#soldier is Just power. nothing needed to be changed

[novaursa]

Legacy (homesick)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: trag!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: of snow

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril

The stormy skies above Dragonstone broke with the resounding cry of a dragon, echoing across the volcanic island. Viserion descended from the heavens like a creature of myth, her cream-and-gold scales were brilliant against the muted gray clouds as her massive wings beat against the air. The castle's courtyard, quiet just moments before, erupted into movement as guards, servants, and soldiers hurried outside, their faces a mix of awe and apprehension.

Tywin Lannister was among the first to step through the gates, his crimson cloak billowing behind him as he strode forward with purpose. His eyes scanned the sky, locking onto the dragon’s approaching form. His composure remained intact, though the quickness of his steps betrayed his urgency.

Viserion circled once above the castle before landing in the courtyard with a thundering impact that shook the ground. Dust and loose stones scattered as her powerful wings folded against her sides. Her eyes surveyed the crowd, and a low rumble vibrated from her chest, a warning to anyone foolish enough to come too close.

Perched atop the saddle, you exhaled a deep breath, the weight of your journey still heavy on your shoulders. You patted Viserion’s neck gently, murmuring a soft word of thanks before sliding from the saddle. The ground felt solid yet foreign beneath your feet after so many days in the air.

Tywin approached swiftly, his usual mask of stern control slipping just enough to reveal the faintest glimmer of relief. “You’ve returned,” he said, his voice low but steady.

You turned to face him, your heart easing at the sight of his familiar, commanding presence. “I have,” you replied, your voice equally calm, though your exhaustion was evident.

He stepped closer, his sharp gaze sweeping over you as if assessing for injuries. “You were gone longer than expected,” he said, his tone carrying an edge of reproach. “I assume there was a reason.”

You nodded, your expression softening. “Jon needed me.”

His jaw tightened slightly, though he said nothing, his silence speaking volumes. Instead, his hand moved to your arm, his touch firm yet careful. “We’ll discuss it inside. You look exhausted.”

Before you could reply, Jaime Lannister emerged from the crowd. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said with a grin. “I thought you might’ve decided to stay in the North and make it your kingdom.”

You smirked faintly, shaking your head. “The North already has its king.”

Jaime’s expression sobered slightly at your words, though he quickly masked it with his usual humor. “Well, you certainly know how to make an entrance. The dragon’s been missed—almost as much as you.”

Viserion let out a low growl, her eyes narrowing at Jaime. He held up his golden hand in mock surrender. “Not by her, I see.”

You placed a hand on Viserion’s side, soothing her with a soft hum. “She doesn’t forget who she trusts.”

Tywin’s gaze flickered to the dragon before returning to you. “And I assume your trust has not been misplaced,” he said, his voice measured. “You’ve accomplished what you set out to do?”

You hesitated, your mind briefly flashing back to Jon Snow, to the sight of him rising from death, to the fire and betrayal that had scarred Castle Black. “As much as I could,” you said finally. “But there’s still so much more to do.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, his understanding evident even without words. He gestured toward the castle. “Come inside. You need rest, and we have much to discuss.”

As you began to follow him, Jaime fell into step beside you, his tone light but curious. “So, how was the North? Did it change in the last few years?”

You shot him a look, though the corner of your mouth twitched upward. “It was everything you’d expect—and more.”

Jaime chuckled, though his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, as though searching for answers you weren’t ready to share.

As the group reached the castle doors, Viserion let out another resounding roar, her wings shifting restlessly. The sound echoed across the island, a reminder of the power she carried—and the power that now resided within Dragonstone.

Tywin paused, glancing back at the dragon before looking at you. “You’ve brought back more than just news, haven’t you?” he said quietly, his gaze piercing.

You met his eyes, your expression unreadable. “I always do.”

And with that, you stepped inside, the weight of your journey still heavy on your shoulders but the warmth of home easing its burden. You were back. And the battles ahead would soon demand all of you.

The chambers of Dragonstone were warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the chill you had left behind at Castle Black. You sat in the small sitting room adjacent to the nursery, where Damon and Maelor played under the watchful eyes of their wet nurses. Damon babbled excitedly as he stacked wooden blocks into a precarious tower. Maelor cooed happily from his cushioned seat, clutching a stuffed lion in his tiny hands.

You smiled faintly as you watched them, your heart full despite the lingering weight of your recent journey. Damon turned to you, his eyes bright with excitement. “Mother, look! It’s a castle!” he exclaimed, gesturing proudly to his tower.

“It’s a fine castle,” you praised, leaning down to kiss his head. “Stronger than Dragonstone, I’m sure.”

Damon giggled, clearly pleased with your approval. Maelor let out a soft gurgle, waving his lion in the air, and you reached over to gently stroke his chubby cheek. “And you, my little lion, will have your own castles one day,” you murmured.

A knock at the door pulled you from the moment. You turned to see Tywin Lannister entering, his presence commanding as always. He paused briefly, his eyes softening as they swept over the scene before him.

“They’ve grown,” he remarked, his voice quiet but firm.

“They have,” you replied, rising to your feet. “It feels as though I was only gone a few weeks, but so much has changed.”

Tywin stepped further into the room, his gaze lingering on Maelor for a moment before shifting to Damon. The boy noticed his father and ran toward him, arms outstretched. “Father!” Damon cried.

Tywin knelt briefly, allowing Damon to hug him before resting a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You’ve been behaving?” he asked, his tone even.

Damon nodded eagerly. “I built a castle! Mother said it’s stronger than Dragonstone!”

A faint smile tugged at Tywin’s lips. “That’s quite the achievement,” he said before standing. He turned to you, his expression hardening slightly. “Walk with me.”

You nodded, pressing a quick kiss to Damon’s head before following Tywin out of the room. The corridors of Dragonstone were cool and quiet, the sounds of the waves crashing against the cliffs faint in the background. Tywin walked beside you, his stride measured and purposeful.

“You haven’t spoken much about what happened in the North,” he began, his tone leaving little room for evasion.

You sighed softly, clasping your hands in front of you as you walked. “There’s much to tell. Jon is alive. Melisandre brought him back… somehow.”

Tywin’s brows furrowed, though his expression remained composed. “Alive?” he echoed. “And you believe this?”

“I saw it with my own eyes,” you replied. “He was dead, Tywin. I saw his body. And then… he wasn’t. He’s changed, though. Death does that to a person.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened as he absorbed the information. “And what does he intend to do now that he’s risen from the grave?”

You hesitated before answering. “He plans to take Winterfell back. To rally the North against the Boltons.”

At the mention of the Boltons, Tywin’s expression darkened. “I put them in power for a reason,” he said coldly. “Their betrayal at the Red Wedding ensured the Starks’ rebellion ended. If Jon Snow succeeds, that alliance crumbles.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him. “The Boltons are monsters, Tywin. You must know that. Jon has no choice but to fight them—especially after what they’ve done to Sansa.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Sansa Stark is of no concern to me.”

“She’s of concern to Jon,” you countered, your voice firm. “And to me. She’s family, Tywin. And she’s suffered enough.”

He studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke, his tone clipped. “If Snow succeeds in taking Winterfell, it will disrupt the balance I’ve worked to maintain.”

“Perhaps that balance needs to be disrupted,” you replied, your voice soft but resolute.

Tywin’s gaze lingered on you, his mind clearly weighing your words. But before he could respond, he changed the subject. “There’s another matter,” he said. “One that concerns your dragon.”

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “What about Viserion?”

“It seems she has not been alone in Dragonmont,” Tywin said, his voice measured. “The young dragon my men encountered—smaller, about the size of a horse—it appears to have come from one of her clutches.”

Your breath caught, and you stared at him, your mind racing. “One of her eggs hatched?” you asked, disbelief mingling with awe.

“It seems so,” Tywin confirmed. “The creature has shown no inclination to leave its lair, but it has proven… difficult to subdue.”

You exhaled slowly, the weight of the revelation settling over you. “A second dragon,” you murmured. “This changes everything.”

“It complicates everything,” Tywin corrected. “But we’ll deal with it—when the time comes.”

You nodded faintly, your thoughts still swirling. Another dragon meant another piece of the puzzle, another force to contend with as the world seemed to edge closer to chaos. But for now, you took comfort in knowing you were home, with your sons and your husband by your side.

The battles ahead would come soon enough.

The evening was quiet within the private chambers of Dragonstone, the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth the only sound apart from the rhythmic crash of waves against the cliffs outside. The heavy stone walls seemed to cocoon the room in warmth, the shadows flickering across the intricately woven tapestries and rich furnishings.

You sat near the fire, a goblet of wine resting on the small table beside you. The faint exhaustion from your journey and the events in the North still lingered, but there was a sense of comfort being home again. Across the room, Tywin Lannister stood by a tall cabinet, his broad frame silhouetted against the dim light as he poured himself a drink. His movements were precise, but there was a noticeable tension in the way he held himself.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” you remarked, watching him closely. “More so than usual.”

Tywin turned, his eyes meeting yours as he approached. He handed you your goblet, his fingers briefly brushing yours. “Much has happened in your absence,” he said simply, his tone even. “There is much to consider.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. “That’s never stopped you before. Something’s different.”

Tywin arched a brow, his lips pressing into a thin line. “What are you implying?”

A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “That you missed me.”

His jaw tightened slightly, though he didn’t deny it. Instead, he took a seat across from you, his piercing gaze never leaving your face. “That is not a joking matter,” he said firmly, though his voice held a softer edge.

Your smile widened, amusement flickering in your eyes. “Is that so? Then perhaps I shouldn’t tease you further.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t,” Tywin replied, though there was a faint glimmer of something warmer in his expression.

You leaned forward slightly, resting your chin in your hand as you regarded him. “I think you did miss me,” you said softly, your tone playful but laced with genuine affection. “And I think you’re terrible at hiding it.”

Tywin’s gaze darkened, though not with anger. “Your absence was felt,” he admitted after a moment, his voice low. “That is all I will say on the matter.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound light and genuine. “Spoken like a true Lannister. Always so guarded.”

He stood then, moving toward you with the kind of deliberate purpose that always set your heart racing. When he reached you, his hand brushed against your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Guarded, perhaps,” he said quietly. “But not unfeeling.”

The warmth of his words surprised you, and before you could respond, you leaned up and kissed him. The gesture was tender at first, but Tywin deepened it almost immediately, his hand slipping to the back of your neck to hold you in place. The firelight danced around the room as the kiss grew more fervent, years of passion and restraint bleeding into the moment.

You gasped softly as Tywin pulled you to your feet, his other hand finding your waist. Before you knew it, he lifted you effortlessly, setting you on the edge of a nearby table. The cool surface beneath you was a stark contrast to the heat of his body as he stepped between your legs, his hands gripping your hips firmly.

“Do you always have to take control of everything?” you teased breathlessly, your fingers tangling in his hair.

Tywin’s lips brushed against your jaw, his voice a low growl. “Always.”

You laughed softly, the sound cut off as his mouth found yours again. The air in the room seemed to grow warmer, the crackling fire casting flickering shadows across the stone walls as Tywin’s lips claimed yours with a fervor that belied his usual restraint. His hands, strong and sure, gripped your waist, pulling you closer to him as though he couldn’t bear even the smallest distance between you. Your fingers still tangled in his hair, tugging gently as the kiss deepened, your breaths mingling in the quiet of the chamber.

Still seated on the edge of the table, you tilted your head back slightly as his lips moved to your neck, the scrape of his beard against your skin sending shivers down your spine. His hands slid lower, gripping your thighs firmly as he pressed himself closer to you, his presence overwhelming yet intoxicatingly familiar.

“You’re sure you missed me,” you teased breathlessly, though your voice wavered as his mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Enough,” Tywin growled, his voice low and commanding, though the heat in his tone betrayed his desire. “You’ve made your point.”

You smirked, though the expression faltered as his hands slid beneath your gown, his fingers brushing against bare skin. His touch was deliberate, every movement calculated to elicit a reaction, and you couldn’t suppress the soft gasp that escaped your lips.

Tywin stepped back slightly, his eyes locked on yours as he reached for the laces of your gown. His movements were slow, methodical, as though savoring every moment. The fabric slipped from your shoulders, pooling around your waist as his gaze swept over you, his expression both possessive and reverent.

“You are exquisite,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp.

You felt your cheeks flush, though you refused to let him see your embarrassment. “You’ve seen me before,” you replied, your tone light despite the pounding of your heart.

“Not like this,” Tywin said, his hand brushing against your cheek before sliding down to rest against your bare collarbone. “Not after thinking for a second time I might not see you again.”

The weight of his words settled between you, and for a moment, the playful banter faded. You reached for him, your hands tugging at the fastenings of his doublet until the fabric fell away, revealing the hard planes of his chest. The scars of battles fought long ago marred his skin, but to you, they were a testament to the man he was—unyielding, unrelenting.

Your lips met again, the kiss hungrier this time, as though both of you were trying to make up for the time spent apart. Tywin’s hands found your hips, lifting you effortlessly as he carried you to the bed. He laid you down with surprising gentleness, his weight settling over you as his mouth claimed yours once more.

The rest of your clothing was discarded quickly, the cool air brushing against your skin before Tywin’s body replaced it, his heat enveloping you. His hands roamed over you with a practiced precision, finding every place that made you gasp, every touch that made you tremble.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire.

“Of course,” you whispered in reply, your fingers tracing the contours of his face before pulling him down for another kiss.

When he finally moved to join with you, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you, the sensations overwhelming yet achingly familiar. His movements were deliberate, controlled, yet there was a fire behind every touch, every thrust, that spoke of the depth of his feelings. Your hands clutched at his back, your nails digging into his skin as you moved together, each of you chasing the moment where nothing else mattered.

“Look at me,” Tywin commanded, his voice low but insistent.

Your eyes met his, and the intensity of his gaze nearly undid you. There was a vulnerability there, a rare glimpse of the man beneath the armor, and it made your heart ache even as your body burned with desire. You reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek as you whispered, “I love you.”

The words seemed to break something in him, and his movements became more urgent, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was almost desperate. The rest of the world faded away, leaving only the two of you and the fire that consumed you both.

When the end finally came, it was with a shuddering release that left you both breathless. Tywin collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling heavily as he pulled you into his arms. His fingers traced idle patterns on your back, the silence between you filled with a quiet intimacy that needed no words.

For a long time, neither of you spoke, content to simply exist in the moment. Finally, Tywin broke the silence, his voice a low rumble. “You should never leave for so long again.”

You smiled faintly, your head resting against his chest as you listened to the steady beat of his heart. “I’ll try,” you murmured, though you both knew the world had a way of pulling you apart.

The memory was as vivid as the day it happened, though it belonged to a time long past. Tywin Lannister, who just arrived in King’s Landing, stood in the shadowed recesses of the Red Keep, his composure unshaken despite the rising anger of the man before him. Robert Baratheon, now King of the Seven Kingdoms, loomed large, his broad shoulders taut with fury and his face flushed from too much wine—or perhaps from the betrayal he felt simmering in his chest.

“You smuggled her out,” Robert growled, his voice thick with disbelief. “A Targaryen! The blood of the dragon, Tywin! You smuggled her out and gave her to the Starks? Do you take me for a fool?”

Tywin’s eyes remained steady, his hands clasped behind his back. His expression was unreadable, save for the faintest flicker of disdain that crossed his face. “I did what was necessary to preserve the stability of the realm.”

“Stability?” Robert’s voice rose, echoing through the chamber. “The Starks sheltering a Targaryen is not stability! It’s treason!”

“Eddard Stark was loyal to your cause,” Tywin replied evenly. “And his father, Rickard, was a pragmatic man. The arrangement ensured that she would pose no threat to your rule.”

Robert slammed a meaty fist against the nearest table, causing goblets to rattle and wine to spill. “A pragmatic man who’s now dead, thanks to her mad father! And yet his family harbors her under their roof? You expect me to believe this isn’t some Stark ploy to restore the Targaryens?”

Tywin stepped forward, his presence as imposing as the king’s, though he did not raise his voice. “The Starks are no fools, Robert. They know the cost of rebellion. The girl was harmless when the rebellion ended—no titles, no claim, no power. She is nothing but a ward.”

Robert’s glare darkened, his hand moving to the hilt of the warhammer at his side. “A ward who bears the name of Targaryen and the blood of a king! You dare tell me that isn’t dangerous?”

Tywin tilted his head slightly, his expression calm but sharp. “Dangerous to whom? To you? The rebellion crushed House Targaryen. Their forces are scattered, their dragons extinct long ago, and their dynasty is ashes. A single girl hidden away in the North changes nothing.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” Robert barked, his voice dripping with venom. “You weren’t there when Aerys burned my friends. You didn’t hear the screams.”

