push it into your ass for me. Like a good girl.”

The content of that sentence made you afraid, but the feelings your were feeling made you obey. You swiped his cock against your ass, actually finding the sensation very pleasurable.

And since you were in control, you pushed the tip almost fully inside you, wanting more as Ari kept pleasuring your clit and nipple. You wanted this.

So you pushed onto him, Ari huffing in your ear from holding back, until he popped inside the tight ring of muscle. You stopped, He was so fucking huge. But he felt so...

“Feels so….” Ari’s heart was beating out of his ears as he waited for your next words. “...so fucking Gooooood, Ari.”

“Fuck, Little One.”

He grunted in your ear and started pumping, you two still on your side, until you were begging him for more. Then, he turned so that he was behind you and could give better strokes.

“Fuck me Ari, fuck me, fuck meeeee.”

You were grunting and moaning and you actually started throwing it back on him.

“I think you might like this better than traditional fucking, Little One. I knew you were a prodigy.”

“Fuck. Yes. Sir.”

And Ari lost it, pounding into your ass until he came, his seed spilling out of you as you came clenching and quivering around him, so tight.

A few minutes later, you opened your eyes to Ari’s gentle demands that you get up and go to the loo, and shower. He handed you a bottle of water on your way into the airplane bathroom.

“Got to keep you healthy. You’re important to… the mission.”

You looked up at him.

“Right, Sir. Did I… did I do well, Sir?”

“You certainly did. A+ all around.”

Ari wanted to kiss you, but this was just business, right?’

You headed into the loo and looked back at him.

“Thank you, Ari.”

“My pleasure, Little One.”

You smiled at him and closed the door.

Ari flopped down on the bed and tried to figure out how he was going to survive this one.

I got so carried away. 😅 Let me know if you felt it too!

Tags:

@olyvoyl @summerofsnowflakes @riiyy @honeysucklechocolatedrippin @chattykathysquietsister @nikole-witha-k @nissameta1782 @afriendlyblackhottie @betterkeepmewetterthanabayou @donutloverxo @marvelfansworld  @london-grunge @ximaginexx @bertieandberries @ladystrawberry @chesca-791 @calimoi @fangirlfree @iconicshit @maroonsunrise83 @partypoison00 @curlyhairclub @denisemarieangelina @harrysthiccthighss @simpinforu @sunshinexsin @celestialbeingz @the-1900 @geminixevans @fanfictionwr1tin @breezykpop @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl @peaceinourtime82 @hisgirlfriday439 @nik2write @deepintothenature @jassiejj2118 @patzammit @mansaaay

[shywitchyfangirl]

Tips for Beginning Spirit Workers!

Me? Posting something useful instead of just memes? GASP!

1. Plan communication and housing methods in advance. This is your responsibility, not the spirits’. Housing can include binding them to an object, binding them to yourself, letting them wander your house, or (my personal method) building an astral temple for them. Communication can take all kinds of forms, including dreams, hallucinations, Ouija boards, body sensations, intrusive thoughts, and telepathy. When starting out, you’ll probably be working with sensations and intrusive thoughts, and work your way up to other forms. An important thing to remember is if you’re ever unsure if something was them, assume it was. False negatives do far more harm than false positives when you’re trying to learn how to communicate. Assuming your spirit said something they didn’t might annoy them, but denying real messages will prevent you from developing your senses and harm your relationship with them.

2. Set boundaries and keep them! It doesn’t matter who they are, how powerful they are, or if they’re a literal god. You have rights, and they do not own you. Take no excuses, make no compromises. You don’t need to explain anything. If you give some spirits an inch, they’ll take a mile. I have a rule that no one can possess me while I’m on my period. Why? Because I don’t want them to, end of discussion. If anyone throws a fit about your boundaries, you don’t want to work with them anyway. If you’re planning to let them stick around, setting house rules is also very important! (”Don’t mess with the other human residents” is always a good starting point.)

3. Doubt happens. Even the most experienced spirit worker has moments of “Oh gods, I’m just crazy and talking to myself.” Don’t beat yourself up over it! Healthy skepticism is what keeps us sane. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad spirit worker. Try taking a moment to reflect on the times when your spirits did something that proved themselves to you, because I promise, those moments will happen too! One of my earliest moments was when a spirit possessed my and drew a bunch of dicks in my notebook before I even realized what she was drawing. If you haven’t had one of those moments yet, just remember the golden rule: You can’t be imagining it, because your imagination should never surprise you.

3.5 Know your craft, not others’. Related to the above, a big source of doubt is when you read about other spirit workers’ doing things differently. Remember, the term UPG (Unverified Personal Gnosis) exists for a reason. Your Mileage May Vary! Every spirit worker experiences spirits differently. Different doesn’t mean wrong. Figure out what’s best for you and your spirits, and have confidence in your craft.

4. Don’t trust just anyone. Not every spirit you contact will be on your side. Some have their own agenda, others just want a plaything. Some spirits will pretend to be someone else to get past your defenses. The best way to stay safe is to always trust your instincts. If a spirit gives you a “bad vibe,” DITCH THEM. Never give them the benefit of the doubt. There is not a single spirit you NEED to have in your life, and thus there’s no reason to give a sketchy spirit a chance. Aside from that, don’t just assume any spirit you contact will be friendly and benevolent. Most spirit workers go through a “vetting” period of at least 3 months before deciding if a spirit is truly good to join their team. Yes, THREE MONTHS. You don’t want to allow just any powerful astral being into your life, do you? Remember, spirits have power, and they CAN hurt you. If you wouldn’t allow any random stranger into your house, don’t allow any random spirit into your life.

5. Do your research! Spirits aren’t human, and they don’t have the same wants and needs as humans. Research in advance what the particular species you’re summoning wants and needs. If they’re from a pop culture series, research the series. Research their friends, family, and enemies. Know who they will or won’t work well with. If they’re a nonhuman character, pay special attention to their species’ attributes, such as behavior, communication, and any unusual needs or weaknesses. You are responsible for your spirits’ safety while they’re with you! Remember, there’s no such thing as knowing too much. The more you know, the better prepared you’ll be!

6. Respect their boundaries. Not every spirit wants to be worshipped, especially pop culture ones. Some find it flattering, others find it creepy. Similarly, not every spirit wants to be your best friend forever, and not every spirit is eagerly waiting for your call every second of every day. Spirits may be cool, but don’t be a stalker. Give them some dang space. Also accept that many spirits don’t plan to stay with you forever. There may be a few that will be with you until you die (or even follow you to your next life!) but the vast majority have lives outside of you just like humans do, and there will be a time when you don’t need them or vice versa. Don’t feel bad about them leaving, and don’t try to force them to stay. Spirits come and go, and it does not mean you’re a bad spirit worker if you lose a few allies. Your closest friends will be the ones who choose you, and those are the ones you really want in your inner circle.

7. Don’t call up what you can’t put down. Always always ALWAYS have a banishing spell ready, and be sure to start small. Practice with a simple Pikachu before you go summoning Arceus. And keep that banishing spell handy during the vetting period! Many spirit workers suggest doing a banishing spell after every summoning unless you plan on letting the spirit stay permanently. It’s also always a good idea to have some kind of restraint the first few times you call on a spirit, even if it’s just a circle of salt. Personally I like to keep one of my stronger spirit family members around to babysit the new guys.

8. Always stay protected. Shield spells are your best friends. Use them. Keep them updated. There is never a reason to not be shielded. There is also never a reason to not have your house protected. At least once a month, update your wards, cleanse and banish everything, and recharge your home’s energy. Don’t worry, you can set your wards to whitelist your approved spirit family and any specific spirits you want to lure in, but it’s best to not allow just anyone in off the street. Consider placing sigils around to mark your territory as your own, or you may find someone or something trying to move in and claim your house for themselves! 

9. Know the facts about spirit attacks. The first rule is that you’re probably NOT being attacked. If you have to think “Was that a spirit? Am I being attacked?” you’re definitely not being attacked. Spirits are empowered by your fear, they WANT you to know they’re attacking you. One time when I was attacked, the spirit broke my rainbow fountain right in front of me in a way that made both separate lights simultaneously only glow blood red. That doesn’t just happen. And then they immediately and obviously tried to pull me out of my body so they could take it over. The other two times, the spirits tried so hard to suck me out of my body that it made me disoriented and felt like someone was vacuuming my head while my body felt cold. Spirit attacks are always obvious because they’re trying to scare you. Which leads to the second rule: NEVER PANIC. The more afraid you are, the more power they have over you. Stay calm, put up a shield, call a trusted alley to aid you, and banish their ass to next week. Remember, most spirits who attack are just bullies looking for a new toy to torment. Even a simple “fuck off” can give them the message you’re not worth the trouble.

10. Be prepared before opening up to possession. Possession is real, and it can be dangerous. With a trusted ally, it’s tons of fun, and you can even ask them to handle things like chores for you. With literally anyone else, you’re putting your life at risk. There is nothing stopping a strong enough spirit from throwing you off the nearest bridge. The good news is that forced, full possession is rare. The bad news is it can still happen, and it’s very hard to stop when it does. This is why it’s so important to vet your spirit allies before allowing them close to you, ESPECIALLY before letting them possess you. If a spirit shows any sign of not respecting your boundaries, get them the hell out of your life. Luckily, partial possession is much more common (when you’re still in control but either being influenced, or only your limbs are moving without your input). This version can be fought off via internal struggle or countered with a cleansing spell or an ally’s help.

11. Get creative with offerings. Offerings are Spiritwork 101. You won’t be getting a lot of help from spirits if you don’t pay them back. But the important part is knowing exactly what to give them. There are certainly things that are standard, and things that are easy enough to guess (Moon water for the moon goddess, flowers for the nature spirit, etc.) But the best offerings are ones that are personal, creative, and meaningful. Your fairy friend probably has a thousand flowers, but have they tried your pancakes? Would your familiar like a friendship bracelet in their favorite color? Hell, does your ancient ancestor want to try Starbucks? Also note that offerings can be experiences, not just gifts. Some spirits love to hear new music. Jevil loves to possess me and play games, or even just watch me play them. And Seam likes to be cuddled while he possesses a body pillow, or to be read to. The better you get to know your spirit friends, the more ways you’ll find to make them happy.

12. Recognize a spirit calling, but don’t answer them all. As you progress in spirit work, you’ll start receiving “spirit callings”. Callings are different for everyone, but they’re generally feelings of obsession over a certain spirit. You may find yourself thinking “everything would be okay if X was here” when you’re having a bad day. You may find yourself wanting to know everything about them. You might notice signs of them, such as feathers if they have wings.  If it’s a pop culture spirit, you may start obsessively tracking down fanworks of them. If you can’t get a spirit out of your mind, you’re probably being called! This means that good things could happen if you work with this spirit (though it does NOT mean the relationship will last forever!). However, this doesn’t mean you should answer ever single calling. It’s always important to know your limits. If you already have lots of spirits hanging around, adding one more won’t benefit you or them, no matter how strongly you’re called to them. Remember, there will always be another calling. 

13. Know your limits. Speaking of which, remember that you’re responsible for your spirits, and you should never take on more than you can handle. Spirit hoarding is a real thing, and it’s harmful to everyone involved. Know how many spirits you can handle at once, and know how close you can get to each of them. My astral temple is designed to let dozens of spirits come and go as they please, but of those, I’m only comfortable getting truly close to exactly two at a time. There is no shame in letting a spirit you no longer need go before bringing in a new one. There is also no shame in not being perfect. If you need some space for a few days, take it. If all you can muster today is a halfhearted “hello” to your familiar, do it. Your spirit allies will always be there waiting once you’re feeling better. If they’re true allies, they’ll understand if you’re not feeling well and need some time to yourself.

[sanjisock]

more than words

50 words; 50 sentences

ao3

#01 - Motion

A spinning kick, a swing of blade — the two meet and hit but don’t hurt, and Nami sighs exasperatedly at such a pathetic display of a mating dance.

#02 - Cool

Zoro stands his ground as his enemy — finally, finally — falls unceremoniously on his back, unconscious, and Sanji thinks for a moment that the sight of Zoro — wild and victorious and ready to take on the world — looks kind of, maybe, slightly cool.

  #03 - Young

Brook sees the two — dying to die for each other, the weight of their friends’ lives pulling down their shoulders — and he thinks too many people forget how young they still are.

  #04 - Last

The Cook is the last person Zoro would consider lending a hand in a fight — “who would want to work together with that dumbass anyway,” he lies whenever anyone asks, and doesn’t admit that it’s because he trusts Sanji’s ability to stand his ground, wholly and fully.

  #05 - Wrong

Sanji knows Zoro, like him, understands better than most — that this nakama thing isn’t just something you’d die for, but something you’d kill for, too.

  #06 - Gentle

Sanji manages to catch Kitetsu before it rolls off from the deck during a storm, and in that moment, Zoro knows, from the reverent way he regards the swords in his hands, that this isn’t the first time the Cook has wielded one.

  #07 - One

“Calm down, Marimo,” Sanji says with a dismissive wave of his hand when Zoro asks about the sword a few days later, “I’m not about to take your place as the ship’s swordsman; a cook doesn’t use his hands to fight, and I had a terrible teacher anyways.”

  #08 - Thousand

“I’m worth two thousand men,” Zoro grumpily says, almost sulking, and Nami can’t resist patting his head like she would to a little boy pulling the pigtail of a girl he has a crush on.

  #09 - King

You’re like the prince of Dumbass Kingdom, Zoro says, and it takes Sanji everything in him not to blurt out, Dumbass Kingdom sounds about right; wait ‘till you see the fucking king.

  #10 - Learn

Watching Sanji converse fluently with a couple of tourists in a Northern language, Zoro wonders when he will ever stop learning something new about Sanji — or if he ever will, at all.

  #11 - Blur

When Zoro finally comes to, the wounds from Bartholomeow Kuma is muted by Chopper’s medicine, a dull throb at the back of his consciousness; but the sharp pain against his heart feels raw still, visceral and razor-sharp, tucked alongside the ache of Sanji’s sacrifice.

#12 - Wait

“Wait,” he manages to croak out before Sanji flees the room, the word spilling out unbidden; he isn’t quite sure why, but he knows that he wants the Cook to stay.

  #13 - Change

“Have some fucking decency ,” Sanji yells, throwing a shirt at Zoro’s direction; the brute has been walking around the ship bare-chested like an eyesore ever since they entered the summer island, and Sanji is just trying to do everyone a favor — and definitely not because there’s a different kind of heat pooling at the pit of his stomach.

#14 - Command

Robin watches the two in amusement — Zoro could have easily refused to be Sanji’s pack mule, and she can hear him grumbling about it still; and yet, here they are, once again, together at the island’s marketplace.

#15 - Hold

Sanji is rough around the edges, bristling at the slightest touch; Zoro knows he needs to be gentle, but he doesn’t quite remember the last time he held something that isn’t a hilt of a sword, without meaning to hurt . It’s a learning curve. 

  #16 - Need

Sanji knows Zoro is a dumbass, but it takes a special kind of stupid to think he would never be good enough for Sanji, when he’s all that Sanji has ever needed.

#17 - Vision

Zoro never regrets losing his eye, but he wishes, sometimes, he could still take in the sight of Sanji with an unimpaired vision, just to see more of him.

  #18 - Attention

“You’re starting a fight, Marimo?” Sanji growls, voice low and dangerous, and Zoro thinks, yes, yes, anything to get you to look at me.

  #19 - Soul

He loves the kid like a brother, but sometimes Zoro hates how Luffy can easily see past his gruff words and feigned ignorance; the way Luffy only needs to take one look at him to guess, “you’re worried about Sanji, aren’t you?”

  #20 - Picture

He carries around everyone’s bounty posters, Sanji tells himself, and tries not to think too hard about how the only one he kept in his breast pocket is Zoro’s, folded neatly against his heart.

  #21 - Fool

“This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done so far,” Sanji says when they part, lips still tingling from their earlier kiss, because Zoro’s love is fierce and consuming and Sanji knows, ever since he was just a kid with the iron mask, that he doesn’t deserve any of this.

  #22 - Mad

“Don’t you ever say that kind of shit again,” Zoro snarls, slamming the wall beside Sanji’s head, his voice trembling with a kind of anger Sanji has never seen him with before — frustrated, desperate. “You’re important to me, Cook.” 

  #23 - Child

Grow up and cast your dreams away, Sanji tells himself every day, the voice ringing in his ears; you stopped being a child deserving of a dream the moment you chained Zeff down to the ground.

  #24 - Now

Grow up and cast your dreams away, Sanji wants to tell himself, but the voice stutters, drowned out by the sight of the kid bleeding on the deck of Baratie — he’s a swordsman, too, acknowledged by none other than Dracule Mihawk himself — but a kid still, throwing himself headfirst towards the case of his dreams, steps unweighted by regrets.

  #25 - Shadow

Zoro doesn’t know which is worse — Sanji, forever running away from the shadow his brothers cast; or Zoro, chasing after someone who is no longer around to leave behind a shadow anymore.

  #26 - Goodbye

After Whole Cake Island, there’s a period of time where Zoro would follow Sanji around the ship like a lost puppy, unwilling to let the Cook out of his sight; Usopp definitely didn’t expect Zoro to have such a cute side, and crouches over his new invention to hide his smile.

  #27 - Hide

“We’re not doing that here,” Sanji hisses, and forces himself not to laugh at the pout on Zoro’s face; the galley might be secluded enough, but they’re still on the enemy ship’s galley.

  #28 - Fortune

It is annoying, the way Sanji keeps reminding Zoro that he could have collected Mihawk’s bounty and lived the rest of his life in wealth; especially when Zoro would trade any riches in the world just to stay by the Cook’s side.

  #29 - Safe

It catches Zoro off guard when Sanji starts talking about his mother; it’s a short anecdote, a single happy memory, but Zoro can tell by the way Sanji tells it — guarded and hesitant, like he wants to keep the words close and safe — that he has never shared it with anyone else before.

  #30 - Ghost

Usopp starts shaking like a leaf as soon as they enter the abandoned, dilapidated house, and Sanji gently tells him, sometimes the worst ghost is the one you create yourself; Zoro feels the weight of Wado on his hip, and agrees.

