#assembled armies sweating before the battle

[stromuprisahat]

This post got me thinking- if solar eclipse makes animals assume it's sleepy-time, do Aleksander's shadows work the same way?

Are his attacks accompanied by sudden silence? Do birds and insects quiet, but horse and dogs frighten, neighing and whining in reaction to their masters' unease?

Did he ever use his shadows to confuse whole chunk of forest, making it easier to sneak near the unassuming prey, because there's no need of precision like blinding them would require, if they're asleep?

I want to know the impact of his powers on wildlife!

[waiting4inspiration]

A Different Way I: The Vow

Summary: Ivar comes to Earl Gunnar to form an alliance; the use of the Earl's strong fleet in exchange for Ivar making one of Gunnar's many daughters his wife. While there, none of the girls that practically throw themself at him catch his eye. No, he wants the woman that is ready for any fight. He wants the woman that vows that she will die on a battlefield.

Warnings: strong language, mentions of arranged marriage (kind of), blood vows, blood, small angst, fluff, mentions of death during childbirth, please please please let me know what you think of this because I'm struggling with the next part and feedback always helps me out

Word Count: 2,426

A Different Way Masterlist II Vikings Masterlist

Earl Gunnar is known for having many daughters. It means that Ivar is prepared to see so many women in his hall when he arrives. Hvitserk is not as prepared. Ivar also knows that he has to choose one of these daughters to be his wife if he wants this alliance between Earl Gunnar, the two of them have spoken about this in private already.

Gunnar’s fleet has grown larger than Ivar and his army would make a great addition to The Heathen Army. If Ivar wants to carry on raiding England and defeating their growing army, compromises have to be made. He will have to take a wife. And he’s sure that out of Gunnar’s group of daughters, he will find a wife suitable for him.

All his daughters were told about his arrival, to dress in their best dresses, and make themselves look like wives in hopes for his proposal. But there’s something in the way they all whisper and giggle to each other that Ivar doesn’t find appealing. Sure, maybe there are a few beautiful faces that he can learn to love, but none of them catch his attention right away.

“King Ivar. It is an honor to have you in my hall,” Gunnar speaks, standing from his seat and stepping forward. Ivar pulls his gaze away from the group of girls and looks towards him. Hvitserk is preoccupied with the girls, smirking and making them blush and not focusing on the Earl. “These are my daughters. All 12 of them are eager to meet you,” he mentions, gesturing to his giggling group of daughters.

Ivar glances back at them and quickly counts them out of curiosity. He finds a fault. Counting again, he smirks and looks back to the Earl. “I count 11,” he states, the smile on Gunnar’s face falls and his eyes snap over to his daughters.

They all glance around to see who is missing, but their father already knows who. “Where is your oldest sister, girls?” he questions, his second oldest that is only a few years younger smirks at him and folds her hands in front of her.

“Where do you think she is, father?” the girl questions, raising her eyebrow as the rest of the girls behind her snicker, making Ivar even less interested in them and more interested in this missing daughter.

Gunnar grumbles something to himself before the doors of the hall open to allow someone in.

Ivar and Hvitserk turn around to see who it is, Gunnar only closing his eyes because he knows exactly who it is; his oldest daughter. You. And Ivar is taken away by your appearance.

You are not dressed in a fine-fitting dress, nor do you have braids keeping your hair out of your face. You look like you have just stepped off a battlefield, sweat-covered forehead and sword tightly held in your hand.

And when you see the assembly in front of you, your eyes grow wide.

You look right past Ivar and at your father who still has his back facing you. Your sisters all smirk at you, some of them whispering and making each other laugh. And when your father turns around, you know you’re in big trouble because the look of cold, pure anger on his face makes you bite your lower lip.

“You were training?” Gunnar questions, Ivar glancing between you and your father. You give a small nod and shift on your feet, breathing out a sigh because you know what’s about to happen next. And you’re prepared to fight back. Ivar can see it in the way you stand. “And have you forgotten that we are in the presence of a visitor?”

Your eyes flicker over to Ivar, and he takes in a deep breath at the sight of your eyes staring into his. You swallow hard at the sight of his brightly colored eyes, realizing that they live up to the stories you’ve heard of them.

You bow your head to him. “Forgive me, my King. But I wasn’t interested in being displayed like an object for sale,” you spit, your anger not directed at him, but to your father.

Ivar is taken aback by your tone, by the fire in your eyes as you turn your gaze back to your father, and by the way your upper lip sneers at him as you speak. And your voice. It’s powerful and fierce.

Gunnar takes a deep breath to compose himself in front of Ivar and Hvitserk. He holds out his hand. “Give me your sword,” he orders, the daughter’s behind him all oohing like they know what’s about to happen.

You glance down at the sword in your hands and grip it tightly, shaking your head as you look back to your father. “Mother gave me this sword-”

“Give me your sword! Now!” You flinch at his words and take a step forward.

Walking past Ivar, not even looking at him, he can hear your heavy breathing and notices how you desperately cling to your sword. Holding it out when you reach your father, he harshly takes it from you and holds it at his side. “You will get it back when you have learned some courtly manners,” he states, your mouth dropping as your hands roll into fists by your sides.

And you hear your sisters laughing at your misfortune. Turning on your heels, you storm away and mutter incoherent frustration under your breath. “I haven’t dismissed you, (Y/n)!”

“And I didn’t ask if I could leave!” you shout back, turning around to face your father again.

You’re fuming. Something about your rage intriguing Ivar even more and he takes a step forward at the vengeful flicker in your eyes. You don’t care that he is there. You don’t care if some of the people outside now crowd the door of the Hall to see what is going on. There is nothing that will stop your furry for your father.

Gunnar sneers at you and holds out his other hand. “And that will cost you your ax,” he barks, your hand shooting for the ax at your side that Ivar didn’t even see you carrying. “It is time you learn to act like a lady. Now, your ax,” he demands, Ivar’s head snapping to him.

Ivar’s about to dismiss this scene and tell Gunnar that none of this is necessary. But a harsh thud sounds from your side of the room and Ivar’s head snaps over to you. He finds your hand wrapped around your ax’s handle and the blade embedded in the wood of the pillar beside you.

Without another word, you turn back around and storm out of the room; there is nothing left for your father to take.

Gunnar turns his gaze to Ivar and sighs. “Perhaps we can discuss this later, King Ivar. I have to…talk to my daughter,” he says, not waiting for Ivar to reply before walking after you.

Hvitserk turns to Ivar and sees him staring in the direction you left. “She’s the one you want, huh?” he asks, a smirk growing on Ivar’s face as he recalls that fierce fire he saw in your eyes. “She’s going to be a handful, Ivar.”

“At least she won’t bore me to death then,” Ivar mentions, glancing over his shoulder to the group of gossiping girls.

Hvitserk chuckles at him. “You’ll have to win her affection first and I don’t think she will be as easy as her sisters,” he whispers, Ivar’s eyes return to where you walked out of as Hvitserk glances at your sisters.

He’s right. You don’t look like you’re as interested to be his wife as your sisters are. But that’s what will make it all the more fun for him. And if he manages to win you over, He will be a very happy man.

People know that when they see you storming down the hallways to stand aside unless they want to experience your wrath. Even though it’s clear you’re not carrying any weapons, they don’t want to know if you can strangle someone, which is very likely.

Once you get to your room, you slam the door shut behind you with a loud, frustrated groan and weave your fingers through your hair to tug on your roots. You pace the floor, trying to calm yourself down. But all you feel is rage. Picking up your knife when you walk past it, you grip the handle tightly as if your father’s going to take it from you as well. The chances are good if his idea to teach you courtly manner is by removing every weapon you own.

Hearing your door open, you jump around and glare at your father when he walks in. “What? What could you possibly want now?” As you snap at him, you slam your knife into the table beside you making it stick into the wood.

He gives you a stern look as he walks forward, silently telling you not to take that tone with him even though he knows that you won’t listen to him. “When are you going to realize that I only want the best for you?” he asks, reaching for your knife embedded in the table but your hand snatches it before he can even touch it. “You have to start taking responsibility. You can’t spend the rest of your life training or waiting for the battle to break out.”

“And I suppose you want me to settle down, marry some man and have his children?” you viciously ask, pointing your knife at him as you take a step away from him. “Is your preferred way for me to die the same way mother did?”

“Don’t-”

“Because I promise I will never allow that to happen. As a matter of fact-” You hold out your hand and slice through your palm, hissing through your teeth as blood starts to pool in your hand. “I vow that I will die on a battlefield and not because of some man’s child. I make this vow before the Gods. And before a King,” you say, adding the last part when you see Ivar walking into sight.

Gunnar turns his head over his shoulder to see who you’re looking at. Seeing Ivar, he takes a deep breath, his jaw tensing as he slowly turns back to face you. “This won’t change my mind,” he sneers to you, reaching for your knife and pulling it out of your hand.

You flinch, pull your cut hand close to your chest, and narrow your eyes at your father as he turns to walk away. When he passes Ivar, your eyes go to him for a moment before looking down at your hand and turning away from him. You expect him to walk after your father, but you can still see him out the corner of your eye. Still, that doesn’t stop you from looking for a piece of clothing you can rip up and use as a bandage around your hand.

“May I help you?” you snap, looking back at Ivar when you notice that he hasn’t moved yet.

He smirks, takes a small step forward, and runs his tongue over his lips and his eyes fall to your bloodied hand gripping the material tightly. “I thought I would come see if you’re okay. It seemed like quite a nasty fight you had-”

“What do you know?” you cut him off, sitting down on the edge of your bed and fumbling to wrap your hand up. “He’s been that way with me ever since my mother died which has been a long time because she died…” You stop, biting your tongue when you realize that you’re rambling off to someone you don’t know, someone you don’t want to know, all because you’re angry at your father. “Well, that’s none of your business.”

Ivar smiles at you as he steps forward. He definitely won’t get bored with you. Seeing you struggling with the makeshift bandage, he walks towards you and then sits down beside you, resting his crutch next to him. Then, he reaches over to take your hand. You pull it away from him and glare at him.

Tilting his head at you, he tries to take your hand again and this time you let him. “You must trust the Gods if you tried to make a blood promise,” he whispers, ripping the piece of material into a smaller, longer piece before gently taking your bloodied hand again.

“I didn’t make it because of the Gods,” you sternly say, your mean tone making Ivar chuckle and his eyes flicker up at you for a second before he looks back at your hand. “I did it in memory of my mother.”

He hums, slowly wiping away the blood before taking the piece he had ripped off and methodically wrapping it around your palm. “She was a shieldmaiden?” he asks, looking up at you again as he gently turns your hand around.

You stare at his hand, noting the feeling of his rough skin against yours. “She was the best in the city. Or that is what I thought when I was a child. She told me that she saw herself in me when I was born so she taught me how to fight. Even when she was pregnant with my sisters.” You laugh at the memory but then hiss when Ivar starts to tie the bandage. “It was the one thing I had with her that my sisters didn’t have.”

“And it feels like you’re honoring her memory by carrying on fighting?” His question makes you raise your head to him and he looks up at you in return. You open your mouth to speak, but you don’t. He already knows the answer to that questions and you know it.

When he’s done with your hand, you gently pull it away from him and shake your head. “If you’re planning on trying to woo me, King Ivar, I would advise against it. You’ll just be wasting your time.” With that, you stand up and walk away from him and out of your room.

Ivar watches you leave, a smile slowly creeping onto his face. He knows it’s going to be a challenge to win your affection but that’s part of the fun, isn’t it? In the end, if he manages to do this, it will be one hell of a story. It will be something the two of you can look back on and laugh at.

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[compassionatekiller]

Decimation

A lone figure stood on the edge of a lonely cliff, silent and seething against the setting sun.  The white haori was pristine, even after a long day spent fighting.  Her long black hair swayed ominously in the awakening wind, and she remained completely motionless as she stared off over the land the cliff overlooked.

Behind, standing stock still, were the men and women of the 11th Division.  The rest of the army was in a more secure location further down the mountain, but the fighting forces of the 11th alone had been called to this remote location by their vicious leader.  Though the summer sun had yet to fully set, the sweat that stained their skin was so cold it seemed like it would freeze at any moment.  After all, they knew why they were there.

Defeat.

Though the battle had been won in the end, though their Captain had killed all of the targets she had needed to, the fact remained that the soldiers of the 11th Division had been unable to maintain their offensive.  They had fought and fought and fought, and they had been beaten back despite all of their efforts.  For the first time, they hadn’t been able to hold the line and push through the enemies own.  They had been forced to retreat.

Unacceptable.

“Well?  Do any of you have an explanation for your performance today?”

The cold voice of their cruel Captain echoed throughout the area.  Someone needed to say something, anything, but none could.  No matter how much they needed to calm the monstrous rage before them, not a single one of them could make so much as a sound.   Whatever words they may have head died in their throats.  

“No?  No explanations?”

She turned around at last, and she swept her ferociously furious gaze across the assembled soldiers as she peered into the deepest recesses of their souls.

“No excuses?”

At that, one member of throng stepped forward at last.  He was a plain man, with tidy black hair the only extended down to his ears.  Why, he didn’t even have any piercings or scars visible!  Yet he was the only one to walk forward, to stand before his Captain even as those around him looked at him as if he had just announced his intent to fistfight the moon.  The woman they all cowered before deigned to turn her gaze towards this lone figure.

“If you have something to say, Benjiro, then say it.”

A bead of sweat as cold as ice crept down his pale face, but he did not waver.  “Captain, our performance today was the result of my poor direction.  The others gave their all to this battle, just as they have for all prior ones.  This debacle is entirely my fault.  I wish to take respons-”

The man did not get any further before the back of her fist collided with his jaw, sending him sprawling across the ground.

“Entirely your fault?”  The warrior woman spat.  “Take responsibility?  Listen and listen well, prideful whelp.  Do you believe that you can control their actions?  Do you think you puppet them in the midst of battle with all of your plans?  If they followed whatever ideas spawned from you, Benjiro, then that was the choice that they made.  If they failed to see those ideas through, that is their failure.  They did not fight hard enough.  They did not fight well enough.  They are the ones who ran.

Correct your arrogance before you speak to me again, Lieutenant.”

After crushing her warriors’ only hope at salvation, the Captain once again turned her attention to the others. 

“Does anyone else have something to say?”

No one did.

“Then my decision is made.”

She turned around and began examining the distant horizon once more.

“When I call your name, step forward.”

One by one, name after name, the Captain called.  One by one, name by name, the disgraced warriors stepped forward to answer her.  So it continued until twenty individuals, men and women alike, stood separate from their peers.  A full tenth of the Divisions fighting forces now awaited judgement.

It came so quickly that before anyone could so much as blink, it was already over.  Where once she had been standing with her back to the crowd, the Captain now stood in the midst of her condemned, her sword drawn and freshly fed as the corpses collapsed around her.  Her gaze raked across the one hundred and eighty survivors.  “Remember this moment.  Burn it into your memory.

Do not disappoint me again.”

She walked forward, and the survivors parted before her as if distance could protect them.  

The last that the 11th Division saw of Captain Unohana Yachiru until the following day was the number of their Division emblazoned on her back with a new red stain smeared across it.

[minisception]

2021 Summer Painting Challenge, Day 21

My new Frontline Battle Mat game in the mail today. First Time I've purchased one of these. It's pretty nice, fits the winter base theme of my undead, & is properly sized for the current editions of 40k & fantasy. I got out all my unpainted, half built fantasy terrain to see what I had to work with in terms of getting a proper table together. Not too much, but not nothing. I'll definitely have to prioritize getting some scenery painted, at least once I've got a fully army ready to run. Speaking of...

I've made some basic progress on my July pledge - getting everything assembled, the zombies & dire wolves based. I also primed all that stuff after taking these pictures. I had meant to do the 10 extra cursed city zombies I ordered, but the little plots of land they carry on their backs add a fair bit to the painting time, so as a little cheat I set those aside and assembled 10 non-grave-staked zombies from the new regiment box instead. The dire wolves got some extra slate chips to help fill in some of the empty space on their bases, and also to add extra contact points to the ones that were only designed with one or two feet on the ground. Their legs are pretty skinny, and they feel like they'd be prone to breaking otherwise, so this just heads off a potential problem before it can make trouble for me later.

I also primed the vampire lord from the previous basing video. Unfortunately my white primer was running on empty so when I tried to do a zenithal highlight I got this speckled result instead. Which looks cool, but spray mistakes like this can absolutely destroy models. Thankfully the finish is still smooth to the touch, so it's just a spotty looking paint job, not one that destroyed the models details beneath a fuzzy surface texture.

the commission rhino fully assembled, complete with pintle weaponry, magnets to keep the rear door closed, and some FW Raven Guard brass etched details. I even got the first basecoat on the metal work down.

If this had been the first week of the month, then I'd be in great position to get everything done early, like I initially intended. As it is, with 10 days left to go? Not so much. I really kind of left this months painting pledge for the last minute, and now it's going to bite me in the butt. Oh, I theoretically could finish this stuff in the remaining time - I figure I could get the rhino done in 5 days, the zombies 3, and the dire wolves 2, no sweat. Except that I don't actually have 10 days.

Remember when I said I was going to be out of town at some point this month? It was the whole reason I was aiming for a more modest pledge, and didn't want to commit to daily updates? Well, now that's happening, and I'm going to lose 3 to 4 of my remaining days, if not more. I knew this was coming up, and the whole point of my comparatively light pledge this month was to get my painting done early so it would be out of the way when this trip happened. But I got sucked into some video games & lost track of time, something that wouldn't have happened if I had just done the daily updates anyway.

TBH, I am a bit disappointed in myself, and it sucks the wind out of my whole fun villain routine. I'll scramble to do as much as I can in the remaining time, but I'm no longer planning on getting it all done this month. If I can just finish the rhino, I'll be ok with that, as that would buy me enough slack on the commission front that I could focus solely on my own models next month. Anything else I don't finish this month, I'm fine with just adding to next month's pile, along with a modest additional pledge, plus the remaining side quests left over from June. I'm aiming to have a thousand points of Vyrkos Dynasty Path to Glory ready to go by the end of August, so I can actually get some games in.

Which is the exciting, positive part of my trip out of town - I'm going to actually have a car again. The circumstances under which I'm getting it are personal and sad, but it will mean semi-regular game store trips so I can actually start playing some games again. I'm pretty hype to actually try AoS 3e for myself, and that should more than make up for any motivation I've lost due to disappointment over not meeting my painting goals this month.

I even started coming up with names and brief backstories for all my planned units. I'll be posting all about it soon.

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Not Without You (Canon Divergence Stucky Fix-It-Fic)

Twenty-Four:

Finally getting to his feet, Steve watched as an army of Thanos's followers descended onto the makeshift battleground. Nausea roiled through his stomach at fighting them alone. There was no trying about it. Steve would fight to his death. Even single-handedly.

Which seemed like a very real possibility since his teammates seemed to still be down.

Tightening the straps on the shield, Steve leveled his breathing to a calmer, more manageable rhythm. Ready to charge before his comm crackled with static. His stomach dropped. He was truly alone. He would be fighting al--

"Hey, Cap, you read me?"

Sam's deep voice shocked Steve to his core. Bringing his hand up to his chest, Steve made sure that he was, in fact, still alive. While they were hopeful that they'd be able to bring them back, for a good while, Steve wasn't sure they'd be able to. Not even once Bruce snapped his fingers.

"Cap, it's Sam. Can you hear me?"

Steve couldn't find his voice. His throat was too tight with emotion as his eyes filled with tears. All those times when he reached for his phone with the intention to call Sam, only to realize he couldn't came rushing back to Steve. He was relieved to know that they succeeded.

"On your left."

Brows furrowed, Steve turned to find a shimmering, sparking portal open. Standing there was Okoye, Shuri, and T'Challa, ready to fight. Steve shared a look with them as Sam flew over them, exiting the portal. Around him, more portals opened revealing more people from different locations.

The only thing that Steve could focus on though, was Bucky. More handsome than he remembered, the brunet ran past the royal family towards him. Steve's heart slammed against his ribs as though it was trying to burst from his chest to reach Bucky sooner.

"I thought I told you not to do anything stupid," Bucky said, joining Steve. As he surveyed the ground and their threat, Steve's eyes stayed on him. Not believing that he was there. That he was close enough to touch. That he could lean over and smell that woodsy, sensual cologne that had lingered in his mind, losing its Buckiness over the years. That he could feel that stubble on his chin and tangle his fingers in those messy strands.

Bucky was alive, and tears broke the dam.

Silently, tears rolled over the bottom half of his mask and stained his dirt covered jaw. Finally returning his gaze to Steve, Bucky's brow furrowed. Bucky's hand twitched, as though he was about to wipe Steve's tears, but Steve knew that he wouldn't. Not when they were facing a battle. Yet, it lit Steve up and held a promise, "soon."

With his faith restored and his anger building, Steve finally tore his eyes from his lover and glared at Thanos. Ready to finish this, once and for all, Steve announced, "Avengers --" Mjolnir smacked into his hand when he summoned it "-- ASSEMBLE!"

From somewhere down the line, Thor made a battle cry, as did T'Challa. Bucky by his side, Steve charged forward. Thanos's army started running towards them as well, and Steve was positive that none of them were going to touch Bucky. Of course, that didn't mean that Bucky wasn't going to harm them.

Having each other's backs, they fought in tandem. Taking out one alien after another. Steve took out all his anger and frustration over the past six years on those who fought for Thanos. Giving it his all as he brought them down. Even using the Mjolnir by throwing it and hitting multiple individuals.

When Steve held his hand out and caught Stormbreaker, he turned to find Thor holding Mjolnir. Teasingly, Thor shook his head and gestured for the magical axe, "No, no, give me that. You have the little one."

Smirking, Steve accepted it and got back to fighting. All the while, keeping an eye on Bucky, making sure that he was okay. Sweat dripping down his neck, Steve heard Clint ask over the comms, "Cap, what do you want me to do with this damn thing?"

