#even if they were to separate he is still without a doubt her flesh and blood

[eggonthemoon]

Life is not very daijoubu

They look so much like each other omggggg

[swifty-fox]

my kingdom for a kiss outtakes

somewhere around the james arc i decided to save anything I deleted so here's some stuff that didn't make the cut into the final draft! (including a more corny ending)

Gale muffles another noise into his flesh, bites down hard enough he feels the bones of his wrist shift against eachother. The pain stokes him hotter, shatters his gentle fantasy for good. He was no woman, no pretty thing for John to make a home with. He’d killed men and commanded them to their deaths. He was broad and mascluline even in his soft features. He dealt in death and flew in the skies where no human ever belonged regardless of what was between their legs. He’d had other mens blood in his mouth, knew what rotting corpses smelled like. He was a soldier, all softness trained out of him in the service of god and country. A weapon, a missile, unthinking and unfeeling.

There was no love-making in his world, if John were ever to have him it would be like this. On his knees and mounted, hands heavy in his hipbone drawing him back into the press of John’s body. 

-

“I love you.” he whispers into the shameful folds of the sweatshirt. Inhales deep and brushes a thumb over the blushed head of his cock, hips twitching and breath hitching.

“I love you.” Gale spills into his hand, mouth open and wet and dampening the gray fabric as he crashes his way through his stolen orgasm.

-

“And you don’t have to tell me you love me back, not after-” John seems to chew on his words for a moment, “after everything I’ve put you through, after all I have to make up for.” 

There’s something young and vulnerable in John’s eyes, his voice and Gale is suddenly wildly angry. Not the untamable rage of his father or the forest, but a more icy sort of wrath. His own brand of fury that had carried him through missions and imprisonment and escape. Angry for John, protective of him and the ways the war had spit him out with untreated wounds. They hadn’t senf him home in a pine box like John Sr. feared, but parts of him were dead and needing buried all the same.

“You don’t have to make up for what they did. You own no part of those motherless fuckin’ Krauts’ sins.” 

John’s chin wobbles and he looks off to the side, clearing his throat and going to shove his hands in his pockets before appearing to remember he was still without.

“Is this the first time you’ve spoken of it?” Gale asks quietly.

Words tight and quick, John opts to rub the tops of his thighs instead, “Yes.” 

He should tell him. He should bare all the ugly bits himself the way he’d done to Marge over the phone. Tell him about how scared he is and the way he almost begged if he didn’t fear it would get back to his men and shake their confidence; if they would have any in him left if they learned what happened. How he thought to imagine John for the briefest moment before shoving him so far from his mind and that room that they may as well have ended up in separate universes. He opens his mouth.

Closes it. 

Opens it again, “I don’t think less of you.” 

John’s shoulders tense up around his ears and then slump as if a great weight has been cut from them. 

-

“What was your mother like?”

Gale lets the petal drop,“Is that what we’re talking about tonight? Mothers?” your mother has held me and comforted me like one of her own. Your mother brushed the hair from my forehead and the tears from my cheeks as she might a child. She didn’t have to do that. 

“You never talk about her. You talk about your old man, bastard that he is, but I’d say you sprung fully formed for all you mention a mother.” 

Suddenly regretting not indulging in a third cigarette, Gale grunts

“My Ma,” John laughs, “I almost think she’d be okay with all this. She likes you that much.”

Gale’s stomach lurching, “You can’t John. That’s not- this is the life. This is all it is. If it’s not enough you should decide that now.

-

The couch isn’t the most comfortable, but Gale doubts he’ll ever struggle again to sleep on a clean non lice-ridden surface. It’s nightmares that interrupt his sleep, throwing him straight from pale blue skies and a farmers rope around his throat into violent wakefullness. He’s silent with it, he knows, jaw clenched so tight it aches, but he’s sweating and breathing like he’s just sprinted a mile in full gear. There’s low voices coming from the kitchen, one deeper and masculine the other softer and quicker, and the faint smell of coffee. John’s parents, come to play out a thirty year old routine, it seemed. A house full of soldiers, a house full of ghosts. He thinks Ma Egan might be the strongest out of any of them.

Their words are too quiet for him to make out, but there’s a comforting warm quality to their cadence. Gale rolls to face the back of the sofa, face pressed to the clean smelling fabric and lets it soothe him back into sleep, the sound of their conversation soothing something shy and needy in his chest. 

 -

Joh- Bucky?” 

John’s head snaps up to look at his father standing in the doorway, shoulders deliberatly relaxing in an affectation of ease. 

“Need some help out in the shed, if you’re finished eating.” 

There was a cautious air between the two men, but no hostility radiating from John so when he hesitates Gale knocks his knee quietly against John’s own to spur him into movement. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m done,” He drains the last of his coffee, steals a strip of bacon from Gale’s plate with a wink and follows his father out of the room. From behind, only the larger amount of grey in John Egan Sr.’s hair marks them apart. 

“More coffee, Gale?” 

He holds his mug out eagerly for more to cut the sick-sweet taste, watching thne drink swirl darker, “Thank you.” 

She sets the percolator back on the stove, polishes at a spot-free section of the counter with her apron, “I imagine your fiance is upset to have you traveling again so soon.” 

“Marge likes her privacy,” he smiles to himself faintly, “And we’re only going to be a few days.”

The last half of his statement is a careful open door, and Ma Egan takes it.

“I do hope she won’t mind a permanent guest. Most newlyweds prefer to enjoy their new home alone.” 

Gale sips his coffee, feeling a bit like he’s flying through a flak field, “John and her are good friends,” Not really a lie in the long term, “And it’s pretty rural out there, she probably will feel better with an extra presence around the farm.”

“A farm,” Ma murmurs in suburban shock.

“I’ll take care of him,” Gale promises her, “I’ve been taking care of him for five years now.” 

This doesn’t seem to please her as much as he expects and she frowns at him with something close to grief, though it doesn’t seem directed entirely at him. She sits with it for a few moments before carefully smoothing her face out into something more lovingly exasperated. A woman who’d send her husband and son both off to war and knew how to wear that pain quietly. 

“I hope Marge has a few single friends, at least then,” She sighs, “I think he’s turns his nose up at every girl in our Church at this point.”

“A few,” He says, mouth dry.

-

“He’s far too grown for me to cling to him,” Ma Egan says, voice wobbling, “But then, I did lose a few years.” 

-

He’s asked John, loud bombastic life of the part John Egan, to live a quiet life with him. 

Gale cups his hands around his mouth.

“I Love John Egan!” 

A bellow, full bodied and from his chest. He shouts it to the curvature of the world, to the clouds and the blue-blue sky.

It’s not the first time he’s said it, not by a longshot. But John beams like it is each and every time.

 Beside him John laughs in shocked delight, lips parted and cheeks flushed. He fights with Bugs for a second, still unpracticed and Gale takes pity on time, drawing the white gelding astride his own mare by the reins. He kisses John, saddle creaking as he leans over. John presses their foreheads together briefly and then turns, whooping in delight, the sound echoing over the mountains of Wyoming.

After a moment, laughter on his cheeks, Gale howls along with him.

[xipool]

Wade talks and talks, like a decapitated chicken still running even after its head has been sliced clean off. His words run fast and relentlessly, as if compensating for something else, as if he can’t stop- won’t stop for fear of the consequences. Unable to relax, to rest – he just has to keep going.

He talks so his hammer of annoying references and crude remarks can slam down and suppress the spiral of horrid thoughts that worm their way into his head. How he deserved every bit of torture and pain that sears through his veins, how the people around him don’t deserve to live around a sick fucking freak like him. How he abandons and strands the crowd around him, leaves them to drown. They’re better off without him.

Every rough pock mark on his skin serves as a reminder of the abuse Francis dragged him through – Vanessa made the attempt to ease the insecurity, saying they were scars indicating his survival, how he’d crawled out of purgatory and lived to tell the tale. But he knew – a snapshot – when she thought he wasn’t looking. Her eyes would flash with slight contempt. Whether it be kindred to a bubbling disgust for his appearance or just the man he is.

“You had a girlfriend?” 

He had snorted to himself at the question, but didn’t blame the man. He barely knew him, and even those who gave him their undeserved time could probably offer the same curiosity.

Inevitable, their separation was. Wade Winston Wilson is not a soul that can keep company clinging for long. Hanging up the red and black spandex just kept the wheels turning, hurtling towards a final argument that was a long time coming.

“I’m right here.” 

No he fucking wasn’t. They both knew it – he was detached, flippant and unserious. He could never care about something bigger than himself.

“I know how to fuck people up for money, but you know how to save them.”

That’s all he was: a mercenary. A bad guy paid to fuck up worse guys. He wasn’t a hero, he wasn’t even a decent human mutant. Generally, he was an asshole – at the very least, a menace to society. He jaywalked and scared the fuck out of innocent, unsuspecting kids by pulling the most horrid face he could contort his features into. He stole and he bitched. And he fucking enjoyed it. He practically got off to pissing people off. 

He ignores the guilt that settles in his stomach. He couldn’t possibly care about something bigger than himself. 

Until he saved the world, fuck that- he saved the multiverse. He’d spurred himself on with the thought of Vanessa, that everything he’d aspired to do, everything he did – was for her. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

His motivation’s doubt settled in during the tussle in that godawful vehicle, the Honda fuckin’ Odsyssey. He craved violence and turmoil, the low, dull hum of the cancerous aches were simply tedious but the sting of something breaking skin and ripping flesh, even tearing bone was heavenly. Each splatter of blood quashed his inner critic, without the need for mindless commentary: his self-hatred had simmered down. It wouldn’t be out of left field to assume the man had developed some kind of arousal for the sensation, but the way the Wolverine broke him down and tore him apart in that fucking car left him with tingles running wild under his skin long after their scuffle had ceased. He’d admitted it, it fucked hard.

Wade had often turned to dirty sex – no strings attached – to quiet the voices, in the hopes of achieving some sort of post-orgasm stupor that would shut the sound up, but his efforts were to no avail.

And he knew, he fucking knew. His mutation may not have granted him heightened senses, but he could practically smell Logan’s bloodthirsty reciprocation. He too, found himself in ripping limbs and slashing muscle, in painting his surroundings crimson and vigorous stabbing. The savage grin that played on his lips as blood dripped onto his face, into his beard and mouth and painted his skin red, it practically goaded the merc on. His simple return of the cut-throat favour kept him going, kept his onslaught powering through, despite the absolute decimation of the Odyssey.

Vanessa might have matched Wade’s crazy, but Logan matches his freak.

[purple-plum-petals]

Help my family. War is devastating. There is nothing left for life. No schools, no universities, no home, and no dreams. All dreams have been destroyed.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/dydb36-gaza -palestine

⊱ The Scars That Remain ⊰ || Boothill and Aventurine Angst Headcanons

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮        Character(s): Boothill and Aventurine (Separate, Honkai: Star Rail)        Warning(s): Spoilers for Boothill’s and Aventurine’s Backstories, Discussions of Survivor’s Guilt, Mentions of Suicide/Attempted Suicide/Suicidal Ideation, Implied Alcoholism, Religious Trauma, Overall Theme and Discussion of Death/Genocide.        Genre: Headcanons, Angst.        Word Count: ~1000 words        Author’s Note: I know that Boothill and Aventurine are fairly popular characters within the fandom, and one of the reasons why they’re so beloved is because of their backstories. Both of these characters are victims of war – victims of genocide and a massacre at the hands of the IPC on their respective home planets of Aeragan-Epharshel and Sigonia.

There is a genocide happening to Palestinians at this very moment, and thousands of people and families are being displaced and murdered simply because of the land in which they live. Please, if you are financially able, help this family. If you’re not able to contribute to their evacuation, spreading the word about this family may reach those who are able to donate. The family’s gofundme can be accessed here: https://www.gofundme.com/f/dydb36-gaza -palestine ╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

🌾: Sometimes Boothill wonders what his family would think of him now, wondering if his fathers and siblings would even recognize him after what he had become. He was no longer made of flesh and blood – he was no longer human. He tries not to dwell on the thought for too long. After all, there was no point in thinking about hypotheticals. He would never know what his loved ones would have thought because, if they were still here, he wouldn’t have taken the path that he did.