  #31 - Book

“I don’t need this,” Zoro grumbles with a blush, pushing the book back into Nami’s hands, trying hard to ignore Nami’s laughter and the words ROMANCE FOR DUMMIES emblazoned on the book’s jacket.

  #32 - Eye

Shusui sinks into the man’s stomach, all the way to the hilt, and Zoro thinks of the way Sanji curled into himself as the man landed a lucky hit on the cook’s hand. An eye for an eye.

  #33 - Never

“This is my first time,” Zoro whispers, head ducking away as he feels his face flush at the admission; but Sanji’s hand rests on his cheek, encouraging, and he can feel the curve of Sanji’s smile as their lips meet and Sanji replies, “it’s mine, too.”

  #34 - Sing

Luffy cheers when Zoro and Sanji comes into view, and he lets them take on the next batch of enemies; a good fight is always fun, but watching Zoro and Sanji fight is even more so — like watching a dance that only those two know the melody to.

  #35 - Sudden

“What, are we supposed to be surprised?” Nami says, barely looking up from the map she’s working on; Sanji sputters, face redder than the tomatoes he served during breakfast, and Nami feels almost bad for him.

  #36 - Stop

“But we — Zoro and I — how did you know?” Sanji asks, and promptly stops asking questions when he realizes the rest of the crew aren’t surprised either; who could blame them, when his and Zoro’s sexual tension can be seen from a mile away.

  #37 - Time

Sanji knows they have to break apart soon, just to breathe, but right now all he cares about is to taste as much of Zoro as possible — he has waited two years for this, and it has been two years too long.

  #38 - Wash

They have their fair share of fighting — and how, considering the amount of repairs Usopp has to do for Merry just from their petty fights alone — but what the crew doesn’t know is that they also have this thing, this quiet thing, just him and the Cook and a stack of dirty plates between them.

  #39 - Torn

“In retrospect,” Robin observes, “dressing up our dear cook in a maid uniform would not only lower the enemy’s firepower, but also ours, considering how distracted our swordsman has clearly become.”

  #40 - History

“Why do you keep him around, mister?” The kid asks, pointing at the old swordsman with three swords and an eye scar by the peer; Sanji laughs, pats the kid on the head, and says, almost wistfully — “you can say we have some history.”

  #41 - Power

Sanji tugs at Zoro’s sleeve, and Zoro follows suit despite his complaints — Sanji thinks, distantly, how much of an honor it is, to have so much control over such a powerful man.

  #42 - Bother

“I didn’t have enough time to make this three-tier ice cream cake for our lovely Nami-san and Robin-chan because you distracted me!” Sanji says with a hard jab of a finger against Zoro’s chest, and Zoro thinks, good .

  #43 - God

Zoro does not believe in gods, but there’s a hymn of a noise when Zoro presses his lips against the crook of Sanji’s neck, the hallelujah of the world breaking apart as their bodies move together, and he thinks, close enough .

  #44 - Wall

 Zoro slams his fist into the wall of Polar Tang, and is taken aback by the depth of his own frustration; he knows Luffy and the others will get Sanji back from Big Mom’s place, but it unsettles him still, the way Sanji hides himself under layers of pretenses when Zoro has bared so much of himself to the Cook in return.

  #45 - Naked

“What the fuck was that for , Mosshead?!” Sanji shrieks, justifiably furious, leg raised and on fire after Zoro sliced his tray into two without preamble; Zoro can’t exactly tell the Cook he did it because he was too surprised at the sight of Sanji in a swimming trunk and nothing else.

  #46 - Drive

Why Zoro , people sometimes ask, but the answer is easy to Sanji — nobody drives him crazy the way Zoro does, and is that not what true love feels like?

  #47 - Harm

Zoro knows Sanji will be furious ; but as he faces Kuma, knowing at least the Cook is out of harm’s way, he knows he would do this a hundred times over, a thousand times over, a million times over.

  #48 - Precious

Sanji is sitting by the corner of the infirmary, face pale with red-rimmed eyes, and Zoro thinks he’s never had that, before — people who would weep for him, knowing that he is more than dried scars and calloused skin.

  #49 - Hunger

This thing we have is dangerous, Sanji tells him, but Zoro doesn’t care — he already has a craving, the same way he needs a booze when it’s been too long, except he thinks that this vice will surely kill him.

  #50 - Believe

This isn’t faith; this is the truth, Zoro’s truth, the same way he knows he will become the Greatest — Sanji will find that elusive sea of his, and Zoro will stay with him until it is the last thing he can do.

[ultimatetornshipper]

Steam

A lot of facts could be seen as only opinions. A lot of facts could be seen as flexible depending on one's experiences and perspectives. Facts could change and facts could be more than just the part of it that you're made aware of.

Blossom knew this.

But there was one simple fact that would remain the same for all of eternity.

Blossom Utonium hated Brick Jojo.

And he hated her.

Nothing, NOTHING would change this simple fact. They were natural enemies, opposites made to challenge and contradict one another.

It was simple.

Key word being was.

It's easier to hate and despise one another when your siblings weren't all friends and dragging the two of you along every chance they got.

It's easier to hate one another when your morals are directly clashing on a weekly basis.

Yeah, they still didn't exactly agree on a lot of moral questions but the boys aren't really evil anymore either.

But when the boys stole something the girls would fight them, take it, arrest them, they'd escape and everyone would let bygones be bygones.

By everyone she meant the blues and the greens.

She was pretty sure Brick was the only one who actively wanted to still do that stuff and Boomer and Butch just followed his lead. Or maybe Mojo still had something on them. She couldn't be sure, but the point was that they still committed crimes and that was illegal so it was their job to stop them.

And she wasn't stupid, she knew full well that she and Brick were the only ones who weren't pulling their punches and treating it all like a game.

So like she said. It was simple.

Until her sisters decided to make it complicated by befriending their rivals.

Blossom despised complicated social situations.

In any other context she could handle complicated. Fights? Sure. Science? She adored it. Books? What other kind is there?

But in group and friend dynamics? It annoyed her more than yarn catching on her nail, more than nails on a chalkboard, more than a dirty, uncleanable chalkbo-

It annoyed her a lot.

Why? Because it created situations like the one she was in right now.

Where her sisters and their counterparts were play fighting and joking around while she and Brick maimed eachother.

And it was always followed by a lecture by Bubbles on how she was too hard on him and Buttercup telling her to chill out while Brick and his stupid smug smirk would mock her and wouldn't leave her alone and how his red hair would be messy afterwads and half out of his ponytail and wisps falling into his face surrounding his gorge-

No.

She flew up to dodge a kick and landed behind him, pushing him forward so that he lost his balance.

She was fighting him right now. She couldn't think about his eyes or his pink lips forming a smug little grin and how she just wanted to kiss that stupid little smile off of his dumb face-

She froze in shock.

Kiss Brick?

Since when had that been an option?

She felt him get a hit in her stomach and her bottom collided with the ground.

She shook herself out of it. Later. She could analise... whatever this was... later.

She started getting up but suddenly he was straddling her waist and pinning her hands down above her head.

She stared at him in silence for a few seconds, because he was really close now and she could see the light freckles dancing across his nose up close and-

Bad Blossom! Now is not the time! You hate him, you despise him, he is the enemy! Stop checking out the guy you're fighting!

He smirked down at her victoriously, "At a loss for words, eh, Pinky?"

She felt him lower his guard and loosen his grip and quicker than lightning she flew out beneath him.

What in the name of Einstein was wrong with her?

She flew quickly and as high as the tallest building in Townsville, then she stopped and turned around and the handsome bastard was right there in front of her-

Wait a minute- handsome?!

Blossom needed to lie down.

Sadly, he seemed determined to keep this going.

They traded blows and each time he said something she didn't reply.

She was too busy freaking out about the fact that she had not only wanted to kiss him but also mentally referred to him as handsome and what the actual frickty frack?!

"What's wrong Bow Pink? You're awfully quiet today, afraid me and my brothers are finally gonna beat you and your sheep?" Brick taunted.

Blossom's brain with all its genius level intellect then decided that the only way to deal with whatever was happening to her heart was to stuff it in a jar and bury it deep, deep down and pretend it wasn't real.

She hated him.

He hated her.

That was a fact that couldn't and wouldn't ever change.

So she did what she did best.

She riled up Brick Jojo.

"I'm not the one here with sheep, Rock," she said mockingly.

He narrowed his eyes, throwing a punch that she quickly dodged, "Oh now she speaks?"

"You finally said something worth replying to. Though I must say, Rick, I'm disappointed, I can't believe you've been reduced to using puns," she replied, kicking his side and pulling away quick enough that he couldn't grab her leg.

"It's Brick and you know it, and don't pretend you don't pun, Pinky, we both know that's a lie," he said with a small growl in his voice. Dodging her once more.

"I still think your insult was just some good old projecting. Clearly if one of us have sheep it's you. My sisters fight of their own violation," she taunted, smirking. He grabbed her and they wrestled midair, each one gaining and then losing the upperhand.

Suddenly they pulled apart, flying in circles, eyeing one another. They were both panting, clearly out of breath.

Anyone could sense the electricity crackling through the air from a mile away. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that her siblings and their counterparts have stopped fighting and were now eyeing their leaders wearily.

She'd deal with it later.

She turned her full attention back to the man in front of her as the silence grew sharper.

His shirt had small tears in places, his hair was all over the place and he sported a few new injuries. She was certain she was in a similar state.

"They choose to fight," he broke the silence, glaring at her, "I don't force them to do anything they don't want to. I don't control them,"

The sharp, delicate silence fell apart and she felt her temper flare. The electricity turned to fire and she launched herself at him and felt her eyes heat up.

"The only reason for that is the fact that you're too busy being controlled," she screamed.

She could almost taste his fury at her words and their fight went to a whole new level.

Neither of them held back anything as they shot lazerbeams and went for one another unlike ever before.

She pushed him against a building, trapping him. And for a moment they locked gazes and time froze. The anger and frustration and denied attraction flared between them like a wild electric cable, their faces only inches apart.

"Are either of us really in control, Pinky? Or are we all just the result of someone else's choices?" he whispered harshly as they gazed into one another's eyes.

She felt her guard lower only for a split second before he grabbed her and pushed her against the building.

"But then again," he said quietly, and she felt his breath mingle with her own, "maybe if we want control we need to take it ourselves,"

He closed the distance between them and she only felt his fire approach for a second before she reacted with her ice.

So that's the was he wanted to play this?

She deepend the kiss and poured all her hatred and love and frustration and attraction into it.

She bundled up his shirt in her hands and felt his own get tangled in her hair. She faintly heard his hat fall to the ground not too far below.

Yet she couldn't care less as she kissed him the way she'd never allowed herself to kiss anyone before for fear of their life.

But she could do this with him because he could counter her perfectly.

He really was her opposite, huh?

Then she registered the fact that the air around them was slightly more humid than before.

She ignored it though, because this was the best kiss she'd had in... well, ever, and she was not going to pull away because as soon as she did that it would be over and it wouldn't happen again because now that they knew that it didn't-

Blossom felt him pull her closer and pushed all her previous thoughts away. She'd worry later, for now she just allowed herself to disappear into the kiss.

A few minutes later she became aware of a rather large amount of water hitting her.

They pulled away from one another in search of the source.

She quickly noticed that Brick was in a similar state as her and they turned to find their siblings staring at them.

Bubbles was holding the hosepipe that was likely the source of the water and Buttercup handed Butch 20 dollars.

"Really?" Her black haired sister asked, "You couldn't have waited just three more days for your murder make out session?"

"Our what?" she asked while Brick replied with a simple, "Fuck you,"

"Actually, Brick, you've got the wrong sister, I'm Buttercup, the one you wanna fuck is in your arms, her name is Blossom," Buttercup replied slowly, in a mocking tone of voice.

The red heads turned to look at each other and when they noticed their proximity, they jumped away from one another like the other had the plague.

Brick turned to them, "I was trying to kill her!"

And Blossom followed suit, "And I was just defending myself!"

"Nothing else!" They said at the same time.

Bubbles rolled her eyes and Boomer smirked. Butch waved them away, "Don't worry we have a completely different bet for when you two will acknowledge and accept your feelings for one another,"

"Yeah, and I can still win it!" Buttercup agreed.

"Feelings? What feelings?!" Blossom screamed, "Bubbles, tell Buttercup she's being ridiculous,"

Bubbles rised an unimpressed eyebrow, "Bloss, you're both redder than Brick's cap,"

"And you just spent 10 minutes making out so much that literal steam started surrounding you," Boomer snickered.

No matter how much Blossom or Brick denied it, no one in all of Townsville believed their denial after that day.

Buttercup won the second bet.

Approximately 3 months after what was dubbed their first Murder Makeout session the two finally confessed to one another.

Those 3 months are another story entirely.

But it was this that proved to Blossom that truly no fact was concrete, facts changed and facts expanded. Facts were flexible depending on your experience and perspectives.

And the fact was that while once upon a time, maybe Blossom did hate Brick and maybe Brick did hate Blossom, things changed.

But that mutual hatred melted away into something new, something beautiful, something flexible.

Something a little bit like steam.

Authors note:

Inspired by this post

I don't plan to continue this but if someone wants to continue or expand this idea or world like tag me I'd love to read it

Thanks to @maltrashdump for coming up with this idea, I love it, hope u enjoy my version of it

Also sorry for not putting a read more thing I'm on mobile atm

[what-the--curtains]

There Are No Wolves in the Desert

Part 2 - The Tell Tale Knife

(Oberyn Martell x f!reader)

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Summary: After the death of his paramour Oberyn seeks out a local mercenary known as the Shadow Hunter, but who he finds is more valuable than he could have imagined.

Authors notes: Thank you for all the comments, likes and reblogs! I’ve loved Robb and Oberyn since I read the books like 10 years ago now (yes my parent gave me that book when I was like 13 😂) I’m so happy to finally write down whats been in my head for years! Thank you for letting me share it with you💕💕 as per usual let me know if youd like a tag (or untag)!

Tw: Alcohol, violence, threats of sexual assault, swearing, nudity (implied), mentions of sex.

Word count: 4.5 k

Tagged: @evyiione @ayamenimthiriel @xsadderdazeforeverx @agingerindenial (if i missed anyone please let me know im the worst for tagging!!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3 years later

The days passed slowly while you remained tucked away, out of sight from those seeking to do you harm. A generous payment kept you safe in the attic of a local blacksmith, the promise of more ensuring you wouldn't be sold out. Once the imminent threat of assasination was over you focused on staying alive, finding the dragon queen becoming a distant memory, one that would have to wait until a more opportune moment presented itself. You used the last of your funds to purchase a horse and sought out work where you could. For a while you served as a healer to those returning from the fighting pits and other skirmishes occurring between nearby cities, until a Lannister soldier showed up searching for you. After that you moved further out of town finding work at a tavern miles from the city walls catering to a variety of characters travelling from near and far.

The owners were good folk, a retired sculptor, her wife and two young children. You’d stopped in for a drink with plans on heading further south, but an incident changed your course. A man came in threatening the owners demanding a payout when you’d stepped in, the man thought it would be easy, and it was at least for you. You helped them bury the body and they’d asked you to stay and so you did; tending to bar, training the horses and offering protection when needed. In return they offered you a bed, hot meals and a small salary despite your insistence that room and board was more than enough. It was a quiet life, a simple life, but one you enjoyed greatly. The noise of war and murder a ditant cry. Only in your sleep were you reminded of the cruelty of the world. The restful days quickly turned to weeks and it wasn't long until a year had passed, as had the memories of who you were.

The rumour of your murder had spread slowly from king landing, uttered from between the poisonous lips of Cersei Lannister, a lie you prayed one day would come back to haunt her. The day the news reached the ears of your employers you knew it was time to leave, and you rode back through the golden gates of the city. You’d resold the horse to a palace guard whose wife worked with the royal stables, training them, breeding them, caring for them, a good place for a faithful friend to live out its days. Noticing the weapons on your back the guard offered you a fee to find and kill a man who had snuck into the palace and murdered three of his wife's favourite horses after their daughter had refused his hand in marriage. He was dead within the hour, and from there the word of your skill in both tracking and murder got around amougst the nobility, and you fell haphhazourdly into mercenary work. If there was one skill you could rely on, it was your ability to unabashedly kill and you quickly became one of Dornes finest assassins. You fell into the work, the ease at which you became accustomed to it frightened you at first, but you had been hardened by loss, and it wasn't as if you hadn’t killed before.

Any semblance of emotional morality long forgotten, unable, or not wanting to have it all come seeping back, fearful of what may surface as a result. Most of your money went to keeping you fed, well rested and off any enemy radars. After the first month, money became more lucrative and you had splashed out on new armoury and weapons, nothing flashy like some of the more ornate dornish assassins who made a show of their profession. They were harmless, though admittedly annoying and from what you heard, not nearly as impressive as they boasted. Your armour was simple, lightweight leather over loose, breathable cloth, and a dark cloak, Its hood heavy and kept drawn well up over your eyes obscuring your face from prying eyes at all times. A shadow on the wall. Your weapons were similar to your clothes, your short swords and longbow were well crafted and durable, no decoration but for a few carved vines wrapped around their ends. Your only remaining identifiers were your eyes, and the dagger belonging to your late husband which stayed with you at all times, always within reach. Any remaining money was hidden away about the city, a retirement fund if you will, assuming you lived that long.

There were bonuses beside finances in your line of work, your ability to disappear into a crowd kept you in touch with the rumour mill. Words and secrets would fall from drunken mouths carelessly. Most of it stank worse than the horse's field after rain, but there were some that rang true, and a few that even brought a rare smile to your face. A young woman had spoken loudly about Tywin Lannister's death and how he’d supposedly died on the privy, causing you to snort into your soup, a fitting end for a coward of a man.

