#cw wartime

[redd956]

Mini Whump Prompt 120

"It... hurts..."

The human crew stared at the military weapon in disbelief. Surely, this was an act. They wanted it to be one, especially as the seconds passed and the supossed weapon began to writhe.

[historyandarthijinks]

Something about the level of coverage of the russo-ukrainian war here, matched with the nothing about the horrific progression of the Armenian genocide makes me ill actually

That's how I know this is a primaryly USAmerican website

[dezertvideogames]

10 Games that take war seriously

Battlefield 1

Spec Ops: The Line

Six Days in Fallujah

Enlisted

Battlefield V

Metro 2033

Ready or Not

Hell Let Loose

Command Ops 2

War in the East

[biibopping]

its poetry in motion!

[gentleeclipsey]

I still draw Jackie a bunch, she just comes in so many flavors, for some reason she just has the fraggle tail now tho

Of course Wartime gets a winter coat, how else is that lil shit supposed to keep the husband warm?

[redd956]

Read this!

It deserves all the eyes

Is a Mission Truly Over?

[I would think this is set after some mission where he had to go solo and save hostages. Without going into excruciating detail, I will leave it ambiguous as to what really happened during. All that matters is what happened after. Enjoy!]

Tagging: @thethistlegirl , @cpt-winters , @redd956 , @i-eat-worlds , @ocean-blue-whump , @technom0ose , @actress4him

Tw: blood, mention of war, angst

There is something tranquil when the silence becomes deafening; the sounds of life and war coming to a halt met with glee. But after such scenarios come to light, there is always a caveat. One that makes its existence known to Bruno when he barges into the bathroom, out of breath, ragged and hoarse.

Leaning over the porcelain sink, he tries to catch the air that escapes him every moment, staring at the beautiful white become marred with droplets of blood. His ears focus in on the sound it makes when it hits the sink.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He goes to wipe his face, but his hand returns red, the gore appearing so apparent. Eyes dart up to make eye contact with his reflection, and he can barely recognize who's standing there. Eyes of the bluest pigment that brings shame to the oceans stare back at him, pupils dilated and for a moment, it reminds him of looking into the eyes of a scared boy; afraid to take the plunge into the cruel world.

His uniform in tatters from the array of obstacles, bullets, razor wire, and attack dogs. He can still feel the sensation of a demon biting down hard on his arm, the blood freely flowing along to gravity's tune. Closing his eyes, he bows his head, mumbling to himself, "It's over. It's over. It's finally over..."

But it's never over. He needs to get rid of all the crimson on his hands, and so he turns on the water to the hottest temperature, ignoring the searing burn while he scrubs himself, trying to get rid of all the memories, all the pain, and all the evidence. It won't go away, however. It never does, and it never will. Scalding water doesn't even penetrate the surface of his mess, and he grits his teeth, tears forming.

"Go away... please, go away... I just want to go home."

And when it won't go away, he looks back up at the mirror, expecting to see his reflection. Instead, there's a smiling monster, clapping their hands while the wet slap of blood fills the room. "Aren't you glad it's over? You killed them all, Bruno. Did you save everyone? Or did your justice backfire?"

"No! Go away!"

Scrubbing even harder over his knuckles, the marks and blood still won't wash off. Heart pounding and the crashing waves so far away, he's falling off the deep end. He can't keep doing this. How long can he keep going? How far are they willing to make him go? Will he ever be the same man he was before they turned him into...

This?

"Admit it: you just want a reason to be fucked up. Do you think you'd be forgiven? Are you worth it?"

He's not worth it. He will never be worth it. Never worth the lives he saved or the lives he took. And that is a curse he will live with. He can't stand the voice talking back to him, and his blood boils just enough to make a stand.

"I said GO AWAY!"

Without even a second to hesitate, Bruno buries his fist into the mirror, shattering it and letting the bits of the pane shower around him. He tilts his head back, trying to hold back his sorrows, but he belts out the loudest cry of anguish he can, hoping someone can wake him from his nightmare.

[tybenadryl]

currently unnamed touhou oc inspired by the jubokko youkai - also trying a new brush

[betweenthetimeandsound]

Tenderness in a Time of Calamity

--prompt from @imperial-poetry-prompts

A kiss from a rose is nothing but a song, yet I could feel its pedals, taunting me

with its rustling and penetrating colors, wanting a chance to trap a person in their thorns.

The gardens open up, but only to consume its naïve children--the winner emerges from the thorns with only one arm and three bullets in hand.

Artillery fire rings out, and it all burns. Not with the explosive sparks accompanying white phosphorus, but with a contentious grace, like walking on a live wire.

Fire burns an olive tree, tearing a stray branch-- but the seeds scatter across my hands,

trembling. They drop the rose which survived the blaze, letting the flames consume its rancid form, and disappear.

A bullet comes for me before I could recognize the value which tenderness could behold. --Elda Mengisto

[willsdreamgirl]

“morning mr. shelby.” — tommy shelby x reader ⋆｡˚

tommy shelby x fem!reader

you meet tommy as a nurse during the war, but happens when he realizes that he’s known you all along? (loosely based around some s1 plot points, but all set before the war)

18+ minors dni please! angst, fluff and smut

cw: mentions of war, shooting, stabbing, suturing, ptsd, friends to lovers, eventual smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), slight breeding kink

word count: 5.4k+ (sorry lmao)

a/n: ahh first fic alert!! i’m so excited for you guys to read this! don’t be a ghost reader and lmk if you want to be added to my tag list for future tommy/cillian stuff!! 💌

you met tommy shelby during the war. he was a soldier, you were a wartime nurse. before the war, you had obviously heard of him. tommy shelby, leader of the fucking peaky blinders. arrogant bastards.

you lived in small heath, and everyday you’d pass him on the street. and everyday, you’d smile and say, “morning, mr. shelby.” and everyday, he would barely look up at you. you were sure he wasn’t even aware of your existence. prick.

your parents had always told you to stay away from the shelby boys. your dad would say that “they’re dangerous and make whores out of innocent girls” and your mum would make some comment about “the shelby men and their stupid cocks and their stupid judgements”.

they were the most intimidating people in all of small heath, possibly in all of birmingham. truth be told, there was a certain charm to them that you couldn’t shake off. well, to one of them. tommy shelby. you couldn’t tell if it was because he was your age, or because he was powerful and strong, or simply because he was strictly off limits. or because of his piercing blue eyes.

everyone in small heath knew tommy. but you knew tommy. he didn’t know you, though. you could tell if was him by the way he exhaled or by the sound of his footsteps or by the way he held a cigarette in his hand, the peaked cap on his head, a hand in his coat pocket. you despised tommy shelby, but god, was he fucking irresistible.

when men were drafted for the war in france, it was common sense that they’d need someone to tend to their cuts and bruises. you’d decided to volunteer, and after a couple weeks of training, you were right there, in the field. practicing on dolls and bags of rice and flour was nothing compared to what you saw. what you heard.

your first day in france was… eventful, to say the least. some commander had led you to the medical tent, and you were welcomed by the screams of hurt soldiers, blood and panic. you were immediately assigned to a patient, who’d been shot in the chest. you tried your best, did everything you could have, but ultimately, he had just lost too much blood. you didn’t sleep that night, haunted by the bloodshed, by the pleas of the soldier to keep him alive, by the feeling of someone else’s blood on your hands. over time, however, you grew accustomed to having your pristine white uniform soiled with blood and mud.

a month or so after you’d started, you heard shouts outside the tent. “help! someone HELP, for FUCK’s SAKE!” this was a regular occurrence, but the voice the shouts came from didn’t sound wounded. you felt an instinctual need to go see what it was.

what you saw, though, was something you never expected to see. tommy shelby, with a comrade’s head in his lap, putting pressure on a wound in his shoulder. without hesitating, you helped tommy drag the soldier to a vacant bed in the tent. “what happened?” you asked, hurriedly. tommy was visibly panicked. “i- he- um, he got st-stabbed by… one of the germans… his name’s danny- daniel.” you looked in tommy’s eyes, trying to give him some semblance of comfort. “he’ll be okay.” you applied pressure on the wound, and luckily, the blood stopped flowing soon. you cleaned the wound up and looked to tommy. “i’m gonna have to disinfect the wound with alcohol, you might want to hold daniel down for this.” daniel was still delirious from the blood loss, but the pain would be excruciating. tommy braced himself. his hands firmly holding down daniel’s. you nodded before tipping the bottle over on the wound. danny thrashed around on the bed, screaming and cursing, struggling against tommy’s hold. you heard his voice over danny’s. “you’re alright, lad! y’er gonna be fine!”

