#Temporary Silent Pods

[800silentpod]

The Benefits of Renting Silent Pods for Events and Temporary Needs!

Introduction

In 2024, over 60% of professionals report struggling to focus in noisy environments, with many citing the lack of private spaces as a significant barrier to productivity. Events and exhibitions, which are central to Dubai’s dynamic business and tourism landscape, often create such noise, making it difficult for attendees to make phone calls, hold private meetings, or concentrate on work. Dubai’s airports and hotels, bustling with constant announcements, foot traffic, and distractions, are also not ideal for focused work or confidential discussions. In fact, a study by the Global Workplace Analytics found that over 30% of workers in open-office environments are unable to concentrate due to external noise.

This is where opting for the best Silent Pods rental services in UAE can make a big difference. These soundproof, private booths provide a peaceful, distraction-free environment, ensuring privacy and focus for work, meetings, or calls. Whether at a busy exhibition, conference, or within Dubai’s corporate environment, silent pods offer the perfect retreat, transforming chaotic spaces into productive zones.

What Are Silent Pods?

Silent pods are compact, portable, and soundproof booths designed to provide privacy and eliminate external noise. They offer a dedicated, enclosed space where individuals can focus, make phone calls, attend virtual meetings, or have private conversations without distractions. Silent pods are ideal for use in environments like busy events, offices, airports, hotels, and public spaces where noise and crowd disturbances can impact productivity.

These booths are designed to be easily transportable and can be set up or relocated quickly, making them a great choice for events or temporary needs. Silent pods are equipped with features like soundproofing, air circulation, and comfortable seating, ensuring a quiet, comfortable, and functional space for their users.

Although they are commonly referred to as “silent pods,” there are also variations of these booths, such as Single Pods for one person, Duo Pods for two people and Meeting Pods for group discussions. These variations can accommodate different group sizes, whether you need a quiet space for a single individual or a larger space for meetings or collaborative sessions.

Benefits of Renting Silent Pods for Events

Renting silent pods offers several advantages for those attending or hosting events. Here are some of the key benefits:

Enhanced Focus and Productivity

One of the main challenges at events and exhibitions is the overwhelming noise. From loudspeakers and background music to large crowds and constant movement, it’s difficult to concentrate on important tasks like taking phone calls, writing emails, or attending meetings. Renting a silent pod allows individuals to escape the distractions and focus on their work in a private, quiet space.

Whether you’re a business professional attending a conference, a speaker preparing for a presentation, or an attendee needing to catch up on emails, silent pods offer the perfect environment to boost focus and productivity. With a soundproof booth, you’ll have the space you need to concentrate without outside interference, enabling you to accomplish more during an event.

Privacy for Confidential Conversations

Confidentiality is critical, particularly when discussing sensitive information in a public setting. At large conferences, trade shows, or exhibitions, finding a private space for such discussions can be difficult. Renting a silent pod ensures that you have the privacy you need to hold important conversations without worrying about eavesdropping.

These soundproof booths provide an ideal setting for business negotiations, client meetings, or HR interviews. They offer a secure, distraction-free environment where you can talk freely without interruptions. For events where privacy is paramount, renting a silent pod ensures that sensitive conversations stay confidential.

Flexibility for Temporary Needs

Events are often temporary in nature, lasting just a few days or even hours. Building permanent office spaces or meeting rooms for short-term use can be impractical and costly. This is where renting silent pods shines. They offer flexibility in terms of short-term use, providing businesses and event organizers with a cost-effective solution without the need for long-term commitment.

Whether you’re setting up a temporary office, a private meeting space for attendees, or a quiet room at an exhibition, renting a silent pod ensures that you have the right setup for your event without investing in permanent infrastructure.

Comfortable and Convenient

Silent pods are designed for comfort and convenience. They come equipped with comfortable seating, proper lighting, and ventilation, ensuring that users feel relaxed during their time in the pod. Setting up a meeting or working from a silent pod is also hassle-free, as they are easy to install and relocate, making them an ideal choice for busy events or venues where space is limited.

Additionally, silent pods provide a quieter and more comfortable alternative to working or holding meetings in crowded hallways, noisy rooms, or public spaces. Renting a silent pod for your event gives you the flexibility to adjust your space to meet your specific needs without the hassle of searching for available conference rooms or private areas.

Benefits of Renting Silent Pods for Temporary Needs

Beyond events, silent pods also provide a great solution for various temporary needs. Here’s how renting a silent pod can help:

Cost-Effectiveness

Renting silent pods is a budget-friendly solution, particularly when compared to building permanent office spaces or meeting rooms. Creating dedicated spaces at an event can involve high costs for construction, maintenance, and staffing. Renting a silent pod eliminates these costs and allows you to have a functional, professional space for a fraction of the price.

Whether you’re a small business attending a trade show or a large corporation hosting a corporate seminar, renting a silent pod offers excellent value for money. It provides a temporary workspace without the added expense of creating a permanent solution.

Quick Setup and Easy Relocation

Unlike permanent structures, silent pods can be quickly set up and relocated, making them perfect for temporary needs. Whether you need to set up a pop-up office for a few days or create a private space for important meetings, silent pods can be installed and made ready for use within hours. This convenience allows event organizers and businesses to maximize their time and resources during short-term events.

The ease of installation and relocation also means that you can adapt the setup as needed. Silent pods can be moved around to accommodate changes in space requirements, attendee numbers, or event schedules.

Versatility for Different Purposes

Silent pods are incredibly versatile. Whether you’re using them for phone calls, video conferencing, or private meetings, silent pods can be customized for various purposes. Duo pods, which accommodate two people, are perfect for small group discussions, while larger meeting booths can be used for collaborative sessions.

Additionally, silent pods can be used for more than just events. They’re also great for creating temporary office spaces, offering individuals or teams a comfortable and private environment for work. Their adaptability makes them ideal for various temporary setups, including events, exhibitions, hotels, airports, and even remote workspaces.

Why Silent Pods Are Perfect for Dubai’s Event Culture?

Dubai is known for its thriving event scene, hosting some of the world’s largest exhibitions, trade shows, and conferences. With such a bustling event calendar, quiet, private spaces are in high demand. Renting silent pods in Dubai offers businesses and professionals the opportunity to maximize their productivity while attending or hosting these large-scale events.

Whether you’re attending the Arabian Travel Market, the Gulf Food Exhibition, or an international conference at the Dubai World Trade Centre, silent pods provide an oasis of calm amidst the noise. They allow professionals to make calls, hold private meetings, or simply catch up on work during busy events. Renting a silent pod in Dubai makes it easy to navigate the high-energy atmosphere while staying focused and productive.

How Renting Silent Pods Can Enhance Your Event Experience?

Silent pods are more than just functional; they also contribute to an overall improved event experience. When attendees have access to a quiet space, it enables them to recharge, focus, and engage in private conversations or meetings without distractions. This leads to better networking opportunities, more productive sessions, and an overall more positive atmosphere at the event.

For exhibitors and event organizers, providing silent pods as part of the event setup can significantly enhance the attendee experience. Providing spaces for individuals to escape the noise and focus on tasks enhances the environment. This professional and inviting atmosphere encourages more people to attend future events.

Conclusion

Renting silent pods offers numerous benefits for various needs. Whether it’s an event, a conference, or a temporary office, they provide the perfect solution. They offer privacy, enhanced focus, and convenience. Their cost-effectiveness makes them ideal for both business and personal use in busy environments.

If you’re looking for Affordable Silent Pods Renting Services in Dubai, SilentPod is your go-to provider. We offer a range of Single Pods, Duo Pods, and Meeting Booths to suit your needs. Let us help you create the perfect setup for your next event or temporary requirement. Don’t let noise and distractions impact your productivity. Contact SilentPod to explore our rental options and experience the benefits of a quiet, private space!

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[the-fiction-witch]

Present

Media - Doctor Who Character - The Doctor (11th) Couple - The Doctor X Reader Reader - Y/n (wife) Rating - 15 Word Count - 1156

Fictional Advent Day Fourteen

The Doctor dashed around the TARDIS control room, his blazer billowing behind him as he tinkered with the controls, adjusted settings, and rearranged various gadgets. Despite his efforts to keep himself occupied, he couldn't shake the feeling of restlessness and unease that lingered within him. It was as if he was trying to create order in the chaos of his own thoughts, but deep down, he knew it was just a temporary distraction.

His mind thought only of her. 

As if he could feel her agony going through him, 

His hearts beating anxiously out of sync with one another the longer he waited for word. 

He sighed leaning his hip against the console and rubbing his eyes, he ran a hand through his hair and tried to force away his ever-flooding concern. 

He walked, slowly through the corridors reaching their bedroom. 

The room sat as usual with the blue half-panelled walls with blue and gold striped wallpaper above, a dusty chandelier hung from above, and fireplace sat burning with a soft purple flame, the sofa sat looking over it with the blanket and pillows still draped across it. Their four-poster bed sat with half-made sheets and curtains not tied back around the posts from the nights he had spent alone. 

He sat down on the bed and ran his hand across her side imagining her body there, all its swells and divots and how his hands would glide so smoothly over them. 

He forced himself away walking deeper down the corridors.

The room itself made him feel sickly, but he couldn’t help but peak within. 

With the tall white walls and shiny white floor, the whole room smelt unnerving clean, littered with medical tools and supplies from across the galaxy but one in particular. 

A rejuvenation pod sat in the centre of the room, the white padding inside slowly being cleaned from blood by the machine itself. The screen on the side still flashed that the protocol had been stopped and the program ended without finishing it. 

The whole scene made him feel sick. 

He forced himself to walk away, and just then the phone began to ring.

So The doctor bolted back to the main console grabbed the phone and waited, the very few seconds felt like years as he waited.

“Doctor, we have an update.” The Talaxi nurse told him, 

“Just tell me.” He said sharply but immediately relented, “I…am…so sorry.” 

“You’d be surprised how often it happens, nerves are a killer to us all.” They answered, “All is well, she is fine and they are both ready to see you.” 

Immediately tears began to well up, “thank you, I’ll be there in a moment.” He swiftly hung up the phone and wiped his eyes a relief of all the fear he had built up for so long.

But he didn’t want to keep them waiting. 

The doctor dressed himself in his best suit, making sure to look his best. He made his way out of the tardis finding himself in the small cupboard, so he carefully left walking the cold silent halls, as he did his watch’s alarm sounded. 

Midnight. 

Meaning officially, it was Christmas.

He reached the room and he fixed his hair, and straightened his bow tie before he walked in and instantly he felt warm, cosy, and so full of joy, that his hearts stopped a moment before they began to race. The little room with soft sky blue walls, and a window looking out across the planet from so high in the sky. A few of the nurses still milling about inside the room. 

But there, on the bed Y/n laid. 

Her hair was a mess and her eyes were tired, but she had a glow about her. 

In her arms the sweet baby laid. 

His hearts swelled beyond anything he had ever felt, his legs refused to move even if he so desperately wanted them to. 

“Hello…” He smiled already getting choked up, 

“Hello,” she smiled weakly, “You going to come say hello?”

“I can?”

“Of course,” she nodded, 

He smiled and rushed over sitting on the bed beside her trying hard to keep the tears in his eyes from falling as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, “How are you?”

“...Merry.” She said sarcastically bringing a chuckle to them both, “I feel… Okay,”

“I’m glad,” he smiled, “I was so worried.” He admitted, 

“I know you were,” she smiled back, “But it's over now.”

“And?”

“And he’s an angel.” She gently shifted the baby in her arms so he could see him better, “Here he is, happy and healthy,” 

He began to cry, “Can I?” He begged, 

“Of course,” She chuckled gently handing the baby over to him,

He held the baby boy sweety in his arms, cradling the newborn like he was the most precious thing, and in many ways he was. 

“and he’s just like his daddy,” she told him, 

“He- He is?”

“Mhm,” 

“The first time lord, born since the war. The first time lord and human baby born for… who knows how long. Our baby. Our little boy.” He cooed fighting back his tears as he kissed the baby’s little head, 

Y/n smiled and rested her head on The Doctor’s shoulder watching the baby in his arms and of course his adorable reaction. “Our little boy,” She giggled, “for now I suppose he might change that later.”

“Timelord so have a habit of going through phases, got to try everything and see what feels best.” He nodded, “But our little boy for now, till he knows.” 

“You could have been here, you know.”

“I didn’t want to be in the way,” he admits, “You know I wouldn’t be able to sit still while you're in pain. This is the best hospital in the galaxy and I was only in the tardis just down the corridor.” 

“I know, maybe next time.”