🌾: When Boothill hears the sound of children laughing and playing, or when he walks past small dresses decorated with beads and ribbons and lace, he can’t help but wonder if he would have been a good father if he had just been given a chance. He thinks about that little girl he had found and taken in as his fathers had with him on lonely nights. Nights when he absentmindedly strums the strings of a recently stolen guitar, remembering the one he had carved for her, the one she would slap with her small palm and giggle at the noise it made. Would she have grown up to play the guitar, or would she have picked up a different instrument? Those were more questions he would never get an answer to, and the memory of that high-pitched babbling laughter haunted him.

🌾: Boothill frequently wonders if his fathers knew how much he loved and appreciated them, the two men who had taken him in and raised him as if he were their own. He thinks about the times he could have done more for them, or his mind thinks about all the words he could have told them so they knew without a doubt how much they meant to him and how much he cared for them. Even though Boothill wasn’t the one who gave the order, sometimes he feels as though their blood is on his hands.

🌾: He suffers from immense guilt at the fact he was the only one from the farm who survived the bombing, wishing that he was either fast enough to have made it there in time to save them, or fast enough that he could have died there with them in his arms. He wishes he could have had the time to make graves for those he lost but, in the fiery blaze left in the attack’s wake, there wasn’t much he was able to do.

🌾: Once he enacts his revenge on Oswaldo Schneider, Boothill will most likely choose to end his own life, going back to his home planet and the farm that had been reduced to nothing but ash. He had already been dead for a long time, and he had a desire to reunite with the people he loved the most in the afterlife. So, he’d settle down on the ground that was once covered in tall, soft grass, and he’d think about the sound the babbling brook used to make as his systems finally shut down. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, the rage in his heart subsidized as peace finally washed over him.  

🎲: It came easy to Aventurine, the ability to put his life on the line without any instance of hesitation. That was something he had done for a long time now, using his own life as another gambling chip on the table. It probably wasn’t normal for one to continuously try and end their own life in the dreamscape just to see if it would stay permanent, either, hoping that deep down they wouldn’t wake up in their room on Penacony. Here he was, though, sitting up in the dream pool as he tried to catch his breath after the latest little “test” to see if a true death truly didn’t exist in Penacony’s dreamscape.

🎲: Aventurine remembers vividly what it was like, floating in the cold water as his clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin while he held his breath, trying not to move. He remembers the warmth of his sister’s hand in his, the water around them dyed a dark red as the scent of iron and rot filled the air. He couldn’t move because of the fear of being found, the fear of those hunting them like wild animals realizing they were indeed alive and not dead like the other bodies that floated around them in an eerie silence. He remembers the shrill cackles of the men who killed his mother that day, a sound that would never leave him.

🎲: He frequently suffers from nightmares, whether it be each and every event that has stained his hands in red, the death of his mother, or his older sister’s final goodbye to him on that rainy day. One dream Aventurine has quite frequently, however, is the “game” that lasted for two days – a game that resulted in him being the final victor while the bodies of the thirty-four others just like him lay lifeless around where he stood. He dreams of their screams, their hands reaching towards him as they shriek “Why? Why you?” He cannot answer them, though, for he doesn’t know why himself.

🎲: Sometimes, Aventurine’s neck burns and itches despite it being years since the mark was blistered into his flesh or since the cold, iron chains squeezed tightly around his throat. On nights when the feeling won’t go away, he drinks until the burning comes from the inside instead, an almost painful sting in his stomach and chest that makes him forget the way he can still recall how hot iron felt searing his skin.

🎲: Aventurine has mixed feelings regarding the “blessing” he was given by Gaiathra Triclops. He wonders why he was given this blessing, and what was the reason for being the only one of his people to survive – what was his purpose. Why was he made to suffer at the hands of a god that was supposed to love him? Why did she not save his family, his people, who all worshiped her until their dying breath? Aventurine feels immense guilt at the mere thought his faith no longer lies within the god of their clan and wonders what his family would think if he didn’t believe in the god who gave him his blessing of “luck.”

[badbatchposts]

Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Ch. 25

Relevant tags/content warnings: Crosshair/Original Female Character, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Periodic Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, 18+/Explicit

Read the full fic so far on AO3

Read previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4 l Ch. 5 l Ch. 6 l Ch. 7 l Ch. 8 l Ch. 9 l Ch. 10 l Ch. 11 l Ch. 12 l Ch. 13 l Ch. 14 l Ch. 15 l Ch. 16 l Ch. 17 l Ch. 18 l Ch. 19 l Ch. 20 l Ch. 21 l Ch. 22 l Ch. 23 l Ch. 24

Chapter 25 summary: The squad copes with the discovery of the missing clones, and Crosshair learns more of Dara's backstory.

Extra content warnings for this chapter: blood/injury; grief; corpses/mass grave

Crosshair couldn’t tear his eyes away from the spot where Dara was rooted to the ground, kneeling over a pit containing the remains of the clone prisoners. He couldn’t see what she was looking at from this angle, but he knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

“I—I think you should take Omega back to the ship,” she told Hunter over the comms. “She shouldn’t see this.”

The Sergeant sighed, a tired, defeated sound. “Understood. Come on, kid—we’ll go get the Marauder for a pick-up while the rest of the squad finishes up here.”

If Omega had any objections, she wasn’t voicing them over the comm line as she and Hunter made their way through the forest in the direction of their ship. It would be a few hours before they could return with the Marauder, hopefully arriving around the time of the planet’s early sunset.

Dara still hadn’t moved. “Can the rest of you find some shovels and come to my position?” she requested weakly. “Kriffing Imperials just tossed them in the garbage pit. They didn’t even have the decency—” She cut off suddenly, clearing her throat.

“Affirmative. We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Echo let her know. Through his scope, Crosshair saw Dara finally get to her feet, staggering over to a nearby tree. She held herself propped against it for a minute, then—with a sudden violence that made him flinch—crashed her fist against the bark, over and over, until her blows steadily grew weaker and stopped. Then she was motionless again, fist still clenched, breathing heavily. Her shoulders remained tense, but her face was turned away from him—he couldn’t help but think that it felt deliberate, like she was guarding her expression from his gaze.

Tech, Echo, and Wrecker arrived just as Crosshair climbed down off the roof. Dara took one of the shovels, picked a spot a sufficient distance away, and started digging without a word as the rest of them leaned over the pit. There were bones scattered around its edges, no doubt the result of animal activity; in the pit itself, skulls, femurs, and rib cages were all easily identifiable, emerging from corpses in various states of decomposition, all mixed in with the facility’s other refuse. Wrecker lifted his helmet off for barely a second before he gagged and slammed it back on his head; Dara had pulled off her soiled poncho and wrapped a scarf from her pack around her face and nose. While Tech and Echo worked on disinterring the bodies from the pit, separating them from trash and giving the loose bones some semblance of order, Wrecker and Crosshair joined Dara and set to digging. They were silent for over an hour, interrupted only by the occasional grunt.

“Dara,” Tech called suddenly. He was standing by the pit, holding a small bone, entirely cleared of flesh. “Will you pass me your glow rod?”

She took a break from digging and dug it out of her pack, tossing it to him before returning, without comment, to her task.

Tech disappeared into the facility for a few minutes, returning with a look of grim satisfaction.

“It is just as I suspected,” he informed them. “The remains also glow in the ultraviolet spectrum. We can infer that the substance that we discovered was being tested on the clones.”

The rest of the men straightened up from their tasks and climbed out of the pit and the new grave they were in the process of digging, taking advantage of the distraction to take a few sips from their canteens and open ration bars at a distance from the stench of decay. Dara, however, didn’t even turn to look, just continued to remove dirt by the shovelful.

“So was it the chemical that killed them, or did the Empire just dispose of them when they decided they’d served their purpose?” Echo wondered darkly.

“It is difficult to tell,” Tech admitted. “So far I have not identified any injuries to the bodies consistent with violent deaths, although the advanced state of decomposition makes that challenging to determine. I have, however, scanned several samples and should be able to analyze them later to find out more.”

“How many are there?” Wrecker asked, his expression uncharacteristically grim.

Echo shook his head sadly. “Dozens. Probably everyone on the list that we found.”

As the three continued their discussion, Crosshair watched Dara, who was still digging at an incessant, even punishing pace. Sighing, he dropped back down into the wide, deep grave they’d managed to carve out of the soft earth. They had made good progress, although they still had a while to go before it would be sufficient for a burial.

Crosshair approached her cautiously, like a wild animal. His earlier avoidance no longer mattered to him, his resentment all but forgotten. There was something off about her, a palpable tension that threatened to uncoil at any moment.

“Burk’yc,” he said, as gently as he could. “Take a break.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered.

“No, you’re not,” Crosshair insisted. “At least get something to drink.”

“I said I’m fine,” Dara snapped back, finally turning to look at him for the first time all day, only to shoot him as venomous a glare as he’d ever seen from her. She dragged the back of one hand against her forehead, wiping away sweat and dirt. As she did, he caught a glimpse of her palm: a long gash leaked a trail of blood that smeared along the handle of her shovel. The skin around it was already blistered and broken, red and raw, and her knuckles where she had hit the tree were bruised and bloody.

At the sight of her injuries, Crosshair felt his stomach drop. It was obvious, from the moment she had found the pit, that she was distressed—none of them were pleased, this was a worst-case scenario for what they expected to find—but he hadn’t realized how far she would push. Somehow, against all logic, he was more worried for her safety now than he had been when she was shot. Did she even realize she was hurt? Couldn’t she feel it?

“You’re obviously not fine,” he growled, crowding closer to her and grasping at her hands. He turned them palms up, trying to get a better look past the blood and dirt. Her other hand didn’t look much better, and he winced when he noticed tiny shards of transparisteel still clinging to the skin. “Did this happen when you fell?”

Dara stared dumbly at her wounds for a moment before trying to shake him off. “It doesn’t matter.”

Crosshair only gripped her more firmly by the wrists. “This can wait. You need to—”

“I don’t need to do anything,” she interrupted, pulling away violently. “I’m fine, just— just let me keep digging.” She grabbed her shovel from where it had dropped at her feet and made to continue.

“Just stop!” Crosshair commanded, temper boiling over. “You’re not a clone. They’re not your brothers, they’re ours, so don’t pretend like it’s your job to bury them. Take a kriffing break so I can fix your hands, now!”

Dara did stop at that, fingers flexing around the handle of the shovel as she glared straight back at him. She looked like she was deciding whether to yell at Crosshair or punch him. Finally, she threw down her shovel and shoved past him, scrambling out of the hole. She grabbed her pack on her way past and stalked into the forest without a backwards glance.

Crosshair turned to where his brothers were staring down at him disapprovingly and crossed his arms.

“What?” he barked. “I was trying to be nice!”

Wrecker frowned. “Well, ya did a terrible job.”

Crosshair threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know what her problem is!”

“Ah,” Tech began matter-of-factly. “It is likely that she is experiencing some acute psychological distress. Her discovery of this mass grave has, in all probability, reminded her of the Empire’s massacre of her home village.”

The others blinked at him, stunned. “Tech, how was I supposed to know about that?” Crosshair finally demanded.

Tech tilted his head. “Oh—yes. I forgot to inform you all of what I had discovered of Dara’s biography once we learned her birth name.” He cleared his throat and frowned down at his datapad as he pulled up the relevant file and began reading. “Keranji Daranjal, born on Onderon, childhood friend of Steela and Saw Gerrera. Attended university in Onderon’s capital city, where she began advanced graduate training in linguistics, specializing in non-human, primitive cultures. She has published some quite fascinating studies, in fact—”

“Get to the point, Tech,” Echo interjected.

