#before the war they went around armed with lethal force

[elrondsscribe]

Star Wars Ragepost incoming

did I just see some motherfucker allege that jedi critical posts are antisemitic??

bitch what??

the fuck is wrong with people that they’re equating the prequel era Jedi Order with Judaism??

(do I have to bang the drum about chattel slavery again?)

[r3starttt]

CALL ME BY YOUR NAME | 03

fic M.list | read this or DNI

an: pretty short BUT it’s because nsfw part it’s gonna be long soooo I’ll do it separately, stay tuned y’all 😍☝️

"Is it better to speak or to die?" Your mom says, gently running her fingers all over your arm. Your dad, on the other side, kept his gaze fully fixated on your mom, who kept on reading a German novel.

It was raining, the type of rain to male everyone want to sleep, the one that could be perceived as white noise. Outside there was barely sunlight, the ambience was cold and the sky was all gray. You found comfort in it.

Lights went off, all at once, no warning at all. "You know we...you can always talk to us, yeah?" Your dad whispers, taking you out of that trance you've been since yesterday. Do they know? Does she know?

You simply nodded, reciprocating the sheepish smile your parents were giving you as a sort of comfort you kept ignoring you needed.

-

You can feel her eyes all over your body. The sound of her legs moving around the water, accompanied by the birds chirping, it makes you nauseus.

She wasn't here yesterday, and you simply could not stop thinking of her, what she did, and with who? Why not you and why, no matter how hard you tried, it couldn't be you the one.

If it wasn't because of the sunglasses you'd be out of here in less then a second, hiding in your room and pretending to not notice when she arrives home or leaves, pretending to not hear her muffled whines right next to you every night, pretending to not take a quick look outside your balcony whenever you hear her swimming, or pretending to not slick your ear to the bathroom door whenever water starts running. Because ironically, you do hate her, and it seems like the longer she stays the less you can handle her.

"Gotta go to town in a little bit to pick some things up" Abby con barely finish her sentence when you're already replying. Your voice elicts a smile on her face, pretty cocky as usual "Oh, I can go. I'm not doing anything today"

She just shrugges, taking her legs out of the water "then why don't we go together?" Your elbows act before you let them, forcing you to stand almost right when her voice is heard. You hated her for this.

-

You kept remembering the first time you brought her her. It was impossible to not regret it, after all it felt like suicide. You've done this to yourself just to not be a stubborn daughter for once.

It's strange, even when she first came you knew something was different, that's what lead you to act different for once. Maybe it wasn't you but her the problem.

You opened your mouth, letting her place the cigarette on it. She'd been making you wait for a while and your hands were busy, so far this was the only decent thing she's done for you, and it's not even on purpose. The lighter came closer to your face, and so did she. You haven't seen her this close, it's probably the first time you get to see what colors her eyes are. And even when it takes seconds, the contact it's enough for you, and you can swear you feel the warmth coming out of her body as well.

"I thought you didn't smoke?" You can see her siluette walking vaguely around you, taking her bicycle again "I don't" The defensiveness in her voice, you reciprocated her foolish smile.

"So, world War two, huh?" The metal of the bicycle had barely hit the railing that protected the omenage when she was already walking away from you, again. "No, this is world War one"

A 'huh' brushes past her lips. Abby restes her elbows on the railing, letting out a small hiss at the warmth of it. How stupid, you think.

"I don't even know about the.. battle of Piavé?" Her sandals hit the ground at her every step, hands running along the railing. "Píave, one of the most lethal battles of World War one" your hands rest on your stomach, crossed to support each other. And even though your eyes are looking at the statue in front of you, you can still feel her essence neare you, eating you alive with just the eyes.

"Is there anything you don't know?" You knew for a fact she meant to be nice right now, but you felt like putting some force on it, some sort of invisible barrier, because once you let her have her chance with you, you wouldn't stop her. And it wasn't meant to be, it couldn't. "I know nothing Abby"

You shocked your head, walking on the opposite side to where she kept resting. Taking a long deep drag of the cigarette "is that so? Because you seem to know more than anybody else around here". You both had sunglasses on, but even like that every time your glances coincided, the feeling was so strong it felt palpable.

"If you only knew how little I know about the things that matter" there's a sarcastic tone on your voice, unintentional but real. "What things that matter?" She clicked her tongue, extending her arms so the palms of her hands could be fully resting on the metal fence. "You know what things". Your arms crossed over the fence, hiding your face in between.

"Why're you telling me this? The smells of the cigarette suddenly became unbearable. "'Cause I thought you should know?" Even though she's away from you her laugh is still audible enough "Because you thought I should know?" There's a hidden tone on her voice you just can't decipher, and it causes you such a painfull feeling each time it appears, like you're the one doing it all wrong, like you're the adult. "'Cause I wanted you to know?" You tried to fix it, immediately regretting it.

You both walked to what was left ot the fence, each on one side. You kept repeating your las sentence, how stupid it sounded, how stupid you are. Until you're face to face again with her, and you feel so mature, so understood.

Her left hands is placed on her waist, one knee slightly flexioned and the other hand taking the cigarette away from her mouth as she lets the smoke fly to your face. She seemes hesitant, nothing she's ever been with around you but only when your mom's around. She's afraid.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" You do the same, admiring how the smoke passes through her face so gracefully. Quietly nodding as her eyes wander all over your face. Have you get it?

Before you realized your head was resting on her chest, the only thing visible now were both of your feet against each other "Shouldn't have said anything" Abby moves her free hand to your back, making small circles over it as she heard your statement. "Just pretend you never did"

The moment you threw your cigarette on the floor she did It too, gently pushing you away. The sound of the sandals brushing the pavement was comforting, human, and it meant you two were, after all, the same in some sort of way.

"What does that mean? We're on speaking terms, but not really?" You mock. "It means we can't talk about those kinds of things, okay?" You don't know when but at some point your teeth were biting on your inner lips, painfully hard. You couldn't look at her, she felt like someone you should fear, and you still hated her. "We just can't"

She gave you one last pat on the shoulder, it felt wrong how motherly she was. Maybe you were the one wrong after all. You just waited for her to get her sheets, unsure still of what they were.

Maybe it was karma, they were all a disorder and not whorth the wait, or that's what you heard her say as she walked towards you, clearly annoyed.

-

"The Alpi Orobie, water comes straight down from there"

This was your form of apologizing, taking her to your place, a small lake away from everything and everyone. She seemed to enjoy it.

It was quiet besides the birds chirping and the water running. After the rain the sun comes lighter than ever, good timing you guess. It wasn't practically hot, just nice enough.

"I like the way you say things. Don't know why you're always putting yourself down, though" she whispers. Abby really wanted to make things better, she felt the same way you felt for her. But it felt wrong to be the mote mature between both, acting like the stupid one just to get you. She was trying to fix this, and it was torture that you simply never gave her the chance to, no matter what she did or said you always had something smarter to make her sound lame. "So you won't, I guess?"

"You're really that afraid of what I think?" You bite your inner lips again, tasting the mix of blood and saliva mixing on your tongue. Simply nodding once again, dragging your feet to get closer to her until both yours and her fingers are touching. "You're making it hard for me" "I know"

Quietly, grabbing her hand you drag her to a small piece covered in grass. She'd give you enough signals to take what you needed of her, at least for today, and you weren't planning on waisitng it.

Her whole body is covered by the sunlight and you swear she's never looked this good. The strands of her hair gracefully dancing along the breeze passing by her face. Her white blouse covered in wet, letting you have the most delicious sight of her body.

Not even sitting and you have her on top of you. Middle finger running over your lips and your tongue containing on its space, painfully. You wanted- needed to suck her fingers, to feel every inch of her body, and it was torture to not have it.

Abby knew what you wanted, she was craving it as much as you. But for the first time in her whole life, she'd losen control about everything, and you were the one behind it. The reason she's been touching herself till sleep every night, the reason she even considered to stay for months in Italy. You had made of her and her life a chaos, and somehow that made her hate you as much as you hated her. It was hilarious how she even ended like this, whit someone like you.

Her lips pressed on yours, two tender kisses that she despised more than anything in this life. Not because of you but because of her being the one to initiate them and you the ones to cut them off.

And it's not that you wanted to, but this was driving you insane, because it felt like you've imagined, but somehow you've finally made conscious about what this stupid kisses mean, for both.

There's a trail of saliva connecting your lips as she pushes you away, so abruptly it almost hurst. Not only physically but mentally, making you wonder if she even meant it in the first place. "Better now?" Her cocky voice makes you want to punch her right in those lips until she can't ever speak again. You remember why you hate her since the moment you ever saw her or heard her voice.

Not fair, she gets what she wants until she doesn't want it anymore. You're just one more of her interests that will eventually fade away.

Without thinking you push her back, making her lay on the grass. It pinchs on your bare legs the moment you sit on top of her, not even the nature is being pity with you. She reciprocates the kiss tho.

"Mmm-mmm" you hear, feeling the vibrations on your lips and her hands on your waist one more, begging you tu move away and stop this. To pretend it didn't happen like what she said some hours ago.

You hate yourself for this. But you obbey. Abby repeatedly says 'no' pulling away from you. Her hand dances over her lips, getting rid of what was left from your desperation on her face. "We should go"

"Why?" You tease, opening your legs on one last attempt to get her at least for one minute more. "I know myself, okay? And we've been good" her hands both place on your knees, palm pressed tightly on top of your skin, closing your legs. "I wanna be good"

-

You've ran away the instant you noticed the blood running down your noise to your lips. It's by far the grossest hemorrhage you've got. Yet nothing unusual, just the mix of stress and warmth being too overwhelming for your body.

Abby tried not to pay attention to it, or worry. But she needed to see you were good, she needed to take care of you, or just help you get clean. It felt like she was the reason of it, but the sight of your parents in fron of you, so focused on whatever thing they were debating about. She simply couldn't, it would be either too obvious or not the best idea for you.

She feared to let you down like this, but also hated to be the reason behind it all on the first place. She's never regretted something this horrifying in her whole life, ever.

She'd fallen in love with you at her worst moment, and feared more than anything to hurt you, to have any sort of effect in you. Because you had a whole life ahead of you and she simply didn't.

-

Traitor, I'm such a pussy, please forgive me, don't avoid me. I'm sorry? I'm sorry, can't stand that you hate me, forgive me, what did I do wrong?

"Can't stand the silence, need to speak to you" were the words you wrote for her, on a random notebook you sometimes uses as a sort of journal. She was awful. "Grow up, see you at midnight" she replied. You were awful.

-

12:00 am

Crickets chirping, empty dark blue sky and countable stars decorating the ambience accompanied by the moonlight. Romantic to say the least.

She was smoking, you've realized the reason behind it. "Come inside" you whispered, hoping it was loud enough for her to hear but enough to catch anyone else's attention. Which means, trying to not let your parents hear you begging her to let you fuck her, at least once.

She tossed the cigarette violently, almost as if she had resentment for you still. Which she simply couldn't.

Sitting at the end of your old bed she finally spoke to you, not verbally but vy extending her arms so you could crawl to her. Abby smelled like pine and cigarette, it reminded you of alcohol. Is suits her.

"Can I kiss you?" Abby's hands move to the sides of your cheeks, making enough force against them so you couldn't move if given the opportunity "yes please" you whispered back, already opening your mouth. She pressed her lips on yours, making her tongue palm against yours deliciously. The sound of your saliva mixing was the only thing heard in the room besides the clothes rubbing against each other.

Abby laughed, breaking the kiss to stand up and walk to the side of the bed. The door slapped at it, so hard the floor vibrated. You stated at the whole scene in amusement, hoping for once in your life your parents where in this same situation so they wouldn't care "fuck you" you screamed silently at her.

[corpsebasil]

hi!! since your requests are open I was wondering if you could write a nikolai x a grisha reader that can summon the dead -> when someone from the palace finds out they try to kill her/get rid of her and nikolai tries to keep her safe since she's not evil or harmful <3 tumblr sadly won't let me make this post anonymously idk why though

I can indeed bestie

The Grisha had never seen such power.

They murmured curses and prayers under their breath as she passed in chains, her head held high, refusing to do anything besides look down her nose at the people she’d saved in the battle against the Darkling.

Hundreds. Hundreds of people still lived and breathed thanks to her gift of Summoning. Sure, the Sun Summoner was a Saint thanks to her light, and the Darkling had been revered for centuries for his darkness. But she. She was something different, and had never used her power as a weapon before that day.

“Witch.” A Grisha snarled as she passed, no matter the fact that the word in itself was derogatory towards the Grisha. She turned her head slowly, locking eyes with the man.

“What did you call me?” She asked, voice heavenly in its softness, and his face blanched.

“Y/N—” a hand grasped her arm, the guards around her bristling as the intruder interrupted her path to the dais. Towards the execution that would surely follow. “I’m going to get you out of this. I swear it.”

Prince Nikolai’s eyes were desperate as he stared at you, but a lethal calm had settled through your body, your soul, the minute you had stepped out onto the battlefield. He’d been your lover for the past several months, the fling beginning the moment he’d seen you hiding in the garden, secretly bringing a hawk back to life. The poor thing had been injured and fallen out of a tree, the fall too far for survival, but your steady hands guided it gently from the Afterlife, your heart breaking at the unnecessary loss. The bird loved you, even still, and had perched on your shoulder as you went into war, it’s battle cry vicious when it dove for the enemy Grisha.

“I will accept punishment.” You informed the prince, unused to any show of wild emotion from him. Sure, he’d flirted with you since he’d met you, and was a merciless tease, but the bedroom is where you got the know His Highness very, very well. Hours and hours of lips and tongues and hands, although you always kicked him out after, to his chagrin. “Do not insult me by causing a scene.”

He looked hurt, watching with a panicked expression as you stepped closer to the Queen. She still had the authority until the prince was crowned and, though he had sway, the ultimate decision would be her own. Her last decree, if anything; a last stand to power.

“Do you admit to the crimes against the world you committed during the battle against General Kirigan?” The queen demanded, watching with a sneer as the guards forced Y/N onto her knees.

The girl cocked her head, as if listening to something. She’d always heard the whispers of the fallen, and now they urged her on. Gave her strength.

“I do.” She said calmly, too calmly, and the queen shifted in her seat.

Y/N had walked out onto that battlefield, hawk perched on her shoulder, and Nikolai had balked. He felt fear, genuine fear, when the girl had clasped her hands together and then threw her arms out, raising them above her hand with a clawing motion. As if she was pulling something out of the ground. As if she was Summoning—

The Grisha had screamed, some even wept, as hands shot from the Earth, dragging themselves free from the dirt’s confines. And Y/N had moved forward, flanked on each side by an army, an army, of over a thousand dead Grisha, still able to use their power against the enemy. The opposite side of the war had balked; most ran in outright terror, some fainted, but a few brave souls tried to stand their ground.

But how can you kill the dead?

Afterwards, amid the silence, Y/N had stood still as her army of undead warriors dipped their heads to her, grateful for one last chance to defend their country and home. And when she blew a magic enhanced breath towards them, her hands guiding the air, they vanished in a cloud of smoke and ash, their journey back to the underworld commenced.

She’d been arrested the moment she arrived back at the palace, not even allowed the time to clean up before she was dragged into the throne room. Dark magic, they claimed. Forbidden. Nevermind that she had saved their sorry asses.

“And what—” the queen asked, glaring down at her. “do you think is an appropriate punishment for your…heresy?”

“Is it heresy to save your Grisha?” She mused, eyes narrowing further. “I have used my gifts to defeat the Darkling. I am—”

“Your gifts?” The queen’s tone was mocking and Y/N bristled. “I hope that you mean your curse.”

“It is a gift, Your Majesty.“ She insisted, even as she met the queen’s hateful glare with her own. “Do not mistake me for weak. I do not apologize.”

The queen thrust her hand out abruptly, pissed, and pointed to the nearest guard.

“Bring her head to me.” The queen snarled, and Y/N, despite herself, tensed with fear when the guard approached, sliding his sword out.

Her heart stopped as she swallowed, trying to ignore the blade and what it would feel like striking her neck.

“You will not.” Nikolai lunged forward out of the crowd, stepping into the guard’s path. “She protected you. Defended you.” This he said to the Grisha, his savage glare upon them. “You would allow one of your own to die over—over fear?” He spat on the floor, at the queen’s feet, and his mother recoiled. “The gift for saviors is death, is it?” His tone became deadly, eyes narrowed even as Y/N gaped up at him in surprise. “Then kill me, too. Because I have known of her power for months, and have never feared it.”

Y/N knew that was a lie, knew that he’d flinched when she’d summoned the Grisha, but… could he mean it when he said he believed her innocence? Could the prince of Ravka somehow save her?

“This witch has blinded you.” His mother said, glaring down at the pair. “You do not know what you say.”

“I know she saved hundreds of Grisha.” Nikolai pushed, voice hard. “I know that she hasn’t used her power, has repressed it, until it was completely necessary. I know that I care about her, and if you kill her, you will not have a king to succeed you.”

The queen blanched, Y/N’s mouth hanging open in shock, as Grisha murmured to themselves in the crowd. Nikolai turned and met his lover’s stare with a look of sorrow, before glaring back up at the queen.

“Kill her,” he warned, pointing a damning finger at the queen. “and I’ll follow right after her into the afterlife. I will not live in a world without her.” Then he smirked, half-heartedly, tossing his eyes to his Grisha lover. “Perhaps she’d pull us both back from death if she tried.”

The queen’s face was red hot, but she stood, waving the guards away. When she spoke, her voice weakened, and something in Nikolai relaxed. He’d almost seen the love of his life’s head taken off, for Saints sakes.

“I see you have chosen your side.” She accused him, her expression tight. “Fine. Spare the girl. But if she’s caught meddling with the dead again…” the silent threat was enough. Y/N bristled but stood, inclining her head in the most insignificant motion of deference possible that the queen almost changed her mind.

And so Y/N stood, head high as the guards unlocked her binds, before she strode quickly and stoically out of the throne room.

-

She’d taken one step into her room before her face crumpled, her knees giving out as she slid onto the floor. Her hawk, watching from its perch on the windowsill, clicked its beak at her as if in question.

She wiped her tears away with her hands and heaved for breath, her fear of almost being beheaded gripping her entire body. And then a knock sounded, the door opening slowly as a person moved into the room. He sat on the floor beside her, not speaking, just offering her his company as she calmed herself down.

“Thank you.” She whispered, sniffing as she turned her head to look at him. Nikolai’s expression was pained, full of sorrow and something warmer, and her heart seized a bit inside her chest. “For…saving me.”

“Thank you for saving us.” He murmured, reaching out to hold her hand in his own. He took a deep, steadying breath, before looking up at her. “I will find you somewhere. Somewhere nice to—to live.” He swallowed. “Did you know I own a house not even half an hour away from here? Lovely place. There’s even a small pond you could swim in.”

“Nikolai, I cant—”

“You don’t have to stay here. Not after being so thoroughly disrespected.” His blue eyes were sad, but a small smile still appeared on his face. He had threatened to…to follow her if she was executed. She felt her breathing grow shallow as he spoke, still holding her hand in his own. “Although I will miss you. But I can visit on weekends, or—”

She moved forward, gripping his jacket as she pressed her mouth to his, a tear slipping down her cheek as she kissed him. And when she pulled away, running a thumb down his cheek, she shook her head.

“Where you go, I go.” She promised, absentmindedly wiping the moisture off her face. “If you want to stay here, to live here, then I’ll stay with you.” She smiled shyly, absorbing the look of adoration he was giving her. “You’ll be king. No one can hurt me but you.”

“Never.” He swore, tugging her close as he placed a soft kiss to her mouth. “I’d never hurt you.”

She believed him. And then her thoughts turned mischievous.

“You know what you can do to console me after my near death experience?” She teased, amusement washing over his features as he raised an eyebrow.

“What might that be?” He asked, feigning confused even as he pulled her onto his lap. So she leaned in, murmuring a couple of words into his ear, and the mumbled curse that left his lips made her laugh. And then she squeaked in surprise as he lifted her, locking the door before tossing her onto her bed.

hello I hope this is something like what you wanted

[asnowfern]

In Search of Cassian

Summary: Whereby Nesta combs the Night Court searching for Cassian with Rhys in tow. Set 10 years after ACOSF. Fluffy oneshot.

A/N: Based on the prompt from @acourtofwhatthefuck “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

I wanted to give it a completely different vibe and context from the original scene in the book. I hope I managed it. Enjoy!

Read on AO3

I am the rock against which the surf crashes.

With her eyes closed, Nesta inhales and exhales deeply, focusing on the one thought. She does a mental scan of her external surroundings, acknowledging the distant chirps of birds flying overhead and the gentle breeze caressing her skin. She acknowledges and lets them go. Turning inward, she starts her scan from the top, relaxing the slight tension in her jaw and shoulders. She moves downwards to her core where she feels the shallow pool of silver fire linger. She pauses her scan halfway, sensing the imperceptible difference. She isolates and focuses on it.

I am the rock against which the surf crashes.

She acknowledges and lets it go for the rest of her exercise.

Having completed her daily mind-stilling exercise, Nesta opens her eyes to the panoramic view of Velaris from the balcony of the House of Wind. She exhales and hoists herself off the floor. She needs to find Cassian.

She winnows to the training ring above the House where the females were training under Illana's watchful eyes, who nodded to her in deference. The Valkyries have come a long way in the ten years since Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie first sliced through the ribbon. Under Nesta's command, the Valkyries and the female Illyrian units charged alongside the Darkbringers and the main Illyrian force against the mortal queens and Koschei's forces. They came out bloodied and battered but victorious. Proving to the misogynistic males once and for all, the lethal warriors that they are.

Nesta overlooks the training for a good hour, giving pointers on their forms and techniques before bidding Illana good bye. Next, she winnows to the River House and almost instantly runs into Rhys. Rhys's nostrils flare slightly when he sees her but quickly schools his facial expression to an indifferent one.