tommy sat by his friend’s bedside as he came to. you tended to other patients in the meantime but eventually went over to talk to him. “i want to keep him here for the night, mr. shelby. make sure there’s no infection.” he looked at you, surprised you knew him. “you know who i am?” “of course i do, all of small heath knows you. what i didn’t expect was to have a run-in with you, here in france.” he scoffed at his own misery and spoke. “you don’t belong here. you should be home.” you rolled your eyes, even in his state, he managed to be cocky. “if i wasn’t here today, mr. shelby, who would save danny?” that seemed to shut him up. he was about to speak, before you heard your name from the other side of the tent. “y/n, we need you!” after having helped a soldier who looked like he had been mauled, you looked out to see it was nightfall, and tommy had left.

a couple days later, at about noon, john shelby, the youngest of the shelby brothers walked in, clutching his arm tightly. “do you need help, mr. shelby?” you called out. “yes, i-i’ve been shot.” he all but whispered. you rushed over with a tray of distilled alcohol, forceps and bandages. after an afternoon of agony and pain, you had finally managed to pull out the bullet form his arm, john’s face a clear representation of his relief. “oh my god love, if we were home, i’d marry you right now.” you laughed at the proposition. “mr. shelby, i think you’re still a bit delirious from the anaesthesia. besides, i’m your brother’s age.” he looked shocked. “what, you’re arthur’s age? really?? you look nothing like that old prick.” you couldn’t help but laugh yet again. “i’m not that old, jesus. i’m tommy’s age.” he sighed. “marry him then. lord knows he needs a girl.” you giggled as you gathered your things and walked away. “you amuse me far too much, mr. shelby.”

it felt like ages had passed before you saw tommy again. your back was towards the tent entrance but you knew who had walked in. his breath trembled and his footsteps felt a bit unsteady, but it was undoubtedly him. you waited to turn until he called out your name. “y/n, is it?” you turned around, to find his face and shirt covered in blood. “mr. shelby! what happened?” you rushed over to him, taking his hand and sitting his down on a bed. “i- i… killed a man today, y/n.” he looked down, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. you didn’t respond, simply got up and grabbed a stitching kit and a bowl of warm water. “is all this blood yours?” was your first question. “no. most of it is his.” you sighed and searched his face to find a cut on his cheekbone, the source of his own bleeding. “i’m wiping away the blood now, okay?” tommy gulped and nodded, his eyes still trained on the ground. “mr. shelby, i want you to look at me.” it was as if he didn’t hear you. you spoke again, softer yet more authoritative this time. “tommy. look at me.” he finally brought himself to look into your eyes. in his eyes, you saw guilt, regret and fear. in yours, he saw compassion, love and a warmth that could engulf all his pain. “good.” you whispered. you wrung out a washcloth and began wiping the blood away from his face, using your other hand to hold his chin in place. his arms found themselves wrapped around your waist, in an attempt to ground himself. you didn’t say anything, but your eyes told him that you didn’t mind. in that moment, you saw a different version of tommy shelby. you didn’t see ‘tommy, the criminal’, ‘tommy, the gangster’ or ‘tommy, the womanizer’. you saw tommy, a good man, an honest man. you felt his arms tighten around your waist as you pulled your hands away from his face, as if he was afraid you would dissipate into thin air. “tommy.” you whispered. “i’m gonna have to stich that wound up. it might hurt.” but he didn’t mind pain, not if you were the one inflicting it. “okay.” he spoke, his voice deep. he rubbed circles into your skin with his thumbs, the pain making him hum. “sorry, almost done.” you finished the last stitch. “there. you’re all fixed.” tommy held you like that, his hands around your waist, icy blue eyes staring into yours. your arms rested on his shoulders and you leaned down to whisper to him. “tommy. people are staring.” “so? let them.” eventually, he reluctantly pulled away from you. “it’s time for dinner, and then lights out.” he smiled as he spoke, and slowly exited the tent, catching a glimpse of you as he left.

needless to say, you only grew closer over the next few weeks. you were inseparable. whenever tommy had free time, he’d make his way to the familiar tent, and talk to you. it was wartime. you were left hurt and traumatized and so was he, but you both found solace in each other’s company. you told him how you knew him, and how you’d wish him good morning every day, only to receive complete silence from him each time. he chuckled and apologized. he told you about the peaky blinders, what they did, how they ran their business. you bonded over your shared hunger for knowledge and stories. you told him everything you knew about art, history and literature; and he told you stories of fighting gangs in the streets and stealing contraband. his stories were always more thrilling than yours. you’d try to set each other up with people for fun. you’d introduce him to every nurse, telling them how he was fighting for his country, and of course, they fell prey to his charming eyes and dashing smile. they’d ask what he did back home, and as soon as you said the words ‘gangster’, they’d run in the opposite direction. he’d done the same for you. introduced you to other soldiers, and when you spoke to them, about art and literature, they’d call you ‘unladylike’ or ‘too ambitious for a man’. you both secretly liked it this way, it was like you were his and he was yours.

when he became sergeant major, you both celebrated together. he’d brought you a bottle of whiskey, and you spent the night, talking and giggling drunkenly. but soon, he was assigned to be a sapper and dig tunnels. you both knew that the germans were going to dig their own tunnels, and at some unfortunate point, the tunnels would converge. both of you realized the danger it held, but he had to do it. you tried to talk him out of it, though. “tommy, please!” “y/n, calm down.” “goddamn it tommy, think! you’re gonna get yourself killed! what the fuck are you doing?” “i’ll be alright.” “no, you won’t! what if you get hurt? what if they shoot at you, huh? i won’t be there underground to make sure you’re okay!” “y/n, i have to serve my country. i have to do this.” “tommy. i’m begging you, don’t do this.” he simply sighed and kissed your forehead and held your face in his hands. you held tightly onto his wrists as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. “shhh, i’ll be alright. in fact, i’ll write you.” you seemed to calm down at the idea of him writing you. at least you’d be updated on his condition.

the morning he went down to the tunnels, he came to see you. you were sorting gauze and bandages when you felt his presence near you. you turned around and ran to hug him. he buried his face in your neck and breathed you in. you could feel tears brimming your eyes. neither of you knew why you felt like this. you were just friends, right? “tommy michael shelby, i swear to god if you die, i’ll kill you myself.” you heard him chuckle. he took a step back and caressed your cheek. “you take care, darling.” you wished he wouldn’t leave, but in your heart, you knew he had to. a few hours after, you found a letter tucked under a book on your desk. you curiously pulled it out and opened it.

dearest y/n,

i know how much you hate that i’m going to be a sapper now. i want you to know, no matter what happens down there, i care for you, and i love you, unconditionally. i’ve loved you since the day i first met you. i can’t believe i was looking for love in whores and prostitutes when the love of my fucking life was saying the sweetest good morning to me every morning. i’ll protect myself, and i want you to protect yourself too since i can’t do that for the time being. if we survive this wretched war, i want to take you home, ask your father for your hand and marry you, sweetheart. you take care of yourself, alright?

all my love,

tommy shelby.

you couldn’t help but gasp at what you read. he loved you. tommy shelby loved you. the same tommy shelby that was too arrogant to say a word to you, the same tommy shelby that your parents told you to stay away from, the same tommy shelby was head over heels for you. you immediately looked for a piece of paper, a pen and some ink. you wrote a letter back and sent it with one of the workers heading down to the tunnels. you didn’t know what it was like down there, but you hoped your letters would keep him sane. meanwhile, tommy received your letter and opened it with the same enthusiasm you showed his letter. however, he was also filled with nervous energy. he had confessed his love for you, which was so incredibly out of character for him, but with shaky hands, he proceeded to open the letter.

