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thesilmarillionblog · 1 month

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𓏲 𓂃 L o s i n g Y o u

Part:𝟷𝟽

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: Everything was good as a member of Payback and Soldier Boy's secret girlfriend until the team and your relationship with him began to fall apart due to a new member and her developing relationship with Ben right in front of your eyes.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: Language, Soldier Boy having anger issues, angst, drugs, discussions about relationship

Word Count: 5071

A/N: English is not my first language.

* This story is inspired by the song "Losing You" by Dream Evil.

After taking a cold shower, Ben dressed himself while observing your peaceful sleeping figure on the tiny bed. In order to avoid waking you up just because he was horny or anything, the shower was quite brief and very cold. You could already handle no more of whatever was going on. Ben didn't care much about his surroundings in the past since he knew you would always come back to him, but now he knew you had changed and weren't really willing to give him another chance. Everything was on a thin line.

Last night was clearly too much for you already, and you weren't ready to let him into your life or open yourself fully to him. It was still a big step, and Ben understood that he must handle you with the consideration and patience that you truly deserve. He would take things slowly and give you whatever you needed.

There was a long way to go.

Cautiously sitting down the bed, Ben made an effort to stay silent. He desired more quiet time spent with you. He really needs to persuade Annie and Hughie to spend each night at that fucking house. After last night, there was no way you'd sleep in his bed, or vice versa.

Ben grumbled and slowly lowered himself to the bed, drawing himself a little closer to your body. He had to keep his hands to himself, even if he needed to have woken you awake with other things. You could even go one step further and enjoy a wonderful morning together in the cold shower, with him positioned atop your heated body and everything. He knew he needed to take himself in hand as soon as possible; his heavy balls were hurting like hell.

You rubbed your eyes and whispered, “Ben?” as soon as you sensed Ben's presence on your back.

He said, “Good morning,” and gently touched your hair as you slowly stretched your muscles to properly awaken your body.

When you turned to face him at last, you murmured in a sleepy voice, “Since when you're awake?”

“About an hour ago, or so. I just finished my shower.”

You muttered, “Yes, I can see that,” as you took in his delightful and fresh scent.

Ben shifted on the bed and reached out to touch your belly with one finger, but he quickly withdrew his hands, not knowing how you would react. It was difficult to keep from stepping over the line when he felt so desperate to touch you; it was absurd that he had eaten you out the night before and now there was a barrier between you. You looked at him in confusion, but you remained silent.

Eventually, he winked and said, “So you're telling me I smell perfect.”

You withdrew the pillow beneath his arm to yourself. “No, I'm just saying that I can smell that you have had a shower. Shampoo and all.”

“That's bad,” he muttered. “I almost thought you praised me.”

Seeing his face fall with fake disappointment, you couldn't help giving him a little smile. “Not happening.”

“Would you like to do some training today?” Ben inquired in a serious tone, hoping that you would spend some time together as he watched your dizzy expression and your yawnings for a while while you fought to resist falling back asleep. The way you moved and climaxed on top of him a week ago was all he could think about. He held his breath for a minute, remembering that moment so delicious and intense.

It was bad that he didn't let you go on top in the past. Now, your images on his body were haunting him for days like crazy.

You gazed at your naked legs and shuffled in bed, searching for something to say. “Ah,” you replied simply, your face warm. “Can we delay it?”

“Why?” Ben immediately inquired, dissatisfied with your answer. “You are improving. You need to take it seriously till we locate Mindstorm and figure out what's causing the issue you have.”

You asked in a sour tone, “You mean my 'weakness'?” You weren't pleased that even Ben had acknowledged that, despite your best efforts throughout weeks of training, you had become weaker.

Ben inhaled deeply to decide how to say things without hurting you. “How about we just refer to it as a 'temporary issue'? Let's see the bright side as well: you are not fighting to avoid blowing up at any moment and murdering people like me.”

You attempted to suppress your remorse at Ben's attempt to comfort you by sharing his ‘nuclear chest situation’ while you were feeling awful about yours. He was right—at least you weren't responsible for any innocent people being harmed by something you couldn't control.

You apologized, feeling a sense of guilt as you attempted to understand him as well. “You're right,” you said, pointing to his broad chest, “We also need to figure out how to keep you from blowing up all of a sudden. It's becoming more serious.”

“Come on, I'm not trying to tell you that my situation is more critical than yours.” He grinned and added, “Everything's fine. I appreciate how understanding you've been toward me. Well, I'm positive I'll manage it in a short while. Furthermore, I won't explode as long as you're with me, right?”

You answered right away, “Yeah, sure.” You knew that you had to stick by his side and be by his side whenever he needed someone to stop him from exploding and accidentally injuring others, just like what happened to him and the others in Herogasm.

You said, “Ben,” cutting him off from further conversation. “It appears that Butcher will need some more time to locate Mindstorm. Don't you think it will be simpler to locate the now-in-charge doctor? The one who is charging now about SUPE studies? They probably didn't just stop doing whatever it is they've been doing to us in those labs for decades.”

“Yeah,” he said in an irritable manner. Ben was displeased at Butcher's slowness in locating Mindstorm. Him analyzing all that transpired from your mind between you and the doctors would be safer and easier. “However, we can't be certain of anything. It would be better to locate Mindstorm and get him to speak.”

You urged, “But we have to start somewhere. If finding Mindstorm is taking that long, maybe we should find the doctor and learn about every detail from him.”

It was clear that you were completely out of patience, whereas Ben was only concerned with locating Mindstorm and learning everything correctly.

“I had located the doctor who has been examining your biology, genetics, and fuckever before I found you.” Ben sighed angrily. “He had told me that everything they were doing was for the sake of the future of supes, which you already know.” Recalling how the doctor had spoken of you as if you were nothing more than a tool of supreme perfection. “What I want to say is, it's better to locate Minstorm to be sure. We need to figure out what really happened to you.”

You noticed that Ben was not in a hurry to locate the doctor, so you fixed your t-shirt, which was barely covering your legs, and got up from the bed, sighing as he continued talking. “You know that I'm getting weaker despite all those trainings, but it's taking too long. Ben, I know you are aware of this; it's not too obvious, but I am getting weaker,” you remarked in a bitter tone.

Ben got out of bed as well, sensing that you were becoming anxious. He moved using physical contact as a sign of his support for you, but you withdrew in frustration.

“Ben, you may not take this seriously, but I do.” You said, “I hate to say it, but I'm scared.”

“Of course I’m fucking taking this matter very seriously. I don’t give a fuck about Homelander or anyone else right now,” he said firmly while his fingers lingered on your chin. “You’re the only one I care about.”

You just gave him a bitter look.

He nodded to you and eventually murmured, “Okay.” Given that he was practically between your legs, on your pussy last night, and he was still tasting you in his mouth, it was crazy how hard it was for him to get close to you now. You were making him confused. After what happened last night, it was insane not to melt in each other's arms now. You were distant once more, like if it hadn't happened at all. Ben realized he needed to talk to you about it as soon as possible.

“And?” you asked expectantly.

“We'll find the doctor and have him explain anything written in his files. You're..right. Vought just wouldn't throw away whatever they were doing about us. It will be easier for us to find a solution if we know about the root cause of the problem that you are experiencing. Of course, if there is an issue.”

Seeing that he wouldn't dispute or anything made you sigh with relief.

“All right,” you nodded to him. “I need to take a shower. Then let's speak with the others.” You pushed him a little too quickly and fled into the bathroom as soon as you noticed his serious and intense expression that made your face blush.

Ben murmured, “I could have waited a little longer, you know, if I knew you'd take a shower. It would be wiser to avoid wasting water.”

You said, “Ben!” in a warning tone as images filled your mind about him being with you in the bathroom. “Just get out already.”

Ben felt himself getting hard when he heard you removing your damp underwear and t-shirt inside the restroom and saw you shut the door swiftly. He could only picture how you filled his mouth when you came on his tongue the previous night. If your orgasm took longer than two or three minutes, it would be even better. He had no time to enjoy your taste. He definitely should have taken himself in hand in the morning. Reluctantly, Ben sighed and left the room.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Butcher said as Ben was looking around the table for some weed. “Where is Y/N?”

Annie and Hughie were enjoying a quiet breakfast when they instantly focused on Ben. When he was there, they were being overly cautious.

Ben said, “In the shower,” with a sharp tone. He didn't like how they, especially Butcher, always asked about you first. He didn't like them being too close to you.

Butcher arched an eyebrow, looked at Annie, and then smirked meaningfully at Ben.

“You know, paying the bills is difficult.” Ben was gazing at Butcher with annoyance as he amusingly handed him some weed. “You can just take a shower together to save some water or stay away from each other for at least a day,” Butcher suggested.

At last, Ben smelled some crack on the table, fixed his hair, and sent Butcher a warning glance. “Go fuck your face.”

Ben murmured in a harsh voice, “By the way,” and Butcher closed his mouth to hear what he was going to say. “Do you know who is currently in charge of

‘supe studies’? They must be examining other supes for decades or something. Blondie?” Ben turned to face Annie, glaring at both her and Hughie.

Annie said, “I don't know,” taken aback by the questioning.

“Why the hell you're asking this?” With a dubious tone, Butcher inquired. He was curious about what he was up to and what was going through his mind.

“Don't fucking question,” Ben abruptly interrupted, refusing to share any information on what was going on.

“You asked me to locate Mindstorm, and now you're asking me to find the head of Supe Studies. What the fuck you and Y/N are up to?”

Ben became enraged by Butcher's daring and suspicious demeanor, and he pointed his finger at Butcher's face.

“If you want me to fucking kill Homelander, you'll do what I want.”

“Well, you promised me that you'd murder Homelander, so I helped you find your partner. I believe that was the deal that was made.” Butcher tried to make himself seem less threatening by smiling and saying, “Don't be a bitch about it,” but it was obvious from Ben's expression that he had failed.

Ben stated harshly, “Call it an 'amendment.' I'll fucking murder Homelander and every single person here only to fulfill my promise, or you worthless fuckfaces find whomever I want you to find as quickly as possible. Now, what do you say?”

You quickly went down the stairs and placed the couch next to Ben, calling out to him in a worrying tone, “Ben!”

“You cannot just threaten to make Butcher do anything you decide on.” Annie spoke up to Ben, saying, “You have to stick to your word.” It was obvious that Ben's actions had annoyed her.

Hughie placed his hands on hers in an attempt to calm her down, but she quickly withdrew her hands and stood up, crossing her arms on her chest. “Butcher took a big risk to find Y/N and rescue you from your captivity.”

Annoyed by Annie's remarks, Ben abruptly stood up from the couch and walked up to her. “You'll follow my instructions to the letter.” He said, “All of you,” cutting out any debate. “You have to obey me because none of your asses are powerful enough to bring down Homelander. I'm a fucking romantic, so if I want you to find someone, you better do it or I'll murder you and your lover first. What say you about that?”

Butcher's pulse was racing, which indicated that he was anxious. “Calm down, pal,” he ordered sharply.

Ben snarled at him immediately, frustrated that nothing was going according to his expectations. “Fuck you,” he said.

“Stop that, Ben,” you murmured as you moved to his side to prevent him from becoming further angrier and acting impulsively in response to his abrupt outburst. His body began to heat up, so you forced him to sit by pushing his chest back into the coach. “You can't just threaten them. They...do have a point.”

“Well, I think I can,” he said, observing you caress his arms in an unconscious attempt to soothe him. Ben looked at you attentively. You weren't angry at all since you knew he was just as motivated as you were in finding the doctor and Mindstorm, for which you were somewhat glad.

You shot Annie an apologetic glance, and she responded with a gentle smile that let you feel a little better. Ben was just ready to lose his shit all of a sudden, and it was hard to keep him under control at times like this.

You turned to face Butcher and muttered, “Butcher,” as your hands came to rest on Ben's large arms. “We.. I really need to find whoever is in charge right now.”

Butcher questioned, perplexed, “What does it have to do with you?”

You continued, “Something might be wrong about my... powers or something,” ignoring Ben's sharp stare. “I want to ask him some questions.”

“What do you mean?” Annie approached you and spoke.

Ben just stood up and walked up to the whiskey bottle without saying anything. He was unsure of how long he could conceal your problem from the others. He just didn't want other people to know about your weakness or anything, and neither did you, but their never-ending curiosity was driving him insane already. If he had beaten Butcher to die, he'd feel better.

You inhaled deeply as you saw Ben drink whiskey while wearing a furious look. Although his warning look was directed at you, you wanted to reassure him that everything would be okay. It wasn't as though someone in the room was trying to take advantage of your sensitive condition. You hoped for it at least. Establishing trust with people like this was challenging, but you had to start somewhere.

“They.. might have done something to me when I was asleep, unconscious in the lab.”

“Did they get you pregnant...forcefully or something? You don’t have a supe baby, right?” Your eyes widened as Butcher asked with an awkward expression.

“Fucking watch your mouth,” Ben angrily growled. Putting down his drink on the roof, he sat next to you again.

“No, of course not. It's not something like this, thank goodness,” you replied to Butcher in a harsh tone, ignoring Ben's attempt to soothe you by placing his hands on your back.

You eventually said, “They might have done something..to weaken me,” after taking a long breath.

“What do you mean?” Although Butcher asked with curiosity, you could see he was excited.

You inhaled deeply, made an effort to sound calm, and stated, “I'm not as strong as I was in the past.”

“Fuck me,” Butcher muttered, realizing at last what was going on. “Are you getting weaker or getting weaker?” Excitement was obvious in his question. There must have been something the two of you were hiding from him and he clearly needed some answers.

“What the fuck does it matter?” Ben questioned him with a hint of annoyance. The fact that too much about you was now known to others disturbed him.

“Calm down; I'm just trying to understand her situation and why finding a simple doctor is so important out of the sudden,” Butcher said with a grin.

You just answered, “I don't know,” as you were unwilling to give him any further details. “Butcher, you have to locate him. In order to ensure that the experiments continued after Ben murdered the medical doctor in charge before him, Vought must have provided him with all the information. They just wouldn't discard anything since we are now free. They could be planning something.”

Butcher considered what you said and noticed that you were hesitant to acknowledge that you were not as strong as your previous form. This made him somewhat hopeful that Vought could have discovered a technique to make Supes weaker. Although it was well known that they were working hard to refine future Supes, there was undoubtedly more to this story. Perhaps there is another way to make Homelander weaker.

He concluded that it would even be better than anything if you were growing weaker every day. It might be possible to weaken other members of the Seven and all other supes if there was indeed anything causing you, one of the most powerful Supe women, to manipulate your biology like this.

As Butcher considered what you had said, you cast him an expectant glance. You repeated your question, “Will you please help me to find him?” Ben seemed to be growing heated continuously, but you didn't do much more than glance at him and go close enough to touch him in the hopes of distracting his attention.

Butcher eventually said, “Of course,” and gave you a cunning smirk. “It's better to know what they are up to after all.”

You smiled and nodded gratefully to him as Ben's body temperature began to return to normal, causing you to exhale with relief.

“Annie, can you guess who may be the next doctor?” You gently questioned, “I mean, you were one of the Seven members, right?” in the hopes that she might know anything about what was happening there.

“I'm sorry,” she replied, glancing at you shyly. “I've been away from the Seven for a while, so I wish I knew. In fact, I doubt that any of the other members are aware of the current state of Supe research. Things like these were usually very classified. Nobody was even aware of Soldier Boy's existence.”

“Can the CIA find out who's in charge now?” Ben asked Butcher, his fingers continually resting on your knee, but you didn't push him away, preferring to concentrate on your talk with Butcher.

“In any case, we must give it a go. They must have some knowledge of it.” As he stood up and removed his phone from his jacket, Butcher spoke.

“All right. Thanks, Butcher,” you said, attempting to smile at him.

You said, “By the way,” just before he picked up the phone. “I'd like to go out tonight.”

“I thought you would just sit here on your ass forever,” Ben remarked, grinning slightly. He was relieved that you had at last decided differently. He was really not wanting to go out without you, and the fact that the others weren't leaving you all by yourself with him was infuriating him.

“Yeah, me too,” you honestly said. You were getting frustrated too, spending weeks at home and losing your mind over your weakening body.

“That would be excellent,” Annie said without hesitation. “I think Butcher can find a nice place for us, right?”

“Yeah,” he said while looking at his phone. “Let me make some calls first, and I'll see what I can do for you ladies, alright?”

You and Ben did nothing but watch TV all day long after realizing that Kimiko and Frenchie had already left the home and that Annie was chatting to Hughie.

Finally, at around midnight, Butcher remarked, “Okay, as soon as you get ready, we can leave.”

You exhaled in relief as you muttered, “Finally,” as you massaged your sore eyes from spending hours on your phone playing games and watching TV.

You made haste to the upstairs, and as soon as you began undressing, Ben entered through the open door.

“Why is this fucking door always opened when you're naked?”

You replied, “Damn, Ben,” in a displeased tone as he quickly shut the door. “You are the only person seeing me, and I'm not naked. How many times do I need to say this to you?”

You were looking for something to wear like it was your first time ever going out, and he was examining your underwear without even blinking. Actually, it had been literally decades, and the night that you fought Noir didn't count.

Ben knew you needed to get some fresh air since he could see you were enthusiastic about it already, but he preferred that others go out and you stay with him so you could have your own fun loudly this time. But he couldn't help staring at the tiny lace that was barely concealing your lovely, sweet ass. His cock was felt hard beneath his jeans since it had been so fucking long since he had taken you from behind, and the situation wasn't made any easier by your bouncing tits as you looked for anything to wear quickly.

He arrogantly looked at himself in the mirror and remarked, “Well, my mouth was on your sweet cunt a night ago; I can still taste you, so that makes me different, right?”

“Oh, god,” you sounded embarrassed as you spoke. Of course, he would bring this out eventually. “It wasn't even important, so you see, I don't care if anyone sees me naked or not, Ben. Including you.”

The idea of someone else in the house witnessing you in this state enraged him, so he said, “Fuck that. Of course, it has a meaning. We are not some teenagers.”

Ignoring Ben's abrupt outburst of anger, you said, “Ah, found it,” as you grabbed the two separate clothings from the wardrobe.

You replied, “Of course it didn't mean a single thing,” as you turned your back to Ben and removed your bra in order to put on the gorgeous, shining top that barely covered your tits. “Ben, I've already said clearly from the start. I don't rust you.”

The square was adequate because of your somewhat tight dark-blue top.

