#there is a part of me that wants to archive. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sitepathos · 22 hours ago

Text

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 12: The Fight (Warning: this chapter will feature blood and violence. Proceed at your own risk)

“Look at all this,” you whisper as you take in the sights of the Strip, all the various casinos and hotels lighting up the night sky. “I returned to Nevada four years ago and I’ve never been here before. What the hell was I thinking?”

(You were trying to set up your new life, which was the responsible thing to do back then. But, we agree, coming here sooner would not have been unwelcome. This city seems to be a source of endless entertainment.)

You had finished the DLC for Salvage Rights earlier today and to celebrate both its release and its positive reception, you decided to treat yourself by going to Sin City and indulging in its various casinos and restaurants; you have the knowledge and experience of countless gamblers from Gotham, so you should be able to play blackjack and poker with the best of them.

You thought you were prepared to handle and glitz and glamor Vegas has to offer, but seeing it with your own eyes has left you speechless. The lights have you mesmerized and you’re loving it! Everywhere you look, there’s something beckoning you, like a moth to a flame and right now, you don’t care if you get burned.

“Hey, look over there,” you say, stopping to look at something above you in the distance.

The sight is a towering building proudly bearing the name “Caesar’s Palace” in lights. During your brief research for your trip to the Strip, you read Caesar’s Palace is one of the most popular casinos in the city and is also a popular destination for dining.

(You did say you wanted the “full Vegas experience.” Going to one of the largest establishments in the city would be a step in the right direction.)

When you first thought of this little excursion, you wanted to have fun, but didn’t want to get trapped in the larger ones and lose all the money you brought in with you, instead opting to stay in the smaller casinos. “Keep it simple, keep it safe,” you said a few hours ago.

Now, the lights of the massive casino before you has ensnared you and is luring you towards it like an angler fish does with its prey.

“Ave, true to Caesar,” you say as you begin the trek towards the towering monolith.

If the outside was mesmerizing, then the inside is absolutely enthralling! As expected of a place named after a Greek emperor, the interior looks like a palace plucked from the Greek Empire, complete with marble and gold, making you feel like royalty.

(We take it we are going to play here?)

“Damn right,” you say as you enter the casino part of the resort, taking in the seemingly endless rows to slot machines, card tables, and other various gambling set ups.

As you look at each slot machine and table, you’re flooded with information from the Megamycete’s archives on what you want to see when playing slot machines and when is the best time to stand when playing blackjack. While Gotham doesn’t have shit on Vegas, it did have a passable gambling scene, which attracted many expert gamblers to that City of the Damned.

With your newfound knowledge in hand, you exchange the thousand bucks you brought with you for chips and make your way to a roulette table with only one other person.

“Good evening, sir,” the dealer greets you as you situate yourself of the other side of the table, away from the other player. “Will you be joining us?”

“Deal me in,” you respond, pushing a few chips on the table to test the waters. You may know the basics from playing Fallout New Vegas, but this is real life with real money being risked and this time you don’t have a maxed out Luck stat to cheat the system with.

A few hands in and you can say for sure you love gambling. Sure, you’ve lost a few rounds, ruining a couple hot streaks, but right now, you have more money than you came in with.

“Fifteen, odd, black,” the dealer says when the ball finally stops spinning before giving you the pot, much to your delight.

“Goddamn it,” the other man exclaims, shoving himself away from the table and storming off, hopefully towards the exit as tonight has not been his night.

“I apologize for that display,” the deal says as he readies the spinner for the next round. “Will you be playing another round?”

“Definitely,” you respond, sliding three-hundred dollars worth of chips onto red.

“Have room for one more,” a masculine voice rings out next to you.

You tense up when the voice registers in your head and you look to your right to see Bruce fucking Wayne, looking down at you with that fake ass smile he gives the idiots of Gotham. Your anger only intensifies when he places a thousand dollars worth of chips into the pot.

What the hell is he doing here?

(How dare he,) the Megamycete practically growls. (This is a night meant for you to enjoy yourself and he intrudes upon it, and in your city no less.)

“Welcome, Mr. Wayne,” the dealer says as he spins the spinner after the bastard places his bet.

“Hello, Y/N,” he says to you, his focus on you and not the spinner. “I have to say, I don’t peg you as the gambling type.”

You say nothing, not wanting to give him any sort of satisfaction, and focus on the game.

“It’s a very dangerous habit if you’re not careful,” he chides you as the baller begins to slow down. “And coming to a place like Vegas? It’s not safe for someone like you. You should be back home, where you belong.”

You know the “home” he’s referring to isn’t your house in Goodsprings, but Wayne Manor in Gotham and it’s taking all your willpower not to pimp smack the shit out of him right now. This was meant to be a night for you to have fun in Vegas and you’re not gonna let him ruin that like he did the night you won your award.

“Gotham has plenty of high-end casinos where you can play all the games you want. I could take you to each of them and make sure you get the VIP treatment.”

“Vegas is far safer than Gotham,” you retort. “Here, the biggest threat you face is losing your money when you don’t know when to quit. In Gotham, you have nut jobs running around killing people on a nightly basis and the biggest nut job of them all beating the crap out of them.” You give him a mocking look, knowing something that would get under his skin. “No one in their right mind would live in that cesspit of a city. If you ask me, that place should be nuked to hell.”

While he manages to hide it well, you can see just the faintest of winces and you let your smirk show. For whatever reason, he thinks Gotham is the best place on the planet and is worth protecting. You learned about Gotham’s seedy history from its early days as a colony established in 1635 and you can say for certain that area is cursed. If you had your way, a giant wall would be built around Gotham and everyone inside would be left to kill each other and rot in that cursed city, especially the Waynes.

“Gotham has its flaws, sure,” he responds. “But I’m able to look past its dark side and see a bright future for both the city and everyone that calls it home. As you know, Wayne Enterprises has been the vanguard of breathing new life into the city.”

“Oh, that reminds me, I heard WE’s stock has practically become worthless in the last few days. Rumor has it all major stockholders are demanding for you to step down as CEO.”

“I’ve been in tight spots before and I’ve always come out on top. This will be no different. I’m sure things will turn back around in no time.”

“Six, even, black,” the dealer announces, bringing you back to the game. “Congratulations, Mister Wayne.”

You roll your eyes as the pot goes to the son of a bitch. You mentally shake your head and place your chips on the table for the next round.

“Maybe you should step down,” you say as the dealer begins the round. “I was stuck in that manor of yours for over a decade and I know it’s a mess. You should really get your house in order before you go around ‘fixing’ Gotham.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my family,” he growls. “It’s perfect the way it is.”

“No one’s buying that story anymore, Mister Wayne. I take it you haven’t read Lois Lane’s latest article?”

“Of course I have,” he says, glaring at you and it makes you want to laugh knowing how you’re testing his limits. “How could you say those things about your family?”

“You’re not my family,” you snap. “You all made it quite clear I wasn’t a part of it over and over. The only family I’ve ever had was Momma and she was taken from me.”

The anger in his eyes fade and he was silent for a moment. “I know we made mistakes during your time with us and we’re sorry about that.”

“It’s too little, too late, Mister Wayne.”

“Twenty-four, even, black,” the dealer states, clearly more interested in your conversation than the game.

You can’t help but smile as the chips make their way back to you and you place a bet of five-hundred for the next round. Of course, Bruce doesn’t go way and instead places another bet.

“Please, Y/N, come home,” he pleads as the spinner is spun. “We all miss you. Especially Alfred.”

“He’s welcome to visit me whenever he wants. The rest of you can go to hell.”

“Like it or not, they’re your siblings, Y/N,” he growls, getting closer to you. “And I’m your father. You will show them, and me, the respect that entails.”

“Respect is earned, not given,” you retort, getting close and looking up at him. He may terrify Gotham’s criminally insane, but you know you’re better than him in every way, so you’re not scared. “And don’t get it mixed up, you’re a sperm donor, not my father. God knows you never acted like it.” You lean close so that your face is mere inches away from his. “If you want, we can take this outside, Mister Wayne. Just remember what happened last time things got physical between us.”

“Now, now, gentlemen,” the dealer says. “Let’s keep this friendly. We’re all here to have fun, right?”

(Listen to him, Y/N. Do not let him ruin your first trip to Vegas. There will be plenty of time to put him in his place after we have had our fun.)

You continue to stare at him and direct all your anger and hatred towards him until he finally concedes and backs off and you do the same, just in time for the ball to finally stop.

“Nineteen, odd, red,” the dealer says as he slides the chips to you.

“I just want to make things right,” he says as he places his bet. “I know I treated you wrong and I want to fix that. So we can be father and son.”

You roll your eyes at the pathetic words and even more pathetic look as you place your bet and the deal begins the round. “You’re not sorry, Mister Wayne, you just feel guilty. Whatever conscious you have in your twisted little soul is making you feel bad and you can’t stand it, so that’s why you’re humiliating yourself trying to earn something I can never and will never give you: my forgiveness.”

He winces enough for both you and the dealer to see, but you find yourself taking no joy in fracturing his mask. This was supposed to be a night of fun and games, but he had to come all the way from Gotham and ruin it. It’s actually made you despise him even more, a task you thought impossible until now.

“Twelve, even, red,” the dealer states as he slides the chips towards Bruce.

It’s then you notice that you and him have almost the same amount of chips and the sight of it ignites an inferno of competition, which fuels your desire to assert your superiority over this pathetic creature before you.

(We are with you,) the Megamycete states firmly. (Show this interloper his place!)

“Tell me what you want, Y/N,” he says as you place all your chips on red, your mother’s favorite color, glaring at him as you do. It’s then he does the same thing, but places his chips on black, the color of the Bat.

How predictable.

With both your bets placed, the dealer spins the roulette, signaling the final round between you two. When that little ball stops spinning, one of you will take all and the other will lose all.

“Please, there must be something I can give you to show you I’m sincere. And you of all people should price is no object for me. Just name it and it’s yours.”

(How pathetic! He thinks all those years of abuse and neglect can be erased by buying you some insignificant trinket? Does he think you some whore that can be bought? Show him how wrong he is, Y/N!)

“You want to know what I want, Mister Wayne,” you ask, malice dripping with your every word, as the ball begins to slow down and clatter around. “I want you to know that I hate you more than anything else on this world; I want it to rattle around in your head for the rest of your life, from when you’re around your collection of misfits to when you lay your head down at night, that there’s no word or phrase in any language that has ever existed or ever will exist on this planet that can fully express how much animosity and hatred I have for you.”

It’s then that you get in his personal space has he had done with you earlier and use the mold so you can stretch your body ever so slightly so your face is almost touching him and stare into those eyes you’ve come to despise so much and they stare back at you, full of hurt and shock.

In the background, you can hear the ball beginning to slow down, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the game. Right now, all that matters is conveying just how much you hate Bruce Wayne.

“I want you to grow old and die knowing that, in the end, I was the one that rejected you.”

His response? Nothing but the widening of his eyes and stepping back, as if you had struck him.

“Seven, odd, red,” the dealer says, obviously shocked at what you just said.

You say nothing as you gather your chips and walk away, leaving Bruce Wayne behind to reflect on your words.

As you walk, you notice your heart is beating enough to burst out for your chest and your face is molten hot, even without touching it. In the moment, you had no idea how your words affected you as much as they apparently did that bastard.

(Perhaps we should return home,) the Megamycete suggests. (The night has been ruined and you need to rest after that interaction. We can always return another night for entertainment.)

