#Under Fire Pre-Order Blast

[ryin-silverfish]

Headcanon: Dragons of the Four Seas

(inspired by a recent discussion with @the-monkey-ruler)

-Although Chinese dragons are water deities, there are dragons who control stuff other than water: Cold Dragons under the Dragon King of the North can freeze stuff, and Bailong Ma used to be a Fire Dragon in pre-novel variants of JTTW.

"Wouldn't it be interesting if the four major lineage of dragons all have their unique side-power, apart from water and weather manipulation?"

-It starts off as this, then spins out of control and becomes one giant worldbuilding exercise.

East Sea:

-The eastern direction is traditionally associated with the Wood element. However, I feel like plant manipulation will be too obvious.

-So instead, they are the master of Thunder and Wind——the trigrams that represent these two things, Zhen and Xun, are both Wood-aligned.

-Their lightning has a notable azure hue, and have adapted the force of Thunder specifically for underwater usage, creating highly potent sonic blasts as well as what basically amount to a sonar spell.

-They kinda consider themselves the archetypal dragon, representative of their kind, and certainly have the attitude to match.

-Like, they claim to be descended from the Azure Dragon of the East, even though the idea that a Divine Beast of the Four Directions, stellar guardian of the entire eastern section of the sky, can reproduce is...dubious at best.

-Don't you mention the time Ao Guang got bullied by Wukong. Or Nezha. Or Huaguang. Or the Eight Immortals. They are very touchy about that. Violently touchy.

-They also have close relations with water-dwelling Yakshas, who act as a sort of elite mercenaries in their military campaigns against other seaborn demons and rogue flood dragons.

-Basically, the proud generals of dragonkind, with a vast weapon collection to match. The dragon king's family also name their kids after Celestial Stems and Earthly Branches, much like the ancient Shang dynasty rulers.

-The East Sea dragons are the only lineage who has an official representative of the Celestial Host stationed in their territory, who's only known by his title, the "Water-dividing General of the East Sea".

-He seems to be an older sort of god, the half-man, half-beast ones who look like they walk out of an illustration of the Book of Mountains and Seas.

-Most of the time, he takes the form of a seal, lounging around on rocks and watching sunrises, and has the personality of a sarcastic old man.

-Whether he's here to keep an eye on them, or they are supposed to keep an eye on him, no one can say. Ao Guang certainly treats him like an old acquaintance, though.

West Sea:

-They are a bit tricky. West is associated with Metal, and the two Metal-aligned trigrams, Qian and Dui, represent Heaven and Marsh...which don't neatly map onto weather and natural phenomena.

-Then I had an idea. What if they have a natural affinity for heavenly bodies? In ancient times, the movements of stars are believed to affect weather, after all, not to mention the sun and the moon.

-This affinity can be figurative——their lineage has a strong relationship with the stellar deities of the 28 Lunar Mansion and Dipper Mansion——or literal.

-Like a natural talent for divination and astrology, predicting the future from the patterns of stars. They are no governors of fate, unlike the actual Star Lords, they are just fate's weather forecast guy.

-This puts them in an awkward position, though: the stellar gods act according to the Jade Emperor's orders, some of which are very much secret and beyond their clearance levels, but the best scions of the West Sea can just infer it from the movement of stars alone.

-Which makes them obsessed with proving their loyalty, as well as enforcing a draconian standard of secrecy, just so they wouldn't get into trouble for knowing something they weren't supposed to know.

-Even more rarely, they can harness the power of astral light. Most of the time, such light is of lunar nature——Star Lord Taiyin also holds sway over the ocean's tides, though it is an easily forgotten power.

-But sometimes, that light comes from a fiery, lively, or ominous star, and the power that results is just as temperamental as their stellar origins.

-Enters Ao Lie, Third Prince of the West Sea, who has highly potent fire powers despite not being a South Sea dragon, and became the subject of some rather tasteless gossips about his parentage the moment it awakened.

-All dragons love their pearls: it's kinda like an ordinary yaoguai's "inner core", an orb of solidified Qi that can be spit out and store separately from the body, but much more powerful and culturally significant.

-Well, the West Sea dragons use their pearls in the same way a Feng Shui master uses their geomantic compass, or a Zhou Yi diviner, their turtle shell and copper coins. The ones left behind by venerable ancestors are especially treasured, believed to lead to clearer insights and more reliable readings.

-Through that lens, Ao Lie's burning of one such pearl is the equivalent of descrating the dead + destroying a priceless, irreplacable supercomputer.

-Intentional or not, to a lineage that is so serious about their discipline, taboos, and absolute loyalty to the Celestial Host, it is enough to warrant death.

-To no one's surprise, they are the diplomats, the inter-department coordinators when it comes to weatherly business. Not just between relevant celestial bureaus like the Thunder and Water Bureaus, but also between local dragon kings of rivers and lakes.

-As a result, the West Sea lineage is the most open to marrying non-oceanic dragons, even though these are often out of practical and political needs.

-That's my explanation for why, in JTTW, Ao Run's nine nephews either guard rivers or work for JE/the Buddha. The West Sea lineage has really turned nepotism into an art form.

North Sea:

-In JTTW, we know that they have Cold Dragons that can chill stuff. It is certainly not too much of a stretch to imagine them as the ice-and-snow specialists, the ones you summon when you are sick of the heat or need to insta-freeze something.

-Historically, the "North Sea" in Chinese texts refer to Lake Baikal. However, I think it is cooler if their palace is literally in the arctic zone, under the ice caps.

-Instead of garden-variety shrimp and crab soldiers, they have lots of cultivated marine mammals. And elite legions of belugas and narwhals and bowhead whales.

-The smallest and most isolationist lineage also carries the grimest duty, as border patrols and prison wardens. Not only is the North Sea a hotspot of rifts that lead to the Underworld, it also conceals the portal to the Evil-Vanquishing Mansion of the North Pole——realm of Emperor Zhenwu, Lord of the North.

-Kind of like the Lord Father of the East and Queen Mother of the West, he is the sovereign of the northern direction and the Water element, as well as the direct superior of Xuanwu, one of the Four Divine Beasts.

-And his job? Subduing demons. The Evil-Vanquishing Mansion is basically a fleet of giant, hollowed-out icebergs, packed to the brim with powerful demons, ghosts, and rogue immortals.

-Any prisoners that make an unlikely escape will emerge into the North Sea, where the vigilant army of the dragon king awaits. However, that is not their main duty; it is the Eye of the North Sea that they swear to eternally guard.

-And the prisoner of the Eye is none other than Shen Gongbao, the infamous traitor of the Chan Sect who was behind most major conflicts in the War of Investiture.

-It was said that, though his body was stuffed into the Eye of the North Sea as punishment, in the end, his soul still gets deified as a minor water god.

-However, if there is only a mindless body left in there, why the need for such heavy security? Only the most experienced elders and veterans are allowed to go into the Eye's vicinity to check on Yuanshi Tianzun's seals, and repeated visit by the same people is strictly prohibited.

-Perhaps, instead of a split of soul and body, deification has split the soul itself: one half is exorcised of all the undesirable qualities, the other left to stew and simmer in them until it mutates into something unrecognizable.

-Such is the rumor among the North Sea's younger scions. But folks will make up anything to pass the time in those long, cold arctic nights, and whatever the truth is, it doesn't matter, as long as the seal still holds.

South Sea:

-Their element, Fire, is directly opposite to the North Sea's; much like the Cold Dragons, the Fire Dragons of the South Sea are heat specialists, creators of droughts and wildfires as well as bringers of warm winds.

-And their fire is a peculiar variant of Earthly Fire. Unlike Heavenly Fires, which draw from the blaze of the Three-legged Sun Crow, or the True Fires immortals used in internal alchemy, Fire Dragons channel the power of earth's flaming veins: that is, undersea volcanos and thermal vents.

-Though they usually display their power in less flashy ways——steam clouds, a playful whiff of sulfur, a blast of warm wind on a winter night, a Fire Dragon fully on the offensive is just like a mini live volcano, unleashing streams of magma and scalding smoke clouds.

-When dragons are mentioned as one of the Eight Classes of Demigods in Buddhism, more often than not, they are from the South Sea lineage.

-Like, the most popular Bodhisattva in Asia, Guanyin, resides in the South Sea. It's all but granted that the local dragons would also be heavily influenced by Buddhist teachings, in the same way their northern kins are drawn to the entourage of Zhenwu.

-Fun fact: the imagery of dragons has appeared in Chinese art since the Neolithic period, but the specific worship of dragons as gods of the Four Seas is a result of Buddhist influence.

-Prior to that, the gods of the Four Seas in the Book of Mountains and Seas are all beasts with human faces, wearing snakes as earrings or standing on a snake.

-And in Sui-Tang era works, some variants merged the Four Seas gods with the Four Directions gods of ancient times, and said that the god of the South Sea was Zhurong.

-A.k.a. the fire god that defeated Gonggong (in the most well-known version of the tale), who, being the sore loser he is, went and knocked over the sky support pillar with his head. Thus, Nvwa's patching of the sky.

-Legends of the South Sea lineage claim that the Fire Dragons draw their power from Zhurong's embers, and their king is descended from the two dragon mounts of the primodial fire god.

-To the outrage of more traditionalist dragons, they often intermarry with Nagas, the serpentine water gods of the Western Lands. Guanyin's dragon girl attendant is born of one such union, between the Naga lord Sagara and a princess of the South Sea.

-Their palace is located inside an underwater volcano, said to be the remnant of Zhurong's great forge. Giant tube worm gardening is a popular hobby among the South Sea nobility; however peculiar it may appear to outsiders, these colorful creatures thrive in the union of Fire and Water, much like the lineage itself.

(Pictures of the Four Dragon Kings come from Nezha 1979.)

(The animated film makes the dragon king of the West a black dragon, and the North, a white one, a reversal of the colors traditionally associated with the two directions——West = White, North = Black.）

[poisonedprose]

₊˚✧ valentines day!

chishiya, arisu, tatta, kuina, last boss x gn!reader headcanons

warnings: pre borderlands, lower case intended, typo, incomplete sentences, curse word (kuina) , nsfw implications (last boss)

masterlist

chishiya ! ⋆ doesnt really celebrate and will only plan something if you want him too

⋆ thinks flowers are stupid so wont buy you them

⋆ "Y/N, im not buying you flowers, they are just going to die in a week"

⋆ but buys you whatever else you want (hes got that doctor money)

⋆ more of a stay in and chill kinda guy

⋆ but if you really wanna go to a restaurant and eat some overpriced medicore meal he'll endure it

⋆ overall youre in charge and whatever you say goes (except for flowers)

arisu ! ⋆ absolutely loves valentines day with you

⋆ from the moment you wake up he is bombarding your face with kisses

⋆ tries to make dinner but almost sets the house on fire

⋆ so you just end up ordering from your favorite delivery place

⋆ definitely asks you to play video games with him

⋆ if you say yes he lets you win

⋆ overall he loves valentines day and if he had his way, valentines day would be every month

tatta ! ⋆ i see him as the kinda guy to forget its valentines day

⋆ like hes just working and gets a text from you asking what you guys are doing tonight

⋆ and he just totally freaks about because he didnt plan anything yet

⋆ texts back saying its a surprise and then calls everyone he knows for help

⋆ he ends up making it a really special night tho

⋆ plans a nice picnic under the stars (and steals food from work)

⋆ overall even tho he forgot you never found out and you had a blast so win-win

kuina ! ⋆ this bitch spends MONTHS planning, every little detail is thought out

⋆ from what shes gonna wear to what you guys will talk abt

⋆ she def starts out by taking you shopping (with her employee discount)

⋆ and then a nice walk through the park as the sun sets

⋆ she might even lend you her jacket as it gets cold ;)

⋆ ends the night with a cute little firework show and lots and lots of kisses

⋆ overall she puts a lot of effort in because youre worth it

last boss ! ⋆ genuinely could not care less

⋆ "Valentine's day is just some capitalistic scam Y/N."

⋆ he buys you chocolate tho bc he does love seeing your smile

⋆ will deny he bought it for valentines day and claims he just saw it and bought it

⋆ and then refuses to talk to you for like 10 minutes before you're back in his arms

⋆ he will 100% try to use the fact that its valentines day to get some with no shame

⋆ overall hit or miss with him but its you so probs hit (if ykwim)

[ipostdumbthings]

Moonlit Dinner Date

Pairing: Gale/Tav

Characters: Gale, Tav, Astarion, Karlach

Rating: G

Genre: Romantic Fluff

Summary: Gale returns to camp one evening to discover a wild magic mishap from sorcerer Tav. Pre-relationship.

It was still fairly early in the evening when Gale found himself strolling back into camp, clean for the first time in days. Camp had been made late in the afternoon, they’d stopped near a river and a turn order was quickly established to get everyone in camp a turn to a small but blissful amount of privacy, and freedom from the muck and sweat. He was still toweling off his hair when he stepped foot in camp proper,only to find himself almost bumping directly into a certain pale companion of the vampiric persuasion. The look on the elf’s face made it clear that he’d been waiting for Gale for a while now, a look that said “you’re wasting my time”. The wizard didn’t love how often he saw it.

“Here’s something I never thought I’d say, but thank the gods you’re here Gale we need your help.” It might have been a jab at him, but Astarion wasn’t wielding his particularly cruel tone of voice, did Gale actually detect something genuine there? He opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off immediately, not by the man before him, but by the bleating of a sheep. Of course. He didn’t need to look, but he did anyway, sidestepping the elf to join the camp proper. Not too far from the fire was a sheep, a rope tied loosely to its neck to keep it from wandering off. Affectionately petting and tending to it was Karlach, who looked all the more excited to see Gale.

“Tav?” He asked, already so certain of the answer, but received further confirmation when he spotted the bowl of water someone had laid beside the sheep with the name “Tav '' hastily painted on the side, no doubt Karlach’s work. It could be hard to believe that a woman of so much heat could have such a soft heart.

“Yes, she got a little bold with her spell casting I’m afraid,” Astarion replied, a certain quirk to the corner of his mouth indicating just how funny he found all this. It had endlessly fascinated Gale just how well Tav could get along with everyone here, and how someone with so much kindness and concern for others could find genuine affection and camaraderie with someone like Astarion. He was certain for the elf’s part, the friendship had mostly been a great source of amusement, provided he was well outside the blast radius when something went wrong. But Tav had disagreed with Gale during one of their chats about that, well not entirely, she knew Astarion found it funny when her magic went awry, but she was positive there was a genuine connection of trust and friendship between them. That was getting off track though, there was very much a situation he was faced with, one that was frankly frustrating, and should’ve been avoided based on his and her previous conversations. He heaved a sigh so deep he felt it in his soul.

“I specifically asked her not to cast her magic in camp for this reason. Could’ve been a fireball that sent all the tents up in flames,” he said, adopting a chastising tone as he addressed the sheep more than the two people. Sorcerer’s and wizards rarely saw eye to eye under the best of circumstances, given their different philosophies, their different experiences with magic. Sorcerers took magic for granted, and the one type of sorcerer you didn’t want with that sort of flippant attitude was one of wild magic, and yet Tav seemed blissfully unconcerned by the chaos she was capable of wreaking. He’d hope she’d learn something from this, but he knew better.

“Oh, no, that’s not what we need help with,” Astarion said, his genuine delight only seeming to swell.

“When you say it like that Astarion, it makes me feel like we’ve been arseholes,” Karlach said sounding like a guilty child. She even wore a pout. 

“She’s got grass, we put down a clean water bowl for her, her precious sheepish heart yearns for nothing. Frankly I wish people tended to my needs the way we’ve been keeping her for the better part of the half hour.” The elf sounded defensive, but not in a way that indicated he felt bad in the slightest for anything that was happening. Gale pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a certain weariness he imagined his mother must have felt when she was dealing with his youthful magical indiscretions.

“If it’s not about Tav the sheep, then what exactly did you need?” The question was quick, clipped, and demanded an answer.

“Well, it’s not not about Tav and her adorable little hooves.” The way Karlach emphasized the last three words was further hammered home by her taking Tav’s sheep face in her hands and cooing at her.

“It’s a bet,” Astarion said, and could not suppress a grin as he spoke, “we were wondering if, someone were to… shear her, you know, shave off all the wool, while she’s a sheep…” 

“Would she pop back to being a human bald or naked? And what would happen to the wool when she turned back? Would that be her hair? Her clothes? Or would it stay wool?” Karlach finished the question, redirecting her gaze back to Gale with genuine curiosity. He blinked at the absurdity of the question, at the knowledge that they had been patiently waiting for him for half an hour just to ask. Karlach didn’t surprise him as much, but he would’ve assumed Astarion for the sort to get to the bottom of the matter himself.

“Ah. Well, I can't say I’ve ever tried it. Honestly I’m impressed at the restraint you’ve shown in not simply attempting it yourself.” He’d said it as a joke, but the look on Karlach’s face had the deep sigh renewed.

