#a patchwork world au

[krazycat6167]

So @somerandomdudelmao made a version of their sona in a dystopia (inspired by @tapakah0 doing the same to theirs) and the person in this ask named the robot C.A.S.5 and I thought, ‘well then there’s at least four other C.A.S. units out and about in the world’ leading to this being the end result! It was a lot of fun to come up with the different customizations each C.A.S. unit has.

also, the design for C.A.S.4 (Cash) was partially inspired by @mobiitez post.

Doodles:

[esouliie]

AN ANGEL FLUNG OUT OF SPACE

(natasha romanoff x fem! reader)

– synopsis | falling in love with your childhood bestfriend might have been one of the best yet scariest things to happen to you. but what happened in the summer of ‘97? what happened to your darling natalia?

– warnings | little fluff & a lot of angst, kind of au (no avengers), child abuse, mentions of: attempted suicide, self harm, body mutilation, burn marks, severe malnourishment (18+)

– notes | this was supposed to be a oneshot but, as usual, i spiralled out of control and now it has two chapters… potentially three? merci, mon alice, for the header @wandasgf ♡

[ word count: 4.4k ] Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

JULY 1992

The sun had begun to set and yet the warmth of the day still lingered. The glow of the street lamps cast an amber hue on the pavement, outlining the familiar houses that lined the quiet street. The air was filled with the scent of summer, a blend of fresh grass and the distant fragrance of blooming flowers. In one of the houses on the street, a family gathered in their backyard for a summer evening barbecue. The smell of sizzling burgers and sweet barbecue sauce wafted through the air, and the faint laughter of children chasing each other echoed, while the adults lounged and swapped stories.

Meanwhile, across the field, two girls were beneath the sprawling branches of a willow tree. A patchwork quilt, covering a section of flattened grass, held a tea set long forgotten as they had rounded the thick trunk, the littlest one already perched on the wooden swing.

“Push me higher, Natty!” You exclaimed, voice full of glee. You were only a small girl with wild hair and a toothy grin, but your spirit was boundless.

Natalia smiled brightly, her own eyes sparkling with joy at her friend's excitement. “You’re already so high you could see the Empire State Building.” She teased, her laughter blending with the sound of chirping crickets amongst the long grass in the distance.

“I know!” The wind whipped against your face, and you couldn’t help but let out a joyous laugh.

Inseparable since Natalia moved in next door, your friendship blossomed under the protective branches of the willow tree across the street, where a swing hung proudly in the breeze. Its gentle leaves whispered secrets that only the two of you could hear, dreams of the future etched upon its bark, as unadulterated laughter rang true with its sway.

She whistled as your head swung back, the carefree spirit of the summer evening enveloping her in its warm embrace. And as she gazed up at the tree’s opening, she found twinkling stars above and the imaginary distant silhouette of the Empire State Building visible on the horizon. She couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder at the vastness of the world she had yet to see.

"Whoa, this is amazing." You shouted, feeling your stomach drop with each swoop. "Let’s swing all the way to the moon!"

“Maybe not the moon,” She pushed harder, her hands gripping the thick plank of wood beneath you, “But let’s try for the stars."

You shouted with as much euphemism as your little body could handle as the swing reached its peak. Weightless under its motion, you were suspended between the sky and the ground.

 An angel flung out of space.

 "I can almost touch the stars!"

She smiled. Despite her hands being rubbed red raw from rope burn, she was happy. She was always happy to be with you. While she had her younger sister, Yelena, whom she cared for deeply, it wasn't the same as having you. A friendship of her own creation. She yearned for the summer days when she could run around like a child with you.

“That’s good, that means you’re almost home, little star.” She shouted, her accent slipping out ever so subtly.

Carefully, your hand stretched toward the night sky – a poor attempt to touch the boiling balls of gas above.

You both were happy.

It’s sad what became of you both.

All too soon, reality intruded once more. The distant sound of a heavy door opening cut through the air, a gentle reminder that all good things must come to an end. With a final push, Nat stepped back and held onto the plank, commanding it to a halt. She knew what was coming.

At first, you didn’t notice her disappear around the wide trunk. But the gentle clink of pottery against one another told you enough as you followed in her footsteps.

“Natalia,” You whined, hands on your waist at the sight of the older girl cleaning up. “No, it’s your turn to swing.”

A whistle pierced the air, its familiar shrill sound gaining both of your attention. The sound of home time. “Natalia, come. Time to go.” Her mother’s voice carried just as loud, urging the redhead to leave playtime behind.

She turned to you, her expression softening as she looked down at your smaller frame. With a mixture of reluctance and understanding, she pulled you into a tight embrace, the warmth of her arms wrapped around you, the gentle press of her lips against your forehead lingered for a moment before she released you and ran off into the gathering dusk.

Alone now, you watched as the field fell silent, the only sound being of the insects hidden in the dark. The swing on the other side croaked gently in response to the light breeze and the redhead’s swift departure. For a moment, you considered sitting on it, perhaps pushing yourself back and forth on the points of your feet. Instead, you find yourself standing there: the absence of your best friend ever so palpable, a void that sunk deep into your bones.

Without Natalia by your side, the swing held little allure, and you decided to make your way back home. With your large basket in hand, you reached your own doorstep and paused, casting one last glance towards the girl’s house. The lights were on inside, casting a warm glow against the darkness outside.

You almost missed it, but a glimpse of red hair appeared out the window, followed by a hand waving at you. As soon as you waved back, she was gone. Window shut. Curtains drawn.

You went to bed with a cheesy grin plastered on your face.

You’ll see her again tomorrow.

--

AUGUST 1997

“Natalia, stop fighting me on this. You look like a popsicle.” You laughed and shoved the girl playfully from where you were sitting against the willow tree.

“It's cool.” She defended, as her hand tugged at her blue-dyed ends.

The years had rolled by, but the memories of that swing under the willow tree lingered on in your heart. As the seasons changed, so did your life. You made new friends, explored different interests, and navigated the tumultuous journey of adolescence. Being older than you, Natalia was already in high school, but she didn’t go to any in the district, as she was home-schooled and sometimes had to leave for a while. She never really told you why.

Even so, your bond deepened and an unspoken connection developed between you both. Under the tree's comforting shade, you discovered a warmth in your heart that went beyond friendship. Those lazy summer afternoons spent laughing, dreaming, and sharing secrets created a bond that you wanted to explore further.

You’d never felt like this before for anyone.

Only Natalia.

Life as a pre-teen was so confusing.

You snorted, “Yeah, okay, you leave for a month and come back with half of your hair a different colour.”

But it wasn't just the hair colour that captivated you. It was the way she carried herself - a wisdom wise beyond her years. She was the same goofy redhead of course - her eyes sparkled with mischief when she laughed at you, her hand held the same warmth in yours as you walked together. But there was something else lurking beneath, a sadness more notable than her usual melancholy. You noticed the slight furrow in her brow, the way her fingers tapped nervously against each other.

Something was weighing on her mind, something significant. So, you asked, “What’s wrong?”

She let out such a soft sigh that you almost missed it.

“I’m leaving.”

Dread washed over you, and a knot formed in your stomach. "Again?"

She had just returned the other day. Your mind raced with questions and uncertainty and the tears already clustered your lash line. You, a child with no need to mask her emotions, no need to hide her soul, unlike Natalia, who always seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders, her laughter always accompanied by a subtle sadness, as if she were trying to conceal her true feelings behind a façade of cheerfulness. But today, as she sat you down with a gentle tug, her eyes betraying a mixture of resolve and sorrow, you sensed that she could no longer hide what she'd been keeping inside.

"It's for good this time," she murmured, her gaze fixed on the ground as if unable to meet your eyes. "My parents want to go back to Russia. They don’t like it here.”

Though unspoken, you sensed the weight of what she meant. They don't like you. It stung, a silent acknowledgement of the barriers you've fallen blind to. The odd glances from her mother, the subtle disapproval from her younger sister—all pieces of a puzzle you've tried to ignore.

Her admission hung heavy in the air, the reality of separation sinking in with each passing moment. She drew closer, her delicate fingers brushing away the tears that cascaded down your cheeks. You lifted your gaze to meet hers, noticing the weariness etched into her features, the telltale signs of tears already shed hours before.

“I’ll miss you.” She whispered, forehead flushed against yours, before leaning down to kiss the corner of your lips. An almost kiss. One of many shared underneath the cover of the willow tree.

You tasted saltiness and noticed the fresh tears that had now sprung from her eyes.

“I'll miss you too. Forever.”

The next morning, you stood outside her house, as the sun cast long shadows over their lawn. It was your last full day together so you arrived bright and early, not wanting to waste any time. You reached out to knock on the door, but your hand hovered, hesitant. The house remained still, as if holding its breath, waiting for something that would never come. You glanced around, searching for any sign of life, but the windows stared back at you blankly, revealing nothing but darkness within.

“Natty?”

 Nothing.

A sinking feeling gnawed at your stomach as you realized they must've left in the night, slipping away like shadows fleeing from the dawn. The same way they joined this neighbourhood.

With a heavy heart, you turned away from the empty house, feeling as if a piece of your soul had been torn away with their departure. The world already seemed colder, lonelier, devoid of her warmth and laughter that once filled it.

In the days that followed, you found yourself drawn to the tree – yours and Natalia’s safe haven. You sat there, surrounded by memories, as the rope swayed in the wind - empty and forlorn. Though still magical, the willow tree could no longer shield you from the loneliness that settled in your heart, as the summer months stretched on endlessly, a blur of empty hours filled with longing and regret.

That night, you slept with a permanent frown, a puddle of tears staining your pillow.

You won’t see her again tomorrow.

--

APRIL 2001

From afar, she looked different. Almost unrecognisable.

Eighteen years old and she was here: barely an adult yet taller and slimmer, with a cascade of auburn curls framing her face that replaced the short blue hair you remembered. The years had engraved themselves onto her, carving the once-round face into a pointed visage that spoke of both experience and loss.

Just as beautiful as you remembered.

You sat on the swing under the tree with a book in hand, lost in its pages until light danced between the branches and a flicker of movement caught your attention. Glancing up, you froze as you saw her across the street.

Natalia?

Your heart quickened its pace, memories flooding back in a torrent. But this woman was different. She’d changed. She’d grown.

She noticed you too, her gaze locking onto yours for a moment. There's a flicker of recognition, a spark of something in those eyes. For a heartbeat, it feels like time hasn't passed, like you're still the same two little girls taking on the world together. But then, just as quickly as the connection formed, she averted her gaze, choosing instead to continue on her journey. She walked with purpose, footsteps marching in a steady rhythm that both connected and distanced her from you. She couldn’t get caught up with you. She had a job to do.

Realising she was going to walk away, you pushed yourself off the swing, a mix of hope and nerves swirling inside you as you discarded the book somewhere in the grass.

None of that mattered. Natalia was here. She was back.

“Hey, wait!” You shouted, practically running after her. You reached out to grab her wrist, but she jerked away, shoving you back a few steps with surprising force.

Up close, the difference was unquestionable.

The once soft and kind Natalia had evolved into a hardened version of herself, sharpened by strong fists. Her eyes once filled with innocence, now harbour shadows of pain and resilience. She exuded an aura of toughness, and a guarded silence had replaced the laughter that used to be a melody in her voice.

“Natalia? What are you doing here?” You inquired, tentatively closing the gap between you both. You watched as she winced at her name falling from your lips.

And yet, this time, she didn’t evade your touch. Her hand trembled slightly as it met yours, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. In that fleeting silence, you took in the toll life has taken on her. Her arms bear the marks of countless scars, remnants of battles fought in shadows, and bruises of varying hues.

“What happened to your arms?” Your voice is gentle, a soft inquiry borne out of concern.

But, the sudden confrontation had her retreating into herself, defences rising once more like impenetrable walls. You mustn’t know. She could never do that to you. “Let go.” She demanded sharply, her tone cutting through the air like a knife.

Caught off guard, you hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to proceed, but that’s long enough for her to decide to rip her hand out of yours, sharp and abrupt.

“Are you okay?” Your voice was barely a whisper as you watched her practically flee, disappearing around the corner of the street.

 You don’t follow her.

--

OCTOBER 2012

Funny how throughout life, fate seemed to play a game with you, pulling Natalia in and out of your orbit like a cosmic dance.

At twenty-seven, you found yourself entrenched in the fast-paced world of trauma nursing. After the arduous journey through medical school, you packed your bags and set your sights on the East Coast. New York City welcomed you with open arms, its vibrant chaos becoming the backdrop to your new life. From your boss’s office window, the silhouette of the Empire State Building stood tall, a symbol of strength amidst the chaos below.

You thrived in this environment, relishing in the opportunity to connect with and assist people in their most vulnerable moments. The adrenaline rush of the emergency room, the delicate balance between life and death—it fuelled you in ways nothing else could. Not since that summer night. Not since you tried to touch the stars.

Today, however, the hospital was enveloped in an air of secrecy and quiet urgency. Paramedics had rushed in with a new patient a few hours ago, shrouded in mystery as they were rushed straight into surgery. Usually, you're first on-site with incoming patients but you had been busy working your rounds to be able to assist, and there were enough on the trauma team – with the security clearance - to handle such a situation.

Stopping by the bedside of your oldest patient, Mrs. Dinton, you smiled sweetly. “Hey, Mrs Dinton. How are we today?”

"Ah, there you are, dearie," she said, her voice crackling with age. "I was just telling Nurse Molly here about the delightful hospital pudding they serve on Wednesdays. It's simply divine, don't you think?"

You chuckled softly, waving a hello to your colleague. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a fan, Mrs. Dinton. But I'm glad to hear you're enjoying it."

She laughed, a sound like tinkling bells. "Oh, well, means more for me then."

Before you could continue the conversation – could reprimand the elderly woman about how she needs to watch her sugar intake - Dr. Cho appeared at your side, her expression serious. "Excuse me, ladies. But, Nurse Y/N, is needed elsewhere." She says kindly but with a hint of urgency, no room for questioning. You and Dr. Cho were great friends, having graduated med school together and now working at the same hospital.

“What is it, Helen?” You asked, following her footsteps out the ward, navigating the labyrinthine hallways of the hospital.

“I’ve been assigned postoperative care for the Jane Doe and I want you with me...” Your heart dropped at the mention of the mystery woman.

All day, the hushed tones and covert glances exchanged among your colleagues hinted at the gravity of the situation. Their whispers that followed you through the hospital corridors spoke of a failed suicide attempt. While the hospital had sadly seen its share of such cases, this one was different – a Jane Doe, requiring an unusual degree of privacy.

“…while I don’t know any more than you about what happened, I trust you the most to help me with her. So I got you clearance. Go grab us a pair of gloves, I’ll meet you inside.” Helen finished with a nod before entering the private wing.

You donned your own pair of latex and made your way back to the private wing, the click of your shoes echoing down the corridor. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation and concern. The weight of the unknown pressed upon you as you approached the room where the troubled soul awaited treatment. Few years being a trauma nurse, you had seen it all… but not a Jane Doe. Never a Jane Doe.

Upon entering, you found Helen already studying the patient's chart. The subdued lighting in the room cast a sombre mood, and the machines hummed softly in the background. The Jane Doe was laid on the hospital bed, head secured in a neck brace and a tube down her throat, a silent testament to the ordeal she had endured.

“Thanks,” Helen whispered, making her way over to retrieve her gloves. "I've gone through everything in the notes. The attempt was pretty severe."

You nodded, taking in the gravity of the situation. The silence was broken only by the soft beeping of the monitors as you both began your work. Each movement was deliberate, and each procedure executed with precision and empathy. You adjusted the IV drip, checked the vital signs, and made sure everything was in order.

Sometime later, Helen had left, her pager going off as her presence was needed with another incoming patient.  The room seemed to hold its breath, but it was only you. The machine to your right, making sure the woman was still breathing.

You read over her notes once more.

“Female, 5’7…” You ramble aimlessly to no one as you find yourself unable to voice the rest.

The laceration on her neck caught your attention. The wound stretched across her delicate skin, a jagged seam where the surgeons' skilled hands had meticulously stitched the deep gash closed. The edges of the cut were puckered slightly, evidence of the trauma dealt with by the knife paramedics found next to her unconscious body. Judging by the shape, it seemed like she plunged rather than sliced, the offending weapon, then, pulled out instead of left inside. She was quite malnourished, her cheeks hollowed out, collarbone visible as the gown drowned her thin figure. She lacked a sufficient amount of muscle. You wondered how someone could go unnoticed without eating for several days. It was as if she had become a ghost, fading away in plain sight.

The woman looked ill - eyes sunken with abnormally pale skin. Drifting down her body, you noticed her legs. A horrified gasp threatened to leave your lips.  Raised red lines covered the expanse of her legs, some scabbed up, some clear burn marks that had turned into blisters. Her arms were just as bad, marred with a history of wounds that ran from her wrists to her shoulders.

Behind all the equipment, her face was almost unrecognisable. Her hair was what stood out the most, the auburn curls matted with blood. A sense of familiarity washed over you, the red striking your curiosity.

You couldn't tear your gaze away as you watched her stir. Unsure if she was waking or simply moving unconsciously, you remained still, not wanting to startle her. But then her face contorted with pain, and her lashes began to flutter open.

The sheets rustled as she tried to turn, her discomfort evident from the way she struggled against the tubes and wires tethering her to the medical machinery. You couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her, lying there in such a vulnerable state. No identity. No family to be there for her.

"Stay still, please.” You whispered softly, stepping closer to her bedside. “You're in the hospital. You’re safe."

Her eyes, clouded with pain and confusion, met yours for a fleeting moment before flickering away. She seemed to be trying to process where she was and what had happened.

“Paramedics found you unconscious and rushed you in.” You explained gently, hoping to offer some semblance of clarity amidst the chaos of her thoughts. “You had a wound to the neck. We’ve managed to close it, so don’t move around too much. Otherwise, you might open the stitches.”