dearest tommy,

to say that your letter was shocking would be an understatement. i never knew you felt this way for me. like i’ve told you on several occasions, my parents always told me to stay away from ‘your kind’ and as a good catholic girl, i obeyed them. but tommy, in these few months, i’ve seen a side of you i can’t ever forget. i love you too tommy, the real you. the honest, raw, genuine tommy that i get to see on late nights and in random moments on busy days. i’d love to marry you, just make it out alive of that damn tunnel, you prick.

only yours,

y/n.

tommy felt his eyes welling up as he read the words you had penned on the paper. it had been so long since he’d seen you, or heard your voice. he wanted you. he needed you. to keep him stable and sane. as the days passed, your and tommy’s letter exchange became more and more frequent, and you felt like even if you were in this goddamned lawless land of blood and chaos, you had tommy. and he was all you needed.

that was, until the letters slowed down. you kept writing him, but to no avail. he hadn’t sent you a letter in days, or weeks, you weren’t sure anymore. you’d almost lost hope, and spent entire nights grieving him. trying to remember the sound of his voice, the feeling of his hands on your waist, the smell of his cologne. you hadn’t heard his breath or felt his footsteps in a long time. the pain was almost unbearable, and some days felt like decades. but the only thought that kept you going was that you saw tommy in all the wounded soldiers you treated. they were someone’s tommy. and they needed to get home alive.

4 months. 4 whole months since you heard from tommy. you were convinced he was dead now. you spent your days bandaging and stitching wounds, yet you could never fix the wound tommy left in your heart. it was one of the hottest afternoons, the french sun blazing unmercifully. you were insanely busy with patients today, the war was almost ending, and the soldiers needed to be fixed up before they could go home. yet, no sign of tommy. you sighed, cursing yourself for holding out hope now for someone who would not return.

“can i have a nurse here?” you could recognize that damn voice anywhere. the deep voice that filled your ears, smooth like honey, you’d recognize that voice at the end of the world. you turned around. tommy. “hi, love.” he smiled. but his smile quickly changed into a frown when he saw your sobs. you took him to a quieter corner of the tent. you stepped closer to him. he went to put his arms around you. you slapped him across the face. “where. the FUCK were you, thomas michael shelby?!” he was incredibly confused. “l- love, what?” “i thought YOU DIED, YOU BASTARD. where were you?” the time you spent apart had changed you, and from his response, you could tell it clearly changed him. “i was TRYING to fucking STAY ALIVE for YOU.” he raised his voice at you. he never raised his voice. neither of you spoke for a while and tension filled the air between the two of you. “i should leave.” he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. he left, and you let him.

after a few weeks, news broke that britain had won the war, and everyone went home. five years had passed since you last saw the familiar streets of small heath, and you were no longer a girl, but a woman. a woman who needed to get a job to survive in this city. you walked around and saw a flyer on the doors of the garrison. ‘BARMAID NEEDED.’ you walked in to find harry. he looked up pleasantly surprised. “y/n! haven’t seen you in a while, eh? what can i do you for?” “i’m here to get the barmaid job, harry.” he sighed.” y/n, this job isn’t suitable for a girl like you. these men, they’ve just come back from war, they haven’t seen a girl, let alone a pretty one like yourself, in ages. they’ll have you up against a wall within the first hour of your shift.” you looked at him desperately. “harry, please. i need this job, otherwise i’ll be out on the streets, which are surely worse than this pub. i was a nurse in france, i’ve dealt with these men. please?” he sighed again before nodding. “alright then, you start tomorrow.”

your first shift consisted of the usual alcoholics, men with ptsd, everything that was to be expected after a war. you hear the bells at the door ring as the familiar footsteps walk closer to the bar. without turning around, you ask, “what do you want?” he replies, “whiskey, scotc- y/n?” you finally turn around at the sound of your name falling from his lips. “yes, mr. shelby. so, scotch? on the house right?” he leans over so that just the two of you can hear. “don’t mr. shelby me. come on, love, talk to me.” “i have nothing to talk to you about.” as you poured him a glass of whiskey, he held your wrist assertively. “y/n. come.” you rolled your eyes and went to the shelby’s private booth. “what is it that you want, tommy?” “what the fuck do you mean ‘what do i want’? you, i want YOU. i need you. did ya lose your fucking mind in france like danny whiz-bang?” you felt your bottom lip trembling and your throat choking up. “i… i thought y- you were fucking dead. i mourned you. for MONTHS. i grieved over the death of the love of my life. of my future husband. of my future children that i’d have with him. and then, just as i’m making my peace with it, YOU have the fucking audacity to show up? you have some bloody nerve, tommy shelby.” the look in his eyes softened as he took a step closer to you. “no. don’t you dare come any closer to me, tommy, i’ll kill you.” you said, holding up the bottle of whiskey as a weapon. he embraced you, holding you tightly, his fingers stroking your hair. you resisted the hug and tried to push him away, only to find his grip on you getting tighter. “g- get away… from me, p- please… i- just” your voice came out muffled between sobs. tommy felt hot tears rolling down his own cheeks. “shhh, sweetheart. i’m okay, eh? i’m fine. i’m here, with you.” you dropped the bottle you were holding and it shattered into a million pieces on the ground. you stood there in his arms, crying for what felt like an eternity. you finally pulled away from him, and he wiped your tears with his thumbs. you laughed, but then lightly slapped his arm. “you scare me like that again, tommy, i swear i’ll kill ya.” “i’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead, and you rested your forehead against his. he tentatively closed the gap between your lips and his, and you pulled him by the collar and kissed him with enough force to make him trip and fall. he managed to stay steady and kissed you back with equal fervour. he spoke between kisses. “i *kiss* spent *kiss* every *kiss* second *kiss* thinking *kiss* of you.” you giggled. “i missed you too, tommy.”

he told harry that you’d be leaving the bar early that day, and dragged you out the bar while holding your hand, a smile on his face for the first time in a long time. “the great thomas shelby isn’t embarrassed to have a barmaid as his girlfriend?” you giggled. “never. and those who think i should be embarrassed can suck me cock.” he spoke proudly. he opened the car door for you, and you sat inside and waited for him to turn the ignition on. “where are we going, tommy?” “i want you to meet my family, love.” during the countless hours you spent together chatting, he told you about his family’s idiosyncrasies and stories about them. how arthur needed to be protected the most during fights because he was just as likely to hurt himself as he was to hurt someone else, how aunty pol’s instincts about love were never wrong, how john once fell in love with a prostitute and everyone laughed at him, how ada was the most rebellious and married a communist (who happened to be in of his best mates), and how finn always pretended to act like tommy, doing whatever his big brother did. you were excited to meet them of course, but anxious. they would be your family one day too.

he held your hand as he brought you in, everyone sitting around a table waiting for him. “does everyone just sit together like this?” you asked. “uh, no i called a family meeting for 3 pm.” tommy replied simply. “how did you know you’d be able to have me here by 3?” he winked at you. “i have my ways. and i know how much you love me.” he spoke in a singsong voice. you rolled your eyes at his schoolboy behaviour and waited for him to speak. “shelby’s, this is my girlfriend and soon to be fiancé, y/n.” he held his arm around your waist proudly, and you leaned up to kiss his cheek. you recognized arthur and john immediately from your time in the war. you assumed that the older woman was aunt polly, and the younger with the baby in her arms would be ada, leaving the youngest member of the family, finn. john came up to talk to you first, while tommy spoke with polly. “you know i didn’t really mean the ‘marry tommy’ thing?” you laughed as you replied, “i didn’t either, but fate works in weird ways, eh?” he agreed with you before talking to tommy. arthur was the next one to see you. “you and tommy, eh? if it wasn’t for the war, you two would probably never have met. i s’pose war isn’t all bad then.” “perhaps you’re right. i did find your brother to be arrogant before the war.” “that he is, y/n. that he is.” both of you looked over at him, engaged in conversation with everyone else. you fussed over the baby in ada’s arms. “awww, he’s precious! what’s his name?” “karl, after karl marx.” you shot her a look. “it’s unconventional, i know. but freddie really wanted it.” “it’s lovely.” finn rushed over to you and kissed your hand. you gushed exaggeratedly. “what a gentleman you are, finn!” “if tommy wasn’t here, you’d be my girlfriend, miss y/n.” you laughed at his childishness and ruffled his hair. “sure i would, finn.” the only person you hadn’t spoken to yet was aunt polly, arguably the most intimidating person of the family. “i have one question for you, y/n. how you answer it will determine if you’re fit for being a shelby. how do you think i kept this business up and running during the war?” you felt put on the spot but tried your best to answer. “um, well, to be quite frank, i’ve believed that women are better at business anyway. we know how to settle deals with whiskey and not fists or guns. and you seem like twice the man than most men i know anyway.” her lips twitched up into a smile as she looked to tommy. “oh, i like her already.” he held your hand in hers, and addressed tommy. “she seems like a lovely girl, do not fuck this up tommy.” tommy shook his head and laughed. “i’ll try, pol. i’ll try.”