“We thought about it, but I’m too pretty for such a menial task, Karlach is too afraid of hurting her, and Halsin gave us a very stern ‘no’ and that same disapproving look you seem to be wearing right now.” Well, at least someone in the camp could be trusted to behave like an adult. He held Astarion’s gaze for several moments, making sure he fully expressed said disappointment, before finally looking back at the popular subject of the evening, Tav. He should still be irritated, but he had to admit the question was an interesting one, and far be it from him to not indulge the curiosity of others in regards to magic. Even if he didn’t exactly have an answer.

“Ignoring the ethical implications of you two attempting to shave one of your friends while they’re completely indisposed, hypothetically-“ he was cut off when the sheep made eye contact with him, and he felt the sudden, intense connection brought on by the tadpoles locked in their brains. For just a moment it didn’t make sense, just sheep sounds and flashes of the grass on the ground at the camp, but then he felt it: the disappointment. The sheep held his gaze, drifting to thoughts of the clearing nearby, the one with bright green grass.

“Wait. What just happened?” The words from Karlach pulled him from the moment, and his bewildered stare must have made it obvious.

“Did she just use the tadpole on you?” Astarion sounded positively delighted, the airy laugh erupting from him. Gale glared.

“Oh was it Tav-Tav, or Sheep-Tav? Why didn’t she do it to me? I was just staring into her little face?” Karlach asked with a mix of absolute whimsy and disappointment. She gently rested her hands under Tav’s face to coax the sheep to look at her again.

“Don’t take it personally, Karlach, she’s not really Tav right now, she’s well and truly a sheep,and you two were wrong about her wanting for nothing, she wants better grass.” With that he crossed the space to his tent and returned everything he’d taken for his bath, then snatched up a book. There was no telling how long it would take for Tav to become human again, and she’d been very clear about what she wanted. He could sit with her for a while as she indulged in sheepish pleasures.

“Shit are we being bad sheep guardians?” Karlach asked with a groan, she did start untying the rope from the stake in the ground, which she handed over to Gale when he approached.

“Do you mean shepherds?” Astarion asked, but Gale was very much through with the tom-foolery of the evening. Taking the rope in hand, he gave Tav the gentlest of tugs to get her moving.

“I’m going to take her to a clearing nearby, if she’s going to return to humanity with the taste of grass in her mouth it might as well be good grass.” Tav may have frustrated him at times to no end, but there was no denying that he respected her. Valued her, even. She was competent at decision making under catastrophic circumstances, unwaveringly compassionate to those in need, and a damn fine friend to anyone that allowed her to be. There were times that his fondness for her only increased his frustration about her casual disposition to her brand of chaos. He wanted her to care enough to take care of herself, to be careful. But he supposed, at least for the time being, she had him to do the worrying for her. Seemed a few others were up to the task too.

“Don’t forget her water bowl, Gale, I put her name on it and everything, you know, for next time it happens.” Karlach almost spilled the water bowl in her haste to hand it over, genuinely concerned he may leave it behind. The wizard took the bowl with a small bow of his head, yes even when he wasn’t around to watch after her, Tav was usually in good hands.

“I’m certain she’ll be touched by the kind gesture. Now come along, Tav.” With that, he gave another gentle tug on the rope, and sheep Tav seemed to know exactly what to do, which he supposed made sense, she had requested this.

—

He did have to give her credit for good timing, though, it was a lovely night. Stars twinkling above, the moon brilliantly lighting their little clearing. The air was cool, but not cold. A nice gentle breeze carried the sounds of the night time wildlife beginning their evening. Perfect night to sit with a book and enjoy the world for all its splendor.Even the company was pleasant, now satisfied with the grass she had available Tav was content to silently wander and munch nearby. He’d take breaks from the page to glance up at her to make sure she was fine, and frankly marvel at how he managed to enjoy her presence even as a sheep.

The two had shared many late night evening talks, mostly about the sort of things one expects a wizard and a sorcerer to discuss. Magic and its nature, mysteries of the universe, that sort of thing. They talked about other things, and he was constantly amazed by how much he enjoyed those chats just as much as he enjoyed the ones on his favorite subjects. Even in these trying times she approached life with enthusiasm, with passion and joy. Not to say she wasn’t aware of the impending doom that loomed above them, she’d let slip her air of exuberant confidence a few times to reveal just how deeply afraid she was. He’d realized then that she was attempting to shoulder all the worries of the team, that she’d been determined to be the source of comfort and hope when they couldn’t be one to themselves. He didn’t envy her. He did want to help her though. Which was yet another reason he was sitting out here with her.

It was a wonderful, quiet hour that past, and sheep Tav had settled in the grass and was deep into a snore when the magic dispelled. One moment a sheep snoozed happily, the next there was Tav. She sat up quickly, facing away from Gale. She twisted her head back and forth before rising to her feet. When she finally spotted Gale she broke into a big grin. A big, beautiful grin. She looked relieved to see him, happy to see him. He blinked back at her, and felt something stir in his chest that felt suspiciously like his heart fluttering. He hoped it was dark enough that she’d miss the faint tingle of redness on his cheeks he felt forming. A moment passed before he realized he was staring at her, and he quickly cleared his throat to break the silence.

“You should know, your dear friends seriously debated shearing you in pursuit of scientific curiosity,” he said, he’d intended his tone to be more chastising, after all he had asked her not to cast in camp for a reason. But his heart wasn’t in that, not at the moment, not with her looking at him like he was her safety, her comfort. It came out as the gentle, affectionate tease it truly was. Of course he knew he’d been fond of her already, but that look on her face under starlit skies was forcing him towards some rather hasty and unexpected realizations about just how fond of her he was.

“Oh to see if I turn out bald or naked?” She asked with an easy laugh, as she took a seat on the ground directly beside him. The urge to put an arm around her was one of the hardest he’s ever had to suppress. He settled for tilting his head to the side as he peered at her, watching the expression of good humor form on her face. He was finding he liked that one quite a bit too.

“A question you seem to have pondered quite a bit yourself,” he remarked.

“Well I’ve spent more than my fair share of time as a sheep. Always wondered why it was a sheep. Honestly, the universe probably knows I’d be too powerful as a cat.” She was looking directly into his eyes as she spoke, and he found himself even more acutely aware of how close they were and how intimate this moment between them was. The idea of her as a cat, however, was enough to get a laugh from him. Surely she’d be the sort to knock everything over, to break all your favorite things, and just when you were sure it was time to get rid of her, cuddle up on your lap and make you love her all over again.

“With your predisposition for chaos? I suspect you may be right.” He loved the way that made her laugh, the way her nose crinkled as her whole face lit up. She gave him a gentle shove on the shoulder, and he made a mental note to ensure an abundant future of that. She finished laughing and for a brief moment she sat and peered up at the stars before she looked back to the grass she’d been eating not ago.

“Awfully nice of you, though, to bring me out to this lovely patch of Baldurian Bluegrass.” She looked thankful. He blinked at her, and then looked at the grass, and then back at her.

“… You know what type of grass this is?” He must have sounded incredulous from her next little laugh. Tav was not much of an expert on the great outdoors, she’d never successfully identified an animal track, knew absolutely no potion ingredients, and seemed to be allergic to most things they came in contact with. She smiled a knowing smile and shrugged her shoulders.

“When I realized that I would be spending a decent amount of time as a sheep, I started growing little patches of grass at home, and had some brought in from all sorts of places. I figured, you know, spoil myself.” It was his turn to laugh, he shouldn’t have been surprised in the first place. That was exactly the sort of thing Tav did. 

“Ah yes, exotic grasses from across the globe. Truly a feast fit for a sheep of your caliber.” He teased, and felt that flicker in his heart when her eyes were back to him.

“But the one I always eat the most is the boring one, Baldurian Bluegrass.But do you realize what that means?” She asks leaning just enough that it felt like they were conspiring about something together.

“I can’t even imagine what’s about to come out of your mouth.” It wasn’t the first time that had happened, and he knew with such certainty that it would far from be the last. It excited him in a way that he hadn’t expected it to.

“You just took me out for a nice moonlit dinner with my favorite food. If you keep this up, Gale, I’m going to think you’re into me.” It was a joke, he was certain. Wasn’t he certain? He could almost be bold enough to lean over and kiss her, to wrap that arm around her and hold her. To spend the evening like this teasing and talking together. Almost.

“We should get back to camp, Karlach will be both relieved and disappointed by your reversion,” he said and cursed himself for being a coward. Tav took pity on him it seemed, leaned in and kissed his cheek, and he felt his heart absolutely pound in his chest. She rose to her feet quickly thereafter and offered her hand to him to help him up, which he gratefully accepted.

“Thank you, Gale, for taking care of me,” and there was that smile again, but it didn’t linger for long, and she was quickly starting the short walk back to camp. He didn’t let her get too far ahead though.

“It was a privilege and an honor, my lady.” He did stop to pick up her water bowl though, with her luck it would be helpful soon enough.

[munsonsduchess]

Goodness Gracious Great Balls of Fire

summary: on a girls night out you meet someone unexpected w/c: 1,708 warnings: mentions of cheating, alcohol consumption (drink responsibily), p in v sex, oral (f receiving), mentions of the word pussy and cock, taking a stranger home a/n: so the bar mentioned here does actually exist, it's called Ballie Ballersons and they have locations in london and edinburgh and it's a lot of fun on a night out. we're also suspending disbelief and saying that there is no cost of living crisis and it's entirely capable for two people to rent a nice flat in central london and be able to y'know eat and go on nights out and stuff

(moodboard by me)

It hadn’t been your idea to go out tonight. You’d planned for a nice quiet evening on the sofa, the whole flat to yourself since Emma had gone to the fringe following some lad she’d met in a bar who she’d become besotted by. 

You’d settled in and had been browsing for somewhere to order dinner from when the group chat light up and sent out the bat signal. Lucy’s awful boyfriend, who you’d never liked anyway, had dumped her over Snapchat as it turns out he’d been seeing someone else on the side the entire time. So you’d abandoned the sofa, got dressed according to what everyone else was wearing and jumped on a train. 

Which is how you found yourself in a ballpit in a bar in Shoreditch. You’d all had neon face painting done when you arrived, matching of course, and someone had booked a VIP table which you were immensely grateful for, your shoes were cute, not practical and standing all night was not on your agenda. It wasn’t on anyone’s agenda really, especially since Denise had already pre booked an Uber home for everyone announcing to the group chat via voice message that the mission for tonight was to get as legless as possible as quickly as possible. 

Some of the girls had all congregated together before coming out and done pres but you’d insisted on eating something first. There was no way you’d survive the night without lining your stomach first. The days of being able to go out drinking all day and all night and still show up for an 8:00am class were very much behind you now.   

»»————-　♡　————-««

As the DJ blasted out “Dancing Queen” you’d all ended up downing your drinks for a group selfie and dancing in the larger mirrored ball pit. It was turning into one of those nights where you hadn’t planned on being out but you knew it was a great decision to answer the call. 

You were looking around for your group, trying to find someone and let them know you needed the loo when your cute, practical shoe stood on a rogue ball and you ended up laying flat on your back amongst the rest. It didn’t hurt and you were just laughing to yourself, of course you’d be the one who ended up falling over. 

As you tried to right yourself you couldn’t quite get your footing, little bit tricky when you were tipsy in a ball pit. That’s when you saw a man’s hand being offered to you, you grabbed hood gratefully and felt yourself being pulled up. Once upright you came face to face with a boy your own age with unruly curly hair and honestly the brownest eyes you’d ever seen,

“Y’alright?” he asked smiling, “I saw you go down, figured you could use a hand”

“I’m good thanks, couldn’t quite get my footing under there” you laughed, he was cute so you figured there was no harm in flirting a little. Although you couldn’t quite place his accent, you’d ask about it later maybe if you remembered,

“It’s a bit tricky” he smiled back, “are you out by yourself?” 

“There’s a group of us, somewhere” you scanned the ball pit and saw Jess at the far end chatting to one of the bouncers, “bit of a crisis in the group chat this evening so we all headed out” you we’re about to say something else when the boy spoke again,

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Please”

“I’m not usually this forward, I just thought you were stunning and my mate kept telling me I should talk to you and stop being a wimp”

“Well then I guess it’s my lucky night” 

You both introduced yourself, the boy’s name being Tom from Cornwall who was up in London staying with some friends for a while.

You left the ballpit, gesturing to Jess on the way out that you were with Tom so if anything went pear shaped at least you knew someone would be able to come and save you. Or if things went well that someone knew you were gone and who you were gone with. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

With the rest of the girls on the dance floor or in the ball ours the booth you’d booked was free for you and Tom to sit and chat and get to know one another. You talked about the usual things, where you lived, where you worked, where you went to school. Then previous relationships came up and you noticed Tom seemed to not be as comfortable,

“I’ve not really seen anyone in the last few years. It’s all been causal y’know” he said, “just feeling my way” 

“Did something happen to you then?” you couldn’t help but ask, Tom seemed like a nice enough guy so you couldn’t imagine why it would be hard for him to find someone who wanted to be serious 

“Yeah. Things ended with the girl I’d been with for three years, I loved her but she didn’t love me back” he said with a sad smile,

“That’s awful. Well, her loss is my gain” you grinned moving closer to  him, “I mean, if you’re ok with running through London with a stranger” 

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” Tom laughed, his hand on your arm now

“You don’t seem so strange to me” by this point you were practically sitting in his lap, Tom didn’t seem to mind and closed the space between you kissing you gently, “let me find someone and tell them I’m not getting in the Uber home” 

“Sure. I’ll let my mates know the same thing” 

You found Amy first by the bar and let her know you were heading out. She laughed and demanded you put all the details in the group chat the next morning. She also made sure you were planning on keeping your location on. Just in case. 

—

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been with someone where it felt this fun, like you weren’t worried about faking it to make it end quicker, telling the person you finished when you didn’t just so they’d leave. 

Being with Tom felt like a whole new experience. He took his time to learn the curves of your body. Kissing his way across your chest, along your stomach, he spent what felt like an hour between your thighs, his tongue, his mouth, felt like heaven. It really seemed like he was the type of man who got off on getting his partner off. 

Tom’s hands grabbed your hips as he practically ground your pussy into his face, his nose rubbing against your clit as he ate like a man sentenced to die would eat his last meal. 

You knew he was bound to be hard, you’d felt it pressing against you while you’d gotten the tube home but he made no effort to relieve himself in any way. By the third time you’d cum from his mouth and fingers alone you wondered if he wasn’t in pain from denying himself relief all this time. 

If you’d thought Tom’s skill began and ended with oral you’d have been sorely mistaken. After grabbing a condom from your bathroom he returned, oftentimes a man can look ridiculous standing bare with just a condom on but Tom didn’t seem to worry too much about how he looked. 

When he sank into you it felt just as good if not better than when he was going down on you. A lot of men put stock in how big they are, exaggerating on their size and prowess but again all Tom seemed to be focused on was making you feel good. 

The tip of his cock brushed against your g spot with every thrust. He laid kisses on every inch of you he could reach, it was almost like making love instead of just fucking. You could tell Tom was the sort of person who wanted to experience all kinds of intimacy and it was obvious in the way he paid attention to your needs, constantly asking if you were ok, if something felt good. 

It was honestly one of the best experiences you’d ever had. Tom also made sure that you’d cum multiple times again before he finished inside the condom. It was something you’d never experienced with a partner, only by yourself. 

Him coming back with a warm washcloth after he’d stripped the condom off in the bathroom was new as well. Honestly you couldn’t believe a boy like this was real. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

You woke the next morning and expected to feel someone else in the bed next to you but instead heard someone rustling about in the living room. 

After throwing something on so you wouldn’t flash the neighbours you saw Tom looking around your living room for something,

“Lost something?” You asked, leaning against the doorway,

“Sorry I didn’t mean to wake you. I can’t find my train ticket, I was gonna wake you when I found it” Tom said, looking sheepish 

“Oh. I mean. Yeah sure, but you know Uber eats delivers and I would murder an Egg and Bacon McMuffin. Unless you don’t want Maccas? We can go into town if you like” one the one hand you weren’t sure Tom would want to stay with you, he has told you last night he’d only been doing casual since his last relationship but last night felt … different so you kind of hoped he would. 

“Into town?” Tom asked, confused. 

“For breakfast” you smiled hopefully, you kind of hoped he was going to stay after all. 

“Actually, I’d murder a bacon and egg muffin myself” he returned you smile you honestly felt your stomach flutter at the prospect,

“That’s what I hoped you’d say”

It left you both with around thirty minutes to kill while the driver picked up your food and brought it around. When the knock on the door did come you both had to do your best not to laugh while the driver handed the food off to Tom and pointedly looked everywhere but at the very shiny lower half of Tom’s face. 