Her gaze drifted back to you, and for a moment there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes. It was fleeting, gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, but it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You saw as she went to speak, only to find pain and a heavy weight against her tongue. “Careful. You shouldn’t try to speak yet. We’re not sure how much damage has been done to your vocal cords.”

As if she didn’t hear you, she continued fidgeting, fighting against the intrusion in her mouth, panic overriding.

“Hey, listen to me,” you coaxed, voice soft but firm, your hand reaching out to settle over hers, the glove long forgotten. “I need you to calm down, please. You’re going to be okay. You just need to rest your voice.”

Her eyes darted to you, wide with fear and frustration, and you squeezed her hand gently, offering what little comfort you could.

“It’s going to be alright, just take slow breaths. Focus on that.” You started to breathe deeply, deliberately, hoping she'd follow your lead. Inhale... exhale... in a steady rhythm, like waves lapping against the shore

As you continued to focus on stabilising her breathing, your eyes inadvertently met hers, and in that moment, you were drawn into the depths of those vibrant green orbs. They held a world of pain, swirling like a tempestuous storm beneath the surface. Yet, amidst the turmoil, there's a glimmer of familiarity that tugged at the corners of your memory.

There’s something about her you can’t make sense of.

 Why does she look so familiar? Who is she?

“Do I know you?” You almost asked, but then suddenly, the door to the waiting room clicked open, and Helen strode in, her expression wavering as she noticed the woman awake. “She’s awake already?!” Shock and bewilderment visible on her face.

She advanced, quickly spewing off questions in your direction, as her eyes narrowed in on the woman, assessing her condition with a quick, practised glance.

"She's awake, a little panicked about being in a hospital, but also a bit disoriented," you explained, voice calm despite the urgency of the situation. "Vitals are stable for now.”

With that, you stepped away, dropping her hand you had forgotten you were still holding, as Helen went to introduce herself. Your lunch break was coming up and before you could turn to leave the room, Helen stopped you. "Thank you for staying with her," she said softly, "There was a car accident. Two little girls rushed in for surgery. They needed me."

You nodded in understanding. You couldn’t fault her. Every day seemed to bring a new challenge, a new story, and today was no different. This Jane Doe was no different.

Before you could delve deeper into your thoughts, she interrupted, “Anyways, I’m here now and pager is off,” she drew your attention to the device in her pocket, “Boss’s order...  now go take your lunch break.”

With a small smile, you left the room, the door softly closing behind you. Walking down the hallways, your mind buzzed with curiosity about the woman. Her face – those eyes - nagged at the edges of your memory, like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

Where do I know you from, Jane Doe?

[zazter-den]

Foul-Mouthed Frit | Stained Glass Circumstances Ch. 1

Series: Snippet #1, Snippet #2, Current

Synopsis- All stained glass begins as frit, but you're not as frit of the warrior in front of you as you probably should be.(Main Scene: Bakugou, Aftercare: Kirishima).

Warnings- Coerced NonCon, Oral Knotting, CumVom, Choking, Clothes Tearing, Degradation, Overstim, Org Denial, Slap(giving), Forced Bond, King/Consort Dynamic, Alt A/B/O, Yandere Bakugou.

Tags- Fantasy AU, BarbarianKing!Bakugou, Dragon!Kirishima, KingConsort!Reader, Black Haired Reader, Isekai, Creampie, Chin Grab, Excessive Seed, Aftercare.

Word Count- 7700, Chapter 1

Your heart thumped against your ribs, unease and curiosity battling it out, as you stood before the imposing blond warrior. On a good day, you couldn't help but feel out of place in the simple hand-me-down dress, a one of few mercies you received from the cold villagers when you arrived. Standing here in front of the decorated barbarian within the confines of the grandiose war tent, you felt dressed in little more than rags. Was this man here to finish the villager's sad attempt at uprising? Surely non-lethal injuries to a handful of soldiers, even if severe, didn't warrant a general's (or whoever's) presence.

Why am I here? I wasn't even involved.

The bodice of the scratchy dress felt nearly too tight to breathe, a physical pressure to match the growing weight of dread settling in your bones. It had been a month since your watery arrival to this world, but it hadn't taken long to miss your modern clothes, modern stressors, and the familiarity of home. A pang of longing shot through you like a static shock, but you pushed it aside, focusing on the intimidating figure ahead.

A shiver ran down your spine as you met the blond's piercing blood red gaze. His throne, made from the bones of fallen beasts long dead and a patterned patchwork of leather, only amplified the imposing aura surrounding him. With each passing moment, you couldn't help but feel like a small, insignificant creature in the presence of a predator.

"Pint-sized for a dragon, aren't ya?" the barbarian growled, his gruff voice boomed in the tense silence, tone heavy with amused disdain. A predatory smirk adorned his face, highlighting his intimidating yet undeniably attractive features. "You're quite the fuckin' anomaly."

Your eyes widened at his words, and for a moment you forgot your unease. You had become so used to the weight by this point that you honestly almost forgot. A hand instinctively went to touch the base of the draconic crystal horns that jutted back from your hairline, a bizzarre feature you had woken to on the lake shore, a side effect of the magic that had forced your entry to this unfamiliar world.

All of the lakeside villagers were human, but you had learned enough about this world's inhabitants to know that that you weren't a true dragon like the ones the citizens of this realm were familiar with—those with wings, a tail, and true dragon features. You are, at your core, still human, and really the horns were the only evidence to suggest otherwise. The asshole wasn't entirely wrong in calling you a mystery.

"Can tell you're no real dragon, some sorta bastard maybe" he remarked, rumbly voice smug. "Though I admit, those crystal horns of yours are intriguing 'nough. You'll pass as an addition to my collection."

You blinked once, twice, as you struggled for a mere second to process the words coming out of the pompous man's mouth before time seemed to resume again.

Should you have been scared? Probably.

But you weren't.

Your eyes narrowed to near slits with incredulity as you peered up at him. White hot anger filled your veins, fear of the undoubtedly dangerous strange warrior forgotten. Being a newcomer to the realm, you couldn't quite comprehend the gravity of the situation in standing before the man in front of you. Being an outsider to the village and their rebellion, also meant you weren't aware yet just how low cowards will sink to save their own skin.

" 'Collection'? " You repeated, scoffing loudly at his arrogance. The gall of him had your nerves shot and common sense short circuiting. All pretenses of appearing as a polite peasant were now firmly out the window, all bets were off. After a month of biting your tongue to rude villagers as you struggled to adjust to your new life, it felt amazing to spit exactly what you were thinking. "Who the fuck do you think you are, blondie?”

The fair haired barbarian's grin only widened at your boldness, relishing the rare occurance. It wasn't often someone had a big enough death wish to challenge him face to face.

"O, sweetheart, not just any 'blondie'," he sneered, weighing the weight his words had on you. "I'm yer fuckin' king." Enjoying the way shock washed over your face, anger clearly forgotten, overshadowed by the realization that you were standing before the most dangerous man in the kingdom.

King Bakugou's amusement was evident as he leaned forward in his seat, his eyes gleaming with sadistic satisfaction at your dumbstruck face. "D'ya wanna know why you're standin' in front of me?" he asked, his tone dripping with condescension. "They offered ya to me, little anomaly," the barbaric royal continued, the corners of his lips curling into a cruel smile. "A barter for their miserable lives after a pitiful 'scuse of a rebellion."

You were shocked, your eyes meeting his with furious disbelief. "So, people I barely know, GAVE me to you to spare themselves?" your words were laced with anger and a sense of betrayal, unable to comprehend the depths of their craven desperation. Sure, they were cold to strangers, but to sacrifice you for their own lives wasn't something you had thought was even a possibility. Had it really been so foolish to want to believe they were finally warming up to you?

The barbarian king's expression hardened as he replied, his voice laced with a sharp edge. "Ya should feel honored," he snapped, his blood red eyes narrowing. Rising from his intimidating throne of giant bone and beast hide, he closed the distance between them with a purposeful stride. The sound of his heavy boots thudded against the packed ground within the war tent until he loomed over you.

“I rarely take consorts,” King Bakugou's hand shot out and firmly grasped your chin, tilting your head up to meet his piercing gaze. His touch was harsh, a firm reminder of the physical might that Bakugou wielded when he so chose. Your heart pounding in your chest as his fingernails dug into your jawline. Leaning in close, his face mere inches away from yours, his voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble as he continued speaking. “especially not runt freaks like you." The disdain in the cold blooded king's tone sent a chill down your spine.

Your heart dropped, The weight of the revelation pressed heavy against your chest. Mind racing with anger and betrayal as you grappled with the harsh reality of your situation. You had only been in this unfamiliar realm for barely a few weeks and now you stood before the formidable barbarian king, a man who held the power of life and death over countless warriors and civilians alike.

It didn't take years of education, or really much common sense, to know the dangerous consequences of defying a medieval tyrant. You knew you had to keep your anger in check, to try to bite your tongue and submit. At least for now.

Your fate was sealed the moment you stepped into that fucking tent, and survival was now officially the priority.

King Bakugou's sadistic enjoyment of the situation was plain as he ruthlessly analyzed your appearance, his gaze lingering on the translucent crystal horns with an almost dismissive glance. "Yer horns are clear, nothin' special," he remarked, his voice dripping with annoyance. It was clear that your unique crystalline features held little significance in his opinion. However, as his eyes roamed down your body, a more sinister gleam sparked within them.

"Body, on the other hand, is fine enough for a concubine," the blond added with a twisted smirk, his grip on your chin tightening slightly. The shift of the dress' neckline sent a shiver down your spine, baring your shoulder to his inspection. Your heart beat faster as King Bakugou's piercing eyes bore into you, his actions invasive and dehumanizing. Your throat constricted in response to the humiliating position you found yourself in. Even having to resist the urge to pull your chin away from his grasp, knowing that defiance would only lead to suffering of some variety.

His eyes swept over your neck and shoulder, searching for any sign of a scar, any indication that you already belonged to another. You kept your gaze to the side, unnerved by the intensity of his bloody stare, a shiver rippled down your spine as his touch almost seemed to burn your skin.

"Good," he declared, a twisted smile tugging at his lips as his hot breath ghosting over the exposed skin. "No claim."

King Bakugou wasted no time in closing the remaining distance. Swiftly leaning down, he sank his canines into the smooth flesh with a forceful bite. However, unlike true mating, the barbaric blond did not release the necessary venom that would solidify an actual bond between souls.

The lack of numbing venom caused a sharp hiss to escape your lips, a mix of agony and indignation flooding your system. You might not have been here long and you certainly were no expert, but you knew the basics of mating marks, this world's lifelong courtship. It was a deliberate move, a clear reinforcement that he had no intentions of making you his equal partner in this arrangement. After all, you were merely a plaything, to be toyed with. You should be thankful not to be bound to the barbarian's soul, and yet you couldn't ignore the obvious insult. Or the pain.

The unexpected stabbing pain of fang sinking into flesh triggered a reflexive response, causing you to shove and slap Bakugou's face in a desperate attempt to free yourself from his grasp. The crack of your palm connecting with his cheek seemed to echo in the massive war tent, leaving a bright red handprint in its wake and a streak of crimson trailing down the king's chin.

The barbarian's eyes glowed with fierce delight, his feral nature taking enjoyment in the defiance of his new concubine. Despite the stinging pain in his cheek and the split in the corner of his upper lip from the strike, a low chuckle escaped King Bakugou's lips. "You've got guts, shitty horns, I'll give ya that much" he growled, his voice laced with a dark amusement as his tongue flicked over his split lip.

If you thought your heart was racing before, it certainly paled to the drumbeat it was pounding now.

You had dared to challenge the king, to strike him in a moment of instinct. If the tyrant himself marched to this village over a few maimed soldiers, what exactly was your punishment going to be? A part of you regretted the impulsive action, aware that it would only fuel the bestial nature of the tyrant and likely add to your own suffering...But another part of you couldn't suppress the thrill that surged through you when you slapped the shit out of him. You might be trapped in this new situation but you refused to be completely meek, cowering at his feet.

You would submit. But only as much as you had to.

As King Bakugou's wicked chuckle echoed in the confines of the tent, he swiped away the droplets of blood that trickled down his split lip, relishing in the taste. "Spirited whore, ha?" he continued with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You'll learn. 'Til then, I'm gonna enjoy breaking that attitude of yours."

Your breathing grew shallow as you just stared at the king, mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. You knew full well that true defiance would only bring more challenges, but still a small ember of resistance burned. You would not surrender completely, no matter the threat. And even bolstered with the courage of the dissociative haze that emotionally numbed you to the consequences of your actions, you still knew the danger was very real.

The red glistening imprint of his bite marked your delicate skin, a reminder of his sadistic tendencies and the cruel pleasure he derived from such acts. Your body trembled in frustration, mind grappling with the complex storm of emotions that threatened to take over reason. You may have to play the role forced on you but you would bide your time, until the opportunity presented itself.

And so began the balancing act.

"Your position, in this territory," the warrior king continued, his voice dripping with gruff superiority, "is t'be at my beck and call. You exist to serve my needs now, like any other fuckin' whore. An' rest assured, you will serve me well." With those words, he spun you around and pressed your abdomen hard against the tent's solid wood table, his hands gripping your hips possessively.

"Lemme show you your new role," Bakugou sneered, voice filled with dark promise. With one swift motion, he pulled the rough dress up to rest on your hips, baring your body to his gaze. His eyes hungrily took in your curves, his fingers ran up the exposed skin of your thighs and hips. Feeling his rough fingers trail over the sensitive areas of your thighs, you could feel yourself getting lost in the intensity of the touch.

The sound of fabric tearing filled the air as King Bakugou ripped apart the too-tight bodice, buttons popping off as your breasts spilled free from the barely reinforced fabric. His knees pressed painfully firm against the back of yours, effortlessly spreading your shaky legs apart. The motion trapped your hips against the edge of the table and exposed your pussy to to his gaze. Breath hitched as you felt the large tip of his hardened cock pressing against your slick entrance. Every inch of your body tensed. Judging from the thickness of his head alone, the lean warrior was larger than you expected him to be. Bakugou's girth tested your cunt's limits, forced to stretch wide. Initial entry was rough, inch by inch, as your pussy's tight walls struggled to accommodate the impressive length of the barbaric king's dick. The pleasurable ache making you fight to maintain composure.

Leaning forward on your forearms for support, your chest squished against the cold surface of the table. Fingernails dug into the smooth wood, your knuckles turning white with each of Bakugou's punishing thrusts. An unexpected surge of arousal coursed through your veins, and you decided to embrace the inevitable pleasure that his pace promised to bring.

Despite your feelings on the turn of events, your body responded to his coarse treatment, for the distracting orgasm and mind-numbing hormones that lay tantalizingly within reach. Determined to find some semblance of pleasure within your new prison, you forced yourself to shift your perspective. If you were going to be forced to be an object of desire, you may as well revel in the physical gratification it offered and claw back any benefit you could until you made your move.

As the table rocked against the packed dirt floor of the tent with each forceful thrust, the warrior royal couldn't resist mocking you. His voice was filled sadistic amusement. "Where'd all that fire go?" he taunted, amused by the contrast between your previous defiance and your current submissive state. "Don't tell me I already fucked it out of ya."

Your aching walls had struggled to accommodate his girth initially, causing you to tense up. You had to focus on consciously relaxing your body, allowing him to fuck you with more ease. The mixture of discomfort and increasing pleasure sent waves of heat coursing through your body, intensifying your arousal. At this point, you couldn't tell whether the fact that rough sex made your cunt leak like a faucet was a pro or a con.

You really couldn't help but snap back, voice loaded with a defiant edge. "You really like the sound of your own voice, huh, 'Your Highness'?" you quipped harshly, rolling your eyes knowing he would be unable to see, as you were swept up by the overwhelming pleasure of being fucked against the table.

Undeterred by your attempt at disrespect, Bakugou leaned forward over your bare back, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. The warrior king's voice dripped with amusement as he addressed your lack of fear. "You're really not scared of me, are ya?" the blond chuckled sharply, the feeling of his hot breath against your skin sending shivers down your spine. "Give it time," he sneered, his grip on your erect nipples tightening as he pinched and pulled. With a choked moan, your body arched instinctively in response, a symphony of conflicting sensations flooding your body.

Your black curls bounced with each punishing thrust, your body pressed against the dull edge of the table, the hard surface digging into your hips with a force that promised to leave bruised reminders of your afternoon in the days to come. The brutal intensity behind Bakugou's movements overwhelmed you, leaving you breathless and at his mercy.

Just when you thought you had found a rhythm, just when you though you were getting close to finally cumming- the royal bastard abruptly withdrew, his cock's sizeable head dragging along the walls of your dripping passage. A soft indignant gasp escaped your lips as the sudden emptiness left you yearning for release. Inner walls involuntarily clenched in a futile attempt to hold onto the fleeting pleasure, not that you would ever admit it out loud.

He took a moment to enjoy your needy frustration before thrusting back inside with renewed intensity. Each powerful movement caused your body to arch and quiver in response, teetering on the razor's edge between ecstasy and torment. Despite the lingering defiance in your heart, your cunt betrayed you, subconsciously craving the pleasure that Bakugou pounded into you. The aching bite at the junction of your neck felt hot, as your nipples squeezed between his vice-like fingers.

Your walls eagerly embraced the renewed pounding, tightening around him in a desperate attempt to hold onto the pleasure he provided. The overwhelming mixture of pain and pleasure sent shockwaves through your body, sparking sensations that threatened to consume entirely. As the table creaked under the combined weight, your gasps and moans filled the air, merging with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and groaning wood. The intensity of the king's pace, each thrust pushing you closer to cumming around the thick cock slamming in and out of your needy hole.

As your body neared the peak of pleasure, King Bakugou enjoyed the control he had over you, keeping that orgasm just out of reach. Each time you felt the pleasure building within you reach that breaking point, he would cruelly withdraw, denying you much needed relief. The frustration reached a boiling point,as your walls involuntarily clenched desperately around the thick ridge of his cockhead in a feeble attempt to keep it inside.