you ate dinner with the shelby’s before you headed up to his house. “you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?” he asked for the hundredth time that night. “no tommy, i’m perfectly content spending the night with you. unless you’d like me to leave?” you questioned. “no no, stay, please!” he said, almost pleadingly. you looked around his bedroom when you reached his home. it was obviously a house, but it didn’t feel like a home. you frowned at your observation. “what’s wrong, y/n?” “this house isn’t a home yet, tommy.” “that’s because i want my first home to be with you. with our children. and as far as i’m concerned, you are my home.”

“care to dance?” he asked, holding out his hand. you looked at the gramophone in the corner. “that doesn’t look like it works, love.” you placed your hand in his. “so what? we can dance without music.” he said, holding your waist close to him, your hand on his shoulder. you leaned your head on his shoulder, both of you dancing in the silence, listening to the sound of each other’s breathing. “kiss me, tommy.” you whispered. he obeyed probably for the first time in his life and kissed your soft lips.

things escalated and you were now on tommy’s bed, tracing the sun tattoo on his chest, with him on top of you. “fuck me, tommy, please.” “your cunt wants this cock?” he growled. you moaned in his ear. “fuck, yes tommy, make me yours.” he stretched you out in the most blissful way. of course, you had used your fingers before, but nothing could replace the feeling of his cock. “god, please!” you moaned out, words slowly turning into incoherent sounds. tommy chuckled. “god can’t hear you now, sweetheart. not here.” he pistoned his hips into you just right and it wasn’t long before he found the spot inside you that made you scream. “t- tommy fuck! right there, please don’t stop!” “i wouldn’t dream of stopping, darling. my girl, so pretty all spread out for me. take it, love. take that cock.” the feeling of your impending orgasm coursed through your entire body, making you writhe in pleasure. “god, i’m so close tommy!” “good fucking girl.” his hand reached down to rub circles on your clit while he fucked you so good. “oh god, tommy, i’m not gonna be able to walk tomorrow…” “that’s the plan, sweetheart.” he spoke as he kissed hickeys on your neck, matching the ones you’d given him earlier. “come on love, make a mess on my cock.” as soon as he said that, you felt yourself falling apart, the tight band in your stomach snapping, uncontrollable moans of his name falling from your lips. “thank you tommy, thank you so much.” you moaned, drunk on the feeling of his cock inside you. “such an angel. who do you belong to, sweets?” he said, still pounding your cunt. “y- you, tommy. i belong to you!” “that’s right, sweetheart.” he whispered in your ear, “i love you, darling.” you moaned as you felt your second orgasm approaching. “tommy, fuck! i- i love you too!” “god i’m gonna cum inside you! you’d like that, eh? me getting you pregnant, all nice and round with my baby?” you felt your orgasm pulsing through you at his words. “yes, tommy! fill my womb up, please! i need it!” you heard tommy’s loud moans as he came inside you. “oh, such a good girl. took my cock so well, love.” tommy stayed on top of you for a while, his cock still inside you. “i’ve wanted to do that for five fucking years.” he spoke, voice muffled since his head was buried between your tits. you laughed, but the laughs quickly turned to moans as your sensitive cunt felt friction from tommy’s cock rubbing up against its walls. he pulled out of you slowly, watching his seed spill out of you. he eventually got up to get a warm washcloth and a glass of water for you. you drank the water as he cleaned you and himself up and pulled you into his chest. you pulled the covers over both of you, feeling your body flush against his. “that was amazing tommy, thank you.” “the pleasure is all mine, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead.

ever since tommy came back from france, he had these recurring nightmares every night. of his time in the tunnels. the germans. his comrades. how he had to kill people with his bare hands. he could still hear the shovels digging the tunnels when he closed his eyes. when he was with you though, he could finally fall asleep. or so he thought.

you were awoken in the middle of the night by the sounds of a gasping tommy, suddenly sitting up. you felt groggy for a moment, having just woken up, but quickly sprung into action. you sat next to him, rubbing his back. “tommy, what’s wrong?” he didn’t speak. but he didn’t need to. you’d seen enough cases of ptsd from your time in the war to know what was happening to him. “you still see it, eh?” he only nodded. you laid back down and pulled him into your chest. he protested. “what are y-” “shut up.” you could tell, he was still a bit frantic, his breath still heavy. you spoke to him in a soft tone and you played with his fingers, his head on your chest. “listen to me. listen to the sound of my voice. feel my body against yours. you are home. you are safe. the war is over. the nightmares are just parts of your mind trying to scare you. but you’re stronger than that, eh? i’m here with you, and you don’t need to be scared. alright? i’m here with you, always.” he hummed, heavy eyelids slowly closing shut. being able to smell the scent of your perfume helped ground him. “good job, tommy. now sleep. i’ll be here with you when you wake up.” you managed to get him to go to sleep, but somehow convinced your mind to let you sleep light enough that if tommy were to have another nightmare, you’d be up immediately. fortunately, he didn’t wake up during the night.

he woke up to the sight of a sleeping you, the sun rays hitting you just right. he swore he could look at you forever. you felt his gaze on you and slowly opened your eyes. “how’d you sleep?” you asked. “like i hadn’t slept in years.” he replied.

“morning, mr. shelby.” you wished him, as you did, every day before the war. except this time, you were in his arms, in his bed. you kissed his lips softly. except this time, he finally wished you back.

“mornin’, sweetheart.”

[jester-lover]

Hi!

Can I please request Malleus and Lilia finding out that their girlfriend, the Ramshackle Prefect, is secretly a vampire (that's a centuries old immortal like them)?

Vampire Girlfriend!

Hello to you too! Thank you for requesting!

Feat/Malleus, Lilia

Cw/ blood, fluff, mentions of war, death mentioned, mostly fluff tho!

Malleus

He is elated!

the one fear Malleus had about his relationship with you was the idea that you were a mortal woman

He would give you his blood if you asked, happily and joyfully

the two of you discuss the centuries you two have lived through, and bond over a shared disconnect with technology

He would love it if you wanted to court him the old fashioned way, and he'd happily give you a lock of his hair

If you turn into any other animal, he'll put you on his shoulder and carry you around all day

Malleus is so content at the thought of living his immortal existence beside you, happily fulfilling your blood cravings (don't ask where he gets it from)

"Beastie, do you remember that old fad from the 1700s where we wore powdered wigs? Perhaps some change is for the best.."

Lilia

Wholeheartedly, the first thing he'd ask is if you could turn into a bat (research purposes)

now the two of you hang upside down from walls and terrify passerby!

Lilia, besides being happy he won't have to see your demise anytime soon, is rather non questioning with your vampire identity

He knows some parts of a longer life can be touchy subjects, which is why you'll only hear of his wartime activities at a far deeper point in your relationship

But if you yourself, an endless vampire, have fought in battle...

he'd share the more savory stories with you, trading them like playing cards over a glass of wine (and your glass of blood)

Overall, Lilia's stoked to have a vampire girlfriend, and the mischief the two of you create will last for centuries

"Perhaps... when Sebek crosses to his history class, we could ambush him and give him a real scare!"

[redd956]

I was thinking about the fact that military sometimes uses stimulants ranging from caffeine tabs to methamphetamine and I would like you to ask if you can think of any whump propts related to that.

Of course!