"Nesta." He greets. Not one for small talk, she cuts to the chase,"Have you seen Cassian?"

"He came by this morning to drop off the reports on last week's security incident at the Day Court borders and left. He mentioned heading to Windhaven for routine checks." His face morphs into one of concern, "Is everything ok?"

"Fine." Nesta replies curtly, she bites back a sigh. "Guess I'm off to Windhaven then."

Rhys follows her, "I'll winnow you."

Having finally picked up the skill herself a while back, Nesta raises an arched brow. "I'm perfectly capable of going myself."

Rhys shrugs noncommittally, “My paperwork can wait an hour.” Nesta narrows her eyes but says nothing. She takes the arm Rhys offers and the duo blink out of the River House.

Nesta and Rhys walk towards Devlon who promptly cuts them off before a single word is out, “What are you doing here?”

“Is Cassian here?” Nesta asks in return.

"There have been reports of beast attacks in the Steppes. The Bast-“ Devlon pauses and corrects himself at the frosty glare Nesta sends his way, “The General went to check it out.”

Nesta levels an even stare at him until the war lord looks away in discomfort. She smirks, “Thanks.”

Devlon’s jaw ticks in annoyance and he spits out, “Witch.”

Nesta bares a white grin and croons, “Lieutenant General Witch.” Without saying another word, she turns around and walks away, Rhys following close behind. Once out of the war lord’s earshot, Nesta demands “Are you intending to follow me around all day?”

Rhys shoots her an amused look, “Am I not allowed to enjoy spending time with my sister?”

Nesta narrows her eyes suspiciously, “What are you up to?”

“Nothing.” He says innocently, hands raised in surrender.

She shoves down a rude remark and asks instead, “Are we winnowing to the Steppes?” Rhys offers his arm in response. Once again, the duo vanishes out of sight and appears in the Illyrian Steppes. Nesta calls forth her magic and Ataraxia appears, clipped to the belt of her leathers.

The pair walks in comfortable silence for about half an hour when Nesta pipes up, “You’re awfully quiet for someone who wanted to spend time.”

The edges of Rhys’s mouth twitch. He drawls, “And how are you, dear sister?”

Nesta snorts. “I’m fi-” She stops as a sudden bout of dizziness hits her and sends her head spinning. She sways and is instantly supported by strong hands holding her upright. Rhys says gently, “Maybe we should just head back first. Cassian is bound to show back up by nightfall.”

She frowns, “I don’t want to wait until tonight.”

Rhys registers the familiar stubborn look he is so used to seeing in another pair of blue-gray eyes and sighs in resignation, “Let’s at least take a break.”

Nesta nods and promptly sets her ass on the ground. Rhys chuckles and settles next to her. He summons a flask and passes it to her. She takes it and nods in thanks before opening the flask, taking a long swig from it.

She blinks in surprise, not expecting the thick viscosity of the smoothie. “Do you usually make it a habit to have smoothies on hand?”

“Nyx loves them.” He shrugs.

“Better?” He asks after Nesta hands the empty flask back to him. She wordlessly nods but does not move from her spot, content to sit for a while more.

“Does it still scare you?” She asks softly. She offers no other explanation, knowing in her gut that he knows what she was asking.

“Yes, everyday” He admits, “It is so much worse now that he can winnow to wherever he wishes without me or Feyre.”

Nesta ponders the words quietly, unconsciously raising her arms to hug her abdomen. “How do you manage it?”

“By trusting Feyre or whoever is watching him to keep him safe. To trust that even at his age, he can defend himself." He says softly. "And to make it known the hell I'll bring to whoever who dares to harm him."

Nesta promises, "And I'll be right there with you." She smiles as she stands up.

After a little more walking, they stumbled upon a clearing with a mangled corpse of a winged beast. The pungent smell of blood and the beginnings of rot staining the air but beneath it was the unmistakable trace of Cassian's scent.

"Well, there's Cassian." Rhys remarks unhelpfully. Nesta shoots him a dirty look and groans in response, "But that also means he has left."

A loud screech suddenly interrupts them as a similar flying monstrosity which lies on the ground lunges for them from the sky. Nesta unsheathes her sword to strike but suddenly finds herself behind Rhys who raises a shield around them. Nesta bristles at the obstruction but has no time to rebut when the beast seemingly winnows out of sight and appears in front of her, talons striking out.

Nesta blocks with her sword and strikes back with her Made dagger that appears in her left hand but barely misses the beast. She swears when the beasts winnows towards Rhys who quickly dodges its attack and slices its leg. The creature screeches in pain but is undeterred.

"Nesta!" Rhys warns.

"I got it." She grounds out and is prepared the next time the beast winnows in front of her. She swings her sword, landing a shallow gash on the beast's chest. The beast once again shrieks in pain as it once again tries to winnow and fails. Its ability rendered useless by Ataraxia. Nesta's next blow cleanly removes the head from its body.

Nesta lets go of the sword and it vanishes before it hits the ground. She pants, feeling faint. Rhys is immediately next to her, his arm slightly supporting her back.

"C'mon. We should head back." He mutters. He snaps his fingers and the two corpses disappear. Nesta grimaces at her bloodied leathers and agrees. They winnow to the roof of the House of Wind. Nesta tilts her chin downwards in thanks and starts to make her way to her bedroom to wash up when Rhys offers, “Azriel is in Hewn City today. I could pop in to check with him if he knows where Cassian is.”

Nesta nocks her head sideways slightly in contemplation and concurs, her voice tinged with tiredness, “That would be helpful, thanks.”

Nesta pads her way out to the living room after her bath and asks for some soup and bread from the House. She does not think she can stomach anything heavier than that right now. Sending a grateful thanks to the house, she digs into the soup and is halfway through her lunch when Rhys enters the room.

“Lunch?” She offers and instantly, plates of stir fried vegetables and meat appear on the table. He sits down at the seat across her and helps himself to a serving.

“Cassian is in the library.” He informs her.

“Here?”

He nods, “He is researching the creature we encountered in the Steppes earlier. Its winnowing ability is…”

“Troubling” She finishes. He nods in agreement.

“Yeah, it is but that is a problem we can deal with later.” He reassures her. “I have told him we are up here so he should be back soon.”

Nesta swallows thickly, “Thank you. I know I gave you a rough time about it but I really appreciated the company.” She paused, “and the glamour.”

Rhys smiles softly, “Anytime, Nesta and congratulations. I am really, really happy for the both of you.”

The golden thread in Nesta’s chest brightens and warms just as they were done eating. Cassian bursts into the room and immediately rushes towards Nesta. “Are you alright?” He demands, scanning her for injuries.

“I’m fine. Rhys and I took care of it.” She quickly reassures him but lets him fuss all the same. Once satisfied that his mate is unharmed, Cassian turns to his High Lord to thank him but Rhys simply shrugs him off and quickly makes himself scarce. Nesta shoots him another appreciative glance before he leaves.

Nesta ushers Cassian to the sofa, her nerves building up. Cassian frowns at the apprehensiveness of his wife, “Sweetheart, is everything alright?” Lines of concern on his face deepens when Nesta says nothing. He cradles her face in his hands to look into her eyes and asks tenderly, “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

To her mortification, she feels the tears well up in her eyes at the tender tone as the morning catches up with her. She frantically raises her hands to wipe away the tears but Cassian is one step ahead of her, pressing gentle kisses to her cheeks. He engulfs her in a tight hug, burying her face into his chest while pressing his face into her hair. “Whatever it is, it’ll be ok.”

Nesta breathes in the comforting scent of smoke and petrichor, of Cassian. The bond between them hums happily even as Nesta feels the worry from his end. She takes in another deep breath of her husband and looks up. "I-I've been looking for you all morning. I have something to tell you." She announces, somewhat lamely.

Cassian waits patiently for her to continue, giving her time to gather her thoughts. Deciding to just let Cassian find out for himself, she removes the glamour Rhys placed on her earlier and waits.

Cassian's nostrils flare almost immediately. Nesta watches as the emotions flit through his eyes.

Worry. Apprehension. Realisation. Joy. Utter and complete joy and happiness.

Silver lines his waterline. "Are you?" He breathes, "You are…"

"Pregnant" Nesta finishes the sentence, her voice full of emotion. Cassian sweeps her into another huge hug.

"My perfect mate, wife, love of my life." He sighs and presses kitten kisses on her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, her neck. "Mother of my child."

"You're happy?" Nesta asks, knowing in her heart that it was rhetorical but feeling the need to do so anyway.

"Yes. Completely. Absolutely. Totally. Impossibly." He accentuates every word with a kiss. "You make me so happy. Our child will make me so happy."

Nesta breaks out a watery smile. "You make me very happy too."

"Well then." He announced. "It just seems like we will just all have to be very happy together."

It seems like they will be very happy together indeed.

[elliemarchetti]

The Snake and The Wolf

Chapter 2 - Secrets

I find that the meeting between the High Lords in ACOWAR was attended by more secrets than people, and seen from Eris's point of view… I couldn't resist. I apologize to the readers of @erisweek2023 for this long reminiscence.

Prologue | Chapter 1

Words: 1.106

Eris remembered every moment of their first meeting, what happened before his life was turned upside down and the panic he had to contain afterwards, to maintain the face of cold detachment everyone expected from him. He recalled how they all had made their entrance through the archway, the High Lord and Lady first, as etiquette required, then the Heir and his three tumultuous brothers closing the queue. He still recollected how Helion gave his mother a mocking incline of his dark head, and how he wondered if there was a way to get around the ban that had been imposed on the use of violence. He always had mixed feelings for the High Lord of Day. On one hand, he once saved his mother from a grisly death, on the other, it was his fault if their affair had been exposed and she was always covered in bruises hidden in places no one but her husband and her mute maids could see. He knew nobody would stand between a High Lord and the punishment he chose to inflict on his unfaithful wife, but that didn’t help in diluting his resentment. Luckily, their lovechild hadn’t been present, too occupied in hunting allies in the Continent and dodging armies for an enchanted queen, if what his spies said was true.

“Enough,” he had murmured when Moros started leering at the Princess of Summer, and whether their father had noticed or cared about how his other children instantly fell in line, he didn’t let on, merely stopping halfway across the room, hands folded before him. He had allowed Rhysand to slander him, slander them all, and even asked Tamlin if his alliance really laid not with Prythian but with Hybern. It had been a mistake, exposing himself so much, but Eris barely cared, for his eyes kept being caught by an unfamiliar figure in the Night Court’s retinue, no matter how hard he tried to focus on something else.

 “It would seem congratulations are in order,” was the first thing Tamlin had said, the words flat and yet sharp as his talons, hidden beneath the golden skin. Feyre hadn’t replied, while Rhysand only held Tamlin’s stare with a face like ice, utter, cataclysmic rage roiling beneath. He had accused him of being an enemy, and the two of them argued for a long time, a dispute of lovers rather than politicians, nothing that managed to catalyze Eris’s attention enough to make him stop studying the angular line of the stranger’s jaw, or her sharp eyes, who analyzed the scene with cold detachment. She was lethal and perfect, unlike the bats and the Morrigan, who stood still as death, their fury rippling off them in silent waves that even a blind person could’ve seen.

“And here you are, starting another war,” had went on Tamlin, a claw sliding out, alerting the High Lord of Winter, who had tensed and drifted a hand on the arm of his Mate’s chair, while Eris had found himself ready to throw his body in front of Feyre’s sister’s, if danger ever came near her.

 “Why are you here, Tamlin?” Kallias had asked, but the High Lord of the Spring Court had his own agenda to pursue, and Eris would’ve gladly let him and Azriel, who growled like a beast, successfully tear each other to pieces for the entertainment of them all if it meant they could get away from there faster. Because in that moment he had felt something snap inside him, the beginning of a bond he wouldn’t have been able to hide any longer if he had been forced to keep watching her while she mocked one of the seven most powerful Fae in Prythian. When Rhysand had taken away his rival’s ability to speak, as reprehensible as Eris found what his powers could do, he almost rejoiced, but the relief had been too short, and before he found himself saying something truly stupid, just like his brother did with the third sister, he insulted the Morrigan, unleashing the ire of the male who drooled over her for four hundred years without being worthy of a glance. Eris knew the truth, he knew what was behind the behaviour of the female who would one day reign over the Hewn City, but just as he had never cared about seeming cruel for what he did back in the days, he hadn’t cared of the consequences in that moment, when his lucidity was clouded from the realization that Nesta Archeron wasn’t simply part of the first High Lady’s family, or the lover of the brute at Rhysand’s command, but also his Mate. It had been a strange thought to have as the Shadowsinger wrapped his scarred hands around his neck.

“I know what she is to you,” he had whispered in his ear before following Feyre’s order, before sitting down between the two sisters, freezing the blood in Eris’s veins. As if in a trance-like state, he had apologized to the Morrigan, ignored his father’s astonishment and almost missed the approval shining on his mother’s face as he settled back into his seat to listen to Nesta’s terrible story, and nearly drown in his own jealousy when she defended Cassian against his father’s viciousness. That day, Beron had exceeded all limits, and as always, it was his family who paid the price, but he also let himself be inspired by the words of a female, although he would’ve never admitted it. For a long second, Eris had feared he might had tore her to pieces right before his eyes, coldly executing her as he did with Jesminda, but Nesta had stood as straight as a pillar of steel, and with determination and ferocity had expressed her animated opinion.

“You may hate us,” she had said, “I don’t care. But I care if you let innocents suffer and die. Fight for them and for your people, because Hybern won’t see a difference. He will massacre everyone on both sides of the Wall, making an example for his next enemies.”

They had left shortly after, with Beron saying he would’ve looked into the matter. Eris had been the last to transmute, confused by the tumult of emotions he felt as he memorized her features. She had looked at him too, her expression still haunting his dreams.

“I’m sure you’ll like her,” he murmured to one of his hounds, as he brushed its short gray fur. He owned twelve of them, deadly hunters gifted with magic of their own but also excellent pets, with those who deserved it.

 “We just have to wait a little longer.”

[the-bar-sinister]

Chains of the Dragon (69630 words) by VickytheSnake, thesavagesabretooth Chapters: 13/13

catch up here

-

October 4, 2028– 2:10 pm 

The guard opened the door for Ema and Nahyuta to enter Lady Amara's serene personal chambers. The room was filled with the sound of gently running water. Ema noticed that there was small fountain full of fish at one side of the room, and lady Amara was watching it, with her hands clasped behind her back.

Nahyuta bowed when he entered the room, his brow knit as he announced their presence. 

“Hello Mother. I was told you wished to speak to us.”

Ema stayed quiet…she didn’t trust herself not to snap at the woman right off. Not with the way she spoke to them. To all of them.

"Us?" The placid woman turned, hands still behind her back as she gave them a reproachful glance. "I wanted to talk to you, Nahyuta. But I suppose you leaving your little foreign escort behind was too much to hope for."

Ema bristled, and her jaw went tight as she glowered at Amara with all the ice-cold fury in her heart. Never before did she want to punch someone’s lights out quite this badly. At least not since Damon Gant.

“Ema Skye is a companion of mine– and has been an invaluable and brilliant investigator.” Nahyuta said firmly. “Where I go, she goes.”

Ema sneered at Amara, her hands held up. “Guess you’re going to have to deal with this ‘foreign escort’ for a while, Amara.” 

Amara smiled her icy smile. "Is that so? From the sound of your conversation, it doesn't sound like it will be that long at all."

“We’ve been discussing the situation.” Nahyuta put his hand on his chin, but Ema could see the tension in his shoulders as he smiled as peacefully as he could. “And we feel it may be best to abdicate in the face of our own brothers turning against us.”

Ema crossed her arms. “Given the bomb today they’re starting to get lethally insistent.”

"It's funny, isn't it?" Amara said, turning around away from them. Ema could see her reflection in the water, its expression hidden by its ripples. "How no matter how hard we try to run from it, destiny seems inescapable?"

“I don’t find it very funny at all, ma’am.” Ema’s arms tightened around herself.

Nahyuta closed his eyes in thought. “You’re talking about flames and rebels?” 

"Flames. Rebels. Abdication. The country left in the hands of those not meant to rule it," Amara agreed. Her voice seemed hollow and far away.

“I’m afraid these things seem to happen in cycles.” Nahyuta opened his eyes again. “Mother. The people want to rule for themselves. I don’t want to be a tyrant like Ga’ran by forcing them into the role they don’t wish to follow. Not when it embitters them to Rayfa.”

"I smell smoke on the wind, Nahyuta. I can disagree with your decision. But I cannot blame you. I too, have been ruled by fear."

Ema looked off to the side, her fingers clenching her arm tightly as she listened to them talk.

“I know, mother…but it’s not only fear. It’s hurt. I grew up with a great many of the men who now want to stand against us. If they want to try a different way, it is not my place to stop them. Interpol will ease the transition.”

"More foreigners," Amara said quietly. "We will slowly begin to lose everything that makes our nation, and its people, so distinct, and beautiful. By the time they bury me, there will be a burger restaurant beside the ancient temple."

Nahyuta tensed and Ema put her hand on his shoulder.

“Look, ma’am.” Ema murmured, “I’m sure there’s steps that can be taken to avoid that. But that’s in the hands of the communists, if they want it so bad. I’m sorry. I don’t want your country to lose what makes it distinct either, I’ve loved my time here since I started working with Nahyuta, but I’m not going to leave them to die for a war nobody here wants to fight.” ” 

"My sister would have fought it." There was a mix of emotions in her voice. Anger, sadness, resentment. Resignation. "Much blood would have been shed in the name of Khura'in."

Nahyuta sighed. 

“She would have. And she had…but where did that get us? All those problems we struggle to face without a single ounce of help can be attributed to the blood that spilled at her hands.”

Ema looked down “and if she did, it’d be the blood of your own people, Miss Amara.” 

"I know," Amara said, shaking her head. Still, she didn't look at them. "And I cannot bring myself to pick up the sword either. I have always known I was unfit to rule this country. So this is how the line falls. With an unfit queen, long abdicated, and her unfit children, who flee to America. Such is the way of progress."

Ema grimaced. 

“...unfit.” she murmured “is a harsh way to put it, ma’am.” 

She turned to face them, her hair fluttering behind her as she watched them with a sad, serene, but cold and hard expression.

"Is it not true? Were I fit to rule, would the threat of my life have persuaded me to abdicate? Were Rayfa fit to rule, would she cower before such threats? Were any of us fit to rule– would the people cry out for our blood? Tell me, foreigner, would they?"“I have a name, Amara.” Ema said with a tensing of her shoulders. She put her hand on her hip. “It’s Investigator Ema Skye. And I can’t say I’m some kind of mob whisperer– but I can tell you this much. Rayfa is a teenage girl who’s been abused her whole fucking life, now being told that the people who expected to follow her want to detonate a bomb in her face. You survived a fire with clear goddamn trauma, so it’s no wonder you abdicated when the chance came.”

She snorted softly “...sometimes the thing that’s really ‘unfit’ is the system. You can’t pin all the blame on Rayfa or Nahyuta when it’s clear the people have been suffering under a system that’s been bent out of shape to the point nobody can trust it.” 

"I had hoped that by our will— by my will and by Rayfa's– that we could beat that iron back into shape," Amara said. "But we do not have that power. Rayfa— she takes after her mother, rather than her father, it seems. Content to live a peaceful, quiet life, rather than lead boldly and die bravely."

Nahyuta’s fingers had tightened around his beads again, but his eyes closed tightly. 

“I swore I would protect Rayfa with everything I had, mother…and if it means fleeing , if it means yielding…I’ll make that sacrifice for her.” 

"I can ask you to do no differently." Amara said quietly. "Take her away. Let her lead a long, happy life, away from her people and the responsibilities of the crown, and the danger that it presents. Let her sit quietly in the sun, and let her tend her garden. Let her remember the days of her youth as soft things to be treasured, rather than hard ones that forged her to steel. It's my fault, Nahyuta. I was soft. I loved more than I led. Now the royal family of Khura'in has fallen. May the holy mother help the people of this land. For my daughter can no more than I."

Nahyuta nodded slowly. 

“...I understand, mother. It will be so. We’ll make a new start overseas– and perhaps reconnect with the vestiges of the branch that has long split off and settled there. Maya Fey and her Kurain channelers. The time has come for Khura’in to be ruled by the people.”

Ema sighed with soft relief. “I think Rayfa’ll benefit from something a little less harsh. You know she wants to be a scientist, miss Amara?”

"A scientist. No. That does not shock me. She's long been interested in things like herbs and remedies." Amara shook her head. "I am sorry that I have spoken ill of you, Investigator Skye. My work has been heavy, and my temper short as of late. It's graceless of me– but I have always been found wanting. I beg your pardon."

Ema tensed a little. It still stung, being called a ‘foreigner’ instead of her name, and being dismissed as some kind of bad influence…

But she’d forgiven worse. She swallowed her pride and frustration enough to give the woman a smile. 

“Don’t worry about it. You’re forgiven…alright? It’s been a lot for all of us lately…it’s been driving everyone insane.” She chuckled “...and it’s true. She’s been following me around and asking about the tools of the trade.” 

"That has not escaped my notice." Amara sighed. "She will not want to see me now, before she leaves. That is for the best. I will come and see her again– see her sitting happily in the sun– when matters are settled here."

Nahyuta hesitated.“Are you sure it’s not best if you see her first? Or do you insist on visiting when matters are resolved?”

Amara shook her head. "Seeing her would only weaken both of our resolve. Hers to go, mine to stay."

“Then you insist on staying until the work is done.” Nahyuta ran his hand through his hair “I understand, mother. But be well— and help the Interpol team when they arrive.”

Ema watched them speak with a furrow of her brow. She didn’t exactly like Amara…but she couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that something would go wrong. 

