#(but here we are. two blonde men in the burn ward)

[vampiiric]

had a realization that i have an oc who is also a blonde burn victim on a doomed spacecraft working for a horrible corporate entity. so i made him and curly friends 😁

[thecatsaesthetics]

Day Seven of Feyre Week - Free Day.

A one shot about Feyre getting revenge on the man who wronged her. Read here or on AO3

I study him, the man I had once loved. I looked through the small window on the prison door. His arms and feet were chained against the walls of the dungeon, he had blood running down the sides of his golden blond hair. He looked so beautiful, despite the blood and bruises now forming on his skin. His clothing had been shredded and I could see the well-formed muscles of his chest. I remembered a time I would curl up on that chest and take comfort from it.

His face hung downwards, and I was grateful I did not have to see those green eyes staring up at me.

I could feel my heart thud in my chest, not out of pity or pain for him but hatred. It felt like another lifetime ago that I had loved him so fiercely I had destroyed myself.

“Did Azriel get it out of him?” I ask Rhys, who was leaning against the wall casually picking lint off his cuffs.

Tamlin had been no match for the two of us, we had found him in Nyx’s room. He stood over my sleeping son’s cradle. Power had cracked from both Rhys and mine veins, and Rhys had been able to winnow him to the dungeons under Hewn City. I had summoned Azriel, he had gone into that dungeon, but I had been too panicked to wait around.

I held Nyx afterwards, to calm both him and me, the disturbance had woke him and I could only feel calm if I had him in my arms. At only five months old he hardly slept through the night. He enjoyed falling asleep in my arms, and I enjoyed having him there, my miraculous baby.

Nyx finally had gotten back to sleep, and Elain had promised to watch over him while I went to the dungeons to speak to Rhys. Azriel had been gone when I arrived, but I could see his work on Tamlin.

“He did, it was Koschei’s doing” Rhys said.

“Is he being controlled? Like Eris men?” I asked.

Koschei and the Queen had controlled Eris men months ago, and if he was capable of controlling Tamlin… It changed things. However, none of that lessened my fury at the man in the dungeon. I had sensed Tamlin in the room before waking, I had been sleeping in the rocking chair of Nyx’s room. I immediately shouted for Rhys through the bond, who had been sleeping in our room. The next moments all I knew was rage, white hot rage. If Rhys hadn’t questioned down the bond how he got through our wards I believe I might have killed Tamlin. We needed answers, because if Tamlin had broke into the home, anyone could.

“No”

“So he’s working with Koschei? why?” I turned my head towards Rhys, his violet eyes were on me intensely and I knew the truth would be devastating  “Tell me.”

“Your father made a bargain with Koschei, his first born grandson in exchange for the help he provided during the war. With your father dead Koschei had no way to complete the bargain.”

“So, he went to Tamlin?” I asked, confused and shocked. My father handing over my son before he had ever been born… my heart stung. My father was long dead and could not explain his actions, maybe he had assumed he’d never get a grandson or maybe he was willing to trade away one life for thousands of others.

“Koschei needed someone else who would be willing to get Nyx” Rhys said.

“What does Koschei want from him?”

“Tamlin didn’t know that, and trust me Azriel tried very hard to get that out of him” Rhys went on, “Tamlin only cared about his part of the bargain.”

“Which was?” I asked, knowing the answer well.

“To get you back. Koschei apparently offered to erase your memories of The Night Court and me.”

My heart pounded, my stomach felt sick, I turned my head back to look at Tamlin hanging from the dungeon wall. I hoped it hurt, I hope the chains dug into his wrists, I hope it burned.

“Again… he betrays Prythian again to get me back” I said.

“Tamlin playing traitor to get what he wants seems to be a common enough theme” Rhys scoffed.

But darker thoughts rose in my mind, Koschei wanted Nyx and we didn’t know why.

“I left Nyx with Elain but…” Elain was still growing in her powers and what if Koschei was in the city, waiting for the delivery of my son.

Rhys putting a hand on my back.

“It’s why Azriel’s not here, he’s going back to the house. He’s getting the rest of them, Mor, Amren, Cassian and even Nesta to go back to the house.”

I let out a sigh of relief.

“Koschei will be found, and I don’t care what bargain your father made. He doesn’t get our son.” Rhys said reassuring me.

“I can’t believe it, I can’t believe my father…”

“I know, I’m so sorry Feyre” Rhys replied, “But the bargain died with your father, I think. Koschei wouldn’t have needed to make another if he it hadn’t.”

I nodded in agreement and sighed in relief; but it didn’t solve our immediate problem. What to do with the High Lord in our dungeon.

“We can deal with him tomorrow” Rhys said.

I shook my head and said:

“I’ll deal with him tonight.”

“You don’t have to, even if that’s what we decide we can get Azriel…”

“No” I cut him off, and through the bond I said

This is mine, my fight, my kill, my decision.

My eyes still gazing to Tamlin, the blood pouring off his face, the pitiful excuse of a male. I looked back at Rhys, no judgement on his face but I could sense his worry.

“You disagree” I wasn’t a question.

“You need to be sure, it’s a decision you can’t take back.”

“He tried to take me again, he tried to give our son to a monster” I said.

“I know, but taking the life another High Lord”

“After everything he’s done how are you speaking for him now” I snapped at Rhys. Tamlin didn’t deserve either of our compassion.

“No, I’m not” He insisted “I wanted to rip him to pieces the moment I saw him in that room. I’ve wanted him dead for centuries, but it changes things with him dead and we need to be prepared to face those consequences.”   

“I’m sorry” I said, remembering how Tamlin caused the deaths of his mother and sister “I’m being selfish.”

“You’re not” Rhys said.

“How did you stomach it, all those years knowing he was alive after what he did?” I asked.

“It wasn’t easy, I never forgave him if that’s what your asking” Rhys said “But I knew killing him would cause more trouble than it was worth. You need to consider what trouble his death would cause, and if it’s worth it.  

“Beron and Tarquin” I said, and I doubt the other High Lords would take too kindly to the killing of another High Lord.

“Beron will be furious but likely would use it as an excuse to ally against us, and Tarquin… I doubt he will mourn Tamlin but hate the instability it would cause.”

I stood back from the dungeon door and considered, considered it all. Tamlin had caused nothing but pain to everyone he encountered. Not just to Rhys and I, but my sisters, Lucien, his own people; all of them victims of the same beast.

“I thought he’d changed” I said softly, “After the war, after bringing you back. He told me to be happy and I thought he meant it. He was never healed, we know that, but I thought he had least let me go.”

“I thought he did too” Rhys said “When I visited during our first solstice, he wondered if you’d ever forgive him.”

“You told me” I nodded remembering Rhys detailing that trip, “how did this happen again?”

“It’s Nyx” Rhys said simply, “Lucien said he took the news poorly.”

I sighed, remembering the bruises on Lucien’s face when he recounted how Tamlin had heard of my pregnancy. Rhys and I had been considering at that point asking Tamlin for help, with shapeshifting while pregnant. We were running out of options on how to save our lives, but when Lucien came to us the day after we knew we could not. Tamlin was a liability, tonight proved it.

“He’s not fit to be a High Lord.” I said with certainty, “Look at how he treats his own people, his lands. He doesn’t care who gets hurt, he only cares for himself. The Night Court, and Prythian, will be better off with a new High Lord of Spring.”

One who could manage his lands, who didn’t run around in beast form, or pinning away for a female long gone.

“He has no direct heir” Rhys said, “I’m not sure who the power would transfer to, it might be a distant cousin or anyone the land chooses.”

“I’d rather deal with that problem then him the rest of our lives” I said, “I’d rather deal with Beron, or anyone else’s fury then have to worry for the rest of my life his desperate attempts to steal me back.”

Rhys nodded; it was decided.

From the pocket realm I summoned a knife, a smooth shark blade.  I remembered back to another time, another lifetime, where I had picked up a blade and killed for Tamlin.

“You don’t have to do it like that” Rhys said, and I knew he was also reminded of that moment. “You could shatter his mind; I could show you how.”

I shook my head.

“I need to end this my way Rhys” I said, my grip on the knife tightened. I heard a slight moan from the dungeon, he was awake.

“I can knock him out again, to make it easier.”

“Just make him unable to speak, I want him to hear me, I want him to know it’s me” I said, thinking back to my horror of finding him standing over my sleeping son’s cradle.

Rhys nodded, and I entered the dungeon.

Tamlin struggled against the chains, but his brute strength was nothing against the magic and wards of the Night Court. Without whatever magic Koschei had given him to sneak into our city he was helpless. Our prisoner. Completely under our power, and I smiled at the thought. He thought our court was weak, defenseless, that he could sneak in and steal me, it’s High Lady, away.

Tamlin eyed the knife in my hand and opened his mouth to speak.

“You don’t get to speak” I said, toying with the knife “You thought any of this would get me back. You think Rhys and I wouldn’t have fought everything to ensure our son’s safety.”

I took a step closer to him, he still had his mouth open like a gapping fish.

“You’re a monster, the same beast that came through my door years ago” I said “But worse, you’re a traitor. You would betray and backstab anyone if you got your way. No matter who it hurt, no matter if I wanted you back or not. All you care about is yourself.”

Tamlin struggled against the chains, and his mouth kept opening and closing, unable to form words.

“You hurt everyone you ever touch” I said thinking of Lucien’s bruises, of my sisters coming out of the cauldron, Rhys’ mother and sister, my own suffering at his hands. I drew closer to him “I told you once if you tried to take me from my family, if you tried to take me from my mate I would destroy you. You didn’t listen, and I did.”

My hands began to sweat, and I put the knife up to his heart. Not touching, not yet.

“But I left you alive then, and I had hoped you would have learned a lesson. Instead, you tried to kidnap my son, my child in some demented plan to get me back.” The knife was now touching his chest, not yet drawing blood. Tamlin’s eyes shot downwards, and back up at mine. Fear, terror, horror was what I saw in them. Good. I wanted that.

“Did you think I would let you get away with it?” I asked rhetorically. I pushed the knife deeper, just enough to scratch. “You probably thought it would be Rhys doing this and he would have if I had wanted it that way. But I want to do this, I want you to know the monster I am willing to become to save my family.”

Again, he opened his mouth, and I could tell he was pleading. I had no mercy, no mercy in my veins for him. He had done enough, and I would happily become a monster to ensure he never harmed another soul.

I pulled the knife back and then jammed it in his heart. Blood poured out of him and onto my hand. Tamlin looked down to knife in his heart, to my hand covered in blood, shock was all over my face.

“I hope wherever you end up next it is nothing but misery. You don’t deserve a happy ending, or my mercy.”

I stood there, holding the knife in his chest, allowing the blood to flow over me. I pulled the knife out once the life left Tamlin’s eyes. His dead body was the only reminder of him in the room. I collapsed on the dungeon floor.

Within seconds Rhys was on the dirty floor with me, and I couldn’t help but let out a flood of tears. Not tears of grief, never grief for a man who had only caused me harm. The tears were of both relief and fear. Tamlin might be gone, but Nyx, the baby I had nearly died for, was in danger.

“Koschei wants him” I said terror shaking my body. “He won’t stop until he has him”

I let Rhys embrace me and he kissed my forehead through the bond said:

He didn’t succeed, and Koschei will never take our son. We won’t allow it.

“I know, I know” I muttered back, if we had another battle to face so be it.

[the-pinstriped-hood]

Fruitful Moon Pt. 2

Here is part two to the interesting new saga of an old west supernatural love story! Once again Darrell Todd belongs to @bluecoolr

The maids at the manor were all shocked to find the blonde carrying their lady up the steps towards the house. "Sir, may I ask what happened?" One of them asked.

Darrell snorted, "Wolf attack." Darrell half lied. " A whole bunch of 'em. Took down the carriage, the driver and the horses. Little one fell asleep in my arms just as we were crossin' into town."

The stranger handed the girl over who was quickly rushed inside by her handmaid's just as the sun began to rise. Back down the steps and back out the wrought iron gate, Darrell headed back into camp. He was sure the rest of the pack had found the wreckage and salvaged it. Now it was up to him to keep the vampire quiet.

The camp, a few miles out of town, was busy with activity. Going through trunks and suitcases of the coach's things.

One of the younger bandits approached Darrell.

"Boss, we found the coachman and the horses but, where was the passenger?"

Darrell pursed his lips. "Had to take her back to town. Had she not made it, there would have been a ruckus I'm sure. Don't worry, I'll keep her quiet."

The pair made it into the tent as some of Darrell's other men had been looking over the valuables. "This lady was loaded! Gold and-"

The bandit gestured to the pile of silver things in the corner. "We can still sell it…"

"Is it legitimate?" Darrell asked, sitting down.

The bandits grumbled, showing their hands, covered in small burns from the contact. "Yeah, it's legit, Boss."

The head Lycan sat back, a pleased smile across his face. "Good. Then get to sellin'. The quicker we make our payday, the better. Don't want anybody to know we orchestrated this. Specifically not the girl."

The others stopped. "What'cha gonna do to her boss? Kidnap her and hold her ransom? Bet she's worth a lot with all the trinkets she had.."

Darrell picked up a stray stuffed animal in the shape of a dog, the tag on it read 'if lost please return to Claudia Grey'. "Nope. I got a better idea, you just leave little miss Claudia, to me." With a wicked smile on his lips.

Days later, Claudia had been awoken by a knock at her door. "Miss Grey? Are you awake?" One of her handmaids asked.

The vampiress stirred in her bed, black hair falling over her shoulders as she slowly sat up. Groggily yawning. "I-im awake…come in…."

More yawning as Juliet, Claudia's personal handmaid walked in quickly. "We were all so worried about you, that blonde haired stranger told us you had been under attack and the only one to survive! Oh how frightful!"

Claudia heard the curtains being pulled away as it was finally dusk. She yawned, her charming fangs flickering in the candlelight. "How long have I been out…?"

"Two days, dear." Juliet helped her lady up and out of her bed. "How do you feel? Hungry, thirsty?"

"Do we have any orange juice?"

"Fresh squeezed just this evening. Would you like me to fetch you a pitcher, dear?"

"Yes please!"

"Precilla will run you a bath and help you get clean. Dinner will be ready soon."

Juliet looked at her ward. Poor young thing, only 100 years old and blind as a bat.

She and her fellow handmaids were the first to arrive as soon as the house had finished construction. They were to make sure that the Lord and Lady Grey's daughter, Claudia lived in comfort. A young lady like her wasn't ready for so much excitement.

Claudia was gently led into the bathroom and stripped of her nightgown, being helped into the warm bath which felt nice.

"The man who brought me home. Who was he?"

Precilla stirred the cauldron which held the boiling water if her ward needed it.

"Nobody knows. He was a blonde haired man, thick accent but unfortunately did not give his name."

The vampiress silently wondered if she'd ever see her assailant/savior again. She wanted to ask him why she had been spared when he was rather keen on killing her. What gave him pause?

"Dear? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Precilla. Thank you for your help, I'll ring my bell when I need you…" Claudia gave a small smile and sat back in the copper basin, going under for just a little while.

Tag: @slaasherslut @rottent33th @slasherscrybaby @kalid-raven @probably-a-plant-thing @damien-mlm @angxlslasher @soupbabe @6lostgirl6

[navybrat817]

Visible Mark - Part 3

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Steve Rogers x Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Female Reader x Steve Rogers Summary: Being Bucky and Steve’s best girl feels too good to be true. Word Count: Over 4.9k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, groping, dirty talk, tension, feels, possessive behavior, slight angst, minor harassment, tattooed Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers (they’re warnings, okay?) A/N: Welcome to the next part of my tattoo AU! This is follow up to Visible Mark Part 2 and the end of Phase 2! Beta read by the wonderful @whisperlullaby ​, but any and all mistakes are my own. Thank you, lovely! Banner created by yours truly, but Bucky and Steve photos were provided by the talented @nix-akimbo ! This AU wouldn’t exist without them. And divider by the beautiful @firefly-graphics !

I have discontinued my tag list. Please follow my sideblog @navybrat817-sideblog ​​ and turn on notifications to see new fics! I will only post fics, writing schedule and updates there.

I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here or archiveofourown under my same username, it has been reposted without my permission. 18+ Please!!! By reading this, you agree that you are at least 18 years old. Enjoy, lovelies!

You glanced at your phone as you pushed your cart down the aisle, checking an item off your shopping list. You somehow managed to sneak out early to get groceries. It wasn’t easy considering that your boyfriends traded off cuddles. Seriously, how did they manage to keep you in an octopus hold through the night? And how were they always so warm?

Smiling to yourself, you stopped to grab a couple of bags of chips. You made sure to get their favorite flavors. They were always thinking of you and you wanted to do the same for them. You knew the inevitable phone call with Peggy was coming, but you wanted to go about your day like normal and not let your imagination run wild. Before you could push your cart forward, you heard someone whistle behind you.

“Well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

You turned around, a tight smile on your face as you saw Grant Ward and Billy Russo. They didn’t bother to hide that they checked you out, which made your skin crawl. The two of them always gave you bad vibes when you managed to see them. “Yeah. Fancy seeing someone at a grocery store,” you said, turning back to walk away.

“What’s the rush?” Billy asked as they followed.

“I don’t like to mingle in the aisles,” you replied.

“Surprised you’re out by yourself. Don’t you have Bucky and Steve attached at your hips now?” Grant chimed in.

Sighing, you stopped when Billy quickly walked around to the front of your cart. “Contrary to popular belief, they do let me out on my own,” you said sarcastically.

“Shit. So you really are fucking both of them?” Billy questioned, a dark smirk forming on his face as he leaned on the cart. You stiffened when you felt Grant right behind you, keeping your mouth shut tight. 

“Always thought you were sort of innocent. Never pegged you as a slut," he whispered in your ear.

You inhaled sharply, the word making you feel cheap and dirty. Was that how people in town saw you? A little slut who wasn’t satisfied with one man? No. The people who cared, who mattered, supported you.

“If that’s what you’re into, we can show you a good time,” Billy leered, licking his lips.

You lifted your chin, refusing to let them demean you. "I'm not a slut. I’m their slut. Now get the hell out of my way.”

“I don’t think that’s what you really want,” Grant chuckled, brushing his fingers along your neck.

You were two seconds away from throwing your elbow back when you heard someone storm down the aisle. You felt Grant pull away and you wanted to burn the spot where he touched you. Billy instantly let go of the cart as well, his hands up as he backed away. You saw Thor come into view, meeting your gaze. The enormous blonde looked furious to see the other men so close to you. His brother, Loki, was close behind and looked bored as he took in the scene.

“Thor. Buddy. We don’t want any trouble,” Grant tried to placate.

“What is the meaning of this?” Thor asked, clapping a hand on his shoulder to push him further away from you.

“'What is the meaning of this?' What century are you in?” Billy mocked before the blonde swung his thunderous stare his way. “Lighten up. We were just talking.”

“Somehow I doubt you two are good conversationalists,” Loki said, looking at his brother. “But is this any of our business?”

“It is and it doesn’t look like she wants to talk to them,” Thor snapped, his gaze considerably softer as he looked at you. “Do you wish to speak to them?” 