Content Warnings: Wartime, Drugging/Drugs & Drug Use, Military Characters, Needles

Military Whump: Drugging Prompts

The drugs made it easy for whumpee(s) to ignore their injuries. Now looking at their vehicle shot up to hell as their wounds slowly unveil themselves, it's a wonder they even got out of there.

Enemy Commander has been nothing but a terror. At this rate they've become more an unstoppable mythical figure, than a human leading his fellows. Their success rate is inexplicable. Their combat abilities deadly. Their eyes oddly sunken... Not many knew about the collar secured around their throat that kept the drugs in their system, and them under easy control.

Whumpee popped another tablet into their mouth, not hesitating to take it dry. it was whumpee's last one. Soon enough their old enemy, their true enemy, sleep would be able to find them once more. Who knows what could wrong then... While whumpee's eyes are closed.

The government cut a lot of corners often in war. The capsules now looked eerily similar. It was only a matter of time before whumpee made the mistake, and took too much of the wrong stuff. They just didn't expect such a mistake to bring them out in the middle of nowhere, too weak to walk.

"Fuck." Whumpee slumped against the stone to some half-demolished home. Morphine was an angel last month, but now they're beginning to think they were mistaken in feeling its holiness.

The idea of someone robbing whumpee for a pack of cigarettes, a few unidentifiable pills, and the most disgusting piece of chocolate known to mankind never occurred to them. The idea of getting shot by someone who wasn't the enemy, doubly was out of question.

Caretaker pressed against the plunger as carefully as their jittering fingers could manage, whilst holding up whumpee's limp arm. Whumpee's temporary unstoppableness saved them from some trouble, but for what cost?

[historyandarthijinks]

Art of War (10)

A Martial Song by Nikita Bogoslovsky, Vladimir Agatov, and Mark Bernes

Тёмная ночь (Dark Is the Night)

Lyrics

Russian

Тёмная ночь, только пули свистят по степи Только ветер гудит в проводах, тускло звёзды мерцают В тёмную ночь ты, любимая, знаю, не спишь И у детской кроватки тайком ты слезу утираешь

Как я люблю глубину твоих ��асковых глаз Как я хочу к ним прижаться теперь губами Тёмная ночь разделяет, любимая, нас И тревожная чёрная степь пролегла между нами

Верю в тебя, в дорогую подругу мою Эта вера от пули меня тёмной ночью хранила Радостно мне, я спокоен в смертельном бою Знаю, встретишь с любовью меня, что б со мной ни случилось

Смерть не страшна, с ней встречались не раз мы в степи Вот и теперь надо мною она кружится Ты меня ждёшь и у детской кроватки не спишь И поэтому, знаю, со мной ничего не случится

И поэтому, знаю, со мной ничего не случится

English

Dark night, only bullets are whistling in the steppe,

Only the wind is wailing through the telephone wires, stars are faintly flickering ...

In the dark night, my love, I know you are not sleeping,

And, near a child's crib, you secretly wipe away a tear.

How I love the depths of your gentle eyes,

How I long to press my lips to them!

This dark night separates us, my love,

And the dark, troubled steppe has come to lie between us.

I have faith in you, in you, my sweetheart.

That faith has shielded me from bullets in this dark night ...

I am glad, I am calm in deadly battle:

I know you will meet me with love, no matter what happens.

Death is not terrible, we've met with it more than once in the steppe ...

And here it looms over me once again,

You await my return, sitting sleepless near a cradle,

And so I know that nothing will happen to me!

Context

Тёмная ночь (Performed 1943) - Mark Bernes (1911-1969), Nikita Bogoslovsky (1913-2004), and Vladimir Agatov (1919-1949) [Russia]

Originally the solemn song was written by Nikita Bogoslovsky, a composer, and Vladimir Agatov , a poet. Although Mark Bernes was not the first to record and perform the song, he is widely credited with popularizing it and giving the martial song a voice. He performed the song in the movie Two Soldiers, where he played a soldier missing his wife and child.

The song became heavily associated with Eastern front of WWII between the Soviet people and Nazis. Authorities attempted to shun and ostracize the song for it's negative themes, claiming it was Philistine and would dishearten the Soviet people. Philistine was the idea of a person or thing hostile to art and culture from a philosophical stand point, however people who went around claiming others were philistine were more hostile than any money hungry artist.

[blistering-typhoons]

drug abuse/addiction cw for below the cut (and to a lesser extent the video)

In the context of the scene, I can imagine the intention of this line is a) some sneaky anti-drug propaganda, very in line with this era of film making or b) Holmes maybe panicking at how he's going to fake his way into not being hypnotized (long story), but-

I cannot help but wonder about Rathbone's particular delivery here. There's an almost deeper fear to his face than just a momentary concern.

A kind of thoughtfulness in the way he says 'drugs', like he's remembering what the word truly means to him. And then the line after that, almost pushed out, like a reminder to himself.

No, I'd rather not.

Obviously, we were never going to see Rathbone Holmes struggle with substance abuse, that particular image of the character wiped near clean to bolster the appearance of the wartime hero- stalwart, masculine and unaffected by common vice.

Until now, I had just sort of headcannoned him as one of the Holmes unlikely to struggle with addiction, until this scene came across now.

It makes me wonder about the brief glimpses of emotion under Holmes' dry exterior, of his clear discomfort existing in his feelings. It makes me wonder if any of the highest government officials look into his face and see that old vulnerability- if he lives in a fear of being found out, of being cast out and back into his crutch.

It makes me wonder about endless holidays in Scotland, of getting him to a river for as long as possible, to get him to breathe clean, wet air.

I wonder if this Watson knows.

[serpentface]

the gender trinary of northeastern Dain as shown thru hairstyles- women, men, and wallach of the Urswali-Dain people.

The connected cultures of the coastal northeastern Dainlands all have closely related variants of this trinary and place importance on distinction between the genders and taboos related to gender roles.

(cw brief mentions of wartime sexual violence) 

The Dain speakers of the northeastern Kelp Sea coasts and islands are related groups of semi-settled to settled agricultural peoples. These groups share very similar gender roles. They conceptualize being 'female' as the basic state of humankind, with 'manhood' being a special state of being that must be ritually attained via rites of passage and circumcision.

This creates a distinct third gender role of those designated boychildren who cannot be initiated into manhood for variable reasons (failing coming of age rites, being incapable of growing a beard, having 'feminizing' intersex conditions, etc). This is called the 'wallach', 'wollach', 'wolla', depending on the language group.

The wallach is understood as a liminal state of being, between man and woman, child and adult, placing them in a metaphysical role closer to the afterlife. Most witches and priests are thus wallach. Wallach can fill both male and female gender roles in dain society without defying social taboos, and their primary function is to bridge the gaps in an otherwise highly gender-segregated society.

Northeastern Dain cultures have an overall negative opinion on sex between men, and conceptualize being penetrated as severely emasculating and heavily taboo. The only form of m/m intercourse deemed acceptable is assault during war. This does not apply to wallach, who can have sexual relations with men without breaking taboo. Men and wallach are permitted to wed, though (as marriage is political and reproductive first and foremost) typically in conjunction with a woman wife, or in the aftermath of a divorce.

Women in Kelp Sea Dain cultures have significant autonomy, but are barred from many forms of political power. Their role is understood as managing and defending the home, land, and livestock. There is a prominent warrior culture among women, and all 'girlchildren' are taught to use weapons. Given their husbands and fathers are often away on raids, they must protect their lands and livestock against neighboring peoples husbands and fathers.

Common cattle-raiding and pillaging between neighbors is highly ritualized and prohibits the abuse of girls and women protecting their villages. A raider who defeats one in battle is expected to either spare them untouched or give them an honorable death. To do otherwise risks the wrath of the goddess Mökke (who may turn the offender into a deer and send her hounds after him, or at least curse him). This social protection is not extended to women deemed foreigners or enemies.

Highly uncommon compared to wallach, some 'girlchildren' attain manhood via special circumstances in which they complete male initiation rites.  They they take men's names and roles, often sharing wives with a brother or cousin in order to have blood-related progeny.

-----

Pictured here are Urswali Dains, the only contemporary extant sea-dain culture based wholly in piracy and raiding. 