He inhaled deeply as he observed you adjusting your tits within your attractive top. Ben wasn't sure if he should confront you, get lost in his own fantasies of putting you in a hundred different positions to fuck you, or make another attempt at seducing you. If he sucked your small pussy again, he was certain you wouldn't turn him down. Still, he clearly craved something more intimate, something special.

You put on the long skirt too, groaned, realizing Ben was silent behind you. They appeared to be a single item now, like a piece of clothing. The stillness in the room grew louder and heavier as you brushed your hair and checked yourself in the mirror.

“You look nice and beautiful,” Ben said as he assisted you in adjusting your skirt where your hands couldn't reach.

You said, “Thanks,” in a quiet voice for both. You had no desire to argue or engage in conversations regarding the past, present, or future. You were too overwhelmed by everything and too worn out by it all. All you had to do was recover and let the past go.

Ben remarked, “I don't want to ruin anything,” as his fingers continued to linger on your back before moving to your neck and gently playing with your hair.

“So why, just for once, aren't you actually listening to me? I'm tired of attempting to explain to you how deeply you have wounded me and why I will never be able to trust you. Whether or not you fucked Countess is unimportant.” You stared at Ben in the mirror as he rested his head on yours, and you matched his gaze. “What you have done was cheating anyway,” you replied. You did not move as his hands remained on your stomach and his entire chest touched your back.

“I know exactly what I did to you, and I do listen to you, but I just need you to see how much I care about you. I promise never to repeat the same mistake.” He replied, putting his arms around your body as if you would push him away, “I'll make you trust me, you'll see.”

“Ben, we broke up. It's been fucking decades. Actually, you were the one who abonded me in the first place, not me. Do you remember how many times I made an effort to reach you out, ignoring my pride and honor while doing it? I told you never to say those three words to you again. I meant it back then. I can't love you anymore. You're just being selfish.”

“That's not true,” Ben confidently and swiftly said. “You care about me as much as I care about you, even if you don't want to.”

“We're done. All I want is that you give up playing with me. Ben, I'm over everything. You're really wearing me out. We'll part our ways after you kill Homelander and I get my freedom. I don't know; I'll see someone else, and you'll do the same. We're getting older anyways. Make a family...of your own just like you wanted.”

“We're not fucking finished or something, and there's no fucking way you'll see someone else,” he said harshly and turned you to face him as you sighed and felt his chest growing warmer on your back. “For fucks sake, are you out of your mind?”

Ben remarked arrogantly, “You'd never let anyone touch you,” but it was obvious he didn't even want to think of you dating someone else. “Except me.”

“What makes you think that?”

With his rough hands stroking your cheeks, he sent you a glare and said, “Remember, I'm the man who took your virginity. It means something.”

Your cheeks burned from the memories of your first time with him on the couch, and you mumbled, “Oh, god. It meant nothing to me. You have an old-fashioned mindset.”

Ben said in a harsh voice, “Fuck, yes, I am,” instantly. “And keep in mind that you said how important it was to you. You know, even though I've been throbbing uncontrollably for days, I've been kind of fasting since I made you come and never beat my cock. It means everything.”

You patiently exhaled, realizing there was no need to continue to argue with him. You could see that he felt somewhat guilty when he realized how much he had broken your heart by being harsh with you and leaving you only because Vought wanted him to, and that you had been tortured and suffering because you had attempted to save him in spite of what he had done to you.

You were aware that he didn't love you; rather, he felt bound to you because of your loyalty and devotion to him. You desired for his emotions to be genuine, closer, and more meaningful. After that, everything would be different. But repeatedly establishing trust was pretty hard. You had lost count of how many times he hurt you. He had broken your heart so hard that it had made you lose your senses so much that you hadn't even thought twice about saving him that day.

That was not how you wanted to feel anymore. It was absolutely agonizing to love Ben.

You place your hands on his soft chest, hoping to cherish the moment as you gaze into his green eyes, seeking for something you've always craved.

You pushed him to the bed and stated, “So, it seems I owe you,” which caused him to narrow his eyes in an attempt to comprehend what you were saying.

He opened his mouth to say something, then looked at you in confusion. His jaw tightened with anticipation as you forced him to sit on the bed and straddled him. He instantly slipped his rough hands to both sides of your hips. You could feel him hardening beneath you as soon as you made a rapid attempt to press yourself against him.

This time, you gave him an understanding glance and allowed his passionate stare to melt your heart. You couldn't continue to bear anguish and suffering, but you wouldn't lie to yourself and say you didn't miss being with him.

Ben refrained from speaking this time and immediately stopped disagreeing with you as your hands gained the confidence to touch his hair and then glided down the back of his thick neck. As you positioned yourself so that you could feel him fully, you sensed his powerful hands becoming firmer on your body, as if you could choose to change your mind at any moment.

You muttered, “Consider this as a..payback,” and then you pushed your lips to his warmer ones before he could say anything more.

Next Chapter

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A/N: Hello again! Comments and reblogs are very appreciated. They keep me going.

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beenoeila · 7 months

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A list of underrated fics I adore.

▪️this don’t feel anything like sinking by

@dontcallmebree

A little over six weeks and his knee heals only for his breathing to act up. It may have been a handful of decades—coming up on a century, even—but he never did forget how it felt to wheeze through the night.

Steve sees it coming when Dr. Youssef tells him his lungs are taking a turn.

The year 2032 brings about the Summer Olympics, the coldest winter of the decade, and an end to Project Rebirth.

🔹 Learning to want by @luna-rainbow

Bucky is still trying to piece together his memories, but at least he now had Steve with him.

When Steve asks him if he wanted to meet with his sister, Becca, his response was, "I don't know about wants...I'll start with the shoulds."

Steve and Bucky goes for lunch with Becca. Steve and Bucky dealing with memory loss. Steve and Bucky being mutually pining idiots.

▪️better to speak or die by emilywithoutY (@between-a-ship-and-a-hard-place)

Summers in C. are as endless and hazy as when they were kids. All James wants is to play his part well enough that his mother stops looking at him with that twist of regret in her smile.

The only thing to break the sun-soaked monotony is the arrival of the new summer intern. While the rest of the household—and half the village—fawn over Steve Roger’s movie star looks and understated charm, James finds him aloof and his polite interest near unbearable.

But as they collide in vulnerable moments, the sparks of frustration ignite something neither has the power to stop.

Do you think Jonathan understood what happened that day David first stepped into his father’s court?

🔹The weapon remembers by pushdragon

The Winter Soldier finds old fantasies of Steve in his memory, and takes them for reality.

He's got two days to sort out all his mixed-up history, before he puts himself back in cryo freeze. Harder still, he's got to convince Steve to let him do it.

▪️Preberseeschießen by Ginny_Potter (@hipsterdiva)

Bucky takes his time, ignoring his comrades’ cheering and Gaiswinkler and Mariandl’s teasing. From his position, Steve only has an oblique view of Bucky’s face, which is mostly in the dark anyway – the strong line of his jaw, a smudge of grease on his cheekbone, a sweaty lock of hair curling on his forehead, his mouth pouting in concentration. Steve itches to draw him, to take out his battered sketchbook and reproduce that instant of perfect imperfection. Steve itches to touch him, push back his unruly curls, wipe away the smudge on his cheekbone, cup his face in his hands and…

Bucky breathes out and shoots. The bullet hits water… and there it is, the zapping sound of paper tearing.

The light turns on and off three times. Third circle. Just a lick out of bullseye.

The Howlies explode in cheers.

Or, the Howling Commandos play a shooting game with the Austrian Resistance and Steve has lots of unresolved feelings about himself, his new body, and his changing relationship with Bucky. In other words, comrades are comrades, angst looms, and Steve feels.

🔹Till there were no more wolves in the West

by @dharmasharks

“I’m afraid of a lot of things, Steve,” Bucky says softly.

“But this thing sticking in my heart—the part of me that’s yours? It is the best part of me. Maybe the only good part.” His rueful smile wavers. He makes a pained expression.

“What if it’s the only good part?” he asks.

Two Brooklyn boys find themselves aboard an orphan train headed west in 1854. Across farmland, war, and the lawless frontier, a childhood promise helps them find each other again.

(A Western SteveBucky retelling.)

▪️Hiraeth by ixalit

Hiraeth

noun /ˈhɪraɨ̯θ/

[Welsh] A homesickness or nostalgia, an earnest longing or desire, or a sense of regret. The feeling of longing for a home that never was.

🔹Undone by justanotherStonyfan

You’d think, given everything, that if one of them were going to regress, that if one of them were going to break down, it would be Bucky.

(Set mostly after Endgame - canon deaths remain but Steve doesn't leave)

▪️But You Can Hold Me (Only 'Cause It's a Cold Night in Brooklyn) by Voylitscope_speed (@voylitscope)

This should just be two friends getting off after the burlesque show. This should just be two pals both thinking about the girl. That would probably be okay, Bucky thinks.

But then he ruins it all when he says,

"Come here," and puts a hand out to tug on Steve's shoulder.

(Or: Sometimes, Bucky and Steve lend each other a hand, literally. Bucky tries not to be weird about it, but he's always been bad at controlling his thoughts about Steve.)

🔹Midlife Crisis by profoundalpacakitten

Steve isn’t expecting much of anything from life, he’s content to coast by, letting life flow past. Get up, get dressed, get to work, get home, get to sleep, rinse and repeat.

▪️ The Magic Touch by @broodybuck

The soldier is finally free but he has one big problem, he can't finish. Until he meets a man called Steve who apparently has the magic touch.

#stucky #stevebucky #fic recs #stucky fic

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highwayorgantrade · 1 year

Text

Safe House

Pairing: Female Reader! X Soap

Request: Nooo

Summary: Oh no! A bunch of soldiers posted up in your farmhouse bed and breakfast?? Whatever shall you do!! Should you fuck them??

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Overstimulation, begging, volume (keep quiet), unprotected sex, cervix kissing

Author's note: Okay listen y'all I did not plan on doing this whatsoever. I was in the middle of writing a Graves thing when I got this idea and I knew I just had to get that damn little brain worm out before it ruined my life further. This is gonna be a series!!!!!

The mission had gone wrong. Oh, so horribly wrong. 141 thought they were smart by teaming up with Los Vaqueros again to take down a trafficking ring - “Positive international relations,” Price had called it. “We even got imported muscle.” He grinned, referring to the 6’10” man they had called in, after hearing of his ability to do his job and keep his mouth shut.

However, the ring had decided on the same tactic, bringing in a nearby cartel to defend their location. Quickly, way too quickly, the group was overwhelmed, frantically phoning in to Laswell for extraction.

“Don’t worry,” She sighed, after directing the seven men to a relatively safe area, the black-tinted SUV already flying gravel. “I have a friend.”

You had just so happened to be the friend. Well, the relative was more accurate, being her sister-in-law. You knew what she did for work, but you never thought she would call on you for help with it.

“Please, (Y/N), it’ll only be for a few days, I swear. A week, tops.” She called you early one November morning. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” And you knew she wouldn’t. The fact was simple: You had lived relatively nearby, and the bed and breakfast you operated and lived in certainly had the facilities to house eight people, and it so happened to be the off-season.

You were eager to accept, happy to help your sister, and it would be nice to have some muscle with the chores that needed done around the property. When the SUV pulled up, you quickly regretted your decision. You had expected a house full of military boys, tearing around like a pack of dogs, but out stepped six of the most attractive men you have ever seen, all completely different, but equally as handsome and rugged. Two were masked, but Christ, were they big anyway. As they loaded packs out of the van, you stepped into the grass, the cold air causing you to draw your cardigan tighter around yourself. When you approached, you kept a safe distance - partly because you didn’t know them, but also because you were afraid that if you got too close, you’d get lost in the intricacies of their faces.

“Hey!” You spoke finally, the rustling of the dying leaves nearly drowning you out. “I’m (Y/N), I hope the trip out wasn’t too awful!” You internally cringed at yourself for giving them the usual spiel you reserved for guests, but continued anyway. “Come on in, all the rooms are pretty much the same, but you can pick, so… that’s something.”

“Ay, don’t worry lass, better by miles than where we’ve been.” One of them finally spoke, casting a friendly grin your way, and you turned quickly to hide the burning on your cheeks.

You were proud of the way your property looked, hidden well off the road in a small forested area, the whole thing had kind of an eclectic feel to it, but you still felt kind of strange leading them into the common area.

“Okay!” You clasped your hands together, and tried to remember that you were only a housing opportunity - they had more important things to focus on. “Well, uh, I’ll stay out of your way as much as I can, but you might see me flitting about here and there. What’s mine is yours.” Some nodded their thanks, others were making quick work of checking their bags for God knows what, and one, the one in a skull mask, merely stared down at you, his large arms crossed on his chest.

Okay… You took that as your cue to leave, and you quickly stepped out the back door, hoping to make progress on your chores before the sun set.

The frigid air felt nearly unbearable compared to how hot you were burning in their presence - you didn’t even realize that you were slightly sweating. With a sigh, you reminded yourself of your responsibilities. Repaint the gazebo, refill and hang the bird feeders, and fix the greenery so everything is in full bloom by summer. Leaves crunched under your step as the half-painted gazebo came into view. You could hear voices coming from your house, a few with different accents, mostly British, but you could pick out a Scottish, a vaguely German, and a couple Spanish lilts. A booming laugh echoed, and you relaxed your tense shoulders at the sound.

“Don’t make me regret this, Kate.” You mumbled as you settled into the grass and popped open a paint can.

She was pretty. It was the first thing Soap had noticed. It looked like she belonged here, in the woods, with the wind blowing her hair and birds singing in her presence. No doubt she kept them well-fed. He had barely listened when she spoke - he was much too focused on how her sweater wrapped tightly around her body, or how her eyes seemed to physically sparkle with curiosity. She had said something, Soap had no idea, but he responded anyway. Something about the drive? The rooms?

“Ay, don’t worry lass, better by miles than where we’ve been.” He answered, stabbing that it was an appropriate response. The way she averted her eyes and a hint of a smile played at the edges of her lips told him that he was successful. When she turned around to lead them into the safehouse, Price gave him a nudge and shook his head ‘no.’ No fucking Kate’s pretty little sister? Might as well ask him to walk on fucking water, next.

She had promised to make herself scarce, and Soap was silently thankful. He didn’t want this woman caught up in what they were doing, and he didn’t want her to know something that could get her in trouble - Laswell would never forgive them. When she left, Alejandro was the first to speak.

“Nobody talk to me about this mission tonight.” He grumbled, and Soap recognized that as a request long ago, based on the way his jaw was clenched nearly the entire drive to the location, muttering what Soap assumed to be expletives every so often. He trudged up the stairs with his bag, Rudy trailing not far behind.

“Right, then.” Ghost spoke, rolling his shoulders and pulling out a map of the enemy facility and laying it on the wood table, and Soap nearly laughed at how out of place it looked. “If they’ve gotten support from that gang, it eliminates them from support from anyone else, and makes them a target to others, not just us.”

“We need to get to them first.” Konig’s hand landed on the map, gesturing vaguely at an entrance. “This was lightly guarded.” Soap stared at the location, before his eyes flitted out the window to see you approaching a gazebo outside, and he itched to get this out of the way.

“Aye, they might reinforce that entrance since they know it’s weak now. Leaves somewhere else open to vulnerability.” Soap strategized, his eyes lingering on how your hands ran through your hair, and JESUS, how did it still look perfect after that? A light thump on the back of his head pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked back to see Gaz with a raised eyebrow, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

“No-go, mate. Red zone. Laswell would have your head on a stick.”

“Might be worth it.” Ghost chimed in, following his gaze to the woman.

Price pointed a warning finger to Ghost, his face stony.

“Ghost, stop instigating. Gaz, leave Soap alone. Konig…” He took a breath, considering the man had nothing to do with their antics. “Good job. Soap, I wish I had control over who a soldier decides to sleep with, but I don’t.”

“That girl in Ibiza left a bad taste in your mouth, Cap?” Soap retorted, recalling one of his more infamous hook-ups, and Price laughed loudly.

“Lesson for the inexperienced,” Ghost turned to Konig. “Remember your date’s name or she will throw a knife at you.” Konig shook his head at this, and slung his bag over his shoulder, ready to call it a day.

“Sounds like my kind of woman.”

Soap had already tuned the ribbing out, and when Ghost packed up the plans, he was already tracing your path, walking out the back door to meet you.

A rustling of leaves caused your head to perk up, and you turned to see the one who had spoken to you earlier, a small smile on his face.

“Need any help?” He tilted his head at the gazebo. “More hands make less work ‘n all.” You looked back at your work, having made minimal progress since you began.

“Oh! Yeah, sure. If you want.” You responded, pulling the paint tray out in front of you so he could take the spare paintbrush. A moment of silence passed before he spoke again.

“I’m Johnny. Most of the guys call me Soap, though.”

Soap? The nickname seemed to come out of nowhere, and you crinkled your nose at this.

“Why do they call you that? You shower more than everyone else or something?” He laughed at this, reaching up to cover the underside of a railing in white paint, and you fought to keep your eyes from lingering on his arms.

“Good at cleaning house, love.” Soap corrected you, your lips pursing at the nickname. “How long have you had this place?”

You shrugged, simply happy that he was making conversation with you.

“Coupl’a years. Since I was twenty. Bought it as a dump and flipped it.” He makes a noise of approval and takes a deep breath.

“Your, uh, boyfriend live here with you, does he?” At this, you can’t help but allow a laugh to tear through you, both in recognition of what Soap was doing, and out of pure shock that he was doing it.

“Not sure where my boyfriend lives, I haven’t met him yet. Let me know if you find him, though, yeah?” Soap shook his head.

“I don’t think I will, but thank you for the offer.”

The back and forth with Soap left your head reeling, and you considered your options as you painted in silence. Kate would kill you if she found out, but she doesn’t need to find out. It has been terribly long since you’ve even been on a date, or even had sex for that matter, and Soap certainly isn’t the worst looking man in the world. He clearly had a great body, and you delved down the rabbit hole of how his arms would look pinning your arms above your head, his battle-worn dog tag trailing cold electricity down your chest.

A flash of yellow light pulled you out of your musings, and a firefly landed on your knee. You took a deep breath and turned to Soap, his attention garnered by your sudden movement of waving the small bug away.

“Do you wanna have a drink tonight? With me?” Your face was comically serious, and Soap let out a soft chuckle as he replaced the lid on the paint, taking the brush from your hand.

“Aye.” He stood, sighing a bit at the noise his knees made, and handed you the paint tray.