“And you weren’t there when Aerys humiliated my house,” Tywin countered coldly. “I’ve no love for Targaryens, Robert, but I also understand when vengeance becomes wasteful. Do you want peace, or do you want the entire realm to burn?”

Robert faltered, his grip on his warhammer loosening. He turned away, pacing furiously before rounding on Tywin again. “You made this decision without consulting me—your king! You think I’ll just forget this?”

“You agreed to marry my daughter,” Tywin said smoothly, his voice cutting through Robert’s rage like a blade. “A union that solidifies your rule and ensures the loyalty of the most powerful house in Westeros. If you wish to jeopardize that alliance over a powerless girl, then by all means, do so.”

Robert froze, his face twisted in a mixture of fury and frustration. “You would threaten me?”

“I do not make threats,” Tywin replied, his tone deadly calm. “I make calculations. The girl is no threat to you, Robert. But if you insist on pursuing this, you will force the Starks to choose between loyalty to their king and their honor. Do you truly wish to provoke the North so soon after uniting the realm?”

The weight of Tywin’s words seemed to hang heavy in the air. Robert’s chest heaved as he wrestled with his emotions, his knuckles white around the hilt of his warhammer. Finally, he let out a frustrated growl and slammed the weapon onto the table, the force of the impact reverberating through the room.

“I’ll allow it,” he spat, though his voice was heavy with reluctance. “But mark my words, Tywin—if she so much as whispers the word ‘throne,’ I’ll see her burned along with anyone who stands in my way.”

Tywin inclined his head, his expression unchanging. “Then we are agreed.”

Robert glared at him for a moment longer before storming out of the chamber, his footsteps echoing down the hall. Tywin remained still, his mind already turning over the implications of their conversation. The girl had been a gamble, a carefully placed piece in the grand game of thrones. But Tywin had no intention of losing.

As the doors slammed shut behind Robert, Tywin turned to pour himself a goblet of wine, his movements calm and deliberate. He raised the cup to his lips, his mind sharp as ever.

The Targaryen girl would stay hidden in the North, safe and forgotten. For now.

[monarisse]

— The Hex paradox [arthur nightingale x gn!drifter]

Arthur asks, why are you still here.

You can't believe that he thinks you see them as pets.

SFW, second pov, hurt/comfort, misunderstanding, angst with a happy ending | 3.6k

ao3

There is a flex of a hand — meat under the skin is terribly tense, just like their owner. Long unclipped nails, map of the old scars with pigment just a little bit lighter than everything else. Further: burn, raw marks from laser. Further: a contaminated virus from the elder beast of Deimos. Further-

This is just a body that holds your consciousness when there are no more metallic constructs of dead people that should be controlled. It was... actually, not so horrible to unfold the truth behind the creations of Ballas. Or others. There was always something more than you in these turned-to-be-bones metallic wires and engines. Always lurking in shadow; just not enough to be found, but enough to feel the sudden twitch of a cobalt fingers or unknown step of feet. Sometimes, even more: dance with a weapon, full of joy; murmur in an unknown language; search for something behind the back. Unnecessary. Unasked. Unprovoked. But... familiar, almost to the pain in your drifting mind.

It's ironic — that they all called you The Drifter. Not The Operator — not anymore, at least. Even if there was someone, in this time of the universe, who would gladly use this title on you, it would not be the truth. And you will not allow it. Hundreds of years after all of this, there would be a child with angry eyes and a thirst for power, who changed too much and too little to be completely you again. So you give them the future and keep yourself in the past — it seems right. Especially because (it's ill-fitting, it's wrong, and it's foolish, but deep down it's what makes them and you one person), The Operator can't travel here. They ask in rare times together how it was.

And for you, it's never "was." It's still here.

———

After winter, spring and summer together, they became steadier, softer. Smoother. Happier. Amir sleeps better. Angered only by some unnecessary presence before, now Quincy finds serenity, covering your back on missions. Aoi plays on the borrowed piano from the music store, and Eleanor whispers in your mind stories that she read in the past about Great Britain. Sharpened on the edges Lettie, today holds her hand to yours, so her beasts could crawl on the skin of this body with hushed squeaks, smelling with their little noses acid and kerosene, that scaldra pours on you every day. Lettie clicks her tongue in disappointment when she sees a new wound on the meat of shoulder — because in this body you can't heal as fast as they, and it's hypocritical to come out of frame when they're — the Mighty Hex, batch of soldiers of the future, your Friends, in the end — still here. And-

It's so. Fucking. Funny. A snicker falls from your lips before you can stop it.

Lettie furrows her eyebrows. In her eyes — something eats the previous light joke and fills it with thick tension.

"What did he do?" Anita squeaks, runs to her siblings, and you just blink.

"Who?"

Oh, it's not a secret. You... can guess who she talks about. And Lettie knows it.

"¡Pendejo! You know who. Don't play an owl with me."

Sharp teeth of the future crash into each other. Smile on these lips — sugary sweet from lies. This is not something new. How many people "The Great Hero" of the New War has deceived around the years of the Narmer regime?

"Nothing. Why you-"

She smacks your arm.

"Shut up. Don't want to hear your explanations. His brooding takes its toll on you," she painstakingly cleans her fingers from void-touched blood. From all of them, Eleanor is one who can feel lies, but Leticia is... another deal. She doesn't have the need to hear your thoughts. Magic of doctors, you guess.

It's strange that she cares about you. After all, these six are a team. And the seventh angle doesn't belong in the hexagon, even if it forces itself inside.

But, for Lettie, you let it slide. Hold her palm in yours and blink a little bit slower.

"I take care of that. Promise"

———

You know it — even too much of something good can be poisonous. Like trivia: this body was not ready for the delicious food that they have here, so on one night with beer and Hex you threw up in the bathroom on the second floor. But... Compare this and... your genuine worry for Nightingale seems like a wrong play of komi, where no one could win.

Worse: you remember Umbra. His blind eye and this wordless trust between him and The Operator. This wordless care that travels with them everywhere. How could you not feel envy when this child not only found the way from Zariman 10-0, but even saved the frame that could think without Tenno? Well, now you have protoframes. They joke with you in their bones, and they help you when it becomes unbearable — this world, this time, this loop. So why, when you stretch out your hand only how you can, it turns out... It is too much. Or too little.

And... what even happens in this thick skull of his, when he abruptly leaves a conversation on KIM, then agrees on Amir's play and, after... drowns you in questions?

Broadsword

So what is it? Pity? Or are you stupid as well as crazy?

Broadsword

Stop dodging! Why. Are. You. Still. Here?!

There is a reminiscence of a dull ache from Duviri. Another swing of an axe above the head. Endless swirl of colors. And buzzing in the skull. This body trembles, unable to comprehend all emotions from a feverish mind, and you pull your hand to clean your face from... something. Anything.

How could he even ask this shit? Like you some bystander that already left them after a week of knowing, just to start a new adventure far far away. Like you didn't search abandoned markets for his favorite beer, didn't bring special ammunition to Quincy, didn't practice with Aoi and Amir on the transmission of intel. Just some guest, not important to add in their ranks.

Nidus quietly shrieks when you transfer back to him. It is something of a habit. You can't even feel the exact moment when his broad frame already exits the backroom, too busy with boiling emotions inside your mind (the biggest question there: what if Kid would be able to help them without this mess of emotions. What if Hex liked the Operator more?).

Höllvania Central Mall never sleeps. Especially now, when there are not seven, but many more breathing shadows waiting for the other day to live, so... It is a little bit of awakening — see disbelief and caution in the eyes of bystanders when the form of Nidus makes his way from the second floor to the first in one jump. But still not enough to stop the heavy steps of the infested frame.

He's in his usual spot, crouched between some ammo for his rifle and computer, and Arthur... seems a little bit surprised. Like it wasn't you who he wrote just seconds ago.

Pity. He called your carefully crafted relationships with the Hex "pity." And you, yourself: crazy and stupid.

"You could just-" There is something more behind his dazed expression, some dark undertone, but it is not about him. Not anymore.

"How could you," Nidus freezes like a mannequin in the doorframe. This body constructs itself right against Nightingale; scarred fingers cling to his shoulder to feel something else beside the usual eerie words of KIM-messages and hushed phrases under the sick sky. His brows rise up even more now, "How could you even think of something like that!"

Arthur's lips twitch.

Prince of fire Lodun, in all his ugly glory, paints your mind with blood and red.

"It's bothering me already enough time to just let it slide," his words twist something in the pit of your stomach, and Lodun's voice screeches somewhere around the frontal lobe. He shouldn't say such words to you. It is blasphemy. Lie. His hand rips your own from himself almost like you hurt him, and the scar around the palm that he left you with starts to pulsate, "You walk around the Mall like everything is okay and we're not just some dead meat to your future."

He is poisonous. Some sort of divine punishment for you, as if you didn't suffer enough for years and years of survival. There are no more light jokes, no more strange, vigorous words with the undertone of something bigger. Only a stern glance on this body.

Prince Lodun fist his finger and crack another hole in your mind walls.

Body of the Drifter winces.

"Are you fucking kidding?" teeth clacks. The jaw's strained to its limit. All of this time together, just drained in the sink, "What do you think? That I stayed here just to forget about you all in the next minute?"

He doesn't need to say it aloud. The answer is written on his face already, and it's making Lodun more loud in your mind.

"How many times have you already done that?"

Lodun roars. This head is pounding.

"What?!"

It's unbelievable. He looks at you with such a sardonic expression, as if he knows that you did something so bad that you even can't stand with him in one room, and... you want to go right in his head to fucking show Arthur how terribly wrong he is.

The worst of all: he keeps going.

"It's convenient, isn't it? To play "friends" with people you can just leave behind," his grip tightens, and Arthur steps forward. A little more and it would become a fight.

You hold back. Just a little bit, but the patience in this body already wears itself.

"So that's what's stuck in your head?" You snarl, "Not bad enough, don't you think?" One step to him, and you feel — one more, and you can crash in his metallic chest. Eyes squint, "Make me a villain more, why not? Maybe I should take control of one of you and dispose of everyone else, huh?" Luscinia weeps in the corner of your mind with these harsh words, but you are unable to hear her — spiral of Loduns anger in its all-power captured you. There is something of a hurt in Arthur's face. But you only use his own method on him. It's almost like he didn't think of this — that you could use his friends against him or even make him a bystander in the nonexistent massacre.

"You can," his voice drops lower. Grip tightens even more — soon bones in this body would be broken by his fingers. "So I advise you to stop pretending like we're important to you," Nightingale bends his head, and you can see the hues of his blind eye for the first time, "and put us all out of this misery."

You're tugging this hand away — alas, it's not working, and a wave of dull pain passes through the body. He never thought that it was as hard for you as for them.

Luscinia crying. The Sorrowful Soprano of Duviri weeping like a mother who lost something too precious for her, and with Loduns anger, it's too much to feel in one moment. Your mind makes itself the battleground of the old Tales.

You want to say: maybe you're right.

You want to say: maybe I should just leave things like they are.

But... the Hex already made themselves important for you. So much that you gladly would stay here forever, with this ancient technology and people of the past. The Operator has their people. Why shouldn't you have yours?

You take a deep breath. Close tired eyes.

"If you think that I should go, I'll do it." There is something too heavy in these words, so you can't raise this head anymore, with your gaze a little bit blurry. Not from tears, "You all became too important for me, so if it would be better for Hex, I'll be gone to my time."

You know: without you, they will all be dead in the New Year of 1999. The reactor will blow up, and Arthur will bleed on the floor of the radiated room, near the bodies of Aoi and Amir.

And you can just feel the power of Spiral, to send it all back in January, to start again.

"Don't make yourself a martyr. You can leave when you want."

That's it.

You snap.

"My fucking Sol," you twitch this head, "you are as dense as Razorback," Nightingale becomes a little bit puzzled by the unknown comparison, but you continue, "What should I say? "Sorry, Arthur, I stayed here because I know that without me you all will die." Your voice becomes louder and louder; it breaks in some words, and you feel: the dam was broken, "And I developed feelings for you, and all of this embarrassing flirting was so bad because I had never done it before? You know, because I was trapped all of my youth in an endless loop of my own death, and I didn't even think that I could feel something like that"," his grip finally becomes loose, and you break the palm from him, only to point the finger at Arthur, "Everyone knows about it. I thought that you-"

Wait. You thought that he already knew about your feelings for him — it was so obvious that Eleanor even asked you not to think about her brother on united missions. But... You shut this mouth and looked at Arthur. He's... flagger-basted. No more anger in his eyes, only genuine surprise, and — worst of all — he continues to keep silent.

"Great," you roll this eyes. Fuck it. Maybe he knew, just feelings weren't mutual, and Nightingale didn't acknowledge it, to leave things as they were. But now you spelled it all aloud, and there is only one way to turn it back. Maybe... no. You don't want it.

Sol, you should just go to the backroom and decay in some corner.

You take a deep breath.

"I'll be going to throw up somewhere on the second floor from embarrassment," you transfer back to Nidus, "don't message me," and head towards the escalator.

Worst: he didn't even stop you.

———

Quincy screams in your comm and it's almost unbearable how he just throws a stash of Scaldra supply on the garage floor, just to head back to civilians in the old supermarket without another word to you.

Blew up the tank without care of flying too far away to not be hurt; melted one of the other stashes; almost got Kalymos dead. You've gone more hectic. But it's still better than lying on a couch with nausea and a sorrowful expression (it's still better than nothing — you remind yourself — you still feel something, and it's better than apathy).

Funny: if the Kid could see you, they would be furious. Throwing some tantrum about how such a mindless thing would wreck you, The Drifter, to some pathetic ordinary human. They were always like this: more hard than you, more prideful. They could chew Arthur's words and twist them so much that the man would not be sure what he even wants anymore. But the Operator is too far away. And you are too arrogant to travel back to them. Lotus would calm you down, embrace you in a motherly hold; however... you don't want it right now. One thing that surely helps: killing. Scaldra or Techrot — doesn't matter.

"I'm worried about you," tells Aoi when the sharp talons of Garuda give her a package full of CDs, "I heard your argument with Arthur." She seems a little bit sheepish, but... you know, that you actually can trust her. Of all Hex, Aoi is the most understandable. You can tell her all your worries, and she wouldn't laugh or write off your feelings. "It's hard with him sometimes, but Arthur cares about us all," of course he is, "you included."

You hum. The sound comes a little bit muffled.

"I'm sure." No, you're not, but there is no need to talk about it right now. Aoi squints her eyes in disbelief. "Sorry, Aoi. It's between me and him and i-"

"Drifter," his voice is too loud in Aoi's lair, but you don't turn to Nightingale. Maybe he will disappear if you don't acknowledge his presence. "We need to talk," Morohoshi shows some kind of gesture that you don't recognize, with her big finger pointed out, and she shakes her head, smiling.

If there were only two of you, you'd find a reason to just vanish in the air.

Damn. Why is it harder than killing an archon with a bow?

"Alright," you sign. Garuda turns around to Excalibur and he is already heading somewhere in an unknown destination.

What does he want to say? That he made a decision to stay with you on friendly terms so that you could save Hex's lives? That he'll save them by himself? Good luck with that. You'll still be here, even if he wants to banish you from others, just not in his line of sight. And when clocks turn 23:56 without catastrophe, you'll let them go and transfer yourself back to Loid, to solve problems of Deimos.

It's some sort of warehouse — you've never been here before, and it's strange how music from the hall becomes only disoriented muffles when Arthur closes the door. You stand a little bit farther from him than usual — not to make yourself comfortable here.

Arthur leans on some kind of cabinet.

Heavy silence falls on you two.

And when you think that this was a bad idea — to come here with him — Arthur starts talking.

"You know that all my life I was a military man," he spins that damn sword — Arthur's voice... not so loud. He speaks almost carefully, like his words already were chosen before this talk, and... you don't know what to think about. Emotion without name, without personification in Tales of Duviri, born in a pit of stomach, "and... I think I was ready to leave some things behind," he's not looking at you; his gaze stops on scratches on the floor, "because there was not enough time, or... I didn't try to understand others more."

You gulp. Garuda's scales tremble.

"And I tend to search for enemies where there aren't any." Finally, Arthur looks at you. There is more than tiredness from endless nights; quiet longing, a hint of uncertainty, something... tender.

He sighs.

"And," Arthur chuckles, and you grit your own teeth, thrashing about to step from Garuda or stay in her bones, "I'm not even entirely human. I mean, look at me," he gestures at the metal skin of his body, "not a usual choice of the mass."