A month later you heard that the prince of Dorne had gone to King's Landing to fight for Tyrion, where he supposedly defeated a man standing well over 12 feet tall. A tall tale of a tall man you think, knowing how royal always sought to increase the truth of their abilities. You had also heard the unfortunate news of Ellaria Sands poisoning , the venom not reaching her veins until the ship had sailed out, no remedy to be found on the vaste seascape. It was a shame, she and the Sand Snakes were skilled adversaries here and they had since scattered in search of answers and allies around the seven kingdoms, to help avenge their mother. The prince apparently had to be restrained to stop him from turning the ship around, that was a story you found more believable. From what you’d heard the prince may have many lovers but he would go to war for any of them. You’d never seen his face, except for on the back of coins or from a distance. If you had you may have noticed him enter into the tavern where you sat awaiting your payment from your most recent client.

Your eyes stay on the table, your hood pulled up well over your forehead giving you a frightening silhouette beneath the candlelight that was beginning to glow more prominently as the sun set. The young man who commissioned you entered, he stank of wine and privilege, but he was rich and the payment promised was well worth putting up with his unsavoury personality. His true odor protrudes through the thin veil of perfume attempting to mask his stench, alerting you to his presence well before he’d sat down. Your time alone had heightened your tracking skills, a side effect of living under the constant threat of being hunted. The wiry man sits down next to you, his thin fingers snapping under your eyes in an attempt to get your attention, you inhale deeply, drawing yourself back to your displeasing reality and forced social interactions.

“Where's the money?” you ask, knife whittling a notch out of the table's leg with Robbs dagger.

“Where the head?” he retorts, and you pull out a small sack, shoving it into his hand watching as he pulls at the drawstring, opening the velvet bag. He raises his eyebrows and pulls out the index finger you'd removed from the corpse.

“Head was…. indisposed. I hope this satisfies,” you murmur, this job had been messier than you intended. You typically weren't so reckless especially with a noble.

“ Very much so, ” he says taking it and turning it in his hands

“The money then,” you restate, tone flat.

“Well there's one more... proposition I had.” He states, hand resting down on your thigh.

“I'll take the money for this job then you can hand me the next target,” you respond, sighing heavily, used to people getting handsy with you.

“You can make extra on this job if you play your cards right,” he whispers, hand running up your thigh. The other reaches up to pull back on your hood within seconds your dagger had impaled his hand, pining it to the table. His wail of anguish causes the heads in the tavern to turn briefly towards the scene before returning to their lively chatter.

“You stupid bitch,” he spits making a grab for the knife but you reach forward pushing it further into the table leaning in towards him.

“The money, or I cut off your head and mount it on the wall of this tavern,” you say, louder than intended.

Oberyn watches from the bar in amusement , the last time he’d seen fire like that had come from Ellaria. He needed someone to help get his revenge, someone willing to murder a man in front of witnesses, his birds had been right, this mercenary was the one for the job.

You rip the knife from the man's hand as he throws you the coinpurse you were owed you reach for it as he stands.

“Bitch,” he spits, liquid hitting the side of your face as he pulls down your hood “you better watch you back mercenary, I'll be taking you from behind in no time.” He snarls, as you hurry to pull your cover back up.

“Clever,” you retort, wiping your face, shaking out the purse and counting your pay out. Empty threats. Or threats you didn’t care about, you could kill scum like that in your sleep, and you had. You mutter another curse under your breath at being exposed, the latest delay in dye shipments had allowed the roots of your white hair to protrude through, lucky everyone inside was too drunk to notice. The money from the job was enough to keep a roof over your head for the foreseeable future, maybe even enough for a bath, it was getting to be that time. You go to stand, you had an ‘appointment’ in town, one with a handsome payout. Before you can stand you see a pair of hands adorned in jewellery slip into your view a scent of sweet fruit and honey indicating a cleanliness and a high status, a very high status, your appointment could wait.

Obery was observant, his eyes had been glued to you even while conversing with the beautiful patrons of the bar, not wanting to lose you in the crowd. “The shadow tracker”. That’s what you had been dubbed by those residing in the city according to his sources, clients of yours pleased with your services, services he was in need of. It seems you may bear more than one secret identity, it may have been for the briefest second, but the colour of your hair stood out against the dark fabric you wore. It intrigued him, white hair was uncommon in those of your age, very rare. In fact he only knew of one person still alive with such a trait. The other, one whom he’d sent a wedding gift to years prior, was long dead, or so the Lannister would have him believe, and when has he ever trusted the word of child murderers. He may have come here in seek of a mercenary, but what he found may prove to be even more valuable to his cause.

“Payments 50 for a nobody, rate goes up with each class, royals are above my paygrade, and nobles will cost you at least 6 of those fancy rings on your fingers,” you list, taking note of the martell sigil embellished on one of the larger rings.

“How much would it be to convince a wolf to take down a Lion,” he queries, hunching his head down to try and catch a glimpse of the eyes under the hood. Your heart drops.

“Above the pay grade, couple down at the docks have a death wish, you might try your luck there,” you explain, deepening your voice slightly in an attempt to disguise yourself.

“And what would be your wish, if you could have it?” he queries, leaning back kicking his feet up onto the stool beside you. As he does the yellow of his robes come into your peripheral the suns intricately stitched on, shining against the murk of the tavern's tile floor.

“To be left alone,” you chide, this was someone well acquainted with the royals here, you didn't deal with royalty, more trouble than they're worth.

“What's that old saying? The lone wolf dies, or am I mistaken? ” he returns, chuckling slightly.

“I don’t know who you think I am but I assure you…” you say, eyes finally raising, only then realizing the prince of Dorne sat before you, at least based on his impression on one of the coins in your hand.

“Lady Stark, I was hoping we’d meet face to face,” he remarks, the long forgotten address catching you off guard causing your eyes to shoot back down.

“Lady Stark died, the Lannisters ground up her body and fed it to the king's direwolf before killing it, haven’t you heard?” you say sarcastically, pulling your knife out of the table, unsure if he’d recognized it.

“Propaganda, set to diminish the power of the north,” he says, watching the blade intently as it's pulled from the table.

“I do not know if Lady Stark is alive, but for a price I could find out, granted you tell me what you need her for,” you mutter.

“I did not come here in search of Lady Stark. I came seeking a mercenary, the so-called “shadow tracker” however, this is a most welcome surprise, as for why I need you, or her, the answer is revenge plain and simple.”

“Is that what they call me?” you remark “ So you seek out a mercenary only to find something better, something you can trade?” you pose shaking your head.

“No, I needed an assassin, but found something better. Something more lethal.” He pauses.

“Which is?” you prompt, hoping to end this conversation sooner rather than later.

“One they think is dead. Besides I figured Lady Stark would want the opportunity to take down the Lannisters.”

“I assume she would, though she may think the offer stands too good to be true,” you state, gathering up your payment and making your exit he follows suit, stopping briefly to gently nudge his hand under the chin of an attractive man standing near the door, no doubt planning on returning later.

“The desert is no place for a wolf,” he calls after you, a significant distance between the two of you now.

“I shall let you know if I see such a sight, my prince,” you shout, dramatically curtsying before turning on your heel and walking off. He smiles before re-entering the tavern.

A week later

You stroll through the dark alleys of the city, a few years ago you wouldn’t have dared ventured out so late. The woods were known to you, their dangers and sights predictable, but the city was uncharted territory. While a bear could be trusted to do as bears do, the movements of man were less predictable. Your work kept you attune to the veins of the city and the people that coursed through them. You knew where to go and where to avoid depending on the day. You knew the sounds, able to pick out when something was amiss and tonight something was. The usual scurry of the rats below or the call of the parrots from above were absent, someone had been through here and not long ago. Your hand dips into the folds of your cape and you throw your dagger catching a man in the neck. You lean over and remove it from his jugular, the blood flowing out from the wound. Before you can turn him over, something hits you knocking you forward onto your stomach. You’re lifted from the ground by the nape of your neck. Your hoods pulled down and your head pulled up to see the foul smelling client and two other assassins standing before you.

“Dirron, Brant, always a pleasure” you snarl

“No hard feelings Shadow, you’re taking out all the business” Brant responds.

“How much is he paying you? Not enough I bet he didn't pay me enough. I'll double it if you let me walk.” you plead, but they shake their heads.

“I paid you more than your worth,” he spits, gesturing to the man behind you and he lifts you up slamming you into a nearby wall pressing your face against the rough brick. You can taste the blood beginning to gather in your mouth. He releases you, handing you over to the unpleasant smelling man who brings the dagger you’d dropped into your view, pressing the steel against your cheek as he begins to speak.

“This dagger belonged to Robb Stark.”

“Did it? I stole it from a client months ago,” you say, elbowing him in the stomach causing him to drop the blade. You catch it, and drive it deep into his knee. He falls, and you unsheathe his sword and throw it catching Dirron in the chest. The large brute gets to you before your next move knocking you in the stomach and pinning you back up against the wall.

“Told you I'd have you from behind,” the client says, limping over to you and spitting on the side of your face. As the moisture hits your flesh a spear pierces through his chest , pinning him to a nearby crate as the remaining two men scatter. You push yourself up spinning to see the prince standing in the alley picking up your dagger.

“Of all the souvenirs to keep, this…” he starts, examining the blade before continuing “ is the most telling. Even with your distinct traits, the Young Wolf's knife is well known, especially by those who saw it made. Dornish steel,” he explains tossing it in the air catching it by the blade and handing it back to you by its handle.

“As I just finished explaining to your dear friend there, I stole that,” you lie, taking it from him.

“No you didn’t,” he says, eyes bright even in the dark, a familiar smirk on his lips, clearly bemused by your attempts at lying.

“Yes I did,” you retort, refusing to let up on your façade.

“Shall we debate it over a drink?” he asks, retrieving his spear from the client's body which falls to the ground with an unpleasant thunk.

“A prince slumming it with the poor?” you ask watching as he uses the dead man's silks to wipe his weapon before turning back to you.

“My enjoyment of life precludes class,” he says offering you his arm

“As you speak from your riches,” you point out, watching him run his tongue along his upper lip.

“We are not as antiquated in our ideologies here, class here is less pronounced” he assures you.

“Is it?” you argue, pushing down on his extended arm and he shrugs his shoulder in defeat, pride faltering only for a fragment of a second at the notion of being rejected. The streets are busy tonight, the warm weather bringing the people out en masse to enjoy the city's nightlife. He brings his hand up to usher you into a nearby tavern by the small of your back, but thinks twice and drops it, not wanting to lose it. As you enter he raises his hand and winks at the barkeep before following you towards the back near the window sill.

“What will it cost you?” you inquire as he sits down, watching over his shoulder as the person behind the bar pours out a decanter of wine.

“What?” he asks, the downturn of his mouth and creased forehead painting a picture of confusion.

“To let me leave here, to keep this a secret, the two men who escaped know who I am now. My time here is up.” you confess as the decanter is placed on the table the bartenders hands trailing across his shoulders causing him to smile fondly up at them.

“I do not wish you to be found. It would ruin the plans I have,” he says, slowly turning his attention back to you, offering you wine. You stare at the decanter, then to him before shaking your head causing him to chuckle

“What? Have I said something amusing? “ you question, almost annoyed.

“Untrusting,” he remarks, taking a sip of the liquid before offering it to you once again. You reach over the table grabbing the cup from his hand.

“I am untrusting because in my experience people cannot be trusted,” you explain taking a sip.

“You husband certainly lied about marrying the Frey girl,” he remarks, leaning back into his seat, arms spreading out across the chairs back.

“I’ve never been married,” you state, wanting nothing more than to punch the smug look off his face.”

“You're good,” he says, eyes giving you the once over.

“At what?”

“Lying, well perhaps not good per say but committed, i'll give you that, you fight in a similar manner.” he presses, hoping to get a rise out of you.

“So, you think I can’t fight,” you say, shaking your head with a laugh

“Your words,” he states.

“I did not come here to be insulted by the likes of you, prince or not,” you scold, sitting up.

“I didn't mean to offend,” he remarks, eyes watching your movements, evidently he’d touched a nerve.

“Didn’t you?” you query, tilting your head.

“No, truly it was not my intention, I merely believe upon improvement,” he explains.

“Hard to improve without practice, hard to practice on your own,” you state, moving to leave, the prince drawing too much attention than you wanted on you. You down the rest of your wine and utter a ‘thank you for the drink’ before bidding him a farewell and exiting the bar. You don't make it far, seemingly unable to shake him.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“That’s privileged information,” you say, turning to face him walking backwards along the cobbled streets. His eyes fall to you before looking up to the heavens, the stars were bright tonight illuminating his features. The rumours of him held true in one area undoubtedly, he was handsome.

“Come back to the palace with me.” He says, eyes still gazing up at the sky.

“I have no intention of divulging in your pleasure my prince, my heart belongs to another, I swore I wouldn’t stray from him even in death,” you reply, turning back to walk forward spitting blood out onto the street, sure one of your teeth must have been knocked out in the earlier fight.

“While I disagree with more than one of those statements I did not mean to imply, though I would be remiss to say it wouldn’t be of great honour. I heard the Young Wolf betrayed an entire kingdom for you.” he says eyes once again on you, trying to catch a glimpse of your features obscured by the hood.

“Are you suggesting I got my husband killed?” you muse, hearing him tut in disagreement

“You’re dirty, you’re tired, you’re injured and at risk of murder, the palace offers you a safe place to recuperate.”

“And what do you expect in return?” you ask.

“I simply wish to offer you a proposition once you are rested, if you decline, you are free to leave. I will ensure you are transported to a safe location where no one knows you.”

Perhaps it was the itching of your skin, or the way the dye was clinging your out of control hair or maybe it was being allowed to be who you once were, but you agree.

“This is Shana she will help you, unless you prefer a male companion, though I would gladly offer my services” he says, gesturing to an older woman of great beauty.

“I can bath myself, thank you though,” you say, turning and nodding to the woman who bows her head and exits the bathhouse.

“Whatever you wish, I'll have her bring you clothes while we clean yours... if we can clean yours” he muses, the remark cracking a smile in your icy demeanour. He leaves and you undress placing your clothes outside the door as requested. Your bare feet feel refreshed against the cool orange tiles of the bath house, the area evidently meant for the use of many people. Multicoloured tulip petals float atop the water filling your nostril with an aroma unlike one you’d ever known. The steam from the water rises in the cool air of the night and you dip your toe in water proceeding to the steps.

You stride into the water allowing your lower half to adjust to the heat before fully sinking in to cover your shoulder. Immediately the dye in your hair begins to leak into the water blending together with the built up mud and blood that has been stuck to you since your last clean. You scrub your skin until the scars scattered across your body are once again visible in the moonlight. Your hand pauses over the wound above your shoulder, memories of Robb flooding back in, as you assume your true identity for the first time in years.

You dunk your head under the water, scrubbing to remove grime from your face and to work out the last of the dye until it's all gone, your hair returned to its original state. You stay in the water for a while enjoying the heat, but sitting in your own filth is no longer a luxury and you stand up and dry yourself off. Pulling on a robe hung up for you as if they knew you’d be there that night. The cool air hits you as you exit, a welcome relief compared to the heavy heat carried around while wearing your armour. One of the palace guards leads you to your bed chamber, the bed is large and the room even larger. Tiles from floor to ceiling apart from the windows which opened up to the balcony allowing the breeze in at night. You step out onto it, hand trailing through the flowers growing along the bannisters. You thank the guard and he closes the large wooden doors leaving you to change into an orange gown true to the style in Dorne. The thin material leaves little to the imagination, but it would prove good for sleeping though not much else. You turn your head to the room's table where clothes better suited for your line of work sit. Your weapons had been cleaned and lined up across the corner of the room, your dagger shined and stabbed into the wood, holding a note in place.

“Dramatic,” you chuckle, pulling out the knife retrieving the note and opening it ‘winter is coming’ you recognize the handwriting immediately, it had been years but you'd never forgotten the letter you'd received the day at the docks. Perhaps the prince could be trusted after all. You hesitate before folding the note up and placing it back down on the table, walking over to the large bed and falling asleep with the knife tucked securely under your pillow, just in case.

[prettywordsyouleft]

The Cowboy - Part 10

Summary: Leaving the city for a rural area called Blayne seemed simple enough. Your task was to convince the people to agree with selling their land for a resort redevelopment. But once there, you soon realise that your city ways are entirely different to theirs. Winning their trust was going to take some effort, and when you start to fall for a local cowboy, you wonder if you really needed Blayne more than the city life after all.

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x female reader

Genre: cowboy au / drama / romance / if you squint there’s some enemies to lovers up in here.

Warnings: Jung Jaehyun is a cowboy, need I say more? (a bit of angst and drama, and it sometimes might feel like you’re reading a Nicolas Sparks book, so I’m told lol) -- swearing, and I’ve never been to a rodeo in real life so I probably didn’t make a fully realistic scene, so don’t hate me, it’s fiction lol

Word count: 2281

This series will be updated every Thursday and Friday.

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

It truly was another world. The country music was playing live from the stage nearby and the endless row of stalls selling assortments from horse gear to food overstimulated you. You had lost Avery in the crowd, the tall man crossing paths with a group of women from high school.

Jaehyun smirked. “He’s always been the popular one.”

“And you the troublemaker?” you offered and Jaehyun laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re the troublemaker. How do you propose I deal with worrying about you when I’m warming up Trickster soon? Maybe you should come with me.”

“I’ll be fine exploring whilst you do that. I’ve seen you ride so much now, I’m convinced your butt is a perfect shape to mold to any saddle seat.”

“Well, you should know, having seen my butt how many times now?”

“Jaehyun!” you gasped, slapping his upper arm and looking around yourselves. You relaxed, realising you saw no familiar faces nearby.

He seemed to read your mind. “Avery knows about us. He’s helping me out by keeping his mother clueless.”

“Would anyone else come from Blayne today?” you asked, and Jaehyun shook his head.

“Not really. It’s more so people from the town over that will. And whilst you’re a household name in Blayne, you’re not on familiar terms yet with others. Which means…”

“Which means?” you repeated, grinning when Jaehyun reached for your hand, interlocking your fingers. You looked down at the gesture. “I felt that tremble, Jaehyun.”

“What tremble?” he feigned innocence for only a moment. “Maybe I have some butterflies about today. I want this to go well.”

“It will. I know it will.”

“Because I have your support?” he teased, and you shook your head, trying not to roll your eyes.

“Because it’s a passion of yours. I can tell you want this opportunity.”