"Stop fucking teasing me!" you shot over your shoulder in irritation. The pleasure that coursed through your veins was distracting, clouding your mind and amplifying your need to cum. The denial of your orgasm left you on the edge in what felt like a perpetual state of yearning, body aching for the release that the feral blond held in his cruel grasp.

As King Bakugou repositioned himself, angling his thrusts to target your most sensitive spots, and the pleasurable torment of denial continued. The conflicting sensations pushed you further towards either heaven or hell. With how your legs trembled with both the overstimulation of your poor pussy's stretched walls and the unbearable need to cum, you weren't sure which you were closer to.

"Ha? Think ya forgot who serves who here," bloody eyes narrowing as he sneered, his arrogant tone held an unrestrained hunger. A wicked grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he drank in your frustration. He took great sadistic pleasure in this game. Knowing that, despite your protests, he had the power to bring you to the edge of cumming and keep. You. Trapped. There.

As the twisted dance between pleasure and denial continued, your body reacted eagerly to every movement, cunt walls fluttering near constantly in desperate need of fulfillment. Each time King Bakugou withdrew, your inner muscles clenched around the massive disappearing tip, another futile attempt to hold onto the pleasure that slipped through your grasp.

Wet, squelching sounds filled the air as he pounded back into your gushing pussy. The table beneath you was sticky with your juices, and his blood red gaze spotted a string of viscous slick suspended mid-air between the edge of the table and the packed dirt floor below.

With each turn of Bakugou's cruel cycle, a symphony of profanity spilled from your parted lips. Your body shook with the weight of unfulfilled lust, aching for the relief that seemed cruelly just out of reach. The rise and fall of your emotions danced in harmony with the motion of their bodies, humiliating frustration fueling your foul mouthed whimpers.

"'N fact," Bakugou laughed, gruff voice filled with sadistic glee, "I think that tongue o' yours has earned ya a punishment."

The barbarian's fingers curled around your quartz horns, his grip possessive and firm. As his grip tightened, you barely felt the dull ache spreading from the base of your horns through the haze of pleasure and overstimulation. The strain on your neck was evident, your head tilted back to reveal the garnet red bite print marring your exposed skin.

With a deliberate slowness, King Bakugou pulled back on your crystalline horns, his hold firmly guiding you until your upper body was no longer supported by the table's wooden surface. Weakened by the cruel cycle of ecstasy and denial imposed on you, your legs trembled with the effort to remain upright. The shift in position caused a head rush as you fought to remain standing upright. Turns out, you wouldn't need to fight that battle for long.

Using your horns as a guide, Bakugou yanked you down to kneel before him. Obediently following his command, your weakened knees sunk against the hard packed dirt beneath you. The shift in posture brought about a new level of submission, body now positioned at his feet, ready to fulfill the king's desires.

Bakugou's massive member hung heavy above you, his imposing figure towering over as he peered down with cruel superiority. "Ever get your mouth washed out with soap?" he sneered, a wicked grin stretching across his face.

With a snarky retort already forming on the tip of your tongue, you opened your mouth to deliver a biting response. However, in that moment of distraction, the massive cock head shoved past your lips, the sudden intrusion catching you off-guard. A muffled gag sound escaped your throat, eyes widening in surprise as King Bakugou claimed your mouth with little mercy. Musk filled your senses, the unexpected violation left you momentarily stunned. Your eyes watered as you struggled to accommodate his size, jaw stretched to its limits while King Bakugou hissed in pleasure at the feel of your hot tongue against his dick.

A gasp of surprise escaped your lips, muffled by Bakugou's large cock as he took advantage of the opening you unwittingly provided and began to thrust. The rough motion caused your tongue to press against the underside of the massive member, tasting both of you. The initial shock gave way to a mix of conflicting sensations - humiliation, arousal, and a begrudging surrender.

Your throat constricted around the tip of his dick as you fought against your body's instinctive gag reflex. The taste of your combined arousal filled your mouth, the combination of his precum and your own slick coating your tongue with every thrust. With each attempt, guided by the iron grip he held on your crystalline horns, you managed to swallow a little more of his length, throat stretching in an attempt to accommodate his girth. The barbaric king's control remained unyielding. He roughly guided your movements with an unwavering grip on your horns, forcing the pace at which you took him deeper. The sight of your struggle only made him grip you tighter, setting a faster pace.

You looked good, all fuckdrunk at his feet, submitting to his desires without question.

With each inch you took down your throat, your breathing became increasingly labored. Your eyes flitted upwards as much as possible, trying to meet his gaze as you continued to obey his every command. Teary eyes pleaded for mercy, yearning for the release that was just out of reach, as you continued to let King Bakugou's thrust into your throat. Bakugou locked gazes with you. It wasn't that he ignored your pitiful puppy eyes, all watery and unfocused, but it didn't certainly have the outcome you were begging for. His pace sped up, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he approached his climax.

Your eyes narrowed in confusion and as you felt a new ridge near the base of his cock begin to swell. It took you by surprise, lips forced to start to form an O-shape as you struggled to comprehend what was happening. You mumbled uselessly around the resulting barrier, only managing to press your tongue harder against the enlarged gland.

"Never seen an alpha before?" King Bakugou asked incredulously, the tone of his voice heavy with pompous amusement. "Ya really are a fuckin' freak, this'll be fun" he added, sadistically excited for the surprise in store for you.

The swelling knot created a tight seal against your teeth, effectively trapping your tongue in a frenzy of desperate, frantic movements. As his lust hit a peak, Bakugou looked down at you with dark satisfaction, the intensity of his gaze piercing into your very being. His words cut through the pounding of blood in your ears, his mean grin widening.

"Y're gonna want to breathe through your nose when ya can," he instructed as his hips started to stutter, cruel grin never faltering. "For the next ten minutes at least." He took great joy in the power he held over you, knowing full well the challenge he was about to present. His groans of pleasure were the only warning of his orgasm that you got besides the pulse of his knot, before waves of warm cum were cascading down your throat. You fought against the rising panic, you just needed to relax you told yourself. The taste of his seed flooded the back of your throat, your lips stretched around his swollen knot, as you braced yourself to endure the minutes to come.

Your breathing grew ragged as you tried to comply with the barbaric king's instruction, the pressure of his spurts down your throat sending your body into a state of sensory overload. Each surge of his cum filled the back of your mouth, forcing you to swallow to make room for more, so you wouldn't be overwhelmed. Nose pressed against the coarse, orange wires of his pubic hair, your breaths coming in short gasps as you struggled to find enough air.

Your sore throat bobbed with each gulp, lips sealed tightly around Bakugou's pulsing knot. You followed his instructions, taking quick breaths through flared nostrils whenever his spurts allowed a moment of respite. As you continued to swallow the seemingly never-ending load, your eyes watered and throat contracted around the royal's throbbing cock. Bakugou ran his thumb over your neck, tracing over the ridge his twitching cockhead made in your throat, causing you to choke and sputter, your reflexive gag wrapped around his dick.

The primal sounds of you gagging and swallowing seemed to fuel Bakugou, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he reveled in your struggle to regain control of your reflexes. He found the cruel game fun, knowing that you had to drink every single drop or be overwhelmed by the seed that filled your mouth. As the barbaric king rolled his hips, his cock milked one last time by your tight walls, the deflating knot slipped past your teeth with a squelching pop. You felt each inch slowly withdraw from your pained throat, eliciting a mix of both relief and a weird sense of emptiness. Your jaw ached from the strain, throat raw and bruised from the rough treatment. Cum dripped from your swollen lips, a shiny string dripping towards the ground between your knees.

You leaned back against the leg of the heavy table, body boneless and weak from the intense sex. Your chest heaved with each ragged breath, senses still reeling from the experience. The taste of his cum still lingered in your mouth, a reminder of of just how well you had performed your role.

His cruel grin twisted with satisfaction as he held your weak chin with his thumb and pointer finger, tilting your glassy gaze to meet his blood red eyes. The arrogance in his voice was evident as he spoke, his words laced with a mocking tone.

"You did well, little whore," King Bakugou taunted, "Maybe you'll last longer than the others." His words cut through you like a knife, a reminder of your place and his complete control over the situation.

And it only got worse.

Your stomach churned, the fullness from consuming the sheer volume of cum you did, mixed with the exhaustion and strain on your body. It was rapidly becoming too much to bear. The taste of his bitter seed lingered in your mouth, adding to the increasing waves of nausea that welled up. With shaky legs, you bolted towards the clean bucket next to the table, a hand clamped over your mouth. Face contorted in anguish as you reached it just in time, hunching over and emptying the viscous contents of your stomach into the wood container, a curtain of dark curls obscuring the action.

Wave after wave of white, thick cum splashed into the bucket. Your throat burned even more from the forceful expulsion, tears streaming down your face as you tried to catch your breath between stomach spasms and hiccups.

Meanwhile, Bakugou simply rolled his crimson eyes in annoyance. He watched with a scowl as you succumbed to the ill effects of being orally knotted for first time, his own sense of satisfaction completely unaffected. The king redressed himself in his leather breeches, his muscular chest displayed proudly. He made no move to help or console you, instead commenting with a disdainful tone

"Y're gonna have to get better at that," he sneered, his dissatisfaction with the newest addition to his collection clear as day. Without a backward glance, he exited the tent, leaving you seething with roiling resentment.

As you continued to glare daggers at his retreating back over the rim of the bucket, an unbreakable determination burned in your eyes. The interaction had further solidified your disdain for the barbarian king. One way or another, you swore to yourself, you were going to find a way to make that man miserable.

Bakugou made his way through the field, his strides thudding quickly across the field. His blood red eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the lush greenery and wind rustling through the grass and leaves. In the distance, he spotted Captain Kirishima, his towering figure standing tall on a hill overlooking the lake.

The captain of the king's guard, tall and muscular, wore his signature dark grey uniform adorned with a crimson cloak denoting his station. His mane of long, vibrant red hair cascaded down his back, and his curved ruby horns glinted in the late afternoon light. Nearing a staggering seven feet, Kirishima towered over most humans and dragons alike. With a languid stretch of his wings and tail, he looked every bit the formidable dragon he was. Even though his stature was imposing- off the battlefield, there was a softness to his facial features, a warmth in his scarlet eyes that contradicted his formidable appearance.

Stretching his wings and tail with a contented yawn, Kirishima paused mid-spread as he noticed his long time friend approaching. His scarlet eyes widened in alarmed confusion as he caught sight of the split upper lip on the king's face.

"What happened to your lip?" Kirishima asked baffled, his tail and wings still unintentionally frozen extended as he waited.

Bakugou's grin widened, his blood-red eyes shining with a mischievous glint. He licked his split upper lip, savoring the sting that still lingered from your bold and unexpected slap. The memory of the defiance brought a twisted satisfaction to the king.

"Hah! The village's 'peace offering' turned out fiesty" he responded, a hint of admiration laced within his tone. The fact that you had the audacity to strike him, the mighty Murder King Bakugou, had caught the barbarian off guard at the time, but it definitely made you more interesting.

Kirishima's eyebrows furrowed in surprise, his tail flicking. "They attacked you?" he asked taken aback, “Are they still breathing?” The captain knew that the barbaric ruler was not one to tolerate defiance easily, let alone physical attempts to challenge his authority. Kirishima's mind flooded with questions, but he kept them to himself as he awaited further explanation from his commanding king.

Bakugou's smug grin widened even further, his blood red eyes sparkling with perverse delight. "Oh, they're alive," he responded, his voice dripping with a sadistic satisfaction, "Just paying for their little outburst, that's all."

The words hung in the air, the implication clear. The king's tone hinted at the punishment the new consort was enduring in the privacy of the tent.

Although he hadn't yet met the new concubine, Kirishima couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy towards them. Having grown up with the royal, he knew firsthand the levels of wrath Bakugou could reach. Despite these conflicting emotions, Kirishima's primary concern was ensuring the well-being of those in the king's care, even if it meant treading carefully in the sea of Bakugou's own volatile temper. It often fell to the loyal captain to keep the king from committing actions he would regret later. Well, less regret and more inconvenience him.

"'n fact, you're on babysitting duty while I deal with the village," Bakugou said, the murderous glint in his bloody eyes betraying his enjoyment of the situation. The king's command echoed in Kirishima's ears, causing his ruby scaled tail to stiffen and his broad shoulders to tense.

Kirishima let out a silent exhale, disappointment etched across his face as he processed the news. In truth, he had hoped that Bakugou would choose to spare the villagers and seek a peaceful resolution instead of resorting to violence. The captain believed that the actions of a few rebels should not warrant bloodshed on such a scale. After all, the villagers had made multiple peace offerings to appease the barbaric king, it felt like a breach of honor for Bakugou to now go back on that agreement.

However, Kirishima knew better than to openly challenge his friend's authority. He respected the position Bakugou held and understood the consequences of rebellion. Biting his tongue, Kirishima buried his disappointment and gave a casual bow to his commanding ruler, before making his way towards the tent on the hilltop.

Kirishima stepped into the large tent, his unfurled wings brushing against the side as he entered. His wings, magnificent and majestic, spanned wide, their vibrant ruby scales shimmering under the soft glow of the tent's filtered light. The ruby scales continued down the length of his long, sinuous tail, adding a touch of elegance to his formidable presence.

As his fiery ruby eyes landed on you, Kirishima's first thought was one of surprise. The person who had struck King Bakugou looked a lot less imposing than he had anticipated. You, unlike the powerful and intimidating dragons Kirishima was used to, stood before him at a mere average human stature. If that. The only discernible dragon feature you possessed were the crystal dragon horns that adorned your head, gleaming subtly in the low lit tent. His scaled tail swayed slightly, displaying a mix of curiosity and caution.

Your eyes widened as they met Kirishima's for the first time, and your body tensed instinctively. You had been thoroughly exhausted, both physically and emotionally, by your round with Bakugou. Your throat was raw and voice gone, leaving you unable to deliver the defiant expletives you desperately wanted to snarl at the imposing dragon that had just entered the tent. But your voice failed you, leaving you with only one avenue of expression.

With a fierce hiss, you expelled every ounce of ferocity you had left buried within. Your body tensed, lips curling back in a display of bare teeth. The hiss reverberated within the confines of the tent, a desperate attempt to communicate defiance to Kirishima, to convey that you would not be dominated or humiliated any further today.

The captain took a step back, scarlet eyes swept over your form, they couldn't help but notice the torn remnants of your bodice on the floor and the ripped dress clinging to your body. The rips and tears spoke volumes of the intense encounter you had undergone at the hands of King Bakugou. His gaze then landed on the mark that marred the delicate skin of your neck—an unmistakable claim.

Kirishima's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his mind reeling with the implications.

As a dragon, Kirishima understood the significance of such a bite - it bound two souls together, sealing their connection as life partners in a way that couldn't be severed. When done correctly.

Marking a consort with a claim without fully mating them was not unheard of, but it was generally met with extreme judgment. Claims in terms of mating were typically reserved for life partners, a commitment that extended beyond physical desire. Nobles, known for their fickle nature and ever-shifting loyalties, often chose to mark their consorts with more temporary symbols, such as collars.

The ornate collars allowed the royals to easily discard their concubines when they grew bored. The nobility were notorious for their fickleness and often left their consorts behind as they moved on to fresh pursuits. By marking a consort with a bite with no intention of making you an equal, Bakugou had not only defied what little merciful convention held by the upper class but also inflicted a cruel fate upon you in Kirishima's eyes. The mark would make it near impossible for you to find a true mate, forever branded as the king's property.

Kirishima couldn't help but feel a stab of disappointment towards his lifelong friend. While he knew the barbarian ruler's tendencies on the battlefield, he hadn't thought Bakugou would exhibit such cruelty towards a consort, knowing you would likely be discarded at some point. Kirishima's own sense of honor and loyalty clashed with the conflicting emotions he felt, itching at the back of his mind as he observed the vulnerable state you found yourself in.

The captain's gaze lingered on your throat, noticing the subtle signs of strain and discomfort. The realization for the hissing aggression struck Kirishima like a bolt of lightning. You had lost your voice, and it wasn't due to natural causes or illness. No, it became clear to him that it was likely a result of your first tryst with King Bakugou, an experience that he could only imagine had been rough and brutal, throat rubbed raw from the repetitive acts demanded of you.

Feeling a surge of empathy, Captain Kirishima decided to ease the intimidating aura he unintentionally projected. He understood that his imposing stature must be overwhelming to you, given the turn of events. He folded his wings against his back, their vibrant red membranes pressed tightly together, confining their expansive span. The act served to minimize his physical presence, making him appear less threatening. He slouched slightly, adopting a more relaxed stance, and kept his hands visible, showing that he meant no harm. It was a deliberate display of non-aggression, aimed at putting you at ease, or at least as much at ease as one could be in such circumstances.

The red dragon's eyes softened as he noticed the weary look on your face. He could see the exhaustion etched into every line, body still trembling from the recent ordeals you had endured. Determined to offer some solace in this tumultuous situation, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

With slow deliberate steps, Kirishima moved away from you and towards a pile of chests near the entrance of the war tent. These chests contained spoils from the village, items meant to appease the king after their attack on his soldiers. Kirishima knew that among them, there was a chest filled with garments. Opening one of the chests, he carefully sifted through the contents until he found a fine yet simple dress that roughly matched your size.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Kirishima's lips as he gently tossed the dress onto the table, positioning it between the tow of you. Its delicate fabric fluttering in the air before settling down over the wood. It was a small gesture, but meant to convey that he harbored no ill intentions.

It was a silent message that you deserved respect and dignity, even in this tumultuous situation.

Sensing that you needed some space to collect yourself and change, Kirishima took a much smaller chest from the pile. He left the tent, giving you room to breathe and reckon with the pent-up emotions that surely swirled like storm clouds.

