#her first response is to stick her in the neck with a vial of poison

[onceuponanaromantic]

this world is ours to live in

(Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial​‘s prompt: FFF191 You’re Not Alone. This is really a short story based on my WIP: A Match Made in Hell, but you don’t need to know it to understand. Enjoy!)

This is a story about a boy who is also a snake, and a girl who is also a bird.

             This is a story about what happens when your home forsakes you, when the beautiful meadow in the woods closes itself to you, where the clear waters of the lake refuse to allow you passage beyond. You see, even among people who are also animals, among the supernatural and the wild, there are things that are closed to you when you are the very embodiment of bad luck.

             But this is also about people who have been forced to choose when you have not been forsaken yourself. Because the lakes are beautiful and clear, and the sunlight glitters in the trees, and people shift between their animal and human shapes easy as breathing. Because this is a place they call the Nest for what it signifies: this is a home for all those who are not quite one or the other and this is a home where shifting is praised.

             In this story, a girl who is a bird befriends a boy who is a snake.

             It is a day where the leaves flutter in the breeze, the winds strong enough to be cool but not enough to bring true storms. The little yellow leaves sprinkle on the bank of the lake, and these two, they are young.

             “They will not let me stay,” he says, “And so I must go.”

           “But where will you go?” she asks, her hands fluttering on the railing from where she stands next to him on the bridge.

             “I don’t know,” he says, “but will you come with me?”

             And it is this point which changes everything.

             The girl looks back, across the bridge, beyond the trees, she can hear the twittering of chicks. She can hear the older women teaching them how to sing, and the boys changing into peahens and peacocks as part of the latest game they’ve come up with.

             She hesitates.

             “Will you come?” he pleads, “You’re my only friend. I’m scared to do this alone.”

             And she looks back to where the trees rustle and the skies rumble in greeting. The lake water lies clear enough to reflect her own terrified face back at her. The boy is just as scared, even if there is a tired resignation to his eyes, but he looks to her.

             She shakes her head.

             “I can’t.” Her voice shakes.

             The boy looks at her. She looks away, but it is not enough to hide that final twist of disappointment and hurt.

             When he turns into a snake and plunges into the water, the splash sounds like heartbreak itself.

             And years pass. And the vampires come. And they kill.

 And the girl, who has long since resigned herself to cowardice, throws herself into transforming. She flies faster, higher; she shifts faster, easier, smoother than any shifter alive, and they praise her. And she learns to fight.

 But the wood spirits tell the land, and the sand spirits tell the creatures of the water, and somehow, someone tells the shifters.

 The vampires hunt a boy who is a snake. They seek to sacrifice him to open the Gates of Hell, which they know requires a death.

 And a boy who is a snake is the very embodiment of bad luck.

 The Nest elders say good riddance to bad rubbish.

 In the dead of the night, she goes. She steals a bunch of silver knives and syringes of poison strong enough to knock a vampire out. And she runs.

 She flies, wings strong and fast as she listens for footsteps made by someone who has no feet. She listens to the electric hum of the City’s veins, to the quitter chimes of wood reeds, and finally, to the gossip that runs down the water.

 She listens for the voice of the boy she once called a brother.

 When she finds him at last, she is grateful. But whether he wishes to see her is a different matter altogether.

 “Get out.” He demands, certain even from where he’s perched atop a toilet seat. His eyes are jaded and they flick constantly to take the measure of the room.

 “They’re hunting you,” she says, “and they wish to kill you to open the Gates of Hell.”

           “And the Nest left me to die, so what is really so different?”

           “I want to help you,” she says quietly, “I can protect you now.”

           “You left me to die.”

             He slithers away.

             And she flies. She knew it would not be easy, because it never is with him. But she follows him, dogs his footsteps, even as the Nest discovers her absence, and then discovers her theft. She flies and runs and hides, and she stays by his side even when he would rather her leave, and now she fights too.

             “You’re not alone.” She says, one night, as they sit together on a balcony. “I’m not leaving you to die.”

             And so this is a story about a girl who is a bird and a boy who is a snake.

             And when they walk through a mirror and through the waterfall made of fire to enter Hell, they do it together, hand in hand.

[xalicethewonderx]

Sentence First, Verdict Afterwards.

Summary: Alice receives a mysterious package.

Mentions: Lorelai Hart @queencfharts Trigger Warnings: Brief mention of disappearance, poisoning.

-

Alice had lost count of how long it had been since they had been found. They supposed it was a good thing. People had forgotten (or perhaps were quite happy to go on pretending like it hadn’t happened in the first place). Alice hadn’t, certainly, but, in a sense, they had. None of it had really felt real to begin with, owing to the missing time, and the longer things went on with the strange memories feeling more like dreams, the more it felt like it had all been in the town’s collective imagination.

Alice had written all of the unusual ‘memories’ down, and hidden the diary beneath the bookcase in the living room. Sometimes a new one appeared and they put it in there, only when Mia or their parents weren’t home to ask why they were rummaging around under bookcases. 

They had slowed down now, the memories. Frankly Alice hoped that was the last of them, and that all of this Other Alice nonsense was finished.

The problem was… Lorelai. A chill followed at the mere mention of her name, and Alice could hardly stomach talking about her, let alone being in the same room as her. ‘That’s so rude, Alice. She’s your godmother, for crying out loud. She’s been nothing but nice to you.’ (Mia didn’t understand that the feelings deep within the pit of Alice’s stomach were entirely involuntary.)

Alice would have quite liked an explanation for all of this. At the same time, entirely on the contrary, they did not want to find out a single thing and wished to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary at all.

-

Alice returned from classes early, a horrible case of the ‘can’t sit stills’ and an uneasy feeling of being watched sending them into a bout of sickness that only sleep could cure.

No one was home.

It was just Alice and Dinah.

They bit into a piece of plain bread and noticed, sitting there at the back door, a small package, easily small enough to have been slid through the cat flap. It was discrete, unstamped and unaddressed; the postman wouldn’t have delivered such a thing. 

“What sort of person delivers a package through a cat flap?” Alice asked Dinah, who blinked in response. Alice picked her up. Dinah wasn’t thrilled about being taken to the package to sniff it, clawing her way from Alice’s arms the way a toddler might refuse to go in the bath. “Dinah, please! It’s just a box, you love boxes. Can’t you at least smell if it’s… if it’s…”

The unease crept up the back of Alice’s neck, over the top of their head, and then down into their stomach where it remained for the next three weeks.

Sticking out from a fold in the wrapping paper was a small black envelope. Alice was written plainly on the front. 

“For me?” Alice said to Dinah, who had taken to hiding beneath the kitchen table, hair standing on end. “Oh, don’t be like that, Dinah. I-it’s just a gift. It’s nothing. The postman must have realised it wouldn’t fit through the letterbox and put it through here instead. That’s all…”

The envelope opened easily.

The paper inside was the same inky black as the envelope. A void. 

The answers you seek…

Alice pondered the words, white, floating in the night ocean parchment.

They sat on the floor, box at their feet. Dinah slid behind their back.

“The question is… what is the question? What’s the use in an answer with no question? Oh, to hell with it! I’ll never find out if I just–”

Alice pulled the box close, tearing the paper from the box. Dinah, not liking this one bit, crawled around Alice, pouncing on top of their arms, their hands, anything to get in the way (as cats often did at the most inconvenient moment).

With enough of a fight, Alice managed it, leaving Dinah to hiss from behind Alice once more.

The paper now removed, Alice opened the box.

The answer, it seemed, was a small glass vial, filled with a silver liquid that appeared to glow against the dark velvet lining of the box.

The first question had been what’s in the box? That question was now answered. But it raised so many more, and there wasn’t anything else in the box that could answer those questions!

Alice inspected the vial closely. It was freezing to the touch.

“Well, it doesn’t say poison…” they noted, opening it. Alice lifted it to their nose. A rush swirled over their head, almost knocking them flat out. Alice put the lid back on. “Maybe it should…” Alice frowned at the vial. They picked up the box, desperate for an explanation. Nothing obvious. They gave it a shake. They turned it upside down.

Another black card slipped out from the cardboard, landing on Alice’s lap.

“Perfect Strawberry Tarts.”

-

Three weeks passed. Alice had hidden the recipe in the diary under the bookcase, and the vial and in a shoebox in their cupboard out of reach.

The final step in the recipe was the very reason it had taken three weeks to make.

Alice did not have the guts to bake them for Lorelai for two reasons; one - baking tarts for Lorelai meant facing Lorelai; two - baking these tarts for Lorelai meant sentencing her to an unknown fate.

But those words on the inky void played in the back of Alice’s mind, over and over, floating amongst a sea of anxieties.

The answers you seek…

The only way to find out what that meant was to give Lorelai the tarts, and have her eat them.

-

‘Alice, you’re going to be late!’ Mia called, poking her head into the kitchen. ‘You couldn’t have just bought Lorelai a box of tarts from the bakers?’

“No! Mia, I just– You don’t understand! You said I’d to say sorry, and–” Alice was wrapping the blood-red tarts carefully, and stuffing them into their pockets. They were supposed to leave for the Hootenanny half an hour ago, but the tarts weren’t setting correctly. There was something so terribly off about them that Alice thought about throwing them out. “--and these tarts are the nicest way I can think of!”

-

All Alice could feel as they searched the Hootenanny, donned in the face of a hare, was the awkward wrapping of the tarts stuffed poorly into suit trousers.

Their one and only task was to find Lorelai before they let cowardice (or sense) win.

[bunkerbucky]

Casual Sabotage *Bucky Barnes x Reader*

Reader is hit with sex pollen. Except she doesn't crave her boyfriend, Steve Rogers. No, it's his best friend, Bucky Barnes, that she wants inside of her. Bucky, in the beginning, is a good bro and refuses. But due to the fact she sucks his dick so good he kinda, sorta, loses that restraint and just fucks her regardless of who she belongs to.

Rating: Explicit [+18]

Warnings: Sex pollen= Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Rough blow-job, rough oral-sex, vaginal sex, praise kink, breeding kink, size kink- Bucky has a big dick in this lmao, choking and biting kink, infidelity; Reader cheats on Steve. 

TW: Dub-con- Reader is under sex pollen, so she actually cannot give consent and also because Bucky is so resistant in the beginning. It turns consensual on Bucky's part, he gives in to the temptation. But, obviously, reader is still influenced so... the lines are blurred.

Yourself and Bucky had searched the Hydra base from tippy-top to bottom. There was nothing out of the ordinary, which infuriated you a little. With the amount of recon work you both had to do, the long nights of watching the agents coming and going, you felt like you both deserved a small win, at least.

A long sigh escaped from your lips as Bucky's fingers typed furiously on the computers keyboard, a USB stick in hand just in case he found something exciting. Your arms were crossed over your chest, eyes scanning around the bases' security room, roaming the shelves and cabinets that held nothing of importance. A week of nothing, you wanted to cry.

"Hmm," Bucky low hum attracted your attention, "It says there's a basement to this building, we haven't checked that out." His steel eyes look over the screen and at you, you respond with a shrug of your shoulders. "We've got two hours before the cavalry arrives to pick us up, let's explore and see if we can obtain something to keep from Rogers from complainin'"

You giggle slightly at Bucky's comment, nodding in agreement with him. Steve would have a lot to say if you went back empty-handed, especially since he sent you both rather than himself. But you couldn't lie and say the thought of seeing Steve after so long didn't excite you. You had missed your boyfriend dearly, you weren't allowed on missions together since finally making things official. Work ethics and all that jazz.

Instead, you and Bucky had started to partner up, Steve didn't trust anyone but himself, and Bucky, to keep an eye out for you. Who better to watch over his best girl than his best friend, plus Bucky was your friend before you got with Steve.

"What if we go down there and there's a great, big monster waiting for us?" Sliding into the small elevator beside Barnes.

Bucky looked down at you with a raised eyebrow, "Then I'll be throwing you out as a distraction, so I can press the elevator door button to leave."

You both ended up laughing at his response, although when the doors finally did open and reveal a darkened basement layer... there was a moment of silence, you both side-eyeing one another at the lack of sound and movement.

Bucky stepped off first and the automatic lighting triggered him to pull his gun from its holster, his reflexes sharp and fast. You step off and follow Bucky down the hall towards double doors, the room through those doors was abandoned and huge. Desks with old computers, all smashed and out of use. Stacks of files and paper scattered on desks and the floor. Despite the mess, it all looks really promising, there had to be something amongst the chaos.

You both separate to cover more ground, you only had a limited time before you had to leave. You looked through paper and files, shuffling through stacks of meaningless bullshit. Hydra certainly kept a record of everything, including all the worthless crap. You wondered if they actually printed this stuff to lead you guys on wild goose chases like this, to make sure you were distracted with searching for something important amongst all their bullshit.

You ended up in the far back of the room, a small desk area had random empty vials littered across it. Files labelled in Russian, that you couldn't translate very well.

"Hey, Buck," You called over your shoulder as you lifted an empty vial, a cork tightly shoved in the top; curious. "Think I might've found something."

The vial itself was black, not black liquid, the vial was just black. It didn't feel weighted, it didn't feel like anything was moving inside of it. So, curiosity got the best of you because you yanked the cork off the vial. Black smoke puffed out and into your face causing you to inhale and go into a coughing fit. Waving your arms in front of your face, coughing at the inhalation of whatever was inside that vial.

It smelt like... old leather, peppermint toothpaste and...something else, like a deep musk. Odd.

"Hey, are you okay?" Bucky suddenly appeared at your side, a hand placed on your back and eyeing you with concern. He then grabbed the vial from your hand, it was clear and no longer black. "What happened?"

Your coughing had subsided, you felt fine. "I think there was some kind of smoke or whatever in there, I don't know. The black stuff just burst out, I was stupid-"

"Damn, right." Bucky looked mad, which was a given. "Hydra is known for making gas poisons, Y/N. That was a rookie move, never open strange vials." He didn't sound too mad at you, a little more concerned and worried.

You nodded, frowning when feeling the back of your neck sweating. You felt... hot. A sweat was taking over your body, your mouth was getting dry and your mind was going fuzzy. Bucky hadn't noticed, his eyes cast down to the Russian files on the desk, his hand flipping through the old pages and taking the information in with wide eyes. You briefly wondered if whatever is written in that file had anything to do with that vial.

"Fuck," Bucky muttered.

"What?" Your throat was scratchy, your breathing was becoming laboured and your palms were sweaty.

You didn't feel hot, though. You didn't feel sick either.

"Well, I'm guessing whatever was in that vial was... to put it plainly, sex pollen. It makes the patient unable to think of anything but sex, all they want and all they feel is lust. It's basically either used to breed or on prisoners- the pain of not getting off thoroughly enough can lead to the patient taking extreme measures: death." He shakes his head, you don't notice the horrified look In his eyes at the thought of maybe it being used on him when under Hydra's control. "You're likely fine, though."

"I wouldn't be so sure," You managed to gasp out, your thighs squeezing together and eyes closed, you wanted to feel embarrassed but you couldn't. "My head is spinning and, fuck, I need to get this off. I feel too hot, I'm burnin' up." Clawing at the collar of your own tact suit, your hands were shaking and you couldn't bring yourself to look at Bucky.

You wanted to look at him though. You knew he was standing close to you because you could smell him, he smelt like the black smoke did. He smelt delicious, intoxicating in the best way. God, you wanted him so badly. You needed him.

"It's going to be okay, Y/N. I promise, we'll get you back to Steve and he can-"

You shook your head and finally pulled the zipper down of your jacket, shrugging the bulletproof material off your shoulders.

"Need you." You managed to mumble out, lifting your gaze to Bucky, who was frowning and shaking his head. "Please, Buck. I need you! I can feel my skin crawling and-I'm in so much pain, please." Your voice a mix between a whine and beg.

"I can't- you're not thinking properly. Steve will be here soon and he can help you, he's your boyfriend, remember?"

You pulled the black, tight sleeved henley from your body and let it drop to the floor, it covered in sweat. You're standing in a sports bra and tact pants, chest heaving as you try to intake gulps of oxygen from your panting. Even with half your clothes off you still felt sweat bead and drip down your skin.

"I can't wait that long," You sniffled but no tears forming. "Please, I want you-I've always wanted you. You read the file, I'm going to die!"

Bucky continued to shake his head. "I won't do that Steve. It says that it took a couple of hours till that point, Steve'll be here soon and I'll explain to him what happened."

You groaned painfully, shaking your own head now. Not understanding why he couldn't just help you now. You were in immense pain and the throbbing heat in your core wasn't letting up.

You didn't want Steve to help you. You didn't need Steve to help you, it wasn't just because he wasn't here. You wanted Bucky. The smell of him, the heat radiating off his body when it was close to yours. You craved for him to touch you, to fuck you. You were sure the moment he touched you that the pain would ease, the flames that were consuming you would simmer down.

And you were certain that he wanted you too.

Taking the initiative you moved closer to Bucky, the short hairs on the back of your neck were drenched in sweat, you could feel it drip down your back. You placed a hand softly on his metal arm, the cool vibranium instantly cooling you down. Bucky let out a shaky breath and looked at you, eyebrows furrowing together as he took in your features. You were sure you could see the fight in his eyes, he wanted to help you. To touch you.

It was frustrating that he wasn't giving in. That he wasn't falling to his desires.

"I won't tell Steve, I promise." You whispered and pressed a kiss to his collar, inhaling his scent and shuddering when it filled your senses. He wasn't pushing you away, but he also wasn't giving in to touching you back. "It can be our little secret. I know you'll make me feel really good, he won't be able to help me like you can."

Her other hand trailed down his chest and stopped at his belt, Bucky was too busy telling her everything he had already been saying. Telling you how you love Steve and Steve loves you. It would break Steve's heart if he found out about this talk from you if he knew what you were saying to Buck. You didn't care, not right now anyway. You had always found Bucky attractive and before getting with Steve you had entertained the thought of Bucky, but he was just getting back his life. A relationship seemed too much for him, well that's what you thought.

You didn't settle for Steve, that was never the case. You love Steve, you know that. But, right now, here with Bucky, you knew that he'd be able to help you with this- more than Steve could. Steve was a peaceful lover, an attentive one. You needed this illness fucked out of you- at least, that's what your hazy brain was telling you.

Your hand slipped under his belt, a wide grin taking over your face at Bucky's shock, words choking out as you wrapped a hand around his dick. A sense of pride coming over you as he began to get hard in your hand, a few quick jerks as started to undo his pants with your free hand. Bucky was stunned into silence and compliance, unable to stop you just from the fact he hadn't been touched like this in a while.

He came to his senses when you noticed you get to your knees, his pants undone and pulled down his muscular thighs. Bucky slapped your hands away and tries to pull his pants back up, but you were putting up quite the fight. You roughly pushed him back, he ended up falling to the ground due to his pants restricting his movements. In the moments he fell down and was trying to figure out what happened, you had pulled down his boxers and gulped dryly at his semi-hard length.

"You're so big," You mumbled before wrapping your lips around the tip, a loud groan echoed through the room from Bucky.

You could feel him growing inside of your mouth as you tried to take more of him down, slobbering up his dick and licking around the shaft. Pulling off to run your tongue around the veins and down to his balls, gently suckling them into your mouth as you jerked his length till it was fully standing erect. You smirked to yourself at all of the noises Bucky was making, a hand being placed on your hair- which normally you hated Steve's hand in your hair, but you'd allow Bucky this time.

"Fuck my throat," spit was around your mouth and down your chin, "fuck my throat with your big cock."

Bucky's eyes were wide and lust-filled, there was still a hesitancy from him. A dilemma going on in that head of his, so you wrapped your lips around his cock again and started to slowly take him down. He was bigger than Steve, so much bigger, but that only spurred you on. You wanted him to roughly fuck your throat, you wanted to feel him at the back of your throat even after this.

You felt both his hands on your head... he started to push your head further down, the tip hit the back of your throat and you still hadn't taken all of him. He started to ease past your limitations, your eyes filled with tears as he stuffed your mouth impossibly full. Your lips stretched wide around his girth, he could feel your throat constrict around him and the slight gag you couldn't help because of how far he was down your throat.

"Fuck, so good." Bucky groaned lowly, eyes completely black and bottom lip trapped between his teeth. You knew your panties were soaking, a slickness collecting on your thighs as you rubbed them together, the flimsy material of your underwear was sticking to you and making you rub yourself just to alleviate the friction. "I'll deal with your pussy in second, right now I'm going to fill this hole up."

It was like Bucky snapped, the trepidation he was feeling before was long gone. It was now replaced with this new Bucky, and you loved him.

He wasn't merciful when he started to thrust in and out of your mouth, his balls were slapping against your chin harshly. The grip in your hair was harsh as he pushed and pulled your head to meet his hard thrusts, your eyes rolled into the back of your skull as he basically skull fucked you. Loud gagging sounds, your throat squeezing his cock as you fought for air, he only eased up when you looked like you were going to pass out. It was seconded worth of air before he repeated his onslaught, spit and cum was dribbling down your chin and onto your chest and sportsbra. Bucky kept his eyes on you, it made you shiver how he was looking at you.

Bucky didn't warn you when he was about to cum, instead, he held your head down, almost shoving his entire cock down your throat as loads of his cum spurted out and shot straight down your throat into your tummy. You hardly tasted his cum because of how far he was down your throat. He groaned as he came, swallowing thrusting his hips into your mouth as he milked his orgasm. He pulled you off his cock, it was still hard, thankfully.

He helped pull you to your feet then undressed you, roughly pulling the sports bra off your chest and yanking your pants down your legs. He ripped your panties to shreds and let the tattered pieces fall to the floor, his hungry gaze took in your shaking, naked form. Your thighs were glistening from your arousal and it was still leaking from your pussy, hardly any attention to it made you needy and wishing to be stuffed full.

"Turn around." The authority in his voice made you shiver.

You turned around and felt Bucky place a hand on your shoulder, bending you over the desk where you found the vial. The pieces of paper clinging to your sweaty skin and making you keen into his touch more. He kicked your feet further apart, a hand tickling the insides of your thighs and collecting your sweet juices. Expecting to feel fingers prodding around your entrance, instead, you felt a firm tongue lick from clit to fluttering hole, it dipping inside and collecting the juices wanting to leak out of you.

Your mouth fell open into a silent scream, his tongue was exploring so far into your pussy, his hands gripped your cheeks apart so he could push further inside of you. Tongue fucking you so roughly and expertly, your eyes almost went crossed out from the feeling. You didn't know you could be tongue fucked this good, but Bucky just lived to prove you wrong. The slurping sounds and moans from the man behind you, he lifted and bent your knee to rest on the table; opening you up further for his trained tongue.

"You're gonna have to let me have a taste of this everyday from now on, baby." Bucky groaned against your pussy, mouth closing around your clit as he sucked harshly, your mouths drowning out his own. "Taste so good," the tip of his tongue running figure eights on your engorged clit.

Bucky must've stayed between your legs for minutes, but it felt like hours. He pulled two back-to-back orgasms from you, only using his tongue. When he was done eating your pussy, he stood up and draped himself over your back, an arm wrapping around your neck as he breathed heavily into your ear. You could feel his cock nudge up against your pussy, sliding and coating himself in your juices.

"You ready for me?" You whined your response, trying to push yourself back against him but his arm tightened around your throat- not restricting your airflow. "Think your little pussy can take my dick, dolly?" You nodded in a rush, needing it inside of you otherwise you was going to die. "I've got you," The tip nudges against your entrance and began to push inside, the stretch was painful but welcoming. "Daddy's got you."

Your pussy fluttered around his length, the more he pushed his thick length in the more you moaned. He wasn't even half-way in when you started to babble about how he was too big for you, how he wouldn't fit inside of you. That only made Bucky want to prove you wrong, want to prove that you were made to take him. He started to thrust shallowly, rocking his length in and out of you, impaling you on him more whenever he pushed forward.

Once he was fully sheathed inside of you, he stopped and remained inside of your tight, heat for a moment. Relishing in the way you were split open around his cock, your walls were spasming around him and he was having a hard time not cumming on the spot. You felt so tight, so warm and wet around him, suddenly envious that Steve got to have you all the time. But he was planning on ruining you, to make sure the next time you fucked Steve it wouldn't feel as good.

He was going to fuck you so hard, so deep that you'd be wishing Steve was this big.

"Hang on, baby." That was the only warning you got.

Bucky started to pummel inside of you, his thrusts were hard and fast, his cock was kissing your cervix. You really could only just lay there and take it, your mouth open as moans were ripped from you, eyes rolling back as he kept impaling his girth inside of you. He was hitting spots so deep you knew you'd be feeling him for days afterwards, you'd be walking with limp and sore, it was worth it.

The way he was fucking you, it was as if he had something to prove.

The sound of skin slapping skin, his grunts and groans right beside your ear. His arm around your neck, clenching and cutting your airflow off at times, had you cumming within seconds and he still didn't let up. He didn't stop and fucked you through your third orgasm.

Your mind was starting to come down from the pollen, the pain and fever you were feeling had gone. Replaced now with pleasure and pain, a mix you didn't think you were into but now couldn't get enough of. All you could think and feel was Bucky Barnes. This was no longer the effects of the pollen anymore, this was pure you and riding on the afterglow of Bucky fucking you like you needed.

"Harder." You mumbled through heavy pants, tilting your head to look at him over your shoulder.