“Next time?” He raised an eyebrow, 

“You know what I mean,” she laughed, “I am sorry to say you don’t get a present this year,” 

He smiled and gave her a soft tender kiss, “You have given me the best present I’ve ever gotten.” He gently got to his feet and soothed the little boy in his arms to let Y/n rest, and he smiled down at him muttering softly, “And you little one, Not only are you the best present I have ever received. But you are going to get all the best presents every day for the whole of your life. All the toys you can ever want. Whatever pets you desire. Give you the stars and all else. Anything in this universe you want I will get it for you. Becuase you are the most precious thing ever to exist and I will do anything for you.” He smiled,

“You’re going to spoil him,” Y/n teased, 

“Indeed I am.” he smiled, “Everyday will be christmas for you little one, I swear it.” 

[awkward-tension-art]

Bacta and Bandages Epilogue (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 9.

The Hunt

CW: Talk of unfair treatment of clones, kisses, Ahsoka on the hunt, She tries to figure out why Rex is being all soft, Mention of Reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), reader is a doctor, if I miss a tag LMK!

Tag List (Thank you everyone!): @heavenseed76 @arctrooper69 @ghostlyembassy @notgonnaedit @tentakelspektakel @sparks0918 @clawmask

Ahsoka noticed Rex changed. After Drosaria was freed from Separatist control, the togruta noticed the difference. She thought it was temporary, but after a few more battles, it clicked how different he was acting.

He seemed…more relaxed. His smile came easier. 

Only around you though. 

Rex was still the 501st captain. Stern. Loyal. Hardworking. 

But it seemed like all of that melted away when he saw you. 

Ahsoka hummed in thought in her quarters, “what is the deal with Rex…” she mumbled. The padawan looked up to sigh, blue eyes landing on the vent grate. 

….oh.

She had an idea.

With a smirk, she stretched and got up, leaving her quarters. The young togruta was on the hunt for the clone Captain, and she was going to pounce. 

First was locating her friend. He wasn’t in the barracks, nor was he on the command bridge. She didn't want to ask. Afterall, she couldn’t give the game away. If someone told Rex that the commander was looking for him, he’d switch his demeanor. Act as Captain and not as Rex.

No, she had to remain a hunter. And…she may just have to lie in wait. 

She could go into his office. But…that seemed too personal. The Captain probably needed a private place to go over data, protocol and other army matters. Ahsoka didn’t want to break that security and have him look over his shoulder when he would normally feel safe.

Afterall, she knew that most Clones didn’t get such private, personal areas to themselves. Even a bed wasn’t guaranteed for them. 

So, Rex’s office, off limits to her. 

However, once she returned to the prowl through the hallways, she found the 501st Captain. He was down the hall, looking over a datapad as he walked. The togruta kept her distance, doing her best to look natural, but still remained out of his sight. 

Ahsoka turned a corner, leaning out slightly to watch Rex walk into one of the lounges on the floor. She narrowed her eyes and glanced around. If she went inside the lounge, he’d know. With a sigh, she looked up. 

Above her was the metal ceiling. And a vent grate. 

A vent. Just what she was looking for!

Ha! She could continue her hunt!

With the Force and a jump, she was inside the inner workings of the Resolute. As quietly as she could, she crawled through the vent system of the venator class ship. Once she navigated her way to the lounge, she watched him. 

He hadn’t put down the datapad, instead, holding it in his left hand as he prepared a cup of caf. Other troopers were relaxing, either sleeping, chatting or watching the pod racing broadcast on the holoTV. 

They didn’t pay their Captain much mind. He was silent, most likely not wanting to bother the soldiers in their downtime. He put the small plastic cap over the caf cup and quietly left the lounge. 

Damnit. He’s on the move.

She huffed, opening the grate below her and jumping down. She landed silently, also refusing to bother the troopers while they relaxed. 

Her steps were quick out of the room, and back into the hallway. 

The hunt continued. 

Captain Rex kept his eyes on the datapad while he walked. The caf was steady in his other hand, but he wasn’t taking a sip. It hit the padawan that he was bringing it to someone.

Was it you? 

She continued her stealth, wanting to confirm her suspicions. 

Rex made another turn and opened the door to the medical bay. 

…And just like that, Ahsoka was back inside the vent system. She remained in the shadow, blue eyes trained down on the Captain and you. 

You sipped the cup, letting out a relieved breath, “Thank you, Rex.” Your smile was warm and friendly. 

“Of course, kar’ta. I know the last battle exhausted you.” He raised a hand to brush it over your cheek, “The injuries were high, and you’ve done a good job taking care of everyone.”

Kar’ta? Ahsoka frowned. It sounded like mando’a but she couldn’t be sure. 

Maybe it was a term of endearment? The clones called each other vod, so maybe it meant something similar. Like ‘friend’ or-

You leaned forward and pecked his cheek. 

Not friend. Kar’ta probably didn’t mean friend.

Rex laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. He was flustered, but happy to have received such affection. It felt like the Force sang around him in joy.

You, however, kept your smile, and the padawan could sense an air of love and adoration from you. 

Ok, definitely not friends. Lovers.

Ahsoka’s hunt was over. She got exactly what she needed. Confirmation why the 501st Captain was acting differently. She was victorious! 

…and she was an idiot.

Suddenly everything made sense. Ever since the Blue Shadow Virus Crisis, she figured something was going on, and now his behavior made sense. 

Force, how was the padawan that oblivious!?

Rex pecked your lips, “I need to get back to my office and go through these requisition orders…” He sighed, actually sounding mournful to leave the medical bay. 

“Go on, be the Captain everyone needs you to be,” You stroked his cheek, returning his kiss. The two of you separated, and he left your side to return to the hallway. She did as well.

Ahsoka waited for a moment when the hall was empty before she jumped down. 

So the Captain and Doctor were lovers…

Unexpected. Not a bad thing of course! Just…unexpected. 

The togruta had heard the stories. Of clones being found with romantic partners and being forced to break-up or moved to Kamino for reconditioning. It made her sick to know that her men were forbidden from such things or face the consequences. 

She won’t give anything away to anyone. Rex and you deserved happiness. The padawan would keep your secret. 

The Jedi couldn’t form attachment because their focus was the entire galaxy. But the soldiers? These hardworking, determined men? There was no valid reason they shouldn’t be able to find love! 

She sighed, thinking of her master.

Anakin held the same thoughts as her. That the troopers should be able to be free to pursue relationships if they wanted.

Ahsoka stopped, realizing something.

The aura around you and Rex. It was sweet. Affectionate and warm. Something she had sensed when Anakin was with Padme. However, she never had a frame of reference for it. So she just assumed her master and senator were good friends, like they both said they were. 

She slapped her hand to her face. 

By the Force...she was a moron....

[callmelyc]

Part 2 of this the Lance loosing a leg Langst

Less angst in this one bc I'm a sucker for a happy ending. Again copy and pasted from Twitter ignore typos and grammar 🥰

Keith can still hear it, the moment the coms clicked back to life ringing static in his ears where there was once only silence.

From shiro demanding checks ins all the way to Lance's line remaining silent.

Everything from that mission was a blur, a nightmare.

Keith's throat burns from the way he'd yelled through the coms for lance. His eyes ache from the tears he'd finally allowed to fall once they'd learned why he'd been so quiet.

Keith can still feel Lances dead weight collapse into his arms, can still feel the blood drenching him as he rushed lance to Coran hoping and praying to whatever God exists to please

Please don't let lance die

let him be fast enough

And he was, if ever so slightly

Lance had lost too much blood, Coran had said. Had Keith been any slower....had lance not managed to- God Keith can't even allow himself to finish the thought

It makes him feel sick to his stomach to know lance had been corned alone..

And now Keith stands outside of his pod next to the entire team looking at a battered lance that isnt nearly as whole as the one they'd last seen. They’d cut off his leg, it wasn’t clean nor did Coran have to tell them it was quick. They all knew it wasn’t. Couldn’t have been with how jagged and rough the slices appear to have been if the marking left on lances thigh were anything to go by. They’d butchered him alive making sure with every slice he’d suffered.

What their enemies failed to account for was that lance was a paladin of voltron, a master sniper and a damn good soldier good at getting himself out of just about any scenario and all the tight spots.

From the footage Pidge was able to scrape from that cursed vessel he’d done just that while laying in a pool of his own blood thanks to pure will power alone. He’d survived where they - the enemy- hadn’t. In doing so Lance discovered something none of them knew possible, not even Allura and Coran thought it a possibility. He’d turned his bayard into a temporary prosthetic.

Lance was the first paladin to ever manage turning his bayard into anything other than a weapon. The first to ever turn his bayard into something the likes of what hed managed.

“It’s unheard of” Allura murmured “for the bayard to become something as such- I cannot fathom how he managed such a feat.”

“Didn’t you once say the bayards would take the form of what the paladin needed?”

“I-“

“Wouldn’t that, in theory, mean we could make them anything we needed? Tools, equipment, or like Lance did- a new limb.” Pidge continues.

“I suppose so…” Allura says, pensive with her glance towards lances pod “we will have to revisit this one he can tell us how he did so.”

Keith looks away from the two, staring at the pod, at how unmoving lance is and thinks: It doesn’t matter how he did it, only that he’s ok after the fact.

~*~

Lance woke two weeks after the mission that plagued Kieth with nightmares.

In his sleep hed see lance bleeding out alone, hed see lance draggging himself desperately across the floor calling out his name….so now, now Keith waits outside of lances pod day and night. He sleeps curled up next to the pod that way when he wakes from these nightmares Keith can glance up and see lances moving chest. He can see the healing pods progress on lances damaged flesh with his own two eyes and calm every bit of turmoil resting in his veins.

Lance wakes to Keith once again holding out his arms, and once he falls, holding him in them.

Keith had waited to catch lance, had refused to let anyone else stand where he was so hed be able to do so. And he’s glad he had, Lance didn’t joke. Didn’t smile or make any random comments or say any questions. He was so unlike himself in that moment that right then and there they all realized just how hard this journey would be for not only lance but the rest of them.

Lance buried his face into Keith’s shoulder with a shaken exhale. Keith only pulls him in closer, more secure, because he knows that sound, Lance is holding back tears.

“It’s ok, I’ve got you.” Keith whispers softly, sliding up a hand to pet lances hair comfortingly “we’ve all got you.”

The team joins their embrace as lance finally allows himself to sob, the pain wrenching through his throat, the tears soaking through Keith’s shirt. But finally, finally lance allows himself to feel it all. To feel the fear, the relief he never lets himself have during that mission and they’d all be there as he worked thorough it.

Keith places a soft kiss to lances nape “I’ve got you sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

It’s Keith that holds lance through the night after that with the entirety of the team sleeping nearby to remind him that when he wakes from those nightmares he isn’t alone.

It’s Keith that lance responds the most too first.

Lance tells him everything he can remember, how the ground felt so cold, how everything was spinning so fast. The silence being loud and deafening and the burn of his leg being cut off being unlike anything hed ever felt before.

“I can still feel it.” Lance says one night as they look out at the stars “the ache from the first slice, the nerves being cut…”

Keith chances a glance at the blue paladin, he takes in his hallowed eyes, the way he looks so far away.

“Coran said it was normal, the phantom pains. I just want it to stop…” lance turns to look Keith in the eye, the emotions he feels finally showing in them “will it ever stop Keith?”

“I don’t know.” Keith replies, knowing Lance doesn’t need white lies. He squeezes lances hand in comfort “but, regardless, we’re all here for you lance. You don’t have to do any of this alone, no matter how long it takes.”

After that night they were inseparable.

Anytime anyone looked for lance all they had to do was look for Keith.

They did lances physical therapy together, they did his checkups together, training, meals, sleeping….you name it.

Shiro even talked Lance through the emotions and traumas that deal with looking such a permanent part of yourself and Keith stayed near the entire time.

It wasn’t that he was trying to be overwhelming or suffocating, Keith swears he isn’t trying to be too much. Every-time he even thinks about letting lance out of his sight he remembers that look in his eye, the one on his face filled with pain and fear and- Keith just can’t do it. He can’t leave lance alone. Not until he’s better.

Lance should be happy! Should have light in his eyes that make them brighter than the sun, should have a laugh that reverberates through the room like a song. He should be picking fights with Keith, arguing with Pidge, starting challenges that get them all to take care of themselves indirectly so he doesn’t ruin his cool guy image.

And Keith will be dammed if he doesn’t make sure lance get to that point again.

~*~

It’s Pidge that make the new prosthetic with the help of hunk and the olkari. Lances new leg is made to be lightweight, agile, waterproof, similar in feeling to his human leg for balance with the flexibility to match so that he can still swim and bend to his hearts content. They make sure it could disguise itself with “flesh’ that matches his skin so that is he wished to conceal his loss more privately or for certain occasions he could do so through his healing process and beyond.

“And anything you want added we’ll do it.” Pidge adds as she goes through the list of all the things his prosthetic can do once attached “any enchantment at all. You can even ask for us to make it glow in the dark or play pit bulls Mr worldwide every time you touch down on a new planet. We’d never say no to you.”