Still, it's better to talk face to face. Especially on topics like that, you make a decision in one moment, to reappear beside him in another.

"Arthur," your own voice strained with hoarse hesitation, "you're a good person. You shouldn't talk about yourself like that." There is a hint of a smile in the corner of his lips, and Arthur blinks a little bit slower.

"You're always saying such things that give me hope." Spinning of his blade comes to an end, and the warehouse becomes more... steady. Peaceful.

Nightingale clears his throat.

"Did you mean it?" comes almost in a whisper, "that you have... feelings. For me."

You tear your gaze from him and put it down, not able to look in his eyes. Yes. It is definitely harder than killing an archon.

Fingers dip in the elbows.

"Yes."

Nothing more. Just a short, clear answer to put any misunderstanding behind.

Remarkably, the stomach stops swirling. All of this body became... calm, like all the worries just disappeared with this one word. Even if Arthur doesn't feel the same, you are glad that you two talked about it. Finally, you can open a new page in-

"It's mutual."

What?

You snap this head to him, and, for the first time in an eternity, you see Arthur smiling. Without some undertone in it, without pressure. Just a clear, happy smile on his scarred face, and you even see some little dimples on his cheeks.

And, maybe it's too early and you should wait some time to do such things, but these hands — your hands — reach out to him, to bury your fingers in his hair and press an uncertain but full-of-burning-emotions kiss to his lips.

It's raw — skin to skin, first too gentle to feel something more than the texture of others, but with every passing moment, all of this bottling adoration for him seeps through the motion. And Arthur answers you, laying his metallic palm in the crook of your neck, to deepen the kiss — he opens his mouth, presses you to himself more, to finally give you something that you wanted too long to confess.

In reality, it's still better than in imagination.

When there is not enough air in your lungs, when your shuddered inhale mixes with his own and both of you break away for a moment, you press your forehead to Arthur's, holding onto his shoulder.

"You know," he starts after a moment of silence, with a voice a little bit rough on the edges. You open your eyes and move your head a little bit to look at him once more. Cold fingers start to play with the strands of your hair. "If someone had told me that I would want to kiss someone from the future who trespassed my mind, I think I would kill them," Arthur breathlessly laughing and-

"Sol, you're unbelievable." You smack his shoulder and move to get out from his grip, but Nightingale presses you even more into himself, and you feel how his laughter starts to seep through your bones.

"You're stuck with me now. No refunds, sweets." Arthur pressed a chaste kiss on the crown of your head, and... you hug him, closing your eyes back.

The Harbinger of Joy, Mathilda, smiles for the first time in what feels like eternity.

[lightdancingwords]

One Day - Part Two of ?

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N Female character

Series Summary: You were rescued by Dean Winchester a long time ago. Over time, you kept bumping into each other.

Word Count: 2,420

Tags/Warnings: Violence, profanity, angst, argument, monsters/supernatural

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! This story is AU as it does veer a bit from the history we see in Season 1 of Supernatural. There will be references to episodes and seasons, but it'll change as the chapters come. Enjoy the ride!

Dividers: credit to @talesmaniac89

Chapter Two: Scent of a Woman

If you looked up repetition in the dictionary, Dean was convinced you’d find his photo. His life for the last two years since that rather eventful week in Indiana was essentially fucking, drinking, cheating at poker, and hunting down monsters. It was perfect.

There was only one problem: no Sam.

In the two fucking years since Sam left to go to Stanford to live a boring ass ordinary life, Dean remained daddy’s good little soldier. He did what he was told and he was damned good at it.

Unlike Sam, John didn’t judge what Dean did on his free time. Hell, John was so busy doing whatever he was doing that they barely spoke outside of hunting. That suited Dean just fine, if only because then he didn’t have to see the disappointment in John’s eyes.

As for Sam… Christ, it was obvious that he was enjoying the picket fenced life. Neither John nor Sam were aware that Dean stopped by Stanford to check on his baby brother. He had been tasked with keeping Sam safe and by God, he’d do it.

Not that Sam needed protecting. He seemed to be doing damned fine. He went to classes, hung out with this drop-dead gorgeous blonde, and overall seemed so damned happy it was like a knife to Dean’s gut every time he went.

So when John called Dean with a job while Dean was checking on Sam, he grabbed it instantly. Anything to forget that big ass smile on that baby brother of his.

God. He might go get drunk after this hunt. Maybe find a hot chick or two and bury his emotions for a while. Just enjoy the fucking and—

Dean’s line of thought sputtered to a stop as he pulled up to the address John sent him. It was a goddamned mental asylum. Either John was telling him to commit himself or there was a serious clue Dean was missing.

Let’s see. Power wasn’t on, big sign. Okay. Metal bars on the windows, wildly illegal after a point in history. No fences of any kind, that was puzzling.

What the hell did his father send him to this time? Was John trying to convey something without outright saying it? He hoped not, but it wouldn’t be the first time the Winchester men made a mess out of not talking. They specialized in fists, not words.

Pausing long enough to grab a flashlight and his shotgun and a pocketful of rock salt bullets, Dean headed inside. The fact the front door gave way easier than Elizabeth Hurley—

He sighed, shoved that little sexual fantasy to the side, and kept on going.

It was so sterile and bland that Dean had to keep checking he wasn’t missing anything noteworthy. White walls and white linoleum with white curtains. Christ. Didn’t these people hear of color?

Halfway through his very boring walk-through the asylum, it occurred to Dean there was a scent in the building that stood out. Underneath the stench of stale air and standing water, there was something flowery. Fresh. He couldn’t put his finger on it.

Every so often, Dean would flash the light behind him, to the sides, and see absolutely nothing. Yet, he was convinced he wasn’t alone, that something or someone was mirroring him at the other side of the asylum.

“Ollie ollie oxen free,” he muttered. God. Why was that flowery smell niggling at him? As though something or someone was here and he ought to pay attention. Well, excuse me princess. Despite the obvious skill set—he was alive after all—Dean was hard pressed to declare himself worthwhile of saving.

God, he needed a drink. And a girl. Preferably both.

He was so distracted in his thoughts that he almost didn’t hear the click of a gun behind him, followed by the low, husky tones of a woman’s voice:

“Don’t move.”

Dean hesitated, sighed. Great. Just great. He half-turned to glance over his shoulder, but couldn’t see who it was. “You know… it’s polite to introduce yourself before you turn a gun on someone.”

“Right. It’s also ‘polite’ to break into an asylum,” she retorted. She sounded familiar, but Dean’s memory couldn’t call her up. Maybe one of his one-night stands? One of the people he rescued in the past? He couldn’t remember.

“Uh, lady, you broke in too,” he retorted.

She was quiet. He could almost feel her scowling at him and he grinned. Slowly, he turned around and saw her. He narrowed his eyes as her as he studied her. Oh yeah. He knew her. He just couldn’t place her. Then he got the whiff of the flowery scent again and the memory came back. That damned kiss. That vampire. That silo.

“Shit. Y/N?”

She drew back in surprise, then took a step closer. Then another. He could feel her eyes on him, taking in the details. The leather coat. The jeans. The boots. The amulet. Then he felt her study his face, and the focus sharpened.

“Oh my God…” she muttered. “Dean.”

He smiled lopsidedly. “Fancy meeting you here.” His expression darkened, the smile gone. “Why are you here? In fact, what the fuck are you doing with a gun?”

“Long story,” she said defensively. “Why are you here?”

“Long story,” he echoed back with a scowl. Son of a bitch. This complicated matters. Last time he saw Y/N, she was studying to be a veterinarian, not being a wanna-be hunter in a potentially haunted mental asylum.

She met him in a stare down. He waited her out, determined to out-glare her. God, he felt like a 10 year old in an argument with another 10 year old. In the two years since he last saw Y/N, she definitely did not change. Still fiesty, still hot.

His libido did it again. It popped out of the box and inquired, if you please, if this time, he got the girl. He tried to ignore it.

“Oh come on!” He caved and he was not happy. God damn, she could really stare him down. “This isn’t right! You shouldn’t be here! You should be back in—in blasted Indiana, getting your groove on with your fellow college kids, not here!”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have a choice,” she shot back. There was something in her voice that had he slanting a look at her.

“What do you mean, you didn’t have a choice?” he demanded.

“After you left, I… I tried to pretend I wasn’t aware of the supernatural, of monsters.” She shook her head. “It lasted two weeks before something else happened.”

“What?” Dean was so surprised he took several steps toward her. “What else happened? Why didn’t I hear about it?”

“Because I dealt with it,” she said fiercely. Dean stared. The fuck? She dealt with it?! “It was a haunting in one of the dorms. A time capsule had been dug up, someone stole a bracelet from it, and pissed off a spirit.”

Dean couldn’t believe his ears. He was the hunter, and this chick was aiming for his job! He couldn’t decide if he should be impressed or annoyed. “Are you shittin’ me? You decided to play hunter?”

She set her jaw. God help him, it looked hot. Damn libido. “Yes, I was the hunter. I did the research, tracked down the stolen bracelet, salted and burned it.”

Oh shit, she’s a female Sam. “So… what, you decided, ‘hey, I did this right, I’ll do it professionally’?”

“God, could you be any more condescending? No, that’s not what happened!” She shifted her stance, and God, that did everything to emphasize her curves. Dean yanked his libido and shoved it back into a mental box. Not the time or place, Winchester. “I went back to classes, I did the studies… but…” She sighed. “Things kept happening. I started noticing a pattern. And… I quit.”

“You quit college? You?” He wasn’t about to forget how hard Y/N got on his case about how she had a scholarship to Purdue and no, it wasn’t easy missing classes.

“Yes! I couldn’t…” There was something in her expression that tugged at his heart. He sat on his emotional reaction; he couldn’t afford to go soft. “I couldn’t forget what I knew, what I saw. T-the vampire, the ghost…. I started noticing weird things in the news, local gossip. I tried, Dean,” and her voice cracked. “But I couldn’t ignore it.”

“So you… instead of, oh I dunno, calling me, telling me about this shit, you decided to go hunting yourself?! How the hell did you even get trained?” He raked his fingers through his hair, wanted to scream at her. She was reckless, untrained. It was a miracle she even stayed alive this long.

She frowned at him. Shit, she looked hot mad. “The number you gave me on that fake card? Disconnected, dumbass. What was I supposed to do?!”

“Not hunt them yourself, that’s for damned sure!” Dean would’ve said more, but then there was a creak. He froze, glanced around, reaching for his gun. Y/N noticed and also followed his lead, looking around. Thank God, she had brains and knew when to pay attention.

“Do you smell that?” he whispered.

Y/N looked around and frowned. “It smells… cold?”

“Yeah. That’s not good. Come here,” he said, reaching for her. She moved over to him willingly, half-turned so her back to was to him. Smart girl. Damn.

There was a loud BOOM that echoed through the asylum, rattling the walls and sending a shower of dust raining down from the ceiling.

“What the hell was that?” she hissed.

Dean spun around, just in time to see chairs, broken tables, and shards of glass hurling down the hallway toward them, propelled by some unseen force.

“Move!” he shouted, grabbing her arm. They bolted as debris smashed into the walls around them, splinters and glass flying like shrapnel.

The hallway twisted into chaos. A metal filing cabinet slammed into the wall inches from Y/N’s shoulder. She stumbled, and Dean yanked her upright without breaking stride.

“There!” Dean pointed to an open doorway. They darted inside, pressing their backs against the wall as the storm of objects roared past the door.

Dean’s breathing was heavy, his green eyes scanning their surroundings. “Okay, so I think it’s safe to say this one’s pissed.”

“No kidding,” Y/N whispered, clutching her gun like a lifeline. “Did you see where it came from?”

Dean’s gaze flicked to the hallway. “It’s not random. Something’s triggering it.”

They peeked out into the hallway. The barrage had stopped, but the oppressive energy still hung heavy in the air.

Y/N’s flashlight beam landed on a pair of cracked, wire-rimmed glasses lying in the center of the chaos.

“There,” she said, nudging Dean and pointing. “Think it’s those?”

Dean’s jaw tightened. “Wouldn’t be the first time a haunted object’s caused this much fun.” He pulled a salt pouch and lighter from his jacket. “Cover me.”

Y/N stepped into the hall first, eyes darting, gun at the ready. Dean followed, moving swiftly toward the glasses. Just as he bent to scoop them up, the air around them chilled, and the light above them shattered.

A guttural scream ripped through the hallway, and a shadowy figure materialized at the far end, surging toward them.

“Hurry!” Y/N shouted.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He dumped salt over the glasses, struck the lighter, and flicked it into the pile.

The glasses caught fire instantly, the flames licking unnaturally high as the shadow let out a deafening shriek. The figure dissolved into smoke, its form writhing and twisting before vanishing completely.

Dean stood, brushing ash from his hands, and glanced at Y/N. “You okay?”

She exhaled a shaky breath, lowering her gun. “Yeah. You?”

Dean smirked. “I’m fine. Another day, another homicidal spirit taken care of.”

She gave him a look. “You’re lucky that ghost didn’t chuck you into the wall.”

“Hey, I’ve got a thick skull,” Dean quipped, flashing a cocky grin.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. Together, they turned back toward the exit, their footsteps echoing through the now-silent asylum.

Once they reached the outside, he glanced at Y/N. “You know, I’m still not cool with you being a hunter.”

She sighed. “You gonna stop me?”

He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Wouldn’t do any good. Short of tyin’ you up—and man, that’d be fun—you’d just keep hunting after I left. I don’t suppose you’d listen?”

“I can’t,” she said, glancing away into the dark. “I… I know too much now. Unless you knew a way for me to forget…”

“Lobotomy?” he offered. She scoffed, and he grinned halfheartedly. “There isn’t. This… this is it, Y/N. This is my life. It doesn’t have to be yours. You can just go back to your life. I got this. I’ll even give you my real number, okay?”

She hesitated, and for a long moment, he dared to hope to keep someone from the hunting life. He grew up in it; it was all he knew. He wasn’t set for the picket fenced life, no matter how much he’d envy seeing families together, happy and innocent. Then she shook her head, and he felt his stomach sink. Damn. Hot and stubborn, just like before.

“I can’t, Dean,” she whispered, and he was surprised to see unshed tears glittering in her eyes. “Ignorance is bliss. I can’t pretend to not notice all the wrong things around us.”

He heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I had a feeling.” He pursed his lips, grabbed one of his fake cards that had his actual phone number on it. “Here. It’s my real number. Call me, okay, if you find something you need help with. I’ll come. I promise.”

Y/N took the card, studied him. “Thanks.” She cleared her throat, blinked back her tears. “Thanks for… helping me.”

He quirked a half-smile. “Yeah, well, you didn’t give me a choice.”

She chuckled, lightly patted his cheek. “Remember that next time you try to shove me out of a hunt.”

“Yeah, well…” God, her hand was soft, and she looked so freaking good. “We still have time.”

Her eyes narrowed a bit as she heard the husky, flirty note in his voice. “Not happening, Winchester.”

God damn it. His libido screamed in the box in his head. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

“Yes, I can.”

He grinned. “See you around, sweetheart.”

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind, @globetrotter28, @deansimpalababy, @daisychaingirl

[drawingcrows]

csm x tf2 au, ft some Boys

[mollysunder]

The Medarda arc of s2 struggled to be good, because the plot viciously smothered it. You can argue that Arcane was never about politics but you cannot say the Medardas were never explicitly a family defined by politics. So when the show shifted it's priorities from a drama steeped in political conflict where even though the setting was fantastical the stakes were grounded to a shift where magic is the end all be all threat to humanity, the Medardas are rendered largely irrelevant.

In s2 Mel's agency over her own story is both largely stripped from her and poorly communicated. Arcane has Mel abducted from the plot to be the Black Rose's captive. Even when Mel manages to free herself it's not through the traits the audience understands are her strengths, her cunning and social intelligence, it's through an innate instinct that natural to her and indecipherable to the audience.

Ambessa as a character is more or less a villain of convenience, which would be fine if she wasn't immediately following Silco's act. Once Mel is removed from the story Ambessa is largely disconnected from any emotional tension fuels conflict between the characters and previously drove the plot in s1. She's there to play the worse bad guy for Caitlyn and then give Viktor the man power for the Glorious Evolution.

It's frustrating to see the Medardas used the way they are in s2 because when they're together I can see how it could be good. When they're together Mel forces emotion out of Ambessa. In Act 1, Ambessa proved she could do circles around Piltover's court, which could actually put Mel in a tight spot.

Their final scene on paper sounds like a good idea where the true resolution to Mel and Ambessa's story was that Ambessa saw Mel's own ruthless behavior as she not only betrayed Ambessa to the Black Rose, but used her as BAIT to double cross LeBlanc. Ambessa died proud that her daughter killed her the way she did, and that's so cool and tragic, but the execution was a flop.