“It would be real nice. Joey told me if I qualify, he can help me with the training. I’ll need to find extra time to do it, maybe travel to his barn a few times a week for evening training but it’s doable.”

“You’re so cute, you know that?” you said, recycling one of Jaehyun’s lines. He picked up on it and laughed. “I like seeing you this hopeful.”

“I’m hopeful about us too.”

“You are?”

“If I win today, my Dad will be pretty chuffed. Maybe we could tell him about us.”

“No more acting like teenagers over this. We’re grown adults, Jaehyun. Regardless of if you win or not, let’s tell him. I’m planning on meeting with him on Thursday for my business proposition, so if that goes well, I doubt he’ll have any concerns about us.”

“This is my Dad we’re talking about. There’s a whole lot about him, about us, that you don’t know.”

“Are you hiding someone in the attic?!” you asked, gasping dramatically. Jaehyun rolled his eyes. “You’ve got an entirely different life kept behind closed doors? How about being the culprit to-”

“Here you two are,” Avery interrupted, eyeing your linked hands with high interest. “Is this why you wanted to come today, Y/N? Away from the prying Blayne eyes, you can finally go on a date with your beau?”

“A date?” you pondered before looking up at Jaehyun. He grinned. “We’ve been on a few of those already in Blayne.”

“And no one knows that you two are together? Woah, I’m impressed with how well you’ve covered them up.”

“Not for long,” Jaehyun announced and you smiled happily, nodding in agreement. “But I am mighty glad you’re back, Avery. Can you keep an eye on this one? I’m sure if left to her own devices, some of the sellers in the market here will have her pulling out money she doesn’t need to spend.”

“You’re insulting my judgment so easily!” you called after Jaehyun’s departing back.

Avery grinned. “Well, you chose him over me. I’ve been doubtful of your taste this whole time.”

“Avery McConnell?”

Spinning to see another woman approach you both, you grinned. “He’s all yours. I’m going to go watch from the stadium.”

An hour had passed by, and you were struggling with the concept of being at a rodeo. On one hand, it was thrilling to watch but also reckless. You knew there was a danger behind the sport, as there was with most sports. But you didn’t realise how easy it was to fall off at this calibre of competition.

You gasped as a young girl, no older than fifteen hit into a barrel and her horse was deep in the turn, losing its footing and the pair fell, the horse landing on top of her. With bated breath, you watched as she managed to get back to her feet, albeit with an evident hobble.

“Your first time?” an older woman asked knowingly, and you nodded. “Not from around here?”

“Originally from the city,” you admitted sheepishly, and the woman laughed.

“Called that by a mile.”

“Do I stand out that much?”

“You’re no country pumpkin like me, that’s for sure.”

“Ah.” You looked her over and smiled. “I think you’re lovely.”

“I wasn’t meaning how we look, love. You’re here to support your boyfriend, aren’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“And he’ll come out here soon, and you’ll be the type to cheer. Don’t. It’s really tacky and could throw him off. Do you even know what barrel racing is about?”

“Some. There’s three barrels, and you have to make it through the sequence with the fastest time and without touching them.”

“It’s a dangerous sport. The horses are trained athletes. It might be all over in fifteen to seventeen seconds, but during that time, it’s a race against their life. They need to move without any issue, carry the weight of their rider perfectly, and dig deep to get around and then gallop off again. And the riders are just as focused. It’s more than just a sequence. Everything counts.”

“Wow, and he had a chance to go pro for this?”

She laughed loudly then. “All cowboys will tell you that, sweetie. Who are you rooting for?”

“Jung Jaehyun,” you mentioned and her amused expression dropped, scooting closer to you. Leaning back from her sudden invasion of your space, you laughed weakly. “Is that a problem?”

“Oh, he’s good. He’s back on the circuit? He took time off ever since the fire. I didn’t think he’d be back to this level.”

“What fire?”

“Blayne’s fire,” she replied, her eyes now peeled to the catalogue, checking out Jaehyun’s details. She gasped. “Joey Newman’s horse?! He didn’t come to mess around today.”

You smiled politely at the woman, slipping into your thoughts. You knew this was a big thing for Jaehyun, but was he that big of a deal in this world? The new information explained the nerves, but he had downplayed this to you all day long. The barrel racing was one of the last sports on the schedule for this rodeo, and for hours beforehand, Jaehyun had assured you it was like a training event. Yet, this woman now had you believing otherwise.

“Can I ask something?” you enquired, coming out of your reverie and the blonde woman nodded. “What happens if he makes the top five today?”

“He’ll be scouted. Perhaps he already is getting calls. He held the fastest time for five years straight in this region. Everyone wanted a piece of him before his father pulled him out.”

“Pulled him out?” you breathed, blinking rapidly. “Why did he-?”

“How about you ask your cowboy that you’re having a fling with all about it, once he’s done racing the clock, if you have further questions.”

“It’s not a fling,” you corrected and she smiled sadly at you.

“Darl, I was dating Billy Burke. You might not know that name but everyone around here did. He went pro, won the Nationals and become a million dollars richer.”

“A million dollars?!”

She shrugged. “I was pregnant with his baby at the time he got offered to go pro. We were supposed to get married. But, you know, it was his dream to go pro. When given the choice between love and the race, he chose the latter. So what if he has money? He has all that fame now too. All I have is his kid who hasn’t met his Daddy once. Let me warn you, cowboys might charm you with their country hospitality but they all have bigger goals than the farms they run back home. Once Jaehyun is given the chance, he’ll forget that Blayne even exists.”

“I doubt that,” you defended. “I’m sorry to hear of your circumstances, and even if Jaehyun and I end, I can confirm Blayne means more to him than-”

“You really don’t know what he did to Blayne, do you?” Pity for you emerged in her eyes. “What do you know aside from his body then?”

Getting up, you stormed out from the bleachers you had been sitting upon, feeling foolish for being so worked up by a stranger. Before you could leave, however, Avery leapt up towards you and clapped his hands together. “He’s next up. Where are you going?”

“Oh, I uh, need fresh air.”

“Worried about him falling off? Don’t be. He’s the best here today, you’re about to see it. No one else can go from being a farmhand to a decent barrel racer without practising than Jaehyun. Come on, you can get air after his run.”

Nodding numbly, you allowed Avery to push you along, taking a seat again. Avery greeted a few of the people around you, and you watched the horse and rider before you now, finishing their run with ease. You looked to the sidelines, wondering where Jaehyun was.

“I thought you said he was next.”

“He is. He’ll be making his way in any second now.”

The grating voice of the commentator muted as soon as you saw the spotted horse come racing into the arena, your eyes peeled on the pair heading towards their first barrel. Clasping your hands together, you watched on intensely, praying Jaehyun and Trickster would make it around safely.

The woman had been right. It was a sport that relied on precision and speed. You had always considered a minute to be such a short period of time, but as the seconds went by, you found yourself changed. Every second counted now.

Jaehyun and Trickster rounded the final barrel and galloped to the exit, Avery’s screams and sudden shaking your arm jostled you out of the blur that had been your vision towards the end.

Fifteen seconds was all it took to give you clarity on your feelings.

“He made it! That lucky son of a bitch!” Avery rejoiced, and you stood up jarringly, walking down the aisle to the exit. Avery was still full of energy at your side. “He’ll be cooling Trickster down, Y/N. Come this way to the holding pen.”

You followed along in a slight daze, your heart thumping with the thoughts within your head. You disregarded all the information, the warnings that stranger had given you. When you saw Jaehyun walking the heavily breathing animal around and patting his neck, you almost broke into a run to reach the side of the pen faster.

Noticing your arrival, Jaehyun grinned and walked the horse over. “Well, what did you think?”

“I think I’m in love you,” you announced sincerely.

“After seeing only one run?!” Avery joked, but Jaehyun’s expression grew serious, not shifting away from yours even as he continued to walk the horse around.

Distractedly, Jaehyun called out for the groom of Joey’s ranch and dismounted, walking over to you and ducking under the metal bar that separated you from him. “You mean what you say?”

You nodded, choking on the sudden emotions that had come with your confession.

“You can’t take it back after I give you this chance, Y/N. You mean it?”

“I love you,” you repeated, and that was all it took for Jaehyun to crash his lips upon yours.

There was no thought to the professionals around you, nor Avery who had stepped aside to give you albeit a tiny amount of privacy. You didn’t care at all who watched you lock lips with Jaehyun right now.

Because it felt right.

You hadn’t expected to arrive in Blayne and find yourself looking in different directions for your life. It had always been well-planned out. You would build your career and work hard during these years, so when you had achieved all you set out for you could relax into love and create a family.

The country didn’t work like that. The values were so different from what you had experienced in your fast-paced life. And now that you had been given the opportunity to slow down a little, to take in the world outside of an office and not be attached to a screen day in and out, you were finding your desires were changing too.

You liked the idea of waking up in someone’s arms and falling asleep whispering sweet nothings to one another. During those fifteen seconds, you imagined your life without Jaehyun in it, and it made you want to do absolutely everything in your power to remain at his side.

You meant the love confession. You had never spoken of love to another person before. It was liberating, fulfilling. As Jaehyun burned his lips into yours, you knew he felt the same.

It hadn’t been long between you. But this summer romance was shaping your world more than you believed it had for his parents all those years ago.

You couldn’t imagine going back to the city now.

_________________

Part 11

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[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #142: Ishtar

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re making Best Goddess and, according to @hasishtardoneanythingwrong, a servant who has done absolutely nothing very little wrong, Ishtar! 

In this build, Ishtar is a Divine Soul Sorcerer to balance her blasting abilities with her divine nature and a Zeal Cleric to push her explosive capabilities and godhood to the max.

Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: The second part of the oldest bromance in human history.

Race and Background

Unfortunately WotC hasn’t figured out how to balance literal god PCs yet, but since Ishtar is a demiservant we can still technically call her a Protector Aasimar, giving her +1 Wisdom, +2 Charisma, Darkvision, Celestial Resistance to radiant and necrotic damage, Healing Hands to heal some hands, and the Light cantrip.

Since she protects Uruk in her own special way, we’ll call her a Goddess Alliance Anarch. This gives you Animal Handling and Religion proficiencies, as well as some bonus spells as you level up!

Ability Scores

As the goddess of love and also blowing up mountains, your Charisma needs to be as high as possible. Follow that up with Dexterity, you can literally fly, that’s pretty fast. After that will be Constitution, you can take a lot of abuse, especially if it’s coming from the writers. Your Wisdom has to be next so we can multiclass, keep that in mind if you’re rolling. Your Strength isn’t amazing, but it’s not like you’re using it anyway. Finally, dump Intelligence. Not gonna dwell on that one, let’s just move on.

Class Levels

1. Sorcerer 1: Honestly I think “Divine Soul” is kinda selling yourself short, but we’ll work in the framework we’re given. You can cast Spells now, including your Divine Magic from the cleric spell list, using your Charisma. You’re also Favored by the Gods, giving you the option of adding 2d4 to a failed save or attack roll once per short rest.

For cantrips you get Thunderclap and True Strike for offensive options (I mean you do aim. Even if your target’s a mountain, aiming is important.) You also get Minor Illusion and Friends to manipulate people into doing what you want.  Finally, your stand against the Three Goddess Alliance grants you the cantrips Fire Bolt and Produce Flame to make the battlefield a little bit spicier.

For first level spells, you get Bless from being a divine soul, as well as Compelled Duel, Speak with Animals, and Thunderwave from being an Anarch. For your actually chosen spells, Mage Armor makes your outfit feasible, and Feather Fall will be very helpful once you start flying.

2. Sorcerer 2: Second level sorcerers become a Font of Magic, giving you sorcerer points equal to your sorcerer level. Right now you can turn points into spell slots or vice versa, but it’ll get more interesting later. 

You can also cast Disguise Self, in case you have to, I don’t know, organize a servant-based wacky races kind of event? Idk, whatever.

3. Sorcerer 3: Third level sorcerers get Metamagic, letting you alter your spells to suit your mood by using sorcery points. A Transmuted spell lets you swap out its acid, cold, fire, lightning, poison, or thunder damage for another option on that list. Meanwhile, you can use a Distant spell to double a spell’s range, making your archery much more effective.

You also become a Radiant Soul, spending an action to transform yourself and gaining a flying speed for up to a minute. You can also deal extra radiant damage to a creature you hit with an attack or spell once per turn. You can do this once per long rest. It’s not a long trip, but it’s free.

On top of that, you get second level spells this turn. Distort Value lets you halve or double an object’s apparent value for the duration, perfect for haggling with a certain someone. You also get Beast Sense and Shatter from your Anarch spell list. The former isn’t that in-character, but the latter is a good start to taking down that mountain.

4. Sorcerer 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to round up your Constitution and Charisma, giving you more health, better concentration, and stronger spells. What a glow up!

You can also cast the cantrip Resistance to add 1d4 to a creature’s next save, or use Find Traps to make sneaking into Gilgamesh’s many treasure vaults slightly easier. If it works.

5. Sorcerer 5: You’re a god, so you probably shouldn’t be messing up that often. To help with that, Magical Guidance lets you spend a sorcery point to re-roll a failed skill check. Maybe it’ll help.

You can also cast Fly this level, giving you more frequent flying miles at the cost of your concentration. You can also Conjure Animals if you want to show up that gazelle-loving sister of yours. More on-target, however, is your other Anarch spell, Conjure Barrage. Gosh, it’s almost like you’re an archer or something.

6. Cleric 1: This whole flying around exploding things is great, but I think we can put more pizazz on it. Or, as they say down in Amonkhet, let’s add some Zeal. That’s right, we’re stealing from two MTG planes this build! As a Priest of Zeal, you can attack as a bonus action if you attack as an action a number of times per long rest equal to your wisdom modifier. That sounds kind of useless, but as a Zeal Cleric you also get proficiency with martial weapons, meaning that yes, you can use a bow and arrow. The archer class really is made up of archers!

You can also cast and prepare Spells using your Wisdom, but we got the really good ones in your sorcerer list, so don’t worry too much here. You do get some more cantrips, though! Thaumaturgy lets you throw your godly weight around, Light lets you cast light again using a worse casting modifier, and Guidance gives a creature some helpful advice from their favorite goddess, adding 1d4 to their next check.

You also get some domain spells, but they’re both smites and you’re an archer, so...

7. Cleric 2: The real reason we’re dipping is for your Channel Divinity option, which you can use once per short rest. You could  use it for Turn Undead, forcing a wisdom save against all undead near you (with a dc of 8 + proficiency + wisdom modifier), but the much more fun option is Consuming Fervor. This turns one fire or thunder damage roll into its maximum instead of rolling. That will be very scary later.

8. Sorcerer 6: Sixth level divine souls get Empowered Healing. You might not have any healing spells, but just being around people makes them feel a bit better. This lets you spend a sorcery point to re-roll any dice being used in a healing roll near you once per turn.

Speaking of healing, we’re still not doing that! You can now Bestow Curses onto people. Serves them right, calling you a “useless goddess”. This is one of those creative spells, so have fun with it!

9. Sorcerer 7: Seventh level sorcerers get fourth level spells! Anarchs get Dominate Beast and Stoneskin, and while neither are technically in character the latter could be very useful given your less than stellar AC. Also, literally turning yourself into gemstones is a real power move.

Your spell of choice this level is Ice Storm, letting you pummel a 20′ radius area with plenty of hail (or fiery debris, or just pure force), enough to turn the area into difficult terrain for a round.

10. Sorcerer 8: Use this ASI to grab the Spell Sniper feat, letting your spells ignore most cover, and spells you cast that require an attack roll have two times their normal range. You also learn Eldritch Blast to further flex on those dumb warlocks. They have to sell their soul and waste an invocation to get 300′ range blasts, and here you are with 480′ range and your soul’s intact! Hah!

You can also exude an Aura of Purity now, preventing disease, weakening poison damage, and granting advantage on a ton of status effect saves. 

11. Sorcerer 9: Ninth level sorcerers get fifth level spells, including your final Anarch spell, Destructive Wave. It’s only got a range of thirty feet, but it never hurts to prepare for an ambush. For longer range attacks, Flame Strike will do nicely. We’re still not quite at “blasting a mountain to smithereens” level power, but we’re getting there.

12. Sorcerer 10: Tenth level sorcerers can get the most out of their spells by making them Empowered, letting them re-roll a number of dice on their damage roll, up to their charisma modifier.

You can also cast Dancing Lights for a bit of a dramatic flair, or Creation to make gemstones out of thin air. Heck, you could even make a proper Boat of Heaven with this!

13. Sorcerer 11: Another two levels have passed, that means you get another spell level. Sunbeam gives you a reusable sunlight blast, dealing radiant damage and blinding creatures that fail their constitution save. You can use this attack again as your action each turn for up to a minute. Sadly this isn’t affected by either of your range enhancements, but you’ve still got plenty of airspace to work with.

14. Sorcerer 12: If we’re going to blast a mountain apart we’ve got to get serious. Use this ASI to get the Elemental Adept feat, focusing on Thunder damage. Once you take this feat, all dice on thunder damage rolls coming from spells always count as at least a 2, and they ignore thunder resistances.

15. Sorcerer 13: The first step to launching the literal planet Venus at somebody is actually getting the damn thing, and that means we need to leave the atmosphere at a moment’s notice. The closest we can come to that here is Plane Shift. You can also use this on enemy creatures as a melee attack

16. Sorcerer 14: Fourteenth level Divine Souls get an Angelic Form you can transform into as a bonus action. This gives you a flying speed of 30′ that is basically permanent until you’re incapacitated or you just get rid of them on your own. Have fun with those orbital bombardments!

17. Sorcerer 15: Sunburst sounds like a good pick for your eighth level spell. This one actually does get a range boost, which is good because it deals damage in a 60′ radius. Creatures within that radius get a constitution save, and failing that means a lot of radiant damage and being blind until it makes the save on the end of its turn. Sadly, it’s stuck on radiant damage, but it’s still an effective blasting spell.

18. Sorcerer 16: Use your last ASI to max out your Charisma so that whole “making the save” thing from last level never happens.

19. Sorcerer 17: To make those saves even less likely, our final metamagic option is Heightened Spell, causing one creature’s first save of the spell in question to be made at disadvantage. Basically you’re saying “like you had a choice in the matter”.