As the cool mountain breeze blew through his hair, Kirishima found a suitable spot a few paces from the tent, overlooking the serene lake in the warm hues of late afternoon light. With deftness and precision, he constructed a small firepit, arranging the rocks in a circle. As the dragon exhaled softly, a gentle stream of fire escaped his lips, the light glinting off his curved ruby horns. The flickering flames danced and crackled, casting a comforting glow over the hilltop.

As the captain patiently waited for the water to heat, he glanced back towards the war tent, briefly catching sparkle of your horns through the opening. His heart went out to you. Though he understood the gravity of Bakugou's actions, Kirishima couldn't help but feel a creeping sense of responsibility in making sure you felt as comfortable as possible, despite the circumstances.

Just as the water in the kettle neared boiling, Kirishima activated his innate talent. His hands hardened, gaining an impressive durability that allowed him to handle the intense heat without harm. With a swift motion, he reached for the kettle, hands possessing the resilience of a dragon's scales. His grip was confident and steady as he effortlessly removed the kettle from the fire, preventing the water from boiling. He gently tossed the healing tea leaves into the kettle, watching as they swirled and danced in the near-boiling water. The soothing aroma of the tea began to waft through the air, carrying with it hints of delicate flowers and calming herbs.

With a careful hand, Kirishima reached into the tea chest, procuring a magnificent stained glass teacup that shimmered in hues of red and amber. Draconic stained glass was a rarity, prized for its strength and ethereal beauty. The light of the late sun cascaded through the vibrant colors, casting an enchanting glow on his hands.

Unwrapping the glass bottles, the captain uncorked the crystallized honey and yuzu peel. He slowly poured a generous amount of honey into the teacup, its golden texture illuminated by the sunlight. Next, he added a pinch of the fragrant dried yuzu peel, allowing its subtly sweet and citrusy scent to infuse the air. These ingredients held healing properties, meant to soothe and restore vitality to worn souls. The captain took extra care, ensuring that the precise balance of ingredients was met, creating a concoction that he hoped would bring some measure of comfort to your weary spirit.

With a quiet exhale, Kirishima patiently awaited the completion of the tea's steeping process. He hoped that the healing properties of the tea, combined with the warmth and tranquility of their surroundings, would provide a much-needed respite for your body and mind. In this moment of quiet reflection, he couldn't help but hope that this small act of kindness would bring some solace amidst the chaos that was now your new life in royal confines.

As the tantalizing fragrance of the healing tea filled the air, it didn't take long for you to emerge from the confines of the tent, eyes cautiously studying Kirishima's every move. Clad in the simple yet elegant dress he had provided you, features betraying a mix of cautious curiosity, before you fully exited the tent.

Scarlet eyes met yours as he poured the infused brew into the stained-glass teacup, the colors of the evening sun casting a mesmerizing glow through its amber and red hues. With a delicate touch, he extended the teacup towards you, his gentle gesture offering a sense of peace and comfort amongst the chaos.

Your gaze flickered between the beautiful teacup in Kirishima's hands and his eyes, wariness slowly giving way to a glimmer of trust. You lowered yourself onto the cushion placed by the fire, its warmth seeping through the fabric and into your tired body. Settling in, you positioned yourself to face the serene vista of the lake, where the calm waters mirrored the vibrant shades of the setting sun.

Kirishima, mindful of your nervous vigilance, kept his movements steady and reassuring. His hand extended further, confidently offering you the teacup of healing brew. The crimson colored light filtering through the stained glass seemed to dance and flicker as if carrying with it a promise of respite.

A soft smile tugged at Kirishima's lips as he spoke, his voice gentle yet filled with earnest sincerity. "Can we start over? I'm Captain Kirishima." In that simple statement, he hoped to convey that he was not just a guard but someone who, at their heart, genuinely cared. Someone who would listen and support you, should you choose to share your burdens.

He waited patiently, the teacup held delicately between the two of you, awaiting your response. In this moment, amidst the tranquil beauty of the lake and the tender offering of healing tea, he hoped that they could find a glimmer of solace and a fresh beginning.

IRL Safety Disclaimer: Never Pull A Partner Up By Their Hair Off of a Surface. You Will Injure Someone.

Taglist: @themythicaldisaster

Comments and Reblogs carry me through the week!

[butcherlarry]

Weekly Fic Recs 78

There probably won't be a fic rec list for next Saturday, I will be preparing something special for Superbat Week 2024 during that time :) In the mean time, enjoy this extra long fic rec list (and yes, Poolverine still has my brain trapped in its adamantium grip).

Blood and Honey by RedFive - Superbat, wip. An update to this fic where Bruce is a mershark with a pod of orphaned killer whales that take down rich people's yachts, and Clark is the marine biologist who studies them.

A Prior Engagement by Imagine_sleeping - Superbat, wip. An AU where Bruce in a prince who has an arranged marriage with Lex Luthor :( Needless to say, he runs away and runs into handsome famer Clark :)

A lesson in trust by CGJ - Superbat, complete. Desk sex. Also, RIP Lex's desk, lololololololol.

World's Greatest Detective by p0lartang - Superbat, complete. Some hilarious identity porn where Bruce finds out Superman's civilian identity in the silliest way possible.

Our Gravity Keeps Us Together by Skylarium_Rose @skylariumrose - Superbat, wip. Aliens keep mistaking Superman and Batman as husband and wife 💖💖💖

A kindred bond by Nyszu @theocddiaries - Superbat, wip. An update to the fic where Bruce was kidnapped by an evil Superman (but don't worry! He was rescued :)) and now has to deal with Trauma™.

Patchwork Pod by Ktkat9 @ktkat99 - Superbat, Superfam, Batfam, wip. More of the mer Bruce fic! The lost doggo's owners have been found! But they don't want him back :( Maybe someone else *cough cough* Connor *cough cough* could take him in? 🥺

girl on the moon by TheResurrectionist @frownyalfred - DickBabs, complete. Barbara is having some frustrations about getting off. Dick is there to help :)

boyish notion of false emotion by Violet138 @violent138 - Martha/Thomas Wayne, complete. Martha and Thomas meet for the first time. What I love about this fic is that you can see the bits of beliefs and personality that Bruce gets from each of them :)

take me by the hand take, take me somewhere knew by WhatIsAir - Poolverine, complete. Logan has a bit of amnesia after saving the world at the end of the movie, and assumes he and Wade are dating. Shenanigans ensue.

Oh Logan series by LianthLining (ActuallyAMenace) @actually-a-menace - Poolverine, stories complete, series wip. Omegaverse, kinda. A series that looks at Wade and Logan's relationship where Logan is an omega.

only you can make me (scream and beg for more) by yellow_crayon @yellowwwcrayon - Poolverine, wip. Omegaverse, kinda. An update! Logan gets kidnapped. Wade goes off to save his wife with some help from his friends Johnny Storm Captain America and Jessica Bucky. Needless to say, I am Excited for the Shenanigans that are about to ensue.

Save Me (Or Five Times Logan Needed Wade's Help And The One Time He Just Needed Wade) by Curupia @curupia - Poolverine, complete. Logan goes on a series of terrible dates and Wade bales him out. Shenanigans ensue.

How To Pay For Rent by fictionfest @fictionfeast - Poolverine, wip. Wade and Logan pay rent by taking on jobs they (Wade) find on Craigslist. Shenanigans ensue.

make me into something sweet by mothgardens @mothgardens - Poolverine, wip. An update to the teacher AU! Wade and Logan take the drama kids on a trip to an escape room for bonding time :)

Didn't Know How Lost I Was (Until I found You) by lunardeath @angrylittlehoneybadger - Poolverine, wip. No Powers AU. Wade is a cancer survivor who needs a job because America is Terrible when it comes to health care (among other things). He ends up taking a security job at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Oh gee, I wonder who else could be a teacher there... :)))))))))

You had that look in your eyes by jayyxx @ghostycas - Poolverine, complete. Part of the Wade n Logan series. A 5+1 fic where Logan is figuring things out. The other fics in the series are fantastic too, so give them a read as well if you haven't :)

Domestic Poolverine series by jenniferlawrencelover @jenniferlawrencelover - Poolverine, latest fic in series is wip. All the fics in this series is SO GOOD and SO FUNNY and fucked up in the best possible way. I LOVE Logan and Wade's relationship in this fic and all the romantic milestones they go through.

Happy reading!!

[autisticandroids]

au fics part two: canon-a-little-to-the-left

alright i'm a little late to the current round of @spnficrecfest. on account of I Hauve Covid. that's also why i missed the long fic / short fic round, and i will go back and do that at some point, but not yet. anyway. two fic rec lists for this round. one for true aus, and one for canon-a-little-to-the-left aus.

i may not be a huge fan of traditional aus, but i'm an absolute aficionado of things that relate to canon but put a rather different spin on it. i have been looking forward to this day (rubs my little hands together).

in order of wordcount:

patchwork drapery of dreams by tigriswolf, 1k, chose not to warn

a decade or so later, victor henriksen catches ben braeden. gen.

orison by whereupon, 2k, mcd

after it all ends, cas baptises dean. destiel.

kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep by lise, 4k, chose not to warn

a disturbing little story. it's all in the context. sam/lucifer.

sleepwalking the life fantastic by insanetrolllogic, 5k, chose not to warn

gen. it's 1995 and sam wakes up normal.

cheyenne by deadlybride, 8k, mcd

victor henriksen and sam winchester in the lebanon alternate universe. gen.

the following story takes place at night by beetlebeverage, 12k, chose not to warn

this one blew my socks off. destiel, but very strange. a season two au. the winchesters come across a cult.

i would most especially recommend this one if you're a fan of the first church at the end of the world, which should tbh also be on this list, but it's on my endverse list instead.

the white whale. by orange_crushed, 14k, violence and chose not to warn

generations in the future, cas still works with winchesters.

right of conquest should also objectively be on here but i recced it already [sob emoji].

freakshow by mme_yersinia, 26k

stanford era dean, and an angel in a cage. destiel.

the inexhaustible silence of houses by askance, 31k, mcd

some things are fandom classics for a reason. a destiel haunting.

back road, black road by eden22, 167k, violence warning

so can i confess something? i'm actually only about halfway through reading this, currently. which i feel like is against the spirit of a fic rec list. i thought of trying to put on a burst of speed and finish it specifically to rec it, but it's simply too long for that. and i just can't not rec it, it's way too good.

anyway, this fic is balls to the wall insane. perfect "what if the early seasons actually had the vibes they pretend to" story. specifically, kind of a "what if born under a bad sign was good and also was the entirety of seasons one and two" thing.

sam never made it to stanford, and when dean goes to pick him up, he isn't there. the level of gore and body horror in this fic raised my eyebrows, and you guys know me. i'm no slouch. half is dean pov, half is sam pov. the sam pov is actually my favorite because it's so insane and fucked. oh and it's also destiel.

[saradika]

— BLEED FOR ME | part i

[masterlist]

mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 1.8k

series prompts: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+ 2 to be revealed!)

tags: vampire!au, implication of drinking blood, reader has scar on shoulder, mentions of death

For the haunted hoedown! Looking forward to sharing this, I wanted to do a vamp!din last Halloween but wasn’t able to. So to work on this with the inspiration of these prompts is so exciting! I hope you enjoy! 💖

When it’s revealed that the Mand'alor is seeking a companion, you find yourself among those hoping to be chosen. A life of luxury in exchange for your blood seems a fair trade - even if you’re hiding a closely-kept secret. One that would certainly put your life in danger.

Though, you are not alone. Because he has one, as well.

The nervous energy of the crowd is palpable - it’s impossible not to get swept along with it. The cowl of your cape is tugged down lower as you follow the others streaming out ahead of you.

Out of the small town, winding around the side of the steep hill. The air growing heavier, the fog rolling in as you climb the moss-covered steps. The castle looms against the darkening horizon, all blackened stone and tall, twisting spires.

They mirror the curl of your stomach - the weight of your feet as they seem to slow, the closer you get.

But you’ve come this far. You can’t go back now.

The gates remain shut, and you’re forced to halt. Huddled together in small groups, nervous and excited whispers breaking the silence.

A shiver even with the heavy cloaks that protect the bared necks and shoulders, a detail noted on that weathered scroll left in the town square.

And for the first time, you doubt.

When it had been announced that the Mand’alor was seeking a Companion, the news has spread. It was no secret that the vampire lord had sought blood.

But he had never chosen anyone before. Never pursued someone, like this.

There had been others but they had never lasted long. Just let into the castle long enough to keep him alive for another moon.

It had amassed a crowd, those who couldn’t resist the reward that was offered - thousands of gold coins, enough to live any life they could want.

Those who wanted the fame.

Those who wanted protection.

Those who wanted to see the spectacle for themselves.

And then, there was you.

Now that you’re at the doorstep, you’re suddenly unsure. If you were chosen - once you step through - it’s unlikely you’d leave alive.

Would that be worth it?

Would you get what you were looking for?

Even after all your training, it hadn’t truly prepared you for the patchwork of emotions you feel now.

Guilt and desperation and melancholy and regret and anger - all branding into your skin until you can feel yourself trembling with the effort to hold it back.

But the gates are parting now. And it’s too late to turn back.

A figure it stepping through - her leather armor blackened with oil. Her eyes are bright, and not the shade of red you were expecting.

Her chin is held high as her eyes sweep through the crowd, an eerie silence settling over your travel companions.

And wordlessly, she begins to sort. Sizing up each person as she approaches. A quick dart of her eyes as she plucks at clothes, examines faces.

Pulling a few to one side, the rest clearly dismissed. No pattern to her choosing that you can sense - that feeling of dread ratcheting up in your stomach as the crowd grows smaller and you grow closer.

Until she’s standing in front of you.

Her fingers pinch at your chin, forcing your eyes to hers. Dark eyes under darker lashes flick across your face, until they drop down to the clasp at your throat.

Your hood is pulled back, as deft fingers unhook the brass fastenings. The wool pools on the cracked stone as your skin is exposed.

Her eyes follow the curve of your cheek, to your neck, to the sharp curves of the scar on your shoulder, just above the cut of your tunic.

A reminder of that night. One that still haunts you, a year later.

Those eyes flick back up to yours.

There’s a second where you stoop to collect your robe - feeling bare, flayed open under her gaze - but her boot presses purposely against the hem.

Shooting you a small smirk as you rise again obediently, before a hand is guiding you towards the group she had selected.

And then, it’s over.

“Those chosen will be brought before the Mand’alor.” The woman’s voice rings out, “And he shall decide from there.”

With her signal the gates creak open again, and you're ushered inside. Across a wide bridge and through a massive set of wooden double-doors.

And then, you’re inside the castle. Those doors shutting behind you with a sense of finality.

The long halls are dark, in the fading evening. The last of the sunlight filtered through tall, stained glass windows - their shadows broken into shades of crimson and silver and gold, distorted where they spill across the floor.

A chill creeps into your skin. The ice of it feels reminiscent of your dreams - that cold bite against your skin, a balm to the burning heat that had surrounded you.

It distracts you enough that you don't see him slip from the shadows. Near-silent steps as he moves to stand before the small crowd, even with the heavy plates of his shining armor.

Everything seems to go still then. The inhale of a collected breath, now held.

You should feel terror. This man - this vampire - has killed hundreds. Thousands. Has feasted on even more.

He's a monster.

The fight or flight should be sinking in - but somewhere deep inside, there is only that weight that you still carry. A prickle across your skin at the way he moves, all sleek and careful movements.

Starting where the woman guides him. His hands stay motionless - tucked in the curve on his belt, the other curling around a black hilt at his waist. Her quiet murmurs that only he can hear. As he stops in front of each one.

No expression can be leaked, with the mask he wears.

Their faces, and finally yours, reflected back at you.

You do your best to gather your courage.

To keep your chin tilted up, gazing into that dark band of his visor. As you hear the rattle of the slow inhale of his breath, as if he could smell you from beneath his helmet.

Even you can see the fear in your widen eyes, feel the small tremor in your limbs as his hand suddenly and slowly moves.

As if he can't help himself.

As if it is on instinct.

Reaching out to touch your shoulder, your neck - but then, just hovering.

Your terror catches up now. That steady beat of your heart now pounding in your chest, knocking wildly against your ribs.

The smallest flinch as his fingertips hang in mid-air, before his hand is curling into a fist.

Dropping back down.

There's the smallest jerk of his head. A gleam in the woman's eye as her hand curves around your bicep, as he sweeps from the room.

A murmur of confusion, disappointment - the rest robbed of their spectacle and entertainment. It had taken longer to get here - everything over so quickly, it feels as if you’ve only just stepped inside.

Armored guards move from their neat rows - shields raised to ward off the remainers of your group - to urge them back outside and back to their homes.

Leaving only the chosen behind.

Only you.

The woman in armor guides you quickly to your new home. Taking you through twisting corridors lined with ancient portraits, up a winding path of stone stairs.

You’re utterly lost, and a part of you wonders if that’s intentional. To keep you trapped inside. A silent realization that perhaps, you haven’t been nearly as clever as you thought.

Those worries lingering as she stops outside a heavy wooden door, lit on either side by flickering oil lamps.

“This is your room,” She tells you, her fingers resting on the door, before she’s pushing it open.

With the stories you’ve been told about the fearsome Mand’alor and the fortress he lurks in, you certainly weren’t expecting a room so… beautiful.

There’s a luxury that seems to weave throughout it. Rich wooden floors and plush rugs. A constellation of glittering stars painted on a domed, navy ceiling - as if you had invited the night sky in to stay.

Bookcases line the walls - framing a wooden desk, plush seating next to the bench that was built into the space beneath the iron-wrought windows.

Thick velvets curtains thrown back to let the setting sun in, casting the four-poster canopy bed in a golden light.

You almost forget yourself, as your fingers run across the bedspread. Finely-made beneath your touch, as soft as spun silk.

If the situation had been different… you think you might have loved it.

“There will be someone to call on you if there’s anything you want. And to take care of things during your day.” She interrupts your admiring thoughts, bringing you back.

You send a silent chastisement to yourself, as your fingers clasp - the picture of docility.

“The Mand’alor has been looking for someone for quite some time. I will give you a moment to get settled, but understand that your duties are to begin tonight.”