All in all a very successful night out but an even more successful morning after. 

Gonna tag the Eddie girlies incase anyone is interested:

Taglist: @pillow-titties @munsonology @thegirlblogstuff @boomhauer @prettyboyeddiemunson @hellfireeddie6 @that-lame-ghoul9000 @flashyourgreeneyesatme @anxiousstark @ruinedbythehobbit @winnifredburkleismyhero @manda-panda-monium @insertcoolnameherethanks @aftermidnightwriting @mcbeanzontoast @tiannamortis

[vibrantbirdy]

Hi! How are you??

Can I request a Kylo Ren x Reader, where the reader is Rey’s older sister and has telekinesis (very powerful) and protects him from all the people who are after him but over use them and pass out but release a energy blast but he catches the reader in his arms and places them his bed and waits till they wake up.

thank u :)

Thank you anon, you are my first ever request! I hope this is the sort of thing you were looking for.

Requests for Character x Reader fics are currently open in my Asks. Please read the guidelines first before requesting.

Title: Frequency Fandom: Star Wars: Skywalker Saga Genres: Sci-Fi; Action/Adventure; Enemies to Allies; Hurt/Comfort Setting: Post The Last Jedi, Pre The Rise of Skywalker Main Characters: Kylo Ren x Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Warnings: Mild/canon typical battle violence; mild/canon typical swearing Word Count: 2394 Summary: You are Rey's long lost sister - a powerful force wielder - and you encounter the First Order's Supreme Leader, Kylo Ren, as you both search for something on a mysterious planet.

You are almost back to your shuttle when you hear it. Blaster fire. A lot of it. It echoes round the forest clearing and bounces off the ancient, gnarled trees typical of this green planet.

Lunah Prime.

You thought there might be something here to help you in your search, something within the ancient Jedi Temple. When you finally reached they decaying structure, however, you found it desecrated, gutted of all its artefacts and worse. At some point following the Clone Wars, it had been turned into a scrapyard for Separatist battle droids.

Even dormant, they were the stuff of nightmares. They were rusty looking, mechanical limbs strewn here and there. Dead. Even so, you'd been extremely cautious as you'd stepped over each and every one as if it were a sleeping predator.

Trust the First Order to just barge in and wake them all up. And why did they have to rain on your parade?! Their timing couldn't have been worse.

Idiots you seethe under your breath.

But it's not your concern. You are nearly at your destination. You carry on through the long, damp grass, making your way back to your shuttle with purpose. When you'd arrived, this clearing had been empty. Now it there were four First Order transports resting on the meadow in a perverse juxtaposition against the natural beauty of Lunah Prime's forested landscape. You are glad you landed somewhere more discrete.

The din of the firefight is close now. You don't stop. You don't even look back. You keep marching forwards towards your goal of getting the kriff out of here.

Just under a year ago, you'd felt a strange ripple in the Force. Distant, but so clear, so full of light and hope. And so familiar. In that moment, you knew your sister was alive and that something had awakened inside her.

It was as if Rey was finally exploring her own connection to the Force. Something you'd been doing for years now. And now you felt her presence as a thread between you, connecting you, so fragile that you felt if you let go of it just for a second, you'd lose it forever. So you never did.

You doubted Rey was aware of it. She had been so young when your parents had sent you away from Jakku. You had been ten and Rey had only been three when you'd left. She probably had no memory of you at all.

You knew your parents had done it to protect you. And Rey. But the memory still stung. Still, after that incident in the market when you'd thrown that idiot boy across the street and into the animals' water trough with your mind for pulling your hair one too many times...well... Even as a child you knew your parents had little choice after that. You'd drawn far too much attention to yourself and your family. You never understood why, but you knew you were in hiding on that junkyard of a planet. You'd never seen Rey or your parents again.

Your reverie is interrupted when you realise just how loud the battle at your back has become. You can't help it. You pause to turn and look at the carnage.

Stormtroopers are sprinting from the treeline into the clearing and towards the safety of their transports. They are in full retreat and their numbers are shockingly low. Then, you see the hoard of battle droids in pursuit.

Their advance is terrifyingly constant, pace neither quickening nor slowing as they creep inexorably forwards. They are shooting the Troopers without mercy, cruel blaster bolts searing through white armour and into retreating backs.

At the rear of the retreat is a tall young man clad all in black with tousled, raven hair. He is moving backwards, a solitary figure staying the advance of the droids alone. He swings his lightsaber, a fiery blade spluttering red with fierce looking cross-guard vents, and blaster bolts ricochet off it into droids and trees alike.

Immediately, you feel his presence in the Force. His connection to it is devastatingly powerful. He is ferociously strong with the Dark Side and you know it can't be anyone other than Kylo Ren. Supreme Leader of the First Order. Usurper of Snoke's throne.

Ren must have been looking for something in that ancient Jedi Temple too.

Soon he is the only non-mechanical lifeform on the field. You feel an unwelcome flash of admiration for his valiant effort. But no one, not even Kylo Ren, can hold off an entire garrison of B1 and B2 battle droids indefinitely.

The droids continue to encroach on his position, relentless, swarming like insects. Ren is tiring, his defensive swings become laboured and clumsy. You watch with an indifference that alarms you as a blaster bolt glances off his right thigh.

Ren lets out a cry of fury and pain. He is now on the ground, crawling backwards on his bottom as he uses his lightsaber to deflect a tide of blaster bolts with an intensity only desperation can fuel.

When he can, he uses the Force to blast droids backwards at great velocity. But his strength is clearly failing. He's covered in mud and his face is spattered with blood. His long legs flail as he scrambles backwards, trying to get purchase against the sodden ground with his uninjured leg.

You know you could help him. You're not a Jedi. But you have a raw power you've never quite understood, although you know it stems from the Force. You have always used it sparingly. You find it difficult to control. It drains you and necessitates that you rest and recover. It slows you down. And you don't have time for that...

You should leave Ren. It's no more than he deserves. Momentarily, you really think you've convinced yourself that you could abandon this man to die.

Dank Farrik you swear.

You sprint over to the fallen Ren, adrenaline surging through your entire body. Within moments, you are standing above him and have conjured - for that really is the only word for it - a shield of energy around the both of you.

Innumerable blaster bolts bounce off the thrumming wall with no effect. As you face them head on, you suddenly realise how many droids there really are, and your begrudging admiration for Ren's last stand increases ten-fold.

You take a few deep breaths, squeeze your eyes shut and centre yourself.

I am one with the Force and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.

You repeat the ancient Jedi mantra an wizened man once told you about on some backwater moon years ago in your head. You don't know if the old-timer was making it up or not, but you have always found that it helps to ground you, to strengthen your connection to the Force, so that it feels that is nothing else in the Galaxy but your link to it

Then, with an almighty effort, you extend both your arms out in front of you and push. You watch as your shield becomes a battering ram, sending droids flying up into the air. You hold them there, unable to stop yourself marvelling at the surreal sight of hundreds of battle droids floating, weightless in the air, before you whip your hands downwards, palms facing the ground. The droids crash down to earth with a deafening cacophony of crunching metal.

You sway on the spot but stay conscious long enough to look down at the man whose life you've just saved. Ren's face is framed with wild tendrils of black hair and, expression softened by surprise and relief, he is disarmingly handsome. He has deep set golden eyes, a strong, prominent nose and full lips.

But... why is it blurry?

You stumble again and look up at the sky, trying to catch your breath and reestablish your balance. You're so tired. You need a minute. Just a minute and you'll be fine.

And then all fades to black.

*************************************************

Ren manages to sit up just in time to catch you, a large, gloved hand cradling your head and protecting it from slamming against the ground as you fall heavily against him.

He looks up and around in complete awe at the suddenly deathly silent surroundings. Battle droids, hundreds of them, lie either still as the grave, or twitching mournfully.

How fascinating, he thinks.

He hisses in pain as he staggers to his feet with you hanging limply in his arms. He is strong and powerfully built, but it's no easy feat to carry you with his injured leg which drags behind him as he starts to make his way slowly across the blaster cratered ground and the mechanical bodies of ancient battle droids strewn here and there.

Eventually, Ren realises this would be much easier if he had at least one hand free to help him balance so he lifts you up and slings you over his shoulder instead like a sack of meiloorun fruit. A supporting arm is crossed under your backside and your head lolls against his broad back in an undignified fashion. But Ren is growing impatient and weary and there is no need to be delicate when you are unconscious.

When he finally reaches his shuttle, he has to bend down even further than normal to make sure he doesn't bash any part of you off the door frame. He lumbers through the arterial corridor of the ship to his small, sparse quarters where lays you down with surprising gentleness onto his own bed.

Ren looks down at you, brows furrowed in curiosity as he studies your peaceful face. There is something familiar about you that he can't quite place. He takes up your hand, which seems tiny in his own, and closes his eyes.

He reaches into the Force, searching. Then his scar, the one that runs down the right side of his face, the one Rey gave him on Starkiller Base as it was collapsing all around them, throbs.

Of course. Your connection with the Force resonates on that same, high frequency. You can only be her sister. Perhaps a few years older than she is. But there's no mistaking it. That same strong resolve, that drive, that courage.

Your strength in the Force is brutally raw and untamed, but perhaps even greater than that of Rey. If tempered, if trained, perhaps you and he together could...

Ren rejects the thought almost immediately after it enters his mind. The wound of Rey's rejection of his hand on Snoke's gargantuan vessel, the Supremacy, still runs deep.

He doesn't need anyone. He can't trust anyone. What he needs is to focus on finding Palpatine and ridding himself of the only threat to his power left in the Galaxy.

He wants that Sith Wayfinder to light his way to Exegol. This disaster on Lunah Prime is only a minor foot note in his route to absolute power. He is so close now. He can feel it.

As the lingering adrenaline of combat starts to fade, Ren suddenly realises how exhausted he is. He removes his gloves and places a hand against your forehead, then two fingers against your neck to check your pulse. You'll be fine, he confirms. You just need rest. Then he can decide what to do with you.

He looks around at the sparsely furnished room searching for a chair, a bench, anything for him to rest in or against. First Order transport shuttles are spartan at the best of times and this is certainly not one of those.

Defeated, Ren winces as he lowers himself to the floor. He removes his long, black cape from around his shoulders and fashions himself a makeshift, muddy pillow which he lays his head upon gratefully. He acquiesces to keep watch over you for a little while until you recover. He owes you that much.

He just needs to rest his eyes.

********************************************************

When you wake, you are lying in an unfamiliar bed in strange surroundings. At first, you are too drowsy to register much but as your consciousness starts to return, you start and sit up as you realise you are on an Imperial shuttle. You look around the functional room. It is, thankfully, empty.

Empty save for...

What is that noise?

Someone is snoring. Only gently, but you are sure of it. You look down and to your surprise, on the hard, cold durasteel floor, the Supreme Leader of the First Order is asleep.

You feel a twang of gratitude that Ren didn't just discard you there in the clearing amid the bodies and the mud with battered and broken droids. Strange how a man with such a history would still give up his bed for an injured woman. How quaint.

Still, you don't know exactly how grateful for your intervention Ren is and you don't want to wait around to find out. You remove your shoes, desperate not to make any noise, and carefully extract yourself from the bed. Boots in one hand, you step over the sleeping man and pad barefoot to the door.

"Wait."

A deep voice, quiet but commanding resonates throughout the tiny room and travels up your spine. You freeze and turn. You jump involuntarily as you realise Ren is already on his feet, only inches away. He towers over you, your forehead only coming up to his broad, solid chest.

You look up and into his amber eyes with defiance, refusing to let him see your fear. This man would be dead without you, you remind yourself. If you have to remind him of that so be it.

You wait for him to speak, but he doesn't for a long time. He is looking at you intently, his face unreadable.

"It's nothing," he says, finally. His expression seems to soften and when he speaks next it's with disarming uncertainty, "I ... hope you find what you're looking for."

"I wish I could say the same for you," you quip with more bravery than you feel.

The ghost of a smirk leaves a faint trace in the dimples of his cheeks and he nods.

You turn on your heel and stride quickly down the corridor of the First Order transport and out into the meadow where you wriggle your toes in the wet grass and inhale lungfuls of the fresh, forest air. You waste no time in locating your ship where you drop into the pilot's chair with a relieved sigh.

Now, onwards to find Rey.

[christa-tomlinson-romance-author]

To the Victor Pt 4

A GhostSoap fic. Part 4/?

Pre-relationship - Omegaverse - NSFW in later parts - mentions of omega trafficking - Dubcon in later parts

Ghost faced down his final opponent. This man thought he would be the one to claim Soap. Ghost would never let that happen. And he wasn’t above fighting dirty. He lifted a knee and rammed it into the alpha’s balls. The man wheezed, eyes bugging open wide. Ghost swept his ankle to get him off balance then knocked him over with a shoulder block. His opponent fell to the ground, holding his nuts and writhing in pain.

“We have a winner!” the MC called out. Ghost stood there, shoulders back, chest heaving with exertion, the last alpha standing. He’d won. Soap was his.

Cheers rained down from the stands and for a brief moment, he raised his chin and arrogantly accepted their adulation. Then, he turned his back on them to go claim Soap and finish the mission.

His blood pumping hot with victory, Ghost left the sand pit and climbed the stairs. When he reached the stage, he headed straight for Soap. His eyes were wide above the muzzle and he was shaking. Soap twisted hard, pulling against the chains.

“Where’s the key? Get this shit off him,” Ghost snapped out the order as if he was speaking to one of the recruits.

An attendant leaped forward to remove the muzzle and unlock Soap from his restraints. When the last chain fell away, Soap slumped out of the position he’d been held in.

Ghost wanted to comfort him and ask if he was okay, but they didn’t have time for that. Besides, they had to maintain their ruse and not let on that they knew each other. He moved to help Soap from the bed, taking his arm in a firm grip. “Let’s go,” he said softly.

“Ah-ah! Where do you think you’re going?”

The MC swooped over and put an arm around Ghost’s shoulders. Ghost shook him off with barely checked violence.

“I paid the money and won the contest. He’s mine and we’re leaving.”

The MC shook his head. “You don’t get to leave until you’ve claimed your omega. Fully claimed your omega.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” This smarmy piece of shit couldn’t mean what he thought he meant.

“He’s not leaving until he’s been fucked.” The MC raised his voice and spoke directly to the crowd. “Right there on that bed!”

Loud and raucous cheers broke out amongst the spectators. They were eager for the show.

Ghost’s upper lip curled away from his teeth in a disgusted sneer. “I’m not fucking him in front of you people.”

The MC lowered the mic. The smile never left his face, but he spoke to Ghost in a harsh whisper. “Do it or he goes back on the market. And you’ll be dealt with.” He flicked his gaze over to one of the armed guards at the rear of the stage, making his meaning clear.

“Do it.”

At the sound of Soap’s voice Ghost whipped back around to look at him.

“Just do it so we can leave.”

Ghost never froze in the field. But right now, he stood there, frozen and unblinking.

“Please, alpha.”

He knew Soap’s pleading and calling him alpha was simply part of their ruse, but it still lit something fierce and possessive on fire in his chest. Ghost snapped out of his freeze and put one knee on the bed.

“You’re sure?” he asked, searching Johnny’s face for his answer.

Soap nodded. “I don’t think we have another option.”

He was right. They didn’t. He could send an alert to Price, but it would take too long for the team to gain access to the secret entrance and blast their way through the security measures. By the time they made it, the ring would be aware of their presence, which might not end well for him and Johnny. “Fuck.”

Soap gave a strained laugh. “Yeah. That’s the gist of it.”

“Okay.” Ghost said with a tight nod.

After agreeing, he prepared to shut off his comms. It was bad enough this crowd of disgusting degenerates was going to witness his intimacy with Johnny. He didn’t want their team to hear it too. Under the guise of lifting his hand to stroke Soap’s cheek, he spoke quietly into his watch mic. “Ghost to Price. I’m going dark.”

To be continued...

(Smut is coming next part. I don't know if T will let it stay so if not, you'll be able to find it on my Twitter. Here is the main thread with all parts linked.

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3

[commence-screaming]

can we have some good dallas and houston brother moments i like... don't see enough of that lol

Hiiii manekiiii Y’know, Eric once said that he wished there had been more development with these two. Sharing their highs and lows. a dual perk that lets you do something like that. Quick shoutout to the Panic Room server and @ghousebox for the voice lines, they totally inspired this

————

They’ve gone over the plan dozens of times at this point, no need to remind everybody of the blueprints. This should be a quick in and out, under thirty minutes flat. Houston and Dallas stand against the side of the van, a comfortable yet tenuous silence blanketing them. Pre-heist jitters.

A soft click of a lighter illuminates Houston’s thoughts—Dallas is counting on him to do his job. I can’t mess this up.