Speaking of spells though, we can finally pull Venus through for a charged shot, thanks to the ninth level spell Meteor Swarm. With a max range of 1-2 miles this truly is nuking the planet from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.

Here’s a step by step guide for removing a mountain. 1. Hang out in the Troposphere. 2. Cast Meteor Swarm, swapping out Fire for Thunder damage. 3. Channel Divinity, maxing out the thunder damage for extra fun. 4. Deal 120 Thunder damage that ignores resistances, on top of 20d6 bludgeoning damage. 5. Enjoy your new crater.

20. Sorcerer 18: Your capstone level of sorcerer gives you an Unearthly Recovery. When you’re bloodied, you can spend a bonus action to heal yourself for half your HP, once per long rest. You had enough trouble in the underworld as it is, no point in going back again.

Pros:

As I just mentioned in level 19, you can deal a lot of damage. Like, Sanson level damage, without all the nonsense attached to it. You’ve got big booms, and multiple ways to make those booms hurt even more than they should.

Flying on a spellcaster is just. Really, really good. Especially on one built for range. There’s almost literally nothing they can do to you up here. Like, arrows, maybe, but you can just retaliate with the literal wrath of god. Plus, you’re probably out of counterspell range, so there’s nothing the DM can do to you!

A lot of your spells are focused on damage, but you do still have plenty of variety in your spell list, just in case. And on the off chance you’re fighting someone in a silence bubble, you can just change your thunder spells to acid or something.

Cons:

For most of this build we’re relying on the Flight spell to get off the ground, which eats up your Concentration and has a chance of failure when you take damage. It’s not ideal.

Those Cleric Levels are very useful, but they still push back your spell progression by 2 levels, which means you’ll have even less time with your An Gal Ta Ki Gal Se than you would normally.

You can’t fly everywhere. Caves exist. Buildings exist. I mean you totally can blast holes to get where you need to, just don’t expect to be that popular with whoever owns the building. Also, fighting in cramped areas plays to your biggest weakness: squishiness. Your AC is only 15, and you’ve got barely over 120 HP, which as we just discussed, someone built like you can take out very easily.

[drakewalkerfantasy]

The Truth of Pain (Tatum x F!MC)

Summary: The Truth will come out eventually, but are they ready for it? And what will happen when truth will be out. Will they be able to protect each other or will they be torn apart?

Words: 3465

Rating: T

Warning: none

Authors notes: I really hope you will enjoy this. Please let me know if still want to be tagged and what I can improve. I hope you will like this chapter, it’s not what I initially planned and I really didn’t have much time to proofread and make it perfect and I hope the next part will be better

 First part: The art of Foreign Affairs

Second part: The Secret of Foreign Affairs.

It was 8 o’clock sharp when Tatum heard Demarco’s worried and slightly panicked voice over the radio, informing the team he couldn't locate Claire. Slightly cursing and grumbling under his breath he pressed his fingers to the ear piece, thankful that even though he was off duty until later today he had connected to the radio in time not to miss the message.

“Copy that,” he replied through the gritted teeth, checking for any messages from Claire, but as he suspected there were none. “Demarco, leave it with me. I will find her... No… I don’t think that backup is necessary.... Yes… No... Wait in her suite. Demarco, this is an order,” said Tatum before disconnecting.

Heavily he moved to the door peeking outside. Cursing, when he saw three guards standing in front of Blaine’s door. His body ached with every step he took while he walked toward there, stopping in front of the guards. His impression - unreadable, knowing that even though he made friends with some of them they still will do their job, which meant not letting the bodyguard of the enemy's country into the room.

“Let me in,” requested Tatum, his hand already moving to the handle to push the door open only to be stopped by one of Hayes’ bodyguards.

“Mendoza, you know it’s against the protocol.”

“Claire is there and that is against the protocol either. So I'm not going anywhere till she leaves with me,” grunted Tatum.

“She isn’t there. Don’t you think we would know if she would be with Hayes? Unlike Rutherland’s bodyguards we know where our charge is...”

“How convincing... wasn’t it him, who was almost expelled a few weeks ago for a security breach... or wasn’t it him, sneaking away from you whenever he wanted? And wasn’t it him you lost in Rutherland few months before the start of the semester?”

“At least he never was spotted with his pants down with some mystery lover,” guffawed one of the bodyguards’. 

Lucky bastard. thought Tatum narrowing his eyes, feeling how his fists clenched from the memory.

“Don’t make me…,” seethed Tatum, feeling the need to punch something. He knew that he could trust Claire, but Blaine... he wasn't so sure if he could.

After 10-15 minutes of heated conversation Tatum firmly moved one of the bodyguards’ aside groaning from the pain that the effort took him, but finally getting inside the suite followed by Ardona’s bodyguards. Moving as quickly as he could toward the bedroom. 

“Mendoza, you cannot just enter like that,” hissed one of the bodyguards’ trying to reach for Tatum to stop him right outside the door.

“Miles, just try and stop me,” he seethed, whirling around with an angry glare in his eyes before throwing the door open and marching inside without another glance back.

The blood roared in his ears when he walked inside, but even through the rage that was boiling his blood he still could hear two gasps and exclamations following his entrance.

“Hey,” exclaimed Blaine, when the door opened hiding a smirk behind a shocked expression. “Didn't your mother teach you that you have to knock before you enter?” he asked, while making a show from the way the covers slipped from his naked torso, while another pair of hands firmly held onto her half not letting it slip even an inch lower.

“Claire, stand up,” roughly said Tatum, ignoring Blaine. His eyes unmoving on her, while hers widened and moved around the room looking anywhere but him. Guilt? Fear? he thought, knowing that even if it was, it still wasn’t what everyone would assume happened. He knew her well enough to know as much. Regretting the way how his own voice sounded, rougher than expected, sharper then it should have been. And knowing that she thought he was angry with her, but he wasn’t. He was angry about the situation, about the fact she was ready to cause another scandal, only to stir her mother's attention from him. He was angry about that, but not on her... never on her.

He could see how the blood drained from her face, when their eyes finally met, and a silent conversation trespassed between them.

“What are you doing here? I thought Demarco is on duty?”

“I knew you would do something reckless the second he informed me you weren't in your suite. God... What were you even thinking? I knew it was a bad idea to sneak out to him. Why would you even think of something like that?”

“Don’t you see why? Apparently, someone in my security details is a snitch, who passed information on us to my mother. So I needed someone who isn’t you to see me with Blaine so my mother wouldn’t do anything to you and would think her plan is working whatever her plan even is.”

“But you ARE with me...”

“Yes, I’m. But she shouldn’t know it. She should think I’m with Blaine and was all along.”

“You are stubborn.”

“But you still love me.”

“Yes, I do,” murmured Tatum in a voice quieter than a whisper, with a tender smile.

“Nothing happened,” simply stated Blaine stirring them both from the conversation they had, not even noticing that they had one. The one where they didn’t need words to have, and the one they mastered through years of friendship. Blaine’s hand placed under his head on the pillow watching between Tatum and Claire before looking behind Tatum at his bodyguards on alert. “You three can leave and close the door behind.”

“But Sir,” tried the bodyguard Claire remembered from their visit to the children’s hospital a few weeks ago.

“It’s an order,” said Blaine, waiting for the door to close before moving his gaze back to Tatum. “You can relax. I know Claire is in love with someone else and this someone unfortunately isn’t me. It doesn’t take a genius to put 1 plus 1 after the photo we all saw yesterday to realise that she isn’t interested," his eyes fixed solely on Tatum who still was looking at Claire the smirk playing at his lips and his voice taunting, "but I guess even if she would place a billboard in a Rutherland’s capital’s city square declaring that she is in love with that person or would scream that from the tallest tower in city this person still would be either blind or stupid not to get a message and still doubt her. So if this person even for a second could think Claire is capable of cheating, this person doesn’t deserve her.”

“Blaine, don’t...,” said Claire quietly, her gaze still holding Tatum’s, knowing that he didn’t think even for a second that this was what had happened. But also knowing that deep down he was still jealous and hurt that she was ready to play the game her mother would want her to play. Still doubting if he even deserves her and that hurt.

“I...,” he tried, swallowing thickly. His eyes meet Blaine’s knowing that he is right... he doesn’t deserve her, and even not because he could think for a second she could cheat on him. He knew she wouldn’t, simply as this, he just knew. But the voice of her mother mixed with the voice from his past whispering that 'never say never' was louder than that, and he could do nothing to silence them. “Claire, please...,” softly said Tatum, his eyes pleading with her, watching how she slipped from under the covers letting them slide from her body. The summer dress is still on her body with the slightly lowered straps to make her look nude. His eyes moving to Blaine, who followed her, the low rise jeans still snugly around his hips.

“I see you tonight,” said Claire to Blaine, her hand brushing Tatum’s passingly on the way to the door, sending a million of sensations through him. His finger hooking with hers just for a split second squeezing it slightly before letting go.

“You shouldn’t say that in front of him or he will think you are planning an escape route already and will triple your security details, ” laughed Blaine putting on a t-shirt with a wink.

“Blaine!!! I meant you picking me up at 6 for our date,” laughed Claire before she left Blaine’s room with Tatum just a step behind.

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

It was already 6 in the evening when Blaine knocked on the door. The bouquet of pink roses in his hand and a charming smile on his face. Tatum lowered his gaze feeling how uncontrolled spark of jealousy coursed through him, watching Blaine bending lower to press a soft kiss to the back of Claire’s hand lingering for a moment longer before handing her flowers. Wanting to be the one who would take her on the dates, who would bring her pink roses just because she loves them so much and to be the one who would hold her hand in his. He could see how Blaine looked her over with a smirk, his voice lowered to a loud whisper, still holding her hand.

“You cleaned up nicely.”

“You look not as bad yourself,” smiled Claire before meeting Tatum’s gaze, reading in them just how good she looked and how much better this long beautiful blue gown with a bare back would have looked on his bedroom’s floor. The single thought and the heat in his gaze, the one he masked behind the mask of stony expression sent a rush of desire through her, making her pulse race and for a tiny blush to colour her cheeks. “Ummm,” she cleared her throat, snapping her gaze back to Blaine’s. “So where are you taking me?” asked Claire, accepting Blaine’s hand to help her out of her suite.

“Where would there be fun in that if I would tell you?” he teased her in reply, leading her to the limousine that waited for them, while Tatum took a deep breath following them side by side with Blaine’s bodyguard. His body still hurting, but he went forward ignoring the pain, knowing that any second of him being distracted by it may cost Claire’s safety and he couldn’t allow it.

The drive to their destination wasn’t awkward, even though Tatum felt how the tension in his body intensified every time when Blaine lowered his voice beckoning Claire closer to him and whispered something that made her blush. Protectiveness and something resembling a spark of jealousy made his own body shift closer to Claire’s. Every nerve in his body was on alert and aching. Knowing that that was a dangerous move to do, a reckless one, but he still couldn’t resist it, feeling how Claire’s hand found her way to his behind their backs. Her body shifted just slightly cloaking the view of their intertwined fingers. Her thumb running gently over the bandage covering his knuckles, squeezing his hand and not letting it go until the limo stopped, meantime still taking the part into her flirtatious conversation with Blaine. 

Tatum could feel how her hand slipped from his the moment the car stopped, but not missing the last squeeze of her hand with a light tremor in them. His hand squeezing hers before finally letting it go, not missing the nervous expression passing over her face clouding her smile just for a split second. And he instantly knew why, when his eyes fell to a crowd of photographers readying their cameras just outside the limo.

“God,” mumbled Claire, swallowing heavily. “I know that they want us to be seen together, but did they really need to invite this many paparazzi,” nervously asked Claire.

“No kidding,” whistled Blaine before offering his hand to Claire, lowering his voice to a quiet whisper. “The good thing about going out with me is that I don’t give a damn about these sharks... and another good thing is... I don’t really think they even expect me to behave knowing my reputation or that I will not try to sneak away,”chuckled Blaine with a wink.

“But...”

“No but’s. Do you trust me?” asked Blaine bending closer to Claire, his voice soft and gentle against her ear, not giving a damn for a sharp pointed look that Tatum threw his way.

“I do... but our bodyguards may get in trouble for that and I... I don’t want that to happen,” finally said Claire with a sigh and a worried expression.

“Not if we play our cards right,” winked Blaine. “That involves delivering exactly what our parents want... they don’t expect me to sit at some stuffy restaurant and behave myself. They expect me to run off with a beautiful girl, sneak away from our bodyguards and paparazzi, because everyone knows that everything I do for cameras is to piss my parents. And if I do something secretly... It means that it’s real and something I care deeply about. So why not enjoy ourselves far away from that farce and give our parents exactly what they want from us?”

“The show...,” the realisation downed at her. “The show, that is believable enough for them to get what they want... us together likeable to the public, creating a rumour that it’s real and not PR company your parents and my mother try to pull off thereby setting up even more of the population against them. Blaine, are you sure that they will not get in trouble,” asked Claire, subtly looking at Tatum who grunted while getting from the car, holding the door open for them and waiting for Blaine and Claire to follow him.

“I give you my word, so... are you in?”

“I...,” spoke Claire, chewing at her bottom lip still contemplating her answer before finally saying. “Fine... I’m in. But if anything happens with T...”

“Nothing will happen with him," interrupted Blaine. "And I promise you will not regret it,” he whispered with a smile before helping Claire out of the car under the intense glare from Tatum. And as soon as Claire and Blaine stepped out onto the street the camera flashes blinded them as reporters started to shout questions at them.

Blaine’s hand gently placed on the small of Claire’s back, leading her through the crowd with the help of their bodyguards, noticing that despite the best effort from Tatum he could barely stand, grunting every now and then when some of the most insolent reporters tried to get past him. His teeth gritted, taking a shaky breath before requesting yet another reporter to back off, his hand now and then gripping his side before continuing to clear the path for them.

The questions that were asked, and ignored with flourish by Blaine and Claire, were the same she used to hear for the past couple of days. Most of them about the scandal, some about the feud between their countries and her mother’s political career and what that could mean to her. And some, as everyone hoped would be, the questions if Blaine is that same mystery lover that everyone is talking about. Carefully Blaine led them through the crowd toward the restaurant that was supposed to be their date’s location, meantime thinking of the quick escape plan for them until one of the reporters asked for proof that they are together.

Shakily Claire turned to face Blaine, feeling how her heart was pounding quickly in her chest. And he could feel how her body tensed under his hand. Her eyes widened slightly, and her hands curled around the lapels of his suit jacked neither pulling or pushing him away. And by the look in her eyes he instantly knew that she felt like a deer caught in a headlights. Her breath elevated, while her eyes sought someone behind him, locking her eyes with this person. Blaine’s hands gently grazing the bare skin of her back, trying to soothe her with his touch. His face lowered to hers feeling how her breath hitched in her throat and she swallowed. His lips just inches away from hers wanting to kiss her, but first wanting to make sure that she was okay with it even though he knew this is part of the deal. At least that was what she asked him to do. 

The voice of his father rang in his ears: Do something you are finally good at. Date the girl. Kiss her and make her forget about this mystery lover of hers. Make her look good and pretty. Sneak off to make it seem real to you. And probably then you will at least make something good of yourself. 

And if that girl wouldn’t be Claire he would never agree to that but in that case he couldn’t say no. But now, he wasn’t sure if this was such a smart idea after all as he liked her, more than he probably should, and more than he liked anyone else since that night only a few months ago before he got here. Trying to push the thought away about the annoyingly sparkling eyes, the same shade of chocolate brown as Claire's, but with the different sparkles of silver and gold swirling in them.

“Are you sure you are okay with that, if not we can go for a hug,” he asked with a concern lacing his voice, watching her nod and swallow.

“Yes... I... We need to do the whole show... you know for mum... for that to be believable. I’m sure my friend...,” she choked on the words trying to meet Tatum’s stoic expression, who was standing just a few feets away from them. But he made a hell of a job not to meet hers. She sighed in defeat. Not buying even for a second, that this didn’t impact him as much as it did her. Knowing him way too well not to miss a fire burning in his eyes, and the way how his fists clenched. “I’m sure he will understand,” whispered Claire, lowering her eyes.

“Okay,” he said, softly pressing his lips to hers without waiting for another invitation. His kiss was gentle and warm and leading, but it wasn’t Tatum’s and it was all she could think of. And she knew that he could feel it too. His lips lingering against hers for a moment longer as if savouring the feel of them for the last time before finally pulling slowly away. Pulling her in a tight embrace shielding her from the press so they wouldn’t see her tears. After a long heartbreaking moment she gently pushed him away finally putting on a forced smile, the fake one as fake as this date is... not knowing if he ever will have anything real.

They could hear how the press shouted their approval taking pictures, making the bodyguards get themselves busy with the amount of paparazzi trying to take a better shot of the happy couple, and as on cue Blaine saw an escape route. Quickly, he leaned to Claire nodding toward the narrow alleyway just behind the restaurant, stirring her away from the crowd until the freedom seemed so close and Claire could feel how she finally could breathe again, finally not suffocating by the amount of attention from the press.

“Where do you think you are going,” ceased someone through gritted teeth, when Claire felt a firm but gentle hand gripping her forearm. She instantly gasped and whirled around to face no one else but Tatum who was glaring at Blaine.

“Busted,” shrugged Blaine, letting go of Claire’s hand and nonchalantly leaning against the wall of the building. 

“Care to explain?” seethed angrily Tatum.

“We are ditching my bodyguards and I’m taking Claire somewhere where she will be able to enjoy her meal. Not so pompous as this place. Care to join us?” Smirked Blaine. “And no worries we will be back before the opera.”

“Opera?”

“Yes, they are sending us there and we definitely need to be seen there...” shrugged Blaine before looking back to see if anyone else noticed their absence. “Dude, we don’t have much time so either you go with us or we go without you,” said Blaine looking behind the corner.

“Tatum, please,” softly spoke Claire.

“Claire, it’s unsafe,” tried Tatum before she stopped him with the press of her fingers to his.

“Tate, if you will go with me… with us it will be the most safe place I can be without paparazzi breathing down my every step. Please, Tatum. I need it, I really do.”

“But what about his parents and your mother,” finally asked Tatum.