As much as you hate to admit it, it’s right; after that display, you’re not in the mood to see what else you can get up to in your first night in Vegas. Being around him has brought back much of the anger you thought you had finally buried after moving back to Goodsprings and getting your life together and it’s killed any desire for gambling, dining, and everything in between.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice sounding weak even to you. “Let’s go home.”

You quickly cash in your chips and pocket the check the cashier gives you before making your way towards the exit. From there, you walk around until you find an alleyway tucked into an isolated and desolate part of the city to sprout mold armor and wings before taking off into the night sky.

“You know, the city looks even more breathtaking from up here,” you remark as you enter the vast expanse of the Mojave.

(Indeed. Maybe when we return, we will earn enough money from playing games that we can stay in the highest level of the tallest hotel of the city and see it again.)

“Yeah,” you respond with a throaty chuckle. “That’d be nice.”

You look down at the desert beneath you when you feel something hit your wings, slicing through and severing them, leaving you to fall to the ground. You shout as you harden your armor just in time as you impact with the sand, creating a deep crater.

(Are you alright,) it asks as you climb your way out.

“Yeah,” you respond with a groan. “What the hell happened?”

You get your answer once you make your way to the top and see Bruce, donned in his Batman gear, looking down at you.

“Are you alright,” he asks, as if he wasn’t the cause of the incident.

You dismiss your mold helm and look at him square in his eye slits, taking a deep breath and exhaling before saying, ever so calmly, “I’m going to kill you now.”

And with your intentions declared, you summon a new pair of wings and launch yourself towards the bastard and before he can react, you grab him by the face with one hand and propel the both of you backwards, using to wings to fly as you forcibly shove his head into the sand and push him forward, creating a trail in your wake.

His hands fly to yours and attempt to free himself from your grasp, but you don’t give him the chance and throw him towards a nearby rock formation as hard as you can.

He can only flail around like a rag doll as he flies through the air and lands on the rock formation with a satisfying crash, sending debris and sand flying in all directions.

Unfortunately, it’s not enough to keep him down as he’s quickly back on his feet. He reaches into his utility belt and throws a batarang at you and you respond by creating a similar object out of mold and send it flying towards it, the two of them hitting each other and falling to the ground.

Of course, he’s quick to act and before you can see it, he’s thrown something at you and you’re trapped in some kind of cable.

“What the hell,” you exclaim as you try to break free of the wire, but find yourself unable to.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says as he closes the gap between the two of you. “But you’re coming home and I’m gonna find a way to get rid of this thing inside you.”

You’re already pissed, but the way he says something so batshit crazy with a tone similar to one that you’d use to calm a startled animal enrages you even more.

How he can still be so determined to drag you back to Gotham when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you hate him and his family after everything they’ve done to you is nothing short of astounding.

(He seeks to separate us,) the Megamycete practically hisses. (Do not let him! Kill him, Y/N! Kill him!)

Your rage towards the man before you explodes like a blast furnace and you reduce your body to a murder of crows and fly towards Bruce at top speed.

He raises his arms to protect his face and you use your mold hardened beaks and talons to slice into his suit, leaving at least two dozen bloody cuts all over his body.

(Good! Hurt him even more! Bleed him dry!)

Your murder of crows fly around him, forcing him into a defensive posture, and you gather them all so you can reform into your armored form right behind him. He realizes what’s happened, but he can only turn around to face you when you grab his wrist as hard as you can, and wave him around in the air and slam him into the rock below you over and over, taking pleasure in the sounds of rock breaking with every hit.

It’s then you slam him into the rock and summon a mold sword. When he looks up at you and realizes what’s about to happen, he raises his hand just in time for your sword to go through his hand and the tip of your sword pierce the hardened Bat symbol on his chest; you know the symbol is the strongest part of his suit so it can protect whatever he has beating in his chest, but you’re determined, so it begins to crack and crumble as you drive the sword deeper in.

He tries to say something, but the damage you’ve done to him takes its toll as he can only gurgle something as blood begins to seep from the corner of his mouth.

You dismiss your helm as you lean down towards him, a vicious, bloodthirsty grin etched across your face, and the sword goes down just a little more.

“Let’s get rid of this, shall we,” you mock, grabbing his cowl, ignoring the shock the suit gives you in response. “I want to see the life fade from your eyes!”

And with that declaration, you rip the cowl off him, exposing his face, marred with bloody cuts and bruises, before you.

When you look into his eyes, you can see past the look of struggle is fear and terror.

(He knows this is the end! Finish him! Put an end to the Bat!)

“Goodbye, Mister Wayne!”

Just then, you see something fly past you and it’s then you realize the arm holding your sword has been sliced through. Bruce takes advantage of the situation and kicks you a few feet away from him and he backflips so he can put even more distance between the two of you.

You quickly collect yourself to see the source of the disruption: Dick and Cass, donned in their vigilante gear.

“You ok, B,” Dick asks as Bruce joins them.

“I’m fine,” he grunts out. “What are you doing here?”

“Alfred told us you were coming here and we knew something like this was going to happen. We all wanted to come, but we knew we couldn’t all leave Gotham, so we drew straws.”

The way he sounds so joyful pisses you off even more. How dare he! You were so close to putting an end to him and Dick had to come and ruin it!

(You should rip his limbs off! Strip him of his wings and cast him into the dam!)

Cass looks at you and you instantly know she’s analyzing you, determining possible strengths and weaknesses. When she sees that you’re missing a limb, her eyes widen.

“Oh,” Dick exclaims when he follows her gaze. “I’m so sorry, baby bird! I didn’t mean to do that! I just wanted to get you off of Bruce!”

You look down to find the severed appendage lying near your foot and go to pick it pick it up. While Dick is spouting endless apologies and pleas for you to stay calm, you merely place the limb where it once was and it begins to stitch itself back together. Once your arm is reattached, you fix your gaze back to them to find that they’re starring at you in shock at what just happened.

“Oh,” Dick manages to spit out after a few seconds of silence.

“This is between me and him,” you say as you take a few steps towards them. “Fuck off.”

“You need to stop this, baby bird,” Dick retorts. “We’re family, you shouldn’t be doing this!”

“You’re kidding, right,” you say with a mocking chuckle. “You people are constantly fighting with one another! If you’re not giving each other black eyes, you’re either breaking bones or slitting throats! You’re all a bunch of emotionally constipated psychopaths who belong in padded cells with the rest of Arkham’s lunatics! And I want nothing to do with any of you! So, for the last time, leave me the fuck alone!”

The only answer you get is the three of them getting into combat postures, indicating they’re ready to go on the attack.

“I give you the chance to walk away, and this is the thanks I get,” you sigh.

From the bottom of your feet, you command two mold tendrils to burrow into the sand below and snake their way over to them and once in place, you order them to burst out from beneath them; such a tactic would spell the end for normal people, but the Waynes are anything but normal, so they somehow knew you were up to something and scatter just as the tendrils emerge.

Still, you put them on the defense by ordering the tendrils to lash out at them, separating them from one another and forcing them to put all their focus on the tendrils while Bruce and Dick are dodging the lashing tendrils, you make your way to the nearest vigilante: Cass.

Just as you near her, she turns around and counters the slash of your mold sword with a blade of her own. You quickly realize that the few dozen people that possess any type of sword fighting prowess pale in comparison to Cass’ and decide to swap to hand-to-hand combat by punching her in gut when your blades were clashed together, sending her flying several feet.

She quickly recovers by the time you close the gap and she not only evades most of your punches, but she manages to give you a few.

What the hell, she shouldn’t be winning.

(Her fighting style is more advanced than anything we possess in our archives,) the Megamycete responds, sounding shameful. (We are unable to find a successful counter to her assault.)

Of course, it makes sense now! While Gotham may have attracted a few dozen experts in fighting over the centuries, Bruce has been trained by masters in every form of combat, including Ra’s Al Ghul, whose lifespan makes the Megamycete seem infantile in comparison. And he’s no doubt taught all of them his fighting style.

Just then, you feel something hit your back and explode, sending you flying. When you recover, you see Bruce and Dick have cut your tendrils and are now heading towards Cass to reinforce her.

(Their armories also seem to be more than we can handle,) it says as it repairs the damage done to your armor. (We have hardened your armor as much as we can, but it seems their tools will be able to penetrate our defenses.)

Shit, so that leaves you vulnerable to their fighting styles and their gadgets.

“Alright,” you mutter to yourself as you ready yourself. “We’ll just have to rely on the one thing none of them have ever had: powers.”

You repeat what you had done before and disperse your body into a murder of crows and send them flying around the Bats, causing them to huddle together and raise their arms in an attempt to protect themselves. You have enough crows continue to fly around them to keep them distracted while the rest of them form together to form your body, but with the addition of four, oversized spider-like legs extruding from your back.

You allow yourself to fall to the ground, the legs pointed down to form four very sharp stabbing implements. They look up just in time to see what’s about to happen, so they force their way through the swarm just as you land where they once stood. The remaining crows reintegrate into your body as you make your way towards them, jabbing your spider limbs in an attempt to stab any of them.

Dick and Cass have narrow frames, so they’re harder to hit, but Bruce’s more bulkier body makes him a more feasible target, so you shift your focus to him. After a few failed slashes, you manage to land a decent hit that causes him to fail onto his back. He tries to reach for his utility belt, but you use two of your limbs to pierce his shoulders and he lets out a pained yell s he struggles in vain to free himself from beneath you.

He looks up at you, a painful expression etched on his face, while you summon two small tendrils from your back, ready to deal the final blow.

“If I can’t rip out your non-existent heart, I’ll just have to settle for your head!”

But, just as you’re about to make good on your declaration, you feel something attach itself onto your back, throwing you off balance.

“Y/N, don’t,” a voice says from behind and it’s then you realize it’s not something on your back, but someone.

Specifically, Dick.

“Get off me, circus freak,” you snarl as you begin to struggle with him.

Deeming Dick the bigger threat, you shift your focus from Bruce to shaking off the acrobat any way you can, flailing around and reaching out to grab him so you can finally finish him off; while you want to kill Bruce more than anything right now, you want him to suffer before you shed his blood.

Making him watch as you rip his golden child’s head off while he’s powerless to stop it? Yes, that’ll do the trick.

It’s then you feel something at your spider feet and when you manage to look down while holding Dick at bay to see Cass, batarang in hand, cutting the feet pinning Bruce to the desert floor in an attempt to free him.

(She attempts to free the bastard,) the Megamycete hisses. (Kill her! Kill her now!)

But in typical fashion, Dick butts in where he’s not wanted and hurls himself towards you, latching onto your upper body, forcing you to brace your back spider legs to prevent you from tumbling down.

You watch in pure frustration as Cass slices off the parts of your legs pinning Bruce down and before you can react, the two of them hurl themselves onto you, joining Dick in trying to wrestle you to the ground.

You grab Dick with one hand and Cass with the other and just as you ready to summon a tendril to deal with Bruce and stabs you with some type of syringe, making you howl in pain at the sensation; instead of injecting you with something, you feel your blood being drained from you.

“Enough,” you hiss, hurling the two smaller vigilantes as far as you can before grabbing Bruce by both his shoulders and pulling him up so that the two of you are eye-to-eye.

It’s at this point your rage reaches its apex; this was suppose to be a night of fun out on the Strip, but the man before you not only had to ruin it by showing up, but now he’s come full circle on his batshit craziness by blasting you out of the sky and try to apprehend you like you’re one of the crazies from Arkham.