Not wanting them anywhere near Thanos, Steve demanded, "Get those stones as far away as possible!"

"No!" Bruce exclaimed, Steve winced at the loud sound in his ear, "We need to get them back to where they came from."

"No way to get them back," Tony sighed, "Thanos destroyed the Quantum Tunnel."

"Hold on," Scott shrunk from his giant form, "That wasn't our only time machine."

Tu tutu tu tu Tu tutu tu tu Tu tu tutu tu tu tuu

Perking at the musical horn, Steve looked around and asked, "Anyone see an ugly brown van?"

"Yes!" Brunnhilde answered, "But you're not gonna like where it's parked."

Tony asked, "How long do you need to get that thing working?"

"Maybe ten minutes," Scott estimated.

Steve ordered, "Get it started. We'll get the stones to you."

"We're on it, Cap," a female's voice replied. Considering he didn't know that tone and she was working with Scott, he assumed that it was none other than Hope.

Almost as soon as that plan was set into motion, Thanos's spaceship started shooting cannons down at them. Steve's heart raced as he attempted to move out of the way for one of them. Knowing that this was no place for Bucky. Not anymore. Steve pushed the man.

"What the hell, Steve?"

"You need to get out of here," Steve rushed, eyes darting around as he tried to stay aware of his surroundings.

"You hit your head?" Bucky questioned. Fiercely declaring, "I'm not leaving you!"

"You have to," Steve pleaded. Glancing at higher ground, Steve gestured, "Up there. You can watch me better. Like old times."

Bucky narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but he agreed, taking some steps backwards, "Just know that I know what you're doing."

While the Avengers fought and tried to get the gauntlet to the time machine, Steve noticed that Thanos had spotted it. Ordering more of his people to attack T'Challa, who was running the gauntlet across the battlefield.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Steve watched as the gauntlet switched hands to the younger member. The spider kid. What was his name? Steve couldn't remember, but when the kid doubled over to protect the stones, Steve threw Mjolnir in his direction and called out through the comms, "Hey, Queens, heads up!"

Thankfully, he shot a web, and was carried across the grounds until being caught by Pepper. Steve's breath evened out for a moment before he got back to his task at hand. Feeling at ease when aliens dropped around him without him even touching them.

Suddenly, the cannons stopped shooting down at them, and turned upwards towards the sky at an unseen assailant. Then, they started shooting at whatever it was, and Steve hoped that whoever it was, they were on their side.

Burning, brightness tore through the spaceship, and Steve couldn't fight the grin that crossed his face to find Carol. They could really use her right about now.

As the ship fell into the lake, Steve said, "Danvers, we need an assist here."

Fortunately, he didn't need to tell her what to do, and she weaved between people on her way to the time machine. Steve spotted Thanos charging for Carol -- and more specifically the gauntlet -- and didn't even think before rushing for the titan. Unfortunately, even with his speed and strength, the force didn't do as much as he hoped. Only causing Thanos to momentarily lose his balance.

Not pausing, Steve started landing blows and kicks to the titan. But it wasn't enough as he simply threw Steve off. Landing harshly on the ground, Steve laid there for a moment. As he tried to catch his breath, Steve heard an explosion coming from the direction of the van.

With the realization that they no longer had a time machine and that Thanos wasn't going to stop unless something happened, Steve knew what he had to do. Seeing how Carol was fighting with Thanos, Steve forced himself up once more.

Positioning himself off to Thanos's side, facing Carol. Catching her eye, Steve ran towards her. One handed, she forced Thanos to his knees and passed the gauntlet over to Steve. Knowing that he needed to end this before anyone else got hurt. Easily, he slid his hand into the large gauntlet that started to shrink, to fit his non-hulking hand. His heart raced, remembering Bruce's agonized screams.

Once the gauntlet was snug to his glove, he grit his teeth, trying not to scream as he dropped to his knees. Hot, searing pain shot up his arm like someone had cut open his veins and poured in lava. It felt like the rheumatic fever from his childhood where his whole body burned and his achy joints screamed whenever he moved.

Opening his eyes, he saw Thanos gaining the upper hand against Carol. Clearly angry that Steve was in control now. Thanos yelled, "I am inevitable!"

Holding up his gloved hand, Steve's breath was heavy and heart erratic in his chest as he declared, "I… am… done."

Snap

[moonbeambucky]

Helpless

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 5298 Warnings: fluff

Summary: Bucky doesn’t realize that the more he tries to be helpful the more he makes his girl feel helpless.

A/N: This is my submission for @kentuckybarnes Hannah’s 3k Writing Challenge. My prompt was Character A is told to stay in the car while Character B confronts a villain. Things go downhill. Character A drives the car into the villain. But didn’t leave the car. Thank you as always to my Sam 💕@buckyofthemyscira for beta reading! gif not mine

The story of Bucky Barnes is filled with immense sadness weaving its ways throughout the pages of his life. From Howling Commando to Hydra assassin, his mind was scrubbed clean of what made him; his memories, his morals. Bucky was forced to commit unspeakable acts, ones that keep him up at night trembling with guilt. He was given a new life while being robbed of his old one but now that he’s finally free of the tentacled grasp Hydra held him in, Bucky is working on becoming himself again, and for all the harm he’s done to the world he wants to give back and help.

The desire to help others took root within him at a young age. He learned from his father George, who was always quick to assist the neighbors on their friendly Brooklyn block, and Bucky experienced firsthand how good it felt to help others.

When Mrs. Davis from down the block couldn’t leave the house much anymore Bucky took it upon himself to fetch her groceries or mow the lawn. He never asked for anything in return for his service but she insisted, paying him a little something so he could treat himself to an ice cream. Instead, Bucky used the money to make sure the alley cats had a fresh dish of milk and cans of tuna each day. If helping was the lottery then Bucky hit the jackpot when he befriended Steve Rogers.

Steve became more like a brother and Bucky had his hands full looking after him. You see, Steve was just like Bucky when it came to helping others except the little punk didn’t know his limits. He picked his battles, every single one, no matter who was on the other end. Bucky would have to step in every time and throw a punch or take one; better him than Steve who would crumble at the slightest breeze.

Bucky couldn’t fight all of Steve’s battles though, but he was always there to help Steve get well from his latest bout with any and every germ that came his way. His poor friend was a scrawny thing, with an immune system more fragile than a butterfly’s wings. Bucky ran all over Brooklyn to pick up Steve’s prescriptions and even learned to make his mother’s homemade chicken soup recipe, anticipating he might be spending the rest of his life making it for Steve.

Helping was always in Bucky’s nature but when the war broke out he questioned his morals. Part of him wanted to sign up, his country needed help and he was ready to fight, but with his father no longer around it didn’t feel right to leave his ma and sisters. In the end Bucky decided to stick around, continue to help his family and Steve until he was drafted.

The fate of the world was safe, for today at least, and while Bucky had helped secure it from the threat of other worldly invaders once more he wanted to use his free time to help on a smaller level.

This is how he found himself at a local Habitat for Humanity worksite near the compound. There were a few dozen people crowding around the open space, with bright smiles and excited chatter filling the air until a skeletal man with a bullhorn calls everyone’s attention. Bucky keeps his distance in the back. Just because he wanted to help doesn’t mean he’s fully ready to integrate himself into society again.

Bucky prefers anonymity and after years of covert operations and life on the run he wears his best disguise to hide in plain sight, a baseball cap that casts a shadow over his features. His long dark hair is tied in a low bun at the base of neck and recognizable metal hand is covered by a construction glove.

He isn’t fully anonymous though, a sticker on his chest states his name but going by James provides him enough distance from his true identity. Bucky doesn’t want any publicity, even if it would counteract the daily editorials that criticize his morals. It’s another struggle he carries, learning to ignore the faceless voices that speak out against him. He’ll never please everyone but by helping, no matter what the cause, he knows he’s doing something good.

Bucky’s squinting from the sunlight, already strong despite the early morning. He pulls his cap lower to block the shine from his eyes while listening to the man with the bullhorn enthusiastically pump up the crowd. He introduces himself as Scully, a nickname Bucky supposes as his sticker says Ed. Could be a last name too though. Sometimes Bucky doesn’t mind being called Barnes. It reminds him of his time in the army, where he was fighting with one goal in mind, to help.

He shrugs off his memories, not wanting to think about what happened after the army. He regrets wearing a sweatshirt today as he’s already growing warm but unfortunately it’s the best way to hide that arm of his.

The group breaks with a round of applause and cheers as it’s time to commence work. The foundation for the house was already laid for them so everyone begins working on the assembling the framing. Bucky quickly swaps his baseball cap for a hard hat and walks to the truck with a few others ready to unload the lumber.

A burly man walks up the steel ramp on the back of the truck. His boots clank on the metal that shakes to support his large frame as he unlatches the door, allowing the foresty scent of fresh cut spruce to penetrate the crisp morning air.

Groups of two travel in and out of the truck carrying long beams and planks. Bucky grabs more than double, giving a simple nod to the burly man Frank, a silent nod that he’s more than capable of handling that amount on his own. Bucky could actually carry more, a lot more, but his one man show is already drawing enough attention, he decides he doesn’t need any more.

He follows the direction of another man who’s shorter than Frank but just as round, with a thick salt and pepper beard. Bucky drops off the planks at different workstations where others are reviewing the specs for measurements.

The air filled with a mix of sound as people begin to work; the dull thudding of nails being hammered down, power tools buzzing away. It brings him back to childhood when he and Steve took the train into Manhattan to watch as construction crews began erecting the Chrysler Building. The idea of having the tallest building in the world in their backyard fascinated the young boys who never imagined the sites they would grow to see.

He’s pulled from his memory by the shrill buzzing of an electric saw. It pierces his ear oddly as Bucky can hear the faintest wobble coming from a blade. He shuts his eyes to concentrate, waiting for the sound again until he’s certain of where it’s coming from.

A woman is focused on her work, gripping the handle of the miter saw and guiding it down to slice through the wood on the table. Bucky’s lips twitch to a smile as he watches her using the machine without hesitation.

The wobbly sound has increased in the span of the few seconds he spent ogling her and before the woman begins again Bucky calls out to stop her.

“There’s somethin’ wrong with the blade,” he declared after he caught her attention, walking closer towards her.

Between the glare of the sun and the protective goggles covering her eyes Bucky can’t read her expression. He worries she might be insulted, if in some way she interprets his concern as a question on her capability.

Bucky panicked, “I-It’s not you, I promise.” He flashed a nervous smile. “I… it’s just that I heard it in the blade, it sounded…”

“...Off,” she finished his sentence. “You’re right, I even felt it in that last cut.”

She removed her safety goggles and used her forearm to dab at the beads of sweat that collected on her forehead. Chewing on her bottom lip she stared bewilderedly at the faulty machine.

Bucky was staring as well, entranced by the woman before him. Now that he had a clearer look at her features his heart began doing flips in his chest. Her eyes were beautiful, sparkling and full of life.

The hard hat and baggy t-shirt added to her true beauty, the goodness of her soul that was eager to get back to work, to helping just as he wanted to. She scanned the machine for an obvious cause of the problem, wondering out loud what it could be.

Bucky found the nerve to speak up. “The bolt on the blade probably came loose. I can help if you want...” He smiled timidly as his eyes traveled to the name tag on her shirt, “…Y/N.”

The moment her name fell from his lips Bucky felt as if he was always meant to say it. Like pollen floating in the air her name was carried to his heart making it bloom with attraction.

She accepted his help with an enthusiastic smile spread widely across her face and Bucky was blinded once more but not by the sun. The light that radiated from Y/N’s gorgeous face was stronger and more beautiful than any star in the galaxy.

With a spring in his step he went to find some tools to help, anxious to get back to Y/N. By the time he returned she unplugged the machine and put her palm out, waiting for him to hand over the tools. Bucky was surprised, not expecting she only needed his help to fetch the tools.

“I’m not helpless you know,” Y/N playfully teased, smirking as she pulled back the blade guard and began to lock the saw into place.

Bucky smiled watching her work, unable to contain his smile and the bubbling feelings within of the woman who was as capable as she was beautiful.

Y/N let out a frustrated groan as she tried to remove the bolt that secured the blade. She twisted the wrench but it wouldn’t budge. Bucky was certainly strong enough to force the movement but he didn’t want to intrude, not unless she asked.

He didn’t have time to wait for Y/N’s permission as she used all her might to twist the wrench, forcing the bolt to fly off. The shaky movement caused the askew blade to come off its mount and nearly onto Y/N’s hands if Bucky hadn’t lurched forward and stopped it. The blade sat in the palm of his gloved hand, the metal underneath unharmed by the sharp object.

“Are you alright?” he asked as a visibly shaken Y/N took deep breaths.

“Yeah, ‘m good. I shouldn’t have forced it,” she huffed in disbelief, thinking about what could have happened.

Bucky placed the blade back and tightened the bolt properly, ensuring it wouldn’t wobble anymore. “It should be good now.” Bucky offered a proud smile, knowing he was able to help her.

Y/N returned the smile as she replaced the other screws so she could begin working again. “Thanks Bucky.”

The curve of his lips dropped down with confusion His name tag said James. He is supposed to be James. Incognito. He had a foolproof baseball cap. His eyes stirred with panic but the sound of her voice stilled his mind.

“Were you hiding or something?” Her tone was playful and the smile she gave him helped settle his nerves even more. Bucky was wrong to think he could go unnoticed, then again she was the only one to speak up.

“In a way,” he responded, “I wanna help, don’t want no fanfare about it.”

Y/N knew what the press reported on James “Bucky” Barnes but in all the articles she’s read none of them ever detailed the softness in his eyes. Seventy years of torture were held back behind a delicate wall of swirling blue emotion and yet he’s standing in front of her, stronger than she could ever imagine had she faced what he had gone through.

“Your secret is safe with me,” she winked.

A giggle fell past her lips and Bucky felt his knees buckle at the sound. From the moment it left her lips and floated to his ears the decision cemented itself within his heart, he would do anything to hear her laughter again.

Bucky continued the heavy lifting all day but the greatest strength he displayed was when he asked Y/N out for coffee and surprisingly she said yes.

They met up on Saturday afternoon after spending a few days together at the worksite. Y/N groaned as her stiff muscles carried her to the front of the coffee shop. Bucky stood outside looking incredibly handsome in a light denim jacket with a blue shirt that was sure to bring out the color of his eyes. His hair was loose with rich brown strands falling into his face as he pulled his phone out from his pocket and checked it.  

She stopped to watch him, with a smile growing on her face at how nervous Bucky looked. She felt the same way, with the butterflies in her stomach adding to the aches and pains of her sore body.

Y/N was just as surprised when Bucky asked her to meet. She never imagined the day she would run into an actual Avenger let alone exchange numbers with them. With a deep breath she began walking towards him, trying to contain her nerves.

Bucky’s eyes lit up when he saw her. She strolled towards him in an oversized sweater and leggings that clung to her frame. Her hair was freed from the hard hat he was accustomed to seeing her in. He already thought she was beautiful in the sawdust covered clothes she wore and now his heart began to race at the sight of her.

Neither knew what greeting was appropriate as they said hello which led to an awkward should they, should they not kiss on the cheek or hug. She giggled again and Bucky sighed with content.

As Bucky held the door open for Y/N he heard a faint groan as she stepped up into the shop and proceeded to ask if she was alright.

She smiled at his question, “Yes, thank you. Just a little achy.”

Bucky smiled remembering the work she put in at the site, never shying away from any project. Y/N even tried to help lift the support beam that outweighed her many times over. Her disappointed pout was adorable, even if realistically it was a job meant for a crew made up of the strongest people. Bucky winked at her bringing the smile back to her face as they shared an unspoken truth, Bucky could have easily lifted the beam alone.

Hard labor was nothing for Bucky, in fact, he much preferred it over Steve’s intense training drills. He didn’t technically have a problem with those either but he’d rather go back into cyro than hear Sam’s whining every day.

Y/N would have more of a reason to whine over Sam who should be used to physical demands that come with being an Avenger by now, but even she isn’t. He can read the pain on her face, the tight smile and stiff inhales as she reads over the menu. After all the hard work she did she deserves to rest.

Bucky pulled out a chair for her from the nearest table. “Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll grab our orders,” he offered, feeling happy to help her.

They sat for hours getting to know each other, sharing a variety of sweet pastries. Bucky walked Y/N home and when it was time to say goodbye, something neither were keen on, they once again found themselves unsure of what they should do.

The caffeine searing through their veins combined with the growing affection they felt made both Bucky and Y/N extremely nervous. He was a blushing mess and she chewed on her lip, admiring his features by the golden glow of the setting sun.

Y/N took initiative, leaning forward with the intention of kissing him on the cheek. Bucky acted as well, excitedly lifting his arms up so he could wrap them around her for a hug. Unfortunately they did this at the same time and Bucky’s metal hand accidentally smacked Y/N’s cheek.

His heart stopped in that moment as Y/N held her hand firmly to her cheek. Bucky wanted to run away, to mutter an apology before he goes back into hiding, never to leave again. Negative thoughts swirl around his mind like a tornado making him question why he thought he would ever be good enough for her, telling him the world doesn’t want his help, that he only brings destruction and pain with every step he takes.

Suddenly the thoughts stop, swept away by the most beautiful sound in the world, Y/N’s giggles.

“Ouch,” she chuckled, rubbing the sting from her cheek while smiling at him.

The tension in Bucky’s shoulders released, allowing him to exhale. Still he apologized profusely but Y/N’s finger on his lips told him to stop.

“I know how you can make it up to me,” she purred, flashing a coy smile as her eyes traveled to his lips and back up again.

The lust in her eyes was evident and for once Bucky’s head and his heart were on the same page. He leaned in slowly as his tongue swept across his lips to wet them. The gap between them closed and Y/N felt his breath fanning against her skin.

Her nerves tingled with anticipation and the moment their lips met it felt like each one had turned into a firework, exploding with happiness. Y/N pulled apart first when she needed air though Bucky would have gladly given her every breath his lungs have yet to take.

“That’s better,” she sighed a heaving breath as she rested her forehead against his.

Bucky licked his lips again, tasting the sweetness of dessert lingering on her tongue though he was certain she tasted sweeter. His eyes crinkled as a smile stretched across his face and he whispered to her, “Happy to help.”

That day was the beginning of their relationship and Bucky couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He never imagined he would be romancing someone again and now that Y/N was with him he went above and beyond to make sure she knew just how much he loved and appreciated her.

Bucky would always be sure to hold doors open for Y/N, or pull out the chair for her to sit. Sometimes he would even help her assist her with putting on or taking off her coat; he couldn’t help it, hearing the voice of his father in his head, lessons he was taught from a young age about proper etiquette with women.

Y/N never had anyone treat her as kindly as Bucky did, always going out of his way to ensure she was properly taken care of. Sure, some of his sweet gestures may have been a little old fashioned but she understood Bucky was brought up in a different time. Besides, it was better than being treated poorly so for a while she let him woo her the way he thought was best.

After a few months of dating Bucky’s kindness started to become a little cumbersome. He would go out of his way to “help” Y/N even though she didn’t need it, like all the times he stopped her from putting on a necklace, insisting that he had to be the one to fasten the clasp even though she was more than capable of doing it herself. Or the many times when she would be washing the dishes and Bucky nearly pushed her out of the way so he could be the one to do them claiming he didn’t want her hands to prune.

Each time Bucky took over doing something for Y/N her frustration grew but she bit her tongue. She knew how fragile Bucky’s self-esteem was and she really didn’t want to hurt him. Bucky felt so good about himself when he did things for her, it was written all over his face so she stayed quiet and let it fester, ignoring the problem like a rumbling volcano.

It was a rough day. The moment Y/N got to work there were problems starting with the first phone all. A client spent twenty minutes screaming at her and while she tried several times to get a word in he wouldn’t let her. Instead she had to wait for his rant to finish before she could give him a simple solution that would have lowered both their blood pressure within a few minutes.

She was on edge from the call and because of that she knocked over her mug of coffee, spilling all of important documents, some of which now required new signatures from other clients who weren’t happy about having to come in again. By the end of the day Y/N was near tears when her boss called her in to talk, reprimanding her for indiscretions during the day.

Bucky was in her apartment waiting for Y/N to come home from work. He couldn’t wait to spend the night with her cuddling together and watching movies knowing in the morning he would be leaving for a mission, the first one he’s been on since they started dating.

The door burst open and Y/N stomped harshly on the wood floors, kicking one heel off wildly and groaning in frustration as she had to bend down and pull the other one off, throwing it hastily against the wall.

Bucky heard the commotion from the other room and when he walked to the living room he saw Y/N kneeling on the floor crying. The shoe had dented the wall, breaking the plaster. Bucky knelt down beside her and Y/N threw herself into his chest, crying even harder when she felt his arms wrap around her frame.

“It’s okay…” he whispered in her ear, placing a kiss to her crown. “Don’t worry about the wall. I’ll fix it.”

His words dried her tears but not because of his offer to help. The broken wall symbolized more than what it actually was. This minor inconvenience was the breaking of the own wall she had built up behind months of anger and resentment towards Bucky.

With a shaky breath Y/N pushed herself away from Bucky and stood up. She gripped the edge of the table to hold onto something as she unleashed everything that was buried inside of her.

“I don’t want your help! I’m so tired of it, Bucky! It’s not about the wall, I can fix it my damn self!” she screamed.

Bucky stood up slowly, with confusion twisting at his features.

“You make me feel helpless! You never allow me to do anything. I can do dishes, I can carry bags. I can put my own damn coat on!”

Bucky opened his mouth but he couldn’t form any words. He was hurt. Everything he did for Y/N was from the heart, he didn’t realize how she felt about it. Maybe he was wrong about everything, that he was never ready for a relationship, that Y/N never loved him.

As Bucky stood silent Y/N saw the pain swirling in his eyes and realizing everything she said in her outburst made her feel worse.