“Ah, of course,” Tech acknowledged. “Apologies. Dara’s research was interrupted during the Clone Wars when her mentor, the linguist Palo Bragus, was gunned down by Separatist droids during a public demonstration. She then abandoned her studies to join the Gerreras in the formation of their insurgent group. After they succeeded in reinstating the former king, she left Onderon; a little over a year ago the Empire sought her out as a means to track down Saw. The village where she and the Gerreras grew up was burned down in the attempt to locate her. Many of the villagers were killed…including Dara’s only family: a brother, sister-in-law, and their two children.”

He cleared his throat again, glancing up at his brothers. “The Empire now has Keranji Daranjal listed as deceased, so I can only presume that she faked her death shortly afterward. As far as I know, Dara has never been back to Onderon. She never had the chance to bury her dead.”

There it was, then: everything Dara had built all those careful walls to protect, the origins of her rage and her grief, what Crosshair had been so eager to see exposed. A war she had fought in and survived, only for more utter violence and destruction to come when she thought it was all over. Death upon death upon death, and at the center of it all, Dara, still alive, but alone.

Her story was a lot like that of the clones, in fact. And he had somehow managed to rub it in that these weren’t even her corpses to bury. 

The men avoided eye contact. Tech and Echo had done the best they could with removing the bodies from the garbage pit and had stacked them reverently to the side of the grave, awaiting their new resting place. They joined the others as they returned to digging, though Crosshair kept glancing out towards the forest, where Dara had disappeared.

Wrecker laid a hand on his shoulder. “She’ll be alright,” he murmured.

The sun was setting and they could hear the Marauder’s approach by the time Dara returned, carrying a wide, flat stone. Though the hole they’d managed to dig was no monument to wealth, the bodies of the clones were now safely blanketed in soil, deep enough to protect them from further disturbances, animal or otherwise. The squad stood quietly by the grave as she approached and knelt, gently laying the stone at its center.

Her hands somehow managed to have gotten worse, Crosshair noticed. Still, she didn’t seem to feel the pain, only clenched her fists, rose, and went to the ship without a word. On the stone, she had painstakingly carved a one-word epitaph for the clones, the Aurebesh letters rustic and clumsy. It read:

Brothers

Tag list: @stardusthuntress @skellymom @megmegalodondon @somewhere-on-kamino @morerandombullshit @zahmaddog @flaming-dumpster

Thanks again to @cloneflo99 for the amazing banner!!!

[avatar-of-the-web]

This was going to be a response but Tumblr has the best timing with making me lose a post forever, so the context is TMA "Are there loving God's?" Gerry said, he doesn't believe so.

They appear to all be fear-based.

He specifies, “At least not that I've seen” [they are not anything else]

Smart boy, the information tugs at the edge of the subconscious where you can barely see it. You know it's wrong without the means to prove it.

You know they're beyond your imagination but you still yet cannot help being trapped in a world of fear; this was true before they literally consumed the world. They already had. So caught up in fear that it had practically swallowed it all to begin with. All Elias had really done was make it official, to cut everything else out of the picture.

So there was nothing left to balance, it slides on an incline downward; but this is an ecosystem and the balance is off. They can't feed forever if even they can die—this world was finite.

In a sense, ours isn't. Of course, the flesh disagrees and the clumsy host produces waste without thinking of solutions will disagree; “it's all finite to me” but this energy is never created nor destroyed only moved, only changed.

They'd be different sides of the same entity, not completely different entity's; they're ELDRITCH, or incredibly difficult, dense to comprehend; Different faces, same beast—a different man sees their own unique version of each god as unique as their relationship with it.

To a vast avatar, the vast is a loving god, She changed you for the better; Gave you what you Needed, though She may still ask for payment in an exchange. That's not unreasonable.

Of course how we draw the lines in the sand are circumstantial. One calls it the Eye because they believe this section of the beast is worth separating as its own; and for good reason. In every head, the witness of life observes and fed and fed and fed She changes too. Different forms of course; some continually feeding without consideration, some drink the sea to know to apply, some cannot help this obsession spurred by terror what will happen if I don't see it all? And more.

The Eye is a dominant entity for Her presence is nearly guaranteed. The Web us a dominant entity because it is or lays in the connection of everything.

We section these things to better understand them. The total of it all— it's too overwhelming to process all at once.

But it comes down to this.

You make a relationship with your slice of The Gods.

“In exchange for being my vessel, here is a prize; but you must be calibrated. Not just anybody can be a vessel for # you must fulfill the needs, be capable of performing My actions of thinking My thoughts.

You are My Vessel the embodiment of Me and you must Become to Be.”

Gerry is biased by WHAT HE COULD SEE, the patterns that trapped him, and what he could see was ultimately dictated by the people that insisted on controlling his life; so when he escaped he could only make how he viewed the world his own, so he saved people from fear instead of creating it.

He fought limitation though limitation still lay as it were, he could only go so far but even so

If that's not love, I don't know what is.

So he did not See it for he could not understand it but he could Feel it still; it drove his actions though he separated them.

He only knew these things could hurt people because he Saw what they could do. He only saved them because he Knew. Otherwise, there is no reason to Fear.

Of course, doubt and denial and misunderstanding, misaligning information leads to blindness; one could ask "how could god do that?" thinking of a god as something akin to a man making decisions; but they're far more complex than that.

The human brain does not dictate every little thing the stomach does, and goes through, though it certainly influences decisions we typically don't understand every single thing going on and don't control every single muscle and behaviour inside. A god on a greater scale—as a given consciousness could be a god to it's cells whom practice their devotion by serving their own respective purposes for the greater good of the whole and the individual—this is no different.

In our complicated dimension we have more of a choice.

We get to be privvy, get to know, get to share that know, if we so choose, if we find ourselves capable.

But I can only choose how I'd choose as I am with my life and my knowledge.

I become what I can reach.

And I believe there is every side to them, and an infinite number of ways to slice them. They are only reduced to Fears in a world of Fear.

I make no predication to the angle the podcast will take; but I see the seeds of reality that bloomed to creative ideas in TMA. And I see what cannot be avoided; I see what is being depicted.

In it's full complexity, from the eye of the beholder, from the centre of fear is our vantage point as the audience as it is the writers.

The Witness of Life, The Eye, The Evil Eye. All the same. Whatever angle it takes.

So we will See.

[fangsandsoftgrass]

Day 19 Shared hobby./Potion.

unexpectedly got kinda burned out so sorry this is later :/

Cirwedh is stocking up on poisons for a venture, and Fenn wants to watch her process :3

"A dash of bile, a couple chunks of salamander. It's fairly simple, to be honest-" Cirwedh was interrupted by a plume of noxious yellow vapor as she dropped another bite of amphibian into the bubbling pot before her. "Done!"

From where he stood (which was a fair distance from whatever health hazard she was cooking), Fennorian watched with as little horror painted across his face as he could manage. Alchemy was always measured, always precise. But as he watched the brew boil, something akin to curiosity replaced his apprehension. Cirwedh had shown him what went into her poisons before, sure, but the process of making such things was something he could only describe as concerning.

"Deer," she looked over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of apprehension in Fennorian eyes as they met her, "Oh, don't worry, it's harmless. I just need that glass on the table over there. Could you grab it, please?" she smiled as he handed her a small crystalline jar and clasped his hands in his lap, standing a bit closer as she turned back to her work. "Thanks! I just keep this one in a container I can easily coat my arrows in," she thought for a moment before shrugging, "or anything, really. It's usually arrows, though."

Despite the alarmingly casual way in which Cirwedh formulated the poison itself, nothing could prepare him for when she plunged the jar—and the hand holding it—straight into the vat of foul yellow liquid without a second thought.

"Cirwedh!" Fennorian startled forward, reaching for her hand but freezing as she laughed. He watched as she capped the jar and placed it on the ground before turning to face him, lips twisted in a grin.

"Gotcha, did I?" beside her feet was a separate bucket of water that she dipped her hand in and shook about. When she pulled it up, he saw that all the flesh was still intact, and not even the joints had swollen. She looked utterly impish as she flexed her fingers and grinned. "I'm good, though. It doesn't even burn the soft flesh! I've spit this stuff in someone's face before, but my cheeks were fine!"

"Divines, what am I going to do with you?" he asked, bringing one hand to his chest and the other to his temple, sighing before he picked up another jar and handed it to her. "I swear you're going to be the end of me, Love. Do you at least have some kind of ladle?" He really should have known the answer to that, but some dim vestige of hope remained. Fennorian watched as she continued to repeat the action, filling another jar and sealing it with some kind of enchantment.

"It got erm- dissolved some weeks back when I was working on a new project. Sorry." Her smile said she wasn't, though, and she continued to dip jar after jar into the brew until the last drops were poured.

Fennorian shook his head in mock disappointment and moved to stand by her side, arms snaking around her waist as his chin rested atop her head. While watching her process of poison-making was almost painfully terrifying, Fenn did enjoy learning new alchemical applications for things he'd never have thought up on his own. Her knowledge of toxins was impeccable, and given the region she was from, it came as no surprise. When she moved to gather her stock, he stepped back and took a basket from the nearby counter, holding it still as she organized the collection of jars until they all fit snugly with no room to clink about. They had spent most of the night sharing the small alchemy lab tucked into the corners of Skingrad, but the sun was beginning to rise over the walls, and birds announced the dawn with a song that would no doubt have people in the streets within the hour. His free hand found hers as they began the trip back to the Inn, and a comfortable warmth spread up his arm from where their fingers were entwined; what would have been an otherwise quiet walk was now filled with the distant chatter of lab safety standards.

[findtheflamexvi]

Title: The moth that goes to the light.

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x Larys Strong.

Tags: Confession, First Kiss.

She was wearing her nightclothes and her bedroom smelled, as it had every night for years, of sadness and loneliness. Over time, however, she had grown accustomed not only to that, but also to the weight of remorse.

This was now her secret corner, even more so than the garden of the gods had once been. Here no one disturbed her, here she allowed herself to be free, only here did she see him, and only in his company did she confess without fear of judgement.

The trust established between them was such that Larys Strong needed no express permission to enter; yet, as usual, he knocked at the door.

The handle came down, the hinges turned silently, and the room was flooded with the dry strokes of the newcomer's cane. Alicent watched him through the reflection in the window pane: he shuffled his leg slowly, his back hunched, his gaze meek, always giving the impression of a man who was soft, frail, and harmless. Yet there was no real weakness in Larys Strong. The queen had been more than aware of that more than a decade ago, when he himself had let her in on a dark secret.

That revelation had frightened her, no wonder, after all she had learned that she was dining with a self-confessed murderer.

"Necessity creates strange partners," she remembered thinking at the time, as she turned around to greet him. The need for a friendly face; for they were both strangers in a world full of acquaintances.

—Always so punctual, Lord Larys —she intoned with a sovereign attitude. Only when Talya withdrew, leaving them alone in privacy, Alicent softened his stance and intonation—. It's nice to see you again. Thank you.

Why was she suddenly feeling so dismayed? This was something that often happened to her, especially for political reasons such as the division of opinion over the succession, yet it was a feeling that had never occupied her heart when she was in Larys's company. Why? Why did her chest threaten to suffocate her?

Having previously decided not to harbour doubts or intrusive thoughts, Alicent smiled modestly, turning her attention back to the dark night.

—It is I, my queen, your devoted servant, who am grateful —Larys replied behind him.

Not long after these words, Alicent heard the shuffling sound of the man's approach. Still unaware of how his presence seemed to be affecting the queen, Alicent swallowed nervously.

An inch of distance separated them. Once it would have meant nothing, but now, now Alicent's world was not the same. Nor was hers. Nowadays she could see a man for what he was, but also for what he could be: a temptation.

She didn't want to be like those other women she had so often mentally pointed out and criticised, she didn't want to be weak to the flesh. May the gods protect her because she did not wish to christen her relationship with Larys in this sinful way. And yet, having him so close made her anxious.

It wasn't right, it wasn't right, it wasn't right.

—If I may be so bold, you look especially radiant tonight.

Larys' words brought a smile to her lips, but also fuelled doubts and brought her a little closer to the precipice.