And to make matters worse, he had to bring two of his children, Dick being one of them! While you will always hate Bruce with every fiber of your being and Damian being an extremely close second, you’ve always had a strong resentment towards the eldest Wayne son. While the bastard will always say he loves all his children equally (minus you, of course), you know Dick will always be number one in Bruce’s heart due to him being the first child and being a capable Gotham socialite and vigilante.

And to add insult to injury, everyone always says Dick is everything an eldest brother should be: reliable, responsible, and doting. For years, you could nothing but cry as you saw him going out of his way to help and hang out with the other Wayne children, no matter how loudly they tried to reject it. Watching such the love and affection you craved be handed out so willingly and carefree to anyone but you made you think you would never be loved by anyone other than your deceased Momma.

You let out an inhuman howl in Bruce’s face as you shove your head into his right shoulder and latch onto it with your teeth with enough force to rival a hydraulic press. He lets out a pained yell and attempts to pull you off by your hair, but you apply more force until you eventually pierce through the armor, followed by the skin, then the muscle, and finally bone.

You pull your head back, bits of bone and flesh dangling from your teeth. You look to see his right arm practically dangling from just the barest of flesh and blood oozing from it like a waterfall. You shift your gaze from your handiwork to Bruce’s face to see the most delicious expression of pain etched on it and his complexion is pale and clammy.

At this point, you’re a crazed animal, chomping at the bit to go in for the kill on the wounded prey before you and rip it apart until it’s unrecognizable.

(Yes,) the Megamycete roars, its voice a symphony of bloodthirsty cheers. (Do it! Exact your vengeance upon him!)

Before you do anything, you feel something hit your back and explode, but unlike the first one, this one sends some sort of freezing gases scattering across your body, sending feelings of burning as your armor and spider legs rapidly freeze.

You howl in pain as you drop Bruce so you can slap at the affected areas, trying to find some way to relieve yourself of the freezing feeling.

(Hurts,) the Megamycete hisses. (Hurts!)

You rid yourself of your armor and spider legs by ripping it off your body, the frozen mold constructs shattering upon impact with the ground.

It’s then you realize you’re exposed and quickly turn around, ready to defend yourself when you see the three of them flying away on the Batwing at top speed. You could go after them, but after the fight with the Bats and their freezing grenade, you can only fall to your knees, trying to catch your breath.

(We had no idea we possessed such a vulnerability to the cold,) the Megamycete says, its voice sounding weak. (The winters of Gotham drove us to a state of near hibernation, but this is the first time we have ever had a reaction like that.)

“And now you know,” you manage to gasp out. “And so do they.”

You can only watch as the vehicle flies away as fast as it can, carrying three of the Bats away where they will no doubt share what’s happened here with the others, which will no doubt lead to even more encounters like this in the future.

“Shit.”

In the Batwing, Bruce knows Dick is talking to hi, his words quick and high pitched as he tries to dress his wound, but right now, he can’t bring himself to take his focus off the syringe filled with your blood.

When he set out for Vegas, he was determined to find a way to provoke you into showing him your powers and obtain a blood sample so he could perform more tests, but he didn’t think he’d discover a major weakness in your defenses.

While he hated to see the cryo grenade caused you so much pain, he can’t help but rejoice at the knowledge that there’s a crack in your armor and if he approaches it at the right angle, he can have you home far sooner than he anticipated.

And when you’re back home, he can find a way to get that damn thing out of you and return you to normal. And when that’s done, he can begin to make things right with you.

He grips the syringe harder, seeing the key to making his daily whole once again within your blood.

Tag List: @lunaluz432 @type-ink @bat1212 @eyeless-kun @deathbynarcisstick @orbitingtraveler @1s3v3n1 @nosyrobin @roseytheteacup @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @bellethesleepypotato @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @exactlynumberonekryptonite @paolexsstuff @fantasyhopperhea @c0l1fl0r @ellaprime7 @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @ratchetprime211 @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @bunbunbread @starsdotalk @luna57765 @solelifauna @jsprien213 @diejager @lizz-lrm @v0idl1nq @chericia @wizzerreblogs @tinybrie @lilyalone @thickasthievingtoads @creativechaosx @randomlyappearingartist @ferchu0406 @kik1010 @butterflycardigann @1-800-crazy

#from gold to mold #yandere batfamily #male reader #batfamily #batfamily x male reader #batman #dc x male reader #yandere batfam #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere dc #yandere barbara gordon #yandere cassandra cain #yandere damian wayne #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere stephanie brown

265 notes · View notes

revelboo · 1 day ago

Note

I just know EIA! Megs is gonna hold the carrier thing Over their heads in the most PETTY of ways. Like the human and Starscream are like. Bickering about names like "They need a powerful name. Like Vaportrail or Heatseek." and the Human's like "Oh, I was thinking bc your name is STARscream it could be one of the stars we've named, like...Polaris or Arcturus." and then Megatron chimes in like "We're naming them after a poet." "What?!" "Hey, that's not-" "I'm sorry, WHO is the one who was forced into carrying?? Thats right me." or like. "Wow I cant believe I managed to find a pack of rust sticks." "yeah, amazing. Especially since your CARRIER would love rust sticks rn." "You're such an ass, ugh. here."

He absolutely will and bring it up every chance he gets

Everything Is Alright Pt 128

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Shockwave x Reader

• Antenna immediately flattening back upon seeing you cradled in Starscream’s hand, you at least take a petty pleasure in the fact that Shockwave is as unhappy to see you as you are to see him. “Lord Megatron has ordered more tests be run on my human,” Starscream says, wings flaring as he curls his lip derisively and lies through his denta while you struggle to not laugh at how serious he sounds. Wings preening like he’s showing you off and it’d be cute if you weren’t still nursing your annoyance with all of them.

• Venting softly as he lingers nearby to watch over you, Soundwave divides his attention between you and Shockwave. While the scientist is an old friend, most of that friend was stripped away a long time ago. Every good thing torn away like his face. Knows you don’t like Shockwave, but they’ll need him to create protoforms for them. Servos flexing as his own thoughts snag him. Protoforms. Wanting that. Wanting you with his sparkling, to spark you. To have a family even if it’s this dysfunctional mess as long as you’re part of it.

• Easing you down on the counter, Starscream’s servo lingers against your back. Reassuring himself and you. Because Shockwave? Unpredictable at best, motivated by who knew what. “There are other aliens besides humans out there, right?” You ask as Shockwave retrieves a scanner. “Other organics.” You’re looking up at him, expression uncertain. And he nods slowly as you look away to track Shockwave. “So Cybertronians and other organics?” You ask and he realizes what you’re asking. As far as he knows, organics have always been a taboo.

• ‘There are archival records of Cybertronians bonding organics in the past,’ Shockwave interrupts and Star looks more surprised than you are. Making it apparent he hadn’t know. “What about the sparklings?” You ask, holding still as the light of the scanner plays over you. ‘Sparklings? There were no viable sparks created from such unions,’ Shockwave growls, frowning at the screen. And you look up at Star then Soundwave. Because you’d been hoping for some reassurances. That this was going to work out in the end, but you’re back to being a weird one-off again. Your whole species weirdly compatible with theirs.

• “Query- the lifespans of such bonded pairs?” Soundwave asks and you look at him in surprise, before your expression empties and you look up at Starscream. ‘How long do you guys normally live?’ You ask him, voice tight. Not bothering to look up from studying the scanner, Shockwave’s antennas flick. ‘The organic’s lifespan is bound to the Cybertronian’s, not the other way around,’ Shockwave growls. And Soundwave’s tension eases, venting raggedly as he turns his attention back on you, watching you frown up at Starscream while he tells you how long they live. How long you might live if nothing happens to your bonded mates. And you pale slightly, nodding absently. ‘Why are there now two spark bond signatures?’ Shockwave growls, as he holds up the scanner.

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #megatron x reader #soundwave x reader #soundwave #starscream #megatron

176 notes · View notes

scariusaquarius · 2 days ago

Text

rehab. 15.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

A/n: I'M SO SORRY THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG. Shit in my life hit a royal fan, so that took a lot of my immediate attention. So, we got into Tony's head, and now I think we should jump into the other groups now <3 Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

Author: ScariusAquarius

rehab masterlist. chapter 14

Steve could still remember the way the HYDRA base had smelled the first time he had seen Bucky since he'd gone missing in action during World War II. The burning oil from the guns, the smoke and iron from explosions and blood staining the air like wine on white, and the smell of ozone just before it began to rain. It was all as though it was yesterday despite it being almost 80 years since then.

80 years since he last saw Peggy Carter.

Well, Steve guessed he could count the times he saw her after he woke up; her old and frail body reminding him of the time he had lost since he went under the ice...her casket heavy upon Steve's shoulder when he carried her to the hearse the day of her funeral.

But it didn't take away the feelings of regret and sorrow. Steve didn't regret putting the plane beneath the ice, but he did regret never getting that raincheck for their dance. Even so, Steve knew that Peggy would have wanted him to be happy; to keep fighting for what he believed in; to keep fighting for the little guys.

And so that's what Steve did. He kept fighting, kept saving, kept advocating, and yet it never felt like it was enough. Even when he saved Bucky, Steve still felt as though something was missing. There was never enough records, old antiques that weren't actually antiques to him, never enough clothes that felt right; it all just reminded him that he was living in a time that wasn't his own.

But unlike (Y/n) (L/n), he'd been allotted a lot of time to get used to the new world. Granted, Steve still couldn't stand the hustle and bustle and the noise of the New World, but Steve imagined that it was ten times harder for her. Hell, he still couldn't stand fireworks, and Bucky downright sobbed during the holidays because of them.

Steve sighed as he thumbed at the worn lensatic compass that still held that pretty picture of Peggy in it, and he couldn't help but to look at the picture, pursing his lips.

Yes, Steve understood what it meant to be out of place and because of that, it made him determined to help those that were like him and Bucky if and when he met them.

When he came across the female Winter Soldier with Bucky, Steve had felt shocked yet relieved for having found this woman, and though Bucky had been so reluctant to save her from staying frozen until the end of time, Steve couldn't help but feel determined to defrost her and save her, Peggy's words repeating in his head like a mantra.

"The world has changed, and none of us can go back. All we can do is our best, and sometimes, the best that we can do, is to start over."

Just like him and Bucky, this woman also deserved a chance to start over; to be free of what HYDRA had done to her, and though Steve didn't want to admit it, he couldn't help but to see Bucky again when he looked at this woman.

Though, even Steve knew that what they had done to her had been ten times worse given the horrific scars that had been covering her body. Steve hadn't watched any of the recorded clips that Shuri had obtained while working on the woman's programming, but given the way Shuri, Tony, and Bucky had been acting since being shown the clips, Steve didn't even want to watch them.

Even he knew that he might lose his cool for once.

It made it even worse when Steve discovered that Jack Rollins had been her Handler. Did Brock know, too? Did he also Handle this woman under the guise that it was 'nothing personal'?

"Still feels personal," Steve muttered to himself. Steve became aware of Sam leaning against the wall beside him, his arms crossed and looking ahead as they waited for Thor to arrive at their location to begin their investigation.

"You know, I think you really just like missing person cases. Have you thought of being a detective?"

Steve couldn't help but to chuckle as he glanced at Sam, stating with a small smile.

"I thought about it, but I don't think I'd be satisfied like I am now."

Sam barked out a laugh, shaking his head as he gestured to Steve's shield with a raised brow.

"Just can't seem to stay away, huh?"

"I know, it follows me everywhere, man."