That gets a small smile from lance as he runs his fingers ever so lightly across the alien metal surfaces. Keith watches him do so, watches him be so gentle and lost in his touch. It’s nice to see him trying even if they all know this is difficult for him still.

“What if I want it to kick Keith’s ass?” Lance jokes lightly trying to keep the mood from going too south.

For the first time in weeks they see lance laugh, they see him crack jokes and send jabs at comments Pidge gives in reply. The entire conversation with the two mad scientist of the team is full of wisecracks and laughter about all the crazy enhancements they could possibly add to the leg.

“What if you make multiple and one is a cannon—“

“Why a cannon?”

“So I can bust a kneecap and still blow everyone away with my presence!”

Keith will find shiro later and thank him for talking lance through what its like to loose a limb, how to handle it, how the prosthetic healing process will feel once attached. And all shiro will do is clap Keith on the shoulder and say “you aren’t giving yourself enough credit there kiddo. If anyone is pulling weight here its you, you’re keeping him grounded and I can tell it means the world to him.”

That sentiment sits with Keith as he goes through the day, as he gets lance and himself ready for bed, as he lays down next to lance, sharing their covers, and whisper goodnights. It sits with him as he holds lances hand through the attachment surgery that he’d insisted he stay for. They’d tried everything to get Keith to leave but lance looked so woefully upset at the thought that they allowed Keith to stay so long as he was thoroughly and properly sanitized.

He ran a thumb across lances hand from his bedside until he woke up after the fact and kissed his hand with a gentle “good morning” when those blue eyes met his own.

Lances weak smile in response was still a smile that Keith would hold like a trophy.

The healing journey that followed was rough as expected, with many ups and down as no healing is linear.

Lance would get frustrated at his balance, at the leg, at the loss. He’d be angry he couldn’t feel things like he used to, couldn’t feel the ground, couldn’t run like he could before.

Shiro built his training regimen to mirror what hed wished he had when hed gotten his arm and it helped but not nearly as much as the pep talks and brutal honesty Keith would provide during his spirals.

At a certain point Keith even resulted to doing what lance used to do to him, taunt and utilize the rivalry card.

“Giving up already?” He’d say and lance would snarl in response and rise to the challenge if not to win out of sheer petiteness. “That all you got?” “This is the paladin that unlocked more about the bayards?”

Lance would come at Keith like a lion, one out for blood and fierce in his movements. He went from sloppy to more graceful, from a tilt-a-whirl to a proper fighter. Lance was able to swim again, not as strong as before but hed get there and all of them noticed the progress flourish around Keith.

Keith and the rivalry, the challenger, the one that figured out he could use lances own tactics against him. It all worked like a charm.

Through it all lances bayard never once veered from a weapon. Allura had watched closely hoping and praying that he could do it again that he could turn the bayard in to anything else so that they could all learn how to do so too. But no matter the efforts they all fell flat.

Lance couldn’t remember how hed done it, much too delirious from the blood loss, pain and hallucinations. And all through the weeks hed lacked a prosthetic at all hed still never managed to do the transformation a second time.

Keith blocks a sharp kick form lances new leg and rolls away before a second lands “a kick like that wont get you anywhere McClain!”

Lance pushes on attempting to knock Keith off balance with his leg “if you think I’m done you’ve got a big storm coming kogane!”

The spar goes like a dance, twirling and yielding, dodging and gliding. Two halves of a whole, red and blue.

Lance spins around to dodge Keith and just as Keith goes to follow Lance knocks him off his feet. Keith doesn’t care one bit but for lances triumphantly whoop, that’s the best prize in the world.

~*~

It’s not until the next major mission they go on, the first since lances injury, that everything is brought back full circle.

They get cornered by space pirates and they take their bayards away. Lance and Pidge both mouth off at the crew who bite back with pride that they’ll get quite the bounty for them all.

Thrown into prison cells beneath the deck they sit and wait attempting to come up with a plan to unlock the cell doors.

During the midst of the arguments, the back and forths, Pidge challenges lances ideas. Everyone was frustrated, tired, all in disagreement. It was bound for insults to arise that were not truly meant.

“Why don’t you just unlock the door then Einstein!”

Lance gasps in offense “FINE! I WILL!”

“Fine!”

And before their very eyes lances hand summons forth his bayard “you just can’t handle that I might have some good ideas sometimes can you?!”

“Lance—“

“I can think too ya know! I went to the garrison too!” Lance shouts, flailing his arm around and the bayard transforms into a key.

“Lance!” Pidge laughs in awe but he continues on as if they aren’t all starting at him in their amazement.

He turns sharply to unlock the door, throws it open with a huff, and turns to put his hands on his hips. “SEE! My plans aren’t so bad—“

“LANCE!” They all yell, but not in anger, no…they yell in joy. He’d finally figured it out, Lance did it again and this time they’d seen it with their own eyes.

Keith just smiles on, taking lances hand to run “we can talk about this later, we need to get off this ship.”

“Talk about what?!” Lance asks, breaking into a run right alongside Keith, his hand lacing together with Keith’s.

It’s not until they jump ship (literally) and run to their lions that Keith finally gives Lance a response “ how amazing you are.”

If the two stand hand in hand during the debriefing, well, no one bats n eye nor speaks a word of it.

~*~

Turns out it was due to high emotions, Lance being able to use his Bayard as a true tool rather than a weapon. Lance feels so much naturally, so freely, that when his emotions went beyond anything he’d felt before, his bayard heard him through the paladin bond and that formed an entirely new connection. After that relating the use was easier.

Now Lance needed any emotion to turn his bayard into a tool so much as he willed it to be. The downside being that the transformation was much more draining than the usual weapon call would be. Never the less it remained a usual advantage for a variety of possible scenarios and situations that allowed it.

Training for how the others could do so, however, was deemed much too risky due to the circumstances behind the discovery. Allura and Shiro both agreed the risk far too high.

“It’s best to allow it to happen naturally…we’d not want to damage you to make it possible. You all go through so much already.” Allura tells them with a small smile “but—“ she glanced over to Lance, beaming with pride “I know that all of you are strong, and thanks to Lance we now know it to even be a Possibility. We can be prepared for anything.”

Keith slides a hand around lances waist, resting his head on his shoulder “ told you so.” He says softly so that only Lance may hear it.

Lance glances down at him “told me—?”

“You were amazing, are amazing”

Lance just sniffles, trying his best to hold back the tears “ only as amazing as you make me.”

Keith hugs him, pushing all his love into it. When Lance returns the embrace he knows his message was heard loud and clear. This is how voltrons sniper learns he is so much more. More than a weapon, more than a soldier. A tool perhaps, but also an inspiration to his peers, a part of a family, and most of all: someone to love.

[novankenn]

May I have this Dance?

/==/ In French mythology or folklore, Dames Blanches (meaning literally white ladies) were female spirits or supernatural beings. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dames_blanches)

/==/

The attack on Beacon had been resisted and routed, but at a high cost in life. Civilian, emergency workers, soldiers, students, huntsmen, all paid a horrifically steep price for the safety and preservation of Vale.

Yet to Pyrrha there was a single loss that was an anathema for her. Her partner, the vibrant young woman she had grown from crushing on to loving completely, was gone. Her future erased by Cinder Fall. Ozpin tried to comfort the red-haired champion, but all his words about noble, heroic and valiant sacrifice, tasted like ash. The words were meaningless. Offered no comfort.

When Cinder had appeared, Joan acted without hesitation. Charging the demonic woman, making her shift her aim from the pods to Joan. Pyrrha didn't remember much after seeing Cinder's black arrow impale Joan through the throat. Pyrrha couldn't recall anything up to the point she was cradling Joan's body. Willing with everything inside her for Joan's aura to spark back to life. To seal the viciously cruel wound.

Pyrrha didn't care that Ozpin had bested Cinder. Mortally wounding the demonic woman. All she wanted was to hear Joan's musical voice. To see her angelic smile. Cinder had robbed Pyrrha of both, and then Joan's very essence of life. It took Pyrrha's teammates, Nora, and Ren, plus Joan's own Aunt Glynda Goodwitch to get Pyrrha to release her grip upon Joan's body.

For the remainder of the night, Pyrrha sat in the medical tent, clenching Joan's cold stiff hand, as she repeatedly whispered promises of love and journeys home to family. Cradled in the restraining brace of openly weeping Glynda, Pyrrha screamed and raged when Joan's body was taken away, to finally succumb to her emotional pain and physical exhaustion.

As the clean up began, Pyrrha remained silent and sequestered herself in the temporary lodgings that had been assigned to her team. Her tears were dry now, her body having finally run out of them. Pyrrha couldn't remember what day it was, and to be honest she didn't care. Without Joan, everything felt so empty, valueless.

Glynda said nothing when she arrived. On her hip hung Crocea Mors, in her hands a bronze urn etched with the Arc family crest.

"I want you," Glynda spoke with a cracking voice. "to watch over her until we can take her home. Can you?

Pyrrha nodded silently as she reached up and accepted the urn. The tears she thought were gone, returning anew. Barely able to function Pyrrha with Glynda's assistance placed the urn upon the table next to Pyrrha's bed. Glynda following with placing Crocea Mors beside it.

"When?" Pyrrha managed to force out.

"Two days." Glynda replied. As he pulled Pyrrha into a side hug and kissed the top of her head. "Two days."

Pyrrha didn't even register the passage of time or the trip. Her world was now the cold bronze urn clutched to her chest. At the Arc homestead, they were all greeted as family. Ren and Nora finding comfort in sharing stories of Joan with her sisters. Pyrrha couldn't. She couldn't speak, all she could do was hold the urn against her heart, praying to both the brothers that Joan could feel the love she still bore in her shattered heart.

"Pyrrha?" Jasmine, Joan's mother addressed her. Glynda standing beside her. "Can you come with us?"

Pyrrha didn't replied, she just stood woodenly stood up, clutching the urn close. The two women, blood relations to Joan, gently placed warm hands upon her shoulders. She never saw the nod Glynda and Jasmine gave Joan's father Nicholas. She never noticed how he shifted attention so none would notice the departing trio.

It was a slow, and silent walk through a well kept woodland trail, that ended at the edge of a pond, at the center of which was a small island. On the island, in fact taking up the entirety of it was a garden, surrounded by a low stone fence. The feature of the garden a majestic and stately Weeping Willow. In the sky above the first stars were becoming visible.

"Every member of the Arc clan, who has passed, has their ashes spread here." Jasmine quietly informed Pyrrha. "That Willow has been in this place before the Great War."

Pyrrha was barely listening.

"The Arc's believe it will remain until the end of their line." Glynda offered. "Jasmine, Nicholas and I spoke. We think Joan would have wished for you to spread her ashes here."

Pyrrha looked as the pair of women wearing comforting but sorrowful smiles. Pyrrha swallowed, and sniffled, a fresh batch of tears threatening to spill from her puffy eyes.

"It's okay, Pyrrha." Jasmine spoke, while gently guiding her to the stone bridge that allowed access to the island. "It's what Joan would have wanted."

"It's okay." Glynda added.

Pyrrha swallowed and took a tentative step forward followed by another and another. The tip was maybe twenty feet, but it felt like miles to Pyrrha. Standing before the ageless Willow Tree, Pyrrha swallowed again before opening the urn.

"I love you, Joan." Pyrrha choked out, before tipping the urn and spilling its contents about the roots of the tree. "I love you, and I miss you... I miss you so much..."

Pyrrha stood there for a few more minutes, silently trying to gather the strength for the return trip to the shore. For one final walk away from Joan, and what their future could have been. The urn fell from Pyrrha's nerveless hands, at the ethereal figure standing before her upon the bridge. Draped in the purest of white ballgowns was Joan, smiling at her.

"Joan?" Pyrrha squeaked out.

"May I have this dance my lady?" Joan's musical voice touched Pyrrha's ears. With shaking steps Pyrrha approached and reached out her hands.

"Yes." Pyrrha sobbed out. "Yes."

Glynda, and Jasmine watched as Joan and Pyrrha slowly began to move about. Their steps in perfect unison, as they glided about the narrow bridge. The sound of footsteps alerted to the arrival of the others. Glynda and Jasmine reached out and took Athena Nikos' hands. Squeezing them gently. Standing off just a little behind the trio of women, was Ren and Nora, Nicholas Arc's strong but comforting hands upon their shoulders.

They all watched as Pyrrha and Joan danced, and danced. Pyrrha's tears of sorrow being replaced with joy. Joan's radiant smile never faltering.

"I love you Joan."

"I love you Pyr. Now and forever."

No one said a single word as they continued to watch the pair of women continued to dance, sharing their love and joy with each other. Showing those who were witness the purity genuineness of their love.

"I love you Pyrrha." Athena whispered as the first rays of dawn stretched out over the horizon, and the pair of young women, lost in each other's eyes faded from sight. "I'll love you, always."