The man in question holds out his lighter between his index and his thumb, glancing at the Ghost, a silent offer. Houston takes it, trying not to care. Nicotine fills the air with an aching burn, the both of them breathing in poison and exhaling their worries.

I’ll spot you, Dallas doesn’t say.

I know you will, his response audible somewhere in the space between clouds of twinning smoke.

When the cigarette burns out, the younger heister crushes the butt with a fist, holding his hand up to his brother. Dallas casually brushes the back of Houston’s hand with his own, half a fist bump, half a handshake; an acknowledgment.

The Ghost pulls the mask over his head, obscuring his face.

————

(Something goes wrong! Houston out of grenades so Dallas TOSSES him one and they work in tandem, Dallas wouldn’t be able to have a good angle so Houston is able to score the shot. But I do not know how to write this HELP)

————

They’re forced into a corner, taking a different route back to freedom. Heavy footsteps race in their direction, the both of them barreling through trees and shattering branches underneath their shoes. Dallas hears bullets whizzing past his ears, the crack of a round embedding itself into wood. He shouts at Houston to hurry up, a quick burst of inspiration as the Ghost starts the van. Muscle memory tricks him into reaching for a grenade when there’s nothing to be found.

Dallas just barely grasps the door handle, a panicked yell as he signals for Houston to step on the gas. They peel away before Dallas even shuts the door—cops are hot on their trail, firing at the escape vehicle. Gunpowder fills the air, sticks to their clothes as bullets clip the paint off of the van. The heisters cringe at the sound of metal being pierced, barely stopped by the flimsy box that was the only thing between them and certain death.

Houston tries to catch his breath and drive simultaneously, his veins bursting with adrenaline. For a solid minute it’s just the two of them, air conditioner put on blast as the engine hums. Dallas checks behind them again and again, gun drawn beneath their feet. Only when he puts it down does Houston finally relax.

“We’re in the clear,” he rasps, reality starting to hit him as he tries to calm his nerves.

“I almost can’t believe we did it,” the Crew Chief says, a slow smile spreading across his face as he vocalizes exactly what Houston was thinking. Dallas’ tacky mask stays on, but the Ghost can tell that he’s grinning. They lock eyes for a moment, relief and joy mixed up together.

They almost died. They almost died, yet their bodies weren’t cooling on the unforgiving ground. Sure, Houston will have to order new parts for the van but that’s a small price to pay considering. Considering—

In a move uncharacteristic of him, Houston grabs his brother’s wrist, raising their arms as if they’ve won a contest. His grip is tight as he shudders, betraying his fear. They’ve made it out alive and whole and well and—

“We did it.”

[kickingitwithkirk]

La Princesse Vierge

Pairing: Pirate!Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 5296

Warnings:  pirate ship attack, cursing, show level violence, p/v sex, fingering, cunnilingus, a pinch of dub/con

Squares filled: @spnkinkbb -Hair Pulling @j3bingo - “Can I kiss you?” @spnaubingo -Pirate AU  @spnmixedbingo -Sam @winchesterandbeyondbingo -virgin @anyfandomgoesbingo -Bodyguard AU @howbadcanitbebingo -Magical Healing Cock @anyfandomdarkbingo -aquaphilia @witchsambingo -solitary witch

Winchester brothers art inspiration and here

A/N: Thank you to @justagirlinafandomworld and @b3autyfuldisast3r for helping pick bingo squares inspiring this story

A/N II: Once again, brevity is not in my vocabulary

*divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

The sound of men shouting and heavy thumping on the timbers started me from my slumber and by the time on the carriage clock, it was pre-dawn. 

I barely had the sash of my robe tied when the cabin door unlocked flying open and my guardian rushed in, still attired in his night clothes, hair askew, shouting something when the first cannonball slammed into the ship's hull making me stagger. 

Righting myself I pushed past him making for the main deck and finding it in chaos when I emerged from under the poop deck. 

The British officers rushed around me barking orders, crew climbing the rigging to secure lines on the yardarm that had been damaged so the sails didn't fully collapse as the ship shudders from the pounding it’s taking and our cannons returning fire.

I made my way onto the forecastle and froze seeing a dark, ominous, and easily twice the size of our ship flying a Jolly Roger seconds before it fires again.

The blast hitting near the waterline knocks me off my feet. 

I scurry to the closest railing wrapping my arms around one of the spindles can barely understand Captain Barrows shouting orders from the helm as he turns the wheel, maneuvering the ship so the sails can catch more wind and will allow us to outrun the significantly heavier ship.

The captain finished spinning the wheel only to realize he’d steered directly in line with another ship, equal to our attacker's size, bearing down fast upon us leaving him no choice but to call for the white flag of surrender to be raised. 

The air is thick with cannon smoke and tension as grappling hooks fly over the port side sinking into the wood and dragging us towards the first ship as the second comes along starboard pinning us between them. 

Planks are extended allowing the marauders to come aboard with guns and cutlasses drawn, rounding up the crew and disarming them. I was led to stand off to the side with my guardian and officers awaiting the pirate captain's arrival.

During the time we were waiting the raiders methodically unload everything of value from the ship's stores as their quartermaster takes inventory against the ship's manifest and paused speaking to a burly pirate, who’d been silently observing the going on when a handsome, sturdily built man made his way across the deck to them.

He’s taller up close, clad in a well-worn ensemble; cropped dark blonde hair under a wide-brimmed, woven straw hat, a jerkin over belted thigh length, open tunic showing smooth skin covered with a dusting of cinnamon freckles, made more prominent by the Caribbean sun, below the knee trousers, hose and and and tall leather boots.

Watching him converse with the burly one I felt envious of his full lips and long lashes when his verdant eyes drifted over to me causing several of the officers to attempt closing ranks to hide me only to find several guns pointed at them to stop. 

I definitely glared directly when the man’s wicked chartreuse eyes framed with long, thick lashes traversed my scandalously underclad body, blatantly staring at my breasts and smiling in an unsettling manner.

 “Looks like we’re gonna get some fun after all Benny.” 

That’s when my guardian pushed forward and said the stupidest things, “how dare you..you pirate pig! When the king hears about this..”

“Stop flapping that tongue or I’ll do it for ya,” Benny threatens in a bastardized French accent reaching for the knife hilt protruding from his boot when the other slaps the back of his hand against his chest and calmly remarks in his deep, gravelly voice, “relax Benny, let's hear what the man has to say before you collect another trophy.”

My guardian's eyes boggle when Captain Barrow spoke up. “Take whatever items you wish then allow us to proceed to our destination.”

The quartermaster points out something in the manifest to Benny made him grin, take it and drapes his arm over the other's shoulders.

“Deano, the rougir mariée is King George’s niece, Countess Y/L/N, heading for her nuptials to the prestigious Governor of Antigua and lookie..ol’ George sent a dowry.”

“Dean Winchester?” 

The Captain's eyes widened as there was a restless murmuring amongst the offices, many seem to lose their resolve realizing who had captured us.

“The one and only,” he smirked, canting his head to the right, “ya’ catch who we have the honor of being in the presence of Sammy?”

Captain Barrow follows his line of sight and standing a few feet away a man blocking the view with his tremendous height and breadth of shoulders is tapping long fingers on the hilt of a cutlass. He is clad in the same manner as this Dean except for a jacket and the open tunic reveals his golden-hued, moderately-haired, muscular torso. 

The subtle sea breeze stirs the ends of his longish, chestnut streaked with coppery tints hair, tied back under a tricorn hat is without a doubt the most incredibly striking man I’ve ever seen.

“It’s Sam,”  he emphasized in a deep, honey-whisked voice, ”and we mutually agreed not to get sidetracked again, we’re already late for our rendezvous.”

“Aww, don’t be like that little brother. Gordon will understand when he sees what the king's benevolence has sent our way.” Dean crooks a finger at me, “come here, wench.”

No man outside the King had ever dared speak to me in such an impertinent manner makes my spine stiffen and Dean’s eyes narrowed, not pleased with my defiance came over grabbed my wrist jerked me out of my indignant repose.

I soundly slapped him.

His eyes boggled for a brief moment then drew back his arm and I closed my eyes bracing for his physical assault. 

It never came.

I cracked one eye open and gasped; hovering scant inches from my nose was his fist enclosed in the much larger one of his younger brother.

“Do you realize the amount of trouble your impetuousness has brought upon us, big brother?” 

Dean twistes his hand lose and stepping within earshot lowered his voice, “you think the kings gonna get pissed over losing her? She’s obviously not of much value since he refused her her rightful title.” 

I blinked in surprise. 

Dean presents himself as a common pirate but even out here in the middle of nowhere has contacts within the court who supply information of the goings on of the Palace. 

Dean gestures to Benny for the ship's manifest, “look at her dowry, this ship's stores have more monetary value.” Sam took the book, its pages made his lips turn downward. 

“Old George’s marrying her off as a reward to some bureaucrat instead of brokering a new alliance by marriage with France or Spain, so his loss is our gain. We could make quite a bit of coin selling her to Zachariah.”

Benny interjected, “ya’ brothers right on ‘dis one cher. Zachariah be willing to pay handsomely for royal blood, even outta favor. Plus being a vierge makes her a more délicieux morsel to offer up.” 

Sam hands the manifest back to Benny as his uniquely colored eyes traverse over me and I feel a sensation of pleasure?

I found myself sitting on a water barrel on the deck of this ship, The Charger after Dean lost some strange game called rock, paper, scissors.

Over the horizon, I can barely make out the longboat, with what was left of Captain Barrow's crew (and my former guardian) rowing away while his ship sunk into the fathoms wondering if it would’ve been a kinder fate to have gone down with it.

Sensing someone I turn to see an innocent looking young man wave at me.  “Hi, I’m Jack, the Captain requests that you join him below deck please.”

The please surprised me, “and if I refuse?”

Jack's face turns serious, “you don’t want to know what happened to the last person who did that.”

~~~

Captain Winchester and his first mate, a short, older man named Crowley, are hunched over a map table barely gaze up at my arrival, continuing on with their discussion. I take the opportunity to look around at the spacious, well-organized, not cluttered with ill-gotten gains, cabin. 

There's an oak dining table seating six, a rolltop writing desk with several rolled documents lying neatly on it, and strangely, a bookcase running along the wall nearest me followed the progression of its various volumes, so absorbed I stumbled face-first upon an overly large bed realizing these are the Captain's personal quarters.

“I’ve never had a woman fall into my bed enraptured by my literature.”

Embarrassed by my oft-clumsiness making itself known, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, “well, it is truly impressive,” peering up to find myself staring straight at his..”cock?”

“Now I have had many a woman say that.”

I dropped my face back into the bed feeling a blush coursing from my toes to the top of my head when he burst out laughing, gripped my arm, and hauls me upright. I knew he was big and, though I am not as delicate a specimen as a lady is expected to be, he is massive this close.

“Let’s start over by properly introducing ourselves,“ he steps back, bowing elegantly, “Dr. Sameul Winchester, previously personal physician to the Governor of Montauk, currently captain of The Charger.”

My mouth dropped, “how does one go from such a prestigious profession to..”

His lips, how does a man have such pretty pink lips, quirk, “a scourge and scallywag of his majesty's providences? It started when my father was accused of treason.”

A vague memory of an overheard conversation tickles the back of my mind, “your father was Sir John Winchester, the shipbuilder?” 

“He was part of a consortium that found out several of the king's advisers were in cahoots with Spain during the War of Succession.”

I remember the turmoil that conflict caused for years as he poured an amber liquid into two goblets and hands me one.

 “I lodged a complaint through the governor about his innocents. Subsequently, I was arrested and found guilty of insurrection against the crown.”

“That is outrageous! If the King was made aware of such a miscarriage..”

“It was all done on the Lord Chancellor's orders,” Sam bitterly bit out sitting at the table's head, “spent the next two years at the oars.” I sat down in the chair next to him sickened, having heard rumors about the Lord Chancellor, knowing of what deceptions some would resort to for power.

“I was then auctioned off to a plantation owner and worked at the grindstone when the niece of the island's governor did me a favor. I spent the rest of my time as his personal physician before several of us orchestrated our liberation.” 

“We hid out for months on uninhabited islands Crowly knew from his time on a naval ship in these waters caught wind that Dean had escaped England, ironically on the first ship our father had constructed, The Impala.”

He stared into his cup, “it took another five months of dodging his majesty's navy before he found us and now,” he gestures with one large hand, ”I’m captain of the last ship our father built.”

He studied me with a clinical eye asking, “is what Dean said about your circumstances true?” 

I read in his handsome feature’s anything but the truth wouldn’t be tolerated and took a sip from the goblet to help steady my resolve wheezed from the strength of the spirits made him chuckle. 

Catching my breath I told him the abbreviated version.

~~~

King George I had an ongoing, private feud with one of his siblings, my father, for over two decades.

Upon my birth, the King refused me the title of a princess and instead granted countess as a slight to my father, rendering me almost valueless despite my prestigious lineage. 

Out of shame, my father sent me to live at Hatfield House, saying it was for my health and despite my family’s wealth, I grew up rather poor.  All household accounts were paid by my inheritance, adjusted for my lower rank, thus explaining my minuscule dowery. 