The two men chuckled, and Sam stared at Steve for a moment, noticing the downtrodden look crawl back upon the old Captain's face, and he pointed out to Steve.

"You seem like you're back in the trenches."

Steve chuckled before shaking his head slightly, teasing gently.

"I never was actually in the trenches, so that might be a question for Bucky rather than me."

Sam shook his head a bit as well, making a face at Steve before stating.

"Well, I'm not about to go make a quick trip to ask. Seriously, man, what's on your mind?"

Steve pursed his lips tightly before he admitted to Sam, giving the man a worried look.

"I'm just...worried about the woman is all. With Bucky's rehabilitation, it hadn't been easy for him...and it still isn't, if I'm honest. I'm worried that he might have been right...if it would have been better for us to leave her frozen so she wouldn't be in danger like she is."

Sam glanced over at Steve, regarding him with a thoughtful look before he crossed his arms and replied thoughtfully.

"I think you're overthinking it, Steve. Even if you'd have left her there, she would have been in the same amount of danger as she is now."

Steve looked over at Sam, giving the man his undivided attention as Sam continued to speak his mind.

"Just like with Bucky, you strived to advocate for her; to give her a life and the ability to choose who she wants to be. If you ask me, that's a pretty big deal...especially considering who and what she is. You surrounded her with people that actually want to help her and not use her. I think that you and I both know that this is going to be a difficult road, but I also know it'll be worth it to see her blossom into herself and not what HYDRA wanted her to be. Just like with Bucky."

Sam clasped Steve's shoulder, giving him a firm look.

"You did the right thing, Steve...and if that doesn't make you think so...then I think at least Peggy would have been proud."

Steve couldn't help but to furrow his brows at the mention of Peggy, glancing down at the compass again, and he shook his head.

"No wonder you're a speaker at the VA. You're pretty good at this."

"You have to be. Sometimes you're the only thing a brother or a sister has left."

The two men couldn't help but to jolt as the Bifrost Bridge suddenly came crashing down beside them with a bang of thunder, Thor Odinson shaking his shoulders a little bit as a spark of lightning crawled over his chest as he appeared.

"I did not anticipate how difficult a phone could be. What's even the point of it when you could just tell me what I need to know in person. Even a raven would suffice. Less problems."

Sam couldn't help but to ask as he brushed off the invisible dust from his uniform as Steve gave Thor an understanding look.

"I don't reckon you get great service from Asgard, huh?"

"Terrible, actually, I couldn't even hear a word Tony Stark was saying...which isn't really tragic."

Steve nodded a bit before he asked Thor, the God of Thunder giving him a curious look.

"I don't suppose you were able to hear what was going on all the while?"

Thor then made a face as if trying to remember the interaction with Tony, saying.

"Well, I think I hung up when Tony said to meet you here, so not really."

Steve almost lost his composure, closing his eyes and shaking his head while Sam just snorted, crossing his arms.

"Right. We're going after a HYDRA operative by the name of Jack Rollins. We don't really know where he is, but the site that we're going to is a possible location. Even if he's not there, we're going to eradicate any possible activity. It's about time that HYDRA is stopped once and for all. Tony was able to capture an image of the base, so we should get moving."

The three of them began to journey to the HYDRA base, Thor asking as they walked and kept an eye out for danger.

"So, what is the significance of this human? Other than the fact that he is apart of this...horrible organization, it seems there is more to this than I am being informed of."

Steve gave Thor a look, almost like a brother chastising the other.

"Well, if you hadn't hung up on Tony, he would have been able to tell you."

Thor just waved off Steve, shrugging his shoulders a little bit as they began to approach the HYDRA base.

"His theatrics annoy me."

Steve wisely elected not to comment, instead giving Thor the rundown of the last couple of weeks.

"Bucky and I rescued a woman that was a part of the Winter Soldier program...probably created right after Bucky was. We've been trying to rehabilitate her and free her from HYDRA's mind control, but we've been having issues. Jack Rollins was her Handler, and he's been controlling her remotely...probably for a while."

Thor then hummed, saying with a raised brow as he swung Mjolnir around.

"It sounds as though this is personal."

"Potentially. What matters the most is that we eradicate HYDRA. If not for her or Bucky, then for the world. This is a dangerous group of people that are willing to do whatever it takes to gain complete control."

Thor sighed heavily, looking down at the hammer in his hands, scrunching his nose a little bit as he spoke while pointing Mjolnir at Steve.

"Well, even so, I understand the need to protect the honor of a maiden, so I shall accompany you to this HYDRA base and we shall cut off every head of the beast until the earth is pouring with its blood."

Sam and Steve stared at Thor for a moment before Sam asked him with a squint.

"Did you just come up with that on the spot or are you always this poetic?"

Thor shrugged, giving Sam a thoughtful expression as he replied.

"It comes and goes. My mother used to recite the Vǫluspá to Loki and I when we were younger."

Sam just gave Steve a look, and the old Avenger just shrugged his shoulders before asking the two men.

"Are you guys ready? We're closing in."

Thor then asked as Steve and Sam began to carefully maneuver through the trees to stay out of sight while the God continued to walk as if there was no threat imminent.

"Do you think that I could meet this woman? I think it'll be fascinating. Are female Winter Soldier's different than males? Can she kick Barnes' ass like a Valkyrie?"

Steve pursed his lips, glancing back at Thor with a raised brow.

"Do you want to find out?"

"Well, I think a round or two would be healthy. You know, gauge her skills...see where she can improve."

Sam gave Steve a questioning look.

"Didn't she put a knife through the quinjet windshield? You know, the one made with synthesized AM-III carbon?"

"I don't know what that is."

Thor pointed out with a confused look on his face, and Steve just replied.

"It's strong as hell."

Thor just nodded before he gestured to the large building that they had approached.

"This is the supposed base?"

"Yes. We want to try to be as inconspicuous as possible just in case there is activity."

When Thor didn't respond, Steve and Sam both looked back with a confused look before the sound of thunder and lightning crashing down on the building made the two Avengers fill with dread.

"Is there anybody in the Avengers initiative that actually listens to you?"

Steve just sighed and replied.

"Let's just follow him."

The mission began then, the two men desperately chasing after the God as Thor flew through the building. What perturbed Steve, however, was the fact that there seemed to be no fighting. No yells, no gunshots, no explosions.

Silence.

The place was empty, barren of any furniture and equipment nor documents. It was as though it had been completely cleaned out. Thor came back with a frown, stating as he looked around with confusion.

"The rest of the area is completely barren. Nobody has been here for a while."

"Did you check the lower levels?"

Thor glanced back at the hole he had created on the floor, scratching the back of his head.

"I think so."

Sam shook his head, adjusting his goggles so that they were sitting on top of his head.

"That just doesn't make any sense. It's almost as if they know where we're looking and are cleaning everything out right under our noses."

Steve pursed his lips and looked at Thor.

"You're positive that there was nothing in the building?"

Thor frowned, crossing his arms.

"Why would I be dishonest to you?"

Sam pursed his lips again before he asked.

"What if they have someone on the inside already?"

Thor and Steve looked at Sam with similar expressions of dread. Sam shrugged and continued.

"We know that HYDRA is scary-good at infiltrations and establishing themselves in even the most secure places in the world. In a kingdom of thousands, a rat is bound to get through somehow, especially when the King is already preoccupied with trying to find a specific person. It's just like Nat said: it's easier to get things done when the attention isn't on you."

Thor pointed towards Steve, stating.

"We should get to Wakanda as soon as possible. If he is right, then that means the maiden and your friend are in danger of this foul beast. I can get us there almost immediately using the Bifrost Bridge so they are not devoured by the HYDRA."

Both Steve and Sam give Thor a questioning look.

"You...know it's not a real beast, right?"

Thor made a face at them both.

"Of course I knew that...I just thought it'd be poetic."

Thor looked away, but Sam could still see the embarrassed look on the god's face before he looked to Steve, who was shaking his head to get back on track.

"Listen, we can't just leave the quinjet behind. Stark will have my ass about it."

Steve protested, and Sam clasped his shoulder with a frown.

"You two go on ahead, I'll fly that bird home. Bucky and (Y/n) are in danger, Steve. The quicker you get there, the better off they'll be."

Steve nodded and Thor grabbed the captain's shoulder, nodding to Sam.

"Good luck."

With a strange sound of surging energy, the Bifrost suddenly crashed down upon Thor and Steve, leaving Sam where he was standing as he watched the bridge disappear, and Sam couldn't help but mutter to himself.

"One of these days....just you wait."

STORY NOTES: Steve recalls the HYDRA base that he had found Bucky in after Bucky went missing back in WWII. He recalls the smell of smoke, burnt gun oil, and other scents during that time, and Steve makes a note that he could still remember that day clearly. He begins to think about Peggy Carter and his regrets and sorrows of not getting to spend his life with her like he wanted to, and so to honor her, he continues to fight for those around him.

He begins to sympathize with (Y/n) (L/n) and how it must be jarring for her to be thrust into an era she is not from, and the struggles that came with adjusting to a new world. He recalls that when he had found her, Bucky had been reluctant to save her, but Steve was determined because of the memory of a quote that Peggy had said to him before she passed away.

After some more personal reflections, Steve is greeted by Sam Wilson, who jokes with Steve to lighten the mood. When he is unsuccessful, Sam asks Steve what is on his mind. Steve opens up to Sam about his worries and how he is wondering if Steve had done the right thing in defrosting the woman, and Sam is adamant that Steve had done the right thing. He tells Steve that he thinks Peggy would have been proud, and Steve begins to feel better.

The moment is interrupted with the arrival of Thor Odinson, who makes a complaint about the difficulty of cellular devices and how it would have been much easier for someone to send a raven to him. Sam makes a joke about the reception in Asgard, to which Thor quips that he couldn't hear what Tony was saying and it 'wasn't really tragic'. Steve asks Thor if he was able to hear the mission details, and Thor reveals that he actually hung up on Tony, not that he had bad reception.

Steve begins to go into details about their mission and what the plan is, and Thor makes a comment that the mission seemed personal. Steve is vague with his response, but neither Thor nor Sam comment about it. When Thor mentions cutting off 'every head of the beast', Sam makes a joke, in which Thor replies that his mother used to read the Vǫluspá to him and Loki when they were younger.

As they approach the base, Thor makes a inquiry about female Winter Soldier's and if they were as strong and skilled as Valkyries, in which Sam and Steve both imply that (Y/n) is most likely on par with one since she was able to embed a knife into the strongest glass in the world. After a while, the three arrive to the base, and though Steve tries to plan out a strategic entrance, Thor immediately begins to assault the base.

Steve makes a note that the place seems deadly silent and completely barren, no furniture or desks in sight. Thor comes back with a similar report, telling Steve that the base is completely abandoned, and Sam makes a comment that it seems as though HYDRA already seems to know where the Avengers will be looking. He inquires about a possible infiltration in Wakanda, and Thor tells Steve that they should get to Wakanda as soon as possible. Thor and Steve leaving using the Bifrost Bridge while Sam stays behind to take the quinjet home. End scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

Vǫluspá: "The Prophecy of the Völva [Seeress]". It is one of the most famous and important poems in the Poetic Edda, which is a collection of Old Norse mythos and poems. The Vǫluspá goes into detail about Norse Mythology, including the creation of the world, its current state, and its ultimate destruction during Ragnarök—the apocalyptic battle of the gods—and subsequent rebirth.

Valkyrie: [Valkyrja] "Chooser of the Slain": A warrior faction of Norse Mythology often depicted as powerful Asgardian women who serve Odin. Their main role is to choose which Asgardian warrior will live or die in battle. They also guide the fallen warrior to Valhalla, Odin's great hall in Asgard where the warriors [known as Einherjar] prepare for Ragnarök

TAGLIST: @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x @valckenaux @babybeeelle @sc4rrc @cjand10 @bane-y-zane

#bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #the winter soldier #winter soldier #marvel #marvel x reader #captain america

57 notes · View notes

railwolf91 · 20 hours ago

Text

“So that leaves only one suspect. Isn't that right, Officer Reyes?” Paul accused Carlos in front of everyone in the staff lounge of the 126 firehouse.

The group snickered at Paul’s incredulous accusation while TK defended his man: “Come on, Paul. Take off the tinfoil hat. It wasn't Carlos.”

Everyone knew there was no way it could be Carlos, not sweet, innocent Carlos.

“He's right. It was me.” Carlos announced with a smirk and not a hint of guilt.

The group gasped in shock as TK struggled to process the betrayal by the saint of the group “ Babe .” TK gasped.

“I could say I thought it was community, but that would be a lie.” Carlos stated as he stared down Paul in the stare down of the century, “The truth is, I was peckish and I wanted pudding. And I didn't care whose pudding I had to take in order to get it.” chuckling as he continued to walk towards Paul

“And you know what? It was delicious .”

“Monster!” Paul shouted, “You are a monster!”

This was how Carlos ended up tied up and blindfolded once again in the 126 firehouse staff room. Stripped of his uniform, his gorgeous tan skin shimmered under the warm glow of the overhead lights, the oil on his body accentuating every sculpted curve and angle. His broad chest, perfectly defined with tight, chiseled muscles, rose and fell with shallow breaths. Each ridge of his abs looked like it had been carved by a master sculptor, leading the eye down to his narrow waist.

His thighs were thick and powerful, every muscle taut and defined, hinting at the strength that lay beneath. His firm, round ass was an undeniable centerpiece, almost glowing under the light, framed exquisitely by the red ropes that hugged his body with sinful precision. The crimson silk blindfold wrapped delicately around his eyes and the vivid red rope encasing his wrists contrasted beautifully against his golden skin, making him look like a living masterpiece—vulnerable yet commanding all at once.

“Uh, guys,” Nancy said, her voice hesitant but cutting through the heated atmosphere. Her gaze lingered for a moment too long, drinking in the breathtaking sight before she forced herself back to reality. This was... a lot. First off, Carlos was their friend. Second, he was TK’s fiancé.

“Isn’t this kinda... you know... unfair to Carlos?” she asked, though the words came out weaker than she intended.

Not that she could really complain. If she was honest, Carlos and TK’s relationship had been the centerpiece of more than one private daydream ever since she’d worked to get the two of them back together after Carlos’s house burned down. There was something magnetic about the two of them together—not just because they were both impossibly good looking, but because of the way they moved around each other, as if pulled together by fate, it was kinda romantic if she was honest.

The way TK’s hands would linger on Carlos, the way Carlos’s eyes light up every time he looked at TK.

Still, this? This was... unconventional, even for them.

TK grinned at her, one of his big stupid grins that lit up the room as he placed his hand on the small of Carlos’s bare back. “Babe, can you tell Nancy what color you’re at?”

Carlos groaned, looking up at the ceiling, or at least he would be if not for the blindfold.

“Babe, Nancy is going to worry that we’re assaulting you if you don’t speak up.”

Carlos bit his lip again, his cheeks going a dark red as Paul crossed his arms. “Alright then team, untie him…”

“Wait...wait”, Carlos said, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Fine, Green, I’m at Green.”

“Good boy,” TK murmured, his tone warm and soothing as he rubbed circles on Carlos’s back, grounding him.

Okay, so Carlos was okay with this, which was reassuring. Except…

“Wait, I’m sorry, but this opens up a whole new can of worms,” Nancy said, breaking the moment as her gaze flickered around the room, landing on a mix of confused and expectant faces. “It’s just—Carlos is TK’s fiancé, and he’s, well, naked, tied up, and oiled in front of everyone?”

Carlos’s head dipped, his voice barely audible. “She thinks I’m a slut.”

The words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them freezing the room in an awkward silence. Nancy’s face crumpled, regret washing over her. She hadn’t intended to imply anything, but hearing it spoken aloud—especially from Carlos himself—hit differently.

“Hey, hey, not at all, babe.” TK’s voice was immediate, gentle yet firm as he cupped Carlos’s face in his hands, forcing those dark, beautiful eyes to meet his own. “You’re not a slut. You’re my good boy, aren’t you?” His tone softened, full of love, before his gaze turned sharp and protective as he addressed Nancy. “What we do here doesn’t change who Carlos is. He’s still the most incredible, thoughtful man—and the best damn cop in Austin, period.”

Paul, seated nearby, nodded solemnly, adding weight to TK’s words. “Carlos just needs a space to let go completely—to be ruined—but only with people who understand and respect that. No one here is crossing any lines, Nancy. You know that.”

Nancy exhaled, her tension easing as she nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...um, well..."

Marjan placed a reassuring hand on Nancy’s arm. “Come with me,” she said, guiding her toward the ambulance bay. “We’re out of lube anyway, and I can explain some important things while we grab more.”

While Marjan lead Nancy away to explain the situation, Paul and TK knelt down beside Mateo, who had both hands shamelessly groping Carlos’s firm ass

“Any dessert here?” Paul asked, his tone casual but laced with mischief.

TK chuckled, his grin wide. “You know there is, Paul.”

Mateo’s eyes sparkled as his grin turned wicked. “All I know is there’s a whole lot of cake right here,” he said, giving Carlos ass a playful squeeze. “And I’m dying for a taste.”

As Mateo said that, he leaned in, burying his face between Carlos's asscheeks. His tongue swiped across the tight, puckered hole, drawing a sharp gasp from Carlos' lips.

"Fuck, yes," Carlos hissed, arching back into the sensation. “Fuck, god, please….”

“I think he likes it,” TK said, his tone smug as he watched Mateo eat his partner's tight pink hole, as Carlos whimpered and moaned under the impact of Mateo’s tongue, twisting and pulling against his restraints as TK's hand slowly made it way up Carlos's chest to just gently wrap around Carlos's neck, applying just enough pressure for Carlos to be aware it was there, but not enough to hurt him.

“Yeah, I wonder if he likes it as much as he enjoyed my last pudding cup,” Paul grumbled, narrowing his eyes at Carlos, the sight of Carlos enjoying himself was almost unbearable given Officer Reyes' heinous crime - Paul had been looking forward to that pudding cup. “This is supposed to be a punishment , TK.” Paul reminded, with a sharp smack to Carlos’s asscheek.

Squeezing Carlos's neck gently, TK leaned forward to whisper in his ear "Did you hear that babe, you've been a bad bad boy."

Meanwhile Marjan was enjoying explaining the situation to Nancy.

Nancy leaned against the side of the ambulance, her arms crossed as she watched Marjan with a thoughtful frown. She tapped a finger against her chin, her expression sceptical. “I don’t know, I always thought Carlos was, you know… confident . He seems so sure of himself most of the time, if anything I would of thought it would of been, you know, uh TK that um…”

“Oh I know,” Marjan giggled, “Right, like Carlos definitely puts TK in place, probably with cuffs, he might even use the baton.”

Nancy blushed at the thought, although honestly, she had pictured it before. If she was brutally honest, in the middle of their stupid breakup over the loft she had, maybe, thought to herself that all Carlos needed to do was rail the bitch out of TK.

In fact, if she was a little too honest, she may have pictured a scenario where Officer Reyes would storm into the firehouse, demanding to see TK. Bratty TK would sulk up to him, and Carlos would rip the shirt off TK in a heartbeat before turning him around, bending him over the firetruck and claiming him right there.

Her mind wandered as she remembered her favourite scenario:

Carlos strode into the firehouse with purpose, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on his target. "TK!" he called out, his deep voice echoing through the building.

TK looked up from where he had been talking to some of the other firefighters, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Carlos? What are you doing here? We are broken up and I don't want to see you"

The 126 firehouse would gasp, like it was a soap opera.

Carlos wouldn't respond, simply striding over to where TK stood. The other firefighters would watch in stunned silence as Carlos grabbed TK by the front of his shirt and yanked him closer. "I'm here to claim what's mine," Carlos growled like he was in a 1950's movie.

Before TK could even react, Carlos would rip his shirt open, sending buttons flying over the fire station floor. The scent of TK's cologne and sweat hit Carlos's nose and he inhaled deeply, a hunger stirring in his gut. "Oh fuck yeah," he groaned, pushing TK towards the firetruck.

TK stumbled but quickly regained his footing, his eyes wide. "Carlos, we can't-"

His words were cut off as Carlos spun him around and shoved him face first against the side of the truck. "Shut up and hold on tight," Carlos commanded, his voice rough and manly. He grabbed both of TK's wrists and pinned them above his head with one large hand, using his other to yank down TK's pants and briefs in one rough motion.

TK gasped as the cool air hit his bare ass but it quickly turned into a moan as Carlos kneaded the firm globes of his cheeks. "Fuck, you've got the best ass," Carlos praised, giving one cheek a hard smack. He followed it with another on the other cheek, grinning as he watched them jiggle.

"Please Carlos, not here," TK whimpered weakly even as his hips pushed back.

"Too bad," Carlos said, spreading TK open with his thumbs to expose his tight pink hole. He spat on it before pressing a finger in, working TK open with ruthless efficiency.

TK's cock was fully hard now, drooling precum on the floor as Carlos finger fucked him open. "Gonna fuck you so good," Carlos promised, pulling his fingers away and replacing them with the thick head of his cock. With one hard thrust he sank balls deep into TK's perfect ass.

"Oh god!" TK cried out, not caring about the audience anymore, lost to the sensations of being so suddenly and thoroughly claimed by Carlos.

Carlos set a brutal pace, pounding into TK's ass like a man possessed. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room. "Take it, take my cock," Carlos grunted, his hips slamming against TK's ass. "Gonna fill this ass up, make you mine."

TK could only moan and take it, his cock leaking steadily as Carlos used his body.

"That's it, fuckin' take it," Carlos snarled. His fingers dug into TK's hips hard enough to bruise as he chased his pleasure, determined to mark every inch of TK.

After a few more deep thrusts, Carlos came with a loud groan, painting TK's insides with his release. He collapsed over TK's back, hips twitching as he rode out his high.

They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing heavily. Finally, Carlos pulled out and tucked himself away. "We're not done," he said, giving TK's ass a pat before throwing the naked paramedic over his shoulder and carrying him out to his patrol car.

The whole 126 fire station would clap as they left.

The next day, TK would walk into work, and Nancy would ask him how things were, and he would admit that he and Carlos were back together...

It would have been better for both of them than TK almost dying (again) in a lake and less stressful on everyone; poor Tommy had blamed herself for weeks and months afterwards.

Okay, TK probably would have still fallen in the lake and almost died. He was a magnet for near-death experiences.

Marjan, perched on the edge of the ambulance step, chuckled—though the sound came out more like a snort, which brought Nancy back to reality.

"Do I want to know what you were just thinking of?" Marjan asked with a knowing smile as Nancy played dumb, "I don't know what you're talking about, Marjan."

"Ah ha, sure", Marjan replied with a smirk, “Anway, Don’t get me wrong. As TK said, he’s still Carlos. But there are definitely… layers.” She gestured vaguely with her hand as if those layers were floating in the air. “It’s just that when it comes to certain types of people—people in positions of authority—he gets a little… different.”

Nancy raised a sceptical eyebrow again, this time tilting her head. “Different, how?”

Marjan gave her an incredulous look, as if she couldn’t believe Nancy hadn’t noticed. “Seriously, Nance? You’ve never picked up on how submissive he can be around powerful people? Like, come on.”

Nancy blinked, clearly taken aback. “Submissive? Carlos? Are we talking about the same Carlos Reyes?”

Marjan rolled her eyes dramatically, leaning forward. “Yes, that Carlos Reyes. Look, he’s not falling over himself but think about it. Put him in a room with a commanding officer or even Captain Strand, and suddenly he’s all ‘yes, sir,’ ‘no, ma’am,’ head lowered like he’s waiting to get it bitten off.”

Nancy paused, replaying interactions in her mind. “I mean… maybe? But that’s just professionalism. He’s a cop. That’s how they’re trained.”

“Sure,” Marjan said, drawing the word out with a knowing smile. “But it’s not just professionalism. It’s like he has this instinct to defer to people who radiate authority. It’s subtle, but once you see it, you can’t unsee it .”

Nancy squinted as if trying to make sense of what Marjan was saying. “You think it’s… a personality thing? Or is this, like, a deeper… I don’t know, psychological thing?”

Marjan shrugged, leaning back against the ambulance. “Could be both. TK mentioned something once about Carlos and his dad, right? Maybe growing up with a guy like Gabriel Reyes set some precedent in his mind. Who knows? All I’m saying is, he’s got some stuff to work through in that department.”

Nancy considered this for a moment, then smirked. “So what you’re saying is, Mr Perfect, might have a few cracks in the old armour.”

“Exactly.” Marjan grinned. “But hey, don’t we all? Besides, it’s not like it’s a bad thing. TK clearly doesn’t mind, and Carlos is still Carlos.”

As Marjan selected a bottle from the stash, Nancy broke the silence. “So… if this is about ‘ruining’ Carlos,” she said hesitantly, “am I supposed to, like, call him a dirty little…?”

Marjan laughed, the sound loud and rich in the quiet of the ambulance bay. “Oh, no, no, no. TK would kick you out faster than you could dial 9-1-1 if you tried that.” She shook her head, a playful grin softening her words. “Listen, when Carlos is in that headspace, sure, he might let you say that stuff, but that’s not the vibe here. TK’s all about positivity—affirming, rewarding. It’s good boy, great job, well done. Nothing degrading or cruel. Ever. From what I understand, Carlos has never had a chance to let his guard down, and TK doesn't want to take advantage of it.”

Nancy nodded slowly, digesting the information. “Got it. Positive vibes only.”

Marjan’s expression turned more serious as she placed the lube in Nancy’s hand. “Exactly. And while we’re clearing things up, let’s talk about my role here. I watch, Nancy. That’s it. No touching. That’s a personal boundary for me because of my faith. I’m here for support and to keep things safe, but I don’t physically participate.”

Nancy’s brows furrowed slightly. “Because of your faith?”

Marjan nodded. “Yeah, it’s about honoring what I believe while still being here for my friends. It’s a balance, but one I take seriously.”

She glanced at Nancy, her tone softening again. “Look, everyone has their own boundaries and reasons for being here. The important thing is that we all respect each other, understand the rules, and keep this a safe space for Carlos, and everyone. That’s what matters most.”

Nancy took a deep breath, feeling a bit steadier. “Okay. Thanks, Marjan. I think I get it now.”

Marjan smiled, giving her a light nudge toward the door. “Good. Now, let’s get back before they think we’re using the lube.” Marjan gave her a cheeky wink, causing Nancy to blush. She knew the firefighter side of the 126 was a bit more risque, but this was full-on, even by their standards.

Making their way back to the staff room, where Carlos remained on full display in the middle of the room, hands bound above him to the roof, legs spread, cock hard.

“We should call him ‘community property’,” Paul said proudly, repeating Carlos’s words from earlier as his hand teased and tugged on the cop's hard cock, tugging just hard enough to keep him on edge but not hard enough for Carlos to get off as Carlos panted and begged for more.

Nancy looked at Mateo, who looked a tad guilty. “I haven’t been involved in any of these sessions since we hooked up, I promise” At Nancy’s further look, Mateo gave her a small, guilty smile. “But I have missed it; I mean, look at him.”

Nancy did look at him; Carlos looked like a goddamn model, shining under the fluorescent light,. Unfortunately, the blinds had to be closed, preventing natural light from coming in.

His chest was gorgeous, like it had been hand sculpted by the angels, his nipples perky and begging to be pinched while his cock, was beautiful, hard and purple.

“Okay,” Nancy said, “So Carlos ate Paul's pudding so he could get punished?”

“Yes,” the group answered in unison, their voices drowning out Carlos’s faint but adamant “No.”

Nancy’s hands glided over Carlos’s chest, her fingers skillfully twisting and tugging at his sensitive nipples, drawing helpless moans from his lips. Behind him, Mateo knelt, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles around Carlos’s entrance, his touch maddeningly gentle and teasing - just enough to keep Carlos’s cock rock hard and leaking precum as TK knelt down next to his naked finance.

It didn’t take a rocket genius to work out TK’s plan, and to be fair, Nancy thought if her partner’s cock looked as tasty and neglect as Carlos did, she would do the same thing - and clearly Paul could see where this was going.

“TK,” Paul warned, his tone stern but now tinged with amusement rather than anger, “this is supposed to be a punishment , remember?”

In response, TK let out an actual whine, his pout almost childlike in contrast to the heat of the moment. Paul rolled his eyes and shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Fine, go ahead,” he relented.

Without a moment's hesitation, TK took his fiancé’s rock-hard cock into his mouth, his lips wrapping around him with practiced ease despite Carlos's impressive size. Carlos gasped sharply, his body arching as TK’s skilled mouth worked him over. In seconds, the moans spilling from Carlos’s lips turned into needy whimpers, his resolve melting under the onslaught.

TK bobbed up and down on Carlos's cock before teasing Carlos's cock head, purple and engorged as TK's hands gently massaged his partners full balls.

If she thought Carlos looked broken before, it had nothing on him now, whimpering and begging under TK’s deep-throating skills, she could probably ask anything right now and Carlos would agree without a second thought, all his brain power being drained by the assault on his senses.

Behind him, Mateo had finished his rimjob, looking at Carlos's slick hole with a pride she normally only saw when he had cleaned the firetrucks before he slid a finger deep into Carlos’s tight hole, his movements deliberate and teasing, coaxing soft cries with every motion as his fingers teased Carlos’s prostate.

If someone had told Nancy that she’d be getting turned on while watching her boyfriend finger-fuck their colleague’s undeniably hot fiancé in the lunchroom, she would’ve slapped them. Yet, there she was, unable to tear her eyes away.

Paul’s return broke the moment, drawing all eyes to him. In his hand, he held a bright pink dildo coated in something brown.

“What the hell is that?” Marjan asked, her head tilting in disbelief.

TK momentarily released Carlos’s cock with a loud pop, glancing up with curiosity.

“It’s chocolate pudding,” Paul said matter-of-factly. “Since he ate my last one, I figured he could share.”

Marjan raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “It looks like something else, though…” She turned her head to defer to TK.

“Yeah, Paul, I’m sorry, I’m not going to let you make Carlos suck clean a dildo covered in brown stuff, even if it is chocolate.” TK intervened.

Paul’s shoulders sagged slightly, a look of disappointment crossing his face. Marjan’s expression softened, and she smiled gently. “Come on, Paul, there’s some whipped cream in the fridge. That would look way more appropriate—and a lot less questionable.”

“To be fair,” Nancy chimed in, her voice playful as her nails traced light patterns down Carlos’s chest, making him shiver, “it would. And let’s be honest, it’d be a hell of a lot hotter.”

Paul grunted in annoyance but grabbed the dildo from the kitchen counter and headed to the sink to wash it thoroughly with warm water, complaining about the loss of a second pudding cup. Once clean, he reached for the can of whipped cream, spraying a heavy coat of the sweet, fluffy topping all over the toy's surface until it was fully covered.

Turning back to face Carlos, Paul held up the now dessert-drenched dildo. "You want pudding, Officer Reyes?" he asked sternly as Carlos merely moaned in response, the 126 team watching closely. "I hear you enjoy eating other people's puddings."

Moaning wasn’t enough for Paul; he and TK always demanded full, proper answers from their good boy.

“I said, do you want pudding, Officer Reyes?” Paul repeated, firmer as Carlos nodded.

"I..." Carlos swallowed hard, his voice strained. "Yes, please, Firefighter Strickland," he managed to get out.

Paul stepped closer, the dildo now a lurid, sinful treat. "Then open up and clean this dildo off then," he commanded firmly.

Carlos parted his lips, taking the pink cream-covered dildo into his mouth. He began to suck and lap at it eagerly, his tongue swirling around to lick up every last trace of whipped cream. It was borderline pornographic, Nancy thought to herself - Carlos tied up, blindfolded, servicing a sex toy like the good boy he was.

Fuck, if that was how he blew TK then he could see why TK put a ring on it at 03:18 in the morning - fuck, Nancy wasn't sure how they got out of bed every morning.

Paul pulled the now clean dildo out of Carlos's mouth, letting the pink plastic head sit on his bottom lip, “how did that taste, Officer?”

“It was delicious”, Carlos replied, but gone was his cocky, slightly arrogant tone replaced by a more polite tone.

Mateo, still kneeling by Carlos's ass, winked at Nancy before he pressed his two fingers hard on Carlos's prostrate, causing the cop to twitch uncontrollably as he moaned before Paul started to mouth fuck him with a dildo.

Nancy looked over at a smirking TK who was leaning against a sofa watching the show, their eyes locked and TK grinned widely. “It’s fucking hot, huh?”

Sometimes, Nancy forgot TK was a New York gay, the stories she had heard of Manhattan Gay Clubs....

There was a noise, and Nancy was impressed at how quickly the team moved, Marjan and Mateo holding up a firefighter jacket - it wasn’t enough to hide Carlos, but it at least covered him as Captain Strand and his girlfriend Kendra stood there.

Kendra looked shocked for a moment before looking to Captain Strand, who took it in his stride. “Paul, we need you.”

Paul sighed, putting down the toy before patting Carlos’s face gently. “Till next time.”

Paul, Owen and Kendra disappear until Owen reappears, “You’re all meant to be cleaning, not milking my future son-in-law, damn it, something you need to take care of yourself.”

Nancy gaped in disbelief as Owen roughly grabbed hold of Carlos's stiff cock. He began pumping it vigorously, his hand a blur as he worked the shaft. "Come on, Carlos. I don't have all day. Cum for me, boy."

Carlos flushed a deep crimson as Owen jerked his head towards Mateo. "Get the badge ready."

Mateo scrambled to obey, positioning the badge just in time. Carlos let out a strangled groan as his cock twitched and pulsed in Owen's grip. Thick ropes of pearly cum splattered across the metal, with a few errant drops landing on the floor.

"Clean your badge, don't miss a spot," Mateo ordered as he raised the cum covered badge to Carlos's mouth, which Carlos licked it clean, his tongue working over the ridges and along the leather.

“How clean is the floor?” Owen asked looking down at the few drops of cum that missed the badge as TK stepped forward to put his hand on the small of Carlos's back.

“Dad,” TK warned as Marjan shook her head to kill any suggestion that Carlos could clean it up with his tongue. “Nowhere near clean enough; I’ll mop it up later, Cap.”

“Good,” Owen replied, nodding in approval. “I don’t want my son-in-law getting sick. What do you say, Carlos?”

“Thank you, Captain Strand,” Carlos said softly, his voice steady but faintly strained.

Owen gave a satisfied nod, his grin both warm and slightly teasing. “Good boy,” he said with a chuckle before his tone shifted back to an authoritative cadence. “Now, remember, just because I’m away doesn’t mean you all get to slack off. You’ve got jobs to do, and I expect them to be done to my standards. No excuses.”

He swept a pointed look around the room, his gaze landing on TK, who was standing beside Carlos, his hands busy undoing the bindings that had held his fiancé in place. TK didn’t bother hiding the playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he glanced up at his father.

“Sorry, Dad,” TK quipped, his tone light and full of mischief. “You’re not my Captain; besides, I’m a little preoccupied at the moment.” He turned his attention back to Carlos, his expression softening as he focused on the task at hand.

Owen rolled his eyes but didn’t press the point, choosing instead to leave the room to catch up with Paul and Kendra on their mission to prove her innocence.

As the door clicked shut, TK shifted closer to Carlos, his hands gentle as he worked on untying the binds that held Carlos’s hands above his head. “Such a good boy,” TK murmured, his voice low and soothing, a stark contrast to earlier.

Carlos sagged, his body giving in as TK caught him, steadying his weight effortlessly. Marjan gave Nancy a nudge and whispered, “This is their time now. TK always takes care of Carlos after... you know. Usually, I grab them a bottle of water, maybe blue Gatorade, and a cookie before giving them space.”

Nancy followed Marjan’s lead, stepping back as TK gently carried Carlos to the couch. Settling into the cushions, TK cradled his fiancé close, his arms wrapping around him protectively. His fingers traced slow, soothing circles over Carlos’s back, and Carlos instinctively curled into the embrace, drawing comfort and warmth from TK’s steady presence.

Nancy watched them for a moment, a small smile tugging at her lips before her own desires took over. Turning, she grabbed Mateo by the wrist, her grip firm and insistent.

“I need you. Now,” she said, her voice low and urgent, her body already aching with need. Without waiting for a response, she led him toward the bathrooms, the wetness in her groin needing urgent attention.

"Great" Marjan said to herself, looking around the now abandoned room, "I guess it's just me left to tidy this place up before Cap gets back, go 126 huh."

Who ate Paul’s last pudding?

This is forever one of the funniest scene of Tarlos and 126! 😆

#ao3 #tarlos #carlos reyes #tk strand #crack #SMUT #Pudding #Sub Carlos Reyes

175 notes · View notes

biowaredisasterbisexual · 12 hours ago

Text

SHARING SUNDAY - FEB. 9

It is time for our first ever Sharing Sunday, where you all tell me what you made and want shared from any BioWare fandom. This isn’t a rec list, or a review, it’s the pure joy of boosting folks in fandom because there’s something out there for everyone and promoting oneself can be hard.

Shout out to all the creators who put themselves and their work out there this week!

Art:

- A tender and soft Rookanis piece, inspired by the almost-kiss scene, by @fangbangerart/ @fangbangerghoul can be found on their art blog here.

Note: NSFW

Fanfiction:

- A Life After, a Davrook series, by @thatgaymerguyb, taking place after the game and following the two as they try to live the life they talked about. The series currently has four parts, with a fifth underway.

Note: Some portions of the series are NSFW and/or have AO3 archive warnings applied.

- Hamin Vhenan, a Bellarook flash fiction piece by @popcorn-milk, taking place during a quiet moment at the Lighthouse.

- From @hyperions-light, Language of Reverence. Rook/Teia/Viago/Lucanis, Explicit. From the author: “After Rook almost dies (again) trying to get Viago his crown, relations between their favorite Crows are somewhat strained. Obviously, the solution to this is to arrange a foursome.”

Note: NSFW

- From @heylavellan, Until Forever Falls Apart. From the author: “Are you also obsessed with whatever Mahariel and Tamlen have going on? Me too. Time to make Saliin Mahariel figure out he wasn't as over Tamlen as he thought with his new friends at his side.”

Note: Major character death, graphic violence AO3 archive warnings

- @drowsybowser brings Edge of Heaven, a Cullen x Dorian 80s AU. The sequel just posted its first chapter, as well.

Note: NSFW

- From @timeandmusic-x3, a Neverook fic titled Growing from the Ashes. From the author: “Tormented by her memories of Elgar'nan and shaken by the events of the past few weeks, Neve finds that she can't face sleeping alone after the final battle. Rook is there to support her - if only Neve can work up the courage to ask. One year later, Neve returns to Rook’s Minrathous apartment triumphant on the heels of solving a difficult case. They share a special evening together, but much is still left unsaid from a year ago. There are things Neve needs to tell Rook, and she struggles for the words. But when Rook finally breaks down from regret, she finds them.” There may be more coming in this world state from the author as well, so keep an eye out.

Note: Rated M with an archive warning for graphic depictions of violence

- Brought to you by @skullypettibone, Lucanis Is Not Smooth. From the author: “Lucanis wants to look good for Rook, and fortunately Davrin's here to help. Or: the story of what happened to Lucanis's Antivan fur."

- “Lucanis Dellamorte and the mortifying ordeal of processing an emotion and receiving a hug. A very Lucanis's interior world exploration piece of writing, immediately after Inner Demons,” can be found here by @corvus-frugilegus.

#sharing Sunday #BioWare #dragon age #mass effect #baldurs gate #fanfic #fanfiction #fanart

46 notes · View notes

avoliot · 2 days ago

Text

Querying

I got an ask on querying, which I answered privately as it had personal details in it, but thought the info might be useful more widely. As I didn't officially query I have crowdsourced some tips from my agented friends who did (ed: the group chat would like me to say i have 'consulted the sages') so here is the collected wisdom, which I have sorted into categories.

Please note that this is largely based on querying US agents.

Before you start:

Prepare yourself emotionally for rejection. if at all possible, write another book. Really common not to get rep for your first novel and really common for the book you got signed for not to sell. Honestly a lot of the confusion around querying is like, this is not about getting a good mark in writing a book. This is starting a career.

Don't jump the gun - make sure you've polished your book as much as possible yourself, sought feedback from beta readers and critique partners etc.

Finding agents:

Use manuscript wishlist, query tracker etc to build a list of agents, research their sales history in your genre.

If you can: spring for a publishers marketplace membership for at least a month (it's $25 and you can cancel any time). That way you can see who is selling comparative titles and whether they are selling to reputable publishers.

Don't query anyone you're not actually prepared to sign with. No agent is better than a bad agent.

Query letter:

Make sure you actually understand your genre, are reading recent releases, and know where your book would sit on the shelf, the number of people trying to query 200k game of thrones clones and getting nowhere because the industry moved on from there two decades ago is shockingly high.

Have a really solid idea of what the marketable hook for the book is. Which doesn't have to be what you personally like about it or what makes it good.

Use resources to both read a lot of query letters and, if you like, get yours critiqued. QueryShark archives are free and incredibly helpful. r/pubtips is, despite being reddit, a pretty good place to get specific feedback on your query

Pubtips also has wiki resources on query letter structure, vetting agents etc.

More details:

Even if you've got a series ready to go, you'll probably get further querying it as a standalone with series potential, 'this is the first in a seven part series and I love my characters so much and blahblah' isn't as appealing as you'd think.

Don't editorialise and praise your own manuscript, let people decide for themselves whether it's sensitive/gripping/lyrical.

This is a business letter, you don't need to be SUPER formal, but also be polite and professional and don't get overly familiar.

Referring to other authors the agent reps and how you see your work fitting in with that list also can be effective, but on the whole, personalisation is only necessary if there's something you really want to say to that particular agent. "I'm querying you with my fantasy book because you rep fantasy" can just be left out.

Don't comp the absolute no. 1 bestseller in your genre, comping Sanderson for your fantasy book (or, even worse, Tolkein) will make you look wildly out of touch.

Misc:

be prepared to wait a billion years for a response, it is a shitshow right now

also if you don't know anyone in publishing that's normal but if ur serious about writing professionally please god make friends with some writers at the same career stage. not a query tip but truly essential for ur sanity

#querying #trad pub #thank you to the contributors

45 notes · View notes

bcolfanfic · 1 day ago

Text

rolling ’round the bend

the john brady blue ticket fic

Johnny pressed his hands hard against his face like he could shove it all back in, but the effort was fruitless. The first sob tore out of him soundlessly, his chest caving inward, his shoulders trembling under the weight of it. Then another, harder, a raw, gasping thing that wouldn’t stop.

He wanted his mama. Wanted his sister. Wanted Benny. Wanted to be in a fort above all this, in the belly of something steady. If Bec was here he’d tell him he had an answer to his question now.

He’d take the Stalag. At least that was honorable.

John Brady and Benny Demarco*** after the war, and some change.

***and Marjorie Spencer

part 1/3 - 13k

pinterest board / playlist

authors note: thank you thank thank you to everyone who has been so patient w me while waiting for this, listened to me yap about it and read my snippets. while obviously this story is fictional it is based in the reality of so many 1000s of service men and women who were treated viscously by a country they were willing to die for. may their memory be a blessing. ❤️‍🩹

#john brady #benny demarco #mota #masters of the air #benny x brady #the father turns his face away #<< series name

40 notes · View notes

iwouldfuckdarkiplier · 2 days ago

Text

Hey, Guys

So, this post probably won't come as a surprise, given my accidental year-long hiatus due to health and personal issues. It's been a hell of a ride, but IWFD is officially retiring.

When Mod L and I started running blogs like this a few years ago, we had no idea it was going to blow up as much as it did. L built this blog from the ground up; it was their baby for as long as they were a part of the mod team. It was theirs first, with me joining later as things started to pick up. Soon, we had companion blogs, some run by us and some by other people, but we were a community.

However, when L decided to step back and eventually leave the blogs, it came down to just me running multiple blogs. It became a chore more than a hobby, and stressed me out more often than not. I tried to archive the less-active ones to lighten the load, but unfortunately, life takes its toll.

As I get older, I find I no longer have the time and energy to run blogs like this anymore; I can't be as active as I would need to be to keep the blog running, and honestly, as a full-time teacher with a family, I want to prioritize my work and home lives. I've debated over the last several months whether or not to offer ownership to one of the people that's been helping to keep our associated server running in my absence, but I can't bring myself to do it. IWFD feels so intrinsically tied to L and myself, even with them gone, so I'd feel more comfortable archiving it.

Any asks remaining in the inbox, unfortunately, will be deleted. I just don't have the time or spoons to go through them. I do apologize for that. I am so incredibly grateful for your patience and support over the last few years, and I'm sorry to bring it to a close.

Thank you all for everything. Mod A out.

#Mod Talk

24 notes · View notes

spacetimeaccordionfolder · 7 hours ago

Text

its sunday and i'm thinking about how Navani kept praying to the Almighty throughout the stormlight archive after finding out the Almighty is dead/ is Honor/ is one of many* other powers (three of which are on her planet) and her husband starts believing in a "God Beyond" who may or may not also be dead considering the comments her daughter's boytoy jester Wit who knows a lot of things keeps making and I'm also thinking about the interaction we get between her and Szeth in Rhythm of War with "do you hate me" "yes" "good" and also the revelation that she prayed for Gavilar's death, and like two hours later Szeth killed him. She hates Szeth for accomplishing something she prayed for, and she still prays to the Almighty. Hey Navani, why do you keep praying to the Almighty? Well you see once I prayed for my husband's death and then guess what happened two hours later. Yeah I have complex feelings about that and hate being in the same area as the assassin who killed him. Yeah i'm going to go burn another glyph asking God for something.