“They called me a slut. So… no, I don’t,” you answered confidently, mentally smirking when you saw Grant’s smile fall. 

Loki looked more interested in the conversation now. “Did they? You two insulted the lady because…”

“She’s fucking Bucky and Steve. Is she fucking you, too? If she spreads her legs for those pricks, we figured-”

You gasped when Thor stepped forward and grabbed Grant by his collar. Did everyone forget they were in a grocery store? You didn’t want to be the cause of a fight. 

“As entertaining as that would be, I wouldn’t,” Loki warned Billy when he moved to intervene. 

“The next and only word out of your mouth will be an apology,” Thor ordered.

“Sorry,” Grant said through his teeth after a moment. 

You nodded, not wanting to drag it out or make a big deal out of it. 

“I better not see you bothering her again,” Thor said, letting Grant go. “Finish your shopping later. Consider yourself lucky that Barnes and Rogers weren’t here.”

“This isn’t over,” Grant whispered as he walked past you. Billy winked as he joined him, leaving you alone in the aisle with Thor and Loki. It took a moment to realize you were shaking. Was it anger? Disgust?

“Are you alright?” Thor gently asked.

You nodded quickly. “I’m fine. That was just… unexpected,” you said as evenly as possible, though you weren’t sure how you felt. Grant and Billy hardly ever talked to you, but their intentions were pretty clear.

“We can wait and walk you out,” Thor offered, ignoring Loki as he rolled his eyes.

Your chest tightened as you nodded again. “I’d appreciate that. I’m actually grabbing a few things to make for your party.”

“I’m glad you’ll be there and I’m sure whatever you make will be delicious,” he smiled.

You took your time walking through the rest of the store, much to Loki’s annoyance, as you listened to Thor tell a story about a recent tattoo he designed. He was so proud and animated as he spoke to you, like he was happy to have you as his audience. You found yourself much more relaxed by the time you went to pay. He even bagged the groceries for you as Loki checked the time. Similar to your boyfriends, the large blonde was a gentleman.

"Thanks again," you said as they walked you out.

"There is no need to thank us. Had it been my little one in there, Barnes and Rogers would have stepped in," Thor said, easily carrying your bags. "And I hope you do not take what they said to heart."

"I didn't," you tried to dismiss, glancing at Loki as he raised an eyebrow at you. He no longer looked annoyed as he studied you. 

"I do question your taste since you threw in your lot with Barnes and Rogers," Loki said softly. "But doing so did not give Ward and Russo the right to treat you as if you were beneath them. Because you are not."

The truth was, you weren't ashamed of your relationship, but it hurt that others thought they could reduce you to something less than what you were. "That means a lot, Loki."

"Do not tell anyone I said that. I do have a reputation to uphold."

"You have a reputation?" Thor deadpanned. 

You burst out laughing at Loki's expression. The pool party was going to be a blast.

"I'm gonna kill them," Bucky swore as he unloaded one of the bags.

"No, I'm gonna kill them," Steve corrected him, shutting the cupboard harder than normal.

"There's two of them. We can both kill them."

"Nat can help us hide the bodies."

"Sam can give us an alibi."

You sighed as you shut the fridge and turned to face them. Both of them were fuming, which was kind of adorable. You should have known Thor would let them know what happened before you go back. "You are not killing them. Though I wouldn't object to you holding them down and tattooing 'PRICK' across their foreheads."

The boys exchanged a look as your eyes went wide. "We could do that…" Bucky said seriously.

"I was kidding!" you said, wishing you kept your mouth shut because you wouldn't put it past them to actually try that.

"They can't just get away with calling you that," Steve said, running a hand through his hair. The agitated look on his face faded a bit when you went over and gave him a peck on the lips. "I'm serious, sweetheart. We won’t tolerate that."

"I get why you’re both angry. It upset me, too,” you told him as you took his hand. “But I’m not going to let you two start a fight over it.”

“But the fact that it upsets you is reason enough. If they say or try anything else…” Bucky stopped as you looked over your shoulder. You stood still for a moment when he clenched his metal hand before you moved, gently taking it in yours. Holding both of their hands seemed to anchor them almost as much as it did for you. 

“If they do… you have my permission to do anything that doesn’t get you sent to jail,” you conceded.

“Really?” Steve asked with a smirk. “Sweetheart, do you have a mean streak?”

“Only against people who hurt the ones I love,” you answered, letting them go to unpack the rest of the last bag. You knew Grant’s words hurt them as much as they hurt you, but you hoped they didn’t read into what you just said. You didn’t even want to read into that. It was still too soon. 

“Doll?” Bucky asked, reaching for your hand again when you finished.

“When are we calling Peggy? Now? I think we should call her now,” you said rapidly.

“Now?” Steve questioned.

“Yeah. Now is good,” you nodded, sidestepping them to leave the kitchen. You sighed as you walked to the living room. All the preaching about communication and you were closing yourself off for no reason, other than misplaced fear. Because what if something happened on this call? What if everything changed? 

“Hey,” Bucky said from behind you before you could sit, turning you to face him. You lifted your gaze to meet his, seeing a bit of fear behind his eyes as well. “You have me. You know that, right?”

Your throat went dry as you nodded. Bucky didn’t let just anyone in, but he trusted and cared for you enough to open up. That meant everything. “And you have me, too.”

He tipped your chin as he brushed his lips against yours. The infinite gentleness as he wrapped his other arm around you made your heart race faster. It was a nice distraction, even if it was temporary.

“You sure you want to call now?” Steve asked again, his phone in hand as Bucky broke the kiss.

“Trying to avoid it?” Bucky responded, taking a seat and pulling you into his lap.

“I’m not. I want to know what's going on,” Steve promised as he sat down, twisting and turning the device between his fingers. “I don’t know what to expect, but I’m just glad you’re both here.”

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else, punk,” Bucky swore.

It was an honor to witness the bond between them, especially in moments like this. Steve was vulnerable, even if he did his best not to let it show. And Bucky would never leave him alone like that. You wouldn’t either.

“Whatever she has to say…” Steve swallowed as he looked at you. You wanted to wrap your arms around him and assure him that you had him. And that he had you, too.

“We’ll figure it out together,” you smiled softly, hoping it would ease him. Because it was the truth. No matter what was said, even if everything did change, you didn’t want to give up on either of them.

Steve exhaled as he touched the screen, making sure to put the call on speaker as it began to ring. The sound taunted you and you felt Bucky tense a bit at the second ring until you ran a hand through his hair. All three of you were on edge as it kept ringing. After all of that, would she not answer?

“Hello?” 

You nearly gasped when you heard Peggy speak and it took everything in you not to answer. 

“Hi, Peggy,” Steve said after a beat.

You weren’t sure if he meant for it to be there, but you heard affection in his tone. Or maybe he was just being polite. You couldn’t hold that against him. Once upon a time, he was going to marry her.

“Hello, Steve. It’s… good to hear from you,” Peggy said and there was no mistaking the affection from her. It made you lean in closer to Bucky, but you gave Steve a small smile. 

“You kept calling. I owed it to you to call you back,” he pointed out, glancing at you as Bucky pulled you even closer. “But it isn’t just me here. Bucky’s here.”

“Peggy,” Bucky said as cordially as he could.

“James,” Peggy replied, some of the warmth gone. There was no lost love between them, clearly. “I don’t understand why-”

“-And our girlfriend.”

You thought the call dropped when a few seconds went by. Hearing Steve call you their girlfriend felt good. And the fact that he was upfront and unashamed, it felt even better.

“I apologize. Did you say our girlfriend?” she questioned and you wondered if she was judging her ex. 

“I did,” Steve said with pride. Why did that send a rush of unexpected heat through you? “Bucky and I are both seeing her.”

You quietly introduced yourself, even though she didn’t ask for your name.

“Hello," Peggy said politely enough, but you wished you could have seen her face to get a true read on her. Was she surprised? Hurt?  "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting to speak to anyone else. I… also wasn't expecting to hear that."

"I understand it may be a surprise, but whatever you have to say to me can be said to them. It isn’t to put you on the spot. I just don’t want any secrets between us.”

Peggy cleared her throat. “Why exactly did you think I called?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said quietly. “Can you tell me, please?”

“It’s Sharon, Steve. She’s sick.”

"Sharon?" you whispered.

“That’s her cousin,” Bucky whispered back. 

“She’s sick?” Steve repeated, sitting up straight. Worry filled his eyes and you didn’t blame him.

“Yes. It’s a long story, but she’s going to Metro-General for treatment. I’ll be moving just outside of town to help until she gets back on her feet.”

For the first time since the conversation began, there was a waver in Peggy’s voice. It sounded like she was on the verge of tears. It made you shift a bit in Bucky’s lap. It felt like you were suddenly intruding, even though Steve made it clear he wanted you to be there. 

Steve ran a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Peggy. I had no idea.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. She's strong. Always has been. I simply didn’t want you to be surprised if you saw me in town soon since I’ll be there in less than a week.”

“If there’s… anything you need, will you let us know?” Steve offered. You weren’t sure if it was out of kindness or sympathy.

“Of course, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It isn’t an imposition,” Bucky chimed in, placing a soft kiss on your temple. 

“Thank you, James,” Peggy said. “And thank you, Steve.”

You leaned your head on Bucky’s shoulder, not paying attention as the conversation continued. Peggy’s cousin was sick. Peggy would be in town. You knew how vulnerable people could be when a loved one was ill. 

“...Thank you again, Steve. I’m thankful that you returned my call.”

"I’ll help however we can. As a friend,” Steve emphasized, which made you lift your head. The loving smile he gave you filled you with guilt. He was trying to assure you because that was the kind of man he was. 

“Of course. As a friend, yes. I… I should go for now. Goodbye, Steve.”

“Bye, Peggy.”

You slowly exhaled as you looked between Steve and Bucky. Both of them looked concerned, but also relieved. Had they feared the worst, too? 

“Steve, are you okay?” you asked, leaning over and placing your hand over his. 

“I think so,” he said, turning his hand over to hold yours properly. “I feel terrible for Sharon. She’s a good person.”

“She is. I hope she pulls through,” Bucky agreed. “You gonna be okay seeing Peggy around?” 

“I’ll be fine. I have you two,” Steve answered, gazing at you. “Are you okay?"

"I am," you swore, that guilt creeping in again. He should have been concerned with himself, not you. "I think we all feel better knowing what's going on. And it meant a lot that you told her who I was."

"Because I have nothing to hide," Steve swore. You believed him. 

"Are you worried about seeing her?" Bucky asked, kissing your temple again. 

"I have nothing to worry about," you assured them. 

"Thank you again for being here," Steve whispered.

You squeezed his hand as you leaned over, your kiss soft and deep as your lips touched. “Like Bucky said… we wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

“Damn it, Clint!” Mandy shrieked when he did a cannonball into the pool, splashing her and Natasha in the process.

Clint shook his hair out as he surfaced. “Did I hear you scream, Mandy? Nat, is that how she sounds when you’re between her-”

“-I will end you, Barton,” the redhead threatened, grabbing a towel to dry herself and Mandy off. 

You laughed as you sat on the edge of the pool, swirling your feet around in the water. Since the call, things felt lighter. Steve was more relaxed, even as he worried for Sharon. Bucky had an extra bounce in his step, knowing that things were secure and right. And the weather was perfect for the party.

“Thor, are you sure I can’t give you a hand?” you asked as he stood at the grill. 

Thor took a swig of his beer, pointing at you with the bottle. “You brought a small feast. What kind of host would I be if I made you cook more?”

You smiled sheepishly. The boys teased you for going overboard with the side dishes, but you wanted to do something nice after Thor stepped in to help you at the store. “Are you sure?” 

“You just soak up some sun,” Sam winked, going to help Thor. “Besides, your soldiers don’t want you to lift a finger.”

“My soldiers?” you repeated, leaning back on your hands. 

“Yeah, your soldiers. And you’re their captain. You tell them to jump and they’re already in the air,” Sam chuckled.

“How high am I jumping?” Bucky teased, carrying a plate of hot dogs and burgers over. Steve was right behind him with drinks in hand.

Dignity be damned, you almost fell into the pool when you got the full view of them. Both were in their swim trunks, their muscles and tattoos on full display under the sun. How did they manage to keep taking your breath away? Would there be any oxygen left in your lungs?

“So… everything is okay,” Natasha stated as she took a seat beside you.

“What?” you asked, your gaze still on your boyfriends as they stood at the grill. 

“Everything is okay,” she stated again, nudging you. “I know you talked to Peggy. And if it hadn’t gone well, I wouldn’t have expected you here.”

“Yeah. It’s okay,” you smiled as you pulled your gaze away. “I don’t know why I was so nervous. Actually, I know why, but it’s not like I had a right to feel that way.”

Nat shook her head a little. “Why do you do that?�� 

“Do what?” 

“Brush off your feelings like that?” she asked, nudging you again. “The two of them may share a brain cell, but you? You keep acting as if you’re not allowed to feel the way you do. Why?”

You swirled your feet again as you tried to piece together how you wanted to respond. “Because they keep showing me that I mean something to them and… I don’t want them to doubt that I’m the right girl for them.”

“You’ve really fallen for them, haven’t you?” Nat smiled to herself.

You glanced over at them again as they laughed at something that Sam said. Their smiles brought a smile to your own face. You could spend every day listening to those happy sounds and never grow tired of them. "I fell before they were mine."

“They make you happy, so let yourself have it.”

“I thought you and Mandy were going to stop assuring me,” you teased. “And speaking of… thank you for making her happy. She deserves it.”

Both of you turned your heads in time to see Mandy dunk Clint’s head under the water. “Yeah, she does,” Nat smirked, jumping in. “I should save his ass.”

You laughed as she swam over to help. She was right. Your feelings were valid and you deserved to be happy. And you had every right to have some fun, too.

Smirking to yourself, you stood up and waited until you knew Bucky and Steve looked your way. You slowly arched your back, stretching and closing your eyes as the sun rays hit you. After a moment, you opened your eyes and swayed your hips as you walked to the deeper end of the pool.

“Rogers! Watch it. You’ll burn it!” Loki snapped, making you smirk more. 

You knew your boyfriends had their eyes on you and only you as you stopped and stretched again. You pushed your chest out, enticing them, but you didn’t look their way.

“Barnes, move!” Loki snapped louder. “Thor, get them away from the grill!”

You finally looked over, seeing a bit of smoke rise from the grill. It gave your men a dangerous look as they stared at you. You blew them a kiss before you jumped in. The water felt good as it washed over you, making you smile as you surfaced. Two splashes nearby had your heart racing as your boyfriends rose from the water seconds later. Watching the droplets drip down their skin, you suddenly felt like prey instead of the siren.

“What are you doing, doll?” Bucky asked as he swam close to you. 

“Swimming,” you said sweetly, moving just out of his grip.

“You’re teasing us,” Steve corrected, nearly closing the distance in one stride. 

“I’m doing no such thing,” you smiled before Bucky moved behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“Yes, you are,” he whispered, gently biting down on your earlobe. “You’re driving us crazy. You didn’t let us have you this morning.”

“I was busy cooking,” you reminded him as Steve moved in front of you. 

“You’re not cooking now,” Steve pointed out, giving you a soft kiss. “You’re teasing us in that sexy two-piece. And you think you’re safe because our friends are here.”

“But here’s the thing,” Bucky whispered as Steve’s hand slid between your legs. “Our friends don’t care where we get you off… or when.”

Your eyes widened when your bikini bottoms were moved aside. Yeah, you were definitely the prey. And feeling those fingers slide along your folds, it wasn’t the pool making you wet. “Are you really…”

“Unless you don’t want us to. We never want you to be uncomfortable, sweetheart,” Steve swore. True to his word, his fingers went still. Bucky didn’t move a muscle either, simply keeping you warm between their bodies.

Your best friend was feet away, splashing around with her girlfriend. The others were lost in their own conversations. Hell, they knew you had the vibrating butterfly in the night of the poker game. Would this really be a stretch? “Please, don’t stop.”

“That’s our girl,” Steve murmured, gently sliding a finger into your wet channel. “You didn’t let me properly thank you for being there with us.”

“You don’t… fuck, need to thank me,” you protested as Bucky’s mouth moved to your neck. Your lips tingled, aching to feel Steve kiss you again. 

“Yes, I do. We both do,” Steve said, pushing his finger deep. 

“We’re demanding and you put up with us,” Bucky whispered, sliding a hand under your bikini top. Your lips parted in a gasp as he gently pinched and toyed with your nipple. It always felt so good with his metal hand.

Steve brushed his nose against yours as you gasped again. “We’re selfish for wanting you so much, but you make us insatiable. Fuck, you’re soaked. Have we been neglecting you?” 

You could only moan as he added another finger. Was it the thought of being outside that excited you? Or knowing that everyone would see what they already knew? That you belonged to them? Maybe that was what excited you the most… simply being their girl.

“No,” you whimpered as you squirmed, rocking your ass back against Bucky with desperation. How did they reduce you to a mess so quickly?

Bucky licked a slow stripe along your pulse up to your ear again. “Should we fuck you here? Let us take turns slipping our cocks in and out of you?” 

Steve kissed you deeply when you moaned, curling his fingers when his other hand went to your hip. With expert ease, he gently lifted and lowered you back down. Fuck, he was making you fuck yourself on his fingers. “Would you let us, sweetheart?” he breathed into your mouth. “I wonder how many times we’d make you come before anyone noticed.”

Your legs shook, your spirit trying to leave your body as you climbed higher. You’d let them fuck you all over Thor’s pool, deck, house, wherever they wanted. “I’ll let you wreck every hole.”

Bucky sputtered as he gripped your breast, Steve’s fingers stilling again as his eyes went wide. It felt good that you could surprise them. “Every hole, doll?”

“Every hole,” you moaned as Steve’s fingers moved along your walls again. “The question is… which one of you gets my tight ass first?”

“Jesus FUCK,” Bucky growled, a bit of water splashing around you as he rocked his hardness against your ass. “You can’t just say shit like that. We need a warning."

“Why not?” you whined when Steve brushed his thumb along your clit. You knew their cocks had to be aching for you and that rush of power was heady. “Don’t you want to fill me up?” 

Steve’s forehead met yours as his fingers moved relentlessly. The hard and deep thrusts almost matched how his cock felt. “Until we’re dripping out of you, sweetheart.” 

“You'll have to plug me,” you moaned, biting your lip. It was nearly impossible to hold back your sounds. You reveled in their touches, swearing that steam rose from the water from the fire that burned inside you. Your body wound tighter and tighter, gripping Steve’s arms as he nailed your g-spot.

“Tonight,” Bucky groaned with want. “Please. I need to feel that tight hole around every inch of me.”

“She didn’t say you’d get it first,” Steve growled.

“I… get to decide,” you managed to say as your head fell back. The pleasure built with such force as they practically bickered over who would ruin you first. You felt like you were in danger of exploding as you clenched around Steve’s fingers. “I’m… Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“Do it, doll. Soak his fingers like our good girl. You’ve more than earned it,” Bucky encouraged, pinching your nipple again.