Five months ago, an envoy from London arrived announcing my marriage to the governor of one of his Majesty’s Caribbean provinces and after weeks of preparations my appointed guardian and I boarded Captain Barrow's ship bound for the Caribbean.

~~~

Captain Winchester, Sam, he insists I call him, gave me an unreadable expression before laying out some rules while aboard his ship; I had access to the main deck as long as I was accompanied by Jack, Crowley, or himself, otherwise confined to his quarters we’d both be sharing. 

I was scandalized, it wasn’t that I’d never shared a room before, I had with my governess, but to do so with a man I wasn’t wedded to, if anyone got wind of those arrangements, it’d malign me in society. 

Vehemently objecting I went a step too far in telling him when one overly large hand grabbed my loosely plaited hair and yanked me sideways I felt a strange but not unpleasant sensation traverse through me, a mixture of fear and pleasure.

He tightened his grip and said, “hate to break it to you princess, what you want doesn’t matter. My ship, my rules.” Keeping our eyes locked leans so close I could feel his rum-spiced breath caress my lips when a loud banging on the cabin door interrupts. 

He shouts what, listen to the message relayed, and, with a growl, releases me standing up unabashedly adjusting his engorged member before storming out, slamming the heavy oak door behind him.

When I’m able to feel my legs I shakily cross to the wash basin pouring some water into it and, in a very unladylike manner, dunk my face trying to compose myself but wasn’t helping, every fiber of my being hoped next time he manhandled me, he wouldn’t stop.

Captain Sam Winchester has proven to be a dichotomy and discombobulates me to no end!

Publicly he acts like a well-bred gentleman, even granting privacy when attending to my personal needs, then does a complete turnaround when his brother comes aboard, reverting to the crudeness associated with pirate ilk. 

During the evening meals, the rum flows freely and so does both brothers' lips, especially Dean's. I have had to resist the urge to punch his smug face, plastering on the polite smile I would fake at court when his conversation became pugnacious towards me. 

The last straw was when he indiscriminately pissed in a chamberpot and I fled, mortified, as both brothers laughed. 

At least Sam has shown discretion when it comes to his privy moments but proved true to his words with the other arrangements. The first night I’d made a pallet on the other side of the table, it was the furthest point with some semblance of privacy, instantly fell into an exhausted slumber. 

I was startled when he flung off my blanket and gripping my ankle dragged me across the floor screaming bloody murder when the cabins door burst open and his first mate charged in with pistol drawn.

Crowley assessed the situation and had the audacity to be amused at our tableau; Sam standing over me clad only in his breeches, my nightdress ripped, hanging off a shoulder with the hem bunched up around the top of my thighs barely covering my pudendum.

 “Might I suggest gagging her if she's going to protest your romantic overtures Moose, some of us need our beauty sleep.” 

“Fuck off Crowley!” 

“Oh, I intend to, dreaming about this,” and with a wicked grin, left and Sam returned his attention to me. “I told you we’d be sharing this room; that includes the bed. Get up and get into it now!”

With what decorum I could muster clutch my ripped bodice warily getting up, and edge around him ordered me to stop handed me the shirt he’d been wearing, “I don’t want you fussing with that torn rag all night.”

Turning so I had a semblance of privacy I gasped upon seeing his broad back littered with whipping scars move closer, lightly rubbing my fingers over them flinched and spun seizing my wrist. “I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have been subjected to..I have never condoned such treatment of anyone, no matter what.”

Not saying a word he shoved me towards the bed and I obediently climbed in mentally bracing myself for what was to come when he climbs in the other side and lays down with his back to me.

 “Good night, princess.”

Sleep eluded me for a long time, my mind occupied by this man sleeping next to me, like none I have ever met, and cannot figure out what game he was playing.

Six days later 

I found myself sitting on the beach of some obscure island half-listening to the brothers' conference as Gordon, whom I had taken an instant dislike to, scrutinized me.

Pressing my lips tight together, I vehemently try but cannot suppress my chortle over the item sitting on a crate in front of me any longer.

“What the hell so funny women?” Gordon snaps. 

Lifting my chin from my hand peer over at the darker-complected man, my senses tingling, warning me something about him is all wrong.

“I was wondering,” getting up to dust the sand off Jack’s spare breeches Sam insisted I wear in case we needed to make a quick exit, “if they know what the translation of bолшебный исцелеющий пе��ух is?” 

The Winchesters exchanged looks, “seriously? Neither of you speaks Russian?”

Gordon’s eyes narrowed, “keep quiet or I’ll remove your tongue.”

Little did he know such threats would not scare me, they were nothing compared to the Kings during one of his fits of displeasure.

“The literal translation is Magical Healing Cock.”

They wore matching bewildered expressions, “it’s used in magical practices to help channel sexual energies of the participants while they are,” I made the crude gesture learned from Dean indicating a certain sexual act.

“What the..magical sex..how can you..you’re a virgin!” Dean stumbled out before turning on Gordon, “you lying sonuvabitch, thought you could cheat us!”

Gordon moved quickly, wrapping an arm around my neck placed his pistol against my temple, using me as a shield.

“Since we can’t come to terms, I’ll take the virgin as compensation, she’ll bring me quite a bit of coin at Le marché des esclave AHHHH!” 

Gordon's scream echoed across the beach when I sliced his arm with the engraved silver blade I was given years ago. the whites of his eyes disappear revealing what he was before the beach erupted into pandemonium. 

The Winchester's men engaged Gordon's crew in a bloody battle as I struggled to escape his hold saw the brothers simultaneously fire their pistols and felt one iron ball pass my cheek embedding into that bastard's face as the other enters his chest, his dead weight dragging us down.

But instead of dying, Gordon pinned me under him, wrapping both hands around my throat heard Dean begin reciting, “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te..” 

Gordon looked up and flicked a hand sending Dean hurtling towards the treeline and Sam continued, “cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare, Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis..Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei; contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine..”

His voice choked off from the invisible force constructing his throat I managed to wheeze out, “quem inferi tremunt..Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!”

Gordon's head snapped back, his mouth exuding thick, black, sulfuric smoke plumes outward before penetrating the sand, the heat solidifying it into a jagged ring of black glass. The demons infesting his crew also smoked out to save themselves.

Benny checks Dean's bleeding head and helps him up, slapping his shoulder. Sam inspected my person, finding me uninjured except for finger-shaped bruises on my neck.

“Is this where the rogue pirate asks the princess can I kiss you?”

The surprise flickering across his face at my flippancy made Dean laugh, “alright princess, where the hell did you get that blade and learn to exorcize a demon?”

“My governess was from these islands. She passed her knowledge of the supernatural, and the blade, on to me.”

“Looks like the vierge is worth a lot more than I assumed,” Benny grudgingly remarked.

We spent the rest of the day split into groups:  I helped Sam attend to the injured, Dean led a group to search Gordon’s ship for anything worth salvaging while the rest gathered the bodies, rowing them out to deposit onboard setting it alight before sailing away.

In the pre-dawn light, the ships anchored in a deep water cove of another remote island to lay low for a few days, a chance to rest and recover plus replenish the water casks and some perishables. By late afternoon the necessities were squared away.

A tired-looking Sam had me gather bath sheets and a change of clothing while he grabbed some bread, cheese, and a small, tied bag, placing everything in a burlap sack then we boarded one of the longboats headed for shore.

He led us along a hidden path inland and noticed my fascination with the sight and sounds and began telling me the names of brightly colored birds, strange animals scurrying into the bush, and exotically scented flowers. 

My babbling with delight at finding fresh fruit and mint amuses him, gathering the fruit that’s out of my reach, and starts describing the variety of drinks and dishes they are used in to ward off scurvy..once a doctor.

I picked some of the mint leaves, added a few to the canteen, and began chewing on a couple when I heard running water follow the sound enter a secluded area with a small waterfall feeding a clear pool.

“I found this years ago, the waters are safe and no nasty critters to contend with,” Sam informed me, sitting the sack down on one of the flattened, water-smoothed rocks surrounding the pool digging out the small bag handed me one of the soap cakes.

The one thing I hated the most after leaving England was the inability to cleanse properly, especially my hair, for weeks, only allowed a cursory wipe down daily from the one water cask I was allotted. 

“We won’t be disturbed so take as long as you like. I’ll be on the other side,” he pointed to a grouping of bushes, “and able to hear you.”

Spending the night covered in sand, ash, and blood I wanted to tear my clothes off and dive in instead hesitantly asking, “are you still planning on selling me to this Alistair?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Keeping me would be advantageous for you.”

Sam leaned against a Bannon tree crossing his arms, “explain to me how keeping you would be advantageous?”

“One-thanks to the King, no one will miss me enough to cause trouble. Two-thanks to my governess, I’m knowledgeable about artifacts and other things that are not Christian, thus exposing Gordon's attempted deception. Three-thanks to my tutors, I speak six languages, well seven, if you include Latin, which saved your collective arses from those demons.  Four-thanks to my intended marriage and what you liberated from Captain Barrow's ship surpasses any monetary value you would make selling me.”

I had learned when Sam partially opened his mouth and rolled his tongue he was considering whatever was presented and decided to up the ante.

 “And five-you. You find me attractive, and would it not be far safer having me in your bed than those doxies of Tortuga to tup?” 

Sam frowned, “what do you know about doxies and tupping?” 

“Did your father never take you to court?” 

“No.”

“The King's court is riddled with some of the best whores in the world. Many were sent to France to train as courtesans and are encouraged to implement their charms to curry favors or seal deals. Several of the queens ladies-in-waiting educated me about copulation while avoiding the maladie française and pregnancy.” 

Sam’s throat rapidly bobbles at that tidbit.

Slowly moving towards him asked, “did you know that royalty isn’t permitted to bathe by themselves? It was always someone’s responsibility to ensure their personage is disease free.” I stop a handbreadth distance and fixate upon his chameleon eyes, “as the only person qualified, it falls upon you to continue monitoring my health.”

He moved so fast. Suddenly I was pinned between his well-muscled chest and the tree, his long fingers roughly tangled in my hair creating an exquisite pain jolting my core.

“Are you only offering to evade being sold off?”

“Maybe.”

  “If I were to keep you, you would be completely under our command.”

 “Please, what do you mean by our?”

“My brother and I equally share everything, this includes women.” I shuddered at the thought of being with his brother, “would you also share me with your crews?”

“No, Dean and I are possessive of our dames entretenues. Do you understand what that entails, princess?

“I would appreciate explicit clarification.”

“Explicitly,” Sam pulled my head to the side leans so close I can feel his lips against my skin as he spoke, “you will be warming one, or both, of our sheets every day,” he continues, “participating in whatever sexual gratification we desire.” I mewl when he bites down hard enough to leave a mark on the juncture of my shoulder, “unless it is time for your flow. Is that clarification enough?”

“Yes, captain.”

“Yes Sir,” he corrects.

“Yes Sir.”

Sam released me, “take off all of your togs.” 

Unabashedly he removed his shirt, “you pointed out it is my responsibility to keep you in good health so I need to examine your physique before engaging in relations charnelles.”

I had little to fear sleeping next to him the last few days but now at the prospect of what is going to happen, I felt trepidation while sliding off my trousers when Sam’s bare feet and calves appeared in view and he lifts my arms, gripped the hem of the shirt and pulls it over my head casting it off. 

Sam wasn’t the first man I saw in the altogether but still felt myself blushing fiercely at both of us taking inventory of everything on display, reminded of the old adage of proportions and a man's appendage undeniably true for him.  

Taking my hands he walks backwards into the warm water till I’m waist-deep then undoes the tie holding back my hair says, “take a deep breath and submerge yourself.” 

I resurface momentarily panicking at Sam’s overly large hands on my head, feeling his fingers lathered in soap cake, massaging my scalp, strangely soothing and exciting, like when he pulls my hair. 

After rinsing he handed me the soap cake, wetting himself then moving back knelt down on his knees in shallower waters.

I had washed my dogs when they came in muddy from the fields but never another person rubbed the cake between my hands then tentatively ran them through his locks, silkier than I’d imagined a man’s hair would be. 

When my short nails scratched his scalp, his muscles twitched and I trailed my fingers over their contours, tracing the scars decorating his skin and felt his breath brush my cheek moving towards my lips I dropped my hands, confusing him.

“I did not verbally agree to those terms,” maneuver back into the water call out, “I have some stipulations of my own,” and swam to the falls. 

I heard him curse and look back, unable to find Sam when he emerged from underwater lifting me onto one of the flattened rocks stood between my spread legs annoyed.

“What makes you think you’re in any position to negotiate terms?” A gentleman would endure only so much, and I had pushed my luck and his patience.

“I only have one. I do not wish to be shared with your brother.” Sam’s mouth downturned,  “something happened to him, it caused an unsettlement..it scares me,” suddenly I am very aware of how naked, not only physically, I had made myself.

I leaned back when Sam placed his hands on either side of me and brought him a bit too close, “what do you know about that?” 

“My governess figured out that I knew things about people just by being in their proximity. It’s why she taught me about the otherworld, said I had been born cursed and if they learned of it, they would come for me someday.”

Sam’s shoulders dropped and his expression saddened, skipping the worst details of what happened to Dean when he was under the tower, the darkest place to be imprisoned, run by a true connoisseur of medieval torturers, Alastair. 

I reached up cupping his cheek putting his focus back on me and tentatively brushing my lips against his he reciprocated, gently caressing mine when I felt his tongue and surprised open up, he inserts it, tangling with mine, showing what a real kiss can be.

His lips following his hands trailing over my bare skin makes me shiver and release a nervous giggle, I feel him smile against my neck, nipping the delicate, bruised skin and I tip my head back as he continues exploring.

At some point I find myself lying back on the rock, eyes closed, an absolute mess while he licks the water off my skin only to have his hair rewet the area and starts over again.

His long fingers brush a sensitive place inside, has me on the edge of needing something I cannot name, and every time I try descending into it, Sam stops and returns to teasing my nipples, suckling gently and twisting between his fingers. 

Jesu, how can a man have both; hands so violent and tender, lips harsh and caressing, at the same time feel a deep aching rising again, can almost taste it then, once again, halts touching me smugly asks, “still want to renegotiate the terms?” 

“Fuck you!” I yawp in frustration.

Sam’s expression changed to irate and bracing myself for the worst he leaned in..amused? 

I could only blink owlishly as he scans my prone form, lewdly splayed before him, chameleon eyes settle upon my pudenda licking his lips trailing fingers downwards over my heated skin inserting three into me, rubbing over that place dipping his head his talented tongue sends me over the plateau, and, without warning, lifts me up off the rock.

I find myself filled with his substantial membrum virile, waters churned up around us, not from the falls but his vigorous thrusting, now appreciating my thorough préparation for Riding St. George felt his muscles tauten, buried his face in the crook of my neck groaning out his release. 

My vaguely functioning mind is amazed after such a strenuous physical excursion he is still holding me in his arms, walks us to the shore, and sits with me clinging like one of the strange creatures explorers write about felt him silently chuckle. 

“Seems I missed learning a lot about ladies by never attending court,” I peer at him puzzled.

 “Dean will be pissed, he was looking forward to using this,” his fingertips trace the outline of my mouth, “for more than your verbal vitriol. Now I’ll have to sweeten the pot so he will forget about you with that very special pistol he’s been wanting.” 

“Are you saying what I think you are saying?”

“I agree to your counteroffer, princess” 

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx  @lyarr24  @flamencodiva  @b3autyfuldisast3r  @lassie-bird @nancymcl  @spnbaby-67  @leigh70

Sam/Jared:  @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen:  @thoughts-and-funnies  @stoneyggirl2  @akshi8278  @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl  @siospins2

[space-mermaid-writing]

A mission gone wrong [IronStrange]

Request by @puppi-sonnenschein : >I am also a lover of whumpy situations. If you are comfortable with writing stuff like this I would love to read about Stephen being all bad ass Sorcerer Supreme and maybe overdoing it a little? Maybe he is hiding an injury and only Tony is noticing something is amiss because all the other Avengers just think of Stephen as arrogant?<

Ko-fi | Masterlist | Word count: 1.1k | Part 2

Tags: Pre-IronStrange, bamf Stephen, Hurt Stephen, Tony is there to catch him

Author’s note: I’m slowly working my way through the requests. This one was fun to write, even though it took me two or three tries before I was satisfied with the result.

A mission gone wrong

It was a disaster.

What seemed to be a simple mission got completely out of control.

Tony dodged an energy beam, counterattacked it with a blast of his own. His suit was missing nanobots that were destroyed in the fight; parts of his shoulder and arm were exposed. He was too focused on the fight, but Friday had mentioned some scratches and a laceration on his head.

The rest of the team looked similarly battered.

These guys were enhanced, wielding some kind of force powers and wearing tech gear that came straight out of a cyberpunk movie. Friday had started analyzing their every move as soon as Tony arrived on the battlefield, but she had not yet figured out the origin of their powers. All they knew was that these guys were strong and very aggressive.

Someone jumped on his back and Tony cursed. The extra weight wasn't a problem – his suit could hold it – but his opponent tried to peel him like a canned sardine. Not cool. Especially since they were also partially successful with their metal claws. Albeit slowly. A code red appeared on Tony’s screen. “Yes, I noticed, Friday. Thanks.”

He tried to shake off his opponent, but his back repulsors were out of order.

“I could need some help,” Natasha asked via comm.

“I’m quite busy over here.”