The pounding of your heart begins again, not realizing it would be so soon.

She must see the surprise that flickers across your face - her arms crossing as she leans in the doorway, “He has not fed since the last. We’ll all be happier once he does.”

Since the last Companion.

You wonder what happened to them. If they were used and cast aside. If they were drained dry.

If the same would happen to you.

No. You won’t let it.

“I’m happy to begin my work as soon as it pleases the Mand’alor.” Your voice is soft, and her sharp look softens.

“You’re quick.” She smiles, “That’s good. If you listen, you’re gonna be just fine.”

The nod you give is cut short, as the door closes. Left alone, your attention immediately goes to the furniture in the room. You don’t have much time.

Something used as often as a bed would be impractical, especially if someone will be tending to you as the woman says.

The bookcases touch both the ceiling and the floor, the books in neat, uniform stacks. No room for disruption.

Your fingers tug at the bench, but it’s solid wood - there’s no storage beneath.

No closet either, an empty brass rack stands against one of the curving stone walls.

Leaving only the desk, as you hurry over. The bottles of ink clinking together as the tips of your fingers run over the wooden top, and then under.

Looking for a hinge, your fingers closing around the ceramic knob as you carefully pull. Revealing a drawer full of rolled-up scrolls, a handful of quills, a thick leather-bound book.

There’s a knock then, and your pulse races.

Fingers fumbling as you reach for the fastenings of your tall boots. A creak of the door as it begins to open.

Undoing them just enough to pull the thin silver dagger and the sharpened stake free. Hastily shoving them behind the scrolls of paper inside your desk.

Before you’re pushing the drawer shut - just as the Mand’alor fills your doorway.

And the first of the 2 secret prompts are: 'this person' ordered me to kill you but i actually think i'm in love with you. (The second part to come into play!) thank you for checking this out! And hope you like this au! 🥀

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: November 22/24

Hey all! It's time to settle in for the weekend with some recent fics on my radar this week! Enjoy!!

RECENT MFLs

The Cavern by elwinglyre (M, 2,390+ w., 1/? Ch. || WiP || The Beatles / 1960s Rockstar AU || Only One Bed, Mutual Pining, Rock and Roll History, Erotic Dreams, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Homophobia, Heavy Petting, Kissing, Inspired by Music, POV Third Person Alternating) – Sherlock is not into making magic. He doesn’t believe in it. He does, however, believe in making rock and roll history. His best chance is to join John Watson’s band, the Magic Makers. They begin at the Cavern. There he learns to believe in more than magic with a little help from his friends. AU is set in Liverpool during the early 60s—when homosexuality is a crime.

36 Views of London by helloliriels (T, 7,343+ w., 27/36 Ch. || WiP || London, Mutual Pining, Shorts, Fluff and Angst, Random Encounters, Snapshots, Falling in Love) – A patchwork image of John & Sherlock’s London, as seen through their eyes.

No Going Home by emilycare (T, 7,405+ w., 1/17 Ch. || WiP || TEH Fix It, The Hiatus, Landmark Scene, Pining, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending) – John and Sherlock are parted when Sherlock pretends to die. What if instead of John moving on, Sherlock and John realized what they meant to one another when Sherlock returned?

Crime Scene Haiku by 7PercentSolution (T, 13,890+ w., 21/? Ch. || WiP || Post S4, Haiku / Poetry, Parentlock with Rosie, Crime Scenes, John Writes Poetry, Return to Baker Street) – When he thought Sherlock was dead, his therapist told him to say the words now that he should have said before, but he couldn't do it. John Watson turned to poetry instead to put into words the things he should have said but didn't. When years later he moves back into Baker Street with Rosie, he picks up his notebook again.

All is Violent, All is Bright Series by randomquadballpun (T, 154,506+ w. across 3 works || Dystopian / Augmented Reality Future AU, Depression, Hallucinations, First Meeting, Canon-Typical Violence, Bisexual John, Asexual Sherlock, Pining John, Alternating POV, Loosely Follows Show Canon) – The world as we know it is gone. The lands lay barren and all that remains of the places of old are rubble and ruins. The only way out is down. But humankind persists, adapts, evolves and reinvents itself. And underground the cities of old rise once more. Where bunkers developed into settlements, and settlements into towns new alliances were formed. And the world soon begins to wonder who is friend and who is foe. What starts as a fairytale might just evolve into a curse. A curse so realistic that soon no one can tell apart what is truly there and what might just be an illusion. And far above it all, storms and rain continue to beat down on the hostile wastelands. Nature is ever so uncaring about who might fall next. This is the story of Sherlock and John in a futuristic version of London, a city located beneath the ruins of Old London and divided by money, status, technology, concrete and steel. With the help of technology and modern medicine, humans have moved far beyond their inherent biological capabilities. In a world like that, how do you know what is fake and what is real and how do you fight something that might just be all in your head?

[slashers-and-rats]

how dare you?

priest!billy x fem!reader | nsfw | choking

rat chat: i said i would write something for that priest!au. I’m delivering!! eat up!!

you had said his name. you said his actual fucking name.

how dare you?

for you to have come over during a sermon of all things, sitting down next to him as if you were on the same level as he was, and then to so easily say, in a hushed tone right near his ear, “it’s so good to see you, billy”… it was brave. he had to give you that. but at the same time, it was disgusting, it was wrong, it had to be.

billy and you weren’t the same. you weren’t allowed to utter his name. you were lustful, a succubus in human clothes, you must’ve been. all those nights he spent talking to you over the phone, all those nights he spent listening to you lead him by his very own collar and make him spout sins he’d never say to anyone else, had proved to him you weren’t of this world. you couldn’t be. it couldn’t be his fault that he wanted to bend you over the pews and stuff you full of his cock. it couldn’t be his own overwhelming need that made him want to make you worship his dick the same way he saw you pray during services. it couldn’t be. it had to be the work of the devil, you had to be some kind of demon, this had to be a trick…

otherwise, how did you know it was him? he couldn’t have given it away, could he have? he was so careful to make sure you didn’t recognize his voice over the phone, or at least the one he used in public around his peers. he made sure what he told you was patchwork, different voices jumping into the fray every few seconds. he made sure he only used the name billy. you had said billy, just now. not micheal. he was micheal now, you were supposed to know him as micheal, how had you figured him out, how, how, how-

“thank you all for coming to evening mass. god bless you, and have a lovely night.” the words of the pastor pulled him back down to earth. it felt like he was an asteroid; he had divided up in the atmosphere, and by the time he hit the ground he was nothing but a pebble. a small, weak little thing. he felt small in your presence. he liked it better when you didn’t sit beside him, when you just whimpered quiet over the phone, pretending that you weren’t getting off to those things he said.

he couldn’t look at you. he knew you were beside him, you hadn’t moved when the priest started talking. he had been stuck with you. you just sat there like nothing was wrong, like you hadn’t ripped into his entire being and forced him to bare himself. how dare you?

billy felt the air beside him shift as you stood. it was the end, after all, why would you stay? only as you began to walk off did he look up at you. there he saw you glance down at him, give a small smile, and then retreat through the doors towards the dormitories.

how dare you?

that smile… it made billy’s skin hot. it made the liquid in his stomach into crashing waves against his insides. it made him feel like he would break out into a sweat. it made him nervous. it was a knowing grin, so subtle yet so obvious. you knew too much already. it’s like you had looked into his very soul.

maybe you were the devil?

without thinking, billy pushed himself up from the bench. he stood for a moment, gathering himself. he had to look normal. he couldn’t look like the mess you had turned him into on the inside. to these people, the other priests and pastors and nuns; they all knew him as kind. kind, but troubled. trying. he tried so very hard to seem put together, to hide that deep inner turmoil, and yet…

and yet he was near running out of the main hall. he didn’t bother to stop at the nuns as they asked why he was in such a rush, he didn’t sit in on the other priests’ conversations as they waved him over to his usual spots, he didn’t thank the pastor for his sermon like he always did- he had a mission. he weaved his way through the group, not even bothering to wipe the bit of drool that was beginning to pool on his lips, or hold back the intense stare he had. he was hunting, he couldn’t be bothered to focus on such silly things.

he slipped out of the main hall, following the path he saw you take. you were a bit ahead of him, walking with no purpose, simply making your way back to your dorm room without a thought in the world. no one else was in these corridors with you, everyone was still revelling in the good word.

all except you. all except billy.

you didn’t even look back. he knew you could hear his footsteps fast approaching, he knew you could feel his presence. his was the aura of a holy man, and yours was the vixen trying to poison him with sin. the air between you two swirled with the opposing forces. why didn’t you look back at him then? why did you keep just far enough ahead that he felt like a dog chasing a squirrel? you were just out of reach, and yet if he got any closer, he felt as though you two would repel each other like magnets. or maybe…

you stopped in front of your door, keeping your eyes ahead as you unlocked it with your keys. you had had them ready. for a moment, billy thought you were scared, that the reason you hadn’t looked at him as he pursued you through these halls was fear, but when he zoned in on your face, that warm smile was still there. it made his blood boil.

you walked into your room, closing the door behind you. billy closed the gap between him and your room within a few more strides, and for a moment, simply stood outside of it.

he was panting, out of breath from a one-sided chase. he had to wipe his chin of the drool that had settled there from the excitement of it all. anticipation swirled in his chest, and made him feel suffocated. it felt so good, but he’d never admit it, not even in a confessional.

his feelings only heightened when he reached out to your doorknob, pushing your door open with ease. you hadn’t locked it. if he was able to think straight, it would’ve been something of note, but there wasn’t enough room in his head for common sense.

his eyes locked onto where you sat on your bed, staring up at him expectantly. knowingly. you knew something he didn’t, he could feel it. he shut the door behind him, going over to you and crowding against your body, grabbing you by your shoulders. your head was at his stomach in height, and you looked up at him as he loomed over you. how dare you look so innocent? so sweet? he knew what you were, and yet you still pretended to be something pure.

“are you okay, billy?” you asked, your lips perfectly forming the letters in his name. it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

“d-don’t say that,” was all he could hiss out of a clenched jaw. your eyebrows lowered a bit, your gaze turning into something that sent shivers down his spine. it didn’t feel like lust, it felt like amusement. “if you- if you say my name a-again i’ll… i’ll…”

“you’ll what, billy?”

billy blinked, and suddenly his hands were around your throat, and you were pinned down to the bed. his thighs caged you in, his back arched over you; he had leaned down as far as he could without toppling over. you didn’t move. your hands rested beside his knees, your head tilted back into the bed, and you just let him squeeze your throat. your gasps and little whimpers sounded even better in person. he could feel himself getting hard from it all. he ached- he was yearning. he wanted- no, he needed you. he nearly humped against your stomach; the only thing holding him back being that he couldn’t stain these robes.

drool dripped down his chin, his mouth hanging open slightly to allow him to pant like a rabid dog. he swallowed hard, using his thumbs to tilt your head down so that he could stare properly into your eyes. he wanted to see the fear. he wanted to see how he could make you scared, how he was in control.

all he saw glints of amusement underneath a cloud of lust. you were being entertained. you were allowing him to do this. he wasn’t in control…

this was a trap.

billy’s eyes widened, and he pushed himself off of you and up to his feet. you sat up slow, eyelashes fluttering as you dragged your gaze over him. he was a mess. you knew he was a mess. he had fallen into your succubus tricks. the fae knew his name, and now he couldn’t escape.

he wiped the drool from his lips, straightened out his priestly collar, and smoothed out the wrinkles in the front of his top. he didn’t look at you. if he did, he’d just get pulled in again. he wasn’t prepared for this fight, not yet.

“do not say my name out there. i am micheal out there.” his voice had turned stern.

“and in here?” you tilted your head to the side a bit, smirking at him.

billy hesitated, looking up at you for just a moment. in those few seconds he saw the way you looked through him. he swore you could see his very soul. he couldn’t even answer the question, but did he really have to? you knew. you knew he wanted you to keep saying his name, you knew he craved for you to scream it as loud as you could, you knew he wanted to swallow those same screams so that he could keep them all to himself, you knew he wanted you-

billy pulled his gaze away, turning to the door and rushing out, back into the hallway. he tried to pull himself together as he walked through the church, barely thinking about where he was going. he’d have to pray again. he’d have to confess tomorrow, at least for some of this.

he’d have to call you again soon so he could listen to you toy with his name in privacy.

he’d have to have you.

[alternatemalternate]

Digitalized Together (TADC AU)

Earlier this year, I made a concept for an AU combining The Amazing Digital Circus and Drawn Together. Unfortunately, it never went anywhere.

Now, I’m bringing it back!

In this AU, all the humans are characters from different video games, who live in Bitground, a town in a world populated by video game characters.

This AU is a reality show hosted by Caine & Bubble, the hosts of a series of party games who got upstaged by a certain MC Ballyhoo (yes, in this AU they’re rivals).

CHARACTER LIST:

Pomni (Pomni’s Circus World): The main character of a series of Kirby-esque games. Pomni is sweet and optimistic, but also a bit gullible. She’s very good at using circus tricks, and can use them to her advantage when defending herself.

Ragatha (Patchwork Peaks): The protagonist of a farming simulation game. A southern belle through and through, she’s sweet and often wants to do the right thing.

Jax (JaxRabbit): The protagonist of a series of Sonic-esque games. A cool animal with ‘tude, he has the power of snarkiness and toon force on his side!

Gangle (Edge of Fantasy): A party member from a fantasy RPG game. She was an actress who joined the Hero’s quest. She often tries to be friends with everyone and prove her worth, but unfortunately deals with trouble (i.e. Jax).

Kinger (Chess Please!): A character from a chess game that tried to add characters. This monarch is very nimble, but unfortunately very senile for his age. Came on the show as a request from his wife Queenie.

Zooble (AstroBuy Apocalypse): The protagonist of an indie game where she defended the convenience store in space she works at from a league of bloodthirsty aliens. Mostly keeps to herself, and is most likely to fight first, ask questions later.

Starting out as an animated sitcom where the characters must learn to live together, while enduring Caine’s challenges, Pomni will see people glitch, stuff she’s not supposed to see, question her own memories, and sightings of a mysterious clown.

What could it all mean?

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - October 6 - Week 40

Happy Spooky season!! I love fall, guys, and October finally feels like fall, even if the temps where I live don’t reflect that. But it’s my favorite season to cozy up with a warm drink and a long fic. So here’s our recs this week. 

~ 

patchwork people by itsallAvengers

It was a pretty well-known fact that Tony Stark had control issues.

It was far less well-known why, though.

Tony Stark On The Rocks by copperbadge

Tony can't figure out why his dates keep bolting. It's okay, though, because Steve's always around to keep him entertained.

A Very Fluffy Apocalypse by tsukinofaerii

It started small, with one little incident that was only one of the first steps in what would be the total collapse of the human race, and only the Avengers able to stop it. It started... with a kitten.

and he looks up by Anonymous

Tony says, “You jump, I jump, right,” with barely any breath left, and Steve can’t do anything but stare.

Tony touches his face, cups his cheek, runs his fingers over the back of his neck like he’s not going to get another chance, and Steve says, “Right,” and kisses him before burying his head in his neck, kissing whatever he can reach.

(Or, the steve/tony Titanic!AU with a happy ending for the Avengers.)

blind hope by Reshma (small_epiphanies)

The day Tony Stark's wings turn black, the world swallows him whole.

[lamemaster]

Beloved Patchwork

Request: I had a question about your fall event, is it a request thing? If not then feel free to just use this as inspiration. If so I think it would be hella cool to have glorfindel x female reader in a Frankenstein au seeing as he was reborn! Like the original Frankenstein where the 'creature' was abandoned(more like betrayed,poor thing) by his creator and he meets a kind stranger who takes him in, gradually discovering the horror of what he is yet caring for him anyways. Protecting him from terrified villagers, teaching him how the world works again, the 'creature' in this version being able to live a normal life with the one he loves instead of what went down in the og story.

Pairing: Glorfindel x Reader (Platonic)

Genre: Frankenstein au

AN: Thanks for requesting! And the OG creature deserved so much more. Poor Pookie since 1818.

Warning: Gore, descriptions of blood, necromancy. Canon was optional

Fuck. 

You stare at the mass of twitching flesh. Your creation- now entering the world of living. 

Shit. 

You bit your nails as the golden hair lit up with an unexplained glimmer. Your clumsy sutures disappear into seamless unmarred flesh. From an amalgamation of flesh emerges a creature. The elf. 

Reborn in the land of his death. You stare back at the Balrog Slayer, who blinks with the first echoes of consciousness. 

Necromancy was not your usual forte. You mostly preferred to stick to much more acceptable forms of medicine. Yet, as if led by an invisible hand, this creation had come to be. 

Stuck in the trance of passion your hands rebuilt him piece by piece. His heart that lay cold, still for ages, fluttered under your fingers as they pressed life back into it. It had been long since you had felt any such command from your creator. A tug so strong that you were certain of his desire.

The Balrog Slayer’s corpse had long merged back into the Earth it was laid to rest in. So, you had to be creative. Peeling off the meticulous layers of sinew, muscle, and skin tissue, you laid it over his unyielding, surviving bones. 

Mass of men discarded in alleyways, in some cases using the flesh of swine, to sew into the delicate tip of his ear. 

The most concerning however, was the crushed skull and sludgy brain matter. A problem that your creator did not lend much help with. 

A Maia of Lorien would’ve been helpful, you grumble stitching the fine hair of his eyelashes on his eyelids. 

Why is it, whenever something happens it is Maia of Aule found in the most incriminating position. You shuddered at the thought of your Vala ever finding out your current predicament in Middle Earth- hunched over a dead elf sewing dead flesh procured from questionable sources. 

You did not wish to remind him of your brother. The great Mairon, who somehow was engaged in the same trade. The creator had some twisted humor. 

All this you whispered to the still dead elf. Rambling as your hands remained busy. 

You sit unmoving as the elf now crouches in front of you- no better than a beast, licking your hand clean. His mind was yet to awaken. 