You cried in ecstasy as you let it wash over you, giving yourself up to the pure feeling of being theirs. Your cunt clenched almost painfully as your wetness coated the thick fingers inside you. You couldn’t even writhe in their grasp, their arms effectively keeping you trapped and making you feel it all. It wasn’t just the coil breaking. It was set on fire, every nerve ending heated from the pleasure in your veins. 

“Almost came just from that sound,” Steve admitted as he slipped his fingers free.

You smiled as Bucky fixed your top, still feeling how hard he was as he held you. “Almost? I’m gonna be hard until I get to fuck you.”

You laughed breathlessly until you realized how quiet it was. “Um…” you trailed off as you peaked over Steve’s shoulder. Mandy, Natasha, and Clint were no longer in the pool. Sam was missing, too. Only Thor and Loki were still outside. 

“If you’re quite finished, how do you want your burgers?” Loki asked. 

Blood rushed to your cheeks before you smiled. “I think I have enough meat right here.”

Thor threw his head back as he laughed. “Rogers, Barnes. If you let her go, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Bucky promised, kissing your shoulder. 

“Not letting go, Thor. Find your own best girl,” Steve added. 

“I’m not letting go either,” you smiled, making no effort to move out of the water or their arms. You had nowhere else to be, except where they were. And the fear of falling in love with them? It faded more and more with each passing second because the future was bright. You deserved it.

Peggy smiled as she reached over, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind Briana’s ear. She was so beautiful. “I know the move won’t be easy, but I’ll be right there. And I can’t wait for Steve to meet you. He’ll adore you.”

[eddiemunsonssoulmate]

Let's make this moment worth the while

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: You and JJ never liked each other. Kook vs Pogue. He annoys the shit out of you and yet you're trapped with him in the basement of the Cameron mansion.

Warnings: Smut, lowkey hate fuck

Available on: AO3

Part of: Passion lies in screams of ecstasytic dreams

This wasn’t something you had planned or expected.

Not at all.

He was standing in front of you, fuming with anger. His face had a hint of red, his jaw was locked tight and a strangled growl left his throat.

For a moment he looked almost feral there.

“Calm down, Maybank,” you said with an annoyed huffed, looking at the locked basement door above you. He acted like this was your fault when it was clearly his.

You could hear the music and voices from above.

A normal party at the Cameron mansion. Music, alcohol, drugs, Kooks and Pogues mingled together.

Just like in this small basement where Ward stored his wine. You had been here with Sarah a couple of times. You should have known she had planned something. The second you had entered the door to the mansion earlier, there had been this smug smile on her lips but she wouldn’t tell you why.

And now here you were with the boy you hated with a burning passion. You knew the Pogues and got along with them okay-ish. Pope was the best one to deal with, you knew Kiara for quite some time, John B was okay, he was Sarah’s boyfriend after all but JJ? No fucking way. He was crazy, reckless, infuriating and for some reason, really hot when he did stupid things.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he growled back at you after a long moment and turned around, going up the stairs to knock against the door once more.

You could swear the music just turned up just a little bit louder.

“Fuck!” he yelled, slamming against the door with his fist one more time before going back downstairs.

“No reason to get so angry, Pogue. They’ll need new wine eventually.” You leaned back against an almost empty shelf with a sigh, shaking your head. This was stupid and had been planned.

‘Oh y/n, can you get some more wine? The bottle is already empty. There’s the Romanee Conti 1945 somewhere in the right corner, that would be amazing.’

You could still hear Sarah’s voice in your head, it had sounded strange earlier, way too sweet, way too nice and now you knew why.

“Why did they send you down anyway?” You tilted your head a little to the side and looked at the boy who had sat down on the steps of the stairs, glowering at you.

“Red cups but I don’t see them anywhere here,” he grumbled from where he was sitting. His comment made you laugh, which only made him glare more at you.

If he would have been here before, he would know there wouldn’t be a single red cup around. Probably John B’s idea to make up this ridiculous excuse.

You kept your words to yourself and sat down, leaning your head back against the shelf.

Silence wrapped itself around you two and you held his stare for a moment before looking to the ground.

You didn’t even know why you hated him so much or why he hated you the same way. Nothing bad had happened between you two when you met for the first time, Sarah introducing you to the Pogues. She was your best friend and wanted you to get along with her new friend group, which you did...except JJ.

His vibes just didn’t fit with yours, you guessed. Two different people from completely different lives. It should have been a normal dislike, a normal ‘We don’t get along’ but for some reason you just needed to see him and you got angry. His stupid smirk, the way his hair fell into his hair after the rain had poured down, the way his jaw clenched when someone made him angry, the way his throat bobbed briefly when someone mentioned his father.

“Fuck,” you mumbled under your breath, hating yourself for even noticing these little things about him. You didn’t even spend that much time together, barely knew anything about him and yet it felt like you already knew more than you wanted to know.

When you looked up you saw that he was still looking at you, leaning back on the stairs, his jaw still tight.

“What?” you snapped at him, not feeling comfortable with him staring at you the way he did.

“I’m just wondering,” he started and there was an edge in his voice that made you stand up the moment he did.

He walked toward you, coming to stop right in front of you, putting his hand on the shelf behind you, caging you in.

Your body tensed, you didn’t like this one bit. Men trying to get power over you was always a bad sign but you’d handle him. It was just Maybank after all.

“Wondering if this wasn’t your plan all along,” he finished his sentence, his face way too close to yours. You felt your cheeks redden a little bit, feeling the heat from his body.

You’d be a liar if you’d say he wasn’t attractive in his own, stupid way.

“Why would it be,” you hissed and put your hands on his chest, pushing him back a little, your jaw tightening when he stumbled back a little. “Do you think I enjoy being here with you in this small ass basement? Tourist girls might swoon over you and you think you’re the greatest around these parts but I’m not one of them.”

A smirk appeared on his lips and he took a step forward again, once again invading your personal space.

“At least they have a good time,” he said with a chuckle and you rolled your eyes, turning your head so you wouldn’t have to look at him.

You knew the stories about him. Picking up tourist girls, sometimes two at a time, spending the night together and then never seeing them again.

“Yeah that’s what they think because they’ve got nothing to compare,” you huffed out, arms folding over your chest. From the corner of your eye you saw his body going a little tense, knowing you’ve hit his ego with what you’ve just said.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about anyway,” he suddenly replied with a shrug. “Not like you know what’s down there.”

You couldn’t help yourself but look back at him, looking right at his stupid grin. Your look turned into a glare which only made him grin more.

“God, you’re really getting off at making me angry.” You threw your hands up in the air, wanting to go around him to slam your fist against the door yourself but he blocked your way.

“Let me through, Maybank,” you hissed in anger but he once again put his hands up on the shelf behind you, caging you with his full body.

“Maybe I do.” His voice wasn’t low and had something in it that you couldn’t quite place. “But I know you do too.”

He would not win this, not with this smug grin on his lips.

His body was pressing more against yours, his leg between yours, his face only inches away.

You couldn’t stop the heat that was starting to pool between your legs. Fuck. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction but the way he stood here, so close with no one else around, his heat radiating off his body, his face so close.

“You might be right,” you suddenly blurted out without thinking and wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him into an aggressive kiss.

JJ gasped in surprise as if he didn’t expect to get this reaction out of you but answered to the kiss with the same aggression.

The kiss involved a lot of biting and nibbling, two people trying to dominate the other only to pull back for a breath at the same time.

His eyes had darkened, his lips were swollen but it only took him a moment to recover.

He put his hands under you, lifting you up against the shelf behind you, pressing your back into the old wood while you wrapped your legs around him.

What a fucking bastard.

Now this felt more like this was his plan after all but who were you to deny getting the sexual tension and hatred out for once.

You started to fumble between the two of you, trying to rid the both of you of your pants. His slipped down easily, just swim trunks and boxer shorts but you had at least tried to look good here.

He noticed your struggle and put you down for a moment so you could push your pants down, kicking them off. You were about to pull your knickers down too but he already hoisted you back up.

“What the fuck,” you whispered in surprise but your legs wrapped around him already.

“Might need to dress quickly if they decide to check on us. Wouldn’t want them to find us like this,” he growled against your lips and you huffed. He initiated this and now he didn’t want to be found like this? Bastard.

“Yeah, probably for the better,” you agreed and kissed him again, your lips almost hurting already from the vicious way you two attacked each other.

The blonde boy shifted a little, moved his hips while holding you tight and with a swift movement, he had moved your knickers aside and slipped inside of you.

You moaned into the kiss which he only took as an invite to push his tongue inside once again while he filled you to the brink.

The tourist gossip was no lie. He was indeed quite packing, you felt the sweet stretch, the balance between pain and pleasure. He wasn’t ripping you apart but you were also feeling quite a bit of filling.

You moved your arms up to hold up on the shelf behind you, the wood digging into your back when he started to thrust into you. It was as if he wanted you to feel how much he despised you, every push on his hips forceful and almost bruising but you didn’t mind. You wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

You could feel your tits swinging quite a bit, only dressed with a bikini and a small top above while he kept up his merciless pace.

For some reason you hadn’t thought about him having that much strength to hold you up and push inside of you with that much force.

Not that you had thought about him doing this to you before. Not at all.

A groan left your throat in frustration when you realized that you were too good at lying to yourself when it came to him. Another groan followed when he hoisted you up a little bit more, almost letting you fall back on his dick, hitting the sweet spot that made you see stars.

“Fuck, you feel better than expected,” he growled and leaned forward to kiss your neck, leaving small bites. Not biting hard enough to bruise but so that you would feel them for the time you were in here.

“You expected this?” you asked with a smug tone in your voice but your only answer was another deep, painful thrust inside of you that made your back arch forward.

He had anticipated this, thought about it like you did but he was very angry about it. Seems like you two were not so different when it came to that. Two sides of a coin, maybe.

His bruised lips kissed and nibbled across the soft skin on your neck and shoulder, his hardness tickling your insides the right way.

Your moans filled the small room, the air getting more heated and sticky but thankfully the music above was way louder than the two of you.

This would be your secret. No one needed to know this. You would go out of here later as if nothing had happened.

Your breath got short and irregular, it was feeling as if he was thrusting the air right out of your lungs with the pace he had picked. He clearly had experience doing this. You hated thinking about it.

One of your hands sneaked between the two of you, rubbing against the bundle of nerves, only driving you higher up, your mind fogging.

A growl left his throat when he noticed what you were doing and you could swear he was only forcing himself in harder, deeper and even faster. It was brutal and you were sure he would leave bruises over your body.

The way his hand gripped your hips hurt, the shelf pressing into you, his hips snapping against yours.

Your body started to twitch when you came closer and you were almost falling when you heard his voice. “Don’t you dare to finish before me.” It was almost a feral growl that spoke, not really sounding him like. He was out of breath, sweaty and almost desperate to spill his seed inside of you.

Normally you would have done it anyway, who was he to tell you what you had to do? But this time, you stopped listening to him. Something about his attitude towards you in this moment made you listen to him.

You hated it.

Then you moved your hand up to his face, the two fingers you had used to rub yourself running along his cheek before tapping it against his lips.

He glowered at you before opening his mouth, taking your fingers inside and swirling his tongue around them, licking your wetness off them without stopping to look at you.

You moaned at the obscenery in front of you and a low moan left your mouth. His body was twitching around you and you could start to feel yourself apart.

“Now come,” he whispered around your fingers, still licking them more tenderly than expected.

He pulled almost out completely, leaving you empty and whimpering for a moment before pushing back inside of you in one long, brutal movement, making you see stars as you fell apart around him.

You didn’t hear how a few bottles fell from the shelf, shatting beside you, all you could hear was a loud moan filling the room and you could feel yourself blushing when you realized it was yours.

He gasped and growled when he felt how your walls were clenching around him and soon enough you felt the hot cum spilling inside of you. It was warm and comfortable and you hated that you felt this way.

JJ leaned forward briefly, putting his forehead against yours before letting you back to the ground.

You almost fell forward, not able to stand, your legs shaking from the brutal abuse your body just had to deal with.

You’d be a liar if you didn’t say you loved every second of it.

“We made a mess,” you mumbled when you finally saw the broken bottles on the ground. Ward had stored so much expensive wine here, this would at least be 500 bucks or above. Not that you cared, you didn’t like this man. “We did, especially you,” he chuckled and you turned your head to glare at him but he was just pointing at his dick that was dripping with your wetness, following the drops of cum, sweat and your own juice down to the ground where you could also see a wet spot.

Your face turned crimson red from embarrassment and you looked away, trying to straighten your knickers only to realize that his cum would drip right into them when you kept them on now.

You shot him a glare and he seemed to know exactly what you meant because that smug grin was back on his lips, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I fucking hate you,” you groaned and picked up your pants, already feeling how his seed was dripping out of you and into the fabric of your panties.

“I know you do. Felt good though but then again, it never happened, right?” he asked with a shrug before putting his pants back on too.

Right when you two were dressed again and you were about to reply to him, the door opened and you saw Sarah and John B standing there.

“Oh there you are! I was looking for you!” Sarah said and walked down to you, wrapping you into a hug only to pull back and look at you with a knowing grin.

It was hard not to know. The small room smelled of sex, sweat and wine, your hair was a mess, your lips bruised. It took one look of someone with three brain cells to know what had happened here.

You glared at her. “I didn’t find the wine,” you said and she laughed, walking up the stairs with you.

“That’s fine, it seems like you’ve found something else,” your friend replied with a snicker and you groaned at her, shaking your head but couldn’t help but laugh.

[outer-bnks]

Two Burning Hearts Are Dared to Break (JJ X OC) Ch. 11

Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

The Pogues get a surprise visit from Agent Bratcher, causing tensions to rise in the group. JJ exposing Elle and Topper’s budding romance doesn’t help either.

Warning: swearing, brief mention of death

Word count: 1.5k

“This is so messed up”, JJ sighed, keeping his eyes down to the ground, shaking it in disbelief.

The Pogues silence that followed allowed them to mull over the possibilities of what could happen with their ongoing police investigation, before it was broken by knocking, Elle removing herself from the living room to answer it. 

Opening the door she froze, coming face to face with Agent Bratcher. He took in her reaction, looking over her shoulder, “Hi, I’m Agent Bratcher of the SBI. I’m investigating the disappearance of John Booker Routledge and Sarah Cameron. I believe you and your friends may have some information that could help me.”

He definitely had come to the right place. Crossing her arms over her chest, she felt her heartbeat begin to quicken as a wave of anxiety washed over her. They had already given their statements to Deputy Shoupe, did they really have to recount the occurrences of this Summer again. “We can’t speak to you without a lawyer present sir, sorry to disappoint”, she spoke with confidence, hoping that it was enough to create a facade that he wouldn’t be able to see through. 

Hearing footsteps approach her from behind she was soon joined by the others, relieved that she had some backup. “All due respect Agent, but it’s best if you leave”, JJ spoke, stepping in front of Elle and sizing up Agent Bratcher. 

“I know you kids are going through a lot right now and the last thing you want to do is answer more questions regarding what’s happened,”,a look of genuine sympathy was displayed before it was replaced by seriousness, “but I think there’s more to the story than anyone is letting on”.

“We’ve already given our statements to Shoupe, there’s nothing more to say”.

“Look, between us, I think Shoupe is… overlooking some aspects that I would like to dive deeper into”, JJ turned to the others standing behind him, biting his lip whilst silently asking him with his eyes what Bratcher was talking about.

Bratcher took their curious faces as his signal to carry on. “The day of the storm, Sarah came to the SBI tents very aggravated… hysterical almost. It looked like she had been crying, she had a very anxious energy to her. But her father brushed it off as her recent diagnosis,”, he flipped through his pocket sized notebook searching before reading off, “Bipolar Disorder”.

Kie’s head flicked up from the ground that she had previously been staring at, confusion and surprise making her head fill with questions. Stepping forward between JJ and Elle she made sure she had Bratcher’s attention before speaking. “Sorry what? Bipolar Disorder?”, she turned her head to look at the others to confirm her own thoughts, “Sarah...wasn’t Bipolar.”

Bratcher shuffled on his feet, bringing his notebook down in front of his body before it was joined by his other hand, his eyebrows lifted at the news, eyes flitting from one Pogue to the other to check that they all thought the same.

“I’m sorry, I’m confused. Her Dad said that she had been recently diagnosed”.

“You really believe a thing Ward Cameron says? Come on man, you don’t need to be a detective to tell that he’s full of shit”, JJ expressed. Pope following that up with, “Wouldn’t that information be on her medical records sir?”.

Bratcher nodded, his eyes holding a pleading look as he skimmed over the Pogues once more. “Do you guys see why I need your help in this investigation now?” 

Based on the silence that followed his question, he realised that the group may need some more convincing. “Listen, you all knew these two probably better than anyone else on this planet, let alone this island. Every little insignificant piece of information you have about them could lead us to either finding them, solving the case, or both. I need you to do this, not for me, but for them. They would’ve done the same for you right?”

His emotional tactic seemed to work, the Pogues glancing at each other before once again silently reaching an agreement. JJ stepped to the side, his arm outstretched to welcome the man into Elle’s house, “Come on in sir”.

---

“And then they were chased into that raging storm”, Pope finished. They had spent the past 2 hours in Elle’s living room describing the gold game and everything that occurred during their Summer, Agent Bratcher sipping on the tea Elle had prepared for him, in between jotting down notes on his pad. There were multiple instances where everyone had to hold back tears, when the memories of John B and Sarah became too painful.

“So that’s where the story ends?”, Bratcher enquired.

“Yep, forced into the storm by your men after being falsely accused of murdering Sheriff Peterkin”, JJ snapped sarcastically.

“So why didn’t anyone tell the police, try and clear John B’s name?”.

“Were you not fucking listening? We tried, and no one believed us. No one will ever believe us because we’re scum from the poor side of the Island”.

Bratcher maintained his gaze on a disgruntled JJ, before turning to others. “Look guys, I know the tension is high right now and you’re all grieving. But I’m not the bad guy here. I just want to solve this case. I want to find out what really happened to Big John, Scooter Grubbs, the Sheriff and your friends. And it seems like you have the answers. If you can all trust me, I can get the justice you all deserve. That your friends deserve,” he paused, “aren’t you guys tired of fighting this on your own?”.

The group pondered on his words. They were. They were all so tired. 

Nodding his head, Pope spoke, “Yes, Agent Bratcher, we want justice, and we’re willing to do anything to get it”.

----

After another half hour of deconstructing the recent events, Bratcher decided it was time to leave. The Pogues all meeting in Elle’s living room, with solemn expressions, the exhaustion of the day catching up to them. 

Letting out a sarcastic chuckle, JJ was the first to interrupt their thoughts, “Well that went well”.

Elle shook her head, fed up with his attitude, “JJ you didn't need to be so rude, he’s trying to help”.

Rising from his seated position on her couch, his tone became even more sarcastic, using his hands to exaggerate his point, “Oh yeah really Elle? Why should we trust anyone!”.

“Because we don't have much of a choice anymore!” Elle exclaimed, “Sarah and John B are gone, and now we’re being held responsible for this shit show! You really think they would’ve let us take the fall if they were still here?”.

JJ and Elle were face to face now. “Don’t try to play the emotion card with me! You might be naive enough to spill our secrets to Kooks in hopes for some sympathy and attention but I’m not. The more we tell them, the more they have to pin on us!”.