“Give me a minute.”

Tony crashed backwards into a house wall, throwing off his unwanted passenger – and giving himself a few bruises in the process.

Friday brought Natasha’s position up on the screen. Peter was already swinging her way.

Still, there was no time to catch his breath, because the next moment he was under fire from two opponents at once. He threw his shields into the air.

That was it.

“Fri, call backup!”

“All available Avengers are on deck.”

“Then call someone else.”

Tony used his shield to get in front of his opponents and blasted him off his feet. A brief hand to hand combat ensued before he knocked them out for good.

The engineer spun around just in time and raised his arms protectively in front of him as a car was thrown at him.

Rude.

He was thrown on his back from the weight alone – with the car on his chest. The thrower jumped on top of the car and pushed against him. These people were insane.

Friday’s sensor picked up something and Tony heard a familiar brizzle. "You called the wizard?" he asked his A.I. flabbergasted.

“Wakanda was too far away for them to arrive in time.”

Great. Tony had planned to impress Strange the next time they met, but he could probably forget that now. Instead he had to be saved like a damsel in distress. Although Tony would make a great princess…

Focus!

There was still a car on top of him.

Red glowing ropes appeared like biting snakes, grabbed the enemy and pulled him off his feet with a loud yelp. Tony managed to push the car off him and scrambled to his feet. Strange was hovering nearby and had the audacity to throw a wink at him, before he jerked the red robes backwards, causing the enemy to fly high through the air. The guy disappeared falling somewhere on the next block

Stephen landed next to Tony. “You called?”

He looked way too smug, which was why Tony responded, “Friday did. Not me.”

Stephen smirked knowingly and Tony wanted to kiss that stupid smile off his face.

“We have everything under control,” Tony lied. Something exploded down the street and the engineer really hoped that the cause had been one of Clint's trick arrows.

“If this is what you being in control looks like, I don’t want to know what you losing control would be like.” The cloak of levitation took Stephen high in the air, before Tony could think of something clever in return.

This was really not his day. He needed a drink. Or a nap. Maybe both.

Tony was not a fan of magic, but he had to admit that it was efficient. Or Stephen was just very powerful. The sorcerer moved his hands in complicated patterns, throwing glowing mandalas at any visible opponent.

Tony used this to check on his teammates and went over to Cap to help him clean up from the ground. Nat appeared at their sides with a split lip and a grim face but still on her feet and fighting. It seemed the tide had turned with Strange's arrival.

Tony shot blasts after blasts, relying on Friday for aiming. He gritted his teeth, willing to fight exhaustion with sure stubbornness alone. He was tired and it slowed him down more and more. They all were. And it was the reason they didn’t notice the attack that was aimed at them from an ambush.

It hit Steve, who stumbled backwards with a grunt. The blast wasn’t deadly but it took even the super soldier out of order for a moment.

Tony raised his shields before, expecting the second attack that followed. But before it hit the trio, Strange jumped in, a spell in his hands. The blast hit the sorcerer instead, who was thrown backwards. He managed to stay on his feet and moved his fingers. The magic shifted and consumed the energy of the attack, transforming it into a blinding sphere of light, which he threw back at the attacker.

The sphere exploded on impact and for a moment bathed everything in a biting light. Tony was glad to hit a helmet, because the readings Friday gave him were off the scale.

Silence fell over the battlefield. There were no more attacks, no more enemies moving. It was over.

Peter landed next to Tony, "Wow, that was insane."

Cap also was back to his feet. He was holding the side where he had been hit, but otherwise he seemed fine.

The Avengers gathered on the sidewalk afterwards. None of them were unharmed, but those were all minor injuries. Strange approached them slowly. He had a bloody scratch on his face, which the Cloak of Levitation wiped off with a corner of its fabric.

Tony had retreated his face plate in order to talk to Peter and to make sure the boy was okay. So it was Rogers who turned to the sorcerer first.

"Thanks for your help, Doctor. You arrived just in time." He held his hand out to him, but Strange barely glanced at it.

“You don’t need me for the clean up, do you?” he asked instead.

Rogers withdrew his hand, irritated. Of course, the aftermath of the battle would be handled quicker and more efficiently with the sorcerer's powers, but they wouldn’t force him to stay. It was rare that Strange was so short worded, he was usually much more of a sarcastic asshole. That was why he and Tony clashed so often. But that was also why they were a great team.  Maybe the sorcerer was annoyed that he had to come to their rescue for a non-magical threat.

“No, we’re good.”

Strange merely nodded, turned and stepped away.

After only a few steps he coughed, red splattering on his hands. As soon as he saw it, he hid his hand under his cloak. As well as the fact that he winced with every move he made. He wanted to leave but Tony had noticed the falter in his movements.

“Hey, Doc. That was pretty badass of you.” The engineer stepped to his side, still tired but with the certainty that they had eliminated the danger and saved the day.

“Sure.” The sorcerer dismissed him, not in the mood for their usual banter, that was definitely not flirting. He just wanted to go home.

That made Tony pause and he eyed him more closely. “You okay, Strange?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” Tony insisted.

“It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit!”

Normally, Stephen found Tony's directness endearing, but right now it was nothing but annoying. He closed his eyes briefly, fighting a short wave of nausea. Maybe he overdid it a bit. “I have to go,” he mumbles.

His fingers reach for the sling ring in his belt, shaking. He was so used to it, he didn't even notice that his whole body had started to shake, too. But Tony did. He also didn't notice that Tony put his hand on his shoulder and looked at him worriedly.

The world around Stephen started to spin. In order to stay on his feet, he put a hand on the next best thing: Tony. He reminded himself to breathe – inhale and exhale. His fingers dug into the sleek metal of the Iron Man suit and another pain ran through his hands. It was familiar, but made him gasp anyway and he instinctively let go, taking a step to the side.

It was the wrong decision, his knees buckled. But instead of a hard ground, strong arms caught him.

“Shit, Doc. They really did a number on you.” Tony lifted him up, while the cloak wrapped around the sorcerer’s body.

Stephen mumbled something, barely aware of his surroundings anymore.

[doctorstrangereview]

Strange Tales #129

Cover Date: February 1965 On-Sale Date: November 10, 1965

Sadly, Doc has almost new cover real estate in this issue. He gets a text blurb while the main feature gets almost the entire cover. The Human Torch and The Thing are looking frightened on some train tracks surrounded by what are most likely The Terrible Trio. It's terribly banal. At least a panel of art would have been nice because we get a new villain with an interesting design. Tiboro has a cool helmet and wears some kind of green armor with what looks like a funky kilt. It makes me wonder if the look wasn't an inspiration for Galactus who was about a year away.

Doc is out on the street. One wonders what brought him out that couldn't be handled astral-ly or by flying there. We see that Doc has a bit of a reputation and is accosted on the street by passers-by. "Why won't you go on this tabloid show broadcast a midnight to prove your magic?" "Neener, neener, I know it exists and that's all that matters!" Doc, in his flashy new cape, saunters away from the rabble.

We change scene to the TV studio. A panel of "experts" snidely announce that because Doc can't be bothered with their nonsense, they dismiss him as an expert. Now look at this creepy little statue that was found in Peru. Of course this is the moment it all goes horribly wrong. The studio lights go out and when they come back on moments later, the panel has vanished. Someone has the bright idea to call Doc. Despite their terrible treatment of him, he agrees to help. "Touch nothing until my arrival!" he tells them as he simultaneously summons his new outerwear. This man can walk and chew bubble gum at the same time.

Flying to the studio, he tells them they must re-enact the situation. The studio lights go out and as Doc watches under the All-Purpose Amulet's light, a technician vanishes into the idol before his very eyes.

I'm actually a bit bothered by this. Why was some random technician allowed to wander into the set? We don't know yet what's happening to these people. For all they know, the victims could be getting ripped to shreds and ground into powder. It all strikes me as very careless and callous. Doc decides to take some precautions and enclose the creepy little idol in a mystic shield. Not really knowing what the heck is going on, he contacts his old buddy, The Ancient One.

The image of the Ancient One appears in some splotchy round field. Like Futurama's telephone calls, this type of communication is never the same twice. Despite breaking the spell of Dormammu and being much more spry, he is still staying at his pad.

"That's Tiboro, my dude. He ruled the pre-historic Earth from a volcano. The ugly idol is the last remnant after his 'civilization' vanished."

"Looks like it's my turn" says Doc to no one as he's alone in the room. "Hope I don't get shredded." He drops his shield and the freaky funnel appears again to gobble him up. Doc is sensible enough to shield the idol again after it grabs him. He is immediately greeted by Tiboro in all his green and purple majesty, who, despite being in a different dimension for millennia, recognizes Doc.

Tiboro gives a long-winded diatribe to Doc. "Blah, blah, blah, I am the spirit of decay and, frankly, humanity sucks right now so I'm coming back. Let's get ready to rumble!" Doc, without consent, telepathically goads Tiboro into putting down his wand. Doc is nice enough to take off his cloak, and, in a series about magic, we get a fist fight.

Doc manages to hold his own and Tiboro is like "the hell with this" and fires some mystic blasts at Doc throwing him off balance.

Doc orders his cloak to bind Tiboro and gets a moment's respite. Now we're finally in an all out battle with mystic bolts and shields. Sadly no Amulet vacuum this issue.

Doc shields himself using the substance of Tiboro's realm, which Tiboro handily shatters. But! It was a trick! Once again Doc has tricked his enemy into expending his energy against a false image.

Doc encloses Tiboro's wand in something. Tiboro, not being especially brave, takes the he who lives and runs away, lives to fight another day philosophy and surrenders. Tiboro was capable of mystic feats without the wand a few panels ago, so why he's surrendering now isn't clear. Like Agammon some time ago Doc forces Tiboro to release his prisoners. Tiboro gets in one last I'll get you yet outburst and they all pop back into existence at the TV studio.

The entire studio is like "Holy crap! Magic is real! Just wait until the next show" and Doc is like "Holy crap! That's a really bad idea. I must non-consensually wipe everyone's mind of this experience." The show goes on with the whole "Doc is fraud attitude" while Doc creeps in the shadows behind the cameras. We fade out on a really cool image of a horn on Doc's cloak casting a shadow on his face and him flying home.

It's got a couple of weak points that don't entirely make sense, but overall I like the story. Tiboro will return a few times here and there, until his most recent history where, through a strange (pun intended) set of circumstance, he becomes Doc's dad-in-law! I won't be getting to that one in quite some time, so check you local comic shop to find out about it sooner.

This story is a sort of end of an era for me. After discovering Doc in my orthodontist's office after reading Hulk #207, my next exposure was the 1978 Pocket Books edition that reprinted the first half of the Ditko run. They were reprinted in a really small format, but my eyes were still young and didn't yet need powerful magnifiers to read it. It was the lone copy of anything Doctor Strange in the bookstore as if it had been waiting for me. I reread it many times until my dog managed to chew it to pieces a year or two later. I was devastated, but, the same local bookstore had another lone copy waiting for me not long after. Perhaps there is such a thing as magic after all.

The next set of stories will give us a bunch of new characters, including some cool villains, but it's a long, long arc centered around two familiar foes. It's a huge change from the previous stand alone stories that have populated this series until now. And it will take us to the point where Ditko says "I've had enough, Stan. Ta ta!"

[brittababbles]

Holy shit.

I’m high so bare with me.

Omega is definitely force sensitive.

I have a new theory about order 66

The chip causes permanent disassociation. Assuming the chip works correctly, or is present at all, it forces the clone to suddenly recall what was functionally a repressed memory that the Jedi were traitors. A fact that would be very horrible if you’ve bonded with a Jedi, as we see the clones do throughout The Clone Wars. We see how close Anakin and Ahsoka are with Rex. We see Obi Wan’s fondness for (and arguably romantic feelings toward) Cody. Now imagine you suddenly know beyond the shadow of a doubt that that person is secretly fighting for the enemy you were raised to believe was evil. How angry would you be? Would you be angry enough to kill?

Crosshair’s fires erratically. He experiences a full disassociation that forgets everything that has happened since leaving Kamino as a cadet. That’s why he didn’t immediately kill Caleb Dunne/Kannan Jarrus when he heard the trigger phrase “Activate Order 66”.

He spends chunks of time in his pre-existing personality at the beginning of the series then his chip’s effects are cranked up to 1000 and he has this sense of knowing that the Jedi are traitors well beyond any way he’s ever known anything before. It’s true in his bones, and his brothers know it too, because they’re good soldiers like him. But Crosshair doesn’t exactly have reigns on his temper, and he’s frustrated with Hunter and Tech and Wrecker. Why are they fighting this? It’s so obvious, to Crosshair, that the emperor is right and the Jedi need to be dead. Because thats what he was built to believe. That’s what the chip tells him. That good soldiers follow orders.

The rest of the group don’t have functioning chips.

Whatever modifications were done to Tech, Wrecker, and Hunter in their brains. I’m pretty sure that whatever they did to Crosshair as an embryo was mostly done in his eyes.

Hunter has enhanced senses (though his vision is nothing on Crosshair. I’ll get to that in a minute). Hunter was built from scratch to be able to track, and notice ambush. The field commander. He was built to be in command of the squad. The captain or commander under their Jedi. He’s the Rex to a possible Jedi commander. A good leader, paternal toward his squad. Hunter’s skill set is to serve as the person who has everyone’s back. All the time. He’s supposed to take care of his men. He’s in charge, sort of. This is where a lot of the conflict between Hunter and Crosshair originates. Hunter was born to have their backs. Crosshair, however, wants that person to be him so badly.

Tech has an intensely powerful memory. He seems to interpret this to mean he’s smarter than the others, but nah, he just never forgets anything. Ever. He remembers everything in precise, clear, perfect detail. Always. Perfect for a scout, and a medic, and a pilot. He never forgets how to do anything once he learns it. He’s flexible, mentally and physically. He’s good with his hands and can create a little gadget out of nothing. You need a fixer on a team like this. Tech is your man.

Wrecker is exceptionally strong and durable. He was designed to take fire, to be able to shield his teammates with his body. He was then trained in hand to hand combat and explosives. So making his skin incredibly difficult to pierce would be important. He’d need to be able to take a blast, a blaster bolt, an attacking animal. He’s the muscle. Doesn’t mean he isn’t smart - I do think he has a bit of a traumatic brain injury from an injury sustained doing that job, where he lost an eye. He has the same synthetic eye as Wolffe, similar erratic behaviors as Gregor. Whatever happened to Wrecker was bad. He’s since been patched up. But Wrecker’s easy come easy go personality never wavered. It can’t when your job is to act like a human shield all the time.

Messing with their brains messed with their chips. They didn’t develop fully. Other parts of their brains are massively enhanced - Tech’s memory, Hunter’s senses, Wrecker’s ability to tolerate pain. But those chips are pretty well destroyed from the outset. Still there. Still possibly a threat until they have them removed. But nonfunctional. (Echo’s on the other hand, has been removed completely, purely by chance, while he was in captivity)

And Crosshair? Crosshair is a sniper. What does a sniper need more than anything to be the best marksman ever? Really, just superior eyesight. Crosshair’s eyesight must be insane. He can probably see at 500 feet what the average person sees at 3. He notices movements nobody else would see. He can probably see any wavelength, and in the dark, and possibly be able to see heat. But nobody ever asks him how he literally sees the world, and given him any basis for comparison. Imagine if you were a clone cadet and your three brothers got - what look like - magical superpowers. But your magical power is just the ability to see a little better than they can. Big whoop, eh? No wonder Crosshair has anger issues.

This was the original model of a smooth working squad, that was meant to be handed to a Jedi to command. Shaak Ti designed this squad, probably based on what she felt through the force from the other Jedi. What the other Jedi wanted and appreciated and hoped for in their soldiers. Then she took the most common features and handed the designs over to the kaminoans. She designed a team /for/ her fellow Jedi. Any Jedi. These boys were built to be the perfect, seamless team no matter which Jedi they were paired for.

(It must be awful being Echo, who was not built for this. No matter how much he tries, he’ll never be one of their batch. He was a Domino, and he’ll never know these guys like he knew Fives, or Hevy, or Cutup, or Droidbait. I think Echo recognizes that he’s older than the rest of the team, but sees one of his brothers in each of them. I haven’t quite pinned who corresponds with whom in Echo’s mind yet, but that’s why he’s so protective of his teammates. The OG Bad Batch are /young/, but they’re still clones. Echo is different now too, and he knows that being different doesn’t change who is family is. He’s the older brother, I think, in time, the rest of the batch will come to see Echo as Echo sees Rex. And Rex sees Cody. I hope that will be rewarding for Echo. He deserves some peace.)

But then the plan changed and a new order came in for clones to replace the Jedi. The Kaminoans are businesspeople with no real stake in the war, so they do it. Plus it’s interesting, really. They tried and tried to create a force sensitive child. And finally they did it. They created someone to replace the Jedi. They created Omega.

Omega’s story will be about another force sensitive kid. It’s the plot of The Mandalorian all over again.

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

HEAR NITA STRAUSS ENLIST IN FLAMES' ANDERS FRIDÉN ON NEW MELODEATH RAGER

Upcoming album features Halestorm's Lzzy Hale, ex-Megadeth's Marty Friedman, more

Revolver has teamed with Nita Strauss for an exclusive 2LP colored vinyl variant of The Call of the Void, limited to just 250 copies. Get yours from our shop before they're gone!

Nita Strauss has finally unveiled the details of her hotly-anticipated new solo album, The Call of the Void. The Alice Cooper shredder's second record under her own name will be out July 7th via Sumerian Records, and as she teased previously, almost ever single song contains a featured guest. 