/==/

💕Dedicated to Everyone I have Lost over the Years, both Family and Friends. I miss you.💕

/==/

/==> Jaunes of the Monster-Verse Collection <==\

(A/N - This one was hard for me to write, but I needed to get this out. Last week I lost a good friend from work and I found today that the night before she passed she was planning on calling me. She was good friend and I miss her. So I spent half of this crying about memories of her and other people I really miss... My apologies if this post is a mess.)

[barleyo]

Demon Knife.

Jake Sully X Fem! Metkayina! Reader (smut)

A/N: My first, and hopefully not last, post for @pandoraslxna 's Avatar kinktober! Sorry for the late addition, I had almost forgotten that today was a prompt I had chosen! I hope you all enjoy; apologies for this work's rushed nature.

Wordcount: 1.1K

Tags: knife kink, knife play, mentions of blood and cutting, Na'vi reader, fingering (?), oral sex (f receiving), sex with a stranger, risk play, semi-public

(Y/N) had been going through Jake’s belongings in his marui. She was nosy by nature, and he had left earlier to attend a meeting with the rest of Metkayina in order to interrogate him in his search for uturu; she greedily took the opportunity to snoop through the stranger’s personal items. Seeing the small bag in the corner of her temporary pod, she immediately opened it and dug around. 

“What is this?” she mumbled to herself, picking up a leather sheath. She opened the Velcro patch then looked inside. A large combat knife sat in the sleeve. “Hm…” Her hand wrapped around the black, padded handle. She gave it a squeeze, feeling the handle spring back slightly. 

She ran her other hand over the flat of the blade and peered into her reflection on the shiny silver. Of course, she had seen blades before, but this one was different, something that could have never come from her people. Her finger faltered a bit at the tip of the knife, slicing her fingertip open. The tiny cut flowed with pricked blood, and she quickly threw the knife back into Jake’s bag, wincing at the sharp pain.

“What’re you going through my stuff for?” Jake stood in the marui’s opening silently watching as (Y/N) held her bleeding finger. 

“Toruk Makto,” she said respectfully, bowing her head, placing her hands behind her back before she continued, “I was only trying to see that your quarters were in order, I would not want you to feel unwelcome.”

“Right.” He was unimpressed at her attempt to hide her finger. Walking over to her, he grabbed her wrist and pulled the hand up to his face. His nose scrunched at the scent of her blood. “You were searching through my stuff. You don’t trust me.” 

“No, that is not true–”

“You are skeptical of me,” he said, interrupting (Y/N) swiftly. “I can prove myself trustworthy.” Jake ran his tongue over her finger, clearing up the red pool on her skin. 

“Jake,” her voice felt like it was bubbling in her throat as she struggled to force the name out of her mouth, “what do you mean? I— I am not sure if I am understanding correctly.” 

Everything about the man made her feel nervous, like an outsider. He looked different from her, and from everyone else in her village, but it was more than that. His mannerisms, his speech, his name: they were all foreign to her. 

He was unlike any man of Metkayina making, or any Na’vi that she had ever met.

“Let me show you my value,” he explained again, voice wispy, yet firm. “I will prove myself useful.” He gently took purchase of her shoulder and pushed her onto a flexible wall in the marui pod. 

On his knees, Jake leaned to the side and hooked his hand around the strap of his bag and inched it closer to him. He grabbed the knife, and held the handle of it loosely, just tightly enough to keep it in his grasp. He cut the thin fabric that kept her tweng tied, chuckling softly as she gasped at the cold air hitting her.

“You’re a sensitive one, yeah?”

She hummed in response before feeling a small, faint scratch on her thigh. “Ah? Jake, what are you doing?” Her eyes widened a bit when she looked down to see him pressing the knife’s blade to her inner thigh, then widened even more at the feeling of him latching onto the small cut on her leg. His teeth gently nibbled at the skin around the spot he was sucking, leaving deep, purple marks over it. 

Briefly removing his mouth with a pop, he looked up at her and hushed her, playfully smirking at her. “Quiet down, girl. So impatient.” 

Instead of returning his mouth to her thigh, he flipped the knife in his hand, calloused palm expertly holding the blade’s sharp end. His hand covered the entirety of the silver, yet no blood was pricked. 

“Your hand–?” She tried to bend down to look at his palm, assuming he had cut himself like she had moments earlier. 

“Shh,” he put his finger to his lips and hushed her again, giving her a soft nod to calm her. 

Jake prodded at her hole with the handle of the knife. The soft, rounded tip felt different, but welcome in her greedy cunt as she lowered her body, sinking onto it. 

“Thought you’d be nervous ‘bout this thing,” he said with a whisper, hitching the handle up into her jaggedly. “Ain’t never seen one like this?”

She tried to shake her head, but her body was too focused on clenching around the leather handle. Her hands found their way to his shoulder, pulling his torso close to her lower half. Taking that as a hint, he wrapped his lips around her clit and swirled the aroused bud around.

“Jake, please, do not stop,” she pleaded, on the cusps of her orgasm already. 

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he said through his long drags over her cunt with his tongue. 

He brought his arm behind her leg, pulling her body down and forcing all of her weight on his forearm. Holding her up let him completely bury himself between her legs.

The black leather felt soft against her gummy walls as she went slack, and she whined as he aimlessly plunged it into her.

“Oh my, now, s’happening, ma’--” she stumbled over her words, pleasure clouding her mind as she almost moaned his name in a way too personal for what was happening between them. Her legs wrapped tightly around his head, coated his face in a sweet sheen of cum, and left a white trail of arousal to drip down the blade handle.

“Say it,” he urged, lapping at her clit faster, forcing her body into sharp overstimulation. 

“Ma’Jake, I cannot handle any more, s-s’too much.”

Jake let his tongue tease over her for a few seconds extra before pulling his knife out of her and his face away from her core. He wrapped his hands around her waist to stabilize her body as he stood up.

A few seconds passed, pure silence between the two as they just stared at each other: Jake’s face shiny with her cum, and her face flushed purple with her afterglow. 

“I– I did not mean to search through your belongings,” she said shamefully, eyes averting from him.

He laughed, a small huff of air passing through his nose.

“I’m glad you did. You’re a curious girl.”

“I wanted to know more about you– you are very different, Jake Sully.”

“You’re a smart girl too, eh? Glad you noticed.”

[klanceficatalogue]

Do you have any more secret relationship fics? I'm a sucker for those :D <3

indeed <3 - k

Ain't No River Wide Enough (To Keep Me From Getting To You, Babe) by negativefouriq (2/2 | 4,032 | Mature)

Lance finishes rubbing the lotion into his legs and sets it back on the bedside table, leaning over the laptop screen to grab his hairbrush. He mutters a near-silent “Shit, sorry,” as he accidentally bumps the screen with his chest, catching the edge of his robe on the corner of the screen and loosening it. He adjusts the screen again, carefully grabbing his brush and moving back away so as not to hit it again. When he settles back onto the bed, he catches Keith’s eyes looking hastily back to his face, again. He shakes his head fondly as he untwists his towel from his hair and starts to brush through the damp curls. Poor Keith. Must be hard for him to do anything…fun, ahem, in shared barracks. Rip to him, honestly, because Lance does not have that problem. Say what you will about the castle, but at least he has his own room and a lock on his door. “You’re distracted today,” Lance comments, smirking slightly. He lets his robe slip down his shoulder, watching Keith’s eyes follow the movement. “Am not,” Keith protests. --- OR: Keith and Lance video chat. They both drive each other a little batty.

White light in your arms tonight by mustardlord (1/1 | 4,056 | Teen and Up)

Lance had been in the pod for one movement, and if the team noticed Keith spent his days next to Lance, they didn't mention it. He would stay on his side, often skipping meals and forgetting to take care of himself. He sometimes went to the training grounds when it was all too much. Keith set the training bots to a high difficulty and got his ass handed to him, but at least he didn't worry about anything other than fighting. or After a month secretly together, Lance suffers an accident and Keith doesn't know what to do with himself.

//violence //temporary character death

you're a dream to me by icedpink (1/1 | 6,107 | Teen and Up)

"Did you know you snore?" Keith asks, still laughing. The team finds out about Keith and Lance's relationship due to snoring, of all things.

[ibuprofinator]

I wrote this a while back and put it on AO3, but a bitch loves to crosspost.

Heart of stone

Lae'zel of Crèche K'liir doesn't cry. She is her queen's most loyal blade in a sea of swords and blood. Her life hinges on her strength, her resolve. The sharpness of her eyes and body demanded respect with every step she took; the praise of her mentors powering the walk from her crèche to the ghaik circling the underdark.

It was careless, getting captured. It was a mistake she should never have made. The pod and her nightmares were the only thing she knew for far too long. When the thing she has sworn to take the head of finally opened her pod it was with worm in clawed hand. There was nothing she could do. Lae'zel, daughter of Gith, pride of Crèche K'liir could do no more than writhe fruitlessly against her bindings as the thing that enslaved her people made sure she would one day soon become just like them.

She breaks free. Strength sapped. Hellfire blazing around her. She knows what she must do in an instant. Without a second thought she stands up and marches forward through the ship.

She finds allies to supplement her temporary weakness, then she loses them, then they save her from yet another trap she carelessly stumbled into while adjusting to the blinding sun and fumes of the crash. In exchange she offers the cure of her people. She knows it to be the best way, the only way. After everything and all the wrongness of this world she just wants to see her people and attain the purity she knows they have perfected.

Lae'zel is ignored, and the tadpole is silent. One more day of waiting can't hurt, they say, one more week, one more month, one more year as long as the half elf holds onto an artifact stolen from the bloody clutches of her people. She hates the smell of grass, the weakness of the children, the joy of their music. It's all wrong. How can their lives be so easy that this is the first time they've touched a weapon? She finds a small piece of herself envying it before pushing it down with her steeled determination.

She will save herself, save them all, and she will bring the head of twelve dozen ghaik to her Queen for doing this to her.

When they finally heed her and seek out a crèche, it's just as alien as the rest of the world. The way they carry themselves is so vastly different from her home. The walls are crumbling with disrepair, the teachers waste their time, and the thing she had sought since the parasite worked its way behind her eye nearly kills her.

She convinces herself it was tampered with. The allies who have slowly begun to call her friend look at her with worry, then exasperation when she insists they need to report the ghustil. They tell her that the zaith'isk was designed to kill her and it always would. She knew. She knew deep within the pit of her stomach that they were right. But they couldn't be. She was Lae'zel of Crèche K'liir, her Queen's most loyal blade, and if she knew purification to be true, then it must be.

She marches them through the crèche to the Inquisitor and every piece of her lights up when Vlaakith looks upon her and says her name.

Lae'zel. 

It did sound regal coming from the lips of her Queen.

When they fail to complete the one task they were given, she's met with a sea of swords and leaves behind a river of blood. Her stomach churns and the tadpole squirms at the thought that the person, the Goddess, she dedicated her life and soul to would condemn her to this. 

Lae'zel listens to Voss when he intrudes on their camp, but she doesn't quite believe him. She doesn't quite believe anyone. She doesn't quite believe herself when she says that Vlaakith has sinned against her.

Her companions soften around her. She'd never admit it, but she softens too. The tadpole scares her less, but she's more determined than ever to undo it for herself and for them.

It's not until after the darkness of the shadow cursed lands is defeated, after Ketheric is dead, after she's seen the brain pulsating with power, after her people come for her throat again that she feels like she has a moment to breathe.

They step away from the lands cursed by darkness and see the sun again. It's warm and kind on her skin. She can smell the trees and morning dew covering each blade of grass and newly budded petal. She is no longer her Queen's sword. She didn't know what she was anymore. Her soul felt empty and her heart was constantly contorting in her chest.

Lae'zel of Crèche K'liir doesn't cry. But she let a tear fall down her cheek and onto the grass to hide amidst the dew.

[obm-avenquire]

devildom ambience - solomon’s room

•  The clocks are almost never synced up. You have no idea how he manages to keep track of them all, each unlabelled and seemingly always operating on a different time, repurposed as stop watches and timers and then back to keeping track of time zones across the realms.

• His room smells a little different every time you visit. There's always a faint smoky undertone, mixed with parchment and the old yellowing books that fill his bookshelves. Still, it's almost always overshadowed with whatever chemical he played with last - thankfully he keeps the more unpleasant and dangerous ones (sulphur, mercury, the hundreds of unnamed plants and substances he makes use of-) contained, both out of consideration for you and to Simeon who despairs at the mess and clutter that no amount of cleaning is ever enough for.

•  You run one hand across the deep button tufted leather, sleek and red, and less comfortable to sit on than you had initially expected. Not uncomfortable, per say, but there's a grounded firmness only found in unused furniture. (Solomon later confesses later that you are, in fact, the only one to really use it. Solomon is rarely one to rest, and he'd picked whatever he thought might seem welcoming for guests. He doesn't get many.)

•  Crackling fire, bubbling, simmering liquids, concentrated fluids that drip-    drip-    drip-     down into empty glass.