Kie and Pope snapped their heads to Elle, JJ’s revelation clearly surprising them.

“Wait wait, hold on,” Pope stepped forward between the two, turning to Elle, “Who have you been talking to?”.

Frustrated, she ignored Pope’s question, “God JJ you’re blowing it out of proportion!”.

“You’re falling in love with a Kook but I’m blowing it out of proportion, yeah right”, JJ replied, running his hand through his hair and walking away from the argument to the other side of the room. If Elle was paying attention to the blonde boy she would realise that his reaction wasn’t truly one of anger, but rather hurt.

Kie stepped forward, taking JJ’s place, “I’m sorry, you’re what now?”, she spoke bewildered by the accusation.

Continuing to ignore the other two, Elle’s attention remained focused on the boy who had his back to her, staring out the ceiling to floor windows at the sun setting below the horizon. She walked closer to him, hoping to regain his attention. “Jesus JJ, I get asked on one date and all of a sudden I’m the enemy”.

Taking his cap off his head, he ran a hand through his hair, before taking a breath. Turning his head to the side to face Elle, he held her eye contact. She couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes. She’d seen him angry and upset before, but this was different. She had seen this emotion only a few times, trying to place a finger on what it usually meant. Suddenly, the emotion had disappeared, replaced with one of betrayal, “when that date is Topper Thornton then yes Elle, you are the enemy”. 

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[butterflies-dragons]

Just passed on my tl that post about Sam/satin/Sansa and that that anti reblogged your post to add that quote about willowy creatures 😭 and I have to remind myself that this is the same fandom who reads jon saying that only a monster would give a child to the flames something like that, followed by a daniela chapter where her dragon BURNS A CHILD and says “if they are monsters so am I” and still manages to believe jon will love this girl. But a willowy creature? Never.

Hello Anon,

This post? The ‘willowy creature’ quote was added to the original post (@istumpysk), they missed my addition I think...

They always use that quote to claim “Jon loves warrior women and ‘consequently’ he hates ladies.” That’s their "clever logic"... LOL

I wrote about the ‘willowy creature’ issue in this post:

Val

Repeat after me: Val is not a warrior woman. Again: Val is not a warrior woman. One more time: Val is not a warrior woman. If you don’t believe me, then read this:

However, in my own defense, I should note that Dalla was not a “warrior woman” per se. She was from a warrior culture, yes; one that gave women the right, but not the obligation, to be fighters. Ygritte was a warrior woman, as was (most conspicuously) the fearsome Harma Dogshead. Dalla and Val were not.

[Source]  

But you may say, ¿What about the “the warrior princess and the willowy creature that only brushes her hair” quote?

Well, as GRRM has stated many times, all his POVS are “Unreliable Narrators”. Being from a “warrior culture” doesn’t make you automatically a “warrior woman”.  But here is Jon Snow “deciding” that Val was a “warrior princess”. Once again, the contrast, the dichotomy in one single person: ¿A warrior like Arya, a princess like Sansa?  Not that Arya has ever fought in a war, but you get my point.  And Sansa was created following the princess archetype.  

I will show you one of my favorite Jon’s passages that will serve us to read “the warrior princess and the willowy creature that only brushes her hair” line with a better and more revealing light:

I call this passage the “Jon -It’s nothing special- Snow”.  Or as we say in Spanish when we can’t get what we really want: “Al cabo que ni quería”, that can be translated as “I didn’t even want it anyway”.  Let’s see:  

"Oh, I learn things everywhere I go.” The little man gestured up at the Wall with a gnarled black walking stick. “As I was saying … why is it that when one man builds a wall, the next man immediately needs to know what’s on the other side?” He cocked his head and looked at Jon with his curious mismatched eyes. “You do want to know what’s on the other side, don’t you?”

“It’s nothing special,” Jon said. He wanted to ride with Benjen Stark on his rangings, deep into the mysteries of the haunted forest, wanted to fight Mance Rayder’s wildlings and ward the realm against the Others, but it was better not to speak of the things you wanted. “The rangers say it’s just woods and mountains and frozen lakes, with lots of snow and ice.”

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

I mean… COME ON!  This is one of the most telling passages to know, to really know Jon’s true nature, and it’s very, very similar to the quote about “the warrior princess and the willowy creature that only brushes her hair”:  

They are all convinced she is a princess. Val looked the part and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

“Some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her.”  Nah, it’s nothing special, I didn’t even want it anyway, not for me, no.

“It’s nothing special,” Jon said. He wanted to ride with Benjen Stark on his rangings, deep into the mysteries of the haunted forest, wanted to fight Mance Rayder’s wildlings and ward the realm against the Others, but it was better not to speak of the things you wanted. “The rangers say it’s just woods and mountains and frozen lakes, with lots of snow and ice.”

Do I have to say more???

Actually, yes, I have.

Jon Snow does really want a lady.  Jon Snow does really want to be a knight and rescue a maiden.  Jon Snow does really want a lady to love and be loved back by her.  Here some evidence:

Jon Snow wished that his mother were a highborn lady: “Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind.”

Jon Snow wanted to be a hero like the Prince Aemon Dragonknight.  The same Prince Aemon that jousted in a tourney, won it, and crowned his sister and lady love “Queen of Love and Beauty”, something that is straight out from the courtly love book: “The Dragonknight once won a tourney as the Knight of Tears, so he could name his sister the queen of love and beauty in place of the king’s mistress”.    

Jon Snow tried to comfort Gilly with courtesy: “Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower.”  “That’s pretty.” He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her”.

Jon Snow put Ghost between Ygritte and him and remembers that knights put their swords between their ladies and themselves, something that is straight out from the courtly love book: “After that he had taken to using Ghost to keep her away. Old Nan used to tell stories about knights and their ladies who would sleep in a single bed with a blade between them for honor’s sake, but he thought this must be the first time where a direwolf took the place of the sword”.

Jon Snow imagined romancing Ygritte as if she were a lady: “If I could show her Winterfell … give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us”.

Jon Snow wished for a domestic life in Winterfell, with his wife and children: I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. […] I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister’s son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly’s boy as well. […] Mance’s son and Craster’s would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb. He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily”.

Jon is a romantic that called his mare “sweet lady”.

Jon Snow closer friends in the Night’s Watch are Samwell Tarly and satin, they are literally male!Sansas.

Jon remembers fondly Sansa’s more feminine and ladylike traits: her romantic nature, her courtesies, her singing.

It’s also worth to mention that, despite Val’s beauty and physical attractiveness, Jon Snow, once again, appreciates her being maternal and singing to Gilly’s son, but was turned off by Val saying she would kill Princess Shireen:  

“I have heard you singing to him.”

“I was singing to myself. Am I to blame if he listens?” A faint smile brushed her lips. “It makes him laugh. Oh, very well. He is a sweet little monster.”

“Monster?”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VIII

Once outside and well away from the queen’s men, Val gave vent to her wroth. “You lied about her beard. That one has more hair on her chin than I have between my legs. And the daughter … her face …”

“Greyscale.”

“The grey death is what we call it.”

“It is not always mortal in children.”

“North of the Wall it is. Hemlock is a sure cure, but a pillow or a blade will work as well. If I had given birth to that poor child, I would have given her the gift of mercy long ago.”

This was a Val that Jon had never seen before. “Princess Shireen is the queen’s only child.”

“I pity both of them. The child is not clean.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

Wait a minute! Val was “singing to herself” like Jon’s memory of Sansa “singing to herself” while brushing out Lady’s coat???

Where did Jon get this idea of “some willowy creature that only brushes her hair” from???  It could be from his half sister Sansa, a literal princess, now trapped in a tower, that always brushed her hair and even brushed out her direwolf’s fur???

“She had brushed out her long auburn hair until it shone” —Sansa

“Her thick auburn hair had been brushed until it shone.” —Eddard

I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. —Catelyn

He thought […] Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself. —Jon

And I also suspect that when Jon said this about Val:

Then Ghost emerged from between two trees, with Val beside him.

They look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

He was remembering another pretty girl, princess like, next to a direwolf, looking as though they belong together.

A young beautiful girl, that everyone considers a princess, next to a direwolf??? 

Val is a beautiful young woman, Sansa is a beautiful young maiden.

Val has long blonde hair the color of dark honey which she wears in a braid. Val actually take care of her hair, enough to braid it, like Sansa that always brushes it. And if you google “dark honey” hair color you will find a variety of reddish brown (auburn) and reddish blonde hair colors.    

Val has high sharp cheekbones, like Sansa.

Val’s eyes are pale grey or blue.  Again the grey/blue eyes pattern…  

Val is slender with a full bosom, like Sansa.

So?

Then Ghost emerged from between two trees, with Val beside him. […] It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself.

Think about it!

***

Thanks for your message ♡

[avengershumanresources]

blood 13 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, smut, adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 12 - part 14

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist  (Issue resolved! Enjoy!)

13 - a surprise

Considering the chaos outside, the castle was unnervingly silent. 

Not a single servant was to be seen. Doors were closed up tight, the valuables that once decorated the hallways had been removed, likely stored away for safekeeping. 

You never felt the castle so cold and lifeless before. Usually someone was fussing to and fro, a servant running food, a guard switching shifts, even Peter running through the halls laughing with Morgan on his heel. 

This felt like a shadow of your home. An empty husk of something once beautiful, now dead and gone. 

It wasn’t right. 

“It’s nice of you to join us,” a familiar voice commented from the shadows. 

Both Loki and Stephen’s hands ignited with magic, but Nat didn’t even flinch, her gaze boring you while you tried to keep your head down. 

“Wanda, you’re taller,” she noted with a nod. 

“I’m not Wanda,” you ignored the scowl from Stephen’s direction and pulled back the hood, glaring back defiantly. “I’m not lying to her. Not now.”

You didn’t add “not when we could all die tonight”. Though you were pretty sure the group understood your unspoken meaning. 

In adding to the list of things unusual and unnatural that day, Nat’s expression shifted from an unreadable mask to shock to genuine relief. 

“You’re alive,” she whispered, reaching forward and cradling your hands in hers. Never one for a hug or obvious intimacy, this was as close to affection as you knew you would get. “How?” 

“It’s a long story,” Loki cut in. “One that I am sure will be very interesting after we’ve secured the castle.”

His words seemed to snap Nat out of her awed daze and back into focus. Shaking her head, she pulled away and looked back to the men. 

“Why would you bring the princess here?” she backtracked. 

“I’m the secret weapon,” you whispered with a half smile. Nat shot you a look of puzzlement. You prayed there would be a time, later on, when you could explain the intricacies of it all. Perhaps then you would know even better yourself. 

For now, vagueness and secrecy would have to do. There simply wasn’t time. 

“Where can we find Amora?” Stephen went straight back to the point. You could tell he felt uneasy from the moment the three of you stepped foot back into the castle. He didn’t say why, but from the earlier decision to bring you to his demeanor now, there was something he was keeping to himself. “How many sorcerers does she have in the castle?”

Nat gave you a final once over, as if not entirely convinced you were real, before flicking her gaze to him. 

“There’s her and two others, a man and a woman,” she explained. “Both are former Kamar-Taj, or so the rumors have us believe. The others are outside the boundary of the castle ward. If you can truly get the barrier down, they’ll scatter.”

Your brows rose in surprise. That was even better than expected. Loki had quoted a number of at least a dozen.

“That means they’re more powerful, and loyal to Amora,” Loki translated when no one else seemed to share in your pleasant surprise. “But, assuming we still have the upper hand…”

“About that,” James rounded the corner, shirt covered in blood. He gave you a quick nod of acknowledgment, not even pausing to consider you’d essentially risen from the dead. “You need to move fast. Peter’s men are getting slaughtered out there. The wards need to come down now.”

“Gods James,” Nat reached for his chest where the blood seemed thickest and he waved her off. 

“It’s not mine,” he insisted quickly, twirling a dagger from his side and passing it to her. 

“Throne room,” Nat stated evenly a curt nod toward Stephen, and hurrying after James when he ran off toward one of the archery towers muttering about evening the odds.

“Wait for my signal, we are going to need to locate Obadiah and Rumlow,” Loki disappeared down one of the halls and you waited giving him time to scout ahead while Stephen covered your back. 

Ideally, Rumlow and Obadiah would be fighting with their men, but knowing the cowards they were, they probably had holed up with Amora or were nearby. Your full focus was absolutely necessary from this point forward.

Truly, it was life or death. 

“Do you remember the spell?” Stephen asked, his broad frame cloaking yours from behind as you rounded the corner near the throne room. 

Of course you remembered. You’d been mentally reciting it from the moment you left the grounds of Strange keep. This was one of the most important moments of the battle and you were going to let them down. 

“I remember,” you answered firmly. You could feel him behind you, still tense, still alert, despite your assurance. You had half a mind to ask him what was troubling him- 

A yelp of pain from the throne room had both you and Stephen sprinting toward the door. 

Stephen must have seen him first, as he caught you by the waist, pulling you to a stop before you collided with the current King Stark. 

“This is a surprise,” Obadiah blocked the doorway with his massive armored form. He took a swing in your direction, but Stephen moved faster. 

His hand ignited with golden light and he summoned a sword between his palms. Steadying himself, he started for your uncle, sword swinging and blocking the attack. 

“Go!”

Clashing with Obadiah’s weapon the men were singularly focused on one another. Stephen maneuvered to the side, pulling Obadiah with him- and out of the doorway. 

You didn’t need to be told twice. 

Slipping past, you stopped in your tracks when you saw Loki on the ground with Amora and one of her sorcerer accomplices using their full strength against the prince. 

For his part, he was holding up a strong defense, but you could see he’d been wounded and was faltering slightly. His attacks were less specific and with the bombardment of various spell, he was having difficulty keeping he up between the pair.

You quickly recited the words Loki taught you hours before, and pulled the amulet off your neck. Palm held up toward Amora, a blast of bright violet energy shot forward and threw the blonde enchantress against the wall. 

The other sorcerer balked in shock just long enough for Loki to gain the upper hand. He caught the sorcerer in a spell, throwing him across the room and against one of the walls with a definitive thud. You were certain he wasn’t going to be a problem again. 

“Here,” Loki took the amulet and further nullified its effects toward you, allowing your seidr the chance to fully expand. It was a risky move, considering both he and Stephen were also magic users and fully susceptible themselves, but the plan was to defeat Amora quickly. Get the wards down. Let Peter storm the castle and finish Brock. 

“Back from the dead?” Amora scoffed, crawling to her feet and sending a barrage of blasts toward you. 

Panicked, you mimicked Loki’s hand movements and a violet shield flew up in front of you, deflecting the attack. 

“That’s adorable,” she mocked, waving off Loki’s attacks and moving straight for you. “You don’t even know how to use it. You don’t deserve it. Look at you.”

Sure, you were fumbling a bit, but you didn’t need to know how to use it. You knew it was overwhelmingly more powerful than anything Amora threw in your direction, even if it wasn’t curated with specific spells and curses. 

It was a hurricane versus a summer breeze and no matter how much Amora taunted you, she knew it.  

Repeating your spell, you side stepped, doing your best to dodge or block her attacks. She was strong. Probably as strong as Stephen and Loki.

Amora tried to block your attack but the seidr cut through her shields, giving Loki a chance to slip through and cause some damage. 

“It’s over Amora,” Stephen announced, kicking Obadiah’s sword to the center of the room. 

“I’m not sure about that,” she smirked at something over your shoulder. 

A flicker of light caught the edge of Brock’s sword before he could swing it into your neck, and with that tiny warning, you ducked and rolled away, throwing a hand up in his direction with a blast of seidr. 

Brock dodged the attack, and just as you were preparing another spell, Amora hit you from the side. Brock was ready to take the final blow when Stephen intercepted with a glowing shield of gold over you. 

“Move!” he barked and you scrambled to your feet toward Loki, blasting Amora before she could get another shit in at the Asagardian.  

Amongst the chaos, your seidr was starting to creep free of your control. It edged toward the magic users and while you did your best to will it away from your companions, you knew that this prolonged fight wasn’t going to end well if it didn’t end soon. 

When you moved too close to Loki, the seidr snapped toward him and he recoiled. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, focusing the energy back toward Amora and sending another barrage of blasts in her direction. All the while, Stephen and Brock parried at the side, each trying to get the edge over the other.

Amora tried grabbing you with a spell that resembled a tendril, but fortunately Loki grabbed you by the waist and tackled you behind an overturned stone pillar. 

Immediately, he pulled away, hissing under his breath at the burn-like injury on his arms. 

“We need another strategy,” he murmured, catching his breath.

“We hit her with everything we’ve got?” you suggested. “Break her shields and I’ll move close range?” 

“If we can get her with a physical weapon, that’ll be it,” he agreed nodding. “Get is as close as you can and get her as weak as you can. I’ll follow up behind.”

With a curt nod, you leapt up and started throwing blasts of seidr toward the woman as quickly as you could conjure them. While she struggled to block your onslaught, Loki jumped in with his own attacks from the side. 

You moved closer, her magic more concentrated and powerful the closer you moved, but sure enough, your seidr starting reaching toward her. It cracked and sizzled against her magic, worming its way through her shields.

Amora’s eyes lit up in panic and as soon as one of your blasts shattered the shielding spell she’d been using. Her confident smirk was gone. 

She was finished.

“Please,” she choked out. “I can show you how to use this. How to conquer your powers…”

And though you hesitated, considering mercy, Loki had already moved with the stealthy lethality of a predator on prey. 

Amora couldn’t even muster a shout of surprise before she was dead, a dagger having severed the major artery in her neck. 

She dropped forward into a pool of her own blood, eyes wide in shock. 

And while you appreciated the temporary reprieve in fighting, it wasn’t the time to stand and stare at the gruesome scene. Loki quickly grabbed your wrist and pulled you away from one of Brock’s attacks, the king’s sword catching the edge of your sleeve.

“Amulet,” he hissed tersely, the seidr practically smothering him when he  pressed the object into your hand. Mumbling out the suppression spell, the seidr began to slowly recede. However, with the immense power having been fully released, it was now struggling to contain itself as effectively as it had previously, moving lazily back toward you.

“You lying little whore,” Brock sliced through the air toward Stephen, gaining an upper hand as the final sorceress under Amora blasted the Sorcerer Supreme from behind. 

“No!” you tried to move forward but Loki was holding you back. He threw up a shield between Stephen and Brock, moving toward the fight but not before murmuring very clear instructions into your ear. 

Stephen was running on fumes. His fight with Obadiah had taken far more out of him than he’d expected, and the seidr had practically drained him. 

They hadn’t accounted for the three leaders all being in the same area, and now with Amora’s final pupil battling it out with Loki, he worried their relief in defeating Amora would be short lived. 

Brock fought hard and fast. His moves were mostly offensive, though he covered himself well whenever Stephen tried to throw in an attack. 

His reputation on the battlefield certainly was not exaggerated. He was as lethal and brutal as all the stories and ballads told.

And though Stephen was a formidable fighter himself, it didn’t help that the seidr was still lingering. Even with his all, Stephen felt a little like he was flaying and only barely delaying the inevitable. 