“I’ll, uh, go put this up and meet you inside.” You offered him a small smile, and his head tilted at you, trying to hide his own.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Soap had to stop himself from running back into the house. Giddiness coursed through him, and he burst through the door to see Gaz, Ghost, and Konig sat in various places around the living room, the TV tuned in to the local news.

“Get the fuck out.” He stated simply, his eyes wide and a dumb grin on his face.

“Pardon?” Ghost barely spared him a glance, and Konig automatically stood, silently confused as to where he was supposed to go. Gaz merely stared up at him.

“I said,” Soap wrapped his hand around Ghost’s bicep and pulled, forcing the man to stand, and Gaz followed. “Get the fuck out.”

“You sendin’ us to bed, then, eh?”

Soap picked up Ghost’s bag for him, and shoved it into his chest, nearly pushing the men up the stairs.

“I am.” He turned to Gaz, his mouth already open to protest, and pointed a finger in his face. “If you fuck this up for me, I will end you.”

The second the three men shut the door to their respective rooms, you stepped back into the house, locking the backdoor behind you.

I raised an eyebrow at the television, and grinned at Soap.

“Did you turn on the news?” I ask, grabbing two glasses and a bottle of wine from cabinets, pouring us both a fairly full glass.

“Yeah, it’s a new form of foreplay.” He laughed, taking a sip. “Learnin’ that we world is shite.”

“Oh, so foreplay is important to you?” And that question was your first step. He glanced at you from across the kitchen island, and you could just see the gears in his mind turning, figuring out the best way to get himself into your bed. Honestly, he could have asked to bend you dead over the kitchen counter, his large hand pulling your hair as leverage as he thrusted into you from behind.

But your imagination always runs wild.

“Mm. ‘S very important.” You cocked your head at his answer, and he shrugged. “I prefer to have a girl simply beggin’ before I even think of finishing.” He took a step around the island, not quite in front of you, but leaning on the side. You sipped your wine again, trying to cover your reaction to his answer, but there was no wine glass big enough to cover how you pressed your legs together, one hand gripping the counter with slightly more force than necessary.

“How do you do that?” It was an effort to keep your tone even , trying not to show how badly he was affecting you.

“Eh.” He set his wine glass down, finger lightly circling the base of the stem. “Usually have ‘em coming a few times before I get my own.”

Holy fuck. You needed Soap, and you needed him bad.

“Ah, so only good reviews then?” Damnit, why is your voice suddenly higher? You cleared your throat to try to get it to return to normal, and the fucking bastard smirked at you.

“So far. Tell me, love.” That damn nickname again. “When was the last time you were fucked?” You opened your mouth to answer, but it didn’t matter as Soap began talking again. “Ah, lemme revise that. When was the last time you were properly fucked? The last time someone had you cryin’, had you just stupid on their cock?”

You were buzzing, shaking slightly at Soap’s vulgar words. His accent got lower, rougher as he spoke, and you could feel your arousal tying a knot in your throat.He simply stared at you, waiting for your answer with a dumb smile on his face, like he already knew.

“Oh, no, don’t tell me…” He began, in mock sympathy. “Never?” You shook your head at him, not wanting to tell him the truth.

In all reality, you’ve never orgasmed with someone else. It was all only you, and you learned quickly not to say this, as all men would try to be the first. Then you’d end the night by lying, and they would go with their egos inflated.

You both stood, the tension in the kitchen more than you could bear, and just as you were about to dismiss yourself for the night, Soap wrapped a hand around your forearm - Not tightly enough to worry you, but just enough so you looked up at him, your faces inches from each other.

“Love, I don’t like to, uh, think I’m all that, y’know?” He cleared his throat. “But I’d like to try. Show some thanks to our host.”

In one last attempt at quieting down your own perverse thoughts, you set your wine glass down, and looked at the floor.

“Ah, you don’t need to thank me Soap.”

“I absolutely do,” He responded immediately. “I really do need to. Nothin’ better than a pretty face while I work.”

You bite the inside of your lip, considering all the ways this could go bad. Every single one was overrun with the way Soap was searching your eyes, silently pleading for you. With a purse of your lips, you poured the rest of your wine down the sink, and smiled.

“Absolutely.”

You barely got the words out before Soap wrapped his arm around your waist and lifted, slinging you over his shoulder and making his way up the stairs, searching for any room that didn’t look like it was already occupied.

“Mine’s on the other end.” You breathed in an effort not to laugh at his eagerness, and he turned on his heels toward a door that was differently painted than the rest. He placed a hand over your head, protecting you from a bump as he ducked through the doorframe, and less-than-gently set you on your bed, locking the door behind him.

When he turned, you didn’t see the sweet man offering to help you with painting, you saw a soldier. A soldier tuned into your every breath, every movement, and every thought. He kneeled in front of the bed, between your legs, and began planting lighter than air kisses on your ankle, untying your shoes and setting them to the side haphazardly.

“Red means stop.” He whispered against your skin, traveling upward to your knee. “Yellow is slow down, green is good. Repeat it.”

“Red is-“ You were cut off by your own gasp as he delivered a light bite to the inside of your thigh before kissing it again, and you could feel him smile against you. “Red is stop. Yellow is slow. Green is good.”

“And where are we now?” He breathed against the spot right where your thigh met your most sensitive area, and you felt your stomach jump.

“Green. So, so green.” A whimper escaped you, and Soap tsked, like he was about to scold you.

“Stay quiet, lass.” Teased Soap, as he slid your shorts down, along with your underwear, and he whistled lowly. “A Chriosd ann an ifrinn, seall ort, a nighean bhòidheach.” And with that, he licked one long, thick strip up your cunt, dipping down to tease your hole with his tongue. Soap was eating you out like a man starved, and you were obsessed.

Light, breathy moans left you, ever so aware of how quiet everything else was.

“Tell me what feels good, love.” He punctuated his command with a nip to your thigh, pulling your mind out of the pleasure-induced haze. His tongue traveled through your folds, eyes trained on you to see your reaction to his ministrations. Soap’s lips wrap around your clit, fingers toying with your soaking entrance, and it felt like all rational thought had left you. You didn’t care about who exactly was between your legs, nor if his team could hear your desperate mewls.

The pressure inside you was building, and your movement was strange - trying to wriggle away from the incessant barrage against your clit, and trying to grind impossibly closer to Soap’s lips, and by his huff, it was clear he had enough of that. One large arm wrapped around a thigh, his other pressing down on your abdomen, and the only noise Soap could muster was a few low groans as he continued devouring you.

The knot inside you was getting tighter and tighter, and it felt like it was going to snap any second. A split moment of panic ran through you as your back arched off the bed, Begs and cries tumbling out of your lips before you could think of them.

“Soap, please, please.” You cried, hands aching from gripping the sheets. “Please don’t stop, please…” Staying true to your direction, Soap was unrelenting against you, the combination of his sucking, biting, and licking at your clit had dizzy spots appearing in your vision. With one hard push on your abdomen, and a particularly slow drag of his tongue at your entrance, you felt that snap, and you finally understood why it was called the Little Death.

Your mind had gone completely blank, mouth open in a silent scream, and your thighs clamped around either side of Soap’s head, where he still had yet to stop drinking you. It felt like your heart had even stopped beating, until the pounding was heard in your ears. As Soap continued, you felt your body lurch upwards, fingers tangling in Soap’s hair until he finally looked up at you, his hand coming back to slide a finger into you.The sudden intrusion forced a gasp from you, and he gently kissed your thigh, where you noticed the ache that predates a bruise.

“How we doin’, love? We okay?” His voice was impossibly sweet, a complete 180 to how he just made you feel. You nodded, despite feeling like every single sense in your body had been blown out. His finger continued sliding in and out of you, your walls pulsing around him.

“Green.” You confirmed breathily, and he smiled a wolfish grin before adding a second digit into you, his pace quickening. A quick flash of aggravation and desperation coursed through you, and you knew how to get exactly what you wanted.

You looked down at him, eyebrows upturned in a pleading look, and your doe-eyes were working overtime.

“Please, Soap, just fuck me.” You said, voice higher and more gentle than you thought it would come out, and he groaned, rolling his head against your leg. His fingers took on a ‘come here’ motion, and your eyes rolled in the back of your head at the feeling.

“Ah, I know what you want. You want these…” Soap planted a kiss on your thighs, interrupting his own speech. “God, these pretty thighs pinned behind your head, taking me so well, takin’ me so good.” He looked absolutely pussydrunk, his eyes darting between your eyes and his fingers, tsking and offering a slight noise of false sympathy when a tear rolled down your cheek. Your walls pulsed around his fingers, and you could feel that fire building inside of you again. “Christ, love, you wanna come again, huh?” You nodded furiously at his question, one hand coming up to absentmindedly play with your tits. A bright look crossed Soap’s face, and while his hands continued, his mouth met your hands.

His lips wrapped around your nipple, and before you could think, he bit down - the orgasm that crashed through you was stronger than the last, and the muscles in your thighs screamed from being clenched so tightly. You felt his fingers work their way out of your pussy, hissing at the feeling of your walls clenching around nothing.

“You want me to fuck you now, pretty thing?” His face was almost smug as he climbed up on the bed, one hand going to your lower back to effortlessly raise you, and he peppered light kisses on your sweat-covered face. Of course you want him, how could you not? Your body was buzzing with the aftershocks of two orgasms, and here he was, lining himself up with you.

“God, yes, please.” You breathed, hands coming to rest on his back. Soap brought his lips down next to your ear, sending another shock straight to your core.

“Beg better.” He punctuated his command by rubbing his cock through your folds, and you twitched when the head ground against your already sensitive clit. Beg better? Fuck you, Soap.

You took his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you and, hopefully, how serious you looked.

“Fuck me, Soap. Now.”

The simple instruction was all it took for him to push inside you, and it was like it activated something in him - Soap simply could not shut up.

“Ach, mo Dhia, tha thu a 'faireachdainn cho foirfe timcheall orm. So perfect.” He planted a kiss to your temple. “So perfect, my pretty girl.”

You brought your lips up to his neck, kissing the curve where it meets his shoulder, and his babbling only continued as his cock dragged against nearly every nerve, your broken moans echoing through your room. God, his slow pace was nearly agonizing, you wanted more, you needed more. It was like Soap read your mind as he paused, hooking your knees above his shoulders, effectively pinning you into the mattress. He flashed you a wicked grin before he began his jackhammer pace, and this new position had him reaching impossibly deep inside you.

A vague, low ache began in your abdomen every time he bottomed out, his head kissing your cervix every single time. The depth combined with his pace, his groaning and endless praise in your ear - it felt like it was all culminating in a perfect storm, one that was threatening to break down every fibre of your being.

“Fuck, Soap, I’m going to-” You interrupted yourself with a low, hoarse groan, your admission only spurring him on as he replaced his hold on your knees with his hands.

“Look at me, love, I wanna see it, I wanna see you.” His stuttering hips told you he was in the same spot as you, and you both were not going to last much longer. “Come for me, pretty girl.” He growled, and that was all it took for you.

Your legs shook uncontrollably as you released around him, and your ending brought his own on. Curses left him lips as he buried himself inside you, collapsing next to you.

“Ach, come ‘ere.” He breathed, reaching his arm out to hook around your waist and pulling you to him, one leg wrapping around his waist. One hand rested on your jaw, planting kisses on your forehead, cheek, anywhere he could get access to. Your body felt numb, and you knew he stayed true to his word - you were fucked absolutely stupid. You wanted to talk, you wanted to ask where this left you? Would you ignore that this happened? Would it recur? Would he tell his team about it? You wanted to ask, and yet you didn’t - The song of crickets and his heartbeat was a lullaby, and one that you couldn’t fight.

The snare of sleep overtook you as your heart rate evened out, and only one thought was on your mind before you gave up the fight for consciousness:

You really fucking hope you don’t regret this.

#mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #call of duty fanfic #cod x reader

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scoutsbabygirl · 1 year

Note

I would like to see headcanons from you about how your favorite mercenaries realize that they fall in love with the reader :333

🎷🐛

my first request! hi my little meow meow! i wrote for all the mercs bc why not?! fluff below the cut! also written in headcannon form! idk how to write for soldier (i just don't see the appeal)

scout:

-why did ms. pauling have to be lesbian???

-when you came along he was immediately drawn to you, maybe it was because you were new and young

-he's way too cocky around you and acts like he doesn't care about you

-after a stern talking to by spy, jeremy decides to ask you out

-other than sports, jeremy loves to paint and draw and is surprisingly good at it. he asks you to make some art with him and of course he draws you

-this melts your heart and you've fallen for him. he's just waiting for the right time to confess and ask you to be his

soldier:

-man has zhanna

pyro:

-hearing you say "you're all good! no worries!" after he lights the hem of you shirt, almost burning you alive. he feels a spark...literally

-pyro slinks around you where ever you may be. in the kitchen baking? pyros throwing flour all over the kitchen. working out? pyros cheering you on. got some spare time? pyros got some crayons, colored pencils and a bunch of coloring books

-spending time with a masked man that the team fears has him drawn to you. the mercs warned you about him, you never felt intimated by pyro yet understood yet you could understand why he was treated differently

-if you're ever sad he will give you the best comfort. he's never shown himself to the mercs but once he sees you cry the mask is coming off and expect kisses to be planted over you

-its a very intimate moment and he just admits it then. he's never had anyone love him back, he's always been depicted as a monster.

heavy:

- won't approach you first. he waits for you to make a move. he knows his size is intimidating in itself and doesn't want to scare you away.

-he's a gentle giant. he's very careful with his words and movements. he's so paranoid that you'll view him as something he's not on the inside.

- one night you cooked with him and he told you all about his life back home, showed you photos of his sisters and taught you basic russian (assuming you don't know any already)

-if you speak russian he'll be over the moon or if you use the simple russian he's taught you he loves you just a little bit more. he adores your accent when you stumble over certain pronunciation. he knows you're the one for him

-when he decides to confess he handwrites you a long poem with an russian to english translation on two separate pages. after he signs his name he writes that he won't bring this up unless you do

-please don't break his heart. he's so sensitive

demo:

- when he confesses he's drunk as fuck. he doesn't even remember when you bring it up the next day.

-is so embarrassed. he's hungover and groggy. he plays it off by acting defensive. "i was just drunk! i meant nothing by it!"

-in the inside he's freaking out. he wanted to plan it out. it's only been 7 or 8 months since you've been at teufort but he fell so quick for you.

-3am outside pointing at the constellations, telling you about old celtic, scottish myths and folklore, shit talking the other mercs, and an accidental kiss on the lips he caught feeling for you right then and there.

- he's willing to give up scrumpy just to have you reciprocate the same feelings for him. 🤞

engineer:

-lord, he used so many pet names with you; "check this out, sweet pea", "you look beautiful, darling", "i made pancakes, you want any hon?"

-he knows his voice with a combination of his pet names do something to you. he loves when you call him those names back!

-compliment his cooking! bbq is his specialty! he'll gladly eat up anything you make. hungry boi :3

-he loves when you spend time with him in his workshop, working on his little metal trinkets warms his soul. he tries to teach you about the intricate parts of engineering. it's okay if you don't understand, he's more than willing to break it down for you and teach you a bite-sized version quantum mechanics

-friday night. a few beers in. a lot of work finished. "(y/n), i know i'm a bit older and dusty at the whole romance thing but" he pauses "you ain't seeing anyone right now, are you?"

medic:

-he either falls in love with you the second he lays his eyes on you or it takes many, many months for him to catch feelings for you. regardless, of how long the process takes his love for you becomes an obsession.

-you begin lingering around his office, inquiring about his tools and weapons. he finds it very interesting that you're not startled by him and his... unethical ways of "doctor assisted suicide"

-internal battles with his conscience. does he want to rip your organs out and shove them in the wrong places? he wants to slice your arteries one by one. yes, he wants to cut your jugular and see how much you bleed before dying. alas, he won't. you're too beautiful to be cut up into pieces. he doesn't want you to die by his hands, he doesn't know what he would do with himself.

-"guten morgen, wie gehts?!" has him weak. just a simple phrase you've rehearsed a few times. you though he would appreciate you taking time out of your day to learn his native tongue. he thinks this is your way of flirting with it (and perhaps it is).

-occasionally he'll call you into his office, not for a checkup by any means but rather just to chat (on company time). he removes the gloves and runs his hands over the scars on your face and neck. "schätzelein, i have been feeling some way for a while."

sniper:

-he is such a cunt. he's so rude and bitchy to you. his attitude causes you to avoid contact with mick at all costs and he avoids you like the plague. he spends a lot of time in his van anyways so staying away from you isn't too hard.

-seeing you hurt breaks his heart. he decides to visit you in medbay after your broke your arm. the baboo uterus experiment procedure wasn't finished by the time you got hurt. you notice how out of character it is but appreciate it regardless. he brings you a little necklace made with animal teeth (him making jewerly with animal bones is the most canon-noncanon headcanon.)

-after you get a cast you ask him to sign it. next to his name he writes a little heart. then scribbles it out. and draws a skull underneath it.

-butterflies in his stomach when he lays eyes on you. he hates that he's gotten feelings for you. you're his teammate, not his partner. not yet atleast. no? why is he thinking like this.

-it's obvious that mick is touch starved of attention, he want to be validated and appreciated. he's also getting shit from his teammates so when you begin to stand up for him and complimenting him he looses his mind.

"scout, you're being mean. no wonder you have no dad, i would leave too. " "he's not ugly at all. you're old and its evident enough in those wrinkles of yours."

-oh god. who knew a petite little thing like you could spit venom. he wants to tell you how he feels so badly but he doesn't want to loose you as a friend.

spy:

-he'll flirt with you before even developing feelings for you. always trying to court you, inviting you over at late hours. he just wants to get laid tbh.

-you're playing hard to get. it excites him a bit but he's much older now so if anything he's annoyed that you won't sleep with him. he tries being more romantic and pushes idea the idea of getting with you sexually and takes a different approach.

-smoking on his red velvet couch until the sun begins to rise, sharing cigs together. he has a small stash of weed (he stole it from scout) but coughs when he smokes it, earning a plethora of giggles from you. now he's smiling and laughing with you despite his lungs being filled with smoke.

-stacks of guy de maupassant on his table near the red couch, he reads the love poems to you and translates it to you. please snuggle up into his chest and try to read the french words yourself. your pronunciation is horrible and your accent is awful. you sound so cute yet so pathetic at the same time.

-he tries to keep his feelings hidden for as long as he can. of course, it slips out. he's stopped wearing the balaclava when around you (and only you, even his own son doesn't know what he truly looks like) so the bright red blush is evident on his face. he tries taking back what he said but there's no use as your already face first into his chest.