One, their final fight is completely unimportant to the actual Glorious Evolution, Mel's grief can't even be a highlight because it's interrupted by Viktor's mind trap. Two, their fight didn't rely on any of Mel's actual strengths, just magic and the poorly explained MacGuffin LeBlanc gave her. How did Mel even know it would do that?

It's like the writers had the bones for a great story for the Medardas, but then they're like the world's worst archeologists and fit those bones together in the worst way possible because they were convinced the bones made a stegasaurus instead of a T-rex or something.

[disco-troy]

I don't feel like people have a nuanced enough view of Kory what she thinks about killing. She's not blindly wanting to murder criminals, nor is she delighted by the actions of murder. She sees murder as a necessity because of her upbringing in the middle of an existential war, and also as a way to regain autonomy on her life. Autonomy is a key theme in many of the people Kory chooses to kill.

The idea of autonomy over the body and her life is extremely important to Kory. This makes sense, Kory spends six years in slavery, her life not her own, and grew up knowing her planet could lose its own autonomy and freedom at any time.

When she was a slave, the few times that she was able to control her life in those times. Her first kill was her kill of what would become her last master, starting the chain of domino that would result in her freedom.

Note her words: "His very touch sickened me". It wasn't just about her imprisonment or her anger, but about her body, her autonomy. She couldn't handle being touched like that anymore, and killed knowing that it would solve nothing, knowing that it would lead to more punishment for her later down the line.

Her next kill allowed her to escape, securing her freedom and her own autonomy.

To escape she must pretend Kory has completely given in to her captors. That she is fine, even happy with the Gordonian touching her. But by doing this she is bringing him close, giving him the illusion of control over herself to secure her own freedom.

She is pretending to be a slave, while affirming to herself that she is still a soldier.

In this way we can see a dichotomy that has ruled Kory's life until now. On one side, you have succumbing to subjugation, which involved a loss of bodily autonomy. On the other side you had her claiming her freedom and her autonomy which comes with the need to kill or be destroyed.

In addition to this, you need to think of the context of Kory's upbringing. Of course Kory is used to killing her enemies. She grew up in a climate of fear in which there was a real possibility of total annihilation. Millions of her people died in the war that eventually lead her to being sold as a slave.

She grew up during a society that could have been destroyed in war, where everyday killing was not a questions but an existential threat. Killing and war was literally the only way for her people to conserve their autonomy.

This disconnect between Dick/Donna and Kory is not because Kory is an alien, but because the Titans are living in a world where they are superheroes and Kory is living in a world where she is a solider. Would a Kory that didn't kill even been able to come out alive from war? From her enslavement? To her its about her autonomy and her independence, she doesn't have the luxury of morals, of thought, of choice.

Later we see Kory not change, but shift. She realizes that killing will never be easier for her again.

This makes sense! her interpretation of killing has changed a lot because she's been exposed to a new environment. On earth she is not facing a literal war, she has real power, she has backup, she doesn't have to fight every second for her freedom and autonomy.

I think this is demonstrated in an incredibly narrative compelling way in Titans (1999) when Kory kills to give another character autonomy over her own body; Adaline Kane. Adaline is about to die, but her blood can still be harvested for Vandal Savage's experiments. She begs for death, instead of living that fate.

Kory gives it to her.

(much like Slade gave Joey in Titans Hunt but this post only has the space for one parallel right now)

When it comes to protecting the greater good, and especially when it comes to bodily autonomy Kory is not only willing to kill, but sees it as her duty.

She's never stopped being a soldier, she's never stopped being the Tamaranian who was forced to kill and see her people die to preserve her home, but more than that, she never stopped being the little girl for whom killing was her only way of reclaiming her autonomy.

[gremlingottoosilly]

I don't know if you do a/b/overses/omegaverses but Konig in omegaverse sounds really interesting

Konig is a defenition of an alpha. Brooding, menacing presence - he had mastered the art of dissociating on the person's nose so he could seem cool and intimidating, and he is that one annoying fucking alpha who never takes scent blockers and is always ready to make his presence known to all lesser alphas and omegas around him. It's only natural that he is a colonel - a person of his stature can't pass for a normal soldier, can't be lumped with betas and all the other, weaker alphas. He just waits for god to finally take away the social anxiety, and then he would be rolling in omegas. Certainly. For sure. Because being a prime alpha is a great thing on the battlefield - he intimidates enemies and inspires his comrades; his scent makes everyone naturally submit to him and follow his orders. No one dares to challenge him - and if someone is dumb enough, he has enough power to shut them up. There is a tiiiny problem though.

He scares omegas shitless. Like, you're a pretty omega girl who works in a coffee shop near the military base. You've convinced yourself you're pretty tough for an omega, seeing alphas all day and usually serving tired military boys who treat you like you're the first girl they saw in weeks. Which, kind of, you are - but still, you don't feel nearly scared in their presence. They are like rowdy puppies but nothing too scary. And then you see Konig. Fucking menace, big and terrifying - this is the first time you thought to press a panic button to alert the security, even though you kind of know that it would be useless. Konig stares at you, an adorable omega in your pretty uniform apron, with such a brave expression, and he can't help but stare - the uniform is kind of ugly, hides your curves, but he still stares like a kid in the candy shop. He knows his hormones are probably making a mess of your brain, tearing you between fear and arousal, but he simply can't help himself - he needs you to acknowledge him. Konig is fucking awful to be around - he grabs your hand when you give him his drink, making a mistake to give it to him directly instead of placing it on the corner and running away. He holds your hand like it's the most delicate thing in the world, and you just fucking know that the pheromones are changing to a much more aroused ones - it almost makes you shiver, makes you tremble with a mix of fear and...well, you wish it was still fear, and not that throbbing sensation settling deep in your guts. God, you fucking hate being an omega in a world filled with beefy and scary alphas. Konig makes sure you regret it properly, of course.

[hellsitedotcom]

### Genshin Men & How They Kiss ###

Featuring Dainsleif, Il Dottore, Il Capitano, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Al-Haitham.

warnings: shouldn't be anything too spicy/nsfw. Dottore bites people, do with that what you want.

english isn't my native language!

this is going to flop so bad, but I'm bored; bone app the teeth.

DAINSLEIF

He is someone who - in my humble opinion - kisses you with such...devotion, such unwavering and suffocating devotion that it leaves you breathless and stunned even after the 100th kiss.

Dain has his way with words, we all know that, and as mesmerizing as his compliments and confessions can be, so are his kisses; they are like a beautiful, life-changing poem that leaves you aching for more.

He's not too frequent of a kisser, though - I want to think he's somewhat dramatic with his timing for kisses; before depatures, big battles, when you're apart from each other for longer times & greater distances.

Definitely one for goodnight kisses; he's such a gentle lover, I'd say. There's just something about him that makes it hard for me to see him as an aggressive, obsessive, or extremely passionate/intense lover (I hope you know what I mean).

You know those Princess x Knight stories? Where they finally have that first kiss, and it's described like something straight out of a fairytale? That's Dainsleif, basically. Also, definitely someone who kisses your hand/palm.

IL DOTTORE

Oh, he's a freak, alright. My ''aroace Dottore'' headcanons aside, he's...not your ''typical'' guy, I'd say. Well, he's not a romantic, I think we can all agree on that.

Dottore's kisses are most definitely possessive - they aren't there to show love or anything, but to claim - to ''mark his territory'', sorta.

I think he'd see ''kissing'' as an outlet of sorts; I don't necessarily see the ''real'' Dottore as someone who gets frustrated and lets it out on his lover, nor would he be someone to kiss his lover unprovoked, I think. He doesn't necessarily need it.

If we were to talk about a not-so-sociopathic Dottore (alias, a normal human), he wouldn't necessarily strike me as someone who thinks about kissing you much either. He gives me a rather uninterested vibe in that regard; he probably shows his love/devotion in different ways.

Maybe I'm just really biased because of my other headcanon; he just doesn't care about kisses in a romantic sense, that's it. He'll bite you, he'll devour you, but there's nothing more behind it but exerting power...or maybe he just wants to silence you, because your provocations/teasing is getting on his last nerve.

His kisses (I honestly just see him as a biter) are bruising, and the way he holds onto you during that time leaves bruises, too. And, again, not many of these actions stem from love, but possessiveness or to ''make a statement''.

IL CAPITANO

Initially thought was ''Does he even know what a kiss is'', but let's brush past that...anyway, why can I see him somewhere inbetween the likes of Dain & Dottore? lol

He's not much of a kisser, either. Which, uh, soldier and all, I'd say, but then, he is still capable of care and devotion in a way that others never could.

He's devoted in his kisses, and there's a pledge of loyalty behind each kiss, only solidified by their rarity. He swears fealty to you in that way - a firm, classy kiss on the lips; kissing the back of your hand while kneeling in front of you; a lasting kiss on your forehead before he departs.

Again, those kisses are rare and kept secret from the outside, but they exist and they hold such an incredible weight to themselves; they are his greatest show of vulnerability and weakness. Though, he does not view having a lover as a weakness.

As mentioned further above: His kisses are firm, they are lasting. He doesn't just give you quick pecks in passing, no. Each kiss takes its time, and each kiss is there to repeat the message the first one gave ''I swear fealty to you''. They aren't overly passionate, messy, or anything like that.

Definitely not one for many words, and their all pretty cordial and like some devoted rule-abiding knight would talk, lol. Quality Time and Acts of Service are more of his strongsuit.

NEUVILLETTE

I'm a bit torn here, though he certainly is a gentle kisser. On one hand, I want to say it is a ''lack of experience'' in that prospect, that could make him more hesitant and careful. On the other hand, I just feel like regardless of his experience level, he'd be a gentle lover.

He's more frequent in his kisses - he does not mind showing you love, regardless of where you are, though during important meetings (or trials) you'll never find him kissing you; only afterwards, when you've returned to the privacy of his office, he'll drop that mask again.

He'll pour all his emotions into his kisses - including those tragic, painful emotions after certain trials. Yet, his kisses are never hungry or aggressive. They'll still always keep their lightness.

Most of the time, you'll find him kissing your lips or your cheeks. In your sleep, he'll press a kiss to your forehead, and in public he'll often press a kiss to the palm of your hand.

His kisses are the kind to make you giggle, or smile all giddy. They are exciting, in a way. Though rather light and ''brief'', they leave you at a loss every time; like a beautiful dream. Paired with that soft smile of his? They'll have you melting right then and there.

WRIOTHESLEY

I just let out the most concerning ''hehehehe''; anyway, oh boy, I wanna be indulgent here, but I'll try to be as ''realistic'' as possible.

He's...a wildcard, of sorts. Wriothesley can be extremely passionate & hungry when it comes to his lover, but he can also be more classy & gentle about it, depending on different factors.

Now, focus on the more intense parts of Wriothesley. For anyone needing a visual/example; I'm sure there's fics out there where the reader is sparring with Wriothesley. And that's where I get the more intense version of him from.

He's the kind to pin you against a wall and devour your lips, tongue eventually down your throat as he got you at his mercy. He's not holding back with those kisses - he's hungry; hungry for all of you. His kisses aren't necessarily bruising, but they are suffocating; you'll be struggling for air when he is like this.

You'll find him his filled with desire only in private - and often enough there's something needed to trigger this...almost primal?...version of him; yes, this means he'll leave marks, but he'd never intentionally hurt you to get off.

On other occasions, he's more gentle, though that gentleness can sometimes stem from an absence of mind, too. Fleeting kisses on the cheek, barely sparing you a glance as he's too busy with work. His ''apology'' kisses are also the gentle, yet firmer kind. And you'll get them quite frequently, given...everything.

In conclusion, he's definitely capable of being both extremely hungry/intense and being gentle; it really depends on preference, I suppose, but I can absolutely see him being a perfect balance.

AL-HAITHAM

Definitely more on the calmer side; not necessarily ''gentle'' in the way I have described before, but he's not an aggressive/hungry kisser, unless for certain occasions, maybe.

He's so introverted in his voicelines, he's probably the same with a lover; barely any PDA in public, just because he's not a fan of it (you'll maybe get a peck on the cheek or a kiss on the forehead, but just fleeting).

His kisses are...somewhat distant, quite often. He'll kiss you on the lips, but you'll feel like he's not really present while kissing you. He'll also take your hand and kiss it absently whenever you sit beside him while he's studying.

Other times, he's nearly obsessed with kissing you; he'll be kissing you firmly, one kiss lasting minutes before being interrupted by shorter and lighter kisses, and then he'll go back to a firm, passionate kiss. He'll often have you on his lap during those.

Slow, sensual make out sessions. That's what I was looking for, I think. Lots of cuddling, holding you close, tracing his lips over your skin. That's how I see him sometimes.

Can I actually see him be more intense in his kisses? Maybe, but it takes a lot. A lot of pent up frustration, Kaveh getting on his last nerve, some issues with the Akademiya, etc.; and perhaps, if you provoke him on that day, you'll see a more hungry side...Or maybe he just did it to satisfy you for a while, who knows?

Makes me believe that Al-Haitham does not mind being more dominant, more intense, more hungry during make out sessions - he can if it means you'll be happy about it, but he doesn't prefer it, tbh.

[Genshin Women & How They Kiss]

[thesilmarillionblog]

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

Series Masterlist is here.

Summary: You and Soldier Boy want to create a family and move on from everything, even the Vought, but you also know that he has to face Homelander one last time to keep his vow to Butcher. However, nothing turns out as you had hoped.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: +18! (MINORS DNI), Heavy angst, hurt, memory loss, forced abortion, implied pregnancy, obsession, Soldier Boy gets hurt, reader gets hurt, established relationship, manipulation

Word Count: 4842

A/N: English is not my first language.

This is inspired by the song 'Remembrance' by Memoria Futuri.༊

You were alone in the coach watching TV when you heard the door open. You instantly got up and stared at Ben when your ruminations started to take over. He shot you a little smile that made your heart race. 

Ben sent you a meaningful look, and you followed him to his room just as Butcher and the others were getting into a fight.

His broad, powerful arms wrapped snugly around your entire body as he left his shield behind and gave you an instant hug. It was unclear who rushed to get into the arms of the other one first. You planted a gentle kiss on his neck, your fingers trailing behind the ends of his messy hair. 

With his gloved fingertips gently brushing your cheek, he whispered, “I missed you so fucking much.”

Between his hard kisses, you laughed and said, “It's only been two days. But I missed you too.”

After giving you a gentle kiss on the forehead, he began to remove his suit and smirked at you, saying, “Yeah, I'd miss me too. So, what did you do when I was away?”

“Actually, nothing. Kimiko and I just played some video gaming all day. I was losing all the time.” You laughed, “Well, I wouldn't want to win against a supe anyway.”

“How dare she?” he asked, smirking, as you stood up and gave him a hard-back hug. You then planted a strong kiss on his bare back and rested your cheek against it. 

“You act like you didn't miss me as much as I missed you, but you can't just keep your hands away from me, right?” Ben laughed, turned around, and gave you a tight squeeze while firmly holding your ass and giving you a passionate kiss. 

Your hands on his beard went into his hair and pulled, trying to stop him, as he pressed his shaft to your body a little too roughly and eagerly. You were moaning softly into his mouth. 

“Fuck, baby, don't you even tell me-.”

“I'm sore, quite a lot,” you said as soon as you smiled into his mouth. 

“I hate this word. It's been two days already,” he grumbled while keeping touch your body and applying a light pressure, showing his need for you. 

Your fingertips trailed seductively across his tense chest to make him go a little bit wild. “Well, you shouldn't have fucked me all day until I couldn't move just because you would be staying away for only two days,” you said with a giggle. 

He whispered, “You're enjoying this, aren't you?” and planted long kisses on your neck, seemingly trying to convince you change your idea. 

“Of course not,” you muttered as you watched adjusting himself in his sweatpants while maintaining eye contact and then abruptly letting you go with a grunt after giving your ass a little slap. 

“I'll...give you something,” he said, as if he had suddenly remembered a certain thing. “I actually bought you something.” 

With an excited question, “What is it?” You tried to see what was hidden in his hands as he gave you an affectionate little smile. 

“You know those cocksucker CIA bitches pay me well nowadays, as they should, and I'm aware of the fact the fact that I didn't buy you a gift at all, though we have been together for almost a year,” he said. He threw the box aside, showed you a nice ring, and took your hand gently into his, placing it before you could even react. “Do you like it?”

You eventually said, “It's so beautiful,” as you gazed in awe at the ring on your finger. “Ben, this is the most beautiful gift I have ever received. Thank you.” 