She broke down again, “I’m so sorry Bucky. I love you, I mean it, I love you from the bottom of my heart. This is all my fault. I should have said something earlier. I never m-meant…” she whimpered, wiping the tears from her cheeks and sniffling.

“No,” he said softly, “I’m sorry. It’s been so long since…” Bucky trails off but they both know what he meant. “You mean the world to me doll, I thought if I could make anything easier on ya I would do it.”

“I don’t mind the help I just wish you would ask me sometimes,” she smiled sadly.

Y/N outstretched her hand towards Bucky and let out a breath of relief when he took it. She brought him closer and pressed herself against him again, relaxing as he embraced her fully.

They spent that evening together just as Bucky originally planned but now with a better understanding of each other’s emotions.

Every day for the month Bucky was gone Y/N was worried sick so the moment her phone lit up with a message announcing his arrival she screamed with joy. He arrived at her door a few hours later, holding a bouquet of beautiful flowers she did not care one bit about. Y/N jumped into his arms kissing him senseless. She could take care of herself in many ways but when it came to Bucky Barnes in her heart she knew she was certainly helpless.

They spent the weekend together hardly ever leaving her bed. Bucky opened up as much as he could to her about the mission which was a bust. They either had bad intel or their target knew they were coming and he disappeared. It was frustrating but Y/N’s soft lips against his skin made him quickly forget his worries.

For their one year anniversary Bucky planned a special night out to celebrate with Y/N. They both dressed nicely for the not too fancy but still classy enough restaurant they had reservations for. Bucky picked her up in a vintage car thanks to Tony and they enjoyed an intimate dinner.

Bucky pulled out a small gift from his suit pocket and handed it to Y/N across the table. The candlelight illuminated her beautiful smile as she carefully unwrapped the gift to reveal a jewelry box. Inside was a necklace with a small silver pendant in the shape of a house with a heart cut out in the center.

“Because we met that day building a house together and ever since you’ve held my heart and become my home.”

“It’s beautiful Bucky,” she beamed. “Will you put it on me?”

Her head tilts to the side as she smiles softly towards him and Bucky happily obliged. When the necklace was secured he couldn’t help but press his lips at the junction of her neck and shoulder making Y/N squirm and giggle. It was definitely time to leave the restaurant and neither could wait to get home.

On the drive home Bucky turned to face Y/N but instead his attention was on the car beside him and the driver that looked suspiciously like the target from their failed mission a few months back. He tried not to be seen by the man he believed to be Andrei Rudaski telling Y/N to stay low as he carefully followed the car.

While stopped at a light Bucky confirmed the target thanks to a signifying tattoo on his neck. He followed him for a few more blocks as he debated on calling the team. Bucky could probably take this guy down without making a scene but he didn’t want to endanger Y/N.

Andrei pulled over beside a warehouse on a quiet street that was mostly dark except for a few scattered street lamps. Bucky parked across the street, wishing he didn’t have a car that could blend better with the other empty cars along the road.

As Andrei opened the door to get out Bucky handed Y/N his phone. “Call Steve, tell him where we are and tell ‘im Andrei Rudaski is here.”

“What about you?” she worried.

“I’ll be alright doll. Just call Steve and stay in the car.”

With a quick kiss to her forehead Bucky took off. She chewed her bottom lip nervously as she watched his frame disappear in the alleyway by the warehouse though his shadow was visible on the wall for a bit longer thanks to security lighting mounted on the building.

For a while there was nothing but the sound of the occasional car pass by until an unmistakable gunshot rang out. Shadows on the wall began to dance in tussle and Y/N heard voices growing louder. She clutched her necklace when she thought she heard Bucky, more specifically the sound of him groaning in pain. Bucky was her home too and she couldn’t sit by and let him be injured or worse.

Sliding into the driver’s seat Y/N turned the key and hoped Bucky’s attacker was too preoccupied to hear the sound of the purring engine come to life. With her seatbelt fastened she grabbed the wheel and beelined right towards the alley.

Y/N spotted Bucky on the ground with a man standing above him, aiming a gun. With her foot slammed against the pedal she sped straight down with Andrei in her path.

It was surreal to feel everything happen at once and yet in Y/N’s mind each event seemed to play out in slow motion. She remembered the surprised look on Andrei’s face, the bright headlines that turned the darkness of his blue eyes into pinpoints that stared her down. He tried to aim his gun at her but she hit him first, the sound of the metal frame crashing against flesh and bone will be seared into his memory forever.

Glass shattered from the windshield in front of her to the high pitched breakage of the warehouse window. He had shot his gun after all. An airbag deployed unexpectedly and if she had been given a chance to think about it she would have known Tony Stark upgrades all of his toys.

The advanced airbag leaves little injury, the only thing sore is her chest, tender where the seatbelt held her upon the impact. She’s shaking, and doesn’t know if she wants to laugh or cry, but when the door opens beside her and she sees Bucky she does both.

“What the hell was that?” He reprimands her and rightfully so. Getting hurt is the last thing Bucky wanted to happen to Y/N. “I told you to stay in the car!”

“That was me saving your ass,” she groaned slightly, “And as you can see I am in the car!”

Her statement was followed by a chuckle, as if the car wasn’t crunched up against a wall, with a bloodied person in between it.

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, sucking in a painful breath thanks to the throbbing gunshot that pierced his side. “I thought I told you to call Steve.”

“I did call him,” she insisted, struggling to unlatch her seatbelt. “But I couldn’t sit by and let something happen to you.”

Bucky heard the worry in her tone, and truthfully Andrei had somehow gotten the upper hand. He doesn’t want to think about what would have happened if it wasn’t for Y/N.

With Bucky’s assistance she got out of the car and carefully they hugged.

“I’m sorry our anniversary was ruined. I wanted– ” Bucky began to say before a voice interrupted him.

“Can you tell me what else is ruined?” Tony sarcastically asked, as red and gold arms crossed over the lighted triangle on his chest.

Bucky smiled at Y/N before answering. “This shirt for one,” he joked clutching his bleeding side.

Y/N frowned as Bucky hissed in pain. Apologizing for the car as she passed Tony, Y/N helped Bucky towards the quinjet that was blocking the street and Bucky grabbed a medical kit which he held out towards Y/N. “Wouldja mind?”

He took off his shirt and laid on his side so she could clean and bandage his wound, but not before he had the small chance to send her a wink.

“Looks like I’m the helpless one now, doll.” he joked.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated :)

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[wereallydobevibing]

Even The Gods Are Not Immune — Thor x Reader [Part 2]

Prompt — You, Thor's wife, despite being powerful and extremely admirable, had been dusted in the snap. Now, you make a comeback.

[ Tags: @whos-too-bi @bukoandcoconutsarelife ]

Warnings — pretty sad, mentions of sex, cursing, endgame spoilers

Your beloved husband had attempted to keep it together once he had beheaded Thanos—keep the drinking to a minimum, rule over the remainder of his Asgardian people as you would have pushed him to.

But it was proving to be difficult, and these days, he only truly found comfort in playing Midguardian video games with Korg and drinking bottle after bottle. One, to hide his shame, and two, to numb the pain of your absence.

He no longer slept in your previously shared bedroom. It smelled too much like you, was decorated exquisitely by your hand, everywhere Thor turned, all he saw was you. Almost as if you were haunting him—hating him from beyond the grave for not trying harder to keep you and his people alive.

The guilt was slowly killing him.

Thor attempted to bed a common whore one night, only to find himself emptying his stomach of that night's dinner. But he hadn't vommited out of drunkness—it was out of guilt, sadness, self-hatred. This woman was not you—her hair did not feel so smooth, or even smell as nicely as yours. Her skin was not as soft, her kiss was not so loving.

This was not the woman he spent thousands of years loving, no woman he'd ever meet would ever be you.

When Bruce came to gather him, Thor had clearly lost it. His gut protuded from his stomach of what used to be rock hard abs, his hair wild and untrimmed. He was disgusting—dirty and horrid smelling.

"Your wife is gone, you have the chance to bring her back, but instead of fufilling her wishes of you acting as a king like she would've wanted you to, all you do is sit around, drink and play video games?" Bruce exclaimed—he had developed a relationship with you overtime.

You had been kind whenever he Hulked out, always supporting the big green monster and treating him with your gentle nature—unafraid. Both Bruce and Hulk found comfort in you, he too was devastated when you had been dusted, Hulk even more so.

"You mustn't mention my wife in my presence, Banner, it is unbecoming of you."

"Maybe what you need is to be reminded of her," Rocket intruded. "Doesn't it mean anything to you? Doesn't it mean something that your wife could be resurrected? You could have her back!"

"You're afraid—" Bruce concluded, but was quickly kicked aside.

"Afraid? Why would I be afraid?" Thor challenged. "I was the one that killed Thanos, I have nothing to fear."

"You're afraid of her seeing you like this." Bruce finished—Thor fell silent. "You're afraid of what she'll think, that she'll be dissappointed in you. You're not the only one that lost her that day, Thor. Y/N—"

"Don't say her name."

"—She was important to all of us—Steve, Tony, Nat, me. We need her back just as bad as you do."

It took a while for Thor to come to terms with it—that he couldn't be afraid of you, because you weren't that kind of woman. He would fix himself up—return himself to the man he once was and put pride in your name and the two of you would rebuild the Asgardian kingdom together.

That is, of course, if bringing you back was even possible.

He'd dreamt of you that night—bare naked, squirming underneath him as your baby soft skin glowed golden under the dim lighting. Your lips were swollen and pouted, eyes struggling to hold open as they fluttered shut in pleasure. Thor always loved you like this, weak and submissive beneath him. And he'd awoken in sweat, looking around his bedroom for any sight of you being there that night, because that dream had been so real.

He'd broken down in a mess of tears after realizing you were still gone with only a slight likelihood of you returning.

Finally, the team had gathered every last stone and returned back to their original time. Tony had constructed a metal glove that would work as Thanos' had.

"I'll do it," Thor spoke almost immediately—he had to make sure that of among all people, as selfish as it was, that you returned before anyone else had.

"No offense, Thor, but—" Steve ushered toward the nearly empty bottle of beer lingering in Thor's finers. "—I'm not sure you should."

It had been Bruce—who, at the moment, was a strange hybrid-being mixed between his human self and Hulk.

Thor was anxious, what if it did work? What if everyone was brought back, but somehow you were left as nothing but dust in the wind? Or what if you came back too and no longer loved him the way you had before—or was dissapointed in his ungodly appearance after being gone for the last five or so years.

These thoughts quickly left his mind when Thanos opened several unworldly portals, summoning his army of alien invaders from deep within the galaxy. Wizards and monsters alike standing behind Thanos and ready to officially destroy the Avengers, and then their entire universe.

They were ultimately screwed—with only a small handful of them to defend their planet against an entire army. They'd never get out of this alive, not ik their own.

Bruce had made the snap—so where was everybody? Had it all just been some dream they had hoped would come true? Had they somehow failed?

I'm sorry, Y/N, Thor's heart ached, his face in the ground as hot tears trailed his cheeks.

He'd failed you when you had been dusted, failed you when he had fallen into a horrid drinking habit and to hold together the remainder of your kingdom, and now he was going to fail you once more. He hadn't been able to bring you back—and he was too weak to protect the planet of Midguard; a planet you had adored with everything you had. A planet of smaller beings that you thought to be interesting, beautiful, even.

I'm sorry I didn't turn out as good a man as you had hoped I would.

"What are you doing on the ground, my love?"

Thor turned, snapping his head in a direction behind him.

A circle of golden sparks, man-sized and creating a pathway was sizzling with heat. It framed a bright, white light—too bright for such a dark setting. He recognized this to be Stephen Strange's foreign magic—but, hadn't Tony announced his dusting all those years ago?

From the light, a figure appeared—features shadowed due to the bright light shining in her background. But Thor could make out the curves he spent so long studying, memorizing, and making love to. He knew that voice better than he knew himself—for he had heard it so many times.

It was you—in a war dress that an Asgardian goddess would wear for protection in battle, whether she was fighting or not. Silver armor protected your chest and waist, expensive Asgardian fabric shaded the same red he wore drifted over your legs. Of course, there was a high slit on the right, exposing the sweet, soft skin he once caressed on a nightly basis.

Your hair was pulled back into a tight braid, daggers sheathed at your sides as you approached your husband. To him, it felt as if it'd been hundreds of years, but for you, barely ten seconds. It was like a power nap for you—time didn't effect you whatsoever when you were simply dust.

"Y/N?" Thor breathed, slowly lifting himself from the rummaged ground.

A wide smile merged onto your face at the sight of your husband, running into his arms and pressing a passionate kiss to his lips. Joy sprouting in both your chests, tears of both sadness and relief spilling down your faces as you embraced one another so tightly it hurt.

"You've changed, my love," you whispered against his lips, and you meant it. His body was softer, now—larger. He smelled terribly like alcohol and his hair was wildly unkempt. He was a mess, but you couldn't have blamed him.

Thor didn't know how to respond to your statement—were you disgusted?

"These last few years could not have been so terrible?"

Thor smiled, still pained, tears still rolling down his face. "These last few years without you were torture."

His hands continuously roamed your body—feeling your baby soft skin, absorbing the warmth that radiated even through the metal on your waist. His thumb gently ran over your bottom lip, the other hand subtly slipping through the slit of your dress and gripping your thigh.

The two of you were never opposed to PDA, after all. Not when it came to each other.

You pressed your lips to his once again, "when we are done here—I would like to make love."

It was Thor's turn to smile widely, a chuckle vibrating in his chest beneath his armor.

"As you wish, my queen."

"Avengers," Steve Rogers called from the front of the army of revived heroes—Wakandan soldiers, Guardians of the Galaxy, Valkrie woman and Avengers who had fallen in their last battle against Thanos. They all stood proudly, faces inked with anger and dedication to finally rid the universe of the army of aliens.

You made eye contact with the Wakandan woman you had attempted to save when the battle had first raged in Wakanda; both sending each other a nod.

You and Thor turned, weapons at the ready, eyes lingering on one another for a second longer before narrowing them at the enemy. You were ready—more ready than you would ever be to take back what you had lost in the fire.

You awaited Roger's signal, a raging fire burning in your gut. You were ready.

"Assemble."

[semperintrepida]

Reckoning

The night before the Spartans invaded Megaris, the stray dogs that usually hung around the forward camp suddenly disappeared, and Kassandra overheard the men muttering about ill omens and unfavorable winds. A foreboding mood had enveloped the camp as soon as word of the invasion order had begun to spread, and it snuffed out the ribald jokes and dark humor that normally accompanied the places where the soldiers liked to gather.

The order to invade had come from the Wolf of Sparta, General of the Armies — a man once known in simpler times as Nikolaos, father of Kassandra and Alexios, and fifteen years ago he'd thrown her off a cliff because the Elders told him to.

Kassandra could not sleep, and in her restlessness she had wandered from her bedroll at the far edge of the fort's walls, where the non-citizens pitched their tents, and into the heart of the Spartan encampment. Now she was a stranger among the familiar, and though the Spartans didn't recognize her, she certainly knew them, for tradition was their way, and their ways rarely changed.

Soon after her arrival in Megaris, she'd taken up the Spartan habit of constantly wearing a helmet while stationed on the front, as a matter of caution given the volleys of Athenian arrows that often rained down on the fort. But she had another reason to obscure her face behind a helm, for it would make it harder for someone to connect her to her mother, or even to Leonidas, her grandfather. The Agiad bloodline ran deep, and it shone in her eyes and in the curve of her cheekbones.

It made her a ghost among the living.

She'd spent weeks in Megaris, present but unseen, undermining the Athenian forces from within and preparing the way for a full-scale Spartan invasion — all at the behest of Stentor, the Wolf's adopted son. Apparently it was as easy for the Wolf to obtain a new family as it was for him to destroy his old one. Though it rankled her greatly, she worked tirelessly under Stentor's command. She stole supplies from the Port of Nisaia, looted the state coffers out from under the stratego in command of Fort Geraneia, killed the misthios hired to organize the capital city's defenses, and then, soon after, assassinated the Megaran leader himself. The people of Megaris began to whisper of a Spartan ghost that walked among them, but it wasn't Sparta she had done all these things for, but herself. She would give the Wolf no choice but to meet her in person, and when the Wolf was no longer the Wolf, but just a man, she'd make him answer for the things he had done.

But first, she had a battle to survive.

She walked past tent after tent, hearing quiet voices, the occasional cough, someone snoring in the distance, and the soft rasp of blades against whetstones. There were hundreds of soldiers here, and hundreds more on the Athenian side, and soon they'd come together in a battle larger than anything she'd ever fought in before.

Her feet kept moving, past tents and campfires, drawn towards the ringing sound of metal against anvil. As she approached the smith's forge, she saw that the smith was a perioikoi — a free man, but not a citizen, one of the thousands who labored at the tasks the Spartans felt were beneath them, which were most things not involving combat or chariot racing.

"Eh, misthios!" he called out as she passed. "How about a new sword before tomorrow's excitement?"

That brought her closer to his stall, and to his table of wares: a variety of leaf-shaped spearheads, and a row of bronze and iron swords in the short xiphos and curved kopis styles that the Spartans favored. The deadly metal gleamed gold and silver in the glow of the forge.

"Go on, pick one up," he encouraged.

Her fingers curled around the smooth wooden handle of an iron-bladed xiphos, and she lifted it, felt its weight and balance, and then guided it through a series of slow, controlled swings. It was light — as light as her broken spear, and almost its same length, more a dagger than a sword.

"I'd forgotten that Spartans preferred shorter blades" she said.

The smith smirked. "They're long enough to reach an Athenian heart."

That was true, but only in very close combat, after the enemy had closed the distance and a spear only got in the way. She studied the sword, noted its straight lines and carefully inset fittings. Even the handle had been polished to a shine, the forge-light bringing out the layered depths within the grain of the wood. It was an excellent sword, and it would cost far more drachmae than she had the resources for, especially now that she had an entire ship to maintain and a crew to pay and feed. Everything she'd stolen from the Athenians in Megaris had been sold to make this month's wages.

"Beautiful work," she said, setting the sword down next to its brethren. "But my purse is a bit light at the moment."

The smith moved out from the shadows behind the table, and in the light she could see the rivulets of sweat that ran through the metal dust that coated his skin. His face was ruddy and his eyes were fixed into a squint from the heat blast of the forge. He looked her up and down. Then he tentatively reached for her sword hand, his eyebrow raised, asking her permission, and when she nodded yes, he took her hand in his own. His thick fingers prodded her palm and worked her wrist back and forth, looking for something unseen to her eyes. "Huh," he said, as if surprised. "You'd probably make a good smith. You're built for it."

She grinned and said, "Probably. But your job's safe for now."

He threw up his hands in mock surprise. "A misthios with a sense of humor! And on the eve of battle. You are a strange one, aren't you?" He studied her face through his squint. "Let me see your sword."

Kassandra handed it over silently, and he hummed as he hefted it, gave it a few experimental swings, and held the hilt up to his nose so he could peer down the length of its blade.

"Well, it won't get you killed," he said. "But I can make it better." He took the sword back to his workbench and started tinkering, and she heard several loud hammer taps followed by the scrape of metal on a sharpening stone. The rhythmic sound was calming, and she watched the smith's shadow play against the stone chimney of the forge while he worked. After a while, he turned to a long strip of leather that hung from the roof beam and stropped the edges of the sword against it until they gleamed in the firelight. "There," he said when he was finished, handing the sword back to her. "Engraved with the mark of Ares. It'll be a little hungrier for blood from now on."

She tested the blade's edge against her thumbnail, pleased to see it shave slivers off with ease. He even managed to remove the deep gouges that she'd never been able to sharpen out on her own. But when she held out a palmful of drachmae in payment, he only picked out a few coins and left the rest.

"Ares guide your blade, misthios," he said. "Get yourself paid, and we'll see about getting you one of my swords."

Her visit with the smith had helped quiet some of the restlessness in her blood. She needed sleep, and dawn would arrive soon enough. She retraced her steps back through the tents, along the fort walls, and down to her bed, chasing Hypnos, and when she finally dreamed, she dreamt of falling.

~~

Kassandra's first taste of organized battle began within the vanguard of the Spartan forces, a mix of free men, conscripted helots, and hired mercenaries that guarded the advance of the rest of the army. They had expected attacks from enemy archers and javelin throwers along the way, but their march to the battlefield had met no resistance. The Athenians had chosen to concentrate their ranged defenses along the sides of their phalanxes. Each phalanx was a wide formation of soldiers several rows deep, protected by interlocking shields and bristling with spears, and two of them awaited the Spartans at the other side of the field.

She heard shouting from behind, and slowly the vanguard shifted around her as they began marching to the left, taking on more of a skirmisher role and clearing a path for the Spartan phalanxes to assemble in formation across from their Athenian counterparts.

Thus the Battle of Megaris began with a staredown between two armies.

Beside her, a young helot wearing a worn tunic and a helmet at least two sizes too big for him shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot. She clapped a hand down on his shoulder and said, "When the fighting starts, never stop moving."

He nodded at her with wide eyes, and Kassandra wondered how a small support force of lightly armed farmers and slaves could accomplish much of anything against a full phalanx.

Then a hush settled over the Spartan side, as if they'd all taken one collective breath, and then there was a shout that drove everyone into a headlong charge, the skirmishers and phalanxes moving together in one continuous line, like a great wave headed for shore. The nervous energy was gone in an instant, everyone a part of a single purposeful unit as they charged across the battlefield, and the feeling of focus and unity lasted just as long for the skirmishers to come within range of the Athenian archers, for as soon as the first of them began to be felled by arrows and javelins, their advance wavered while the Spartan phalanxes continued on, their shields protecting them from the dangers overhead.

The man in front of her stumbled and fell, skewered by a javelin through his chest, and she reached down and grabbed his shield without missing a step, holding it up before her so she could duck under it as she ran. She'd somehow ended up near the front of the supporting charge, and she could see the Spartans up ahead on a collision course for the Athenian lines.