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writerslittlelibrary · 25 days

Text

"What, are you?"

masterlist

summary: when your abilities show themselves during a viscous Drüskelle attack, General Kirigan has you immediately transferred to the Little Palace for protection

pairing: Aleksander Kirigan x sun summoner reader

warnings: canon level violence, mention of blood

genre: angst, fluff

words: 2683

a/n: I watched the show Shadow & Bone a few years age, and I was absolutely obsessed. recently I picked up the books, and I cannot express how upset I am that they’ve cancelled the series. It literally had so much potential :(

also, I apologise for literally falling off of the face of the earth these past two months. I was depressed at first, and when I felt a little better me and my mom went on a two week vacation to Ireland, and this week I was at a figure skating camp, so I didn’t really get to writing lol. anyhow, I’m feeling better, and I am planning on writing more fics and hopefully do a flufftober week or something :)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

|—————————— ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ——————————|

The war in Ravka had been raging on for as long as you could remember. It had taken your parent’s lives, and very likely their parent’s lives as well. Now it was your turn to take your place in the army and fight in the war.

You had never possessed much physical strength. Ever since you were a child, you were weak and fragile. It had pushed the caretakers at the orphanage to give you other tasks.

They wanted you to posses as many skills as possible, to ensure you would have a future, even if you wouldn’t be able to fight in the war. As you got older, you seemed to develop a true talent in drawing. Your drawings were detailed and realistic, and so the caretakers pressed to ensure you would continue developing that talent.

When you became of age, you were send to join the first army as a mapmaker.

Currently you were stationed at a camp just next to the fold. There were several skiffs being readied to enter the fold, but after running a little detour, you found out you were not scheduled to go on any of them.

At the moment, you were sitting with a Squaller. You had met her years ago, when both of you were just little girls. A boy had been bullying you, and she had thrown him across the field. Ever since, you had been friends. When she would return to the Little Palace, you would write to her, and when you were stationed at an encampment, she would request to be sent to the same place.

As you were laughing at something Zoya had said, you heard yelling coming from a few tents away from you. You figured it was just another soldier fight, but Zoya knew better as she stood, pulling you up with her when she seemingly spotted something that frightened her.

She pushed you behind her, grabbing your hand and she made a run to the edge of the encampment, towards the forest.

You could hear shouting behind you, and the noises of a fight reached your ears. This was not a friendly soldier fight. Too many people had been involved for that. Before you could reach the forest, you could feel two arms wrapping around you from behind, pulling you away from Zoya.

She screamed, reaching out for you before someone took her out from behind.

The language the man spoke was foreign, and it didn’t take you long to realise they were Fjerdans. They must’ve dressed up as soldiers so they could infiltrate the tents and eliminate the Grisha.

You fought against the man holding you down, kicking him in the stomach and managing to punch him in the face.

He struggled, falling backwards. You didn’t hesitate to run away from him, spotting Zoya on the ground, the Drüskelle on top of her. He had a knife in his hand, undoubtedly planning on slicing Zoya’s throat.

You ran over quickly, jumping on the man’s back in order to get him off of her. Zoya struggled for a bit, surprised by your return before regaining her composure, raising her arms to blast the man backwards. She made her way over to you, grabbing you hand once more before she was pierced by an arrow. A Drüskelle stood behind her, a few feet away, holding a bow.

Zoya fell to the ground, and the Fjerdan you had managed to push to the ground was now behind you again, restraining you as the other one walked over to Zoya.

He grabbed her hair, pulling her to her knees, with her head pulled backwards. He mumbled a few words in Fjerdan, something about salvation of the witches before he pressed his knife to her throat.

You screamed, fighting against the Drüskelle holding you as they prepared to slit Zoya’s throat.

The moment the Drüskelle drew blood, you screamed. An anger releasing inside you that you didn’t know you were holding. Your view went black, a bright light shining through the blackness before you felt your body giving out. You could faintly hear screaming, and you could make out Zoya’s voice as she held you head in her lap.

After that, everything went black.

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

When your vision returned, you could make out you were in a tent. You saw Zoya’s face first, looking concerned as she wiped a wet cloth over your forehead. It appeared you were burning up, yet the cool cloth felt as though it had burned you.

You groaned, moving away from her touch and shielding your eyes. The light was too bright, even though the tent was fairly dark.

“She’s awake,” you heard Zoya say to another person in the room, who hummed thoughtfully before dismissing her.

“Thank you, Zoya. You may leave,” you heard a male voice command.

You saw Zoya shaking her head, holding one hand on your arm as her head was turned to the other presence.

“Please, General. She’s confused and scared as is. Allow me stay, please,” Zoya said, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard her use the word ‘please’, let alone use it multiple times in the same sentence.

“Very well,” the male voice commanded, and you could hear large footsteps cross the tent towards where you were lying down.

You groaned, grabbing onto Zoya as you pulled yourself into a sitting position, noticing you were indeed in the tent of the Black General. You breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, and your eyes fell to two Heartrenders standing guard at the entrance of the tent.

“You’ve made quite the show, miss…?” the General trailed off, looking at you expectedly.

“y/l/n, y/n y/l/n,” you said quietly, turning your gaze to fall on Zoya, who had moved to sit next to you on the cot you were previously laying on.

Your head felt heavy, and your hands felt clammy.

“Miss y/l/n, tell me, what are you?” the General asked, leaning against a desk placed in the tent.

You looked at him confused, thinking about what he could possibly mean.

“A mapmaker, sir,” you told him, turning to look at Zoya. You couldn’t read her expression, so you turned back to the General, who looked slightly offended.

“Don’t fool me,” he started. “What are you,” he stated firmly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you admitted honestly, not wanting to upset him.

He looked at you for a moment, determining whether you were lying before speaking again.

“Were you tested as a child?” he asked, to which you nodded.

“What was the result?”

“I wasn’t Grisha,” you said, a hint of pain in your voice. You had always wanted to be Grisha. To be in a place where you belong, amongst people who were like you. Instead, you were just normal, with no place where you belonged.

“Your little display of power this morning suggests otherwise, miss y/l/n,” the General spoke.

You looked at him confused.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” you told him honestly.

“You singhandly managed to scare all of the Drüskelle away, yet you claim to have no knowledge of what you were doing?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I truly don’t,” you replied, flinching slightly when the General pushed himself off the desk, closing the distance between you.

“Hold out your arm,” he stated.

You did as he said, extending your arm towards him while pulling up your sleeve, knowing what he wanted.

“You say you were tested as a child?” the General asked in confirmation, noting the way you nodded, almost disappointed. “Were you injured during the testing?” he asked you, seeing your face contort in confusion.

“I don’t recall… does that matter?” you asked, looking up at him as he stood before you.

“It is the whole point of the test,” he said, taking ahold of your arm and bringing his sharp ring towards it. Gently, he pressed the talon in your arm, and you gasped at the slight sting before a warm beam of light shot from your arm.

You eyes widened, and the moment he let your arm fall back you grasped it, looking at the cut in disbelief.

“You are very much Grisha, miss y/l/n,” the General said, motioning towards the Heartrenders at the entrance of the tent.

You couldn’t find any words, turning to Zoya who just looked as bewildered as you.

“I’m Grisha…” you whispered quietly, looking at Zoya.

Before she could say anything, the General had returned to your side, gently grasping your upper arm and pulling you up.

“We’ll have to work quickly. The Drüskelle are already on alert after the attack, and word of your discovery will spread fast,” the General said, handing you a red Kefta, urging you to put it on. “You’ll travel in my coach,” he spoke, before handing you to the two Heartrenders.

You looked towards Zoya, who stood and asked the General if she could accompany you.

He shook his head, insisting that she was still needed at the camp.

Before you knew it, you were being dragged outside and towards the Darkling’s coach. Two Oprichniki stand at the doors, opening them upon seeing your arrival. You didn’t resist, taking the hand one of the Oprichniki offered to help you step inside.

Once you settled into the coach, the two Heartrenders followed, sitting across from you. The doors were closed, and the two Oprichniki moved to the front, no doubt riding on horses beside the coach.

You were silent for the first part of the journey, admiring the detailed embroidery on the red Kefta adorning your body.

“It’s bulletproof,” said the man across from you suddenly. You looked up, meeting his kind smile and realising they had been watching you. “It is why the General wanted you to wear it,” he finished.

You nodded, allowing your hand to fall to your lap.

“I’m Feydor, and this is Ivan,” the Heartrender introduced himself, motioning towards his partner beside him. He carried a stern look on his face, turning to look outside instead.

You nodded in reply, turning to look outside in thought.

“Where are we going?” you asked, turning back to Feydor. He smiled.

“The Little Palace, of course,” he said.

You nodded once more, settling your gaze outside again. “Why the hurry?”

“By now, every Drüskelle and Shu assassin will have heard what happened at the camp. What you did. We need to make sure you are behind safe walls when they come for you,” Feydor explained, and you nodded once more.

“I don’t even know what I did,” you then said, earning the look of both Feydor and Ivan.

“You saved us,” Feydor started. “Your light killed two Drüskelle, and scared the rest away. The disguised themselves as First army to kill Grisha. Without you, they would have succeeded.”

You looked at him surprised, not expecting that reply to come from his mouth. You could not remember a single thing that happened at the camp, let alone the Drüskelle attack.

After the conversation died down, you turned to look outside once more. You felt your eyes drooping, exhausting settling into your bones as the world outside passed you in a blur.

Suddenly, the carriage stopped, and an Oprichniki opened the coach door.

“There’s a fallen tree on the road, we’re moving it now,” he stated, closing the door again. Ivan looked uneasy, glancing out the little window. Feydor did the same, studying the other window until there was shouting.

Immediately, Ivan and Feydor got up, both heading out the doors.

“Stay here, get down, and don’t move,” Feydor said, pushing a blade of Grisha steel into your hands before abandoning the coach.

You did as he said, crouching down onto the floor of the coach, pressing your knees against your chest. You could hear screaming outside and multiple guns firing. When it stilled for a moment, you thought it was over, until the glass of the coach broke and a smoke bomb was thrown inside.

You coughed, pushing the door of the coach open and stumbling outside, falling to your knees as you tried to catch your breath.

You heaved, clutching the Girsha steel knife in your hand when you looked up, barely registering the boots of a figure marching towards you, grabbing your hair and dragging you away.

You fought, struggling against his hold as he pressed his knife to your throat, pressing harshly. You felt a trickle of blood stream down you neck, and you grabbed the knife in you hand as tightly as you could before stabbing it backwards, hitting the person in the stomach.

His hold on you faltered enough for you to push him away, running away from him, into the forest.

You ran for as long as your feet could take you, registering the fighting still happening behind you. When you stopped for only a second to catch your breath, you were tackled to the ground, a figure laying on top of you.

His held his knife high above his head, muttering a prayer of kinds before preparing to bring it down.

You could faintly hear a horse in the background, and you closed your eyes tightly, figuring this was it. You heard a yell, but you didn’t feel the sharp pain of a knife digging into your skin. Instead, when you opened your eyes. You could see the man on top of you, slowly falling in two.

You turn your head, seeing the Darkling standing there beside a group of other Oprichniki. You realised he had cut the man on top of you in half.

When he fell, you pushed him off of you, moving away from the body, and catching your breath.

The General walked over to you, extending his arm, which you gratefully took as he helped you up. He studied the cut on your throat.

“Are you alright?” he questioned.

You nodded, moving your hand to rub the sore spot on your throat.

“You’ll ride with me,” he stated, walking over to his horse, leaving no room for argument.

You followed him, standing beside him as he mounted his horse, extending his hand to help pull you up. You allowed him, settling in the saddle as he took off in a gallop.

He held onto you firmly, ensuring you wouldn’t fall at the movement of the horse.

With you were riding multiple Oprichniki guards, and you spotted Ivan and Feydor both riding on a horse themselves. They must’ve won the fight in the woods.

After riding for nearly half a day, the group stopped at an abandoned barn. The Oprichniki secured it, while the General dismounted the horse, extending his arm to help you off as well. When the Oprichniki secured the barn, the group moved inside.

The horses were giving water and something to eat, while a small group of Oprichniki went outside to hunt for dinner.

You settled on the ground, close by the fire that Ivan had made. Once the sun had set, the temperature had dropped significantly, and you could say with certainty you were freezing.

You pulled the dirty Kefta around you a little tighter, hoping to conserve some warmth. The General seated himself beside you, reaching out a gentle hand to touch the cut on your neck. You winced slightly at the sting, and General Kirigan retreated his hand to retrieve a small, black cloth from his pocket.

Gently, he wiped the blood away from you neck and face, making sure to avoid pressing to harshly.

Once he retreated his hand, you gave him a small smile.

“Thank you,” you said in a quiet voice, and he nodded.

“Once you’re in the palace you’ll be able to clean up properly. The cut isn’t too deep, but in your weakened state it is enough to stir some worry,” he explained, tucking the small cloth back into his pocket.

You nodded once again, moving to lay down, using you arm to support your head. The palace. That is where you were headed, after all…

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @daddipantherr @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @tia-thesimp @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @hor1zond1ar1es @lorsstar1st @superlegend216 @ravensinthedaylight

#general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #aleksander kirigan x reader #aleksander kirigan #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #leigh bardugo #grisha trilogy #grishaverse #little palace #fem reader #alina starkov #zoya nazyalensky #feydor kaminsky #ivan kaminsky #heartrender #sun summoner

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huramuna · 7 months

Text

banshee's lament - chapter 5.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

a/n: again, a little bit of a slow chapter. shera deserved some happiness and i'm giving it to her, dammit. also i lied, i dropped the chapter on monday oopsies.

wordcount: 4.5k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, my terrible, terrible combat writing

story playlist

Shera’s handwriting, in all accounts, was terrible. It was crude and wispy, all blending together like a child’s scrawl. As she sat at her desk, the ink dripping onto the paper from the length of her pauses, she wondered how to sign it.

Yours,

Shera

No, that was much too personal— she… she wasn’t his.

Best,

Shera Stark

That felt formal and detached. It simply wouldn’t do.

She went through a myriad of different closing statements, wroughting her brain over like wringing out a rag. She even considered not doing it at all.

No, no— she… she wanted to. She needed to try, atleast. Sulking and crying would only do so much for her. She needed to be proactive and offer an olive branch of sorts. She settled on a simple drawing of Moongeist— or mayhaps any wolf, but the point was there. He’d know.

With the note pinned to her cut dress fabric, she snuck from her chambers, flagging down a pageboy.

“Hello,” she murmured to the young lad, who couldn’t be any older than nine or ten. “May I ask a favor of you, ser?”

“Yes ma’am… my lady,” he corrected softly, eyes wondering to Moongeist, who was sitting patiently at Shera’s feet.

“May you take this fabric and note to Prince Aemond’s chambers and leave it upon his desk?”

“The prince doesn’t like people going through his things while he’s not there, miss,” he responded, blue eyes wide. “I do not wish to be flogged.”

Shera blinked slowly. Surely Aemond didn’t have servants flogged for an indiscretion. “Has… Prince Aemond had pageboys flogged before?”

“No, miss— but I delivered him a letter while he was eating his lunch once… he had his eyepatch off on the table and I did not knock,” the young boy looked at his hands. “He said if I didn’t knock next time, he would make me clean up Vhagar’s dung with a wheelbarrow.”

What the fuck, Aemond? Shera stifled a little laugh, trying not to embarrass the boy. “How about this,” she hummed. “Would you like to pet my wolf? He’s a real direwolf, all the way from the North.”

The lad eyed Moongeist with a curious gaze. “My mumma had a shaggy dog with a curly tail when I was young. He licked my face n’ smelled horrible but he was my bestest friend,” he said, bashful. “He died a while ago— no one’s got any more pups for me to pet.”

“He’d love a pet from you, ser,” Shera continued. “Will you deliver this to Prince Aemond’s chambers? If he gets cross with you, tell me and I’ll resolve it and sic my wolf upon him. No harm will befall you.”

Shyly, the boy smiled, offering his hand to the wolf. Moongeist sniffed his hand and licked his palm, causing the boy to giggle.

Shera showed him where Moongeist liked to be scratched the most, and the pageboy was quite pleased with himself when he had the giant wolf thumping his foot on the ground like a puppy at the most perfect of scratches.

He took her note and favor and tottered off.

—

Shera knocked on Helaena’s door. “Hela?” she called softly.

A handmaid opened the door and let her in, wide eyes upon Moongeist.

The solar was lovely, decorated in blue and purple silks upon the ceiling. There were framed pinnings of various bugs upon the walls, some of them being very rare if she remembered correctly.

Upon the floor were strewn children’s toys, like wooden dragons that Helaena had when she was little, along with soldier dolls and princess dolls. Some children’s books were left open, some neatly stacked near the settee.

Shera’s eye landed on Helaena, who was bobbing a toddler on her knee on the couch. A white haired child approached her, his violet eyes wide. He was the spitting image of Aegon as a child.

“Who’s you?” he asked, not afraid to stare— like all children do.

“Shera!” Helaena exclaimed, humming as she hoisted the smaller child onto her hip. “Jaehaerys, this is your auntie Shera.”

“Auntie… Shera…” the little boy echoed. “Is she married to uncle Aemond?”

Helaena’s face blanched slightly. “No, dearest,” she hummed. “She is very close to me, like a sister. Like Jaehaera is your sister.”

“Oh,” he murmured. “She doesn’t have white hair. And she has a dog.”

“He’s a wolf, Jaehaerys,” Shera chimed in. “Has your mumma read to you about direwolves and Winter Kings yet?”

“A woof,” the smallest child chimed in, bouncing happily upon Helaena’s hip. “A woof, a woof!”

“Well, I should introduce the children. You have already met Jaehaerys,” Helaena ruffed up his white curls as he continued to stare at Shera unabashedly. “He has a twin sister, Jaehaera. Who is…” Helaena swirled around. “She is hiding behind the settee,” she whispered, leading Shera to look at the pair of violet eyes peeking over the furniture at her. “And this is my youngest, Maelor. He is two years old. The twins are five.”

“They’re gorgeous Hela,” Shera mused. “Jaehaerys looks just like Aegon, I thought I had stepped into the past when I saw him. Maelor, however,” she added, smiling at the little cherubic face of the youngest prince, who was blushing and giggling, “looks just like his mumma.”

“Come sit, lovey,” Helaena said as she put Maelor down on the floor near the toys. “Lunch should be here soon. You look darling in that shade. You look like a jeweled beetle,” she hummed, offering her hand to Shera, which she took. Hela’s palm was warm, like a toasty fire, but not sweltering. It felt akin to being swaddled with a blanket. “Can I show you some of my bugs?”