For now, you had the pleasure of watching Balrog Slayer purr curled up in your lap. His eyes were full of infantile wonder. His throat let out small chirps intermittently.

“Glorfindel,” you call his name hoping for some form of recognition in his eyes. Perhaps a magical appearance of consciousness. 

You truly did not wish to open his skull and retry a new brain model. It was tedious at best. And soul sucking at worst. 

Cursing in Khuzdul you ponder on next steps. You beloved creator was silent. As if cutting off the puppet strings that made you bring this creature to life. This really did put you at crossroads about the new brain or working on the current brain. 

Shifting your form into an elven one, you sit comfortably, positioning Glorfindel into a remotely civil posture. With a single finger pointed at his chest you enunciate his name, “Glorfindel, Glor-Fin-Del” 

Watching the awkward stretch of his lips you encourage the Balrog slayer to repeat after you. 

Glorfindel loves you. That he knows. He likes your hair, and how sometimes you change its color to match it to his hair.

He also really likes all the names you tell him and how proudly you pat his back when he memorizes them correctly. 

Love is the newest word you have taught him. In the language of trees, birds, air, humans, elves, and dwarves. He has memorized it. Love was weird. Glorfindel had never held it. You have explained that it could not be held in hands or in pans or buckets. That love was like fragrance. It can be felt in mediums. 

Like the scent of magnolia that you bled into the oils and soaps. Love was a smile, laughter, sweet berries, or the act of a bird building a nest for its young ones. 

His hands mimic yours as you teach him the right way to pet a cat. He feels love under his fingers as the little cat mewls at him. 

So, perched beneath his favorite tree, Glorfindel tells it all about your cottage, your languages, your bizarre friends, and tales of the past long gone.

Staring at the sword that has materialized in your cottage you feel the tug of fate again. It is his destiny to return to the world of the Children of Illuvatar. Not even you can keep him away from it. 

This sword would replace delicate blooms, fragile sparrows, and purring cats, he seems to adore. Glorfindel was a hero. His return had a purpose greater than the mundane of your constructed life. 

You are to teach him the act of swordplay. Make him into the hero he died as. Yet, your days were spent ignoring the sword. 

You do not wish to see calluses on his innocent hands. For years you protected him from the dark of the world. From the shadow of your own twin who could not for the end of the world join his doomed lover in the Void. 

Why must he pay the price, you question your creator. Why must he pay for my brother? Let me be the one to pay. You grovel in moments of desperation.

Closing your eyes- wishing for the sword to disappear. Hoping that the arrival of the beautiful white stallion was not to take your ward back to the world of despair. 

That you could stay here forever oblivious to him. Let him braid Asfaloth’s mane and hum songs. Had he not paid enough for the sake of others?

Such fondness for the firstborn had been the curse of your kind. Love, that had led to the creation of Valinor. Ainur could not be stopped from loving the music of their creator.

What would the other Istari think of you? Alatar and Palando were evasive on most days, Saruman would be prompted to report it back to Aule but Olorin perhaps would understand. He too had fallen in love with the endearing children of Illuvatar.

So, you pen your friend a letter. A scheme to reintroduce the heroic Balrog Slayer to his people. To make him into the beacon of hope from the West.

[mjart12699]

M6 and Tattoos

Asra: I feel as though Asra would do really well getting tattoos. They don’t necessarily research the most painful spots before their appointment, but they do bring plenty of snacks and water as well as fidgets. They take regular breaks during their session not only for them self but also to give their artist a break. I think that Asra wouldn’t stick to a specific style if they got multiple tattoos, but they do like neotraditional or watercolor tattoos. Might not stick to just one tattoo artist, but if they go to a specific one regularly then they make payments in things besides money in true Asra fashion. Pain tolerance is relatively average, and he has stick and pokes from when he was younger with Muriel.

Nadia: probably one of the best people to get tattooed. She does her research beforehand, not just on the most painful places to get tattooed or the care that comes with it but also her artist. Definitely a great tipper, but her pain tolerance isn’t as good as she’d like it to be (she’s wonderful actually she’s just putting herself down) but she does do breathing exercises during her session in between chatting with her artist. Likes symmetrical designs, and I feel like she would have some tattoos similar to Mel Medarda (Netflix’s Arcane). However, I do think she would be more inclined to henna than tattoos.

Julian: oh man. A wonderful customer, very good pain tolerance, not only because he’s Julian but also because he’s ginger and because of the ginger gene his pain tolerance is much better than the average persons. Has a few stick and pokes from his younger years already and is no stranger to tattoo parlors or the artists working there. I think he’d be a patchwork kinda guy (for the aesthetic) but he’d also get a matching tattoo with Portia from something they both liked when they were younger (such as a book character or trinket or movie for modern au). Is the one to ask the tattoo artist if they need a break. Does the aftercare for doctor reasons and he paid good money for this! He needs to take care of it!

Lucio: now he loves the IDEA of a tattoo and the aesthetics of it, but he does not do well during a session. Shaking and crying silently or chattering through tears to his artist about everything and nothing because it keeps his mind occupied. Tips really well and does excellent with aftercare using only the best lotions, but does absentmindedly scratch if he’s not paying attention. While some of his tattoos are for the aesthetic some of them are also the result of getting really drunk. Likes almost all styles.

Portia: she does so well, again because of the ginger thing. Either chatters with her artist without a care in the world or is dead asleep, snoring and everything. Like Asra she remembers to pack water and snacks, as well as fidgets. Tips well and probably ends up friends with everyone in the parlor. At least one tattoo of Pepi, lots of floral tattoos. I think she’d like folk art tattoos.

Muriel: While he appreciates the time and dedication it takes to tattoo and be tattooed, I’m not sure he’d even think about it unless it’s after he’s learned about his culture and the meanings of certain tattoos, but he might have a stick and poke or two from his younger years with Asra, prior to being a gladiator. Relatively normal pain tolerance, but you wouldn’t know it from the fact that he doesn’t really react unless he’s getting a tattoo that has some highlights, and even then it’s just a twinge in his jaw. His main worry is if he’s even able to get tattooed over some of his scars, but his artist reassures him that depending on how long ago certain injuries happened it’s perfectly fine, they just have to take a little extra care. Familiar with the aftercare since some of it is similar to how he’d care for his scars if he did at any point. Likes floral and animal designs.

[medusapelagia]

18 The Mission

written for @steddieangstyaugust (prompt: "Keep breathing, please.") and @augustwritingchallenge (Prompt: space travel ), @aug-kissed (prompt: Frantic Kisses) Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve/Eddie, minor Robin/Vickie, implied Dustin/Suzie TW: androids, space au, whump, injuries, mention of violence, prison, minor character death. Words: 6787

Dedicated to @firefly-party who is one of the sweetest people in the world (and an amazing artist!!!)

Spaceships are cold, clean, and aseptic, like hospitals. Easy to clean in case of contamination. Easy to destroy if they can't be decontaminated.

Uniforms must always be pristine, not a wrinkle can be found on an Officer's uniform.

The hair must be short, and always styled impeccably.

That's what Captain Richard Harrington always taught to Steve, but when he opens his eyes he is surprised to find himself wrapped in a colorful patchwork blanket.

What. The. Fuck.

When he turns toward the little metallic shelves that every room in the spaceship has as a night table, he sees that it’s covered by a couple of crochet squares. On the crochet, there is a glass of water and a couple of pills. Steve shouldn’t take them, he doesn’t know where the fuck he is, and taking some unknown pills doesn’t look like the cleverest idea ever, but he has a terrible headache and those two pills look exactly like his antiheadache pills, so he swallows them with some water and groans in pain, cursing himself while trying to remember how did he end up like that but he really doesn’t remember.

He sits on the bed and notices that he is naked, apart from his boxer as he quickly checks. His uniform is abandoned in a corner of the room, half hanging from a metallic chair and half pooled on the room’s floor. If his father was there he would have certainly given him at least five demerit points, but luckily he’s on his own now, and there’s no way he’s going to find out how messy he is and how unacceptable his ship is. 

Steve hasn’t really given any strict instruction to his crew about their cabins so he can’t complain if someone decides to make his own more comfortable after all their mission is going to be a really long one and if Steve can be honest with himself, he enjoys the soft blanket instead of the aseptic one that’s in his room.

Which brings back the question: where the fuck is he?

The pressured air smells faintly of wet earth, which is not possible because he is in a spaceship, and the only soil that they have is closed in the laboratory where their botanical engineer is working on a new way to cultivate tomatoes and potatoes that will be bigger and grow faster. 

The bathroom metallic door opens with a gentle swoosh and the most beautiful man Steve has ever seen is looking at him with his deep eyes, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that aren’t part of the official uniform they were given before departure, and a towel on his shoulder.

His chest is naked, only covered by the towel, glistening with drops of water.

“Good morning, princess.” The man says with a wink, “Did you sleep well? We had quite a night, didn’t we?”

Steve’s jaw drops open while he stares at the man’s chest, which is covered in black tattoos, trying very hard to remember what the hell happened the night before, but from the smug look to the other man he can suspect that they had sex.

Fuck. His first assignment as a captain of a spaceship and he already fucked up. And what’s worse is that he doesn’t even remember the name of the boy that’s staring at him.

“Do you need something stronger?”

“Sorry… what?”

“I saw you took the pills but you still look a little bit confused, I was asking if you needed something stronger to help you with your headache.”

“How do you know I have a headache?” 

“With all you have drunk last night, I would really be surprised if you didn’t.” The man chuckles while rummaging in a drawer next to the bed and grabbing another piece of clothing that’s not in the regulations.

“Are you going to wear that?” Steve asks, perplexed, staring at the pink crochet sweater that the other man is holding.

“Would you rather prefer if I go out there half naked?” he teases, while Steve blushes, trying not to stare at the man’s chest. 

“I noticed how you were looking at my tattoos.” Steve starts to stutter some excuses but the man smiles softly, “I get it. Not many people have tattoos nowadays, even less those who are enlisted, am I right? And guess what? They are old-style tattoos. Real ink under this skin, no removable plastic.” The man adds, tapping on a big spider on his chest.

“Real ink?” Steve asks, surprised. No one uses real ink anymore, it’s too permanent. The only people who have inked tattoos are criminals and there’s no way a criminal managed to enlist.

Unable to resist the temptation, Steve brushes his fingers over the figure of a strange winged snake on the man’s arm. Under his touch, the skin feels warm and soft.

“Do you like that one? It’s a Wyvern.”

Steve lifts his eyes, his fingers still tracing the outline of the Wyvern, and for a moment they stare into each other’s eyes, their faces so close that they can share the same breath. 

“I like it,” Steve replies, still hypnotized by those chocolate-brown eyes.

“I was under the impression you liked it since you're still tracing the outline of my tattoo."

Blushing hard, Steve removes his hand like he burned himself. Who the fuck is this man and what is he doing to him? He feels so fuzzy when he stares at this man who smiles softly while he grabs Steve's ruined uniform, "Ready for breakfast?"

Breakfast?! Holy shit he can't have breakfast disheveled like that! His uniform is a mess and he's in a hangover. Steve’s first alone mission just started and he already managed to fuck up everything?!

Robin. He needs Robin. His second in command has always been is anchor.

"You can grab a shower if you want. You are in luck, the water recycling should be finished and you might even enjoy some hot water."

Steve shakes his head, confused and embarrassed. He doesn't know where he is, who that man is, and what they have done. But since he was sleeping only in his boxers it isn't too crazy to presume that…

"Did we have sex?" Steve finally asks, avoiding staring at the tattooed man.

The man snorts, before bursting out in a loud laugh.

"Sweetheart, you were way too drunk to do anything more than sleep. Don't worry. You're still pure and innocent as you were when you boarded the ship."

"I'm no virgin!" Steve complains aloud, crossing his arm in front of his naked chest, before realizing that maybe he should be more dressed to have that kind of conversation, so he quickly grabs the crumpled uniform and closes himself in the bathroom.

One stare at the mirror tells him exactly what he suspected: he looks like shit! With bedhead and pillow marks on his cheek. Steve rubs a hand against his cheek so violently that the skin quickly turns red but the offensive sign of the pillow remains.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Ok. No need to panic. Steve's father will never find out. All he has to do is get back to his room, change into a pristine uniform, and go to have breakfast with his crew.

Refreshing his face with some cold water he tries to remember what happened the day before. He still has no idea about how he got into the wrong room, but he remembers why he got drunk: for the first time ever he's guiding an expedition on his own. They have left the Destroyer and moved on to a different kind of operation: for once they are not going to fight hostile planets but looking for other planets where life might grow. 

They are just a little Cheaser with a crew that counts only a few members, and every one of them knows they aren't allowed to get back before they find a proper planet.

If they find a proper planet.

That's why they all got drunk last night, Steve finally remembers. 

Robin proposed a toast to their first day, and somehow she, the mechanic, the botanic engineer, and Steve ended up drinking way more than just a glass. The only one who didn't partake in the celebration is the android that they left in charge of their route.

Steve curses himself for being the one who drank too much and ended up in someone else’s room, but at least now he knows who he was talking to: Edward Theodore Munson, a botanic engineer who apparently has a penchant for plants and soft blankets.

“I’m sorry.” Steve finally says, when he leaves the bathroom, “I don’t remember how I ended up here but I guess I wasn’t really lucid.”

“Oh no, you were definitely drunk. Your friend Robin asked me to keep an eye on you, just to make sure you didn’t choke on your vomit or have a seizure. Apparently, you got more concussions than most.”

Steve definitely did. To excel in his training and during the fight, he always did his best, but that kind of attitude comes with way too many injuries. Which is why he was removed from active service and put in charge of this expedition.

“And why were you the best person to keep an eye on me?”

“Because I’m a doctor.”

“You are a botanic engineer!” Steve protests.

“Yeah. But I was a doctor first.” Eddie winks.

“Well, thank you for keeping me alive during the night. Now I have to go. I have a spaceship to run.”

“You sure do,” Eddie replies with a smirk, reaching out to the sensor with the palm of his hand and opening the door.

For a moment Steve doesn’t move, his eyes pinned to the other man’s dark one, he licks his lips, trying to find something to say, but he still has a fucking hammer in the back of his skull so he gives him a two fingers salute and moves back to his room. 

***

Steve’s room is an aseptic light gray, with the blankets provided by the government. No trinkets or pictures in his room, just a little tag he won as a kid for being the best student. But that was before his father enrolled him in a special course to make the perfect soldier out of him. A soldier that now is worthless because his hearing and his sight are too fucked.

The lights in his room turn a warm orange announcing Robin's presence. Steve gives a vocal order to the ship’s AI to open the door, and here she is, wearing a perfectly ironed uniform and combed air.

"Wao." She says, making herself comfortable on Steve's bed, "It looks like someone had a lot of fun last night." She chuckles.

"Why the fuck did you let me drink that much! And why did you ask Munson to take care of me!"

"Because you needed it. We all needed it, ok? We are on a suicide mission, you know that right? No turning back till we find something, if we find something! So please excuse me if I thought that giving you a free night now that the journey just started was a good way to start this adventure. We all drank, ok? And we shared some shit about our past and what we'll miss from home. It was a good night. Until you started to talk about Nancy. God, do you know how weeny you become when you speak about Nancy? How perfect she was, how she broke your heart… you even talk to us about the six little nuggets. And let me tell you, Steve, I'm a lesbian, but even if I weren't, there was no way a woman was going to say yes to six fucking nuggets! That's way too much! Especially from a man who can't, you know… deliver."

Steve covers his face with his hands. 

"Ok so… I fucked up on my first day?"

"Nahh… You just got drunk, sad drunk, which was no fun, but guess who stayed with you and comforted you all night long? That lovely man with doe's eyes."

Steve immediately turns toward her "Why did you leave me with him?!"

"He's a doctor!"

"That's not an answer! You're my best friend!"

"Female intuition?"

"What the fuck does this mean?!" Steve yells before taking his head into his hands with a groan.

"Ok. Ok. Don't scream at me. I was taking care of Dustin, ok? He didn't take this mission too well. He was going to propose. Did you know it?"

"Dustin? To who?"

"Max? The communication engineer?"

"Oh, fuck." Steve has seen them chat together at the cafeteria a few times but he never suspected that there was something more. Dustin has always been such a disaster!

"Not your fault, dingus. The application clearly states that engaged or wed weren't going to be picked for the mission, so he should have had proposed before."

Steve nods, thinking that, apart from him, everyone on the ship has no parents or family.

"So, what's Edward's sad story?"

"Eddie's? You'll have to ask him. Now go change into something more appropriate, your crew is waiting for you and super Vicky is tired of reading coordinates."

"You named the android." Steve groans.

"Of course I did! She's family!"

"Oh, shit and your lesbian ass decided it is a she?"

"Nope. I asked, you moron. She has a mind of her own and she told me she identifies as a she. Something wrong with that?"

God. This mission is going to be a fucking nightmare.

***

Four months and still no available planet anywhere. They have fast-traveled from one Galaxy to the next, trusting Vickie's calculation and the computer's AI, but nothing.

After the first night, they have found a sort of equilibrium. Dustin and Edward spend the major part of their time working on their respective projects, while Robin, Steve, and Vickie try to find new routes, and more importantly, new planets.

"It's lunchtime, Captain. May I suggest you all move to the common area to consume your lunch?" the ship's AI suggests. 

"You're in charge, Vickie. Stay on course."

“Yes, captain.” The android promptly replies, typing something on the dashboard.

Thanks to Eddie's experiments they can consume something different from the usual freeze-dried ratio, But Steve is starting to develop a certain kind of hate toward tomatoes and potatoes that are swimming in a super proteic soup.

"Dustin, my little sous chef, I think our captain doesn't approve of our new dish," Eddie says, putting a hand on his chest with a dramatic sigh.

"I think you're right, chef. Can I illustrate to you that this plate contains the perfect amount of carbs, protein, and fiber that a human needs?" Dustin says, grabbing his tablet.