Ben took a breath of relief and stilled his hand around your belly. When he was watching, you were looking admiringly at the ring. A proud smile appeared on his face. “You know, once I'm done with Butcher, his crew, and Homelander tomorrow, everything will be different, right?”

When he spoke of the following day, the atmosphere grew more dense. Since he was growing harder to handle every day, you had been under a lot of stress for the past few weeks, but you tried not to show it to him in order to keep him from becoming more concerned. 

You nodded to him and said, “I know.” 

“Hey, it's going to be easy, and I'll be finished with all of them. Like we planned earlier, we'll begin a new life somewhere else. Just you and me.”

Ben's hands lingered around your neck and bare shoulders, giving you the most genuine smile. 

To break the tense air, you teased, “Are you sure you want to share a life with me, away from the company?” as he gently pulled you up and laid you down on the bed in between your small laughs. 

“I shouldn't think about that for the second time,” he muttered, smirking at you as he noticed your face falling. 

You asked him, “What would happen if you thought about it for a second time, though?” and gently hit him, taking care not to injure yourself. 

“Well, I guess you'll never know, so I better not think about it at all,” Ben said, his smile widening as he saw your reaction to it. 

“Asshole,” you gave him a chest slap. 

He grumbled, “I just gave you a ring, and your ungrateful mouth has already started to bite me,” taking advantage of your weak spot to begin tickling you. 

You were so oversensitive that you cried while laughing and shouted in between when he kept tickling you mercilessly. 

“Try calling me names like that once more. Do you want to speak now? Did your tongue get caught by a cat?” As he was on top of you and you were attempting to shove his hands away as if you could ever manage it, he chuckled. 

You choked out, “Bear Dick. Idiot,” and he gave you even more tickling. “All right, please forgive me. I promise not to speak such vile words to you again, sir, Soldier Boy.”

He ended his game with you and said, “Oh, yeah?” He was obviously amused that you addressed him by his supe name. “Are you going to be a good girl?” 

You spoke softly, “I will,” in between gasps. “Aren't I always?” 

Ben pushed himself between your thighs and said, “I don't know; I need to be reminded,” making you feel his hardness. “I might have a weak memory.”

Although you both understood that you couldn't give him everything he desired at this time, that didn't mean you were unable to fulfill his needs. 

As you put your palm over his cock through his sweatpants and muttered, “It's clear,” It was insane that he hadn't softened at all. “I guess I might have to show you how good I am at this point.”

He groaned softly and watched as he removed his huge cock from his pants, placing his hands on both sides of your head. Considering how little your hand was in comparison to his hardness, it made you feel even more horny. 

You made him go a little bit crazy by asking him, in an innocent tone, “What do you need me to do?” Even though you knew you were going too far because you knew he was dying to get inside, you couldn't help but torture him. 

Your thumb pushed the sensitive tip of his redened cock before he could say anything, causing him to growl loudly and curse. “You like it, don't you? You like driving me insane by refusing to let me fuck your cunt.”

Whispering, “Maybe,” you gathered the pre-cum and placed it on your lips while staring directly into his eyes. 

“Fuck that,” he grumbled, quickly picking up your nightgown and ripping off your underwear before tossing it onto the bed. Perhaps you were pushing your luck a little too hard. 

“Ben, I really want it too, but I'm sore,” you muttered, your hands coming to a stop on his rough flesh. 

With a moan, he murmured, “Calm down; unfortunetely I won't fuck you,” and spread your legs. You both groaned as you felt his cock on your pussy. “But it doesn't mean that I can't enjoy feeling you.”

“Use both hands,” he said, and you promptly followed his instructions. When he took over, his body temperature was really high. “Tighter.” 

“Are you sure?” you questioned in a doubtful tone. “I don't want to hurt you.” 

“You think you can hurt me, baby?” he said, placing a possessive fingertips on your chin as the corner of his lips curled. “Now, use both hands to hold it tightly as much as you can.”

His moan was satisfied when you hesitantly followed his instructions, and his strong grasp on your chin caused your heart to speed up. He began to move his hips and slide into your hands between his groans, fucking into them since your palms were slippery with his pre-cum. 

The sound of his heavy balls hitting your clit filled the bedroom, making your cheeks flush. 

Ben moaned, “Come on, baby, do it tighter,” and in an effort to maintain control, he placed both of his hands firmly on both sides of your belly on the sheets. You were getting hornier seeing him try to be gentle with you when all he wanted to do was be rough. You sensed that your pussy was already wet. 

You were doing everything in your power to hold him as tightly as possible in compliance with his orders, but his power was unmatched and was quickly fucking into your hands, making it more difficult for you to grip his cock. 

He immediately groaned in protest when you withdrew one of your hands, but he waited for you to make another move. You both gasped as you began to give him a hard, forceful pump. His veins were clearly apparent, and you could tell he was getting close because he felt considerably heavier. 

He gently moved your hand away with hardness before you could ask him anything. Ben pressed himself on your pussy, moving himself up and down with forceful movements, both fisted hands on both sides of the sheet as he stroked his cock against your wetness. 

Your walls clenched, and you lifted your hips to match his motions. When he began kissing you, you tried to stop your moaning in his mouth by placing your hands on his biceps and holding on tightly.

Ben watched you with an intense glare as your walls began to tighten around nothingness and you started shaking from your climax.

He mumbled, “Yeah, just like that, baby,” as you continued to scream and orgasm.

As soon as your orgasmic effects subsided, Ben grabbed your torn underwear from the bed and began to spill himself over it in front of your startled eyes. Between his grunts, you kept your hands on his flexing biceps as he continued to spill his thick ropes on your torn underwear.

He gasped and beat his cock a little harder to totally spill himself. “I'll come inside you next time,” he said. 

You teased him, “You better,” as your fingers worked over his tense muscles. 

“You little tease,” he said as he finished throwing your ripped underwear on the ground and planting a forceful kiss on your forehead and neck. 

You yawned, and Ben embraced you in his warm arms and adjusted your nightie very gently, right after he'd shoved his dick back into his sweatpants. 

“You smell exceptionally nice these days,” he said, continuing to smell your neck and hair. 

“So you're telling me I smell bad normally?” 

“Of course, that wasn't what I meant, my dear. You're also a little more sensitive than normal, huh? And pretty  dizzy.” To calm you down, Ben planted a kiss on the corners of your mouth. 

You silently said, “Maybe it's because you're touching my nerves, old man,” and buried your head in his heated chest. You must have felt exhausted in such a short period of time due to the powerful orgasm. 

“Behave. You were so docile and obedient moments ago.” You gasped in surprise as Ben gave you a light slap on your bare ass and said, “Now your claws are back, I see.”

You moaned out, “Let me sleep,” resting one leg on his. 

He laughed as he saw you practically nod off in a matter of seconds. 

Ben immediately whispered, “I love you,” causing your lips to curl with happiness and your heart to melt. He was undoubtedly aware of how these three words would affect you. 

“I know, and I love you.”

You felt Ben's lips curve on your hair as his arms tightened around your entire body. 

You gave Ben a small smile, hoping that this day would end as soon as possible, while Butcher, Ben, and the others were talking about what to do in Vought Tower when they encountered Homelander.

“Now, you're all going inside, behind this door, and waiting for us, ladies.”

“What are you doing?” Annie answered immediately, and Hughie gave her support against Butcher and Maeve.

“We don't need any more issues than necessary. It's Vought Tower that we're going to go to, not some ordinary place. Now, get inside, dear one.”

Hughie, Frenchie, and Annie began to argue with Butcher, telling him they wouldn't divulge what they were commanded, but Ben threatened them all by simply touching his gun, so they all gave in.

Just as you were taking a step back, Ben slapped your ass and urged you gently into the vast space with a mischievous smirk on his face.

“You get inside, especially,” Ben muttered, disregarding all of your complaints. “Be a good girl.”

Ben gave you a wink before they closed the door. You wished you could have assisted him there; you wanted to be with him.

Annie and Kimiko finally succeeded in breaking through the thick, locked door after a great deal of effort.

You immediately said, “I'll come with you too,” in a serious manner. Before anyone else rejected you, you stated, “I'm not the only regular human here. As a member of the team, I will be coming.”

You sighed with relief as Frenchie and MM finally nodded at you after exchanging an odd look.

Thanks to Annie, you were able to enter Vought Tower despite its difficulty. Given how easily Ben was able to smell you, you intended to keep an eye on the issue from a distance so as not to burden or distract him. On the other hand, your eyes grew wide as you noticed Ben and Butcher fighting. Actually, Butcher was the one who attacked him nonstop. Annie looked on in disbelief as Frenchie and MM hurriedly fled the area with some things in their hands.

You cried out, “Butcher!” with fury as soon as you witnessed Butcher unleash his super lasering powers on Ben. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“And what the hell are you doing here?” Ben shoved Butcher to the ground, gave him a disgusted look, and roared back. “Get the fuck out of here.”

His shield was shattered.

When you went to Annie and Kimiko to tell them to take action and find a solution to this situation, they both attacked Ben as well, backing Butcher. Your heart was racing behind your chest as Butcher and Ben continued to fight and hit each other.

When her eyes began to shine with maximum intensity, you cried as loudly as you could, “Annie, stop this madness,” but no one was paying attention. You could have found and utilized one right now if you hadn't injected yourself with enough Temp-V.

Ben violently grabbed Kimiko by the neck and threw her. Before you even knew what was going on and attempted to break up Butcher and Ben's intense fight, Butcher threw you against the closest table with such force that your head was hurting so badly that you were unable to find the strength to get back up.

It felt like the back of your head was bleeding, as was your lower stomach. You continued to mumble Ben's name until you lost consciousness. You were quite concerned for Ben when you last saw them trying to put gas on his face in an attempt to get him to fall back asleep. He was betrayed by his team another time, and you couldn't even stop it.

It was unfair and cruel because, if you could only get it through today, you and Ben would have too many dreams come true.

Ben watched you lose consciousness as a result of Butcher throwing you away, acting as though it didn't matter that you were a frail human and that you would die there. His chest began to glow—it was actually burning—at that moment. He was completely out of control just by looking at you, even though you were still breathing.

He knew that you needed him, so he wanted to stop himself. If he had blown up right now, he wouldn't have cared if he killed everyone in his immediate vicinity, but he could have killed you in less than a second as well. Yet Ben's reasonable rage towards Butcher and everyone else persisted. He began to lose consciousness, but thankfully, Queen Maeve grabbed him and leaped out of the window before he exploded. You would be alright; at least your heartbeats were still strong.

As the gas put Soldier Boy to sleep once more, Butcher and the others inhaled deeply as they observed his hauntingly dozing body on the bed, prepared for his return to Russia. When Butcher first spoke with the CIA about it a year ago, it was already part of the plan. However, because Homelander was still alive and they all risked everything for nothing, Butcher just didn't know it would be carried out in this way, and the whole operation was a complete failure.

Kimiko began speaking hurriedly in sign language, concerned for you, as she carefully picked up your unconscious body and laid it on the table.

Frenchie exclaimed, “Kimiko is right. We have to take her to the hospital. She is bleeding from the head and everywhere.”

“Alright, you're right. Since I'm the one who did the job, I'll take care of this, right?” Butcher muttered in a rough tone. “Frenchie and Kimiko, follow me. It looks like cleaning up this mess is going to take some time. Right now, we can't go to the hospital.”

Butcher had contacted a long-time medical acquaintance of his who handled sensitive cases with undercover agents in order to maintain confidentiality when necessary. He knew two doctors to solve this mess, fortunately. Once they had a conversation and you had given them the information they required, they put you in the cold bed, and Kimiko did her best to wipe the blood off your head.

One of the doctors stated after an hour, “She seems fine, but I can't guarantee that her brain is functioning properly.”

“What the heck do you mean?” With a glance at your sleeping body, Butcher asked.

“Her brain injury appears to be rather severe. Memory loss is quite likely. Of course, we can't be certain of anything. She is, nevertheless, physically alright.”

“Well, as long as she's alive, it wouldn't be all that horrible.” Butcher smirked and put his hands in his pockets with a smug expression on his face. Kimiko gave him a hideous look and was clearly upset with him. “I'm sure there are many things she wants to forget anyway,” Butcher said.

“But it's going to be difficult for her to accept her pregnancy at this point,” the doctor said, looking at him perplexed.

“The fuck?” Butcher cried out, hands on his hips, gaze locked on your abdomen as he studied your unconscious body. “Are you fucking with me? Are you positive, for sure?”

“Mon Dieu,” the Frenchie muttered. “That's not good.”

The doctor added, “Of course we are sure,” as he held the files in his hands.

“However, she is still extremely early in her pregnancy. Perhaps not even she knows it herself.”

The doctor continued, even before Butcher reacted. “There's more. It does not appear to be a typical pregnancy.”

“For god’s sake, give me some slack. What do you mean at this point?” Butcher yelled out.

“I'm trying to say that it appears to be a fully developed fetus developing inside her. The fetus appears to be in excellent health based on what I can tell from her results. It's definitely a supe baby.”

Kimiko and Frenchie exchanged a look, and her eyes grew wide. For a minute, silence engulfed the room, and none of them could think of anything to say.

Butcher inhaled deeply and narrowed his gaze as he studied your figure, his mind racing with ideas. “So you're telling me she's pregnant with a supe baby, right?”

The doctor said, “That's exactly what I'm telling you. Who's the father, by the way?”

The doctor stared at Butcher, Frenchie, and Kimiko curiously while they looked at each other, troubled. They weren't entirely certain about the nature of your relationship with Soldier Boy, but they were aware that you two had a sexual interaction. They were aware that you only ever saw him and that you didn't know other super heroes than Soldier Boy.

“It's classified.” Butcher immediately cut it off. “All right, prepare her for the abortion. She must get rid of this thing right away to prevent the situation from getting out of hand.”

“What?” Frenchie yelled; he was horrified by Butcher's callousness and his discussion of killing your unborn child as if it were no big deal.

With a furious look on her face, Kimiko grabbed Butcher by the chest and began yelling in sign language.

“Kimiko is exactly right. You have no business deciding what to do with her body. It's between her and him. Fuck off, Butcher. You're being too much.”

“Are you two fucking out of minds?” Butcher screamed, his nerves already raw from what had transpired. “Obviously, I wouldn't make this choice if she was carrying a typical fetus rather than the most dangerous one. Are you even mindful of what happened to my Becca?”

Butcher had never considered talking about Becca and had disliked discussing his past, but with Kimiko and Frenchie staring at him with disapproval, he realized that he had to. He had to try, even though he knew they would never be able to understand fully.

“She was treated by the most skilled physicians in Vought when she became pregnant by—you know who. Do you know what happened? The monster that was growing inside her womb destroyed every organ and tore her stomach apart when her water broke in an attempt to go out. There, she fucking nearly died in her bloody bed. Almost.” Butcher spat forth his hatred, emphasizing every word in order to make clear the gravity of the situation. “Y/N will never survive this. She also took a great amount of Tempt-V in the past few months. Her body is already too fragile.”

“Don't give me that kind of look. I'm not enjoying this, but someone needs to make important decisions for the better,” Butcher angrily remarked to Kimiko, who remained expressionless and continued to gaze at him with hatred, as though he were her biggest enemy. “It appears that she will likely suffer from memory loss without realizing it. Since we already took care of the matter there, she can start fresh. That man will never enter her life again after all, okay?”

“No matter what,” Frenchie inhaled deeply. He didn't like what was happening and was concerned by it. “She'll be living a lie. This is wrong.”

Butcher interrupted him as he was getting close to your sleeping body on the white bed, saying, “Shut the fuck up. What she is unaware of is not going to hurt her. Here is where we are going to solve this situation. After all, we are in the business of killing supes. Stop complicating things and becoming overly sensitive.”

“Screw you.” Frenchie retreated a step. “You're discussing the murder of a baby. Whether or not it's a supe doesn't matter. I refuse to participate in this.”

“Are you truly aware of what will happen to her if she gives birth? First of all, she is not going to survive and will die in childbirth. Second, Vought will learn of the baby's existence and raise it to become their new puppet, capable of murdering others for amusement. Numerous people will be harmed by it. We cannot handle one more offspring of a bastard. Get your ass act straight and quit being so fucking emotional because she won't even know this.”

If Butcher hadn't been on Temp-V, Kimiko's hands could have crushed his chest from giving him such a severe shove by the chest. She kept the same expression on her face and kept on utilizing sign language.

“From now on, nothing can stop me, so you two go fuck out of here. She'll be alright when this nightmare is over. We are all fortunate to have discovered this crap earlier than she did, and her mental health will benefit even more from the assistance with her memory loss.”