“Of course,” Shera agreed, feeling genuinely at ease. The solar was lively and lived in, surely because of the children— it felt… homely and not sterile and lifeless like some others’ chambers.

Off to the far wall, Helaena led her to a bookshelf, carved in draconic designs and various Old Valyrian sigils that she couldn’t quite parse. It was stocked from top to bottom with various books, mostly pertaining to the taxonomy and biology of insects and arachnids— but there were some familiar titles snuck in as well.

‘The Winter Kings of Yore: An Account of the North’.

“Hela— you still have this?” Shera asked, her hand thumbing over the positively ancient book, prising it from the shelf. She remembered this was one of her favorite books as a child and would request Helaena to read it when they bathed.

“Of course! I still have this one, too. ‘Tis Maelor’s favorite.” she pointed to another book, nestled next to the other tome. It was much shorter, but its hard cover was more colorful with streams of blue and purple thread embroidered into a moon and an image of a wolf.

‘Moonpuppy’. It was a children’s book, the only one Shera had brought with her to King’s Landing when she arrived at age five.

“Oh Gods,” Shera breathed, her fingertips skimming over the embroidery. It wasn’t the original binding of the book— the book was well loved into bits, to where the inner pages only remained at one point. Shera and Helaena had worked tirelessly for a whole moon trying to prise it back together. The princess embroidered the cover, trying to make it as close to the original as possible.

Opening the book, she remembered they even made a title page, inked in their silly children’s handwriting.

‘Moonpuppy, edition II. By Helaena Targaryen and Shera Stark.’

Shera wanted to cry. She sniffed, carefully going through the pages. “Helaena, how have you managed to make me cry twice now?”

“Tears of happiness, my little wolf spider,” Hela whispered. “You should read it to Maelor. You were always better at the voices than I.”

“Oh, Hela— I… I don’t know if I can,” she whispered, heat coming to her ears. “It… hurts to speak for long and I cannot project… what if he cannot hear me?”

“Even at two, he is a very good listener. He is nothing like his father in that regard.”

Shera wiped away her tears and went to sit down. “Maelor, is this your favorite book?”

“Mwoonpubby!” the toddler exclaimed, jumping to attention right away.

“Do you know all the words? It’s been quite a while since I’ve read— I may need help remembering.”

“Mumma reads it every night— can I be the pubby and you be the mwoon?”

The strength of Shera’s smile almost hurt her face. “Of course.”

She began her reading, her fingertips buzzing with elation and a strange sense of anxiety.

Once, long ago, there was a puppy.

He lived in the bitter cold and was very small, but that was okay. He had a large family to keep him warm.

His mumma and papa talked to the moon each night, encouraging him to do the same.

‘I don’t know what to say.’ said the little pup.

‘Whatever is in your heart, dearest. The moon will listen. She will always listen.’ His mumma soothed him, fiddling over his fur with her big tongue.

One day, it was very dark. Usually, at night, they had the light of the moon. But it was gone this night, smothered in fog and clouds.

The little pup whined, trudging in the snow. He was lost! He was lost and he couldn’t find his way back to his mumma.

‘Mumma! Mumma!’ he howled to the sky, to the hidden stars, to the darkened moon. ‘Moon? Moon?’

Shera cleared her throat, feeling the pinch of her nerves creeping up on her. She wanted to finish it— she had to.

There was no answer. He was alone.

He cried and cried for hours, so alone and so cold without his family to warm him. He missed his mumma so badly, he missed the moon.

‘I don’t talk to you much,’ the pup said, muzzle to the sky. ‘I don’t have much to say usually. I am sorry.’

He shuffled his paws as he huddled under a low hanging ledge, out of the snow. It was still wet and he was cold, but it was better than nothing.

He felt cold still, cold in his bones—

A light shined down upon him, finally. The moon had broken through the fog.

Her voice was so hoarse now, that nary a sound came out. Moongeist nuzzled his snout under her hand in a gesture to tell her to take it easy.

She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t, her voice catching within the brambles of her inflamed vocal cords.

“S’okay, auntie Shewa,” Maelor said, toddling up onto the couch and snuggling up to Shera without any reservation. “I can finish it, I know all the pawrts. Mumma gets tired too sometimes… so I finish the stowy.”

He could see, he could see. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you!’ he howled and barked and yipped.

‘You should talk to me more, little pup,’ the moon cooed, bathing him in her silver light. ‘My sweet little moonpuppy.’

His pack found him quickly, all piling near him to keep him warm. He snuggled into their furs, looking up at the sky.

The moon was full that night, full and bright.

“Auntie Shewa?”

“Hm?”

“Can I pet your woof?”

Shera looked to Helaena and gave a nod.

“You have to be gentle, like with the bugs.” Helaena stepped in, saving Shera from further talking— to which she was grateful for.

“Uh huh…” Maelor mumbled, dragging his chubby little hand over Moongeist’s fur in a gentle manner so unlike a toddler. “Soft.”

Moongeist licked the boy’s head, cowlicking his white curls into one. He giggled with delight.

–

They all lunched together, Helaena insisting that they sit on the floor and eat with the children. They sat in a circle, the kids having their porridge. They each had different toppings, which felt so much like them.

Jaehaerys had cut up ham atop his, accompanied by a smattering of frizzled onions.

Jaehaera, on the other hand, had pieces of stewed pumpkin atop hers, glazed with cinnamon and maple syrup. It had some roasted pumpkin seeds atop for crunch. She had more of a sweet tooth than her brother, it seemed.

Maelor had a smaller bowl with plain porridge and melted butter– he glanced at Shera’s plate, to which her and Helaena were both eating parboiled quail eggs, dipping their toasted bread in the yolk.

“Mumma– want egg,” Maelor muttered, swirling his spoon in his porridge.

“What kind of egg, darling?” Helaena asked.

“I want what Auntie Shewa has,” he continued. “Dippy egg.”

“Maera,” Helaena called to her handmaiden. “Can you please have the cooks whip up some dippy eggs for Maelor– and mayhaps a bone for Moongeist, too?”

The thumping of a tail was heard as the wolf heard ‘bone’ and ‘Moongeist’ in the same sentence. He stayed near Shera, but also in close proximity to Maelor, who had become quite attached to the wolf very quickly. The toddler offered porridge from his spoon to him, who happily slurped up the food with a wagging tail.

Soon enough, Maelor was devouring his dippy eggs with toast. Helaena leaned forward now, tracing little circles on the plush rug they sat upon. “It was supposed to be different, you know.”

Shera blinked. “What was?”

“I was supposed to be betrothed to Jacaerys– before… Aegon,” she started, eyes glazed over and looking towards somewhere far away, somewhere not completely there. “It might have been nice. I don’t know.”

“... really? You and Jacaerys?” she raised a brow. She couldn’t imagine Alicent ever agreeing to such a thing.

“Mother wasn’t pleased. Father pushed and pushed but mother was stronger and pushed back. It was a flash in the pan, so to speak. I wish I knew where we would be now if she had agreed.”

“You would be upon Dragonstone, Hela– with… Jace’s children, presumably,” Shera cringed inwardly at the thought– that would be her some day.

Helaena wrinkled her nose at the thought, seemingly agreeing with Shera’s sentiment. “For all his faults–” she got up then, tugging Shera to her feet and leading her to the open window. “Aegon is… good with the children. When he is here. I don’t… he isn’t my husband in feeling– but he is my brother. What are we, any of us– but beholden to the mistakes of our families. All of us.”

Shera stayed silent as they sat on the windowsill together, letting Helaena talk. It seemed like something she didn’t talk about much– if ever.

“He got the worst of mother’s rage. It broke something in him. But I think there is something broken in all of us, even mother,” Helaena reached to the trellis, plucking a beetle that was hiding between two folded leaves. “All of her children are cursed in some way,” she lifted her periwinkle gaze to Shera then. “You are one of her children, too.”

“... cursed,” she echoed. Yes, that seems about right.

“Will you survive?” the princess turned the conversation then. “Upon Dragonstone?”

“I don’t know.” she answered truthfully, talking in honesty about the betrothal to someone for the first time. She tried before with Cregan, but he didn’t listen.

“You’ll have to take the reins, you know,” Helaena prattled on, staring at the beetle with her full, rapt attention. It was blue in color, gleaming like a sapphire jewel in the sunlight. “Take them and steer them. You’ll be the only one able to change it– the trees bleed, Shera– cut lip, punctured wood...”

Shera’s brow furrowed further. Helaena was known to descend into her ramblings– but something within her tingled at the words. She didn’t know what they meant, but it made her stomach churn. She felt the whoosh of air from outside the window, a cream colored blur in the edge of her vision. She didn’t hear it, only felt it and saw it, fleeting. It landed upon a spiked point of the keep, across the way from the window– but she couldn’t parse what it was. Shera blinked profusely, bringing her hands to her eyes and rubbing them. When she looked again, it was gone, mayhaps never even there.

“Hold the beetle, Shera,” Hela hummed, offering the jewel colored insect to her. “You remember how to hold them?”

“Gentle,” she responded, voice so quiet that it was hardly even a whisper. The beetle crawled eagerly onto her palm, roving around slowly.

“I need to clean up the children for naptime. Maera,” the princess called, hopping off of the window sill. She walked to the handmaiden, who was a head taller than Helaena. Her dark brown hair was braided in one long wisp, a few errant strands sticking to her forehead. She had tanned skin and dark eyes, with a curved nose. The handmaiden smiled to Helaena and they whispered to one another, clearly very familiar, before they disappeared toward the nursery.

Her surroundings blurred as she kept her attention on the beetle. It seemed so simple, so… calm, despite being in the palm of a would-be predator. The light reflected off of its blue colored carapice, the elytra buzzing ever so slightly. It wanted to stretch, the slight unfold of its wings captivating Shera. She wondered what it was like to fly– she had always refused Jacaerys when he asked her to join him atop Vermax. But if… if she were the one flying, she may not be so scared. Her shoulders rolled in tandem with the beetle, feeling a crack of her bones and the ghostly sensation of her own wings clawing out from them.

The beetle’s antenna wriggled, its little claws digging into her palm, pulling itself along. It wanted to go, it wanted to fly. Leaning towards the window, she saw the great expanse of the sky, littered now with clouds. There was a little breeze now, ruffling the gentle film of the wings as they extended– they looked and felt broken when coming from their sutures, but straightened out quickly. Crawling closer, closer to the breeze, flitting upon it. Hovering now, legs dangling ever expertly. Regarding the indoors one last time– pushing forward into the open air, flight, flight, wisping upon the breeze… was this freedom?

“Shera! Open your eyes!”

The breeze died upon her face as she turned to see Helaena at her side, a few maids behind her looking terrified– Moongeist was whining at her feet.

“Shera?” Helaena whispered now, her periwinkle eyes wide. “Are you alright?”

“... yes– um,” she glanced around nervously at the maids, who were now chittering amongst themselves.

“Thank you, ladies– you may go now. I will call the maester myself if Shera falls ill again.”

Ill? She was awake that entire time, she knew it– she was… focusing on the beetle… the beetle…

“Hela– where is the beetle?”

“The beetle…” she breathed, looking over to the table.

Shera looked to see an open lightbox, the beetle was in it. It was seized up, not moving.

“It fell. Its thorax got torn on the windowsill– I will fix it before I pin it,” the princess sighed. “The breeze was too strong.”

“Is it dead?”

“Yes.”

Shera felt cold, a chill creeping at her back. “I should… I should get some rest, I think. M-much excitement for me today, I think.”

Helaena nodded.

–

Shera laid in bed, taking her dinner in her chambers. She felt… utterly exhausted. The day had been tumultuous, even without her… disassociating spell in Helaena’s chambers.

Her fingers roved over a book– it was something that was just left in her room for decoration and no real substance. Her eye strained as she tried to focus on the words. It was already hard enough to read with only one working eye, but with the content of this book being so boring, she couldn’t parse any of it at all.

Knock, knock, knock. Three knocks rapt upon her door.

“I don’t need any tea,” she croaked out, unable to project her voice. She slipped out of her bed, adorned in her nightgown– it was fairly see-through, so she grabbed a blanket and slipped it over her head and body, snugging it close. She hated being caught without her veil on. “Please, come back in the morning.” she muttered as she opened the door, peeking her face out slightly.

“I’m afraid I cannot take no for an answer, Lady Stark,” Aemond hummed, standing before her in all his glory. He wasn’t dressed for bed– she wondered if he wore his riding and sparring leathers to bed, too. “I was tasked with delivering some… reading material to you.”

Shera perked a brow inquisitively. “Reading material?” She hadn’t requested anything specific from the library.

“Can I come in?”

Shera bit her lip. “Yes… I suppose…” she opened the door wider for him to come in as she scrambled to find a veil to wear.

“No need for that. I won’t look if it makes you uncomfortable.” he said, his tone a bit softer than usual. He had two books in his hands as he looked around the room.

“I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable,” Shera grunted, a bit indignantly. His words from the dinner still echoed in her head. Mayhaps it's a mangled mess under there. She remembered him laughing at her earlier in the day when her veil had slipped slightly. Her cheeks burned as she pulled the blanket taut around her, facing away from him.

“I’m sure I’ve seen worse,” he said flatly, putting the books down on the side table next to the chaise. “But, out of respect, I won’t look.”

She was sure he meant it as a way to soothe her worry, but she couldn’t help but feel tears start to form. Hastily, she wiped them away. “What was so important that this… delivery couldn’t wait until morn?” she glanced at him, her eyes stinging. “And why you?” she added, her punctuation of you a bit more harsh than she intended.

Aemond’s brow knit as he regarded her. He said he wouldn’t look, the liar.

She whipped in the opposite direction quickly.

“Helaena asked me to deliver you this… and I had one to give you as well. Think of it as a betrothal gift.” he muttered, beginning to walk the room as if he wasn’t an intruder. Well, she had invited him in.

Moongeist was snoozing on the bed, belly up. His legs twitched in the air as he whimpered softly from dreaming. Aemond stared at him. “This is your valiant protector? He is sleeping on the job.”

“He deserves rest— you aren’t a threat to me, Aemond. He senses that,” she replied. Not a threat physically, at least. You’re a predator to my mind.

“Hm,” he hummed, walking to the table where she still had two honey walnut cakes sitting out. “You enjoyed them, I take it?”

“What?”

“The cakes. I had a maid bring them to you this morn.”

“Oh– it was you,” she murmured, the tips of her ears flushing under the implication. “... thank you. It… helped.”

“You were… distressed– these always used to cheer you up.”

Shera let out a tentative breath. He had thought of her– and remembered her favorite sweet? And… cared enough to have them brought to her. Maybe… maybe he didn’t loathe her so. “They were… very good,” she continued, letting a smile come to her face. It felt strange to smile around Aemond after so long.

“Yes, the cook who made them still works in the kitchens,” he picked up one, taking a bite. He had liked them as well, but his favorite had always been blueberry scones. “She surprisingly hasn’t kicked the bucket yet– still working away down there, at seventy-five. Mother offered her retirement and a nice hole in the wall shack near the wharf. She refused, adamant to work until she died.” he made a noise of surprise at the taste. “Still good.”

“I’m surprised you remembered, Aemond,” she walked closer then, making sure to snatch the last one off of the plate before he decided to take it, too. She took a bite, the honey sticking to her fingers.

“I remember a lot, Shera,” he pulled out a chair and took a seat. Why was he staying?

Her heart stopped momentarily as he said her name. She buried herself further into the pastry to hide her red cheeks. “Memories are a plague,” she grumbled, pulling up her legs to her chest after she settled into the chair next to him.

“That they are, most of them are. A festering, decrepit reminder of… things best left forgotten. However,” he leaned forward then, his thumb cleaning off a drip of errant honey from the corner of her mouth. “I do remember, you were always a messy eater. Some things don’t change, do they?”

She shivered as he touched her with such… gentleness he hadn’t displayed at all since she’s been back. It was a glimpse into the boy he used to be– he was still there, deep down. She almost choked on the rest of her cake, putting it down on the plate as she quietly licked her fingers, trying to distract herself. “... no, some things don’t change.”

“The book weren’t the only reason I came– Helaena asked me to ask you if you would like to come on a picnic to the Kingswood tomorrow. With Aegon, the children, Helaena and I. She told me that… Maelor required you bring Moongeist.”

Shera stared at him for a long moment, her eyes wide and owlish. The blanket slipped from her head slightly as she leaned forward, snatching the remainder of Aemond’s honey walnut cake from his fingers. “I suppose– as long as there are more cakes,” she hummed, feeling a slightly giddy sensation tingle down her spine as she devoured the rest. “How on earth did you manage to get Aegon to agree?”

“I promised that there would be wine,” he watched, his violet eye roving her face unabashedly as she finished the pilfered sweet.

“And?”

“And… mayhaps I threatened to pay all the brothels off to not service him any longer if he did not attend.”

–

Aemond left soon after, bidding her goodnight in a very stiff and still… somewhat cold in manner. But he was trying– she could see that.

Before tucking back into bed, she looked to see the books he had left for her.

One was the copy of ‘Moonpuppy’ that she had read earlier that day.

The other, the supposed ‘gift’ from Aemond, was a well-worn, well-loved copy of the old folk hero ‘Symeon Star-Eyes’. Upon opening the cover and flitting through the pages, she saw many notes and footnotes on each page– it was Aemond’s handwriting. He had left his thoughts on each page– as she descended through the book, his handwriting changed and evolved. It started off very shaky and tenuous, but as she scanned through the end of the tome, it was confident and sophisticated. He had annotated this copy for years, his handwriting and views on the text changing with each year. Flipping back to the front, she looked at the date.

It was dated five moons after the Driftmark incident. Then, opening the back– it was dated a fortnight ago. He had written, noted, and journaled in this book for ten years.

Why did he give this to her?

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alpydk · 4 months

Text

Where is that child now, I wonder?

Just some Gale angst I felt I needed to write. Maybe a TW (abusive parent)

He'd always been a sensitive child, the one so easy to trust the other kids, the one to do as they said, only to find himself in trouble later. Don't cry is what his father had always demanded of him when he skinned his knees or felt alone during the evenings.

He sat outside on the cold stone steps, trying to ignore the yelling from behind the oak door, the accusations being thrown between his two parents. Again, he was the centre of the discussion; his mother trying to protect him, his father saying she had coddled him too much. At the age of eight, they didn't think he understood, but with struggle came wisdom.