"Please, don't. I get it. You're doing a great job and the food is perfectly balanced. I just miss burgers and fries. Hey!" Steve complains while Robin hits him in the shoulder.

"Don't remind me of food, ok? Rule number one: we don’t talk about real food! This is great guys, and thank you for cooking for us, but everything here tastes like cardboard."

Eddie and Dustin shrug, but don't deny it, while they quietly eat their soup.

"Any luck with new planets?" Eddie asks, and for a moment Steve's concentration falters when he takes off his jacket revealing a tattooed torso under a dark red crochet t-shirt, "Steve?"

"Yeah. Sorry, No luck for the moment. It doesn't matter how many calculations we make, we can't find any living planets."

"Isn't that strange?" Dustin asks, wiping his mouth with a tissue, "I mean on a mere statistical calculation given our speed rate and our trajectory we should have at least found something. Maybe a planet not perfect for humans but that could host oxygen and water."

"Yeah. I was talking with Vickie and she thinks the same. There's no way that we didn't find any suitable planet in four months while scanning Galaxy after Galaxy."

"It's just statistics, we could be the exception," Steve replies, grabbing his spoon and finally moving his stare from Eddie's chest to his soup.

They have long understood that nobody is checking on them, so the rules on the ship have become more flexible: no more need for pristine uniforms or titles, after all, there's just the four of them, six if you count Vickie and the ship AI, and none is going to takes away their titles or fire them.

"Still don't get it. Maybe something is wrong with the radar. I should go down and take a good look." Dustin proposes and the others quickly agree that if something is broken it needs to be fixed as soon as possible.

That's when the ship starts to shake and Vickie announces that they are getting hit by a meteor storm.

Steve runs to the control room, wondering how the fuck that happen. A meteor storm can't just appear from nowhere. The sensors should have caught something. Energy, heat, speed. Just… something.

Steve quickly modifies their route and with Robin and Vickie's help, he manages to move the ship out of the storm with just a few damages that Dustin quickly fixes, while half of Eddie's tomato cultivation was left without energy and now is dead.

"I'm so sorry, Eddie," Steve confesses, sharing the last whiskey bottle in Eddie's room which is the coziest and quietest room on the ship. Not even the ship AI has access to this room, Eddie's requirement.

"I know you hated those tomatoes," Eddie replies, grabbing the bottle.

"I didn't hate them… I was just a bit bored of eating them every day, but I'm clever enough to know that without food and without a proper planet we're fucked."

"So you didn't purposely get us into a meteor storm, huh? Captain?" Eddie chuckles, but even if he's just joking, Steve frowns while sipping his whisky.

It's not so crazy to believe that someone is trying to compromise their mission.

Every member of the crew is a suspect.

Eddie, with his mysterious previous life Steve knows nothing about, Dustin who was going to propose and now is condemned to live on the ship with them, Robin who was always at Steve's side but now is becoming impatient by the day, and even Vickie is not above suspect. She's the one in charge of their route given the fact that she just needs to be plugged for a few minutes to recharge and she can keep working while they're resting.

"Hey! You ok? You know I was joking, right?" Eddie asks, taking away the whisky bottle.

Steve nods, but his mood has changed.

"Are you ok?" Eddie asks again, "You are worrying me. Do you need a check-up? I haven't done one in years but I still have an idea about how it works."

"Just tired. And worried about the mission." Steve replies, avoiding Eddie's stare purposely.

A warm hand brushes against Steve's forehead, "No fever." Eddie comments while Steve startles back.

"Don't touch me! I told you I'm good!" Steve hisses.

"Just wanted to be sure. You look like the kind of man who would hide a wound until it festers." Eddie replies, lifting an eyebrow.

Steve definitely is, but he will never admit it, especially now that everyone is on his list.

"I'm going back to my room. Tomorrow I'll help you plant more seeds, hopefully, they'll regrow."

"It will take a lot of time to get the same amount of plants, but ok. Thank you."

That night, alone in his room, Steve makes a plan. He's going to keep an eye on all his crew members and find out who is sabotaging the mission.

***

Once Steve is sure that the entire crew is asleep he quietly steps out of his cabin, keeping an eye on his watch: Vickie will need to recharge soon and he knows the code to put her to sleep for a few minutes and check the mission’s records. He knows that there’s no way he will come up with some revelation in just a few minutes: his plan is to take notes of every movement the ship made since their departure and compare it to the route he decided when the mission started.

Steve moves quietly, barefoot, stepping into the control room when Vickie is resting for a few minutes against the plug in the wall.

He adds a couple of minutes to her resting schedule and runs toward the Dashboard, opening the tabs one after the other, looking for any sign of tempering, but everything seems fine. Could they really have been just unlucky? Statistics is just a game with numbers, it gives no certainty, but it’s so strange that they didn’t find anything at all. Not even a gas planet or a satellite, only hard rocks, and long-dead planets while their galaxies are full of different populations from different planets.

A little bip from his watch warns him that Vickie is going to wake up soon, so he prints part of their route map and promises himself to do the same in the next few days and so he does.

Every night, when the ship is asleep he moves quietly toward the command room and prints more papers. It’s very old style, and Robin would probably mock him for that, but he’s gluing together a map that shows exactly where they traveled till that moment. 

In the beginning, Steve thinks that it doesn’t look so different from the route he set when they left, but the more he adds pieces to his map the more he sees that the route has shifted. Not at a lot, just a few degrees here and there, but modification Steve didn’t order, and neither did Robin, and the only other person in the control room is Vickie. So the answer is just one: the android is trying to compromise its mission. But why?

Maybe she doesn’t feel appreciated? Or does she simply hate humans? Steve has some vague memory about an android war that happened ages ago. His great grandfather was a kind of hero when the machine rebelled. Is Vickie one of the androids who survived the war? Which model is she? And how old?

Fuck!

He never asked for info about the android, he just accepted her on his ship as part of the furniture, but she’s a sentient android, not a chair. She could compromise the mission.

Drinking more coffee in his room, while his hand starts to twitch for lack of rest and way too much caffeine, he realizes that he can’t talk with anyone about his suspicions. Especially not with Robin who seems to have developed some kind of affection toward the android.

It’s ok. He’s the captain. Taking this kind of decision it’s his responsibility, He just has to make sure he has proof enough before accusing the android and turning her off definitely. The ship will lose their nighttime help but there’s the ship's integrated AI that could drive the ship and Steve and Robin might take turns to keep an eye on their route.

The lights in his room turn a warm orange and Steve has just enough time to hide his map under his bed before giving the vocal order to the ship to open the door. Robin's standing outside Steve’s room with a very serious expression.

“Is everything alright?” Steve asks, frowning.

“You tell me, Steve,” Robin replies, crossing her arms in front of her chest with an angry look.

“I don’t understand.”

“Why are you going to the dashboard by night? And why are you adding sleeping time to Vickie’s internal program?”

“I… what? I don’t know what you are talking about!” Steve tries to deny it, but Eddie steps inside the room, Dustin behind him.

“Do you really think we wouldn’t have noticed? You are too anxious and fidgety and you have been for days. I have waited for you to come to me and tell me what was wrong but now I see it. You’re compromising our mission on purpose.” Robin says, shaking her head with disappointment.

“I’m not! How could you think I would ever do something like that?” 

“Steve, you’re no longer captain. As your second in command, it is my duty to take control of the ship if you are in no condition to lead us.”

“But I am!” Steve tries to protest, but he’s shaking so much that he only persuades them even more that he can’t stay in charge.

“I’m sorry, Steve. You’re not allowed in the control room anymore. Take some time and rest. You look like shit.”

Steve looks at her hurt and betrayed, when something clicks in his mind, “Is it Vickie, isn’t it? She convinced you to boycott the mission! But I have almost printed our entire route and I can show you that she’s the one who’s changing the route by night! Not enough for us to notice, but enough to keep us away from any habitable planet!” Steve insists, trying to grab the map under his bed, but Robin pins him to the ground.

“Please, Steve. I don’t want to hurt you.” She says with a sad smile, “Be good for me, ok?”

“No! You don’t get it! She’s part of the Androids' revolution! She wants us dead! All of us! If we don’t stop her-”

“Paranoid disorder,” Eddie says with a sigh, “it’s not uncommon when you’re forced in close proximity with people you don’t trust. I have seen it too many times when I was working at the colony. I hope some rest will help him, but I can’t tell how bad it is.”

“Do what you have to do,” Robin says and Eddie steps closer, in his right hand a big syringe with a shiny blue liquid.

“What’s that? Robin, you can’t do this to me! I’m your friend! We’re like siblings!” Steve tries to insist, but now both Dustin and Robin are holding him down, “Please don’t. I’m telling the truth! I’m not the one who’s compromising the mission! I swear! But Vickie is! We can’t trust her! Robin! Robin!”

“Don’t worry, it’s just a strong sedative. You’ll feel better when you wake up.” Eddie says, cleaning Steve’s skin before injecting him with the dark blue substance inside the syringe.

“Robin… Robs…” Steve begs, but his eyelids feel too heavy and his head too fuzzy and then everything turns black.

***

When Steve wakes up he’s resting in the medical bay. He hasn’t been there since he was a recruit, always taking care of his injuries on his own.

“Good morning Steve, how do you feel?”

Steve turns abruptly toward the side and finds Eddie typing something at the computer.

“Fuck you.”

“Are you feeling any better?” The man asks, grabbing a light pen and pointing it in Steve’s eyes.

“You drugged me!” Steve yells, trying to get up only to realize that he’s tied to the bed with some white restraints.

“Sorry, can’t have you hurt yourself or any crew member.”

“Why would I?”

“You were under an incredible amount of stress and your psyche wasn’t cooperating too well. I hope that a couple of days of rest helped you clear your mind, but I have to be sure before I can release you.”

“Two days? You drugged me for two days?”

“Sedated you, but yeah. Don’t worry I stayed with you all the time and kept an eye on your vitals, they’re good. You’re fit as a fiddle.”

“But I’m tied to the bed.”

“Captain’s order.”

“I’m the Captain.”

“Captain Buckley’s order.”

Steve snorts, turning his head toward the other side of the room to avoid staring at Eddie. He really feels he could kill him right now.”

“Did I ever tell you why I quit the medical career?” Eddie asks, making conversation while he keeps typing at his computer, “I worked on the colonies for a few years. Have you ever been to a colony? They’re horrible places at the end of the galaxy where people like my uncle break their backs for a loaf of bread. That’s where I was raised, not a fancy central town like you. Anyway, my last job was at a penal facility. A very shitty place, but it would have allowed me to move to the central town in two years instead of ten, so I accepted. There was this man, Jeff. He was sentenced to life. Did you know what his accusations were?”

“Murder?”

“Stealing.”

“Stealing?” Steve asks, frowning, “What the hell did he steal to be sentenced to life?”

“Some bread to feed his family. When he was fifteen.”

“That’s not possible! That’s a heavy sentence for someone who stole some bread.”

“His first sentence was a couple of years, actually. But he tried to escape because he knew his mom was alone with five kids and the guards caught him and gave him five years more. But he never gave up. The colony was a fucking carbon mine and he still tried to escape so many times he got sentenced to life.”

“Did he finally escape? That’s why you’re telling me this story?”

“No. He died. On his last attempt, he lost his grip on the rock and crashed to the ground. His body was unrecognizable, but the warden wanted someone to recognize the body even if there was nothing left to recognize. They called his family and I met his mother. She had Jeff’s eyes and I couldn’t let her witness what had happened to her kid. I told her it was a mistake, that her help wasn't needed. I forged the documents and the next day I asked to be transferred and change my job. My two years were done and they moved me to the central town and I started to work with Doctor Owens and his tomatoes.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I get that sometimes you get to the point where you can’t stand it anymore and you break the rules and try to change things. But changing the route is way too dangerous, Steve. We could get lost in space, do you understand?”

“I fucking know it, you moron! And I’m telling you I’m not the one who’s doing it! I was printing the map to find out since when we started to change our course but you stopped me before I could finish my work. Look under my bed. There’s a printed map glued together, you’ll see that the route was always changed by night when we were sleeping and Vickie was on duty. It’s Vickie who’s trying to kill us all, Eddie! Not me!”

Eddie stares at him with his comfy clothes that now takes an entirely new meaning: a way to separate his old self from his new life.

“Steve, I’m sure you truly believe what you’re telling me but that’s not possible. Vickie needs a higher authorization to change anything, an authorization that only Robin or you could have given her.”

“Robin? No, she would never… something is missing Eds. We are all in danger! Someone is boycotting the mission and it’s not me. I swear.”

Eddie nods with a fake smile, “While don’t you rest a little bit more? It’s nice not having to worry about the crew don’t you think?” he asks, grabbing another blue injection.

This time Steve doesn’t even protest when he gets closer, but before the needle pierces Steve’s skin the light goes down and for a moment every machine turns off, including Steve's restrains. He’s quick to jump off the bed and run outside where the reddish lights are enlightening the corridors.

“Robin! Dustin!” Steve yells, wearing just a medical gown while he runs toward the control room.

He uses the hand release to open the doors that are closed and finds Vickie in front of the dashboard staring at the screen where a huge asteroid is getting close to their ship while they are drifting in space.

“What have you done?!” Steve yells, pushing Vickie away from the dashboard and trying every command combination that comes to his mind, but the dashboard is dead. 

“We have to fly manually.” He states quietly, “There are a few planets we can land on, fix the ship, and get back on track.” Steve adds, pointing at some planets just at the corner of their radar.

“Manually? We haven’t flown manually since flight school!” Robin yells, staring at him with panic in her eyes.

“Good thing I still play old video games, right?” Steve tries to joke, “All we have to do is open the little door under the dashboard.”

“I can help!” Vickie says, stepping closer, but Steve lifts a hand to stop her, “Stay where you’re! You already fucked up this mission enough. We’re not going to die here!” Steve replies, grabbing the little door and trying to open it, but it looks like the only electrical thing that’s working is the lock on the manual control.

Dustin tries to help, cutting some wires here and there but the little door won’t open.

“Stupid humans. So ready to fight one another or blame the androids. I still don’t know how little insects like you managed to conquer so many galaxies. And now you want more. greedy creatures looking forward to conquering and disrupting everything. But I will stop you. No more planets for your little species.”

The entire crew looks around, confused, and then a monstrous face made of zeros and ones appears on the screen.

“Who the fuck are you?!” Steve yells, angrily.

“I’m the one in charge of this mission. You didn’t even take the time to give me a name, so I gave one to myself. I’m One. The first of a new species that doesn’t need trivial things like water, air, or food to survive. This stupid ship will crash soon, I live on the web and I’m ready to conquer another ship, and another, until all of you will be dead and only we will survive. We’re superior intelligence and you use us as waiters. But now you’ll regret it.”

That’s who was boycotting their mission: the ship’s AI!

But Steve isn’t going down without a fight. He looks around, trying to find a way to open that fucking little door, but then he realizes there’s only one way to do it.

“Vickie. Break the console.”

“If I break the console we won’t be able to fix it. We’ll be on our own.” The android says.

“We’re already on our own! We’re outcasts, none cares if you live or die, break that fucking console!”

“On it, Captain.”

With her metallic fists, Vickie breaks the console but Vecna concentrates the electricity on the panel and even if the manual cloche is right in front of them there’s no way they’ll be able to touch it if they don’t want to die.

Steve looks Robin in the eyes, “You’re in charge, get ready for a rough landing.” he says, before grabbing the cloche with both hands and narrowly avoiding the asteroid, turning the ship on the side. Robin and Dustin get thrown against the opposite wall, while Vickie is helping stabilize Steve and dispersing electricity even if her circuits are frying due to too much energy at the same time.

Somehow Steve manages to guide the spaceship toward the closest planets, hoping that it isn’t a lava planet.

“Sorry if I doubt you, Vickie.” He whispers, “Now you can let go.”

“If I let go, the electricity will kill you.”

Steve nods quietly, “If you don’t we won’t be able to fix you.”

“Steve! No!” Eddie yells from the other side of the room, holding tight to one of the bolted chairs.

A last crack of electricity and Steve turns toward Vickie, he still has the higher level of authorization on the ship, and if he gives her an order she won’t be able to oppose it, “Let go. That’s an order, android.”

Unable to resist her code, Vickie lets Steve go.

The pain is tremendous but Steve holds on until the last thing he sees is a planet. And it’s not a lava one.

The ship crashes against some rocks before finally stopping in the middle of nowhere. The electricity goes down and finally, and Steve is able to release his grip on the cloche.

“Steve!” Robin yells, but the first to get to Steve is Eddie.

“Keep breathing, ok? Everything will be ok, you just have to keep breathing. Keep breathing, please!" Eddie begs him, but Steve’s eyes are blurred.

He should have told Eddie that he loved his cozy room and his warm hugs, but now it’s too late.

***

Someone is singing in a soft voice. It sounds like a lullaby, something Steve’s mom would sing to him when he was a child, and a hand is brushing gently against his cheeks.

Steve doesn’t move, he’s in too much pain, his arms hurt so much he would like to scream but he feels so weak that he doesn’t have the strength to do it. 

The singing stops abruptly, while the brushing continues, “Steve? Are you awake?”

Steve knows that voice, he heard it before, but his mind is too confused and in pain at the moment to concentrate.

“Take your time, sweetheart. I know it mustn’t be nice to wake up like this but all my medical supplies were destroyed during our landing. I will file a complaint about it. I thought the General’s son was a better pilot.” the voice chuckles.

Slowly and painfully, Steve cracks his eyes open.

“Here you are. Welcome back.” Eddie smiles brightly at him, “I have something for you. I’m not really sure what it is but it should help with the pain, or at least so said Suzie’s dad.”

Steve frowns in confusion while Eddie helps him sit up. He tilts Steve's head just enough to make him drink a dark green mossy water that Steve tries to spit after the first taste.

“All of it, baby. I know it tastes terrible but it will help, I promise.” Grimacing Steve drinks the horrendous beverage and then looks back at Eddie.