Amara stepped forward, and clasped Nahyuta's hand in her own.

October 4, 2028– 2:25 pm 

Klavier hung up his phone, and looked around the room. At Apollo, who sat pensive in a nearby chair. At Rayfa in the bed, and Trucy beside her. At the door, where Ema and Nahyuta had not yet returned.

"I called in some favors and got a flight chartered," he announced. "They'll be at the airport in five hours."

Trucy whistled as she looked up from talking quietly to Rayfa “wow, that’s the power of a rock god for you, huh?”

With a shifting of her posture, Rayfa leaned her hands on her lap and looked at him with wide eyes “...five hours…that is not enough time to pack nearly everything!” 

"It's not," Apollo agreed. "But we can have the essentials packed and the rest sent over, right? No need to bring everything in one trip."

"Herr horn head has the right idea," Klavier nodded, "I will help you pack if you like, liebchen."

Rayfa shifted on the bed, shimmying back and forth with a thoughtful pout. “i…I can hardly believe I’ll be leaving…” she trailed off “please. I’ve never packed for a long excursion before!” 

He executed a sweeping bow, hoping to entertain her. "Can you stand, liebchen? Let's go to your rooms, and I'll be honored to show you how to pack. You'll need the skill. Once you're in the states we must travel widely and show you all the sights."

She gasped, her hand covering the smile on her face “Y-yes! Actually I command it! We absolutely must!” she rose to stand on legs that were still a little shaky. “But for now you’ve been tasked with instructing me on how to pack!”

“Atta girl, Rayf—uck!” Trucy jolted. “Bonny and Bettty!!!” 

"You called?" a familiar voice demanded. As if on stage cue– Betty stuck her head in the door. "We almost didn't get by the guards with this clown you know?"

Bonny’s head poked out from the other side of the door, her smile bright and cheerful “the clown isn’t me.”

Datz poked his head in below the others. "I guess it's me."

"Datz!" Apollo hopped up from his chair. "We were worried about you!"

Klavier let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He'd known it was unlikely, but still worried that somehow the girls had been caught up in the violence. Thank goodness it wasn't the case.

Bonny smiled lazily and pat his head “...we took a liking. And then a bomb went off.”

“Y-yeah…” Trucy grinned awkwardly. “which is why we’re getting the fuck out of dodge in five hours.” 

"Shorter trip than I expected," Betty said, fully entering the room as she shook her head. "But I guess somebody beat us to the 'burning shit down' punch, huh, Wright?"

Apollo stared at Trucy. "The what punch?"

“THE WHAT PUNCH???” Rayfa shrieked with her hands balled by her sides.

Trucy winced and waved her hands “it’s a figure of speech!”

“We were going to burn the temple…or something…? Right Betty? Wasn’t that what you said?” Bonny mused distractedly.

“Metaphorically!!” Trucy stressed. 

Klavier shook his head, and put his arm around Rayfa. "Come on, liebchen. Let's let them be and go get you packed. I think herr horn head has this under control."

Apollo just made choked noises, and Klavier took that as a 'yes'.

Rayfa puffed out her cheeks , pointing to Betty and Bonny as she passed. 

“You’d best keep your flames to yourselves! Lest you face the wrath of the Priestess of the Holy Mother!”

Trucy watched Rayfa and Klavier go, dropping her head in her hands. “Hoo boy, now she’s got the wrong idea.” 

Klavier patted Trucy on the back as he headed out. "I'm sure you'll give Apollo the right idea, liebchen."

October 4, 2028– 8:30 pm

The five hours truly was not a generous allotment of time. Not with everything that needed to be gathered, and the hour trip to the airport itself. The group raced frantically to pack everything they needed. Datz accompanied Apollo to the law office to gather his things from there. That was where it had transpired that Datz intended to come with him.

Apollo was surprised, but didn't even try to contradict him.

They had an armed guard on the way to the airport, and though they didn't meet any resistance Apollo was glad they were there. The nagging feeling of danger was getting to him, or if not to him, than to Clay.

Klavier had chartered the whole damned jet– the luxurious fop– so they were all in first class. And Apollo let himself drop into his seat as they prepped for take off.

Ema Skye had her hand on her head already, looking out the window beside him with a pensive and almost sick expression.

“At least he chartered the whole damn plane…so we know nobody’s snuck a bomb on board or is hidin’ waiting to assassinate us 1000 feet up.” 

Apollo grimaced. "Thanks for putting that thought in my head… but yeah."

“Sorry, Pollo.” Ema sighed and thunked her head against the seat. “I’m just really on edge…I can’t shake the feeling that something terrible’s gonna happen.” 

He slipped his arm around her shoulders. "Yeah. Unfortunately I know what you mean."

Ema leaned into him with a soft sigh. “you know Amara said she’s gonna stay? For a while at least.” 

"I can't say if I'm surprised or not," he murmured. "With the way she's been acting. And honestly I'm not exactly upset she's not on the plane. But I hope she'll be alright– and Rayfa."

“Yeah…” Ema made a soft ‘tch’ sound. “...she shouldn’t have said all that shit to any of us. Rayfa’s going to take it to heart, I know it.” 

"Yeah," Apollo frowned, and looked over at where Rayfa was having her luggage arranged for her by Klavier and Nahyuta. "I wish we could have done something sooner, but I don't know how we could. Hopefully she'll be alright."

“Hopefully…” Ema rested her cheek against his shoulder with a tired smile. “We can wish we did something sooner, but that’s all hindsight. We had no way of knowin’. Even if she isn’t…we’re gonna make sure she gets better, right? Nahyuta and you too. We’re heading home.” 

"Home…" he murmured. "For a while, I wasn't exactly thinking of LA as home, you know."

It was true. He'd started to think of Khura'in as home again. Not that he'd ever really stopped.

“Home was Khura’in, yeah?” She nuzzled him, the messy waves of her hair falling down his arm. “I can see why…it made a hell of an impression on me, and I didn’t even grow up there.” 

"Yeah," Apollo sighed, leaning on her in return. "For a long time I always thought of Khura'in as home, and LA as just… someplace I lived."

“Even if you’d been gone so long?” Ema asked curiously, looking up at him with her expressive eyes. 

Apollo nodded quietly. 'I wish I could just go home' had been something he'd said to himself in many quiet, terrible moments throughout the years, even when laying in his own bedroom. 'Going home' had always meant Khura'in. 

But now he saw more than ever how impossible that dream had been.

"Yeah. Sorry."

“Why are you sorry?” Ema asked. She laid an arm around him with a soft huff of breath . “fuck , I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you’ve gotta leave your home behind like that…I can relate, you know? I couldn’t go home for a long time myself.” 

He attempted a smile at her. "You know what they say– you can never go home again. At least I sort of got to leave on my own terms this time– and bring the important people with me."

“At least…” Ema squeezed him tighter. “Hey, Apollo…"

"Yeah, Ema?"

“Don’t let what the bitter old lady said get to you.” Her fingers tensed on him. “You weren’t an outsider like she said, okay? I’m sorry we gotta leave your homeland…but …but we’re gonna make the fucking best of it, okay? I promise. We’ve got Yuta and Rayfa with us now…and Klavier.” 

Apollo squeezed her hand, tightly. "I promise, Ema. I wasn't even thinking of taking it to heart. Khura'in has always been my home. I belong there as much as she does. If I didn't have so many people stopping me from throwing my life away— I would have been happy to die there. But I don't want that to happen."

“Good. Nobody wants to you to throw your life away. Not for a cause that’s only gonna cause more suffering especially.” She smiled at him “LA ain’t that bad. We got ramen shops on every corner and a bustling night life!” 

"There's definitely a lot of stuff I like about LA," he promised. "Oh and uh…." He bit his lip and trailed off.

Ema looked up at him again with a half smile “uh? Sorry, don’t got any of that.” 

Apollo flushed and chuckled rubbing his neck embarrassedly. He lowered his voice. "We wanted to talk to you more later. Maybe once we're back in LA. About Clay and everything. Speaking of people stopping me from throwing my life away."

Ema blinked but nodded seriously as she brushed her fingers against his neckline. “yeah…that sounds good to me, Apollo. I’ll be all ears as soon as you’re ready.” 

"Cool," he murmured, leaning on her. "Sorry if I'm weird right now. It's… a weird sort of day."

“I’m feeling pretty weird myself, pal.” Ema chuckled quietly “...part of why I’m leaning on physical affection.”

"It's nice, honestly. I sure can't complain about that. If I fall asleep on you, I apologize in advance."

“Oh no, you might actually convince ME to sleep the whole plane trip instead of drinking my paycheck away at the over priced bar…oh nooo.” 

"Oh no, what a shame," he chuckled. He nuzzled closer to her and close his eyes. "Lets see if I can manage it."

Ema looped her arm around him and settled in for the long haul. 

"Damn you, Justice. I’ll have to fly sober.” 

"I'll make it up to you," he murmured. "We can go drinking in LA."

“Now that sounds good.” Ema chuckled “..I’ll show you my favorite trash bar…I’ll even treat you.” 

October 4, 2028– 8:30 pm

"Well, that was a hell of a lot shorter than I expected," Betty grumbled, relaxing a little once they were in the air. She looked over at her sister, and at Trucy.

“We were hardly there at all, were we?” Bonny sighed “...we only got to enjoy one meal and then gone!”

Trucy looked lost in thought, staring at a small metal object in her hand. With a jolt she looked up and smiled. “well, we couldn’t have predicted the whole bombing situation, yeah? We knew it was bad but this is like, a whole other level.” 

"I mean, obviously," Betty nodded, leaning her chin on her hand. "Seems like we got there in the nick of fucking time, eh?"

“Given that if we waited another day Apollo and Mr. Nahyuta woulda been splattered across the wall? Yeah! I’d say!” Trucy said with a strained laugh.

“Oh dear…that’s true isn’t it?” Bonny bit her lip “it’s kind of scary when you think about it..”

"I'd say its very fucking scary," Betty nodded grimly. "Maybe it was fate or something. Still. a little sad we didn't get to look at any cursed relics or anything. Still– i guess its not like we didn't bring home any prizes."

Bonny noticed her sister looking in Nahyuta's direction.

“The monk…?” Bonny put her hand on her chin. “He is pretty …prizey.” 

Handsome, more like. To be completely honest with herself it was kind of sending her reeling to know they were taking a literal actual prince home with them.

Trucy looked at them with a raise of her eyebrow “....you’ve got the hots for my brother’s devout priest boyfriend?” 

Betty made a choked sound and looked away. "Are you kidding?"

Her sister knew that meant she definitely did.

Once more she couldn’t blame her– he was super hot. Bonny put her finger to her chin. She had to do something, or Betty would suffer embarrassment at Trucy’s hands.

“No! She thinks he’s…..” she paused for a moment before she said “stuffy.” 

"Yeah," Betty nodded, not looking back. "Surprised we managed to get him to get on the plane. You going to hold him for ransom?"

“Do you want to, Betty? I can get the trick ropes…” Bonny chimed up with a broad smile.

“I mean….maybe a little” Trucy tossed the small metal object in the air before catching it again. “He did take Apollo away for way too long, it might be fun to tease him a bit.  But I don’t think we’re getting the ransom cash from Khura’in, given the whole revolution thing.” 

"Well. If you want me to break his kneecaps anyway, I'll consider it," Betty chuckled.

“So you can take care of him to earn some points, Betty?” Trucy shot a teasing grin over at her. “you know, nursing the guy back to health?”

Bonny flushed, she hadn’t thought of that…it wasn’t the worst idea. Maybe really mean…no, maybe it was the worst idea, in retrospect. 

"Uh, no! Obviously not," Betty said, turning red. "Ugh, you're really selling this thing. Maybe YOU have a crush on him. Maybe that's why you didn't burn down his temple or whatever."

Trucy laughed. “I mean he is pretty cute~. I’d never say no to a prince.”

She held her hand to her lapel, pinning something Bonny couldn’t see to it again. 

“I m-mean you’re kinda like royalty yourself, Miss Trucy!” Bonny chimed in. 

"You're gonna give her a big head if you talk like that, Bon."

“W-well I mean— it’s kinda true!” Bonny waved her hands in the air with a timid smile “The Gramar—”

She noticed the way Trucy’s smile faltered for only a second before burning bright again. “Yeah well, that makes you two my Royal Entourage, right? Maybe I should start extorting backrubs out of your or something.” 

"Bonny can give you backrubs, and I'll be the one that dresses in your clothes to prevent assassinations," Betty said with a grin that was almost a sneer. Unlike Bonny, she was… unafraid to make a tasteless joke in a dark situation.

Trucy snorted out loud, and covered her mouth with a snicker. “Geeze, you’re a peach Betty. Gonna take the dagger for me? Or turn it into a bunny rabbit?” 

"That second one," she grinned. "Or maybe I'll just fight 'em off. I'm not one for getting sliced and diced."

“Betty’s always been a good fighter!” Bonny leaned over her sister’s shoulder with a smile. The truth was they both were…but that didn’t exactly lend to her cute stage presence.

“Oh hoo? I might have to have you fight some of my battles then.” Trucy leaned on her hand with a winning grin…a strange badge glinted on her lapel and caught Bonny’s eye for a moment, before she continued. “if for nothing else than it’d be kinda hot to watch.” 

Betty flushed again, but this time leaned in toward Trucy. "Oh so that's how it is, eh?"

Bonny’s nose wiggled a little as she listened, flushed a deep pink and smiling her lazy smile .

Trucy tapped her nose, meeting her eyes. “and if it was?” 

"Hey, what's this?" Betty dodged the question, if not skillfully then at least thoroughly. It seemed she had noticed the same pin Bonny had, and made a grab for it.

“Ahhh!!” Trucy grabbed her hand suddenly, this time being the one to flush a deep pink. “h-hey! It’s …it’s my badge! An attorney’s badge from Khura’in!” I got it before everything exploded!” 

"Oh shit! You actually managed to get ahold of one?" Betty demanded. She didn't take her hand off Trucy's chest. "Guess the plan would have gone fine if not for those rebels." 

“I had a study session with the Judge and he gave it to me.” Trucy leaned forward into her hand with a grin “I’m…or I guess , very briefly was, a real attorney of Khura’in!”

“Wow….it’s too bad you didn’t get to defend a single case.” Bonny puffed her cheeks in a little pout. 

"Well, at least it didn't waste a lot of time, right?" Betty shrugged. "Now we can get back to practice."

“Practice makes perfect in the world of showbiz!” Bonny agreed cheerfully…but Trucy glanced off to the side.

“Yeah well…I mean…of course we can get back to practice…”

Betty raised an eyebrow, finally backing off of Trucy's personal space a bit. She gave Bonny a questioning 'do you know what this is about' look.

Trucy’s smile seemed to falter when Betty finally took her hand off her, and she shrugged.

Bonny shook her head with a perplexed smile. She had absolutely no idea…

“But I was thinking of talking to my dad about m-maybe getting some lessons and trying to pass the California Bar too..” 

Betty stared at her in disbelief. "Wait, what?"

Bonny stared with her, the two sisters a perfect mirror of confusion.

“I mean I’m not quitting magic or anything, I just…I thought the law I studied was super interesting!”

"Huh." Betty plopped in her seat and scratched her chin, glancing at Trucy. "Whatever you say, boss."

Bonny knew that attitude– Betty thought something was up with Trucy, but wasn't going to push it.

She bit her lip…she waffled on pushing or not, her head tilting to the side and back as her brow furrowed.

Trucy seemed to notice “...I’ll tell you guys all about it back in LA okay?”

"Fine by me," Betty said, pulling a sleep mask out of her pocket. "I'm going to catch some shut eye and maybe harass our apparently permanent tour guide later."

“Oh! Can I join you Betty?” Bonny asked with wide eyes “he was fun!”

Trucy laughed. “Enjoy, bunnies. I’ll be…around. Got some stuff to take care of~” 

October 4, 2028– 8:35 pm

For the moment, Klavier had the aisle seat, with Rayfa at the window, and Nahyuta between them. He leaned on the armrest and smiled.

"So, mein engel. I know you're a seasoned flyer, but I assume this is Rayfa's first time?"

“It certainly is.” Nahyuta chuckled as he glanced over at his sister “she hasn’t ever left the country, as far as I’m aware.”

“N-never.” Rayfa sniffed, staring out the window with wide eyes. The whole of the takeoff…she’d been a nervous wreck. Buckled tightly in, shaking, and snapping whenever anyone dared to insinuate she was nervous…but once the turbulence of takeoff eased, she had relaxed considerably.

Now she just couldn’t tear her eyes off of the sky beyond. “I’ve always wanted to ride in a plane.” 

"Pretty cool, isn't it, ja?" Klavier grinned. "This is going to be a long one. Most plane rides are much shorter. You may get all the plane ride you ever wanted this first time."

Rayfa laughed, looking at him over her shoulder with a bounce of her hair and a broad grin “I doubt that. It feels as close to the twilight realm as the living can get up here. Seeing the world stretched out under us…”

“It reminds you how much there is beyond Khura’in.” Nahyuta mused as he rubbed his fingers on his prayer beads. 

"There's a whole hell of a lot, ja," Klavier said with a smile. "LA itself– just the city, is bigger than Kura'in. And then there's California, the US, Europe. I love traveling, really."

“Perhaps I can count on you then?” Nahyuta asked with a smile “to show us those places, and more.”

“I’ll defer to your wisdom, gold head!” Rayfa pointed at him. “So you'd best not take me somewhere boring!” 

"You can count on me, liebchen. My friends will tell you– I am many things. But never boring." He smiled– both at Rayfa, and Nahyuta.

Nahyuta chuckled into his hand with a trace of something impish in his eyes. 

“Yes you proved that in the market…before the whole commotion.”

Rayfa’s head tilted to the side “huuuuh?” 

"I got your brother backed into a bit of a corner," Klavier chuckled.

“What!!?” Rayfa sat bolt upright to look at Nahyuta “you let Klavier get the better of you, braid head? What of your pride!!”

Nahyuta actually started to turn a light shade of pink as his eyes widened. “Rayfa. Please!” 

Klavier laughed and couldn't resist a little teasing. "Don't be too hard on him. I got him by surprise."

“Klavier!” Nahyuta sighed, and shook his head. “I assure you, I won’t be surprised again.”

Rayfa stared at them with her uncanny green eyes, before they widened and she sputtered in quiet disbelief. “you two…. You…you…” 

Klavier laughed. "It's nothing to trouble yourself with, I assure you liebchen. A friendly rivalry perhaps."

“I think she’s already figured out the truth of the matter, Klavier. She’s perceptive.” Nahyuta shook his head with a long-suffering smile . 

Klavier felt his own smile stiffen. He had gone too far. As usual. "Ah. I hope I haven't embarrassed you too badly, then. Forgive me."

Rayfa turned pink before puffing her cheeks and peering out the window “I certainly don’t mind. I am not the guard to my brother’s heart.”

With a low huff of breath, Nahyuta glanced at Klavier and winked “as you see. She gives her blessing for your next attempt to surprise me, Klavier Gavin.” 

"I'm pleased to have your blessing, ja?" Klavier said, his grin returning. "I realized I actually don't know how such things are seen in your country."

“Hmm?” He tilted his head towards him.

Rayfa’s attention was caught once more as she tore her gaze from the clouds and stared at Klavier. “romance?” 

"Your reaction makes me suspect the answer is 'differently'," he said, feeling oddly self conscious. "Since I mean romance ah, between people of the same sex."

Rayfa punched her fist with a quiet ‘oh!’ before she asked. “ Is it frowned upon in your country, gold head?” 

"Ja, uh, probably good to talk about it now then," Klavier said, rubbing his neck. "It's considered socially embarrassing, and not something talked about in polite company."

“Oh my…” Rayfa’s brow furrowed “but how could it be seen as more impolite than any other relationship?”

“...ah.” Nahyuta nodded slowly with his eyes closed “it’s different in Khura’in. There isn’t a cultural shame about it, it’s seen as a relationship like any other…but one should always temper expression of said love in public, as it is considered rude to allow it to overflow with little control or constraint in public.” 

Klavier waved his hand. "I don't mind about that if you don't. Though we might end up on the front page of the tabloids. I only keep my face polite when my lovers ask me too."

Admittedly, as of so far in his life, that had been all of them.

“Woah…” Rayfa flushed “...you mean you can get my brother on the front page of your country’s newspapers with just a kiss?” 

Nahyuta cleared his throat “I'll endeavor to keep that in mind, ‘Gold head'." he teased lightly. “Wouldn’t do to make too much of a fuss, no?”

"That's what I'm told," Klavier chuckled. Flustered, he brought the subject back around. "In any case, I will happily show you both around, and I promise not to be boring."

“Good!” Rayfa nodded once before she leaned over her brother to look at him with a smile “so what sorts of things might I expect in LA?”

"Well, liebchen, here I am an expert!" Klavier settled in to do what he did best. 

Entertain.

[massive-lesbian]

DAY 14!!! (spoilers for fate of ten. Character Death)

I fucked up. I knew that as soon as the blaster shot slammed into my back and released an excruciating pain that rippled through me like a blazing fire. She shouldn’t have picked me up and moved us behind that pile of rubble.

She should’ve let me die there. She should’ve let me meet my demise right there. Should’ve let me become martyred. But, no she saved me. As that fiendish abomination, Phiri Dun-Ra, bolted out of the dense jungle into view she released a flurry of blaster fire at the approaching mog squadron. She soon hunkered down next to me to avoid the furor of blaster-fire that flew towards us.

Marina was Ra’s next victim. He was posted at the top of the crater and Marina desperately tried to fire the deadly, frigid ice from her dainty yet lethal hands. But nothing came out as she jutted them forwards. She was ripped up into the air by Ra’s telekinetic grasp. We screamed out to her but it was no use. She couldn’t hear us over the sonorous blaster attack aimed at us.