Gender is expressed through hair primarily- men shave their heads and grow their beards long, women braid or mat their hair in ropes, and wallach wear women's hairstyles (with a small, trimmed beard when capable).

Urswali pirates proudly wear full body tattoos, with geometric patterns on the limbs, clan identification on their chests, and depictions of their battles and triumphs along their backs. Many tally their (claimed) successful raids with tattoos on their shaved scalps. These tattoos are only permitted to be worn by raiders as a sign of their elite status, though foreign names for the Urswali Dain vary on the theme of 'Painted Ones' (due to the pirates being more often encountered). Full body tattooing traditions are found elsewhere in the dainlands, though more commonly on women and for non war/raiding based purposes. 

The Urswali Dain have superstitions against bringing women on raiding boats. Some wallach are brought instead as sea-wives, who perform women's roles aboard the galleys (sewing, weaving, knitting, slaughtering of livestock, cooking) and may have sexual relations with sailing men.

Example of Dain pirate tattoos, one of Nhodda the Songbird's sons. Image cropped to spare tumblr the terror of a flaccid peanus

[booksandabeer]

Hi,

First of all thank you for all the recs you do, it couldn’t be easy doing all that. I just wanted to ask you about your favourite fics where Steve and Bucky were already together during first avenger and get back together in the future? Once again, thank you so much. Even if you don’t answer this I would still be grateful because I got so many of my favorite fics from your blog. You’re amazing and take care.

Hi!

Thank you very much for your kind words. It's lovely to hear that I could help you find some of your favorite fics. 🥰

I've sat on this ask for a few days now because it's actually a really difficult one for me to answer/find recs for without getting into things that can be quite, uh, awkward to discuss "on main." But I will try. As always, I'm going to ramble, so I'll put this under a cut.

(There will be fic recs in here, I promise. Just scroll down if you want to skip the waffling.)

So. When it comes to fics set in canonverse, I mostly stick to either stories that end before the war or stories where Steve and Bucky only get together once they meet again in the future. I hardly read fics with the premise you've described in your ask because—and this is where it gets dicey—they are rarely ever done in a way that I personally find satisfying.

Here’s the thing: If you read a story set in canonverse, inevitably, at some point the war will arrive and with it: Peggy. Now there’s a much larger, much more complex discussion to be had here about Steve’s perceived sexuality, societal expectations of what constitutes "successful masculinity" in the 1930s/40s, and self-repeating and -reinforcing cycles of fanonization that I don’t want to get into right now, so I’ll just say this: Unless the author goes the polyamory route (which I personally don’t care for and therefore don’t read; at least not in that particular combination), usually none of the characters involved come out of such a scenario looking their best or like they haven’t received a personality transplant from one chapter to the next. I know that some people love that kind of conflict and are really into the angsty drama that comes with it—and they may find my stance on this boring and square—but to be honest with you, there’s already plenty of angsty drama in any story involving Steve and Bucky to begin with; I don’t need this on top of it.

And also—look, to be very blunt about it: If I click on a Steve/Bucky story I want to read a Steve/Bucky story, and decidedly not a story about Steve falling in love with Peggy halfway through—especially not when he’s already been practically married to Bucky for years. I'm okay with scenarios where Steve falls in love with her (or the idea of her, really) because he cannot or thinks he cannot be with Bucky for reasons ranging from very reasonable to entirely idiotic, but in a world where they are already together? Honestly, no thanks. I don't want it.

(Also, let's not even pretend that I don't have a huge Bucky-bias.)

But! you asked for recs and not 500 words of waffling, so I went through my lists and bookmarks to find stories that either try to grapple with this *problem* in a sensitive and thoughtful manner, find elegant ways around it, or simply skip over it entirely.

Here we go:

(Note: The exact meaning of 'Being Together' can vary greatly from story to story)

A Tree Grows In Brooklyn by newsbypostcard | 6 parts, 146K, T-E

Author's summary: "You keep asking me what I want," Bucky manages, eventually. "But on any given day, my number one priority is to get through the day alive and myself, and to do it without killing anyone. Everything else is extra." Each work is a standalone.

-> A Post-CW AU that also tells Steve and Bucky's history with each other through flashbacks. Apart from this series, you can really read any story by this author because they do this neat thing where they use roughly the same pre-war/wartime backstory and then depending on when they wrote it and where MCU canon was at the time, the fics branch off from there. Plus, all of their stories are simply wonderful and I will alway recommend them any chance I get.

The Good Morrow by Hark_bananas | 75K, E

Author's summary: Every night, Steve falls asleep and finds himself dreaming about a diner, and every night he finds Bucky waiting for him there. But in the waking world, Bucky has disappeared, gone on the run after the fall of the Triskelion and Project Insight, and the strange dream that they share may be the only way that Steve has to bring him home.

après nous le déluge by tomorrowsrain | 9K, T

Author's summary: After us, the deluge. Steve and Bucky break, mend, and try to find their place in the world without the mantles of Captain America or the Winter Soldier. AU, post Civil War.

-> Part 1 of gale song series, the second part of which which I recced in my Road Trip Rec List. In fact, there are quite a few fics on that list that fit the premise of 'together before/during the war and getting back together in the 21st Century,' so if you haven't already, you might want to take a look at it!

Roll On by jaxington | 3 parts, 306K, T-M

Author's summary: In 1938, there's a bar in Brooklyn called Sully’s where people are safe to be themselves. Behind the bar, a girl pours drinks. She's always got a big smile for Steve and she says queer like it's a good thing. On a regular basis, she takes his shoulders in her hands and tries to shake sense into him, saying, "When will you do something about that best friend of yours?" In 2012, Bucky’s gone, but Steve’s not, and the girl’s hands are too old to shake him. She does her best to make him see sense anyway. Steve had people who loved him before the war, and it turns out a few of them are still around when he finally comes home.

Practice Makes Perfect by nekare | 10K, M

Author's summary: And it’s just. It’s too much. Weeks of pain and months of missing Steve and his mouth and the stupid shit that comes out of it; years of molding himself to his back at night and pretending there’s nothing else to it apart from sharing warmth; a decade of his stomach twisting with the foolish desire to make Steve laugh.   It's August and sweltering when Steve asks, out of nowhere, if Bucky wants to try kissing. Just to see what it's like. Bucky then spends far, far too many years pretending it didn't mean anything at all.

a hat, a horse (a Hyundai), and the will to ride by synonym4life | 67K, E

Author's summary: After Steve and Bucky rescue their pals from the Raft prison, they decide to dig deeper into Zemo’s involvement in the UN headquarters’ bombing which sends them on a backpacking trip across select European countries. Steve and Bucky believe this is a story about their mission. Scott Lang and Sam Wilson, who join them halfway through, believe it’s a story about their Eurotrip (and they’re probably right). This writer, however, has been waiting to tell you that the fic’s true mission is Steve and Bucky missioning towards missionary. Follow them on their journey across Europe in tiny cars, packed subway trains and even on skis as they tumble down the Swiss Alps (in a fun way this time!), all the while reigniting untold feelings of the past through inappropriate sexual encounters and terrible communication skills.

Five times Steve kissed Bucky by paragon | 16K, T

Author's Summary: (+ once, finally, it was the other way around)

-> I'm very amused by how short this summary is, but the fic really is exactly what it says on the tin: Steve and Bucky kissing, pre-war to post-CA:TWS.

I Wanna Live in the Hidden Parts of Your Skin by Voylitscope_speed | 10K, E

Author's Summary: Sometimes, Steve looks at Bucky across the floor of their apartment or in the middle of the sidewalk, and it's not goddamn fair how good Bucky looks. It's not fair how Steve, who's spent his whole life fighting with his lungs for air and his heart for a steady beat, sometimes looks at Bucky and his breath and pulse are wrong for reasons that aren't his lousy health at all. And ever since the day with the purple ink, Steve can't stop thinking about people being canvases, like the models at that exhibit. Steve keeps thinking that Bucky'd be the most stunning canvas a guy could ever ask for. (Or: Steve and Bucky discover a kink in 1940. They find a reason to come back to it 80 years later. )

All The Angels and The Saints by Speranza | 48K, E

Author's summary: In which Steve Rogers loses God and finds God and loses God, and also: Bucky.