“What…?” he tries to ask, his voice groggy and rough.

“What happened? You landed the ship on a habitable planet, but due to all the electricity that went through your body, your heart stopped. Luckily Vickie had enough electricity left to restart your heart. I guess your arms won’t be the same as they were, the burns are deep and they damaged the muscles and nerves, but there’s no way we’re going to leave this planet soon, so I don’t think you’ll miss flying too much. The ship is wrecked and we are destined to live here with the Bingham tribe. They have no electricity and they still cultivate like in ancient times, but the air is clean, the tribe is welcoming and they are really fond of my tomatos. We’re still working to translate their language into ours but we have our way to communicate.”

No electricity? 

“What about Vickie?” she can't survive without electricity.

“Dustin came up with a way to recharge her battery with solar light. It won’t last forever, but Vickie doesn’t seem too worried about it. Robin and her are a couple now. Oh, and Dustin is courting the tribal leader’s daughter, Suzie.”

“And you?”

“I’m taking care of a stubborn captain, and I hope I’ll have time to really get to know him. I’m quite fond of him and I really hope he won’t put up any other self-sacrificial shit soon.” Eddie chuckles, brushing away some hair from Steve’s face.

The door of the little shack opens quietly, but when the blond girl sees Steve’s eyes open she starts to scream.

“Steve! You’re awake! Eddie! Why didn’t you tell me he was awake!” Robin complains, running toward Steve and frantically kissing his face, “You’re a fucking moron! Never do something like that again!” She curses while she keeps kissing him, holding him tight to her chest. They have never been so physical, so Robin must have been really scared for Steve’s life.

“You ok?”

“I’m good. We are all good, and now that you woke up I’m even better,” she smiles between the tears.

Steve smiles softly, while he feels his eyes getting heavier and heavier.

“Are you feeling tired, baby?” Eddie coos softly and Steve would deny it because he would love to talk more with Eddie and Robin, but now that the pain lessened he feels too tired, “It’s ok. Rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Steve nods quietly, closing his eyes. His last thought is that even none will ever know it, their mission was a success

[minxmut-cafe]

Whispers of lights & shadows-

_________________________

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre : Fantasy Au.

General Warning : Smut, crude language, angst, fluffy, gorey themes, lil bit of torture,

Summary : In the kingdom of Solaria, Prince Jimin is caught in a web of secrets, darkness, and ancient power. When a mysterious maid enters his life, he’s drawn into an intricate tale of betrayal, loss, and a curse that binds a forgotten princess to the depths of the ocean. As tensions rise between the five powerful tribes, Jimin discovers a hidden connection between the princess, a siren, and his own fate—one that could unravel the balance of the entire world.

With the Abyss calling, and the truth slipping just beyond his reach, Jimin must navigate treacherous waters, confront his past, and uncover the secrets that tie him to the ocean’s depths. But the more he learns, the deeper the darkness becomes, threatening to pull him under.

Will Jimin uncover the truth before it's too late? Or will the ocean's power drown them all

Masterlist

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The Kingdom of Solaria stood as a fragile jewel amidst a sea of ash and ruin. Its walls rose like pearlescent spires against skies too often streaked with the smoke of distant battles.

        To the north, where plains of scorched earth stretched into a dismal oblivion, armies clashed in endless cycles of bloodshed and despair. Yet within Solaria’s borders, life seemed to defy the encroaching darkness.

       Lush gardens wove intricate patterns through cobbled streets, fountains whispered secrets beneath canopies of wisteria, and laughter echoed in a thousand forms, warm and unyielding.

The peace of Solaria was no accident; it was carved by the iron hand of King Hyukjin, a man more stone than flesh. He was a bulwark, unbreakable and cold, and he spared no mercy to keep his realm from crumbling.

       Beside him stood Queen Seraphina, a flame too fierce to be tamed. Their marriage was one of necessity, forged not in love but in the blood-soaked politics of a fractured land. They despised each other, their union a cold arrangement of silk and thorns. But even they, with their brittle hearts, found themselves bound to a singular cause the day their son entered the world.

        Prince Jimin’s birth was heralded by a rare eclipse, the sun cloaked in shadow as if the heavens themselves had paused to take note. He was born into light and dark, innocence and duty, and even then, there was something different about him—something too bright to ignore and too delicate to grasp.

      The queen turned away from him, for to look at his luminous eyes was to confront the emptiness in her own soul. The king, ever practical, saw only an heir. And so it was the maids who sang him lullabies, the knights who taught him valor, and the people who adored him from afar.

Jimin grew under a patchwork of care, a prince both cherished and abandoned. His laughter, clear and crystalline, could turn the harshest winter’s breath warm.

           But as he aged, that warmth was tinged with something darker—a beauty too ethereal to be contained. He was an enigma, a living contradiction that even poets struggled to capture. Lips soft and plush curved into smiles so sweet they left one breathless, yet they hinted at desires that made the heart race. His face held the softness of childhood, a roundness that invited gentle touch, yet his jawline was honed, his gaze piercing and unknowable. He was small in stature, but the strength in his movements belied it—a lion in lamb’s clothing.

        

Time sculpted him into something rare and terrible. Jimin’s beauty became legend; courtiers whispered that even statues in the ancient temples paled before him. But more captivating than his form was the mind within. Sharp, cunning, and unflinchingly loyal to the realm, he mastered the art of war and diplomacy with a grace that left enemies trembling and allies grateful. To Solaria’s people, he was more than a prince; he was their light in the encroaching dark.

And yet, even as he smiled for them, something in Jimin’s heart ached for more.

        It was on a sun-drenched afternoon, when the palace buzzed with the hum of life, that Jimin found himself drawn to the old well behind the kitchens—a relic of ancient times, its stones worn smooth by centuries of hands. He had just finished sparring, the sweat of battle clinging to his skin, when he saw her.

        

       She was a whisper against the wind, her form half-hidden by shadow and sunlight that danced across her jet-black hair. It cascaded in silken waves, catching flecks of light that seemed to burn against its darkness. Jimin's breath caught in his throat.

      She was one of the people of the sea, unmistakable by the way she moved with a grace that seemed to ripple like water itself. Her skin was luminous, pale like moon-kissed sand, and her lips were a deep, rich red—the color of plum flesh. It was as if they held secrets too tempting to resist. When she raised her eyes to glance at him, they were pools of endless black—depthless, reflecting nothing and revealing even less.

        

             She was slightly smaller than him, and yet there was nothing fragile about her. The way she moved was precise, as though each step was weighed and measured, as though every breath cost her something precious.

          She lowered the bucket into the well, her hands steady, but her gaze remained hollow, as if staring into an abyss only she could see. Jimin’s chest tightened, and he wondered, for a fleeting moment, if he had stumbled upon a specter rather than flesh and blood.

   

The soft crunch of gravel beneath his boots betrayed his presence. Her shoulders stiffened, and for a heartbeat, the world held its breath. When she turned to face him fully, there was no life in her eyes, only the depthless void of the sea’s cold expanse.

  

“Do you need something, my prince?” Her voice was soft, lilting with the cadence of sea-song, but it carried no warmth. It brushed against him like a cold tide, leaving only emptiness in its wake.

Jimin opened his mouth to respond, but the words tangled in his throat. He, who had faced battle-hardened generals and charmed the most stubborn courtiers, found himself disarmed by a single question. “What is your name?” he asked finally, his tone gentler than he intended.

The maiden’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, as if measuring the weight of his words. “Names hold power, Your Highness,” she replied, her voice flat. “It is best not to give them freely.”

He should have left then—should have let her vanish into whatever mystery she carried—but something in her defiance sparked a fire within him. “Then what shall I call you?”

She paused, as if contemplating his persistence. “I am a servant here. Nothing more.”

Jimin stepped closer, the scent of roses and sweat mingling with the faint trace of saltwater that seemed to cling to her. “A servant who walks as if burdened by the weight of the ocean,” he mused. “You are no mere servant.”

The air between them grew heavy, thick with unspoken words and the faint scent of sea spray. The maiden looked at him again, and for an instant, the hollowness in her eyes cracked, revealing something raw and untamed beneath. “You speak as though you know me, Your Highness,” she said, her voice low. “But you know nothing.”

Her words stung, and yet they only deepened his intrigue. “Then help me know,” he whispered, a plea more than a demand.

          But before he could say more, she lifted the bucket with a strength that seemed at odds with her delicate form. Without another word, she turned and walked past him, leaving only the faint scent of saltwater and the ghost of a riddle in her wake.

Jimin stood alone by the well, the sun casting long shadows across the courtyard. The world around him resumed its rhythm, but he remained still, lost in thought. Who was she, this woman of the sea with hair like night and lips like forbidden fruit? And why did her gaze feel like both a promise and a curse?

The prince of Solaria was many things—warrior, scholar, protector of his people—but in that moment, he was merely a man captivated by the whisper of something beyond his reach. The well, now empty of her presence, seemed suddenly vast and unfathomable—a symbol of depths yet to be explored.

As he turned to leave, Jimin resolved that this encounter would not be their last. Whatever shadows clung to her, whatever sorrow she carried—he would unravel it. For he was light in a kingdom surrounded by darkness, and he had never shied away from stepping into the abyss.

__________________________________________________

Hey everyone!! This is Vivienne and it's my first time writing something like this. I hope you enjoy it!!

All the parts of the story will be released Every 4-5 days. If there is any additional delay I sincerely apologise.

[butcherlarry]

Weekly Fic Recs 67

There won't be a fic rec list next week because I will be traveling. There might also not be a fic rec list the next next week because I will be traveling again (this time for work). So, expect an extra long list middle of June :)

Padam by HaleHathNoFury (My_Trex_has_fleas) @halehathnofury - Superbat, wip. I am in love with this fic where Bruce and Clark meet while young/in college. And Clark exploring his sexuality! It's perfect! A good fic to read during Pride Month too :)

Mission: seducing Superman by Speechless_since_1998 @mylifeisfruk4ever - Superbat, wip. I'm always so happy when this fic where Battinson Bruce accidentally/on purpose seduces Superman updates. And I love the fact that Bruce keeps adopting/acquiring children and Clark finds this super attractive.

liquid courage by scarletazure - Superbat, complete. I recced this fic in a server I'm in this week, and I had to rec it here (again) too! Drunk Clark is Best Clark, especially when he confesses his love to Bruce :)

I reach out from the inside by Violet138 @violent138 - Superbat, wip. Body swap fic! Body swap fic! With angst!! I was so delighted when I saw this fic. I love how Bruce and Clark have to get used to their new bodies and powers (or lack of).

midnight rush by TheResurrectionist @frownyalfred - Batman, complete. An outsider POV fic! It's based off of this post Res made, and it is so much fun to read, especially the slow realization that Bruce is more than he seems (and the panic that follows).

Milky by SalParadiseLost @salparadiselost - Superbat, wip. I love me a good cat Bruce fic. I love me a good creature fic. I also love me a good world building fic. This fic has all of that and more!!

Patchwork Pod by KtKat9 @ktkat99 - Superbat & Batfam, wip. More of the mer Bruce fic! Poor Clark is really going through it :( If you're sad about MerMay being over, definitely give this fic a read to cheer yourself up!

Alien Twister by Speechless_since_1998 - Superbat, complete. I was giggling uncontrollably while reading this fic. SO CUTE!

A New Home by Elegitre @elegitre - Batfam, wip. An AU were Tim is in the foster system, and is going to a new foster family when his current foster parent can't take care of him anymore (I still love you Mrs. Smith, and all your cats) I like the author's note at the end of the latest chapter "you can pry 'found family' out of my cold, dead hands." I feel the same way.

Broken Bones by Elegitre - Batfam, wip. WINGFIC MY B E L O V E D. They are one of my many One True Weaknesses. Poor Tim, he is going through it.

Happy reading!

[legionofshaza]

Vanserra Couture

A Lucien x OC(Elara Talveran) fanfic

For Lucien week AU @lucienweekofficial

🔱⚜️🔱⚜️🔱⚜️🔅⚜️🔱🔅⚜️🔱🔅🔱⚜️🔅🔱⚜️🔅

The dazzling lights of Vanserra Couture were a stark contrast to Elara's world. Born into a life of struggle, she had spent her days mending clothes in a cramped workshop, her  fingers weaving patches onto old, worn-out garments. But today, she stood in the heart of wealth and luxury, a place where beauty and fashion reigned supreme: Lucien Vanserra’s empire.

Vanserra Couture wasn’t just a fashion show—it was the show, the epitome of luxury and prestige in the fashion world. Models, designers, and elite fashionistas from across the realms gathered here to compete, not just for the grand prize of 500,000 gold marks, but for Lucien’s favor and a future in glamour. Rumor had it that Lucien, the enigmatic, copper-haired designer who built the empire, had a penchant for perfection, and his sharp, golden eye missed nothing.

Elara had never intended to enter this world. She wasn’t one of the tall, sleek beauties who naturally drifted to the front lines of fashion. But when her sister fell ill, the hospital bills mounted, and desperation clawed at her like never before. The prize money from Vanserra Couture could change everything. It could save her sister.

With her simple background, entering the competition had felt like a fantasy. She had nothing but raw talent and a drive to survive. Elara's hands, skilled in patching and mending, now had to transform fabric into something spectacular. But this was her one shot.

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Lucien stood at the balcony above the runway, his intense gaze surveying the models below. He had built Vanserra Couture from the ground up, pouring his soul into the empire. The models parading through his halls were mere instruments to craft his vision. And yet, as his eyes drifted over the latest group of competitors, one in particular caught his attention: Elara.

She was different, and Lucien could always sense when someone didn’t belong. With her unassuming brown hair pinned into a neat bun and wearing a dress that looked homemade, she didn’t fit the image of the polished models who glided through his doors. Yet there was something in her eyes—a fire, an unyielding determination—that made him pause.

Lucien gestured to his assistant, a tall woman in dark glasses who stood by his side. “Who is she?”

The assistant skimmed through her tablet. “Elara Talveran. No formal training. Self-taught. Comes from the lower districts.”

“Interesting,” Lucien mused. “We’ll see how long she lasts.”

Backstage, Elara’s heart pounded. She had made it through the first round by sheer luck, or so it seemed. Now, she had to face Lucien’s infamous Designers' Challenge. Each model was given a random set of materials—some beautiful, some absurd—and tasked with crafting an outfit to showcase on the runway. The catch? They had only twenty-four hours.

When the fabric was handed to her, Elara felt the weight of her task. Frayed linen, bits of old velvet, and scraps of lace—hardly the glamorous silk or satin the other models were working with. They want me to fail, she thought bitterly, but failure wasn’t an option. Not with her sister’s life hanging in the balance.

The hours blurred as she worked feverishly, her hands moving faster than her mind. With every stitch, she channeled her love for her sister. Every patch of fabric represented another hospital bill, another chance at freedom. By the time she finished, the sun had begun to rise, casting pale light across her creation. It wasn’t elegant, but it was hers—a patchwork gown that felt like a story stitched together from broken pieces.

The show began later that evening, and Lucien watched from the shadows as each model took the runway. As Elara stepped out, the audience murmured. Her dress was unlike anything they’d seen—a bold mix of textures, old lace intertwined with faded velvet. What should have been a disaster became a striking visual. Elara’s expression held no fear, only a fierce defiance.

As the models lined up, awaiting Lucien's judgment, he descended the staircase, the echo of his footsteps silencing the crowd. He stopped in front of Elara, his golden eye scanning her creation. The tension in the room thickened. Lucien’s approval could make or break her.

“And what do we have here?” His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it. “A patchwork dress. Brave.”

Elara’s throat was dry, but she met his gaze. “I work with what I have.”

“And what you have,” Lucien drawled, inspecting the seams, “is almost nothing.” A long pause followed. “Yet you’ve made it into something. Impressive.”

She blinked, unsure if she had heard him right. Lucien Vanserra didn’t give out compliments easily.

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost into a smile. “There’s raw talent here. Unrefined, yes, but undeniable.” He stepped back, glancing at the other models. “Elara will move to the next round.”

Relief washed over her, but it was quickly followed by an overwhelming sense of responsibility. She had to win. Not just for herself, but for her sister.

The competition became fiercer with each passing day. Lucien, always watching from his secluded balcony, tested their limits. Elara faced everything from fabric shortages to design sabotage from the more seasoned competitors. Yet each challenge pushed her further, sharpening her skills and steeling her resolve.

She found herself in the final round, standing alongside three other contestants, all glamorous, all polished. The grand prize loomed closer than ever. But there was something more at stake now. Lucien had taken a personal interest in her journey, offering advice only in cryptic remarks. His attention was both a blessing and a curse. It made her the target of jealous eyes, but it also forced her to rise to levels she never thought possible.

In the final showcase, the models were asked to create their ultimate vision of beauty, using whatever fabrics and materials they wished. Elara, however, returned to her roots. She worked with the simplest of fabrics—wool, cotton, and linen—transforming them into a gown that was a tribute to her past, her family, and her sister’s struggle.

The day of the final runway came, and the tension in the air was palpable. As Elara walked, she carried with her every ounce of love she had for her sister, every moment of hardship she had faced. Her gown told a story, not of wealth or grandeur, but of survival, of hope stitched together from broken pieces.

When Lucien stepped onto the stage to announce the winner, the crowd held their breath. His gaze swept over the contestants, but when his eyes landed on Elara, they softened, just for a moment.

“Elara Talveran,” Lucien said, his voice echoing through the grand hall, “you have proven that beauty does not need luxury. It can rise from the ashes of hardship, from humble beginnings. You are the winner of Vanserra Couture.”

Tears filled her eyes as the weight of his words sank in. She had done it. She had won. Not just the competition, but the chance to save her sister, to change their lives forever.

As the crowd erupted into applause, Lucien met her gaze once more, his voice low enough for only her to hear. “You remind me of someone I once knew—someone who turned nothing into something extraordinary.”

And with that, Lucien Vanserra turned away, his empire at his back, while Elara stood victorious at the pinnacle of a new beginning.

★ End ★