Before Alicent was able to say a single word, Larys' fingers assaulted her without warning. Long, slender, delicate even, and soft in their own particular way. She felt the touch for mere seconds, the time it had taken him to tuck an unruly lock behind her ear, an instant so fleeting and yet so effective.

Gathering her courage and fighting the maelstrom that was biting her from the gut, Alicent said:

—And you are especially daring.

—Should I have kept silent?

No. Of course not; she confessed to herself.

Alicent looked into his eyes, whose icy blue was a light in the darkness. Then at his lips, which smiled only for her.

This man was a mystery, a puzzle of pieces that didn't fit together. And he shouldn't be, not to her who was the queen, not to Alicent who was her friend.

—So long together and you are still an unknown quantity to me, Lord Larys. Except, of course, for the crimes you are capable of.

He only smiled shyly in response.

—That is quite a compliment, my queen. But I must ask, how could I find the secrets of others if I were unable to hide my own?

He was right, of course. But that didn't stop her from feeling blind in his presence. Alicent was afraid to address whatever it was she was feeling, and the way she saw things, the best way to regain stability was to move towards the light. Towards the truth.

—Our relationship is based on trust, isn't it? —the queen continued—. So why is it so unbalanced?

—Out of respect.

—Out of respect? —repeated Alicent in bewilderment—. Out of respect for whom?

—I am your humble servant —Larys replied with a hand on his chest and a look as tender as a child's—. I listen to you and give you advice you in the best way I know how. I did not think, I did not expect, that you would ever wish to listen to the crippled man's lamentations.

With slow, clumsy steps Larys moved to the other side of Alicent, right behind her. Candle flames fluttering in the sudden rush of air, the fire splitting the shadows that enveloped them.

—You thought wrong —Alicent murmured. Her hands clasped and resting on her stomach, her eyes lowered, her shoulders slumped. She was ashamed.

—Besides, you told me this very night that I was particularly daring. I am not like other men. I am here to serve you as this candle is here to give us its light.

—Larys...

And at her name all other words were put aside, for when Alicent saw him in the candlelight, her inner world, as well as the beliefs that had sustained her, shattered.

—My queen? —he asked.

—Today, of all nights, I allow you to be bold.

And so it was, in a breath, that their lips met. An otherwise stolen kiss, but did Alicent really expect anything else to have happened? Was she really still so naïve? If only, if only it was the latter. But it wasn't.

Larys sighed, her hot breath hitting her still slightly open lips. An apology followed, a shuffling sound and a closing door.

Alicent put her hand to her mouth as she watched the candles dance, and wondered then which of the two was the moth and which the light.

[observeroflaplace]

Part 6 - Origins Ever After

Proxy.  That’s what that thing said.

My mind races to the letters on my back that Shelke pointed out.  That she could only make out part of them.  That some were faded or obscured.

[…R O X Y  S A T Y P…]

I knew the name Roxy was nothing more than a make-do label.  I knew it wasn’t even a real name.  I knew I hadn’t so much as worn it for more than a few turns of the sun.

Still, it felt as though something within my heart shattered.  The glass dug into my soul, and from its wounds, I wept in place.  I screamed from the bottom of my diaphragm.

How did this thing know what I was?  Did it know my past?  Did I even possess one to begin with?  Deep down, as I asked these questions, in the pit of my stomach, in the core of my very being, I knew the truth.  A truth which on some level, I had been avoiding.

I was not born of this star, nor of its people.  I was no more than a golem shaped from the clay of this thing’s putrid flesh and cast into the world.

“It appears that you have successfully developed, archetype S.A. Type.  Partial core activation… How very familiar.  It appears then, that I was wrong to cast you out as a failure too soon.  Perhaps that is our fate…”

The thing slithered forwards into a leaning position above me to peer closer.  The shell of pearlescent metal simply thudded, lifeless, like a great coffin attempting to bury it.

“Undoubtedly you have questions of your creation…”

The thing’s back lurched and swole like a puss-filled cyst, expanding slowly until it grew to the size of the warped torso smirking at me.

“No?  But your core’s data would lack the knowledge of the project..  Or perhaps, you’ve simply realised on your own?  Still, I shall banish all of your doubts.”

The protrusion began to pulse, separately from “his” own heartbeat.

It eventually stopped, and from it dropped a lifeless body that fell to the floor with a distinct “thud”.  It lay there, motionless, save for slow, methodical breathing.  

I gazed upon it.

The strands of off-red hair.  Scarlet eyes.  The slender and middling build and height.

It was me.

“A piteous and jealous man once clamored after everything the former Legatus of the VIIth wielded.  Power, a family of followers… and the Ultima Weapon.  His early attempts at mockeries of that Allagan device lay beyond his reach, and he knew this.  He knew the limits of his intellect.  Thus it dawned upon him; if combat data could construct the strategies and performance of combatants, then surely one such Warmachina could simulate the great mind of a scientist who fell in the Ala Mhigan revolution.  Of my mind.”

I tried to glare at him.  I could only feel myself blink.

“Regrettably, this shell of mine was little more than a winged prison.  The pilot’s skills and the body’s mobility were at odds.  She crashed, and with it, almost doomed me before my birth.  We were abandoned shortly thereafter.  It appears my consciousness had not fully developed, even when my core, the Synthetic Auracite within me, began to stir.  It took moons for my brilliant mind to piece the fragments together, but piece them together it did.  I evolved, taking what I needed from her withering body.  If nothing else, she provided valuable nutrients before her time was up.”

So then, that was it.  Perhaps that is why this amalgam’s spawn appeared as it did.

“Know that despite the many fragmented cores left in my care for development, that you are in the presence of Aulus Mal Asina.  The pinnacle of Garlean minds, reborn.  But we can both agree that this vessel will hardly do; and so it is without question that I sought to transfer my core to a smaller, more mobile vessel.  Some functionality will of course be lost in a smaller core; you are testament to that.  No matter, Sas Aurum.  I shall yet iterate.”

“Sas Aurum”.  The name of a Tribunus.  One who fell in battle during the civil war, following the mad prince’s ascension.

Sviette Sas Aurum.  The Grey Jackal.

One whose eyes I gazed through.  Whose hands held her blade as she did.  Whose might and skill and equipment were bestowed unto me as memory.  As a mere fake.  A shadow on the wall, mistaken for a chosen one of the realm.

Was it a coincidence then?  Was the Viera I glimpsed in passing her?  Her name was similar, I think.  Was my first friendship simply the result of my crude emulation of another?

Rather than wail, I shouted, though my lips did not curl them into words.  They did, however, twist into a snarl.

“I alone understand your anguish, Sas Aurum.  We who are born from the shadows of others have no hope of escaping them.  Know that it is foolish to turn your fury to me, my puppet.  And know that by defying the odds and serving my rebirth, you have my gratitude… And my pride.”

I spit.  I twitch and I struggle.

“Thank you, for your services…”

Aulus lowers his gaze.  It is clear he isn’t willing to take any chances with my resistance, as a Vulcan cannon whirs to life, fighting against the rubble to open from a hatch.  Likely the only weapon which could be wielded at such close range that was not buried into the dirt.  Certainly enough for a stationary target, and a normal soldier at that.

“…a…stard..!”

Unfortunately for him, I doubt any of the artificial soldiers whose cores were left for him to raise were ordinary.  Her, not least.

Caught by surprise, he fires at me.  A translucent projection of Hoplites, resembling her - my original - stood firm against the spraying bullets.  They wouldn’t last forever; but neither would Aulus’ invisible shackles.

[…Initiating Oversoul.  Initialisation Complete.]

The phantom warriors fell and scattered into motes of so much aether, but not before one used her large build to hurl me into the air.  The Vulcan cannon whirred and spun, trying to chase me through the air as friction cost me speed.  Still, I had a plan.

I prayed and willed another phantom to life.  She shoved me forward, and herself back in game; covering me momentarily from the gunfire.  A tactic which, perhaps, would be foolhardy, even fatal if performed inadequately.

I was ready, however.  Ready, and with the luck of some devil from the void.

Her strength threw me up in the air, approaching the warmachina’s apex…

And then I began to fall.

Aulus smirks as I descend; seemingly not far enough to reach him, and without enough time to launch another cross-strike.

Instead, however, I surprise him with another technique of the Grey Jackal’s.

I thrust my blade forward, still wreathed in blue flames.  It was a long shot, as I knew not if his core remained in the lattice of flesh and steel within the cockpit, or had forced its way up through his protruding torso.

Still, the flames extended forth from my blade, in a concentrated Lance of flame and plasma, striking right through his heart, as I fell to the dirt.

Stunned, he gazed upon me.

“How dare you..!  A mere puppet..!”

A cacophony of voices rang out from his speakers.  I couldn’t make out what they said.  

[Critical error-] [Opal Weapon systems breached-] [Core Failure Immi-] [Initiate So-] [Error…]. […elf Destruct Sequence in…]

I had no chance to climb up the smooth armour of the Warmachina to reach him from here, nor did I have a chance to pierce its armour even with that technique.

The gun, unable to reach me this close, whirred to a stop.

I had little time to check if he was truly dead.

I willed more phantoms in my retreat, following the path I painstakingly must have plucked free to where I fell from.

The Phantoms aided my climb, and not a moment too soon.  I barely made it atop more of the rubble before I heard an almost deafening explosion.  Almost.  Perhaps my hearing felt unusually sensitive..?

The Phantoms aiding my climb began to fade as my strength failed me.  Despite everything, despite learning that I was nothing more than a puppet to a puppet, I didn’t want to die.

…and then a pair of hands gripped my own.  One which despite appearances, felt metal.  Mechanical.  Another, far shorter but no less strong, and adorned with black scales, pulled me up.

Two familiar faces smirked at me as I aly on solid dirt above ground at last. One winked at me with his only uncovered eye, nearly shoving me to the ground as he dusted off my shoulder.

"You still alive, Rox? Heh, don't worry, I hear medical leave's good."

I drew breath deeply and slowly, finally realising how tense I had been until that point.  Not simply in battle, not simply today.  While my answers were in some ways grim, I finally had them; and could finally unwind.

If things ended there, if my life could simply continue in that direction, perhaps things would have been better.  Perhaps I wouldn’t need to scrawl this all down so hastily.  If only.

[vid-writes]

The Truth Will Out (Ch. 14)

As always this story is for adults only!

"Do you have to hold my head for this to work?" I asked the god before me.

"The truth comes from the brain so, yes," Shudmos replied as he opened the door to an oddly normal office space.

"That's freaky," I whispered as he led us into the room.

"Did you think I was taking you to some crazy media room with cameras, a make-up team, lighting, and a director? There's no need for theater in the face of the truth, dear Flora. Sit, please." He gestured to the plush green chairs on this side of his giant oak desk.

I sat down in one of the chairs and looked around the room. Aside from the desk, which had a computer, many typical office things filled the room. A few shelves with various books on them lined the wall to my right. Art decorated the walls in numerous styles, landscapes, portraits, abstract, and minimalistic stuff. A plush couch, two armchairs, and a table in between decorated the farthest side of the room. It was freaky that a god in the flesh kept such a human-like office.

"I stand by my previous statement," I reiterated, "this office is freaky knowing that it belongs to you."

Shudmos just smiled.

He sat in the seat next to mine and remained unnervingly silent. The minutes stretched out before there were three short knocks on his door.

"Come in," Shudmos called.

The doors opened, and a woman with flowing green hair wheeled a cart with supplies into the room.

"The video supplies you requested, Lord Shudmos." She bowed before exiting the room and pulling the door closed before her.

"We would be truly lost without Peninnah to keep the trains running on time," Shudmos commented as he examined the stuff on the cart. He held up a regular video camera, and I almost laughed.

He was an all-powerful god, and he was holding such a human piece of technology. To think Shudmos would prefer this over some type of psychic communication or something. Truly freaky.

"Alright, dear Flora, give me a few minutes and let me know if you need anything before we get started," Shudmos said.

"You're being weirdly nice even though you're still speaking with two voices." I tensed a bit as he fumbled the camera he was trying to mount to a tripod.