Arrows bounced off her shield as she charged forward, and she heard a roar as the Spartans slammed into the Athenians, their advance coming to a sudden stop. She thought she heard a familiar voice within the fray, shouting, "Push forward, men! Push!" The phalanxes would remain locked in a stalemate until one of the front lines broke. The men who didn't break would be the victors.

Up ahead was the Athenian skirmisher line, positioned to defend the vulnerable side of the enemy phalanx. She drew her sword and picked out an enemy hoplite, just as the point of a javelin suddenly burst through the wooden core of her shield, pelting her with splinters. She flung the shield and javelin into the hoplite's face and stabbed him with her sword in one smooth motion. Then she drew her broken spear with her free hand and descended into a maelstrom of chaos.

It was quickly apparent to Kassandra that in a battle like this, there was no time for fancy moves or blocking defense. If it wasn't a slice or a parry, it was too slow, and slow meant danger lurking from all sides.

Kassandra cut her way through the front ranks of Athenian skirmishers with ease, aided by her unconventional use of a sword and what was essentially a long dagger against men armed with swords alone. But then she reached a squad of hoplites armed with swords and shields, and her progress ground to a halt.

How in Hades was she going to break through that many shields before their swords hacked her to bits?

She slid her spear into its sheath on her back and focused on attacking with her sword, and soon found that a heavy sword strike to a shield could knock an enemy backward — but more often than not, that just meant another interchangeable hoplite would take his place. There were far too many of them for her to remain locked in a defensive battle, and if she didn't come up with a plan in the next few moments she'd find herself surrounded by a wall of shields and sharp swords that she'd never come out from alive.

As the hoplites began to close in, she fended off the nearest one's attacks while studying the edges of his shield, and when the idea came to her she almost laughed at the simplicity of it, and its absurd amount of risk. In one sudden motion, she stepped right inside his sword range, reached across her body with her left hand, and grabbed the rightmost edge of his shield before yanking it back across her body with everything she had. As soon as she felt him lose his grip on the shield, she pulled it free and slammed it back into his chest, knocking him backwards so hard that he took out the man behind him as well.

The other hoplites hesitated. That just made it easier for her to pull off the same move a second time, rushing up to the next man, yanking his shield free and launching it at his head. The impact knocked him out instantly.

She swapped her sword for her spear and began to laugh, as a sense of unstoppable power flowed up from within, insulating her from the chaos as everything moved just a step slower than she could. Parry, shield break, thrust spear into the side of a throat. Parry, shield break, sink spear deep into a belly. She was close to the Athenian phalanx now, and could see the two front lines locked in combat.

Somewhere within that scrum was the Wolf, and she intended for him to witness the tide of this battle turn at her command.

As she carved a path straight for the vulnerable side of the Athenian phalanx, she heard the howling war cries of friendly fighters as they fell in behind her. She was the order in the chaos, and when she reached the first row of Athenian spears, she used a stolen shield to knock the spearpoints aside before plunging into their ranks. Up ahead was an Athenian captain, easily identified by the colorful crest on his helmet, and she knew that if she cut down all their captains it would be like cutting the head off a snake.

The Athenian phalanx was beginning to lose its cohesion, and its men began to flee once they realized they were within a Spartan pincer grip on two sides. Kassandra sought out the first captain, let him come to her, then dodged the lunging attack of his spear. As soon as it passed, she slid inside and shoved her spear through his ribs and into his heart.

The second captain still had his shield, and her new trick worked just as well on him as it had with all the others. But as he staggered from being struck by his own shield, he slammed the shaft of his spear down hard on her armored shoulder and her left arm suddenly went numb from neck to wrist. He went for his sword, but she was already there to meet him with a looping slice of her spear that separated the fingers from his hand and the entrails from his belly.

Her body sang for more. Her blood thrummed with power and craving and a vast want that grew with every breath. She shook the numbness out of her arm and looked out over the battlefield, seeing nothing but targets.

The final captain was a massive brute of a man, armed with a heavy axe and accompanied by three hoplite escorts, who immediately charged at her approach. She reared back and kicked the first man into the second, then parried a sword strike from the third before rolling to dodge what would have been a crushing blow from the captain's axe.

She glanced around, saw the first man unconscious, the second staggering back to his feet, the third circling to her left, and the captain moving to her right. The scene began to play out before her like a prophecy. She somehow knew the captain would swing his axe around in a wide circle, so she launched herself into a sliding tackle that let the axe pass harmlessly overhead and ended with her taking the second man's legs out from under him. They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, yet she never stopped moving, and she stuck her spear in his throat, in and out, before she rolled back to her feet. The third man was on the verge of panic, his sword moving erratically with his frantic swings, but she somehow knew which way his blade would go — and that the captain was readying another attack of his own. She maneuvered the third man around with a combination of parries and swipes from her spear, causing him to backpedal, until her final swing put him into the path of the captain's incoming axe. The blow nearly cut him in half.

The captain bellowed with rage. "Mercenary scum! You'll die now!"

She wouldn't, of course. Not when she could leap out of the way of his axe, and circle back around to his blind spot, and sink her spear deep into his back as he let out a ghastly roar of frustration. It took five stabs for him to die, and when he finally toppled over, all the remaining Athenians fled the field.

Kassandra watched them run, then slowly turned towards the Spartan forces, knowing every eye was upon her. But there was only one set of eyes she cared about in this moment, and they belonged to the Wolf, who watched her in silence from what had been the front line of the phalanx. She matched his gaze moment for moment as she reached back and sheathed her spear. Then the Wolf gave her a nod of acknowledgement and turned away.

It was time for the Spartans to gather the dead, but that wasn't her job. She'd won a far more important prize, and very soon it would be time for her to collect.

~~

The Wolf wanted to see Kassandra and Kassandra alone. She had to admit a certain amount of satisfaction at the discomfort this caused Stentor. Was the poor boy jealous? Too damn bad.

It was also satisfying to see a Spartan honor guard lined up along the path to the top of the cliff where the Wolf awaited, even if it was bound to make her escape more difficult if her visit with him went the way she thought it would. And the Wolf's choice of venue couldn't have been more appropriate.

Once she reached the pinnacle, she saw him standing near the cliff's edge with his back towards her, looking at the sea.

Her feet stopped moving, rooted by the memories that suddenly shuddered through her. Her mother's desperate cries. Alexios disappearing over the edge. And how it felt to fall and fall. She closed her eyes and thought of snow on Mount Taygetos, and she wrapped herself in that cold until the shuddering stopped. It was time. She took off her helm and set it down next to the path. There was no longer a need to hide her face, and when the Wolf turned around to meet her, the way his eyes widened told her she'd become a ghost made flesh.

"Hello, father. It's been a long time." How odd it was to stand with their eyes at the same level when he had always loomed over her in her memories.

"Impossible. I saw you fall."

Fall? "I didn't fall. You fucking threw me to my death."

"I did what was required of me as a Spartan."

He would have allowed the priests to throw his own son off a cliff. And after her disastrous attempt to save her baby brother had seen both her brother and the Elder priest fall to their deaths, Nikolaos had tried to execute her by his own hand. She never expected him to say anything else, or do anything other than hide behind duty like it would absolve all sins. He was her father. She hated that fact almost as much as she hated him and his duty to Sparta. Rage crept into her heart, burning the way cold iron could burn.

Nikolaos must have sensed it within her. "I can't change the past, Kassandra," he said, with the wounded dignity of a man who knew the Fates had caught up to him. "I will live and die a Spartan."

Then her hands were on him, her fingers curling around the straps of his armor, pushing him back, back to the edge so that his upper body hung over the precipice.

So close. She was so close to flinging him off the top of the cliff. It would be fitting for him to fall long enough to be aware of what was happening, to know that death was moments away and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He wouldn't even have a pile of rotting corpses to cushion his landing.

It would be so easy: a push, her fingers letting go, a man falling in space. If she would just open her fingers... If she would just—

Instead, she pulled him back from the brink and tossed him to the ground with a frustrated cry, turning away from him to face the hills and the battlefield and the sea far below.

"Though you deserve death, there is no honor in vengeance," she said, the words so bitter on her tongue that she wasn't sure she believed them. There wasn't much honor in killing for drachmae either. But something had stayed her hand. Perhaps she wanted him to keep suffering, to keep facing the same ghosts she had for the past fifteen years. There was no peace to be made here.

Nikolaos lay in a heap at her feet. "I have failed in my duty. I failed to protect you — to protect both of you," he said, a broken man confessing to his gods, and Kassandra knew his words weren't meant for her. But then he pulled himself up on his knees and said, "I loved you and your brother as if you were truly my own. But you were never mine."

The very air seemed to close in around her as she realized what he meant. It wasn't possible. Her ears no longer heard sounds, her skin no longer felt the breeze, and her vision narrowed to the deep lines on his face and the haunted look in his eyes.

Her first memory: running barefoot at home with uneven toddler steps, a stick held fast in her fist, poking him in the knee as she shrieked her fiercest battlecry. Strong arms lifting her up. His chest rumbling with laughter. "Look, Myrrine — Great Lycurgus has sent us a hero!"

Nikolaos was a flawed man, but he was no liar. If he said something, he believed it to be the truth.

"Find your mother," he said.

How many revelations must she bear? Her blood began to roar in her ears like waves in a storm. "Find her?" she heard herself say, but she was already unmoored, roiling in rough seas with nothing but deep water beneath her.

"Wherever Myrrine is, she knows far more than I do," he said, before he turned and walked away in search of the honor he'd lost when he put his duty to Sparta before the family he'd sworn to protect. Kassandra let him go, too dazed to argue or do much of anything other than stand there in stunned silence. "Beware the snakes in the grass, Kassandra," he said in warning, and then he disappeared into the forest that shrouded the top of the mountain above them, a wolf slipping back into shadows.

He'd left her with so much to think about that nothing came to mind. The foundations of her history had shifted, tilting everything built upon them. She was not who she thought she was.

She picked up Nikolaos's helm and sword from where he'd discarded them in the dirt, staring at them without seeing, and when the first of the Spartan guardsmen arrived at the top of the cliff, that is how they found her.

The shouts were loud and immediate: "The General's gone!" and "She's killed the Wolf!" and it wasn't true but it was Nikolaos's parting gift, for Sparta would surely blame her for his sudden disappearance.

The time for thinking was later. The time for leaving was now. She quickly pulled his helm onto her head and drew her own sword, and now she had two swords and the means to chop through the spear shafts the guardsmen had crossed to block her way. Beyond the first two guards was the curving path down the mountain with a sheer rock wall to her right and a steep drop-off to her left, and the gauntlet of soldiers she'd have to run if she wanted to escape.

All the guardsmen were without their shields, as no one had really expected to find themselves in battle during this time of celebration, but they all had spears, and if Kassandra wasn't careful she'd find herself impaled on the end of one.

She spun her swords around and dared them to come get her, and as soon as one attacked, she hacked his spear in two at the shaft. Dodging and chopping, she cut a path through the thicket of spearpoints, always pressing forward, always moving, before someone got the bright idea of trying to clobber her with a spear shaft.

Halfway down the path, she looked ahead and saw a squad of fully-armed Spartans assembling at the bottom. Together, they'd link their shields like a turtle's shell, and once they started marching up the path, she'd be boxed in from the front and the rear.

The rock face to her right was far too steep to climb, so she chose the least worst option and jumped right off the side of the path and down the steep hillside, somehow managing to keep her feet in front of her as she slid through the underbrush, branches bouncing off her armor and tearing at her skin. The bottom was a long way away.

A fallen pine tree lay snagged against another tree just ahead, leaving a worryingly small gap between the bulk of its trunk and the ground. With her momentum too great to stop or even change course, all she could do was lean back into the slide and hope she could squeeze through. She did, barely, bark scraping, pine needles showering upon her, almost losing the Wolf's helm and his sword along the way, but her right wrist smacked against an underhanging branch and she lost her grip on her old sword. Ares's mark had served her well, and it would be her offering to Pan, then, in exchange for escaping this wild mountainside.

Finally the slope began to level out and she went from sliding to running, chased by the echoes of shouts from far above. She flew out of the forest underbrush at a full run. If she could just get to the port before the Spartans sent soldiers after her on horseback...

She'd never beat a priestess of Artemis in a footrace, but her detour down the mountainside had given her a jump on her pursuers. She heard the first hoofbeats of mounted calvary as the port of Pagai came within view, along with the welcoming sight of the Adrestia's mast and stays. She could only hope that Barnabas had done what she'd asked and prepared the ship for departure at a moment's notice.

As soon as her feet touched the dock, she shouted, "Barnabas! Undock the ship!"

Barnabas's blessed voice rang out across the yard. "Aye, Captain! Untie the lines, and make it quick, lads!" She could see the crew scurrying across the Adrestia's deck, following orders.

She hurdled a line of enormous clay pots and dodged between slaves carrying bolts of linen, and when the Spartan dockmaster stepped into her path of travel with his hand raised and a "Halt, misthios!" she didn't even break stride as she shoved him aside and into a rack of drying fish. The Adrestia was pulling away from the dock.

The crew had already drawn in the gangplank and the gap between the side of the ship and the pier was growing wider by the moment. She felt a punch between her shoulder blades where something struck her armor, and a clay pot in a pile next to her head suddenly shattered. Archers somewhere behind her. She bared her teeth in a wolf's grin and gathered all the strength and speed she had as the edge of the dock came closer with every step. Three steps, two steps, one, and then her legs were pushing against the edge and she was flying, arms reaching for the Adrestia, her body losing height as the ship came closer...

Her hand hit the rail and scrabbled for purchase against the slick wood, but there was no grip to be found and she felt herself sliding, sliding— until Barnabas grabbed her arm with one strong hand and her armor with his other, and pulled her onto the deck.

"Great Demeter's ghost! You look like you picked a fight with a forest and lost, Captain."

She stood there looking at him and took deep, burning breaths until the war drum in her chest ceased pounding. "Thanks," she said once she could speak again, and then she began to laugh as leaves and pine needles fell from her hair and armor, and her skin began to sting from scrapes and cuts, and she laughed from a place without humor, until it felt like she was choking and tears began to well in her eyes.

Barnabas looked at her with alarm and pulled her closer to him, tucking her face into his shoulder. "Kassandra, what is it? What's wrong?" he asked.

She didn't know.

Part of the Elegiad. Go back to the previous story, or on to the next...

[glitterquadricorn]

Marry Me - Bucky Barnes *ENDGAME SPOILERS*

Summary: For five long painstaking years, she had to live without the love of her life. So when he comes back, she doesn’t want to waste anytime she has with him. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 1,397 Warning(s): Angst, Mentions Infinity war deaths, ENDGAME SPOILERS, mentions depression, mentions taking sleeping pills(not sure if this is an actually warning), some direct lines from endgame which btw I do not own, Thanos and his army get what they deserve, etc. I may have missed something. 

A/N: I watched endgame and got a little inspired! Enjoy. 

60 months, 260 weeks, 1,825 days, 43,817 hours, 2,629,038 minutes, 157,742,310 seconds, or 5 years. That’s how long she went without the love of her life, Bucky Barnes. 

She fought alongside the others, trying their best to defeat these monsters. It seemed like when she managed to get rid of a couple, a dozen more filled in its place. By the time she was called into the lush green forest to fight Thanos, she was covered head to toe in dirt, sweat and blood. When seeing him, she didn’t hesitate to run towards him. But her efforts were futile as she was smacked by the gauntlet, and sent several feet away from the battle. Black spots clouded her vision, and she fluttered her eyes close. A couple of minutes later, she was being shaken awake.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asked, helping her up. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” y/n said, dusting herself off. Walking over to the others, she didn’t see the purple man anywhere. “Where’s Thanos?”

“He... disappeared,” Thor stared at the ground in disbelief. “He said I should’ve gone for the head and snapped his fingers.”

For a moment, everything was quiet. She thinks everyone was trying to mentally sort through what just happened. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Bucky come through the bushes.

“Y/n? Steve?” Bucky called out. The two people he called out to turned around just in time to see Bucky turning into ash. Y/n, being Bucky’s girl, raced over.

“No, no, no. Please god no! Anyone but you!”

“I love you, doll,”

“I love you to, Buck,” She smiled, tears rolling down her face. He disappeared just as fast as those eight letters left her lips. Looking down at her hands, they were covered in ashes. His ashes. A hand was put on her shoulder. “He’s gone...”

“Y/n...” Steve brought her in for a hug, but she wasn’t having it.

“No, Steve! You don’t get it!” She yelled, beating Steve’s chest with her fists. “I was going to propose to him, and now I can’t thanks to that crippled raisin!”

She jolted awake, covered in a thin layer of sweat. Every time she closed her eyes, it would be the same nightmare over and over. She thought, ‘Why couldn’t it be me and not him?’ ‘What if I did this instead of that?’ ‘Why wasn’t I fast enough to stop Thanos?’ ‘What if I hadn’t gotten knocked out? I could’ve stopped him from snapping his fingers.’ All these what if’s and why questions lead her to a depressive state. Then that lead to taking sleeping pills just to try to sleep at night. But the nightmare still came regardless.

Her mind went to the black velvet box sitting in her nightstand. Like in the nightmare, she was going to propose to him because fuck society and their stupid stereotypes. Sighing, she leaned over and grabbed the box out of the drawer. Tucked into the cushion sat a simple silver vibranium ring that she asked Shuri to make. She thumbed over the cold metal, choking back tears. 

“You okay?” A voice behind her asked.

She peeked over her shoulder and saw Steve standing there. “No, I’m not,”

“You want to talk about it?” Steve stepped into y/n’s room, sitting on the edge of her bed. When Steve saw what she was doing, he frowned.

“Not really,” 

“Talking about it may make you feel better, you know?”

“Talking about it will only make me angry, Steve,” Y/N turned her gaze to Steve. “I’m angry because I didn’t do everything in my power to stop Thanos. I’m angry because I let myself get knocked out. I’m angry that I didn’t do anything to save him! It should've been me, Steve. It should've been me.”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself, y/n. You did everything you could’ve done,”

“But why does it feel like I didn’t do enough?” y/n sobbed loudly.

Steve sighed, sitting there in silence as the woman next to him finally broke down. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and brought her in close. A few minutes later when she calmed down, he looked down at the ring in the box. “Have I ever said thank you?”

“Thank you? For what?”

“For making Bucky happy. I’ve known him since we were kids and not once has he ever talked about one woman before. He really does love you, y/n,”

Steve’s statement made her smile. “You think he’d say yes?” She asked, referring to the engagement ring.

“Definitely,”

“We need to bring him back. We need to bring everyone back,” She said with more motivation in her tone. 

“We will,”

The team split up, went back in time and got the stones. When they got all the stones together, they put them in a gauntlet Tony had made. Bruce, being the brave soul that he was, put it on and snapped his fingers, bringing those who died five years ago back to the current year. She, along with Scott, had walked over to the window. Completely amazed, she heard the birds chirping.

“Guys... I think it worked,” Scott said beside her. Just then, the compound exploded and buried her and the others under rubble. She groaned, feeling the pressure of debris on her body. Scott cleared the bits of concrete off her and helped her up. “Come on! We got to go save the others!”

The next thing she knew she was on a planet that was in ruins. Gazing around, she saw those who got dusted five years ago and some she didn’t recognize. 

“Avengers... Assemble!” Steve said, gritting his teeth before charging forward towards Thanos and his army. 

She runs towards the first alien monster she sees and doesn’t hesitate in stabbing its gut with her sword. Pulling it out swiftly, she moved on to the next one, cutting its head off its shoulders. One by one, she continued to take them out. That’s until one of them got too close for comfort and knocked her and sword to the ground. She held the monster up using her forearm as it tried to gnaw at her face. It was evident that she was struggling to get this monster off her. And just when she thought it was going to get her, the monster’s body fell limp and fell on top of on her. 

Tossing the body off, a familiar hand came into view. She looked up and saw the one person she’s been missing for 5 years. “Buck?”

“Hey Doll,”

“Bucky! I’ve missed you!” She grinned, getting off the ground and hugging him tightly. She was almost afraid to let him go, afraid he’d disappear again. Pulling away, “Marry me?”

“Are you seriously asking me to marry you during a fight?”

“Yeah, yeah I am,”

“As much as this reunion is cute, there’s a fight going on,” Sam said into the comms, flying over head.

“Sam has a point. How about you give your answer when the fight is over?”

“That’s if we’re still standing,”

“Don’t talk like that!”  She hushed him, but then was pushed out of the way when an alien came towards her. Bucky pulled the trigger on his gun, killing the monster. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, doll,” Bucky winked, before killing more aliens. “Don’t go to far love,”

“Wasn’t planning on it,”

Together, side by side, they killed more of Thanos’ army. They were killing them left and right, but then they started to turn to dust. The panic in y/n rose seeing them all turn to ash. Turning around, she saw that Bucky was still standing there.

“What’s going on?” He asked, stepping towards y/n. “Did we win?”

“I don’t know, but I hope we did,” She whispered. Facing him, y/n grabbed his face. “You never gave you me an answer you know.”

“Ask me again,”

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes,”

I actually wrote something for once! YAY GO ME! I have other things in my drafts that I’m working on, but I don’t know when I’ll post them. Procrastination is real bitch ain’t it.

Feedback? Please?

Tagging(permanent):

@buckys-sweetheart @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @maliasbubble @sergeantjbuckybarnes @patzammit @yagirlmexic @awkwardfangirl2014 @beckieandhertardis @tinycyberhacker @streetghostfighter07 @distant-illusions @sugaglory @independentgirl​

[marvelousmarvelimagines]

Empty Gold Part III of III (Part I) (Part II) 

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary - You wake up from being dusted only to find Steve ready to take on an entire army by himself. Looks like it’s time to save the world again. And will you ever get that date? 