“This is exactly what they would want for paparazzo to think, that this is real. And this exactly for what we are going. So my question stands are you coming with us? Or will stay behind, I’m good either way.”

“Fine… I’m coming."

Tagging: @choices-bound​​​​​​ @jamespotterthefirst​​​​​​ @mercury84choices​​​​​​ @k2624​​​​​​ @thefrenchiemama​​​ @choicesreal​​​​​​ @starrystarrytrouble​​​​​​ @boneandfur​​​​​​ @walkerswhiskeygirl​​​​​​ @sophxwithers​​​​​​ @ramseysrookiex​​​ @suitfer​​ @gardeningourmet​

[tothemeadow]

Serendipity [Chapter 1]

When the kingdom of Ainamoryp falls, a motley crew of unlikely allies must come together to save the country. 

warnings: swearing, mentions of death, mentions of blood

words: 3.8k

(a/n): All characters range from 19-20. Reader insert, reverse harem.

Dinton Keep, Ainamoryp, May 3rd, 492, 00:43

“The king! The king is dead!”

As soon as the declaration is shouted, there’s a growl of pain, then the unceremonious thump as a body hits the ground.

All around, flames lick at the stone walls, set the sky ablaze. The inky hue of the night is abruptly ruined by a brilliant orange, the smell of burning wood and bodies drifting along with the night’s breeze. The clamoring of swords crashing against each other rings throughout the air, seemingly traveling for miles. Horrified screams and blood-thirsty growls make for a gruesome, twisted melody, one that imprints itself on the brain and promises itself its unholy stay.

Heavy pants, cloudy eyes, a desire for murder.

This is what keeps Prince Shouto pressing forward.

Flanked by two guards, the three scramble through the narrow halls – the hidden passageways hidden behind the castle walls. A mere torch is their only source of light, a pitiful flame compared to the hellstorm raging through the city’s streets. Their movements are rushed, silent; there’s no time to be discussing the finer details of the invasion when the only thing playing on their minds it escaping. Gods be damned if more royal blood be spilt on the stone, seeping through and leaving a burgundy scar.

Despite the silence cloaking them, Shouto grits his teeth, the urge to turn back and fight ever present and growing. That’s his kingdom who’s suffering, hundreds of innocent people dying, suffering. And for what? Power? Wealth? If it were up to him, he’d go back and slaughter those intruding the lands, planting their flags and proclaiming their victory.

This isn’t how things were supposed to go.

“Please, my prince, we must keep moving,” the guard in front throws over his shoulder, as if sensing Shouto’s inner turmoil. “We have to get you away immediately.”

Funny how this works, how simple guards think they can control their prince, a member of the royal family. He could easily rip them a new one, put them in their place and insist they stand their ground, but he knows they’re right. There are too many enemies, even by Shouto’s standards. Even if he stayed around and fought, there isn’t a doubt in his mind that he would be slain right there on the spot.

Up ahead, a rickety wooden door comes into view, a heavy bolt holding it shut. The metal creaks as the frontmost guard slides it loose and opens the door. Heavy smoke hangs in the air, slowly spreading towards the surrounding woods and farmlands. Shouto’s heart clenches at the sight, at the putrid odor of death, the sounds of petrified screams. Closing his eyes, he tries to calm his rapidly beating heart, the anger boiling in his blood twinging the outlines of his vision red.

He’s a complete and utter fool for abandoning those who need him most.

Still, he allows the guards to lead him to an awaiting horse, a brilliant beast the color of ivory. Swinging up and onto the saddle with graceful ease, his cloak flutters behind him.

“Go! Now!” the guard with the torch bellows, eyes latching onto a group of enemy soldiers scaling a wall. “Get out of here!”

“You’ll be killed, dammit!” Shouto proclaims, his anger finally boiling over. “I refuse to have anybody else shed their blood!”

“You’re the prince, your highness,” the guard shoots back, both he and the other one drawing their swords. “There’s a watchpoint south of here, hidden away in the woods. Get there, seek for help. The soldiers there will lead you to safety.”

“Bastards, the lot of them,” Shouto hisses, “I can stay and fight.”

“No! You must go!” Before Shouto is given a chance to say anything in return, the guard strikes the horses rear. Letting out a shrill whinny, the horse rears up, landing back down heavily and taking off at a breakneck speed.

Cursing under his breath, Shouto watches over his shoulder as the two guards confront the enemy soldiers. They soon disappear from sight, leaving only the smoldering haze and raging fires encompassing the silhouette of Shouto’s childhood home. As the castle and surrounding city grow smaller and smaller with each impounding trollop of the horse, he can’t tear his eyes away, even long after it disappears from the horizon.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Levalon, Ainamoryp, May 3rd, 492, 10:14

Easy does it now, easy does it… Don’t get too close… And… Gotcha!

Snatching his hand away, Zenitsu quickly stashes the pigskin coin purse underneath his cloak. Heh, suckers, the lot of them. Most of them couldn’t tell the difference between their right hand and a horse’s ass, much less when someone steals their coinage. Briskly turning on his heel, he walks away, whistling casually.

It’s so easy.

On the market streets of the town, a large sea of people roam from stall to stall, buying smoked meats, freshly baked breads, the farmers’ latest pickings. It’s a jolly scene, the constant chatter of patrons and high-pitched yelps of young boys trying to direct potential customers to their father’s stalls. Zenitsu grew up on these streets, raised right alongside other peasant boys with no home or family to call their own. Perhaps it’s a sad story, one meant for lonely nights and listening ears, but it’s Zenitsu’s lineage. It’s what made him into what he is today, a thief with deft fingers and a pair of legs that could challenge a horse in a race.

An easy smile comes to his face. He’s long since grown used to the smell of piss and sweat clinging to the cobbled street, the hollow-eyed children staring long after the people carrying baskets and sacks of food. Everything is so horribly imperfect, but this is home. Hell, although he’s making his living in a dishonest way, it’s enough to keep a roof over his head and food in his tummy. And maybe, if he saves up enough coin, roll around in a bed of hay with a large breasted whore.

Sidestepping the crowd, he makes way towards the local tavern (Ye Olde Wife, can you believe that?), breakfast and busty barmaids on the mind. If possible, the patrons inside the tavern are nearly as loud as the ones outside. Kicking the door shut, Zenitsu heads for his usual spot at the bar, sliding onto the wobbly stool and shucking his hood down. Ale and body odor permeate his nose, the smell foul yet welcoming. Nothing is more greeting than sweaty men and alcohol.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” the owner’s crackly voice says.  A stout old man with wild hair and a bushy mustache, he’s about as rough as they come, but to Zenitsu, he’s probably the closest thing to family that he’s ever had.

“Oh, come on, Gramps,” Zenitsu says, tapping the bar top with his fingertips. “You love seeing me, eh? I bring you plenty of service-“

“You flirt with the girls in here more than you order anything,” Gramps spits. Even so, he starts to step away, already heading to the kitchen to fetch Zenitsu something to eat. “Ungrateful bastard – it’s a wonder you’re not a father yet.”

“Yet!” Zenitsu calls after him. “Don’t jinx me, Gramps!” Easing back, he turns around, resting his elbows on top of the bar. Now that he’s closer to the kitchens, the smell of succulent meat turning on a spit makes his mouth water and his stomach growl. Gods, he is hungry. While he could easily steal something from the stalls lining the market street, he normally comes to Gramps’ tavern for a proper meal. And yeah, maybe he ogles the barmaids while he’s at it, but it’s merely a dinner and a show for him.

“Oh, shit,” some random man sitting at a nearby table says. “You mean you haven’t heard about the capital?” Along with him sits another man – they’re most likely miners, if their builds and dirty fingernails say anything. Knocking back his cup, the other merely shakes his head. “Them bastards from the north – Nialliv – they stormed it. Took Dinton Keep as their own.”

Now, it’s usually polite to not listen in on others’ conversations, but this is Zenitsu here. For as long as he can remember, his sense of hearing is astronomically better than the average human’s, and it’s actually quite a useful tool when it comes to his particular jobs. But this… The capital city being taken over? How come he hasn’t heard anything before?

“You’re telling me that Dinton Keep isn’t ours? Watch the shite spilling from your mouth,” the other man grumbles.

“Aye, it’s true. Took in the wee hours of this morning, I tell you. Apparently, the king is dead.”

At that, Zenitsu stiffens. The king? Dead?

“Fuck,” the companion curses. “And they haven’t said anything yet?”

The first one shakes his meaty head. “Only a few know, I guess. The messengers probably all got their throats slit. Gods bless their souls. It’d be a miracle if we’re all not dead by the end of the month.”

“How many are dead?”

“Hundreds, I take it. Mostly guards and members of the royal court, probably. No point in killing civilians if you don’t want to clean up the mess.”

“And the prince?”

“Disappeared. Haven’t heard if they found his body or not.”

“Oi,” Gramps barks, slamming a plate down on the bar before Zenitsu.

With a jolt, Zenitsu yelps. Whipping back around, he flashes Gramps with wide eyes. “Gramps,” he whisper-yells, “is it true?”

Cocking a bushy brow, Gramps leans forward, arms crossed over his chest. “Is what true?”

“That the king is dead,” Zenitsu says, slowly. He can hardly believe the words are coming out of his own mouth.

Pointing a thick finger at him, Gramps flashes him a warning look. “It’s not your damn business spreading the news around. People are gonna be in a panic when it goes public.”

Zenitsu pales. “No way…”

“I had a carrier pigeon come in this morning,” Gramps continues, voice tight. “Unless they kick them bastards out of Dinton Keep, Ainamoryp can kiss its ass goodbye.”

Glancing down at the steaming meat and eggs in front of him, Zenitsu’s body immediately says that his appetite is gone.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Roman Sea, off the coast of Ainamoryp, May 3rd, 492, 12:39

“Captain! Land clear up ahead!”

“Well, what the fuck you waiting for? This ship isn’t going to dock itself!” you screech.

The sky above is a limitless blue, not a hint of a cloud in the sky. The sun itself seems in a good mood, as does the waters. Your ship heads towards your homeland gracefully, the waves slapping against the sides in a hello, welcome back. As much as you love sailing and exploring new lands, home forever beckons for you, calls you back with welcoming arms. There’s nothing as relieving as setting foot on familiar land.

Although you’re young, you’re powerful. Already a captain of your own crew, the proud owner of The Pearl Lady, you’re meant to go places and the gods are surely smiling down at you. Granted, the overexposure of sun and salt water may have left your skin permanently freckled and mind scrambled, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re a force to be trifled with, and all be damned if they dare challenge you.

Hands settled on the wooden railing, you watch as the rest of your crew scrambles to prepare for docking, lowering the sails and readying the anchor. The coast of Ainanomyrp glimmers under the afternoon sun, truly a sight to behold, but something feels… off. Normally, other boats come to and from the mouth of inland, the capital city of Endeavor being a major port. However, there’s not another boat on the water, not even the small dingeys for fishing.

Your ship glides in smoothly, coming to a gradual stop by an open dock. Your crew pushes the anchor overboard, the salty water giving a final splash as your boat jolts to a stop. Hell, even the docks are unnaturally silent, not even a single ship hand or merchant in sight. All other vessels are docked, their decks bare of any people. Your crew shifts uneasily, clearly noticing the strange lack of other human beings.

“Uh, Captain?” the quartermaster asks you, hand instinctively landing on the butt of his pistol as he glances around, “Should we lift anchor and sail to another port?”

“Like hell we are,” you grunt, narrowing your eyes. Something’s coming. You can feel it.

Stepping away from the railing, you saunter down to the main deck, heading to the side where your crew set the bridge down. The clunk of wood striking wood echoes into the air; instead of it being a relieving sound – a sign that you’re truly home – it’s ominous. It’s only a matter of time before disaster hits.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” you tell your crew, “Something isn’t right.”

“Halt!” an unknown voice calls. Straining your neck forward, you catch sight of a small patrol of guards in dark gray armor clamber down the cobblestone steps leading from the streets to docks. While it’s somewhat of a relief to see actual human beings, you’re immediately on edge, body stiffening. Those are not the given uniforms of Ainamorypan soldiers.

“Fuck,” you grumble, biting the inside of your cheek.

Metal clanking against wooden boards fills the tense atmosphere as the patrol comes up to your ship. The group stands ramrod-straight, faces stoic, eyes sharp. The leader steps forward, neck craning as he looks up at you. “Who goes there?” he barks.

Clicking your tongue, you lean over the side of the ship, elbows resting on the weathered wood. “A bunch of merchants returning home. Everybody’s got to make a living somehow, eh? Now, if you’d kindly fuck off, I’d like to step on some actual dirt for once.”

The guard sneers, expression turning ugly as he flashes yellow teeth. “All incoming and outgoing ships are to be registered. And, as far as I’m concerned, your shitty dingey isn’t on the list.” With a metallic snap of his fingers, one of his followers hands him a clipboard and a hunk of charcoal. “Ship name, captain’s name, date of arrival and planned dismissal.”

At that, you bark out an incredulous laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me? When was this instilled?”

“Just this morning, actually,” the guard snips. “Since I’m feeling merciful, I’ll let you off with a warning just this once. Follow these orders or we’ll have no other option than to imprison you.”

Prison? Seriously? Just who did this dickhead think he’s talking to?

Scoffing, you draw yourself to a full stand, placing your hands on your hips. You could easily pull out your pistol and try to shoot one of the damned guards, but lead balls aren’t going to do much against a full suit of armor. “And I’m pretty sure I told you to fuck off.”

The same guard who gave the leader the clipboard and charcoal steps close and leans in, whispering something into the leader’s ear. The leader spares you a single glance, his eyebrow cocking in interest. With a wave of his hand, the rest of the patrol storm the ship, drawing their blades. Your crew readies their own blades and brandishes their pistols, murmuring unsure words.

“Captain (l/n) of The Pearl Lady,” the lead guard says, scribbling it onto his parchment. “Such a pleasure to meet a wanted criminal.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Dinton Keep’s dungeons, Ainamoryp, 492, May 3rd, 13:00

“Oi, oi! Keep your grubby hands off of me!” you bark, shoving yourself against the guards holding you by the biceps.

“Shut your damn trap, you filthy pirate,” the guard on your right seethes, his putrid breath clogging your nostrils. “Thinking you can just waltz right into Endeavor? What are you, an idiot?”

“Far as I was concerned, Endeavor used to be leagues more friendly than this horse shit.”

“I told you to shut up,” the guard barks. Lifting a hand, he cracks up alongside the back of your skull, leaving a thrumming ache. The other guard merely stays silent as he shoves you into the other’s arms, fishing a set of keys from his side and opening the door to a cell. “Fucking rot for all I care,” the guard spits, pushing you into the dingy space.

You sputter as you crash onto the jagged rock, your palms scraping against the surface. You hiss in pain as the guards slam the gate shut and lock it. The one who mocked you takes off with a bark of laughter as the other simply follows behind. “Bloody bastards,” you grunt as they disappear from sight. “I oughta wring their necks and hang them from the bow.”

“Are you alright?” a new voice speaks.

With a screech, you fling yourself to the side, your hip screaming in pain as a sharp rock digs into the flesh. You instinctively reach for your sword, only to be left blubbering curse after curse after remembering that the guards confiscated all of your weapons. Perched on the windowsill sits a boy no older than you, head topped with messy green curls and a face adorned with a sea of freckles.

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” the stranger proclaims, waving his hands frantically before him. Hopping down from the wall, he holds his hands in front of him, much like he’s encountering a vicious wild beast. Which isn’t totally wrong, but still.

“Bullshit you didn’t! I’ll kick your ass, mate!” Scrambling onto your feet, your press your back against the cold stone wall, bloody hand clutching your bruised hip.

“I swear it! It’s just… Well…. Look, your hands are bleeding,” the stranger says, turning his hands so his palms are facing upwards. “Let me treat them.”

Your face curls into a snarl. “And why would I do that?”

“I’m a healer,” he continues, stepping forward and snatching your wrist. You yelp at the sudden contact and try to rip your hand away, but his grip is strong. Now that he’s up close and personal, you can’t deny the fact that he’s tall and muscular, the sleeves of his tunic rolled up and exposing the veins and scars riddling his forearms.  

Holding your wrist with one hand, the other hovers above your scraped, bloody palm. A golden light emits from his hand, casting a warm glow over your own. Ah, so this guy is a magic wielder. While it isn’t uncommon for people to practice magic, you yourself have never taken an interest in it. Magic can be a finnicky force to deal with, and one who cannot rein in its power may be subjected to a world full of hurt.

With a sigh, you keep your emotions under control and allow this stranger to continue his treatment. For one, this guy is healing you for free, and secondly, he appears as though he can easily throw you through the stone wall with little effort.

“There,” he says once he’s finished, gingerly retracting his hands and flashing you a tiny smile. “It’s all better now, see?”

Staring down at your hands, you flex them into fists, noticing how whatever tension that was in them had disappeared along with the scrapes. Magic can truly be a wonderous thing, but in the wrong hands… Well, things don’t turn out as pretty.

“I don’t get it,” you say, sidestepping the stranger and planting yourself on the pile of dirty hay strewn about the floor, “why is a healer in a dungeon, of all places?”

At your question, the stranger visibly perks up. He follows your movements, getting onto the floor and sitting across from you. “I guess a proper introduction is needed, huh?” he says, scratching his cheek in embarrassment. “My name is Izuku. Izuku Midoriya. It’s a pleasure!”

“I didn’t ask for your name,” you snap. “I asked you why you’re here, not who you are.”

At that, Izuku huffs and physically deflates. “You remind me a lot of Kacchan…”

“By the gods, do you know how to answer a simple question? You know what, don’t even answer that-“

“The king is dead,” Izuku says, cutting you off. His large eyes don’t hold their friendly glow anymore, but rather one of determination and anger. “He was killed last night.”

You blink rapidly at him, your mind throwing itself in for a loop. Wait, wait, the king is dead? How is that even possible? The king isn’t a weakling, and you’ve heard stories of him being a powerful fire sorcerer. But now that you think about it, it would explain the change in guards, the lack of people filling the once busy docks and streets…

You inhale sharply. “How?” you ask, voice small.