"Oh, was I? I hadn't noticed." His voice resorted back to the cold tone I had grown used to at first. 

"It's still a little hard to maintain myself and this vessel separately from each other sometimes," he added nonchalantly.

"You figure, after several millennia, you'd have a better grasp on your vessel." He glared at me as he finished plugging the camera into the sleek computer on his desk.

"Are you always going to be a mouthy brat?"

"Surprisingly, I didn't use to be before someone kidnapped and tortured me," I retorted.

"Well, lucky for you, once we are done, you can return to some semblance of freedom," he commented as he pulled up several applications on his computer.

"Will I be allowed to leave?" My hands drummed idly on the arms of my chair, and I noticed some blood stains on my dress. The dark reddish brown circles and splatters made the yellow look almost cruel.

"You can, but I doubt you'll want to," he said. Shudmos circled the desk to sit in the chair next to me, and I studied his face instead of the blood on my dress.

His lips weren't the usual full, pillowy kissable lips the sexy bad guys had in romance novels, but they weren't so thin they didn't exist. Shudmos' eyes and their nearly white irises weren't as haunting to look at for me as they might be for some, having grown up being chased around by Fergus. Shudmos sketched his long, thick eyebrows as he noticed me studying his face.

"See something you like?" He grinned.

"As if," I scoffed.

"Let's get this over with, shall we? Then you can have one of your goons show me where I can get a shower and a change of clothes. Maybe a hot meal, too." I straightened my skirt to hide the bloodstain as much as possible since I couldn't see how much of my body the desk blocked from the camera.

"If you choose to stay, I expect your family and friends will try to free you or join you. How we handle them will depend entirely on how they behave. Do you understand this?" He raised his eyebrows at me again.

"You've opened my eyes to some impossible truths, with evidence to boot. My only concern is that you don't kill my little brother no matter how he behaves," I said.

"He is the only exception I'm allowing you to ask for. Once this video has been uploaded to the internet, I will release the rest of the prisoners. They will not be healed, I will not return any personal belongings save for the beast's amulet, and they will be dumped in an undisclosed location."

My heart hammered inside of my chest. So much had changed, and so much had happened, yet so much was still to come. I knew one thing without a shadow of a doubt, once I exposed Kari's family secret with irrefutable proof, his parents would call the engagement off, so it would make things easier on my family if I got ahead of that. Considering all the issues I was about to cause in their lives, I owed them that much.

"They made their choices," was all I said.

Shudmos nodded and leaned across the desk. He pressed a few keys, and the red light on the camera lit up.

"Good day to you if you are watching this. My name is Shudmos, God of Truth. Some of you may have heard of me through folktales, children's stories, or even whispered rumors as of late. Let me assure you I am very real." His eyes glowed bright white, and the change happened seamlessly this time. "As you see before you and, as experts will tell you once they've verified that this video is all too real, I am also real." He flexed his wings as his dual voices filled every centimeter of the room.

"As you can see before you, I have a new friend here with me," Shudmos mentioned as he motioned towards me. "Your eyes do not deceive you this is indeed Princess Flora Dewberry Whitehand beside me. She is, as of late, here of her own free will."

I scoffed softly.

"However, I know you will not be willing to take my word for it, so I will show you my powers of truth with Miss Whitehand's assistance," he said. His hand reached out and touched the top of my head. The normal warmth of his skin leeched into my hair, and I suppressed a shudder.

"Tell us who you are," he commanded.

"My name is Flora Dewberry Whitehand; I am the eldest born of the Vrathian Kingdom, and I wasn't here of my own free will at first." Shudmos glared at me as both his hand and my body glowed white. "I am now here of my own free will after learning information that will shock all of you to your cores." The white glow remained.

"Now tell us a lie so they may see how that power works," Shudmos instructed.

"I like ketchup on my burgers," I blurted out the first thing I could think of.

The glow turned black. Shudmos laughed.

A real laugh. A laugh with two voices to bring to life filled every part of my body. I stared at him in pure awe.

"It is with some regret and a newfound anger that I will be ending my engagement to the eldest son of the Kroqalin Kingdom, Kari Szakata Torvalur." The white glow returned, and I took a deep breath to center myself as I felt my powers return to my body. "This man and his family harbors a dark secret. One they claim to have no true knowledge of and yet proof of the contrary sits beside me." I gestured to Shudmos.

After that, the information dam broke. I revealed the secret about Kari's bloodline, my capture and subsequent torture, the information Shudmos provided me, the way he healed me, and even that he was incredibly kind now that I knew the truth. Shudmos even spoke to confirm things on his own, and the white glow surrounded his body anytime he did. Once everything was out I sat back, now accustomed to the weight of this god's hand on my head, and heaved a sigh of relief.

"That felt like the right thing to do," I said.

"That's because it was," Shudmos agreed as he removed his hand from my head. In the absence of the hand, my head grew a little cold and felt oddly lighter.

"Now, about that bath." I grinned and stretched in my chair.

"I wasn't expecting you to want to stay, so the only chambers prepared to something you're used to are mine," he offered. "There are several empty bedrooms, but only a few have washrooms, and none other than mine have a tub."

I groaned. Of course.

"Can you ditch the weird dual voice and give me privacy once I am in the bath?" I asked.

"I will wait outside the outermost set of doors to give you privacy, but I will stand guard over you until you're less new here. Wouldn't want you wandering into someone's room and seeing something you don't want to see," he replied with the warmer of the two voices. The absence of the cold voice was startling.

"Gross."

He chuckled, "Come on."

Chin deep, in hot water and bubbles, I found myself oddly relaxed. I mean, I was being tortured a couple of hours ago. And okay, my engagement was over. But since my whole life was based on lies from people I was supposed to trust, I wasn't giving myself the space for guilt. They had known of Shudmos in some capacity when I was thirteen; I distinctly remember Cillian mentioning his name and how the shadows had whispered rumors of his growing threat. Yet they continued to raise me blindly and allowed me to ally myself with monsters.

When Shudmos revealed what Kari's ancestors had done, I puked into the trashcan next to his desk and made Shudmos promise not to edit out that part so people would know that I had just learned that information at the same time as them. They deserved my sympathy, the innocents of many kingdoms who were manipulated and lied to by all of the royalty of this continent. I stretched my whole body out and then pushed myself to my feet.

After I dried off and wrapped myself in a nearby bathrobe, I made my way to the outer set of doors to Shudmos' chambers.

"You better not tell me we have to share the same bed," I said in greeting as I opened the doors.

"You wish," he scoffed as he pushed past me.

"Ah, good old cold Mos is back," I teased.

"Do not call me by some shortened version of my name like we are friends," he snapped. Something told me now wasn't the time to push the subject.

"I'll sleep on the couch out here in front of the fireplace," I offered softly.

Shudmos stopped midway to his bed chamber and turned to me, "Nonsense, you will sleep in the bed."

"You're much taller than me and need the space," I countered.

"And you're a willing guest in my home and will take the comfortable bed. Tomorrow, I will assign you the closest room to mine so you have access to my bath at night. And for the love of my fellow gods, knock before you enter and wait for a reply. You might walk in on something you don't want to see," he said, and his tone left no room for argument.

He returned from his bed chamber a minute later with pillows and a blanket for himself. Captivated, I watched as he set up the couch.

"Stop staring at me, mortal," he snipped.

"It's freaky," I whispered.

"Everything is freaky to you," he retorted.

"Whatever." I turned and headed to his bed chamber. The large bed sprawled almost the entire length of the left wall. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Flora."

Just for good measure, I closed the doors between the two rooms before I climbed into bed. If Shudmos had to pee, he could hold it or find one of his floosies and use her washroom.

[magaprima]

"Not for long," Lilith answered honestly. "Not without extreme measures." While Lucifer was subdued, his power muted, by being trapped in a flesh Acheron, Lilith was under no illusion of just how dangerous he would still be if he awoke. The only certainty for her safety lay in extreme measures; Damascus steal chains, celestial binding sigils and taking away his ability to speak. She doubted Zelda would be comfortable with any of it but, if the former Dark Lord did awaken, there'd be no choice. Not if the woman wanted to keep her family safe; all of whom would be in as much danger as Lilith for the part they played in his imprisonment.

"Which is why," she continued, "we need to ensure we don't. It is best for all of us that Lucifer remains unaware and undisturbed by our plans. But if you practice, and if we move carefully, he shouldn't realise until it's too late." She only hoped Zelda was as competent as she came across. She had managed to cast a successful Acheron and she was managing to separate Lucifer's mind from her own; both skills were as good a start as any.

"So we'll start with someone unimportant, someone's whose mind is so incredibly empty that Lucifer is unlikely to even notice its presence." And Lilith had just the demon in mind for the job. "Now..." She looked at Zelda with vague amusement. "I hope you're not squeamish"

Zelda gave a withering look. Of course she didn't wish to remain entrapped with Satan himself inside of her mind. She wasn't so delusional to think she could keep him dormant forever, and she desperately wanted to go back to her family. Zelda worries after them more and more as the hours passed. It had been the same when she had been cursed and stuck in Rome with Faustus, not knowing how she could help Ambrose avoid execution.

And then she had heard about the angel attack. She had felt powerless. Yet at least now she had an ally of sorts in Lilith.

"And what happens if we do wake him? Will you be able to subdue him," she asked, rather worried what the answer would be. She knew had been taking on an incredible risk volunteering herself to be the acheron, but she refused to believe it would be her end. She'd simply have to be an attentive student tot he first witch.

[yaatuk]

HEADCANON #1 : IF I AM ANYTHING, IT IS VIOLENCE.

to properly put a clear separation between shaak's relationship with violence and her mental illness (without demonizing it) while drawing parallels with duo's azula and ozai // joel and ellie for the relationship with her father. it needs to be made clear that shaak's origins were violent by circumstance and nature through the sacrifice of blood and flesh and then formed by powerful reality altering (eldritch) magic that could not be undone or reabsorbed.

Aman is her father without a doubt. Biologically and magically. Long story short, he created her with his magic and his blood and as a result it's what led them to being on the run. Shaak's birth is appropriately described as "unnatural" And a "cosmic disruption" in the natural order. So much so that the varient council and sorcerer supreme from marvel would be after them both.

Aman needed a living vessel in the form of a newborn baby (he probably assumed it would be a boy, considering it is his blood and flesh that he sacrificed to make it happen) to carry on his "legacy" and while he didn't mean it in a "spreading his seed to different women way" and in more of a "we are the only people that can handle and do what others cannot" it's still a mindset that fueled her delusion of being "the chosen one" / "I have to do this to make my father proud, no matter the cost" when going on her journey.

This isnt to say that their relationship is just exactly like Ozai and Azula. It's kind of the opposite in terms of Aman doing the best he can as a single parent and actually having a good relationship with his daughter (emotionally nurturing too) but at the same time, he did have to lie to protect her or at least in his mind, lying was the only way to protect her.

Even then though, her schizophrenia / psychosis is the result of her father's actions (both good and bad ones) and the environment she had to grow up in as a 15 year old who had no choice but to take the responsibility as chief of her village after a devasting loss and had to prepare for war.

Back to WHAT shaak is. She's an eldritch horror / abomination and a Chiropteran. Her entire existence (down to the biology in both) revolves around violence in the complex frame of survival, instinct (nature vs nurture) and choice. The violence of her story is meant to have to have a purpose inside and outside of who she is even as a inconceivable horror.

Basically, violence by choice / violence by circumstances / violence by instinct -- all of these underlying things have fueled and blurred her perception on reality, her morals and goals and has even made her think differently of herself. That being said, I hope brought more of a profound reason to why violence is an important part to her story and character arc without demonizing or blaming her mental illness in any way.

[ererokii]

Sooo... This request thing. You're aweosme 👉👈

Ooh boy it's a long one (changed it a bit)

-Erens so cute when he purrs and when you mention his curiosity and twitching ears ears and gentle touch, so as not to hurt the reader.

-when he kinda is paying attention to, analysing the reader or protecting them its SO cute

-It would maybe end as like cuddles and things and just... Talking. To him and him grunting or just nodding or thinking replies.