Word Count - 4,185

Warnings - None really. This does take place during Endgame so a couple of deaths are mentioned, and there is general sadness, but it ends on a fluffy note. 

My mouth filled with dirt as I gasped, my fingers clutched the damp earth between them, and the smell of grass invaded my senses. I coughed and pushed myself up on my hands, but my arms were so weak I collapsed again.

“Hey, take it easy darling, I got you.” A voice said, and I felt a strong arm wrap around me, pulling me upright and face to face with Bucky Barnes. A not dusted version.

“Bucky . . . what the hell happened?” I asked, wiping some of the dirt and grass from my face.

“Hell if I know.” Bucky replied, looking around us where bodies were appearing left and right, all looking as confused as us. “Last thing I remember was -”

“You turned to dust.” I answered as memories started to flood back to me. I remembered watching as Bucky disappeared, Steve going over to him, and then . . . “I did too.” There had been another person in this area though, and I still remember the haunted look on his face as he had watched me disappear. “Bucky, where’s Steve?” I said, glancing around for any sight of him.

Bucky stood up, grabbing my elbow and helping me up as well. “I don’t know.”

“Hey! You two okay?” Another voice called, and we turned around to see Sam rushing towards us. I immediately wrapped the man in a hug, happy to see another familiar face.

“Will be, as soon as we can find Steve,” I replied. Where the hell could he be? Was he dusted too? Why wasn’t he here? If he was dusted, how could he not be back now? “Sam where -”

Before I could say another word, we watched in amazement as a large golden circle appeared in front of us and a man stepped out of it. “Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Y/N Y/L/N, Captain Rogers needs your help.”

“Where the hell is he?” Bucky asked.

“I’ll take you to him, but you might want to let him know you’re coming.” He replied.

Let him know? How would we - “Sam! The coms!”

Sam nodded. “Cap, you hear me?”

Would they work? Were we too far away? Where the hell was he anyway? I stood by Sam and Bucky’s side as people began to surround us, Wakandian fighters and their King himself with Shuri and Okoye while more men began making golden circles. What the actual hell . . .

There was no response.

“Cap, it’s Sam. Can you hear me?” Sam tried again.

My heart began pounding, heavy in my chest. Was he okay? They said he was still alive . . . I watched as the man who had appeared to us moved his hands and arms around until a circle formed, and a new image appeared in front of us. It seemed to be some sort of portal to . . . I gasped as I realized what I was seeing. It was the Avengers compound, and it was demolished. I was so distracted by the view I didn’t even notice Steve until I heard Sam.

“On your left.”

Steve was standing in front of an entire army. By himself, shoulders squared and ready to go to fight with a half broken shield. “Well, I’m disappointed, but not surprised.” Bucky said next to me, lifting his gun and turning to me. “You ready to kick some ass?”

I secured the gloves that Shuri had given me, making sure they were in place before grinning at Bucky. “For that man? Any time.” I replied.

Bucky returned my grin, and we stepped through the portal to the sounds of the Wakandian warriors’ war cry to stand behind Steve and Thor, our eyes trained on the enemy in front of us. “Avengers!” I heard Steve yell, and I glanced over at him, seeing a new man, a man filled with hope as he held Mjolnir in his hand. “Assemble!”

We all charged in unison, screaming and yelling as we attacked. Everywhere I turned there were fighters and creatures, some I recognized, some I didn’t. There were so many emotions as we all fought for our lives, fear, anger, determination, all of them were driving us. Of course there was another emotion driving me too, and I fought my way over until I found the cause of it, taking care of the alien he was fighting with a careful beam.

He glanced up in surprise, then froze when he saw me. My heart, already accelerated from the fight, kicked up even more at the expression on his face. It was filled with not only relief, but adoration as well. “Y/N.” Was all he said, his voice breathless with exertion.

I smiled at him, never so happy to see him before in my life. “You are going to shower before our date, right? You’re a little dirty, Rogers, and not the good kind.”

He ran towards me, and I met him in the middle, throwing my arms and legs around him as he lifted me up in the air and held me tight against his chest. “We did it. You’re here.” I heard him murmur against my shoulder.

“Yeah, Steve, I am,” I held his face in my hands, making him look at me, “And I’m not going anywhere again, because we’re going to kick this purple alien’s ass this time. And we’ll talk about you facing his entire army by yourself later.”

Steve laughed as he sat me down. “You’re right. Let’s kick this guy’s ass.”

The things I saw in the next few moments were amazing and terrible. So much death and so much power I couldn’t keep track of anything or anyone for long. All I could do was fight and try to live. I was tired, bruised and bloody, but I knew I had to keep going. If not for myself, than for everyone else.

I didn’t even realize what had happened until I plunged my fist into nothing but dust. Glancing around in shock, I watched as Thanos’s army vanished around us much like we had before. That meant someone had to . . .

I started running to the last place I had seen Steve, my heart about to explode out of my chest with worry until I caught sight of him and Thor, watching as Tony Stark was surrounded by his loved ones and passed away. Not saying anything, I slipped my hand into Steve’s, squeezing tightly as I noticed the tears in his eyes.

It was over.

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Everything after that blurred together. Steve and a few others helped carry Tony’s body to a safe location, warriors from Wakanda were taken back, and the rest of us helped clean up as much as we could. During that time, we were told some of the things that had happened in the five years we had been gone. While it was amazing what they had done, when I heard about the cost . . . Wanda and I held onto each other with tears in our eyes as we heard about Nat from Clint. I had only gotten to know the woman the past two years while we had all been on the run, but I had looked up to her and in the end considered her a close friend. At the same time, I knew that she wanted to wipe out the red in her ledger and hoped that doing so had given her some peace. By the time dawn started to rise, everyone was exhausted and making plans for tonight. I found Sam, Bucky and Wanda, inviting them to come stay at my house, that I hoped was still standing after five years. They all agreed and thanked me, starting to gather their things while I went to look for Steve.

I found him ripping apart some of the debris from the Compound, his muscles straining with effort as he did. He was sweating so bad from his work that all the dirt and ashes that had gathered on his body were streaking down like a crying girl’s mascara. I knew what he was doing. It was what he always did after a hard fought battle.

My hand rested on his back, causing his movements to pause. “Hey, it’s time to go.” I told him when I had his attention, rubbing circles into his suit, and wondering if he could even feel it.

He didn’t meet my gaze, letting out a sigh. “You can go, I’ll stay here and coordinate a clean up effort.”

“You need to rest,” I told him, stepping in front of him and holding his face in my hands. “Just for a few hours. Please? For me?” I pleaded, biting my bottom lip. He might have pushed it aside for the moment, but I could see in his eyes how exhausted he was.

After a moment of staring into my eyes, he nodded.

I took his hand, leading him over to the others were waiting. We managed to get one of the magicians, or whatever they were, to open a portal for us, and I was pleased to see my house still there. It was in rough condition after being so long without attention, but it was workable. I took Steve upstairs and showed him where the shower was while I went to take care of the others, taking them to the downstairs bathroom and setting up the guest bedrooms. I also managed to find some old clothes of my fathers for the men and some of mine for Wanda. No one was in much of a mood to talk and seemed to want to rest, so I let them be.

Once I had laid some sweats and a t-shirt in the bathroom for Steve, I changed into some pajamas of my own, waiting for him to come out. I couldn’t help but feel at a loss here. I hadn’t known Tony Stark very well. We had only met for a brief moment at the fight in the airport when I fought with Steve. I knew that Steve’s relationship with the man was much more complicated. While they had fought, I was sure that Steve considered him a close friend. It left me unsure on how to comfort him.

The bathroom door opened and Steve came out, clean and looking better. At least physically. In his eyes there was still so much pain that I couldn’t begin to fathom. I held out my hands to him and used them to help pull him on my bed. He gathered me into his arms as soon as his back hit the bed, and I nuzzled myself into his shoulder and neck. There was nothing I could say to help him through this, I knew that. So I let him hold me, his face buried in my hair as his chest moved up and down with a sigh.

There was no way to tell how long we laid there like that before he spoke. “It should have been me. He had a family. He had Pepper, he had Peter, he has a daughter, Y/N. A daughter who’s going to grow up without a father now.”

I tightened my grip on him. It was selfish of me I knew, but I was glad it hadn’t been him. “From what you’ve told me about Tony, he wasn’t the type to do something he didn’t want to do.” I pressed a gentle kiss against the skin of his neck. “It’s terrible, and unfair, and . . . cruel that he had to go like that. But I also think that if he had to go, that was probably the way he wanted to. Saving the universe for his family. That includes you.” I said, tilting my head up to look at him.

My eyes closed as Steve’s hand ran through my hair, and he brushed a kiss to my forehead. We lay in silence for a few moments once again until he spoke again. “I never gave up on getting you back. I want you to know that.”

“It would be okay if you had. Five years is a long time -” Would it break my heart? Yes, but I would understand.

“I didn’t,” Steve said before I could finish my sentence. “Even when I went back in time and saw Peggy . . . I knew I wanted to come back for you.”

I felt tears start to build up in my eyes at his words. I knew how much he had loved Peggy Carter. The fact that he had chosen to come back and be with me instead of being with her was more than significant. “Five years later and still making me lose my breath Rogers. That’s impressive.” I told him, my fingers digging into his skin.

“It wasn’t five years for you.” Steve replied, pulling me back down to his shoulder.

“No, but it was still too long to be away from you. I can’t imagine how it was for you.” Really, I couldn’t. Steve, Bucky, Sam, Wanda? They’d all become such a huge part of my life. I don’t know what I would have done if they had all gone missing with no foreseeable way of returning. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked him.

“Tomorrow, tonight I want to stay with you and be glad you’re back.”

I slipped my leg through his, entwining us even more. “Whatever you want, Steve.” I agreed, closing my eyes once more as his hands moved up and down my back, drawing patterns on it.

The exhaustion of the day had crept up on me. Much quicker than I thought, I found myself drifting off in Steve’s warm and safe embrace, my breathing slowing and my body relaxing. “I still haven’t forgotten our date.” I remember him murmuring in my ear.

A soft smile formed on my face.

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Two weeks later, I found myself in my bedroom while I checked every last detail of my appearance one more time. I knew it was ridiculous. Steve had seen me at my absolute worse appearance wise, so anything above that would be an improvement. He had yet to see me dressed up though, but I didn’t want to go overboard either. I had settled on a plain black shirt with quarter length sleeves and a scoop neckline with a light pink flowy skirt that had a beautiful lace trimming. I was wearing heels so I wouldn’t have to stand on my toes to kiss him tonight, and had my hair in loose waves. He still hadn’t told me what we were doing, so I hoped I wasn’t under or over dressed, but it was too late to go back now.

“Young lady! Your date is here!” I heard Sam yell from downstairs.

I rolled my eyes, but smiled a little. As busy and emotionally exhausting as these past two weeks had been, I was more than ready to take a little bit of time with Steve. Of course I was nervous to. I hadn’t been in any type of relationship for years now, and this was one I did not want to screw up.

I didn’t want to hide from it any longer either.

Grabbing my jacket, I left my room and headed to the stairs, pausing when I got there and saw Sam, Bucky, Wanda, and a well dressed Steve Rogers waiting there for me. “Really guys?” I said, rolling my eyes as Sam wolf whistled and Bucky shoved Steve with his elbow, grinning at him. As I walked down the stairs, Steve was the only one I looked at. He looked so nice in his sweater. It had a plaid shirt underneath with a tie and dress pants, but the smile on his face was even better. It had been a hard couple of weeks and seeing him so happy had my chest feeling warm.

“You look great,” Steve said when I approached him.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” I replied, shooting him a wink. “You ready to go?”

Steve took my hand, entwining our fingers. “We’ll be back later guys.”

“Now, wait a minute here. Steve, you’re a good guy, but you better have her home by ten.” Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest with narrowed eyes, but his tone was playful.

“And Y/N, you’re sweet and all, but Steve gets real grumpy if he doesn’t get at least eight hours.” Bucky added with a teasing smirk.

Wanda rolled her eyes at the boys and gestured for us two to go. “Come on boys, I need help with dinner.”

“So . . . you haven’t told me where we’re going.” I said as we headed to my car parked to the side.

“I haven’t?” Steve said, feigning surprise. “I thought I mentioned it.”

“Nope,” I replied as he opened the passenger door for me. “So why don’t you tell me now?”

“I could . . . but we’re so close. Might as well let it be a surprise right?” Steve said, shrugging his shoulders.

I shook my head at him, little butterflies in my stomach. I wasn’t used to surprises, but for him? I’d deal with it. “If you say so,” I replied, but smiled as he kissed my cheek and closed the door.

The drive gave me no clues about where we were going. This was my hometown, and I know I should have some idea about where we were, but I didn’t and that made me even more nervous and confused. Those emotions escalated as Steve pulled off at a dirt road. “We’ve got to walk from here.” Steve told me.

Looking down at my heels, I sighed. “You might have to carry me,” I joked.

Of course he didn’t take it as a joke. He got out of the car and bent down in front of me, his back to me. “Hop on,” he said, grinning over his shoulder at me.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Steve, I was kidding. You don’t have to -”

“I know,” he interrupted, but didn’t move. “Come on, you’d slow us down in those anyway.” He teased.

Sticking my tongue out at him, I climbed up on his back, my legs slipping around his waist and my arms around his neck. “Don’t act like you don’t like them, Rogers, I saw the way you looked at my legs earlier.” I responded.

He shook his head, but his smile widened as he reached back to grip my thighs to help carry me. “I never said I didn’t.” Steve said, as we started down our path.

“How did you find this place anyway?” I asked, resting my chin on his shoulder.

“Morning run with Sam.” He replied. “I got a little ahead of him and found it.”

“So . . . Is it a picnic?” I said.

But Steve just smiled. “Something like that.”

It did end up being something like that. I gasped when I saw all that he had done and the place that he had found. It was beautiful even in the darkness. It was a small clearing right beside a creek that babbled quietly in the background. He had tied a hammock between two trees and strung some fairy lights up around it. Sitting in front of it was in fact a picnic basket. I slid off Steve’s back and looked around, still in awe of all the effort he had made.

“Is it okay? I haven’t done one of these in a while . . .” Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck.

I moved closer, wrapping my arms around his middle. “It’s perfect. You’ve already made more effort in one night than most of my previous relationships.” I told him, tilting my head up to meet his lips in a lingering kiss that had his hands gripping my face to keep me close.

When he pulled the two of us apart, his expression was tender. “You haven’t even seen the best part yet.”

I raised my eyebrows in question, but he picked me up again, carrying me over to the hammock and laying us both down on it. I made myself comfortable on his chest, nuzzling into his soft sweater and entangling our legs together before glancing up, my mouth dropping at the view. The night sky shone bright above us, the stars were clear and bright, something I hadn’t seen in several years now and breathtaking. “It’s beautiful,” I murmured.

Steve’s hand rested on my lower thigh, drawing circles with his thumb as he watched the night sky as well. “I thought so too.”

In silence we watched the stars, curled up together on the hammock and snacking on the food that Steve had brought, thankfully take out and not of his own creation. I was crazy about the guy, but he couldn’t cook worth a damn. After the past few weeks, this was the kind of date that we both needed. Something low key, simple, and was more about being together than the typical date. My feelings for Steve had never been in question, I had always known I was falling for him, I had put it to the side because it hadn’t seemed the right time, but this time together had affirmed them.

“Can I talk to you about something?” Steve said, interrupting my thoughts.

“Anything.” I replied, looking from our entwined fingers to his face, noticing the pensive expression on them.

It still took him a moment to respond, as if he was choosing his words very carefully before he spoke. “I’m thinking about retiring.”

That . . . was not anything I had ever expected to leave his lips. For as long as I had known Steve, he had been about his honor and his duty as Captain America to the rest of the world. It was something I knew he took pride in, but I also knew that after everything that had happened . . . He was tired. I just hadn’t realized how tired. I sat up, removing my head from his chest so that I could look at him, those dark circles catching my gaze. With a little frown, I reached up and brushed my thumb against them. “You are?”

He nodded. “It’s just . . . I’ve been Captain America for so long now . . . I forgot what it was like to be Steve Rogers. Until I met you.” I smiled as Steve brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. “Once I came out of the ice, I thought I would never have a chance at a normal life or a family. The guy that wanted that had gone into the ice. Then everything happened, and I got to see Tony with his own family and a beautiful daughter.” His grip on my hand tightened, and I could sense how hard this was for him to say as he let out a choked laugh. “He always said I should get a life. I never thought I would get the chance until you came back.”

I bit my lip at his words, tears building up in my eyes. “Steve . . .”

“I want to see where this goes. I care about you a lot, and I want to be with you. As Steve. Not Captain America.”

“Are you going to be okay with that?” I asked, squeezing his hand. “You’re ready to step back and be who you want to be and not who the rest of the world wants you to be?”

There was no hesitation as he nodded again.

“Then I support you. As long as it’s what you want, I think it’ll be good for you.” I pressed a peck against his nose for a brief moment. “I will miss how good you look in the suit though.” I teased.

Steve laughed, and it was the most relaxed I had seen him in weeks. “Well, maybe I can keep it around for special occasions.” He replied, sitting up a little so he could cup my face in his hand.

My smile was so wide I could feel it pulling my cheeks as I let his nose brush against mine. “Oh, you think so?”

His matching smile had my whole body filling with warmth and happiness. “Yeah, yeah I do.” At that point, he didn’t waste any more time with words, pulling me into a delicate kiss, the taste of strawberries lingering on his lips from our earlier snacking. Fireworks seemed to explode behind my eyes as the kiss turned more ardent, soft lips parting to explore each other more as his spicy scent wrapped around me in a comforting embrace. A soft moan left my lips when we parted even though I desperately needed the air.

“Man, you weren’t lying,” I said, licking my lips to get any lingering taste of him, still dazed from the feelings exploding all over my body at that kiss.

“Lying?” He asked, confusion filling his face as he brushed some of my hair behind my ear.

“You really did only need one date to convince me to be with you.” I teased, pressing a kiss to his palm.

Steve laughed then, and I couldn’t help but smile at the sound.

Maybe this relationship would turn out all right after all.

[experimentalmadness]

Cin Vhetin Ch. 4: Into the Depths Part 2

Chapter Summary: Din and The Rebel find themselves trapped underground while Din wonders if their unease truce still holds.

Pairing: Din x OC/Reader (however you prefer to read it) No warnings for now

Masterlist: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Ao3 Link

***

They were falling. 

The light disappeared rapidly as they plunged into the tunnel, the bike showered sparks as it sputtered and crashed against the metal of the long drop. At this speed and with no bottom in sight, staying on the bike would be a death sentence. Din ignited the jet pack still on his shoulders and released the speeder, clutching the kid tightly to his chest. The baby laughed against him. 

At least one of us is having fun. 

Not for the first time he marveled at the kid’s resilience. Maybe whatever sorcery it possessed caused it to view danger in a different way. The jet pack flickered against him as he tried to gain altitude. The winds were strong. Some kind of a cross breeze from whatever lay underground and the canyon above. He gritted his teeth and fought against it. He jerked downward and hit his back against the metal tube. At this rate he had two options: continue fighting the winds only to crash regardless, or use what remained of the fuel to descend to the ground and find a different way up. 

Din hit the side of the tunnel again as the wind crushed against him. Option B it was. 

He deaccelerated down the tunnel, realizing it sloped gradually to one side and curved into a wider chamber. Once on solid footing again, he shut off the jet pack. The cavern was pitch black. Keeping one hand on the kid he adjusted a headlight. The area itself seemed both natural and manufactured. Wide, carved tunnels with metal encasing and wiring lay surrounded by geological rock formations jutting through old assembly lines. 

“Abandoned factories.”

Din spun about, blaster drawn as he stared into another headlight affixed to a helmet. The Rebel had survived the crash? They were covered in soot and dust and their left arm seemed limp at their side. Still, their weapon was trained on him. “Glad to see you made it,” they said. “Sorry about that. I thought most of the underground factories on Akiva were further south of here. Still, we should be able to get out.”

“We? What happened to that fair fight you promised after we ditched the other hunters?” Din couldn’t quite figure out what this merc’s game was. First they try and sabotage his ship to get him out in the open, next they’re blasting him out of the sky without a warning, and now here they were trapped underground. It was a perfect opportunity. 

“I don’t want to carry your corpse out through several leagues of tunnels and caves. Besides, between the two of us we’re likely to work out a faster way out. I don’t fancy staying down here longer than I have to,” The modulator crackled as they spoke. “Truce?” They holstered their blaster and held up a hand, though the left one still remained motionless.

“You broke your arm in the fall.”

Static laughter pierced through the modulator. “Was it obvious?”

“I could shoot you now,” Din said matter-of-factly, taking a page out of The Rebel’s playbook. “Leave you here, find my own way out.”

“I heard Mandalorians were all proud warriors,” they tilted their head. “You going to shoot an unarmed, injured person in the dark right after they just called a truce? That would be disappointing.”

Din hesitated. 

“Or maybe my arm’s not really broken.”

Before he could blink the Rebel had two blasters drawn, one in each hand. Static crackled out of the modulator that covered for the obvious laughter as they quickly resheathed both weapons. “Just kidding. It is broken, but,” they removed their blaster’s holster and fashioned a crude sling. “This’ll do for now.”

Din’s confusion only mounted as they kicked the discarded blaster over to him. “Look, now you have my weapon so you know I must be serious. Ready to get out of here?”

“Are you crazy?” he pocketed the spare blaster.

“No. Just someone who wants to live,” they turned their back on him and stared out at the expansive cavern. From here there were multiple points of exploration. Three tunnels that he could see at ground level, another two were up a ledge that was easily climbable for him at least, his companion would have some difficulty with it. 

“So,” if this was how it was going to be he could play along. He’d had stranger allies of convenience in his life. “Which way do you think?”

“No light, no fresh air, when in doubt go as straight as you can,” The Rebel said, gesturing down the center tunnel with their good hand before walking off.