No wonder he didn't fit in with his peers. It wasn't just the magic that was the problem; it was the home life he came with too. How many parents would let a kid come to theirs after having met someone like his father? The old-fashioned soldier, with the militaristic views. "Children should be seen and not heard. Stand up straight. Apologise for what you did, what you said, for your existence. You'll never be good enough. You have such potential. Why can't you just…?" Eight years of put downs and loneliness.

He twirled the dancing lights in his hand, trying to draw his mind away from their voices. One argument had been about his lack of interest in combat training. All the other boys could wield a sword, so why couldn't he? Another had been about his love of books. "No! I won't let my son read poetry and become like a delicate flowered prick of an elf. Weak, pathetic! No, he will do as I say and do it when I tell him to!"

Today's argument was about the rosebush. He'd panicked as the older boys had shouted at him. They had started heckling him to see simple spells; first, little cantrips, but then it had been demands for things more interesting. "Go on, let's see the fire one. We know you can do it, freak." Demands turned to pulling at his clothing, a bruise to his arm, a panic in his chest he had only felt when his father had taken off his belt. He hadn't realised what had happened until only the crackling of embers could be heard and the red roses had turned to ash.

Now his mother was protecting him again, saying it was just an accident, only for his father to shout what the real accident was. He fought back the tears as he had been ordered to, trying to be a good son, trying to be good enough for his father. He didn't notice as the warm arm wrapped around his shoulder, as the elderly voice tried to soothe him. He didn't even feel the tears as they dampened the cotton robes he'd buried his face in, a comfort from an unlikely source, a shield from the face of his father as he walked out of his life. Gale Dekarios, son to a single mother, friend to no one, chosen of Mystra.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #galemance

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mysteryshoptls · 6 months

Text

SSR Cater Diamond - Platinum Jacket Vignette

"Happy 100th Anniversary"

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Cater: This museum's real neat～ There's a ton of real picturesque paintings here!

Cater: I should study these as much as I can, 'cause I might be able to learn a thing or two about snagging awesome pics from the way these are composed ♪

Cater: ―Hey, look at that painting…

???: Woah, it's the card soldiers. Cool, I can really see their brisk little walk in the paintin'.

Cater: I totes agree, Ruggie-kun. I was just thinking the same thing.

Ruggie: Oh, Cater-san. Guess ya can't pass by this painting without checking it out, 'cause you're one of 'em Heartslabyul Card Soldiers, eh?

Cater: Sooo true～ 'Specially 'cause this painting's got the diamond-suited card soldiers, too ☆

Ruggie: Riight, you got the diamond marking. How do y'all decide who gets what suit?

Cater: Fantastic question. This little mark, y'see…

Cater: Gets decided by the Housewarden's whim ♪

Ruggie: A whim!? That's actually a pretty random way of pickin' 'em…

Cater: Oh, no, it's more like the Housewarden draws on the suit they feel will "suit" the new student from their looks.

Cater: Although, there is rule that the suits need to be doled out as evenly as possible, so…

Cater: Could be that the last few assignments might be more like… whatever works, or something like that～

Ruggie: So basically, it all comes down to the Housewarden's intuition and discretion, huh. You happy with the suit you got given, Cater-san?

Cater: Obvi. I was really hoping for the heart or diamond mark, so I really did get just what I wanted.

Cater: 'Sides, if I had gotten the spade or club, I'd've had to buy all new cosmetics, too.

Ruggie: Gah. You tellin' me that you guys in Heartslabyul gotta shell out your own cash to buy makeup depending on the suit!?

Cater: Oh, no, no, it's not like we absolutely have to do that or anything.

Cater: But I felt like the cosmetics I already had wouldn't have really gone well with one of the black suits, sooo～

Cater: And so, don'tcha think it'd be better for me to have some makeup that'll suit both me and the given suit?

Cater: That's why when I knew I got the diamond painted on, I started thinking of the cosmetics I had with me.

Cater: I got to thinkin' like how I could use a brown multi-makeup palette with it, or how it could match with my orange eye shadow…

Cater: I started trying to put together combinations of all my favorite makeups and it got me really excited～

Ruggie: Ah, I get that.

Ruggie: It's a great feelin' whenever you can use whatcha got on hand and not have to buy new stuff, huh! 'N I'm not just talkin' 'bout cosmetics.

Cater: Yeah, yeah. Also, we sometimes end up painting the suit some color other than red whenever we have events or special outfits, right?

Cater: I do borrow stuff from my other dormmates when I need it, but before I know it I find I've bought all sorts of cosmetics, y'know～

Cater: But hey, I get to play around with some cute and cool styles of makeup, so it's all worth it in the end…

Cater: Chattin' about it like this makes me realize just how happy I truly was to get the diamond suit picked for me.

Cater: And 'cause of how I have to always paint the suit on my face, I also got real good at applying eye makeup, too ♪

Cater: So when I think of it that way, I guess Heartslabyul was the best dorm to improve my cosmetic skills.

Ruggie: I'm someone who just throws things together based on whatever hand-me-downs and random stuff I get from others, so I don't really get it, but…

Ruggie: I definitely get the feel that you're enjoyin' yourself, so.

Cater: Ahaha. That prolly just means that Heartslabyul is the dorm that suits ya boi Cay-kun the best, I guess～

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Cater: Oh hey, this is… a painting of a princess and price from a certain country riding a magical carpet on a date.

Ruggie: Uhh, right, and the prince invited the princess out, right?

Cater: Yep, yep. They say that these two weren't actually officially dating yet, either.

Cater: But, man… Don'tcha think it's a little embarrassing for them to have their dating life passed down in stories like this?

Ruggie: Y-yeah, now that you put it that way, I guess it could be a little… or maybe very embarrassing.

Cater: Riiiight～!? And on top of that, their backdrop is the night sky. Looks to me like just another generic date plan.

Ruggie: Oho, if you're gonna say it like that… You mean you'd have done things differently, Cater-san?

Cater: I mean, a nighttime view of the sky's not a bad choice… But if it was me, I prolly woulda chosen a super popular touristy attraction. What about you, Ruggie-kun?

Ruggie: Hmm, probably any park that I can get in for free. Though, if they're payin', then I'll go anywhere. I'd always be down for an all-you-can-eat buffet!

Cater: YOU'RE DEFINITELY JUST THINKING ABOUT YOURSELF THERE, HUH!? Not romantic at all…

Cater: …Oh hey! Look, Ruggie-kun. Lookin' at the painting closer, you can see the magical carpet handing him a flower. What a cute scamp～

Cater: Oh, that reminds me. I once received a flower from someone in the crowd after the Pop Music Club finished a set at the school's culture festival.

Ruggie: Eh, you're kidding!?

Ruggie: If we're talkin' about a Pop Music Club performance, that includes all the chaotic stuff like Lilia-san's screamo and stage divin', right…?

Ruggie: You tellin' me after all that, you actually have fans, and one of them even gave you a flower?

Ruggie: …Heh. Cater-san, even if ya wanna try to rewrite your bad experiences, ya shouldn't lie like that.

Cater: Hey, wait, Ruggie-kun, don't look at me with pity in your eyes! It really happened!

Ruggie: Suuure, so did they ask for your deets?

Cater: Nah, they ran off as soon as they handed me the flower.

Ruggie: Seeee～ No way they just ran off without gettin' a phone number off ya, that'd be a waste of givin' you the flower.

Cater: But why would I even give them my… Ah! Ruggie-kun, I think you're misunderstanding something.

Cater: The kid who gave me the flower was about 4 or 5 years old. And it was just some cute flowers they picked in the wild, too ♪

Ruggie: Eh… 4 or 5 years old?

Ruggie: ―Pfft, ahahahaha! S-Seriously? Man, suddenly, now that's just way too cute of a story…

Cater: Oh come on, you don't need to laugh about it that much. You're the one who misinterpreted it in the first place.

Ruggie: It's your fault I got confused, Cater-san. Like, we were literally just talkin' about dates 'n stuff right before.

Ruggie: But I think I get someone at that age enjoyin' themselves regardless of the actual music goin' on.

Ruggie: Or maybe it was love at first sight? That's the kinda age where ya might see cases of puppy love. You stunner, you～

Cater: Who knows? Whatever it was that they thought or felt…

Cater: I'm just happy to know there are people out there that think I'm pretty swell ☆

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Cater: Oooh, I really like this painting of the King of Beasts～ He's so relaxed, it looks like we get to see him truly in his element.

Ruggie: Is he lounging on a rock? Amazin' that he can still look regal even when lazin' around.

Cater: Someone striking a cool pose makes a good painting, sure, but sometimes the natural look is pretty fresh, too.

Cater: It's got a pretty good style, without being too pretentious, if that makes sense…

Cater: And it super feels like if I snagged a pic of this moment and uploaded it to Magicam, it'd end up the top trending photo ever ☆

Ruggie: Oh yeah, speaking of, I saw that photo you uploaded just the other day got a ton of likes.

Ruggie: It just happened to come across my dash, so I don't really remember the context, but it was you with a cat in a pretty chic place.

Cater: Yay, you saw that!? Pretty sure that was when I snapped a pic with this one café's pet cat.

Cater: I like to visit café's, right. So on days off, I usually go and get lunch or drinks at places that catch my eye.

Ruggie: You go to a café whenever you get a day off!? That's gotta cost a ton!

Cater: Oh, no, it's not every day off! I'm just sayin' that I do it often, but there's days I just chill in my room, too.

Ruggie: Kinda feels like it'd be hard to pry you off your phone even on those kinda days, huh.

Cater: Ah, that obvious? Even if I'm just lounging in bed, you know I gotta check the 'cam ♪

Cater: I guess I also sometimes read whatever comic is currently popular, or play some games.

Ruggie: I wasn't expecting you to say you play games. Oh, is it like you have online friends you play with, or something?

Ruggie: There's a ton of co-op and pvp games out there, so.

Cater: Uhh, I don't really play those sorts of games.

Cater: Sometimes whenever I need to clear my head, I'll just play a puzzle game, or something that just has simple tasks.

Cater: One game that I've recently got into is one of those puzzles where objects fall down the screen…

Cater: And this one always has a lot of new characters, all cute and round and plush-lookin'.

Cater: I get a nice and fuzzy feeling just watching 'em go, so I don't really do good with the whole collecting items or raising my score, though.

Cater: Most of the time I'll end up falling asleep if I'm playing it while laying down and just wake up to terrible scores.

Ruggie: The fact that you're not houndin' for a high score, and just play for fun like that definitely sounds more like your speed.

Ruggie: Alllright, well, I've checked out all the art in this gallery, so I'm thinkin' of headin' to the next one. See ya, Cater-san. I'm off.

Cater: Okay, bye-bye, Ruggie-kun. Maybe I'll go check out the shop～ …Oh hey―

Cater: It's a painting showing that one story of the girl who fell adrift into the ocean, huh.

Cater: If I remember right, this girl drank some mystery drink and her whole body shrunk. Poor little thing.

Cater: She'd open her mouth before thinking and stick her neck into whatever she could… Seriously, what a meddling little girl～

Requested by @farfalla049.

#twisted wonderland #twst #cater diamond #ruggie diamond #twst cater #twst ruggie #twst translation #twst birthday #mention: lilia

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pinkthick · 2 years

Text

I’ll always be there for you

Credits: @bluekernal / @quaritchsgirl

Pairing: Avatar!Miles Quaritch & Kid!Miles Socorro

Summary: Even though it's challenging to be a single parent, let alone an avatar, Quaritch is doing his best to care for little Miles. But he still finds himself thinking about his previous life.

Notes: Please take a moment to read this. Check out @bluekernal/ @quaritchsgirl’s blog because she created this AU, and let me tell you, her artwork is incredible.This fanfiction was greatly inspired by her drawings.

While Miles did pass away in this fanfiction exactly like in the original film, the RDA would have started this project earlier because the avatar body was already on Pandora and the humans hadn’t been sent back to earth. The humans are still living there, but the Na’vi still don’t accept them so fights ensure from time to time. Even though Quaritch is an avatar now, he still retains his previous memories, and he continues to serve in the ‘military’ on Pandora without his consent since he literally became the RDA’s propriety, but Jake Sully isn’t that important to him, his son on the other hand is what matters most to Quaritch.

Miles forbade his soldiers from having relationships between them. His first instruction as their commander was that. A weakness they cannot afford to have in the battlefield, according to his father, is having sentiments. And from a very young age, that was ingrained in him.

He couldn't believe it was him who had broken his most crucial rule.

Paz Sorroco. She was a bold and fierce woman. She had always been a more devoted soldier than he had ever been. Determined in everything she was doing. Paz even disregarded some directives that her superior had given her. She always thought it was worthwhile to fight for their home. She has always been very stubborn, something Miles has always found admirable in her.

Being completely honest, he never imagined that so much could change in just a short period of time. He always believed that there was nothing more in life that he could have asked for. Everything he ever wanted was given to him. But, as all stories go, something–er, someone came into his life. His baby boy, Miles Sorroco, came into the world. Paz’s greatest gift to him. He never understood why she had wanted to name the boy after him, but somehow right now, it brought him comfort. When Miles first saw him, he literally lost his ability to breath. He truly believed that the he could blow him away with only a small exhalation because the baby appeared to be so frail.

When Paz held the baby out to him, he was so insistent on refusing. He refused three times before the colonel finally took little Miles from Paz’s demanding hands. He hadn’t any clue on how to hold him. He had to sit right beside his partener in order to receive instructions. How the tables have turned. He tenderly held his head as he slowly rocked him. It didn’t feel real to him. Oh, how he remembers how his tiny hand wrapped around his finger. Paz could swore that she saw tears. When the little boy first opened his eyes, the soldier was shocked to see how much the boy resembled his mother.

Miles finally spoke “I’m—I’m a father, Paz.” His breathing was wavering and he just couldn’t believe it.

The woman besides him giggled “Yeah, you’re a father.”

He simply lifted the baby’s fist that encircled his finger and kissed it softly. “I promise you that I’ll always protect you little one.” He was unsure of why his father never felt this way about him, but he undoubtedly won't behave in the same way as his old man. He would try his best no matter what.

But he was unable to protect the boy's mother. That was the only time he disliked her stubbornness. Paz wanted to be there, to fight for their cause. So she didn't remain with another unit. Even now, he continues to hold himself responsible, but the idea that he was somehow lucky is something he still finds repulsive. He didn't fully recall how he died, but thanks to some insurance he had, they were able to transfer all of his memories into an avatar body. He was now RDA's property, a “Recom" as they call him.

The tail was what first upset him the most, which was strange. Most of the time, he made an effort to control it but had little success. Though he swiftly adjusted to his new form, he eventually came to terms with the fact that his ears and tail would always respond to his emotions, whether he liked it or not.

Although he was still on Pandora and felt secure knowing that not all of the unit had been destroyed and that it was still standing, he didn't give the other people any thought. His son was the most important thing to him right now. From this point forward, the toddler had only his father and he couldn’t help but feel guilty that his son will grow up without a mother.

For approximately six weeks, the boy had been staying with some nurses. He knew his son was safe but Miles couldn't quit thinking about him. He wasn't sure if the toddler was crying or eating properly, and he wasn't allowed to leave the grounds until the examinations were over. He didn’t like not knowing what was happening to his child.

The first time Miles saw Quaritch as an avatar was when he was a year old. He wasn't sure how the youngster would react, but it wasn't at all what he had anticipated. The soldier leaned over the tiny boy with both interest and fear as little Miles was hugging one of the nurses' legs and then child gazed up at his father. He would certainly not want to frighten the young boy so he moved slowly. He knelt to be closer to the toddler's eye level, but his son no longer turned to face the colonel. He continued to cling to the nurse like a monkey, burrowing his face into her leg. His heart began to race because he didn’t know exactly how to approach the young boy, but he tried, softly asking, "Miles?"

Finally, the young child turned to face him, his eyes a little moist as though he was about to cry. As the colonel drew near, his son murmured in a weak voice, "Dad?" When the child didn't back away from him, he felt more at ease and said, "Yea," chuckling as he added, "It's me Miles, your dad." The young kid immediately recognized his father's voice, but he wasn't certain it was indeed him. When Quaritch reached out with his blue hand, the boy let go of the nurse. Seeing a smile on her face as he looked up to get some form of confirmation, he realized everything was alright.

Little Miles approached the avatar slowly and gazed into the colonel's yellow eyes. Quaritch wasn't sure exactly what to do, he didn't want to frighten the child away, so he didn't move, and the boy eventually grabbed his hand.

He was unable to fathom the boy's current size in relation to himself. The youngster was so small. He didn't believe his son was capable of being cuter than before. When the toddler smiled at Miles, the soldier thought that he would have died of cuteness right there. His son’s little hand couldn't even grip three of his fingers. Paz, you would have cherished seeing this.

It will be hard taking care of the boy, he ain’t going to lie to himself, but he’ll manage, that’s for sure.

Quaritch heard beeping nearby, which he instantly picked up, but he soon realized that he could actually sleep in today because his meeting wasn't until later in the afternoon. Even though he didn't want to open his eyes, he did so after stretching out an arm to shut the alarm. He checked on Miles and saw that the boy was still tucked in bed besides him. The only problem? Is that the alarm woke him up.

As he turned to face his father, the child rubbed his eyes a little and grinned when he realized that his father was also awake. Returning the smile, Quaritch once again buried his face in the cushions since he was unable to keep his eyes open. God, he was exhausted.

“Dad?” The four-year-old hopped over his father and said, "Come on, it's eight in the morning.” A huff was nevertheless pushed out even though he hardly felt the boy land on him.

“Just give me five more minutes to sleep, boy. “ He muttered into the sheets as little Miles got off the avatar and the bed.

“What am I supposed to do then?” He inquired, his voice containing a tinge of disappointment.

The recom didn't even have the energy to turn his head to look at the boy, only saying, "Play for a little while."

Knowing that his son hardly slept in, Quartich understood it was pointless to try to coax him to. Yet, little Miles never, ever played in silence, which forced him to wonder what the boy was up to. But, the colonel's five minutes of sleep quickly grew into an hour.

He didn't hear the child leave or enter the room again. With his plate of food still in hand, Miles carefully climbed back into bed. The soldier next to him woke up when he sensed movement, but he remained still. Given the smell, the young kid most likely eating an omlet.

“Dad?” his son asked with his full mouth.

“Mm?” He didn’t manage to even form a full word right now.

“It’s morning.” The little boy repeated as he put the plate on the night stand and went towards his father.

For a few minutes, Quaritch remained silent. But when Miles prodded his arm, he finally uttered a worn-out "no."