-> Look, this fic does some of the exact things I said above I usually try to avoid, but (1) it doesn't really do it (kind of, it's hard to explain), and (2) it would be *absolutely ridiculous* to not include it when putting together a list of fics with a pre-war to post-WS arc. This fic is legendary for a reason. It rewired my brain. It was one of the first Stucky fics I read that made me realize and appreciate the full potential and beauty of this ship, and to this day, it remains one of my absolute favorites.

▶ I'm really sorry that I didn't write something for every individual fic like I usually do, but I'm moving back to my home country in less than three weeks, so time is very limited right now. I hope this is still ok, and that you'll find something on this list that you like!

▶ There is a series that would've been perfect for this list but unfortunately it was deleted without warning a few months ago. If anybody has a saved copy of apricotcake's long is the road that leads me home that they'd be willing to share with me, I would be forever grateful! I'm still so sad that it's gone and angry with myself that I didn't download it when I had the chance. :(

[chaotic-orphan]

Vendetta

This is a new series that has been in my head for a while, inspired by Jann’s Eurovision song (should’ve got in but anyways…) Gladiator, would recommend…

CW: spear (weapon), murder (explicit), blood (explicit, detailed), physical fighting (described), swords, whips, guns, wartime, choking, intimate whumper, creepy villain, crazed villain, cold villain, multiple villains, violent death, tired hero, foreboding, past whump, implied past whump, intimate Whumper, uncomfortable whumpee

*~*~*~*~*

It was the penultimate battle of this long drawn out war for the heart of the City, for the country… on Hero’s home turf. Supervillain was making their last stand in the capital, home to the Heroes Guild.

All the Heroes that were left had retreated to the Guild to protect their sanctuary, their home, their friends. Old and young Heroes forever joined on the bloody battleground by blood.

Supervillain didn’t come without backup, and backup for their backup, and backup for their backup’s backup. Old Villain’s Hero had long thought were dead or retired had shown their faces and took their revenge on the Heroes who subdued them in the first place.

The Villains seemed just as united as the Heroes, much to Hero’s dismay. Villains that Hero knew hated each other working together left a bad taste in Hero’s mouth after the first time they face a particularly deadly duo, made up of Villain and Other Villain who had fought each other before. Many times, Heroes were deployed to break the two Villains up and stop them from destroying more of the city.

Other Villain had grinned a cocky grin when they saw them over the shoulder of Other Hero. Hero’s heart stopped when they saw the spear that had Other Villain had run through Other Hero. Other Hero was choking on blood, their bow falling from their hand and dropping to the ground as they curled around the spear.

Other Villain locked eyes with Hero not letting them look away as they placed a steadying hand on Other Hero’s shoulder and yanked the spear out, blood splattering over their face with the force. Then Other Villain’s grin grew as they thrust the spear forward again into Other Hero with a wet squelch.

Out.

Again. Squelch.

Out.

Again.

Out.

Again.

Squelch.

Squelch.

Until finally letting Other Hero’s body drop to the floor, dead after the third wound, they stopped moving after the fourth. After that they were a lifeless meat puppet for Other Villain to impale again and again and again.

Other Villain laughed a cruel laugh as Other Hero fell. They licked the blood from their lips, stepping on Other Hero, using them as a rug as they walked towards Hero. Pupils wide and drunk on death.

“I was hoping I’d be the one to get you,” Other Villain said, their voice high and lethal, with a giddy sort of glee. “You have a big wanted sign over your head with the Other Villains. Even Supervillain wants to see you suffer, so I’m afraid I can’t kill you. Yet.”

“Shame,” Hero growled, fury coursing through their blood as they tightened their grip on their twin short swords. “Because I can kill you.”

Hero moved first, lunging for Other Villain who snapped their spear up diagonal across their body, catching Hero’s blades before they touched them.

“Heheheh, I always like your foolhardy confidence Hero,” Other Villain said, pulling their spear towards themselves, taking Hero closer to them. “I can’t wait to see it break.”

“In your dreams,” Hero snarled.

Hero yanked one blade out of the wooden shaft of the spear, and swung it down to Other Villain’s thigh. Other Villain laughed, lifting their leg as Hero’s blade went under missing them. They pushed on the spear and kicked Hero back. Hero gasped, but jumped back, narrowly missing the point of the spear.

“Not just my dreams, Hero,” said Other Villain spinning the spear in their dexterous fingers so the spearhead was at Other Villain’s lips. They stuck out their tongue and licked up the edge of the metal. “I bet even your blood will be sweet. Sweeter than most of these other worthless meat bags.”

Hero dashed forward again with a cry of rage, their blades flying in front of them like shards of moonlight. They were swift in every attack moving as a syncopated pair: a hammer swing down, blocked by Other Villain, followed up with a slice to Other Villain’s waist after they raised their spear to defend the first blow. Other Villain hissed but Hero didn’t stop.

They shoved Other Villain back with their shoulder, lifting one graceful sword to bat away Other Villain’s counter. They stepped inside Other Villain’s thrust, their side brushing the wood as they got close to Other Villain. Other Villain’s eyes went wide at Hero’s proximity but they had committed to the movement so they couldn’t block Hero’s punch to the jaw.

All they could do was fall back a step with an oomph, and Hero followed with an uppercut to the chin. Other Villain swung wildly with their spear, the blunt wood stinging Hero’s bicep but they just grit their teeth and punched Other Villain in the throat.

Other Villain gasped on air, stunned at the lack of it, their knees hit the ground with a dull thud and before they could get their breath back Hero kicked them in the face sending them sprawling on their back.

Hero let out a few quick pants of air before kicking Other Villain’s spear out of their hand and pointing the tip of their blade to Other Villain’s throat.

Other Villain was grinning up at Hero through bloody teeth, eyes dancing, full of sick amusement. “Do it, Hero. Kill me, you know you want to. No one would know, I wouldn’t tell a soul,” Other Villain sang with their unsettling high pitched tone. “Do it Hero. Do it! Do it! Do it!”

Other Villain grabbed Hero’s sword with both hands and yanked it towards them, Hero following with their arm nearly pulled from their socket. Blood coated Hero’s blade, the stench of iron wasn’t as harrowing as it was before Supervillain’s war.

Hero just watched as Other Villain yanked the sword towards them with no regards for the cuts in their hands. It was like they barely even felt it.

“Mmmm, heheheheheheh. Come on Hero. Do it for me, for old times sake. Or can you not? Oh, the most noble Hero! Too heroic to stop me from murdering, hmmm? Maybe you think if you kill me, you’re just. Like. Me.”

Hero stomped on their abs, their ribs, their armpit until they squealed and let go of Hero’s sword before yanking it back to them and stepping away. Other Villain’s blood splattered back onto Hero’s face, they grimaced and wiped it with their sleeve with a huff.

They should do it. They should kill Other Villain. They just killed Other Hero in front of them, and Other Villain was lethal. They had no remorse, they’d just keep killing.

Hero’s hands shook holding their blades, knowing the damage they could do. The life they could take and they hated the fact that they already knew they could never bring themselves to it. They couldn’t kill.

Not even a sick twisted person like Other Villain.

Hero kicked Other Villain in the face. Hoping it would be enough to render them unconscious, but when Other Villain just laughed their jarring laugh Hero brought their foot back for a second time.

A hand wrapped around the collar of Hero’s jacket and yanked them back with an unnatural strength.

Hero fell backwards, going with the momentum and tumbled back and to their feet in one fluid motion. They stood opposite their new attacker, and their blood ran cold.

Villain.

Villain was defending Other Villain.

Villain saved Other Villain.

Something awful and foreboding curled uncomfortable in the pit of Hero’s stomach as Villain stared at them with his cool gaze. Where Other Villain was all vicious enjoyment and spontaneous attacks, Villain was cold, emotionless and calculating.

“No one gets to kill that idiot, but me, Hero,” said Villain. His voice rumbling in deep, melodic waves. The most expressive part apart him. Hero’s chest rose and fell evenly, even though it felt like a ten tonne weight was on their chest.

Villain tilted his head to the side, cool eyes regarding Hero’s forced calm. “You should know better than to go after them.”