“Forces from Nialliv intruded the country last night and took Dinton Keep by force. People were…” Izuku stops, wets his lips. “People are gone,” he finally forces out. “The king is dead, the prince is nowhere to be seen, and all of Ainamoryp is going to lose hope.” Wringing his hands, his gaze drops. “I was here when the intrusion happened. I was fighting off enemy soldiers with all my might, but I couldn’t save the city. People are dead because I didn’t work hard enough.”

“And then you were captured,” you say. “But why not killed?”

“They found out I was a healer – well, I specialize in herbology, but the point still stands. They had men and women on their side who needed medical attention, and I was simply another pair of hands to them,” Izuku answers dryly. “They threw me in here once everybody was treated.”

“Then why’d you help them? They’re the enemy, you fool. You wanna know what I would’ve done? Slit every single last one of their throats.” Shaking your head, you lean back against the wall and laugh, but there’s no humor to it. “When you have the opportunity to fuck your opponent over, you take it.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Izuku snaps, clenching his fists in his lap. “I can’t stand seeing others hurt. I’m a healer, for gods’ sakes. Not everyone is some filthy, selfish pirate like you.”

Snapping your attention back to him, you send him a steely glare.

“Wait, wait,” Izuku hastily says, reaching up and smacking himself on the forehead, “I didn’t mean that-“

“You said what you said,” you interject. “And you know what? You’re right. I’m so fucking filthy and selfish that I’m the captain of The Pearl Lady. I bathe in blood and gold, you pathetic little twat. And I like it. So, do us both a favor, shut your damn trap, and leave me the hell alone.”

Izuku audibly gulps, his hands falling limp in his lap. You almost want to laugh at him; whenever somebody hears of your infamous title, their reactions are all the same. Despite the stigma towards pirates, you’re still pretty damn powerful, and your crew voted you as captain for a reason. Turning away from Izuku, you settle onto your side, willing for either sleep to take over or for Izuku to magically disappear.

Your quartermaster was right – you should’ve lifted anchor and docked somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

[elatedmarvel]

All Tied Up

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve Rogers comes to your rescue.

Work Count: 2k

A/N: Hello! Long time no chat! This was written for @wkemeup​‘s 4k follower celebration! Thank you for hosting this Kas! It was so much fun to write! If you have yet to check her out, go do it! Her stories are always soooooooooo emotional and good. Literally one of the best writers ever! My prompt was “ “Can you stop fidgeting? I’m trying to untie you.”. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: hints of sex, talks of having children (in the future)

“Agent, what’s your status?” Steve whispers into his comm, somehow, it still sounds loud and echoes down the hallway.  

He stands in the shadows, trying to hide his giant frame, his eyes flicker to a new location every few seconds. He can’t risk getting caught, especially since he lost communication with you. 

You had told him you were going to acquire the target, and slinked off into the shadows before he could tell you it was a bad idea. Now, here he stands, worried they had captured you. 

Not that you couldn’t handle yourself. It had been a beautiful sight the day you brought Bucky Barnes to his knees when sparring. He swears he saw a few tears in Bucky’s eyes, which of course he vehemently denied. 

Hell, you’ve even taken him down. But usually, you would just bat your eyelashes at him and kiss him till he saw stars before claiming your victory. He doesn’t mind though, getting to kiss you was his consolation prize. 

The comm floods with static noise when he checks it again, never a good sign. Sighing in frustration, he checks his watch. It reads 2:30 PM, 10 minutes past when you said you would check in. 

His gut tells him something is wrong, and it is rarely wrong. Except maybe the one time he had convinced you to eat 4 day old pizza that had been sitting on the island in the common kitchen. He’ll never forget the hours you spent throwing up, crying in a ball, and cursing his name. You still cringe a bit whenever the team orders pizza. 

Sighing and resigned to his fate, he moves as quietly as possible down the hall. He can hear the targets chattering in the next room, noisy for people that were supposed to be discreet, but he hardly blames them, they were able to secure an Avenger. Slowly, he peaks around the corner, trying to hold his breath.

All four hostiles were in the room, too occupied by their tablets to notice him. 2 of them sat with their backs to the open door, the other 2 were huddled in the corner laughing about something or other. Scanning the room, he feels hope blooming in his chest when he doesn’t find you among them.

The common space is the only other place you could be. Tiptoeing across the open doorway, he pauses on the opposite side of the door. The noise is the same, no indication that they heard or saw him pass by. Hoping his luck holds out, he maneuvers almost silently down the rest of the corridor.   

Stepping into the room, he finds you exactly how he thought he would. Hands tied behind your back, legs and torso tied to the chair. Duct tape covers your mouth, and your eyes glower in a deadly manner. It would be almost cute if you weren’t in the middle of a mission. 

“Mmmmm, hmmmm” you hum as you see Steve in the doorway. Your body starts to wriggle about, and Steve is pretty sure you’re gonna knock yourself over if you continue moving with as much vigor as you do.

“Shh, be quiet, you’re gonna give us away with all that noise.” he scolds as he walks closer. He won’t admit it, but he takes great pleasure seeing you struggle against the restraints. And not just because he tries to get you to go to escape training seminars. He bet’s you’ll go with him now. It’s actually an impressive set up, better than he would have expected from the enemy. 

“I’m gonna take off the duct tape, but you have to promise me not to yell.” The cold look you give him makes him chuckle under his breath. You were always so fiesty, one of his favorite pastimes was riling you up. 

The chair starts to scrape against the floor with your thrashing. Finally, he takes pity on you and gently peels the duct tape from your mouth.

“Motherfucker! That hurt!” you whisper yell. He rolls his eyes at that, he knows for a fact that the duct tape was mostly coming off anyways. You had a slobbered all over it, he’s pretty sure, in an attempt to break yourself free. You could never wait for someone else to rescue you, it takes a few seconds to remember the last time you needed help on a mission was. 

“You’ve been shot before.” he reminds you as he kneels down in front of you, quickly he releases your right foot. It almost kicks him in the face before he jerks out of the way in the last second. 

“Finally!” you shout, and wiggle the foot around. “My feet have been asleep for 10 mins now.” You stomp the foot on the ground now, trying to release the static feeling. 

“Maybe if you listened to me, you wouldn’t be in this position.” Steve says, smirking up at you as he unties your left foot. This time, your foot hits him square in the chest. 

“Shut up Rogers, you know you loved me tied up.” you wink. His cheeks feel warm and he thinks about things other than you naked and tied to the headboard of your shared bed. The thought of Bucky and Sam’s last attempt in the kitchen takes care of his problem. 

Clearing his throat, he slides on his knees behind the chair. Both your hands were tied together and your torso was tied to the chair. Knowing you would jump free the moment your torso was free, he grabs your hands to work on the knot first. It would be a disaster if you went running around with your hands tied together, trying to take down the hostiles. 

The chair keeps moving with your excessive wiggling, making his hands slip from the surprisingly sturdy knot. If this wasn’t time sensitive, he would have let you struggle a while longer, just to see how long it would take you to get yourself out of the mess. 

“Can you stop fidgeting? I’m trying to untie you.” Steve reprimands and gives a slight tug on your restraints. 

You stick your tongue out, but realize he can’t see it from behind you. Instead, a middle finger on both hands proudly stands out from behind your back. A smirk finds its way onto his face as he sees them and swats the fingers away. 

“Be nice.” he breathes close to your ear, tugging one last time to get your hands free. The shiver that ran down your spine as you remember when those exact words were last said. With him on top of you as he kisses every part of your body. Sweaty body on sweaty body, moving together towards the grand release. You reprimand yourself in your head, you promised yourself you wouldn't turn into someone that daydreamed about her boyfriend over everything else. Mission now, sex later.  

“I’m always nice.” you reply, struggling out of the torso restraints harder now that Steve has untied your hands. The sound of disbelief escapes him before he can trap it, many examples come to mind, almost making him laugh if he wasn’t trying to be discreet and quiet.

Your breath gets knocked out of you for a second as you accidentally choke yourself trying to get free. With a small “hum”, you finally fall complacent and let Steve work on the final knot in peace. 

A minute, maybe two passes by before you feel the ropes slack. The moment you do, you jump up, giving a victorious cry and shove the chair back with your knees. Steve gets up in the exact moment, and misses catching the chair by a millisecond. 

Blue eyes meet your wild, shocked ones as the sound echoes throughout the hallways. He can hear the moment the rascals register what the sound was, as they frantically run out of the room. 

With nowhere left to run, Steve shifts slightly in front of you, preparing himself for the battle he knows is to come. 

“No!” they scream as they stampede into the common room. 

“We tied you up so good!” Morgan Stark yells, running at full speed straight into Steve’s arms. 

“We even used the heavy duty rope we found in Uncle Tony’s lab.” Lila Barton states as she jumps and climbs up Steve’s legs. With both girls in Steve’s arms, they start talking a minute a mile about how they need to change the tactic next time. 

Nathaniel rubs his eyes sleepily as he walks into the room, almost an exact replica of Clint after a long mission, and holds out his arms, silently begging to be picked up. You take pity on the young boy and swipe him into your arms, holding him almost like you would a newborn baby. 

You both giggle a moment, before you right him in your arms and he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. You’ll ignore the drool on your shirt for now.

Only Cooper Barton seems to care about the scene of the crime, and gathers up the rope that limply lays on the ground. 

He takes a handful of rope in both hands and tugs for a moment. Steve swears he murmurs something about using vibranium handcuffs next time. He’ll make an excellent agent one day. 

“So, what do we get for winning? Ice cream?” Morgan asks with a sly smile on her face, gaining Steve’s and your attention. The exact look was copied straight from one Tony Stark, and it shocks Steve just how much she looks like the billionaire. 

Lila nods furiously next to her, and both the boys hum in agreement. 

“Technically, I freed myself. So you didn’t win.” you counter. Steve snorts at your comment, and you stick you tongue out at him. 

“Right, the knots magically slipped away. Not like I had anything to do with it” he counters. The girls giggle, and you shoot them your best mean face. 

“You’re on my team, and my boyfriend so that’s allowed.” you explain, slightly swaying side to side with a sleepy Nathaniel. You hope if you sway enough, he’ll fall asleep and that’ll be one less kid hyped up on sugar running around. 

“I think we earned the ice cream by simply being able to capture you and tie you up.” Cooper bargains, a huge grin on his face. The girls nod furiously at the statement, and even Nathaniel gives a weak noise of approval.

You lock eyes with Steve once more, you were both pretty sure this was how it was going to end anyways, but you always wanted to be on the same page as him. He nods slightly, and his lips curl up so minutely, you wouldn’t have caught it if you hadn't spent hours staring at his beautiful face.   

“Fine, but only one scoop.” you finally give in. 

The resounding scream of happiness they give out nearly deafens you. The girls scramble down from Steve’s arms, desperate to get to the kitchen. Even Nathaniel perks up from your arms, and wiggles his way down. Taking his brother’s hand, they follow the girls to reap their prize. 

“I can’t believe they actually managed to tie you down, we were supposed to be babysitting them.” Steve chuckles as he swings an arm around your shoulder and leads you to the kitchen.

“In my defense, you can’t kick and punch wards in your charge, so I let them.” you say and give his butt a pinch. 

He jolts away from you momentarily before laughing and spinning you in front of him. Lips drawn to yours, he kisses you slow and happy before moving away and pecking other parts of your face. 

“Stop,” you laugh, “you’re getting your spit on me.”

“You’ve never complained before.” he smirks at you, and laughs when your cheeks grow warmer. Giving you one last kiss, he takes your hand and drags you to the kitchen. 

It’s hard for his mind not to wonder what it would be like if this wasn’t babysitting. If this was really his everyday life, kids and a wonderful kick ass wife to share his days with. 

Would the kid have his eyes and your face? Maybe the serum would counteract the sickly boy he once was. He knows for certain that if he had one kid, he would want another. Being an only child, Bucky was his only savior for boredom and love after his mom passed away. 

As if you could read his mind, you rub your thumb across the back of his hand, catching his attention. 

“I’m glad Clint and Tony asked us to babysit, good practice for when we have some.” you smile at him. His heart races when he sees the excitement in his eyes. That’s just how you were, you complimented him perfectly. 

“Yeah?” he asks, elation growing in his body the more he thinks about his future with you.

“Yeah” you nod. Smile growing as wide as your face.

Steve leans in slowly, eyes still alight with joy and takes your face in his massive hands. The breath in your body leaves you for a moment, seeing the happiness in Steve Rogers is all you ever wanted. Having a front row seat was sometimes too much. 

Before your lips can touch, a shatter rings from the kitchen, shortly followed by a scream. A laugh leaves his mouth as he pulls you in for a hug and a kiss on the forehead. 

“I didn’t do it!” little voices yell, and it makes the both of you chuckle even more. 

You bury your head into his chest as he yells out that you are both coming and to stay where they are.

“We probably need more practice though before we have our own.” you say as you look up at him. 

“Ours will be more well behaved than that right?” he asks back, unfolding you from his arms and walking towards the kitchen.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” you laugh.

The second crash and screams makes you both lightly job towards the commotion. 

As he watches you calm down a crying Nathaniel and Lila while mopping up the spilled ice cream, his heart feels so full it could burst.