Well, nothing for it now. Din holstered the blaster. The kid blinked serenely up at him. He shrugged. “Unless you have any suggestions?” he asked. As usual the kid had none. For now they’d follow the Rebel. 

***

“Give me a boost, will ya?” 

Din hoisted the Rebel up onto a high ledge, letting them scramble one-handed to pull themselves upright. The same gloved hand reached back for him to help him up. From their new vantage point it was easy to see where the factory properly began in the caverns. Din looked down at his feet, they were standing on an old assembly line. The rubber padding was worn from disuse and the elements, but the gears that would have moved it along its track were still visible. 

The Rebel half bounced their way along the track and Din had to be fast to catch the child about to race after them to skip along at their side. He didn’t care if they were allies for now. That kid wasn’t getting anywhere near them. For all he knew they were just waiting for him to let his guard down so they could nab the child, shoot him in the back, and take off. 

He’d anticipated it for hours now. But the Rebel remained affable, and wholly uninterested in harming either him or the child. He couldn’t get a read on them. The vocal modulator and the tinted helmet made it impossible. Maybe this is what everyone else thought of when they saw every other Mandalorian. 

They walked along in silence, the only lights coming from their headlamps. The kid’s excited and curious coos echoed around the caverns. Din looked up at an old, rusted crane that hung loose over the cracked ceiling. Stalactites pierced through the holes in the metal plated roof. In the distance Din could hear the squeaks and flaps of some flying creatures. He hoped that was all that was down here with them. 

He almost jumped backwards when his light refocused ahead of him, reflecting against an unknown, armored silhouette. There, standing in rows and rows were disused, decaying B1 battle droids. Din blinked back the sudden flashfire of explosions across his eyes and stepped carefully around the army of corpse-droids. 

The kid tugged on his leg, a concerned noise leaving its throat. “I’m fine,” he replied absentmindedly, continuing to back up away from the rows of droids before he bumped into something solid and metal. Half expecting it to be the Rebel, Din was wholly unprepared for the sight of something he hadn’t seen since childhood. 

The droid looked smaller than he remembered, but the B2 super droid still appeared as ominous as ever in the dim light, it’s attached blasters were held at the ready, it’s armored head, tucked close to its shoulders. The red light on its breast plate was off. It was off, Din reminded himself as sweat broke out on his, thankfully, hidden face. 

“Told you these were abandoned factories. Shut down after the wars.”

The Rebel’s voice drowned out the screams echoing in Din’s ears and brought him back to reality. They were standing next to him although he could not recall them walking over. They were staring impassively up at the B2 droids. “Kinda sad, all these things down here in the dark? Never even got a chance to do anything?”

“Sad?!” Din could not keep the electric anger out of his voice. 

If the Rebel found that unusual they were keeping it to themselves. They only shrugged at his outburst, never taking their eyes away from the droid. “I wouldn’t want to be left in a place like this. All alone.”

There was something to those words their modulator interrupted with static. They sighed and clapped Din on the back with surprising strength. “Guess that’s why I’m keeping you alive so we get out of here, huh? C’mon. Keep moving.”

Din forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. His every instinct screamed at him to burn the entire assembly line to the ground. Blast it right out of existence even if it buried all of them. But in a strange way the Rebel was right. They had been left down here, never living in the first place. IG-11 came painfully to mind at that last thought, but his brain was crowded enough with memories. He gave his head a shake and regained full control of his faculties, resorting to using an old breathing exercise he had learned during his early days of training to keep calm. 

“Take it you don’t like ‘em too much?” The Rebel said tilting their head at the rows of droids they were still following. 

The assembly track was angling upwards which for all intents and purposes had to be a good sign. Going up meant going out. The Rebel seemed to think so as well as they never deviated away from the track. 

“No.”

An uneasy silence reigned after that as they climbed upwards. There must have been hundreds of unused droids down here. Thousands. That was not a pleasant thought. Even as they spiraled ever onward the rows of B1 and B2 droids didn’t change. At least they were deactivated. 

The child giggled at his feet. “What do you have there?” Din asked. 

It was holding one of the B1 heads in its little claws. It toddled over to the edge of the track and launched it off into the darkness, laughing as it clanked against the sides of the cavern on its way down into the blackness. 

“Can we not toss things over into the abyss?” The Rebel asked, fingers twitching for their blaster. 

A red glow spread through the cavern, illuminating everything. 

Din had a blaster out without waiting. “What was that you said about these droids having never seen any action?”

A sickening echo magnified by hundreds caused Din to wince. The familiar sound of gears grinding and droid joints shifting made panic well in his gut. The Rebel had their weapon out too, whirling about wildly as the B2s spun their torsos about and leveled their hand cannons on them. 

“Intruder Alert,” a deep, robotic voice intoned down the assembly line. 

The kid’s ears pinned back in fear, it immediately scuttled behind Din, clutching his leg. “I’m guessing it means us,” Din grunted. 

Blaster fire drowned everything else out. For Din it was easy to dodge the incoming fire. Grabbing the kid in one hand, shooting with the other, he gained height thanks to the jet pack. The Rebel, on the other hand… Din watched as they took a running leap at one of the B2’s, springing forward with one hand, twisting in mid air so that they could angle themselves up onto the second tier track and gain some cover. 

“There’s too many of them!” Din shouted. 

“I can see that!” The Rebel spat back, shooting one B2 unit through the connecting tubing against its torso and legs, the only place where the armor was weakest on those things. Most of the blaster fire bounced right off the damn things. 

“There’s gotta be a way to...I don’t know...shut them down?” He flew in, laying some covering fire so the Rebel could reposition. 

“Oh, do I look like the resident expert? Grenade!” Din had just enough time to fly further afield as the Rebel lobbed an explosive down onto the other track they had just been walking on. 

The resulting explosion sent a blast of heat and fire through the cavern, decimating the immediate droids, but creating a massive gap in the track. Was he imagining things or did he just feel the cavern give a shake? A stalactite fell almost directly on him at the thought. 

“Look up there!” The Rebel gestured with her blaster. “I...I think that’s some kind of central processing station!” 

They were pointing at a boxed unit high up on the ledge closest to the roof of the cave. It would be impossible for the Rebel to climb up there with one hand and pinned down by droids, but for him? “Cover me!” he shouted and angled his flight towards the station. 

The droids aimed their cannons at him, but the older, clunky droids telegraphed a shot a mile away. Din shielded the kid and tucked into a spin, dodging the blasts. From below he saw the Rebel concentrating their fire on one of the B2 units, firing shot after shot directly into the core of the droid until the armor super-heated and melted away. Without skipping a beat they shoved their hand directly into the chest of the droid before it could collapse and pulled on something internally, firing an ion blast directly from the hand canon. Their mask let out a loud crackle of static that Din could hear even from the air as they used the deactivated corpse of the droid to draw fire away from Din. 

Not bad for one broken-armed merc. 

He landed up at the station. A quick assessment proved the Rebel’s instinct corrected. It did looked like some kind of foreman’s station. But the controls were rusted over, and almost everything was already off. What the hell would shut down the whole row of droids if they were already technically supposed to be off? Din flipped a switch that looked like the backup generator’s. A weird relief swept through him as the station lit up and the control panel blinked and beeped to life. 

Ok, step one. Turn on the military droid assembly station. That could only be a good thing, right? Din hoped this didn’t mean he’d just activated some distant row of droids further down the tunnels. Considering where his luck was at now…

The panel’s labeling was long ago stripped, so that he could only make out a few letters here and there. Nothing for it. He pressed random buttons and flipped a few switches. Hazarding a glance out the scummed-over window he could see the oncoming red glow moving like a wave over to where the Rebel still fought on. 

“Not to hurry you along or anything but if you could—-” anything else they said was drowned out in static, masking their panic, fury, or probably a combination of the two. 

A crazy idea struck him. 

Oh, no. Absolutely not. He shouldn’t. It could very well bring half the tunnel down on them. 

What was better? Dying by droid or being crushed to death?

Din slammed his hand down on the one button that was clearly labeled: Crane controls. 

From above came a screeching, rusted over monstrous sound that temporarily silenced even the blaster fire. The lurching, ancient metalwork from above shuddered, curled and uncurled...and then careened straight at the assembly line and control’s station. 

Din had just enough time to jet out of the station before it was crushed on impact. Below, the Rebel unstuck their hand from the B2 unit, tossing it aside before reaching for her blaster again, firing shots indiscriminately as they tried to climb higher. 

The crane went tumbling from its rusted perch, slamming into station and track, ripping the gears clean off and causing the line with its many rows of newly activated droids to plummet over the long spiral into the abyss below. The ground gave a sickening roll and the Rebel lost their footing as they ran to avoid the falling track. 

Din was speeding towards them, grabbing them without thinking as the whole assembly line gave way. He shot forward towards one of the smaller, more natural rock tunnels above the now collapsing roof of the factory where the control’s station had been moments ago. 

For a moment there was nothing but the sound of metal scraping against rock, blaster fire from the hapless droids careening towards a more permanent deactivation, and the warning emergency sirens all fading out as they fell into the black. Then there was only the sound of his ragged breath, the child’s panicked coos, and the static modulator from the Rebel who never took their gaze off of him. 

“Why did you do that?” they asked. “Why did you do that?”

They seemed rattled, but not from the fight. Their good hand trembled ever so slightly as they flexed their fingers to still themselves. Even their modulator couldn’t fully flatline their shock at having their life saved.

“We had a truce, remember?” Din slapped a hand across her back in the same mocking fashion they had done to him earlier. “Come on. We still don’t know what else is down here. Eyes sharp. Blasters ready.”

The Rebel pulled their own pistol out absentmindedly, giving him a small nod as if they had been soldiers together from the start. Din set the child down and drew his own weapon, reciprocating her nod. Why had he saved their life? He hadn’t even thought to question why it had happened so fast. He didn’t like the immediate answer that entered his mind. They fought like a warrior. Smart, adaptable, agile. Admirable. He thought back to their words earlier: no one should be left down here alone. 

Brushing the thought aside he gestured with his blaster down the mouth of the damp, rocky cave. “After you.”

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #14 - Scour

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?      — Only the monstrous anger of the guns. --Wilfred Owen, “Anthem for Doomed Youth”

It was mid-afternoon, yet the land looked as though it were full dark.

The Carteneau Flats lay shrouded in shadow as the two armies faced each other across the field. Overhead the sky had taken on a decidedly ominous cast of red and black, as the crimson orb that had plagued her dreams of late descended towards the star. As it continued its slow descent it turned the ever-present cloudbanks over Mor Dhona to a boiling stew.

Dalamud, now terrifyingly close, was so large it filled the sky. 

Several bells had passed since Eorzea's allied city-states and freelance adventurer companies had sounded the charge, and the tribunus augusticlavius had given the order to fire upon their front lines--and the battle showed no signs of abating, were the sounds from without the infirmary pavilion anything to judge by. The din had been chaotic and overwhelming at first before the sheer scope of the noise had finally dulled her ears, become background noise, something almost but not quite mundane: the desperate roar of humanity, dying on both sides of the field.

There was a short series of muffled sounds, a series of flat, sharp reports fired into the air in a way that made her eardrums twinge unpleasantly. The acrid stink of cordite and burnt ceruleum fuel rankled her nose and burned her throat. She let out a dry cough, placing the sound at last: one of the vanguard warmachina had fired mortars into the Maelstrom ranks, somewhere not too distant.

"Laskaris! Look alive and bring me that infusion! Red bottle on the top shelf!"

A sudden explosion shook the ground and sent a quick blast of heat and ash through the ceruleum-coated canvas flaps of the pavilion tent.

The medicus stumbled, nearly losing her footing before she was able to catch a nearby support. She clenched her teeth, heart pounding. She'd not been in a proper fight since she'd enlisted, had not expected to see any action at all in truth, all things considered. And then the VIIth Legion had been deployed to Eorzea, and she had found herself first in Castrum Novum, then here in these desolate plains on the edge of a massive escarpment overlooking a lush rainforest---one whose beauty she couldn't even appreciate.

Her first battle, and 'twas like there would be plenty more, and she could ill afford to show cowardice in the face of it.

As she gathered the syringes another explosion rattled the reagents on the makeshift shelves. Aurelia had to lunge forward, quickly catching a stray alembic to keep it from jittering off the metal surface of a nearby supply table and onto her foot. Weak cries of alarm echoed from the rear corners of the pavilion, where the medical teams with healing magic labored over their patients.

"We need more of the salts!" bellowed the tall, grizzled salt-and-pepper man in his chirurgeon's whites, swiping the sweat and grime away from his third eye and off his brow with the back of his sleeve. Cassius lux Rossi was the senior chirurgeon over her cohort, a hardened veteran who'd served in the imperial army since before she was born, and his tone brooked no argument. He watched her with his sharp, severe gray eyes as she hurried over with the supplies, shouting orders to the assembly of medicus teams working furiously at their stations. "Third Cohort, put your backs into it! You've the aether to spare, no reason to clutch your pearls over a little tremor!"

"We're running low on reagents for the antiseptic, milord," she said, placing them on the table in front of him.

"We're running low on bloody everything," came her superior's terse retort. It was tinged with strain, however, and Aurelia realized he was as tired and frightened by the circumstances as anyone else. The chirurgeon ran a hand through his greying hair, cut regulation-short. "There's naught for it now; no way in hells is a supply transport making it to us through this godsdamned mess. We'll have to make do. Now stay alert; they'll need us to go out and collect wounded soon."

Aurelia tried not to wince at that. Hearing the battle was bad enough; she really didn't want to see it, but she knew better than to say so.

"Hand me that bottle. The green one."

She did. He shook it, paused, then began to work the cork from the opening.

"Damned pigheaded Eorzeans," Cassius grunted as he gave it a twist. There was a pop and the tube was opened with little effort. He took one of the syringes and began to coax the plunger back, the liquid swirling into the tiny opening of the needle. "You'd think this lot would've seen reason and surrendered by now. Were it not for their sellswords we'd have taken this hells-forsaken scrap of land the moment the first castrum went up. Don't suppose it means much in the end. Once Lord van Darnus takes the field, they'll see their folly soon enough. Especially with the XIVth's reinforcements."

"If he takes the field," Aurelia murmured. Someone said the legatus hadn't actually been seen in nearly a fortnight, and that was odd because Nael van Darnus was fond of catching his forces unawares with surprise inspections. But there was some operation only the higher-ups knew about at Novum; if he'd have been anywhere he'd have come there. It was all very strange.

And those dreams you've had lately aren't?

Resolutely she shoved that question into the recesses of her mind for later consideration and suppressed a sigh. Were she to be honest, nothing had seemed to go right since the Legion had set foot in this godsforsaken place.

"He will," her commander said rather sharply, "and we'll make short work of these barbarians, mark me, girl. He---oh hells, what now?" A miqo'te man in a pot helmet had thrust his head through the entrance and was waving to signal the chirurgeon down. "Don't stand there flailing at me! State your business."

"We need your people!"

"I've no medics to spare. If you can wait--"

"Due respect, sir, but it can't wait. Enemy thaumaturges're ripping the warmachina to pieces. There's two reapers out of commission from short circuits, a third crushed five men underfoot when it fell, and one that went up in flames just now... it's a right mess out here."

Cassius sighed again.

"Very well. You there, let the pilus priori know we’re sending people. Laskaris, Shifting Sand -- you two go on and join the active unit, and for pity's sake don't forget the alchemics. 'Tis like you'll need them for a few of those poor bastards. Don't let those men leave the heavy lifting to you two either. They've working arms, they can haul that field kit about."

Aurelia had no time to pin up her hair; she barely managed to twist the braid up into a hasty bun before she had to yank her helm on and sling the heavy squad kit across her body on its coated leather strapping. No magical flames would be able to sear it, and that was by design, for some of the reageants and alchemics they used were quite flammable.

The runner who'd been sent for the medicus team flung open the pavilion flap without ceremony. He was already breaking into a sprint, heading towards the melee. The others ran close on his heels, Aurelia straggling a couple of fulms behind as she stared with horror at the battlefield through the protection of tempered glass. Dead and wounded from both armies littered the field, crumpled upon the ground with their tattered standards at half-attention and their armor and weapons in ruins.

The exoskeleton of a magitek reaper a scant few yalms away was wreathed in flame, probably the source of the explosion they'd heard a few moments ago. She heard shrieks of terror and pain, high-pitched and frantic. Her footsteps faltered for only a moment before there was a loud popping noise as the rivets gave beneath the heat, and then---nothing.

She realized she'd just heard the last agonized moments of a man as he was cooked alive, and squeezed her eyes shut.

A heavy hand fell on her shoulder, making her jump with a strained gasp and clutch at her field kit. It was only the squad leader, doubling back to see why she had not followed.

"Let it go," Luca rem Manius said, not unkindly. "Worry about the ones we can still save. This way. Watch your step and if there's another salvo, take cover."

Aurelia hurried after him, trying not to trip or step on the mangled corpses that littered the field. So much blood had been shed that it had mixed with the dirt and formed a coppery, stinking sludge under their feet. The biohazard filters their engineering teams had worked into the standard-issue helm she wore kept out most of the stench, but her stomach turned all the same.

A flash of lights and shouts not a quarter-malm ahead, and the whistling thumps of mortars and anti-magic guns, told her the fight still raged apace. The senior medicus seemed to pause mid-step, glancing back at her over one bulky shoulder.

"This is your first deployment, isn't it?"

Although she could glimpse nothing of his expression, the weary droop of his shoulders and his businesslike demeanor belied his words. She began to speak and then realized she'd forgotten to switch on the speaker. Hastily she toggled the communication array so that he could hear her. "Aye, ser, it is."

"Thought as much. First battle's always the roughest. Make sure to keep your wits and your strength about you," he said. "You'll need them all before our work is done. And take it from an old hand at this---don't try to eat anything tonight. It'll just come right back up, trust m-"

The surge of scarlet uniforms came from nowhere, the angry roar of Eorzeans cresting at them like a wave. Swearing, the pilus drew his weapon, and that was the last Aurelia saw of him. She stumbled backwards, the kit digging into her shoulder, as a unit from her cohort met them with gunblade and aether of their own, and she realized with an icy stab of misgiving that she was alone-

And then the scraping sound of shearing metal filled her ears. Slowly, forgetting the chaos around her for the moment, she looked up into the sky.

A brilliant arc of bright blue lights flickered over the surface of the crimson moon in a pattern that was as beautiful as it was unnatural, outlining the curvature of Dalamud's sphere. The lights grew brighter, thicker, as the moon seemed to shudder and separate and---

--crack apart.

A piece of shrapnel, lengthwise as large as an imperial dreadnought, shot out of the bottom curve of the crimson moon. It didn't drop down onto the plain below so much as puncture it, blasted into the earth like a chambered round fired out of a gunblade.

With that single massive blow it cratered the earth around its landing, and a blinding wave of dirt and debris rose in its wake, flying a good quarter-malm away from the point of impact. The resulting shockwave took Aurelia off her feet and sent her flying backwards to land in the stinking mud, near the corpse of a man in Maelstrom regalia, draped over a chocobo.

Clutching her bag, she struggled to regain her footing, impaired by the weight of her armor. Something had changed. Something was different. It took her a few moments to realize why: for the first time in many bells, an ominous hush had descended upon the plain.

Fear formed a hard, cold stone in the pit of her belly, and her skin prickled painfully. It felt like every hair on her body was trying to stand on end. The silence was a weight on her breath, pressing against her lungs, pinning her feet to the ground and leaving her limbs paralyzed, unable to take any action. The medicus swallowed thickly past the sudden lump in her throat, the rapid triphammer beat of her own heart drowning out all other sound.

This was not a respite, but a prelude.

"Pilus?" she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

And then the silence was broken at last.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!!

Above, the sounds echoed as the interlaced blue lights widened, then flared white hot, and fire-roses blossomed in their wake as what she finally realized were interlocking metal joints gave way under the pressure of whatever it was that had lain dormant inside the gargantuan sphere.

The ground beneath her feet rumbled ominously---and then she saw the dragon that loomed at its zenith, an oracle of oncoming disaster.

Massive wings, their breadth spanning the size of an entire city, were outlined in horrifically clear detail against the crimson and gray of the clouds overhead. A piercing roar split the skies and shattered the silence.

Stabbing agony lanced through her ears. The Garlean clapped her gauntleted hands to the sides of her helm and dropped to her knees in the muck with a pained cry. Everything about that awful sound tried to drain the will from her limbs, sapping her strength, divesting her of the ability to do anything but tremble in place. It was the unbridled fury and hatred of a multitude of dragons, echoing down over countless millennia, powering the thing in the sky.

The eikon burst forth from the guts of the moon with a mighty roar, shattering the remains of Dalamud into fire and aether.

Shrapnel pelted down in a deadly rain upon the battlefield with a series of high-pitched whistles, slamming into cliffsides and soldiers alike, tossing them into the air like indifferently maintained toys.

Now there was noise aplenty -- noise, and fire, and thunder, and the grinding roar of falling debris. Terrified screams erupted from Garleans and Eorzeans alike as the lines of the Grand Companies and the VIIth Imperial Legion broke and scattered like frightened ants before the might of the vengeful creature that had emerged from its prison.

Before Aurelia's horrified eyes, a huge chunk of warped, flaming metal slammed into the hillside that had housed the infirmary pavilions, setting both of them ablaze almost immediately. Overhead, the eikon shrieked its battle cry again, mingled rage and triumph.

Pinpoints of fire streaked through the tortured sky, launched from the points of its wings, exploding upon contact with the land, scouring everything it touched.

"Retreat!" someone close at hand cried. "Save yourselves!"

Whether it was a legionnaire, an Eorzean, or even one of the sellsword adventurers, Aurelia couldn't tell. Not through the smoke and the fire and the loud groaning rumble beneath her feet and the utter chaos that had enfolded all of them.