“Come on Kimiko, let's go,” Frenchie mumbled while examining your body with sympathy. He understood that nothing would work out the way Butcher planned since it was now beyond disaster. This was not good.

Kimiko tried to talk to Frenchie, but he said, “It's not our job. This is bigger than us, Kimiko. Let's just get the fuck out of there.”

She had an expression of despair on her face, and despite her repeated attempts to speak with Frenchie, he begged her to get out of the chilly, desolate room as soon as possible. They unwillingly exited, leaving you in the room alone with three monsters.

A doctor said, “Butcher, we have known each other for years, and I know you are not a bad guy, but we cannot just kill her baby without her permission.”

Butcher inhaled deeply as he placed a finger on your covered abdomen and uttered, “That's not an innocent baby there; that's a monster, a natural Supe, and a potential killer. You already know that the CIA never approves such things. We will not permit the birth of any more Homelanders. Fucking do it already and keep your mouth shut; you'll be paid handsomely.”

The female doctor began to get ready to do the procedure. “We don't want to deal with an issue if she or the man she got pregnant by finds out this,” she stated.

“They won't; this will remain a secret, and nobody will ever discuss it, so let's be positive; she doesn't remember anything, am I right? How fortunate we are to live in a nation where medicine and technology are so advanced. That would be very helpful as well, my dear.” Butcher winked at the doctor, acting as though everything was normal.

Butcher scowled when he noticed the elegant green ring on your finger after they had both briefly left the room. He had no idea what this meant or even whether it was from Soldier Boy, but it was preferable to leave no trace and not take any more chances. He removed your ring from your finger and threw it into the closest tin in the room for this reason.

After what seemed like an hour of waiting, they eventually finished the procedure, and Butcher exhaled with relief when he was informed that it was finished. Where Butcher tossed your ring, they threw the dead fetus that was removed from your body in cold blood. Everything was in order.

Butcher spoke with the doctors about your condition once more, ensuring that you slept until you had fully recovered physically. He also paid them off and reminded them not to discuss what had happened with anyone else.

He knew you would soon be alright.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @smexydilflover @deebris @coolrobloxkid28 @endrfairy @libby99hb @raynamorono23 @cwutesygrl @ladysparkles78 @seokjinluvb0t   @deangirl96 @whendiditendalthoughenjoyment @mostlymarvelgirl

[r3starttt]

NOTHING MATTERS

PAIRING: Act. 3 Caitlyn x reader

SUMMARY: You take care of caitlyn after her betrayal to Ambessa.

CW: SFW. Mentions of injuries, angsty and just one sad kiss at the end.

TAGLIST: @Kaimythically @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @tlouloser @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @kiki5gigi @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @rob1nbuckl3ys @femininologies @dinakisser @viajeros--sin--destino @GodessAgrona @patronagrona @halle5s @abvisionss

AN: this is too short and weird cs I'm trying to write again like, actually write and don't jump into heavy smut. Hope this doesn't floppppp cs... would make me so sad to see people are just here for the strap sucking fics (no judgment just, gimme time until I get back to THAT type or writing pls and thanks)

this is also for @champagne-problems-ate ily <3

At the Kiramman’s own request—an expectation you had grown all too accustomed to by now—it was you who attended to the injuries she sustained in the aftermath of recent, turbulent events. The details of what had occurred remained shrouded in vagueness. Some kind of major upheaval had unfolded, the kind that left even seasoned soldiers and seasoned minds faltering in its wake.

What little information you gleaned came through the fragmented gossip of others, particularly from Maddie’s not-so-hushed commentary, for she couldn’t keep her tongue still in the Kiramman estate—there was something about the return of major authorities.

Where they had gone, and why, was a mystery to all.

And then there was Ambessa- the looming figure who had always straddled the line between ally and enemy.

She had never been trustworthy in your eyes, though Caitlyn, however, had once trusted her—or had pretended to, for the sake of her little army of loyal soldiers, the ones who worshipped at her feet. Like Maddie, ever eager to linger in the Kiramman household under the thin guise of concern for her superior.

She could hardly mask her longing—the way her eyes lingered, the way her voice softened when speaking of Caitlyn, the woman she so desperately wished would return her gaze with something more than polite dismissal.

It was a convoluted mess, a knot of politics and personal betrayals you couldn’t hope to unravel. Not because you didn’t care for the intrigue, but because your heart was too heavy with worry— for Piltover, and for yourself. For your family. Though the threads of your connection to Caitlyn had frayed over time, you still trusted her, still hoped, prayed even, that she would find a way to right the course of things. She had always carried that spark of possibility, a rare ember in a city obsessed with cold, mechanical precision.

Your own beginnings were humble, born to a family that clawed its way out of the undercity when they learned of your impending arrival.

A pregnancy was a miracle, a joy—but only if one could afford the privileges that made life bearable: clean air, decent food, warm clothes, a bath that didn’t leave the water darker than the dirt it was meant to wash away. They had fought for you, fought tooth and nail to give you a life worth living.

Perhaps that was your greatest flaw: you came from a family that believed others were always worth fighting for, even when you barely had the strength to fight for yourselves.

Caitlyn was no exception. For all the differences in your upbringings, she had a way of making you believe that Piltover could be something better.

She changed you, softened the shame you felt about your origins, even as she remained blind to the privileges she had been born into. She ensured that your family had what they needed—food, clothing, medicine—under the guise of friendship, of course.

Her mother had disapproved of you from the start, but the young Kiramman had a stubborn streak, a determination that, unlike most Piltovians, she wielded it not for greed or power, but for something she believed was nobler.

Caitlyn had a resolve that could have been dangerous in another life but, in her hands, became something noble, if imperfect. She sought to prove that power could be wielded for good, though her idealism often stumbled in execution.

Which lead to betrayal. So sutble yet so painful that made you question whether you had ever truly known her at all.

You understood the reasons, even respected them, though it didn’t make it hurt any less. After all, who were you to argue?

Sometimes, it felt like you were little more than a puppet on invisible strings, there to serve her needs and ease her conscience.

And so here you were, once again immersed in the gilded opulence of the Kiramman estate, a world you had only ever pretended to belong to. Her room, specifically.

The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and fresh flowers, a stark contrast to the grime of the Undercity that still lingered in your memories. You couldn’t tell if you felt out of place or too comfortably numb to care anymore. All you knew was that Caitlyn needed you, and for better or worse, you couldn’t seem to let her go.

The walls of the Kiramman estate had always carried a natural chill, but since her mother’s passing, they seemed colder still, imbued with a grief that seeped into every stone and every breath. The family was shattered, even yours, though you had only been granted fleeting glimpses of the late Kiramman matriarch’s rare tenderness.

She had never welcomed you into her family, never truly accepted your presence near Caitlyn. Yet, in her own quiet, calculating manner, she had permitted the offerings Caitlyn made on their family’s name. And when you proved, time and again, that you were worth the fight, she had acknowledged you in her own way. Subtle. Reserved. A nod from a distance, but one that showed approval.

Caitlyn, however, hadn’t spoken a word to you about her mother or about the weight she carried. She hadn’t needed to. You could see it in the silence that lingered between you.

There was more than just grief in that silence.

There was guilt, a festering wound she carried, knowing the harm she had wrought in her quest for justice—or something like it. She had wronged more than just you. She had hurt countless innocents, people you had reminded her time and again were just that: innocent.

Her assumption, likely, was that you resented her. That the wounds she had inflicted on your trust, on your view of her, had severed whatever fragile thread of loyalty remained. Perhaps she wasn’t entirely wrong. But here you were, seated beside her, flashlight in hand, performing the same familiar routine you had done countless times before.

“Please... follow my finger,” you said softly, your voice measured and calm, just loud enough to fill the space between you without unsettling it. She straightened her posture, obediently following the movements of your finger as you moved the light in measured arcs. Her pupils contracted under the beam’s sharp glow, tracking the path you set. You checked each eye, one after the other, before letting out a quiet exhale.

“Up—now, left,” you instructed, the light shifting accordingly. You watched her carefully, her reactions automatic, devoid of resistance. There were no major injuries to note, at least nothing to suggest lasting harm. You had already completed the rest of the examination, methodical as always: her neck, her mobility, her blood pressure, her vitals—all the fundamentals you’d committed to memory after countless similar checks.

Chaos had become a routine under Ambessa’s looming presence. The injuries she left in her wake had kept you busier than ever, patching up the aftermath of her schemes while Caitlyn’s own injuries seemed to evade your care—until now.

Switching off the flashlight, you placed it neatly back among your tools, each item returning to its designated place with a precision born of necessity.

She said nothing. Instead, she sat motionless, her gaze cast downward, fixed on her lap. Her hands rested limply at her sides, short, uneven nails catching at the edges of the bed sheets, fidgeting without thought. A small bruise marked her right cheek, its once-violent hue fading into the softer tones of her skin. Her eyes, red and swollen, bore the traces of tears shed out of frustration, anger, and despair—tears she had likely shed on her way back.

The faint marks on her neck told a clearer story, faint impressions of fingers that had choked her. You could only hope her opponent had been from the Undercity and not one of Ambessa’s puppets- most likely the hope was just that.

Caitlyn’s uniform was disheveled, evidence of her half-hearted attempts to remove it as you adjusted your tools during the examination.

The thin red choker she had worn was discarded the moment she sat, and the open collar of her blouse revealed the strain beneath her careful composure.

She was dirty—dust clung stubbornly to her skin, mingling with smudges of sweat and exhaustion. Dried flecks of blood dotted her uniform, though you were relieved to confirm it wasn’t hers.

Her muscles were tight with tension and soreness, but nothing suggested she had sustained lasting damage.

She sat there, a figure fraying at the edges, fragile yet stubbornly upright, her silence speaking volumes.

You couldn’t tell whether she avoided your gaze out of shame or because the weight of everything she carried was too heavy to lift her eyes.

Either way, the Caitlyn before you was a far cry from the determined, idealistic woman you had once known.

"Ambessa..." she said, her voice tentative, a thread of sound that barely broke the heavy silence between you. Her eyes, hesitant and shadowed, darted toward your face as if searching for permission to continue.

"She's—" But of course, she wouldn’t elaborate. Detailed explanations had never been her strength, not with you. She knew you had distanced yourself from the tangled web of her life, and she had never bothered to bridge that gap, to offer you clarity.

"You were right," she finally said, the words tumbling out like a confession. "I should’ve stayed away."

Her voice carried an unfamiliar weight, a subtle tremor that felt almost apologetic, though it was wrapped in her usual restraint. It struck you as strange—Caitlyn, apologizing.

Even if it was too late, here she was, sitting before you, speaking to you instead of burying herself in the false sanctuary she had so often sought. Nights spent with women in her bed, avoiding her father and the heartbreaking sight of it, leaving you to tend to the wounds of her mistakes.

You slid closer, settling yourself back into the chair in front of her, nudging the first aid kit aside as you nodded, a quiet acknowledgment of her words. "I heard what happened… Maddie," you said, her frown tightening in response to the name, though it explained enough.

"You need to be more careful, Caitlyn," you added, your voice firm, concern coloring your tone as your brows furrowed. "This could’ve been way worse."

She looked away, her pride tangling with something deeper, something raw. You could see the apology brewing behind her eyes, the unspoken words she couldn’t bring herself to voice.

Her pride, or perhaps her fear of your rejection, kept her tethered to silence each time she tried to approach you.

"You’re still worrying about me," she said at last, her voice soft, her lips curving into a sheepish smile. It was faint, but it was there—a flicker of the Caitlyn you had once trusted without hesitation. The same Caitlyn who would roll her eyes whenever you thanked her too profusely for a kindness she had offered without expectation.

And perhaps that flicker of familiarity, that glimpse of who she once was, kept your anger at bay. Instead of confronting her, you found yourself falling, once again, into the rhythm of her unspoken intentions.

"I never stopped worrying about you," you replied evenly, your tone as steady as you could manage. "It’s my job."

"I would’ve assumed you quit by now." Her words were quiet, a deliberate gentleness in her tone, as though she understood the fragile line you walked. She didn’t push, didn’t expect you to pretend as though nothing had happened. Not you. Not after everything.

"I can’t," you answered, your voice barely louder than hers. And it was true. She paid you better than anyone else could.

Your parents depended on that money now, their lives in Piltover still fraught with the challenges of surviving on the fringes. They had escaped the Undercity, but their station hadn’t risen far enough to escape the grind of near-poverty. Their survival was tethered to your work, and your work was tethered to Caitlyn.

"I’m sorry," she began, but her voice faltered, the apology catching in her throat.

She didn’t need to explain. You had been there, had seen firsthand the blood that stained her hands— The choices she had made, or failed to make, in the shadow of Ambessa and for the revenge that had lead her to absolute nothing but loss after loss.

"Are you?" you cut in before she could finish, your tone carrying a playful edge, a teasing rebuttal to her seriousness. For the first time in what felt like months, her lips curled into a genuine smile, and her eyes rolled upward with a faint exasperation that felt achingly familiar.

"I’ve been helping," you added lightly, your voice carrying a mock seriousness. "You know, for free." You let the last word hang in the air, a quiet jab that coaxed a laugh from her.

"I don’t hate you enough to quit," you admitted, your tone softening, more earnest now.

"Thanks, I suppose," she murmured, her voice laced with a vulnerability that caught you off guard.

Before you realized it, your fingers had moved, brushing against her wrist. The warmth of her skin against yours.

Your fingers traced gently over the back of her hand, and she shifted her own to tangle them with yours.

"You’re welcome," you whispered, the words barely audible. You ignored the storm of words threatening to spill from your lips, and so did she.

Her hand slid up your arm, her fingers brushing over your elbow as she pulled you closer. Your heart stuttered, your mind warring with hesitation, but your body betrayed you. You let her guide you, let her bridge the gap.

Her eyes met yours, searching for something—permission, forgiveness, maybe even redemption. Her gaze flickered to your lips, lingering there with a silent question. You didn’t answer, not with words. Instead, you let your lips part, leaning into her, allowing her to pull you into the moment.

You found your place on her lap, your weight supported by her shoulders as her arms wrapped around you. Your breaths mingled, warm and shallow, until your lips finally met.

The kiss was soft, a hesitant yet undeniable surrender to the years of tension and longing that had tangled themselves into the growth of your relationship.

It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a quiet resolution to the unspoken devotion that had always lingered between you.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered—not the mistakes, not the betrayals, not the wounds that still ached beneath the surface.

There was only this, only her, only you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Death Wish 8

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

Kitty huffs, a rare moment of agitation, and blows it out sharply. She thrusts her hands forward and hurls the string of pearls onto the couch. She curls her fingers in frustration and stares at them, like a puzzle. 

“My goddamn hands won’t stop shaking,” she utters. 

You cross the room to her, wordlessly, and take the necklace. You move behind her to clasp it in place over her collar. She wears a straight cut black dress with no ornament. The pearls are a delicate touch to the otherwise plain outfit. 

“What do you think he wants?” Adrienne finally asks the question none of you dared. 

You look at her helplessly. They can never know you did this. They can’t ever know that the reason they are so scared in that moment is your fault. They might have longed to pull the trigger themselves but actually doing it is different. It’s... irredeemable. 

“He said we’re under his protection,” you say flatly. 

“Oh, come on, you’re the most skeptical of all of us,” Kitty accuses, “you believe that. Daddy was just another soldier.” 

“Maybe but what else are we going to do but obey?” You counter. 

Kitty winces and Adrienne’s eyes bat. Your older sister shakes her head, “you’re not the one to give up.” 

“I am.” You insist. “If it keeps you two safe then I will do whatever needs to be done.” 

They’re silent for a moment as they look from you to each other. They nod. “Us too,” Kitty says. “We have to take care of each other.” 

“Like always,” Adrienne agrees. 

Silence floods the room again. There’s a car waiting outside a few minutes later. You march out in another sombre parade. It’s a different kind of funeral that day. You’re not mourning the past, you’re mourning the future and what could have been and will never be. 

You sit together in the back seat. You hold hands. You never went to many of these ‘business’ gatherings. Outside of a wedding, you weren’t invited. Your father was only invited by the few people who knew him in the outfit. He was only ever the big dog when he barked at his three daughters. 

The car stops, you get out. You squeeze your sisters’ hands before you detach. The man who drove leads you to the immaculate white facade of the grand hall. You’re somewhat confused by the venue but this is not a day for questions. You had your curiosity beat out of you long ago. 

Inside, you’re led to a set of open doors. You enter and another man stands to beckon you further inside. There are bodies all around, all in dark suits, muttering under their breath, coughing, tapping fingers. 