We could only watch on in horror as she was bludgeoned into the ground. Her body went limp as he thrust her back into the air and slammed her down again and again. It’s Mark who saves her. He bolts towards Ra with a blaster and shoots the mog leader right in the gory, bloodstained hole in the side of his head where his ear once was. Ra sends Marina’s body hurtling towards Mark as he shouts out in fury and pain. Adam sprints towards Mark and Marina and helps him pick up her limp, broken body. They retreat to the jungle carrying Marina with them.

I see Ra stumbling to the Anubis. I can’t let him get away. I will not let him get away from me unscathed. I start to force myself to stand upright but she starts to grasp me trying to stop me from doing what I need to do. Trying to stop me from meeting my fate so soon. She screams into my ear that “It’s all over!” But, I can’t accept that. I will not accept that. We are so close to victory she can’t stop me now. So close to freedom. So close to the release from this horrific, gory war. I need to do this for her for Katarina.

I force myself to step out from the cover of rubble and I splay my hands out in front of me trying to compel my legacies to work. I power through the ache in my hands and battle the wind to bend to my will. I use the wind to throw shrapnel and debris at Ra landing as many hits as I physically can to his body.

She tries to stop me and drag me away from this warfare but I can’t stop. I need to end this right now. But she still stays at my side returning a volley of blaster fire at the approaching mogs screaming that “this is suicide!” But I refuse to listen. I refuse to stand down like a coward.

I’m hit by unidentifiable parts of shrapnel and debris. I do not care though. I surge forward and then it happens. Setrakus Ra stumbles to his knees as a long piece of shrapnel from a skimmer sticks out of his chest. Directly through the heart. He is rushed aboard the Anubis as I too crumble to my knees. I feel the stream of tears collapsing off my face. She wraps her arms around me and drags me towards the jungle in her sweltering grasp.

There’s so much blood and I cannot bear to see it. I turn us invisible fading from view of anything that may be watching. She only gets halfway towards the ship before her grip falters and she collapses releasing me from her tight grasp. I go to pick her up but pause. I didn’t do that…

 Did I?

A huge, gaping hole in her midsection. A chunk of debris must’ve torn it straight from her body. I did that…

Didn’t I?

 I choke on my breath and try to hold a sob. She won’t last long. She’ll surely die because of me. Surely she will. I drag her back to the ship as quick as I can with my injuries and hustle her onto the first cot I see.

Moments later Mark is violently shaking Marina’s broken body begging her to do something screaming at her to “Wake the fuck up and heal her!” Adam barges Mark into a wall shouting at him to stop shaking Marina as he may kill her. Lexa is shouting at me from the cockpit. She wants to know what is going on. But I can’t talk. I just can’t.

The chaos around us doesn’t affect her. She looks so peaceful but so pale. MY hands are slick and dripping with her blood. It just keeps pouring from her. It won’t stop. I clutch at her gaping wound even though I know it won’t do anything. I just feel as though I must do something. I feel so utterly useless.

She speaks to John on my satellite phone she tells him that she doesn’t have long. That’s my fault. I should be the one dying not her. She didn’t deserve to be dragged into this horrifying war. She doesn’t deserve to die because of me.

I’m caked in her blood. It’s everywhere. MY hands, MY clothes, all over ME. She tells John she loves him. I never got to tell her how I truly felt for her. I love HER. I wanted to be with her and now she’s being ripped away from us. All because of me.

How can I live with this burden? The burden of her death. John will despise me for this. He will hate me and he knows it’s my fault. My fault his true love was killed. The phone suddenly clatters to the ground and I know that she’s gone. She’s gone because of me. I still clutch at her wound and neck.

Sarah Hart’s eyes fall shut with a snap.

She’s gone because of me.

[futuregleaming]

Olympus Tournament - Solstice vs Gouki

The two fighters stood opposite each other in the arena, unfazed as the terrain was prepped. They'd both watched the previous fights, they knew what to expect. It gave them time to exchange a few words before the fight began at least.

"Gouki. Awfully presumptuous to call yourself the 'great demon'."

"So you're familiar with my tongue. A sentiment I can not say I've seen reflected much outside of my homeland."

"I've learned a great many things in my time on this earth. Most of all how to recognize overconfidence whenever it crops up."

"An ironic statement coming from one such as yourself. 'Solstice,' the longest day of the year. Or is it perhaps the shortest in this case? Regardless, your words fall flat so long as you obscure yourself behind that mask like a coward."

"Better obscured than overexposed. Do they not teach decency in Kwailai?"

"Oh, I will enjoy crushing you."

The match began, Summer immediately making a move to close the distance, and Fumiko responding with a smoke bomb. Caught in the middle, Summer shifted to a defensive stance, listening for motion. She could hear sounds of things landing around her, and then faintly, cutting through the smoke, a chain unwinding. That was her quarry. She shifted around to face the sound just in time to block the overhead swing. Though she still couldn't see, so Fumiko followed up with a kick to knock her back.

Summer stumbled into the mine that had landed behind her, triggering a shockwave that knocked her into another, resulting in an almost comical series of bounces as she ricocheted through the field, each one helping to clear up the smoke.

Fumiko capitalized on the disarray, rushing in on her discombobulated opponent. Summer, to her credit, after suffering the first blow, was able to stumble back into a state of balance and deflect the followup strikes with her knives before delivering a swift kick to the ronin's gut. Fumiko grit her teeth as she slid back, now on the defensive.

Summer's assault was faster than anticipated, and Fumiko could only keep up with her swings so much before a few slipped through. They carried a surprising amount of force behind them. She had to get away, a straight fight was not in the cards for her. She managed a block, then fired her grappling hook from her empty sleeve to hook onto a tree and pull her away from the engagement. Once separated, she disappeared around a corner, prompting Summer to follow.

She darted after her opposition, turning the corner to be greeted by a blinding flash, ringing ears, and the pommel of a sword knocking against her jaw. Fumiko was pressing her advantage now. Sword still sheathed, she cracked the scabbard against the other woman's legs, managing to drop her to her back and quickly securing a position overtop her and pressing the edge of the scabbard against her throat, leaning her entire arm against it for leverage.

"Submit before I'm forced to try," she growled.

Summer braced her arm against the scabbard, clearing enough room to allow her to breathe. With her other hand, she slipped another knife out of her sleeve, quickly jabbing it at Fumiko's side. At the wince of pain, Summer kicked up to free herself, grabbing hold of the other's arm and spinning her around to lock her with a dagger at her throat.

"I could say the same," she hissed back.

Fumiko scowled, pain leaking from her side. She breathed in, and on her exhale, a grenade dropped from her right sleeve. Summer leapt away, allowing Fumiko to do the same. The grenade went off, yet another shockwave device, seemingly not lethal like the mines. The ronin had little time to get her bearings though, as she could already see that Summer was charging back in. With little other choice, Fumiko finally drew her blade and let out a guttural war cry as she activated her ability. The pain she felt faded. She had to finish this quickly now. The longer it went on, the worse for wear she'd be at the end. But it seemed like she'd hardly made an impact on her opponent. What was up with her anyway?

The next several seconds were a frenzy of clashing blades and limbs. Summer's two weapons were doing their job, creating and exploiting the openings in Fumiko's defenses, but now she was simply shrugging off the pain. Every cut, every bruise, it all faded into nothing as she traded blows. The blade itself rarely found purchase, but several jabs with the pommel end struck true, though neither fighter seemed to be flinching anymore.

They traded blows like this for some time, blades clashing and impacts pushing them around the battlefield as they danced ever closer to the edge. After some time, Fumiko began to fatigue, and her ability waned. The pain was bleeding back in, more severe now, and it was slowing her movements. She tried to push through, seeing an opening to force her opponent out of the ring. She ducked under a strike and resheathed her blade, taking her scabbard and hooking it around Summer to push her out of bounds.

Summer caught the trick however, cracking the pommel of her knife against Fumiko's hand and forcing her to drop the weapon. She then retaliated with a headbutt, smashing her mask into the ronin's face, and then grabbing her by the throat and lifting her into the air. After the initial stun wore off, Fumiko wormed her right shoulder out of the sleeve of her kimono, pointing her augment at the other woman's face and firing her grappling hook at it as a last resort. Summer only needed to tilt her head a bit to send it sailing past her, then grabbed the chain with her free hand to prevent that same trick from being used again.

Fumiko held on with her good hand, trying to keep herself from choking in the other's grip. To her credit, and to her observation, she noticed that Summer wasn't squeezing more than necessary to hold her aloft. Her face was twisted into a scowl as she looked into the stoic, silver eyes peering through the mask.

"What... are you?" she gasped out, fingers still clawing at the wrist that held her.

"A warrior that time forgot." It was a simple answer, no strain or emotion permeating its tone. Her skills had spoken enough already. There was a slight bend in her arm before she extended it fully, gently tossing her defeated adversary out of the arena. There was no need to exert herself any further. This battle had been won long ago. And with that done, she turned to make her way out of the arena.

Winner: Solstice

[jcmarchi]

1000 Ukrainian Engineers, 50,000 Units a Month: Lethal Weapon, but Numbers Still Too Small - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/1000-ukrainian-engineers-50000-units-a-month-lethal-weapon-but-numbers-still-too-small-technology-org/

1000 Ukrainian Engineers, 50,000 Units a Month: Lethal Weapon, but Numbers Still Too Small - Technology Org

Ukraine’s industry produces large numbers of FPV drones, and these unmanned vehicles are increasingly often used in wartime. However, these efforts are hampered by a lack of skilled engineers.

FPV drones – illustrative photo. Image credit: mil.in.ua

The war in Ukraine showed that small FPV drones can play an almost decisive role on the battlefield. With their help, hundreds of pieces of equipment are destroyed and serious blows to manpower are inflicted on both sides.

According to recent media reports, at the moment, about 50 thousand units of such drones are produced in Ukraine per month. In the Russian Federation, this number is six times higher – it reaches around 300,000 according to approximate estimates.

The Ukrainian edition of Forbes spoke with key Ukrainian industry specialists and volunteers who supply drones to the frontline. Currently, there are about 200 mini-drone production companies operating in Ukraine.

The number of these companies seems large, but at present they can meet only 10-15% of the needs of the Armed Forces of Ukraine.

According to Forbes, Ukraine’s main problem is the lack of qualified engineers to design and assemble drones.

To reach the level of Russian production, about 6,000 engineers are needed. However, even 2,000 specialists would be enough for the first stage, specialists say, but they are not easy to find and attract for this kind of work, despite the high salaries in this field.

Analysts now estimate that the local military drone industry in Ukraine consists of about 1,000 people, each assembling about 50 drones a month.

The needs of the Ukrainian army, which has proven the effectiveness of using drones in battles against the aggressor, are measured in hundreds of thousands of drones.

At the same time, the publication notes that production companies are training specialists at an accelerated pace. However, it takes months to train highly qualified craftsmen specialized in electronics assembly tasks.

Before the Russian invasion, Ukrainian universities did not train enough personnel in avionics, radio electronics and other related specialties necessary for the production of combat drones, and many engineers went abroad.

The problem is aggravated by the fact that every candidate must be vetted for ties to Russia. However, Ukrainian drone manufacturers are not giving up and are launching free short-term courses for which thousands of people have already signed up, Forbes writes.

Written by Vytautas Valinskas

You can offer your link to a page which is relevant to the topic of this post.

[deliriousbug]

What if megatron (LostLight? Or whichever you think this will fit best for) finds his lover in the middle of a fight and whilst s/o is winning, they’re still beaten allll the way up, YOU CAN SEE THEIR GODDAMN SPARK but s/o just ain’t stopping, it’s like a god damn gladiator fight

I went with Prime for this one cuz he's like so fucking unhinged and this got kinda dark sooo. Set early on in the war, when they're still fighting on Cybertron. I know you said 'find' but my brain immediately went here. I hope that's okay :)

Rated T for Violence

gender neutral s/o

The suns were only just beginning their ascent from the horizon and already there was energon spilt on the new day. This battlefield was fresh, a new arena posing new challenges in the trek to conquer Cybertron once and for all. On this day, the Decepticons fought for control of one of the Autobots’ main energon supply lines into Iacon. Megatron had expected a fight and the Autobots did not disappoint. Every strong Decepticon player was on the field, battling hordes of enemies and it was glorious. Megatron breathed it all in, savoring the dewy scent of brewing storms. He dodged a blow to his side but Optimus followed it with a swipe at his legs and knocked him off kilter. Megatron quickly righted himself and as the two danced around each other, looking for an opening, he caught sight of his beloved.

They were on the opposite side of the battlefield and deeper into enemy territory than any other Decepticon. Stuck in a gorge, they were disadvantaged with the low ground but as Megatron watched they crushed a mech’s spark in their servo, energon splattering their arm, and used the warm corpse to shield themself from a round of blaster shots. They spun, still wielding the dead mech, and let loose a spray of bullets in a perfect arch, cutting down the Autobots on top of the gorge.

As he traded blow for blow with Optimus, Megatron continued to catch precious glimpses of the battle his lover waged. They were on equal footing with the Autobots now, but had lost their blasters and resorted to the short, sturdy dual blades hidden in their wrists. Typically, they preferred to save the blades for a less cluttered battlefield, but they worked wonders with any weapon at their disposal. Completely surrounded, they jab into their opponents, slicing through layers of armor and sensitive mesh and coloring their blades with Autobot blood. Blaster shots were fired and they couldn’t turn fast enough. Their armor was thick and took the brunt of the damage and they lunged through the mass of mechs with even more fervor.

Megatron loved to watch them, their movements so fluid and every bit as lethal as intoxicating. They were like a gladiator, so in their element that every single thing they did was just right, natural, and Megatron saw the appeal of spectating now. Watching them take a knife to the ribs was terrifying but watching them get their gruesome revenge made the terror worth it. It was a play on adrenaline and Megatron was already so damn full of it that he felt borderline euphoric. There was power in mowing down the weak and soaking the dirt with their blood. Power in controlling life itself.

When he next caught sight of his partner, they were on their back with a mech straddling them. He could see their fangs as they snarled and bit down on the mech’s arm. They launched to their feet and stabbed into his shoulder, twisting the blade, ruining the delicate mechanisms there, then cutting straight up. The mech’s arm fell to the ground but he didn’t get a chance to scream before they lodged a blade through his gaping mouth, through his brain module, and out the back of his helm.

Megatron knew Optimus was speaking, but he could care less for the Prime’s nonsense when he had another fight to split his attention with. Someone landed an uppercut on his lover and their head snapped back with the force of it. In the moment it took for them to recover, a sword was buried in their shoulder, a near miss from their helm. They dropped to their knees and rolled to the side, slicing through knees and thighs alike. With the sword they ripped from their shoulder and one powerful swing, they decapitated both mechs. They were wounded in too many places to count, just as Megatron was, but both fought on undeterred.

This would surely be a Decepticon win, considering how thin the Autobot ranks were becoming. But Megatron did not see where the newest of his lover’s foes had come from, only the white streak snapping in the air. The femme’s whip crackled with electricity as it struck their chassis. If it had hit anywhere else, Megatron was certain it wouldn’t have pierced, but the armor in the center of their chassis was already severely weakened by a corroded blaster wound.

The resulting wound made him stumble and suddenly Optimus was on top of him, pinning him to the ground and reigning devastating blows. Megatron growled profanities and caught Optimus’ fist before it could land again. He turned his helm just enough to see his partner. They were surrounded again and this time he was about to abandon his fight with Optimus and run to them. But they cut down the femme with the whip and spun out of the way of another Autobot’s running attack and Megatron saw it.

Their spark.

The center of their chassis had been cracked and a chunk of the armor was missing completely, exposing the bottom of their spark. It flared with the intensity of their soul, a brilliant cerulean light that shone on the faces of their enemies, casting the undeserving bots in pure beauty. They were so vulnerable and yet so unfaltering that Megatron felt inspired.

Not long after, Optimus called for retreat and Megatron laughed as he watched his rival go. He turned to head for his darling and —by Primus— was he glad he did. If he hadn’t he would have missed seeing them strip a femme’s spine from her fucking body, slick with energon and other, stranger fluids. As the body crumpled and collapsed at their pedes, they tossed the limp spine to the ground: ever the victor. Megatron’s engine revved and every last ounce of his remaining adrenaline and charge became directed towards them.

And then they noticed him and smiled, their lips split and their nose broken, trailing energon into their mouth and down their chin, but they didn’t try to hide their exposed spark or staunch the bleeding of any other wounds. Megatron burst with something akin to pride and when he reached them he grabbed them by the back of the neck and smashed their mouths together. It was hot and violent and Megatron could feel their spark against his chassis and he never felt happier.

[jangofctts]

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one) 

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to. 

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.    

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you— 

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.           

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible. 

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here. 

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction. 

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.” 

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning. 

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.” 

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either… 

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.  

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.  

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow. 

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.  

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are. 

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?” 

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it. 

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”  

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”        

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you. 

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.   

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air. 

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.  

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter. 

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.     

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more. 

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.     

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.” 

Touching. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…   

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow. 

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“ 

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.” 

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.   

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen. 

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor. 

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.” 

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three. 

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand. 

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop. 

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.  

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.   

You scowl. “It’s fine.” 

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose. 

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums. 

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”  

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel. 

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face. 

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.   

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep. 

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.” 

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.  

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin. 

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.    

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.   

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward. 

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.” 

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you. 

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers. 

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw. 

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers. 

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”   

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not. 

Whatever.       

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare. 

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.    

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need. 

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp. 

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.  

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”  

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.    

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet. 

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides. 

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away. 

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off. 

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.  

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no. 

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head. 

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat.  Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts. 

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter. 

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise. 

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans. 

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world. 

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull  as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.      

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.  

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

[cyphersuna]

1. HUMAN DOGS

pairing: isaac lahey x fem!reader!mikaelson (Slow burn), derek hale x ex-lover!reader, mcCall pack x platonic!reader, original family x sister!reader, stiles stilinski x platonic!reader (at the moment)

sypnosis; Y/N Mikaelson arrives in a small town with the hope of becoming independent and having a new life but a near accident will turn her plans around and risk them knowing who he is.

Has the war of Original Vampires and Wolves started?

The smallest of the Mikealsons, will she be with a wolf?

Will Isaac accept Y/N?

warnings; none

author’s note: hello baeess, welcome to a new #saturdayofyouaremikaelson!!! I only hope you enjoy this chapter because your emotion excites me and if your emotion excites me, I will be excited to do more chapters to excite you. see you next week 😺

Word count; 1.7k

ﾟ･ 🌌ރ ੈ♡‧₊˚🎲 *ૢ✧ ۪ ♟️ ° ｡

YOU WERE ENTERING Beacon Hills while looking at the forest around you which looked spooky, possibly because it was night or they were infested with those human dogs. Possibly both. You still remember the faces of Niklaus, Kol and Elijah knowing that you would live here. You think it was the best thing in the world, but you get it. That your sister, the youngest of the Mikaelson clan, decides to move alone, with no one from her family nearby and in a "city" full of dogs. You would also worry.

It began to be heard on the radio lurk from the neighborhood to which you began to hum it. This century was very different: 16-year-olds look like 18 or 19, their type of clothing... You did not complain, it is better than the clothes of before.

Six teens and two adults appeared out of nowhere to which you stopped. You got out of the car and they watched you from head to toe. One in particular made your blood run cold. Derek Hale...

You sighed and spoke.

"Forgiveness! Are you okay?" You asked, and the bearded one came up to you.

"What are you doing here?" He asks and you start to breathe. Human dogs have to hear it and feel it so they know that you are not something supernatural. Speaking of that title, it's the best series and more daddy Dean. You pulled myself out of your thoughts and looked from left to right to fix your gaze on the dark haired man.

"Me?" He nodded. "Sorry. Do I know you?"

"Don't act, Mikaelson," he snap at and Peter comes closer to both of you. The Good Peter, he was more your brother than the ones you have, well not so much like that but he was like a brother.

"I think you're wrong" you say to see him in the eyes. "My name is not like that" you say playing stupid, well! When you don't? Coming here you thought that Derek and Peter would leave and more because of what happened to his sister who did not doubt that Peter would kill her. But just in case you knew you would have to change your first and last name.

"It's not a name," says the older of the two raising an eyebrow. "What's your name?" He ask.

"Diane Jones" you say pretending to be a little scared. You saw how Derek would glare at you deadly and the teens stared at the scene in confusion. Wow! The redhead's shoes were fantastic.

"What brings you to Beacon Hills?" Asked Peter.

"I came to live here" you respond.

"Alone?" Said the one with black hair, super furious. He looked sexier like that. "Without your parents?"

"Excuse me, but I don't have to tell you anything" You walked back and Derek took your arm tightly and the children approached looking worried.

"You won't leave until you answer." Peter put his hand on Derek's shoulder with a "calm down" look

"And your parents?" He asks calmly.

"I do not have. I'm an orphan" you say looking at your feet. Seriously, you deserve an Oscar for best actress.

"How did you get here?" Peter still asked.

"My uncles sent me here to study and not cause problems" you say looking at Peter.

"Don't li-" Derek says to be interrupted.

"It's not her" said Peter. "Listen" as you said, breathing helps and more if it is accelerated when you feel threatened.

"Can I go?" You asked.

"Yes" Peter says. You walked to your car and your turned it on to continue on your way, when you saw that you were far away you start to laugh. Derek's faces and the wolf children, the banshee, and the humans were gold.

You arrived at your new home. You smiled when you saw that it was normal, not big and not too small. A normal house. It was supposed to be furnished since yesterday. You got out of your car and opened to see the living room, you closed the door and walked into the kitchen and up the stairs. You went into all the rooms and they were perfect and yours was much more.