“When I kill you and keep this kingdom for me own, I’ll make sure your head is displayed over our marriage bed,” Brock snarled, blades crossed while he pressed forward toward Stephen’s neck. “You can watch while I fill her and she grows plump with my heirs.”

Stephen saw red. 

He snapped forward, switching his footing and taking Brock slightly by surprise. Gaining the upper hand, Stephen moved confidently, using this extra surge of energy and rage to push Brock against a wall.  

He really should have seen that blast of light from the sorceress in his peripheral. 

Loki had stumbled slightly and the other woman took full advantage of the situation, throwing an attack toward Stephen just as Brock was going to give him a fatal blow. 

But Gods-

You jumped between him and the blade without second thought, and Stephen watched in horror as Brock’s sword dug into your chest. 

Everything seemed to moved in slow motion. 

Somewhere, Stephen knew he was yelling. He was moving to his feet to catch you. 

Brock grinned victoriously, moving to pull his sword free and continue his attack on Stephen. To finish it once and for all. 

But there was something else Stephen hadn’t noticed. 

He hadn’t noticed the Loki was standing over the defeated sorceress. 

That he’d long defeated her and that he had been, in fact, the one to blast Stephen off track. 

Nor did he notice that Obadiah’s blade was no longer on the ground. 

Rather- he didn’t notice until the point of the sword was protruding out of Brock’s chest.

“Wha…?” Brock choked, blood pouring out of his mouth. At his feet, your dead body fizzled away. An illusion. 

You had attacked the king from behind, having grabbed your uncle’s sword while everyone else was distracted. 

You killed King Brock Rumlow. 

Stephen’s vision adjusted. He was staring at you in awe while Brock dropped to the ground in a heap, sputtering a few final hateful words, not that anyone took notice.

Outside, the trio could hear the troops yelling as they charged the castle. Stephen was sure Peter and his men long past the walls and certainly by now, Tony’s troops had arrived and the final battles were being won. 

It was over. 

“I thought…” he finales stammered out. 

“And you called the illusions childish,” Loki blurted out, kicking Rumlow in the shoulder to confirm he was dead. “Remember that?” 

“You’re alive,” Stephen ignored the prince, eyes fixed on you. 

You looked just as surprised as he did. 

“I can’t believe that worked,” you finally managed to get out. “We… we did it.”

A glance around the room confirmed your success. 

It wasn’t a pretty sight, there was blood and gore, but it was over. You won. 

“I hope someone cleans this up before the coronation,” Loki scowled as some of Brock’s blood soiled the top of his boot. You looked between the two men, and with the shouts of victory outside the room, you laughed with relief. 

After a beat, the two men joined in. It was an almost hysteric sight, the three of you covered in dirt and grime and blood. 

Yet the feeling of success. Of victory. Of being alive- you couldn’t stop. 

Stephen crossed the space and pulled your shoulders forward, pressing a hungry, passionate kiss against your lips. You sank into him immediately, the adrenaline and seidr charging a spark in your chest that you couldn’t wait to explore later. 

“All right, that’s enough,” Loki grumbled. “We should reconvene. Tell the others.” 

Stephen pulled away and you wanted to pull him right back. But Loki was right. As usual. 

“Let’s go then,” you gestured impatiently toward the door and took a final look at the room. “Let’s share the good news.”

(--)

14 - a reunion

(--)

Note: If you look at the masterlist, you’ll see I have the story ending at Part 16! So, we’re getting close to the end, but there are still a few warm and fuzzies I have to add. <3 Thank you all for being so patient and wonderful through this journey! 

(--)

TAG LIST

@ayamenimthiriel @ladynothing

@im-a-bi-disaster-help @idkwhatthisislol

@bluefaeriefury @calsjack​ @strcwberrieswine​ 

[multifandomfanfiction]

Beauty and the Genius Chapter 1

TITLE: Beauty and the Genius Chapter 1 PAIRING: Spencer/OC RATING: T CHAPTER: 1/? SUMMARY: When David Rossi joins the team, so does his daughter Gwendolyn. But what happens when she and the resident genius start developing feelings for each other? How will it affect Rossi and Reid’s team dynamic?

[A/N - Updates to this will be sporadic because I’m only working on this until the inspiration hits me again for my Doctor Who fic. So we’ll see what happens with this.]

“Guys, he’s here!” Spencer said.

The new agent entered the BAU led by Strauss. A small brunette young woman followed after them.

“But who’s the girl?” Morgan asked, as Spencer took off his mask.

Spencer’s eyes met hers and she gave him a small smile. Spencer offered her a shy smile back as his cheeks turned pink.

Strauss, Rossi, and the girl made their way up to Hotch’s office. Strauss knocked on the open door. “Agent Hotchner,” she said, “I’m sure you remember…”

“Dave.” Hotch smiled and approached the older Italian man.

“How are you, Aaron?”

“I’m good. I’m great.”

The two men embraced.

“I would say so. You remember my daughter, Gwen?”

Gwen smiled. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Hotchner.”

“Oh, please. Call me Hotch,” he told her. He turned back to Rossi. “Saw you on TV last week. Can’t believe you want to come back here.”

The two men looked at Strauss.

“Well I’ll let the two of you catch up. If you need anything, I’m in my office.”

“Thanks,” Hotch said and Strauss left. “So how long has it been?”

“Dinner, almost three years. But the last time I was in the BAU, you were sharing a desk with two other agents in that god-awful bunker we were in.”

“I remember.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“Well there’s one just like this next door if you’re interested.”

A blonde woman entered the office. “I’m ready to give the briefing.”

“Agent Jareau, this is SSA David Rossi and his daughter Gwen,” Hotch introduced.

The blonde shook Rossi’s hand. “Hi. Everyone calls me JJ. It is such an honor to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Thank you. And what’s your function here?” Rossi asked.

“I’m the communications coordinator and liaison. Pretty much the go-between for the team and the rest of the world,” JJ explained, “So I’ll gather everyone.”

“We’ll be right there. Oh and JJ?”

“Yes sir?”

“Could you introduce Gwen to Penelope? Penelope will be helping her get settled in.”

JJ nodded. JJ shook Rossi’s hand again. “It is so nice to have you here, sir.”

“Great,” Rossi said.

Before Gwen left with JJ, she looked at her father who nodded. Gwen nodded back and followed JJ out.

JJ led her into a dark room. “Penelope…” JJ said.

Penelope stood up and immediately hugged Gwen. “You must be my new ward!”

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. Penelope, when you’re ready we’ll be in the conference room.”

“Sure thing Jayje!”

JJ left the room and Penelope stepped back to get a good look at Gwen. “Oh! My name’s Penelope Garcia, but you can call me anything you want Sugarplum!”

Penelope was a bubbly blonde with a pink streak in her hair. Her glasses were brightly colored, along with her entire outfit.

“Gwendolyn Rossi, but please call me Gwen,” Gwen told her.

“Rossi? As in Rossi Rossi?”

“Uh…yeah. He’s my dad.”

“You mean he’s your…”

Gwendolyn hushed her. “Please. Please don’t say anything to the rest of the team.”

“Woah. Of course I won’t say anything. It’s not something you should feel ashamed about or anything. It happens all the time.”

“I know…it’s just…it’s hard to explain.”

“Don’t fret mon ami. Now, I have to deliver this file to the team, which means I get to introduce you.” Penelope looped her arm in Gwen’s and they made their way up to the conference room. Penelope opened the door and found a bloody face looking back at her. Penelope immediately threw the file up to block her face. “Oh my god! What is that?”

Instead of being disgusted like Penelope, Gwen walked over to the table and picked up one of the pictures. “Interesting. Looks like a scalpel or something was used. There’s no way this could’ve been done by animals or anything.”

Everyone was looking at her.

“Um, hi,” Gwen said.

“Beauty and brains. Looks like you might have some competition, Pretty Boy,” Morgan quipped.

“Technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, this is SSA David Rossi,” Hotch introduced.

“Is it gone, JJ?” Penelope asked.

JJ hit a button on her remote and it disappeared.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re safe.” Penelope lowered the file. “Ok. Just to…um…Carrolton, Texas has nearly 117,000 residents. A diverse population with a…” She handed the file to Hotch. “It’s all in there. I’m sorry.” She turned to Rossi and shook his hand. “Very happy to meet you, sir. I’ll be in my office.”

Hotch cleared his throat and Gwen looked up from the picture. “Oh, sorry.” She put it down in front of the guy from the bullpen.

“Sugar cookies,” he muttered.

Gwen blushed and stood up.

“I’m so sorry! It’s just I smelled your perfume and…” he rambled.

Gwen giggled and said, “It’s okay. It’s my favorite. My dad bought it for me.”

Penelope grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the room. “Sorry. We’ll just…” Penelope shut the door and squealed. “Oh my god! You were totally flirting with Spencer!”

“I was not! I was just being nice.”

In the conference room, Rossi said, “She’s different.”

Hotch playfully shook his head. “You have no idea.”

“Okay, is someone gonna explain to me who the girl is?” Morgan asked.

“Gwendolyn Rossi,” Hotch said.

“Wait. Rossi?” Emily asked, looking at the man.

“My daughter,” Rossi said, his eyes on Spencer.

Oh god, Spencer wanted to die. Not only had he embarrassed himself in front of a pretty girl, but it just HAD to be his new co-worker’s daughter.

“She comes to use with a very different set of knowledge and skills,” Hotch said.

“What kind of knowledge?” Spencer asked.

“What kind of skills?” Morgan asked.

“In addition to being well trained in every firearm the FBI has license to use, she has extensive knowledge of the occult,” Hotch explained.

Morgan’s eyebrows nearly shot off his face. “The occult? Since when does the FBI investigate the occult?”

“We don’t…officially. She’s here in a consultant position.”

“If you can’t beat ‘em, hire ‘em,” Spencer said.

“And Strauss approved this?” Morgan asked. It sounded like nepotism to him.

To Spencer, she sounded like even more of a dream come true. She probably loved Halloween as much as he did.

Penelope helped Gwen get situated at her desk. It wasn’t quite in the bullpen, like the rest of the profilers, but off to the side. As Gwen was getting settled, a shadow appeared over her. She looked up and saw Spencer. “Oh, hey Spencer.”

“You…you know my name?” he asked.

Gwen laughed. “Penelope explained who everyone was.”

“Oh yeah. Right. Um, I was wondering if…”

“If…?”

Spencer took a deep breath and tried again. “Hotch said you study the occult.”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Is Halloween your favorite holiday?”

Gwen nodded. “Yeah. I love Halloween, although I prefer to celebrate it in its ancient form of Samhain.”

Spencer could feel his heart beating hard in his chest.

“Hey, maybe we could get together after this case is over and talk about it. Maybe get a drink.”

Spencer nodded enthusiastically, clutching the strap on his bag for dear life. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

“Okay. Then I’ll see you later then.”

“Yeah. Later.” Spencer turned around, his cheeks burning. He couldn’t wait to get home from this case.

[aries-rising-on-an-aquarius-tide]

Evocations: XIV (b)

Alexandra knew that she was being overly stubborn, even for herself, who normally operated at extremely stubborn as a default. She wasn't completely sure why, either. Why now? Why this case? Perhaps she was just determined to maintain a degree of normalcy as the days wound down towards the evening she had planned to propose.

Or, perhaps she simply couldn't handle it when evil men operated with impunity.

Either way, when Zapata and his attorney turned down the deal she'd been told to offer, Alex had refused another opportunity to drop the case. That night at home, she ducked out up to the roof to smoke, and to figure out her next move.

She was asking Olivia to marry her in two days. Counting the stars between drags, Alex wished fervently for luck to be on her side for just a little longer.

By the time she headed back downstairs, her high was pleasantly heavy, and calm. Liv had bought herself a new dress for the upcoming dinner, and Alex found her in the bathroom wearing it, trying out makeup and hairstyles to go with it. Alex leaned in the doorway, staring, smiling softly at the elegant brunette, who had styled her hair back away from her forehead. She was applying lipstick in the mirror, and there were silver and pearl drop earrings sparkling at her ears.

"What're you staring at?" Liv teased, blotting the lipstick and turning to face Alex.

The rest of my life, Alexandra thought to herself. She shrugged, stood up straighter. "The new dress is lovely." Then she chuckled at the indignant look that crossed Olivia's face. "Buut . . . " Alex drawled, stepping toward her, "it's nothing compared to the stunning brunette inside it."

Liv grinned, pointed to her face. "What do you think?"

"I think you're incredible." Alex pulled Liv by the waist against her and placed a kiss to her throat. "Can I take this dress off you, now?"

"Mmm," Liv hummed, flushing with goosebumps, "I think I could be persuaded," she giggled.

.

.

Tim Donovan was dead.

Alexandra was still shaking when she and Olivia locked their apartment door behind them, leaving their protective detail outside in the hall.

"I'm going to call and check on your mother," Liv told her.

Nodding faintly, Alex walked away down the hall toward their bedroom. Flicking on the light, she walked straight to the closet and leaned into its depths, reaching for the spot where she had hid the engagement ring. From the moment she had said, "No, I want to go home now," she had wanted to get the ring in her hand.

Her fingers closed over the ring box, small, solid, a tangible piece of her life as yet untouched by the Zapata case's violence.

Alex pocketed the ring box in her jacket, then wandered back out into the apartment, finally sitting on the sofa, where she let Sky High crawl into her lap. Olivia was checking the window locks one by one as she spoke with Darcie, and snippets of sentences would drift by where Alex sat:

"She's with me, now . . . yes, an armed guard. Twenty-four seven, yeah . . . "

Alex stroked Sky's fur, her ears still ringing from the bomb blast, the places where bruises would come in already aching warmly.

"Yes, I promise you she's fine. I'll have her call you in the morning. Ok. Love you, too, Darcie. Goodnight."

Olivia sat alongside Alex, and Sky excitedly jumped at her, trying to kiss her face. Liv stroked a hand over Alex's hair. "How are you doing?"

Alex just shook her head and looked at her hands, her eyes full with unshed tears.

"Let me run you a bath," Liv suggested softly.

"He had two kids, Olivia."

"This is not your fault, Alex."

"Bullshit it's not!" she choked out, "I could have dropped it half a dozen times in the last week!" Olivia took a breath to try again, but Alexandra was fully sobbing, so instead she folded her into her arms and let her cry, while Sky High sat with them, trying to help.

Bit by bit, Liv managed to get her to let her push her jacket from her shoulders, getting her up from the sofa and leading her in the direction of the bathroom.

She took a warm cloth to the grime and small cuts on her face and arms, before helping her strip off her clothes. In the bedroom, she kept one eye on Alex as they both put on pyjamas and then got into bed. Sky quietly curled up between their feet below.

"You're safe here," Liv told her softly, taking Alexandra's hand beneath the blankets.

But Alex was still thinking about how stubborn she had been every step of the way. About Donovan's sincere eyes as he told her he didn't want her to worry. Then Agent Hammond screaming at her, telling her she had been careless.

"Liv?" she whispered.

"Yes?"

"Can you hold me, please?"

Liv curled into the faintly trembling blonde, settling her weight onto her, giving her something to ground herself with. Alexandra's blue eyes stared into the darkness, wondering just how far they would fall before everything was all over.

In the living room, tossed over the back of the couch was her jacket, where deep in the pocket the pear-cut diamond ring waited to reflect the light.

.

.

"Alex, we can't always win," Elliot said gently.

"But that's just it. Even when we win, we don't."

To Olivia, it felt like they were having the Gardner case discussion, all over again. Except this time, the futility and the helplessness had magnified outward to the entire squad.

While Elliot went to settle the tab, Liv made another attempt to convince Alexandra to stay at 'her' place. In their two years together, Olivia had continued to insist on keeping her old apartment, and now she seemed to think it would be safer than the one they shared. Alex flatly refused, not willing to let the cartel take more from her than they already had.

In the pocket of the jacket she slung over her shoulder, the ring box was tucked away, burning a hole. They would have been at dinner right now, if the Special Victims Unit wasn't worried for her life. She could have been on one knee as they spoke, instead of heading out the door of the cop bar into the cool Fall night.

Soon, she told herself. She faced Olivia on the sidewalk, thinking of the dress that Liv would wear for the dinner, how she had stripped it from her and made breathless love.

Then there was the sound of bullets.

Then darkness.

Liv scrambled to Alexandra's still body. "Alex?No. No, no, no, no, no, no. No, no, no," she chanted the syllable again and again to ward off the nauseating panic. "Somebody call an ambulance! Call 911 now!" she screamed. She pushed down desperately on the bleeding wound, continuing to talk to her as though her voice could stop the bleeding.

"Alex? It's okay, Alex. Alex, look at me. It's okay, sweetie. Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me, Alex . . . " she begged, "They're coming right now. You're gonna be okay. Alex, you're gonna be okay. Look at me! You're gonna be just fine, you're gonna be just fine. Now, just stay with me." Olivia's breath was heaving into and from her lungs in hot, disbelieving pants as she continued to repeat herself, saying her name like it was the key to a prayer: "Alex, Alex, Alex, Alex. It's okay. Look at me!"

.

.

The night had become a kaleidoscope of colors: the ink black sky, the flash of red and blue lights, the white-hot panic in the center of Olivia's chest.

The crimson spill of Alex's hot blood between Liv's fingers and over her hands.

When Elliot finally pulled his partner up and away from Cabot's body to let the EMTs work on her, the world spun out from under her. She stumbled in his hold, and he quickly tightened his arms, holding her up.

They followed the ambulance to the hospital, where Alexandra was whisked off to a trauma room to where neither Elliot nor Olivia could follow. The two women were not legally bound in any decision-making sense, and it slammed a heavy door in the brunette's face.

Elliot called Kathy to tell her where he was, then stayed with Liv, sitting quietly on the hard plastic waiting room seats. His hope was that she would nod off and rest before there was any news, but Olivia was like a raging bull, alert and breathing rapidly as she paced the length of the seating over and over. Sometimes she gnawed at her fingers, other times she stopped as if she would be able to hear in the direction Alex had been taken if she strained hard enough.

After more than two hours had crawled past, a doctor came padding toward them silently. The question she asked when she stopped in front of the detectives was, "Does Ms. Cabot have any family?"

"Yes. Her parents," Liv answered immediately.

"We'll need their contact information," the doctor replied.

"She's our ADA, doctor," Elliot said, flashing his badge from his hip. "Can you tell us anything about her condition?"

The doctor's mouth pressed into a grim line, then said, "I'm sorry, but Ms. Cabot didn't survive her injuries."

The kaleidoscope turned, turned, turned again and Olivia dropped heavily onto the nearest seat. Blinking rapidly she fought off the feeling that she was going to faint, trying to focus on the sensation of her breathing.

She couldn't seem to feel her heart beating at all.

[princess-of-the-worlds]

So I watched Enola Holmes on Sunday, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how now with Burn in the movie, we’ve seen most of the cast in Victorian-type costumes. 

We have Burn in this movie. 

We have Barrowman in Fragments. (Ignore the sideburns.)

We have Eve Myles in The Unquiet Dead.