-Maybe be at night.

-Maybe it would start with... Eren In human form.

-Maybe he figures out that you don't think his titan form is so ugly but still a little new and scary and that maybe you like it

- Bam if you can somehow NSFW that... Uhmm?

So he... Turns into a titan and then. Some NSFW or just. Maybe he like. Scares or teases the reader on purpose for a reaction?

-And then NSFW somehow if you wanna put that in. Sorry for the way I type I'm kinda doing it as it all appears in my head lol

-I like your cute, and desperate eren, but also attentive and caring. I haven't seen you write a very cheeky or playful titan eren so maybe that would be nice.

I REALLY ENJOYED WRITING THIS ONE. Here you monsterfuckers, take your TITAN SMUT.

WARNINGS: MONSTERFUCKING. Oral (f receiving), mention of voyeurism, overstimulation, dumbification, multiple orgasms, edging, characters are 18+.

If these themes make you uncomfortable or you rather avoid, please block the tag “AOT SMUT” WC: 1.7K

Also thank you to the amazing @galair for this beautiful art🥺 everyone go check her out

Eren stays deep within his thoughts as he hums to himself, staring up at the starry sky. His loose strands tickle the shell of his ear, itching to scratch away at it but refuses. He can’t recall the conversation before the silence. It’s always been on his mind, but he’s been inquisitive as to what you saw him as, even if he knew the answer.

Am I a monster to you? Or am I just like you?

You knew Eren was quite insecure with himself when it came to his titan powers; no matter how many times he asked you that, you always gave him the same answer.

You were never a monster; you’re just a broken human like me. 

For some reason, that has never failed to put a smile on his face. Being able to categorize himself with humans made him feel complete, separate from the monster people used to call him when he discovered the powers. 

But know that he’s aware (once again) of how you feel, does he scare you?

Maybe he could ask you--, but he doesn’t want to ruin the mood at all. Now that he thinks of it, he can’t recollect a moment where you’ve seemed scared to be in his presence, unlike other comrades who look like they’ll leak themselves any moment. 

Without even thinking, he blurts out the question. His eyes widen slightly when he realizes the words slipped past his lips.

“Am I scared of your titan form?” you ask, glancing over at him as you sit up, staring down at him from your position. “I mean, it is always somewhat overwhelming to see something so much bigger than me, and when I sit in your hands but no, besides that, I'm not.”

“Do you think it’s ugly?”

“I don’t,” you say with a smile, legs crisscrossed. “I think it’s unique. You know, just for you. I think it’s quite cute and--” you trail off, glancing over to the side. “--somewhat hot,” you cough in between words, hoping he missed that.

“Hot?” he asks, a hint of smugness evident in his tone.” You think it’s hot?” he leans up on his elbows, a smirk curled at his lips. “Why is that?”

“W-Well, I’m not going to tell you that! That’s too personal.”

“What if I turned right now?”

“Y-You can’t! Captain Levi and Hanji would come to chew you out if you did!”

“Hanji gave me the go-ahead to transform whenever I wanted to, just not to cause destruction,” he gets up with a grunt, backing up a few feet back. By the time he was in position before you could speak, lightning struck the earth, the ground crumbling from the shock. 

You dug your fingers into the ground, lowering your head from the gusts of wind. In no time, it calmed down as you avert your gaze upward, emeralds stare down at you from high above, brown tresses swooshing in the air. 

“You did,” you breathed out, releasing your grip on the dirt. Your hands are unsteady, still trying to compose yourself from the sudden change.

He’s not moving, standing as still as a statue before he drops to his knees, the birds sound asleep in the trees now awake and flying away from the commotion. Your heart feels as if it could burst from the confinements of your chest. 

Your left eye peeks open, cowering within yourself. Your body freezes when you see how close he is. His body is lowered to the ground; knees pushed in like a Sphinx. His eyes glow in the darkness, a new feeling taking over your body. 

His heavy breathing fans over your face, his head cocked to the side as if he was examining your small figure. He finds humor in your expression, nudging your body with his nose.

From the small force added, it caused your body to get pushed back. His ears twitch, the tips sticking upward. He moves forward, doing it once more.

“Eren, quit it,” you huff, sticking your arms out to keep him from doing it again-- which he’ll end up doing too. There’s no doubt that in that nape, he’s having the time of his life. 

He wonders what else he can do like this. He thinks for a minute, noises emitting from his throat. He sticks one of his hands out, shakily raising a finger, and places his hands in between your legs. 

He catches your gaze, his tongue peeking as he leans forward, barely pressing the tip against the bare skin of your neck. The new sensation causes your breath to hitch in the back of your throat, eyeing the pink flesh before gulping lowly.

Eren pulls away, looking at your skirt that happened to ride up your legs. His eyes seem to darken as his mouth closes, teeth grinding against each other. 

“Eren?” you question him as he inches closer, his head lowering slightly to the ground. You’re about to call for him again, but his tongue makes an appearance also, pushing the material up more. Your eyes enlarge, fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt-- to which looks like fear in his eyes. 

A noise of somewhat sadness comes from him, his ears lowering. 

“N-No, it’s okay, Eren,” you stutter, face heating up from his motions. If you were honest, you could feel a small wetness pool in between your legs. 

Before you know it, the tip of his tongue is in between your legs, the muscle lapping over your clothed cunt. Your arms are shaky as you let out a little gasp that sounds so cute to his ears; he can’t help but circle it around your clit. 

A predatory look is in his eyes, looking down like you were his meal. The muscle goes sound, poking at your slicked entrance. Panting, you glance down at the position and pull your panties aside, shivering from the chilly wind and hot breathing in between your legs. 

His jaw slacked; he works wonders on your needy cunt. The texture and saliva are enough to make you sensitive on the spot. Your eyes roll back as you chant his name, his tongue licking stripes up and down your folds, squelching noises occurring from his rapid movement. 

Your legs are shaking from the overwhelming sensation. God, it’s becoming too much, but you can’t stop him, nor if you wanted to. You felt as if you would fall to the depths of the earth but yet stayed in reality. 

The tip flicks at your folds, an incoherent noise getting stuck in the back of your throat when he begins to move it side to side rather than up and down. 

You’re so needy for him at this point. You want him to stuff your tight cunt with his cock, to feel him stretch you out as he fucks you to no end. Having him do this to you was on another level of ecstasy, but you would accept it if this came up again. 

The pressure he puts on your fragile body is enough to send you backward, but the way your heels dig into the ground and his gentle touches prevent that from happening. The slick left in between your thighs trickle down to your ass; the feeling becomes uncomfortable but erotic. 

“Fuck baby,” you whisper, head falling back, staring up at the sky with lidded eyes. “Fuu..p-please don’t stop,” you slur, thoughts clouding with nothing but immense pleasure.

God, what if someone caught you? The adrenaline running through your body wouldn’t even let you care about that. But the thought of someone hearing you moan out pathetically as Eren licks away at your cunt, have you moaning out. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if someone overheard. Eren’s tongue was a gift that meant to be cherished, even if that meant having him do this every day for you to get used to the sticky yet warmth radiating from the muscle.

The inside of your legs trembles, your head spinning in circles, rubbing small lazy circles on your puffy clit, desperate to be touched by his tongue. Your hole was being circled, his tongue barely pressing before retracting; the little shit was teasing you. 

One of his fingers gently places over your leg to keep you from moving so much. His finger alone is enough to make you feel weighed down. 

Your lips are moving, but nothing is coming out; no noise, no words. You’re completely out of it. Your fingers are clenching and unclenching around nothing, barely holding onto whatever it was you were. If someone were to ask you what day it was, you wouldn’t be able to tell the time of day or where you were at. 

“ ‘M gonna cum,” your voice comes out soft yet needy, shifting your hips side to side, bucking your hips to the best of your ability. “I wanna cum on your tongue.”

His eyes flicker, a stripe licked up between your folds before resting on your clit-- a place that desperately needs attention. 

Your delicate body is on the brink of defeat; an orgasm after orgasm washes over your body, and he shows no signs of stopping. You’re practically gushing at this point, your juices running down his jaw. You’ve made many feeble attempts to push him away; a growl would emit from him when you tried to do so. 

Sweat trickles down your face into your clothes, causing the front of your shirt to stick onto your skin—short breaths of air, hiccups erupting from your throat. Your eyes roll back as your body finally gives out, falling backward onto his hand that was keeping you upright. 

As you fall, a purring sound reaches your ears as his tongue finally retracts from your mess cunt, his eyes glancing at your slick sticking to you. His finger rubs the inside of your thigh, gently wiping away the transparent substance. His ears flicker as he listens to your heavy breathing, trying your best to catch the air that was taken away from you. 

He lovingly nuzzles his nose against your patella, his dark tresses tickling your supple skin. After being pushed through multiple orgasms, you weren’t even sure if you could walk or get up from this position. 

But he finally got his answer as to why you thought he was hot. 

Taglist: @trafalgar-temptress @galair @shisoaya @eremiie @bakuhoesworld @sweetdanibear @blueelionn @grabakitcata @erenstellar @onyxoverride @vinishsama @cellarhapsodos @connieswifey @murmikaa (please message me to be added!!)

[starshipsofstarlord]

Could I request a Bucky Barnes x reader smut? Basically she and Bucky have been together for some time and maybe it’d be a little angst where the two are talking about the future and Bucky not thinking he can ever have a normal future? Which would result in soft smut and later reader being revealed as pregnant so Bucky finally gets his family

I’m Home

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | based on the request ^^

Warnings | angst, smut, oral sex (m receiving), fluff, pregnancy, mentions of death

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

The Wilson’s boat rocked sturdily upon the water, swaying as the boats worked aboard. Your hand held the weight of a silver spanner, twirling it in your fist as though it were a knife, thinking of the long road ahead of you. Sam had the shield now, that was a good start, but still, there was a ways to go until the world recognised him as the captain that he was meant to be.

There was so much destruction ongoing in the world, what with the flag smashers, and whomever the power broker was, and surely, you knew on the shallow surface, that there would be masses more problems to arise. It was exhausting, to know that there was no end to the war on earth, and that you were surely going to be fighting the threats until you could no more.

Bucky felt the same; he had just gone from one war to another, losing everyone that he cared about along the way. Steve had given everything up to finally find peace, and yet, the two did not share the same opportunity. An escape was never laid at your feet, instead, the pair of you were trapped in the cycle of cruelty, being blended around in a shredder by reality.

“Hey.” A voice confiscated you from the lonesome containment of your thoughts; it was Sam’s hosting sister, Sarah. I’m her own way, though you doubted that she would never admit such a thing, she was a hero. She had become a widow, and not to mention she remained a stable mother to keep her boys afloat, as well as nurturing half the kids that lived within close proximity.

“Hi Sarah.” You put the tool down, giving her your ample attention as you stood, tugging your fingers into the loops of your jeans as you stepped out of the boat, and onto the dock. “Anything I can help with?” It hadn’t passed your attention that Sam and Bucky had disappeared, but not into ash like last time. Instead, they had walked off in the direction of the house, most likely meddling about with a ball, in the back yard with Jim and Jody.

“I just came to let you know I’ve made the sofa up for you and Bucky. Are you sure you’ll be all good, I could always kick Sam outta his bed and make him sleep on the living room floor?” The two of you had nightmares, if you were to be separated from him for even a night, it was certain that the pair of you would greatly suffer. That was something you didn’t want to burden any of the Wilson’s with, screaming in the middle of the night because flashes from your past struck an unconscious nerve.

“All good, and thank you Sarah. You didn’t have to let us stay here, we both appreciate it, a hell of a lot.” One thing that you had learnt throughout your years was to show gratitude. The smallest amount shared had the ability to spring up moods, and had even set you on a much more heroic path than the one that you had been originally been placed upon.