• He lets you help, sometimes, when he can trust that he can keep you safe, guiding you through the specifics bit by bit, shaving thin curls of some gnarled root into cauldrons, cutting up plants and peeling rough skin off strange fruits. It's an arduous and particular process, and Solomon ever-lighthearted, becomes remarkably critical, picking and choosing at each ingredient and transferring each piece to its proper place.

•  He always has something new to show you, even when he invites you to hideaway in his room from everyone else provided you 'don't expect him to be a good host', he just can't help but get...distracted. Boyish, eager for feedback and admittedly needy, he can only spend so much time tinkering before he feels the need to show off just a little. Once, silently tapping your shoulder to show you dried, ashy seed pod heads on twirled stalks, pouring bright blue kernels into the mortar. He picks up the pestle - just as old and well-loved as its partner - and carefully, carefully, splitting the seed in two, and you watch as it crackles and pops, keening like a firework as it sputters multicoloured sparks and flickers of light.

•  They'd offered to soundproof his room when he'd first joined - an offer he appreciated, but not one he ever accepted. The artificial silence that came with that sort of thing gave him headaches, he'd said. Listening faintly through the walls of the Purgatory Hall, you can't help but just...find it more homely. Footsteps in the hallway, students bickering outside the darkened windows, little things like that, and - on days where you're lucky - faint singing. His temporary home is alive.

•  He shows you pointed crystal growths along the shed skins of strange creatures, glass-like teeth from the maws of sand dragons and the green, moss tangled furs of rain deers. Clay and ochre and blood and ichor, though he spares you his most unpleasant ingredients, he can't help but want to revel in sharing it with you, ever fascinated by the unending resource of learning, creation without exchange, or loss.

[leslie-lyman]

Euclidean Geometry

Summary: They make no attempt to define what this is, who they are to each other. All they know is that now they are together.

Pairing: Modern!Pero x Frankie x Jack x f!reader (sort of, this is in the third person, reader is referred to only as she/her)

Rating: E 🚨 absolutely no minors

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: smut, M/M and M/M/F; some implied D/s dynamics; allusions to the lingering trauma of military service

A/n: I don’t know what this is (other than absurdly self-indulgent nonsense), but this idea hooked its claws into me and this is what resulted. It’s just kind of a series of snapshots, really. No plot, just vibes. There may be more after this, we’ll see.

Masterlist.

———

They don’t meet each other until after their time in the service.

Thank god, Pero tells them. I surely would have otherwise murdered you both long before now.

Stop me if you’ve heard this one: three veterans walk into group therapy…

A Delta Force pilot in recovery. A surly Field Artillery officer. A cocky Air Force fighter pilot with a name as ridiculous as his skills in a jet. All here because they are each too full of anger with nowhere to put it.

Talking at therapy turns into talking at a bar after each session. They circle each other, like a pod of killer whales, or maybe like galaxies, pulling closer and closer together over bottles of beer and games of pool.

None of them can say the exact moment it became more. Was it the first time Jack accidentally brushed a hand across the small of Frankie’s back as they walked out of the bar one night, and he felt the shiver that went up the other man’s spine? Was it the night Pero finally spoke about the loss of his first love, his description of William and his death on a desert battlefield making all three men shed silent tears in the privacy of a dark corner booth? Surely it had to have been long before they found themselves in Jack’s bed that first time, letting their bodies say what they could not yet find words for: I want you, I trust you, I know you, I see you.

They make no attempt to define what this is, who they are to each other. All they know is that now they are together.

They each crack the others open, the process of healing as painful and beautiful as filling in their scars with gold.

And then there is her.

The relationship between the three men had not been a closed loop, not at first. There had been times where one of them (Jack, more often than the others) had gone off and for a one- or two- or (never more than) three-night stand with another person. And there had been other times where two or even all three of them had shared a temporary partner. But with her, it clicks, it solidifies. They stop searching for more, for new, for other.

If three’s a crowd, what is four? A square, a shape beautiful in its simple perfection, a shape that can only be composed of equals - each line and each angle taking up equivalent space, none more or less important than any of the others, and each one essential.

It’s her, Frankie says. I never thought I could need or want more than the two of you, but it’s her. Now we fit. Now we are complete. Now I understand.

It’s a push and pull.

She worries, at first, about being the outsider, the civilian. These men have known too much, seen too much, lost too much. They may not have served together, but they have a connection to each other in a way she knows she will never share. Isn’t she selfish for wanting all of them? What if she’s intruding?

Never, darlin’, Jack promises her.

They always worry about it being too much, of them being too much, in her life and especially in her bed. What woman would accept any one of them, with their still-open wounds and their ghosts and their raw, ragged edges, let alone all three of them? But with her there is light and warmth and laughter and quiet reassurance. And the way she cries and begs for them when they have her naked against cool sheets - needy and eager and so, so wet - means they always give in to her.

———

To the extent that there is an alpha, it’s Frankie, his quiet, unassuming manner giving way to something both commanding and depraved when given an appropriate outlet.

She comes home one day to find Frankie on the edge of the bed, Jack in his lap with Frankie’s cock buried inside him and Jack’s hands tied behind his back with his own whip. She can’t see from the doorway to know for sure, but from the way Frankie’s arm moves and the slick repetitive sound she suspects he has his palm wrapped around Jack’s cock.

I think Pero’s about to have dinner ready, she says. Frankie doesn’t look away from Jack’s face.

Thanks, baby, Frankie murmurs. We’ll be done here in a minute.

Jack says nothing. Frankie is the only man capable of rendering him speechless.

———

Some things linger from their time in the military. They rise early without fail and without alarms. They note the exits of any room they enter. They are a unit.

She introduces a necessary messiness into their lives. They can’t make the bed the way years of routine make them itch to when she’s still fast asleep in it long after they’ve woken up. And that’s okay - the rigidity of the Army, the Air Force, isn’t their lives anymore. Not if they don’t want it to be. Slowly, first through therapy and then through each other, they learn how to let certain things go.

They are, the four of them, deeply loyal and fiercely protective of one another. But Pero, more than any of the others, is possessive. He feels it like a dark, smouldering ember in his heart that flares hot and angry at any perceived threat. He worries, sometimes, not wanting it to fester into something unhealthy and poisonous. It manifests in the marks he leaves on their skin, the outline of his teeth sunk into the meat of Frankie’s shoulder and Jack’s chest, purple bruises sucked into their girl’s throat, her breasts, her thighs…

There are moments where he allows it out of its cage, this need to lay claim. Moments where the others are tangled together and Pero sits apart, content to observe. Moments where their girl writhes between Frankie and Jack, stretched wide on both their cocks, all three of them panting with that heady mix of exertion and pleasure.

Another, Pero growls from his place in the corner armchair. Make her come again.

She lets out a breathy whine as Jack reaches around her to rub at her clit with one hand, the other pulling Frankie close for a lazy kiss. Pero slowly strokes his own hard length, that feeling of possession now shot through with pride. She turns her head in his direction and reaches for him, their girl (his girl) full to the brim and still needing him.

He indulges her, coming close and planting one knee on the bed beside them. He threads his fingers through Jack’s hair and tugs, just the way he knows the other man likes, and trails his other hand down Frankie’s sweat-slicked back to tease between his cheeks.

You’re doing so well, my loves, he rumbles quietly to each of them.

Some things simply are, and they are his.

———

It was Jack who had first approached her, timing his trip up to the bar for another round at the same time as hers.

She’d caught the attention of all three of them, an unprecedented feat. Something in the way she’d laughed at something one of her friends had said, perhaps, or maybe they were all just tipsy enough to find the fluid grace with which she maneuvered herself into and out of the booth she was sitting in unusually compelling. Whatever the explanation, they could not look away.

Go on, cowboy, Frankie had nudged Jack. Shoot your shot.

Jack had sauntered up to the bar, an odd fluttering of nerves taking up residence in his rib cage.

A greeting, a grin, a wink.

You know what they say about fighter pilots, darlin’?

A smile.

They play a lot of beach volleyball?

———

And now he has her, now he has them, this thing he never thought he’d get to have again.

Jack, more than Frankie or Pero, craves softness. His head resting in one of their laps as they rest on the couch. Cradling their girl in his lap while she reads. A comforting touch. A soothing word. The others reaching straight through the facade of bluster and bravado to his heart and saying easy now.

They stand, the four of them, as sentinels, watching over one another.

What do you need, three will ask one.

You, they always reply. You, you, you.

[800silentpod]

The Benefits of Renting Silent Pods for Events and Temporary Needs!

Learn how Renting Silent Pods in Dubai for events & temporary needs can boost productivity with soundproof, private booths ideal for meetings & calls.

[whatgaviiformes]

Ficlet: unnamed.

A/N: apparently I can't get this out of my head. So I am sorry for writing this. I hate that I wrote this.

Warnings for whump, angst, drowning (yes again), and temporary character death. There be no medical accuracy here.

Ficlet

They are men of action, so Virgil hadn't thought twice about jumping into the rapids after the little boy, and Gordon hadn't thought twice about going in after his brother. He tracked them from shore because he'd been in a pod. Lucky for them because he could keep up with the speedy river currents and make a plan. 

It involved getting ahead of them, a rocky area he could grasp onto, and a little bit of prayer. 

A lot of prayer. He had to help the boy first because that's what they did. The grasp was weak, shaky, but he was conscious, and Gordon brought him to the riverbank. One life.

The boy coughed, looked up at his hero with wide eyes, but Gordon was looking away, back towards the river where he'd seen Virgil's form bob over the surface and slide back under. There had been no fight. 

He didn't have time. 

"Gonna be okay, kid?" He asked, kindly, his voice a pitch higher than usual, but the kid didnt know that. Virgil needed him. 

The kid nodded. 

Back in the water to make two lives saved today.

Stroke after stroke to race the river, dodging and pushing off of slippery rocks, until finally he found purchase on a green baldric, attached to a limp, waterlogged version of his older brother. 

On shore, he was still, blood near his hair line. 

Gordon sprung to action, calling for help through his comm, checking his airway, feeling for a pulse on the cold skin. He pounded on his brother's chest in counted cycles and placing his mouth over his blue lips to force air in, precious air that would only help if he could get the water out, and his lungs working, his heart beating. 

Again again again.  Two breaths 

Again again again. 

How long was he under? 5 min? 8? 

How far into the trek had he hit his head?

How long since he pulled him out?

He didn't know. Time drained in the resuscitation rhythm, again again again. Breathe. 

A rib cracked. 

He kept going. 

It felt heavier now, harder to press his weight into Virg's heart through his stacked hands as they shook. 

How long? 

He'd stolen his toast just that morning. Shining eyes and a deep baritone of a laugh. So full of life, happy and whole. Gordon had thrown a piece of egg in his hair. 

Again. Again. … again. 

Breathe. 

Too long, way way too long. He found the wrist. 

No.

Nononononono

Where was that help? 

Virgil. It keened out of him as he sat back on his knees, his body vibrating. Hoarse where he'd been calling for him and the counts interspersed with pleas, his voice cracked and his cries fell silent. 

His brother. Virgil always had warm hands, even in the cold of winter his hands could be counted on for warmth, his body a furnace and his hug a blanket. 

He loved popcorn and plants, and art, and -Oh, god, the music.

All of it slipped through his fingers. 

Gordon's grasp fell slack, and the wrist dropped like a stone to the ground. His heart stuttered with the sadness so intense, so deep, that he let the dark shudder through him. 

And then Virgil coughed.

~.~.~

It's Virg himself that climbed out of the dark. A cough, so light, then another and another and another. He remembered none of it. Consciousness was fleeting, his body too battered. 

But when Scott arrived with help, Virgil was breathing, Gordon looking over him with wet haunted eyes, his entire body vibrating. 

He pried Virgil's wrist out of Gordon's hands, and nodded to the paramedics when they could move closer. Scott maneuvered himself between them, between Gordon and the work of the people behind them, and brought him close to his chest. 

Gordon clutched at his arm with inhuman strength,  the strength of the frightened, of those who have seen horror.

"You did it, Gordon," he said. "It'll be okay."

Gordon said nothing. 

He shook. It was different being in Scott's arms. He wanted Virgil's.

But Gordon had given up. He didn't do anything. Virgil had been fighting his way back, and Gordon, for just a moment, was about to call it. He's not sure he deserves Virgil's hugs or his laughter or his music ever again. And so he retreats, goes numb in Scott's arms, and loses himself in his grief.

[rustyvolumedial3-archive]

Dust to Rust

Rusty, Dusty, Rustpaw/Dustpaw... last of a cohort of ten, but are the others truly dead, or merely scattered?

The cassette can't recall.