And we have Gareth in Warehouse 13. (And also apparently the Sherlock Holmes movie, but I’ve heard things about it, so we’ll ignore it.)

(Forgive, they’re the best gifs I can find right now, but it’s not really the point of this.)

So that just leaves Naoko. If she’s been in a movie or TV show that had her in a Victorian costume, feel free to let me know; I just personally haven’t seen or heard anything.

Anyways, my point is...Victorian Torchwood AU where the entire team is human? (Kudos to @ultraviolet-eucatastrophe​. I worked out most of this talking to her.)

Hear me out? (Keep in mind that I am neither British, well-versed in British history, or was alive in the 1800s. I’ve kept certain headcanons - like Tosh’s backstory - as vague yet historically possible as I can remember from school.)

This is set some time in the mid- to late nineteenth century/Victorian London.

Jack is like a Scottish lord or noble whose family moved to the US when he was young. After his dad and Gray died - and his mother succumbed to hysteria and became incapable of caring for him, he is left on his own as a teen and turns to crime. He becomes a con artist and thief and earns enough to board a ship to London when he is 19. In London, he meets fellow thief - and grifter - John Hart, and they become partners and lovers before falling out a few years later. Perhaps, Jack meets some mysterious leather-coated gentleman and his beautiful blond companion who, after an adventure, disappears but not before prompting Jack to try living on the legal side. He uses his criminal past and knowledge to consult for Scotland Yard.

Gwen is actually Gwyneth, and after the events of The Unquiet Dead, she blacked out instead of dying. The trauma fucked with most of her memories. She still remembers her name and adopts a variant of it - Gwen Cooper - before fleeing Cardiff for London where she works as a maid in many wealthy households. Her ability allows her to make premonitions that are always correct, and she is able to become a finder of lost items and people for which she is paid a small fee. She chalks this ability up to having keen sense rather than anything supernatural or Rift-related.

Tosh is the genius daughter of a wealthy Japanese businessman frequently visiting London. She spends time growing up sheltered between Japan and the British countryside but eventually grows a rebellious streak and runs away to London. Except she’s kidnapped by a band of men who originally want to sell her into prostitution until they realize how intelligent Tosh really is. They keep her captive for several months, forcing her to build them weapons.

Owen is born in the London slums but is ambitious and sharp enough to want to work his way out. He falls for a good woman, Katie, and eventually becomes a doctor, marrying Katie. They live happily for a few years until Katie dies of a seemingly incurable disease - actually an alien parasite. In his grief, Owen takes to drinking, gambling, and fighting and becomes a back alley doctor, growing a certain repute among the London criminals. One day, after one of their men is stabbed fatally in a fight, the same men who kidnapped Tosh kidnap Owen to operate on their man. Owen meets Tosh, and they bond over a few days. Meeting Owen gives Tosh the courage to finally facilitate the escape she had ben planning, and Owen and Tosh escape to freedom and hide in a flat near where Owen grew up, eventually falling in love.

Ianto belongs to a poor Welsh family and falls in love with Lisa, a local shopkeeper’s adopted ward, but Ianto’s dad disapproves of their interracial relationship and...(well, we know Ianto’s dad’s repute from canon.) To be together, Ianto and Lisa flee to London, but the only place they can find shelter and work is for a crime syndicate run by an imposing woman named Yvonne. Except this syndicate, which is actually a front for Torchwood, which was formed either the same time or a bit earlier depending on when you want to set this AU, and the entirety of the organization burns in a fire of alien-origin. (Only the original base in Scotland and a small outpost in Cardiff remain of Torchwood). Lisa and Ianto barely survive, and Lisa eventually succumbs to her injuries several months later despite Ianto’s best efforts. Ianto, after spending several long months in the London slums, managing to convince a tailor to take him on as an apprentice.

Then one day, a new serial killer begins operating in London. He kills neatly, somehow draining all the bodies of their blood with only a single puncture mark, and his victims are all women, prostitutes and widows and single mothers and the like. Women that no one will notice, that no one will miss.

Except he’s wrong. They are noticed, and they are missed.

Jack, ever so observant, takes notice and starts tracking down this killer. He may not entirely be the Jack Harkness we know and love, but the Doctor and Rose, no matter how brief their acquaintance remained, have inspired him to a good man. He can’t let a monster like this killer stay lurking in the city.

One of the victims is a prostitute who lived in the flat across from Owen and Tosh and never failed to be kind to them, especially Tosh, despite her being Japanese. Tosh and Owen are determined to bring her to justice.

Another of the victims was a runaway from a noble family, and her mother, knowing of Gwen’s repute, begs Gwen to find her.

And finally, poor Ianto happens to be leaving his tailor’s shop too late one night when he spots a struggle in an alley. Ianto, wanting to be wise and live, keeps his head down and walks away, but the next morning, he finds that he had accidentally ignored the killer with his newest victim. The guilt eating away at him, Ianto becomes determined to stop the killer as much as he can.

So all five of them are wandering through the city of London, trying to track down this serial killer. You can imagine they might bump into each other a few times, like Donna and Ten in Partners in Crime. Maybe Ianto grows intrigued of this strange, charming American he keeps meeting and can’t stop thinking about. Tosh and Owen are a bit wary of this quiet Welshwoman who speaks to them as if they’re old friends.

Eventually, Jack, Gwen, Tosh, Owen, and Ianto all corner the killer in a warehouse near the London docks one night except the killer turns out to not be human. The killer is a Plasmavore who has been feeding on all his victim. After a struggle ensues, the Plasmavore is subdued and eventually killed, and the Scotland Yard awards Jack, Ianto, and Owen the reward money for finding the killer.

But this doesn’t sit well with Jack who proposes that the five of them partner to form their own detective team, because they all have unique skills which they bring to the table. And they all realize, putting their heads together, that there exists a form of life that is not entirely human, a form of life beyond this planet. Jack has his Doctor, Gwen has her mysterious past and her ability - which still hasn’t occurred to them to be of similar origins as the creature they encountered yet, and Ianto has Torchwood. 

All five realize that they are better off and more efficient together and that they can be investigators of anything seemingly inhuman and other phantasmagoria. 

Thus, they accidentally become alien crime fighters two centuries too early.

And eventually, they solve enough cases to meet Madam Vastra, Jenny, and Strax and become their allies.

And somehow, they’re always ahead of the other branches of Torchwood to occurrences in London to the point where, on Archie’s suggestion, they actually become the new Torchwood London.

Of course, they have encounters with the Doctor whenever he pops around, and Jack finally gets some answers about his mysterious leather-coated gentleman.

And thus, despite being in a whole different century, and a whole different city, Jack, Ianto, Gwen, Tosh, and Owen still manage to become Torchwood. 

So yeah, there you have it. An entire AU (or at least its origin story) plotted out completely. Now here’s the thing. This idea won’t let me go, but I also can’t do historical AUs. Like, it’s just too much research and plotting involved for me to be satisfying with writing this. That’s why it’s up for grabs. If this sparks your interest and you wanna write, feel free to do so. Just please ask and get my blessing beforehand. (Joking, but please do shoot me a line if you end up writing this.)

Thoughts? 

[fascination-street-writing]

Stealing Past the Windows | Platonic Leone Abbacchio x Reader

You want him to see the anguish that he has caused for you and your mother. You hope it is enough to keep him awake at night.

Content Warnings: Prostitution & Dubious Consent

You wish you were a mortician so that maybe – just maybe – you could be used to death. You long for the ability to shut away your grief, to turn it off as if it is nothing more than a lightbulb that hangs above your head – to flip the switch.

Your mother leads you towards the parking lot behind the cathedral. You have only just fastened the seatbelt over your lap when you notice him: the mortician standing next to a dumpster, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His necktie is loose and his hair a disarray. He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales a cloud of smoke. Perhaps morticians were not as used to death as you thought.

Something taps against the windshield. Pattering, uneven beats, not unlike the pianist’s scant repertoire from the procession. You wish that your mother would have hired someone better, someone who was not the sostituo commissario coordinatore’s daughter.

“It’s raining,” your mother remarks, her voice no louder than a whisper. Rain – of course it rains today of all days. She sighs and grips the steering wheel. If her hands were not covered by her black gloves, you might see that her knuckles are white. “They never said it would rain. How are we supposed to bury him in this?”

You realize that, perhaps instead of death, you long to become better acquainted with unpredictability: the death of your father, rain during a funeral, a lousy pianist . . . And Leone Abbacchio’s sunset-colored eyes meeting your gaze from across the parking lot. You bring your hand to your mouth and bite down on your curled pointer-finger to keep from calling out to him – what are you doing here? Permanent suspension and a slanderous newspaper article were not enough to satiate the part of you that yearns for his retribution.

Your mother follows the hearse, but you do not dare to look away, even as the car turns onto the street. You want him to see the anguish that he has caused for you and your mother. You hope it is enough to keep him awake at night.

If, even after everything, a mortician and death are no more than steely work associates, then surely a distance exists between a prostitute and sexual intimacy. You never let the men take you from the front: your fleeting decency is preserved by the sorrow that suffocates you each time you are forced to solicit yourself to pay off your mother’s debts. You tell yourself that it is better this way – better than starving on the streets or lying dead in a dumpster, a proper unmarked grave.

Adaptability has helped you to cope with unpredictability. Now, you pray for blindness. Blindness so that you no longer face the men who leer and lead you into alleyways and dingy hotel rooms; blindness to forget that home is nothing more than a moth-ridden mattress, vacant memories, and a box fan; blindness, so the sounds of mice scurrying in the rafters become your mother teetering on loose floorboards as she stands over the kitchen table and prepares dinner.

Blindness so that you might forget the callousness of solitude.

A gust of air reaches for you. You tug your skirt over your thighs, a feeble attempt to ward of the chilling temperature.  The waiting comes with confliction, for in the moments when you are alone, you are glad to be untouched. And yet, trepidation reminds you that a prostitute who does not meet her nightly quota is expendable. Your mother learned that – her final anecdote to you was a bullet.

Two women stand across the street. The glow of a cigar illuminates the space between them. An emaciated feline stalks down the sidewalk; she carries a kitten in her mouth.  Footsteps – a man approaches you, his hands buried in the pockets of his striped dress slacks. He leans into the wall, only inches from you. He smells of tobacco smoke – you never cared for tobacco smoke. You blame it on your father’s influence.

You name your price, and he grabs your wrist. “I just want you to suck me off,” he sneers before pulling you into the alley. The air there is heavy: already, you have forgotten how to breathe.  “You only get paid if you swallow. Got it, puttana?”

You nod. The pavement bites the skin of your knees. Your palms grow clammy. A knot forms in your belly. It never gets easier. The reflective surface of his belt’s silver buckle is an unwanted mirror. Sunken eyes stare back as you fumble with the latch. You no longer recognize yourself – it is a stranger’s gaze that watches your movements. You are a woman drowning, yet desperate for a glass of water.

Fingers pry at your arms. For a moment, you are airborne as he lifts you from the ground and pins you to the wall. His breath curdles in your ear – the rasp of his tone and the overwhelming scent of charred leather confirms that he is indeed a smoker and not a victim of secondhand exposure: “I’ve changed my mind. Ti sto fottendo.”

You shiver, but not because you are cold, even though the night air assaults your bare legs, which have been freed of your tight mini-skirt; pink polyester gathers at your ankles, tethering you. His teeth graze the crook between your shoulder and neck. His body cages you. The breeze wafts through your hair, gentle tresses clinging to his skin. In another life, he might have been a lover. But a lover does not pay you for sex.

Your fear turns to ash and dies on your tongue. Every gasp for air is an inhalation of his scent – stale cigarettes. It laces through your throat and burns you alive.

You wait until you are sure that he is gone before you pull your skirt up. Your core throbs. Your legs tremble. Your backend meets the ground as your knees fail you. The money lies just beyond your reach, but you cannot bear to touch it. The mere thought of even looking at it sends a jolt of nausea through you.

It can stay there a little longer – it is not pride that compels you to leave the money be: it is dignity.

You do not notice that you are crying until you feel the familiar sting in your eyes.  An anguished scream tears itself from your mouth as you slap the ground and kick into the rusted trashcan beside you. It topples over – you wish to be buried alive in food scraps and disposed condoms because it is not better this way.

A tawny colored beer bottle shatters at your feet: a mosaic of glass shards. In each broken piece laid out before you, you see your reflections – in every groove, ripple, and adhesive spotting that has been left behind by a missing label. One shard is your father’s funeral and a smoking mortician, and another shard is the eternally frozen face of your dead mother, and another shard is the first man whom you sold your virtue to.

And yet, one shard is a series of train tickets, from Napoli to the lavender fields of Aix-en-Provence, and another shard is a glass of Bordeaux Red that you share with a lover on a balcony overlooking the plaza of Place Richelme, and another shard is a newborn babe nestled in the white laces of her bassinet, the glow of the setting evening sun stealing past the window of the nursery and painting the walls with a glorious apricot light. And among them all, shards of men whose touches and faces blend together, shards of hands that wring your neck. Perversion, starvation, and seclusion. Mice in the rafters, a battered mattress, and a box fan.

What good is a pretty future if you must suffer for it first? You realize, as your fingers float over the glass shards, that you have been on this journey to Aix-en-Provence – to somewhere better than Napoli – your entire life: that you are sitting on a train, still, though once you thought it moving. You are forever rooted in place.

Your scuffed stiletto grinds the glass into the concrete. Happiness demands too much from you. You stomp each shard until they split and become a million more pieces – so small that they no longer speak to you.

The final shard is a pair of sunset-colored eyes and silver hair. You freeze, your foot suspended above the piece of glass. You meet his gaze from across the alley. You want to bite your finger – it is a nervous habit that you had promised to quit after the funeral, after your mother had found you bandaging your bleeding hand with toilet paper in the bathroom at the burial site; she had never forgiven you for staining your dress.

You cannot look away from him, even as he drops the paper brown grocery bag snagged around his wrist in favor of ushering you into his arms and onto your feet – your head on his chest, held in place by a single hand that coaxes through your hair. You do not bother to push him away, because it feels good to be held; though every fiber of your being tells you to loathe this man, you find that you cannot. Hatred costs too much energy, causes too much stress; you do not need either. When he pulls away to inspect your face, you do the same to him. His mouth moves, but you do not hear the words that fall from his lilac-painted lips. The dark rings beneath his eyes are rival to yours. You wonder how much sleep he has lost, for every night spent thinking of you.

Steam from the coffee mug wafts into the air in a delicate spiral. At this hour, the café is nearly empty. A man with lavender-blonde hair types into his laptop computer; he lifts his beverage to his lips without tearing his gaze from the screen. Aside from him and an older woman, who is clipping coupons from a newspaper, you and Leone Abbacchio are the only other customers. It is a sharp contrast to the usual bustle during the day; without the business men fighting for their morning espresso shots or the mothers stopping for a pastry after sending their children off to school for the day, it feels like a graveyard.

The soft hum of the kitchen radio echoes through to the dining room. The coupon-clipping woman taps her foot to an offbeat cadence. You tug Leone’s jacket by the lapels, securing it tautly to your skin. He had insisted that you wear it, because of the cold. Truthfully, you know that it is for modesty’s sake. Regardless of the reason, you are grateful. He clasps his own porcelain mug but does not drink. Perhaps it is still too hot, you wonder.

“I don’t know if I should thank you or not,” you finally say. Macchiato pools on your tongue. It has been far too long since you have had coffee that was not made from instant crystals; you savor it. “I wouldn’t be in this situation if not for you, after all. But, the caffè is a nice gesture.”

His teeth graze his bottom lip. “I’m sorry,” he says with hesitation. “I’m sorry for what happened. For what I did.”

“You’re wasting your time, saying you’re sorry, because there aren’t enough apologizes that could even begin to make things right. An apology won’t bring my father back. An apology won’t bring my mother back.”

He shudders and sighs. “I know . . . I know that.”

An uncomfortable silence hovers over your heads. At last, Leone drinks his coffee; it is a much-needed distraction from the conversation that has haunted him until this moment. His greatest fear has been to face the family of the man he had indirectly killed. It was a mistake to have gone to the funeral – he knows that; he was never sure what to expect that day. The sight of your mother following the hearse in her station wagon while you stared him down, until finally you disappeared, had shaken him – he fell to the bottle that very night.

Leone’s cellphone vibrates atop the table. The green screen casts a reflection upon the window beside you. Flashing digital numbers tell you that is is 23:13 – you only have forty-seven minutes to give the money to your procurer. You instinctively pat your pocket. The money is not there. Upon the realization that you have forgotten it back in the alley, where it is no doubt buried under the fallen trash of your breakdown, you down the rest of your drink. “Thank you for the coffee,” you say to Leone. “I should get going – I need to get back to work.”

His brow furrows. “You’re not going back there,” he says to you, a strange inflection in his tone – worry or anger, you cannot tell the difference.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do.” His bark is beguiling, and it commands you to stay seated. For every moment that he stalls, the knot in your belly constricts tighter and tighter, until it feels as though your intestines might burst. When he speaks, a gust of air rushes through you: “Let me . . . Let me try to make things right. Let me start by getting you out of there.”

You tense at his words. “You speak as if you think it’s easy to get ‘out of there,’” you sneer. “As if you think you could actually help me.”

“I’ll pay off your mother’s debt,” he insists with a sudden burst of confidence.

It is your turn to stiffen. “How do you know about that?” It is then that you take in his appearance in earnest – his clothing looks expensive, even though he is clad in only a sweater and jeans. You doubt that his makeup came from a drug store. If exorbitance had a scent, it would be that of his cologne: woodsy and sweet. He could never have afforded these things on a poliziotto’s salary. “You work with them, don’t you?”

“No.” The waitress leans over the table to top off Leone’s mug. He offers her a nod and she pledges a smile. She scurries back to the counter in a flurry of floral-pattern skirts. The way he avoids answering your first question tells you enough: you understand that it is far too complicated to be uttered aloud in a public space. “I just know the right people.”

“I don’t want your help,” you tell him, albeit too quickly. Dignity compelled you from taking the money in the alleyway. But it is not dignity that holds you from accepting money from a former dirty cop: it is ego laced in hubris. And it is his bribery, shrouded in penitence, that beckons for your clemency. “I don’t need your help.”

“Stop this.” His words scorn you. “Don’t let yourself get killed because of your pride. I know what happens to women like you. You’re not a human being to them: you’re nothing more than a money-maker. Damn it, I’ve seen girls younger than you that – “ he cuts himself off. “Getting killed over the grudge you hold against me – it’s not worth it.”

“I can’t accept help from the man who ruined my life. It means you’ll expect me to forgive you.”

“I’m not looking for forgiveness. I just want to prove to you that I am sorry.” When you bring your pointer-finger to your mouth and bite down on your knuckle, he can see you in the station wagon again. Although, instead of a mourner’s garb, you wear a scanty skirt and a cropped blouse. “What about your father?”

You pull your finger away; a thread of saliva connects from your skin to your quivering lip. “Don’t you dare mention him,” you hiss. “Don’t act like you knew him: he was nothing more than a coworker to you.”