“You’ve earned your stay.” Sam’s sister shrugged with modesty, acknowledging the help that you and Bucky had not only given to Sam, but to her family’s legacy. The two of you had aided with fixing the old wreckage that had now returned to the form of a boat, keeping it afloat rather than permitting it to sink from the quarrels that Sam had with himself regarding fixing the damned yet meaningful port of transport.

“This life you have, it’s great. I get it’s not easy, but it’s beautiful. You have two wonderful kids, that you’ve done such a great job raising, and not to mention, these community that you have is so loving and kind, even to us outsiders.” The pair of you had paused outside of her front door, speaking. “Sam is lucky to have you, he truly is.”

“Well, maybe one day this life could be something similar to what you’ll have.” The sister of your friend smiled, though your mirroring expression retracted. In a stumble of thought, you shook your head, not believing that possibility. This all was... perfect. That was something that you had never had, nor would you think that you’d ever be permitted such a peaceful lifestyle.

“I don’t think that would work out.” You sincerely mumbled, feeling the sad swelling in your chest at the prospect of all the luxuries that life had denied both you and Bucky of. It wasn’t fair all the same, but the two of you were used to being denied human rights, let alone the simplicity of nothing more than a life together. “As nice as it sounds, me and Buck aren’t really cut out for all this I suppose.”

“The world does not choose who can and cannot have a family, there’s always a way. Just because you haven’t had the most ideal line of story does not at all mean that you can’t make it work, from as much as i know, you two deserve a life together, that doesn’t include being shot at, or shooting at other people. Sometimes, you’ve just gotta go for it, and hope for the best.” She gave you a final nod, before heading inside, and you trailed after her into her her residency.

The two of you went your separate ways, and there, you saw Bucky, sat up on the sofa, his hands clasped together as his eyes stared towards the tan bag, that concealed not the shape, but the Stars and Stripes of the infamous shield. It was much a relief that it was no longer in Walker’s toxic clutch, however its presence, among other things, were taking a clear toll on your boyfriend.

“You ever feel like we’re stuck?” The air was tense around you both as he spoke solemnly, it diverting to match the mood of his question. “Like we’re us, and I love us, but it makes me think that it’s it. Just me and you, on this path for the rest of our lives, never getting a compensated break, nor an average person’s future. I want this, what these people here have, not the combat that is aided by this metal arm, or the associations that stick to us like life lines.”

“All the time, it’s on my mind James.” With a sigh, you came to sit beside him on the couch, resting your head against his bionic shoulder. “I ever wonder if there’s a timeline of you and me where there’s none of this ruckus, we just have a nice little house in a quiet and accepting place, and maybe a kid or two in the future.”

“I’d give anything up for that.” He looked at you, almost wide eyed, as his hand slithered down onto your knee cap, rubbing small circles as he wore a blunt and endearing smile upon his infatuating lips. “I mean that Buck, that sounds...”

“Perfect?” He asked, leaning closer as he grabs your chin with his wondrous fingers, his nose brushing alongside your own as his puckered lips fell upon yours, earning a small hun of content from within you. “Because you’re perfect to me, and no matter what life we are encased in, I want to share it with you. I want stare at the night sky and watch the moonlight illuminate the side of your face, and the stars reflect in your entrapping eyes, that I want to look into like a medium’s orbs forever, because that is how I will see the future that I ever so hope for.”

“How long have you been working on that one Barnes, because you are usually not that smooth?” A small laugh erupted from your mouth, but you were quickly silenced as you felt a cold metal hand slither up and beneath the back of your tank top, rubbing along the seam of your spine, as his lips ran down the column of your throat, evoking small and delicate whimpers out of you.

“Shut up doll, because I really want to fuck you now, and those words leaving your mouth are making it kinda hard to concentrate.” A furrow imbedded between his brows, as you tilted your head at him, a smirk proclaiming your expression as you pulled the material over your head, and reached behind yourself to unclip the back of your bra.

“Kinda hard to concentrate, hun?” You asked nonchalantly as his gaze zeroed in on your bare breasts, his hands smoothing along your ribcage as he adjusted his grip of you so that he was palming at your breasts, and squeezing the nipples. “I want you in me baby, I’ve practically gone days without you inside of me.” Licking your lips, you reached down to palm your beloved through his layers, earning a positive groan from the former assassin.

“Hours, you mean. I fingered you on the road trip here.” Yes, that was true, however, it was only his fingers, not even the metal ones, and whilst you loved what they alone could do, he had to be discreet as you were sat on the back of the truck, which had carried the primary parts for the Wilson’s family boat. If you were to scream out, they’d have surely thought that you’d fallen off the back of the truck and pull over, or if they had much sense, they’d have noticed that there was more going on than two passengers sat side by side on the journey to their small neighbourhood by the docks,

“You heard me Barnes, otherwise I’m sure Sam wouldn’t have any problem if I came to his room in this state of undress that I am currently portraying.” Growling was never Bucky’s fortes, however the sound aggressively ripped through the tunnel of his throat, as he threw off his grey top, quickly unfastening his belt, as he awaited for you to strip the rest of your clothing before him.

But rather than doing so, as he stood before you, your hand had trouble resisting the sight of his cock that had bobbed to attention, and thus, you wrapped it around his toned flesh, giving it a couple jerks that had his head reeling back, before you tongued his tip, moaning to yourself at the taste of him invading your sensitive taste buds. “Love your cock.”

As soon as you said that, Bucky gently gathered your head in a ponytail so that it was free from bombarding your face, and groaned as quiet as he could as you sucked him in your mouth, running your tongue up the side of his shaft. “Is that a part of your dream world baby doll, the sight of my cock throbbing to be inching down that perfect little throat of yours?”

To answer him, you pressed your head down deeper, humming around him as your eyes ogled up at the sight of your super soldier, who was trying his hardest to keep his eyes open, and attuned to the sight of you. He held his bottom lip between his teeth, as you lightly gagged around him, pulling off him, and squeezing his balls, before running your hungry tongue along the middle of his sack.

“Always. It would be a dream if you made love to me right here and now though, I’m not sure I can wait any longer James.” Bucky took a long inhale, before ravishingly pulling down your jeans and panties in one go, and tossing you so that he was below your form, and you hovered over him, toying with his erect cock. “I love you so much Bucky, and I’m scared of what’s to come. I have a feeling that there’s gonna be a fight.”

“There’s always a fight doll face.” He rubbed his thumb soothingly across your jaw, pulling your hips down closer so that you were rubbing your slick folds against his standing cock. “But this is what we’re fighting for, the rest of our lives together. I’d be damned, one day after this, and if I were to die, I’d be a happy man. There’d be the memory of you to keep me forever happy in the afterlife, and not to mention, there’d be no more wars for me to participate in.”

“I’m not going to let you die Buck, even hypothetically. We saw how your little hypothetical synopsis went last time.” Tapping his cock against your clit, a breathy sound evicted from your lips, as you stared down at the two of you intimately touching, the sight alone making you more turned on and impatient. “No one is allowed to kill you, otherwise I’ll unleash hell on all their flag smashing asses.”

Giving him one last stroke, you guided his tip towards your entrance, removing your hand once you had him situated, so that you could rest it upon his sturdy shoulder, and sink down on him, the feeling of him stretching you being the most euphoric sensation that you had ever endured. Hushed moans ceased from the both of you, as Bucky’s hands gripped your ass cheeks, only adding to all of the pleasure that was erupting within you.

“Think your pussy is gonna kill me before anyone else does; your so tight.” His pitch had rose, as your fingertips danced along the left side of his handsome face, invisibly connecting the dots of his beauty marks. You allowed the pair of you to adjust for a simple moment, before you began to raise your hips, sliding up his super soldier rod, only to slide down it again.

The actions were repeated, as your own hands trailed down his warm skin, to drag down the golden lines of his vibranium arm, only to bring the weapon to your mouth, and kiss every black finger up, as you tried your best to muffle the moans that were hoping to reap free. “So fucking big, I love you and your cock.” You muttered, your sight turning blurry as Bucky realised that it was his turn to do the work, and thus, he thrusted up into you, making echoing sounds of your skin slapping together reverberate around the room.

“Love you more.” He gritted his teeth, pulling his metallic hand away from your numb lips, so that he could swirl the elegant digits around your clit, the action provoking whimpers to rapidly surpass your exterior, as you bit harshly onto your own lip, and screwed your eyes shut. “Cum for me doll, want you to cover my hard cock in everything you have. Come on baby, you can do it.”

Without much thought, as your mind was too scrambled to do so, you reached for Bucky’s spare hand, pulling it to your mouth as you sucked on his fingers as though you were blowing him. A low moan that was dialled down from the presence of his flesh digits, ran from your mouth, as you began to bounce your hips, chasing and eventually reaching your high. You came around him, pushing him too over the edge, his seed filling your walls, as you collapsed atop of him, huffing from exhaustion as you removed his salivated hand from the realms of your mouth, resting your head against his panting chest.

Stringed sighs fell from Bucky’s breath as he tried to catch his own breath. His hands rubbed your back, not only to comfort you, but also to subconsciously pull you closer against him, and his softening cock that was still inside you, and was keeping his cum plugged within your tender and pulsating walls. If life was easier, there’d be more time for this, and that, but for now, it was just every now and then. Maybe you’d win this fight and survive until the next one, but maybe, you’d lose and never battle again.

Life was precious, that was something that you had not only learned as an avenger, but also something that had been told to you by Isiah. That man thought that you deserved a normal life, no fighting, no super soldiers. He himself was the biggest yet silent critic of those with additional strength, but his opinion was never going to sway you, not as you stared out into Sarah’s backyard, and watched the man that you loved play with the boys.

They had the shield, and were whisking it through the air like a frisbee; dangerous, yes, but again, life could only amount to so much without an ounce of pain. A content and satisfied smile absorbed any pain on your face, you were enraptured with the sight of Bucky like this, he was like an uncle to these two kids. He was no captain America, that was for sure, but you didn’t want a man in Stars and Stripes, all you wanted was him to be at peace, and it was a fact unbeknownst to him, that you had made such an alternative to that.

“Still want all this?” Sarah emerged, a cheap yet formidable bottle of wine pursed in her hand, as she held two clear and tall glasses in her hand. You hummed, watching as she poured the thin red consistency into one glass, but as she went to fill the other, you held out your hand, shaking your head. The woman was confused, last time you had visited, and were entangled on her sofa with the limbs of your boyfriend and a shaggy old blanket, you had kindly accepted her offer.

“Sure do.” You sighed, staring out into the green abyss where Jim was hanging from Bucky’s arm like it were a branch. “How do you do this, this whole mother thing? I’ve never been able to wrap my head around how you make it look so easy, it’s just, you do such a good job.” Your palms rested flat on your thighs as you laughed at Sam ordering Jody to jump on Bucky’s back, as he fell down in faux defeat.

“It never is easy y/n.” She placed the open bottle down, along with the mismatched glasses, that were asymmetrical considering one was half filled and the other wallowed in emptiness. “But every step of difficulty is worth it. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss their father, but they’re my priority. For Jim and Jody, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do, and you’d understand that if you ever opened yourself up to giving your life of heroism up to have all this.”

“I might have to.” Twiddling with your fingers, glancing up at your boyfriend, realising that he was in fact not looking over, you clasped your intwined hands over your stomach, smiling softly to yourself. “And maybe not having another option is the best option for me and Buck, because we don’t have to fight with ourselves over being included in our duties, we have new ones.”

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” Sarah asked, resting her nurturing hand upon the tile of your shoulder, prompting you to turn your face towards her. There was a conflict in your eyes, it was something that she recognised her younger self having once worn. It was the idea of putting everything aside, all for a child, everything that she had ever known, so that she could put her baby boy first. “Does Bucky know?”

“He will.” You shifted your head down, unsure of yourself. This had been what you had wanted, and whilst you still envied Sarah for the role she had, you were hurt. A part of you wanted to be an avenger until you were nothing but a soul drifting in the abyss of non existence, another didn’t want to let the knowledge of being a carrier for a new future crumble you. “I just need a moment to tell him.”