Completely blinded now, unable to see sky or land, she ran, looking for an escape route. If she could just find somewhere to shield herself from the blasts, she could be safe. But there was no safety here, not in this eviscerated hellscape.

Something was hurtling through the air towards her. She saw something metal. Black. 

The object slammed into her, head, back, legs. A searing pain lanced in a white-hot bolt through her hip to her ankle, down her left side-

-and then there was nothing.

[justheretobreakthings]

The Least of These - Chapter 2

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Word Count: 2,709 (Total Word Count: 7,801) Read on AO3

Story Summary:

There have been plenty of people throughout the universe who weren't exactly keen on the idea of a half-Galra being a paladin of Voltron. Why should things be any different on Earth?

Chapter Preview:

“I don’t figure you watched any of the broadcast last night, did you?”

Keith scratched the back of his neck. “No, I uh… my mom and I took Kosmo for a walk. A long walk.”

Pidge nodded. “Well, I don’t blame you. And to be honest, it was pretty damn boring. Plus the stage lights were really hot and I was, like drenched in sweat by the end of it. But more importantly, guess you didn’t get to hear Shiro’s speech.”

“His speech?” Keith asked, raising a brow.

Keith was woken the next morning by the sound of knocking at his door. The knocks were muffled by the way his head was nestled in Kosmo’s fur, and when first he peeled his eyes open, he wasn’t sure whether he’d heard it at all, but then the knocking started again.

He groaned softly and rolled an inch further into Kosmo, shutting his eyes from the morning light - already high in the sky, indicating that he��d slept much later into the day than usual. He couldn’t help that. He had been exhausted the night before, but had stayed up late anyway, pacing in his room even after a long walk with Kosmo and then staring up at the ceiling for hours on end unable to fall asleep when he actually tried.

He ignored the continuing knocks, and although Kosmo sniffed at him and at a couple of points nudged him with his nose and let out a small grunt, the wolf didn’t give away his presence. Keith was relieved, at the moment, he really wasn’t in the mood for talking to anyone. Eventually, the knocks subsided.

Though he left his eyes shut and Kosmo fell back to sleep beside him, Keith slowly found that now that he was awake, he couldn’t return. Still, he held out as long as possible before his growling stomach finally forced him to actually get up. With a sigh, he slowly dragged himself out of bed, got dressed, and started down toward the Garrison’s cafeteria.

It was as he walked there, though, that he started noticing that distinct, spine-prickling sensation of being watched, and glances onto the edge of periphery confirmed it. People he passed in the halls were casting him stares that bore into his back as he walked past them.

He folded his arms tightly over his chest and hunched forward while he walked, as if it would somehow make him less visible. It wasn’t that occasionally being stared at was an unusual thing for him at the Garrison - he was, after all, a paladin - but it had been growing gradually less common as the Garrison got used to Voltron’s presence, and even when they had first arrived back on Earth, it hadn’t been this bad.

The noise of the cafeteria lowered momentarily when he entered, and as Keith sat at a table in a far corner to quietly eat his meal, he kept picking up on people either watching him, or deliberately avoiding looking in his direction even when they passed right by him. And there were people whispering, far too soft to be typical cafeteria chatter.

By the time he finished eating, he was just about ready to burst from the awkwardness of it all. He needed to duck into someplace quiet, and he selected the Garrison’s central library. It was just down the hall from the cafeteria, making it a quick walk, and besides, it had been so long since he’d had time to read anything. Maybe it was just the sort of quiet distraction he needed for himself right now.

He hadn’t been browsing the shelves long before he passed by a bay of computer desks, and noticed a familiar head of cinnamon-brown hair poking out from behind the monitor of one of them. “Hey, Pidge” he asked as he approached, deciding he wouldn’t say no to the chance for some quiet company. “What are you up to?”

“Playing Solitaire,” Pidge answered.

Keith snorted. “No, really, what are you - ?” He stopped as Pidge tilted the monitor toward him, displaying an in-progress Solitaire game. “Oh.”

“Came in here with Matt to get a book,” she said. “Noticed that someone had a game open without finishing, so I had to fix that. Then I noticed that this computer’s Solitaire stats were pretty terrible, so I had to fix that too. Matt got bored like half an hour ago.” She turned to Keith. “What about you?”

“Just needed some quiet,” Keith answered. “And my room’s too cramped for now. Hey, have, uh… have people been acting weird around you at all today?”

“Weird how?”

“Like - like a lot of staring, and, um, whispers, and stuff.”

Pidge shook her head. “Not toward me.”

Keith groaned. “God, they’re probably wondering why I wasn’t at that ceremony last night. Probably have come up with all sorts of rumors about it…”

“Mm, wouldn’t put my money on that,” Pidge said slowly. “I don’t figure you watched any of the broadcast last night, did you?”

Keith scratched the back of his neck. “No, I uh… my mom and I took Kosmo for a walk. A long walk.”

Pidge nodded. “Well, I don’t blame you. And to be honest, it was pretty damn boring. Plus the stage lights were really hot and I was, like drenched in sweat by the end of it. But more importantly, guess you didn’t get to hear Shiro’s speech.”

“His speech?” Keith asked, raising a brow.

“Yeah. Don’t suppose anyone told you what he did with it?” Keith shook his head. “Here, I’ll show you,” Pidge said, scooting to the side and gesturing toward a nearby chair. Keith took the chair and pulled it up to take a seat beside Pidge as she opened a search engine and typed “takashi shirogane speech” into the search bar. The results appeared, and Pidge clicked on the first video on the page, the timestamp indicating it had been posted nine hours ago, with a thumbnail image of Shiro in the same gray dress shirt he’d had on the previous night, at the microphone on a blue-curtained stage.

Pidge silently reached into her bag and passed Keith her headphones, which he took and placed over his ears as Pidge plugged them into the jack, and then she pressed play. The video started with Officer Hannegan at the microphone halfway through introducing Shiro, who sat at the back of the stage in a row with the other paladins and MFE pilots, half of whom had made it into the video frame.

He stepped aside and let Shiro take the microphone amid the polite applause of the crowd gathered in the assembly room, and he launched immediately into his speech. The topics were similar to the ones Allura had written for Keith back when they’d thought he’d be speaking as well: a thank you to all the humans who had lent their strength and skills to fighting back against the Galra, a solemn remembrance for those who had been lost, an encouragement to rally together to rebuild and recover, and praise for the paladins and pilots he’d fought alongside.

Shiro paused for several seconds during this part, looking down at the note card in his hand - an action that surprised Keith. Shiro had always been a marvelous public speaker, Keith had seen him give plenty of speeches before, and on those occasions when he had notes with him, he hardly ever so much as glanced down at them. But here he was, leaving seconds of peculiar silence as he frowned at the card in his hand.

He broke the silence by clearing his throat, and he folded the card in half and tucked it into his pocket before leaning into the microphone and continuing, “One of these honored paladins was unable to join us for tonight’s ceremony. Keith Kogane, the black paladin of Voltron, as well as my close friend and mentee, has sat out of this evening’s event.”

He paused again, and the silence was thick, uncomfortable. “As I’m sure many of you who are in attendance here tonight are aware, seeing that plenty of coverage has been given to this fact, a fact that has apparently become an ‘issue’, Keith Kogane is half-Galra.” There were a few soft reactions in the crowd, and someone sitting close to whoever was running the camera murmured something unintelligible that nearly drowned Shiro’s voice out for a moment, so Keith had to strain to hear it. “He was asked to refrain from attending this ceremony, due to the fact that there are some who were worried about people’s reaction to his presence.

“It saddens me greatly that this is something that has even had to be taken into consideration, but I suppose I cannot completely discount the fears of the populace at large. I understand that it was a member of the Galra race that was responsible for leading the forces that caused destruction across our planet, and that it was Galra soldiers who enforced a regime that has caused you so much harm. I understand that, and I sympathize. If anyone would be able to, it would be me. At the hand of Galra soldiers, I lost my mission, my arm, and, in more sense than one, my life.”

Keith could feel how little blood remained in his face, and he was beginning to feel a distinct sense of nausea in his gut. He reached up a hand to remove his headphones, but Pidge halted him by putting her hand on his arm and mouthing, ‘Wait.’

“However,” Shiro continued, “The Galra who did so much to harm me are not the only Galra with whom I have come into contact during my time with Voltron. While imprisoned, I met Galra who were working from within the ranks of the army to sabotage their work and, eventually, to help me escape. I met Galra who gave their lives in battle to ensure the safety of myself, my fellow paladins, and countless innocents. I met Galra who dedicated themselves to taking down the same empire we fought against here on Earth.

“I met Galra soldiers who did their duty out of loyalty to the Empire, but were willing to listen and to change. I met Galra who were never involved in the Empire’s regime, but simply wanted to live their lives, because like any human, these Galra had jobs and dreams and families and hobbies and pets. And I was able to put aside the terrifying ordeal I’d had at the hands of some Galra, and realize whether a person, a person from any planet, is good or evil, enemy or ally, is determined by actions and choices, not blood.

“It was a Galra who postponed the threat against Earth and fought to keep its inhabitants a secret from the Empire for years, and when a Galra did seek to do humanity such harm, it was a Galra who led the lions of Voltron into the battle that finally rid us of this terrifying threat.

“This ceremony tonight was set to honor those who helped bring planet Earth safety and who will be helping in our efforts to rebuild our civilization to what it once was. Many, if not all, of you out there have already had the opportunity to meet and work with allies from other galaxies, gathered here on Earth on behalf of the Voltron coalition to assist in reconstruction and to help us reach out our lines of communication to new corners of the universe.

“These efforts will not be possible without our open-mindedness, respect, and willingness to welcome new beings with histories and innovations and ideas that planet Earth has never yet so much as fathomed, and for the most part, we have accepted these allies with open arms. I only hope that our fears and reservations can be put aside enough that we can do the same for all who have done so much for the universe and for Earth, regardless of whether they be human, Altean, Olkari, Balmeran… or Galra.

“And I hope that the next time the paladins of Voltron are asked to be honored before the entire world at large, there will be room on the stage for all of them.”

He stepped back from the microphone, and there was a stiff smattering of applause before the video cut itself off, and an autoplay of the next video in the queue, this one of Sam Holt speaking at the same event, began to load. Pidge exited out of the video player before it could start, and slowly Keith lowered the headphones from his ears.

“So,” Pidge said, “What did you think?”

“... How pissed off were Hannegan and Gadhavi?” Keith asked.

“Very. But I think that’s at least partly due to the fact that Shiro went a full two minutes over his time allotment. Mega irresponsible of him.”

“But like, were - were people upset? Did they like what he said, or, um, or were they mad?”

“Hard to say,” Pidge said with a shrug. “It was a real formal ceremony, not like they were gonna start a riot then and there if they didn’t like the speech.”

“Should we at least see what - ” Keith started, taking the mouse and starting to scroll down, but Pidge snatched his hand away.

“Number one rule of the internet, man,” she said. “Never read the comments.” She yawned and scooted back in her chair. “There’s probably, like, a hundred thousand think-pieces out there about it already, and maybe a dozen of them are coherent.” She raised a brow at Keith. “I’m not gonna try and stop you from looking at them or anything, I’m not in charge of you, but, well… there’s a whole subgenre of videos out there of dogs being placed on trampolines, and they’re probably way more entertaining, and better for your health.”

“Hm. I’ll keep that in mind,” Keith said.

“All righty. Well, I’m off,” Pidge said, getting up from her chair. “Need to take a look at that book Matt needed. Oh, by the way, you’re probably gonna end up talking with Shiro anyway today, on account of - ” She gestured toward the computer screen. “ - but he told us that if any of us see you around, to tell you to go one over to him. Apparently he was trying to visit you in your room this morning, but you wouldn’t come out?”

“Ah. Right,” Keith said, remembering the knocking that had woken him. “I overslept.”

“Never thought I’d hear Keith Kogane, King of the Early Risers say that. Don’t stare at the computer screen too long, you’ll melt your eyes out.” And with that and a quick wave of her hand, she left.

Keith pushed his chair all the way into the computer desk and backed out of the webpage hosting the video and back to search engine. As he was halfway through erasing the search, he glanced at the auto-complete options that the search bar gave him.

takashi shirogane takashi shirogane atlas takashi shirogane voltron takashi shirogane interview takashi shirogane galaxy garrison takashi shirogane kerberos takashi shirogane news is takashi shirogane single

Keith couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at that last search term. It was amusing, almost comforting, to see that, despite everything that had happened over the last few years, the population at large seemed to still have the same priorities they always did, inane though those priorities may be.

He backspaced the rest of the search, then paused as he stared at the text cursor blinking invitingly at him in the blank search bar.

Taking a deep breath, he typed in his own name. He didn’t bother hitting ‘enter’, just stared at the auto-complete results that popped up.

keith kogane keith kogane galra

Something in his gut hardened at the fact that the very first result, besides his name on its own, was about his heritage. He read the rest of the results.

keith kogane keith kogane galra keith kogane voltron keith kogane human keith kogane mother keith kogane alien is keith kogane galra keith kogane mutation keith kogane history is keith kogane human

A sick curiosity had him hovering his cursor over the ‘Search’ button on the screen, but he couldn’t bring himself to click on it. Instead, he simply let the list of auto-complete options burn themselves into his vision for several minutes before he finally exited out of the browser.

And after another long few minutes of staring at the desktop, taking deep breaths in and deep breaths out, he opened the browser back up, pulled up the search engine, and, per Pidge’s recommendation, typed in “dogs on trampolines.”

[nosgothpillarofdeath]

Confession

((This is a re-write of a short scene from my RP with @timedeceiver called The Crossing [Pt one] [Pt two]. I wrote this scene back when Lysander was a fairly new character. This post is my attempt to expand and improve that little scene. It also takes place prior to Moving Forward and this time I’ve included some background to make things easier to understand. 

Background: This takes place early in Nosgoth’s history. Moebius has assembled a small army to fight the vampire guardians and they’re currently headed through the mountains toward a town called Helmsburg, where they’re planning to winter before pushing for Willendorf. Months ago Mortanius entered into an ill fated relationship with the current human Mind Guardian, Tove [timedeceiver]. During this time he’s struggled with his sexuality and developed feelings for his close friend, Lysander [my character] a cleric with a troubled past. With Lysander’s help he’s come to terms with his homosexuality and decided to break things off with Tove as soon as they reach the safety of Helmsburg. In this scene he confronts Lysander with his true feelings.))

A shadow cloaked man scurried through the dark camp, invisible boots softly crunching on the snow as he crept toward a particular tent. Puffs of smoky air wafted from his open mouth. This spell allowed Mortanius to travel practically undetected under cover of darkness, However winter exposed a few fatal flaws. Standing outside the entry to Lysander’s tent, he stalled. 

They met in late summer, in the apothecary where Lysander worked and lived, stocking inventory and sleeping on a straw mat in the backroom, at a time when Moebius’ small army was desperately in need of healers. The surly cleric joined their cause reluctantly. When he caught up with them on the road, sweating and breathing whiskey fumes, he straightened his back and declared he came for ‘death or redemption.’ 

Two men could hardly seem more different. Lysander, dogged and cold tempered. Mortanius, faltering and overly sensitive. Yet they found commonalities, namely a mutual compulsion to run head first into danger to protect and lift up the wounded and weak. On somber nights they would sit together under a cloud of unrealized dreams, comfortably sheltered from the rain in each other’s company, even in silence. Lysander understood him on a level he never thought possible. 

Even Tove, despite her incredible psychic powers, never understood him. She feared the haunted corridors of other people’s minds. Though only mortal, Lysander did not shrink from knowing him.

But Lysander could also be fickle. He treated most people like opponents in a high stakes game, lying when it suited him, keeping his true intentions close to his chest. Somewhat like Moebius, whom Mortanius felt close to in a brotherly way. There were times - Mortanius felt certain there were times when he saw Lysander’s soul bare before him. 

Mortanius entered through the flap in the tent. The shadows retreated from his person, revealing a pale, lanky man midway through his twenties with long dark hair and a well trimmed beard. A grey speck of mage light manifested in his open palm. Just enough light to see inside the dark tent. 

He saw Lysander fast asleep in his cot. His dirty blond hair looked like a bird’s nest. Guiltily, Mortanius crouched next to him and whispered, “Lysander, wake up.”

Lysander’s brows pinched as he squirmed. Recognizing Mortanius through squinted eyes, he lifted his head. His breath smelled of the army’s watered down booze. “My Pillar, what’s wrong?”

Shortly after joining the army, Lysander became Mortanius’ disciple when he bore witness to the Death Guardian’s power to ease the tortured souls of the dead. Since then he addressed him as ‘my Pillar’ in public. Over time their private interactions became more familiar, although he still used his personal honorific from time to time.   

Even bedraggled and groggy Lysander caused his heart to flutter. “I’m sorry for waking you. It’s all quiet outside, I only need to talk.”

He blinked hazily. “Can it wait until morning?”

“I’m afraid not, if I have to wait another day I think I might burst. It’s important.”

Lysander propped himself up and scratched at his beard as he eyed Mortanius with a knowing, weary look. “Give me a minute… ah, I was having a nice dream. What’s the matter?” 

Mortanius clutched the edges of his fur cloak together over his pounding heart and took a deep, chilly breath. He fought the urge to stammer or look away. Sometimes he succeeded. As he ventured forth his anxiety turned to excitement and a timid smile spread across his face.

“Lysander, you… are constantly on my mind. You… are always by my side with encouragement and support. You listen to me - even when I’m being a burden - you understand me and give me courage. You remind me of the noble merits of my Pillar yet never forget that I am human, too. You help me feel human! I… I want to be with you, in Helmsburg after everything is settled. I haven’t forgotten my commitment. Only… I need to know how you feel. That much can’t wait.”

Sitting up wide awake, Lysander listened and stared. The dim light caused his skin to appear ashen. He looked away, strangely sullen. Dread closed around Mortanius’ throat. His voice cracked.

“Please, say something. I need an answer. If you’re going to hurt me, just do it.”

“Stop,” Lysander said curtly, not cruelly. “Just stop and think about what you’re asking.”

Mortanius searched his face. “I have thought about it. How could I come here if I hadn’t thought about it?”

“You know it would be different if you only wanted to sleep with me. You’re asking to love me. That’s not realistic.”

“I don’t understand…” 

“Once you’ve been around like I have, you’ll learn. Men don’t want love. They just want to feel special with whoever happens to be there.”

Much of Lysander’s past remained a mystery. He knew that he struggled against the vile Nature Guardian Malanthe in Willendorf, the gruesome slaughter of his comrades hurling him down a pit of drink and self-destruction, then burned ten years on the road to escape his perceived sins. Lysander looked back on those years bitterly. Was this why?

Mortanius blinked and swallowed. No, he would not cry, this was not over yet. He offered, “You’re not like that.”

Lysander sneered. “You are. I may be on your side but I still saw what you did, what you’re doing right now.”

He recoiled, holding the faint mage light close to his chest. The darkness rose around them. Mortanius pleaded, “You’re right, I have made mistakes - I kissed you when I shouldn’t have and I’ve snuck out to see you behind Tove’s back. I should have ended this months ago but I was too afraid. I’m clumsy and naive but I’m trying to do better.”

On that front he did not appear to be off to a good start. He possessed no ill intentions in coming here, he only wanted to express the feelings that had been swelling inside him and learn if they had merit. Regardless, he betrayed Tove’s trust again.

In spite of the indomitable forces Mortanius wielded in battle he remained a coward in private. Of the three human Pillars his resolve was the weakest. He submitted too easily to the authority of others, cringing in the face of his own inexperience. Ordinarily this is where he would have given up. He felt remorseful and pathetic for creeping out in the middle of a cold night to lay his heart at the feet of a cynical tramp. 

Mortanius closed his fist around the clasp of his cloak and peered up at Lysander from under his crumpled brow. “I told the truth about my feelings. The day after we kissed you said that had we met sooner you would have gladly stayed the night and more, that you wished to follow me until the end of your days regardless. Is that still how you feel?”

For a moment Lysander simply pressed his lips together, looking vaguely defiant. “I say a lot when I’m shit-faced.”

Mortanius waited. That was not a real answer, it was a misdirection. Lysander could tell flattering lies when he wanted someone to like him, he could lie flawlessly even drunk, but he heard him tell the truth enough to know the difference. Slowly, cracks appeared in Lysander’s armor. 

“You still don’t know what you want. The world will have its eyes on you, Mortanius. We could never be together in public, not like you and Tove, I would taint your image.”

“I don’t care about my image, for Nosgoth’s sake! My aspect’s power over life and death is almost as twisted as the vampires themselves.”

“That’s not true!” he blurted. “Your service to the dead is the only real comfort us mortals have.”

Mortanius opened his mouth and smiled, leaning forward with his hand on the side of the cot. “I can always count on you. What more do I need?”

He leaned back and lifted his right arm over his lap dejectedly, away from Mortanius. “It’s not that simple. The people are still skeptical of human Pillars. If you want to establish this order Moebius talks about, you need more than my support.”

That was a valid point. Already their ability to secure funding and men for this army was predicated on reputation. 

“I’ll trust my brother to guide Nosgoth’s leaders to our cause, as I always have. If you were such a danger to his plans he would not have allowed you here. You have nothing to fear. Tell me if you want me to leave but I won’t run away for you.”

Rising, Mortanius turned and seated himself on the edge of the cot near Lysander. Lysander’s eyes flickered. He seemed to be out of words now, to his own dismay. Mortanius gently reached out to him. As he closed in Lysander let out a quiet hiss and tried to swat him aside. Mortanius flinched reflexively. However, he failed to commit to the swing and caught the hand instead, holding it by the tips of his fingers as if full contact with Mortanius’ skin would overwhelm him. His fingers trembled.

Lysander shut his eyes, his face lined with dark trenches. He looked older than his thirty years. Although Mortanius remained ignorant of many things in the wider world beyond the vampire’s claustrophobic citadel, he understood loneliness. Out here, on the road, Mortanius saw freedom. Lysander had walked this way before and he saw bleakness. Neither man lived easily. Mortanius tilted his hand and softly caressed his open palm, cooing, “It’s okay, this is what I want.”

His fingers slid into the grooves of Mortanius’ hand. Their palms pressed together and their thumbs stroked one another heavily. Suddenly Lysander arched forward and planted him with a kiss. 

Mortanius’ heart thrashed inside its cage. Overwhelmed, he tried to give himself an inch. True to his word Lysander followed his every move, stuck to him like tar. Mortanius’ jittery laughter filled the tiny space between. For once, he was right. 

A short time later, Lysander relented from the kiss. His head slumped against Mortanius’ chest. “Forgive me, my dear Pillar. I trust you with my life, with my soul but…”

Mortanius stroked the back of his hand. “Of course I forgive you. Are you all right?”

“I don’t know. You… do things to me. How many days is it again? To Helmsburg, obviously.”

He blinked. “Uh, two days, assuming fair weather. You still haven’t given me a straightforward answer.”

Lysander met his eyes. “Would you stay with me tonight?”

Caught off guard, Mortanius flushed and reluctantly shook his head. “Then I’d be just like those other men, wouldn’t I? I need to settle things with Tove first.”

He looked disappointed. “After all those things you said, if you wanted to, I’d let you use me. Tove would smash my head like a melon over it, I know. At least I’d die happy. That’s the type of man I am.”

Mortanius took back his hand with a sigh. He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck to distract himself from his lustful thoughts. The mage light glowed a little brighter. 

Not too long ago he would have taken Lysander up on that. There was a chance Tove might remain oblivious, given her reluctance to know the minds of others, although he would have suffered the guilt regardless. He harbored a lot of regrets. So did Lysander. Since they met he watched Lysander face his vices and fears in pursuit of personal redemption many times, more often than not saw him succeed, at least in a small way. It made him uncomfortable, too complacent in his own self-doubt. 

“No, I think we’re both better than that,” said Mortanius. “When I’m ready, I’ll call on you in Helmsburg. All right?”

Although he tried to hide it at first, a lopsided smile graced Lysander’s scruffy face. “You’re a good man. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

“I p-promise I won’t make you wait too long, if I can help it,” Mortanius stammered. A tremendous feeling swelled in his chest. He leaned over impulsively, hesitated, then hastily pecked Lysander on the lips a last time. 

Outside, too exuberant to return to his tent, Mortanius paced around the camp pretending to inspect the night guards. He could barely keep a straight face. As he feigned his rounds through the bracing cold he paused to gaze up at the clear starry sky. Two days.

[ororowrites]

T’Challa x Ororo: Dust to Dust

Pairing: Storm x T’Challa 

Warnings: Mentions of Death 

That moment played in her head over and over again and even when she closed her eyes it was there. That moment was embedded into her brain and gave her the same feeling as the memory of her parents. That fateful day they both died and she was trapped between their bodies and pieces of their family home. She could still smell the burning wood and feel the weight of wooden pillars and plaster on her back.

Even after a week, Ororo was still stuck in the moment T’Challa literally turned into dust in her hand. Her senses sucked her back into that day every time she thought about it. There was a slight overcast but the air was humid, causing her hair to stick to her forehead. Her nose burned from the scent of burning grass and trees from the battle that seemed never ending. Somehow Ororo had been wounded by the aliens invading Wakanda. The Queen hid behind a bush, trying to wrap her wound with a torn piece of fabric from her armor. That’s when T’Challa ran up to her, “Ororo, get up. This is no place to die,” he urged his wife. When she reached out to take his hand, he disappeared before her eyes. At first she thought her eyes were deceiving her until others drifted into a dust that stuck around for a second before vanishing.

The Queen of Wakanda reached out into the open space, her eyes widening when she was greeted by the stiff air. “T’Challa,” she exclaimed, looking around. “T’Challa!” The cries for her husband went unanswered as the chaotic scene continued to unfold. 

Now she was stuck with the images and they made her chest ache. Her eyes felt permanently swollen from the amount of tears she had cried that week. 

“Queen Ororo,” Okoye gently shook the Queen out of one of her daydreams. Lately,her eyes stayed fixed on the vast green space below, hoping T’Challa would appear like he did every morning, He’d always find Ororo in the window above and wave, starting her morning off on the right track. 

“Queen,” Okoye repeated, this time getting Ororo’s attention. “Dinner begins in 10 minutes and a representative from Cameroon will be present.” 

Leaving the King and Queen chambers had become quite the task for the Wakandan royal. She had been spending most of her time there until she was forced to communicate with the outside world. Ramonda had been the rock of the palace and often the rock that held Ororo together though she had lost both of her children in the battle. 

“Are you feeling well enough to attend,” Okoye questioned, taking in the Queen’s appearance and demeanor. Most of the Dora Milaje had vanished along with T’Challa and Shuri, leaving the General in a panic that she didn’t allow anyone to see. Instead, she stuck by Ororo’s side and continued doing the job she was appointed to do by King T’Chaka. 

“I’ll go,” Ororo stated, dragging her feet to the floor. The bed had been her hiding spot from the world. Though she barely slept, the sheets and pillows still held T’Challa’s scent and it was comforting. At night, she imagined his arms wrapped around her, whispering random I love yous until she dosed off. It was the only way Ororo kept herself sane. 

Dinner seemed to be a blur, like everything else had been for the last week. Keeping a brave face was becoming a burden. A burden, Ramonda and Ororo were struggling to carry. After their meeting and dinner, Ororo returned to the suite she shared with her husband. The sandals he had worn days before the big battle were still by the closet. Ororo had asked him to put them away before the Avengers came to Wakanda asking for their help. T’Challa had a habit of leaving his belongings in places they didn’t belong. 

Like many nights, Ororo dreamed of T’Challa. Somehow she always woke up in tears the next morning when she woke up to find his side of the bed empty. In her dreams, he could never see her as he wandered through space. But this night was different. 

Ororo walked through the dark green pastures, her white dress flowing as she ran towards T’Challa who was looking out into the waters. Dressed in white himself, the handsome King turned his head once his wife was near. 

“T’Challa,” she gasped, shocked he could actually see her this time. When he smiled, Ororo ran and jumped in his arms. “You can see me,” she cried, holding him close. That familiar scent and warmth made her feel right at home. 

“Of course I can see you,” he replied in a matter of fact tone. “You’ve been crying.” The Queen wiped at her eyes, roughly scrubbing her cheeks as tears fell faster. 

“I miss you. We all do,” she admitted, reaching out to grab his hand but this time grabbing at the air. This wasn’t what happened when you saw those who had crossed over, according to Wakandans. Looking around again, Ororo didn’t recognize this place as the ancestral plane T’Challa described. There were no purple hues, the air wasn’t light and she didn’t smell the sweat pea. Besides, Ororo  hadn’t ingested the heart shape herb so where was she? 

“I miss you too, love,” T’Challa beamed, his bright smile not spreading across his cheeks like it usually did. “But I need you to do something for me. You’ll have to be strong. Strong for yourself, strong for my mother and Wakanda.” 

“T’Challa, what happened that day? Are you de...are you gone? Shuri disappeared too. What happened, ” the Queen questioned almost hysterically, hating how that sounded and instantly regretting it when she saw how his expression changed. 

“No...we aren’t gone, baby but we need your help. The Avengers-”

“The Avengers are the reason this happened! What could they possibly do to help us? This nation needs you...I need you,” she shouted, instantly angered by the mention of the Avengers. For the past week, Steve had attempted to contact Ororo and she ignored his messages. When T’Challa agreed to let down the gates and let them in to protect a friend, Wakanda was almost destroyed. Rebuilding would take time and those who lost loved ones would never be the same. Their lives couldn’t simply be rebuilt. Ororo wasn’t normally the bitter type and her heart was golden and always open to helping those in need. But, she never felt good about this and spoke to her husband about her feelings before the Avengers arrived with Vision.

“Ororo, you must listen to me,” T’Challa replied sternly, tears forming in his own eyes because he felt like this was his fault. It was the second time he was away from his family, leaving them in distress. Obviously, it was out his control but that guilt still ate at him regardless of the truth. “Please listen.” When she was finally calm, the King continued, “You need to call the Avengers. You’ll need reinforcements.You need to get that gauntlet from Thanos.” 

Hearing that name sent an angry chill up Ororo’s spine. “What do I need to do to save you and Shuri? I’ll do anything.” Her tone went cold.

“Assemble an army with anyone left. Call in anyone you know can help beat this,” T’Challa explained. “I know you can do this because you are one of the strongest people I know.”

Suddenly, T’Challa began to disappear just like he did the day of the snap. “T’Challa, no,” Ororo panicked, reaching out towards the small bit of him that was left before he was gone again. “Don’t do this to me! T’Challa,” she called out, watching the once green pastures turn into dust. The air grew thick and the smell of smoke and burning wood and flesh lingered. A scent that Ororo recognized right away and would never forget. 

“My child,” a voice called from the distance, echoing off the imaginary walls that Ororo couldn’t see but could feel closing in fast. “Look at me.” The voice grew louder and behind the dust, Ororo saw a faint image of her mother. The sight carrying her heavy legs through the thick smoke. Even running as fast as she could, the Kenyan royalty wasn’t getting any closer to the image. “My child, you must stop running.”

“Mama!” The smoke thickened and the powers Ororo could usually use to her advantage were non-existent. 

“Stop running,” N’Dare cried out again before the smoke storm engulfed the Queen of Wakanda. 

Feeling like she was suffocating under her own blanket, Ororo jumped out of bed completely spooked. When she got control of her breathing, Ororo put on her robe and headed to Shuri’s lab. The teenager was always coming up with different looks for her sister-in-law, though Storm stuck to her simple black suit without vibranium. Shuri’s creations ended up in a vault, kept in place in case the Queen changed her mind. Punching in the code she and Shuri only knew, Ororo opened the vault door revealing six variations of vibranium filled suits.

Ororo re-dialed Steve Roger’s number, not even aware of the time on American soil. He answered immediately, “I have a plan,” the Queen said, running her slender fingers along one of the suits. “Get your people and get to Wakanda as soon as possible.” 

Ororo was done running from this. 

[we-shall-remain]

Tender Lover

David slept for an hour or two, his sleep deep and mercifully dreamless in the warmth of Jonathan's tent and the waning sun of the afternoon. He only opened his eyes when he felt his prince cup his cheek, Jonathan's thumb gently caressing him along his cheekbone. David smiled, tender and drowsily, and his beloved smiled back, so kindly.

“Sit up, David, my brave one,” Jonathan said lovingly, “I've had some water brought for you so you may cleanse yourself.”

With a sleepy nod, David sat up and his legs felt stronger now, but the sweat and sandy dirt from his battle against Goliath had made itself known and he could not go to a feast without at least wiping himself down. He then noticed the bowl of rosewater upon the nightstand with a cloth already soaked and reached across to retrieve the cloth, wring it out and apply it to his skin. It was blissfully cool and he sighed in almost pleasure as he rubbed the back of his neck with the soft cloth, wiping away the dirt and lingering tightness of his muscles.

“Feels good?” Jonathan asked, amused, and David gave a hum that was almost a moan because water was so scarce and to be able to use it thus was a luxury. Jonathan chuckled and then David felt the prince take his ankle in a gentle grip and begin to ease off his sandal.

The shepherd's eyes snapped open and he looked down, his face turning fully pink as he observed the scene before him.

Jonathan was crouched at his feet, another bowl of rosewater by his side, and the prince was removing David's sandals as tender as a lover and he... he was going to...!

“Jon, my prince, wait, you don't need to do that,” David said, flustered and shy, because it was such an intimate and honorable thing to have you feet washed by another but, David was merely a shepherd and Jonathan was the crowned prince! If anyone should have been washing anyone's feet it should have been David caring for Jonathan.  

“Oh, but I think I do,” Jonathan grinned, half teasing still, “Your dainty feet have become soiled, dove of my heart. They need washing.”

David turned even pinker but he did not withdraw his feet, instead swallowing as he was fully unshoed and Jonathan lifted the soaked cloth.

“Yes but... you know what I mean,” the harpist replied, his toes curling a bit, and while Jonathan nodded, he did not stop, bringing the cloth to David's feet to begin removing the dirt and soothing the muscles there. David hiccuped, shy, but it felt so good so he merely watched, blushing still.

“As a man I think I should be allowed to care for my lover as I see fit,” Jonathan admitted gently and David couldn't argue with that, so he nodded and averted his gaze bashfully, returning his attention to wiping down his face and shoulders and arms, smooth and clean and beautiful.

He felt the cloth in Jonathan's hands ease over his feet and then his ankles, and then David felt something he really hadn't expected; Jonathan's lips against the soft inside of one of his ankles, so tender and reverent and David gave a shaky sigh of pleasure. He did not speak though, allowing his lover to ease the cloth up his legs, Jonathan's soft lips following, blessing David's skin and the farther he when up the faster David's heart beat until...

The shepherd's hands fisted in his beloved's thick dark hair, the prince's head sinfully between David's thighs and they couldn't do this, not here but oh, oh he wanted too. So very much. His toes curled.

“J-Jon,” he trembled, a shiver going through his legs to the delicate place Jonathan kissed, sending hot spikes of teasing pleasure up David's body, a moan held tight between his teeth, “Jon, wait. We- No, Jahveh!”

“It's alright, David, I won't do anything to upset Him, I promise,” Jonathan replied, lifting his head slightly to rest it against David's thigh instead of in between and David breathed, hating that they had to stop but relieved, for he did not wish any harm to befall his dearest prince, his treasure. He eased his grip on his lover's hair, stroking it instead as the prince wrapped his arms around David's waist, both of them falling into comfortable silence for a moment.

“David, please do not think less of me,” Jonathan began, softly, “For I had the utmost faith in you, my star of Bethlehem. I just... I saw you go to the ridge and my heart about stopped. I was so frightened for you.”

The harpist held his tongue, for he did not know what to say so he allowed his fingers to speak for him, tender fingertips running through Jonathan's dark hair and over the sweet crest of his ears, down his neck to sooth him.

I'm still here with you, I'm alive, you haven't lost me, his touches seemed to say, and Jonathan sighed, his heart easing. He then eased his grip around David's waist to sit up again. He smiled up at his lamb and rose to kiss him, warm and tender, David kissing back with all the young love in his heart, and then the prince stood, waiting for David to slip his sandals back on before offering his hand.

“Come, my love,” Jonathan said, “Let us feast tonight to your victory.”

And David smiled and clasped hands with his lover, being pulled to his feet, strong once more but indeed quite hungry.

So they left Jonathan's tent to head to Saul's, where the king himself, Abner, and a few other men sat in a circle around a low fire. The sun had set, only the remaining streaks of reddish sun caressing the darkened sky. All around throughout the camp there were signs of feast, meat and wine and cheese passed to hands. Men sang and laughed and David sat amongst the company of kings, humble and sitting close to Jonathan, their shoulders touching.

Saul spoke at length while they ate, Abner or the other men chiming in occasionally, and David ate his fill to replenish himself from his battle. Sacrificial meat with wine and cheese from home and some freshly baked bread that smelt heavenly.

He could hear talk outside their circle, the story of his exploits being told and retold and even now he could hear some of the men taking liberties with it; how'd he'd missed his first four strikes on purpose to be merciful, how he'd held up Goliath's head in conquest to show both armies. David tried not to imagine such a scene personally, and took a deep drink from his wine cup to wash away such thoughts.

“I shall give you a thousand of my men to command,” Saul was saying, proudly, and David focused back in when he realized the king was talking to him. The shepherd's eyes got a little wide at that, swallowing his wine because...him? Commander of men?

“Father,” Jonathan said calmly, diplomatically, sensing David's unease, “Please, David is a shepherd and a harpist. He knows how to command sheep and melodies, not men.”

“Men are as sheep and song before Jahveh,” Saul said dismissively, waving a hand, “If you can command one you can command the other and besides, men are more loyal and clever then sheep. They will not disappoint.”

David's back had gone straight with nerves, but he bowed his head humbly before the king and thanked him for his gracious gift. Jonathan could feel the tightness in him however, and it was with relief when David felt his lover's arm curl along his back, Jonathan's hand curving to David's hip in the shadows of the fire. His support helped the shepherd breathe and David was grateful, looking to Jonathan who gave him a reassuring smile.

It was then that the small group was joined by the three ladies of Saul's court, the Queen, the youngest Princess Michal, and the king's concubine. The men made room in their circle for the woman to sit and eat daintily, and while all three woman were beautiful, it was the princess who caught David's eye. She looked to him with her sea blue eyes, her smile gentle and flattering and she was as beautiful as her brother was handsome, David blushing softly at the sight of her.

Perhaps he stared just a bit to long for the princess blushed herself, averting her face only to glance back at David, her smile shy, and Jonathan smiled, the prince stroking his fingers just above David's hip to tickle him. The shepherd giggled, looking to Jonathan again and maybe it was the wine but he just felt giddy with happiness, warm and content with the good food and drink in his belly and his love gentle in his heart.

Then, from throughout the camp the men grew quiet, the soft sound of song rising not from them, but from over the ridge in the darkness.

“What is that?” Princess Michal asked softly as they all stopped to listen to the song, the words wild and unhappy but speaking of the sea with the windswept sands, the sea-foam, the gulls calling out over the waves. A song to go home too.

“The Philistines are retreating,” Jonathan breathed, his smile pleased, “We have won.”

“Of course,” Abner said knowingly, “Without their champion they would do best to turn tail, especially since they have seen David's skill. If an Israelite shepherd is as strong and deadly as their greatest solider, they know they have no chance when facing us.”

Saul nodded, pleased as well and drank from his cup, and as the song began to die away with the footsteps of the retreating, a cheer of victory went up from the Israelite army. There would be no more fighting from that side, not for many years with any luck.

Jonathan laughed in relief and David watched him, his smile and heart so full he felt he would burst. It was fully dark now, blissfully dark, the lamps and fires the only source of light, and David reached over to tug lightly and secretly upon Jonathan's girdle. It was a fine one indeed, well made with embroidery sewn in, but it was what lay under the girdle that David truly wanted from his lover, and his secret little smile told Jonathan all he needed to know when the prince looked to his dove.

The prince nodded and bowed his head respectfully to his father, bidding him, his mother and the assembled goodnight for David and himself. Saul nodded in return and dismissed them, Jonathan practically scooping David up who could not stop his giggle, allowing his prince to whisk him away into the darkness.

They returned to the prince's tent for a few things, a lamp, a blanket and oil, and then they were off once more, heading to the outside edge of the camp. It was known that when the host army of Israel and Judah sent up camp, a great line was drawn around the outside and the space within the circle became holy. Nothing unclean or sinful was allowed to take place within as it would be an affront to Jahveh. Outside the circle however was deemed fit for anything, including blissful rendezvous with lovers.

So that was where the two young men departed too, stepping over the line with a soft prayer in their hearts; for while their desires were sinful with lust, that lust was seeped and coated with their young love and even the holy blessed love.

So they found a nice spot among a few bushes and palm trees, and they were kissing before they even were fully hidden, David's one arm up around Jonathan's neck, the blanket unfurling in his other hand like a colorful flag in the glow of the lamp. The prince had his hands around David's hips, and he guided them both back into the safety of the trees, pressing David's back against the rippled bark of the palm to give them purchase as they kissed deeply. The harpist moaned freely into his lover's mouth, his toes curling in pleasure and he was so ready and wanting and he just wanted Jonathan, wanted all of him.

They got the blanket down on the sand and David was on his back upon it's softness with his legs up and clasped around Jonathan's hips before he'd really known what happened, his fingers tangled in his beloved's hair, Jonathan kissing down David's neck and chest, stripping him of his garments as they went along.

David cooed like a dove, pressing lovingly into the attention and he felt so loved, treasured and protected being in Jonathan's arms. There was no where else he wanted to be but with his beloved.

“Mm, Jonathan,” he breathed lovingly, the prince kissing down his soft belly, “My treasure, I adore you.”

“And I you, my dearheart, my David,” Jonathan replied, tender as he eased down the last of David's clothes, leaving him bare and gorgeous before him. Jonathan smiled and David squirmed, suddenly shy and innocent for he was but a virgin, as gentle as a lamb.

“Please, be gentle,”  he breathed, and Jonathan kissed him, a soft brush of his lips, with a soft vow, “Always, I promise.”

Thus the treasure of David's heart drew forth the oil and spread it over his own fingers and up inside his lover to slick and prepare him, David moaning as he was widened sensually. He watched Jonathan's head dip as well, to pick up where they had left off and David's heart sped, a fist to his mouth to keep his cries quiet a Jonathan pleasured him with lips and tongue and the hot sweet tightness of his mouth.

David arched his back, beginning to pant because it just felt heavenly and he was already so close, his body strummed by his lover as David would play his harp.

“Ah, ah, J-Jon!” he cried, the pleasure curling in his belly and making his heart beat hard, “Oh, please I need you. Mm~”

A final lick and kiss, a bit more oil and Jonathan was settled between David's silky thighs once more to the pleasure of the shepherd, David breathing a so soft “yes, yes, please” as his lover eased inside, causing the harpist to groan in blissful pleasure pain.

They held tight to each other, both moaning as the pleasure drove them on and on and David breathed shakily, entwined around his lover, hips bucking helplessly as he was claimed for the first time by his treasure, and Jonathan grit his teeth and thrust deep, finding the prefect angle to pleasure his lovely harpist.

They flowed together like water, like music, and eventually David felt Jonathan swell inside him and come with a deep gasp and David cried out and spilled as well, the honey after glow filling them up and sloshing through their blood to leave them sated. They kissed, weakly but lovingly, the prince so gentle with his sweethearted dove.

Then they curled up in the blanket together to sleep, David resting his head against Jonathan's shoulder and he felt so very happy, he slept once more without fear, the lamp's light burning gently all night to ward away any danger to the two young lovers.