When the War first got fully underway, their host - he was tall, with orange plating so dark it seemed brown in dim light - made a grim decision. He took Volume, his one and only independent creation, barely half a vorn old, and stuck the kid inside a stasis pod to hide away in their home's basement. A temporary measure, he reassured everyone. Volume's fuel requirements equaled that of all of the cassettes put together, and with so little in the way of life skills to compensate, it made sense to tuck the kid away, safely waiting for the violence to die down and energon to become more affordable once again.

The violence did not die down.

They all did their best to maintain the illusion of normalcy, of course, but then- a warning delivered to the whole city. Decepticons incoming. Mandatory evacuation. Pack only the essentials, nothing too heavy for subspace, certainly not the stasis pod still sitting downstairs. They left the kid behind - not that any of them wanted to, but what else could they do, in so little time?

Their shuttle departed second to last from the city's public launch pads. The one behind them sustained damage from the initial bombing sweep. It went down in flames.

Eventually, all refugees were disbursed, distributed to neutral zones and neat encampments. Refugees. Their cohort's host scoffed at the word. 'Refugees' were poor, dirty, underfed beings - he merely needed to find steady work, and they'd all be back in a comfortable house in no time.

Work did come, but not steady, and certainly not the intellectual sort he was used to. Instead, they found themselves laboring as extra hands at construction zones, shipyards, supply depots. Their credits dwindled - the bribes to get regular time allotments in the washracks were first abandoned. Then the actual payments for any scheduled allotments at all. 'Dirty' became a good description for all of them, and as the camp's supply lines came under attack, 'underfed' was added to the list.

A minor virus spread through the camp's inhabitants. Three of their number caught it, suffered the rust creeping across their plating and into their joints. Two recovered. One did not.

Even their host, finally, could no longer deny the sorry state their cohort had descended to. He didn't move for a full day, sitting on the floor of their assigned hab tent, a silent avian frame resting in his servos.

The attack came not long after.

Out of a camp that sheltered thousands, only a few hundred refugees escaped in a ramshackle convoy defended by the first Autobots to respond. Decepticon Seekers continued to harry them all the way out of 'neutral' territory, which was soon swallowed up by the growing Empire. All of Cybertron, it seemed, was going to be dragged into one side or the other.

So. They left.

Off-world entirely, on a ship bound for the next solar system over. Some refugees disembarked there, hoping to be able to return home swiftly once the War ended. Others continued grimly onward, certain such an end would be a long time coming.

(Yet even to them, millions of years of conflict seemed incomprehensibly unlikely.)

The ship found its wandering way to an inhabited comet, which followed a regular path through and around six star systems, the merchants living upon it trading with every civilization they encountered. For a time, the cohort remained there, eking out a small living, stockpiling as much energon as they could collect.

When another two of their number died, killed by a mugger seeking that energon, the rest of them decided to move on a second time.

And so it went - finding a place to stay, taking on whatever work was available, enduring until tragedy struck... An awful pattern. All of them bound to a broken mech, who stood hunched instead of tall, armor that used to shine long since turned dull and grimy.

Until he, too, perished.

Not long after, the turbo-wolf formerly known as Dustpaw began to pick and choose what information qualified as vital to survival, and purged less important pieces of data to make room. How the cohort's former host died? Unnecessary. He was gone- nothing more to be said. Any other remaining members of the cohort? Equally useless information. Discarded.

Four. Four of them yet lived, when their host became One with the Allspark. They voluntarily went their separate ways, the better to avoid being hunted down. Data-specializing robots, particularly ones small enough to feasibly be captured and enslaved, were targeted far too often to risk sticking together.

Dustpaw ceased to exist.

Rust-paw, so called for the external plating that still bore obvious signs of the old rust infection, became a master of sorting what details needed to remain, and what could safely be forgotten. Siblings? Gone, but for a face and what data they liked to collect. Harmless, sentimental, small enough not to take up too much storage space. Vital for identification, if any of them ever met again.

Credits went towards energon, as always, but also small upgrades: new claws that could extend to greater length. Two serrated teeth on each jaw, which could detach one at a time and remain embedded in a target to act as tracking devices. Injectors kept in hidden compartments, filled with poisons and neural inhibitors, extra long needles capable of piercing even a frontliner's exposed cables.

In short, all the sorts of things that made Rustpaw a highly sought after asset, hired by the worst sorts of beings for dark work on darker nights. And the cassette became good at that work. Years, centuries, multiple millennia passed. Memories continued to be analyzed and deleted to maintain room for necessary job-related data. Another reason Rustpaw remained so highly respected - literally, no information about a particular assignment would be saved and potentially sold to interested parties. Even if captured by authorities, the wolf could be relied upon not to spill secrets.

Of course, no authorities ever caught Rusty. Not even when they tried.

This might have gone on for all eternity, a lone cassette existing in perpetual cycles of knowledge acquisition and deletion, if not for some unexpected news that shook half the cosmos.

The 'Great' Cybertronian Civil War- over.

Ended.

Done.

Faint data pinged from tertiary storage, suddenly granted new importance. A face surfaced, a name: Volume.

The only one Rusty never purged. Couldn't purge, not for anything. The only one that might truly matter, when it belonged to a kid who'd be so very lost when released from stasis.

Rustpaw went home.

[thedamageofherdays]

This week's [23-08-2021 - 29-08-2021] reading log is here! I read a lot again this week and I feel like it's a lovely variety of fics. Most fics are Stucky like usual, but there's at least one other ship. I am constantly amazed by the talent people have in this fandom! There was one fic I read on Tumblr that I can't seem to find unfortunately, but when I do I'll make sure to reblog and rec it 💕

Favourites are marked with a 🌻

When life gives you lemons by moonthejedi394 @moonythejedi394 [Stucky, 40k words, Mature] (12/15 chapters available)

Or 13 Terrible Things to Do With Lemons Other Than Making Lemonade

Steve Rogers is a home health nurse. He works for an agency, which assigned him to the aging Winifred Barnes, the one and only Silent Era Hollywood darling. As her needs increased, she requested the agency assign Steve to her full-time. She could pay for it, so she got it. Steve then moved in with her, becoming her caregiver; he cooked, he cleaned, he managed her medications, he made sure she was comfortable.

Winifred's children treated him less than ideally. He was the help, after all. And then Steve had the audacity to go and turn out to be eldest son James Barnes's soulmate. No one saw that coming.

The Masseur and the Assassin by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy @buckybarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 17k words, Explicit]

Bucky Barnes needed a vacation from his job. What he found was a happy ending.

The Words Breathe by buckbarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

All Steve has to do is keep his promise. When he doesn’t, Bucky gets mouthy.

Soft by this_wayward_life @wayward-lives [Stucky, 2k words, Explicit]

The last time he'd seen Bucky he'd looked unhealthy, with pallid skin and greasy, lanky hair. Now, Bucky shone; his hair was thick and silky, his skin a deep bronze from spending so much time outside. He was softer, too; the hard muscle that used to cover him was now replaced by soft fat, his body still strong, but in a more mundane way. His thighs were thicker, his ass plumper, and when he'd pulled Steve into the river Steve had noticed the pudge on his stomach.

Seeing Bucky so happy, well-fed and shining, was a bit of a kick in the face. For all the years they'd known each other, he'd never seen Bucky so... care-free. Now that Bucky was putting on weight, his middle soft and his body malleable, it sent a bolt of arousal through Steve every time he noticed the curves of Bucky's body.

Or: Bucky put on a bit of weight in Wakanda, and Steve is Not Coping.

🌻 Revive Another Side of Me by dontcallmebree @iamthe-wo-manwhocan [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

Steve’s never lived in a world without Bucky, and he’s not living now. It takes them a while, much too long, to get that awaited rest, a little slice of peace after the dust has settled.Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are inseparable, history remembers. But they’re not men of the past quite yet.

🌻 imagine being loved by me by spacebuck @spacebuck [Stucky, 20k words, Explicit]

Just after 1am - a few hours after he posted today’s photo - he hears the tell-tale sound of a twitter message. Bucky grabs his phone, not checking who it’s from as he opens it because it’s probably one of his mutuals yelling at him as per usual. When he actually looks at his phone, though, it’s not Natasha

The ‘verified’ check stares back at him for a long moment before he can even bring himself to process the name on his screen. Steve Rogers is messaging him. Or, he reasons, a very good fake. The handle looks right though, not that Bucky knows. Not that Bucky has Captain’s America’s tweets set up as notifications, or that Bucky’s own display name is set to captain america’s bitch. Not at all.

Hey, the first message says. It’s Steve.

🌻 JB’s Complete Lube Services by dixons_mama @dixons-mama [Stucky, 3k words, Explicit]

People just didn’t approach Captain America and proposition him. Although, sometimes Steve wished they would; even the pinnacle of virtue and justice needed to get dicked down from time to time.

Or, the one where Steve has the hots for a mechanic and decides to be proactive in getting that dick.

If it had to be someone by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

Bucky had known since he was a child that he didn’t have a choice in who he married, but he’d thought he had more time before the day arrived.

Miscalculations by christywantspizza @christywantspizza [Ransom Drysdale/Reader, 6k words, Explicit]

Ransom tries to get you to sleep with him by less than honorable means. You give him what he wants, just not how he wants it.

How to Seduce a Writer by obsessivereader [Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

What's a determined master strategist going to do when the oblivious writer he's trying to woo keeps missing all the clues?

He doesn’t think it’s because he hadn’t signaled his own interest to Bucky. He’s pretty much done everything short of hitting Bucky over the head with semaphore flags by this point. There’s no way Bucky could’ve missed them. Unless… There’d been that one link he’d stumbled upon when he’d googled ‘how to talk to a writer’. It’d been written by a writer, who’d been candid about how oblivious writers could be, and how someone could go about seducing one. An idea starts to form. It’s ridiculous, but at this point, he’s willing to go with ridiculous, since subtle wasn’t getting him anywhere.

🌻 Pod Bless America by Deisderium @deisderium [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

Bucky can't believe his favorite podficcer recorded his newest fanfic AU of the show Commandos. He's even more surprised when the customer who busts him listening to fic while he's working in the office supply store turns out to be that podficcer.

* The guy—maybe bi_shield?—took his phone, looked down at the screen, and smiled. "Yeah, that one's mine," he said with no evidence of embarrassment. "It was a good one." He handed the phone back to Bucky.

"I wrote it," Bucky croaked.

take a bite by wearing_tearing [Stucky, 7k words, Mature]

"I’d never let anyone freeze to death.” Steve gives a big sigh and flutters his lashes. “All that blood gone to waste.”

Bucky’s lips turn down and his nose scrunches up a little. “I want to be grossed out, but…”

“But you get it.” Steve gives him a pointed look. “Vampires aren’t the only ones who can appreciate how juicy blood is.”

*

Or: Vampire Steve saves newly-turned werewolf Bucky from a snowstorm.

Leaving the Shield Behind by BuckyAboveEverything [Stucky, 6k words, Teen]

“So, on one hand, we have Steve Rogers - hunk, genius, animal lover. Buys you waffles and overpriced coffee. 100% wholesome all-American boy.”

“And, on the other hand, we have Capsicle – twink, smart-ass, fanboy. Reads your stories and sends you fanart. Possibly a pervert or a serial killer.”

Bucky groaned.

“I am 100% certain I am 0% sure of what to do."

Bucky Barnes, full-time copywriter and free-time fanfic writer, struggles to choose between two equally-attractive suitors, only to find that he doesn’t have to after all.

* Based on a true story *

Cap's Book Corner by Neche [Stucky, 2k words, Teen]

Recluse Author Bucky Barns stumbles into fanboy Steve Rogers bookstore one day...

Cat Nap by galwednesday @galwednesday [Stucky, 8k words, Teen]

Objectively, losing the Bucharest safehouse and its contents was the least of Bucky’s problems. The balding agent he’d seen directing the raid was apparently affiliated with SHIELD, which was a shadowy government agency that made representatives from other shadowy government agencies suddenly remember urgent appointments when Bucky tried to bribe, threaten, and otherwise shake them down for information on what the hell SHIELD might want with a former brainwashed assassin. Dodging SHIELD should be his number one priority.

Subjectively, he wanted his fucking cat back.

at any given moment by honeypuffed [Stucky, 1k words, Teen]

Steve and Bucky find out that everyone thinks they're sleeping together.

Brought to Brightness by eyres [Stucky, 10k words, Teen]

Army veteran Bucky Barnes has fallen in love with Steve, a guy he met online a few months after he returned from Afghanistan. Only problem is, he doesn't know Steve's last name or even what he looks like.

When his sister helps him send his story into MTV's Catfish, he's hoping they can help him meet Steve or, at least, let him move on with his life if Steve isn't real. Little does he know, Steve and Captain America have more in common than just a first name.

🌻 Nokken Wood by leveragehunters @leveragehunters [Stucky, 10k words, Teen]

When Sam's friend needs a house-sitter for his place in the country, Steve jumps at the chance. Six months rent-free to do nothing but draw and paint and wander the countryside, looking for inspiration? It was like a dream. But when he gets lost in a storm and nearly falls into a pond he starts to rethink the whole like a dream aspect of life in the country. And when a red-eyed, sharp-clawed, silver-fanged creature rises out of the darkness, Steve is one hundred percent certain the dream's morphed into a nightmare.