“I’ve got it.” She sent you a wink, picking up the items she had brought out, before she called on Sam and the kids to come inside. Sarah had gifted you the opportunity of revealing the truth to your partner with no one else around; you appreciated that. As he stalked closer, you met him halfway, sinking into his arms as he hugged you.

“Looked like you were having fun with the boys.” You verbally noted, loving the feeling of him running his fingers through your hair. “You’re amazing Bucky Barnes, to me and to everyone. I just, don’t want you to freak out on me, I have something big, really big, to tell you, and-“

“Baby, I know.” He smiled, pulling back so that he could look you in the face. “I have super human senses, I heard their little heart beat for the first time yesterday. We’re having a baby, and I couldn’t be happier about it. In fact, I want to ask you if you’ll accept my question of making Sam the godfather.” You nodded, tears standing in your eyes, as you brought the man down for a kiss.

“Yes. But I’m not sure that he’ll be praising us for making a baby when we technically created him or her on the couch inside.” Bucky shook his head at you, kissing your forehead before walking inside with you, preparing to tell the Wilson family, that had along the way became your own, the good news- well, not the sofa bit.

[buckybarnesdiaries]

i won't let you down

© @snyderzack

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Bucky helps you and gives you hope.

word count: 1.196 words.

warnings/tags: very brief mention of domestic violence, the winter soldier coming to help you.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

BUCKY POV

It was the fourth month he was living in the same building as you, concretely, in the apartment next to yours. Since the very first moment you met in the lift, you were extra kind with him and he couldn’t help but think that you were hiding some kind of intentions, until the days passed away and he discovered it was part of your naturality. He remembered, as if it happened yesterday, the first morning he knocked on your door asking for some coffee and you practically invited him to have breakfast together. You two talked about your part-time job in a cafeteria by morning, close to the neighborhood, and another one in a book shop by evenings. Bucky was fascinated by how much you used the hours of your days, letting you work out and have long walks in Central Park.

And he also remembered the night you knocked on his door for the first time, after hearing him having some nightmares and not being able to go back to sleep. The walls seemed like thin paper. He didn’t get it out of his head that time he heard you crying in your room, in the small hours, after a fight with your boyfriend. A punk who didn’t deserve an angel like you. On all the occasions you two argued, Bucky wanted to intervene, but he didn’t because what was his right.

Until a night where the heated talk escalated too quickly to swearings coming from him, and a painful scream coming from your lips after a loud hit. Bucky kicked the door down without doubting, panting furious and breaking into your apartment like a bat out of hell. As soon as he reached the living room and saw you crying and lying on the floor, all his rage contained during months got concentrated on the same point. Five cold fingers closing in a big and dangerous fist.

“Who the fuck are you?” Your boyfriend spat raving mad.

“A guy who’s gonna disappoint his therapist for breaking rule number two”. The soldier hissed, not giving time to the other to react.

With his left hand grabbing your boyfriend’s throat, Bucky pinned him to the nearest wall with so much uncontrollable strength that he almost opened a hold in it, straight to his own house.

“Listen to me now, you son of a bitch”. Their faces were separated barely for a couple of inches, drinking each other’s breathing. “If I see you coming again, laying a finger on her… I promise I’ll turn your life into a damn nightmare”.

Bucky could see the horror borning in his eyes when your boyfriend recognized him. That voice. Those blue orbs. The metallic fingers cutting off the air from his lungs. He was in the news for a long time. The Winter Soldier. One of those freaks with superpowers, with the difference that he was a trained assassin. Only a fool wouldn’t obey his threat. But for some reason, Bucky wasn’t able to loosen the hold around the other man, driven by the desire he had for killing him. After all the suffering he made you go through, after all the nights hearing you crying, after all the time waiting for your boyfriend to change. He wanted to end his life.

“Bu— Bucky”. Your weak sobs brought him back to reality. To New York. To the year twenty twenty-one. To the new century.

As if it was an automatic act, his fingers opened making your boyfriend fall to the floor. Coughing, choking with his own saliva and the lack of air. The poor coward ran away before Bucky could blink twice. Shaking his head to shut up the voices inside his head claiming him to chase the man, he turned around and squatted next to you. A thin thread of blood poured out from the upper right corner of your lip, as your cheek was burning in pain after the punch. The soldier held you onto his arms, listening to the sound of the police sirens coming. Probably some neighbor called them, fed up with the fights inside your house.

You were crying inconsolably and ashamed when he walked into his apartment, placing you with so much care on his sofa. Bucky didn’t utter a syllable, heading to his bathroom to take something to fix you up. He had a good medical kit since he didn’t want to visit any kind of hospital. Coming back to you, the soldier knelt next to you, feeling a knot inside his chest pressing out his skin. He wetted a cotton in hydrogen peroxide and placed his warm free hand on your untouched cheek to urge you to raise your head towards him. You couldn’t help but draw a grimace of pure soreness that broke his heart in one million pieces.

“Sorry…” Bucky murmured, earning your look filled up with sadness. “I, uh… I wanted to… So many times, I…”

“Thank you… for saving me”. You stuttered in low tears, while he continued healing your lip and cleaning the blood on it. “You’re a… good man, James”.

“I just did what I had to”.

“We’re… more than fifty persons living here… And you’ve been the one who has saved me”.

Knocks on his door interrupted your little chat, causing him to frown as the two of you heard it was the NYPD. Bucky left a delicate caress on your cheek before standing up and attending the call. The cops came into his house without asking if they could, knowing very well the man who was living there.

“Ma’am, you okay?” One of the officers inquired walking closer.

“Yeah, it was… I just… slip off to the fl—”. Tell them about your, now, ex-boyfriend wasn’t an option for you, feigning a soft chuckle as you cleaned the tears in your eyelids.

“His boyfriend hit her”. But Bucky interrupted you.

“And you helped her, mister Barnes?”

“Yeah, and she’s gonna make a complaint”.

That wasn’t an option for you either, but by the look coming from his eyes, you knew it was the only one for him. You couldn’t persuade him.

“Ma’am?”

Bucky licked his bottom lip, shortening the distance between both to grab his cozy and baggy black hoodie to offer it to you. He was determined to help you. He really wanted your welfare.

“C’mon”. He almost begged you in a whisper, shaking briefly his hand holding the piece of clothing to convince you of taking the good road. “I’ll be with you, I promise. I won’t let you down… Not again”.

It took you a couple of seconds to nod your head, getting up from his sofa being helped by the cold hand showing up. Bucky made you wear his hoodie, with so much careless to not touch your right cheek still burning because of the pain. Under the attentive look of the cops, he placed his flesh arm over your shoulders, not caring about the lack of distance when you clung yours around his waist and tried to hide your face on his chest. For the first time since you started that toxic relationship, you felt safe. You felt liberated.

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[sapientiiae]

The groan that escaped him was the first sound he’d made aside from the whisper of her name against her ear, and that sound was pushing her to the edge of her sanity. There was something about the gruffness in his voice and the way that groan felt against her neck that sent chills rippling over her flesh, and she hadn’t any doubt her knees would have threatened to buckle again if it weren’t for Clive already holding her in place against his body.

When his mouth and hands both pull away from her body, the smallest whimper of protest escapes the Hylian royal before she can force it back. Even if she was still pressed back against his frame, his chin a soft weight against her shoulder, she yearned for more. They’d started something, and it would be impossible for her to untangle herself from Clive and walk away now. 

Luckily, that didn’t seem to be his intention. As empty and, surprisingly, cold as she might have suddenly felt without his touch, Zelda told herself her patience would be worth it as she watched the lord make quick work of removing his gauntlets, hearing the small clank as they were tossed onto the stone floor, discarded and forgotten as quickly as he’d managed to remove them from his hands. 

Despite the layers of fabric that still separated his skin from her own, she would swear his touch was so much hotter now — as if the warmth of his body was somehow able to seep through the bits of material and caress her flesh directly. With his bare hand squeezing at her breast once again, a gasp that morphed into another soft and breathy moan escaped the princess as she became aware of his other hand snaking its way down her thigh. The realization caused a tightness in her stomach that only intensified as the course of his hand changed, now sliding over the curve of her body towards her inner thigh. That change of direction only lasted briefly before there was another change, her breath hitching as that same hand now began to work its way back up.

The maiden became all too aware of the way her dress lifted with his hand, the drag of the fabric against her porcelain flesh making her heart rate spike. She squirmed and nearly squeezed her thighs together on instinct, feeling as if she was unraveling at her seems; Clive so easily plucking at and snipping the strings with even the smallest of his movements.

The husky whisper of her name was the sweetest of sounds, and it forced her gaze to snap back towards the mirror, her eyes once again locking on his reflection just as his lips pressed to that claiming mark he’d left on her neck only moments ago. She was held flush against his body, leaving nowhere for his hips to go except to grind against her backside once more. Goddesses above, he was going to make her unravel and lose every bit of her composure. 

And as tempting as it might have been to see if there was any truth in his warning, she wasn’t entirely keen on the idea of losing a perfectly good gown — or having to explain to the maids what happened when they undoubtedly ended up finding the garment. 

Luckily, she wasn’t wearing the pauldrons that were a part of her normal royal attire, and removing the belted tabard was something she managed with a few deft flicks of her fingers. With one final look at the belt in the mirror, she drew in a shaky breath before carefully tossing it to the side where Clive’s gauntlets currently lay.

“The top layer comes off in the same way you would take off a tunic,” she answered, voice soft as she peeled her eyes from the mirror to instead glance over her shoulder at him. Removing the magenta fabric was relatively easy, and she could have had it done in only a few seconds were she not pinned against him. “The bodice hidden beneath can be untied from the front or the back, and then that leaves only the chemise beneath that...” she finished answering, knowing that last layer could be removed as easily as a nightgown once the top layers were gone. 

Every little sound was a jolt of pleasure along his spine, finding himself enjoying the little whimpers, the sighs that bled from her lips as he teased her neck. But it wasn't his bite, nor his kisses that truly set her off. No, it was his wandering hand, settling on her chest that urged her to let out a more gratifying sound. That moan echoed in his ears in a way he wasn't sure how to describe, just that he had thoroughly enjoyed it. And she clearly had as well!

She pressed back against him, writhing eagerly against his touch as her hand slid up the side of his thigh to his hip, calling his name so eagerly, so sweetly. A soft groan finally slipped from his lips against her neck from the sound of her voice, coupled with the way she moved against him. He found he quite enjoyed this, having her grinding against him, touching him however she might manage. And he knew he wanted more, wanted so much more of this, but more than that, he wanted to feel her directly. The leather of his gloves was in the way, denied him feeling the warmth of her body even through that dress.

It was then that his lips left her skin, no longer biting nor lapping at the mark he had made upon her and instead gently resting his chin against her shoulder, looking down her body while his hands reluctantly pulled from her. "I need these off..." The words were quiet, but he wasn't taking his time with fulfilling them. Quickly, his hands set to work on his gauntlets, undoing the buckles and clasps that held his armor to his body, loosening it enough that he could simply slip them off and toss them aside.

There was only a slight clatter as the armor hit the floor, not enough to draw attention from outside the room, but more than enough to make it known that he was impatient for a more...direct touch. It wasn't but moments later that his hands were on her body again, one hand again at her chest, his bare hand groping at her breast a bit more firmly than before now that he could better feel her. His other hand was roaming, rubbing down her thigh from her hip, squeezing at her greedily. Clive had always been a patient man, but it seemed as if that had run out.

Once his hand reached as low down her leg as it could go, he slid to the inside of her thigh, slowly stroking upward, his fingers pulling her dress up a bit as well, watching her in the mirror yet again. He was taking his time exploring her, despite his growing impatience, finding himself enjoying how they looked in the mirror before them. It was an oddly vain moment for him, but one he wasn't going to reject. He was more focused on her anyhow.

"Zelda..." Her name was a heated whisper, his head turning to give it to the mark he had made upon her, kissing at it before slowly working his way up her neck once more. "Tell me how to get this dress off of you...or I may tear it off." The way he was grabbing at her body certainly made that quite the threat, pulling her into him tightly, his hips rolling against her ass again.