“It’s not for forgiveness. Let me help you because he would never want to see you like this.” You can practically hear the twitching of his jaw. A tear falls, and then another. And another. He wipes the back of his hand over his dampened cheeks. “He loved you – so much. More than I think he ever loved your mother, if you’d heard the way he spoke about you . . . One of the last things he ever said to me was how he couldn’t wait to see the type of person you’d become. Un dottore o un insegnante: it didn’t matter to him, so long as you were happy.” He looks away, as if he is ashamed to face you, though rightfully so. “I did know him. I knew the man who would have given anything for his famiglia – for you.”

Your heart aches – for your father or Leone or even yourself, you are not sure. While it pains you to admit it, the man sitting before you has uttered the truth. Your father would want you to accept Leone’s help. It might be your only chance for a fresh start – to usher the still train along. Suddenly, the lavender fields feel so close that all you need do is reach out to feel the purple tendrils within your grasp. Paradise is not too far.

You sigh, shakily, before you give him your answer: “Okay.”

You thought your response would satiate him – instead, the tears he sheds fall faster. He brings a hand to his forehead to pinch his temples between his thumb and ring-finger, to shield his face: a man torn apart by his own chagrin. His other hand is outstretched before him, fingers formed into a taut fist. You are sure that his nails will puncture his skin if he squeezes any tighter. The music from the kitchen stops. The woman places down her scissors and her newspaper. The man with lavender-blonde hair closes his laptop. The ticking of the wall-clock is the only sound that reverberates through the café. It is only minutes until the new day.

Leone Abbacchio is man frozen in his past. Despite the turmoil, despite the grief and accrued traumas, you do not hate him: though unable to move on, he is driven by audacity. You once thought him cowardly, but a craven would never have reached out to you: a craven would rob you of your second chance at life. You respect the weeping man seated across the table, so much so that you clasp your own hand over his fist as a gesture of solidarity. His breath catches in his throat as his quaking body stills. You have nothing to say to him – but no words could convey the thoughts that weave through your mind. His wrist rotates beneath your touch. Palm to palm, his fingers reach for yours and entwine.

Forgiveness is a virtue you cannot afford. You will not forgive him – not now – but you will heal: together.

| 3170 Words |

[captain-yeet]

Accidental Exposure (Volturi x Witch!Reader One Shot)

Summary: Australia was meant to be a quick little trip for two of the Volturi's most valued guards; give a rowdy group of vampires a stern warning, if they don't oblige, destroy them. What Felix and Demetri weren't expecting? A mere human to save their lives.

Word count: 1.62k

Warnings: Supernatural violence, swearing - crude language from the land down under.

Author notes: This was based off an AU ask I got from an anon, I've had the idea stuck in my head for a while so here it is!

You loved the night time. Nights are cool, peaceful. Exploring the city you lived in was one of the perks of having your own freedom, the ability to make your own choices, was something you didn't dare take for granted in your life.

Choices. For a long time before you had your own sense of free will you felt chained. Growing up sheltered, you had to navigate your way through adulthood on your own. Once your powers began to show themselves, your family sheltered you even more to a point of constant coddling.

 Now as a young adult, you did. And you felt yourself bring called to the big lights and sunny beaches of Sydney, Australia.

After a busy night working, you finally got the chance to set yourself loose into town. Excited to explore more, you were practically skipping your way down the street in your heels when you heard a rather odd sound. Coming to a stop, you frowned and looked around you, searching for the source.

You turned towards a nearby alley across the street, where the sound appeared to double in strength. The sound? Deep, angry snarling.

Should I check it out? you were torn. Curiosity was growing but your sense of self-preservation was stronger.

So, you inched a little closer, carefully making your way across the street and coming to a halt at the entrance of the alleyway, keeping to the wall. You weren’t quite in the alley; you were close enough to the path side so that if anything were to make you feel like you needed to run, you had an opening.

Amongst the growling, you heard voices.

 “We’ve heard your warning sure, and you can go fuck yourself,” a voice taunted, back up by a growl of approval.

 “If you’re not going to heed our warning then you know what’s coming next,” another voice cautioned; to your surprise, the accent wasn’t Australian.

You crept further in. Your heart began to beat faster in your chest. Settling behind a dumpster, you peeked around it to see what was going on.

The sight made you cover your mouth desperately holding in a scream.

Five men stood in the alley, two of them standing stiffly glaring down at the other three; one tall, blond and lean, the second with darker hair and even taller and muscular in frame. The other three were in crouched, defensive positions. Behind those three lay the bodies of unknown women with wounds on their necks, shoulders, and forearms. After a moment of staring in shock, you noticed blood covered the mouths of the three aggressors.

One of the calmer men sighed, losing patience. “Do you idiots not realize what you’ve been doing? We keep our kind a secret to humans, there’s a reason we do. You three galavanting around killing recklessly is putting all of us at risk.”

One of the angrier three snorted. “We’re vampires, mate. Killing humans is what we're best at. Not our fault you lot don’t have the freedom to embrace hunting whoever you want.”

Hunting? Vampires? Literal vampires!? Your thoughts were all over the place as you tried to comprehend it all.

A low humorless chuckle came from the dark-haired man. “You’re really making this worse for yourself. Stand. Down.”

The one who originally spoke from the three bloodthirsty vampires growled, baring his teeth in a mocking bloody grin. “Fuck. You.”

The vampire raised his hand, and a strange green mist shot out of his hand, surrounding the big calm vampire. He then collapsed to his knees, desperately coughing as if he were choking.

 “Felix!” the blond one hissed in surprise. He tried to move to his friend’s side but was tackled by one of the other vampires and pinned to the ground.

They’re going to die, you fretted. If I don’t do something they’ll die.

The one with the mist had a cruel smirk on his face and began to close in on the dark-haired man he incapacitated. “You Volturi fucks shouldn’t have come here. We run things here. Guess you didn’t expect to be bested by us. Oh well. Sucks for you.”

The blond broke free of the vampire’s hold briefly before also being engulfed by the strange green mist.

The leader of the three still held the smirk on his face, surveying his helpless victims. 

And then he launched himself at the big guy.

Your heart stopped in its chest.

I can’t let them die!

A cry of “No!” left your lips before you could stop it, stepping out from behind the dumpster and attracting the attention of five pairs of red eyes. You raised your hand and a curious red light began flickering and swirling around your fingertips. your power charged by your fear. Your hand glowed brighter as you clenched your fingers in a gripping motion at the leader, tightening your hand into a fist.

The green mist stopped as he was then lifted into the air, gripping his neck as if someone was holding him by the throat.

 “Who the fuck is this?” one of the other rabid vampires cried out, staring at you in shock.

You raised your other hand and opened your clenched fist to bring your hands together, creating a ball of angry red energy. Your eyes were still trained in the leader. As you created the ball, you began to bring them together, enclosing the space between your two hands. Suddenly, the leader's skin began to burn and disintegrate, causing him to scream in agony.

You had never done this before. You had never even tried using your abilities against anything that wasn’t random pieces of balled up paper in your room or furniture.

And then as your inner fear and shock at your own abilities, he ceased to exist, crumbling into dust.

Felix and Demetri got their bearing together and joined each others’ side, and watched as the now-deceased opposing vampire’s lackeys began to move in on their unexpected savior. Their efforts were in vain however as you simply threw them into the brick walls of the alleyway, sending them crashing and tumbling further into the alley.

The vampires scrambled to their feet and took off into the night, taking advantage of the blond vampire and the one named Felix’s preoccupation with you.

You watched them warily, eyes wide with tears welling up within them. Now that you did what you did, what was next?

 “That was rather impressive,” the blond called out, walking toward you, his friend following suit. 

 “Keep - keep back!” you warned, hands outstretched in an effort to ward them off. The red glow wasn’t as bright as it was before, but a faint tinge of vermillion remained and swirled around your fingers.

The blond’s friend whispered something inaudible to him, red eyes on you. The blonde raised his hands like someone surrendering would and slowed his gait toward you. “Easy love, we’re not going to hurt you.”

 “Especially given the fact that quite frankly, you save our asses,” the one named Felix chimed in.

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whispered, “but one wrong move...”

Lowering your hands, you balled them into fists at your sides as the two vampires approached you. Seeing them up close you couldn’t help but note how good-looking they were but right now, you felt more intimidated than attracted to them. Were they going to hurt you now or just leave?

 “You know, our group would be interested in your gifts,” the blond spoke again, cocking his head to the side curiously as he observed you.

 “Would they now?” you said with a nervous bark of a laugh.

He smiled alluringly, trying to draw you in with his charm, you figured. If you weren’t so on edge perhaps in different circumstances it would work. A grin spread across your face, and a little dose of courage entered your system. Taking a step toward him you were now very close to this handsome stranger.

 “And what would be in it for me?” you asked in a low voice.

His smile softened into a smirk. “Power, immortality, status - you name it you could have it, with powers like yours.”

Staring into his deep, red eyes; you noted they were a darker red. Like blood, almost. “Hmm,” you purred, “tempting, let me think...” 

What the fuck are you doing Y/N? you screamed at yourself internally. Look at him. Look at them. What the fuck am I doing?

Placing a hand lightly on his chest, you batted your eyelashes at him and smiled. “I prefer living, thank you.”

With a light surge of your powers, you launched the vampire backward into the air. It was sudden and quick, and he hit the alley wall with a loud crash.

For a moment, you feared his much larger friend. Until he began to cackle loudly at what happened to his friend, throwing his head back as he did so. When he regained his composure, the two of you locked eyes.

You wiggled your fingers, making the red energy swirl and crackle once more, your lips pressed into a thin line, eyebrows raised as if to say “Well then?”

Felix looked you up and down, sizing up his chances. 

And then he backed away, further into the alley. 

He was backing down.

Holy shit he’s backing down!?

With a huff, you took this as your chance to leave the scene, and you did so with haste. They could change their minds at any moment and come for you. But hopefully, you saving their asses gave would work in your favour and the mysterious vampires wouldn’t come for your life next.

Until then, you quickly made your way back down the illuminated sidewalks of Sydney, hurrying home.

[obxparadise]

Someone Like Me

JJ Maybank x Reader 

Word count: 2,073

~A fic in which you and JJ have to hide your friendship until he can’t hold back his feelings any longer~

Warnings: Overprotective, controlling, aggressive boyfriend, cursing, fighting. 

A/N: If you like this, leave a comment! Comments keep me motivated to bring you amazing fics 💋

*Not my GIF. Credit goes to the owner*

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“How many times do we need to talk about this, Y/N? You’re not one of them, so stop trying to be.”

The sound of Kelsey’s shrill voice alone was enough to ruin your day, but there was something about having her share her unwanted opinions as you flipped through the pages of Wuthering Heights that sent you over the edge.

“Y/N? Are you even listening?”

Snapping the book closed, you leaned forward in your chair, keeping your voice low, but sharp enough to get the message across. “Am I listening to you bash my friends as if we’re so much better than them because we grew up in wealthy families and attend fancy parties and prestigious schools? Why in the world would I want to listen to that?”

You watched as Kelsey blew a strand of blonde hair from her face. Even if she was your best friend since the fifth grade, there were times when you wished she would get her head out of her ass, wake up and realize that being a Kook? It wasn’t all that.

“I just don’t understand,” Kelsey said finally, in her normal exaggerated manner. “You have everything you could ever want. A rich family, a big group of friends…” As Kelsey glanced behind you, a smirk lifted the corners of her lips. “And the hottest boyfriend in all of the OBX.”  

A pair of arms slithered around your neck, the strong scent of Spice and Wood burning your nostrils. Biting your lip, you plastered on a fake smile just as Rafe Cameron lowered his mouth to yours. Okay sure, Rafe was…good looking. But he lacked what was most important to you: Depth. Sensitivity. Adventure.

If it were up to you, Rafe wouldn’t have been your first choice. As next in line to take over for Ward Cameron’s company, he made the perfect arm candy, as your mother would say. Growing up, the phrase “image is everything” had been engraved in your head, and when you were old enough to be courted, your parents didn’t hesitate in setting you up with Rafe Cameron.

“Do I even want to know what you’re talking about?” Rafe asked, fingers grazing over your bare shoulders. Subconsciously, you shuddered at his touch.

“Maybe you can convince your girlfriend that no matter how many times she’s caught hanging out with Pogues, she’ll always be a Kook.” Kelsey snickered, knowing full well she’d betrayed you by airing your business to your overprotective boyfriend.

Rubbing your temples, you avoided Rafe’s gaze. “Okay, Kelsey, really? This little feud between Pogues and Kooks is overrated and quite frankly, really fucking stupid. And second of all, I wasn’t hanging out with JJ. At least not today, anyway.” Just saying his name was enough to make the butterflies in your stomach go wild.

“JJ?” Rafe spat. “What the fuck? What were you doing with that little bastard?”

“He works on my father’s boat,” you groaned, knowing how quickly this conversation could take a turn for the worst. “I was tanning on the deck and he had to fix something. We talked. We’re friends. That’s all.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Rafe stared down at you as Kelsey hid her chuckles behind her palm. Damn troublemaker. “Now, why don’t I believe you? Because I know damn well I told you to stay away from him and the rest of his trashy friends, only to find out you’re still trying to fit in with them. So, tell me, Y/N, why don’t I believe you?”

Pushing away from the table on your patio, you stood and brushed out your sundress before standing tall. Grabbing your book, you thrust it into Rafe’s chest. “I don’t know, Rafe. But there is nothing going on between me and JJ. Stop worrying.” Big. Fat. Liar.

Rafe stared at you quizzically. “Mhm...well, don’t forget, we have my sister’s birthday tonight. I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Can’t wait,” you muttered, already dreading the night ahead.

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

By seven-fifteen, you were bored out of your goddamn mind. You loved Sarah Cameron, but you were not a fan of extravagant parties at country clubs. Being forced to talk to wealthy adults and snobby teenagers was not your cup of tea.

As you wandered along the beach, hair blowing with the ocean breeze and sandals dangling from your hand, a voice spoke up behind you. “Penny for your thoughts?” Goosebumps rose on your skin as you smiled. You knew that voice anywhere. Turning around, you inhaled sharply. For some reason, you expected to see him wearing his usual outfit: boots, cargo pants, cutoff tank, and a backward hat. But no. The sight in front of you, while a complete surprise, was breathtaking.

“JJ?” His name sounded so perfect falling from your lips. Grinning, you pointed at the polished suit he was adorned in. “Am I missing something? Did hell freeze over?”

Snickering, JJ ran a hand though his hair, tugging gently on the ends. “Kie invited me as her plus one,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Plus, I wanted to impress a certain girl tonight. Is it working?”

As you pulled him in for an embrace, you savored the feeling of his arms around your waist. It ended all too quickly, but it had to. You couldn’t risk being seen by wandering eyes. “You clean up nice, J,” Pulling back, you adjusted the bowtie at his neck. “But you don’t need to worry about impressing me, you know. I like you just the way you are.”

He scoffed. “If you liked guys like me, you wouldn’t be with a guy like Rafe.”

Frowning, you noticed how JJ’s brows drew together. “You know I don’t really have a choice, right? My life isn’t that simple.”

“Right,” JJ drawled out, rolling his eyes playfully. “Because the Kook life is so difficult.”

“You know what I mean,” you said, swatting his shoulder. “It’s just…my whole life has practically been plan--.”

“Y/N?”

The sound of Rafe’s voice startled you. Swallowing, you peered over JJ’s shoulder, watching as Rafe approached the both of you, a flute of champagne in his hand. “What the hell’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” you answered quickly, lip drawn between your teeth as you put a space between you and JJ. The hurt on his face vanished as fast as it came. “Nothing, man. Don’t cause a scene.”

“Last I checked, I was talking to my girlfriend,” Rafe shot, pulling you roughly to his side. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you carefully massaged your arm.

JJ stepped forward, nose to nose with your tipsy boyfriend. “Put your hands on her like that again and see what happens.”

“JJ, it’s fine,” you muttered. “Can you both stop?”

“And what’re you going to do about it, huh, Pogue?” Rafe taunted. “Pull a gun on me?”

“Rafe, just go. I’m coming, alright?” You begged, cursing silently as a tear slipped down your cheek.

“Don’t give me any ideas,” JJ answered with a sly grin, poking Rafe’s shoulder. You yelped as Rafe shoved JJ to the sand, attempting to pounce. “Rafe, stop it!” It took all your strength to pull him off JJ, and you watched helplessly as they exchanged heated glances.

“Let’s fucking go, Y/N.” Your eyes followed Rafe as he stomped through the sand back to the club. Once his figure disappeared, you turned back to JJ, whose face was red with rage.

“I don’t know what you see in him,” he said, gravely, brushing the sand from his arms. “I really don’t.”

“Look, just…just stay away from him, okay?” Pleading with JJ was the only way you’d get him to listen. Somewhere deep down, you knew JJ had a soft spot for you. And you’d be lying if you didn’t feel the same way about him. “I care about you and I just…don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Nodding, JJ motioned toward the party. “You should uh, get back there.”

Sighing, you offered him a small smile and headed in the direction of the club. You hadn’t made it far when you heard JJ call out to you.

“Oh, and by the way,” he said, grinning sheepishly as you looked back to him. “You look beautiful.”

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

Eleven P.M. Finally. As the party came to an end, the only thing on your mind was peeling off your dress and hopping into bed for the night. After saying your farewells, you wandered around the halls in search of your boyfriend, who was drunk and nowhere to be found.

“Rafe?” You checked the ballroom, kitchen, and even the men’s bathroom, but still no sign of him anywhere. Rafe’s disappearing act was starting to worry you, especially since JJ was nowhere in sight, either.

You decided to head around the back of the club to where Rafe’s car was parked, hoping he was waiting for you. As you approached the car, the muffled sound of a pained groan made the hairs on your neck stand up. Looking around, you squinted toward the trees, eyes widening in horror as you found Kelce and Topper holding JJ as Rafe delivered blow after blow to his ribs.

“Rafe, stop!” Running for the trees, the adrenaline pumped through your veins as JJ managed to escape Topper and Kelce’s embrace, tackling Rafe to the grass. “JJ, no!”

Topper caught you in his arms, pulling you away from the scene. Struggling to break free, you crushed his toes with the heel of your foot until you were able to loosen his grip.

JJ and Rafe parted, and on instinct, you threw yourself between them. “Enough!”

Angrily, Rafe pulled you out of the way, fingers squeezing your arm. “Get in the car, Y/N.” Prying his hand from your arm triggered another level of anger. “I said get in the fucking car!”

And before your brain could register what was happening, the sound of your palm cracking against Rafe’s cheek seemed to echo through the forest. “You make me fucking sick. For the last two years, I have put up with your overprotective, controlling bullshit. I have tried numerous times to give you the benefit of the doubt, and just when I think you can be redeemed, you somehow manage to fuck up more than the previous time. I can’t do this, anymore, Rafe. I am drained. I am exhausted. I-..”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Cutting you off, Rafe grabbed his suit jacket from the grass. “Let’s go.”

As Rafe pulled you toward his car, you managed to cry out, “JJ, I am so sorry--.”

“Is this what you want your life to be like?” He asked, voice breaking. The question caught you off guard, making you and Rafe stop dead in your tracks. You glanced at Rafe before turning back. “You don’t deserve this shit. How can you not see that?”