...until it gives him a cup of tea.

(Inspired partly by this prompt a supernatural creature is supposed to scare you but instead it gives you a cup of tea and a blanket because you're having a bad day and you keep coming back and partly by this painting.)

Professional Pride by galwednesday [Stucky, 700 words, Teen]

Bucky is having a very good day, until he turns around and finds himself face-to-face with Captain America.

“Oh shit,” he blurts before he can stop himself, and Captain America blinks at him. “Hey, hi, I didn’t expect to see you here.” Here, at New York’s Pride parade, surrounded by thousands of happy screaming people wearing rainbows and sometimes not much else. What is he doing here? Is he on guard duty or something? Was he just on a mission and happened to be passing by on his way back?

He’s in uniform but with the cowl loose around his neck, so when he rubs the back of his head it fluffs up his matted hair. “I, uh. I saw one of your–temporary tattoos?” Captain fucking America says, like it’s a question.

The A-bridged Guide to Trolling by galwednesday [Stucky, 1k words, Teen]

“I don’t have any money.”

Oh no, now the girl looked upset. Her eyes were huge and her lip was wobbling. Bucky tried to think fast despite the oh shit oh shit oh shit looping through his head.

“That’s okay,” Bucky said gently. “I don’t need money. We can figure out another kind of toll.”

The girl frowned at him. “Like what?”

Bucky scratched his head, trying to think of something a kid was certain to have on hand. “Do you know any jokes?”

(Fantasy AU in which Steve is a hedge witch with a green thumb, Bucky is a bridge troll who's new in town, and knock-knock jokes are a viable form of currency.)

It's a bittersweet ending (if you know what I mean) by relenafanel [Stucky, 1k words, Teen]

“I’ll see you around, Steve,” Bucky answers with a smirk, moving away from the counter with a wink.

Steve watches him go. Bucky’s wearing a pair of skinny jeans coated in something to give the appearance of leather. It’s impossible to not watch him go.

stuck on you by wearing_tearing [Stucky, 5k words, Teen]

“Bucky? You don’t look so hot.”

Bucky makes a tiny little sound in the back of his throat, only to start coughing. Of course he doesn’t look hot. He’s sick and he’s dying and Steve obviously isn’t attracted to him.

Decision-Making in Relationships (Paid Research Opportunity!) by castiowl [Stucky, 8k words, Teen]

Clint looked thoughtfully at the flyer. “I guess your actual roommate wouldn’t be down with it?”

Bucky frowned. “Have you met Steve Rogers?”

no way out but through by hollimichele [Stucky, 9k words, Teen]

Steve never sees it coming.

you got blood on your hands (and i know it's mine) by nighimpossible [Stucky, 3k words, Teen]

Bucky refuses to see Steve after his deprogramming.

Like What You See by daisymondays [Stucky, 8k words, Teen]

For all the time Bucky’s spent fantasizing about meeting Captain America, he’d never imagined it would be while posing nude in front of a drawing class.

🌻 A Real Boy by itsnotbleak [Stucky, 5k words, Teen]

It took the Winter Soldier three weeks to remember that human beings needed to sleep and eat.

It took Steve far too long to realise the Winter Soldier was sleeping in his bed.

Amapola by chaya [Stucky, 830 words, Teen]

Total fluff. Bucky's recovering nicely. Steve's oblivious. Sometimes it's best to set aside subtlety for action.

Knocking Boots With Sugar by buckybarnesdeservestobehappy [Stucky, 4k words, Explicit]

In between summers at college, Steve Rogers wants a new adventure beyond his lonely life in Brooklyn. He ends up in West Texas working on a dude ranch where Bucky Barnes is a long-time employee. When Bucky offers to buy Steve a drink, they end up drunk on tequila and making out in public. For the rest of the summer, they're inseparable. As the summer draws to a close, Steve realizes he doesn't want to leave.

Rogers and Associate by roe87 @jro616 [Stucky, 7k words, Teen]

When they first meet, Bucky is a hooker and Steve is a cop. She's been arrested, but Steve lets her off.

Years pass and they maintain a casual friendship, seeing each other out on the streets most nights.

Though he later makes detective, Steve loses faith in the system and quits his job.

He wants to set up as a private investigator, and he asks Bucky if she'd be his assistant.

Just in time by rainbow_nerds [Stucky, 1k words, Mature]

Bucky knew the apartment he was renting was old fashioned, but walking in the front door and finding himself transported back to 1938 was not on the list of things he had prepared himself for.

🌻 You Like What's in My Head by dontcallmebree [Stucky, 15k words, Explicit] (with art by @kocuria)

Bucky can’t decide if Steve’s a tough nut to crack or incredibly easy. The timbre of his voice, a low and almost amused, “Sure, kid,” when Bucky asks for a drink feels like something gripping him on the back of his neck.

He thinks this might be one of those moments in life he’ll pinpoint in the future and either curse at for dooming himself, or remember fondly with pride.

He’s right. Bucky Barnes blunders through falling in love with Commander Rogers and tries to find a deeper meaning behind the expensive gifts and thorough fucking.

Can I Sit Here? by BuckyFrickenBarnes [Stucky, 962 words, General]

Bucky has unusual methods for getting rid of his writer's block.

Or, Bucky needs that table.

Workplace Romance by BuckyFricken Barnes [Stucky, 1k words, General]

Bucky is under the impression that his boss hates him.

Or,

Steve needs to get better at dealing with his feelings.

🌻 1-800-MAYTAG by Miss Plum @misspluckyplum [Stucky, 1k words, Explicit]

Bucky just wants to get some housework done. It gets out of hand fast. Silly little fluff and smut romp with snarky stucky boys.

Eyes of the Forest by Lordelannette [Stucky, 7k words, Explicit] (2/8 chapters available)

When Omega Bucky Barnes comes to Eagle Lake, it was in search of wolves, a creature that had not been seen in the area for decades.

What he finds instead is Steve Rogers, a handsome, though quiet Alpha who seems to be everywhere in the forest.

[foilfreak]

Beauty and Her Beast: Chapter 3

Warning: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(Link to ao3 version in comments below)

“Going off the information I have listed here, it appears as though you’ll be receiving subject N-45, today. She’s a healthy 22 year old female. Her short, but muscular body weighs 95lbs with a childish height of 4’10” tall. She possesses primarily Romanian and Filipino ancestry, with some Dutch or Finnish or... whatever, thrown in there as well. And according to the various items we found on her person when she was first brought in, she’s apparently a graduate student at the University of Bucharest, or, at least she was, before she drove her car into a tree while driving up the mountain and was recovered by Heisenberg” Miranda explains robotically, reading aloud from a piece of paper held inside a thick manila envelope. “Of the 4 remaining test subjects, N-45 is easily the most violent and difficult one to work with, having to be either anesthetized or restrained every time I wanted to so much as take her vitals or stabilize her condition. When given smaller doses of sedatives she-”

For the first time in his entire life, Salvatore completely ignores whatever unimportant nonsense Mother Miranda is going on about, continuing to take in and analyze the strikingly unique appearance of the young woman before him.

Upon first inspection, N-45 appeared to resemble that of a normal woman in just about every way possible. Her hair was scruffy and very short, barely long enough to reach her eyes, and a deep black color that looked so soft and luxurious that Salvatore ached to run his fingers through it. Her face was slightly round, giving the young woman a very youthful appearance, with her sharp jawline and prominent cheekbones being some of the only things keeping Salvatore from mistaking her for a child. And lastly, her... figure, if Salvatore had to put such an embarrassing idea into words, was similar to that of Mother Miranda, only shorter, more compact even. It reminded the hooded man of those small packets of candy Duke occasionally gifted him that said “fun sized” on the label, in reference to them being much smaller than the standard sized candy bars and yet somehow being… better, despite technically giving you less candy.

She was already perfect as she was, but it was not just N-45’s beautiful human features that pulled Salvatore in and refused to let him escape the stupefaction he’d been placed under, but also her mutations.

A soft royal blue coated her from head to toe, giving way only to a large patch of solid white located on her chest and stomach. Her skin catches the light in a way that reveals areas of tiny overlapping scales, glimmering like stars in the midnight sky, or freshly polished armor, perhaps, along the bony ridges and tender curves of her figure.

Small white dots distributed like paint splatters across the colored sections of her flesh give a similar visual effect as freckles, starting from her hairline and extending all the way down to the very tips of her toes. These galaxies of white were invisible only on the white patch along the front of her torso, as well as on the lighter blue hue taken on by both the palms and webbings of her hands and feet.

Long Fin-like extensions grew along both her forearms and lower back. The former extended outward and inward like a windshield wiper, likely used to decrease water resistance. The latter, however, perhaps used to increase fine motor maneuverability while swimming at greater speeds or in tighter spaces, grew straight downwards from her lower back in an overlapping fan configuration that marginally covered her rear end, though not by very much. The fins looked like a soft, delicate material that was probably very flexible but very durable, if Salvatore had to guess just from looking.

And to top everything off, N-45 even appeared to even have gills, 2 different sets by the looks of it. The first set of 3 breathing slits was located horizontally along both sides of her neck, while the second set could be found on both sides of her torso, following the downward angle of her ribs but stopping just underneath her soft, plump-looking breasts.

Salvatore feels a sudden wave of heat cascade over his body and he turns his face away in shameful embarrassment as he suddenly realizes that N-45, much like every test subject undergoing cadou treatment, was still very, very nude at the present moment.

“I can’t make any promises regarding her disposition, but physically speaking, she’s ready to be released to you whenever you’d like. I’ll have some of the villagers transport and release her into the reservoir later this week” Mother Miranda says, pressing a button to close the pod now that Salvatore was no longer staring at her.

“W-wait just a m-moment” Salvatore calls out, prompting Mother Miranda to halt the closing of the pod.

“Yes? What is it?” The woman asks curtly, clearly not wanting to stand here and watch Salvatore any longer than she has to.

Wringing his hands together nervously, Salvatore meekly asks, “C-could… could y-you wake h-her up… s-so that I can s-speak with her… j-just for a m-moment?”

Mother Miranda remains silent for a moment, blank face staring directly at Salvatore as she contemplates what to do.

“No, Moreau,” she says finally. “I’ve had a very busy day today and I'm quite tired. N-45 is a menace that I struggle to deal with even on my best days. The last thing I need is something going wrong and her getting out and causing all sorts of chaos.”

Salvatore’s shoulders slump in disappointment, but he makes no further attempts to argue.

Mother Miranda rolls her eyes at the incredibly childish display, walking over to place a gentle hand on Salvatore’s head. “Would it make you feel better if I agreed to have N-45 be the first of the subjects to be dropped off? It’ll be more difficult than my original plan, but I suppose it was a bit unfair that you were the only one who didn’t get to “pick” their gift.”

“Yes, M-Mother Miranda… I-I’d like th-that very… very m-much” Salvatore says, leaning into the touch as Mother Miranda begins guiding him back toward the hallway leading to the exit door.

It wasn’t until after Miranda had exited the lab and begun walking down the long hallway toward the exit that Salvatore dared cast another glance back at the pod that contained N-45, wistfully thinking of how amazing her hand had felt in his, and how much he wanted to speak to her.

Just as the disfigured man was about to turn back and follow Miranda out of the laboratory, a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, prompting Salvatore to tense and snap toward the 4 pods, frantically trying to figure out what it was he saw. A few seconds of stillness pass before Salvatore sees movement again, not freely moving about the room like he originally expected, but from within one of the 4 pods, his pod to be exact.

His curiosity momentarily outweighing his nerves, Salvatore slowly approaches the metal capsule, trying to get a look through the small pane of glass that allows visual access into the holding pod.

Another flash of movement has Salvatore flinching, jumping back as though he’d been advanced upon. After several seconds of stillness, however, the hooded man regains his confidence and once again inches his way toward the capsule, moving his head up and down to try and get one more glimpse at N-45 before he has to leave. One last look before she lays eyes upon his vile and disgusting body for the first time, screaming and calling him a monster as she runs away, leaving him alone and without anyone to call his own. Just like always.

“ Hello ?”

Salvatore froze dead in his tracks, his heart pounding and his lungs refusing to take in air, as a soft, muffled, questioning voice reaches the deformed man’s ears, followed by two golden orbs with narrow black slits running vertically through the center, that slowly peek into view from the bottom of the glass window. Salvatore’s eyes widen in shock as he quickly realizes that the orbs of gold are not, in fact, just spheres of color, but rather a pair of eyes, staring intently at him from inside the pod.