He can’t wait to share in the chaos of life with you.

~~~~

Thank you so much for reading! Always open to comments and feedback!

[nerdythebard]

#11: Gilan [Ranger's Apprentice]

Hello there!

NO! ...Not yet. One day, maybe.

Anyway, today we're building Gilan, a Rangers from the fantastic Ranger's Apprentice series by John Flanagan. This request was made by my best friend, @iximaz. They sure know I love challenges. Now, let's see if I can surprise them with this build.

Next Time: The Question... the First Question, the oldest question in the universe, that must never be answered, hidden in plain sight!

Now, what do we need to make Gilan work?

Silent & Deadly: Every Ranger's ultimate party trick. They are able to move in complete silence and blend into the environment so well, people tell stories about their supernatural powers... Rangers are basically Medieval ninjas, and Gilan was stated to be the best of them all at Unseen Movement.

Look at my Horse: All Rangers have a special, almost familiar-like bond with their mounts. We shall give Gilan a horse, or at the very least skills to obtain and maintain a horse.

Brains & Brawn: Rangers are trained in a large variety of topics, ranging (heh) from survival and archery to cooking and sewing. We need to be a little skill monkey.

---

Gilan is a Human (although a Tabaxi would also work if you're feeling adventurous). As always, pick a Variant option, it's just better. We get a +1 to two abilities of our choice, go for Dexterity and Wisdom. We also learn Common and one language of our choice, one skill of our choice (Investigation), and we can take a feat. Skulker works fantastically for sneaky Rangers; we can hide in lightly obscured places, missing an attack doesn't reveal our hiding spot, and we don't get a disadvantage on Perception checks in dim light.

Gilan is the son of one of Araluen's most respected knights, but he himself doesn't seem to use his position and family privilege enough to give him the Noble background. Instead, let's focus on his Ranger career and make him the Folk Hero. This background gives us proficiency in Animal Handling and Survival, proficiency with land vehicles (carriages, wagons, etc.) and one set of artisan's tools (woodcarver's tools let us create our own arrows), and we get the Rustic Hospitality feature; if we're good to common folk, we can find a place to sleep or hide in their settlements.

ABILITY SCORES

Dexterity is our highest score, we're sneaky and we're accurate with a bow. Follow that up with Constitution, we need endurance for long travels. Wisdom is next, almost all of our knowledge is practical street-smarts and survival techniques.

Next is Charisma, we've managed to charm at least one lucky lady, who knows who else fell for Gilan (fan-fiction writers do!). Strength is a little lower than I want it to be, especially since we are trained in swordsmanship. Finally, we're dumping Intelligence - we're not stupid, we just need other abilities more.

CLASS

Level 1 - Ranger: Unsurprisingly, we start with Ranger (Revised). Our Hit Die is a d10, we get [10 + Constitution modifier] initial Hit Points, proficiency with light armour, medium armour, shields, simple weapons, and martial weapons. Standard leather armour sounds like the right choice for a Ranger, and we can't forget about a bow, daggers, throwing knives (here: darts) and - in Gilan's case - a sword. Our saving throws are Strength and Dexterity, and we get to choose three class skills: let's go for Insight, Perception, and Stealth.

We start off this class by choosing our Favoured Enemy: beasts, fey, humanoids, monstrosities, or undead. We get +2 to damage rolls against our chosen type, as well as an advantage on Survival check when tracking them and Intelligence check when recalling information about them. We also learn one language of our choice.

The Natural Explorer feature grants us several benefits when exploring the wilderness:

We no longer suffer from difficult terrain;

We have an advantage on initiative rolls;

On our first combat turn, we have an advantage against a creature that hadn't made its move yet.

Additionally, if we're travelling for longer than 1 hour:

Difficult terrain doesn't slow the group's travel time;

The group cannot become lost, unless via magical means;

The group cannot be surprised, even if engaged in an activity (foraging, tracking, etc.);

If we move by ourselves, we can move stealthily at a normal pace;

When we forage, we find twice as much food;

While tracking other creatures, we also learn their exact number, size, and how long ago they passed through the area we're currently at.

Level 2 - Ranger: At this level, we get to choose our Fighting Style, and Archery is a no-brainer, it's the preferred combat option of all RA Rangers. We get a +2 bonus to all attack rolls we make with our ranged weapons.

Although RA Rangers don't use magic, D&D Rangers get access to Spellcasting. Wisdom is our spellcasting ability, we get no cantrips, and we begin with two 1st-level spell slots:

Beast Bond is a divination spell that creates an empathic bond between us and a beast of our choice, like a horse. For 10 minutes (concentration), we can communicate telepathically with our beast, and it is able to reply with simple emotions and concepts that we understand. The beast also gets an advantage on attack rolls against any creature within 5 feet of us. Just remember the password.

Hunter's Mark makes us focus our attention on a particular target. For 1 hour (concentration), you deal extra 1d6 damage to the marked creature, and we have an advantage on Perception and Survival checks related to tracking and finding it. If the marked target dies before the spell ends, we can use a bonus action to mark a new creature.

Level 3 - Ranger: We gain the Primeval Awareness feature, which lets us communicate simple concepts and ideas with beasts around us. We learn of the beast's emotional state, mood, and intent, which might save us from a fight.

Additionally, we can spend 1 minute concentrating, and detect if our Favoured Enemy type is somewhere within 5 miles of us. We learn the enemy numbers, presence, and the general direction from us.

This is also where we pick our subclass, our Ranger Conclave. For quiet and stealthy Rangers, who keep mostly to the shadows and avoid open conflicts, the Gloom Stalker Conclave works best. First, we learn the Disguise Self spell, which lets us change our appearance for 1 hour. We also gain the Dread Ambusher feature, we can get our Wisdom modifier added to our Initiative roll. At the start of our first turn, our ground speed increases by 10 feet and lasts so until the end of that turn. If we make an Attack during that turn, we can make one additional Attack. If that attack hits, the target takes extra 1d8 damage. Finally, we get Umbral Sight, which grants us 60 feet of darkvision. We are also invisible to creatures with darkvision if we're moving in the darkness.

We gain one more 1st-level spell: Snare utilizes 25 feet of rope to create a concealed trap that lasts for 8 hours. A creature that walks into the radius of the trap must succeed on a Dexterity saving throw, or be hoisted 3 feet in the air and restrained until the spell ends.

Level 4 - Ranger: Time for our first Ability Score Improvement! Let's put two points into Dexterity, to get it maxed out ASAP.

Level 5 - Ranger: From our subclass, we get the Extra Attack. This lets us attack twice during one Attack action.

We get another spell from our Gloom Stalker Magic table: Rope Trick uses at least 60 feet of rope to create an extradimensional space that fits up to eight Medium-sized creatures for 1 hour. Attacks and spells cannot reach the space, but anyone inside it can observe the surrounding area.

We also unlock 2nd-level spells: Pass Without Trace enhances our stealth skills for 1 hour (concentration). For the duration, each creature within 30 feet from us that we choose gets a +10 to their Stealth checks and cannot be traced via magical means.

Level 6 - Rogue: Jumping ships for the rest of the build. When multiclassing into Rogue, we gain proficiencies with light armour (got it already), thieves' tools, and we get to choose one class skill; let's get Acrobatics.

1st-level Rogues begin with Expertise. We select two skills and double our proficiency bonus (NOT modifier) for checks involving those. Stealth and Perception are the skills every RA Ranger must hone. We also learn Thieves' Cant, a system of phrases/gestures/sounds used by Rogues in their line of work. Additionally, the Sneak Attack feature gives us extra 1d6 damage to any creature we have an advantage against. We don't have to get an advantage to roll Sneak Attack if another enemy of our target is within 5 feet of it, or the target is incapacitated.

Level 7 - Rogue: At this level, we gain Cunning Action, which is a series of actions we can use as a bonus action on our turn. These include Dash, Disengage, Hide, and Aim (if you include Unearthed Arcana: Class Feature Variants).

Level 8 - Rogue: Our Sneak Attack die increases to 2d6. We also get to choose our second subclass, our Roguish Archetype. Now, there is no Ranger-like subclass for a Rogue, but I did mention that RA Rogues were basically ninjas, right? The Scout Archetype got us covered! This stealth-and-survival subclass gives us two features at the start: Skirmisher makes us very difficult to pin down, letting us move up to half of our ground speed when the enemy ends its turn within 5 feet of us, and not provoke an opportunity attack. Survivalist gives us proficiency in Nature and Survival skills. Since we already have the latter, our proficiency bonus is doubled for Survival checks.

Level 9 - Rogue: Time for another ASI. Once again, let's increase our Dexterity to get it to 20.

Level 10 - Rogue: Our Sneak Attack die once again increases, this time to 3d6. At this level, we gain Uncanny Dodge. When an attacker that we can see hits us with an attack, we can use our reaction to halve the damage.

Level 11 - Rogue: We get another Expertise option. Once again, we have a choice between two skills, or one skill and our thieves' tools. Let's go for Insight and Acrobatics.

Level 12 - Rogue: At this level, we get Evasion. This incredibly useful feature allows us to nimble our way out of some AoE effects, such as the Fireball spell. When we are forced to make a Dexterity saving throw that would result in taking half damage on a successful one, we take no damage is we pass and half damage if we fail.

Our Sneak Attack die also improves to 4d6.

Level 13 - Rogue: Another level, another ASI. This time, let's raise our Intelligence by two points, to get rid of the negative modifier.

Level 14 - Rogue: We get another subclass upgrade. Superior Mobility increases our ground speed by 10 feet.

Our Sneak Attack die becomes 5d6.

Level 15 - Rogue: Once again, we get an ASI. Let's put one point into Strength and one into Intelligence.

Level 16 - Rogue: Our skill increase with Reliable Talent. From this point onwards, we cannot roll lower than 10 when making checks for skills we are proficient in.

Our Sneak Attack die becomes 6d6.

Level 17 - Rogue: Time for the final ASI of the build, to round up the odd numbers, raise up Strength and Intelligence once again.

Level 18 - Rogue: This time, we get the final subclass upgrade of the build. Ambush Master grants us an advantage on our Initiative rolls. Additionally, the first creature we hit during our first combat round becomes easier to hit; all attacks against it are made with an advantage until the end of our next round.

Our Sneak Attack die becomes 7d6.

Level 19 - Rogue: Our senses are so sharp at this point, we don't even need sight. With Blindsense, we can detect creatures within 10 feet of us, even if they are hiding or invisible.

Level 20 - Rogue: Our capstone is Rogue 15 and the Slippery Mind feature, which grants us proficiency in Wisdom saving throws.

Finally, our Sneak Attack die becomes 8d6.

---

And that's Gilan the Ranger. Let's see what we created:

First of all, we're an absolute legend when it comes to unseen movement and sneaking around. With the Skulker feat, Expertise in Stealth, Pass Without Trace spell, and Reliable Talent we cannot roll lower than 27! We have darkvision and blindsense, which is rare for a human, and we can hide from other creatures with darkvision. We have a large repertoire of skills we're proficient with, and with a +7 to initiative, we're definitely be somewhere in the front of turn order.

Unfortunately, our sword skills are pretty neglected, even with a +7 to attack and damage rolls. Extra Attack helps out slightly, though. Our AC is 16, and we have 149 Hit Points on average. Our Intelligence and Charisma are also pretty low, so saving throws on those abilities might be tricky.

---

Anyway, that's it for Gilan. I hope you enjoyed it, and I'll see you next time... for a very... difficult build.

- Nerdy out!

[avengenerd]

Clockwork

A/N: it’s ya girl, back at it again after OVER A YEAR of not posting a fic. I’ve been working really hard this year in getting back into writing, and I’d like to think I’ve improved since I last posted here. So, let me know what you think. Like, comment, REBLOG, I go feral for the last two. Also S/O to @writeyourmindaway​ whose custom line divider I used! Much love, in these oh so trying times. 

Summary: Bucky x Female!Reader (established relationship). Reader is a part of the team, and endowed with the skills of MacGyver and a science degree. She’s also been kidnapped, disarmed, and locked inside with a ticking bomb. It’s not great. 

Word count: 2296

Category: fluff, light angst and self-deprecation. We been there. No warnings. Enjoy!

You’ve got 10 minutes before the walls come caving in. Four red, white and blue wires snake around four identical corners joined by enough incendiary to turn you to ash. The door is locked from the outside and your previous attempts at breaking it open have proved both a waste of time and a bruising task.

At 8 minutes and 35 seconds, you’ve assessed the bomb’s components and begin to thoroughly scan the small bathroom. A wall radiator attached to brown metallic pipes, definitely gas fed, is beside the ceramic toilet bowl. It tells you that not only are they planning on wiping you out, but burying the entire building beneath flames and rubble. On the floor there’s cleaning bleach and a blue bottle of standard toilet cleaner. You grab one of them and put it on the sink. In the mirror-cabinet above, you find a small manicure pouch. Immediately, you pull out tweezers and a metallic file. There’s no trimming scissors so you take the nail clipper instead.

The impending explosion is the most immediate threat, so that’s where you begin. Using the tweezers you unscrew the plating, and pry open the metal casing with the nail file to expose wiring. Four wires, same sequence as the external, red—blue—white—blue. You snip the last blue wire with the nail clippers. The timer stops at 7 minutes and 1 second.

It’s not over yet. In 7 minutes and 1 second, the assholes who locked you inside with a bomb will be wondering why there weren’t any fireworks. Then, they’ll be back. You may be able to diffuse a bomb but your capabilities end at stopping an army of bullets.

There’s a knock on the door.

You stop breathing. Tilting your head toward the door, you listen closely and hear heavy pants. Inching back to the sink you pick up the bottle of bleach.

Another knock, this time followed by a tentative call.

“Y/N?”.

You put the bottle down. “Bucky?”

A sigh comes from the other side. “Fuckin’ hell. Next time you get kidnapped, try not to lose your comms.”

Tilting your head back, you let out a deep breath before moving closer to the door.  “I’ll try to remember that. Can you let me out now? There’s a bomb-“

“Shit.” A ruffling followed by a grunt comes from Bucky’s side. “Move away from the door.”

You immediately scurry to the sink, as three pops to the door’s hinges allow Bucky to enter the small room.

His dark hair is matted to his face, drenched in sweat. His thick blue vest holds a darker spot on his left side, not much bigger than the size of a fist. Blood, maybe. ‘His’, you wonder. ‘Or someone else’s’. He’s grinning at you, skin stretched at the corners of his mouth, a pleasant image despite the huge semi-automatic attached to his back. ‘Definitely someone else’s’.

You smile back at him. “You took your sweet time.”

He glances at the left wall hosting the disarmed bomb and quirks an eyebrow at you. You shrug your shoulders in response. “Couldn’t wait forever, babe.”

Bucky moves to respond, but is interrupted by distant shouts.  “New friends of yours?” he asks.

“Clearly,” you reply, nodding to the explosives. “Did you by chance bring some friends of your own? A small army, perhaps?”

“Not exactly. We knew you’d be somewhere in the area, but there’s about five industrial bases within a 10 mile radius.” He removes the gun from behind his back, reloading the magazine. “The team had to split up. Didn’t think you’d be kept here though.”

Which is exactly why he checked, he goes on to explain. When the others reported unoccupied spaces, he’d almost given up. Until Tony conveniently mentioned how odd it was for there to be a 3-storey colonial home in the middle of an industrial outlet.

You hum in acknowledgement, moving once more toward the sink. “My man, ever the hero.” You send a wink his way. You open the cabinet once more and pull out a bottle of clear liquid. “Buck, pass me the bleach.”

The thundering footsteps of armed idiots inch closer towards your position. Your 7 minutes are up.

He hands you the heavy container, and you immediately pour the clear liquid into it, screw the cap and hand it back to him. You move back to the bomb, detaching the C-4 explosives from the rest of the mechanism.

“Care to explain what it is you’re doing?” Bucky shifts to move closer to you, but you hold a hand up at him.

“Please don’t move. There’s some highly exothermic chemistry waiting to happen in that,” you point at the bottle in his hand, “and I’d rather it didn’t happen here.”  You grab the beige blocks of C-4 with their fuses still attached.

“Right. Usually I’d find this really hot but, we’re on a clock sugar.” The group of Hydra militants have entered the bottom floor, and you can hear commands being shouted.

“Then let’s dip. Hand me the bleach, you take this,” you say, piling the explosives into his unarmed hand. You take the bottle and finally exit the bathroom meant to be your final resting place. Gross. You leave those thoughts for later.

Short static buzzes come from Bucky’s ear, as he presses down on the hidden earpiece. “Yeah, I’ve got her……. There’s too many of ‘em right now for just the two of us….. think you can pick us up from the roof?” Another final buzz and Bucky looks to you and nods. “Whatever you’re planning on doing, do it now. Sam’s ETA is 2 minutes.

Your assailants have cleared out the first floor, and are making their way up the second. You estimate 30 seconds before they find your position.

You shake the bottle in your hands and immediately feel heavy waves of heat permeating through the plastic. “Then this should buy us some time.”

As you make your way down the corridor with Bucky scoping ahead, you uncover the bottle and let its contents run out in front of you, immediately backing away and covering your mouth. Toxic white fumes escape and a small, but dense fog settles ahead of the spill, growing as more liquid evaporates.

The pair of you run towards the window at the end of the hall. As you reach your destination, a smattering series of coughs and heaving erupts behind you.

“What the fuck is that?!”

“Shit! Cover your nose!”

“I think...I’m gonna…gonna…pass-” followed by a heavy thunk.

Bucky turns to you, bewildered and confused. “What was that?”

“Really crude chloroform. Very nasty stuff, concerningly easy to make.” He gives you an impressed smile, as if to say “not bad”, and proceeds to break through the window with his metal arm.

Clearing out the glass shards, he beckons you to go first. You climb onto the roof and he hands you the plastic bricks of C-4 before slinging himself up to join you.

“How long till Sam gets here?” you ask him, squinting as harsh winds blow into your face.

“Why don’t you look up, sweetheart,” a familiar voice announces. You glance towards the sky and see Sam hovering above you, a halo of sunlight framing his head. A very fitting image indeed.

“Y’all ready to bounce or what?” Grinning from ear to ear, he lowers down onto the roof and engulfs you in a hug. “Damn girl, you really had us scared for a minute.”

“Only a minute?” You scoff. “Might as well leave me here then.”  Smiling into his shoulder, you hug him back, happy to feel safe again.

“Please don’t. Let’s move before you don’t have an actual choice,” Bucky interjects, his eyebrows tensed but his light expression remaining.

“Right. Hope y’all don’t get air sick,” Sam grabs onto each of your hands, extending his wings.

“Wait!” You shout. Grabbing the explosives you ask, “Any of you guys got a match?”

You take the lighter Bucky provides you with and ignite it. You move towards the edge of the roof and burn the fuses of each brick of C-4, before throwing them into the broken window below.

Immediately you sprint towards the waiting men, and grab Sam’s hand. “Okay, go go go go go!”

Without any further delays, Sam takes off with a grunt, arms straining as he takes you three airborne. Not even 13 feet into the air do the explosions begin, the roof you previously stood on exploding in a fiery blaze. Almost immediately, the horde of enemies who had hunted you flee the house through the bottom floor. From your view, they looked like ants being fumigated from their burrow. How appropriate.

“They’re escaping!” You shout over the whipping wind, but Bucky hears you. He nods no, before pointing in the distance behind you.

Looking back, you see an ever distant figure breaking through the scene of blue sky with streaks of red and gold. On the ground, Steve’s shield knocks down a round of men in one swoop whilst Wanda’s red magic incapacitates another.

You look back at Bucky and grin.

“Man, I love you guys.”

“I brought you something.” Bucky’s low voice interrupts your star-gazing as he joins you on the balcony. You look back at him. Steam rises upward and into his face from your favourite mug (the bright pink one with a 2005 Barbie movie plastered on its side).

“Aw, you remembered,” you coo at him, grasping the mug between your palms. The hot air rises to your face and you sigh deeply. Your hands tremble a little. It’s been a long day.

“The colour’s hard to forget,” he grins. “How are you though?” Bucky stands beside you, so closely you can hear him breathing. You can feel his eyes on you, and decidedly ignore his question. You blow gently into the tea and take a sip.

The disgust on your face is evident.

Your boyfriend rushes to explain. “It’s Valerian root. It’s supposed to help relieve stress or somethin’…” he trails off. You’re crying. “Is it that bad? You don’t have to finish it or-,”

“No,” you turn to face him. He’s looking at you gently, calmly, like he already knows what you’re going to say.

You say it anyway. “I should be happy. We did what we were supposed to do, and nobody who wasn’t supposed to get hurt, didn’t. We got the bad guys, again.” You scrunch up your face, and briefly squeeze your eyes shut, feeling even more pathetic for crying. “And I got captured, again. Someone had to save me, again.” It stings. This is the second time it’s happened in this month and though it has little to do with your performance, it definitely feels that way.

“I didn’t get hurt, and I know I should be happy about that. Everything worked out in the end, but, god Bucky!” The tea sloshes out of the cup and onto both your feet. You pause to look down at the mess, then up at him, and you lose it.

Bucky quickly takes the mug and places it out of reach. Wrapping his arms around you, he holds you as you cry into his shoulder.

“I-I don’t even know why I’m losing it.” You feel palms gently moving across your back, and for some reason it makes you cry harder. “I-, we got out, we’re safe. I just-”

“Just because you left unmarked, doesn’t mean you left unaffected Y/N,” he speaks into your ear, hugging you tighter. “What happened to you could’ve happened to any one of us. No matter how much we plan, we don’t always know how our enemy is gonna react. You got out. More than once. That definitely counts for something.” He unwraps his arms from your body and steps back to look into your eyes.

Your crying has dwindled to tearing, but tracks (and a little bit of snot) remain.

He cups your face, forcing you to look at him. “If it were me trapped in there, I probably woulda been barbecue.” You sniffle. “Smoked. Grilled. Roasted.” He continues and smiles at the breathy laugh you give in return.

“Toasted?” You continue, giving in to his jesting. He moves his hand from your face as you wipe the remnants of your tears away.

“Exactly. Not to mention you’ve probably terrified them for life. Chemical warfare and an incendiary attack in less than 5 minutes? I’d be pissin’ myself if I didn’t know you were on our side,” he teases, grinning as you shake your head.

“You should still be pissing yourself. Valerian’s got actinidine, Bucky. Fly pheromones. That tea was so gross,” and with that, Bucky knew he’d done his job, at least for tonight. He could give you tonight.

“Yeah yeah,” he grabs you again and pulls you into his embrace. You weren’t gone for long, he knows, but a gram of anxiety niggled at him regardless. His worry and consequent relief was well hidden for your sake. But you knew. You always knew.

Lightly pressing your palm to his cheek, you lean in to kiss him, feeling his lips on yours in a sweet and delicate reciprocity. The air tonight is cold. It should be prickly, but it softens between the both of you. You let him know you love him, and how much you appreciate him. You also kindly remind him that he shouldn’t rely on every Google suggestion.  

When you go inside, Bucky asks you about making chloroform, then gleefully interrupts you mid-explanation with another kiss. “You’re so hot when you science at me, babe.”

You fling a pillow at him and the night ends in love and laughter.