“JJ what are you talking about?”

“My God, Y/N, don’t make me spell it out. Fuck, I mean,” JJ ran a hand through his tousled hair, and your heart skipped a beat. “I just—you’re settling. For him. And you wanna know why that’s so fucked up? Because there is a man out there that is dying for the chance to love you like you deserve to be loved. Someone who wants to spoil you and take you on adventures. Someone who would never pass up the opportunity to tell you how beautiful you look every. single. day. Someone like--.”

“Someone like you?” Rafe snickered, squeezing your hand. “Hm?”

Covering your mouth, you sobbed into your free hand as JJ nodded. “Yeah, someone like me.”

Dropping your hand, Rafe stepped forward and lowered his voice. “You’ll never get the chance.”

As Rafe headed back in the direction of his car, you covered your face and cried. God, what were you doing? Of course this isn’t the life you wanted. JJ was right. You wanted adventure. You wanted love. And Rafe? He couldn’t give that to you.

But, JJ?

“You coming or what?” Rafe asked, spinning his keys. “This is your last chance. You either come with me now, or you find your own way home.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught JJ staring, waiting. And in that moment, you knew. You knew JJ could give you everything you wanted. So without another thought, you ran forward and launched yourself into his arms, ready to feel truly and completely loved. 

[pokeasleepingsmaug]

All That's Best of Dark and Bright

Eventually, I will find a good photo of Sihtric and Eahlswith to use for this, but for now, have one of my favorite Sihtric gifs instead!

Summary: Ever since Kjartan killed his mother nearly seven years ago, Sihtric has longed for revenge. He's been waiting, biding his time, growing stronger. He can sneak and spy and fight, and when he thinks about his name, it is not Kjartansson. 

Eahlswith has been with the army of Uhtred and Ragnar Ragnarsson since they found her, soot-stained and tear-streaked, blood in her hair and on her hands and staining her teeth red. Sven the One-Eye haunts her dreams, and she promises herself that one day, she will kill him with her own hands. 

When Eahlswith and Sihtric meet by chance in the forest, they only continue the friendship because it suits their own ends: Uhtred and Ragnar need information on Dunholm, and Sihtric will maybe give it, if she earns his trust. Sihtric just needs an escape from the living nightmare that is Dunholm, and if that escape is a Saxon girl with dark hair and defiant eyes, he will only appreciate what the gods have sent his way. 

Then Sihtric discovers Kjartan's key to power, his most closely guarded secret. Defeating him will take love, and maybe an army. Good thing he has both, in the form of a Saxon girl with dark hair and defiant eyes

AO3, if you prefer

chapter one: silver beads and sunlight

Eahlswith hates traveling with this rowdy, ragtag company of Danes a little less each day. None have bothered her, there is plenty to keep her hands busy, and even the sounds of them snoring and farting in their sleep is beginning to sound more reassuring than annoying. Besides, smelly as fighting men on a march can be, most of them make it a point to wash once a week, or sometimes more if the weather is hot and the day’s work is particularly strenuous.

She sometimes says her prayers and sometimes not, and she is still not sure if she forgives God. She doesn’t think he much cares for her opinion of him, anyway, and if a few missed prayers are enough to send her soul to hell, maybe heaven isn’t a place worth striving for.

They have been camping on the edge of Kjartan the Cruel’s lands for a few days now, and Eahlswith dreads the day they will pick up and begin to move closer. Kjartan must know they’re nearby--Eahlswith was a child when he took Dunholm, she knows he is a fearful, paranoid man, obsessed only with his own power and the threats to it. Even the thought of moving closer to the fortress, and closer to the burnt plot of land her family’s farm once stood upon, is enough to turn her stomach.

Instead, she seeks out Brida every day after breakfast, determined to put her restless hands to good use. Eventually there will be a battle, and Eahlswith spends her days learning as much as she can about healing. Brida knows which herbs will stem bleeding and which will slow the march of putrification, she knows the broths to make to calm a fever and which gods may be swayed to ease the suffering of men.

Eahlswith is skeptical of the gods, but she holds the knowledge as close as any Brida tells her, listens to her tales with rapt attention as they grind herbs to powder or hang them upside down to dry. Every day, she feels more and more at home among this company of fur-clad men with merry eyes and silver rings glittering on their arms, and every day, she tries not to turn her attention to the dark smudge of Dunholm low on the horizon.

She has settled into a some semblance of a life here, even if it is a life like nothing she ever imagined. There is a comfort to the rhythm of her days, a familiarity growing between her and the men of the army, a tentative friendship blossoming between her and Brida. Eahlswith finds, that for all the priests and the wives in the market whispered of the ferocity of the pagan Danes, that they are a merry folk. These men are nothing like Kjartan’s, and for that, she is grateful.

“Eahlswith,” Brida calls, her voice calm and warm one early morning. Eahlswith straightens and offers Brida a bowl of the porridge she’d been preparing for a large group of grateful men nearby, but Brida waves it away. “Some of Ragar’s men are complaining of fever. What should we use to calm it?”

The men nearby shuffle uneasily, glancing among themselves with shifting gazes. It is no secret that illness can rip through an army in days. Several of them nervously touch the hammers hanging around their necks, the way her father would grab his cross. The way Eahlswith would grab hers, had she not thrown it into the woods the day everything changed. The answer comes to Eahlswith’s lips effortlessly. “Coriander. I know where some grows nearby.”

“Can you gather it? I’ll use up almost all of my supply this morning. And some mint, too, if you can find it.” Brida tilts her head thoughtfully, considering the clouds in the sky. “And comfrey.”

Eahlswith nods, hauling the large iron pot off the hook over the fire and setting it among the circle of men. Full bellies will keep them from thinking about the fever, at least for a moment. “I’ll go now. Are Uhtred and Ragnar going to move the army today?”

Brida shakes her head, the silver in her hair catching the sunlight. Eahlswith pauses to admire how lovely it looks against her dark hair, and wishes she had a bead or two to braid into her own. How plain she must look among these Danes, with their arm-rings and their hair-beads and their elaborate braids. She has only the simple green dress she was wearing when she fled the ruins of her family’s farm, and a red one Uhtred found for her among their piles of plunder.

She pulls her dark hair into a hurried braid over her shoulder as she rises from her knees before the fire. “Becoming more Dane than Saxon now, Eahlswith!” Audun calls good-naturedly, jerking his chin toward her braid. “We’ll have you in a shield-wall yet!”

“And if I’m in a shield-wall, who’s going to stitch your hand back to your arm?” She taunts, to a chorus of laughs from the rest of the men.

Even Audun smiles, his blue eyes glimmering, and tilts his head to acknowledge her point. “Off with you, then!” He pauses, face going serious, as he squints into the distance toward Dunholm. “Should be far enough away that you’ll be safe. He’ll know we’re here, his men will be cowering behind their walls.”

Eahlswith nods, trying to ignore the clenching of her stomach as she fetches a basket and heads toward the woods. Coriander likes a bit of shade, and there’s a meadow only about an hour’s brisk walk that’s sunny in the morning and shaded in the afternoon. Her mother used to send her to gather coriander from there, before Eahlswith got tired of the chore and brought some back to plant in their garden.

As Eahlswith steps into the shade, she realizes this is the first time she’s been alone since the army found her, soot-stained and tear-streaked, blood in her hair and on her hands and staining her teeth red. She pushes these thoughts to the side and tries not to imagine Kjartan’s men hiding in the shadows behind every tree. Audun is right. Kjartan will know they’re nearby, and will be terrified. He always lets his enemies come to him, to break their armies on his high walls. Eahlswith has never known him to leave the fortress, although his son, Sven the One-Eye, sometimes does. He always leaves burned homes and ruined lives in his wake, and Eahlswith hopes his fearful father is keeping him home.

Eahlswith tries to pay attention to anything but thoughts of Sven, his leering, ugly face and matted blond hair, the horrible sound of his mocking laughter. Instead she listens to the birds and the wind in the leaves and watches the play of sunlight on the ground. By the time she reaches the clearing, she has almost forgotten why she should be wary.

The meadow was a farm, once, she thinks, long before the Danes came. A crumbling well stands near a few rotten, blackened beams that must be the remnants of the house, and the abundance of herbs growing wild here hints that there was once a garden. Eahlswith does not let herself imagine what became of the inhabitants of this place.

She rounds a tree and the meadow comes into view, and Eahlswith’s belly drops when she spies a half-dozen cattle scattered throughout the meadow, grazing contendly in the midmorning light. They look like they belong here, like they’ve always been here, and if Eahlswith hadn’t been here countless times before and always found it empty, she would be soothed by the sight of them.

She creeps slowly toward the clearing, keeping to the shadows as best she can, thankful she is not a Dane and does not have silver in her hair to catch the sunlight and give her away. She is nearly to the clearing when a hand lands on her shoulder.

Eahlswith screams, startling the cows into lifting their heads, and scrambles away. The hand releases its hold on her instantly, and she spins to ward off her attacker.

He stands just a foot away from her, hands raised, palms out, and he looks as surprised as Eahlswith feels. The sunlight and shadows dapple his pale skin and the sharp planes of his cheeks and jaw. There is no spark of silver on his arms or in his black hair, no sword at his hip or shield on his back, but there is no mistaking him for anything but a Dane.

[drabbletrashcan]

Dovakhiin

It is said that only a Dragonborn can kill a dragon. After the Dragonborn kills a dragon, he or she will devour and consume its soul. Over the centuries, this has proven to be true. Man can most definitely weaken and injure a dragon but can never put an end to its life. Only the Dragonborn has accomplished this feat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Bishop dove behind a boulder just in time. He could feel the blazing heat all around him, and his heart hammered thinking about how his companions could easily be caught in that inferno. Karnwyr whimpered, huddling closer to his master. He was scared out of his mind.

Casavir thank the gods above for blessing him with such luck. He had managed to find a small cave he could barely fit in but provide shelter from the hell outside. Yet, his eyes scanned his surroundings frantically, searching for the others.

How lucky to be quick on your feet. Cael had taken cover in the dense vegetation, unseen, unheard. All he had to do was wait it out. Where the hell were the others? Oh, gods, what if they were caught in the fire?!

A loud roar shook the earth, fire hailing from above. The dragon swooped low, searching for his prey and leaving destruction in its wake. Cael finally spotter two of his companions. As the dragon rose up into the sky, he dashed towards Bishop, the closest one, and crouched behind the boulder.

“What the fuck are we going to do?!” Bishop yelled. “We’re dead. We’re just a late afternoon barbeque!”

“Please calm down, Dark One, this is not the time and place for more agitation.”

Bishop’s jaw tightened visibly, holding himself back from decking the blonde in the face. Managing to grab the paladin’s attention and beckoning him over to them, the small group hid behind the boulder, praying to whatever god out there that the dragon would not find them.

“Oh, gods.”

Casavir let out a horrified whisper, his eyes widening. He turned to the two men, fury and desperation burning in his eyes.

“Where is Ava?!”

A question that made their blood run ice cold. Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no. Oh please gods no. Cael grabbed Bishop and Casavir’s arms, his hands resembling iron claws. He pointed towards the open field the dragon was circling.

With wild blonde hair fluttering in the wind, there stood Ava in all her glory, clad in her steel armor. She unsheathed her Warhammer, staring at the dragon ferociously, just daring it to try and attack her.

“Has she gone completely mad?!”

The dragon finally noticed her, and it swooped down. It opened its mouth and let out a mighty roar before a river of fire poured down upon Ava.

“NO!”

Bishop and Cael and Casavir froze, not believing what they had just witnessed, not wanting to believe it.

The fire cleared up, leaving charred vegetation in its wake. In the middle of a blackened, ashy field, there stood Ava. The ward she had cast wore off, and she gripped her weapon tightly. The dragon came circling back, this time intent on tearing its prey into pieces. It got closer and closer, its maw opening again.

“Fus…ro dah!” a large blast on energy launched itself from Ava towards the dragon, knocking it out of the air and crashing ungracefully in the dirt. Wasting no time, she lunged at it, bringing down her weapon and impaling its skull. Blood spurted out, coating her armor in a shiny ruby red. The dragon let out a roar of anguish as it got its bearings back. Ava attacked mercilessly, dodging the dragon’s fire storm and countering it with her own Shout.

By now, she had rendered the beast incapable of flying. She let out streaks of lightning through her fingertips, her eyes blazing with magicka.  

This was her only opening.

Letting out a scream of effort, she launched herself off a cliffside, landing on the dragon’s back. The beast shook, trying to knock her off. Jumping up, she brought her Warhammer down, its blade burying in the dragon’s scull.

For a few seconds she was in the air before crashing against the ground. She wheezed for air, struggling to stand up. The dragon wobbled towards her, not intent at dying at the hand of a mortal. Ava unsheathed her sword. She trust it upwards, the blade going straight through its scaly throat.

She stared the beast in the eye, watching the life drain out of it. It let out a final roar before collapsing.

Ava crawled out from under it, scrambling to her feet as she clutched her side. It hurt like hell. But it wasn’t over yet. She limped towards the corpse and dislodged her weapons from it and placed her hand on the snout of the animal.

A single muffled boom resonated throughout the valley as the wind started to pick up. She was absorbing the dragon’s soul. Multicolored lights surrounded her body, and she felt the familiar energy of the soul entering her body.

Blood oozed from her side, staining her armor and fingers. Yet she continued to ignore the pain, for now came the hardest part.

Explaining to the boys.

Bishop, Casavir and Cael emerged from behind the boulder, walking towards her slowly. She turned towards them, exhaustion visible in her eyes. Without a word, Cael sat her down and tended to her wound. She looked down, avoiding their gaze. Bishop crossed his arms, piercing her with his icy glare.

“Hey, ladyship,” he said, painfully monotone. Ava cringed before looking up. “You mind telling us what this is?”

Ava bit her lip. “Well…I’m Dovakhiin…it means Dragonborn in the dragon tongue…”

“Yeah, I got that. What I want to know is why you didn’t tell us sooner?” he asked in an accusing tone.

“I…I don’t know…”

“Oh, you don’t know? Well what do you know, Ava?!”

“Stop it, Bishop. What is your problem?” Casavir gently pushed Bishop.

Bishop pushed the paladin back, annoyance evident in his golden eyes. “You want to know what my problem is? My problem is that after months of travelling with us, she never thought for a second to tell us who she actually is!”

“Enough, Bishop,” Cael stood up, running a hand through his blond hair. “I understand your anger, and if anything, I agree with you to some extent. But this isn’t what she needs right now.”

“No, what she needs is to stop lying to us and tell us everything she’s been hiding!”

Ava’s eyes shot up towards Bishop. Lying? The bastard. She stood up, radiating anger.

“Lying? How the hell have I been lying?”

“You literally hid your identity? Don’t you think it would have been useful to at some point come up to us and tell us you’re the Dragonborn?”

“At some point I would have told you, you ungrateful ass!”

“Ungrateful?” the ranger scoffed.

“I just saved your sorry ass from a fucking dragon, and this is how you treat me, you bastard?!”

“Oh, yes, please, excuse me for having the audacity to not kneel down in front of you and kiss your boots. See, this is why I have trust issues in the first fucking place.”

“What the fuck do you have against me?!” her accent became more noticeable.

“I don’t trust you! All you do is drag us into abandoned caves and hide behind us, then expect us to follow you like lost puppies. And on top of that, you’re the Dragonborn. The person who’s, you know, supposed to be saving the world, but instead you go and prance around Skyrim, with not a care in the world. You’re pretty useless for someone who’s supposed to defeat the World Eater.”

Ava froze. Hurt, betrayed, insulted. This was what she was feeling. After everything she had done for him. After nearly sacrificing her life to save him. After hoping one day he would notice her feelings for him. Finally, something snapped.

She stepped forward and put her hands against the ranger’s chest. And pushed him. She pushed him so hard he stumbled backwards before falling on his back.

“Useless? Useless?! Is that what you think of me?! Then do yourself a favor and fucking leave, you mean, annoying, greedy, selfish, perverted piece of shit! How dare you?! After everything I’ve done! You have the nerve to call me useless?!”

Her screams echoed throughout the valley. She could feel hot tears streaming down her face. But she didn’t care. Bishop looked up at her, surprised. Heavy sobs started to rack her body, yet she didn’t stop.

“You want to know why I didn’t tell you?! Do you?! Here’s why: I’m fucking scared! I’m terrified out of my mind! Do you think I want this?! My life is literally written in stone. I am the Dragonborn. I’m supposed to sacrifice my life to save the world from Alduin. Do you know how it feels to literally have the weight of the world on your shoulders?! No, you don’t, you run away from responsibility all the time. I don’t want this! I never wanted this! So fuck you, you asshole! Fuck you and everything you stand for!”

The words lingered in the air before disappearing, and with it Ava felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She hung her head, wiping furiously at her eyes. Bishop slowly rose and stepped towards her before stopping.

“I’m going back to Whiterun. If you want to keep travelling with me, I’ll be at Breezehome. You’re free to leave at any time, all of you.”

 *

 The smell of baked potatoes and chorus of yells made Ava wake up, furrowing her brow in confusion. What the hell? She threw on some clothes and grabbed her dagger, just in case. Walking downstairs, she stopped and stared at the scene unfolding before her.

Bishop, clad in his leather armor and a chef’s apron, was stirring at the cookpot, mumbling something about how he does everything in this household. Casavir and Cael were fighting over which set of plates to use. Casavir insisted to use the blue china plates, while Cael stressed about how they should simply eat off of the usual metal plates. Karnwyr, who was lounging by the fire, perked up at the sight of her and gently rubbed his head against her. The house looked brand new. Her weapons, sitting neatly on the weapon rack, were polished with great care. The floor had been swept and polished, her books organized, her potions and alchemy materials neatly stored in the cabinets, and not a stray of dust was visible.

Noticing her, the boys froze. Awkward silence settled between them. Ava raised an eyebrow, her eyes darting around the house, examining every detail. Finally, Cael cleared his throat, walking towards her.

“Morning, sparrow! Uh, why don’t you take a seat?” he led her to the table, pushing down on her shoulders.

“Did you sleep well, milady?” Casavir set a blue china plate before her, earning an irritated glare from the Forsworn.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“How’s that wound? I should change the bandages…”

“Milady, would you like mead or milk? Oh, there’s also some wine…”

“My sparrow, I remember you had to do some tasks for the Jarl, but Casavir, Bishop and I can take care of it. You should rest for today…”

“Ok, wait. What the hell is going on?”

Casavir and Cael exchanged looks before looking at Bishop, where he still stood stirring at the cookpot. Ava raised an eyebrow, shifting to face him fully. Bishop rolled his eyes and scratched the back of his neck, approaching hesitantly.

“Um…look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

Ava stared at him for a few seconds before rising from her seat. She stood in front of Bishop, staring into his golden eyes. He avoided her gaze, studying the tip of his boots. Ava smirked and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight. Her action made Casavir’s and Cael’s jaws drop. She could feel Bishop tense in her embrace, his arms suspended awkwardly in the air. She pulled back and embraced the other two men.

“You’re all idiots! But you’re my idiots, and I’m glad you decided to stick with me.”