“Uuuuuh… u-u-uuum… I-i… I w-was just…” the disfigured man stuttered as he struggled to move his body, seemingly paralyzed by the bewitching gaze currently locked onto him, looking at him with an intensity that makes Salvatore wonder if this is what it feels like to be a cell put under a microscope.

It isn’t until Salvatore notices the golden orbs moving and shifting from one corner of the window pane to the other that the hooded man realizes, to his immediate horror, that he might not be the only one trying to get a better look at the figure located on the other side of the pod door. Panic and fear immediately fill Salvatore from deep within, growing strong enough to allow him to finally overcome his temporary paralysis and skitter away from view. Pulling his hood even further over his petrifyingly grotesque face in shame of himself, Salvatore flees the laboratory as quickly as his hobbled limp would allow.

His heart pounds to the beat of the soft, but desperate pleas of protest coming from N-45’s pod in response to Salvatore’s rapidly retreating form, yet the hooded man cannot bring himself to believe what he hears as true. Perhaps believing that the siren-like voice he hears echoing off the metal laboratory walls to be nothing more than a trick of his sick and lonely mind, Salvatore does not stop, nor does he turn back around until he’s met up with Mother Miranda at the exit to the surface, lungs burning and legs aching from running for so far and long.

“Oh, there you are, Moreau,” Mother Miranda says suddenly, stopping just before they are about to exit the laboratory. “I’m glad you chose this time to finally catch up, because I just realized a second ago that I’d forgotten to give you N-45’s previous name. You can name her something else if you’d prefer, of course, but I offered the information to your siblings so I suppose I should offer it to you as well. Would you still like to know N-45’s name, or would you rather abandon her given name for one of your own choosing?”

After a few seconds of silent contemplation, Salvatore lifts his head, “I… I-i would like to k-know… her n-name… please...” the mutant man says softly.

Mother Miranda briefly raises a questioning eyebrow at Salvatore’s nervous body language, but ultimately rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders, all but tossing the Manila envelope containing N-45’s information at the hooded man before disappearing out the large metal door.

“If you’re going to read that now, feel free, but return to the meeting room once you're done. And be sure to lock the door to my laboratory behind you” Miranda commands, her voice having grown echoey due to how far away she now was.

“Yes, M-Mother” Salvatore calls after her as he scrambles to catch the thrown file and prevent any loose papers from falling out. Once he’s got a solid handle on the thick envelope, he opens it, casting a quick glance back in the direction of the pod room, where Nadine and the other 3 gifts were being held for the time being.

Returning to the file, Salvatore frantically flips through every page, trying to find the one that held N-45’s personal background information.

After several minutes of desperate flipping back and forth, Salvatore finally focuses on one particular piece of paper that looked to have been in the file for the longest. Pulling out the particular page he’d found, the disfigured man drops the rest of the folder onto the ground and begins rapidly skimming through the information printed on the page, his hungry eyes refusing to stop until they finally zeroed in on the information he’d been looking for.

Project: E.V.A. Resurrection

Subject: N-45

Parasite Administered: Cadou (Series- N; Strain- 45)

Family Name: Bogdan

Given Name: Nadine

“N… Nadine” Salvatore said slowly, feeling slightly lightheaded and out of breath as each individual letter of the young woman’s name rolled off his tongue like Camembert cheese; smooth, creamy, decedent, and likely to keep him up all night with an upset stomach and a racing heartbeat.

Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine.

The name quickly became a broken loop played over and over and over again inside Salvatore’s head, his mind unable, or rather unwilling, to think of anything else as he read, reread, and then re-reread Nadine’s name at least 100 times, before finally setting the piece of paper down.

“Nadine...” Salvatore breathes the name once again, his voice carrying a wistful tone. “E-even your n-name is wonderful...”

An already beautiful woman, made even more perfect through the power of science and Mother Miranda’s grace, only for all that potential to end up wasted in the hands of a desperately lonely and horrifically mangled fish mutant, who was more likely to accidentally dissolve her in stomach acid than woo her like some kind of aquatic Prince Charming.

“Y-ya right... e-e-even with a-another mutant… I’m s-still so disgusting a-an… and horrifying in comparison… n-not even my o-own kind can b-bring thems-themselves to love me f-for who I a-am… not th-that there’s much of m-me that’s worth l-loving to begin w-with” Moreau laments to himself, wondering if it was even worth holding out hope that things with Nadine could go his way. As if one look at his monstrous form wouldn’t be enough to ruin everything Salvatore already has an agonizingly low chance of ever having with that magnificent specimen of a woman.

Even with Nadine’s own external mutations making it clear that she was no longer fully human, her form had still retained such a beautifully strong, yet womanly shape to it, and her face still looked so young and innocent despite everything that she’s been through. Someone as beautiful as her was far too good and pure to be tainted by his filthy hands.

‘Maybe I should just kill her when the villagers arrive with her at the gate? At least then... I could say I put her out of her misery before she had to experience it for herself…’ Salvatore sulks mentally.

However, despite the self degrading thoughts running through his mind, the memory of the curious look Nadine’s shockingly bright and mesmerizing golden eyes held when trying to look at Salvatore through the pod window made the hooded man shiver, having never been looked upon in such an innocently curious manner before. Most people who got that close to Salvatore didn’t even need to see his face in order to start screaming and running away in terror. However, if the deformed man allowed himself a brief moment to believe that it was indeed her who’d been calling him to come back and show himself, then from the tone and rushed quality of her voice, it would seem as though Nadine was unsatisfied with the fact that she hadn’t seen all of Salvatore’s face and body, not terrified.

How strange...

How very strange indeed…

[ohheyitsokay]

trust

pairing: Ezra (Prospect) x reader

wordcount: 1.6k

warnings: none, pining, fluff fluff fluff

summary: the inherent intimacy of sharing space

>>

Entering your ship was a strange experience for Ezra. He rarely entered other people’s pods at all, much less because he was invited. And really, how you managed to get a even a small one all to yourself was beyond him. It felt personal - intimate, and indeed, it was not something you would allow without tremendous trust.

He was silent, as the hatch released and he climbed in after you. Out of respect or… something else, you did not know. You felt vulnerable. The darkness of his lashes under the glow of your lights made it all the more obvious that he wasn’t missing a single detail about it, about you.

You had taken care to disguise it, with a carefully faked outer shell that no one would give a second glance. Even more care went to the maintenance, and he was sure there were secrets hidden away that even he couldn’t see. After a few weeks of your unlikely partnership, he was not surprised. It was particular, to feel safe in such a place, in such a time, but he did. This was certainly not a ship that would torch and tremble its way into disarray, and nothing was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand against the humidity. 

Ezra’s favorite part, though, was by far the little things you’d collected and placed around. There weren't many, but it made him feel strangely happy inside - to see hints of you that you’d permitted, despite the temporary nature of these things. Little things stuck to the wall, a chest tucked under what he could only assume was your bed, and a small mountain of blankets.

Words began to drip from his mouth, falling and floating and filling the small space.

“Moonlight,” his nickname for you was music on your ears. “I must say that it is a genuine pleasure to be welcome in this establishment.” Ezra’s words were fast, first because he was nervous and then because he was excited. People always thought he spoke with eloquent articulation, because the words were as sweet and dark as good honey, but with you they’d always been different. They tumbled over each other as he tried to fit too many into too small of a space, almost desperate to communicate everything going on in his brain, and maybe even his heart, all at once.

More than happy to listen, you nodded, and gently slid up behind him, as he turned in circles around the main room. Dodging his arm, which was gesturing as his topic of interest switched from your pod to you, you gently began to tug at his suit.

It was another intimate moment – removing the filter from it, undoing the clasps and wordlessly asking him to slough off a layer for you.

His strung out sentences stuttered before they picked up again, cautiously flirtatious.

It wasn’t as though the two of you hadn’t grown close, these past few weeks, but neither of you had been in such a position. Self preservation was always the first instinct of anyone who wanted to live another day without poison in their lungs or thrower shots making holes in their body. It felt foreign, but natural, and it took no time at all for him to return the favor, albeit with a touch more insistence.

Dark eyes raked over your underclothes, lingering on the skin he could see, as if it was his first time seeing you like this. Maybe it was, in it’s own way. The air of your ship was clean, filtered, and you had found decent lights recently, making it a distinct improvement over the debris filled fog of most of this forsaken planet. So you understood, as your drank in his form, too: the roughness of his skin and the form of his muscles beneath his clothes. The urge to swallow came before you could stop it, and his eyes followed the movement in your throat, undoubtedly aware that he was the cause of the extra saliva in your mouth.

He had moved close, but not as close as you might’ve thought. No closer than the quiet moments in his tent when you sat by his side, bent over maps and tools, and sharing supplies. No closer than when he pretended to press his hand over your mouth and the corners of his eyes crinkled with laughter as you both hid from a hostile party. Certainly no closer than when you were walking through a particularly beautiful area, and he had tucked your glove into his elbow as best he could, shocking you as it made him all but defenseless, and the helmets of your suits had bumped into each other.

Ezra was close, but then he was moving away, asking you where he could place the things for safety or cleaning or recharging. You showed him, explaining as much about your ship as you could, wanting him to know it, as he already knew you.

When your hands brushed, over the control unit, a shudder went through you. Being the man he was, he gave you a slow, salacious grin, but his eyes betrayed something softer. You returned the look, before turning away, compelled to open your chest and show him what was inside.

Or some of it, anyway.

You held a worn book out to him, and Ezra eyes glazed over, appreciating it to the full volume that you intended. It was old, worn, but still in common, and he grasped it reverently. You averted your eyes as he tried to find a position where he could use his single hand to devour the words, fully aware of his pride. There was plenty to do, anyway, and… you hadn’t discussed sleeping arrangements, so shifting some of the blankets onto the floor was more than necessary.

He watched you, though.

The prospect of the passages on the pages betwixt his palms was moot in comparison to your form. To Ezra, you were ethereal. His Moonlight. The drape of the cloth between your fingers and the glow of the lights illuminating the fine hairs on your skin was enchanting. Part of him wanted to tell you to stop, to leave the blankets so the two of you could burrow in, together, and he could feel your breath on his skin before his eyes even opened in the morning. But the other parts were still stuck in longing, and soaking in the domesticity of your movements.

“What’s on your mind, Ezra?”

You’d caught him dreaming.

“Lovely one, I was just reflecting on a story I heard awhile ago, that I think your beauty would quite belong in,” he started, more than excited by the image his mind was overlaying. Marble columns and sweeping stairs and arched windows that reached to the heavens replaced the metal and wires and knobs, and it was blissful, before it came crashing down.

Shy wasn’t a word that usually suited him, but it was the only one that fit in this moment. His head ducked, shoulders hunched as he glanced resentfully at the knotted fabric where his arm would be. There were many things his words could transform, dreamlike worlds he could – would – create for you but there was a part of him that did not fit.

When it had first been lost, being alive was more than enough. And usually, that remained true. Ezra considered himself more than lucky to be alive to walk in the glow you cast, to be graced with your smile but…

Your own head tilted, watching him as you waited, mind searching, sorting through the stories he’d recited to you over the long harvest walks.

He was still looking for the words, the right ones, anyway, as you moved gently.

The click brought him back to reality, and the music made it worth it. It was a rickety old thing, but the player did it’s job just fine, for a moment like this.

In a trance, still shy but increasingly eager, he stood his full height, placing the book gently away before reaching for you. The self doubt ebbed out of him the closer you got, the trust in your eyes making him feel more worthy than the strength of his limbs ever did.

The words caught in his throat as your hands slid around his neck, as he felt hyperaware of every nerve that connected with your skin.

Your eyes held his like gravity until his hand touched your hip, and the heat on your face made you duck away. There was space between your bodies and he gently began to guide you round and round.

It was strange, the feeling inside of him, how good this little moment was, but he was intoxicated by it, by you. When his arm slid to your lower back and asked you closer, you melted into his chest and he was sure nothing had ever felt quite so heavenly. You fit into him, adding on to his soul effortlessly as you molded together and he couldn’t stop himself.

Ezra spoke into the space, so close that your hair trembled under his breath, having split between his desire just to feel you, and his need to tell you how grateful he was for this moment. The ghost of you lips on his skin was more than he had ever hoped for, but made him hungry for more of you, to steal more of these moments and elicit more of these feelings.

In turn, you felt encompassed by him, and something grew inside of you for the first time since you’d ventured out in the dangerous time and space, all alone.

“Ez,” you whispered. The words tripped, but continued, and you almost wondered if he was too excited to finish his story to stop them from pushing out.

“Ezra,” you tried again and he stopped, both talking and swaying, almost frozen as he cradled you.

“Thank you,” for what specifically, you weren't sure, but you felt like you had to say it. For all of it, everything he was.

He began to sway again, his fingers curling ever so slightly into the cloth on your back. The music lilted through the air, and there was a long moment before he picked up, compelled to finish what he started. You didn’t mind.

Neither of you ever slept as peacefully as you did that night.

<<

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@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost