#it gets harder every day to lift a blade to the creature he knows has the capability to understand fear and death

[autumndragon]

i love imagining a cinematic sort of montage of scenes that show the juxtaposition of Viggo's upbringing against the life of the dragon riders; going from a young Viggo being told by his father and grandfather that dragons are witless beasts of vicious nature, to an older Viggo watching the riders share a deep bond with those same creatures.

young Viggo being told by his grandfather that dragons are without mercy, harsh as nature's own hands, power given flesh—to adult Viggo watching a night fury risk its life to save a boy, using its fire not for threat but for warmth, its claws not to maim but to hold, its wings not to attack but to carry.

[drabblesandimagines]

Dove (part seven)

Leon Kennedy x female reader (bodyguard trope and the slowest, slow burn I swear)

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven.

---

A tense knot has formed right between Leon’s shoulder blades – can feel it pull when he tilts his head side to side, but it doesn’t seem to be loosening. Can’t even blame it on sleeping on the sofa cos he hasn’t laid down to sleep since the call with Hunnigan, stays sat up right. He’s athletic, he can jump up to his feet from horizontal but it’ll add a second or so to his reaction time and he’s not taking the risk.

He's on edge and he doesn’t like it. The ball of anxiety in his gut has saved his life more times than he can count, but it shouldn’t be necessary in this situation, should it? He’s set up in a safe house, literally off some beaten track in the middle of nowhere – location chosen and distributed by encrypted software so, technically, no-one in the DSO knows where he is either. It’s rigged up to the heavens with security measures - cameras, alarm systems, motion detector - explosion-proof windows, reinforced doors, all topped off with his favourite array of weapons in the duffel bag, currently resting by his still booted feet.

The objective of his mission hasn’t changed after the intel he’s received, that some foreign agency has had access to the CCTV feed for who knows how many hours before they were cut off. He should feel reassured that the quality of the footage was awful – it was only by how many times he’s encountered Lickers that he could even tell that’s what the creatures were when he’d be presented with the grainy images. He didn’t see the footage of you being rescued, but it would be a cruel kick in the gut to find that feed had been HD.

He lifts an arm – his left, keeping his right arm free, his accuracy is better by millimetres with his right – and rubs the knot, hoping to relieve the tension. It's not 100% confirmed they are looking or will be looking for you either, but why would anyone link up to the CCTV circuit if not to check on the outcome of their operation?

His immediate thought had been to up the frequency of his perimeter checks, one every two hours. He could do that at night, sure – military training taught him the correct and most efficient techniques to power nap – but in the day it would be harder without worrying you about what’s changed.

You wanted updates. Hell, you were entitled to updates. But he wants to give you good news, doesn’t wanna add to the weight on your shoulders with what could be nothing. It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, but in these sweet domestic moments the two of you have been sharing, he’s been pretending it’s something else – friends watching television, cooking a meal together – the sweet smiles the two of you exchange, but it’s all ripped apart the moment he has to do his checks. He can see the worry settle on your face then, a reminder of where you are with the flick of the safety off his gun and the twist of the lock as he goes outside to conduct surveillance.

Speaking of, his phone beeps for his next circuit on the building and he’s up on his feet in the blink of an eye. He pats his cargo pocket out of habit for the keys on the walk over to the garage door, but finds himself pausing outside your bedroom, his eyes focusing on the handle. You should still be pretty under with those sleeping pills – note to self, he’ll need to start weening you off them from now on, far too easy to get addicted. It wouldn’t hurt to just… check you were okay, would it?

No – that’s what you’re here, why he’s here – to protect you.

It would just be doing his job.

He presses down on the handle and slowly opens the door, breath caught in his throat. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the dark, the lamp in the living room not quite reaching as far as your bed, but eventually he can make out your face – as peaceful as he’s ever seen it.

You’re on your side. The position doesn’t look like it would be comfortable with your arm still strapped up in the sling, but it’s testimony to how well the sleeping pills are working. Your other arm is up by your face, hand clenched in a tight fist around something. He steps forward without thinking, curious what it could be.

Your fingers are gripped tightly around his watch.

And there’s a pain in his chest that feels like they’re gripped around his heart as well.

That settles it - he’s not gonna tell you about the hacked CCTV feed. He will tell you that Hunnigan hasn’t searched your place yet, that they’ve restarted the surveillance department – she’d asked him to ask you if you knew anything about the servers since they were appeared to be working from square one – but that was it.

Leon steps back with unnecessary caution, leaving the bedroom as silently as he entered and shuts the door with a soft click. He takes a deep breath, pats down his pockets again and heads out to circle the perimeter.

And, just like after you kissed his cheek, he does it twice.

--

You wake up after another peaceful and dreamless sleep, though it still takes a moment to remember where you are as you stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling. You wonder if tomorrow you’ll not experience that flicker of panic, just get up and accept that you’ll be picking today’s outfit out of a selection of clothes that you’re not sure if anyone’s worn before you.

You feel sore, as seems to be becoming the norm, but with unusually stiff fingers on your good hand. It seems you’ve clutched Leon’s watch all night. You’d fallen asleep quite quickly – all thanks to those sleeping pills – but you remember looking at it when you’d first got in the bed, the seconds ticking by lulling you to sleep. The fact that you’ve held it for so long reminds you of when you were a kid and snuggled up with a stuffed toy for comfort, except instead of something soft and cuddly, it’s what appears to be a top of line timepiece. There’s a lot of information contained on the face of the dial but there’s the time is the only one you really care about – 0906.

You get to your feet, raising your good arm to a grunt of protest as you try and run your fingers through your hair in lieu of a mirror. Huh, that pain’s new. Your hair is definitely due a wash now, but that’s an issue for later. You pull on a pair of sweatpants one-handed – you’ll be a pro soon, you’re sure of it – and put Leon’s watch in the pocket for safekeeping. It’d be difficult to try and navigate the door handle with it still gripped in your good hand and you’d hate to scratch it up.

You open the door cautiously – you hadn’t seen Leon asleep yet, but he must do at some point. Maybe you should offer to alternate the sofa and the bed? Though you have a feeling that he’s far too much of a gentleman to accept.

Or there’ll be something in the rules that prohibits that.

There’s no danger of waking him though - the agent in question is performing sit-ups in the middle of the living room floor, facing the other way. Muscular arms behind his head as he lets out little puffs of exertion at the exercise, alternating sides as he twists.

Wary that you don’t want to be caught staring, you shut the door with more force than necessary behind you and greet him with a smile when he looks over his shoulder.

“Morning, Leon.”

“Dove!” He doesn’t even sound out of breath. “Morning. Sleep okay?” He jumps up to his feet before taking a couple of steps over in your direction. There’s a grin on his face at the sight of you – makes you feel giddy.

“Yeah, thanks. How about you?”

“That’s good. Yeah, I slept fine.” He nods. It’s not a lie – he did sleep fine for the position he forced himself to maintain all night, despite the slight crick in his neck.

“Is that how you usually start your mornings?”

One of the arms you’d been admiring goes up to rub the back of his head again. “Kinda. I usually go for a run, but…”

“But you can’t leave me on my own.” You finish, smile dropping a little. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be - I’m not.” He drops his arm back down, casting an eye over a watch that’s not there. “Hey, you hungry? I can get breakfast started. Oatmeal again?”

“Sure.” You nod, fishing his watch out of your pocket and holding it out to him. “Thanks again for this. It was nice to wake up and know the time this morning.”

“Don’t mention it. You can, er, you know, keep it. If you like.” He can’t get the image of you fast asleep last night, clutching it close to your face. He knows it was most likely the sleeping pills meaning you’d just passed out with it in your hand more than anything deeper, but, hey, a guy can pretend.

“I’ll be okay, I can get the time off the TV during the day.” You hold it out again with insistence. “But maybe… maybe I could have it for the night again?”

“Deal.” Leon hastily agrees, his fingers brushing yours as he takes back the watch before fastening it around his wrist. “Breakfast coming right up.”

You take the opportunity to duck into the bathroom as he heads towards the kitchen – your heart warmed once more by the sight of the blob of toothpaste sat ready and waiting on your toothbrush.

--

“And, finally, oatmeal.” He places it down on the coffee table, alongside your coffee, a glass of water and your morning dose of painkillers.

“Thank you.” You lean forward to pick up the spoon, smiling back at the face that Leon’s drizzled in honey atop your breakfast again.  

“Nah, pleasure’s all mine.” He calls over his shoulder as he picks up his own bowl from the kitchen. He hesitates for a second, before choosing to sit the other end of the sofa to you, rather than the opposite one.

“You know, I don’t get to do this very often. It’s nice.”

“Mm,” you swallow a spoonful of oatmeal. “Thought you said you’d been in lots of safe houses.”

“A fair amount. But, no, not that part. I mean, eating breakfast with someone.” “So…” You stir the spoon around the bowl, hoping it might prove a perfect segway into something you’d been wondering. “..there’s no-one at home for you?”

“Me?” He seems to scoff at the idea. “Nope.”

“Me neither.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He replies casually, before his blue eyes widen in alarm at how it might come across. “

“I mean, just by the fact that you hadn’t mentioned anyone at your apartment that morning and you hadn’t asked any of those sorta questions, you know, if they’d been told about what happened, where you are...”

He’s flustered, feels like he’s really putting his foot in his mouth this morning. He can take the lead in the interrogation of some of the world’s most despicable humans, for goodness’ sake, he should be able to talk to a pretty girl.

“Yeah, I figured.” You tease back and he swears he feels the weight lift off his shoulders.

The two of you eat in silence for a moment when curiosity gets the better of you. “So, you didn’t eat breakfast with the… others?”

“Nope.” His tone is firm as he recalls some of his previous charges. “Certainly didn’t make them it either. Trust me – they were nowhere near as nice or as deserving of my protection as you are, Dove.” The comment makes your head tingle.

“It’s all been people ‘realising’ how deep they’d sank but only grew a conscience to save their own skin. Hell, you might have even performed surveillance on some of them. A lot of criminals finally show backbone when they realise their time is running out.”

“Well, I’m glad to make a change – both for sharing breakfast and …safe house occupancy with.”

“A nice change,” he mumbles, but you still hear.

--

After breakfast, you go to shower and Leon sets himself to task with the dishes once again, says he did his last perimeter check before nine. Removing the sling proves trickier than yesterday – when you go to tug off the Velcro your opposite shoulder smarts with a similar pain of that morning, causing you to hiss through your teeth, something which the painkillers from breakfast don’t seem to have alleviated.

You step into the cubicle after undressing – the hot water immediately somewhat soothing on your bruised shoulders but you still struggle to get what you now deem as your good arm high enough to even entertain the possibility of washing your hair.  

You try and avoid your reflection in the mirror when you dress, though you know you’ll have to confront your hair at some point. Unfortunately, you catch a glimpse – a greasy mop sat upon your head that makes your heart sink.

There must be a trick to it – other people must wash their hair one-handed all the time, but maybe they can lift an arm above their head. If you were home, you’d go to a salon, you think – an expensive you would deem necessary for your sanity.

A thought flashes across your mind – a ridiculous one. Leon is already doing so much for you, surely this would be completely over the line.

But you could… ask, couldn’t you? The worst he could do was say no, it would be awkward, and maybe there’s a hat in the duffel bag you’ve yet to discover.

You open the bathroom door, but don’t make to step over the threshold. Leon looks over from the sofa – dishes now drying in the rack besides the sink - and clocks your hesitation.

“Need a hand with the sling?”

Are you really going to ask him this?

You’ll break at some point - you know you will, so why not get it over with now? You’re a regimented two-day wash kinda girl and it’s day three. Not to be completely vain, but you’re covered with bruises and cuts, dressed in less than flattering clothes that aren’t yours and it would be nice to feel somewhat decent about something in your appearance.

Especially with the handsome company you’re keeping. Hell, Leon could be a model, a hair model too. There’d been shampoo and conditioner in the shower and you certainly hadn’t used it.

“Dove?” You’ve taken too long to reply again, getting stuck in your spiralling thoughts.

“I know this isn’t what you’re here for.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can think further.

“Okay…” Leon's eyebrow is raised, a curious smile now fixed on his lips as he gets to his feet.

“And say no, obviously. Please. Just… I’d like to wash my hair.” You drop your eyes then – maybe it’ll be easier if you talk to your feet rather staring into his kind eyes?

"Right."

“And I’d… You know, I’d go to a salon and get it done there if we weren’t… here.”

“You’d like me to help you wash your hair?” There’s a tone of amusement or maybe disbelief in his tone.

Hearing him say it aloud makes you doubt the entire exercise, your heart begin to pound at your stupidity. “Sorry. No, I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid to ask-“

“Hey, no, it makes sense.” He soothes, immediately wanting to ease your frustrations. “You can’t lift your arm above your head, right? My fault for not thinking about that.”

You look up then, seeing the sincerity on his face – like it truly was his fault that you couldn’t wash your own damn hair.

“I can do that, Dove. I don’t see why not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mm-hm. As you said, if you were anywhere else right now, you could go to a salon and whilst I can’t promise their quality, I seem to do all right with my own.” He shrugs. “You thinking over the sink?”

He doesn’t know why he asks – it’s hardly like you’re going to ask him to get in the shower with you.

Is it?

“I think so.” You look around the living area, though you’re well acquainted with what feels like every square inch of it now. “Though it might be a little awkward since we don’t have any chairs.”

He snaps his fingers. “Nah, there might be one in the garage, actually. Lemme check.”

He barely makes it into the garage when his cell vibrates in his pocket – one new message from Hunnigan.

Any server information for me?

Leon finds the folding chair nestled at the side of the washer and dryer and hesitates over the text back.

He’ll wash your hair – seeing how torn up you’d been about even asking him had made him feel awful - then he’ll give you the updates and ask about the servers.

He picks up the chair and tucks it under one arm, swiftly typing out a message on his cell and clicks send.

Not yet – Dove’s still asleep.

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

Part eight.

[hotwings0203]

now we need a part 4 with izuku and bakugo on what happens next to the poor reader 😩✋🏼

Aight imma do a two for one here so MASSIVE BET

Tw:noncon, gangbang

When your hand reaches the doorknob, you know something is off only half a millisecond before another large hand settles itself on your wrist and another one caressing your side.

You freeze immediately at the voices that croon and snarl to you.

“Open the door quietly and we don’t have to make this any more difficult than it’s already gonna be.”

“God, you smell so good. You still haven’t changed your shampoo even after all these weeks huh? I like it.”

Your hand starts to shake and your body starts to sweat as you wildly try to find a way out of this situation. The voices sound eerily familiar, with one being higher and the other more aggressive and raspy, but you don’t dare turn around to locate the faces.

One of them seems to be catching onto your hesitation, because your wrist is crushed underneath a hard grasp and you cry out softly as they growl.

“Open. This. Fucking. Door. Right now.”

It takes a good 15 more seconds to jimmy the lock open, and once you do all three of you go tumbling in.

You whip back around to see both men standing over you, merely watching you with crossed arms and equally perverse leers.

“D-deku? Bakugo? What’s going on?”

Deku practically bounces on the balls of his feet, itching with inappropriate anticipation for what’s to come.

“We wanted to play with you! Are you ready? You can’t fucking ignore me anymore!” His voice is cheery as always but it breaks when he curses, the strains in his vocal cords sticking out while he forces himself from holding back.

Bakugo steps forward.

“Didnt I tell you I was gonna come again for you, you teasing cunt? Didn’t I say to watch your back? Now look at you, sprawled on the floor like rapetoys should be.”

Both men start slowly uncrossing their arms and advance towards you.

“No-no please, why? I didn’t do anything to you! Deku, please!” You blubber as you scuttle backwards, their strides equally as long.

You continue evading them as they play around with you.

“Oh, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words. ‘Deku, please.’ Although, I’d very much rather you moan it for me.” He has the audacity to blush, and then Bakugo interjects.

“You deserve this y’know, so don’t start crying now. We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet.” He spreads his hands and his uncharacteristic grin stretches from ear to ear, his vermillion eyes flashing in the dim light of your dorm.

“Anyone whose stupid enough to not realize how this creep has been sniffin’ your panties for months-hell, maybe even years now should get raped. You’re so fucking stupid, you didn’t realize I was protecting you from him.”

“But now look at you. Alone, afraid, vulnerable…oh, and going to the bedroom. You really are an easy slut, huh?”

Deku’s eyes light up when he realizes you truly are unknowingly backing up into the bedroom, but you realize it too late.

It’s only after Bakugo’s words come out that you try to look for a detour for the lock-induced bathroom, but Deku has a different idea.

Out of pure excitement he laughs and sprints towards you, hands outreached to touch your pretty skin, mouth open with drool softly filling the tile below him and eyes bloodshot with lust.

He looks like a creature from hell, and in the pure terror of watching him come at you like that your plan to detour was thwarted and you mindlessly trip back over your feet onto the bed, scrambling as far away as you can from them to the headboard.

You look to your left and quickly seize your bedside lamp, raising it above your head.

“Domt come any closer you closer perv. God, I shouldve known you were fucked in the head. I kept trying to make excuses for you, I thought you were my friend-“ you break down in sobs as the green haired man continues looking at you like you’re a piece of meat, absentmindedly wiping his hand across his mouth.

“And you,” you point to Bakugo who bares his teeth and smirks madly, “I already knew you were the embodiment of hell, but I thought you had a limit of how low you could stoop. You didn’t protect me from shit, you forced your way inside of me day in and day out.”

“Well now that your useless little monologue is over, Deku, tie her legs to the posts. I swear Y/N, you’re making this way too easy for me. It’s almost boring, I already know what I’m gonna get.” He raises his eyebrows at you while he lets his minion do all the work for him, goosebumps racing up his arm at the sight of you screaming and fighting tooth and nail against your fate.

But at the end of the day, after all your curses and sobs and monologues, you’re no match for either of them, especially Deku, who cooes at you to scream louder while he caresses your face and uses nylon string to secure your wrists to the wooden posts. Your legs are also bound after Bakugo seizes them from kicking, and a gag is placed over your mouth by his hands.

He roughly taps the tape covering your trembling lips and smiles condescendingly down at you.

“You’re doing so well for us, rapemeat. Keep up the good work and try to spread those legs as much as you can.” He chuckles when you scream your lungs out, thrashing as he yanks your knees apart.

“Aw, Kacchan, can’t we take the gag off? I wanted to hear her in my ears,” he pouts and looks glumly at your writhing figure.

“No, how fucked in the head are you? Someones gonna come down if she’s hollering for the whole building to hear. And cut her clothes off, I’m getting impatient.”

It seems like Deku too was at his last fiber of self control as his hands shake equally as much as yours, except for an entirely different reason altogether, the opposite reason of yours in fact.

He fishes in his back pockets for something, and produces a glinting steel knife with a black handle.

You still immediately as his descends his hands to the top of your v-neck shirt, right above your collarbones. His eyes fog up as your satiny smooth skin comes in contact with the blade, the coldness of the steel sending shivers down your spine and making you sob harder.

“Kacchan…did you ever get a taste of her blood? How does she taste?” He lifts his head to look into your tear-streaked eyes, but he addresses his childhood friend.

Bakugo snorts. “Calm down Toga, don’t get too crazy yet. We’ll have some more fun later, right now my dick is about to explode. ‘Need a hole,” he mumbles at the end and finally clambers onto the bed right atop your legs.

You stay absolutely silent as pressure from the knife rips the thin strands of your clothes apart, and Deku takes careful care to ensure you at least have thin red lines running down your stomach if not for actual blood.

“Oh fuckkkk,just look at her. You look good enough to eat…” he looks at you and licks his lips, salivating when you whine and twist at your restraints.

“Yeah yeah, you do whatever the fuck you want. Just choose what you’re gonna stick it in and hurry up.”

The blond looks bored almost as the more eager one whips to the side to face him.

“You mean it Kacchan? I can pick?”

They speak as if you’re not alive, no feelings or humanity involved. All you can do is watch and yell into your makeshift gag as the blond waves him off.

“Go for it. It’s your first time satisfying that sick head of yours, ‘must get boring doing it from behind a screen all the time.”

His slowly turns to face you, a kind leer etched across his features, eyebrows slanted and hand coming up to pull your ripped clothes apart.

You struggle and spit muffled profanities out as he slowly drags the bridge of your bra down, eyes wide open as your nipples pop out and eventually both of your tits bounce out.

He hisses and takes his nails up your stomach to fondle your breast. You can tell Deku’s too excited, too inexperienced from the way he handles them like stress balls. You grunt as his mouth latches onto a pert nipple, suckling and looking up at you as if he were some kind of demonic baby.

Bakugo watches all this with a dark glint in his eyes, absentmindedly palming himself as he watches the show unfold in front of him.

It’s entertaining seeing all of the creep’s hormones spiral out of control from years of pent-up lust. He’s never seen the dork so fired up and hungry, he’s never seen him so brutal with a civilian before, the type of people he used to say he’d protect at all costs.

After he’s done playing with your sore tits, he wasted no time in yanking your sweats off. You don’t even trash around anymore, the only thing you’re capable of in this state of terror and shock is weak moans and little sobs, maybe a writhe or two here and there.

Your panties are also torn off and you howl when the elastic cuts into your skin within the process. Bakugo takes this last stripping as an indication for him to move now. He lifts himself up on his knees and moves around your head while Deku situates himself between your violently twitching legs.

“I’m gonna take the gag out now. If you scream or pull any funny business I’ll plug your pussy and your throat with this knife, got it?” He snatches the weapon from the bed and waves it dangerously close to your face.

You nod frantically and try to turn your head to the side, but he yanks you back into place and decides to have his own fun.

While Izuku hurriedly takes his own shorts off the hothead slowly takes the tape off your mouth, staring down at you with unblinking eyes. The knife which you’re so afraid of is traced around your own squeezed shut eyes, down your cheeks and around your lips.

But the horrified trance on which he keeps you in is broken when Izuku suddenly shoved his entire length inside your dry cavern.

Luckily Bakugo has enough foresight to slam a hand over your howling mouth before the entire building can be woken up, and he glares at the sheepish-looking man down the bed from him.

“Are you a fucking virgin? At least rub her clit or something so she doesn’t go hollering at every thrust you damn nerd!”

The man between your legs winces and rubs the back of his neck, chuckling nervously.

“Oops, sorry, got a little carried away there.”

He doesn’t pull out, he merely thrusts slower, trying to fit his fat dick inside your unwilling cunt.

A string of curses leaves your lips and you grimace as the pain becomes near blinding.

Bakugo looks down at you again, the knife forgotten.

“No teeth either.” Your breaths come out in little frantic pants when his bare cock springs out of his own pants.

He taps the leaking purple tip on your lips and you open hesitantly. There’s no point in resisting anymore, they’ve got you quite literally cornered.

“Wider, slut,” he snarls, and you do-but only because Deku’s paps get more aggressive, causing your mouth to fall open in a long whine.

The blond takes this opportunity to slam his length down your throat, groaning around when he sees your throat swell with his bulge.

You immediately start gagging and trying to pull at your restraints for air, his heavy balls rest right on top of your nose and you feel like you’re going to pass out.

You can barely hear him over Deku’s animalistic grunts and whines. He’s going way too fast, as if he’s possessed by your pussy. It numbs you, taking away some of the pain in a flip side.

But on the other end of your body, you’re desperate for air while a fuzzy ballsack paps against your nose and eyes.

Each sadistic stroke he puts inside of you widens your sore esophagus, bringing bile up sometimes and large amounts of saliva too.

He’s not as loud as Deku, but he’s equally as greedy with your holes.

Your body literally hovers up almost in midair as Bakugo thrusts in and lifts his hips up, taking your upper half along with it and Deku does the same unconsciously, trying to fuck up into your womb.

It’s an exact replica of a perverted spit roast, with both of them catching each other’s rhythm and slamming inside your holes at the same time.

Your clit is suddenly rubbed inexpertly to the point of overstimulation, and the incoming sob forced out of your throat warps into a pained scream.

The vibrations of your scream makes Bakugo cum suddenly with a hoarse groan. He doubled over your body and gnaws at your bouncing tits, licking and teething at them the same way his counterpart did.

The sight of copious amounts of cum being leaked out of your filled mouth propels the green-haired man to whimper and shove himself back in one more time, hitting your cervix and causing both his and your eyes to roll back.

He cums too, but both men keep their semi-hard cocks inside of your aching body.

You don’t know what’s worse, having both of them by your side or both of them inside.

[amxranthiine]

kalon

(n.) the kind of beauty that is more than skin deep.

request:  Can I ask for platonic Thranduil with sister in law reader, reader is Legola's aunt and she saved Legolas' mother from dying but ended up paralyzed from waist down, needing to be on a wheelchair (let's pretend they have wheelchairs), and Thranduil is very grateful and helps reader a lot with things?

pronouns: she/her

a/n: like six months late but ITS FINE

warnings: ANGST n fluff. mentions of death and orc attacks. nightmares.

---

“Nana? Nana! Wake up, nana, please! You have to wake up!” A little Legolas screams as he watches his mother and aunt’s bodies be carried in by his father’s guard. His mother was pale and lifeless - cold hands and dark eyes, staring back into his own blue orbs as he shook her body. Though, he felt no love from her stare. Nothing about her was the same, her soul had already been lifted from her fragile body.

Next to her lay his aunt, Y/n, his mother’s sister. She was alive but unresponsive, blood was leaving her body faster and faster each second, pooling beneath her like a crimson ball gown. From behind Legolas, his father, Thranduil, was quickly approaching the scene. Loud orders from him to his guards could likely be heard throughout the palace. One would be a fool to miss the fear, desperation and anger laced in his voice.

Y/n stirred from the commotion, her eyes burning and her body flaring in pain as she tried to become responsive once again. She could feel every centimeter of her wound, the sword that stabbed her was likely poisoned - and it embedded it’s way into her spinal cord. She could feel her life force being drained, the light becoming far too close for her liking. Even if she lived, she knew nothing would be the same - with her body and with her family. She had been too late to save her dearest sister, and that thought alone was almost enough to make her give up. However, her little sister left her a nephew and a brother, both of which would need guidance recovering from her sister’s death.

“My King Thranduil -” Started the Captain, though he was soon hushed by the horrified Elf. Thranduil was terribly shaken up, his hair was messy and his robes wrinkled, likely from the speed at which he was running.

Thranduil looked at his beloved Wife and sister in law, and he felt his blood run cold. There was - there was so much blood. His wife was nearly blue and unconscious, was she... No, he wasn’t think like that. He looked over to Y/n, where she was struggling to open her eyes, and groaning from the giant hole in her back. He could feel the tears in his eyes, and he knew deep down that his son no longer had a mother.

Y/n heard her brother in law approaching, and even though she was on the verge of death, she felt as though she had to be the one to break the news. “Thranduil?” She croaked, her throat dry and her lips cracked.

The King rushed to her, grabbing a waterskin in the process and lifting it to her lips. She coughed as she drank down as much as she could. “Y/n...”

She ignored the burning in her eyes and looked up at him, and suddenly, she wanted to cry. She didn’t have that much time left, and she had so much to say. Y/n attempted to take a deep breath, then said her last words.

“I’m so sorry, Thranduil. I - I couldn’t save her - I tried so, so - hard. Please, tell Lego - Legolas we loved him.” She used the last of her energy to say those words, and soon, her eyes slipped shut.

“No! Y/n! You can’t leave me! You can’t leave us! Legolas will need guidance. I will need guidance! Legolas just lost his mother, he can’t lose you too!”

The weight of losing both the love of his life and his sister crashed down on him, and he fell to the ground with a heartbroken scream. A tiny body forced itself into his lap as his son wept along with him, not knowing if he’d ever see his mother or aunt again. Thranduil’s arms wrapped themselves around Legolas as he rocked back and forth on the floor, weeping and crying out to the Valar, cursing them and asking to spare them.

Thranduil gasped for breath as he jumped awake, beads of sweat rolled down his face as he regained consciousness, the nightmare - no - memory he had tried so hard to forget was now engraved into his head once again. He felt the urge to go check on his, now paralyzed, sister in law. Her wounds from that awful day were fatal, but somehow she pushed through the worst of it.

Though, not without consequence. Apparently the blade had all but destroyed her spinal cord, and because of it she was paralyzed from the waist down. The healers told him that it was a miracle she was still alive.

He got out of bed and put on a velvet robe, ignoring the chill in his bones from the cold air. He quietly tiptoed to her room, trying to ignore the feeling of dread, likely the product of his nightmarish memory.

Soon enough, as it was right down the hall, he arrived at his sister's chambers and, as quietly as he could, opened the door. His heart dropped when he saw that she wasn't there, and her wheelchair was nowhere to be found.

Thranduil panicked, his mind buzzing for any clue as to where she could be. The kitchens? No, she has trouble reaching the cabinets, and the accident made it even harder for her to see. Legolas' chambers? Hard no. She could be quite clumsy and can't be quiet to save her life. Literally.

He was starting to panic. What if she was kidnapped? His dearest sister in law, kidnapped by the very creatures who paralyzed her in the first place? It seemed realistic. At least, it did to Thranduil - who was losing his mind from worry. Though the only way they could get into the palace was through the-

Of course! The Royal Gardens!

In his state of worry, Thranduil had conpletely forgotten that Y/n liked to go to the gardens when she was having a hard time, because it was one of the only places that reminded her of her sister, the place where they had the most memories.

He took off towards the Gardens, not really caring about it being in the middle of the night as Elves were light on their feet anyway. In moments he was standing before her, nodding at the guards who took place at the Garden entrance.

Y/n was laying on the grass, her wheelchair was forgotten next to her, and she was playing with an orchid she had plucked, twirling it between her fingers carefully. Thranduil's heart throbbed as he realized that orchids were his wife's favorite flower, and that Y/n was missing her as much as he did. If not more, the sisterly bond between them was something he had never seen before.

He cleared his throat, alerting the woman if his presence. Her head turned slightly to the left as a way to acknowledge him.

"You scared me, Y/n. I couldn't find you, so I assumed the worst." He muttered quietly and sat down next to her.

She chuckled, "You've known me for how long and you still don't know that I tend to... gravitate here?"

The King sighed, he had always known that she used jokes as a coping mechanism, a way to escape her reality. "Yes, yes, I know. I just... I was worried," He frowned, taking the delicate flower from between her fingers. She paused, and he could practically see the gears grinding in her head out of his peripheral vision.

"You're having nightmares again, aren't you?" She asked, and he could feel her eyes burn into his head.

"They aren't just nightmares, Y/n," He twirled the flower absentmindedly, "they're memories."

This time, it was her who sighed, "Of that day?" She questioned, already knowing the answer, but his nod only confirmed it.

"I miss her," Y/n said, looking up at the night sky. Thranduil went to say something, but she held one finger up. "Let me finish. Sometimes I wish it were me who died, instead of her. She had you and Legolas to come home to, and I didn't really have anyone. Yes, I had family here, you and my nephew for example, but my sister was your wife and his mother, and the queen for crying out loud. Why am I saying this? I honestly have no clue. I suppose my point is... After the accident, I was overwhelmed in guilt and sadness. I didn't really focus on the fact that I was alive because of you. You and Legolas have taken care of me since day one and I can't remember if I've thanked you for that. So... Thank you. For helping heal my mind, and my body, even if their isn't much left of it. I am eternally grateful for you, brother."

Thranduil stared at her, and Y/n sniffled. At some point along the way she had started crying, and he felt like he was going to as well. He pulled his sister into his arms and held her tight as she cried, holding onto one of the last pieces of family he had left with an iron grip.

"You do not have to thank me, sister. You are family and you will be treated as such, even during hardships such as that one. If anything, I should thank you for being there for both Legolas and I while we were grieving, even if you weren't in the best state yourself."

Y/n giggled, much to Thranduil's delight. The sound had pulled a small smile onto his face and they both relished in the quiet for a moment.

Finally, Y/n pulled away, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "Alright, my King, help me up."

Thranduil laughed, a very merry sound, and helped her into her wheelchair. "As you wish, my Lady."

[dreams-of-yunho]

summer strawberries

yunho x y/n

rating: m

genre: smut with a dash of fluff

wc: 2.4k

warnings: steamy shower sex!!!! oral (f r), kinda hand job idk if it counts, light praising, mentions of melted ice cream :o

summary: the hot summer sun is horribly unforgiving. and what's better on a hot summer day but a cool shower? or, even better, a cool shower with mr. jeong yunho? <3

______________________________________________________________

It was hot. Unberably, ridiculously, stupid, dumb hot. The kind of heat where nail polish becomes sticky and ink won’t dry. Brain melting hot. At least there was a breeze; wind riffled through leaves causing storms of maple tree seeds to fall to the sun torchered ground. Birds cried harshly as winds jostled their homes. Small creatures kept to the shadows: rabbits, squirrels, and chipmunks skirting the sickening heat. Delicate and dainty flower petals wilted tragically.

And what were you to do? It was too miserable to even lift a finger. You were surprised your body was still functioning, believing your heart should burst and your blood boil. Simply miserably miserable you positioned yourself upon the sofa in the living room, the shades drawn so as to not let the fires of hell enter the home. If it weren’t for his promise of ice cream in the next ten minutes, you would have removed all the food from the freezer and shut yourself in, even if it meant asphyxiation, you could not have cared less at this point. If the universe wanted you to melt so badly, why didn’t it just get it over with, the sadist?

Eleven minutes, you thought to yourself, if he takes eleven minutes, we’re through. The prospect of ice cream was not taken lightly in your family. Ice cream was a happy escape for you. A brief moment of release from the trials and tribulations of everyday life. In reality, it wasn’t that great a deal but, today, as the sea of flames spilled through the glass window panes, ice cream was life or death and you would kill for it. You would kill anyone.

As minute ten neared and beads of sweat ran down your back, the door opened and in walked your Knight in Shining Armour, Jeong Yunho.

You watched Yunho as he stood, pantting, in the entryway. You knew the heat was real because of the way he was dressed; he wore a simple white tank top and camouflage cargo shorts. His lightly curled, night black hair was concealed by a ballcap. He removed his sandals and walked towards the living room, barefeet softly padding across the hardwood.

“Okay,” he started. You stared up at him from your place on the couch as he stood in front of you. His cheeks were flushed and his face glistened with a sheen of sweat. “We have choices:” a drop of clear liquid emerged from his hat-covered hairline and dripped to his eyebrow. “Chocolate crunch,” he pulled an ice cream bar from his left hip pocket. “Strawberry and orange cream,” he held two bars previously in his right hip pocket. “And,” he pulled a final bar from his bottom left pocket, “brown sugar boba.”

You carefully observed the selections he held before you. You would take anything frozen, even black cherry walnut.

“But, the thing is,” his tone dropped. “They’re melted.” He shook the bags and you could hear liquid sloshing around.

A quiet rage filled your chest, burning through your lungs. “Yunho!” He lowered his head and dropped his shoulders. “Why did you put them in your pockets?”

“I thought it would protect them from the sun but, I think it acted as a sort of convection  oven and escalated the melting process… don’t be mad at me.” He looked down at you through large, heart crushing, puppy dog eyes.

“Hmmmmmmmm,” you whined, destroyed by the lack of immediate ice cream. “We can put them in the fridge I guess. But, that’ll take forever, ugh.” You slowly dragged your hands across your face, collecting far more sweat than you could have imagined. “Ew,” you cringed, looking at your silken hands. “I guess I can shower while they’re in the freezer.”

“Wait,” Yunho called from the kitchen. “I need to shower first; I am drenched.”

“No, me first.”

“You’re not even off the couch,” he shut the freezer door. “How are you going to beat me to the bathroom?” A cocky smile spread on his rose petal lips.

“I’ll beat you.” You made an attempt to stand but your legs felt like jello-twigs and they collapsed under you. “Fine,” you sighed. “I’ll drown in my own sweat. Tell me you love me before it’s too late.”

It was impossible but you could hear him smiling from where he stood.

“y/n, my love,” his footsteps neared. “There is room for more than one in the shower.” Yunho extended a hand.

“Carry me.”

“Hmm,” he pretended to contemplate. “Fine.”

His actions were swift; strong hands reached under your legs and back, pulling you off the couch and to his chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck. He was sweaty but you didn’t mind.

Your feet met the cold, stone floor as he set you down in the bathroom. He moved to turn on the shower and you faced the mirror. Your hair was terribly frizzy (on account of the humidity) and fell this way and that, sticking to your damp forehead. Your face was puffy and your cheeks awfully rosy. You wore, it could barely be called, a tank top and no bra.

“Yunho,” you called gently. “I don’t think I want to do anything. I don’t feel very sexy right now.” You watched as he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

His hot breath stuck to your skin. “You’re hotter than this weather, darling.”

You laughed. “Cheesy.”

“Yet, completely true.” he set his chin on the top of your head and looked at you through the mirror. “Just a shower,” he promised. “Nothing more.”

Chilly water met your shoulders sending a shiver up your spine. But it felt nice. Water trickled over your face, down your neck and back, dragging the sweat and hardships of that day down the drain. Delicately scented, strawberry soap bubbled as you lathered it over your collar bones. “Let me get your back,” he said. Strong hands met your shoulder blades; massaging with his fingertips. Hands worked down your sides, gripping your hips and pulling back to rub the soap into your lower back.

“Mhm,” you moaned out as his fingers worked through the knots and tension.

“Does it feel good, sweetheart?” his hands ghosted lower.

“Hey,” you turned to face him. “You said just a shower.” He stood in front of you: tall and broad; godlike. The water was cold yet, blue veins pressed against the skin of his arms and hands. His dark hair was slicked back, accentuating the perfect bone structure of his face.

“Don’t you want a relaxing shower?”

You eyed his lush lips which were slightly parted in a gentle smile. Your gaze traveled his strong features and came to rest on his eyes. Those beautiful eyes; the eyes you fell for. The eyes that could never hide his feelings; eyes that told everything. There were little droplets of water caught on his eyelashes and he blinked them away.

You felt the urge to kiss him; setting your hands on either cheeks. You stood high on your tippy toes but he was still out of reach and was unwilling to help. “Yunho,” you gripped his face tighter. “Come here. I want to kiss you-”

He put a finger to your lips. “Just. a. Shower.”

“One kiss,” you whispered over the stream of the shower.

“One kiss,” he agreed.

You closed your eyes, waiting, expecting his lips upon yours. Instead, you felt his hands graze down your sides and hips, resting on the tops of your thighs. You opened your eyes to see Yunho drag the tip of his nose down your stomach. His warm breath hovered just in front of your sex. “Yunho, that’s not what I meant.” You put your hands on his chin, trying to pull his lips back to yours.

He only gripped your thighs harder. “You asked for a kiss,” he breathed. “I’m going to give you a kiss, my love.”

Every hair stood on end as his nose ran over your clit. He tilted his head back to lick a wet stripe against your sensitive nerves. You whined as his tongue landed directly on it, circling again and again. You could only whine as his lips enclosed you and your legs became wobbly.

“Y-yunho,” you moaned as he sucked. “I’m going to fall.” You tried to balance yourself against the wall and he wrapped his arms around your back, trying to stabilize you as he continued to suck and lick relentlessly. “Ah,” you could feel that familiar knot twist in your stomach as he began to kiss you harder. And, when that knot was at the verge of snapping, he removed his lips with a wet smack.

He groaned as he stood and met your eyes, watching you as you breathed haggardly, mouth gaping. A hand fell to your shoulder, moving a wet strand of hair back. “I’m a good kisser, huh?”

“Mhm,” you nodded.

“Yeah,” he hummed, running his hands up and down your back. “Would you like to kiss again?”

“Ha,” you scoffed and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. It was heavenly as your bodies collided; your hands tugging at his silky hair, tits against his abs, his nails pressing crescent moons into your hips.

You pulled back to catch your breath, still winded from him eating you out. “God,” you ran a thumb over his cheek. “You are a good kisser.”

You thought he would come right then and there, the look he gave you was steeped in passion and lust. His hand met your ass, pulling one leg up to his waist as he moved to press your back against the cold tile wall. He winced as his hard on pressed against your lower stomach.

You loved that look. You wanted to see it again; to know you made him feel good.

Your hand snaked between your bodies as you began to pepper light kisses across his collar bones. He gasped as you grabbed his dick in your hand. You felt his Adam's apple bob as your lips moved to his neck. You squeezed him a little harder and his head fell back with a moan, giving you more beautiful canvas.

Warm fingers met your clit and you dropped your head to his neck, already sensitive from his mouth. “You’re so wet,” he ran his fingers back and forth through your folds, each movement causing you to moan against his chest.

“We-we’re in the shower,” you managed.

A deep laugh vibrated through his chest and his dick twitched in your hand. “I guess you’re right.” He pulled at your other leg. “Come here.”

“Yunho,” you raised your head. “If you slip and drop me,” you warned as effectively as you could with his fingers working you so wonderfully.

“I would never let you fall,” his strong arms pulled you close. “Jump.”

You managed to jump the best you could and one of Yunho’s hands was there to meet you. “Good job, baby,” he lowered you down his body a little.

You could feel him lining up, his tip pushing at your entrance. His eyes fell to yours, watching your face as he lowered you slowly onto him. You groaned as he moved deeper into you, parting you. “Is it okay,” a hand rubbed your back lovingly.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “You can keep going.”

He smiled slightly and loosening his grip on your back one last time, bottomed out with a moan.

You tugged at his hair as you adjusted to his immense size.

“Okay?” He kissed your cheeks.

“Yes, just give me a sec.” You moved your hips up and down, desperate for the pain to subside.

“Jesus,” he squeezed his eyes shut. “A warning next time.”

You clenched around him in response.

“Cheeky,” he chuckled.

“Okay,” you breathed out. “Move.”

“Okay,” he smiled down at you. He captured your moans in a kiss as he thrusted into you.

He was gentle with you, as he always was. He carefully watched you, making sure everything felt good, that he made you feel good. “That’s it, baby,” he cooed. “You’re so pretty.”

You gripped his shoulders as his pace began to quicken and you couldn’t help but clench as his veins dragged against your walls.

“If you keep doing that,” he choked out between thrusts. “I’m going to come right now.”

You slumped against his chest. You wanted to listen to him but he was making you feel so good. Your body was coming completely relaxed and undone in his touch. Your mind, your body, your heart; you were so at ease being with him.

However, your nerves began to spark as his fingers fell to your clit. You could tell he was close because he dropped his forehead to yours wordlessly, his nose scrunched. And he loved when you two came together; Completely free in each other’s arms.

He seemed to completely forget about the slick watery surface he stood on and began to pound into you as fast and as hard as he could. You moaned and mewled as he hit deeper and deeper with each thrust.

“I’m gonna come, y/n,” he warned, his pace becoming erratic and you clenched harder around him, feeling your high approaching too.

“Me too, Yunho,” you whined as he hit your g-spot with a particular force.

You came loudly, fingers desperately searching for something to grip, finally resting on his toned biceps.

He followed you almost immediately, his hips ramming into yours sloppily as his dark eyes bored into yours, a lazy smile on his swollen lips. He pulled out and slumped to the shower floor, holding you tightly in his arms. He gently peppered your face with kisses. “I love you, y/n.”

You giggled as he found a ticklish spot behind your ear. “I love you too, Yunho.” You sighed as you saw his cum run out of your pussy and down the shower drain. “We should have sex in the shower more often; easier to be lazy.”

“I tire you out that much, huh?”

“My god,” you scoffed. “Cocky bastard.”

“You love it,” he teased, massaging the inside of your sore thighs.

You rolled your eyes. “Wanna wash my hair?” You asked, only half kidding.

“I would but, I don’t want to. I want to stay like this.”

“Me too,” you agreed, sinking deeper into his arms. “I could fall asleep like this.”

“Yeah,” his raspy voice responded. “Me too.”

[oumaheroes]

Stargazing

Word Count: 2030

Characters: England, France- FrUK

---

‘If you could go back to any era, which would you choose?’ There is a stone in-between France’s shoulder blades, something that finally tips the scales from being comfortable into not, so France rolls onto his side, cradling his head in his hand.

From his spot in the grass next to him, England turns his head lazily, the movement long and slow. His eyes are the last to move, fixed on the stars, and they find France’s with a sharp flick, ‘What?’

‘Are you too drunk to listen?’ France lifts a heavy arm and reaches across the small distance between them to brush some errant hair away from England’s forehead and lets it stay there, tangled in his roots. France himself is wine soft and slow, warm in his stomach and chest from both the day and the drink which settles within him.

England huffs, ‘More like drunk enough that I can stop pretending you’re worth listening to.’

France hums indulgently, far too jovial at the moment to search for any unintended offense, ‘oh, the lies you tell yourself. They do amuse me.’

England frowns, head still facing France and cheek pillowed in the grass.  Wine is not enough to soften him entirely, it seems, ‘that is rich, coming from you.’

France brings his hand down from England’s hair to lay it across his mouth, ‘I’m not starting anything with you this evening, I’m too full.’

England opens his mouth and, very gently, bites the meat of the pad of France’s hand. Just to show that he could and to be difficult, showing that he won’t go down without a fight. France’s small input in the ridiculous battle is to leave it there, refusing to give in. Eventually, England lets go and moves his head away, although not before pressing his teeth down just that bit harder. France reclaims his hand and allows him escape without protest.

‘What drivel did you ask me?’ England looks back up at the sky again, high and cloudless above them.

‘If you could be in any era again, any that we have lived through,’ France repeats, ‘which would you pick to go back to?’ He has caught England in a good mood, one where he has allowed himself to be seen, for a time, without anything sharp covering him. Drink has made him pliant and loose tongued and France, in a similar mood, is keen to make the most of it.

England rolls his head slightly back, considering the question, ‘How long do I get in the era?’

‘No, don’t do that, don’t make it technical. It’s not a difficult question.’

‘It most certainly is, running water always influences things,’ England’s mouth twists in a wry hint of a smile, ‘and it’s one thing to pop back to the Tudor times for one of the court parties and quite another to have to spend more than a week there. I do not lament the loss of hose and codpiece.’

‘I do, they made my legs look fabulous.’

England snorted and rolled his eyes, ‘Why am I not surprised.’

‘You’re avoiding the question,’ France twists away from him briefly to feel for the wine bottle they’d been drinking from. It had rolled away slightly, the slight incline of France’s garden causing it to move easily as they shuffled about and he takes a long swing of it before laying it between them, neck resting on England’s stomach. He’s past beyond the point of using glasses now.

‘I’m not avoiding the question, I was trying to-‘

‘No stop, you’re ruining it; I’ll go first,’ after brushing the grass underneath to clear it of stones, France returns to lying on his back, arms behind his head, and ignores England’s tut of annoyance, ‘I think I’d actually want to go back to the days under Rome, just for a visit.’

England sits up on his elbows and takes a sip from the bottle himself, ‘I hadn’t expected that of you.’

‘No?’

‘God no. I would have thought you’d want to go back to one of your King Luis. You know, peak opulence, decadence- all that faff. You still love the fancy balls and the clothes, and the needless tat that came with it,’ England takes another sip of wine and runs his tongue over his teeth, ‘the dances and the jewels, the silly little court rules of behaviour. The gossip.’

France chuckles, ‘you were so funny every time you were dragged along- so out of place! You couldn’t go more than an hour before letting your true colours slip free.’ England was never truly refined for very long, especially when it came to the Versailles’ court standards.

‘Anyone with a lick of sense was immediately out of place,’ England quips drily and lays down again, placing the cork back in the wine as he goes.

It sounds nearly empty- shame. It was a nice year and the last of the bottles that they’d brought out to the garden. Dinner had been a late, informal affair in France’s kitchen- homemade bread and creamy, locally made cheese with chicken. Simple and filling, comfort food for the both of them. The summer heat made them both unwilling for anything too excessive and the entire day had been spent doing lots of nothing much at all; England lounging about in shorts that France refrained from teasing him about lest he stop wearing them.

‘Yes well,’ France lifts his head and clumsily bats him in the stomach with the top of his hand, ‘despite that indeed being extremely enjoyable, I do mean it. My choice of era, I mean.’

England makes a soft noise that gently demands elaboration, a low rumble in the back of his throat but France needs no prompting. He presses a knuckle into the softness of England’s stomach and feels him breathe in deep and slow.

‘I’d love to have nothing to be responsible for again. Everything was done for me, as a colony- the way my cities were built, the improvements made to my industries, the negotiations for trade and commerce, everything. I’d like to revisit being a child, in the closest sense of childhood our kind has,’ France pauses, mulling that over, ‘Imagine that again, being small but without fear of being so. No politics, no money driven economy, no push for growth. We have spent so much of our lives racing to get somewhere, striving to be more that I can hardly remember what it was like to be nothing more than an idea, existing just to speak for the lives that called themselves mine.’

France turns and catches England watching him, eyes searching and heavy, ‘Does that make sense?’ he asks him.

‘No,’ England’s answer is immediate, ‘no, and yes. The desire to be I understand, but I detested that age.’

France smiles at him, understanding masked by the dark. England does not, and never did, like being anything other than in perfect control of himself. Relinquishing that to someone else, even for his own benefit, has never been anything more than a horror.

‘Well,’ France says, ‘that is my choice. I liked being looked after and I have so much to do nowadays that it would be nice to have nothing to do once again. Nothing more than wander about my fields and see my people, or visit a northern barbarian across the sea.’

‘Don’t talk about Scotland that way, you’ll hurt his feelings.’

France laughs and reaches down to find England’s hand, open palmed and curled fingers by his side. He intertwines his own with it and brings them upwards, watching as together they cut across to block the light from his house and silhouette into a tangle of them both.

‘So,’ he says, running a thumb across the skin of England’s knuckle, ‘what era would you choose?’

England sighs, a light thing but France can hear a yearning there, ‘Any of the years I was at sea. The 1500’s when I was first starting out and even up to the 1700’s when things became more regimented- any of them. To be able to just get in a boat and go, no one knowing when I would come back or even where I was going.’

France shudders, the idea of being out in ocean that deep and so alone chilling him. For creatures that revive after death, who can wake again and again and again as long as there is a body to return to, the ocean is a lonely, painful place to die. To sink lifeless into murky depths, only to reawaken there in the dark press of salty sea; most nations avoided it as much as they could, wishing to avoid the long, drawn out death choked by waves and forgotten on the seafloor.

England never had such a healthy fear of the oceans. He went out into thunderous storms and monstrous waves as if enchanted, unable to resist the pull of something untamed. England sailed off as soon as he was able, going out for further and longer than anyone else dared and losing himself in the harsh life of the brine. He was a different creature far out at sea, something so strangely alive and perfectly at home for a man made from the soul of the mountains and land.

‘You always were a strange one for the macabre,’ France drops their hands back down and finds England once more looking at the sky, the reflection of stars glinting in his eyes.

‘The seas never change,’ his voice is quiet and distant, ‘some things do change, of course- the boats we sail on, how we do so. Things shift on the sea, the lands we travel to and from are washed away and changed with time but the sea itself is always the same. I appreciate it for that, it is predictably unpredictable. Constantly refusing the press of mankind by being the one thing we can never truly understand, for all of mankind’s new fancy gadgets.’

England gives a sudden, dry laugh, ‘I used to navigate the world by constellations, now I have to travel just to find some stars. To the highest peaks I have, or deep in my countryside to avoid as much light pollution as I can. But out at sea they are as they have always been, the same things I have watched and tracked for thousands of years. That is when I can just be as I have always been.’

The sky hangs overhead, speckled and bright and now, France notices, startlingly empty, ‘I often forget that they’re there,’ France speaks to the sky, ‘Funny, isn’t it? How something so fundamental can disappear and mankind not even notice. How odd to forget that stars are there, then to not notice they’re gone.’

‘We are cursed or blessed to remember what’s past,’ England offers, ‘which one depends on who we remember for.’

They lay in silence for a moment. France feels the collected years sit with him openly, laying on his chest and heart like tiny weights. The ground pushes against his back, firm and unmoving, and he breathes in deeply, smelling the heat of the summer in the air. He is here. He is now. He is. Still, after all this time. He watches.

To exist is to change, to live is to evolve and move with the flow of time, but France understands the want for something constant in the flood, something that stays recognisable and the same throughout the years. The older he gets, the more he yearns for it keenly.

‘You’ve gone and made things serious,’ he lifts himself back up on an elbow, England looking at him without moving his head, ‘just like you to take a light conversation and ruin it.’

England raises an eyebrow, “Oh the lies you tell yourself; they do amuse me.”

His French is accented with a Norman dialect, a gentle dig and refusal to fully let France have what he wants and France laughs at it, at this one unchanging constant he is stuck with. He leans down to kiss him, hair curling into England’s face and hiding what remains of the night sky.

----

AN: Every time I try writing one of these small drabbles, I start out with a particular idea and tone in mind but gosh darn it they never go where I intend for them to.

Today we have ended up with this, two old men talking themselves in circles in the summer grass.

[hext00ns]

Febuwhump 2022 Day 2: Failed Rescue Attempt @febuwhump

AO3 link in replies

Ships: Sky & Time

Rating: T

Warnings: Fake Character Death

Description: Sky has a nightmare that causes him to panic.

Sky felt groggy as he woke. Something about the feeling felt almost foreign, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. Instead he lifted himself to sit and rubbed at his eyes. He looked around the camp but found it empty. Bags and weapons left as if the others had hurried off. The fire had gone out and the only light was that of the moon. He couldn’t help but frown as an unknown feeling of dread latched onto his core and pulled. Something was off. Something was wrong. He quickly got to his feet and looked around. Where were the others? Why had they not woken him up? He knew he slept a lot but still…

Sky put a hand to his chest to check for the strap of his scabbard. He felt some relief to know she was there. He felt less alone, yet that still didn’t change the situation at hand. His hand tightened around the leather strap as he started closer to the treeline opposite him. As he got closer he heard something odd. It sounded like an animal of some kind. It sounded in pain. He quickly pushed off into a sprint to follow the sound. Light that looked to be from a fire flickered from deep in the forest. The closer he got to it the more he noticed the darkness felt… menacing. He didn’t have time to question that feeling as he came to a large form on the forest floor. Where the noise was coming from.

The gray fur looked familiar as he dropped to his knees next to the other. It was the wolf that followed them around. He was pretty sure it was Wild’s or something. He put a hand on the whimpering beast’s form and gently moved him to get a better look.

The wolf was covered in gashes. A saber left buried into the fur, blood fresh. At the sight, Sky realized just how much blood was covering the grass beneath them.

His lips opened as his eyes shot to the face of the animal. Words of fear dried up on the unused tongue. The wolf’s own eyes full of pain. A last spark of life desperately clinging to him. Before Sky could even attempt to aid, the life was gone with one last whimper. A cold chill ran it’s way down Sky’s spine and curled into the pit of his stomach. He took his hand from the beast and lifted to his feet. He had just watched-

The hand’s shot to his mouth as he felt the tears start to well up. Maybe Time had a fairy that could help, or Legend some sort of magic item, or- the others were still missing.

The thought only existed in Sky’s mind for a split second before he was throwing himself into a run. His hand instantly pulled out the blade on his back, a reflex. He knew whatever had happened to the wolf had to do with his missing friends. He also knew he had to find them fast.

He ran through the trees with purpose, the stomp of his boots on the ground like the beats of a bird’s wings flying through the darkness. He followed the light he saw earlier. He heard a blood curdling scream. The forest didn’t even waver at the shout, uncaring to the pain laced in such a sound. In fact, the forest felt tighter. Smaller. But that didn’t stop Sky. It couldn’t stop him. He only ran faster, harder. His knuckles white in their grip. The trees fought him every step, feeling the branches slicing into his arms and legs.

It felt like hours before he finally threw himself through the trees into a clearing. The first thing he saw was Time. Held up by a stalfos. Sword through his chest.

Sky only allowed himself the privilege of shocked horror for a split second before he was charging at the monster. He jumped into the air and with a loud yell, full of anguish and burning fight, sliced down into the creature. It vanished, destroyed.

Sky quickly stumbled towards Time, no moment to revel in his victory. He grabbed the older man and pulled him up into his lap. He had to figure out what to do. He had to stop the bleeding and patch up the wound. He had to make sure nothing vital was punctured. He had to get a potion. He had to-

Time’s hands lifted.

Sky’s eyes flicked from the terrifying sight of the wound over to the man’s calloused fingers.

Slowly, shaking, the fingers signed out: “Late.”

Terror struck through Sky like a bolt of lightning. He looked up. Around them, littering the clearing, were bodies. All bloodied and unmoving. All he knew he would recognize had he the courage to walk closer.

He was late. He was too late to do anything. He was always too late. His hands shook as his vision blurred. The trees grew taller and the darkness thicker. The smell of blood attacked his senses viciously and the sound of muted hands beat against his skull with only a single word.

Late.

He gripped at his head, trying to block out the sound.

Late.

He slammed his eyes closed, trying to block out the sights.

LATE.

He pulled himself away from the bodies, trying to block out the smells.

LATE.

He let out a gasped sob, unable to push past the lump in his throat blocking down the scream flooding his veins.

LATELATELATELATELATELATELATELATE.

A tight hand grabbed his wrist and Sky shot up with a gasp. Every part of his body screamed in protest at the sudden movement. He looked at the hand around his wrist and followed up it’s arm to a familiar face. The golden eye looked at him with concern.

Sky looked at Time, alive, with wide eyes. His gaze rapidly flicked around them to the others who slept soundly next to the dying fire. He was back at camp. They were all alive. It was a dream. Of course it was a dream.

He pulled his legs up to his chest and pressed his face into his knees. He forced air into his lungs and back out again, as slowly as his panicked form would allow.

The hand on his wrist didn’t leave but it did soften its grip as Time moved to sit next to the other. A thumb running over the back of Sky’s hand in a calming manner. They sat there for what felt like forever before Time gave a gentle tap to Sky’s arm.

The younger raised his head to look up at him. Sky’s eyes ached and felt heavy. He looked from Time’s concerned eye down to his hand as the other signed out, “You okay?”

Sky gently pulled his wrist away and rubbed at his eyes then down his face with it. With a heavy sigh he gave a nod. “Nightmare,” his hands replied.

Time gave a nod in understanding. He moved into a more comfortable position and looked up to the sky. It was hard to see the sky and stars past the trees. What was there glistened gently in time with the fire’s movement.

Sky frowned at the sight. It was beautiful but the view couldn’t erase the visions of his blood-soaked allies. He curled back into himself, arms wrapped around his legs, cheek against his knees. He perked up some when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He looked up over to Time who looked back at him with an understanding and reassuring smile. He returned the smile, though tired, gratefully. Even if the only sound between them was that of the crackling fire and the whispers of nature, it still felt nice not to be alone.

Sky knew the sights and the feelings from his dream wouldn’t just melt away with a comforting gesture, but it definitely made working through them a little easier.

[sithapprenticemaul]

Hunter ; Hunted

summary: Din thought this would be a simple hunt, that he would succeed where others had failed - he was wrong. Din Djarin has met his match.

word count: 1.5k

pairing: Din Djarin x Sherrif!Reader

warnings: a brief fight, mentions of bruising and cuts

a/n: I was literally cuddling my cat when I got the inspiration for this. reader is so sassy and this is gonna be a slow burn. part one of four or five i think. also my first reader insert which i was so nervous to write bc I've never written like this before. please let me know what you think!

When Greef Karga slid the tracking puck across the table, he had warned Din of the challenge of this bounty. Brushing it off without a second thought, Din eagerly accepted, the staggering amount credits offered worth whatever trouble he could possibly get into. This was an Imperial bounty, and the money would greatly help The Tribe. The small village was out in the middle of nowhere, the nearest spaceport being a three-day journey away by speeder, even longer on foot. Din left the Razor Crest hidden safely in the nearby mountains and made the rest of the journey on foot to not be spotted. The element of surprise was key in his work. Humans and aliens of various races traversed the small village, going about their daily lives. Children played, vendors sold, creatures barked and brayed. None seemed fazed at the sudden appearance of an outsider, let alone one clad so heavily in armour. That should have been Din’s first clue that this hunt was not going to go the way he intended. Din approached the weathered tavern with annoyance and frustration in his stride. He was tired, sweat dripping down his back, the Tatooine twin suns baking him in his protective second skin. He stopped just outside the door, the thrum of the taverns patrons inside making its way to his ears. Taking a moment of respite in the shade of the awning, he readied himself for the challenge ahead of him. He swung the door open, and for one of the few times in his life as a bounty hunter, no one turned to look at him. No stares, no hushed whispers or folk scurrying out of his sight. Just lively chatter of folk enjoying food and drink and the whipping of the wind behind him. The Tavern was dark and dusty, just as one would expect from any building on Tatooine. Din’s target was sitting right in the middle of the bar. He could feel eyes watching him now, but no one made a move to stop him as he approached her. You sighed deeply as you heard the door swing open. You’d fought off many credit hungry hunters who had tried to drag you to your doom before - this would be no different. The floor creaked under Din as he stopped just a few steps behind his bounty, curious as to the events that would unfold. It wasn’t common for him to have bounties that wouldn’t put up at least a little bit of a fight. That should have been Din’s second clue. “At least let me finish my soup”, you said slowly, your voice not betraying the anxiety coursing through you. “This is the best that Kintara has made in a long time.” You winked at the bar tending Pa'lowick in front of you as you tipped your head back and slurped down the last of your lunch. Setting the bowl down in front of you gently and wiping your mouth with your sleeve, you lazily swung yourself around to look at whatever bounty hunting sleemo had come through your town this time. Leaning back casually, you took in the sight of the man before you. He was tall, armour in varying shades of brown covering most of his body, a shining silver helmet hiding away his face. His hand was gently trained on the blaster on his left hip. The Amban sniper rifle was still strapped to his back, indicating this was not meant to be a long and drawn out fight. He wanted this done quick. He made no move toward you - yet. The hubbub in the tavern continued as you and the Mandalorian stared each other down, neither of you giving an inch. And then he spoke. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.” The corners of your mouth lifted ever so slightly at the vocoded words - typical bounty hunter, always assuming the oncoming struggle would be difficult on you. You, the poor helpless bounty that would help to line his pockets. “I’m not going anywhere, Hunter.” you spoke coolly. “I suggest,” you started as you rose from the barstool, “that you get going before you regret stepping foot in my town.” “Not going to happen. You’re coming with me, warm or cold.” he replied shortly, his voice betraying no hint of what emotion he was feeling. His body was tensed, rigid, awaiting your next move. Din couldn’t help but feel a little fascinated by his bounty and her sheer defiance in the face of danger. What had she seen in her life when a trained Mandalorian did not frighten her? Din frightened everyone. You smoothed out your tunic as you stood, subtly uncovering the blaster in its holster on your hip. You were just a few steps from the hunter. You stepped closer, taunting him into his next move, eyes unwavering. Din kept his eyes on you, suddenly becoming aware of the silence that filled the room but unable to tear his gaze from you. His third clue. He grasped his blaster in anticipation. Someone was about to get shot. You drew up to your full height at the sight of the hunter’s hand on his blaster, your eyes betraying the fury and irritation you now felt. You would not be intimidated by this outworlder on your planet, in your town and in your bar. Especially not during lunch. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you....” In a fraction of a second all hell broke loose. Tables and chairs were knocked over; glasses and plates smashed as the patrons of the bar drew their hidden weapons, taking aim at the Mandalorian from all around him. You knew better than anyone that at this close range he was going to hit you, you at least made sure the blaster bolt wasn’t going between your eyes. You twisted your body and dove to the floor as the bolt hit you in the right shoulder, stinging outrageously before you landed amongst the wreckage on the floor.

Din didn’t have a chance to fire again, his blaster falling from his hand as he held them up in helplessness as someone behind him kicked him to his knees. He was cornered, guns, knives, and other makeshift weapons at every angle around him. While his armour could protect him from a range of weapons, it would do nothing to save him from the knife dangerously close to piercing his body between his armour plating. Had he known the whole town was armed he would have brought more weapons. You hauled yourself up, hissing at the pain as you palm your injured shoulder to stem the bleeding. Another shirt ruined. You stagger back to the centre of the room to get a better look at your assailant. Din was doing his best not to panic, a task made increasing difficulty with all the sharp objects being pressed into his body. He could feel a makeshift blade digging in dangerously close to his rib cage. The bartender, Kintara, had a rifle aimed, not at his head, but at the unprotected flesh between his head and his shoulders, covered only by a few layers of fabric. “I say we kill him now and toss his body in the pit and be back before dinner,” grumbled a voice from behind him. He dared not say a thing, waiting for you to make the next move. He was a Mandalorian, a proud warrior, a fine bounty hunter and he would not resort to bargaining for his life...yet. “Easy Karma. Let’s find out what our trigger-happy friend here knows first,” you spoke clearly for all to hear. An order disguised as a suggestion. You were the law around here. He watched as you sauntered over to him, cradling your injured shoulder, equal parts furious, amused and intrigued at the events that had just unfolded. Din’s breath caught in his throat as you got the closest you had been, crouching down to his level. This was his first real chance to look at you, the woman he was to bring in.

You were beautiful, like a sunrise to be seen nowhere else in the galaxy, or so Din thought. Your hair was dishevelled, yet your face was girlishly aglow with accomplishment, despite the few cuts and bruises forming from your brief brawl.

Your eyes had a mischievous twinkle as you fluttered your eyelashes cheekily at the captive Mandalorian. Your mouth held that familiar small smile. He recognised that smile. It was one he wore many times after a successful hunt.  It was the smile of a predator who had cornered its prey.

“Knock him out and bring me Nebala. I’ll deal with this one myself,” you spoke calmly, standing to your full height and surveying the damage to your bar.

Din didn’t have a chance to protest before a dart hit him in the neck and he slumped with a thud to the floor.

[maaaddiexo]

The Within Series | Legolas Greenleaf

Book 1: The Devil Within - Part 1.9

Mainlist | Serieslist

Nyx of Tyndall does not know love or kindness. Cursed at a young age by a jealous witch, Nyx has lived a life of solitude and death.

Until Gandalf the Grey requests her presence and uncontrollable skill in assisting a young Hobbit across Middle-Earth with nine others to destroy a ring so powerful all fall victim to its evil.

Not only must Nyx face Orcs, demons, and creatures she’s never seen before, but also the devil inside. Controlling the devil is the key to finding freedom in a spell that can’t be broken. But it will not be so easy for Nyx when every obstacle she faces pushes her to an edge she cannot return from.

Chapter Nine

Nyx slept soundlessly that night, which surprised her. She’d been dwelling on her decision to join the Fellowship the moment she’d agreed. She was tired. She didn’t want to go any further. And yet, looking into Frodo’s eyes and feeling no judgement from Aragorn, how could she possibly say no?

An elf woke Nyx up in the early hours of dawn, helping her into a warm tub and rubbing the stress away with a sponge. Nyx did her best to fight the anger at not being allowed to sleep in but she was aware of the water heating up a few degrees when it should have been cooling. Her anger was stronger than before. Harder to control.

Afterwards, the elf helped Nyx into dark pants – she couldn’t tell if they were brown or black – and a dark blue turtleneck tunic. Overtop, she was given a thick woollen cloak, black as night. Her hair was braided into two inverted braids which were then secured in a bun at the nape of her neck.

“Low maintenance,” the elf explained, standing up. “Will you be joining the others for breakfast?”

Nyx inhaled. Since her arrival she’d avoided eating in the dining hall. Being around so many people made her uncomfortable, which made it easier for the evil within to take control win. But she would be traveling with these people now for who knew how long. She would have to get used to it. But, perhaps, not yet. “Oh, um, no. I need to finish packing.”

The elf nodded and left. Nyx moved to the end of her bed, where Elrond’s gifts from the day before lay.

“You will need weapons, my dear. And not just this old…thing,” he looked at the scythe with disdain. The blade was chipped and dull, and the wooden handle was thinning where she often gripped it. The wood was also stained with blood, but it often was and Nyx had grown tired of washing the wood when she didn’t even see anyone.

“I don’t have any other weapons, Lord Elrond. I’m sure I will be fine.”

“Nonsense. Since your arrival, I have had my people working on some new weapons for you. Including a new scythe. Gandalf tells me you are quite attached.”

“It’s the only way I’m connected to them.” Gandalf had told Nyx that her parents had lived on farm before they had her. And though she didn’t have any memories of them, this made her feel close to them.

Elrond nodded and placed Nyx’s old scythe against the wall. “Then it will be waiting right here for you when you return. But you cannot take that into war. It will splinter on the first strike. Here,” Elrond lifted his arm and two Elves came in. One carried a thick bundle wrapped in cloth while the other carried a scythe made fully of metal, with strips of black wood running with the long handle from top to bottom.

Nyx ran her hand along it in awe. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is strong. It will serve you well. And here.” The second Elf unraveled the bundle of cloth, revealing two daggers with birch hilts and a knife with a red wood hilt. “For extra protection.”

Nyx smiled at Elrond. “Thank you. You owe me nothing and yet you always offer so much.”

Elrond smiled. “You are worth so much more than you think, Nyx of Tyndall. Soon you will see.”

Nyx smiled. “I really am sorry about your gazebo. And your Council Room floor.”

Elrond laughed. “Already forgiven. But don’t expect me to forget anytime soon.”

Nyx sheathed her weapons in the leather holster the Elf had dressed her in underneath her cloak. There were slots for her two daggers and the knife, plus an additional holster that she wore over her cloak. One strap went around her chest while the across her chest like a sash. The holster was on the back. She’d had a similar one before, but it seemed Elrond had replaced that as well.

Nyx knew breakfast would be over by nine, so she was in the courtyard at nine-oh-five, patiently waiting for the rest to arrive. Ever the punctual Elf, Legolas was the first to arrive.

“Good morning, Lady Nyx.”

Nyx grimaced. “Please, just Nyx.”

Legolas inclined his head, hands behind his back. He carried a bow and arrow, the bow made from a material unlike anything Nyx had ever seen. The holster for his quiver was similar to Nyx’s. His hair was braided the same as the day before: a small one going around each ear and a larger one for the hair on the crown of his head. He was dressed differently than when he had first arrived. He wore tall brown boots and grey pants. Arm guards over a grey shirt and a green elven tunic. He touched Nyx’s scythe, which she had in her hand at the moment. His fingers ran over a small inscription in elvish near the hilt of the blade.

“Dilthen lúg. Little Dragon,” Legolas read. “What does that mean?”

Nyx furrowed her brow. “It is what Gandalf used to call me…when I was a little girl. I almost forgot he used to call me that.”

“Why did he call you that?”

Nyx closed her eyes, but the memory was a good one. Those were rare for her. “I had the short temper of a dragon. Plus, my bad habit of catching fire made the nickname an easy choice for Gandalf. I used to find it endearing. Now, people say my name with malice and fear in their voices.”

“Why? You do not look so dangerous. Except, of course, for the large weapon in your hands.”

Nyx looked at the scythe as someone else joined the two of them and spoke. Aragorn. “Do not doubt her, Legolas. She has more fire in her than you think.”

Nyx looked away and took a few steps back, under an old stone arch. The two conversed and she ran her thumb over the inscription Legolas had pointed out. She hadn’t even noticed it until he’d mentioned it. She looked over at the Elf. He was laughing with Aragorn freely and she wondered how two people who’d seen battle and taken so many lives could still be so happy.

She looked at Aragorn. Though she knew he meant nothing ill, his words bothered her still, and she felt the anger inside her swell.

Take control of it.

Nyx leaned her head against the stone wall, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths. They didn’t work. It seemed she had less control over the evil inside her since she carried the Ring.

“Nyx!”

Gandalf was standing in front her, waving his hand back and forth in front of her face. The rest of the Fellowship had arrived but, thankfully, no one was paying attention to the two.

“Sorry, Gandalf.”

“What is troubling you, my dear?”

“It’s the Ring. It did something to me. I feel…angrier. The littlest things are making me angry. This morning, I nearly cut off the Elf’s head when she woke me up. And just now, Aragorn.” Nyx shook her head. “Maybe it is best if I do not journey with you.”

“Nonsense, my dear. You are one of us. There is more good in you than you think. Come.”

“The Ring Bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom,” Elrond announced. “On you who travel with him, no oath or bond is laid to go further than you will. Farewell. Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves and Men and all free folk go with you.”

“The Fellowship awaits the Ring Bearer.”

Frodo turned nervously, taking the time to look at all the people who had chosen to accompany him on quest they may not return from. He walked through the group, leading the way.

The moment they crossed over Rivendell’s border, the air of magic dissipated, and Nyx suddenly felt it hard to breathe. She was at the back of the group with Aragorn who noticed instantly.

“Sacred Elven places suppress other forms of magic that is not their own for the sake of protection,” he explained. “Now outside of Rivendell, you once again feel the full force of the curse.”

“It wasn’t this bad before,” Nyx whispered, mainly to herself. “The Ring did something to me. To the curse.”

“Perhaps when we destroy it, you will go back to normal.”

Nyx didn’t know what normal was. “Do you really think we will destroy it?”

Aragorn was silent.

That afternoon they stopped for lunch and a longer break than usual. While Boromir helped Pippin and Merry work on their swordsmanship and Sam handed out plates of food to everyone, Nyx sat silently beside Gandalf as he smoked his trusty pipe.

Gimli, who was slightly behind Nyx and Gandalf, spoke surely, “If anyone was to ask of my opinion, which I note they are not, I’d say we are taking the long way ‘round. Gandalf, we could pass through the mines of Moria. My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome.”

A sour taste filled Nyx’s mouth at the name of Moria, but she wasn’t quite sure why.

“No, Gimli,” Gandalf replied softly. “I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice.”

“Why?” Nyx asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Evil lurks close there in the shadows,” Gandalf replied. “And since we are already walking straight into the fire, it would be best to avoid it when possible.”

Legolas, who had been watching the north, suddenly moved to the other side of the rocky outcropping to watch the south. He stared intently.

“What is it? What do you see?”

Legolas glanced at Nyx, who was squinting to try and see what he saw.

“Nothing, it’s just a whiff of cloud,” Gimli insisted.

“It’s moving fast,” Boromir stood. “Against the wind.”

“Crebain from Dunland!” Legolas shouted.

“Hide!” Aragorn shouted.

Nyx grabbed for Legolas, who remained where he was, quickly searching for the perfect place to hide. She found it nearly instantly, five paces from where they stood now. She dragged him along, tugging him under the curved boulder. Together, they tried to quiet their breathing and still their movements. Nyx heard everybody else scatter, their feet thumping against the ground as they ran for cover. She could feel Legolas’ chest against her shoulder and tried to match his steady breathing. It was hard but she managed to slow her breathing and calm the fire dwelling in the pit of her stomach.

The sky darkened with the birds’ arrival, caws piercing the air. Nyx saw their shadows on the ground in front of her as they flew by, circling the area before leaving in the same way they came. Slowly everybody emerged and watched the birds leave. Legolas looked back at their hiding place. From where he stood, he could barely see where they’d hidden.

“That is an excellent hiding spot,” Legolas admired.

Nyx shrugged and walked away. She was good at hiding. “What are they?”

“Spies of Saruman! The passage South is being watched. We must take the Pass of Caradhras.”

Nyx looked up at the snowy mountain, its peak hidden above the clouds. She grabbed her pack and tightened the laces on her boots. They set out immediately, climbing the steep incline of the mountain range. Nearly to the top, there was a grunt from behind Nyx and she turned to see Frodo tumbling down the hill.

“Frodo!” Gandalf called, unable to do anything but watch him roll down the slope of the mountain. Thankfully, Aragorn stopped him before he could roll too far and immediately Frodo reached for his chest. The Ring was gone. He spotted it just as Boromir did, lifting it up by the chain and holding it closely to his face.

“Boromir,” Aragorn said softly. The man either did not listen to him or did not hear him.

“It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing… Such a little thing.” He reached up to touch it. Aragorn called his name again, this time firmer. The man heard him this time.

“Give the Ring to Frodo.”

Nyx watched from beside Gandalf as he reluctantly returned the Ring to Frodo and ruffled his hair. She turned to the wizard.  “I do not like the way he looks at the Ring. And I especially don’t like the way he looks at Frodo.”

Gandalf clenched his jaw, shifting his weight. “Neither do I, my dear. Neither do I.”

Part 1.10 ➺

[chrysalispen]

iii. vanished, and left but memories,

AO3 Link HERE

Chapter below cut.

============================

Papalymo Totolymo considered himself reasonably worldly for a man of Sharlayan. As the favored protege of the late Louisoix Leveilleur, many of the star’s most tumultuous events in the last twenty summers had taken place beneath his watch: from the mass colonial exodus to the motherland, to those final dark days before the Seventh Umbral Calamity. He still remembered offering prayers at one of the great standing-stones as the Empire unleashed Bahamut - that ancient and terrible primal bound by Allagan contrivance - upon the fields of Carteneau.

So too did he recall his master’s sacrifice. Papalymo was not what one would call particularly devout, nor had he placed as much stock in such things as coincidence or fate. But the events he had witnessed had gradually softened his harder stances, and the more he saw of the world, the more he thought he understood what Louisoix had meant.

Faith had, after all, saved Eorzea in the end.

He watched that slim, straight back as its owner sidled into shadow and disappeared from sight. At first glance, the woman hadn’t seemed any different from any other conjurer they had met in the past handful of years. But this time he thought there was something about her that was... different. The aetherovisor had-

“Papalymo? Are you listening?”

“...Hm? Yes,” he said with an absentminded nod. His hazel eyes lay fixed upon the emptied cavern entrance. “Well. That was… most edifying.”

“Edifying?”

“Educational.”

“What was educational about it? The sword? The Ixal?” Yda tilted her head in obvious confusion. It was quite clear that the two of them had taken something entirely different away from that encounter. “I thought you knew about those already. Or did you mean that conjurer?”

Preoccupied with checking and comparing indicator readings, Papalymo barely even acknowledged her. “Yes.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes, I did.”

Yda’s chin tilted in the same birdlike fashion Aurelia had noted upon their meeting, and her lips pursed briefly as she tapped her index finger against her cheek. “Actually, now that you mention it… I just thought of something.”

“Hm.”

"Is it just me, or did it seem like that woman was able to see Kuplo Kopp?”

“....And this occurs to you now? Honestly, of all the questions to ask!” "What- well, you did ask me, Papalymo."

She pointed this fact out with the cheerful self-possession that rarely failed to annoy him, specifically when she employed it against him. Yda knew he hated it, so of course she did it at every opportunity.

Silver-threaded blond curls drifted across the edges of the aetherovisor with the movement of his head from side to side, as the Archon cut off his lecture before he could properly begin. From his long years of experience with her, he knew there was a greater than zero chance it would all fall upon deaf ears anyway.  “...all right, yes, that did appear to be the case- and don't you give me that look."

"What look?"

"That smug one you always get when you-"

"When I'm right? Hmm?"

"Oh, for the love of everything, Yda!"

"Go on. 'You're right, Yda.' Say it."

"Yda-"

"Saaaay it," she repeated, in a teasing little singsong. Papalymo scowled at his young partner before he realized she couldn't see his expression beneath the unwieldy visor, only the petulant purse of his lips. Pointless to fight the tide, he thought with a sort of exasperated fondness.

...He supposed he could allow her one small concession.

"Yes, yes, all right. Fine. You were right," he said testily, ignoring her tiny cheer and accompanying fist pump. "But don't get ahead of yourself. As to what significance that might bear, provided there is any, only time will tell.”

“Will it? I certainly hope so,” she retorted, bracing her hands on her hips. “It’s not as though you ever tell me anything.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? I just said it! You never tell me what’s going on!” Yda’s pout lifted into a sly smile. “...Unless you don’t know either?”

“Of course I do! Don’t be ridiculous-”

“Ha! I knew it.”

“-and even if I didn’t,”  he huffed, “I certainly wouldn’t admit it to an insolent child!”

Yda did not take offense. Her laugh, tinkling like wind chimes, followed the pair out of the clearing.

~*~

After bearing the blade and news of a corpse to a surprised but very grateful Galfrid Mossback and his fellows, Aurelia entered the Fane to see E-Sumi-Yan conversing with one Kuplo Kopp. The moogle lifted a paw as she strode towards them.

“Ah! Aurelia," the guildmaster said. "Welcome back. I trust your return was without incident.”

“Yes, it was fine. The walk was most refreshing.” She hesitated; her gaze flickered from E-Sumi-Yan to his current conversation partner, hovering midair with open curiosity stamped all over his tiny face. “Although… I have something to ask, if I might?”

“Of course. Thank you for your assistance, Kuplo Kopp. Pray give my regards to the others.”

“I will, kupo! Wonderful to meet you at last, Aurelia!” he piped, adding a chipper backflip for good measure. “Don’t worry, I’ll say hello to Kupto Kapp and Kapna Kugi for you!”

The little creature had taken wing into the trees before she could respond, although E-Sumi-Yan’s expression was one of mild-mannered curiosity as they watched Kuplo Kopp disappear into the tree line.

“You had not told me you were acquainted with the moogles.”

“A bit of an exaggeration,” Aurelia hedged. “I met a couple of them by chance when I first came to the wood. They were quite helpful, as I recall.”

He squinted at her. Opened his mouth- then shut it, as if he had been about to say something and thought better of it, and cleared his throat.

“We have a good rapport with the moogles,” was all he said. “What was it you wished to ask?”

“When I was in the glade earlier, there were two others who arrived shortly thereafter. A Hyur woman - a pugilist - and a Lalafell gentleman. I asked after their business in the Shroud, but they were quite evasive.” Thoughtfully she tapped her temple. “They each sported some peculiar contraption. I thought at first perhaps they were customized sets of spectacles. Mayhap a magitek visor of some sort, but if so it was surely not of imperial make.”

E-Sumi-Yan was smiling.

“Ah,” he said. “You’ve met Yda and Papalymo.”

“Adventurers?”

“Scholars. Aetherologists from Sharlayan, if memory serves. But you may safely lay any suspicions you have to rest - they are friends. Their assistance over the last few years, particularly with regards to the Garlean Empire, has proven invaluable.”

Aurelia only nodded. The pair had been strange, and their exchanges clearly born of long years of personal intimacy, but neither had come across as threatening.

“Now- as to the matter we discussed before you took your leave…” He muttered something under his breath too softly for her to catch and began to pat down his robes. “Ah! Here we are.”

The neatly folded and wax-sealed parchment in his hand bore the mark of the Conjurers’ Guild and, she could see, the Padjal’s own painstakingly neat script. E-Sumi-Yan glanced at it for only the briefest of moments before he held it out for her to take.

“I took the liberty of discussing the matter with Miounne while you were running that errand for me. She has already agreed to send word ahead to the Adventurers’ Guild in Ul’dah, I expect.” A stray breeze ruffled his sandy hair as he inclined his chin, smile unwavering. “She should have another letter of her own ready for you when you return to the inn.”

“I- oh,” for a second time in the space of a day Aurelia found herself taken aback. “This… goodness, you work very quickly.”

“Oh?”

“I confess I had thought a letter of introduction might take some days to draft, not bells.”

“Not at all! I had the time to spare, and at any rate I have written many such letters in my time. They are quite formulaic.”

“I appreciate the trouble you’ve taken-”

“Lest you misunderstand, Aurelia, this is no more than I might otherwise have done for any of my novices,” there was no visible change to his expression but his tone was so firm it might almost have been a reprimand. “This letter does not guarantee your enrollment into the Phrontistery. ‘Tis but a window of opportunity, and little else.”

In other words, he could get her into Ul’dah and secure her lodging. Anything beyond that would have to be accomplished by her hand and hers alone - she was not surprised; she had a rough idea of Uldah’s love of self-made success stories.

But Aurelia was not unaccustomed to such uphill battles; if she could make her own way in Gridania despite her ignorance of its customs when she had first arrived in the Shroud, she was quite sure she could manage matters in Ul’dah. A chance was all she required, and here it lay, in her hand.

“Well enough to my thinking that you have provided it,” she said. “You have my thanks.”

His serene smile turned somewhat doleful. “I would be remiss not to admit that your absence will be felt. But I will not be one to clip your wings, either. Now go. Give Mother Miounne my regards.”

“I will.”

Perhaps you will return to the wood as a guardian once more, E-Sumi-Yan mused as she passed from the boughs of the Fane. Most heed its call, in the end. But I will only accept it from you if that is what is meant to be.

Even for foolish notions of sentimentality, he knew it was not his place to tangle the Spinner’s weave.

~*~

“I am beginning to wonder,” Alisaie Leveilleur declared to no one in particular, “if there are any other cycles of weather in this place beyond ‘rain’ and ‘purple.’ “

No one answered. Not that she had expected otherwise.

The young elezen spared a sullen glance at the dodo tenderloin on her plate - rubbery with gristle, lukewarm, and unappetizing - before resuming her people-watching out the nearby window, or what there was of it. Only one of the panes had tempered glass in; the other three were covered with some sort of oilcloth, no doubt to proof the opening against the region’s frequent afternoon showers.

There wasn’t much to see, truth be told. Revenant’s Toll had been washed away in the floods following the Carteneau disaster five years past. Although the adventurers who ran the town were rebuilding, the new town - if one could properly call it that - was essentially a glorified leve outpost. Albeit, she allowed, it was a leve outpost with a bar, a boarding house, and some tents attached, but at this moment in time still little more than a burgeoning bump in the road. The camp's new location sat well up the ascent onto the escarpment this time, some five malms north of the old camp.

Alphinaud had observed that the new location was far more strategically advantageous, and had been more than happy to explain his theory at length without any prompting. Alisaie had scant interest in such matters, and had tuned her brother’s lecture out in favor of exploration after only a few scant minutes.

Mor Dhona had been a very pretty place once, so they had been told, lush and green. But most of the old rainforests had been destroyed, first by the great battle between the Garlean Empire and the Dravanian horde, then by Dalamud’s descent. She was grateful that for a small blessing, the window seat she had chosen did not afford her an unhampered view of the Carteneau Flats. At its epicenter grew the massive crystalline half-sphere that had settled into the face of the land like a pockmark with its shattered Allagan structures poking haphazardly out from unstable, poisonous facets. That was where Grandfather had-- where he had--

Her gaze returned to her emptied teacup.

“Are you not hungry?”

Alphinaud stood at the edge of the table with a refilled trencher and a fresh pot. She shook her head.

“Just the tea, thank you.” Alisaie all but snatched the pot away before he had even finished setting it down, grateful for the momentary distraction. “I’ll pour it myself.”

“You really can see the Keeper from here.”

“What?”

“The Keeper of the Lake. So-called.” Her brother peered out the window as he seated himself at a positively glacial pace, deep blue eyes scanning their surrounds. "See? Over there, wrapped around the HRS Agrius. ...what’s left of it, at any rate.”

Following his gaze as she poured her tea, Alisaie could just see the outline of the gruesome landmark that sat in the center of Silvertear Lake. The protruding wreckage of the doomed imperial dreadnought shimmered dully in shades of black steel and flaking vermilion paint, only barely visible in the gloaming. Without the imposing structure, the decomposing remains of the great wyrm Midgardsormr wound tightly about its sheared and exposed hull: the final embrace of a murderous lover. Over it all loomed the blue-white silhouette of a very tall crystal spire, glowing with a strange ambient light. It put her in mind of a lighthouse watchtower in a fog bank.

“So,” Alphinaud had turned back to his trencher, “have you made ready, sister? We depart on the morrow.”

“Not yet." As ever, the long and careful sip she took from the cup helped her to gather her thoughts. She set it down with a quiet porcelain rattle before she continued: "I want to go down to the Flats once more before we leave."

“Why?"

“To see if anything was left behind.”

"No." His refusal was adamant. "We’re pressed for time as it is. Even if we weren't, anything of value will have been removed years ago.”

Nerves frayed by fatigue and frustration, catching the annoyed lilt in his voice, she felt herself bristling.

“Have you even tried to look?”

“Alisaie-”

“All I ask is another day to make inquiries. One day.”

“And I am telling you we don’t have one day. The itinerary-”

“Oh, sod the bleeding itinerary!” she burst out. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you simply didn’t care to assist me at all!”

Alphinaud’s fist, still holding his fork, slammed against the table with enough emphasis to rattle her teacup saucer and splash a few droplets of its contents onto the table. She expected some sort of surprised rejoinder, or - far more likely - yet another calm (and rather condescending) explanation as to why it would be impossible to continue her search without more resources. Implying yet again, as tended to be his wont, that her requests to seek more information as to their grandfather’s whereabouts were merely part and parcel of a childish whim.

Instead, the flash of light in his eyes was that of wounded anger: one of Alphinaud’s rare displays of ill temper- or, perhaps, the grief he so rarely allowed himself to display in public. His lips were drawn into a thin, taut line and his eyes, the same deep blue as her own, appeared for a moment to be suspiciously bright. “That was unkind of you,” he accused. “You are not the only one of us who misses Grandfather, you know. Nor wishes for his safe return, if there is a return to be had." "I'm aware."

"And you know he would not have wanted us to neglect tasks of monumental importance solely for his sake. That was never his way.”

"I just… Alphinaud, we promised each other," the strident pitch of it was close enough to a plea to make her cringe, but there was little help for it, "If there’s even the slightest chance he might still be alive-”

“The chance is slim to none. You know that.” He would not meet her gaze. “And even so, we cannot linger. Grandfather’s successor will be awaiting our arrival and she is certain to have more accurate information on his whereabouts than nearly anyone you would meet here.”

“But... oh, all right. I suppose you make a valid point,” she said. You’re right, as per bloody usual. One hand curled into a fist atop the roughened wooden surface; the admission stuck squarely in her craw, but Alisaie knew full well there would be no peace between them did she allow the rule of her pride to stay her tongue. “...And that was unkind. Forgive me.”

Alphinaud said nothing for a long moment. Worry had just started to nag at the corners of her conscience when his slim, unblemished fingers reached for her hand. She relaxed her fist and allowed him to lace his fingers with hers, then in her turn covered her brother’s hand with her other palm. It was a gesture meant to placate as much as to comfort, but she supposed that particular river flowed both ways.

“We’ll come back,” Alphinaud said at length. His sigh, a long-suffering thing, seemed to close the space between them. “All right? We’ll come back. I just think we should see to his outstanding obligations first and foremost. Once that's done, you can take as much time to investigate as you like.”

Somewhat suspicious of the gesture, she peered at him from beneath her snowy veil of fringe. “Do you mean it?”

“At the first opportunity," he added. "I swear it.”

Alisaie squinted at him for a careful moment before she withdrew her hand. She drummed her fingertips upon the table for a moment, then picked up the fork that lay alongside her long-abandoned trencher. He blinked when she jabbed its business end in his direction, a movement that might have been amusing were it not also vaguely threatening.

“...I’m going to hold you to that."

“Of course you will," he groused. "You always do.”

His surly retort prompted Alisaie to finally flash a strained grin. It was the first smile she had spared for him since the pair had stood together on the deck of their ship and watched the city shrink to a bare glimmer on the horizon, swallowed by the endless dark of the open sea. Then, their purpose had been united. The weeks spent at sea and on land had eroded it, but Alisaie at least had not lost sight of her purpose.

And I will hold you to your word this time as well, little brother.

She lifted her teacup in a mock toast and watched as he followed suit.

“Well. To the road on the morrow, then,” she said. “And Gridania.”

“And Gridania.”

The meeting of the twins' cups chimed with their sealed bargain. Without the town of Revenant's Toll, the pall of dusk continued its descent.

[enigma-im]

Working for the Weekend

Rating: mature Relationship: Orc x Female!Human Warning: Cursing, punching people, courting orc, Bar maiden, courting rituals, orcs, elves, dwarves

Word Count:4177

‘I punched an elf and now this orc has become a regular at the bar’

Part 2

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "What is with orcs and bars, it's so stereotypical by now," Matilda asks me. I glance over at her with a smirk.

"Just like how stereotypical that the waitresses at these orc infested bars are normal curvy and busty," I hip check her.

Matilda looks down at her cleavage," can't help that. Men around here respond nicer to us thick ladies."

"Damn straight," Ed down the bar says. He is an old Dwarf who has been here every Saturday night since the place opened.

"See, they just have good taste," Matilda laughs.

"need another one Ed," I glance down the bar. He looks over then taps his almost empty tanker to the table. I walk over and refill his mug. Handing it back to him with a wink.

"Oh the fairest of them all," he stares dreamily," what I wouldn’t give to be 20 years younger. I could give you a run for your money."

I roll my eyes," Always the charmer Ed. Could talk a cobra out of a basket." he laughs before chugging his beer. I give a grin before turning back to the crowd.

For a Saturday it was fairly slow. The crowd was dispersed at their own tables. A few Elves talking beside the hearth. A group of miner dwarves singing near the back wall. Then near the door is a small cluster of orcs. Seen them a few nights but not enough to get to know them. It’s a nice night, going to get some good tips from those nearly piss drunk dwarves.

A little while later as the crowd dwindles the door opens. Ringing the small bell above the frame. I glance up from the bar I'm wiping down. Its another orc, a little smaller than the rest. He takes a booth seat near the opposite corner of the door. He rests his head against the wall and relaxes.

"You think he will be the last of the night," I ask Matilda. She glances to where I'm looking.

"Probably, hasn’t been that busy today. You don’t mind taking him right," she asks," I still have to check the kegs in the back. Ritz wants them recounted before he orders another batch."

"Yeah sure, just holler if you need help," I wipe my hands on the rag. I look back over to the orc, noticing how tired he looks. I can't imagine why he would come to a bar if he was so exhausted.

I walk over to him, stopping by his table. He looks at me with his head tilted back. At the closer look, I can't help but notice he is handsome. Orcs have never been my type, always loud and boisterous. But he seems like an anomaly. I could be wrong, he is tired.

"Would you like something, got food or beer. Can't ask for much more than that," I try to joke. It works a bit, he huffs with a curt smile.

"Just an ale please," he grumbles. I nod then head to the bar. Grabbing his drink then delivering it to his table. He takes a quick swig but leaves it on the table after. Closing his eyes and resting against the wall. I leave him to it, deciding to clean up the taps so I won't need to do them later.

Watching the orc out the corner of my eye I don’t notice the door open again. It isn't till someone knocks on the bar top do I acknowledge the two who walk in. looking up I immediately notice they are elves. The damn cocky bastards, never much cared for them.

"Hello, I want a honey mead," the one at the bar asked. I nod, glancing at the second one who is looking over his shoulder. As I pour the drink the second one bumps the first with his elbow. Nodding towards the orc in the corner. My defenses go up. Elves and orcs generally don’t get along. I could be wrong, I hope I'm wrong. They could just recognize an old friend. But I highly doubt it.

I hand him the mead and he passes me some coin. I take it but don’t look away as the two walks over to the lounging man. The first elf places his hand on the table, startling the orc awake. There are a few words but I can't hear from back here. I turn around the bar's end. Skirting around the edge of the room, acting like I'm cleaning by the hearth.

"-same idiot who took our kill. Can't figure you still have it," the second one says. I keep my head low and listen. Not wanting to jump to conclusions.

The orc grunts, leaning on his forearms. Cupping the mug in his large hands as he tries to ignore the two. That just pisses the elves off more.

"Answer me when I'm talking to you," the second slams his hands on the table. The cup rattles loud as its jostles in the orc's hands. A few patrons on the opposite end look over. Probably expecting a show soon.

"He probably too stupid to answer. Just a big ugly troll," the first one jokes. I don’t much care for that.

"Some bloodthirsty idiot who can only steal kills then get piss drunk with the money he takes from em," the second on laughs," perhaps we can take the coin off you. Just a fair trade for the meat you stiffed us." the orc growls but keeps his head low.

"So hand over the purse and we will be on our way," the first one leans over the table and tries to grab something off the orc. The orc gives a wide swing, knocking the elf's arm away. In second the elf pulls his sword out and points it at the orc. Aiming it towards his throat. The orc tilts his head away from the blade and sneers at the man.

Without much thought on my part, I run over. I've been working here for well over two years and I've never done something so rash. I'm not sure if it's from the spite of the situation or just cause it seemed unfair. But I still walk over, grab the arm of the second elf. Pull him towards me as my fist connects with his nose. It’s a satisfying feeling, at first. I can almost understand why men do this so often. There is something so pleasing about punching your anger out. It isn't until I feel the immediate pain that I realize why men are perhaps dumb. That fucking hurt.

"You little wench," the second one grabs his nose. Blood streaming between his fingers. Alright, that’s also very satisfying. I'll give men a little bit of slack then. The pain may be just a little worth it to see this idiot's nose bleed. A grotesque satisfaction.

"I'll have your head," the first one lunges forward. Before he can raise his hand to me the orc reaches out and grabs his neck. Standing away from the booth I can admire his height. He is tall.

"You will do no such thing," the orc sneers. Growling inches away from the now choking elf. He tries to snarl out some insult but he cants over the crushing of his throat.

"Don’t kill the lad," I rest my hand on the orc's arm," don’t want to kick you out or lose my job. The pasty twit is hardly worth it." the orc's arm twitches, straining as he grips the elf a little harder. Then he let go, the elf falling onto his knees. It’s a bit poetic to see him kneeling in front of the orc.

The second one still clutching his nose slaps at the first one shoulder," let's go." quickly the two run out the door, the Dwarves laughing as they retreat.

"Quite the hit there las," one of them tips there drink to me," he will be feelin' that for a while." the lot laughs along with him.

"Damn hope so, the man had a strong skull. Might be feeling that for while," I lift my hand. A bruise already blooming over my knuckles.

The orc beside me turns and grabs my hand. I wince but say nothing. He looks it over and sneers.

"Sorry," he grumbles," but you shouldn’t have stepped in. was a foolish thing to do."

I glare up at him," it didn’t look like you were going to do anything. And most people say thank you." I snatch my hand away from him.

"Why would I thank recklessness? It was a stupid thing you did," he growls.

"Stupid like you sitting there taking it? Excuse me for taking care of my patrons," I snap back," you enjoy your ale, sir. I will leave you be for the night." I turn, cradling my hand to my stomach. I stomp to the bar, throwing a small tantrum as I aggressively clean the bar. I don’t even glance back at the orc. If he wants to be ungrateful then let him be.

He leaves shortly after, leaving some coin on the table before he does. When I go to collect it I'm shocked its a gold coin. Well, that is unexpected.

<<<<<>>>>> Sunday night is slow, its no surprise. Tomorrow is a working day so the later it gets the fewer people are here. Tonight is generally used for deep cleaning. Doing the weekly chores like running the line or clearing the drains. It's going to be a boring night.

As I'm polishing some tankers I hear the bell ring. I turn towards the door and shocked to see the orc from yesterday. I guess this is the only pub in town but I can hardly imagine he would want to see me. Maybe he thought I wasn’t working tonight. That thought leaves when he walks towards me. He grabs a stool from the bar and sits.

"One ale please," he grunts out. I cock a brow, watching him as I grab his drink. Passing it along the bar. He grunts in thanks before taking a chug. Banging the tanker to the table when he gets his fill. He wipes his chin with his large arm then looks down at me. "Thank you for yesterday," he grumbles then leaves the bar. Dragging his drink along with him as he sits at the booth he was at last night. We'll alright.

The night progresses uneventfully. He sits in his corner, our eyes catching a few times when I look over. I continue cleaning. After about an hour he gets up and leaves. Once he is out the door I walk over to the table to grab his payment. It’s silver this time but there is also a small figurine. It’s a wolf carved from bone. The creature is sitting down, its tail hanging beside its legs. It's not badly made either, it is just a little larger than my palm. I pocket the gift and return to work.

The rest of the week repeats like this. He comes in orders a drink, then sits at his booth. The seat is never taken, the weekdays being slow. Only regulars come in, mostly older folks. He sits for about an hour then leaves. Dropping his coin and a gift. Some days it was a carved figure. Made from either bone or wood. Once it was a carving attached to a chain. The head of some creature I'm not familiar within the center of the necklace. Like before I pocket all of them. I take them home and set them on my bed frame.

On Friday he comes in like clockwork. Coming to the bar I'm already making his drink. I set it on the counter when he nears.

"Ale, don’t try to trick me today," I try to joke. Despite our rocky start, I've been kind to him. He doesn’t seem to enjoy our conversations. Always grunting in response then going to his table. I still try.

He pays my joke no mind but glances at my chest," your wearing it?"

I look down at the necklace he left me," Yea, I thought it was cute." he grunts, a start of a smile on the corner of his mouth. Then he turns and sits back at his table. That’s the most I've gotten out of him all week. Not much of a conversationalist, but I still enjoy the gifts. I consider them his apology. From the little, I know of orcs I know they are honor-bound individuals. I guess these little figures are tokens of his appreciations. I'll be a little sad when he stops.

Matilda walks over to my side, patting my shoulder." He here again," she nods to the orc," think we got ourselves a new regular? Maybe you should punch people more often," she laughs.

"Maybe I should, here I thought they came in because the drinks were cheap and the staff is cute," I joke.

"Anyway, can you help me move the barrels back there, I think one is leaking," she walks towards the backroom. I follow her. She points to the large puddle of brown liquid.

"Yep, no good," I mutter.

We together roll some of the barrels away. Struggling with the ones that were stacked. Before I could reach over and grab another I see a dark green hand beat me to it. Gripping the lip of the barrel and lifting it with ease. I turn around and see the orc. He guides the barrel to the side, setting it down gently.

"Damn, your boyfriend is strong," Matilda teases. I don’t bother glaring at her. I look at the orc and cock a brow.

"what are you doing back here," I ask.

"Helping," he grunts. He then grabs another barrel and guides it away from the growing puddle. We finally see the one with a bit of splintered wood at the top. The ale is pouring from the crack, dripping all over the floor.

"What a waste," I grumble. The orc grunts in agreement.

"Gotta grab some containers, see if we cant save it," Matilda looks around the room. She spots some large buckets in the corner. She flips them upside down, clearing out the debris.

"Wash that out first," I shout before she can bring it over. She rolls her eyes then heads out the back door to the well. I look over to the orc when she leaves. "Don’t mind helping a little more, don’t think I can tilt that by myself," I point to the barrel. He grunts. I'll take that as a yes.

Matilda returns a moment later. With the orc's help, we pour the leftovers into the bucket. The task made easier with his help. Its very kind of him to lend a hand. I know we could have figured something out but it's just simpler when someone has blind strength.

I leave Matilda to clean up the mess as I walk the orc back out to the main room. "Thanks for helping, really appreciate it," I pat his back," also for the figurines. Did you make them yourself?" I try to start a conversation.

"Yes," he answers shortly. I wait for him to add more, he doesn’t,

"Alright, well for your help how bout a drink on the house," I offer. His lips quirk again but not yet a smile.

"ok," he walks with me back to the bar. I fix his drink, passing it to him with a smile.

"I have to get back to work but thanks again," I pat his hand," don’t mind if I ask your name?" he focuses on our hands. I feel awkward, maybe he doesn’t like that. I slide them away but he snatches it before I get too far. Holding his hand over mine.

"Azhug," he grunts. I almost don’t catch it, too focused on us. It’s a simple touch but I can't help but stumble over my thoughts.

"I'm Emma," I answer," I need to get back to work." before I can retreat my hand he lifts it. Bringing it to his lips where he gives a quick peck.

"It's nice to meet you, Emma," he looks directly at me. I stare wide-eyed, lips parted. My heart stutters and my thoughts run away. Before I can say something stupid he drops my hands and walks away. Taking his drink to his booth.

I take a second to come back to now. Blushing as I try to think of what I should be doing.

The weekend passes and the week is introduced. When I come in on Monday I see Azhug already in. he is behind the bar screwing around with something. I head over and lean against the bar top. Pushing on my toes to see what he is doing. He startles when he notices me, recovers quickly. Messing with the shelf against the wall. All the harder liquors are on the table and he is changing the board.

"Whatcha doing Azhug," I ask. He drops his head, sighing before turning around. "I didn’t mean to bother you," I quickly add.

"No bother, just like hearing you say my name," he corrects.

I cock a brow," Is that right Azhug?"

"Yes," he looks me up and down. I feel a chill run up my spine. If I didn’t know any better id assume he was flirting, just a little bit.

"good to know, butter you up some when I need anything," I take to teasing.

"Don’t need to do that, just ask for anything," he raises a brow. His lips quirking just a bit. What I wouldn’t give to see him smile.

"Anything," I lean against my arms. Perking my chest a bit. I grin when I catch him peaking for a second.

"yes," he grunts.

"Then I want to know what you are doing," I lean back, standing straight. He huffs, his shoulders losing some tension I didn’t notice he had.

"Fixing the shelf," he points behind himself.

"I got that much, why are you fixing it," I reiterate.

"Was going to break, I asked Ritz if I could fix it for you," he answers.

"Fixing it for me," I tilt my head," don’t see how I benefit too much from this." he turns away from me and continues his work. I assume he isn't going to answer but he surprises me.

"Didn’t want you to get hurt," he finally answers," could break and fall while you are here."

I watch his back as the shirt is pulled a little taunt when he raises his arms," well that’s kind of you." he grunts in acknowledgment and continues working. I figure it’s the end of the conversation so I head on to the back to get ready for work.

The week goes about similar to that day. He is around fixing things in the bar. Having short conversations with me when I ask what he is up to. They are pleasant conversation but always short. Azhug isn't much of a conversationalist. With all the tasks he is getting done I just hope he is getting paid properly. I know Ritz can be a cheap son of a bitch.

As the week comes to an end on Thursday I see the usual group of orcs walk in. loud as always, a strong contrast to Azhug's personality. I walk over to them and take their orders.

"Hello boys, what will you all be having," I grin at the group.

"All have a pint of ale, don’t know why you bother asking. We aren't very original," one laughs.

"I don’t know, I'm feeling the mead this time," another ponders," Nah, ale hits the spot better." the group chuckles at him.

"Say where is that heavy-hearted lad at, I don’t see him," one of them looks over to the bar.

"Who you asking about," I look where he is looking.

"The lad who is courting you, I had a question about something," he looks back at me. I squint at him confused. Who is courting me?

"I'm not sure I know who you are referring to," I answer.

He looks at me like I'm dumb," the less bulky looking orc. The one who has been all over you for the past two weeks. Are you daft?"

"Azhug? No, he isn't courting me. Man can barely keep a conversation with me," I huff at myself. They don’t think it's so funny.

"Believe me, Emma, he is courting you. Shouldn’t be too long before he lifts you on his shoulder and takes you off to wear your thighs like ear muffs," he laughs. My face immediately gets red. I look away from the group, hiding my face from them.

"what are you doing," I hear someone say from behind me.

"Its lover boy himself. I didn’t see you back there, fixing something for the lass in the back I'm assuming," the loud one greets Azhug. I turn and see him glaring at the orc. I startle when he hand holds my waist, pulling me back against him.

"No need to get so taunt, we aren't trying to steal her away," another orc calls from down the table.

"Yea, we just educating her on our culture. Say, when are you sweeping her off her feet. Can't imagine you are too far away from that," a different one calls. Azhug sneers at the group. His hand sliding over my stomach, my back flush with his front.

The room gets tense as Azhug glares at the party of orcs. Seeming to stake his claim in front of them all before leaning down towards me.

"Sorry," he mumbles. He then turns with me and guides me back to the bar. Leading me around the table and letting go when we are near the drinks. I can faintly hear the group laughing behind us.

"What was that about," I ask as I fix the party's drinks.

"Nothing, they are just teasing," he glares over me. I snap my fingers in front of his face, catching his attention.

"I don’t think they were just teasing," I look between his eyes," answer me honestly. Are you courting me?" he squints down at me, trying to figure out a way to deny it.

"yes," he grunts. He remains tense, waiting for my response. His fists are clenched and his shoulders taut. I can't help but admire the way his arms flex. The muscle tempting and alluring. Azhug is surely an attractive man.

"Ok, good," I answer. He looks transform to shocked, a little confused.

"What, really," his mouth quirks.

"Yea, I think you could be a good mate. I just need you to talk more," I grin," can't keep a conversation with just myself. Think you can do that?"

He nods," I can do that."

"then alright. Court away," I flourish my hand," but can you explain it to me first."

"Yes, I can do that. Uh, courting happens in parts. Gifts, actions, then taking. I gave you the gifts I made, you took them. Then I'm supposed to help fix up your home or our future home. I don’t know where you live and didn’t want to scare you. So I'm helping the pub. Then finally I take you," he explains. This is the most I've heard him speak in one go. It's nice.

"Take me, like what," I tilt my head.

"Sex," he answers bluntly," we make love. Its where we claim each other and are official." I can't help the blush.

"When does that happen?"

"two days," he takes a step forward. He rests his hands on the bar behind me. Trapping me between himself and the table. He leans down near my ear," I will take you, going somewhere I choose. I'll show you how I will treat you for the rest of our lives. Make you cum as much as possible before reaching my own end. Learning your body as intimately as I can. I will worship you, love you like no one ever before. That is what will happen in two days because you have accepted my courtship. You will be mine Emma and I will be yours."

He leans back and looks upon my red face. I'm biting my lip and damn near whimpering. I know I'm wet, his deep voice having rumbled through my chest. His hot breath on my ear as he whispered those dirty things. I think I might be excited about it now. This large handsome orc wishes to worship me. I can get behind that.

Glancing up at his face I can see a large smile. Its everything I thought it would be. It's an amazing look for him. His eyes slightly crinkled as his cheeks are pulled up. His tusk protruding proudly and his other teeth visible. I can't help it, I cup his face and stand on my toes. I give a quick kiss to his lips. I can feel him stop breathing.

"I can't wait," I peck him again.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My favorite monster lover is orcs, i just love big beefy men. I’m a simple woman. i just like a man who can bench press me. Part 2

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main Blog

[the-goth-catte]

A Shifting of the Sands: I

The sun might have set over the barren, rocky desert of Thanalan, but the heat had yet to fully abate. Perhaps a bell, maybe two, had passed since the radiant disc that burned so bright, and hot, over the arid landscape had set, and blessed darkness had descended to give its slowly-cooling relief to the denizens of the scorched desert. As the sun had sank beneath the glittering domes and spires of Ul’dah, the sky had come to life with a myriad of blazing, brilliant colors - painting both the sky, and the imagination, in rich hues of orange and red, fading up to purples and deep blues, eventually merging all together into the blackness of the abyss at the crown of the world. As the moments ticked past the colors played out their panoramic show for all the world to see, living art dancing gleefully in the skies above them; at dusk slowly ilmed its way toward full night a sprinkling of stars began to twinkle into existence in the darkness that replaced the vivid sunset; only the brightest appeared at first, their brilliant radiance defiant against the dying of the day’s light. But as the world descended further into darkness, their brethren began to shine fully into view until the sky was once again alight with color. This time, instead of broad swaths across the entirety of the horizon it was a dazzling show of faintly shimmering lights across the heavens, like little camp fires on some far and distant shore.

Y'naalie Vhenna had sat on a moss covered rock, the gentle mist from the slow running stream-turned-waterfall wafting over her sweat-coated, exhaustion-laced limbs. Beneath that slowly fading sky, magenta eyes watching the colors bleed from the day as the twinkling lights of the stars slowly showed their radiant faces. The day had been long for her - most days, truth be told, were - and these quiet moments in which the world transitioned slowly from the glaring, bright heat of desert day to the calm, strangely serene night were some of the scant few in which she could find a measure of peace. From well before the rising of the sun at dawn Naalie was hard at work within the halls of the gladiator's guild, honing her craft to be the fiercest underdog that stepped foot onto the blood sands. Being as short as she was, as slender as she was, Naalie was no stranger to not being taken seriously in the world of combat; larger foes oft looked down their noses at the diminutive gladiatrix, scoffing away the woman against whom they had been pitted due to her stature. These disdainful, dismissive looks from gladiators and fans alike only drove her to train harder, fight harder... so that she could show them just how ferocious she can be. And that is why Naalie rose several bells before the dawn began to lighten the horizon, shuffling her way to the hall so that she could be the first in to practice her maneuvers... and why she was oft the last one to leave, leaden limbs carrying her out into Ul'dah by instinct alone. Not wishing to return to the cramped, crowded apartment that she shared with the remnants of her tribe, Naalie often found herself wandering beyond the city walls and into the desert proper; if she got here at just the right time of night, like tonight, it was a sight to behold and worked some sort of magical wonder at easing some of the tension that perpetually plagued her body. As the world fully gave way to night, the little nocturnal creatures began to stir themselves to life; night time insects began to chirp their songs to one another, creating an almost organic melody that carried across the barren wastes while keen-eyed birds made their shrill calls and gentle coos in search of dinner and companionship. And all the while, the splashing of the small waterfall behind her added a soothing soundtrack that Naalie could sit and enjoy for bells on end. A gentle breeze picked up the mist from the falling water, carrying it across the rock upon which Naalie sat and out toward the arid landscape beyond; what little moisture in it wouldn't last long, this verdant oasis seeming to cling jealously to the precious water and plant life it had carved out for itself. A backward glance from Naalie was all that it took for the idea of slipping into the water to form in her mind; despite the retreat of the sun, it was still quite hot in the desert... and coupled with the weary exhaustion, the thin film of dried sweat, and the need to do anything relaxing, well... it was too much for the blonde Miqo'te to resist. Never shy about nudity, even when around others, Naalie surmised that she was alone enough to justify shedding her training clothes without undue attention; making short work of the wardrobe, and glad to be out of the clothes that clung limply to her skin, she was soon slipping into the knee-deep water with a newfound energy. Slender legs splashed through the dirty, sand-laced water without a care, seeming to take a certain glee in making noise and kicking up the water; by the time she'd shuffled underneath the crisp, falling water there resided a small, content smile on her thin lips. With her head back, Naalie allowed the cool water to soak her hair and flow over her face; rivers of the sweet, refreshing liquid ran down her body to join once again at the pool in which she stood. She was the proverbial stone in their path, the obstacle around which they must flow to continue their journey eternal. But what a delightful stone to be, if for that moment alone. Clap. Clap. Clap. Three staccato bursts of sound, so innocuous and innocent, snapped Naalie out of the quiet reverie of her moment of oneness with nature. The Miqo'te turned, hand reaching quickly for the blade that always rested at her hip. The blade that was, specifically, not at her hip at she stood beneath the cold, flowing water. Fingers clenching futilely at empty air, the gladiatrix grimaced as she realized her potentially dangerous predicament.  Standing just shy of the lapping edge of the sandy pool were three figures, two tall and imposing uniformed men flanking a short, swarthy, gaudily dressed Lalafell man. His hands held still before him, motionless after the dramatic announcement of the trio's arrival; gloves of black silk padded the percussion of his palms, muffling the sound somewhat against the song of the desert night. The gloves, like the rest of the flowing and colorful silks he wore and seemingly limitless number of gemstone encrusted jewelry bedazzling his figure, spoke of an ostentatious amount of wealth. The smirk on his lips, the gleam in his eye, all suggested this was a man who seldom, if ever, didn't get what he wanted. Money. Power. Influence. Danger. All writ large on the smug expression of that little Dunesfolk. "Who-" Naalie began, only to be cut off by the little man. His arms retracted, folding lackadaisically over his partially bared chest; Naalie could see the glistening of oiled and perfumed chest hairs peaking out from the edges of his robe, catching the reflection of the wan moonlight. For some reason, that was what caught her eye beyond all else. "Who I am isn't necessarily what you should be concerned about," His voice, gods, his voice. Grating and nasal, it was every bit unpleasant as one would assume from looking at him. "It's who you are that is why we're here." He went on, leaving no room for interruption, "The Crimson Jaguar, Ul'dah's scappiest little gladiator! Not undefeated, but quite impressive in the arena. A darling favorite of the Jewel and her people, not to mention the bookies who rake in the gil hand over fist with every hard-fought victory you claw for yourself. I'm a fan, I'm quite impressed. Smitten, even. To think, I'm in the presence of the Crimson Jaguar. Boys, can you believe it?" The little Lalafell asked, glancing up to the two men on either side of him; a dull chorus of laughter echoed following his prompting, though from the sound of it neither men truly understood what they were laughing at.  "Can't believe it, boss." "Nope, I don't believe it." With the snap of his fingers the two goons fell into immediate, practiced silence so that the only sounds were, once again, the singing of the crickets and the splashing of falling water. There was something uncomfortable in that man's stare, something intense and foreboding. The slowly spreading, more-than-slightly sinister smile did nothing to allay that notion. "Now, if I remember correctly..." the nameless man went on, "... you have an important fight coming up, don't you? Against, oh... what was his name...? Boys, do you remember?" "Sure don't, boss." "Nope, boss, can't remember." Snap. "Bjornulf. Bjornulf the Hellsbeast." "Oh, boss, it was Bjornulf." "Bjornulf, boss, I think is the guy's name." The chorus chimed in. "Bjornulf the Hellsbeast," the man echoed once again, clucking his tongue as if, for some reason, this provoked some sort of thought in the devious little cogs of his mind. "You know, my sweet Crimson Jaguar, the odds they have in the betting houses? You to defeat that monster of a Hrothgar by over 50:1! Ul'dah's rising star." He paused his speech, only to begin a slow, idle pace around the water's edge without ever coming so close as to sully the shoes he wore. "A lot of people stand to make a lot of gil when you win that fight. They'd be crazy to bet against somebody who has shown as much skill and determination and drive as you have. I mean, could you even imagine the payout if somebody were to go all in on Bjornulf and he won?" The Lalafell asked; at first, the question seemed innocuous enough, but the tone with which it was delivered... the narrowing of the eyes, the arching of the brow, the curling of the lips. It wasn't a question, it was a suggestion. An offer? A threat. As the realization dawned on Naalie, the Lalafell's smile grew all the broader... and feigned innocence. Little shoulders lifted in a shrug, prompting the jingle-jangle of excessive jewelry to call out in the still night. "I'm not going to thro-" Naalie began, before once again being cut off. "Nobody is asking you to throw anything," The Lalafell cut in once again, his tone harsh. "But, if it happened... the payout." His demeanor shifted, his smile returned, and his shoulders shrugged their nonchalant little shrug. "And I'm certain your patrons would reward you for your valiant effort, win or lose. There's no shame in it, after all... right, boys?" "No shame, right boys?" Left goon echoed. "Left boys, no shame." Right goon said. The Lalafell paused at that, merely shaking his head a few seconds later. "You don't know who I am, Crimson Jaguar, but I know who you are. And I know who pulls your strings. Work with me and we can go far. Don't, and..." his golden eyes shifted to the side, brow arching with an unspoken implication. "... well, you're a smart girl." An awkward moment of silence followed before the man turned, giving a wave by the wiggling of his fingers, and walked away into the desert with his cohorts.

[inlovewithsaturn]

Dean Winchester’s 42nd Birthday

Dean woke up on his 42nd birthday the way he had been waking up nearly every day in the last few months: an armful of white fur and wet kisses across his cheeks. When Miracle first came home with them Dean had made sure to get her a big, cushy, memory foam dog bed so that she would be comfortable, but it had taken all of three nights for him to relent and let her sleep pressed against his side. He liked having her there, hell, he didn't even try and hide it. He was trying to hide things less now. He was trying to be better. ** **

He was trying to be the man Cas had told him he was. 

The thought of Cas had him hugging Miracle just a little tighter to his chest, burying his face in her warm fur. He thought about Cas a lot. His eyes, his final moments, his confession. Dean missed him more than he really thought was possible. But life goes on. You lose people and you have to keep going, no matter how big the ache in your chest gets, you have to keep going. That's what Dean was trying to do. He wanted Cas’s sacrifice to mean something. If he got out now Cas’s death would have been for naught, so he kept going. 

There had been some close calls, even as the number of hunts got lower and lower. Dean had a nasty gash still healing on his ribs from where a piece of rebar almost got him, now that would have been a dumb way to go. Those first couple of weeks had been hard. Dean contemplated just ending it all, he wasn't really sure how to go on after everything that happened, wasn't sure how to fill the angel-sized hole in his heart. But Cas’s words played on his head in a loop and he wasn't going to die and throw away the chance Cas had died to give him. He loved the other man far too much to let that happen. 

So Dean got up, he pulled on his dead guy robe and grabbed the plate from last night’s pizza rolls, and he scratched Miracle behind the ears. Today was going to be a good day, whether the universe wanted it to be or not. He hummed as he walked to the kitchen. He was doing better. Coffee was scenting the air as he neared the doorway and, oh, bacon? Happy birthday to him! As he grinned and rounded the doorway three things immediately became clear. 1. That was not his brother (way too short), 2. The “unbreakable” glass plates he got at the store were not in fact unbreakable if the cuts pricking his legs were to be believed, and 3. He was going to get to start his birthday by killing whatever son of a bitch had decided to put on that trenchcoat and waltz into his home. 

The shattering dinnerware caused the creature to turn in surprise, it's elbow nearly bumping the frying pan to the ground, but it caught it at the last moment. It then turned back, blue eyes locking with green. Dean was frozen, not for long but for longer than a seasoned hunter should have been. In two long strides he had a knife from the butcher block in his grip and was pressing the blade to the fucker’s neck with his other arm solidly around it’s chest. His voice was wobbling when he spoke. 

“I dont care what the fuck you are, get out of that body now or your death is gonna take a hell of a lot longer than it needs to.” 

The sigh of frustration coming from the monster was almost expected. Monsters were cocky little bastards. The words it spoke though? Rather surprising. 

“Dean, if you don't let me go the bacon is going to burn and this is the only pack in the fridge.” 

Huh. Okay. So it was going to get extra tortured then. It was one thing to take his shape but pretending to be his angel cooking him breakfast was another. He pressed down harder with the knife, drawing a blood and a wince-

“Cas?” 

Dean didn't loosen his hold but he did turn his neck to look at Sam, who was currently in the same position of shock Dean had vacated moments earlier. His brother’s face pushed the tears that were burning the back of his eyes into the light. He needed a drink. 

“Sam, get the silver and the holy water from the cupboard,” Sam didn't move. “Now!” Dean gritted out, just as the monster cut in. 

“I'm not a shapeshifter Dean, or a demon, I was just trying to make breakfast.” 

“Shut up. Stop saying my name.” Was all Dean could manage. He had been thinking about hearing Cas say his name, just once more, for weeks now. This was agony. 

Sam had apparently been shaken from his trance because the next thing Dean felt was residual holy water splashing his cheek. He let go of one arm so Sam could push up the coat, his coat, and draw the thin silver blade over skin. 

Nothing happened except a few pricks of blood and a sharp inhale that Dean could feel pressed against his chest. Then there was a quiet, fluttering, woosh to his left. A sound he hadn't heard in months. 

“It seems I should have arrived at the same time as Cas, sorry about that.” 

Dean’s brain was going way too fast. It felt like there was cotton stuffed in his ears and all the way through his skull. The edges of his vision went dark, zeroing in on the figure standing next to the stove, white jacket somehow almost glowing. Now Dean was almost certain that this was a dream because the last thing he saw before fainting backwards into the counter was Jack, smiling like there was absolutely nothing amiss. 

His head hurt. Not like a hangover but more like that time a vampire had clocked him from behind with a 2x4. He opened his eyes, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. That dream had been insane. Why was he in the kitchen? 

“How is your head Dean?” Cas’s low voice washed over him in a sea of warmth. 

“It hurts like a bitch. What happened Cas?” 

Oh fuck. Not a dream. 

Dean pushed up so he was sitting and tried to stand and tackle the man before him at the same time but the floor seemed to rush towards him and he ended up slumped on Cas’s chest. Warm arms caught him by the waist and sat him back down. A large hand gripped his chin and he was turned to see his brother. 

“Calm the hell down okay? You hit your head pretty hard on the counter.” Dean jerked his eyes back to Cas and tried, again unsuccessfully, to leave his hold. His face was turned again. 

“He's not a monster Dean, stop moving. You have a cut.” Sam lifted his hand to place a small bandaid on Dean’s eyebrow. 

“What?” 

“Jack pulled me out. Please let your brother finish his first aid so we can talk.” 

Dean sat still. 

Once Sam was satisfied with his handiwork he and Cas helped Dean stand and move to the table. 

Dean sat still. 

This was not happening. How in the world could it be? 

Cas sat in front of him. Cas gazed at him with a mix of worry and pure joy. Cas reached out a hand to gently squeeze the one Dean had lying limp on the tabletop. He felt real. He felt like Cas. 

“Cas?” Cas smiled wider. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

Tears slid down Dean’s cheeks as his hand not currently occupied with gripping onto Cas lifted, shaking, to brush across the angel’s cheekbone. He was really here. He was warm and solid and breathing. He was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. 

“How are you here?” His voice was barely above a whisper. He was terrified that if he spoke too loud or moved too fast this would all fall apart and he would wake back up in his bed, alone with only his dog and memories to keep him going. 

“Jack came to an agreement with the Empty, he could help it sleep if he was allowed to pull a few angels out to help in Heaven. I was the first.” 

“I prayed to you Cas. I didn't think you could hear me but I kept praying. How long have you been out?” At this, sadness shadows across blue eyes, guilt evident in his ethereal features. 

“A while by Earth standards of time. There was so much to be done. I heard them. I heard you.” 

He looks back up. 

“I am sorry Dean, we worked as fast as we could. I cannot tell you what it is now, but it is far better than what my father created. Jack is a good leader. It was important I finished before I saw you again.” 

“Why?” Dean is now holding both of Castiel’s hands in his own. A sad smile graces Cas’s mouth.

“Because I knew once I saw you I would be unable to leave you again.” 

Dean stands, the floor now remaining steady under his feet, and has his arms around Cas in seconds. Castiel stands as well so he can wrap around him, Dean’s face quickly finding its home in the crook of Cas’s neck. 

“Thank you.” 

“I didn't actually do it, Jack is the one to thank.” 

“No.” Dean pulls back so he can see Cas’s face. “Thank you for coming back.” 

“I’ll always come when you call.” 

Dean pulls him back in, suffocating himself in the scent of Cas. He stays that way for a time, only pulling away when he hears a small giggle from behind him. Jack is beaming, as is Sam, and Dean rushes to envelop Jack in a hug as well. 

“Thanks kid.” 

“Of course, Dean. It was his choice anyway, I just made it happen. I don't think there is anyone better to teach him how to be human than you and Sam.” 

Dean pulls back. 

“Human?” 

Cas speaks again, anxiety laced into his words. 

“Yes, as Jack said, I made the choice. I can go somewhere else if that-” Dean’s arms surround him once again, crushing any doubts he was holding. 

“We are gonna teach you everything okay? You're gonna love it.” Dean is smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. Cas is staying here. Cas is human and real and he's here. 

“I know you all need to catch up on some things but I do have some pressing matters to get back to, and I brought a birthday cake that I would very much like to eat.” Dean doesn't know if he will ever be able to feel this much joy ever again. 

“And I insisted on a birthday pie as well, though it is not traditional I thought it may be appreciated.” Dean’s heart could have exploded right then and there. Cas is the best thing that ever happened to him. 

“Get some plates Sammy.” 

They sit down, Cas and Dean on one side, Sam and Jack on the other. They eat cake. Dean eats pie. They tell Cas about the things Dean left out of his prayers, like Dean’s application to a local mechanic, and how Eilleen has been staying over more and more. They all hug Jack goodbye and he promises to drop in sometimes. Sam leaves to call Eilleen, and finally Dean and Castiel are sitting side by side in the empty kitchen. Cas speaks first. 

“I got you something.” Dean blushes and averts his eyes from the man beside him. 

“You didn't have to Cas. You coming back is pretty much the birthday gift of a lifetime.” Cas chuckles at that but slips his hand into the breast pocket of his coat all the same. 

“I wanted to. You deserve good things, Dean. Especially on your birthday.” Dean wants to make a joke about how utterly unworthy he is of anything Cas has to offer but the words die in his throat as Castiel stands from his seat to kneel on the cold floor beside him. Holy shit. 

“I heard your prayers Dean. I know how hard you tried to get me out. I know about your mom’s ring. I could hear the life you planned out for us. I heard everything. I could see you too. I know how hard you have been working to be true to yourself. I never regretted for a moment that I let the Empty take me. Not one. You are worth everything. I rebuilt Heaven for you, Dean. Everyone will benefit but I did it for you. You are so full of love. From the moment I raised you out of hell I knew I would never lay my eyes on another soul as beautiful as yours. I know I do not technically exist and you are legally dead but I do not want to spend another moment without you. So, Dean Winchester, will you marry me?” 

Dean is on his knees, hands cradling Cas’s face, lips crashing against the ex-angel’s before he can even utter his response. He’s been wanting to do this for years. Dean kisses with every ounce of adoration he has in him, pushing away only when he needs to breathe. Their foreheads rest against each other, two sets of tears mixing on cheeks. They are breathing the same air, eyes still closed, chests rising and falling in frantic harmony. 

“Yes! I love you. I love you so much I can hardly stand it.” 

They're kissing again, soft and sweet. Dean’s fingers are threaded through dark hair, he never wants to let go. They stay kneeling on the bunker floor wrapped in eachother’s arms for what feels like an eternity. Once Dean can feel his knees giving out he stands and drags Cas along with him, the shorter man scooping up the ring box on the way. Dean hadn't even seen the ring yet. Cas clutches his hand and rests it over his heart while he fumbles to get the jewelry free. 

It's a simple band, nothing flashy or ornate, but Dean’s eyes catch on something engraved inside. Cas reads his mind, the same way he always does. 

“For Love,” Castiel smiles that same watery smile that is seared into Dean’s heart.

“The engraving, that's what it says. I made it before we came.” With those words he slips the ring onto Dean’s hand. He doesn't let go, only uses one hand to pull Dean back in, kissing him with all the love in the world. Dean kisses back, matching him move for move. 

The next day they walk hand in hand through the door of the lone jewelry store in Lebanon, Mary’s old ring in Dean’s pocket. Lighter silver than the one on Dean’s finger but fitting all the same. They get it engraved too. 

“We are.” 

[valiantly-onward]

The Serpentine War Ch. 4

A Garmadon chapter, finally! I had a blast writing this, mostly because I love Garmadon (heads up, it’s a little longer than the last few).

Chapter 4: What It Takes To Win

Garmadon dodged another strike from the side. Clouse was getting sneaky about his attacks - feinting with one dagger while driving the other up toward his enemy’s ribcage. As his enemy was usually Garmadon, it was in Garmadon’s best interest to keep dodging.

For months, they’d sparred with wooden weapons, then dulled blades, and now real ones. As if Garmadon needed to start small. But centuries with Wu and their father had taught Garmadon to recognize lessons when they were present. Chen was testing them. He was always testing them.

Garmadon let his katana spin for a millisecond, a little fun, and slammed it down to catch Clouse’s rising knife. He caught Clouse’s other arm by the wrist. They grappled. Clouse’s lipless mouth curled in a snarl.

Garmadon smiled in return, to mask how hard he was truly fighting. Clouse was slimy, but he was a worthy combatant. Worthy enough to battle a son of the First Spinjitzu Master.

Something in Garmadon’s chest hummed, but he pushed it down. Spinjitzu was forbidden from these spars. Just good old fashioned butt-kicking.

Clouse dropped the knife from his trapped hand. Garmadon looked down to avoid the clattering blade; Clouse used the opportunity to pull his second knife back and slice at Garmadon’s exposed forearm. Silver slashed through the black sleeve, grazing skin.

Just one cut, but Garmadon felt livid. How dare this creature draw his blood? Garmadon leapt up and spun - one kick, to disarm, another a millisecond behind, to break Clouse’s nose.

Garmadon landed low to the ground with one knee extended behind him, his side to Clouse. Be ready for anything, said the warrior in him.

But Clouse was on his back, his lip barely split.

Garmadon straightened. “No broken nose. A pity. It might’ve saved your looks yet.”

Clouse scowled as he felt for the blood on his lip.

“Ah, right,” Garmadon continued. “Nothing could save your looks. Thanks for reminding me.”

Clouse growled, lifting a glowing purple hand. Just as the dagger flew back into his palm, a voice called over the yard, “None of that, Clouse. Today, the victory goes to Garmadon.”

Both men turned to the approaching speaker. Master Chen was a pale man with a head of auburn hair that seemed to wilt in the sun. He’d taken to wearing strange robes now, black with red underwraps. The belt buckle engraved with snake heads seemed to be in poor taste, especially nowadays, but what did Chen have to fear? He was the most powerful man in this small bubble he’d created.

Well, the second most powerful man. He would not achieve that status again until Garmadon was gone. Chen knew this of course, but somehow Garmadon thought he still might be Chen’s favorite. He understood so little of this man, and yet so much.

Chen rubbed his chin as Clouse scrambled to his feet. “Clouse.”

“Master,” said Clouse, squaring his shoulders.

“Go check on your little pet.”

Clouse bowed and turned away. Garmadon felt his deadly glare boring into the back of Garmadon’s head.

Once Clouse was gone, Chen raised an eyebrow. “You must do what it takes to win, Garmadon.”

“I did win,” Garmadon protested.

“That? That was much too close.” Chen took his shoulder and guided him back through the courtyard. “Oh, Garmadon. Clouse has his talents. Useful talents. But a man of your skill should never come so close to being bested in combat. You are too powerful for that.”

Garmadon frowned. It was nothing Garmadon didn’t know himself. But coming from Chen, it felt strangely worrisome. Garmadon had won, and won honorably, but it seemed Chen didn’t just want him to win. He wanted him to win utterly, not barely.

There was no need for Garmadon to reorient himself to this concept. It made perfect sense. More sense than holding back for the sake of honor.

“I understand,” he said.

“Good.” Chen patted his shoulder before releasing him. “Greater things await you, Garmadon, if you choose them. Now go. I want you to meditate. Tomorrow may be an important day for you.”

He strode off to the gardens, leaving Garmadon alone on the patio.

~~~

Garmadon lay in his bed, hands folded over his chest, and tried to decide what he wanted.

He often wondered that, even hundreds of years old and having seen things that Chen could never dream of, Garmadon was still here, deferring to the man as a master.

But Chen opened the doorway into the part of Garmadon he had always been forbidden to go - by Wu, and by their father before them.

Greater things await you.

There was no battle technique Chen could teach that Garmadon didn’t know. Garmadon was already the most powerful person in the room, in any room, any place in the world. 

So what did he want?

Garmadon sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the cot. It was this: he couldn’t bear to spend years cooped up in a monastery like Wu, only revealing his power between centuries. He saw the potential of power when no one else did. And he wanted more of it. In this, Chen seemed to know something Garmadon didn’t.

Maybe this way, he’d find some peace.

He’d tried everything else. Maybe, even with staunch darkness pulsing in his blood, this was the way. Enough peace to offer Misako a whole, unblemished heart.

Misako. It was harder every day to remember the real Garmadon, not the blackened one that seemed to be slowly eating him from the inside out. Misako, his lifeline. He would fight it, for her. He had to.

He pushed himself off the bed, suddenly angry. He couldn’t meditate when he felt this way.

Garmadon pulled his screen door open. It was dark already; stars peppered the night sky above the courtyard. Garmadon tightened the belt of his gi and wandered out. Usually when he felt like hitting something, the night air helped, but not tonight.

He was considering blasting apart one of the training spinners to cool his nerves when he heard voices. Only then did he notice the light spilling from the nearest window, shadows moving behind the screen.

Garmadon cocked his head. Hm. He moved closer and his gut twisted upon recognizing Clouse’s silky tone.

“...never thought I would have to face him,” Clouse was saying.

“I have told you before, Clouse.” This was Chen. “Garmadon came to me. It is not my fault you cannot beat him. The strong survive in this world.”

Clouse made an annoyed sound. “Master - I am not weak.”

“Only a weak man would say that.” Chen’s silhouette moved across the screen. “Prove it to me, Clouse. Prove you deserve a place at my side in the world to come.”

The world to come. Garmadon frowned.

“I thought I already proved that. That’s why you have shown me this and not Garmadon.”

“Garmadon clings to his brother’s moral code,” Chen replied smoothly. “I am trying to show him the way I taught you. Yes, Clouse, you do not have his weakness. Yours is that you understand what you must do, but you do not do it.”

“I would -”

Chen’s silhouette raised a hand and Clouse fell silent.

“Prove it to me,” Chen repeated. “That is all for tonight, Clouse. You may retire.”

Garmadon heard footsteps across the floor inside as Clouse left to his room, deeper within the house. Garmadon waited for a moment, but Chen was alone. So Garmadon silently traced his steps back to his room and slid the door shut. He leaned his back against it for a moment, thinking.

It was like the old days, right after Father’s death, back when he and Wu faced threat after threat. Garmadon had learned to recognize something in the way those threats spoke - and tonight, not for the first time, he had heard it in Chen’s voice.

He knew what Wu would do.

But what did Garmadon want?

He fell asleep before he found the answer.

~~~

Clouse was in the training yard the next morning. Garmadon looked like he’d slept in his gi, which he had, and on his floor, which he also had. The bed had seemed too troublesome in the late hours of the morning.

Clouse, strangely, had no weapons with him today, but the wooden swords of months past lay on the stone before him.

Garmadon stopped by the first training spinner. His hatred for Clouse simmered for a moment. “I accept your surrender.”

“Pick up the stick, Garmadon,” Clouse sneered.

What was he playing at? No better way to find out than to play along. Garmadon strode up to him and scooped up the wooden sword. He swung it a few times with a smirk. “Too scared to face me with a real blade?”

Clouse’s smile was as unfriendly as a smile could get. He extended his sword.

They circled each other. It occurred to Garmadon that the yard was completely empty. Even while they trained, there were always a few servants hovering around. Not today.

Garmadon struck first, but Clouse was fast. They held for a moment, caught in each other’s crossguards. There was something different about Clouse this morning. An intensity anew in his expression.

Clouse yelled as he threw his weight forward, forcing Garmadon back. Garmadon leapt out of the way to dodge the strike, and he was up on the nearest spinner, light on his feet. Clouse rushed him. Garmadon parried; the wood splintered a little. He copied Clouse’s move, forcing him back - and adding a little power behind the push that Clouse couldn’t hope to counter.

Without warning, the spinner began to move. Garmadon went with it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Clouse coming for him again. He ducked under the now-spinning axe and turned, running against the machine’s momentum. Leap over a low mace. Another axe. But he wasn’t getting very far - the spinner was speeding up.

A thump behind him. That would be Clouse joining the party.

Garmadon made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder to defend himself. Instead, he got a faceful of mace.

The world went bright for moment and Garmadon wasn’t quite sure how he ended up back on the stones, Clouse groaning beside him. Garmadon shook the pain out of his head and sprang up just as Clouse raised his head. He forced Clouse down with a fist against the man’s chest. Clouse growled like a beast. His fist collided with the sore spot on Garmadon’s cheekbone. Garmadon’s falter allowed the tables to turn, quite literally, and Clouse was above him now, his eyes waning purple...

“Good Garmadon,” said Chen’s voice nearby. Garmadon gained the advantage again. “Good Clouse. But you're both holding back. Might I add he who wins this fight shall become my right hand and be granted lordship?”

Both their faces snapped toward Chen. Lordship! And his right hand? Did he mean it?

Something hit Garmadon hard in the gut. Clouse had kicked him, and now he was scrambling up, all restraint gone. That new intensity burned in his face. Before Garmadon could get to his feet, Clouse raised his hands and let them fill with that strange magic of his. Purple light cast itself at the wooden spinners. They sprung up as if they had legs and launched themselves in Garmadon’s direction.

Garmadon had a split second to make a decision.

You must do what it takes to win.

Garmadon knew how to win.

It had been so long, but Spinjitzu wasn’t something that could be forgotten. Not for Garmadon. It was his father’s greatest legacy.

The world rushed violet and when Garmadon emerged, the remains of the training equipment were scattered around the yard. Clouse was on his back, splinters of wood lying across his chest.

Clouse furiously shoved away the broken poles. “He cheated, Master! You told us Spinjitzu was forbidden!”

Chen smiled coldly down at Clouse. “He did what he had to do to win.”

Clouse looked stricken. But Chen turned to Garmadon, his expression sly and proud. “Congratulations...Lord Garmadon.”

@greenygreenland

[shotsbyshae]

Colors

Hunter Steve Series Masterlist

Warnings: Language, Murder, Bloody, Little Smut-ish

Words: 2.9k

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: A hunter turned vampire makes for the deadliest hunter around. What happens when an old foe decides to make their own breed of assassins?  Song: Colors by Halsey

You’re ripped apart at every edge,

but you’re a masterpiece.

Sleep.

You've always considered it the most important part of any day.

It doesn’t matter where or how outdated the motel is or if the mattress feels like a slab of concrete against your back, sleep is you time. You've always done just fine on your own, sleeping alone was never an issue.

Then you woke up one night – some shitty room outside of Denver – found yourself curled into him. One pillow was somehow supporting both of you, his arm draped across your waist lazily. He had stirred slightly with your movement and his arm tightened, pulling you closer to his chest. You had nuzzled your face against his neck as he rested his chin against the top of your scalp.

It should have felt suffocating.

But it didn’t.

It was something different – something you hadn’t felt since becoming a vampire.

Safe.

It’s in the middle of the night when they come. Finding you and Steve curled into one another – sleeping peacefully – at your most vulnerable. They are in the room before either of you are aware of it, bright LED flashlights blinding you before a there’s a sharp pain in your neck. An angry snarl rips from your chest as your fangs descend and you reach, feeling a gloved hand there with a syringe. Everything starts to go numb and you try to fight, but it’s pointless as they drag you from the bed. From the glow of the flashlights you can see Steve wide-eyed with fear and anger as five – no six – men restrain him. One of which has a syringe jabbed into the side of his neck as well.

It happens in the blink of an eye. One minute your tucked warmly against him on what you had commented earlier that night to be a not too shabby mattress. Now, you’re being thrown into a van wearing nothing but a pair of black boy shorts and one of Steve’s blue t-shirts. You try to keep your eyes open as the doors to the van slam shut, but it’s useless. Whatever they injected you with working at record speed.

The sound of the engine starting is the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

12 Hours Earlier

“Wraiths?” Steve questions, standing beside you as the two of you have a faceoff with four individuals across the bar. Three men and a woman stare angrily back at you. One of the men takes a step forward, a boney spike protruding from his wrist in a menacing fashion.

“Yep,” you respond. “Wraiths alright.”

This is a milk run – Steve can handle it.

There’s only four of them.

You watch as Steve twirls the silver angel blade in his hand before he stalks towards the monsters. You smirk slightly to yourself as you hop up onto the bar, crossing one leg over the other. You lay your blade on the wooden bar beside you, leaning over to grab the bottle of bourbon nearest you.

The fighting ensues and Steve is ducking and dodging as the three men attack. The sickening sound of the blade slicing through skin fills the empty bar and you know the woman is sneaking around to your left, but you’re doing one of the things you enjoy most – watching him work.

It’s probably not healthy.

Most would assume it has something to do with your bloodlust, but that’s not it.

There’s something about the realness of it. Kill or be killed. The two of you teetering on the edge of life or death, your heart beating so hard and fast you can’t hear anything but it pounding against your ribs.

It’s raw – pure.

Steve’s a fighter – he was born for it – made that way. He’s quick on his feet and it’s almost like a well-choreographed dance the way he moves, dodging every attempt they make at stabbing him with their wrist spikes. He’s the only one left standing, chest heaving, and blood splattered. His hair falling across his face as he glances over to where you sit.

“Really? You want some popcorn?” he questions, resting his hands on his hips.

You hold the bottle of amber liquid up with your left hand, “I’m good.” Your right hand slowly gripping the handle of the blade laying at your side.

“You know –” Steve begins attempting to warn you of the woman, but stops as you move quickly, throwing your blade across and into the chest of the monster.

“I know,” the woman falls to the floor as you smirk before taking a swig from the bottle in your hand.

Steve walks across, pulling your blade from her before moving over to where you sit. He lays both weapons on the bar as you uncross your legs, stretching them out to hook around his waist.

“Is this what it’s come to now?” Steve questions, taking the bottle you offer him as you pull him closer with your legs. “You watch while I do all the work?”

“You didn’t need any help,” you comment playfully. “Besides, I like to watch.” Your fingers brush the hair from his forehead as he pulls the bottle away from his lips.

He stares at you, chest still heaving from his fight, eyes a deeper, darker blue, and you can practically feel the adrenaline surging out of him. There are blood stains spattered across the green shirt he’s wearing and up the side of his neck.

“Well, maybe next time,” his voice is low. “You work – while I watch.” He sets the bottle on the bar beside you, hands moving up your denim clad thighs. “You’re not the only one who likes it.”

He kisses you innocently enough, but after a few moments his kisses become more desperate – hungry. With one swift motion, he’s on top of you. The shattering of the bottle as the bourbon falls to the floor echoes throughout the empty room.

“Steve,” you breath against his mouth. “Really – here?”

He lifts his head, boyish glint in his eyes as he smiles down at you before glancing over at the four dead wraiths lying in the floor, “I don’t think they care.”

You shake your head with a laugh as his lips move along your neck before he nips at your pulse point. He feels your breathing falter and he nibbles a little harder, until he hears the low snarl in your chest.

“Easy with the – teeth,” your whisper turns into a hiss as he bites hard. Your fangs descend, fingers digging into his biceps. You know he did it on purpose. He enjoys riling you up.

“Says the vampire,” he pulls away with a smug smile, confirming your thoughts.

It happens so fast, Steve doesn’t even feel it until you have him pinned to the bar, straddling him. You watch the surprise on his face quickly fade into desire as his eyes travel up your body. He likes to bring this out in you – the feral creature you can be. He’s been addicted since the first time you slammed him into a wall while feeding on him.

You lean close to him, pressing your hips further down onto him – hard – throbbing almost. Your voice low and challenging as you whisper against his ear, “You started this.” You bite into his neck – thick, warm, blood filling your mouth quickly. A moan slips from him and you grind your hips against his methodically.

When his hand moves for the button on your jeans, you grab it quickly, pinning it and his other hand above his head. It elicits a small laugh from him, but you continue to roll your hips against him as you drink from him.

His voice is strangled as he tries to communicate, but you silence him with your mouth.

All tongue and teeth, copper and bourbon.

Showing your strength without fear.

He loves when you take control like this.

24 Hours Later

He had fought back when they took you, managed to capture one of the men while the others escaped. The only person who might have answers to where they’d taken you and Steve’s hell bent on getting them.

Steve’s staring down at the bloody man in the chair, he’s obviously taken quiet the beating. Steve’s right hand rests against the side of his thigh, the skin on his knuckles broken and bleeding as his pistol hangs loosely in his fingers.

“You’ve seen the last of her,” he says cryptically.

Steve stares angrily at the man in front of him, “What do you mean?”

“You heard me,” the man replies simply.

He clenches his jaw, rage coursing through him as he raises the pistol in his hand, aiming it at the man’s head, “Where the fuck is she?”

“Kill me if you want Rogers,” the man states flippantly. “Won’t change the fact she’s gone, and she isn’t coming back.” He stares at Steve for a moment before continuing. “They have her now.”

“Who’s they?”

“Hydra,” the man answers maliciously.

Confusion sweeps across his face, “What do they want with her?”

“They got word from one of their informants in another organization about a hunter who was turned. How she’s one of the best killers he’d ever seen,” the man states. “Don’t you think that would pique their interest?”

“She won't work with them,” Steve says strongly.

“They don't expect her to,” he responds raising an eyebrow. “They want to make more like her.”

The realization makes Steve nauseous and he swallows the bile rising in his throat, “Make more – how?”

With a small, sadistic laugh the man answers simply, “With her blood. How else?”

***

Steve’s able to get a general location for the facility where they’re keeping you, but he’s desperate and running out of options. So, he calls the one person he knows who might have an idea on exact locations of Hydra bases. Once he gives Barnes the information, he has coordinates dialed up and the quinjet en route to the base within minutes.

“What would Hydra want with her?” Sam questions from his seat.

Steve takes a deep breath, knowing this conversation was coming, “About that –”

***

The noise from outside the room you’re in stirs you awake. It’s not the safe, warm, comfort you feel when you wake up beside Steve. This small dark room unrecognizable. You don’t know how you came to be strapped upright to this cold, hard slab of steel, or how long there’s been a needle stuck in the vein at the bend of your elbow. The small plastic tubing full of dark red liquid as it drains your blood into a large bag below.

You try to break free of the restraints with no avail as the outside noise draws closer. Your mind races with questions – unsure who took you or why they want your blood. What the commotion is outside becomes your main concern as the doorknob across from you tries to turn. Feeling so weak in the face of possible danger isn’t something you’re used to and your heart races against your chest.

The door is forcefully kicked in and the brightness from the outside light blinds you momentarily as a dark figure approaches you. You turn your head away as the person gets closer – your fear apparent.

“It’s okay,” a familiar voice says. “It’s me – yea, I have her.”

“Buck,” you look back at the person in front of you in confusion.

“We gotta go,” he states dropping the blade in his hand to the floor before he pulls the leather cuffs from both your wrists. “Now.”

You slowly pull the needle from your arm as he jerks the restraints from your ankles. As soon as you take a step the light headedness takes over – room spinning out of control – your legs buckle.

“Shit,” Barnes says, looping his vibranium arm around your waist for support. “Come on, doll. Let’s go.”

“Steve,” you say his name questioningly as the two of you make your way out of the room.

“He’s here,” the man replies, glancing down with a small smirk.

Your bare feet hardly graze the concrete floor as Barnes moves quickly down the hall, speaking into his comm, “Heading down the south corridor. Yea – she’s lost a lot.”

“Who did this?” you manage to ask. “What’s happening?”

“Hydra,” Bucky says quickly. “They want to use your blood to make assassins like you.”

His statement sends a hundred different thoughts rushing through your mind, like how Hydra can’t just make assassins into vampires. They couldn’t control it. Does that mean Bucky knows that you’re a vampire?

A loud crash from in front of you makes Bucky stop moving and you feel him tense as pulls you behind him – shielding you from whatever is coming.

He relaxes after a moment and you hear another voice, “We have a problem.”

Sam.

You step from behind him, holding onto the cool metal arm for support. Your eyes meet Steve’s instantly and you see the relief wash over him as his pace quickens. He hands Barnes his machete as he pulls you into his chest tightly and you feel his lips press against the top of your head.

“This is great,” Sam’s voice states. “I’m glad your okay and all, but there’s like twenty hungry vampires heading this way.”

“They already started experimenting,” Bucky comments.

“You okay?” Steve’s hands are on your face as he tilts your head up to look at you.

“I’ll live,” there’s a small smile there and he kisses you gently.

“Good. We could use the back-up,” he responds with a smirk, pushing his sleeve up and offering you his wrist. “Full participation – no popcorn.”

“But,” you whisper hesitantly, eyes glancing over at Barnes and Wilson.

“It’s fine,” Steve says. “I told them.” You glance between them again before nodding and taking his hand.

“Oo – oooh fangs,” the level of disgust on Sam’s face as your fangs descend and you bite into Steve’s wrist is priceless. “Really – just like that? Ugh –” He makes a gagging noise as he turns around.

“Trust me,” Steve comments. “You’ll want her at full strength.”

Sam looks over at Barnes questioningly with his brows furrowed and the man shrugs his shoulders in response.

When the Hydra agents reach the hallway, you recognize the crazed look in their eyes. The bloodlust making them chaotic which makes them a little more dangerous.

“Be careful,” you remark to the men standing next to you, wiping the blood from the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. Steve gives you a small nod of understanding before the agents in front start advancing.

“Don’t you need a weapon?” Wilson glances to you suddenly aware you have nothing to fight with. The half-smile on your face is all the answer he needs. “Oh – okay.”

The fighting ensues and you keep the others in sight as they fight off the agents – all fangs and angry snarls. You slam your fist through the back of one of the men, grabbing his heart in the palm of your hand and ripping it out. His body falls limply to the floor and Sam looks from the bloody organ in your hand up to you – eyes blown wide.

“Damn,” he remarks under his breath.

The fight lasts minutes and hours at the same time, as you bite into the throat of a woman who tries to attack Barnes from behind as he’s decapitating another vamp – ripping it a chunk of her neck out with your fangs. He turns quickly, watching as you toss the woman aside, blood dripping from your mouth onto the front of Steve’s shirt.

“Thanks,” he nods, and you smile because there’s no judgement in his eyes at your ruthlessness.

When it’s over, only the four of you are left standing, all blood splattered and sweaty.

“Steve,” Sam looks over to his friend.

“Yea,” Rogers responds breathless, brushing his hair from his face.

“Remind me never to piss Twilight off,” Wilson says, and you place your hands on your hips as you narrow your eyes at him.

“We need to burn this place,” Bucky remarks, ignoring Wilson. “All your blood – it’s gotta go.”

“He’s right,” Steve says. “We need to burn it all.”

***

The fire gives the small living room a cozy feel as you settle onto the couch. You had phoned Donna about staying in her cabin – motels were off limits for a bit.

“Sam’s face,” Steve comments as he walks over to the couch.

“They seemed to handle it well though,” you remark as he sits down, and you scoot closer to his side.

“I watched you,” he says quietly. “You ripped out a woman’s throat – with your teeth.”

“She was going after Barnes,” you reply.

“I know,” Steve says, fingers lazily gliding up and down your arm. “Sometimes I forget how dangerous you can be.”

You glance up at him, “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, “Never be sorry for who you are.” His other hand moves to the side of your neck. “You’re dangerous, smart, and there’s no one I’d rather have by my side in, or out of, a fight.”

A smile crosses your lips and you comment, “Thanks. I did kill like ten vamps today in just a t-shirt.”

“My t-shirt,” he remarks salaciously. “Trust me – I noticed.” His lips move just below your ear, kissing you gently before he whispers. “Watching was fun.”

Later, your body jerks you awake from a nightmare. You were back in the Hydra facility and it was so cold and damp. You feel Steve’s arms tighten around you. Rolling over to face him, you see him looking at you groggily from moonlight streaming through the window.

“You okay?” he questions sleepily, and you nod with relief to see his face.

Your mouth captures his quickly for a moment before you respond, “I am now.”

Settling against him, you breath a sigh of relief.

Happy to be here with him.

Warm.

Safe.

[nessietessimal]

Mały świat (Small World)

Whilst out on a job for the Botanist, The Marksman has a rough night, the Soldier makes a connection and the Stranger is just along for the ride.

(I couldn’t think of how to draw this once I had the idea, so I jotted it down instead - Inspired by @theramblinganalyst and @diamondclaw21‘s fics! Be prepared for a longish drabble full of typos and mediocre writing under the cut)

The Marksman sighed quietly, resting against the wall of the cabin they'd found to hole up in for the night.  The Soldier, Stranger and himself had been out in the deep woods for the last couple days trying to find a few things for the Botanist, the latter having needed some particular samples for their latest study. 

"I know it's a bit of a big if," The academic had begun one morning whilst the Marksman was visiting, sitting with the other after dropping off an old book he thought the man might've liked, "But would you be able to collect some samples of the local flora around the area you first remember being infected? Theoretically, if one were to ask."  The Marksman blinked, pausing in reassembling his cleaned rifle to look up and stare at them.  "I realise it may not be pleasant for you to return to such a place, if you can recall it." The Botanist sheepishly added after a short moment, "It's just some base specimens to compare my findings to, regarding your sample, would be highly beneficial." They glanced away, scratching their jaw underneath their helmet. "I feel like I'm so close to figuring out something big, is all." The Marksman regarded them for a minute, then asked, 'Figuring out what?'  The Botanist watched his hands, then shrugged. "I'm not… entirely certain," They admitted, "But my experiments have had curious results, especially regarding separating the specimen from its host, and the reduction of spread." The Marksman leaned forward, drawing the Botanist' s attention. 'Reduction of spread?' He repeated, then gestured to himself. 'Is it possible to slow it on me?'  The Botanist nodded slowly, fingers tapping as they thought. "Oh, most probably." They answered, "I'd have to compare your sample to a base one, see what slows it, and figure out a way to apply it to yourself, but I'm sure it's possible."  The Marksman gave a small nod, then clicked his rifle back together and got to his feet. 'I'll see if the good Soldier and Stranger will help me search,' He signed, then put a hand on the other's shoulder. 'I can't promise anything,' The rifleman admitted, 'But I'll try.'  The Botanist's posture brightened, and they patted the other's hand. "That's all I can ask for, my friend! Thank you, and stay safe."

They'd set out into the deep woods a few days later, and now sat in front of a small fire, hesitant to light anything bigger for the noise, and having to check the old generator every hour to make sure it wasn't going to suddenly stop working.  The Soldier and Marksman had taken the first watch, the Stranger falling into a fitful sleep and resting the arm that had taken the brunt of a Savage's attack earlier that day. The two on watch had taken it in turns going back and forth between the campfire and the generator at the back of the cabin, the Soldier talking quietly and the Marksman signing in smaller movements to avoid attracting any attention from outside.  A few dogs had tried to get in, but the sound of muted clangs told them the Stranger's bear traps had taken care of them, and their watch went as smooth as it could, bar the odd growl or scratching from beyond the barred windows.  Now, the Stranger and Soldier sat at the fire, the latter reassuring the Marksman he was fine for another couple hours til the last shift, and the hunter had taken the Stranger's spot against the wall, nestled between the corner of the cabin and the broken stove.  The man rested his rifle across his lap, positioned so he could aim at the door should he have to, and closed his eyes, willing the soft crackle of the fire, deep mumbles of the Soldier and occasional hum from the Stranger lull him to sleep. 

It had only felt like an hour or so of rest when the soft crunch of leaves underfoot had him snapping his eyes open and spinning round with his rifle in hand, lifted and ready to shoot at the woman attempting to sneak up behind him.  "Bang." He deadpanned, causing the woman to smirk and lift her hands.  "Ah, you got me." She sighed, straightening and walking over. "I wasn't sure if you were napping."  The Marksman shook his head, dropping his rifle back into his lap as the woman sat beside him on the watchtower ledge. "No, just resting my eyes." He glanced around, then looked back to the woman. "What brings you out here? I thought you were in a command briefing."  "I was," She hummed, "But I heard all I needed to." She leaned back on her hands, eyes scanning the woodland around them. "They're sending you out."  The Marksman blinked, straightening from the post he was leaning against. "Into the Darkwood?"  The woman nodded, gaze focused ahead of her. "You'll be briefed on it tomorrow, and sent in by the end of the week. The science folk were yapping on about some critical mass or something, and we lost contact with our last patrol this morning, so." A quiet fell over them, the Marksman watching the woman refuse to meet his eye for a moment before sighing softly. "It'll be fine," He reassured quietly, "I'll have my team with me, and you know how Kaen is - the oaf can be more protective than a mother hen." The younger man shrugged, nudging the other with his elbow. "Besides, we were trained by the best."  The woman huffed, a small smirk pulling at her lips, and she brushed an auburn curl from her face. "I know, młode, I know." Her expression dropped into seriousness. "Just don't underestimate the woods, do you hear me? Remember everything I've taught you, and do it tenfold - that cursed forest has taken the best of us, and it won't hesitate to take you."  The Marksman's expression softened. "Yes ma'am." He acquiesced, dipping his head. "I'll be careful." "Good." The woman murmured. "Good."  They fell into another silence, though not uncomfortable, until the older raised a hand to ruffle the Marksman's pale hair. "Well, I'd best leave you to your watch, młode - I'll see you later."  The Marksman grinned, letting out a huffed 'hey' as he batted her hand away, and settled back, returning his gaze to the forest.  There was a quiet chuckle whilst the woman got to her feet, steps almost silent as she began to make her way down from the watchtower, and the Marksman's expression fell a little, glancing over his shoulder.  "Diana," He called, the woman pausing in her descent and looking up at him, eyebrow raised. "We'll find him." He promised, watching the other's expression soften. "And tell your devil of a daughter I said I'll see her when I get back," The man grinned lopsidedly. "And to not touch my stuff while I'm gone, I know what she's like." Diana let out a breath, a somber smile lighting her face. "I will, cub, I will." The Marksman nodded, giving her a wave before turning back.  A muffled bang caused him to frown, the sound quickly increasing into the rattle of gunfire, and the man jolted as a sudden force against his back pushed him flat to the ground.  He grunted, rolling with the impact and snapping his head round to stare at the creature that had jumped at him, then to whoever had pushed him away.  "Diana?" The Marksman stammered, bewildered, but the woman didn't reply, barking out orders as she jumped up and brought her rifle round, arm waving as she motioned for people to move formation.  The Marksman frowned, eyes wide, clambering to his feet and watching Diana dart off into what had suddenly become a battlefield, huge dark trees towering above them and the shouts of his patrol echoing around him.  The man shook his head, trying to get his bearings even as someone rushed past him, weapon firing. He sent the Marksman a gap-toothed grin, and the younger blinked. "Kaen?" He murmured, confused, then snapped into action and chased after, slinging his rifle off his back. "Kaen! What's going on? Where are we?"  Kaen smacked a dark, spindly creature upside the head with the butt of his shotgun, easily falling back-to-back with his brother. "You get knocked in the head harder than we thought?" The larger man snorted, "We're in the Darkwood! Kicking some mutant ass, trying to find lost patrols, all that?" He barked a laugh and blasted a Savage back with his shotgun. "And you're supposed to be the brainy one!"  The Marksman scowled, turning to glare only to find the solid weight behind him was the smoking husk of a tank, Kaen nowhere in sight.  Startled, the man spun, frantically trying to orientate himself, a pained shout causing his eyes to widen and his blood to freeze. "KAEN?!" He yelled, caution thrown to the wind and panic spiking when he received a higher scream in response. "DIANA?!" The towering trees around him felt like they were closing in, blocking him from finding the others, and the Marksman felt his breath coming out in short, frantic bursts. "WHERE ARE YOU?" His hands trembled around the space his rifle should've been, glancing down before shooting to his knife instead, unable to focus enough to spot where he'd apparently dropped his gun. "ANYONE-"  His shout cut off with a winded grunt as something collided with him, knocking him back against the mangled roots that coated the ground and sparking his veins with dread.  The man felt a clawed grip curl at the junction of his neck and shoulder, and the phantom pain of branch-like talons ripping across his throat had him throwing his knife up to slash at the creature grappling him.  Something grabbed his wrist and managed to stop the blade from sinking into the monster's clavicle, the Marksman's arm trembling with the strain, and another hand was clamped over his mouth, cutting off any sound as the man tried to snarl.  "Cholera, kid! It's me!" a distorted voice exclaimed, weirdly breathy, and the Marksman's struggles slowed in confusion. "It's not real! Wake up!" 

The command cut through the haze of panic, and the Marksman's eyes shot open, the creature turning out to be the Soldier knelt in front of him, the claws his hands on his shoulder in an attempt to shake him awake, and over his mouth trying to muffle his shouts.  The Marksman stared wide-eyed at the older man, taking a moment to realise where he was, before glancing over to see the Stranger looking at him in a similar fashion, the other holding the Marksman's knife hand back from the Soldier's jugular, and the Marksman let go of the blade with a rattling breath, startled.  He snapped his gaze up to the Soldier, expecting a hostile reaction, but instead was met by a concerned - if shaken - expression.  "You with us?" He asked, deep voice hushed, and it was only belatedly that the Marksman noticed he'd taken his mask off so he could read his lips. "Kid?" The man repeated after a moment, and the Marksman nodded shakily, eyes focused on him.  The Soldier let out a relieved breath, but remained tense, slowly removing his hand from over the Marksman's mouth and squeezing his shoulder. "You were having some sort of terror," He explained quietly, the Stranger nodding with his grip still firm on the Marksman's arm, knife placed on the ground away from him. "Started shouting, and we had to wake you or it would've drawn attention to us."  The Marksman nodded again, trying to steady his breathing and still his shaking hands whilst watching the Soldier's broad shoulders rise and fall in deep, deliberate breaths, the action thoughtful and helping the younger calm his racing heart.  After a few moments, the Marksman gave a gentle tug against the Stranger's grip, the other releasing him with a small, reassuring squeeze and settling back a little. The Soldier kept his hand planted on his shoulder, dark eyes searching his face and with a grimace the Marksman realised his scarf had fallen down around his neck, the mess of his face and throat visible.  He moved to recover it, but the Soldier stopped him with a warm hand on his arm, earning a confused quirk of the eyebrow.  "Don't worry about that." He shrugged, then leaned forward, expression severe. "Are you alright?"  The Marksman took a slow breath, then nodded, signing an 'I'm good' when the Soldier's look became skeptical.  The latter watched him for a moment, then conceded with a sigh, leaning back and sharing a glance with the Stranger.  "We've never heard you speak before." He began after a little while, a note of curiosity in his voice. "Scared the shit out of us, if I'm honest - I'd assumed you couldn't." The Marksman shrugged one shoulder, then pointed to the thick scars across his throat, and the mushrooms and bark-like growths trying to sprout from them. 'I can't,' He signed, 'Well, I don't, rather. It's not very pleasant.'  The Soldier nodded, the Stranger's eyes lighting in sympathy. The former was quiet for a minute, then spoke again.  "You were calling for someone," He started, almost hesitant, and the Marksman froze. "I only caught two names, but…" He glanced away, and when he looked back the man's eyes were swelling with an odd mixture of pain and hope. "Kaen and- and Diana?"  The Marksman kept his expression carefully blank, almost hyper aware of how the Stranger was glancing between them.  "How… What were they, to you?" The Soldier asked, uncertain. "If you don't mind me asking, that is…?"  The Marksman watched him for a moment, then lifted his hands. 'Family.' He signed, mouthing the word that felt almost foreign on his scarred lips after so long. 'Kaen was my older brother. Diana was my captain and handler. They were family.'  The Soldier looked like he'd been slapped in the face, and the Marksman patted the hand still on his shoulder. 'Do you know them? What…  what were they to you?'  The Soldier took a shuddering breath, hardly blinking as he stared at the other with realisation and disbelief. "I was Kaen's handler," He answered. "He was the last student I trained before I got lost here. Diana…" The man paused, eyes glistening. "Diana was my wife."