It was big, being a Mikaelson it couldn't be small. You were already beginning to miss them. Well not all. Elijah and Rebekah's overproduction were suffocating. Also you will no longer be listening "little Klaus" or "little Kol" You're not like them, you just like to have fun. And you like being with them more. Kol and you, hunted and had fun at parties and flirting with people. Klaus gave you life lessons. You were amused by his stories and how could he be so... him. Of your seven siblings, you only loved Kol and Klaus, of course you had your differences: you were friends with Katherine and Klaus hates her, you love the Salvatore brothers with your life and they detest them, even more. You lay down on the bed and you smiled a smile that only bring problems.

Isaac Lahey Pov

"It was her," Derek says, somehow I felt concern and more to see how he reacted when he saw the girl as our age.

"Who is she?" Scott ask.

"Y/N Mikaelson" Peter said calmly.

"And she is...?" Stiles question them.

"She is one of the Originals and Derek's great love," Peter replies.

"Original of what?" Lydia ask.

"From the Original Vampires," Derek says angrily.

"They exist?" Almost all of us say at the same time.

"Yes. And between them the two hybrid of Vampire and werewolf" explains Peter.

"What is a hybrid?" Allison ask to which Stiles responds.

"Hybrids are a supernatural cross between two or more different species. The term is commonly used to describe a werewolf turned vampire, as they were the first type of hybrid introduced to the world. However, since the creation of the werewolf-vampire hybrids, there have been other hybrids of other races in the universe, such as siphons turned into witch-vampire hybrids, werewolf-witch hybrids, among others" he says to finish.

"How do you know that?" Asks Scott.

"I read it when I was trying to find out what you were, but I thought the vampire thing was a lie," Stiles responds.

"A hybrid is more lethal than any werewolf or vampire" Says Derek. "Nature does not tolerate such an imbalance of power. Thus, the warlocks, the servants of nature, saw to it that the wolfish side of Klaus and Y/N Mikaelson are asleep. But they are still a danger.

"Who are the Mikaelsons?" I ask.

"The Mikaelson family is a powerful family whose line goes back at least to the Kingdom of Norway in the late 10th century with Mikael and Esther, a wealthy landowner and a Viking warrior, and a housewife and a witch, respectively. In the early 11th century, the family was deadly until the loss of Esther and Mikael's seventh child, Henrik to a werewolf attack that spurred them to use Esther's magic to turn Mikael and the rest of their living children into the The world's first vampires, from whom all Vampires are descended from the original vampires, are known as the most powerful supernatural beings in the world, but the Mikaelson family is also known to have members who are also witches and hybrids. Among them are two hybrids: Klaus and Y/N. In total the Mikaelsons are eight; Mikael, the father, Esther, the mother, Freya, The first daughter which is only a witch and does not belong to the original lineage, Finn, The second son, Elijah, the third son, Klaus, the fourth son which is the hybrid and is not the son of Mikael but bears his last name, Kol, the fifth son, Rebekah, the sixth daughter, Y/N, the seventh daughter which is not the daughter of Mikael and the last, Henrik, the eighth son. Of these eight only are alive: Freya, Elijah, Klaus, Kol, Rebekah and Y/N" Derek answers.

''They wasted no time," Stiles says.

"Neither is Esther. Children of different parents" I say smiling. "But how did "first hybrids" happen?

"When Klaus and Y/N first killed after being turned into vampires, they triggered their werewolf gene, which finally reveals the truth of their true paternity to their family: Klaus and Y/N were not Mikael's children but the boss's children of her village werewolf clan, with whom Esther had an affair. Once Mikael learned of Esther's infidelity and realized that her lover's pack were the werewolves who killed Henrik, Mikael hunted down and killed Klaus and Y/N's father and his entire family, igniting a war. Between vampires and werewolves that still exists. Shortly after the Mikaelsons became vampires and learned of Klaus and Y/N werewolves' legacy, Esther was forced to curse Klaus and Y/N to make their werewolf natures lie dormant, so that they didn't bother yet. More to nature by possessing so much power. However, Klaus and Y/N felt betrayed by this punishment, and in retaliation, Klaus murdered his mother and framed Mikael for the act. Understood?" Peter asks and I nod.

"I'm more than sure it's her!" Derek exclaims.

"It has to be her, if you questioned her or just stopped...-Lydia says to be interrupted by Peter.

"It's her Doppelgänger..."

Y/N Mikaelson Pov

You got out of the tub while you were dripping to grab the towel and start drying off. Tomorrow would be your first day in high school, you had never attended one and according to Caroline and Stefan they are very good, also Rebekah go into one and she looks older than you. You wrapped the towel around your body and left the bathroom to go to your room. You dropped the towel while you felt the air all over your body, you took off your underwear from the wardrobe and then put on a loose shirt and some pajama shorts. You go down to the kitchen for some whiskey and you go back upstairs. You arranged your things for tomorrow and left them arranged so that you only had to go...

masterlist

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[hoe-imaginess]

red | shigaraki tomura

Shigaraki x hero!soulmate!Reader

Based on two soulmate prompts:

You can only see color when you and your soulmate are touching.

You can’t use your quirk to harm your soulmate. 

word count: 2.4k

a/n: is two soulmate prompts cheating? idk. anyways, this is just some random angst I thought of a while ago, and just recently found in my drafts. probably some typos. pretend not to see it (:

⤰⤰⤰

If there was one thing worse than recruiting weaklings, it was recruiting slackers.

Active enlistment in the criminal world had the unfortunate ramification of attracting the lowest of the lows. The last two miscreants Giran drafted for the League had used the weaponry rationed to them for petty crimes. This included the robbing of a video store. Not just any video store, but one directly down the street from the League’s hideout.

Of course, that was unacceptable.

Shigaraki had little patience for the new recruits to begin with, but it was rapidly extinguished with their hazardous act, along with any leniency he might have had for their punishment. These men had exploited the power Shigaraki gave to them, and worst of all, undermined the League’s legitimacy. The solution to this problem was clear.

Kurogiri offered to dispose of the traitors swiftly and soundlessly, but Shigaraki’s hunger for retribution against these trespassers required a personal effect. And so, Kurogiri transferred Shigaraki to the location. The men were hobbling around in the same alley they’d been found in when Shigaraki emerged from the black vapor’s of Kurogiri’s quirk.

Upon seeing him, the duo went into an indignant frenzy. They knew who he was, and without even needing to ask, without even needing to hear the promises of violence that Shigaraki muttered under his breath, they knew what he was here to do.

The confrontation lasted mere seconds. They were as meek as they were stupid, and neither men were fast enough to counter when Shigaraki grabbed for them. He dispatched the first man with voracious haste, but took his grueling time with the second.

As the man’s sleeve cracked like dried mud, pieces falling to give way to vulnerable flesh underneath, Shigaraki reveled the sight with a sickening smile.

The deteriorating man’s cries of anguish were dreadful: the cries of a man forced to confront his imminent death.

It was a sweet tune of victory to Shigaraki’s ears.

Then, something ruined it.

“Stop!”

At the sound of your voice, Shigaraki glanced over his shoulder, his feverish, red eyes glaring at you from behind Father’s mask.

A hero. A hero on patrol, Shigaraki guessed, seeing that you were fitted in your uniform.

“Put the man down,” you demanded of him, with that confident, entitled authority that heroes enjoyed, and Shigaraki detested.

But Shigaraki granted you the request, not much concerned with revenge, or the man, now that he was soon to be a pile of dirt. Indeed, the minute Shigaraki loosed his grip on the man’s arm, Decay took its freedom in stride and consumed him within seconds. The screams abruptly stopped.

Now it was just you and Shigaraki in the empty alleyway. What had remained of the forgotten men floated away in the light breeze.

Your throat was tight, acid edging its way up the back of your mouth. The scene before you was horrific. Where the distressed man had just been, now remained only dust. And the villain standing over the formless corpses was looking right at you.

Shigaraki didn’t recognize you, didn’t know what your quirk was. But it didn’t matter. He would have killed you anyways, but the fact that you’d just disrupted the recreation of his revenge was all the more reason to do so.

He took a step forward. Not to be daunted, you did the same.

“Stop right there,” you demanded again.

Just another disillusioned display of hero supremacy. Shigaraki had no patience for it.

“Stop,” you commanded, firmer now as his approach went undeterred.

The eery slowness in his gait betrayed the bloodlust he radiated; his fingers twitched with their vitalized hunger for violence, and after you’d seen the carnage those fingers extracted on human flesh, you weren’t about to let your guard down.

In an instant, he was lunging for you. His speed shocked you, and the second you spent activating your quirk for a counter-move was enough time for him to invade your space. Adrenalized fear shot through your limbs, and briefly, you wondered how your quirk might defend against his. But it didn’t matter. You were about to find out.

With surprising agility, he ducked out of the way of your defensive attack, then took hold of your forearm. His quirk descended upon your flesh. The pain registered, and your throat tightened around a cry of alarm—

But then, something in the air between you burst.

Like ripples fanning across a puddle, euphoria extended from the top of your head to the soles of your feet, filling every space inside of you as it invaded your senses.

Shigaraki suffered a similair disturbance. The explosion was almost nauseating. But even more shell-shocking was the world which greeted him once his eyes adjusted.

It first registered in his peripheral: something glaringly present, something striking against his vision—

Was that his hair? 

No, it couldn’t be. 

It didn’t look like his hair. Not the hair he normally saw shrouding his face.

But then he realized it was in fact his hair. His hair, but colored.

It stood out unimaginably stark against the drab schemes of the alley. But then, the alley too found life. Its color came to fruition: a wash of brown along the brick wall, dirtied, beige cement holding the structure together.

Then, from the periphery, the infectious color worked its way to the center of his retina. The kaleidoscope of color that was you hit him in full force. Your outfit, your hair, your face and eyes—your eyes which flicked desperately between his own, and the place where his hand made contact with your skin.

Reminded of his assault, Shigaraki looked to where his digits curled around your forearm, and took in the color of your skin. The color was intervened by another now, deeper and angrier, as fissures broke along your flesh under his Decay. Lines of destruction that had always looked grey in his monochromatic world, like topography on a map, were now imbued with life—with the real, true physical destruction.

But the new life in his vision was momentarily overshadowed by another discovery: you were still alive. Alive, and whole.

He looked again, closer, at the place where his lethal hands gripped your arm. The spread of his Decay was compromised by some unknown force, the destructive lines breaking your skin denied in their desire to consume you completely.

His quirk had been stopped. He couldn’t hurt you.

All of these discoveries happened within seconds, and for a moment, his mind lost its war with rationale. He came as near to speechless as he ever got. While his sense of the world, of its truths and realities, tried to reassert itself, he became ignorant to the dilemma before him, and lost himself in the pleasure of color.

Something suddenly caught his eye, and he glanced downward. 

Were those his shoes beneath him? 

Their vibrant color was the very same as that of the raw sinew that showed itself beneath your flesh, as it cracked away under his quirk—

Red.

That was the name of the color.

He’d heard it before: a way to describe spilt blood. It was blood he was seeing. Your blood.

And the reason he was seeing it, the reason he was granted the gift of this true sight, the reason this contact hadn’t yet ended in your demise—was because you were his soulmate.

Shigaraki pulled away, eyes wide. The color left the world, replaced with the grays he’d endured for a lifetime.

He wondered if breaking contact would elicit Decay to recover its power. His mind raced as he prepared to watch you crumble, to watch you scatter into flakes and blood and organ—

But no. Decay was still obstructed by something unseen. It had damaged you, but refused to do any more than that.

“That’s impossible,” he muttered, almost uncertain if he’d spoken it out loud or not; the fretful shock on your face, and your lack of response, giving no indication.

Apparently, you didn’t even notice the catastrophe his quirk had left on your skin. You merely stared at him, stunned into silence, consuming the same realizations he was.

Then, stirred into an involuntary need to confirm the revelations, to make certain it wasn’t some trick of the mind, you started to move toward him.

It couldn’t be, you told yourself. It couldn’t be him: this villain. It couldn’t be…

Shigaraki knew that you intended to reach out and touch him, your hand shaking as it angled upwards. But before you could make contact, he stepped back, extending his own hand not in an invitation of contact, but as a threat, his palm out and fingers ready to deliver Decay. Useless as it had proven itself to be against you, it was the only sense of control he had in the situation.

“Don’t,” he warned you, his voice weaker than he’d thought it to be.

There was a lump in his throat, centering his confusion and panic, both which spread over him in quick fashion. Mania returned to him like clockwork, a mania he often endured when facing accursed heroes. But he’d never felt it like this. Now there was anger, bewilderment, curiosity, and adrenaline all in one.

Unlike him, you worked through your confusion vocally, sputtering strings of rampant logic.

“But you’re—We—” You shook your head, and your arm moved again, inching up to him, seeking a touch that would give you answers. “We can’t be.”

Distress rushed through Shigaraki and he growled. “I said don’t.”

“It can’t be,” you kept on sputtering. “You’re a —It can’t be.”

A what? A villain? A monster? He dared you to go on. 

But even as his frustrations rose at the implications, Shigaraki concurred. You were a hero. A plague on society. But wasn’t the truth inescapable? Hadn’t that flash of colorful vibrance that nearly stopped his heart been evidence enough? Evidence that you two were fated to each other?

“It can’t be.” You said your mantra again, so close to touching him now. Kill, a voice in his head urged. Kill, kill, kill—

The pad of your finger made feather-light contact with his wrist, and the iridescence reinvented itself without delay.

All the colors that had teased him made themselves known again, bringing with them some disgusting bliss that made his insides curl with warmth. It was a delectable temptation, so overwhelming it made him nauseous.

Your eyes searched him, scrutinizing his colors and imbedding them into memory. An inkling of degradation tugged your brain as you realized the life of color you so desperately reaped was from a villain, one of the worst you’d ever encountered. Only from him would your sole, real taste of reality come.

You both pulled away this time, and the dull world of gray welcomed you like an old friend.

You shuffled back defensively, no colorful heaven able to erase the precarity of the situation. The throbbing, searing pain in your forearm returned, reminding you of the death he’d aspired to bring you.

Shigaraki stared behind Father’s fingers, eyes red and wide.

Kill, the urge came to him again. Kill you. Kill the colors, kill it all.

But he wasn’t sure if he could.

“Get me out of here,” he muttered.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “What?”

“Get me out,” he demanded again, infuriated. “Now.”

And after brief static, Kurogiri’s dutiful voice answered from the other end of the hidden communicator. Shortly after, the promised warp gate opened against the alley wall.

Shigaraki stepped back into its gloomy arch quickly. Realizing that he made to escape, you stepped forward, eager to prevent it.

“Stop,” you pleaded, but not with the antagonistic authority you’d shown before. It was a simple, desperate plea. Shigaraki knew he was leaving you with no less confusion than he felt in his departure, but his mind was scattered, and unable to rationalize this so long as he was in your presence.

Your mouth opened around another fruitless protest, but Shigaraki was already backing into the safety of the hideout, its colorless interior granting him security.

With one last valiant effort, you shot forward to reach for him. Shigaraki stumbled back and hit the floor when you lunged for the portal, but it was too late. The warp gate conjoining you both disappeared, separating you from him for good.

With Kurogiri’s gate officially closed, and you officially out of reach, Shigaraki simply stared at the spot where you’d been eager to touch him just moments before.

He was reminded of his station on the ground when he felt the hard wood on his backside. But he didn’t bother getting up; his muscles refused him.

“Shigaraki Tomura.”

He ignored Kurogiri. He ignored it all, let it fade into the gray banality of the colorless, lifeless world around him. How else could he describe it except lifeless, now that he’d had a taste of the true world?—The colors and their vibrancy?

And what was the price of attaining this world of bliss? Knowing that his fate was tied to you. A hero. The very thing he’d dedicated himself to hate, to kill. You, a hero, his soulmate.

It was disgusting. It was cruel. It was unfathomable.

Kurogiri was saying his name again, but Shigaraki didn’t care. He instead looked down at his body, down his stiff legs to his feet. His gaze remained fixated.

His shoes. What fucking color were his shoes? Red, he knew. But what did red look like? Why couldn’t he fucking remember what it looked like?

Kurogiri’s voice was harsher now, spurred by dutiful compulsion. “If you’re injured you must let me know,” he pleaded.

“What?” Shigaraki answered, voice thin, and lost. “What happened? Are you injured?”

“No.” “Then... why did you retreat?”

Now Shigaraki looked at his hands, the hands that had tried, and failed to kill.

His quirk. His Decay. For once, his touch had bore something other than destruction; it had shown him life.

Years before, when he’d still doubted his purpose in the world, and had yet to fully commit to any ambition besides to survive, learning about the histories of soulmates had been a gratifying discovery. Learning that there might be someone out there that would see him as more than just a destroyer, more than just a wielder of such a deadly power, had inspired hope.

But now, now that he’d all but given up on the idea of a soulmate—ridiculed it, in fact, having seen the optimistic idiocy it swelled through the populace—he wanted no part in it.

He’d always known the idea of a soulmate was baseless; that two people were to be decided for each other by fate.

Fate? What did fate matter?

Only cruel fate, the very same which had left him to suffer under the mantle of false heroes in his youth, would presume to make his soulmate one of those very heroes. Only cruel fate would show him a world of colorful life, but put its key in the hands of the enemy.

And what—he was expected to willingly accept it?

No. That wasn’t his fate. It wouldn’t be. This was no blessing. Tasting the promised world of color wasn’t worth the fretful irony. It was filthy. It was greedy. It was wrong. And he didn’t want it.

However alluring the true world was, however satisfying its colors and exquisite its details, Shigaraki fought the compulsion of its visual pleasure. He wouldn’t be a slave to destiny.

“Send me back,” he suddenly commanded. Kurogiri lingered over him, nervous in his confusion. “Are you sure? But, you asked me—”

“Send me back.”

There was only one way Shigaraki would find resolution. He would have to destroy the unattainable world of color, so he would never be weak to its promise.

And to do that, he would have to destroy you.

[thesleepy1]

My King Shall Have Everything

A/N: A fuck load of people seemed to like my last Merthur fic. I even got a request for a sequel from @antobcq who wanted a 5+1 fic where Arthur couldn’t get anything done without Merlin on his lap. I haven’t done one of these fics in ages but I’m down with this prompt. I also love the headcanon where Merlin is a better court member and adviser than Arthur and completely leaves Arthur in the dust during diplomatic meetings. Unbeta’d as always, we die like Arthur.

Extra note, this turned out much longer than I expected it to. This might be my longest fic yet. I didn’t mean for it to be like this but I spent too much time on it to just leave it alone. And much to my surprise, it’s a linear storyline as well. I hope you all enjoy it and feel free to give me some feedback. Do you prefer the linear storylines or short snippets of scenes? Also, kind of sorry for the slight angst. My bad. It got worse towards the end, I was getting really tired and wasn’t completely sure how to end it. It’s not on the highest note is all I’ll say.

Pairings: Merlin x Arthur, slight Gwen x Morgana

Summary: Five times Arthur couldn’t get anything done without Merlin on his lap and one time where Merlin couldn’t get anything done without Arthur on his lap.

Word count: 10,485

Warnings: Lap sitting, fluff, physical touch, sexual content, grinding, angst, wounds, violence, character death, more warnings to be added, more tags to be added, proceed with caution, breeding kink, impregnation kink, mentions of dub/con, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, eugenics, blood, gore, hurt/comfort, angst/comfort, whump, injuries, begging, character death, mentions of public executions, long fic, foul language, asphyxiation, strangulation, choking,

Arthur was good at many things, but being on time was not one of them. Especially, when at the end of the hall he had to attend a council meeting with some of the most stuck up people he had ever met, and that was saying something considering he had to spend the last winter with his extended family. His advisers had been up his ass all week about the new rising kingdom beyond the continent. A kingdom so far away, he had just heard of it several months prior. It was like the kingdom had appeared overnight, suddenly a new ink blotch taking over the lower side of the map.

Personally, he didn’t believe it was real in the first place, having a squadron of knights and hired mercenaries sail over to investigate this so-called Kingdom of Le Lubrique. Much to his disbelief, they didn’t come back empty handed and instead returned with a message. A greeting, as his advisers and Merlin had called it.

To Arthur, it was merely stiff aristocrats getting together in too large a room to talk about dull nonsense. Something he had enough of in his own kingdom. Every other month he was already forced to put on a brave face and converse with the other ruling kings and queens of the continent; he didn’t need another to add on to the mix. He already loathed the balls he was required to host.

“You’re late,” Merlin hissed at him as he entered through a side door so as to not alert the others of his presence.

“That’s kind of the point of me coming here long after the time I was supposed to, Merlin,” Arthur rolled his eyes, sneaking behind the other advisers present to his seat. Merlin begrudgingly followed right on his tail.

“This is serious Arthur, you should have been here ten minutes ago!” Merlin nagged a tad too loudly.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the great king of Camelot himself. I’m delighted to see you have graced us with the honor of your belated attendance,” said an adviser from the guest kingdom with a tone that made Arthur want to stab him, wars be damned.

“I hope you could excuse my tardiness just this once,” Arthur began, trying to come up with a plausible excuse. He looked over to Merlin for help, but the warlock looked clueless as usual. “It...was just that I was caught up with...making sure my...uh...husband’s family were making themselves at home. The in-laws are visiting, you see. You know how hard it can be to keep them happy.”

Merlin looked like he wanted to hang Arthur with his own entrails at the king’s quick thinking. Camelot’s advisers seemed to be considering throwing themselves from the window. And the guest advisers seemed content with Arthur’s answer; though not pleased.

“Oh, believe me,” one of them began, a tall woman with high cheekbones and piercing brown eyes, “I know exactly how tiring in-laws can be.” She let out a high pitched laugh like the sound of dying blue jays; the sound made Arthur want to join his advisers as they inched towards the open windows.

“Well, yes, hahaha, they can be quite a hassle. Especially people that are related to my husband here,” Arthur clapped his hands, smiling at Merlin as he took his seat at the head of the table, “Shall we properly begin then?”

Arthur truly and wholeheartedly regretted agreeing to the whole thing. It was hour after hour of mindless words with little to no meaning. They just went on and on about things that meant little to nothing. He tried to tune out their voices but the tall woman’s laugh was like the crack of a whip, bringing him back to reality each time someone made a vaguely funny comment.

“Are you alright, Arthur?” Merlin said in a hushed tone next to his side. Concern had brought his dark eyebrows together. Arthur was tempted to take his fingers and smooth out Merlin’s worry, but perhaps that was too intimate an act for a meeting. Then again, when did Arthur care about what other people thought of him and his husband.

“I’m fine, Merlin,” Arthur sighed, “Just so bored with all of this.”

“How could you be bored? Have you been listening to half of what they’ve been saying? For a kingdom so small they have so much potential. Their farmlands double ours, as well as their ores, and their medicine is even on par to Gaius’s.” Merlin continued on with such a light in his eyes that Arthur was distracted like a moth to a glowing flame.

“Arthur, have you been listening to what I’ve been saying?”

The king shook his head softly, slightly ashamed for not paying attention to his husband. “I’m sorry. I’m just so distracted. I need something to ground me if I’m going to survive another dreadful hour of this,” he groaned, thinking over if the fall from the window would kill him or lethally wound him. Either way, he’d be away from this horror with Merlin at his bedside playing nurse. At the private thought, an idea crossed his mind that had him delighted.

“You know what would help me?” Arthur began, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“What?” Merlin gave him a suspicious look, having seen the grin on the king many times before.

“It’ll really help if you were on my lap.” Merlin gave him an incredulous glare, ready to smack him across the back of the head for such a suggestion during such a crucial conference. “Please, Merlin? You really do help me focus.”

The warlock seemed to be thinking over Arthur’s request, a frown twisting his face. He looked like he was going to say no, but the pleading look on Arthur’s face made him change his mind. “Just this once. I don’t want to make a habit of this, Arthur,” Merlin warned in a hurried voice.

“Just this once,” Arthur lied through his teeth.

The second king of Camelot sat himself on the first, his side pressed against Arthur’s chest. Arthur wound his arm around Merlin and held him tightly. The action seemed to have garnered the attention of the visitors who looked at the pair strangely. And for some odd reason, the visiting ladies of the guest kingdom seemed to be glaring intently at Merlin.

“We are ever so sorry to be boring you, your majesty, but there is still much to discuss,” a visiting high lord coughed, glaring at the pair. “I apologize that our talk of declining population, racial biases against commoners and sorcerers, and ever so low birth rates have made you tired, but considering it may be the undoing of Le Lubrique, I deem it vital,” he practically snarled.

Arthur’s grip on Merlin tightened, his other hand palming Merlin’s thighs. The warlock couldn’t hide the grin that was stretched across his beautiful face at the touch. The king absolutely loved that grin. Arthur glared right back at those who dared question his behavior, for him showing his love for his king. He sounded in a stern voice that left no room for argument, “No apologies needed. Please, continue.”

“Don’t let us disturb you,” Merlin added with a more snarky tone, commanding the same amount of respect. “You have our full attention.”

-----

“Must I attend? You’ll be there, is that not enough?” Arthur whined as Merlin buttoned up his shirt.

“We are hosting a party in the Kingdom of Le Lubrique’s honor. Their queen has traveled all the way here to properly meet us,” Merlin pressed a kiss to Arthur’s cheek for the effort. “Must I continue?”

“Only if you wish, my dear,” Arthur pointed to his other cheek, waiting for the same treatment as the other.

Merlin rolled his eyes, pressing another kiss to Arthur. “I’m serious, Arthur, this could mean an all out war or the strongest of ally ship. I mean, have you read the reports of what their kingdom is like? It sounds, and excuse for my word choice but there really is no other way to describe it; magical. I would love to visit the country myself. If we make a good impression they might invite us for a stay,” he continued, tying a red handkerchief with Camelot’s crest around his own neck.

“And that’s why the second king of Camelot would be in attendance.”

Merlin left Arthur in their room after that, knowing that Arthur would follow him. “Are you really going to make me sit there and listen to them go on and on about their plan to repopulate their country, or over tax their people for the food that’s in abundance? Come on, Merlin, we could have our council handle it.” Arthur stepped in front of Merlin to block his way. “Why don’t we head back to our room and make this a more entertaining night?” he wiggled his eyebrows to make sure Merlin got his point.

Merlin heard him loud and clear and rightfully ignored Arthur’s attempt to get into his pants. He sidestepped the man to continue on his path, turning a corner to the ballroom. “Do you hear yourself? What kind of impression would that give Le Lubrique if you just suddenly disappeared?!” Arthur turned to run back to their room just to prove Merlin’s point, but the warlock quickly magicked him back to his side. “You’re coming with me whether you like it or not.”

And that was how Arthur ended up sitting on his throne, bored out of his mind and unwilling to be civil or sociable when he could have spent the entire evening snuggled inside Merlin. He could have been in bed by now, having Merlin moaning his name underneath him, but instead Arthur watched as the guest and court mingled and danced. The instrumentalists bobbed their heads in tune to their upbeat song.

Despite refusing to speak to anyone besides Morgana, and Merlin, and occasionally Gwen when she could spare a moment from dancing; he had learned quite a bit about their guests. The fact that although they had a vast amount of farmlands, they had little people to work in them. Which came as a shock to Arthur because he had learned earlier on that Le Lubrique consisted of mostly sorcerers.

Le Lubrique’s queen was the tall woman with a voice that made Arthur’s ears bleed. Her lady in waiting seemed to be a distant relative from their shared trait of high cheekbones, drowning brown eyes, and dark hair. The two were glued at the hip, her lady in waiting obsessively trailing behind her like a newborn duckling wherever they went. They were both strong magic users if Merlin’s gushing was anything to go by. And also very beautiful with fancy perfume that complimented each other so nicely that they smelt like heaven, from Merlin’s words of course, not his. If Arthur didn’t know any better, he would think Merlin fancied them; the queen and her lady in waiting.

Even when the queen was dancing with a number of council members, the servant would be right next to her. It was quite amusing to watch them struggle to sway in time with the music. Arthur had already made bets with Gwen on the number of times party guests would refuse dances with the pair because they refused to separate. So far Arthur was winning.

That was until the queen smugly asked Merlin for a dance. Her lady in waiting immediately stepped away like someone had called for her assistance, leaving the queen alone with Merlin. Much to Arthur’s disappointment, Merlin happily accepted the dance. He took the queen’s hand and off they went, twirling around as if they were the only ones in the room. His hands on her shoulder and waist, her hands virtually tearing his clothes from his chest.

The way the queen of Le Lubrique looked at Merlin made a sick feeling build up from the pit of Arthur’s stomach. She was undressing him with her eyes, the brown in her gaze turning an almost pitch black from lust. The woman said something that made Merlin taken aback, something about dragons and druids, but it was hard to hear from the chatter of the room. For all Arthur knew, it could have very well been a spell.

Merlin recovered quickly with a grin and laugh that had Arthur’s heart skipping a beat. Then the two of them had the audacity to continue dancing as if nothing had happened, the queen still shamelessly pulling at Merlin’s fine clothes that only Arthur was allowed to rip away.

Arthur didn’t know why Merlin didn’t stop the queen when she pulled his handkerchief from his neck. The king was almost killed for even playing with Merlin’s handkerchief and now this woman was doing the same without losing an arm and a leg? Completely unfair. That was proof in itself, she had casted a spell on Merlin.

“Merlin,” Arthur called out to his husband sternly only to be ignored once more. “Merlin,” Arthur stepped away from his throne, making his way towards his husband and the queen.

“I think you should go to bed before things get ugly,” Morgana gently warned Gwen, gesturing towards Arthur’s outburst. “It could either go well or we’ll die of secondhand embarrassment.”

“Thank you for your concern, my love,” Gwen replied with a smirk, “But I want to see how this unfolds.”

Morgana laughed at that, glancing between Arthur and Merlin. “Suit yourself.”

The two high ladies watched as Arthur pulled Merlin away from the queen of Le Lubrique, dragging him away from the woman as she stared on in horror. To Gwen's and Morgana’s surprise, the queen tried to pull Merlin back into her arms. Merlin seemed to be in a daze throughout the whole skirmish. His eyes glazed over, even from afar.

“Should we step in?” Gwen asked with concern, ready to intervene.

“Arthur can handle it, probably.”

The queen called her lady in waiting to help her. Three heads tugged at poor Merlin like he was flax rope at a kingdom fair. The lady in waiting tried to block Arthur from getting a good grip on Merlin while the queen tried to take more of Merlin’s clothes off. A crowd was forming and Morgana distinctively noticed coins being passed around in bets.

“Are you sure, my love?”

“Oh, It's just getting good,” Morgana grinned like a Cheshire cat. “How much are you willing to bet, my beloved?”

Finally, as the crowd began cheering, Arthur twisted out of the lady in waiting’s grip and grabbed hold of Merlin’s waist. The king lifted the warlock up in a bridal carry and turned on his heel for his throne, the crowd parting in heckles and laughs. Arthur blatantly ignored them, sitting down on his throne with Merlin in his lap. Unfortunately, he was unable to retrieve Merlin’s handkerchief, a matter he will surely not hear the end of for quite some time. But between a measly piece of fabric and Merlin’s life, Arthur would choose Merlin time and time again, his own life be damned.

Taking a moment to throw a sneer at Gwen and Morgana who were snickering, Arthur tried to shake Merlin out of the haze. “Are you alright, Merlin?” He stroked Merlin’s arms gently, trying to bring him back to the present. His blue gray eyes were a stormy glaze, seemingly out of it. It made an ugly feeling swirl around in Arthur’s head, the fact that some queen had touched his Merlin in such a way made Arthur sick.

Merlin shuddered in Arthur’s hold, looking down at himself and then at the ballroom floor where others had returned to dancing. Confusion crossed his face, “Of course, I’m alright,” he furrowed his eyebrows, “How did I get here?” Merlin rubbed at his temple, trying to soothe the ache that had formed there.

“Arthur carried you like the jealous brute he is,” Morgana explained, passing Gwen a handful of coins.

“Jealous brute?” Merlin questioned, looking at the trio for a real explanation.

Arthur was about to defend himself when a member of Le Lubrique’s court approached them. “Haha, I couldn’t help but notice the spectacle that you put on there, sire,” the man addressed Merlin.

“I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow.”

The man laughed again, mirth in his eyes. “I guess you wouldn’t,” he said vaguely, “The queen does have a way with words.”

“What do you mean by that?” Arthur butted in, holding Merlin a tad too tight. Merlin squirmed in Arthur’s lap but Arthur seemed to hardly notice.

“Well, you are a warlock, aren’t you, sire?” the man addressed Merlin once more. Merlin nodded despite himself. “A warlock as well as a dragonlord under the queen’s attention is bound to feel the efforts of her magic. And her special attention for that matter, hahaha.”

“Sorry,” Merlin began, more confused than before. “What do you mean by that expactly?”

“Our queen is a lovely dragon tamer. Her family is the last of their kind. Although taming a dragon is much easier when you have someone who can speak to the creatures,” the man laughed as if telling a joke only he knew the punchline to and walked away as if nothing had happened.

Least to say, the rest of the night Arthur didn’t let Merlin out of his sight. He had no idea what a dragon tamer was and Merlin seemed as lost as he was, but he wasn’t taking any chances. No one was going to “tame” his lover. Whatever that meant. Morgana and Gwen could laugh and call him jealous all they want, Arthur only had Merlin’s best interest at heart.

“I doubt having me be a lap warmer is in my best interest.”

-----

It had been weeks and Arthur naively thought they were done interacting with the kingdom of Le Lubrique. He had hoped to be finished with the rising kingdom, to leave them alone as long as they left him be.

He was rarely fortunate these days. Never even.

Apparently, Merlin was not deterred by almost being kidnapped by the queen and her lady in waiting. Merlin even said he enjoyed their company and their attention to his every breathing word. Arthur loved the man, but sometimes he could be quite an idiot.

Merlin, without Arthur’s knowledge, had invited a member of Le Lubrique’s court to stay at the castle. Who else to volunteer to come to Camelot but the queen’s lady in waiting. She was only supposed to be in the kingdom for a couple of weeks, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. That couple of weeks turned into a couple of months and eventually the woman practically lived there. She had made herself at home on day one, much to Arthur’s dismay. He couldn’t really kick her out without making a bad impression towards her kingdom, despite what her queen had already done.

He was a king. Much to his reluctance, he had to act like it. And that meant acting like you liked people that you hated to the core.

“And these are our forests,” Arthur gestured to the thick wall of trees that signified the beginning of the woods. “I typically take neighboring kings hunting here. If you’re interested, we can go if you’d like.”

Sylvy, the lady in waiting, sat on her horse with her head held high. For someone with a position like her’s, she acted like she was queen herself. Arthur had spent the whole day trying to show her around for the utmost time. She was never satisfied with what he showed her, as if she were looking for a break in the walls of the kingdom.

Every morning she demanded to be taken around on a tour and every afternoon she was left with a deep frown on her face. Nothing made her happy it seemed, and Arthur had truly tried to make her feel at the very least, welcomed. It was just so difficult to do so with the knowledge of what she had done to Merlin. Had enchanted him, put him in a daze of some sort.

If Camelot still had the ban on magic, she would’ve been dead the moment she laid a hand on Merlin. On the crown’s orders, she would have been hung or burned, some form of public execution. Her dark hair would go up in flames as the fire burned higher and higher, her head would hang low as the bucket was kicked out underneath her. Arthur was still considering having her prisoned for what she did and simply explained to her queen that there had been a freak accident. If he were a lesser man, a lesser king, he would’ve done so and let it be a warning.

“I despise hunting as a sport, it’s just mindlessly cruel,” she snarled, her lips curling as a show of disdain. She held the reins to her horse like a vice, afraid that she’d be ripped from the saddle and forced to participate in such barbaric practices. At least, that was what Arthur thought was swimming through her mind.

“Yes, yes, but some like the adrenaline rush of a good hunt,” Arthur explained without real passion, merely a form of continuing the dry conversation. Sylvy had woken him up so early that morning he barely had a chance to give Merlin a goodbye kiss. “Some have to do it to survive.”

“There are other ways to live,” Sylvy began, urging her horse to turn by towards the main part of the kingdom, seeing as they were on the outskirts. “Le Lubrique for one replies solely on farmlands. We have no need for meat or the slaughtering of innocent animals. Everyone can live without such a horrible act; people and sorcerers alike. Meat is simply murder.”

Arthur half heartedly nodded, trailing behind her while trying not to fall off his horse. “I can’t argue with you there.” He didn’t want to argue with about anything her to be truthful, he had had enough of that already.

They traveled at a moderate trot in silence before she spoke up again. “Why haven't you invited me to a council meeting? I’ve been here for ages. Surely you have these sorts of things at least once a month.” She tried to act nonchalantly, but Arthur could see right through her. “I mean, there must be all sorts of things to discuss. An heir to the throne for one, seeing as neither you nor king Merlin can bear children.”

“We just haven’t had any council meetings, nothing interesting to report that couldn’t be done with a quill and parchment is all,” Arthur lied with a fake smile she could not see. “And an heir doesn’t need to be of blood. They just need to be taught how to properly command a kingdom like a fair and just ruler. To know what’s best for a kingdom, who to trust and who to leave behind in the woods.”

A look of abhorrence lingered on Sylvy’s face at Arthur’s words, bothered that he would even say such a thing. But Arthur was right, it didn’t matter if his heir was not his child as long as they were just and fair to all that passed them. Arthur could only imagine what Le Lubrique was like if all their subjects thought the same way Sylvy did. It must be all out war for them if a bastard appeared in court one day; though in reality royal bastards were a dime a dozen.

Sylvy went quiet for a moment, calculating her words while mulling over what Arthur had said. “With a kingdom as large as yours, surely there’s action all around? Suitable women all around. Something worthwhile must have happened during my stay,” her voice took on a tone that Arthur didn’t like, a light flush painting her cheeks like some teenage girl with a crush, “What about king Merlin?”

“What about my husband?”

“What has he been up to?” Sylvy asked indifferently, trying to hide her curiosity from Arthur. If only she would try to hide that damn blush. Merlin was physically attractive, Arthur knew this as an undeniable fact, but to be so unabashed while in front of the man’s husband? What was he? The first king of Camelot reduced to chop liver. Unbelievable!

“Well, he’s the second king of Camelot. A king’s job is never done. There is always more work than one man can handle. I should know, I used to be the one doing all the work.”

They reached town just as Sylvy took on an accusatory tone, “Then what are you doing here?”

Arthur resisted the urge to strangle her in front of so many people. His fists clenched around his reins so hard his knuckles turned ivory. “I’m showing you around, just as you had requested,” Arthur gritted through his teeth, trying so very hard not to glare at her.

“And here I was, hoping to attend a meeting with the second king.”

“Really now?” Arthur could feel the mare under him shuffle on her hooves at his fury. “You know what? There might be one later today.” What he had planned was so unbelievably petty and a tad childish, but at this point, he didn’t give a damn. Sylvy was getting on his last nerve. “I’ll have a servant call you when it’s time. For now, why don’t you explore our lovely town by yourself? Walk around without a king hovering over you and all. That way, I could get back to doing my job.”

Sylvy brightened up in spite of Arthur’s words. A smile was forming on her face, her high cheekbones pushed up even farther. Her brown eyes crinkled at the notion that she’ll be able to see Merlin. “I can’t wait,” she said, unsaddling and handing the reins to her horse to Arthur. “I must get ready,” she said to herself loud enough for Arthur to hear.

“Take all the time you need.”

Arthur would regret those words later that night when he sat among his advisers. Sylvy, their honored guest was over half an hour late and the others were beginning to feel on edge. Many of them were not planned for a meeting so soon after the one they had earlier that week. It was an unprompted get together for the lady in waiting’s sake, Arthur had explained to them.

On days like these Arthur was glad he was king and that there’d be grave consequences if he were murdered by one of his advisers. They would be in the right to do so, kill him that is; but he was hoping to live long enough to raise a couple of children with Merlin.

“Why are we doing this, Arthur?” Merlin asked, hiding a yawn with his hand. While Arthur was riding around the kingdom with Le Lubrique’s queen’s lady in waiting, Merlin was left to run the kingdom by himself. The haunted task of commanding and keeping an eye on so many people was taking its toll on the sorcerer. Merlin hadn’t properly slept in days, too busy keeping the kingdom in one piece.

“Sylvy wanted to be present for a council meeting. As a member of Le Lubrique’s court, we have to answer to her call until her stay is up.” Merlin gave him a look that called Arthur out on his poorly constructed plan. “And I may or may not want her to know that you’re taken.”

Merlin rolled his eyes along with most of the present court. They should all be used to Arthur’s antics at this point. What were they expecting? An honest to god meeting to discuss important topics with their visitor from foreign lands? Never. A fake meeting just so Arthur could flaunt the fact that Merlin loved him and not some conceited queen and her lady in waiting? That was more like it.

“Sometimes I can’t believe I asked you to marry me,” Merlin yawned again, giving Arthur a tired look in more ways than one.

“Feels just like a dream, doesn’t it?”

“More like a nightmare.”

“You love me,” Arthur opened up his arms so Merlin could take his place on the king’s lap. Merlin shook his head at the gesture, so incredibly done with Arthur. “Come on, Merlin. You know you like it here.” He teasingly patted his lap. “You can rest until our guest arrives.”

“Fine,” Merlin said begrudgingly after a moment of hesitation, his mind clouded by the want for sleep. “But you better wake me up when she comes.”

“Of course,” Arthur assured, inviting Merlin over once more. This time Merlin made himself home on Arthur’s lap, his head going to rest on Arthur’s chest. He curled in Arthur’s lap like second nature, having done this so many times over the years. Arthur wrapped his arms around the younger man, making sure he was supported and comfortable. Merlin fit perfectly nonetheless. Within moments, a soft snoring sound could be heard from the man on Arthur’s lap, content in where he sat. The second king finally got the rest he deserved. “I wouldn’t wake you for the world,” Arthur whispered, rubbing soothing circles on Merlin’s arm and leg.

Another half an hour passed achingly slowly without the esteemed lady in waiting’s presence. Arthur was about to call off the whole thing and make his way to his bedchamber when at last, the doors to the room opened to reveal Sylvy. She was no longer dressed in her usual servant attire with its cream apron and blue gray dress. Instead she had ransacked the queen’s wardrobe, wearing something befitting a ball.

The dress was elegant and detailed with silk and satin; a deep shade of bourbon that brought out her brown eyes. Her hand was even done up in cascading dark curls that perfectly fell from the knot atop her head. A glittering wine hair piece sat nestled against her hair, matching perfectly with the studs in her ears. She was beautiful even without the time spent enhancing what was already there, but now she stood ready to rule a kingdom.

Sylvy took her seat across from where Merlin would have sat. “Where is king Merlin?” she asked, not noticing that the man in question was currently sleeping on Arthur’s lap.

“I’m sorry for how unprepared we were, but I can relate to your troubles of not having enough hands to run a kingdom. My husband had taken the task of ruling all alone while I tended to your needs.” Arthur pressed a kiss to Merlin’s hair when he stirred in his sleep, continuing on his over sweetened words. “He’s beyond exhausted, but still wanted to take part in our meeting. Please understand that he really did try his best to stay awake.”

The emotions that crossed Sylvy’s face came in a blur; she was unreadable. But one thing was for sure, Arthur had won this small battle. He had shoved Merlin’s unquestionable favor for him in the lady in waiting’s face. Merlin was his and his alone. For good measure Arthur pressed a deep kiss onto Merlin’s lips, the sorcerer smiling in his sleep.