"Lyle went with me to the canteen," the kid huffed, flopping onto his back and started to gaze up at the ceiling.

The small child was quite frustrated that the colonel was still quiet. He gave him another hour to sleep; wasn't it enough for his father? He wanted to play with him because he knew his father was soon to leave on a mission and he wanted to spend as much time as possible with him before that happened. However, Quartich slept when his father could play with him. That won’t do at all.

The soldier was surprised by another tiny prod, but this time it was against his ribs. He initially tried to ignore it and try to get back to sleep, but then the poking started again, this time a little more forcefully. Little Miles appeared to laugh when his tail began to move slightly under the cover, but he still persisted in prodding his father.

He pushed himself to open his eyes with a quiet grunt. "Bud, please stop." Of course, his son continued on. Back against the pillows, Quartich groaned while pressing his face against them. He sometimes felt like this boy could be the death of him.

“Dad, wake up!” He chanted as the soldier supported himself on his arms to look at the boy. His son gave him a sweet smile in response.

“Miles..” he let a whine as he tried to now grab the little boy without much succes. He flipped over, still with his eyes half closed and that’s when the kid attached to the man before him. He started to use his father as a climbing frame.

As he resisted his father's attempts to catch him, he giggled and said, "I want to play."

Finally Quaritch managed to grab him and wrestle him off his neck. He looked at the boy and understood that there was no way that his son would let him go back to sleep so he accepted his defeat quickly. His tail started to flick playfully and then started to tickle the young boy, who erupted into giggles. A sleepy smile spread across his face at the joyous laughter emerging from his son. Little Miles gasped for air and the soldier finally stopped.

The boy began to jump up and down on the bed once more and the colonel sighed as he finally turned to look around the room, wanting to see the state it was in. The fact that there were toys all over the floor didn't bother him; however, the slime that was stuck to the wall did. How on earth did he pull that off?

He thought that maybe it was more preferable than Miles drawing on the wall. Just as long as he doesn't have to repaint the walls…again—it’ll be alright.

“What did you do to the wall?” Quaritch questioned as his son stopped bouncing and refrained from even looking at him in the eyes.

“I didn’t mean to.” Little Miles spoke in a low voice and he just couldn’t be mad at him. But that doesn’t mean he won’t be the one to clean it.

“It's alright, buddy, but you still need to clean it, y’know.” After receiving a nod, Quaritch picked up his son so they could prepare for the day. He would deal with the wall later.

It was usually simple to give him a shower, but his child loathed brushing his teeth more than anything.

Miles wiggled to be set down as soon as they entered the bathroom. “I don't want to." he complained to his father. The colonel still tried to explain that if the little boy will clean his teeth, he won’t be going to the dentist anywhere near the future, but yet he always misunderstood what his father was saying to him.

His ears flopped down as he made an effort to reason with the 4-year-old. Finally when his kid finally took the toothbrush from his grasp, he began to think about Miles' first trip to the dentist.

When they both entered the hallways from unit 7, the scent of the sterile environment mixed with dental care chemicals was obvious. Quaritch had never been afraid of the dentist, even as a kid because he didn't have any dental issues and usually just went for a checkup. But today wasn’t about him, it was about his son.

It wasn't like little Miles would have any kind of procedure done to him—it was simply a straightforward dental exam—but his kid clung to him as he visibly stiffened. The young boy whispered softly, "I'm scared" as he still didn’t want to let go of his father.

The soldier smiled, attempting to reassure the boy that he had nothing to be afraid of. "All Doctor Palmer is going to do is look at your teeth for a little while," the soldier said. “That's all.”

Although his son remained silent, Quaritch could tell that he was still uncertain. "Do you really believe I would take you somewhere or permit someone to hurt you?"

Little Miles said, "No," as he encircled his father's neck with his arms. “But what if they remove all of my teeth and force me to wear fake teeth?”

Quaritch wasn't at all prepared for such question, and he was certain Lyle was responsible for instilling his kid with that ridiculous idea. He really wanted to speak with his soldier later.

“Don't worry, she won't.” He responded briefly. “And besides, that’s usually done for older people.”

“Oh. Like you and Lyle?" The young boy asked sincerely, and it's safe to assume that his father was surprised. But, one of the dental hygienists showed up before he could respond. He remembered her quite well. When they were still getting used to their new bodies, Doctor Palmer was one of the dentists who checked to see if anything was wrong with any of them.

“You must be Miles.” The little boy, that was still in his father’s arms, received a warm smile from the woman. “We’re ready for you now.” She didn’t say anything as they went to an examine room and as Quaritch ducked under the door so that he could enter, Miles simply tightened his hold on his father.

As she put down his tablet, the colonel also put the boy down even if he did get some protests from his son.

“Alright Miles, if you would take a seat.” Doctor Palmer said as she placed a booster seat on the large examaning chair.

The 4 year old took a step back and braced himself against his father’s legs.

“Miles, it’s alright. I’m right here.” Quaritch reassured him “Go on.”

He gave his father one last glance before turning to go towards the chiar, uttering a low "okay."

The soldier saw his son ascend the booster seat and breathed through his mask.

“Is he allergic to any kind of medication?” The doctor asked his father.

“No” He replied as he watched the woman jot down the details in a folder, then made his way over to the sink to wash her hands. The doctor then donned a brand-new set of latex gloves.

"So Miles, do you have a favorite animal?" She inquired so the little boy could loosen a bit.

“I like spiders.” He declared while beaming enthusiastically.

“Spiders? How so?"

“I saw the movie Spider-Man recently! He is the coolest superhero.” As soon as she noticed that he had somewhat relaxed, the woman smiled.

“I agree. I like how his suit the most.” She said to him as she started to raise her hands “So Miles, let’s see those teeth. Open wide.”

The boy's smile quickly vanished as he turned to face his father, who had a comforting smile on his face. The boy then finally opened his mouth.

Quaritch felt like the exam and the cleaning went well. Miles was calm while Doctor Palmer cleaned his teeth. It was when the metal instruments were starting to get used was when he noticed that his son started to grasp the chair tightly. The doctor was able to calm him somehow, but stopped abruptly when the boy flinched.

The colonel’s ears peeked up as he looked at them unsure at what was happening.

“It seems you have a cavity, Miles" The doctor continued, turning to face his father, "It's on his canine on the lower jaw.”

“What should we do?” Quaritch asked as he looked at his son, seeing that he was distressed.

“Normally, I would be thinking about getting it fixed right now since it’s small, but if you feel like we should leave it alone since it’s a baby tooth, we could do that.” She explained as she looked now at the agitated boy.

“I don't want it to cause him any issues.” Quaritch replied as he drew nearer to the boy.

“Will it hurt?” His eyes were glassy as he observed the woman in front of him.

She assured him, "No," and pointed to the device she was using. She gave the young kid an opportunity to examine the high-speed headpiece in her palm.

Miles finally opened his mouth once more, but he remained silent. But when Doctor Palmer turned on the instrument, that’s when the boy started to cry.

Quaritch still remembers how his son immediately came over to him. He really didn’t think that Miles would get scared, but he couldn’t do anything about that anymore. The cavity wasn’t that serious, but you never know. He would occasionally whine that his tooth hurts after eating sweets, but the baby tooth will fall out really soon according to Doctor Palmer. It wasn’t bad, but Quaritch still wanted to get it fixed. He made an attempt to convince his son, but it was useless. He was adamant about not wanting to visit the dentist ever again.

As he broke his train of thought, a smile reappeared on his face as he observed the child brushing his teeth. His son exclaimed that he was finished after pausing to rinse.

Without wasting any time, he exited the bathroom and shouted that he was going to clean the wall. Quaritch began his own routine but knew that his son would soon require assistance.

Even if being Miles's father was a challenge itself, the colonel couldn't deny that he would be lost right now if it wasn’t for the young child. He wouldn't trade his current life for anything.

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ ?

Notes: I won't lie; it was difficult to write for both of them, but I genuinely wanted to turn Quartich into a soft dad. In addition, if you guys liked this, I think I'd like to write more of them.😅

#miles quaritch #spider socorro #avatar #avatar the way of water #recom miles quaritch #avatar miles quaritch #miles socorro #quaritch x oc #recom quaritch #quaritch fanart #spider fanfic

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xoxopandapanda · 22 days

Text

Proportional

Men like him gave up lives like this so that others could live simple and quaint lives. He risked his everyday so people could live theirs. He sacrificed so children would be able to grow up in a world more peaceful than he had.

Anya had come home, beaming and rambling on about something he had no idea about. He had long learned to not try to predict her - she would just throw him for a loop anyway. She kicked her shoes off at the door and beeline it for him. He had half a mind to tell her to put her shoes away, but she was holding a piece of paper that drew his attention more.

Instinctively, he lifted her into his arms as she climbed up him without asking. He caught a glimpse of the colors on the paper before she settled into his chest sideways, and to proudly present him with her object of fixation.

"Papa!" she loudly exclaimed, the paper give a pathetic snap as she pulled it taught between her two little hands to show him, "we practiced porpoises in art!"

As if he knew her all her life and could know indtany what she meant, he corrected her. "Proportions."

She was undeterred by his correction. "I drew our family!"

Loid took in the color drawing before him. The human in the picture were certainly fairly proportional, but the white dog was the same height as the man and woman, he presumed was him and Yor. "Bond is too big. He is as tall as me."

"Yep." Apparently Anya didn't see anything with a nearly 6 foot head to toe dog.

Loid leaned back to look into her shimmering green eyes. "What did your teacher say?"

Anya shrugged and wiggled to show she wanted down, which he complied with. She scrambled over to show the family dog her artwork.

He seemed very interested and let out a happy 'borf!' when she pointed out, very explicitly, that he was just as big as Papa and Mama because he was just as important to her.

Loid smiled softly to himself, wondering if she intended it to be that way or if she was just that good at thinking on her feet. He watched her from his peripheral vision as she put the drawing in his briefcase.

The next day, he sat in his office, waiting for the next patient of Dr. Forger, a man in his early sixties struggling to adapt to life without his wife. He pulled out the drawing from his briefcase and admired it.

He heard Anya in his head, telling Bond that he was just as important as him and Yor to her. He felt his heart squeeze slightly at the memory, a feeling he had long since come to accept as part of his day now, especially when he thought about the Forgers.

He had left it on the top of his desk when his patient came in, his focus quickly shifting to his work. However, the image was not lost on the elderly man.

"You've got the next Michaelangelo on your hands there, Doc." The wrinkles alongsode the man's eyes were ever present, but seemed extra deep in that moment.

Loid laughed good-naturedly. "She is certainly creative."

The old man nodded. "Does she make you happy?"

Loid answered after a pause. He was used to being the one who asked the questions, especially if this nature. "... She does."

"It's a good reminder after all we've seen in our lives that the young see us in such a light."

Loid cocked his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

The old man pointed at his face in the drawing. "She doesn't see the war scarred soldier you hid under your facade. She doesn't see the sleepless nights that hollow out your eyes because you are tormented by the people you left behind on those fields."

They made eye contact. Loid felt exposed in front of this man who had fought on the opposite side of the line of him. His brain screamed to assess the dangers that this patient presented to Operation Strix, the Forgers, to Anya, but he was frozen in his body. He wasn't anything more than the boy who had lied about his age and tossed away any hope for normalcy at that moment. Not a spy, not a soldier, nothing but a boy who just wanted the world to go back to what it was before that bomb fell.

"She sees her father, a strong, happy man who holds her. Look at the smile she put on you." Once the old man's gaze had dropped from his, he was back in the moment. He felt rattled but still followed the man's finger to show the wide, white smile on his peach face." She drew the same smile on herself." Loid realized in that moment that the old man was right. He and Anya had wide, undefined toothy smiles in the drawing. Yor had a small black line.

Anya saw herself in him. And he knew, deep down, he did too.

"After all we've been through, it makes me happy to see life through a child's eyes." The old man shook his head softly and walked, back bowed, towards the couch. The session proceeded as Loid had planned, but once the door closed behind the elderly gentleman, Loid's mind raced back to the drawing.

He gingerly picked it up, almost as if he was afraid it was going to disappear once he had a grasp on it. He had been so focused yesterday on the proportions, he had missed the reality it represented.

Anya lived in a world where she was warm, safe, and loved. Anya knew that.

There was so much more to secure the world he wanted, where no child was ever scared or in danger as they grew, but he had done a small portion of that work already.

And maybe that was proportional to what he had scarified.

#panda writes #spyfamily #spy x family #spyxfamily #loid forger #anya forger #fanfic #spy family fanfic

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prismaticpichu · 4 months

Text

FF7 Crisis Core Characters & Their Pokémon Partners!~ 💛 🗡️

Why howdy!! Welcome back to another glorious edition of “Pichu combines her hyperfixations like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich!” <3 Yeeeehaw!

I tried to be as creative as I could with the move references 😂 Kudos if you can spot ‘em all!