Your eyes skim around cautiously. Barnes sits at the head table. He’s calm and unbothered by the new arrival. He’s indifferent to his men as the one next to him whispers in his ear. Rogers stands behind the boss’ chair as he speaks to him, gripping the elaborate orb that tops the post of the straight-backed seat. 

Barnes’ gaze meets yours only as you and your sisters are put at a table of your own. It feels like some hearing. A court case. Are they hearing the crimes of your father? But he said... 

No questions. There’s nothing the answers can change for you. Adrienne fidgets, wringing her hands restlessly, and Kitty sit so straight it looks like it hurts. None of you look past the table. Your daddy would smack your mouth for your wandering eyes. 

“Alright, now that we’re all here, let’s gut through the bullshit,” Barnes’ voice brings the voice to deathly lull. The men shift their bodies and their focus. The doors close subtly behind the boss’ timbre. “Now, don’t think I brought you here because of a single soldier. You know better. All of you.” 

His voice is stringent but restrained. Still, it’s enough to instill fear. You gulp and dare to look up at him. He stands and puts his hands on the table. 

“First, a crooked accountant. Bald clown messing around. Then I got men going out, coming back short. Then dead.” He snarls. “I don’t care about the small men. With due respect,” he pauses and glances in your direction, “but I know they don’t think for themselves, too. I know it was one of you. This isn’t just chance. 

“One of you popped Warren ‘cause he found you out,” Barnes continues.  

You sense movement like a soft breeze. Rogers edges along the wall, unnoticed. You stare in slow motion as he moves quickly towards another table. 

“And I found you out too,” Barnes hits the table with his fist. “I went through the numbers and I found the fucking thief.” 

You frown. It’s... lies. He told you that day. At the funeral. Your daddy was the thief. Now he’s telling them something different. He used you. It makes a good story. A mysteriously dead soldier, missing money... makes it easy to trim the fat. 

“Milo,” Barnes points and a chair scrapes and teeters.  

Rogers grabs the capo from behind, closing his hands around his neck. He drags him easily, like a rag doll. They aren’t so different in size and yet the blond moves the other easily as he bulls around the table and brings the man to the center of the room. 

“You been pocketing my money.” Barnes stands straight and gestures casually. 

Rogers tosses the other man, Milo, to the floor and kicks him so he sprawls. His assault is methodical. He doesn’t let up. He stomps and batters the man into the polished wood. The noise of cracking bones and breaking cartilage itch in your ears. The accused hacks and chokes on spit and blood. 

Your sisters smother gasps and startled sobs. You’re only mortified by your own indifference. Are you so callous to feel nothing for a man chosen to pay for father’s death? For your actions? You just can’t. You know every man in this room is just like your father was. Cruel. Mean. They deserve it just as much as he did. 

“Enough,” Barnes orders and Rogers steps back, combing his long hair away from his face as he puffs. The man on the floor is a puddle of wheezes. 

“Your houses, your cars, your accounts, all of it, will be turned over to Warren’s daughters. For his good service to me. He died finding you out. He died for the good of the outfit. He smoked out the mole,” Barnes says. “And you orphaned his daughters, just like you meant to do to every man in this room.” 

Silence. Stillness. No one moves. 

“You are all dismissed. On your way out, you make sure to pay your disrespects to that scum,” Barnes growls. “And look at him, hard and long, because the next fucker I catch with his hands in my pockets will be right there with him.” 

There’s a moment before anyone moves. The first man to rise is greying around his temples. He comes out from behind the table and nears the shaking form on the floor. He spits on Milo then sends his pointed leather shoe into the man’s stomach. He marches out without looking back. 

The next man follows suit. Spit, kick, go. One after another the men disburse in the same manner. The noises, ptuah, crack, tap, tap, tap, form a sickly rhythm. You can only sit and watch. 

You reach to your sisters and take their hands again. You glance between them. They look on in horror. They aren’t made for this. Your eyes flit back to the head table and find the king looking over his court. No, he’s looking at you. 

Barnes dips his chin and his eyes gleam. He is the master. No one dares to challenge the narrative he’s written. Whatever he says is all the truth they need to worry about. Same goes for you. 

[rifari2037]

They talked about cultural differences?? Really??? I laughed so hard 🤣

Do they realised that air and water are different too?? That their cultural are completely opposite???

Water tribe people killed animals for food, furniture, clothes, etc. That's their culture! Air nomads don't killed animals, even a fly, for any reasons, they're vegetarian. That's their culture!!

There's nothing wrong with both cultures, but if we think about it with sense, can two people with extreme cultural differences marry and accept each other's cultures easily?

No, it won't be easy. Katara and Aang got married without any problems about cultural differences because Bryke were the writers!

Do they know that Aang/Kataang stand was aware about it and wrote this???

Do they even realise that in canon Aang doesn't really like Water Tribe culture?? Yes, that's CANON!!

Katara : Bato, it looks like home! [Bato, Katara, Sokka, and Aang file inside.] Sokka : Everything's here, even the pelts! Aang : [Sarcastically.] Yeah, nothing's cozier than dead animal skins.

Katara : [Surprised and delighted.] No way! Stewed sea prunes! Bato : Help yourself! Sokka : Dad could eat a whole barrel of these things! Aang takes a bowl of stewed sea prunes and sniffs it, but looks away in disgust and sets it to the side.

Aang : Hey everyone! Sorry I was gone so long. Katara : [Turns to face him.] Hey, Aang, I didn't notice you left. Aang : Yup, but now I'm back. [Sitting down.] Sure could go for some delicious sea prunes! Aang quickly takes some bites of sea prunes, but chokes them back up, yet he pretends to enjoy them. Katara, Bato, and Sokka look at him strangely.

Hama : I wanted to surprise you! I bought all this food today so I could fix you a big Water Tribe dinner. Of course, I can't get all the ingredients I need here, but ocean kumquats are a lot like sea prunes if you stew them long enough. Aang : [Sticking his tongue out in disgust.] Great!

Aang : [Whispering to Toph.] I'd steer clear of the sea prunes. Toph : I thought they were ocean kumquats. Aang : Close enough.

Oh, btw, An ocean kumquat is a small, round fruit often consumed in the Fire Nation. That's close enough with sea prunes, water tribe cuisine.

When Aang doesn't like water tribe cuisine, I can imagine Zuko and Katara having dinner, sharing water tribe and fire nation dishes and they enjoying it because it taste similar. 😂

Fire and water are the opposite elements, that's why they are compliment each other.

Yin and Yang shows a balance between two opposites with a portion of the opposite element in each section.

Remember what Iroh said about the elements? Let's see if fire and water don't mix together, especially for Zuko and Katara.

"Fire is the element of power..."

"...The people of the Fire Nation have desire and will, and the energy and drive to achieve what they want."

"Water is the element of change..."

"...The people of the Water Tribe are capable of adapting to many things..."

"...They have a deep sense of community and love that holds them together through anything."

Young Zuko : [Zuko is shown standing up.] You can't sacrifice an entire division like that! Those soldiers love and defend our nation! How can you betray them?

Zuko and Katara would bicker and not get along well, they said?? Really??

Every time Katara is mad, Zuko just silent and listen to her. Even when they're still enemies!!

Oh, btw, Katara not 'always' threatened Zuko to kill him if he hurt Aang. It happened once. She is still mad at him not because of Aang, but because he betrayed her.

That's personal to her, she is mad not because he hurt someone else but he hurt her. I mean, if she really mad at him because of Aang, why is she connected her anger at Zuko to her mom, not Aang (again)?

And after this moment, after Katara by her own choice, forgives Zuko, do Zuko and Katara always bickering and not get along at all??? No, they're not!!

Zuko gives Katara advice, Katara listens. Katara gives Zuko advice, Zuko listens.

They reassure each other at a very important moment.

Lastly, I don't understand how Zuko and Katara, who they said would never get along, always save each other lives, even Zuko sacrifice his life to her?

[trulyumai]

To Love and Forget

Pairing: Messmer x Reader

synopsis: The red haired knight didn’t love easily, but with his wife, it was thoughtless.

Warnings: None

A/N: Can you tell this man has me in a trance? Cause I’m Messmerized ;) (Okay I’m sorry enjoy the story)

Will his wife adore him, even with the scorched bodies left in his wake?

“We should visit soon, my love. I need to restock the kitchen.”

Messmer sat by the fire, watching as crimson and amber flames caressed the wooden logs. It crumbled under such intense heat, yet he observed regardless, as the pile turned to ash.

His beloved wife stirred a worn silver pot in the kitchen. The aroma of something savory wafted, momentarily drawing him from his troubled thoughts.

“Hm? Where to?”

Pale fingers brushed the man’s chin lightly, out of habit.

Truthfully, he hadn’t been listening as attentively as usual. On any other occasion, Messmer would be beside her, aiding and showering his wife with kisses as he deemed fit. She would giggle, flashing her bright smile, and likely try to push him away before resuming her culinary duties.

But this night was different

His patience wore thin; and so did his soldiers. They lay fallen in the yellowed wheat fields, swords piercing their backs. A surprise attack had sealed their fate, led by whom? Messmer didn’t know, flames began to dance across his pink and white knuckles with a methodical rhythm.

“The town, my love! I ran out of yeast the night before.”

“The town?” The knight gripped his knee harshly with his right hand. Unbeknownst to him, his wife hummed in agreement and turned to gaze at him.

“Mmh, I thought I would go in the morning. Save myself the trouble for—”

“Darling, I’m sure whatever you think you need can wait.”

His neck turned slightly towards her, earning a frown. She grasped the light blue apron around her middle, looking confusedly at her husband through her lashes. The room grew unbearably warm, a telltale sign of Messmer’s anger—disappointment, occasionally.

She could see his blazing eyes from here. Hells, they illuminated most of the living room.

“But… darling, our—”

“Enough. Wife.”

He stood taller now; she had to crane her neck back to meet his fiery gaze.

“It’s not safe. You’ll wait.”

Messmer approached, his maroon hair swaying with each step. In seconds, he was before her, appearing torn between worry and contempt.

She refused to meet his gaze any longer, unable to comprehend his displeasure.

Yet Messmer persisted. His index finger traced the skin around her chin, urging it upward with gentle pressure.

Now he stood with a gaze of love, mingled with sympathy. How swiftly he could change—she would never understand. His emotions had become less predictable lately; just the other day, he incinerated a field when a direbear had ventured too close.

She had regarded him then with the same eyes—worry, concern. He hadn’t acknowledged it, merely placing his hand back on her waist and continuing.

Just a he was doing now, ignoring the present.

“Forgive me, my love, I’ve been ah— distracted.” Noticing the change in atmosphere, his fingers found home in her hair, they stroked and smoothed over it with newfound patience.

“Distracted?” Her head rested upon his hand now, it engulfed it instantly.

“With what?”

He laughed.

It was small— and not the humorous kind.

“It’s nothing that should ail you, darling.”

His form bent over, and she felt the man’s forehead tap hers adoringly.

His eyes stared right into her own, they were half lidded and the knight held a light smile upon his face.

“Let me do the worrying, hm?”

His nose bumped with hers, and soon their lips touched. She felt his breath waft across her lips— her cheeks.

It was warm, and smelled of a cider he had made earlier that day.

“Kiss me, darling?” He pleaded.

And who was she to deny such a man of power?

The girl leaned in, now on her tiptoes as her soft mouth collided with his chapped one.

The maroon knight let out a groan, his knees almost buckled for how much he had to hold back from the poor girl.

So as a distraction, he pulled away, and began to kiss and suck the skin of her neck, making his way to her perfect jawline.

“But what about ah— “

A light kiss.

“The food—“

Another bite.

His chin met her shoulder, his lips grazed the bottom of her ear.

“Should you worry about that now, dear wife?”

His voice was deep, gravelly from the amount of lust bestowed upon his body.

The woman squeaked, embarrassed such an action would fluster her so.

“Its just ah— what would we do for to— morrow?"

Sharply, his arms sagged down, and his hands met with the back of her legs.

Quickly he acted, and pulled each of her legs across his muscled torso.

Now face to face, the man walked backwards, towards the well worn stairs leading to their shared bedside.

She laughed, her head bobbed to the side and he couldn’t help but let out a timber one of his own.

His wife’s arms looped around his wide shoulders, and met just behind his neck.

“Do not concern yourself with such frivolous tasks, my love.” He began his kisses once more,

each laid a different love bite.

One pink

One purple

“For tonight, I found my feast, mmh?”

She poked at the pale man’s cheek.

“Who knew you could hold such a flirtatious remark?” She teased, and Messmer clicked his tongue before tossing her lightly upon the mattress.

His wife’s hair engulfed the pillows, it surrounded her like a halo and he swore he’d remember such an image for the rest of his days. No matter the cost.

He’ll see her eyes before his future slumbers

Hear her laugh before the numerous fights to come on the battlefield

Eventually, when his last breath graces his lips, he’ll taste her there, feel the breath of hers brush past his vicinity.

He’ll remember such love filled eyes

He’ll remember what she smelled like— elder flowers and apples.

He’ll remember she loved him.

And that he loved her.

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

The Soldier Of Death (4)- Fighting The Enemy

Natasha Romanoff X Super Soldier Reader 18+

Summary: Soldat Smerti. The Soldier of Death. You were the perfect weapon: loyal, obedient, and merciless, or so Hydra thought. What happens when these traits are put to the test? Your captivity in the Avenger's tower and the presence of a redhead makes you realise you didn't have to be a monster. The question was though; Did Hydra make you the monster or were you always one?

This fic will contains dark themes. Please read these warnings before starting any of these chapters: graphic descriptions of murder, violence, gore and torture, heavy angst, mental issues.

Please consider these warnings before reading

Word Count: 2.3k

General Masterlist | The Soldier Of Death Masterlist

Chapter Warning: Graphic Depiction of Violence and murder, dark thoughts

—

Crimson stained your hands, the warm liquid slowly dripping down your forearms as you leaned over the body, fragments of skull blending with flesh and brain being held in your trembling hands.

Eyes pleaded you for their life as you stood over their body, words spilling desperately out of their lips as they stared up at you, begging for you to take mercy. Their pleas were cut short, blood splattering on the floor behind them, the life gradually draining out of their eyes.

A gut wrenching cry was torn out of their throat when your hand forced its way past skin and bones, fingers roughly gripping onto their intestines, squeezing with vigour for another primal sound to be ripped out of them before pulling hard, their body falling limp to the ground. A small squelch follows when you drop the organ next to their corpse, not even giving the scene a second glance.

Your hand hits the side of your head as you twitch it to the side, shaking the thoughts out of your mind, trying to focus on your mission.

Your mind was slowly fracturing into pieces, various memories flooding your thoughts as you walked through the eerie hallway, boots echoing in the abandoned space. You weren't sure what had happened, the only thing that you knew for certain was that you were to obey. You didn't have a choice. It was engraved in you. Listen to them. Kill for them. That was all you had to do.

No we don't.

We are better than them.

We aren't a toy for them to play with.

Your jaw clenched at the irritating voice sounding around in your head again, merging with the violent flashbacks, further adding to your unpleasant mood. You were a weapon. Weapons didn't need to think. They just kill. Yet, the incessant part of you was adamant we were stronger, more powerful than them, we could do anything if you just gave over control.

Yes, see, you're getting it now. Give me control.

"So what? You can murder everyone," you mutter out loud, the mask muffling your words as you argue with your alter ego, knowing that, despite the things you have done based on the flashbacks, the things they have done... They were darker, more sinister, they enjoyed it. You didn't. You never would. You did what you had to do to survive.

It's what they deserve.

You want to scream at the voice, begging it to shut up. Yes they deserve to die for what they had done to you but you weren't going to be the ones to kill them.

Every time you come back, you somehow try to be more virtuous.

It groans, a scoff leaving you. You were trying to make up for the things you had done, be a little more merciful, there was nothing wrong with that.

You can't. We can't be good anymore. There's no point in trying to redeem us. We're already a monster, there's no changing that.

At its words, you remain silent, doing your best to ignore them as you wander through the hallways, your eyes focussing on small indents on the wall.

A violent scream was torn out of you, your hands doing everything in their power to stop the guards dragging you back to your cell, your veins burning with agony as the serum entered your bloodstream. Your fingers dug into the concrete, leaving indents as you pried away at the stone, desperately trying to stop them from taking you back.

You shook your head once more, the painful memory soon fading away, leaving you confused. You suddenly seemed to recognise the building you were in, your fingers slotting against the marks, the handprints slightly smaller, your mind too broken to place the significance of the memory.

Pushing down the screams echoing in your mind and shaking off the further memories that invaded your thoughts, you worked your way around the building, searching for the room you were instructed to find. All you knew was that there was a flash drive in there that Hydra needed to keep out of the Avengers' hands, the team apparently gaining intel on this base.