His advisers on the other hand felt cheated. If the death glares shot his way were anything to go by. Though there was one from Sylvy as well. A lot of people wanted him dead at the moment. But he was perfectly happy. They could string him up after the meeting for all he cared, the unintelligible look on Sylvy’s face was worth it. She was utterly speechless.

“I’m ever so sorry we were late to start, but would you like to commence this meeting?” Arthur asked like a gentleman with a cocky grin, making sure to stare right at Le Lubrique’s envoy.

-----

When Sylvy left Arthur rejoiced. She was finally out of his hair. Things could go back to normal and he could go back to spending his free time with Merlin instead of on horseback through a bare orchard. No matter how many times Arthur explained to Sylvy that their crops were not aided by magic like Le Lubrique’s, Sylvy insisted on seeing their “mortal” development.

Everything was put back into its rightful place. He couldn’t wait to put everything about Le Lubrique behind him and move on.

He was back on the throne with Merlin, leading the kingdom just as they were before the whole ordeal with Le Lubrique. Their advisers especially liked the fact that Arthur was back with Merlin; it meant less work for them. The moment that Sylvy left their grounds, Camelot’s advisers piled parchment after novel after demands on his table.

Those selfish bastards.

The so-called requests were so thick that Merlin didn’t even make a sarcastic comment comparing it to Arthur’s ass, and, or his thick skull; the warlock simply went to work. If Arthur himself wasn’t already terrified of the workload, he would have shocked himself to the grave at Merlin’s willingness to submit to their advisers. The two kings of Camelot knew when they met their match.

What felt like weeks passed where Arthur and Merlin did nothing but what their advisers ordered. They were slaves to their own court. The two didn’t leave their room for anything, not food, not training, not even a breath of fresh air. Their knights would occasionally knock on their door to make sure they were both still alive, but once the knights of the round table had been turned down a couple dozen times, they stopped caring. Merlin and Arthur shut off the world. They were practically locked in there, all because of their own doing.

Well, mostly Merlin’s doing. He was the one who invited the envoy over and wanted to make peace with the new kingdom. Arthur had nothing to do with that prolonged visit from the devil, he was only paying the price. His hands ached like it had been shorn off at the wrists, his back screaming for him to rest. He didn’t remember the last time he touched his bed, the neatly tucked in linens calling him to slumber. But he couldn’t, neither of them could until their work was done. Their kingdom depended on it and their kingdom came first, Arthur and Merlin’s comfort second. They both knew what they had signed up for when they decided to wed.

“A-Arthur,” Merlin groaned late one night, the sun mere minutes from the horizon.

Arthur immediately looked up from his book, putting his full attention on Merlin who was on the other side of the room. Neither of them had talked in days besides the few grunts they exchanged while passing over important text. The fact that Merlin was straining his voice now meant something serious was going on.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur coughed, his throat parched and dry as a desert.

“I-I-” Merlin began, rubbing harshly at his hurt eyes, “I think that’s the last one.” The sorcerer signed one more parchment with a flick of his wrist, setting it aside to dry along with the rest.

And the thing was, Merlin was right. There was no more work to go through, to tirelessly read; everything was finally done. “I’m so tired I don’t think I can see straight, b-but that was it!”

“What?”

“We’re finished, you clophole," Merlin smiled, taking Arthur’s breath away.

Arthur leapt out of his seat, pure joy masking the aches and pains as he rushed over to Merlin’s side. The king pulled the sorcerer from his chair, lifting the man into the air, Arthur kissed Merlin like it was their wedding day. Deep and full of all the longing he had for the man, grasping at him as if he could protect Merlin from the world.

He only pulled back for air, inhaling lungfuls before pressing his lips back against Merlin’s. Arthur missed his husband so damn much despite having worked across the room for each other. He hadn’t touched the other man in ages, it was heaven to feel his heartbeat beneath his pained fingers. To kiss down Merlin’s pale neck and mark him until the whole castle knew exactly what they had been up to. To pull at Merlin’s clothes, ripping his tunic right off of his chest, the buttons flying across the room.

“Arthur,” Merlin moaned, gently pushing Arthur back so he could speak. “I liked that shirt.”

Arthur thumbed at Merlin’s trousers, holding his hips tight enough to leave marks that Merlin would feel for days to come. “I’ll get you a new one.”

“But my mother made me that one,” Merlin complained, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck. His strong hand went to cup Arthur’s cheek, making the king look at him. Forcing the king to calm down and evaluate things. “We have to get something to eat too, dear,” Merlin told Arthur in a loving tone. “We’re both too exhausted for this.”

“I’m never too tired for you,” Arthur bit back, leaning into Merlin’s hand. He may have been putting his weight on Merlin’s desk so as to not fall over, but Merlin didn’t need to know that. Arthur could most definitely ravage Merlin while on the brink of death.

Merlin pulled Arthur close to kiss him softly, “If we go to bed now, then we can spend all of next day together,” Merlin tried to bargain, eyes teary from lack of any sort of sleep. “You’re going to hurt yourself, you ass,” he chuckled with a small smile that made his eyes crinkle with mirth.

“I don’t want to,” Arthur whined, “I’ve worked for weeks on end. Now I want my reward for behaving.” Arthur sat back on Merlin’s desk, pulling the man on top of him. The desk groaned under their combined weight, but Arthur hardly cared when he had Merlin on his lap and straddling his thighs. “You’re all I want.” He embraced Merlin, the warlock half naked and moaning as Arthur kissed along his arm. His mouth sucked at Merlin’s skin, teeth leaving markings on pale skin claiming Merlin as his. Arthur worshiped Merlin until his stormy eyes were hazy with unabated lust.

“Just you….”

Arthur slumped forward, out like a dying candle before he even knew it. Merlin had to stifle a laugh, though he doubted anything would wake Arthur then. The king was out cold, snoring like there was no tomorrow. Too bad Merlin had to carry his fat ass over to their bed. The warlock was beginning to rethink their plans for tomorrow. Sometimes he wished Arthur wasn’t such a stubborn ass and listened to him. It would save them both the trouble, Merlin was right most of the time after all.

“Get some rest, you oaf,” Merlin said to the asleep man, tucking him into their bed. Arthur’s blonde hair was like a halo against their stark white pillow, the dark bags underneath his eyes a contrast with the paleness of his skin. His old tunic was a dull red from overuse, the buttons holding onto the fabric for dear life. Merlin stripped Arthur of his boats and stuffy tunic leaving both men in their trousers. A much better way to sleep if anyone asked.

“Good night, Arthur,” Merlin whispered into Arthur’s ear, snuggling up against the king. He threw the blankets over himself and laid on Arthur’s chest. The pull of sleep had Merlin out just as quickly, the moment he allowed his breath to even out, there was nothing that would stop him from getting the well earned sleep that he so needed.

“Rest well, Merlin,” Arthur answered in a murmur, pulling Merlin in close. “Sweet dreams, you idiot.”

-----

“Arthur, calm down and try to see reason!” Merlin all but yelled at the king without his crown. The man in question was in his knight gear, armor and chainmail strapped tightly to his body for protection. His sword hung to his side, within reach at all times. Arthur could feel something ominous looming on the horizon, it was Merlin who was still seeing the world with rose colored glasses.

“I tried to see reason. I tried to play nice. And this is what I get in return,” Arthur gestured to the pile of charred wood on the round table. Wood that was once the homes of innocent farmers who played no part in the altercations of royals. People that Arthur was supposed to protect, their livelihoods and homes included. “We were nothing but good to them and this is what happened. Dozens of houses burned to nothing overnight!”

“We have to act now, Merlin.”

“Going in there with your swords raised in offence isn’t going to do anything but start an all out war,” Merlin insisted, urging Arthur to reel himself in, to not lash out at the closest thing. If it were anyone else Merlin would have already smacked them over the head for raising their voice at him. Unfortunately, Merlin was sleeping with the man and didn’t want to be smothered in his sleep. “That’s what Le Lubrique wants; a reason to fight. We can’t give them that.”

“Then what exactly do you expect us to do, Merlin?” Gwen piped in across the table from Merlin. Morgana stood to her side, eyes darting between all the speakers in a frenzy. “They attacked first. It’s only right that we return what they have given us.” Gwen picked up a piece of wood, charcoal rubbing off on her hands as she turned it over. “Arthur is right, we just can’t sit idle.”

Merlin stared at Gwen, hoping that she would be on his side on this. She solemnly shook her head, denying her friend’s offer. Gwen wanted to go on the offence just as much as Arthur, her friends were harmed when Le Lubrique’s soldiers set fire to a section of the kingdom. They burned down acres of farmland, dozens of homes with children and elderly. Luckily, nobody was killed in the process but many were harmed. Gwen wanted vengeance for them. She was a loyal ruler, loyal to her people.

“And we won’t,” Merlin bargained, “We won’t let them gain any more than they already have. No one here knows exactly what they want from us, but we do know that they’re willing to play dirty to get it,” he went on, talking with his hands to release some of the tension. “Let me be a spy and-”

“Absolutely not.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“No,” Arthur said firmly, daring Merlin to argue. “You stay right here with me. I will not have you risking your life for measly information.”

“It's not measly information, Arthur. It could be the difference between thousands dead and a simple treaty. We don’t know what Le Lubrique wants, but if we do, we could try to bargain with them. No blood needs to be shed,” Merlin tried, laying a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, forcing the man to look at him. “The queen wants me. She made that very clear. She won’t hurt me if she thinks I’m on her side.”

Arthur stared at Merlin, watching the sorcerer for any sign of hesitation. When he saw nothing of the sort Arthur sat down in his chair with a huff. Merlin really wanted to do this. Spy work is equal to a as rushing in with their flag flying and swords shining; both could end with Merlin buried six feet under. Even the implication had Arthur feeling like hell.

“How am I supposed to get anything done with you gone?” Arthur questioned genuinely, much to the snickers of the knights and ladies. “I can’t function without you,” this was whispered softly to Merlin, just for Merlin.

The anger and stress dissipated from Merlin’s eyes, his shoulders slacked in resignation. Realization slowly but surely dawned on the sorcerer. Arthur was simply afraid. The first king of Camelot was worried, on the brink of tears from it if anyone looked close enough. Merlin rolled his eyes, even after all these years Arthur was still undoubtedly the same.

Without a care for the other people in the room, Merlin sat down on Arthur’s lap, hands on the other’s chest to stabilize himself. Merlin leaned in close and pressed a kiss to Arthur’s lips, cradling his jaw like it was something breakable. “Everything will be alright, Arthur. I can protect myself just fine,” Merlin reassured in a careful voice, stroking Arthur’s cheek. “You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“I always feel empty without you, Merlin." Arthur pulled Merlin in for another kiss, this one deeper than the last. The two only pulled away for air and even then they went back for more. They couldn’t have enough of the other, constantly needing to feel the other person. A give and take only the other could provide. “What am I supposed to do if you don’t return?” Arthur asked quietly, resting his forehead on Merlin’s. “How am I supposed to live?”

“I promise to you, you’ll never have to find out. You’re stuck with me," Merlin smirked, running his fingers through Arthur’s hair. "Till death do us part, darling.”

Arthur wished he could believe Merlin’s promise. He swore on his mother’s grave that if Merlin fulfilled his promise that he’ll listen to everything Merlin has to say. He’ll never question Merlin again, never talk back to the warlock, shove his stubbornness down and never speak of it again. Arthur would have done anything for Merlin, only the man asked.

Not a month later Arthur received news in the form of a messenger. Le Lubrique had declared war on any who dared try to take the last living dragonlord from them. Merlin was theirs, they stated, the dragonlord belonged to dragon tamers. The two are vital for the continuation of dragons in the old religion. One to gain their trust, the other to keep the creatures in chains where they belong. Any and all who tried to take away their dragonlord would be faced with lethal consequences.

At that Arthur sent the messenger to be put into the stocks. Lethal consequences. Arthur will show them just how deadly he could be. Le Lubrique will pay, a month without Merlin was torture but if they dared to lay a hand on Merlin they would all burn. Gwen was absolutely right, Arthur required vengeance, he wanted them all to feel just what angering Camelot will do, what angering him will do.

And after making such a claim over Merlin’s life, Arthur will show them no mercy. Le Lubrique had declared war on Camelot and Arthur would answer tenfold.

------

It took around two weeks for Arthur to prepare for battle against a kingdom full of sorcerers. Another week was spent traveling with his soldiers over land and sea. Through it all he couldn’t help but be eaten alive by the nagging feeling that he was too late. That he would arrive only to find ash; bones if he was lucky. Day and night he was slowly being killed by the fact that he could very well be walking into his husband’s grave.

“He’s going to be okay,” Morgana reassured him one day as he leaned against the railing of their ship. They were perhaps an hour if not less from shore and Arthur hadn’t slept a wink. He could feel exhaustion mixing with the worry brewing in his mind, ready to overflow at a single inconvenience. His sword was once again at his side, the memory making everything so much worse. “Merlin will be teasing you for worrying so much if he were here.”

“But he isn’t, is he, Morgana?” Arthur said more harshly than he intended. “He could already be dead for all we know.” And it would be all Arthur’s fault, though he kept that notion to himself. By the look on Morgana’s face, she must have been thinking the same thing.

“It's not your fault, Arthur. Merlin chose to go on his own free will.”

“But I was the one who allowed it,” Arthur bit back, standing straight on his feet. “I sent him to his death.”

“You don’t know that,” Morgana crossed her arms. She should be used to Arthur’s self destructive behavior but even this was getting too much for her. “If what that messenger said was true, Merlin’s probably being pampered to death.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to have said because Arthur’s despair did not lighten. It seemed to have gotten worse. “What if he likes it better with Le Lubrique’s court? I’m no warlock, I can’t compete with their magic!”

“Arthur, you’re overthinking this,” Morgana was done with Arthur’s antics. She was ready to gag him and throw him in the ship’s makeshift prison cell until they had properly docked. “Merlin will run right into your arms the moment he sees you. I’m willing to bet on it, just you wait and see. Merlin loves-”

At Morgana’s silence, Arthur looked over to the direction of her gaze. Their ship was making speed but Arthur suddenly wished they had stopped right where they were and sink. The sight took Arthur’s breath away, making his blood go cold. Le Lubrique was burning and it looked like it had been burning for a very long time. There was no shoreside to speak of, just endless flickering flames. Where the castle should have been standing tall like a beacon was nothing but flames, ruble, and ash.

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled even though his voice would not carry that far. “Merlin!” he called again, his heart sinking to his stomach. He wanted to drown at sea. He never wanted to reach the shore, to be lost in the ocean and never have to face what he already knew was there. The absence of what he knew should’ve been. “Merlin!” he shouted even though it was futile.

“Arthur, please!” Morgana struggled to pull him back from the side, afraid he’ll jump and swim the rest of the way himself. Or worse. “Just an hour, please. That’s all you have to wait for. You- you don’t know for sure.” Even Morgana was not so sure of her words, the picture in front of them was hard to paint as lies.

“I sent him to his death….” Arthur whimpered, “I killed him. I killed my husband.” The king sank to his knees, kneeling next to Morgana. The woman could barely hide the tears in her eyes at the sight. Everything she wanted to say, every reassurance died on her tongue. Whatever she said could very well be a lie and nothing more.

“We will make them pay, Arthur. We will make them pay for what they’ve done,” Morgana decided instead, pulling Arthur to his feet. “They won’t get away with this,” she stated sternly, much like their father when he had set his mind to something.

Less than an hour passed where the tension was so thick, one could slice through it with an unsharpened sword. All on board prepared for battle, despite the fact that the fires never stopped burning. Regardless of the fact that they might be too late to be of much good. The fighting had already begun long before they docked, a civil war where the same flag was flying on opposite sides.

“Go search for what is left, we’ll handle everything else,” Gwen informed Arthur when they stepped foot on the raging battlefield. She was dressed in chainmail armor just like everyone else, Camelot’s colors making her blend in with the searing fires. Her helmet was covering most of her face, giving her the appearance of a frightening soldier ready to take lives at a moment's notice. If Arthur was in a better mood, he would have been sorry for the folks who would come face to face with Gwen, the quick footed soldier instead of Gwen, the gentle, kind hearted high lady. At the moment he was on the verge of breaking and was ever so glad that Gwen was as cut throat as she was.

“Thank you,” Arthur told her from the bottom of his heart, “We should have listened to you from the start.”

“You followed your husband’s request, I can’t fault you for that.” She pulled Arthur in for a hug before sending him off. “Go find our king.”

Gwen didn’t have to tell Arthur twice, he was off before she finished speaking. The only thing is his mind was finding and holding Merlin. Nothing else mattered. Not the war thriving around him, swords clashing, arrows flying, Camelot’s red against the duality of Le Lubrique’s purples; nothing. The sorcerer was all that was worth living for and Arthur had a guess as to where Merlin would be.

The castle with Le Lubrique’s flag flapping against the blistering wind was as good as any place to start. Arthur climbed the hill that the palace stood on with lead in his stomach. It felt like every step he took he was merely walking into a trap. The castle should not still be in one piece, the battles around the structure should have made it no more than debris. However, it still stood on weak support.

Going against the nagging voice in the back of his head Arthur called out for his husband, “Merlin!” He walked closer to what would have been the courtyard. Around the perimeter were burning shrubbery that must have been a sight to behold at one point in time. Now there were nothing more than flares and the source of black smoke. The cobblestone center was stained with a drying red that Arthur did not want to face the source of. “Merlin!” Arthur sounded out in the courtyard.

“Arthur,” a hoarse voice groaned weakly. Arthur ran in the direction it came from, his sense of self preservation be damned. Merlin’s life could be on the line.

“Merlin, stay with me. Keep talking!”

“I-I’m over here,” Merlin hissed out helpfully, not informing Arthur where, “here” exactly was. Why did Arthur have to marry such a buffoon? Sure, no one could compare to Merlin, but at the very least he could have courted a smarter man.

“I’m coming, just stay where you are,” Arthur said hastily, rushing through the crumbling courtyard. “Don’t you dare die on me, I’ll kill you myself if you do!” he threatened, searching every nook and cranny for the warlock.

“That’s my line, you ass,” Merlin moaned in complaint, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Come up with your own catchphrases.”

Sometimes Arthur couldn’t believe his choice in a partner. Merlin was really making banter with him while possibly on the brink of death. He was definitely going to kill Merlin for this. “Make me, you bastard,” Arthur cursed, rounding a sharp corner that fell apart as he passed it. His breath was taken away for the second time that day when he saw Merlin on the ground.

They were in what must have been a parlor, the stained glass windows shattered on the ground as a number of the fine furniture burned to cinder. Arthur could imagine the room as something beautiful if he were to be invited over for tea. Now he just saw it as a smoking mess, something that he was glad was going up in flames. Though, without him or Merlin in it would be nice.

“There you are!” Arthur exclaimed, rushing over and kneeling on the floor next to Merlin’s frame. The sorcerer was half naked with sharp nail marks littered across his pale skin. Merlin’s neck was a raring red as if a hand had been wrapped around his throat which didn’t let up until he passed out from the lack of air. His form was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and tears, his rib cage stuck out in unpleasant angles. It looked like he hadn’t been fed in days. The sight made Arthur furious, but Le Lubrique’s court could wait. Arthur had to get Merlin to safety first.

“Took you long enough, you oaf,” Merlin hissed through his teeth, his lips chapped from dehydration. The corner of his mouth was bleeding as if he had been back handed across the face. Arthur reached out a hand to touch it, to make sure Merlin was real and not just some illusion made by a sick sorcerer. “Stop that, it already hurts to talk,” Merlin coughed, his eyes hazy.

“What happened?” Arthur couldn’t help but ask, shrugging off his cape to throw over Merlin’s bare chest. It didn’t offer much coverage but it was protection against the flying embers. As a bonus it covered the markings that made Arthur’s skin crawl.

“I arrived under the guise of an envoy, just as we had planned. Everything seemed to be going fine, but they found out I was a spy early on. It was like they could read my mind, and I don’t doubt that they have the knowledge just for the spell,” Merlin explained, pulling Arthur’s cape close, the soft fabric offering a sense of shelter. “But they didn’t seem to care that I was there under ulterior motives. They were only glad to have me, mind and body,” Merlin shivered at the thought. “Le Lubrique’s queen wanted me to father her children.”

Merlin paused to let the thought sink in. He watched Arthur for his reaction. Arthur’s face twisted in a disgusted sneer, baring his teeth at the implication. The king clenched his fists until his nails dug deep enough into his palm to drag blood. Arthur wanted to feel the pain, something to ground him farther so he didn’t march off to kill someone who might already be dead.

“Le Lubrique wanted dragons as slaves, no king would be dumb enough to go to war with a kingdom with dragons on their side; no matter its size,” Merlin went on, his eyes glowing yellow at the notion. “They needed me as a stud.”

Arthur was repulsed at the notion that Le Lubrique would even conceive of such a thing. He must have looked ready to vomit because Merlin quickly added, “Le Lubrique’s queen even tried to make herself appealing to me when I denied her advances.” Arthur could only imagine what the woman did. Sylvy’s antics immediately came to mind. “She magicked her hair blonde and made her eyes your shade of blue.”

Arthur couldn’t help but darkly chuckle at that. Of all the ways to make Merlin fall for someone, blonde hair and blue eyes weren’t it. “Did she really think looking like me would get you to bed her?”

“No,” Merlin began again with a pained yelp that he tried to hide. “What she said was what made me comply.”

“What did she say?” Arthur growled, his earlier fury seeping back into his bloodstream. “What did that harlot say?”

“She threatened your life, Arthur. Your honor, your dignity, and reign as king. Everything,” Merlin got teary eyed at the memory. “The way she took her pleasure from me was painful, but it was nothing compared to the thought of what she said she would have done to you.”