Halestorm's Lzzy Hale, ex-Megadeth axman Marty Friedman, Motionless in White's Chris Motionless and In Flames' Anders Fridén are among the newly-revealed collaborators, while the previously-released singles with Disturbed's David Draiman, Alice Cooper and Arch Enemy's Alissa White-Gluz will also be on the record. 

Today, Strauss is giving us another taste of the album by dropping her song with Fridén, which is a blast-beat-filled melodeath ripper that basically sounds like an In Flames track. Blast it above via YouTube. 

The Call of the Void is now available for pre-order in a variety of formats. Revolver has an exclusive, 2LP colored vinyl variant that's limited to just 250 copies. Get yours from our shop before they're gone!

See the full tracklist below. 

The Call of the Void tracklist: 1.  "Summer Storm" 2. "The Wolf You Feed" (feat. Alissa White-Gluz of Arch Enemy) 3. "Digital Bullets" (feat. Chris Motionless of Motionless In White) 4. "Through The Noise" (feat. Lzzy Hale of Halestorm) 5. "Consume The Fire" 6. "Dead Inside" (feat. David Draiman of Disturbed 7.  "Victorious" (feat. Dorothy) 8. "Scorched" 9. "Momentum" 10. "The Golden Trail" (feat. Anders Fridén of In Flames) 11. "Winner Takes All" (feat. Alice Cooper) 12. "Monster" (feat. Lilith Czar) 13. "Kingsugi" 14. "Surfacing" (feat. Marty Friedman)

[primordialpaper]

Thinking of Me, But Just the Same

An alternate take on, or fanfiction of a fanfiction, @jinxquickfoot‘s fic The One Where Wanda is Tony’s Weakness. Highly recommend giving it a read. I don’t know if I’m going to be getting any further than what I have here, so I thought I’d just post what I’ve come up with so far.

To avoid any confusion, it should be noted that both of these fics chose to overlook Wanda’s age being retconned, so she’s 18 years old here, as she was heavily implied to have been up until WV. We also don’t talk about MoM or M*chael W*ldron in this house. Also, this takes place after AoU, pre-Civil War.

<Here, Tony’s just found the team, sans one member, after a fairly similar series of events to the original fic. They’re in a secure holding cell, with him standing outside.>

Tony began applying a steady repulsor beam to the thick metal barrier, only for the entire team to shout their protests.

He looked up to find Steve staring at him, fists pressed to whiteness against the glass between them. He’d lost his helmet, and was sporting a few cuts and bruises around his face, but his eyes were alight with distress. Tony knew what that look meant. The average beating wouldn’t cause Steve Rogers any concern. But hurting someone under his command? That was a surefire way to put such an expression on his face.

“Tony, no! Forget about us! Get-”

He was cut off when, from behind the door against the far wall, there came a scream.

Wanda.

Tony had known from his scans on the outside that the youngest of the New Avengers was likely in pain, but he found himself utterly unprepared to hear the audible result. It was a piercing, blood-chilling cry of agony that he could feel skitter over his nerves like an electrical impulse.

(At the behest of some kind of morbid curiosity, Tony had once gone looking through the files they had uncovered at Strucker’s base. The twins had been sixteen when they’d undergone experimentation. Pietro Maximoff had not lived to reach the age of majority, dying just two months prior.)

Tony considered the variables before him. His and FRIDAY’s little trick with the sensors wouldn’t last forever, and the rest of the hired guns would soon return in force. It was obvious he needed to get the others out of their cage. Iron Man alone wasn’t enough to blast their way out, and with Wanda clearly incapacitated, they had the best chance of getting out of this with everyone free and able to fight.

But Wanda needed help, now.

His plan came together with little prompting.

In one swift maneuver, Tony stepped out of his armor, keeping one of the gauntlets curled around his forearm while the main suit continued boring through the team’s cell.

“I’ve got her, Cap. You guys catch up when you can.”

Ignoring the surge of objections from his team, Tony stalked across the room, charging his repulsor to a hair's breadth away from firing before kicking the door open.

Inside was much the same as the previous rooms; concrete walls and floors, exposed plumbing, except with the addition of clusters of ancient looking lab equipment. And the fact that it was all bathed in lurid, gleaming scarlet.

A handful of men in white coats were standing at various stations, reading monitors and going over displays, with the majority gathered around the table in the middle of the room. It was there Tony could see Wanda, strapped down and writhing while it looked as if her power was being visibly torn from beneath her skin. Wisps of red leaked from her eyes, her mouth, poured out like blood from the center of her chest, all of it being funneled into a deep indigo prism that jutted out of the ground before her.

All while she screamed.

The guard nearest to Tony received a concentrated repulsor blast to the face before he could even raise his gun. The scientists quickly fled as he made his way over to them, inadvertently providing cover from the remaining goons trying to get a clear shot at him. Tony allowed himself a certain level of callousness in the way he ensured no one in the room was left standing. People who could do something like this, treat a teenager like some kind of lab rat, didn’t deserve to have him pull his punches.

In short order, he found himself stepping over unconscious evil-doers as he quickly made his way towards Wanda. She didn’t look good, hooked up to various sensors and IVs doing God knows what, wrists rubbed raw and bleeding in their restraints, along with some kind of collar around her neck. Tony tried to catch her eyes, flickering erratically between pale green and crimson, but she seemed unable to focus, merely tossing her head from side to side while her face twisted in pain. Despite the scientists all being down for the count, the purple obelisk- whatever the hell it was- was still doing its damnedest to bleed Wanda dry.

Tony would have to do something about that.

“Hang on, kid.” he urged lowly, unsure if Wanda could even understand him at the moment, before placing himself between her and the crystal. He couldn’t move her, not with the energy still pouring over her body like a personal electric fence, and it was highly unlikely that this thing was going to go quietly.

But he was an engineer. He’d weathered enough sparks and stray cinders in his time to feel more apt to withstand the blowback than the dazed young woman behind him.

Tony kept that thought in mind as he released the largest blast his gauntlet could muster at the crystal.

The resulting explosion as the prism shattered made his concentrated beam of high density muons- the equivalent of over a hundred pounds of TNT narrowed down to the atomic level- look like a cheap sparkler in comparison.

An eruption of scarlet energy surged outwards, crashing against Tony like a tidal wave, without even the hope of standing his ground. As if in slow motion, Tony could feel himself get hurled off his feet. His eyes burned, even when he closed them against the blinding red light, and his skin felt like it was going to fly off his body.

Nothing, though, could compare to the inferno raging within his skull. Thousands of blazing needles scored his brain, every synapse beaming like a supernova. His mind was expanding beyond his capacity to understand, greedily swallowing every shred of new information that made its way into his grasp. He could feel the presence of every living thing in the building, the way their existence was bearing down on his perception from all angles.

His head collided with the ground, and, if he had any space left for his own thoughts in his brain, he would’ve welcomed the unconsciousness that followed.

<End of chapter>

Ever since Afghanistan, Tony had been a troubled sleeper. If it wasn’t nightmares, he found himself shooting awake at the smallest sound, reaching for the gauntlet he kept near his bed. Having Pepper helped, like it did in regard to most things, but he couldn’t find any trace of her vanilla scented shampoo on the pillow next to him.

“- be fine. They both will.”

“- fell from a wormhole and lived,”

“- brain activity on this scale,”

That didn’t stop him from dragging the thing over his head in an attempt to block out the noise. The inside of his skull was pounding in a way that put decades of partying and subsequent hangovers to shame, and he wanted no part of the waking world. Regardless, soft snatches of conversations kept worming their way into his ears, just faint enough for him to register, no matter how firmly he buried his head.

He didn’t know where he was (certainly not at home in bed. The thread count of the sheet he was lying on was appalling compared to his standards.), or why his brain felt like it had been stomped on, and the hushed chorus of whispers around him was making it hard to think. Had he left the TV on in the other room or something?

“- hell did they do to you, kid,”

“- Stark and that girl were brought in,”

“- to have her here, she freaks me out,”

One voice, however, managed to drown out the others. It started with a sigh, followed by a plaintive, “If only you were awake, Tony. Then you could have one of these smoothies I so thoughtfully prepared.”

Tony knew that voice. He also knew there was no hope in disguising his wakefulness from someone trained to read even the smallest cues in a person’s body language. Begrudgingly, Tony lurched into a sitting position, blinking his eyes open to see Natasha reclining casually across from him, feet propped up on the chair beside the one she’d claimed, a paper tray holding three smoothies resting in her lap.

The furniture here was tacky and drab, the walls even more starkly white than the butterfly bandage holding shut the cut on Natasha’s chin... They were in the Compound’s medical wing? Why...

The memory of before: Rhodey’s distress signal, flying off into an unknown situation, finding the others, finding Wanda, the overwhelming surge of red... it all came rushing back to him alongside a burst of adrenaline, and Tony was rocking his weight back to shoot to his feet, only for Natasha’s cool, firm hands to find his shoulders before he could even rise an inch off his cot.

“Easy,” she urged, guiding him to sit back down. Trading her grip on his shoulders for a lighter hold on his hand, she deftly passed him one of the smoothies (of course, not a drop had been spilled during the move from her lap to Tony’s bed), encouraging his fingers to wrap around it before she stepped back. “Everyone’s fine, and I can give you the rundown of what happened. But I had to fight for my life with that blender to make these, so you better appreciate them.”

Tony was actually quite parched (and not at all concerned about what Natasha would do if he didn’t accept her offering), so he took a few gulps of the smoothie, only to make a face.

“Raspberries?”

“What’s wrong with raspberries?” Natasha’s tone had the barest hint of defensiveness.

“They’re a poor man’s blueberries.”

<After Natasha brings him up to speed, and some filler, Tony makes a seemingly innocuous comment.>

“What?” there was something in Natasha’s voice, a wariness, that set Tony on edge. It was unlike her to reveal her disquiet so easily.

“You said you were going to send in Rogers,” Tony reminded her. Why did she seem so unsettled? “I’m sorry I made fun of your raspberries, alright? Just spare me having to listen to-”

“Tony,” the spy interrupted, gravely meeting his eyes. “I didn’t say that. I thought it.”

Tony would’ve denied it, called her bluff as part of some kind of prank or practical joke, if he couldn’t inexplicably feel the genuine apprehension bleeding off of her. It was like a noxious odor, wafting over to him whether he wanted to perceive it or not, and assaulting his senses like some kind of mental second-hand smoke.

Unbeknownst to him, hairline fractures began to crawl up the window beside the door.

“That’s- I-” Tony could feel his heartbeat picking up, evidenced by the rising pitch and frequency of the sounds coming from the nearby monitor.

Those noises were merely one of several currently vying for his attention. 

He could hear dozens of staff members bustling about, their thoughts a senseless cacophony of “<em>Where are those files I</em>-” and “definitely going to need a drink after-” and “If I have to answer one more-”.

He could hear Natasha, speaking lowly into a com unit on her wrist, something about “evacuate non-essential personnel,” and “reduce the risk of overstimulation,”.

He could hear his pulse thundering in his ears, growing louder when he clamped his hands over them. But not loud enough to drown out the sound of everything else.

<Here is where I’d elaborate more on the debilitating surge of telepathic feedback Tony is getting, as well as Nat doing her best to calm him down because she’s a good friend.>

Two streams of thought; one desperately chanting no, no, no, please no, and the other a wordless, blustery cocktail of concern and responsibility, were fast approaching. Tony lifted his head in time to see Wanda skid to a stop outside his door, Steve at her heels.

The girl, unsurprisingly, had the look of someone who’d recently been held captive by a troupe of mad scientists. Clad in a tank top and sweatpants, with bandages wrapped around her wrists and neck where the restraints had been, she was pale and unsteady on her feet, holding on to the doorframe while Steve put a hand on her elbow.

“I felt it,” she gasped, and sought out Tony with impossibly large eyes. “Just before it faded, I could feel it. Did it- Are you...”

“Wanda’s powers aren’t working.” Steve explained, glancing worriedly at his fellow Avengers. “She said she could sense them in this direction right after she woke up, but now she can’t pick up anything. Nat, that order you sent out, was it-”

The sound of fabric tearing brought the conversation to a halt.

Tony, along with everyone else in the room, glanced down to where his hand was fisted in the sheet of his cot. The cloth in his grip had started to fray, fluttering weakly as wisps of red leaked from his hold. Out of instinct, he jerked his hand away, only to be left with a pulsing mass of red energy hovering in his palm.

The same power that usually shone from Wanda’s hands.

It wasn’t instinct, but pure unbridled panic this time, that drove Tony to try and shake his hand free of the unwelcome substance, before he could remember he’d seen Wanda flatten cars with smaller gestures.

A bead of red light zipped from his palm, striking- and absolutely obliterating- the window to his room.

Steve lurched forward to yank Wanda back from the shower of glass when she’d- no doubt instinctively- raised her hand to craft a shield with her power. Power that she no longer had. Power that was currently winding through Tony’s bloodstream, wrenching open his mind to the thoughts and feelings of everyone around him.

“Fuck!” Tony forced his dangerous appendages to resume gripping the mattress, where they couldn’t be directed at anyone else in the room.

He could taste their fear, running thick like blood down the back of his throat. Fear and concern and guilt. The guilt stood out loudest of all, blaring from the one person who should have known how loud she was being.

Tucked against Steve’s chest (he hadn’t released her, wary of the glass covered ground and the girl’s lack of shoes), Wanda managed to bring a hand to her mouth, staring at Tony while he had no choice but to hear the one phrase repeating on loop in her head.

There’s nothing more horrifying than a miracle.

<This will be in the following chapter, and occurs when Tony’s made aware that Wanda’s powers are in fact magical in nature, rather than a feat of science like they’d all initially thought. The current team of Avengers know this (and didn’t tell Tony purely due to a clerical error, this is not a “sometimes my teammates don’t tell me things” moment) because someone paid them a visit.>

“Dr. Strange came to us a few months ago on behalf of his community of magic users, the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj. The doctor expressed some rather...” Vision pursed his lips, drumming his fingers against the countertop in an uncharacteristic show of irritation. “uncharitable notions regarding Miss Maximoff and her abilities, and suggested she’d be more suited to instruction under him and his fellow practitioners rather than the Avengers.”

<After some discussion, Dr. Strange enters the scene by portal.>

“Miss Maximoff,” Strange’s gaze wasn’t exactly cold, but it was certainly more reserved as he looked at Wanda. “I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about our offer to study at Kamar-Taj?”

Wanda, for all her apparent unease following the loss of her powers, still regarded Strange with an upturned chin and steady eyes.

“While I live and until I die, I am an Avenger, Doctor. That’s not going to change.”

Strange sighed, like he’d expected as much. “Of course not. Well,” he shifted his gaze to the room at large. “how might I be of assistance to Earth’s mightiest heroes?”

Any points the man might have scored with Tony on the basis of his (admittedly very nicely groomed) facial hair fell away upon the realization that he might be, in fact, a grade A asshole. In an effort to let cooler heads prevail, though, he stayed silent and allowed Vision to detail exactly how they’d come to find themselves in their current situation, beginning with the team’s capture and ending with their discovery that Wanda’s powers had found a new host in Tony.

Dr. Strange fixed him with a look of surprise, bordering on grudging respect, even. “You withstood a discharge of unbridled Chaos magic, without your suit or any defenses, and you’re still in one piece?”

Tony shrugged. “They don’t call me Iron Man for nothing.”

<After more conversation, Strange again tries to sell Wanda on his idea of moving to Kamar-Taj, this time with fraying patience. He’s motivated by logic here, and isn't trying to be unkind, but he’s not one for coddling.>

“And the next time your lack of understanding of your magic becomes an issue?” Strange challenged, his voice hard. “When the consequences might not be so easily undone? Your commitment to your team is admirable, but you fail to realize how dangerous an untrained sorcerer can be.”

Tony liked to think that, even if he hadn’t been supernaturally aware of how- behind her stoic expression- Wanda deeply feared Strange’s words to be true, he still would’ve stepped in. Nothing about Strange’s tone, or the sight of a grown man looming over a teenager, sat right with him, necessitating Tony to interject with a drawl of, “You know, if this is how you are with kids, I don’t think your whole ‘birthday party magician’ shtick is going to work out.”

<In a later chapter, Tony and Wanda try to practice, with unsatisfactory results.>

They were using wooden blocks to practice with because, for reasons she failed to disclose, Wanda found something about it morbidly amusing.

<The training session goes poorly.>

When the blocks started lightly smoking as Tony’s frustration mounted, he got up and let them clatter to the floor, hands curling into fists as he began tersely pacing from one side of the room to the other. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wanda stoop to pick up the cubes, frowning at him like she was disappointed with his obvious agitation.

“Your emotions are sabotaging your control.” she noted bluntly. “The magic will respond to your feelings sooner than it’ll listen to your orders.”

“You keep saying that.” Tony griped testily. “When are you going to tell me how I’m supposed to control what I feel?” turning back around to face her, he threw up his hands, feeling like he was on the precipice of hysterics or a nervous breakdown. He was tired (even more so than usual), his head ached (along with his hands, eyes, and chest), and he couldn’t even set foot in his workshop for fear these new powers would trash his designs (or even worse, his bots).

Having to self-exile from his own lab was particularly grating. He was used to building things, had been doing it his whole life, ever since he could pick up a hammer. Tony Stark was an inventor, first and foremost, and it was one of the only things that could pull him out of his head when everything became too much. Except now, if he wasn’t careful, he ran the risk of destroying everything he touched. 

His emotions, things he’d spent years fighting to both ignore and deal with, were more volatile than ever, and were susceptible in the worst way to his powers and how they left him permanently exposed to the thoughts and feelings of everyone around him.

“I am telling you, you just aren’t listening.” the young woman gritted out, glowering at him. Wanda, too, seemed to be reaching the end of her patience. What she had to be frustrated about, Tony couldn’t guess.

<More arguing>