Warning for Angst <3 :,3c

~~~

Angeal

Samurott ~ A bladed warrior Pokémon known for its strict and formidable discipline, as well as drawing obvious inspirations from Samurai/their honorable Bushido code! The fella was an Oshawott for most of Angeal’s life—belonging to the entire family as a whole, considering that they unfortunately didn’t have enough money to buy many Pokeballs/food to take care of more than one. It was only when Angeal decided he wanted to join SOLDIER that his father officially gave him Oshawott’s Pokéball, leading Angeal to spend officially numerous hours training with his buddy. By the time he joined SOLDIER, he had a worthy Samurott by his side—the strongest Pokémon out of all the three elite Firsts. When he eventually took Zack under his proverbial wing some handful of years later, the boy quickly bonded with Samurott: training, playing, and often feeding his aquatic friend when Angeal was unable to. When Angeal deserted ShinRa’s forces, however, Samurott still clung to those memories and tried to convince his trainer to do the right thing, ultimately becoming wishy-washy with its own morales as result. And, in the end, nothing hurt its rended soul more than being forced to battle Zack under Angeal’s command. It was also the last battle it ever fought.

Moves:

Aqua Cutter

X-Scissor

Double Team

Take Down

Genesis

Flapple ~ An apple—obviously!—and a red, winged apple that housed a little (book)worm-dragonsnake thing on top of it! With Crisis Core taking some inspiration from the Garden of Eden story, it seemed like the most appropriate choice. Let’s also not forget that apples rot. Anywho—able to afford Pokeballs at a young age, Genesis caught the little guy when it was just an Applin, which subsequently catalyzed his affinity for the fruit + prompted him to start a small Banora White juice stand as a kid. Growing up, Genesis loved to battle—always pushing to be the best he could be, to emulate the heroes in his stories and the silver-haired superstar he saw in the papers. But he was also a kind boy, with a kind heart—good ambitions—and spent many days helping training with Angeal’s Dewott. He was able to get his hands on a Tart Apple rather young, and ultimately went on to serve as viable asset to ShinRa’s military with the aid of his aerial Pokémon. But it was the times after the war that were sweetest to Genesis—where he and his best friends hung out together, where they used Flapple’s attacks as props and projectiles, with one of their favorite games including knocking apples of off each other’s heads. They were childish games, yes—but harmless games. Harmless competition. Harmless rivalry. Simple rivalry. Fiery rivalry. Intense rivalry. Jealous rivalry. Burning rivalry. Dangerous rivalry. And, one day, it was just too much—it was taken too far. One training incident, one battle between friends. A pepper of metal; a spur of blood; a cry of pain; and a trip to the infirmary. And it was after this day that Genesis was never really the same. When the man felt himself growing ill, Flapple was the only one he confided it—was the only one he told his plans of desertion to. And when the day came for him to abandon his past, Flapple was hesitant. Hesitant—but loyal. He remained by Genesis’s side and watched his trainer degrade, watched him rot like the fruit of his own etymology. And he wanted to cure. And he would help his trainer find that cure—that “gift”—no matter the cost. He would do anything. He would do anything, even if it meant helping destroy the reality of his old friends.

Moves:

Wing Attack

Grav Apple

Trailblaze

Outrage

Zack

Arcanine ~ Yes—pupper for life! <3 But just like the game Zack hails from, NEVER underestimate the power of a fiery pup!! One of the most loyal Pokémon to exist, Zack took in an injured Growlithe from the wild when he was just a little kid, immediately sparking a friendship that would last him for years upon years to come. Zack loves his partner more than anything in the world—training to become the best SOLDIER he can possibly be since the day their dreams were together. Together, from vigorous and unwavering training, they climb through the ranks of ShinRa. It’s only at Fort Tamblin where, alongside receiving a Fire Armlet from Lazard, he receives a Fire Stone—and it’s all Arcanine adventures from there! Unfortunately, however, this is also when Angeal deserts, and Zack relies more than ever on the comfort of his best friend. Arcanine helps him stay positive, but even the dog itself begins to grow jaded, losing some of the blazing spirit that used to surge through its veins. Modeoheim is one of the worst tolls on the two of them—one of the most spiritually-shattering incidents of their ShinRa career. One that is only trumped by Nibelheim, where its life comes to end upon being crushed by fiery debris. It was trying to save Claudia.

Moves:

Close Combat

Play Rough

Protect

Flame Charge

Cloud

Riolu: A little baby-waby Pokémon that grows into something truly incredible and iconic. Riolu was a gift from Cloud’s mother when he was turning 14 years old—a little something to keep him safe as he went away to ShinRa. Cloud was always a little hesitant about raising Pokémon, but bonded rather well with Riolu once he opened up—albeit after an admittedly awkward start. Riolu was always there to comfort Cloud after SOLDIER-exams, always there to cheer him up and keep him going until the next one. When it’s time to go on a mission with the Great Sephiroth, Riolu is there to keep him chill—sitting in his lap in the truck, affectionally nuzzling his chin to keep him level-headed. Cloud wanted to keep Riolu in his Pokeball as to keep his identity hidden—a decision that would go on to save the small Pokémon’s life when the town was horrifically set ablaze, sheltered from Sephiroth’s wrath and madness while other Pokémon made the fatal mistake of trying to stop him. Following the incident, he doesn’t remember much—unaware of when Zack broke him out of the lab and carried him and his poisoned Riolu to the edge of Midgar. There’s flashes of something in his memory—serrated shards of a bloody face and bloody body that slash into his psyche beyond his own understanding. He doesn’t remember the moment his Riolu evolved—evolving into a Lucario under the pouring rain and the pearls of crimson that had stained its paws. In fact, he doesn’t even remember ever having a Riolu. All he could seem to remember is having an Arcanine—an Arcanine who perished before his eyes—and taking custody of a Lucario who originally belonged to his friend.

Moves:

Endure

Bullet Punch

Reversal

Copycat

Sephiroth

Pichu ~ Yep! That’s it, you heard it right: no legendary Pokémon, no mythical—just a small little lab rat that Sephiroth cherished more than anything on the planet. He first met Pichu when he was just a little boy, finding it trapped in a too-tight cage among Hojo’s numerous experiments. Bruises and scratches marred its yellow fur, coiled into itself as it quivered and shook amid the pulsing darkness. And Sephiroth, at his tender age, could hardly stand the sight. He couldn’t stand it—not when he could feel every scratch laddering its body, every injection that must have pierced its fragile form. He knew it was a risk, he knew he could be punished—but at that moment, meeting those pained and teary eyes, none of that seemed to matter. When Hojo found Sephiroth with Pichu the next day, he of course tried to take it away—only to be met by a tempest of threats and snarls, kicks and hisses. In the end, Hojo conceded, but forcefully fed it an Everstone when Sephiroth was asleep. In the following years, the duo were inseparable—every surgery, every training session, every trial… they were together. And when Sephiroth went on to Wutai, you bet Pichu was there with him. It wasn’t much of a battler—often hurting itself with its own electricity—but what the Pokémon lacked in strength it more than made up for in loyalty and spirit. As Sephiroth’s fame and influence burgeoned, he did everything in his power to keep his treasured friend out of the limelight—often keeping him sheltered in his Pokeball until the man was able to return to his quarters in peace. This lead to several people fantasizing about what Pokémon the Great Silver Warrior could possibly have—what kind of mythical beast he kept stashed away. Only very few people have ever seen Pichu at all: Glenn, Matt, Lucia, Genesis, Angeal, and Zack—all of whom were shocked at first, but developed a newfound respect for Sephiroth after learning of its origins. Angeal and Genesis, in particular, even had the honor of babysitting for the little guy during press meetings. When the latter two deserted, Sephiroth was crushed, but Pichu did wonders to keep his spirit afloat: curling into his lap at night, falling asleep on his shoulder… Anything it can possibly do to assure Sephiroth that he wasn’t alone, it did. When it came time to leave for Nibelheim, however, when the inevitable tragedies spiraled, that’s where things started to splinter. Zack awoke one night to Pichu pawing at his face—a small and desperate gesture to get someone to help it. Agreeing to help his friend’s partner out, Zack followed Pichu to the basement of ShinRa manor, where he found Sephiroth in the heart of an eerie, candlelit library. He told them to leave—both of them. Zack tried to gently talk things out; Sephiroth told him to leave even louder. Disheartened, but thinking his friend needs space, Zack took Pichu and leaves. In the following days, he tried to comfort the anxious Pichu, telling it that Seph just needs some time to breathe and digest everything he learned. He told it that Seph will snap out of it soon—that he will return for his best friend. He promises it. Assures it. And yet, when that seventh day arrives, the town went up in flames. Villagers were killed, slaughtered, as well as every Pokémon in his wake. All the man could think about was her. Mother. His birthright. His planet. Revenge. Humans. The urge to destroy—the need to kill… The bleary shapes that he cuts down are nothing—meaningless little insects in the greater design of his world. His blade slashed through them all, cut them open and left them to burn in the hellish flames engulfing the village. They were all irrelevant—every single one of them. Meaningless. Worthless. Just kill time. Just kill them, She whispers. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.

“SEPHIROTH, DON’T—“

It’s too late.

Masamune had already struck, deaf to the young SOLDIER’s horrified plea.

And blind to the sight of Pichu staked through it.

Moves:

Nuzzle

Nasty Plot

Facade

Wish

#sephiroth #ffvii #pokemon #ff7 #crisis core #angeal hewley #genesis rhapsodos #zack fair #mega angst #sorry LOL! was in a mood xD #<33 #it’s like comical angst tho #it’s hard to take Pokémon seriously in a flipping ff7 setting lmao

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 2 months

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I’m a strong defender of SB actually caring about his daughter and here are my reasons:

If she has a bully we’ve stated that he’d take care of it regardless if the bully was a boy or girl, and also not caring if he’s drunk or sober; especially this last detail shows how he cares for her because that’s his babygirl and even though she’s more than capable of fighting her bullies herself no one will talk bad to her or harm her, not if he has a say in it

If he’s awake late at night watching tv and having a drink or two, if she would walk into the living room and jump on the couch to sit with him because she couldn’t sleep, he’d let her sit there as long as she didn’t make a sound, but he also would ansker her if she asked what the movie he was watching was about or who was who on screen; and if she fell asleep at his side with her head on his arm or legs, he wouldn’t move her

He’d even caress her hair, you can’t tell me he wouldn’t as she sleeps peacefully at his side

How could he make something so… delicate? Not in a bad way. I think he’d be scared of having a daughter because he can’t be soft. He’s never been soft for most of his life. Girls need softness, that he can’t give.

But he can!! He doesn’t realize but he likes it when she cuddles up to him on the couch when he’s trying to have a nap, laying against his chest, and he likes it when she brings him random drawings she makes, folding them and hiding them in his pockets only to take them out again when he undresses and leaving them in a drawer of his dresser with the rest of her drawings

Maybe he doesn’t take her to her first day of school or teaches her to ride a bike, but he’s for sure proud to see her on that bike riding down the street. That’s his babygirl

When she’s older he even shares late night drinks with her. He knows kids shouldn’t drink but his kids are teenagers and they aren’t pussies and if they’re gonna do it anyway better do it at home; he even enjoys the small silent moments sitting with her having a beer when she comes home from a friend’s party in one of those rare days where HM was off somewhere himself, and it’s only SB and his daughter at home; she sneaks in a bit later than usual, and as many times Ben is awake having a drink. He doesn’t yell at her for being out late, at least she got home safe, and when she sits down with him after grabbing a bottle for herself, he nods acknowledging her presence, and they enjoy the moment in silence

Now I need headcanons for how their relationship would be once SB comes back years later

okay this killed me like

pure tender moments between soldier boy and his little girl

i like the hc of mc and sb having these quiet moments where sb feels secure enough to be soft with his daughter.

them sharing mc's first drink together while hl is out on an assignment for vought.

sb probably thought about those times alot in russia :( and now he has a chance to capture them again. You're just a liiitttllle bit older than last time. and more jaded.

having nowhere else to go (like hell he was staying in that shitty motel), you'd grudgingly offered up your small office room in your apartment. butcher had also suggested it would be good for you to keep an eye on your dad to make sure he doesn't act out. you kinda felt like the parent now.

for the most part, he'd behave himself in the beginning. this was a great chance for him to get to know the person you've become.

but you still don't really know how to act around him, ya know what i mean? you've never dealt with the obvious childhood trauma you had. vought had onsight psychiatrists and therapists, but you wouldn't dare. that would be a sign of weakness.

so when you come home one night you find sb has actually set the table with microwave meal trays on your ceramic plates. they're those incredibly unhealthy meals he used to warm up for you and hl years ago. looked like he spent most of his allowance (you learned he would drink your own alcohol stash if he couldn't go out to buy his own) on a nice bottle of whiskey.

"i hope you're hungry babygirl." he smiles though it doesn't go past him the tenseness on your face as well as the bloodied knuckles you attempted to hide with your sleeve. "why don't you go wash up for dinner."

It was freaking you out. "okay. . ." and when you come back you awkwardly sit across the table from him. "whats the occasion?" you watch him fill your cup with the honey colored liquid.

"no occasion. we just haven't had time to talk, you and i. remember this brand? the same one i gave you for your first drink." he chuckles to himself. "even for your first time you tossed it back like a champ."

communicating with soldier boy had always been a struggle. "talk. . . about what exactly?"

"your life! all i know is that you're fucking that butcher guy and trying to kill your brother."

"it's more complicated than that." like you wanted to kill your brother. someone you had loved so much with all your heart, trusted like no one else. it ripped at you to be on an opposing side to him. you'd tried reasoning with him.

"then tell me."

and you do

and to everyone's surprise, sb IS trying his hardest to be a better father to you now though it's far too late.

oh, oh and think of the bar nights with you, sb and butcher cuz he insists on attempting to get along with him.

sb: "still have no idea what you see in him."

you: "well, nothing you can see with his clothes on at least 😏 😏"

sb: "😡"

butcher: *laughing*

best believe he's still unfortunately a misogynist no matter how hard you try to correct him 😓 and he still lacks a filter too so that's why you give him a taste of his own medicine by mentioning your sex life.

sb: oh my god stop talking about dick sucking!!! >:(((

you: you're the one who called him a cock sucker! if you call anyone that it should be me 🧐😆

sb:

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #the boys series #the boys #the boys imagine #the boys billy butcher #the boys x reader #the boys soldier boy #soldier boy imagines

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janeeyreofmanderley · 7 months

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“Do you know to whom your uniform originally belonged?” Pippin looked up and saw Boromir stare at him, eyes red rimmed and disturbingly vacant. He wanted to reply, wanted to tell Boromir of his talk with his brother just before Faramir left for that doomed mission but his voice failed him. So he only nodded then quickly averted his gaze, staring at his feet again.

“I remember the day it was given to him.” Boromir went on, voice tight and yet wistful. “He was so proud. Though it was much too big for him then. I badly wanted to tease him that it was more of a lady’s ballgown than a knight’s armour, but I didn’t dare. For weeks he made me join in in reenacting every single story about knights in that darn book he had. Obviously Faramir always was the knight, I had a hell of a time figuring out how to be dragon, troll, Necromancer, Nazgûl, fell beast, wolf and evil stepmother, but was well worth it.”

Pippin smiled hearing that. The image of Boromir as evil stepmother and Faramir as gallant knight precious and at every other time he’d laughed out loud and would have hurried to share the story with Merry and preferably Aragorn. But not right now.

He heard Boromir draw a shuddering breath and stifle a sob. He wanted to offer the man some comfort but wasn’t sure if it’d be welcome. Still, he placed a hand on the soldier’s arm, a sign of silent support.

If he did notice it, Boromir didn’t show. Instead he continued woodenly “then father found out about our games. He was disappointed. Told Faramir off for dishonouring the uniform of Gondor. That it was not a toy to be trifled with but a tool to be used to prepare him for his service for his country. He was just eight. He was just eight, Pippin! A scrawny, funny, curious little eight year old boy who liked books, ducks, cinnamon rolls and hide and seek. He was just eight and told to be a soldier, and now, and now” Boromir’s voice broke in a howl and he buried his face in his hands, finally giving in to the grief he’d tried to push down for so long. Giving in to his own guilt, the pain of his father’s end, the worry about his people and the despair when the old Master healer told him there was nothing he could do for Faramir, except wait and pray his end would be peaceful. Even Ioreth had been silent with horror which struck Boromir as terribly poignant. Now he just couldn’t stand it anymore.

Awkwardly Pippin started stroking the man’s shoulder feeling the sobs wrecking him and started crying silently himself.

Both were so wrapped in their grief it was not till they felt a gentle hand on each of their shoulders’ that they noticed they were not alone anymore.

And ere they had a chance to look up a calm and well known voice said “Don’t despair, I promise I will do all I can to help!”

And Pippin made the decision to hope and firmly grasped Boromir’s hand as both followed Aragorn back into Faramir’s sickroom.

#Boromir lives #what else?#lotr #Boromir #Pippin Took #Aragon #Faramir

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offtherailsraccoon · 7 days

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TELL ME MORE OF YOUR HEADCANONS >:3 me wanna draw thema! anyones ideas to be honest-

- @cupidl0vesy0u

Cupid, my platonic beloved, you know i could NEVER ignore such a request. However, ya girl is seriously lacking in drawing worthy headcanons and just good headcanons in general so this is the best i could get, but THANK YOOUUU FOR PROMPTING ME TO TALK MORE ABOUT MY SILLY LITTLE HEADCANONS!!!!!

—Tommy’s full name was Tommy Kraken Coward Careful Danger Innit, and on government or professional documents it was shortened to Tommy K. C. C. U. Innit.

The name ‘Tommy’ was given by Wilbur at their first meeting. Wilbur—even as young and inexperienced in reading people as he was at the time—was able to see the fierce determination to survive that shone in the younger's eyes as he ushered a smaller Tubbo behind him, using his free hand to wield a dirty stick as a make-shift sword; not unlike a soldier.

—Tommy's natural hair color was actually a golden brown—just a few shades lighter than Wilbur’s—but they dyed it to blonde when Tubbo dyed his natural blonde hair to brown.

However, he was forced to go back to being a brunette post-exile, mostly due to the fact it was too matted and unhealthy to even try to save, forcing him to get the messiest buzz cut ever.

They re-dyed it sometime before The Prison Incident but allowed it to grow slightly past his shoulders even after revival and didn't care to deal with the brown roots. The length felt suffocating and claustrophobic, but he found comfort in the familiar feeling; even going as far as to purposefully only do half-up hairstyles. His personal favorite was half-up pigtails.

—Tommy always had, at the very least, five blades hidden in various places on his person at all times, to settle their intense paranoia; even as far as to have a razor blade kept under his tongue.

—Despite their bad experiences with heights, Tommy enjoyed sitting in high places and childishly swinging their legs off the edge. From this Tommy had grown into a very agile climber.

—Contrary to popular belief, Tommy was quite skilled in dealing with kids, so he'd often babysit the younger generation of the server in exchange for things only he found valuable such as mud, cobblestone, trinkets, moss, golden apples, bells of any sort, and cool rocks.

—Tommy found it difficult to tell that they're alive, and would occasionally spend days in a haze until someone reminded him to breathe.

On those days—the days they felt like a mindless zombie roaming around without purpose, and he could swear he smelled of rot—plants would droop and wilt around him; a side effect of his reeking necromancy.

—Since his resurrection, butterflies have begun to flock Tommy, which left him to constantly wave them away.

They suspected it was due to the various flowers they kept sticking out of their pockets. Tommy does this not only because he simply likes picking flowers and collecting them, but also as a habit from war to ward away the rotten smell of the fallen soldiers.

—When they purposefully thought back to it, Tommy found that their memories of Logstedshire were oddly hazy and difficult to differentiate from the others.

Although, on the occasion something occurred that reminded him of the unwelcomed remembrances, he’d often undergo an intense PTSD-induced flashback, which acted as a painful reawakening for not only the same overwhelming emotional state they were in all that time ago, but also the physical pain they indured at the time of the traumatic event they "revisited".

—Tommy never cared much for their health more than the basic survival needs up until he met Tubbo and started tending to the goat’s wounds; Tubbo had very little experience with the streets when he had met Tommy, and Tommy felt a primitive obligation to help the older boy.

By treating the tiny injuries on Tubbo, most of which he wouldn't look twice at if he were to get them himself, Tommy learned of his natural affinity for first aid.

Later in life, Niki taught them more complex first aid; and for as long as it took to learn, Tommy was Niki's apprentice in the earlier wars—which proved quite difficult to do considering Tommy had to simultaneously juggle the responsibility of being a young General as well as a military strategist.

—After Exile, Tommy picked up both crocheting and knitting as a coping mechanism and as a way to get used to their prosthetic hand, per Puffy’s request.

However, this proved to be difficult because the various explosions in Exile had eventually tore up the palms of his hands enough that they held a constant, involuntary tremble from nerve damage.

Tommy, being the workaholic they were, would frequently crochet or knit well past the point of their fingers aching.

—Their own hygiene has never been much of a priority for Tommy, and by extension, neither were showers.

Not only did they frequently forget, because they didn't consider it important enough to remember, but they also found it unbelievably inconvenient, both time wise and because of his scars. Tommy was covered head-to-toe in scars of various types and origins, to the point that they couldn't stand looking at himself even in mirrors, whether it was because they could no longer recognize themself, or because the scars only provided reminders. Most of the scars were so sensitive that even running water over them caused unbearable pain, especially the permanently cold water from their dirt hut.

As a solution, Tubbo and Ranboo would check on Tommy every few days to see if they had taken a shower—as well as his well being, but he didn't need to know that—and if he hadn't, they would have the younger come over and gently pressure him into taking a shower on low pressure with the lights off.

—The Godling of Mischief, who preferred the chosen name of ‘Drista’, was a lesser known Godling only ever found in the form of a small pixie, dressed in red, white, and black jester attire with star detailing.

Drista resembled a thorn covered doll carved from twisting wood, with a large wind-up key in her middle back, and doll-like joints that would emit an eerie clicking sound with every jittery motion; her movements were erratic and twitchy, as if controlled by some unseen force. She has a humanoid figure with digitigrade legs, a second set of arms, eight insectoid wings, and a grotesque face too hard to describe; Drista would often don a porcelain mask that covers her entire face, designed to look like an entirely different face with an glaring expression, painted with stereotypical clown makeup. (<- not too happy with this because the inspiration behind the face is a VERY difficult to explain mask i found on pinterest)

—As an effect of having to take care of Wilbur most of their life, Tommy had grown quite a skill in cooking, enough that they were considered the second best chef on the server, right behind Technoblade's potato dishes.

Tommy would occasionally even practice baking as well, though, they weren’t as good at it as they were with cooking. Because of this, Tubbo and Ranboo—who both lack the ability of cooking quality food despite both being adults, tax-payers, and parents—would always rely on him to cook the important food when an occasion occurs.

—At some point in late Exile, Dream had taken to carving a crude and messy Glasgow grin into Tommy’s face as a grotesque replica of the mask the older is known so well to wear. There wasn’t much to do about it when it was still healing and delicate enough for the stitches to pop open at even the slightest movement, but as soon as it had completely healed—which was well into his stay with Technoblade—Tommy subconsciously started a habit of scratching it as a way to fidget. Over time it got bad enough that they had managed to scratch a gaping hole through their right cheek, leaving their teeth visible. (<- i totally did made this on the spot for this very post and it needs to be re-done but i have no clue how lolol)

—After Wilbur’s death, Tommy took ownership of his trench coat and adamantly refused to alter the dimensions of it to better fit them.

—Tommy had lingering slight animalistic body language from when he was raised from the age of four to eight by packs of wolves. (<- i wish i could elaborate but I DON'T KNOW HOOOWWWWAUH)

By sending this you single-handedly brought back my will and motivation to write so i thank you again !!

also its crazy how much i think about ctommy and only ctommy

#ctommy #c!tommy #c tommy #ctommyinnit #c!tommyinnit #c tommyinnit #drista #ctechnoblade #ctubbo #cdream #cwilbur #cpuffy #tw suicide #tw death #tw torture #THANK YOY.#my dsmp headcanons

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