Arthur was shaking with rage, his whole body trembled with the urge to tear Le Lubrique’s queen apart, limb by limb by his own bare hands. His hand hovered over his sword subconsciously. He wanted to kill her, needed to destroy her for what she’s done. For the fear she incited into Merlin. Arthur was bloodthirsty; he hoped that Gwen was just as demanding of blood.

“I wanted to kill her.” Merlin’s quivering voice brought Arthur back to the present. “Let me kill her, Arthur,” Merlin begged his husband, his lip beginning to bleed.

“Of course,” Arthur wiped Merlin’s tears away with his thumb, his hand caressing Merlin’s cheek gently. “Anything you want, I’ll give it to you in a heartbeat.”

“Now, Arthur. I want to kill her now.” Merlin tried to sit up but the cry of pain had him falling right back to where he was. “She deserves to suffer.” His eyes lit up in a gold light, trying to magic his way upright but failed and fell down once more. The warlock’s body was in a worse state than he appeared, he shook in a cold sweat like an infection induced fever.

When Merlin began coughing fistfuls of blood at the strain Arthur was forced to act quickly. The king straddled Merlin’s legs, sitting down on his lap to keep Merlin on the ground. “Shhh, I’m here, Merlin. I’m safe, I’m alive,” Arthur barricaded Merlin with his arms. “I’ll bring you her head, I swear.”

“Let me do it, Arthur. I can kill her myself,” Merlin barked, another fit of coughs had him squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’ll bring her to you, alive. You can do anything you want with her court,” Arthur tried a different approach, tears forming in his eyes at the sight of Merlin in this state. “You can make her pay for what she’s done, make her feel the same pain. But please, Merlin,” Arthur begged, stroking Merlin’s face as tears fell on the man’s face. “Stay with me. Keep talking.”

Merlin opened his eyes at Arthur’s request, pain painting them a disorientating blue. “It hurts, Arthur. She did so, so many horrible things,” Merlin admitted in the burning parlor room. He reached out angry scarred arms to wrap around Arthur, pulling the king flush against his chest. “Everything aches, it feels like I’m being burned alive.” Merlin had Arthur in a death grip, there was barely enough room for either of them to breathe. It felt like home.

“They will pay, this I swear,” Arthur made an oath, kissing Merlin to make it true. “By the end of this day their bodies will be put on display for all to see.” He kissed down Merlin’s neck, burying Le Lubrique’s queen’s markings with his own. “Do you want her kingdom as well, Merlin? Say the word and it's yours.”

“I want you. I want her gone. I want her kingdom. I want it all,” Merlin’s mind was spinning with searing fever, screaming pain, and the constant pleasure of Arthur licking at his throat. He squeezed Arthur’s neck with his shaking arms. “Give me everything.”

In a burning parlor of a dying country with a queen and court that abandoned it, the first king of Camelot made a vow to the second king; an apology and a promise. Everything the licking fire was eating, everything destroyed by its own queen; the country, and the sea that surrounded it. The never ending farmlands, the people that survived, and the bones that would be buried by ash of its own making. The entire kingdom; dead, dying, or thriving. All of it would be Merlin’s.

All of it is Merlin’s.

“My king shall have everything.”

[xhanisai]

Oooh I'd love to give you a mariblanc prompt but I'm afraid I can only come up with this and I'm not sure it doesn't count more as marichat:

Chat learns about the events of Chat Blanc (more importantly—him killing ladybug/Marinette) by maybe looking into a portal from a new villain and the terror he feels leads to him getting acumatized again, turning into chat blanc once more but in the current present and Marinette has to go against him all over again?

Basically chat transforms back into chat blanc and Mari is having a bad day...again

A/N: I'm gonna tweak this prompt ju-uuuust a bit cos I've written something similar already last year :) Regardless, I hope you enjoy this~

AO3 / FFN

~(x)~ . . . "Why...why aren't you running away from me!?" . Though he snapped out of Le Papillon's control earlier on, he still gravely struggled with the ferocious power of destruction that threatened to ooze out of his fingertips and cause more calamity in their city and continue to make the death toll rise. The only emotions that ransacked throughout his body and mind were immense fear, raging anger and continuous self-loathing after the things he's seen... ...and the things he's repeated. All while trying his everything to battle his internal war where the rampaging rogue akuma within ordered him to "destroy", like sharp nails scratching on a blackboard and building up his foreign craving for bloodlust and decay. What little sanity he had left was merely a sluggish dam against the waterfall of hysteria that was ready to devour him in the worst way possible. It was ironic honestly; towards the end, he became what he strived not to be. And now he was going to end up killing the love of his life all over again. "...R-Run...please..." Chat Blanc begged, claws digging into the crumbled, concrete floor where he was kneeling with an agonising grimace. The pulse of eradication clenched his entire being like a chain, demanding to be let out and wreak even more havoc, unsatisfied with only pummelling half of the city into nothing. "More! Destroy more!" It demanded like a viral entity, coursing more anguish through the poor boy's veins and forcing him to collapse on the floor and scream in even more pain. Quite similar to an absolutely, frightened creature being brutally tased to death. "DESTROY THE CITY! DESTROY THE WORLD!" The poor hero was now clutching his head, sinking his lethal claws through his scalp and then blood started to pool from the wounds, staining his pure white locks in a horrific crimson tinge. . "If you think I'm going to run away, you have another thing coming!" The sound of Marinette's determined voice broke him out of his violent stupor, the scarily resilient girl marching towards him and gracefully avoiding all the obstacles in her way, ranging from dangerous building residues to razer sharp debris. The corrupted hero gaped at her momentarily, his ice-blue eyes constricted and his muscles tensed whilst her sky blues shone with conviction, her deep black hair flying around behind her, courtesy on the wild wind that shot through her direction. Her hair was down just like...that timeline. Except, everything was also so very different.

And suddenly, he felt a small ray of hope bloom in his chest. "No matter what happens, no matter how many times that despicable, cowardly man forces you to do his bidding, I'll always be here to save you, Chat Noir!" She vowed without any hesitance, boldly getting down to his level and heaving him up to his knees by the arms with a strength that could rival her masked alter-ego. Despite her torn, tattered clothes that hung limply off her frame, despite the numerous lacerations and cuts and bruises she received prior whilst trying to help him as Ladybug, despite the fact that she's ended up facing him as an akuma twice, Never has she looked stronger than she did now. "So please, come back to me, mon Chaton," Her beautiful smile was like the cure to his disease, her presence was like innocence in the blighted city and her touch, oh, when she cradled his hands so wonderfully and brought them against her chest, he felt purified. "I...I...I don't want to hurt you...not again..." "You won't," "Marinette..." "Adrien," Before he could even blink... ...She kissed him. And everything went black. . The sound of Parisians celebrating and crying with joy and the warmth of another body holding him against them was what roused Chat Noir awake. His eyes flickered open, revealing soft, emerald greens that reflected the face of the person he loves more than life itself. His lips parted, as if he couldn't tell whether he was dreaming or not, a timid, clawed hand coated in black, reached for her face, grazing his fingers against her jaw with awe. The awe then turned into a brilliant smile, tears of joy pooling in his eyes and a quiet laugh breaking out of his lips, "Marinette...you did it...you saved us...you saved us all..." "Only because you came back to me," . . . ~(x)~

[laurore-stormwitch]

It’s almost impossible to write anything that it’s not angs for these two. but i had this funny triumvirate interaction in my head for a while so here it is, i put it directly after my previous fic “we will fight for you”. hope you like this soft/funny take too! 

blissful mornings - AO3

___________________________________________________________

Nikolai opened his eyes slowly, catching back his consciousness with each blink; he took a breath as things went into focus, dimly aware of his surroundings. Blue walls painted like waves of a storm-swept sea, lit up by the first rays of sun casting away the night. It was almost dawn, by the reddish and golden light outside the windows. He made to turn on his side, but realized he was curled around someone. The scent of wildflowers clouded him.

Zoya. He was in Zoya’s room. In Zoya’s rumpled sheets, to be precise.  

It took a moment for the events of the previous night to crowd his mind, scrambling his thoughts. Another itching breath made his way out of his lungs as he tried to steady the frantic beating of his heart, shaken by the sheer enormity of what happened. His arm was resting on Zoya’s waist, still asleep at his side, warm and peaceful. She was laying with her back to him: he watched her chest slowly go up and down with each breath, the curve of her neck still so close to his lips, black hair grazing his cheeks. He pulled her tighter in an instinct, burying his nose on her skin lightly, feeling as if he wanted to drown in her, that this dream would vanish if he let her go. She trembled at his touch, stirring in the covers, slowly awakening. Zoya turned on her back with a sigh, leaning her head slightly towards him. Her eyelids fluttered open as she drifted out of sleep.

“You move too much in your sleep, Nikolai.”

She mumbled, slightly annoyed, closing her eyes again. Nikolai smiled against her neck, brushing his lips on her ear, skimming on her arm with his fingers. He felt her all over him, inside him, everywhere. Nikolai knew he was never going to have enough of this, of her. Never was he going to have enough of his name escaping her slightly parted lips with that lethal softness.

“I thought you were an early riser. All the pre-dawn trek to the Grand Palace ought to have given you some routine.”

Zoya huffed, moving on her side and prompting herself up on one arm, stretching her back. She tossed her hair over one shoulder. Nikolai looked at her in awe; he felt the air being snatched out of his lungs. The only coherent thought he managed to grasp was that this was most definitely going to be his undoing.

He had grown used to see Zoya in her blue kefta uniform. They spent so much time together in the past years that she had become a familiar gaze, something that sounded like home. Even when he met her, her beauty was not the first thing he noticed. Not that he was going to deny being struck by her appearance, but not in the way every other man seemed to be. Nikolai had been way more fascinated about the persona she built around herself, the way she gracefully conducted herself with other people, walking through the palace as if she owned every single wall of it, always ready, always sharp. So her beauty kind of went in the background. And he made a point not be distracted by it, to get adjusted to the sight of her in the silk kefta.

The first time he saw her in a gown, well, that had been challenging, to say the least. It wasn’t a common sight: Zoya liked to always play the general, even at official events. Which meant she usually kept her kefta, maybe more elaborate ones, with precious embroidery and jewels. The first time she resorted to a gown was the winter fete they threw on the first year of Nikolai’s reign. He had to admit that when she walked inside the ballroom it took him a while more than usual to regain himself. She looked every inch like a queen, in a floor-length dress that hugged every curve of her body, her neck bare and her hair tied up in an elaborate updo. That had been a tiring night, forcing himself not to stare. And that was something he definitely didn’t get used to: he just learned to hide his reactions and manage to act like he wasn’t struck by her un-earthly attire every time they threw a ball.

But this moment. This what was bound to take him to his knees.

Because Zoya now didn’t look like a queen, like a general, or even like a saint. She looked like a girl; granted, the dreamiest girl he could ever lay eyes, but still a girl, and that almost brought him to tears. She could’ve been taken from a painting: as she brought herself up, the waves of her hair moved like a waterfall on her shoulders, delicately brushing the scars on her back as she tilted her head up towards the sunrise. Her bare skin was glowing, scarcely covered by the sleeveless nightgown she wore, wrinkled around her body, silver like the moonlight and the beads he picked up every now and then and kept in his pockets. And when she opened her eyes and turned to him, Nikolai swore his heart stopped in its track. Zoya cast him a look that was utterly unguarded, in a disarming way he thought he was never going to see her. In a way he never knew her. Her eyes were pools of a deep ocean, calm and serene. They were alive with a light both tender and passionate; he could see the steel that forged her in that light, the fire inside her. A faint smile tugged her lips as she locked those impossibly clear eyes with his. She is happy, he realized with a bolt of crushing desire and warmth. He had seen her laugh before, he had seen her smile, but not like this. This was pure, untouched, sincere.  

Nikolai knew with an unwavering certainty that he could have spent a thousand lifetimes fighting just to see this look on her again. That this was the Zoya that loved fiercely and moved mountains and let her soul be seen. Love is the only thing worth waging a war for, Ehri told him. She wasn’t that far from the truth. This, this was the thing for which he would face the Fjerdans, the Shu, whoever came their way. This was the thing he searched for all his troubled life, all the times he had wanted more. More life, more love, more adventure, more excitement, more safety and trust. He found it in her.

It lasted for a moment, not more. In a slip instant, Zoya seemed to catch herself back again, her look hardening just what was necessary. But for Nikolai, it was enough. Enough to know he was lost, that Zoya was not only the tether he gripped to relinquish the demon, but the very thread that tied him to reality.

“Why are you staring at me?”

He smiled, catching her wrist and pulling her down on the pillows. She made no move to protest as he circled his arms around her, combing her tangled hair through his fingers.

“You’re less ruthless in the morning, Nazyalensky.”

She rolled her eyes and brought her hand at the base of his neck, releasing a breath. Her voice was a bit shaky. Everything about this was so completely overwhelming, he realized, for the both of them. Her eyes darkened as she delicately brushed the back of his head.

“Did I hurt you last night?” He gave a brief shook and held her closer.

“Not at all. Besides, I kind of deserved it. I’m awfully obnoxious when I put my mind to it.”

“Did Nikolai Lantsov just admit he’s insufferable?”

“I can be at times. But I’d take a small concussion for a night with you all over again.”

She flinched a little. He knew it was soon to joke about this, but he also knew he needed to be the one to make her believe in him, and in them. He needed to deserve her, and he had an unshakable resolve to do it. As good as he was with words, declarations seemed to only bring her uneasiness. So instead of talking her out of her mind, he did the next best thing he could think of and drew her in a for a kiss. It was soft and delicate, nothing like the hunger and the despair with which they explored each other the first time. Zoya leaned in without resistance and he felt her tension decrease. When he sensed her relax, he drew away an inch, both breathless.  

“That’s not playing fair.”

“Never said I would.” She exhaled, placing another kiss on his lips and giving him a firm look.

“You should go back, Nikolai, the sun is almost up. Tolya and Tamar are going to kill you, if they don’t already believe someone kidnapped you.”

There was no sharpness in her voice; Zoya was matter of factly, ever the general with a care on the fact that besides being Nikolai, he was the King too. He relished in her speaking to him so gently; still, he didn’t have the slightest will to get up from this bed and leave her. The thought of his guards didn’t cross his mind, but she was right. Nikolai didn’t tell them where he was going last night when he stormed out of his room, and he never got back. The twins probably spent hours looking for him. He groaned.

“They are going to kill me.”

She smiled, shaking her head. It was an insecure smile, almost as if she was trying to get used to down her walls a bit around him. He had half a mind to find a practical way to make her give up on her resolve, but as if they could read their thoughts, someone knocked lightly on the door in that instant. They heard Tamar clear her throat, much to Nikolai’s disappointment.

“Zoya? Are you awake?”

Zoya widened her eyes pulling herself up abruptly. Nikolai tried to hold her back by her waist, but she shot him an intimidating glare, keeping her voice steady.

“Yes, Tamar. Is everything alright?”

“We can’t find Nikolai. Is he…uhm, have you seen him by chance?”

This time, it was Zoya who groaned, untangling herself from Nikolai’s arms. She got up quickly, searching frantically for her kefta while tumbling towards the door. She stilled in front of it, turning to Nikolai, still lazily spread on her sheets perfectly at ease, dropping her voice to a worried whisper.

“What do we do?”

Nikolai smirked. She was going to hate this. And he was about to have an even more delightful morning than it had already been. He pulled himself up, cleared his throat too and raised his tone.

“I’m here, Tamar. We’ll be out in a second.” He answered to his guard. Zoya glared at him.

“Seems I am the one who’s going to commit regicide after all.” Hissed Zoya, casting him a look that clearly conveyed how serious her threat was. She tossed him his shirt, buttoning her rumpled kefta. “Put something on before I struck you with a lightning.”

They didn’t look remotely presentable, and Zoya was in a panic. A delightful morning indeed. She smoothed her clothes and tried to fix her hair in a desperate attempt before opening the door to her sitting room where the twins were waiting for them. They were nowhere near preoccupied, which left Nikolai with the suspicion they had known exactly where he had been the whole time. Tolya was sitting in a chair skimming through a poetry book, while Tamar was perched on the table flexing her axes. When they emerged, she waved a mischievous grin at them.

“Oh, there you are. We brought you some tea.”

Nikolai leaned on the wall, glancing briefly at Zoya at his side. She crossed her arms with an unnerved look. Where her cheeks turning a different shade of pink? Was Zoya Nazyalensky blushing? His mood improved even more.

“I’m sorry if I worried you. I didn’t mean to have you search the whole palace for me.”

“It’s our duty, Your Highness. What matters is that you’re safe.” Replied Tolya respectfully, giving Nikolai a nod. Tamar, on the other hand, didn’t have her brother gift for propriety.

“Oh, please.” She outright laughed in their faces, jumping down from the table and pinning her weapons on her side. “Like we’ve actually run all night to find you. We came straight here. And the guards said you dismissed them, so it was not that hard to put two and two together.”

“Well, I guess that’s why you’re the head of my intelligence.”

Nikolai couldn’t stop himself and winked at her. He heard Zoya made an exasperate sound beside him. At this rate, she was going to unleash a storm on their friends too. While he was caught up with the fact that they knew about the two of them, she was still fortified in her conviction that she had been perfectly subtle. He leaned closer, discreetly brushing a hand on her back to keep her calm, giving her a reassuring look. As she caught his eyes, he saw her shoulders beginning to ease, and everything would have gone smoothly if at that precise moment the door wouldn’t have slammed open again. Genya stomped in the room with David trotting absentmindedly behind her, head buried in some documents.

“Zoya! I hope you are up we have so…”

As her gaze turned upward, she fell silent and stopped in the middle of the room, shooting them a confused look. David almost stumbled on her, blinked twice and then immediately gave up on understanding what was happening. He slumped in a chair, while Genya’s attention travelled from the twins and lingered on Nikolai and Zoya, on their messy appearance and Nikolai’s hand still gently laid on Zoya’s lower back. She widened her amber eye, and Nikolai saw how she hardly contained herself from giggling. Nikolai grinned; Zoya seemed to realize how much they were giving away and batted his hand.

“So, are we having a party here that I didn’t know about this early in the morning?”

Genya was digging for her own grave, apparently. Nikolai was about to try and salvage the situation, but Tamar was quicker.

“Well, if there’s a party those two are the only ones having fun.”

This time, Nikolai shot her a warning look. He heard the air crackle lightly; Zoya was not inclined to mockery as much as him, and the flashes of last night breakdown were still nitid.  But their friends were not going to let the occasion slip after all these months. And to be honest, he was indeed having a lot of fun. Worst comes worst it was their turn for being swept by a gust of wind. Genya had a smug look on her face, clearly immensely satisfied by how things were turning out. She turned to Tamar, opening her hand towards her.

“Pay up. It seems I have won.”

“Did you bet on me?”

Zoya’s high-pitched voice interrupted them. Nikolai was extremely amused. If he knew there was a bet going around, he would’ve probably weighed in too.

“Not just us!” Protested Genya, equally outraged, as if this was bound to make it sound better. “Don’t get angry at me. Nadia was on this too. And Tolya didn’t want to bet but he still pitched in his support!” She accused, pointing her finger at the giant.

“I don’t play money on other people’s lives. That doesn’t mean I’m not a keen observer and I can’t help others win.” The twin excused himself, prompting his hands up.

David emerged from his papers looking at Nikolai with resignation. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but you know I don’t interfere with these things.”

“That means I lost to Nadia too!” Tamar whined.

A thunder rolled over the room, making them startle and effectively silencing all of them. They turned to Zoya, who stood with her palms open upside, electricity sparking from her skin, and a threatening smile on her face.

“So, that shut you up.” She said with a delighted tone. She put her hands together behind her back, straightening her spine and drawing the power away. “Now, if Genya is done ridiculing my personal life, can we go on with the business of the day?”

“You’re so prickly, Zoya. Always killing the entertainment.” Genya scoffed at her after a moment of surprise. She glanced and Nikolai: she was practically beaming with contentment. They all took a sit; Genya poured tea from the samovar while Tolya peered in David’s work and Tamar opened some maps. They purposefully turned their backs on Nikolai and Zoya, leaving them a moment to collect themselves. Nikolai chuckled and tried to stiffen a laughter with a poorly executed cough. Zoya’s gaze snapped to him so fast he thought he heard the bone crack.

“If you let out so much as a whisper about how you are enjoying this, I’m going to burn you alive.”

Despite the snarky words, her eyes were lit up with affection. The image of her half-dressed and unguarded flooded his mind. Nikolai waved a glowing smile at her and curled a hand on her cheek. She exhaled a long breath, leaning to his touch and closing her eyes. Having Zoya so trusting in his hands was intoxicating; every time she did this, it was like coming back to life, and it made his breath itch and his heart ache with joy. Knowing she would break his arm if he’d done a more prominent sign of affection, he only grazed his thumb on her lips, already yearning to be alone with her. Would this pull towards her he felt ever diminish? His skin was on fire where he touched her, and he barely kept himself restrained.

“What do you say we leave our friends alive for now? And keep the rest for later?”

She cast her eyes heavenward but returned the smile and squeezed his hand briefly.

“Fine. Let’s drive this saint forsaken country out of the mud.”

The determined looks of the general and the ruler slipped back into their places, the fire and the steel rumbling in her eyes. He gestured her to take her seat beside him, looking at a room full of the people he cared for the most; he knew how fragile this peace was. That the Fjerdans were waiting for them with an army, that they had their worst nightmare chained up in a cell in the palace. That he still needed to figure things out with Zoya, be sure of his alliance with Ehri. But all those things seemed like nothing, right now. Because he also knew that with them at his side, they could survive. That the memory of the first morning sun grazing Zoya’s bare back would give him the strength to defy each and every one of his enemies. He put his hands on the table and turned to his friends with a cocky grin on his face.

“So, who do we get to fight today?”