“And I’m surprised to hear about self-control from the weapon of mass destruction!”

Speaking of the thoughts and feelings of those around him, no sooner had the words left Tony’s mouth, then he was assaulted by a wave of hurt from the girl in front of him. Immediately, Tony knew he’d crossed a line just then. To Wanda’s credit, her face only conveyed a blank kind of shock, lips parted wordlessly. Lips she then fiercely pressed together into a firm line, before turning on her heel and stalking towards the door.

“Wait, kid-” Tony could already feel shame beginning to crawl up his spine. Was he really not above taking his frustration out on a girl not even in her twenties? He began walking after her. “I-”

The wooden block sent rocketing in his direction halted his pursuit. An instinctive flash of red caught it mid-air, but the intention behind it was enough to keep Tony from attempting to follow her.

With a sigh, he allowed the block to clatter to the ground.

And he’d called Dr. Strange bad with kids.

<In the following chapter, Tony tries to make things right.>

Finding his young houseguest was remarkably easy, truth be told. All Tony had to do was follow the sound of overwhelming angst until he reached the door to a rarely used guest room on the west side of the mansion. As he approached, he militantly stifled his reception to outside input like he’d been instructed, aware of just how little Wanda likely wanted to be read now of all times.

Standing at the threshold, Tony found himself utterly unsure of what to do. He couldn’t hear any sound coming from the other side (thank God. The thought of having to console a crying teenage girl terrified him.) and he knew better than trying to probe mentally for clues.

<More of Tony lamenting his stunted emotional growth and lack of knowledge on how to proceed.>

Tony glanced at the handle, and was unsurprised to see the lock had been engaged. What was more, his new senses told him that Wanda had actually gone a step further and seated herself on the floor with her back braced against the door. Both gestures seemed rather futile, he noted cynically. Even if Tony wasn’t currently packing more than enough power to level this entire building, a locked door and a broody teenager wouldn’t pose much of an obstacle to an Iron Man suit if he really wanted inside. Then, it occurred to him that perhaps Wanda was banking on the idea that, even if Tony would’ve disregarded the door being locked, he’d be unwilling to force it open if she was seated on the other side and in harm’s way.

The extra security measures weren’t necessary. Regardless of the events that lead to this moment, Tony couldn’t imagine himself ever barging into someone’s space uninvited after an argument. Especially if that someone was the newly depowered, skittish, woefully young woman he was currently hosting. He wasn’t completely tactless, after all. (Not to mention Pepper, Steve, and Natasha would all be lined up to take his head, he was certain).

Not that he could blame Wanda for doubting his character at the moment.

His knees not protesting in the slightest, Tony lowered himself to the floor, before maneuvering to sit back against the door in a reflection of the girl on the other side. 

At this close proximity, he had to consciously divert his attention away from the thoughts and emotions he could pick up through the thin barrier of the door between them.

[aishangotome]

Chapter 12-2 An Army of Invincible Might (金戈萬仞)

Chapter 12-1

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Dawn broke, and the Red Robe Army, eager to attack, surged towards Lingzhou like a crimson tide, their numbers stretching as far as the eye could see.

Red Robed Soldier A: Reporting to General! The path is clear, the siege towers can advance!

Rong Lin sat astride his warhorse, spear in hand, his injured shoulder bandaged.

Rong Lin: Relay the order, focus fire and attack fiercely, disregard casualties.

The Red Robe soldier was momentarily stunned, then took the order and left. Rong Lin looked towards the distant city gate with murderous intent, a sneer curling his lips—

Rong Lin: Hmph… Chen Qi, today is the day you die!

Boom---- Crash!

A deafening explosion drowned out the sound of the war drums. The vanguard of the Red Robe Army, caught off guard by the sudden ambush, immediately fell into disarray.

Rong Lin: Hold your ground! Don't retreat! Focus fire on the south side, blast that wall to smithereens for me!

Red Robed Soldiers: Yes, sir!

-

Black Cloud Rider A: That's amazing, General! They really fell into the ambush!

Chenqi: Don't celebrate too early, this guy is calm under pressure, his target isn't the city gate! Take a squad and reinforce the south side!

Black Cloud Rider A: Yes, sir!

Chen Qi waited calmly for the opportune moment, until the Red Robe Army was almost at the foot of the wall—

Chenqi: Fire!

A line of archers, already in formation, stepped forward in unison, countless flaming arrows shooting towards the enemy troops below the city wall.

The flaming arrows burned along the pre-dug, oil-filled trenches, instantly igniting a raging wall of fire.

Chen Qi didn't give them a moment to breathe. With a gesture, the cannons were aimed at the Red Robe Army concentrated by the wall of fire, and then he personally lit the fuse.

Chenqi: Here's a taste of the power of "Ding Feng Bo"!

A tremendous explosion echoed through the sky. Just one "Ding Feng Bo" shattered the golden dawn, tearing a gaping hole in the sea of people.

The impact of the second explosion sent even the soldiers in the rear flying with the intense air blast and flames. The Red Robe Army's formation was thrown into chaos, and cries of anguish filled the air.

Black Cloud Rider B: This... is incredible!!

Chenqi: The things Boss Fu gave us are really something!

However, facing this terrifying power, the Red Robe Army quickly regrouped, like a swarm of crazed ants, charging forward relentlessly.

Chen Qi accurately seized every optimal opportunity, but as the aftershocks of the last "Ding Feng Bo" explosion subsided, I saw the most dazzling crimson figure among the ranks of the Red Robe Army.

Princess: Han You, you're finally here.

Even from such a distance, I could see the amusement and mockery on his face.

---He was enjoying this.

Han You: What a pity, the first and last battle the Princess will ever fight in her life will soon be over.

The price was—everyone's lives.

Princess: The great general who boasts of invincibility is nothing more than this.

Princess: You went through so much trouble but couldn't even breach the gates of my little Lingzhou. I wonder what kind of trash those you defeated before were.

Princess: The great general is unworthy of his position. Even if you get your wish and ascend to the throne, how long could you hold onto it?

Princess: I think you should stop dreaming about the "Yao Guang Lu." Or is it that... the great general insists on dragging the entire Red Robe Army to become souls under my "Ding Feng Bo"?

Han You looked at me, his eyes as cold as a thousand-foot glacier.

Han You: It's beyond my expectation that the Princess managed to get "Ding Feng Bo," but... I'm afraid you're out of ammunition now, aren't you?

Han You: Let me guess, how many men are there in this ragtag Lingzhou army of yours? Three thousand? Or five thousand?

Han You: For a single "Yao Guang Lu," the Princess is willing to let these innocent people be buried with you... I'm unworthy of my position, but is the Princess truly innocent?

Han You: Whether you admit it or not, we are actually the same kind of people.

He reached out to me—

Han You: Hand over what I want, come to my side, and I will let you know what it feels like to stand above the nine heavens.

Han You: I guarantee, you will like it.

...

In the howling wind, I drew the sword my mother left me and took a step back.

Whoosh—!

Following my movement, Chen Qi drew his bow and released the arrow. A flaming arrow pierced through the air, striking the main general's flag beside Han You—

This arrow ignited the flag symbolizing the entire Red Robe Army, and also ignited the blazing fighting spirit of Lingzhou.

Chenqi: Slay the traitorous minister! Protect our land! Defend Lingzhou to the death! No regrets!

The Guiye Army and the Lingzhou Army stood tall and proud behind me, their shouts rising like a tidal wave.

Lingzhou Army: Slay the traitorous minister! Protect our land! Defend Lingzhou to the death! No regrets!

Han You looked disappointed and sighed almost inaudibly.

Han You: It's a pity that the Princess, in her prime, committed regicide and treason, dying amidst the chaos of war. I can only fulfill the late Emperor's will and let Lingzhou be buried with her...

His tone was flat as he gave the order—

Han You: Kill.

-

A snowflake landed on my brow.

Snow had begun to fall from the sky at some point. The swirling snowflakes were scorched by the flickering flames, quickly turning into mud underfoot.

Han You's judgment was correct. The few "Ding Feng Bo" from Fuxian had been used up, and even the stones and arrows were almost exhausted—I had to fight.

Chenqi: Princess, be careful!

Chen Qi struck down an arrow flying towards me from behind. Chaotic shouts and battle cries filled the air from all directions, and cold steel flashed dazzlingly in the night.

In the dim snowstorm, the Red Robe Army was like a shifting shadow, slowly swallowing the fragile island of Lingzhou.

Around us, bodies fell one after another. Slender girls, innocent youths...

Red Robed Soldier A: Wh-what—!

Just then, a long line of firelight appeared in the distance behind the Red Robe Army, at the far end of the sky.

Princess: ...Finally! Chen Qi!

Chenqi: They're finally here... Lingzhou Army! Encircle them with me!

Lingzhou Army: Yes!!!

Then more and more flames appeared, like heavenly fire pouring down from the hillside towards Han You's army below.

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Chapter 12-3

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[meganmackieauthor]

I Can't Get the Vampire Rogue to Romance Me - Ch 4

Chapter 4

Half the room fell to the ground moments after the explosion. Several others ran screaming. Fire erupted from the walls, and goblins poured through the front opening that they made where the door had been. Evangeline didn’t focus on any of it. She dove instead for the bag of gold and snatched it up. 

“Do you wish to add this to your inventory?” a disembodied voice said. A disembodied voice that sounded exactly like her own. 

“No, send to my camp inventory!” she said, and to her relief, the gold disappeared. Okay, so maybe this part is like the game, where once items were sent to her camp, they were safe from pickpocketing and other shenanigans. 

I just need to survive the next few minutes, she thought as she pulled the +1 dagger from its sheath. 

That’s when it dawned on her… she didn’t actually know how to fight. Her characters knew how to fight. They had been pre-programmed with those abilities, but she was a living, breathing person whose muscles got “programmed” with repetition and weight training and hours of practice. 

“Oh crap,” she said as a goblin sighted her and charged. 

It took a swing at her with a very wicked-looking weapon. It looked like a homemade attempt at a morning star with nails roughly hammered into it. 

And she parried it!

It wasn’t perfect. Even to her untrained eyes, it was rather clumsy, but the goblin was surprised and overextended. She turned the knife in her hand and jabbed it into the goblin’s exposed neck. Blood spurted out, and the goblin keeled over. 

Holy shit! Evangeline thought, her eyes going wide. Did I just kill someone?

And that was all the time she was going to get to dwell on that thought as another goblin came to take its place. 

This time she ducked under the swing of its rough spear, basically a stick with a sharpened point. She stabbed up with the knife, and that goblin went down too. That time she noticed a musical three-note chime when she succeeded, similar to the one she heard when she earned experience. 

A small smile creased her face. This is just like the game, she told herself, believing it more and more with each repetition. It’s just like the game!

And just like that, it became fun.

Evangeline skimmed the room, looking for the best targets for her class’s skill set, which was of course sneak strike. She stepped up to the nearest person, a clearly Level 1 Wizard trying to blast the goblin in front of them with a cold arrow, an obviously long-range weapon. Being so close, it took too many penalties to be of much use. But since the wizard was so close, it put her target exactly where she wanted him. With a little skip, she came down from above and drove her knife into the goblin’s exposed back where its shoulders met its neck. 

The goblin crumpled at her feet, and she got the rewarding jingle again. She felt more confident. 

“Next time, use a thunderclap,” she said to the trembling wizard she had just rescued. ”It would have blasted your opponent away from you.”

The wizard shook so hard that he couldn’t say anything in return, but she just flashed him a wink and turned to rescue the innkeeper, who was making a valiant effort with a kitchen knife, taking various stabs at the pair of goblins taking turns to strike him. He’d be dead in a few more passes at that rate. Evangeline stepped in and applied a sneak strike twice in good order, using the flanking position with the innkeeper to add extra damage. 

“Get out of here! Run!” she shouted at the innkeeper, who was too winded to argue. He only wiped his sweat and the goblin blood from his forehead and nodded before turning to leave out through his kitchen door behind the bar. 

And then a familiar “Ha ha!” caught her attention. Turning about, she saw him. Valerian flashed some grandiose moves, using more effort than needed to dispatch the goblins in front of him and enjoying every move. 

And of course, he didn’t see a very large goblin coming up behind him. 

Moving up, Evangeline flanked the vile creature, who smelled worse than the rest had, and did her own attack. 

Her hit struck and the goblin staggered, but this one did not go down. Valerian had moved away at that moment which gave the goblin a split second to see her before she could land the strike for more effective damage.

Instead, it spun around and smiled at her, its teeth already stained red with blood. 

Oh crap!

She tried to regroup and take another stab, but this time he blocked her, his pommel hitting her wrist so hard she almost dropped the knife. Her eyes went wide as the point of his wicked broken sword, wavered near her eyes. Pulling her head back, she tried to back away, but that also was the wrong move because he used the opening to start his swing toward her. 

The sword hit her arm as she brought it up to defend, and she screeched as it sliced across. 

Shouldn’t it have cut my arm off? she vaguely thought. But she couldn’t tell whether she was in pain or not. By instinct, she grabbed for her arm, the momentum from the swing forcing her to stumble back, landing her on a knee. Thatpain she did feel as the hard floor sent shocks up her thigh. 

With a very nasty, satisfied smile, the goblin lifted his sword high overhead to bring it down. 

Then a blade tip appeared poking out of his chest before he could. 

The expression on his face was one of comical surprise. 

The blade tip disappeared again. 

The goblin’s arms dropped to his side. 

Sauntering around, her rogue vampire smirked down at her as he flipped his knife in his hand. He was showing off. 

“Well, I guess you owe me a blood debt now, little one,” he said as he looked down his nose at her. 

Special Power: Meta Knowledge—activate

Then before he could react, the goblin attempted one last attack on its killer and tried to plunge its sword through him. 

Only Evangeline could move faster than that and pushed the blade down to drive into the wood while she stuck her knife through its head. 

“And now that makes us even,” she said as the goblin fell.

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[kudosmyhero]

Marvel Team-Up (vol. 1) #48: A Fine Night for Dying!

Read Date: February 25, 2023 Cover Date: August 1976 ● Writer: Bill Mantlo ● Penciler: Sal Buscema ● Inker: Mike Esposito ● Colorist: Janice Cohen ● Letterer: Jean Hipp ● Editor: Marv Wolfman ●

**HERE BE SPOILERS: Skip ahead to the fan art/podcast to avoid spoilers

Reactions As I Read: ● Spidey is falling through the air, which wouldn't normally be a problem except his web-shooters aren't currently working. oops. ● he's taking his imminent death very calmly ● Iron Man to the rescue! (I can't help but to hear Robert Downey Jr's voice as Tony Stark) ● heheh, Spider-Man makes a bad pun, and Iron Man laments that he should have just let him drop. As someone who likes to make bad puns, I can appreciate this interaction ^_^ ● despite the saves, we have some pre-team-up bickering ● Captain Jean DeWolff. I think I like her. ● yuss, I love the captain's car!

● now "DeWolf" is spelled with one f… ● back to "DeWolff" in the next panel, so "DeWolf" was just a momentary flub ● this is quite a little mystery developing here! and the images of the shadowy figure in the background of surveillance and/or news clips is rather creepy ● done already? that flew by! ● 👏👏👏👏

Synopsis: Spider-Man is web swinging over Long Island near a Stark International Fuel depot. He suddenly spots a model airplane with a bomb attached it heading toward the depot. The power of the blast sends Spider-Man flying backward. Although he is thrown clear of the heat and flames, he is left in free fall and would have fatally struck the ground if it was not for the timely arrival of Iron Man, who saves him. On the ground, Spider-Man is worried about the innocent people that might be endangered by the blast. However, Iron Man explains that he had the area evacuated and the fire department is at the ready as this attack as Tony Stark received a warning this was going to happen. Iron Man demands to know why Spider-Man was in the area. This infuriates the wall-crawler who doesn't like being accused of a crime he didn't commit. Iron Man admits that while Spider-Man has helped the Avengers in the past, they don't know much about them. Spider-Man points out that his motives are questionable, to ask the Vision, Scarlet Witch, and Moondragon about who he is. Their argument is interrupted by Captain Jean DeWolff, who has been investigating a series of threats that have been made to wealthy businesses, this being the fifth. While DeWolff and Iron Man compare notes, Spider-Man attempts to examine the remains of the model airplane used in the attack. Before he can, his spider-sense begins to tingle. Realizing it was booby-trapped, Spider-Man leaps away and pulls Jean to safety. This fits the pattern of the other attacks. Jean asks the two heroes if they can put aside their differences long enough to help out with the case. As the three continue to discuss matters, they neglect to notice a strange figure enter one the mausoleums in order to return to his secret lair. Meanwhile, Jean DeWolff rushes Spider-Man and Iron Man to her precinct. The pair witness as one of her officers makes light of the fact that Jean's father was the ex-commissioner of police and that they have to look out for her. Unimpressed, Jean bumps the desk Sargent back down to a patrolman. In her office, DeWolff explains to her allies that she needs to run a tight ship to keep out of being under her father's shadow. Activating some video equipment loaned to her department by SHIELD to review the five previous attacks. The first was on the Westchester Mansion of Max Vorster, a wealthy New York City slum lord. Volster was killed in the explosion and all evidence was destroyed. The only clue to the identity of their bomber is from a shadowy figure wearing a hood that was captured on video by the local news crew. The next bomb attack was at the Cosmopolitan Bank and Trust, an explosion that killed fifteen people and injured another twenty-two. This time their mystery attacker was caught on security cameras. After they have finished reviewing the footage, they examine the warning letters and discover that they are written on police letterhead, and the letters that form the messages are clipped out of the Gazette, a police newspaper. Suddenly, the masked figure they have been investigating hurls a model plane bomb from the building across the street. Spider-Man's spider-sense tips them off, and while Iron Man deals with the bomb, Spider-Man goes after the bomber. Much to the wall-crawler's surprise, their foe, a masked being calling himself the Wraith, is able to grab Spider-Man's wrists and crush them under great strength. (https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Marvel_Team-Up_Vol_1_48)

Fan Art: Captain Jean DeWolff by arunion

Accompanying Podcast: ● Untold Talks of Spider-Man - episode 09