“They went after me,” Hero told Villain hotly, sword extending to the side of them in a helpless gesture. “What do you want me to do? Call you when I see them?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” said Villain, deadpan.

Behind Villain, Other Villain was getting to their feet, crawling towards their spear and Hero cursed themselves for not knocking them out sooner. This was bad.

“Well there they are,” said Hero with a nod. “They’re all yours. I’ll leave you to it.”

Hero stepped back but froze when Villain clicked their tongue in annoyance. Hero stuttered out a breath, fear starting to settle into their joints and they spun their blade in their hand just to get rid of some of the nervous energy. Trying to cover it up and feign nonchalance. They weren’t mortally terrified of Villain.

They weren’t.

“Unfortunately, Hero, for you and me both, us Villains have come to an understanding regarding this war,” said Villain, picking some dirt out of their nails. “No infighting, so I’m here to make sure this vicious mutt survives.”

“That’s right,” said Other Villain, coming to stand beside Villain. A head and a half shorter than Villain, and their voice obscenely high compared to Villain’s deep voice. Their smile cutting, lips and teeth stained with blood. “We go mano et mano after our victory.”

Hero’s grip on their swords tightened, very aware of their surroundings and their current disadvantage. “What, did you all join a fucking club or something?”

Other Villain smirked. Villain shrugged. “Something like that. Supervillain is very persuasive when they want to be.”

Hero’s heart skipped. “Supervillain got you all together?”

“Look at them, Other Villain,” Villain cooed, amusement colouring his voice. “Excited over the smallest scrap of information.”

“Devil’s in the details,” said Hero with what they hoped looked like a carefree shrug, taking a testing step back. Villain’s eyes cut into Hero at the movement.

“I’m sure the savage has already told you, we can’t kill you, Hero. Supervillain wants an audience with you. It’s his one request after organising such a force to take down the Heroes Guild.”

The anger was a coping mechanism as Hero snapped: “what could Supervillain possibly want with me?!”

Villain’s eyes danced with the amusement that coloured his tone not seconds ago. “Now that information is something to get excited over, but we can’t spoil the surprise. We can take you to Supervillain now if you like.”

“Over my dead body.”

Villain shook his head slowly, a cold smile gracing his pale lips.

“Weren’t you listening Hero? We have to take you alive. What you should have said is over your broken body. That—“ Villain said, glancing at Other Villain and back to Hero, “is something we can do for you.”

Other Villain was the first to move. Quicker than they should’ve been considering they were a couple more kicks from concussed a few minutes ago. Hero threw both their swords up in an X to stop Other Villain’s spear as it bore down on the junction between Hero’s blades. Hero grunted with the effort leaning back to avoid the spear point from going into their eye.

Other Villain let out their high pitched laugh as the spear sliced across the corner of Hero’s eye and back into their hairline. Hero hissed as it narrowly missed their eyeball, too close.

“You know Hero, I don’t usually enjoy bleeding, but you look radiant covered in my blood,” Other Villain said, as if it were a compliment. Hero clenched their jaw.

Hero shoved with all their strength up and ducking under the spear, they quickly sheathed their right sword into the scabbard on their hip and grabbed Other Villain’s shirt, yanking them forward and into Hero’s knee. Other Villain let out a startled breath as Hero drove their sword wielding elbow into Other Villain’s ribs and punched them in the temple with their right hand.

Other Villain stumbled to the side, and Hero grabbed their spear in their stupor and struck the blunt end into Other Villain’s head, kicking them to the ground and turned on their heels, throwing the spear towards Villain who was sitting back watching the fight much to Hero’s surprise.

“I just have to make sure they don’t die,” said Villain smoothly. Then he quirked an eyebrow up in a challenge, “why? Do you want me to join in the fun?”

Hero just turned back to Other Villain in reply and punched them down to the ground again. Hero sheathed their other sword at their hip, dropped to their knees straddling Other Villain’s hips and just rained down punches.

Just get them unconscious and you can flee from Villain. Come on, come on. Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep.

Other Villain giggled, gurgling on blood.

As Hero’s fist descended again, a sharp sting of leather wrapped biting around their wrist and they were yanked off Other Villain.

Hero cried out as their arm was nearly pulled from it’s socket for a second time. They rolled across the ground as the whip mercilessly dragged them. Hero got to one knee and pulled against the whip with their free hand, panting as they met Villain’s cold eyes a few feet away, whip by his side.

The barrel of his revolver aimed square at Hero’s chest. Hero startled at the bang, flinching back but the whip kept them frozen in place. Hero was thrown onto their back, the breath stolen from their lungs and they cried out, rolling to their side protectively.

Fuck, that hurt, Hero gasped eyes focusing on the leather wrapped tight around their wrist. They reached over and grabbed the edge trying to find the loose part but they never did manage it.

A kick to the face had them on their back again, blinking bleary eyed at the sky. Other Villain was on top of them then, a foot slamming down on Hero’s captured hand and Hero cried out.

Other Villain grabbed Hero’s cheeks in their hand, grinning down at them. “There we go, Hero. You squirm so beautifully.”

Hero threw a blind fist up, to Other Villain but they just grabbed it, tutting Hero for the failed offence.

“That’s not very nice, Hero. You’ve bled me enough, now it’s your turn.”

The crack of the whip and Hero’s wrist was released from the bite of the leather. They hissed as the air kissed their burning skin. Other Villain put Hero’s captured hand down under their legs, moving their hips up to stop Hero’s arm from being useful in their struggle and did the same with Hero’s other arm.

Hero wriggled and writhed beneath Other Villain, grunting with the effort that quickly descended into groans and cries of frustration, because they couldn’t… get… free.

Other Villain put their hands on either side of Hero’s face, their mania painting their features twisted. They pressed a thumb into the cut they made with their spear and Hero cried out with renewed rage, struggling more the more Other Villain dug in.

They could feel fresh blood being pulled from it and turned their head to try and fight Other Villain’s invasion off but they just pressed a warning hand down on Hero’s throat and Hero’s frightened eyes snapped back to Other Villain’s.

“There. See? Relax. I just want a taste, sweet Hero.”

To Hero’s horror, with their hand still on Hero’s throat, Other Villain brought their blood soaked thumb to their lips. A drip of blood fell onto Hero’s nose, then opposite cheek as they brought it up. Then while maintaining eye contact with Hero they put their thumb in their mouth and Hero squeezed their eyes shut, turning to look away.

Their oxygen was cut off and Hero’s eyes shot open on instinct, catching Other Villain’s self satisfied smile as they pulled their clean thumb from their mouth.

“I knew you’d be sweet,” Other Villain sighed, sitting back on Hero’s abdomen, their hand on Hero’s throat loosening. “It’s taking all my self control to not slice you to pieces right now and drink you dry.”

Hero got their feet on the ground, bending their legs slightly at the knee and turning their palms flat against the ground. Then Hero bucked their hips, and twisted them, Other Villain losing their balance slightly and Hero got an arm free and pressed it to Other Villain’s shoulder, following the motion through and rolling them so Hero was on top of Other Villain.

Other Villain’s hand shot up and dug into Hero’s wound again. Hero punched them in the temple with a cry and Other Villain’s eyes finally shut, their smile still on their lips.

Hero sat back on them, letting out a frustrated yell. They were tired. They were tired of this war. Tired of Villains killing their friends. Tired of not being able to stomach returning the favour.

Now Supervillain has a plan and somehow united every Villain with promises of what? And they wanted Hero?! Out of everyone… Hero wasn’t to be touched. That’s how they had survived this long. Why Other Villain didn’t tear them to shreds and suckle on the pieces of flesh for blood.

It was all too much, and Hero was too tired to fucking do anything but scream at the sky.

When they stopped they took in a couple deep breaths, let them out slowly and got to their feet, slipping the power dampeners from their belt. They really didn’t want to have to drag Other Villain all the way to the Guild. They should call it in. Call someone, Medic, Rogue, someone…

The crack of a whip and Hero cried out in pain, stunned hand going to their cheek, stumbling back a few steps. Another thwack and Hero was on their knees gasping—

Grasping at the leather coiled around their throat like a boa constrictor. Villain stepped in front of them, looking down at Hero with cold dead eyes.

“Did you forget me, little hero?”

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here