A smirk crossed his features, metal arm holding your hip in a bruising grip. Complying with your order and snapping his hips hard into your heat, grinding his hips against yours before pulling back out and repeating. It causes your back to arch, pressing your pussy back against his thrusts with little mewls leaving your lips.

"Kiss me." You plead breathlessly.

Bucky doesn't falter with that demand either. Draping himself over your body again and pressing his plump lips against yours, the kiss is far more gentle than his thrusts, but it still has you moaning against him. He was kissing you like you was fragile, yet fucking you like you were some kind of sex toy that he was using just to jerk off into. It was making your head spin and your pussy needy for more.

"You gonna come again?" Bucky chuckled against your ear, you nodded sharply and cried in pleasure when he bit your shoulder, cumming on the spot when his teeth dug into your flesh. "Mm'good girl." He mumbled as he licked at the tender spot, you could feel his hips stuttering their pace.

"Cum in me." You grinned and he cursed lowly, eyes squeezing shut. "Want you to fill me up, daddy. Fuckin' fuck a baby into me, fill me up."

The arm around your neck was pulled away, hand splaying across your back as he started to thrust into you in tight, fast and hard thrusts. Using your body to seek his own pleasure now, you were biting your lip at the thought of him filling you up. Not even caring if he actually did knock you up, you needed his cum inside of you.

Bucky found his end after a few careful thrusts, warm ropes of his seed filling you up and then some, he filled you up so much that it started to seep out around his cock. He groaned at the mess he made inside of you, he carefully pulled out of your abused cunt to see your hole clenching, trying to keep his creamy load inside of yourself. He had to look away because if he kept staring he'd get hard again, he didn't think you could take another round or load.

You remained bent over the desk and trying to catch your breath, his human hand was rubbing comforting circles on your back. Before you or Bucky could say something a buzzing sound captured both of your attention, it was coming from Bucky's pant pocket. He left you to retrieve his phone, eyes scanning over the device for a moment before he looked at you.

"Steve is waiting at the extraction point for us," You nodded mutely and you both got dressed in mutual silence.

He helped you to look presentable, ignoring the fingerprint bruise on your hip and the obvious bite mark on your shoulder. You were unsure how to explain any of that to Steve, you were also unsure how to explain what happened to Bucky. Obviously, you had still had those feelings for him, right? Otherwise, you would have been able to wait for Steve, it was like all sense of self-control had left you and only Bucky remained in your mind.

As you both left the base in awkward silence, treking the five miles towards the extraction zone, you wondered if you would have craved for Bucky if you was with Steve. If after all this time it was Bucky and not Steve you wanted.

All you knew was that Bucky had ruined you. You could still feel the impression of him inside of you, the way he had so deliciously stretched you open and impaled you on him. The way he had roughly fucked your throat like it was nothing but a hole to get off into. He had fucked you, in more ways than one.

(Please, let me know what you think! I’m also taking requests too! Honestly, kinda wanna write a part 2 where Reader tries to have sex with Steve but fakes her orgasm just to go to Bucky... I’m a bad person, I just think Bucky would be better than Steve tbh lol~ Lilith)

[thesleepy1]

Tigers Die, Men Cry

A/N: I couldn’t sleep because this was bouncing around in my head the entire time. I just had to get it out before I forget it or get distracted. Must. Write. The. Angst. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Unbeta’d because of laziness.

-Says the brain tired idiot who finished the fic days after they crashed from exhaustion. I need more caffeine.

Pairings: Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty

Summary: Sebastian didn’t catch the flu. It's something much, much worse. God save the queen because her kingdom will burn by Moriarty’s hands.

Word count: 3,460

Please proceed with caution.

Warnings: death, grief, aggression, past abuse, mourning, fire, guns, foul language, addiction, smoking, more warnings unlist, more warnings to be added, suicidal thoughts, pass attempted suicide, failed suicide attempt,

Sebastian thought he merely caught the flu. Or at the very least a stomach bug. He had gone out for lunch only to return to his apartment running for the bathroom. The mess he made in there was enough to make morticians cry in their sleep. And to top it all off, he collapsed to the floor before he could even clean up the mess.

Jim almost burned down the building looking for him. He was unable to answer the phone for the second ring and Jim assumed the worst. The crazed man tore through his own home before rushing to Sebastian’s. When the phone went to voicemail once again that was when the gasoline was called in.

“ANSWER YOUR PHONE,” Jim had yelled through the halls, stomping in his new Oxfords before pulling the front door of its hinges. The place had been what Sebastian left it as, barely lived in. Yet there was no evidence of a struggle.

To this day, Sebastian didn’t know why Jim had entered his home. The criminal consultant was too prideful and spiteful to waste precious time ransacking his apartment for his body or some sign that he had left against his view. Maybe, Jim cared about him just a tad more than the rest. Sebastian was dying, he had the right to dream.

Jim had found him unconscious on the floor and instead of helping him to his feet, the man had just kicked his stomach in. The mess had been ignored once more. Sebastian didn’t respond, just subconsciously curled inward in a poor attempt to protect himself. “Get up, or else you’re FIRED!”

No response. Jim kept his cool. The apartment building had not been set on fire, just the first six floors soaked with lighter fluid. A phone call was made and Sebastian was sent to a hospital.

-----

It wasn’t all that bad in Sebastian’s opinion. He just saw it as a long vacation. One that Mortiarty rarely granted him. Sure, it was a pain being tied up to wires and machinery he didn’t have the slightest clue about, but it really wasn’t all that horrible.

There was a little brown teddy bear that Jim had begrudgingly got him from the downstairs gift shop. Sebastian had meant it as a joke, something to get Jim out of his hair so he could suffer alone for a moment. When Jim did return with the little guy with a green ribbon around his neck, Sebastian thought the world must have been ending. The criminal consultant with murder and bloodshed in his eyes tucked the bear next to Sebastian’s side and returned to is post. The fur was surprisingly soft against his stubble. And the ribbon was made from a cheap faux velvet that reminded him of those inner linings of overcoats.

Really, it wasn’t all pain and terror. He had Jim by his bedside.

“Good morning,” Sebastian greeted in a sore tone, his eyes shut but knowing that Jim was right next to him, sitting on his bed.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Jim replied in that sweet, caring, hiss of his.

“Did you try to get some sleep this time?” No reply. It was going to be one of these days. Moriarty had yet to rest since Sebastian had been admitted. They were unable to get one of the VIP, luxury rooms in case either Sherlock or Mycroft were monitoring the country’s hospitals. Jim had not been in a compromising mood, wanting the best of the best for whatever reason.

It was just a room.

The insane man had only conceded, if that was the right word, when Sebastian’s state had worsened. According to one of the nurses, Jim only relented when Sebastian weakly called out for help. Not that he remembered any of that. Calling out for help, especially for Moriarty’s assistance seemed uncharasteric of him. It must have been the poison talking.

Since then, Jim had barely left the room. Only if it were a life or death situation and even then he had people stationed in Sebastian’s room at all times. It was a little suffocating, but nice enough to have people who would actually engage in conversation with him.

“Did you have breakfast at the very least?” Sebastian tried again, prying his eyes open. Jim hadn’t stopped shaking either. He was almost always seen nowadays hunched over his phone, trembling where he sat. His fingers moving at light speed, his voice never softening. It was difficult to rest sometimes when there were random bursts of fury from the criminal consultant. But Moran had worked with the man long enough to ignore it as background noise.

“You know the easiest way to shut me up is to let me have a smoke.” Moriarty could change his motivation and intent at the drop of a hat. If he suddenly got bored playing sitting hen with Sebastian he could have him killed with a snap of his fingers. Pleading for a cigarette was not the dumbest thing Sebastian had done.

“I don’t like repeating myself. I told you to stop smoking,” Jim said in a warning, eyes never wavering from his phone screen.

“You also told me I’ll live and I doubt I’ll make it to next week,” he smirked, darkly. The teddy bear was proof that Jim knew the same. Though one of them had accepted the fact, the other was still delusional.

“The anti venom will be here soon. So shut up, or I’ll have you gagged,” Jim threatened, hand tightening over his phone.

“We both know that’s unrealistic,” Sebastian sighed. “It's unreasonable to think something that expensive will happen in a day. It takes time, boss.” Time that he did not have. He could barely feel his limbs as is. His legs had stopped responding yesterday and his hands were losing their nerves. He could just faintly feel the change of fabric between the blankets piled up on his body, but that was if he was trying. “This room is nice and all, but it would be nice if I could die at home.”

“I’ll kill their families if they don’t hurry up,” Jim snapped, body going still at the facts Sebastian had uttered. Because that was what they were, fact. A little vial of some anti venom wasn’t going to bring him back to life. “I’ll skin every SINGLE LAST ONE who did this to you!”

Sebastian let out a horse chuckle that shook his chest. Jim stopped his fluttering hands at that, straining to listen to what Sebastian had to say now. “I hope you have fun with that,” Moran’s lips tugged up into another smile. “Something to keep you occupied while you find a new sniper.”

“Because that was all I ever was to you, right?”

Jim stilled, ignoring Sebastian’s question.

“Do me a favor?” Sebastian tried a different approach. That peaked his interest enough for him to stop whatever he was doing on his phone. “Hold my hand? I don’t have much feeling left in it, I just want to know you’re there.” This was a long shot, but he’s done the impossible before. “I know physical contact isn’t your thing. But nine years without you can make anyone go insane.”

Not expecting anything to come of it, he sunk back into the comforter. Jim was very insistent that he at least had a soft and sturdy bed. The pillows were goosefeathers and the blankets were velvet. His bear with the green ribbon was very comfortable.

Jim did not face him, he set his hand over Sebastian’s. He squeezed his hand in a vice like grip, just enough so Sebastian could feel it. “I order you to stay.”

Moran sighed at that, rolling his tired eyes, “You know I don’t have any control over that.” He rested his chin on the bear. Before he dies, he should come up with a name for the little guy. It was the least he could do. “But I know damn well I don’t want to die here.”

“Where.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, not expecting Jim to fold so quickly. “Glasgow,” he replied with a cough.

-----

The car ride was wonderful. Sebastian suddenly missed his bed and mountain of blankets the moment he was maneuvered into the back seat. Instead of getting in the passenger seat, to everyone’s surprise, Jim sat next to Sebastian. His hand never left Moran’s.

“Stay awake,” Jim commanded, sternly, digging his blunt nails into Sebastian’s skin as if he could feel the pinpricks of pain.

“Don’t want to,” Sebastian articulated, laying his head back on the rest. He had left his bear friend back in the hospital, asking the nurse to keep an eye on the little guy for him. That bear could have come in use, a much better pillow than the cold window.

“If you don’t keep your eyes OPEN we’re going back to the hospital,” Jim yelled in his ear.

Sebastian opened one eye to glare at him. Jim looked worse than he did. His usually slicked back hair was sticking out evenly, his blazer had been discarded and his tie had been thrown onto the seat next to them. His stubble had grown out into an unkept beard, his dark eyes rimmed with red. Sebastian decided to have a little mercy on his boss. “Tell me a story.”

“I don’t do stories, Sebby,” Jim glared right back, urging the driver to hurry with a brief glance.

“Then tell me about your childhood.”

“You mean my lack thereof,” Jim made a clicking sound with his teeth. “What is there to say? That my parents loved me?” The two men burst into a fit of laughter that ended with Sebastian coughing until tears welled up in the corner of his eyes.

Jim stiffed next to him, a sign that the one thing that should not have an effect on him was making him act up. Emotion. Jim Moriarty was actually caring for someone. It terrified him and he did not scare easily. Jim had never been scared a day in his life. He watched Sebastian regain his composure, watching his every breath.

“Fair enough,” Sebastian gave one more moist cough, “Let’s go with something easier. Favorite color?”

Jim shook his head, “Too personal, Sebby. What next? The address?” He rested his head on Sebastian’s shoulder, sinking into the odd lukewarm warmth that lingered there. He could feel the rise and fall of Sebastian’s chest. “What do you want to know about it?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Red,” Jim answered instantly.

“Too quick,” Sebastian smiled. “Nobody likes red. People just say they like red because everyone says they like red.” His breath seemed to hitch when Sebastian closed his eyes for a second too long. “What’s your real favorite color?”

“Why are you so insistent about this?” Jim asked honestly, curious for once about what kind of cogs turn around in Sebastian’s head.

Moran made an odd motion with his neck and shoulders in a mock of a shrug. He stifled a groan under his breath but Moriarty saw through it like glass. “Curiosity. I like to know what you think of things.”

Deciding to indulge him, Jim continued, “Red is overrated anyways.” Sebastian nodded softly in agreement. “And blue is too common to be my favorite. There is blue everywhere. Quite an eye sore if you ask me.” On que, he glanced out the window, watching as they were moving farther and farther away from the large buildings and wholeheartedly dull city.

“Green is a good moderate.”

“It is, but yellow on the other hand is just HORRIBLE,” Jim groaned, causing the driver to flinch. “Normal people might say red is their favorite because of the herd, but yellow? Yellow is for attention. They just want that poor sense of individuality. Nothing likes yellow. Nobody likes yellow. They’re just attention hungry whores.”

“Mine is yellow then,” Sebastian smirked, his eyes dull with sleep.

“You slut,” Jim said in a hushed shout, intimate in nature but rightfully harsh. He shook Sebastian’s side to make him stay awake, but the sniper seemed to be currently contemplating rather or not to leap from the vehicle. “Stay awake,” Jim ordered, digging his nails into Sebastian’s neck and collar. “What other useless information do you want to know?!”

“How long are you going to keep this up?”

-----

Sebastian’s childhood home was nothing impressive. It was a one story building with a little overhang that would be overgrown in the spring. His father would make him climb up there, rain or shine and pull the vines off the roof. He had fallen more times than he liked to admit. And each time, there was no one to comfort him or coo at him for such an injury. The young boy was just expected to shake it off and get back to work.

Suffice to say, Sebastian did not have the fondest memories of the home. It had burned down three or so years after he had left for the military. Burned down by accident or by one of his mother’s jealous lovers was still a topic being departed to this day.

So when Moriarty had his driver pull up to the lane, Sebastian had expected a little plot of land ashen gray from the smoke and rumble, the edges overgrown with grass as tall as his knees. He did not expect to see the house as it was. No burn marks, no caved in walls. There were even well tended flowers growing in the path. The place looked like it had never seen a fire to begin with.

“What did you do?” Sebastian sighed in a gravel voice.

“You wanted to die here, fine. But I was not going to stand in a little field of despair,” Jim explained with flair, pushing Sebastian’s wheelchair into the living room. It was just as Sebastian had remembered. The greenish gray couch that he used to dig coins out of, the fireplace that was never used. Jim even managed to recreate the desk that his father had gifted to his mother before things went downhill.

“When did you even find time for all of this?” Sebastian asked with a choked cough that he used to hide the tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

“I make do,” Jim explained vaguely, setting the trained killer down in the middle of the room. He stepped out for a moment to return with a flower from the path. “This is what normal people do, isn’t it? Give flowers to people who don’t give a horse's ass what happens when they’re dead? Give me rat’s poison for all I care. I’m dead.” Setting the flower down on Sebastian's lap, he stepped back like he hadn’t just poured his heart out to his sniper. In the only way that Jim knew how, that is.

“I put flowers at your grave,” Sebastian said remorsefully, with what could have been called spite. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You also put a cartilage of bullets in with the boutique,” Jim rolled his eyes, taking a step around the room. Everything had a light sheen of gasoline and lighter fluid soaked into the fabric. The smell was not as bad as Jim had originally assumed. Sebastian didn't even seem to notice.

“Well, I didn’t think you would be happy if I blew my own brains out over your headstone.”

Jim was livid at this statement but hid it well. So well, that Sebastian thought his boss was mad that he didn’t go through with it. “Maybe I should’ve kept a bullet, eh?” he laughed sadly, trying to keep his hurt hidden. He could play if off as a joke if Jim inquired further.

Sebastian looked so small in his wheelchair. He was draped with a thick blanket over his lap to keep his legs warm, his upper half was swadded in two different coats as well as three different shirts. All did nothing to hide his sunken eyes or sharp edges. His hands no longer moved, they were so thin compared to what they used to be. Everything about the sniper was like a horribly altered mirror of his past.

The anti venom would not make it in time.

As the silence grew on, Sebastian wished he could shift in his seat. He felt so exposed being scrutinized by Moriarty like he was now. Despite being on the other side of the room, Jim never took his eyes off of Sebastian. It looked like he was waiting for an apology. For what, Sebastian didn’t have the faintest clue.

He coughed loudly enough to get out of his own head, “Maybe two or three just to have made sure? Seeing as you came back unscaved and all with just the one.” Even he could admit that was a poor jest. Taking a deep breath, he leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. The same as it had been, minus the cobwebs and bullet holes. “As last words go, mine are not the worst I’ve heard.”

“What was?”

“Something stupid about not fearing pain. Don’t remember much about the bastard who said it, though.”

“And do you?” Jim asked softly that if they weren’t the only two people in the small room, Sebastian might have missed it.

“Do I, what?” he feigned ignorance, glancing at Jim from the corner of his eye.

“Fear pain?”

“Used to,” Sebastian said honestly, feeling his eyes grow heavy. “But after a while, I got used to it. It was what came afterwards that always scared me.”

“What could scare you?”

“Raging, crying, acceptance.” It was Sebastian’s turn to glare right back at Jim. “A pool of blood but no body. An empty casket. The stillness of life like nothing had changed when everything had.” Sebastian wasn’t yelling and that was what shook Moriarty the most. He spoke in such a calm, measured tone. Jim’s own words used against him. “Waiting for something to happen like an abandoned dog.”

Sebastian tilted his head in a mock shrug. “I’m expendable, you weren’t.” He finally looked down onto his lip, counting the petals of the flower. “I didn’t think you were coming back…and accepting that fact….”

“Well, I’m HERE NOW!” Jim said in a loud cheer, throwing his arms up into the air. He looked more bizarre than he usually did. The lack of blazer and tie made him appear insane beyond any sort of control. “So stay and watch me make the world, MINE.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the scene before him. All of it was just ridiculous. His inevitable death, the reconstruction of his childhood home, Jim’s hair without its slick, and his sudden joyful outburst. The consultant criminal knew exactly what to do to make his final moments better. Sebastian could not have asked for a better send off.

His laugh left his open maw and spilled into the space before him, taking up each and every corner it could get its hands on. It was deafening, like a roar that could shake the whole newly built building. Tears streamed down his face, collecting on his jaw and thick stubble from the pure hilarity. He was practically shaking with it.

Then nothing. Silence.

Sebastian’s head fell to the side and stayed there. His face was still contorted into a full on smile, but it was soft around the edges. Calm almost, finally content. Like his laugh had filled the room, the silence was suffocating. His whole body stilled like a statue. If Jim didn’t know any better, he could have passed off the sight of Sebastian’s corpse as the sniper merely sleeping.

But he knew. No matter how forcibly he screamed, no matter which puppet puppeteered, no matter what he did. That man’s eyes were not going to open and recognize him.

Jim didn’t fall to the floor. He was more civil than that. He walked the last few paces to Sebastian’s wheelchair and kneeled down. The sleeping man looked so tired the past few days. Sebastian deserved his rest, Jim could allow him this. Could allow himself to do this.

He rested his head on Sebastian’s lap, bringing his arms around to hug at his waist. Jim traced the exposed skin on Sebastian's stomach, running his cold hands over the scars. Some he put there himself, but most were from long before they knew each other. Moriarty had long removed the memories of the days without Sebastian from his mind.

And not? Now he could allow himself to cry. If only for a second, a hushed moment. Before the home will be set to flame, Jim let himself witness this aftermath.

[selenelavellan]

Monster Hunter AU

Inspired by @feynites post

TW for PTSD, blood, and vomit

She never meant to start a collection.

Truth be told, she never meant to be a monster hunter either. Had never asked for a destiny or a fate, or whatever else people call it. She had been caught off guard by an overly large owl once in the woods, dripping with black blood and a screech that made her ears ring for hours after. A branch had broken off in her hands while she stumbled backwards and away from it, and when it had lunged for her, it was nothing but bad instincts that had her point at it with the stick and shout an incantation she had read in a stolen book once.

She never meant for it to implode.

The popping sound it made still haunts her. Still makes her wake at night in a cold sweat, convinced she's covered in feathers and blood that burns through her skin, with hollow and jagged bone shards stuck in her clothes and hair, screaming for help. She avoids anything with a similar sound now; balloons, bubblegum, fireworks. The noise makes her jump and tense, her hands reach for weapons and wood and anything that gives her security.

Her mentor tells her to count, when it happens.

It helps.

Numbers are grounding, they're real, they're solid, they're constant. One plus one equals two in her world and the Other world, even if the routes to get there are different.

When she completes her training, her mentor gifts her a wooden abacus. Small enough to fit in her pack, to fiddle with and settle her nerves on long journeys or distant assignments.

“It's perfectly fine,” They assure her. “There's nothing wrong with getting a little help where you can.”

Her first solo assignment is supposed to be simple. An incubus stirring up trouble in a nearby settlement that needs to be taken care of. He's not difficult to find; Selene doesn't find any sign that he'd even tried to cover his tracks. She discovers him in an emptied mansion, long abandoned and worn down by time. He's lounging in between the posts of a rotted bed frame, making promises and vows laced with poisonous words that leave a rash on the backs of her hands as she moves towards him. Threats like arrows as they try to pierce through her armor, her own words turning them to nothing but steam with a quiet hiss.

When she gets him pinned to floor, secured in her trap of ash and salt, he screams. He screams and pleads and while his words no longer have the magic to wound her, they find her soft spots all the same. Her wand is pressed to the skin of his neck while the tips of his horns burn holes into the wooden floor beneath him; his magic fighting, struggling for release. Waiting for death.

A piece of wood in the lit fireplace crackles and pops and Selene thinks of black blood and wet feathers. Nightmares and broken bones and will this one pop or burn or just fall to the ground with a lifeless thud, golden eyes rolling back and into his skull while her wand shakes and glows and fills her with a power that only makes her feel cold inside.

She doesn't think she actually wants to know.

“I don't want to kill you,” She admits aloud. Quietly, and without power. The wand in her hand is thrumming, runes alive and excited for the gain they are expecting to make from his loss.

The incubus stills beneath her.

She thinks of her mentor, and how disappointed they will be in her. Dead on her first mission; the last five years wasted. She wonders if they will think she forgot her training. If perhaps she suddenly forgot that incubi remains have to be gathered and cleansed, that their stolen power has to be extracted before death or they will simply keep regenerating.

She wonders, briefly, if she will make a popping sound.

“...I believe you,” The incubus responds, his horns cooling as her arm flops back to her side. “And I don't believe in doing things you don't want to do.”

“I can't leave you to terrorize people here.”

“Have any of the people I've actually encountered called what I do terrorizing?” He shoots back.

Selene frowns, and considers. The reports hadn't...actually come from the victims. Almost all were from husbands and partners that were upset with the state in which he had left their significant others.

All of whom had only experienced a day or two of lethargy before returning to full health.

She doesn't really remember how they had gotten to her offering him asylum in her home. But when the pair arrives back in her modest cabin, she hears a tinkling of metal behind her as the incubus reveals a large cloth bag filled with gold and jewels.

“Consider us even,” The creature tells her as he hands it towards her.

Selene scrunches her face and turns away from the large bag of coin (at least triple what the town had offered for his extraction, but that is far from the point).

“I can't accept bribes, it's against the code. You can keep them,” She tells him as she opens her magic-resistant safe and pulls out a clean syringe and empty vial. “Now sit down please.”

The incubus winces as she sticks the needle through his bicep, pulling back on the syringe until it is filled with a vial of thick, dark blood.

“What is that for?” The incubus asks, as though perhaps she might be the one duping him in this situation.

“It's for tracking,” Selene informs him plainly as she corks the vial and deposits it back into her safe. “If you're going to stay here, you are my responsibility. If you escape, or try to run off, this will help me track you no matter which realm you try to go to. If I am going to sell the idea of keeping you alive to my mentor, I need to at least show them I am being responsible about it.”

...It's not a smooth transition.

But Selene is lucky; her mentor understands. They do not berate her for her softness, and instead help to properly ward up her cabin and weapons and keep one eye on the monster in their pupils home.

It becomes something of a habit, after that.

Perhaps it is the Incubus's influence, in more than one way, that leads her to it. Even if it is a lie when he says it, the simple knowledge of knowing there is someone out there who thinks she is right for making her choice, helps. And there are still some monsters in the world that cannot be saved; who are too far gone, or who are genuinely evil in harmful ways. Those who do not care for options or kindness, and only want their pound of flesh.

But they are not all like that, as she had been lead to believe.

The large, nine-eyed, three-tailed cat in the mountains that would destroy caravans and harass vendors on the trade route had only been starving and confused. A house cat now, practically. It had not meant to maim or injure, had only smelled the meat and milk being moved and acted accordingly. That is when Selene first buys the cooler, and strikes up the deal with the butcher. She buys the spoiled meats at a cheap price and feeds them to her monsters, who are in no danger from the developing bacteria. As her home becomes more and more filled, she finds herself more at ease in her own skin. Less prone to jumping at every noise, to clawing at her own arms, to daydreaming so deeply that she vacates her own body for hours at a time without meaning to.

She even gives them names.

The incubus becomes Des, the cat, Affection, the carnivorous rosebush in her backyard Sympathy. Even the gelatinous cube that likes to live in the sunspot on her counter and has greatly helped with her composting becomes Garas (And never fails to make Des giggle).

Her mentor is concerned about her kept company.

There is another job only a month after she acquires Garas; an old temple ruin in the local woods has recently become home to some sort of terror that has been sneaking through the village at night. Large enough to blot out the stars, leaving carts overturned and shops broken into and burgled.

Selene looks at the list of stolen items with interest, now more experienced in the ways of her work.

Books, toys, and the occasional piece of food.

Hardly the activity of something vicious, she thinks.

But she is loaded down with poisons and poems and her wand for the journey, all the same.

It is almost a scenic route, really. The sun is high in the sky, and the light it casts through the thick leaves overhead makes a rather beautiful pattern on the ground. She eases herself over an old rotted log, one hand on the trunk of a tree until she finds solid ground again.

And encounters a trail of wet, bloodied feathers on the ground.

The sight shakes her so viscerally she nearly turns back. Her breathing increases but her breaths are shallow and her vision blurs. A twig snaps beneath her boot and she jumps nearly four feet in the air at the noise, mind filling with panic, an echo of an owls screech in her ears, over and over and over again. Her skin burns and her stomach empties as the hand not holding back her hair scrambles through her pack until it settles on the smooth wooden surface of her abacus.

She counts aloud to drown out the false noises, moving the beads at a steady pace and timing her breaths in and out with the solid clicks as they slide along the metal pole to make contact with one another.

She has gone all the way to the hundreds before she finally feels in control enough to continue.

The temple itself is damp from a recent storm, and she has to glide her steps through shallow pools of water to avoid making excessive noise as she moves through it. Her boots are soaked through by the time she finally finds the slumbering creature.

It is, indeed, very large.

There is a pool of dark sludge formed around it, melding with the water already soaked through the temple. She can't seem to locate a face or head on the creature, though its weight shifts several times as she moves around it, trying to get a read on which monster this could be.

It doesn't look like anything she's ever read about or studied before.

When she finally lifts one of her feet from the water, hundreds of eyes open across the expanse of its body. Nearly simultaneous, and all turning to look at her.

Three quarters of them close, as four long limbs stretch out from the mass and turns towards her. A neck forms, long and curving and then, ah, there's the head.

She holds the wand in her fist tight to her thigh as the neck twists around her. Not near enough to touch, but six eyes inspect her warily before they seem to focus on her pack. The head nudges pointedly at the flap of it until it manages to wriggle in there, followed by a long tendril that rapidly retreats.

Her abacus in its grip.

“Hey!” She calls, chasing after her possession as it is lifted above her head, the creature tilting around it curiously as it holds it up to the light.

She reaches out to grab it in an attempt to climb its limbs and get her abacus back, but recoils as her fist fills with feathers, instead. Black and inky and wet from the temple water. She looks at it again; it appears to be covered in scales, shining in the light breaking through the stone overhead, a smooth body stretching and shifting as it comes further and further into consciousness.

An illusion, maybe...?

But as she reaches out for it again, more cautiously this time, she finds feathers once more. Soft and plush in her grip, but churning and uneasy with her empty stomach.

She frowns, resisting the urge to retreat as she stares up at the only item she's really attached to be tentatively bent by this oversized brute.

“That's mine,” She says anyway, pushing away any wariness in her voice. Confidence, that's the key. Be confident. “You need to give it back.”

The creatures head tilts as it seems to consider her words.

“Please,” She says, lacing the word with just enough power to show that she is not here to bend to his whims, or make him some strange offering, or whatever he might think.

The creature glances between the abacus and Selene for a moment, before slowly lowering it back into her outstretched hand.

“Thank you,” She says, tucking it back into her pack. “Now, you need to leave.”

Six large blue eyes narrow as they move closer to her, its head slightly taller than her own body.

“The town you have been visiting is unhappy with your thefts. You need to return to your own realm, or I will have to kill you.”

There is a low, echoing rumble as the creature readjusts again, crossing two of its limbs on the steps of the rise it has been seated on. Resting its head on top, eyes closing as it gives another low, dismissive rumble.

Selene sighs and looks at the room around her. She's not going to be able to drag it out of here with physical force alone, and she hadn't prepared any levitation or movement stanzas for something this large. Villagers have a habit of over-exaggerating, and she had apparently misunderstood the truth in their words this time around.

Not her best moment of judgment, she'll admit.

Behind it, in a corner on a stone pedestal, she can see a small pile of books and toys.

The missing items, she realizes.

She glances at the creature for a moment before moving towards them, instead.

One eye still on the creature, she opens up the top book. Many of the pages have been torn, or ripped haphazardly. Something talon shaped seems to have stabbed through several of the pages in the center as well.

She makes an overly dramatic sigh and licks her thumb as she turns the page as loudly as possible.

“It sure looks like someone,” she drawls. “Was trying to read this, with little luck. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?”

She sees the head shift slightly in its position, another low grumble echoing slightly.

“That's too bad,” She continues, flipping another page. “I could have helped them with this, if they wanted...”

The head turns to face her again this time, eyes still narrowed and wary.

She wiggles her fingers harmlessly in the air where he can see them. “Phalanges are a heck of a thing. Tricky to shift though, if you're not familiar with the anatomy.”

She waits a few more minutes, skimming over the contents of the book. Some old history stories from a land across the sea she hasn't seen before. Outside of her range of work; probably not a land she'll ever be able to see in her lifetime.

As she continues perusing, the shape in her peripheral vision begins to shrink. The large mass becomes more elven in shape, only slightly taller than her own form. With six blue eyes and six black wings sprouting from its back. The ends of its hands and feet are blurry though; as though they're unsure what to do with them. Selene raises her hand again, fingers wriggling in the air as they inspect them more closely, their hands becoming more solid as they manage to copy some of her details.

“Very nice,” She compliments, taking her cloak off to help cover their expanse of exposed skin (and maybe hide their wings a little, too). She hands them back the book, and they take it from her, looking at it with a frown before looking up at her and repeating “Very nice?” in a more quizzical tone as they try to push it back towards her.

She blinks, taking it back from them.

They don't speak the language, she realizes all at once.

That's...concerning. She's never met or heard of a monster that didn't at least understand the trade language before. Normally there is enough bleed through between their realms with the common root pieces of their language that conversations are still possible. It's part of how the monsters manage to cross through in the first place.

This makes things a lot more complicated.

“You,” She tries, pointing at them before making a stabbing motion with her hand to try to get her meaning across. “killer?”

They look at her curiously for a moment before shaking their head slowly.

Ok, well. That's something.

She can't just leave them here though.

…well. Maybe Des could help with translations?

She closes the book and takes a few steps away, making a motion with her hand behind her. “Follow me.”

The creature tries to follow closely behind, but stumbles over its own feet as it tries to make it down the stairs. Selene manages to catch them before they can hurt themselves on the stone, but it's a near thing.

“I've got you,” She mumbles, and hums a tune to meant help with balance for scaling large walls or moving through crowded cities. It helps him to stand, and his next few steps, while tenuous, are steady.

“I've got you,” He repeats with a nod.

Selene can feel her face flush slightly at the assertion before berating herself.

He gave himself extraordinarily handsome features, for someone that didn't even have a face a few minutes ago.

She shakes her head to rid herself of the thought before she starts back towards her home. He links his hand with hers, refusing to release it and just repeating his last sentence like a mantra each time she turns to look at him, with more and more confidence.

...Probably he's just afraid of falling again, she decides.

Hopefully, this will all be much simpler once she figures out how what sort of monster he actually is.

[texanredrose]

By Moonlight - The Killing

Yang didn't need to think. 

She pushed away from Winter, began charging for Cardin, hardly catching sight of the little vial glowing with some sort of hex. 

On the upside, it meant he wasn't a warlock, because those sort of contained spells weren't designed for magic users, always running the chance of reacting to the magic running through a warlock's veins. 

On the downside, though, it meant there was no stopping the damn thing from being released as he tossed it towards the dais, neither Blake nor Weiss familiar with such devices to know that the little vial spelled their doom. 

So the hunter did the only thing left to her- she jumped, diving to intercept the projectile, hoping the enchantments in her furs and armor might protect her and counteract whatever was in the vial as the fragile glass broke. 

But that was a touch too optimistic. 

She fell to the ground, a scream tearing from her chest as lightning ran throughout her body, weaving agony in its wake. Her dragon magic emerged, but a touch too late, now fighting a spell designed to paralyze its target and torture the person in the prison of their own body, images at the edges of her vision, old faces she hadn't seen in years lingering just out of focus.

A growl loud enough to rattle bones echoed in the room before screams joined hers but she couldn't parse what happened, writhing against the stone floor as she regained and lost her mobility in turns, all the while trying her hardest to ground herself in the moment. 

"Huntress!" A voice called, alarmed and worried, and then hands on her somewhere. "Yang, can you hear me?" 

Was that someone else or the same person? Her hearing started suffering, whispers sounding like those long dead with words- what were they saying? 

Where was she? 

"Call for the castle healer! Any healer! Any witch or wiz-" 

"Stop your screaming." A tired voice drawled as it came closer. "It's giving me a headache." 

Yang didn't dare open her eyes; she could feel her body trying to shift, because taking her dragon form would increase her innate magic, would make fight back the hex so much easier, but the hall was too crowded. If she swung her tail, she'd likely send people flying, and she couldn't keep her human form still at the moment. 

It was too dangerous and the last thing any of them needed was a dragon showing up- a creature often seen as a bad omen in Atlas. At the same time... everything hurt. 

"Stop your thrashing and look at me." Her eyes opened to see the former Queen looming over her, a frown on her lips. "Ah, a dragon. That would explain why you're still alive. Now open your mouth." She pulled her lips back, hoping it would be enough to display why that was a bad idea, her teeth already beginning to enlarge and sharpen into fangs. "Try harder, you overgrown lizard."

"Mother." Weiss- it must've been her- warned as the shouting and growling stopped. "I'm quite certain Winter is fond of her-" 

"Then she can thank me in the morning. Open. Up." The hex worked deeper, into her chest and stopping her heart for a moment before her dragonfire ignited, restarting her heart and singeing the woman's hair as a burst of fire left her lips. "I should've expected that." Fingers like steel traps grabbed her jaw, holding it open. "This will only take a moment." 

Whining- high, keening, conveying worry and concern- drew closer to her. 

"Keep her back." 

"That's... going to be difficult," Blake said, though shuffling followed. 

In the next moment, Yang's world narrowed to the excruciating sensation of lightning and fire being drawn up her throat and out her mouth, the hex and her own magic sucked out so forcefully beyond unpleasant, and she tried to struggle against the grip holding her jaw open. 

However, with the hex still somewhat in effect, she couldn't seem to get the muscles to cooperate, forced to do nothing more than scream as it felt like her very soul was being pulled from her body. 

"Mother, hurry!" 

"We can't keep her back!"

A few more moments that drug on like small eternities before Yang felt her body slump back to the stone, unsure when her back had arched like a bow, coughing and hacking as her whole body ached. 

"Ha- hah- hag," she said, blinking up as her inner dragon chased away the lingering lightning running through her veins. 

"Excuse you, she just saved your life. I think." 

"Hush, Weiss; she's not insulting me." The woman looked into her eyes, nodding and immediately reaching for her wine. "The stories never differentiate, but hags are witches who specialize in manipulating magic rather than casting it." She took a deep pull, shaking her head and rubbing at her temple. "Don't tell me you're so optimistic as to think this is the first time your father- or one of his cretins- has tried killing any of us with tools he hardly understands; the damned fool only got me to marry him with a love potion. He's always been a puppet in the hands of those thrice blasted warlocks in Vacuo, just like half the court." 

Her chest still burned, but it lessened in degrees as she recovered, having lost some of her own strength in the process. "Does tha... wine help with..."

"It keeps the magic I ingest from taking hold; the smell of alcohol masks the smell created by potions of my own." 

"So that's why father left that poisoned bottle for you? He was trying to take away your own weapon and poison you in the same stroke?" Weiss appeared at the edge of her vision, quickly overshadowed by Winter sticking her face closer, sniffing at Yang. 

The older woman paused, making a noise in the back of her throat. "I honestly thought he knew; I'd never drink from a bottle other than my own. I wonder how many others are poisoned." 

"Did you just leave them there?" 

The werewolf nosed at Yang's hand until she weakly lifted it up, resting it on white fur stained red by blood. 

"Well, I wasn't expecting my daughters to raid my wine cabinet when my back was turned." 

Winter pressed closer, nosing her chest and waist, whining softly as she moved her hand to scratching along the werewolf's jaw. 

"That's a terrible excuse!" 

"Hey... are you okay?" Yang's voice was hoarse and scratchy, eyes falling shut for a moment. Winter whined in response, nosing under her shoulder, as if encouraging her to sit up. "I'm fine... tired, but fine." 

"I'll keep that in mind," the woman said, getting to her feet unsteadily. "Now, congratulations on your ascension to the throne, I wish you happiness in your impending union, and I'll excuse myself from the festivities. I'd suggest you take the Huntress to her rooms; she'll need to recover her strength."

"I can... get there myself." Pushing herself up to her feet, Yang leaned against Winter briefly to gather her strength. "I'll just-" 

The werewolf growled, shooting a look at her sister, which was somehow immediately understood. With a gesture towards her fiancé, the two somehow transferred Yang from her own feet to sitting astride Winter's shoulders. 

"... uh-" 

"Are you really about to argue with her?" Amber eyes glanced down briefly. "I don't think you'll win the fight in your state." 

"Guards!" Weiss yelled out, waving over two men with spears in their hands. "Escort them to the Huntress' quarters. Neither of them are... in a position to open doors." 

"Yes, Your Majesty." 

"Don't I get a say in this?" Her lips lifted in a weak smirk before slumping against Winter's neck. "Ah, nevermind. A night in a bed sounds good."

With that, the werewolf carried her out of the feasting hall, people stepping out of her way and bowing their heads in reverence, more than a few whispering quick prayers for Yang to recover her strength. 

She hardly registered much after they left, lulled into semi consciousness by the easy rocking motion of the werewolf's gait. It stopped only once, accompanied by a growl and the quick shuffling of the guards, moving to go down a different hallway than before, into a part of the castle Yang hadn't been in before- the royal wing. 

Everything looked nicer if more... impersonal. Were it not for the guards leading the way and Winter bearing her weight, she might've passed the door by completely, hardly able to see it among the pristine white walls. 

The antechamber wasn't much better, with everything in its place, if a bit more... damaged, poorly concealed claw marks combined with a fine layer of dust and the musty scent of a room abandoned stinging her nose. Considering she'd spent her nights in the woods and mornings in the shed, Winter probably only came into the room to change clothing daily and avoid suspicion.

The guards excused themselves, at first trying to offer their assistance in moving Yang to the bed and finding that wasn't appreciated, considering how the werewolf began growling. 

"They're just tryin' ta help, y'know." She drawled, sliding from Winter's back and fumbling with the straps and buttons to her furs and armor, letting them fall to the ground and resolving to tidy up when she awoke. The night air bit into her skin, making her shiver as she bent over and pulled at the laces of her boots, which were quickly latched onto by Winter, fangs lightly digging into the leather and tugging. "Heh, thanks, Miss Winter." 

A growl answered her as the other boot was pulled off. 

"I'll keep calling you that until you come up with something different." Finally, she laid back, sighing deeply and cracking her eyes open when she felt the bed dip. 

Although far larger than perhaps the bed could comfortably fit, Winter got up and settled down beside Yang, clearly intending to remain there until she'd recovered. 

"You can go back to the feast," she said. "I'm sure you're hungry." 

The werewolf deeply sighed, settling further into her spot. 

Yang laughed. "Take that as a no. Alright. See ya... in the morning." 

Letting go, she fell into a deep slumber, surrounded by warmth despite not having drawn the covers over herself.

Yang woke slowly, warm and comfortable despite the irritation along her right side. So exhausted from the ordeal, she hadn't even removed her prosthetic, and had rolled onto it sometime during the night, the metal biting into her chest a mild discomfort she could ignore during bone weary slumber but not outside it. However, trying to move immediately became a bit difficult, seeing as an arm was draped over her waist, holding her in place, and her breath caught in her throat at what she might find if she rolled over. 

"I'm awake... to an extent," Winter said, though the words were soft at the edges, warm breath hitting the back of her head. "And I'm wearing clothes." Relieved, she shifted and rolled onto her back, finding the woman beside her in a long shirt that went past the swell of her hips, a contrast to the thin shift Yang wore under her armor and the leggings she couldn't have gotten off the night before due to lack of energy. "I find your sense of modesty odd, for one raised by werewolves."

Her lips curled into a grin. "Just because we're a bunch of beasts doesn't mean we can't be civilized about it."

Winter chuckled, a bright sound in the early morning that made her grin grow; from the stories she'd heard upon arriving in the royal city, she wouldn't think it possible. Surely, half the kingdom thought the entire royal family had no humor at all, but now it seemed that the removal of the dark cloud lording over them gave each the ability to relax, be happy. Weiss obviously wasted no time securing her own happiness; her sister would likely follow in time. 

Which actually brought up a thought. 

"What happened to your brother?" 

A frown tugged at her lips as the woman looked away briefly. "He fled. I don't know any specifics but I can... smell it- fear, panic, on the south wind. He's running and I'm not sure when he'll stop." 

"Are you going to chase him?" It probably wasn't her place to ask. She hunted fearsome and fantastic beasts, not people, but her eyes were glued to the woman's expression. 

"No," she said, eyes unfocused for a moment before she closed them, sighing deeply as she turned into the mattress. "He'll return, someday. Either to beg forgiveness or avenge our father. We'll be ready for him."

"I'm glad you're confident." Yang reached over and detached her prosthetic, sighing in relief. Her shoulder needed time to recover before she got up and faced the day. "He might run to Vacuo. But those warlocks don't like when their toys get taken away." 

"We'll deal with it when it comes," she said, shuffling closer and laying an arm across Yang's stomach. "You should rest. You deserve it." 

A few moments of silence passed, a hundred thoughts ricocheting around inside her skull. "I should start packing." Winter immediately stiffened but she pressed on, staring at the intricate moldings on the ceiling above. "This job's done. I'll need to go report back so no one else comes up here trying to kill you. Plus, I can visit the Elders-" 

"You could send a messenger for that." 

"... I could." 

"But you won't." She pushed herself up, scrubbing at her eyes. "I suppose there's no reason for you to stay, now." 

"And it upsets you." Winter glanced at her, then pointedly directed her gaze elsewhere. Slowly, the hunter sat up, reaching out to lay a hand on her shoulder. "I know it feels like you’re going against who you are, but you have to adapt to this new side of you. Wolves are social and very vocal; they communicate everything with their pack."

"I don't even know what that means." Frustration colored her tone, brows pinching together. "I don't have a pack; as far as I know, there are no werewolves in Atlas besides myself." 

"Your pack isn't just other werewolves." She licked her lips. "Think, right now, if the castle was under siege. An army just outside the gates, swords looking for throats to slit. Who would you rush to protect? Weiss? Blake? Servants? Soldiers?" 

Winter's expression darkened, a flash of gold in her eyes as she tensed, lips pulling back in a snarl. The idea of a threat called to both the elder sibling and the wolf within her, and she replied readily. "Weiss and Blake, yes. Klein. James. Healer Goodwitch..." then blue eyes turned her way. "You." 

Yang nodded, not at all surprised. But that didn’t make it easier. "Packs stick together, usually. You see me as part of your pack; it's only natural to be upset that I'm leaving." 

The woman stood, pulling away from her touch, shaking her head as she paced. "That... it doesn't feel right. There's something else. More."

To some extent, she knew. Humans were weaker creatures- adaptable, resilient, yet ultimately brought down by their own failings- but wolves were sure, steady, they understood their place in the world intrinsically. The wolf in her knew what she wanted... or was at least willing to accept inclinations. 

Shortly after turning, after accepting the mantle of werewolf, it wasn't uncommon for... mistakes to be made, to bond with someone out of gratitude or overwhelming- but, ultimately, short lived- affection. Being the one who helped Winter, of course their bond would be strong... but was it true? 

Yang scratched at the back of her head, looking down at her lap. On the one hand, the werewolf might genuinely want her as a mate... on the other, it could be the byproduct of confusion and stress, a need to have someone- anyone- as a partner.

"Miss Winter... I have to go," she said, watching the woman stop her pacing and look back, a slump to her shoulders. "It's for the best." 

"I don't believe that," she replied, expression smoothing out into polite stoicism, so very much like when they’d first met, minus the aggression. "But I understand I can't change your mind." Pressing her lips into a thin line, Winter turned, retrieving a robe and sliding it over her shoulders. "I'll see to the arrangements myself. You should rest while you can; the packing I'll leave to you, but I'll have a mount and provisions ready when you decide to depart." 

"Thanks." 

Just before stepping out of the bedchamber, the woman turned and offered her a genuine smile. "Thank you, Yang. You've done more than words can say and I'll never be able to express the depths of my gratitude."

Her heart clenched but she offered an answering smile all the same, watching as Winter slipped out before collapsing back against the mattress. 

In the back of her mind, she wondered if she was making the right decision. She liked the woman- the gruff soldier dedicated to her mission, the elder sibling drawing their father's ire to protect her sister, the proud soul learning to show weakness with grace- and with every turn, she discovered more facets, more layers, and each called to her. Yang could fall in love so quickly and it had burned her before; she'd nursed a broken heart, being left behind for one reason or another. And Winter was the sort of person she could fall for, if she hadn't already.

But the doubt lingered. She was a hunter, an adventurer, a warrior scarred from battles- not someone fit to sup with nobles, and she couldn't even be certain Winter truly cared for her. It could just as easily be clinging to someone who understood during a period of uncertainty. A lifeline. 

Distance and time would tell. She was making the right decision. 

For a moment, Yang cast her gaze around, unsure if she wanted to try sleeping a bit later, but she had to shut her eyes. On the dresser, there were little trinkets- bobbles from the southern tips of Atlas, effigies of deities, the sorts of tokens people would give to someone to wish for safe passage- and tucked up in the corner of the vanity mirror was a child's rendering of the royal family with 'me' scrawled above the middle child's white ponytail. 

If she allowed herself to look around... she might never leave. 

"My job is done. Other people need my help," she said, rolling onto her left side and massaging her right shoulder. "This'll pass." 

In a few years, maybe she'll come back out this way. If not for a job, then just to pass through. Maybe she could pen a letter to Blake- the Faunus seemed inclined to discreet communications, given how hard and long she'd worked to keep her relationship with Weiss as secret as either of them could manage. And when she returned, saw Winter standing tall beside her chosen mate, she would be happy for her. Werewolves mated for life and Winter seemed loyal before that. 

Whoever she chose would be lucky. 

Yang shut her eyes, and dozed lightly, entertaining a dozen daydreams. 

The wind blew softly- cold, but bitter only in spurts. New flags flew from every rampart- the old heraldry discarded in favor of a white snowflake on a black field, a wolf's head with a crown between its ears above- and even some of the guards and knights had their uniforms and decorations swapped out for the new design. Weiss' reign was only three days old but the eagerness to embrace her rule was more than telling and her mother, now sober more often than not, provided the wise council she was once so well known for, though she yielded readily when the reigning Queen stood firm.

Yang sighed, her breath coming out in a puff of fog. Early morning in the Atlas winter meant weak light and short days but the people seemed in high spirits, bowing and waving as the little procession made its way through the royal city, towards the southern gate. She'd tried telling them the fanfare wasn't necessary- rarely did the people who hired her personally walk her to the gates for a farewell- but the Queen insisted and there was no talking her out of it. Her head went bare, bereft of the crown of her forefathers, and she'd yet to decide if a new one would be made. Yet, she'd managed to convince Blake to wear the former Queen's, and Yang had to smile at the way the woman had done her best to keep her composure while suggesting it while Blake blushed madly. In hindsight, the Faunus should've probably expected so ostentatious a courtship favor, belated though it may be with the wedding on the way. The royal couple led the little procession, smiling and waving to the people they passed, pausing for a step or two to bend an ear.

Behind them, Yang shuffled along, lead in hand as a horse easily worth more gold than she'd ever carried on her person marched behind her- had to be a war horse, alert and on guard, proud and stubborn, all the headstrong might of a stallion packed into a mare that promised fierce retribution to any who provoked her. Honestly, Yang thought they'd get along swimmingly, especially after the first chuff at her hand, the horse's dark brown eyes almost daring her to do something- as if she could sense or smell the dragon's blood in her veins. To her left, Winter strode purposefully down the thoroughfare, chin up and shoulders back, bedecked in her best dress uniform with new, silver pauldrons attached to a white cloak with golden trim- a foolhardy decision, perhaps, but one that sent a clear message of resolute fearlessness. It likely wouldn't kill her, but if either pauldron touched her skin, it would burn, even in human form; Yang found herself admiring the werewolf's absolute determination, even if it was ill advised. 

"You look good." The words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them, a blush rising in her cheeks as she tried to make herself sound a little more articulate. "I mean- your new armor. It looks very good on you. Strong, dependable, warm." 

Mentally, she slapped herself, but Winter offered a wan smile. "Thank you, Yang. I'm glad you approve." She nodded ahead of them. "Weiss thinks it's reckless. I think it sends a message." 

"That every cloud has a silver lining?" She grinned, lips pulling wider at the startled laughter that burst into the morning air. Winter hadn't laughed like that in the past few days; she wasn't entirely humorless, but she'd been subdued, morose. It felt good to see her in higher spirits. "I think it's a little of all three. And it's good to see you smiling again." 

"Strange, I think, that you've known me so little, you think the absence of a smile is odd." She shrugged- carefully. "Yet, you know me best of any."

"Do I though?" She tried to play it off but a voice whispered in the back of her mind: she did know, that the person most people saw was an act, that though she'd been cold and stiff before it wasn't born of personal choice but necessity. Winter could be kind, warm, encouraging... she did know the person beneath the mask. "But you... know a few things about me, too." 

"Yes. I know the blood in your veins, the strength of your convictions, the height of your intelligence, your perceptiveness- you were forced to grow up quickly. I assume you helped raise and teach some of the new werewolves, acted as guide and guardian." Winter paused. "I'd like very much to hear what stories you might have to tell." 

Lilac eyes fell on the city gates. "I'm afraid none of them are short, and our time is." 

"Permit me my fantasies," she replied, expression turning a touch somber. "A goodbye isn't painful unless you're never going to say hello again." 

"Who told you that?" Yang thought back on... a lot of goodbyes and found herself unable to agree fully. 

"It's an old saying. Hopeful, I suppose." Winter glanced her way. "I suspect you see it differently."

"The most painful goodbyes are the ones that are never said and never explained." Tears stung at her eyes. "That's from experience. Doesn't matter if it's the last one or not." A hand laid on her shoulder, bringing them to a brief halt. 

Winter's brows pinched together, voice soft. "You are strong, not just for the power in your arms or the scars you bear." Her right hand clenched, though only for a moment. "Your strength comes from rising above the pain others have put you through, and not letting it darken your heart." 

"I guess." Again, doubts swirled. She'd given Winter reasons for her leaving... but they weren't the whole truth, now were they? Was she repeating history? 

"Yang." She met the werewolf's gaze- blue, with a hint of gold about the iris, a sure sign the two sides had started to find their balance. "I understand why you're leaving." She paused. "I don't like it. I don't want it... but I understand your reasons. And it's not like you're slipping off in the dead of night." 

"I think that's more your bag." The words left her mouth before she could think better of it, surprising both of them. Lips tugged up before both of them started laughing, bringing the rest of the procession to a halt.

"I- I have to admit, you have a fair point," Winter finally said after reining in her amusement. "But I do try to give warning now." 

"Just give it a few more years." They started walking again, Weiss and Blake throwing little looks and whispers back and forth. "Once you can change at will... now that will be when giving heads up matters." 

"I realize this may come off as selfish..." Winter paused, weighing her words before speaking. "But I'll admit I wish I had someone to help me in the time to come. It'll be difficult, being alone." 

"You won't be alone. You have your pack," she swallowed, offering a small smile. "I'm... I'm still with you, even when I'm not here." 

The werewolf looked at her, nodding solemnly. "You will be indeed." The corners of her lips tugged up. "You're a very difficult person to forget, Yang." 

She gripped the reins a little tighter as they approached the gates, trying to keep the words locked behind her teeth, but they tumbled out all the same. "You're pretty remarkable yourself, Miss Winter."

Weiss had restored her sister's title first and foremost, once again putting the elder sibling as heiress apparent, though she'd joked once or twice about only having the title for the next two decades, if that. Given the way Blake had blushed, she'd be willing to bet that charge wasn't too far off. 

Her expression tightened, gaze turning away. "Promise me you'll try to be careful. Invest in some enchantments to repel hexes, or perhaps a shield?" 

"I'll pick one up. Just for you." She shouldn't have said that. Yet she did and found herself sharing a smile with Winter just before they passed through the gates, Weiss and Blake awaiting them on the other side. "I suppose this is it, Your Majesty."

"The end of one chapter and the beginning of another one," Weiss said, offering a brief hug- which took Yang off guard, though she quickly recovered, returning the embrace. "You do realize you'll be welcomed in Atlas, correct? Whenever you might deign to return, our borders and our castle will be open to you." 

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Yang nodded, then turned to Blake, who also embraced her. "And, uh, Your Majesty?" 

"Just Blake is fine." The Faunus gave her a little smile that seemed to hint at a tease. "People like us should stick together." 

What that meant, the hunter had an idea and rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say, Just Blake." 

Her shoulder was shoved lightly, a small laugh following that brought a smile to her lips. Then she turned towards Winter, unsure what to expect. 

After a pause, she stepped forward, offering a hand. "Farewell, Huntress. Thank you, for everything." 

She grabbed Winter's forearm- a warrior's gesture. "My pleasure, Your Highness." 

They held each other there a moment, looking into each other's eyes before breaking contact, both tight lipped. Yang turned, opting to lead the horse a bit further up the road before mounting, and dragging her feet in the process. 

A weight slammed into her back, arms wrapping around her chest as she staggered forward. Looking over her shoulder, she found Winter's face buried in her furs, eyes shut tight and teeth grit as one pauldron pressed against her skin, grey smoke wafting up. 

"I know you can't stay. I know I can't go." Her voice, soft, hardly rose above the din of the royal city awakening, but Yang heard every word. "But if you ever return, I will be here for you. You can always come back." 

She laid a hand on the arm about her waist, sighing. Yang turned in Winter's arms, letting the lead drop and returning the embrace. She simply couldn't ignore the powerful pull in her chest.

"Follow your heart. Listen to your wolf. You'll find your path." She pulled far enough away to run the backs of her knuckles against silver burned flesh, allowing some of her dragon magic to leak out and speed along the recovery process. Wouldn't be good for the people to see their divine werewolf sporting a fresh silver burn, after all. The way Winter leaned into the touch had nothing to do with it. "If you ever come to Vale for business, ask for the Elders. They'll welcome you as a sister." She paused, debating. "And they know the quickest way to find me." 

"I'll keep it in mind." She drew back, reluctant to break contact but doing so all the same and offering a small smile. "Safe travels." 

"Hunter's luck," she replied, grabbing the abandoned reins and going off, mounting up and beginning down the road, the horse's steady gait comforting, but only so much. When she got to the top of a hill- right before the bend that would hide the heart of Atlas from her sight- she looked back. 

Winter stood there, watching her, and the pain in her heart confirmed at least one thing. Regardless if the werewolf saw her as a packmate, a playmate, or a lifemate, Yang had already started to fall in love with her. 

She pulled on the reins and gave the horse- Ember, she decided, that would be a good name- her head, launching them both into a full gallop towards the coast. 

[tavis-of-bannorn]

Washed Up

@elfrootemporium washed!up verse chat log. Will continue as a thread as discussed. Under the cut for length. <3

Tavis: <joined the Herald and some others on a journey to West Hill. There were reports of strange activity in the area and some individuals waiting to be recruited within the city. He wasn't really certain why the Inquisition had sent him along with. He is more than capable in a fight but never has he joined the Herald before and most of them seem suspicious of him. They had imprisoned him for a time, after all, so he is surprised they trusted him at all.>

<They finished with their recruitment in the city and made their way towards the coast where a rift is spotted along the shore. After some tiresome fighting, the Herald closes it and they make their way along the beach to make camp.>

<Once camp is set he wanders off to explore the beach a little enjoying the rare moment of respite, reveling in the feeling of sand between his toes and the refreshing sea air.>

<His eyes drift towards the shore and up ahead he notices a body laying still. He furrows his brow in concern and runs up to see a woman laying still. He fully expects the worst, but kneels down and checks her pulse and he is relieved to find she is still alive. But she clearly was just washed in from the sea, her clothing is soaked and the waves were close enough to brush her feet as they rose and fell.>

<Tavis carefully shifts her on her back> Can you hear me?<he says loud enough to try and reach her, repeating it before giving her enough of a shake to wake her if water isn't in her lungs and there is no response. He places a finger on her neck and then a hand on her chest giving a breath of relief well she is breathing at least but hardly. His face turns serious and focused and he presses on her chest just hard enough to get her breathing, and then carefully tilts her head back, closing her nose with fingers and meets her lips breathing air into her lungs. He does this repeatedly, over and over until he gets her to breathe again and dearly hopes he can save her> Imogen: What she remembered the most was the cold. It seeped into her skin, into her bones like the water seeped into her lungs burning and choking her insides. Then the darkness and nightmares claimed her: green swirling fog, grotesque monsters trying to devour her, voices screaming and talking over one another in her head.

And then they were quiet save for one. It was distant, concerned; though the words were unfamiliar they began pulling her from the darkness of her dreams. Warm lips against her forcing air into her burning lungs. Soft pressure on her chest waking her abruptly as the water was violently forced from her lungs.

She rolled over on her side, coughing and sputtering until she felt she could breathe again. Tavis: Tavis leaned back quickly as she came up for air and water left her in significant force. The concern was back on his face, a look of care as he placed a hand on her shoulder. He had some healing potions with him luckily and turned to release a vial from his belt. It could help any internal damage caused from the pressure and unconsciousness at least.

"I very nearly lost you. Do you know where you are?" He spoke softly and as calmly as possible, not really sure how lucid the woman would be, so he kept speaking. Emerald eyes were fixed on her and he held the potion out for her to take with a soft nod. "It will help you heal." Imogen: Imogen couldn't tell if she was awake or still dreaming. Sure, she hurt everywhere inside and out. But the land wasn't like anything she'd ever seen before, she couldn't understand what the man was saying to her. Speaking of the man holding the small bottle to her ... he... wasn't like anyone she'd ever met before: his skin was so very pale, hair so very red, curious tattoos drawn across his face and... her curiosity overrode any fear or sense of propriety and she reached up toward his long ear, running her finger along the outside of it, examining it. Who was he? What was he?

A bit of the fear came prickling back and she quickly pulled her hand back, scooting away from him a bit. Tavis: Tavis' eyes drifted to the side as he felt the tingle from her touch drawing up his ear. His head remained unmoving, he was rather confused by the gesture but more than a little intrigued by the odd directness. His eyes drifted back towards her, brow slowly rising in some amusement. Why is this strange human fondling my ear? He gave a soft chuckle at that before she pulled away and he blinked at the suddenness.

He wasn't really sure what to do, clearly words weren't helping. He had no idea why that woman would have been unconscious on the shore. It was clearly an accident at sea or something like that. Or perhaps she escaped from a slaver ship, he heard rumors that the area was notorious for having many slavers about but generally the elves were the ones they stole away, not humans.

He put a hand up, a small indication that he meant no harm and he nodded as she backed away then gave her space.

"I mean no harm," he said in a soft reassuring tone, and tried to meet her eyes, his own quiet and a little curious. "But I understand why you would be wary of a random elf hovering over you on the beach," he continued and set the vial down between them, still crouched down in front of her and laced his fingers together. "I would like to help you if you'll allow it." Imogen: Taking a good look at her surroundings she realized that she was alone, in this strange world, with this strange person, with nothing but the clothes on her back. The wet... clingy...clothes. She watched him carefully as he moved, waiting for the slightest sign that he might try to hurt her. But he was slow, deliberate as though he understood. She eyed the vial between them. If their positions were reversed, she'd try to help... perhaps it was for the pain, her injuries? Still, she shoudl still be careful.

Imogen picked up the vial and held it to him. /"You first."/ If she didn't understand his words, she doubted he understood  what she was saying, so she hoped he understood she wasn't rejecting his help. Just... being cautious. Tavis: He watched her as she examined her surroundings and he also took note that she only had her clothes. And her clothes were quite strange as well, he glanced at the difference of style, one that he had never seen before. But he supposed he had never been further north than the Free Marches so perhaps she was Antivan or Rivaini. Rivain seemed the closest possible location that he could assume just by looking at her but it was still off.

He glanced at the vial before giving her a very intrigued look at the words. They were short and sweet but he knew for sure that was not an Antivan tongue and he had heard Rivaini pirates speaking in the past. Nor was it Qunlat or anything he had heard before. Which was the only reason that he gave the slightest pause.

Tavis gave a nod in understanding and carefully reached for the vial, tipping his head back and taking a little swig, enough to prove it wasn't poisonous. His nose twitched at the taste, he always hated the taste of that particular potion, it had a harsh bite to it but he was used to it by now. He swallowed and let it sit a moment, long enough to indicate that, if it were poisonous, it would have affected him by then.

With an arm outstretched, he handed it back to her, giving a small smile and a hum instead of words, because it seemed she did not speak the common tongue. Imogen: She waited a moment, watching him intently for any sign of adverse effects. When she was sure he wasn't going to fall over dead right there in front of her, she mirrored his movements as she drank the potion herself right down to the same nose twitch at the taste.

Now what?  

She fingered the bottle as she looked over him again, fascinated by elongated, pointy ears. She'd never seen such a person before. Tavis: He watched the woman as she took the bottle and shifted to a more casual position, sitting on the sand and folding his legs. He merely looked at her because clearly words were pointless but they still slipped out regardless.

"Well then..." He gave a lilting chuckle and smiled more a little more amusement touching his eyes at the situation.

So he couldn't speak and facial expressions, tone and body movements only did so much unless people were well acquainted, they had just met. His gaze drew away from hers and he leaned to the side, propping himself up with one arm and considered the sand.

Well he could draw something to speak, but what? And he wasn't particularily good at drawing either. But he could draw basic things in sand to get something across.

He gave her a soft glance, lips quirking before he turned so he sat next to her at a respectful distance. A long finger began forming lines and shapes in the sand until ended up looking like a ship. He glanced to the side, giving an inquisitive look as if his eyes placed a question mark at the end. It was the closest he could get to using pictures to communicate what was happening really so he just drew what he thought of first. Imogen: Imogen shivered in the cool breeze and wrapped her arms around herself as she watched him draw in the sand. A ship? Did she come over on a ship? She nodded and then reached over and drew two other ships, a storm cloud, and bolts of lightning striking the ships. Tavis: Tavis watched her drawing, happily noting that she understood his question. So there was a storm and she survived somehow. He gave a glance towards her and noticed her shivering and shrugged his cloak off before wrapping it around her shoulders. A smile touched his lips before he went back to think of what to draw.

He drew something akin to a campfire, logs underneath and a flame atop it, with lines above it to indicate smoke. Next to it he drew a tent and a few stick figures with smiles. That was the best to indicate that the people were friendly. He didn't want to lead her into a camp with people in it without telling her first.

Then he nodded to his left where the campsite was. He wasn't really sure what to draw to indicate that she would be safe or what to do to prove it to her, that was the dilemma. Imogen: It didn't escape her notice that she was the only one from any of the ships on the beach. Was she the only survivor? Were the others further along the beach? Both thoughts made her queasy. If she were the only one, she'd have to figure out what to do all on her own. If she wasn't...well, that was a whole other well of problems she'd have to deal with.

Imogen followed the man's gaze to a campsite in the distance. More than likely his than any of hers. But what if she wasn't the first he found?

She leaned over their sand drawing, once again adding to it. She drew several small people on the ship, pointed to them, then tilted her head in question. Have you seen them? Tavis: He wondered where the others were as well when he gazed at her drawing. He had seen no others but that didn't necessarily mean they were gone, they could have been further along the shore. But it was amazing that this woman was alive at all, he doubted there would be other survivors, given her condition.

Tavis glanced at her, sadness touching his eyes with the slightest frown. His head gave a soft shake 'no' and he placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry." He said softly, his tone sympathetic. He knew she couldn't understand but hoped she could at least hear it in his tone.

His hand fell from her shoulder and he pointed towards her, then towards himself before placing two fingers towards his eyes and out to the beach. He made another gesture towards her drawing of her people on the ship and then nodded. We can search for them.

[nicksstoryvault]

"...Selina..." He called to her absently from his dreams. Her voice could chase away the darkness that wished to engulf him, bringing him high above the dirt and into the high-mountains--so close to heaven. Bucky felt his head pounding uncontrollably as the waking world greeted him from the realm of slumber. A flare of light touching his pupils sparked a grimace of discomfort from the super-soldier who immediately closed his lids. "Ugh..." The grimace remained in place, etched as if it were carved into his rugged features made of clay. Discomfort and pain bombarded him in all places; his head pounded in with the mother of all migraines, his ears rang as if a siren were shoved into them, his stomach churned and rumbled as if he had eaten a bad burrito, his heart raced wildly in his chest, his skin felt soaked with both sweat and water. Most disconcerting, he felt his arms bound high above his head. He was stuck into a vertical position somewhere that smelled like a rain-forest with a pinch of death. A shudder wracked him as his eyes snapped open in recollection. Memories of the past few hours struck him with the force and speed of a train. He and Steve had come to Gotham looking for Selina. What they found was a strange woman with green skin and red hair...Isley...Ivy! Dread and anticipation wormed its way into his body. Blinking repeatedly, his sight slowly acclimated to the dimly lit interior. His gaze shifted frantically, his thick dark tresses wet as if he'd just been through a downpour. "Where the hell am I?" Bucky grunted out in confusion. He was surrounded by thick packets of green shrubs and a canopy of leaves belonging to the ugliest trees he'd ever seen in his life. Pale moonlight filtered through the branches and leaves above. He could see glass high up. The area resembled some sort of greenhouse that appeared to have grown beyond proper service. "Steve?!" Bucky called out, struggling to move. He was tied up to the bark of a tree by multiple veins that were wrapped around both his arms like rope. His legs...he couldn't actually feel them. "What?" Distress in his tone, Bucky looked downwards, his eyebrows synched with confusion. His legs appeared to be encased in some sort of wooden cast that was bolted to the ground. He couldn't move them...he couldn't even feel them. "What the hell is this?" He whispers, his dread increasing the anxiety and migraine he felt. Nausea came after and he suddenly felt the impulsive urge to vomit an acrid taste in his mouth. "I'm here, Buck..." A weak voice intoned from nearby. Bucky snaps his head towards his right, narrowing his eyes past a large net of veins where he could see Steve, also tied up like him. "Steve...Are you all right? Where are we?" Bucky asks, tugging on his binds again, but finding no slack nor pull. He felt worry stir inside of him as Steve delivered no immediate response. "Steve?"

"Your handsome friend is slowly losing his voice, Winter Soldier," Ivy taunted with heated malice in the depths of shadow; she was casually swaying her lithe and elegant curves towards a pool of yellowish liquid that leaked from the entangled veins above her. In a fluid motion with her hand, she filled a vial with an even amount, and pivoted on her bare feet, glaring at her latest creations of the transformative serum. Her listless eyes were deadened with hues of raven with flecks of searing queen swirling in her depths as she advanced closer to where Bucky was rooted. She was beautiful to stare at but deadly to claim a touch. Her long and flowing mane of scarlet hair draped over the paleness of her neck, and tattered dark green was garbed over exposed flesh, making her appear untamed by nature. She was a harvester of men's souls. An unrelenting and murderous siren that lured her victims to become dormant vessels to reproduce her life blood. Poison Ivy, a conjuring mystic of flora and botany. In her previous lifetime, she was a pristine doctor of herbology, used her skills and obsessions of plant growth to create restoration serums, enhanced with plant sugars. Through the prestige betrayal, she injected with a lethal toxin that came from the very plant she fought hard to preserved. Instead of becoming an infectious plague devouring her immune system, the components were intensified to counteract with her blood, turning her into a mutant hybrid that could absorb poisons and effectively kill her victims with a simple kiss. She became an unhinged monster, soulless with a heartbeat and vengeful. Gotham was her garden of mayhem and harvesting; so many innocent people served her morbid desires by feeding her plants and the result was gruesome. She was locked in Arkham, after killing Carmine Falcone's son; during her time of rehabilitation, she discovered that one heir of Falcone's bloodline unknowingly survived --an elemental beauty and skillful thief of shadow-Selina Maria Kyle. The last piece to sate her unsettled revenge. In seconds, she was standing in front of the roguishly handsome beast machine ensnared in her veins, regarding him with a cold and inhuman gaze as she parted her shapely lips and spoke with a cool breath. "I have no use for men dressed as soldiers, I could have just fed you to my baby over there, watch your body dissolve, but you and Captain America will suffice as my vessels." She smirked wickedly, tracing a finger over the pronounced dimple etched in Bucky's heavy, stubbled chin. "What's happening right now is the first stage of metamorphosis, it will take days for you to fully mutate into a tree, don't worry you'll live in an enteral sleep."

"You're crazy lady. Whatever you think this will do, don't think we're gonna just take this lying down. Brooklyn boys don't give up without a fight," Bucky grounds out with a defiant glare at the destructive and daunting Gothamite villainess. He remembered Selina's stories about the eco-terrorist that terrorized the people of Gotham with her mutated plants; dubbing herself as mother nature and a superior breed over humans, he was familiar with people of her ilk. Despite the tremor of unease he felt at her harrowing intentions for both himself and for Steve, he refused to show fear or intimidation. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction. He was defenseless to her control, but he would resist her thrall. He had to if he was to have any chance of getting out of this.

"You think I have you trapped here just to play in my garden?" She hissed with a spiteful edge, her dark embers met Bucky's frosted blue eyes shadowed under wolfish tresses. She receded a step back, watching the sculpted flesh of his thighs solidify into thick roots, that were starting to pulse fluid into the ground. A deviant smirk played on her lips, as she leveled him with soulless intent, before removing a golden heart shaped locket -- a cherished symbol of his everlasting love to Selina from her ripped black jeans. "I know what boys love, beautiful little kittens, well except this kitten of yours has tainted blood of murderer...Daddy's spawn." She clenched her hand into a fist, squeezing the chain, evident to her muted rage. "I thought killing Falcone's son would extract that bloodline, but then, I discovered that Selina is that bastard's child. Her mother was shot down by Falcone's men, to never allow that truth to be unearthed. So now, I have to bury that beautiful Gotham rose...Who knows her blood might purify the roots of this rotten city."

For a moment, Bucky felt all the pain and discomfort in his body evaporate as a boiling inferno flooded his veins. Rage shook his restrained body, setting his pale blue orbs alight with intended malice as he throws his upper weight forward towards the plant mistress. "Stay away from her!" He growled, missing Ivy's head by mere inches as he intended to bash his skull against her own. The impulse to wrap his cybernetic hand around her neck was unshakable, but the veins held him firm and his legs were immovable barks of wood in the ground. His hips jolted in agony at the applied pressure which nearly caused him to spasm from the shock. Panting, his hung sideways, his sneer never leaving his face as he bore the visage of a caged animal. "You go near her and I'll kill you…"

"I would love to you see try, but that's not going to happen, the serum flooding through you veins is concentrated in it's purest form, your body can't regret the process. In days your flesh will harden into the bark of a Siberian Pine." Remaining grounded in her impassive stance, Ivy drove cold intent of her dark onyx eyes, gazing at the chrome plates of his cybertronic arm that would soon by dismantled. Her cold hand traced over the arcane Kevlar straps of his tactical vest, while her stare trained on Steve. He was glazed in feverish sweat, immobilized and groaning in volumes of unbridled agony. His spangled uniform ripping against the expanse of rigid bark overtaking his chiseled and broad muscles. The swell of his full lips tightened into a grimace, as his helmet was slowly unfastening by the strain of his defiance clenching in his bruised jaw. He was rapidly devolving into inanimate form. "As for your friend over there, I think he's about to grow into a stronger oak-a rooted sentinel of America." She chuckled up her throat, purposely swaying the capped vial inches from Bucky's scowling lips. "If I pour this last batch of serum over him, the transformation will complete and your dear Captain America will sleep forever in my garden."

Bucky’s anger dissipated only to be replaced by apprehension for his best friend. His turbulent gaze shifted between Steve and the vile serum Ivy dangled in front of him tauntingly like a lash ready to be used. He knew that they were both helpless and at a disadvantage; something they were not quite used to in their line of duty. From the looks of Steve’s condition, he rightly guessed that the Plant Lady gave him a lethal taste of her lip-stick to keep him weak and at the mercy of the transformation she had begun to force onto them. The fleeting question of why she hadn’t seen fit to do the same to him brushed through his thoughts before he let it fade. Tightening his jaw, he did his utmost to suspend the dread and unease in his voice as he considered. “Leave Steve alone. He has nothing to do with any of this. You want me to get to Selina—then you got me. Just…stop.” He softly hisses with clenched teeth. Begging never suited him, but he couldn’t afford to gamble with Steve’s life.

The devoid of coldness in Ivy’s unblinking dark eyes reflected no mercy. she dismissed his bargaining plea with a twisting vicious sneer and shifted her murderous focus on the imprisoned blond super-soldier. Her morbid obsession to mold humanity and masculine beauty into dormant life was infectious; Captain America was a stalwart Adonis, perfected with a Spartan body of chiseled bulk, he carried an unrivaled and raw strength in his veins--nectar of the gods--and restoration. Her collection of flora hungered to feed on his essence. She desired to harvest him, make him a vessel to extract the serum into the vines of her creations. Nothing--not even a friend’s surrendering heart would obstruct her from delivering life to her precious ‘babies’. She reached down and lifted up one of Steve’s torn boots, holding it leveled to Bucky’s enraged steel-blue eyes., and hissed out her words of malice. “You think it’s that easy to let him go, your friend’s time is limited. He’ll fully transform into a pure tree of infancy, the dosage I injected into him as we speak is moving rapidly, blood will harden and so will his tears.”