You weren't expecting them to locate it yet nor for them to be in the base, but your general warned you to stay on guard, the order more difficult than expected due to the instability of your mind.

You were nearly at the room but a gnawing feeling made you pause in your tracks, head tilting curiously at the room you were stopped outside of, your hand moving without thought to open the door, revealing the dark and empty concrete cell. You swallowed nervously at the sight of dry blood staining the walls, the floor and even parts of the ceiling, another flashback painfully invading your minds, causing you to lose focus.

***

"I don't have a good feeling about this Steve," Natasha mutters while the two of them enter the base, Wanda entering through a different exit, the team confident in her magic ability and training to handle herself.

"Neither," he sighs out in agreement, their bodies almost silently walking through the abandoned building, Natasha taking the corridors to the left while Steve went right, splitting off to cover more ground.

Nerves etched away at Natasha, the spy confused at the sudden emotion she was feeling. She never got nervous, so why was she on edge? Her gun was firmly gripped in her hand, creeping through the hallways with it raised, ready to fire if needed.

Emerald green searched through various corridors, her eyes glossing over with crestfallen look at the marks all over the wall, indicating a clear struggle all the way down the hall until it reached the isolated steel door at the end. Natasha was already walking towards the room when a quiet, pained noise caught her attention, her finger ready on the trigger as she rounded the corner, pausing at the sight before her.

Your ominous figure stood facing an empty room, hands twitching by your side, unaware of the spy near you, or the Captain who rounded the corner on the other side of the hallway, pausing when Natasha signalled for him to do so.

"Don't make me kill them," you almost whimper out, lost in a spiral of memories, your mind replaying the broken memory. "They're just children."

"I won't repeat it again Soldat," his voice low and commanding at your ear, malice lacing his next words, "Don't leave the room until every single one of them is dead."

Steve raises his shield ready to throw at your words, confusion written across his and the redhead's face.

I told you. We're a monster.

Snapping at the voice inside your head, your fist collides with the wall, trying to express your anger, confusion and hurt, when the sound of metal gliding through the air reaches your ear, body turning to the side, hand catching the vibranium disk.

Steve's face pales a little at how unaffected you were by his throw, most people being knocked back a little, his expression swiftly switching to shock when it's thrown back forcefully at him. He has to take a couple steps back when he catches it to stay balanced, your body making it's way over to him, eyes slowly becoming lifeless as you flicker between having and losing control.

He uses his shield to protect him when your fist collides with the metal, a loud noise reverberating around the room, a gunshot being added to the mix when a bullet slices through your leg, jaw clenching at the pain. You grit your teeth, swinging your other arm to hit the side of the blonde man, a groan escaping him at your strength while he goes to parry your other punch, you injured leg swiping at his knee, knocking him back to the ground.

While the man climbs to his feet, a pair of thighs wrap around your head, trying to force your body to the ground, unable to beat your strength. Wrapping your arms around the back of her body, her elbow being brought down on whatever part of you she could reach, you push her body into the nearest wall, her back painfully banging against it.

The sound of boots approaching quickly causes you to pull away from the wall, slamming the body down against the floor, a small cry escaping her before you lower your body, merely evading the punch from the man and tackling his body to the ground, shield clattering next to him.

Your legs straddle his stomach, grip tight to prevent his movements while your hands goes to his throat, merciless with your grip as his face starts to turn red. Your thumbs dig in harshly against his airways, his hands prying at your own, fingers digging in painfully with the amount of strength he was using making your grip falter, hands reaching to the red and blue metal disk.

Fear glosses over in his eyes as you raise the shield into the air, attempting to bring it down on his throat when his hands clutch at the bottom of it, desperately trying to stop you. Your eyes are dark, no ounce of humanity left in them as you press down harder, the edge of the shield pressing lightly against his throat as he fights for his life,

To catch him off guard, you lift the shield, his fingers slipping off it and enabling you to abruptly bring it back down.

His hands only just block his neck in time, a muffle groan leaving you at the pain radiating throughout your body, electricity coursing through your body from the small device attached onto your neck. The device causes a sense of Deja vu to flicker across your mind, ignoring it as you stagger to your feet, turning to the redhead who raises her gun at you.

Blood oozes out of your leg from where she last shot you, Steve regaining his breath as he slowly pushes his body off the ground, your gaze locked on the woman in front of you, familiarity causing your head to tilt while you stare at her, waiting for her next move.

You can see her hesitation, her finger hovering over the trigger as the barrel is aimed at your face. You take a step forward, daring her to take the shot when she swiftly lowers it, another bullet lodging itself into your body, pain radiating from your side.

You fall to your knees at the pain, her gaze flickering to the man behind you, his hands grabbing the shield once again. You close your eyes, focusing on the sound of his movements to imagine his stance, visualising his body behind you and waiting for the gap to present itself. When he goes to swing the metal at you, you press your hand down into the ground, using it to spring your body off the concrete as you spin around, kicking your leg out to strike into his side.

A loud snap can be heard as the force of your kick splinters his ribs, his body falling to the concrete while he takes in sharp breaths, anguish evident on his face as he holds his side.

You're certain that if he was human the impact would have killed him, instead it merely immobilises him, your attention returning the woman you think you know.

When she keeps her gaze on you, the firearm still aimed at you, you can feel annoyance and anger enter your mind as she hovers her finger over the trigger, not wanting any more bullets to be lodged inside you. Your fingers deftly wrap around the handle of the blade in your pocket, swiftly pulling it and spinning it between your fingers as you wait for her to make the first move.

Confusion sneaks onto your face when she merely smirks at you, her gaze flickering behind you for a brief second. Without even thinking, you turn and launch the knife at the other figure, the metal blade being encased in red tendrils of magic before it clatters to the ground, the brunette's eyes glowing red.

There's a glint of recognition in her eyes when she sees you, her magic abruptly travelling towards you and wrapping around you, the tendrils seeping into the side of your head and into your mind.

You're powerless against her magic, an animalistic noise being torn out of you as more gruesome flashbacks swarm your mind, hands desperately clutching at your head to make it stop.

Natasha watches with a pained look, your cries of anguish stirring something inside her while Wanda lets out a small cry at the things she was seeing in your mind.

You fall to your knees roughly, fingers digging into the side of your head as you try to make it stop, you need to make it stop.

Ending the pain for the both of you, Wanda navigates her way through your fractured mind and eventually manages to get your body to fall unconscious, your body limp of the ground as the witch wipes the tears off of her cheeks, staring at the redhead opposite her who has curiosity written across her face.

"I don't know how long I can hold her," she says to the assassin, her magic still flowing around your head as she tries to keep you still.

"Can you hold her until we get back to the tower?" Natasha asks, making her way over to Steve who is still in agony on the ground. She slowly helps him to his feet, careful not to hurt him anymore while turning her gaze back to the witch.

"I think so," she says a little nervously, focusing on her magic.

"Good, let's get her on the jet, Fury's going to want to know what's happened." Everyone agrees with Natasha's plan, the magic encasing your entire body as you're lifted into the air, the redhead aiding the injured super soldier towards the jet.

What could possibly go wrong?

[astrodice]

What career suites you best based on destiny matrix? (part 1/3)

To find out what career suits you best and what can you do to succeed, we have to look at the number under the dollar sign.

1 - Magician

People with magician energy are very talented, ambitious and hardworking. They are early satisfied with mediocre results and salary. They always try for more and they have all the right tools to achieve all of their goals. Negative aspect of this energy is that people might lie and use other people to get benefits or they can spend their life wasting their talents by doing nothing.

The most suitable career:

tbh, they can do anything

Challenges that affect career:

laziness, hoping that everything will be figured out by itself

detachment from colleagues, lying

using people, being selfish

2 - High Priestess

People with high priestess energy are highly intuitive and may I say slow (they need more time to come up with a plan). A career that requires making fast decisions is not suitable for those people. On the contrary, they need a job that will allow them to move at a stable measured pace and use their intuition.

The most suitable career:

healer

psychologist, therapist

artist

Challenges that affect career:

avoiding conflicts

being afraid to show off your skills

not being able to make quick decisions

3 - Empress

People with empress energy are definition of "beauty and brains". Such individuals easily identify points of contact with the interests of other people, solve all problems quickly and confidently. Also, since they feel confident around women, it's easy for them to make career in a field focused on women or women's needs.

The most suitable career:

CEO

medical worker

florist

beauty industry worker

Challenges that affect career:

pride, sense of superiority

power abuse

being overly materialistic

irrational spendings/hoarding

4 - Emperor

People with emperor energy are executive, demanding (of themselves and of others) and they quickly gain credibility and respect. Such individuals have every chance to take a high position or open their own business.

The most suitable career:

analyst

accountant

auditor

lawyer

policeman, soldier

CEO

Challenges that affect career:

being controlling, demanding

inability to find compromises

power abuse

5 - Hierophant

People with hierophant energy have high intelligence and excellent memory. They are also charismatic which makes them to be a good speakers, they just know how to make public listen.

The most suitable career:

teacher, professor, coach

analyst

historian, librarian

lawyer

marriage counsellor

medical worker

Challenges that affect career:

being demanding

unwillingness to delegate responsibilities

unwillingness to learn something new

6 - Lovers

People with lovers energy have an eye for seeing pros and cons and can skillfully transform one into the other. The have aesthetically pleasing taste, empathy and good artistic skills.

The most suitable career:

designer

interpreter

artist

psychologist, therapist

marriage counsellor

beauty industry worker

Challenges that affect career:

working in a field that you hate

being overly emotional during decision-making

people-pleasing

imposing your opinion

7 - Chariot

People chariot will succeed in any field where they will be active and hardworking. They are disciplined, good at controlling their emotions, they also have an ability to react quickly and clearly to any change in the situation.

The most suitable career:

traveller, travel-blogger

flight attendant

driver

travel agent

Challenges that affect career:

Inability to rest (workaholism)

lack of goals, incorrect goal setting (goals are too easy or impossible to achieve)

rushed decisions

[theangrycomet-art]

TFA: Ariel/Elita 1's Squadron, Team Orthia

I fell down the wiki rabbit hole last night and now I have these.

Everyone's heights are off/going to change in the future because I wasn't sure on everyone's alts when I was first drawing out the line up.

I mostly just wanted to get ideas down on paper.

COMMISSIONS OPEN

Transcript of my Handwriting Plus Other Lore:

Nothing here’s set in stone I just wrote down ideas/compiled thoughts as they came to me.

edit: Changed Lancer’s Profile Info to match new ideas I have

TFA: Sheild of Solus

Operation: Failsafe

Purpose: To sabotage any and all Decipticon efforts of gaining any headway in this war. First, start off with the infiltrators, next, hit them where it hurts.

After discovering a spy had infiltrated their ranks, Alpha Trion took it upon himself to assemble a team to sabotage any Decipticon efforts to gain a foothold on Cybertron, hoping that they would be able to counter any threats on Cybertron.

Ariel/Elita-1

Commander and the Leader

High-ranking member of the Elite Guard

Alpha Trion’s inside eyes

Alt Mode: Cybertronian Heavy Duty Truck -> Monster Truck

Special Upgrade: Classified

Good-Morningstar Mace: Morning star with detachable head

Laser Kusarigama: This weighted chain serves Elita well when she needs to tie up the enemy (or retrieve your teammate as her gravity fluctuates again)

Tidbit: One of the few of the Elite Guard to not have gone to the Academy, Elita rose through the ranks through her skill and ingenuity, despite other’s misgivings. A bit rough around the edges, she is always there for her fellow bots. When her former mentor requested her aid in his mission, she had no hesitation joining. (It helped that it got her away from her more tiresome coworkers)  

Chromia

Second in Command

Recon Specialist, Infiltrator

Former Intelligence Officer; she retired when she was not allowed to investigate Highbrows abrupt disappearance and opened a private investigator business.

Alt Mode: Cybertronian Trike -> Trike (like Harley-Davidson Tri Glide Ultra)

Special Upgrade: Lockpick: with enough time she can pick any lock and hack into any systems with the extensions in her servos. However, this can takes a lot of her processing power and leaves her vulnerable.

Laser Sabre: Good for clashing blades and slipping between the seams of an enemy’s armor

Tidbit: Despite her worrying over her teammates, Chromia has a habit of diving helm first into her work with little disregard for herself, whether that be forgetting to refuel and recharge or tempting fate with more self-sacrificial tendencies. She’s been working on it, but bad habits die hard…

Novastar

Search and Rescue, Transportation and Retrieval

Served in the tail-end of the Great War

Worked previously in Search and Rescue with her partners Inferno and Red Alert

Through this line of work, she developed extensive connections.

AltMode: Cybertronian Truck -> Narrowbed Truck

Special Upgrade: Furnace: Nova is able to generate massive bursts of flame, and she has refined the practice into an art. The flames on her head are no only an aesthetic choice, but an outlet for the excess heat she generates. These are easily extinguished; a fact Inferno took great joy in abusing the damn firetruck bot.

Blowtorch: During her time in field during the Great War, Nova lost her left servo to a Decpticon when retrieving soldiers from behind enemy lines. She had it replaced with a blowtorch prothesis that allows her to pinpoint flames to temperatures that can cut through even the toughest of materials- temperatures that otherwise would melt her frames

Tidbit: Novastar has been trying to locate Inferno, who has recently gone MIA after responding to an off-planet distress beacon with a new recruit with little to no luck. She is hoping the new job title will grant her greater resources to expand her search.

Greenlight

Engineer

“The Miracle Worker”

A student of WheelJack’s

Greenlight’s inventions can be brilliantly or devastating (or if she’s lucky) both. She tends to get attached to her devices, however, and gets rather despondent when they are broken or do not work as intended.

Aloof, she doesn’t see the need to waste much time with small talk. It requires a bot with a lot of patience (and ability to pester) to get her to come out of her shell

Alt Mode: Cybertronian Offroader

Special Upgrade: Tasers: Though not a combat bot, Greenlight saw fit to mod herself out with some decent defense. The tasers stored in her arms can generate enough volts of electricity that can through bots thrice her size flat on their backs.

Boom Cannon: A weapon still in its testing phases, she has been building it up from stolen Decepticon specs in her free time.

Tidbit: If asked, Greenlight will say that she agreed to sign up to get out of community service for accidentally demoing a perfectly good lab with one of her inventions. While partly true, a larger part of why she joined was because she didn’t want Lancer doing this alone.

Lancer [Edited]

Researcher

Unofficial Medic

Student of Perceptor

Alt Mode: n/a, missing T-Cog

Special Upgrade: FlipScreen: her “skirt” doubles as computers, monitor and keyboard included. This grants her access to ALL of her files and more importantly allows her to run any necessary scans, analysis, or algorithms she needs when or wherever she needs. It is also a bold fashion statement

BackPack Variety Hour: She has a variety of “backpacks” each serving different purposes, though if you ask anyone but Lancer they all look identical. Despite their incredible weight, she carries them with ease.

Backup Generator: Via the generator on her back, she could keep a city fully powered without straining her spark. Most of this energy goes into the powering the extra processors she has stored in her “skirt”

Star Splitter: a powerful laser spear, though she more often then not uses it for pole vaulting than actual combat

Tidbit: Lancer has been a researcher for the Autobots for longer than many bots have been alive, mostly regarding projects Ultra Magnus would rather not go public. Despite the JetTwins being by far the most successful of these endeavors, Lancer quit shortly after. When Alpha Trion offered her a more savory research position with Twam Orthia she was quick to accept and get out from Ultra Magnus’ thumb.

Moonracer

Sharpshooter/Sniper

“Best in the Whole Galaxy!”

Graduated top of her classes at the Autobot Academy but has struggled to keep a longterm position due to her impulsive behavior, with her last job being messenger-bot for Security.

Alt Mode: Cybertron Compact Car -> Vector W8

Special Upgrade: Internal Gravity Manipulator: As labelled on the tin, she has the ability to shift her gravity, decreasing AND increasing. Typically, she uses this to “float” or “moon walk”. The change in gravity can be extended to objects she comes into direct contact, but maintaining it drains her very quickly.

Velicotron Build: Speedster Though not as fast as the infamous Blurr, Moonracer is incredibly quick both as a bot and her alt form. Combine this with her gravity-defying abilities leads to some devastating results.

Custom Ion Pistols: Dual pistols that can combine into her sniper rifle.

Tidbit: Moonracer is a good bot with a good head on her shoulders. She will always do what she thinks is right- but she tends to jump the gun on things which gets her into trouble. With inexperience comes naivety, but how is she supposed to learn anything if nobody gives her a chance to do anything?  

Individual Shots