*yeah we know there's 16 shards but does she? I cannot recall.

The different views of religion we see among the characters in stormlight and in the cosmere itself is so interesting. Jasnah's an atheist, Kaladin's agnostic, Navani and Dalinar each firmly believe in one God but they believe in different ones, the way different ardents talk about the Almighty, Sazed's whole thing with religions- especially in Hero of Ages trying to find hope in something. There are people who are perceived as Gods/ religious figures who hate it and those who use it to their own advantage. There are people who become gods that are expected to give themselves up for those who worship them. Some of those gods who ran from that in trying to be people again. A dragon raised in a culture that views dragons as gods, who doesn't want to be worshiped, but holds part of the power of probably actually God. A thief who sets up his death to start a religion - not knowing he would actually linger after death and end up being attached to a god's power, still lingering and being seen as a god centuries later- in order to inspire people to fight against a tyrant viewed as a god. There are people who hope and pray to a long dead god that maybe he will remember them. Kaladin's questioning if there is a god and if god is good, cruel, or simply doesn't care and deciding that perhaps if there is a god, that god is found in the way we care for each other, but really he's trying not to get killed by the Fused currently so he'll leave thinking about religion to those who have the time and care about it more.

#this was supposed to be just me thinking about navani and her deal with religion but then I got too into thinking #cosmere #and this doesn't even touch on Wax and Harmony #rhythm of war #stormlight archive #mistborn #warbreaker #sazed

23 notes · View notes

ohwhataniight · 2 days ago

Text

Toi aussi, tu détestes la vie? - Part 3

Part 2 Part 1

Dance in bars and restaurants Home with anyone who wants Strange he's standing there alone Staring eyes chill me to the bone

Life becomes a steady litany of routine, waking up every morning, going to work, taking care of a growing toddler, dealing with teething and learning to walk together. John is exhausted but accepting. Loss stings, and there are days when he doubts he deserves any of the peace, when he doubts he deserves to be alive and happy. He still doesn’t dare to imagine a good life for himself, not after being left behind, the love of his life gone. But he’s letting the new in.

Molly buys them a Polaroid, and Sherlock orders an inordinate amount of film. He photographs Rosie as she sits in the middle of the carpet, basking in the light coming in through the window, putting a foot in her mouth, rubbing her eyes with chubby fists, throwing a toy across the room, being tossed in the air by John. Through the lens of the Polaroid, Sherlock quietly and dilligently documents their shared existence, archivizes the moments, the building blocks of their new life, as if he’s terrified of their escape.

John watches Sherlock, as he gives Rosie her bottle, bleary-eyed, first thing in the morning, as he yawns and rubs his eyes with the sleeve of his robe, dishevelled and endearing, three human animals growing together. He pulls the blanket over their curled forms as they nap away on the couch, the toddler safely tucked under the detective’s arm.

One evening, with Rosie under Molly’s care, they find themselves in a dimly lit bar in Camden. They haven’t done that in ages, and John has almost forgotten what it is like to relax, just the two of them. It’s nothing like old times, yet he finds himself clinging to every new experience. They discuss Rosie’s schedule, make some babysitting plans with Mrs. Hudson for the following day, go over the grocery list, then satisfied with themselves, order a glass of whiskey.

Libertango comes on the speakers. John witnesses Sherlock’s lips curling upwards momentarily, only faintly, as if he’s remembering something. He looks distant. John swallows hard.

“Do you remember our dancing lessons?” he asks, and immediately wishes he could take it back. They have danced around charged conversations about the past (their past) for so long, it feels surreal to openly talk about what only they know they’ve shared.

“Of course I remember our dancing lessons, John, you were quite impressionable.”

“And impressive?” John asks with a teasing smile.

“Very impressive.”

Are they... flirting? Did he initiate it? John doesn’t know anything anymore.

“Dance?” Sherlock offers his hand over the table, taking him aback.

“What, now? Here?”

“Yes, John, let’s see the impression you’ll make on the other patrons”.

“Exhibitionist much?” John raises an eyebrow, but takes Sherlock’s hand, feeling his ring burn as it touches warm skin.

They stand up and walk to the empty stage. Sherlock lets him lead. The steps immediately come back to John’s mind, and suddenly he doesn’t care anymore about the inquisitive eyes that follow them as they sway around the ballroom. He remembers Mary’s smaller form in his arms. This is... different. Still intoxicating, but different. Different even from those first dances they shared together behind closed curtains, at Baker Street. Maybe he’s just drunk. Or maybe he’s been brought into this world solely to hold Sherlock Holmes.

“Your skills are indeed very impressive,” Sherlock hums, leaning down so that their foreheads almost touch. John longs to taste the rosey lips, to bury his face in the crook of Sherlock’s neck, to claim him as his own. He’s been used to these thoughts lately. He has almost accepted them, learnt to live with them. And yet, he finds himself wanting more, craving everything that Sherlock is willing to give him.

They pay and stumble out of the bar, bury their cold hands into their pockets and walk side by side without really talking, thick icy clouds emitted from their mouths. They even stop over the Thames for a moment, to share a cigarette. “My last one,” Sherlock grins. John raises an eyebrow. “Then better make the most of it,” he says, taking the cig between his lips and taking a deep drag that burns his lungs, decades after his last smoke. He knows it’s not what they should be doing, but he wants to do everything with Sherlock. He wants to know what the smoke tarring his lungs tastes like, and then he wants to walk by his side as he cuts down on the old habit. But he’s giving him this.

Sherlock leans over the railings of the bridge. The soft breeze plays with his hair, tousling it, as they watch the glittering lights from the scyscrapers cranes and floating on the water surface. John takes another drag, then turns to face him. Sherlock’s eyes have a glint in them as he turns from London to John. “Beautiful,” he mutters. John remembers the time he was waxing poetic about the stars, it feels like a lifetime ago.

He leans over the bridge, over Sherlock, and touches his chin with his thumb. Sherlock turns around with a look of bewilderment in his eyes. With a single inhale John kisses him, softly at first, an exploration, then bringing his hands around Sherlock’s neck and pulling him in. Sherlock responds with fervour, throwing his arms around John’s neck and slowly exploring his mouth as London watches.

They never want to stop dancing.

To be continued...

#bbc sherlock #john watson #johnlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock #fanfiction #johnlock fic #writing #libertango #songfic #grace jones

23 notes · View notes

27dragons · 7 hours ago

Note

Hiii I‘ve been loving seeing you more on my dash lately, been following you and reading your fics for like six years now and truly no one else’s works have filled my bookmarks as much as yours (and Tisfans of course).

One of yours was the very first winteriron fic I ever read and it had me fall in love instantly, haven’t found anything else like them since. I love that you found your writing muse again, and I know it’s been a long time and a lot of the fandom has fizzled out. But I just wanted to pop in an ask if maybe one day you could see yourself writing MCU again?

In any case, it’s been a lot of lovely years with your writing and you’ll make (and are making) a lot of other new people incredibly happy with your amazing skill and talent for words, worldbuilding and characterisation <3

Hey there! I'm so delighted that you've enjoyed my fics so much!!! It really means a lot to me.

The tldr is that yes, there's at least a slim chance that I might write winteriron/MCU again one day. There is a whole stack of partially-written WIPs still in my writing folder that I can't bring myself to archive and retire.

I'll admit that my enthusiasm for MCU faded a lot when they killed Tony off. And then a massive surge in my depression (thanks in part to COVID and then tisfan's death and then my mom's) all but extinguished my ability to write. I had a creative burst for about 3 months in 2023 with Sandman and the Dreamling ship that resulted in about a dozen fics, but the one fic that I managed to write in 2024 (which was winteriron!) felt like pulling teeth to finish.

But I'm still reading some winteriron fics (and the occasional stony), so it's not entirely dead to me. (For that matter, I did quite a few winteriron/MCU ficlets with my Countdowns here on tumblr in both '23 and '24 - check my "countdown to 2024" and "countdown to 2025" tags if you missed those.)

It's just that winteriron is closely tied to tisfan for me (even before we were writing together, she was always my beta reader), and it's hard to think about it without her. (Also, I've written SO MUCH winteriron, it's hard to come up with any scenarios that I haven't already done, lol)

The Arcane/Jayvik bug has bitten hard, and it's such a relief to know that I can still write, but I'm still waiting to see if this will fizzle out again after a few months like the Dreamling stuff did.

If I do keep writing, there's a pretty decent chance that I will eventually come back to winteriron, at least occasionally. If nothing else, I'd love to one day finish the fic that tisfan and I were working on when she had her stroke.

But I expect it will take a while. If you asked because you're considering unfollowing/unsubscribing so your inbox and dash aren't cluttered with notifications for a fandom you have no interest in, then I promise I won't be offended if you want to do that and just set yourself a reminder to check back in a year to see what happened. I've made that decision myself a few times, and I know it comes with a sliver of heartbreak and guilt. But I understand that not everyone will want to follow me everywhere that I go, and that in no way diminishes my appreciation for the love you've given my fics in the past, whether you just clicked kudos or left a comment on every chapter.

Thank you again for this very kind note. I'm so happy to have given you something you've enjoyed so much.

❤️💛

#backchat #anonymous #my writing

20 notes · View notes

artsninspo · 9 hours ago

Text

COUNTERFEIT - three

⇽ part two

➨ rio's library - good girl nbc

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

🍒 authors note: the story is starting to heat up and give you a sneak peak of whats to come.

🍒 pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Faith (Original Character) All my characters are black women.

🍒 word count: ~1.8K

🍒 summary: A day party, unexpected guest, damsel in distress, a lot of stress. Confrontation, unexpected chivalry, back stories & unfavourable truths. This one's messy 🌪️ .

🍒 three - unnatural habitats

I try my best for courage as the city scenes change from outside my window. I can feel Char’s eyes on me. Our argument was conveniently well timed. Now, if I don't show up now to this PR activation of her’s i’ll be toast. The worst sister in the world, problem child extraordinaire. It’s not that I don't want to support Char, it's that Jasonwas invited. In order to secure the necessary funding to make things go off without a hitch she enlisted him knowing his firm's coffers are deep. Knowing Jason, he will be in attendance. It’s the root of my reluctance to attend, not some petty spat and a childish attempt to get even. Char and I didn't speak until last night when she placed the dress she wanted me to wear today on my bed. A pinterest board of context for how I needed to look followed via text along with a detailed itinerary. I reacted to the messages with thumbs up and sat in the make-up artists and hair stylists chairs when they arrived smiling, laughing and talking with them - conceding and playing the role everyone wished to be my permanent disposition.

“Where were you last night?” Char asks, drawing me from my thoughts.

I take a breath before looking over at her, “Out”

Char rolls her eyes at me before smoothing out her dress - it’s rare vintage and gorgeous. “Out where?” she probes.

“Drinking” I respond being short with her and she sighs.

“Whatever, screw your life up. The rest of us are responsible enough to be your backup plans” she snaps but i’m not in the mood for a back and forth.

“I can act the fool during your event if that's what you want?” I threaten her knowing the social game of chess well. Char glares at me in response. She knows she doesn't have to beg me not to. She knows I'd never knowingly light a match to anything she loves.

“I don't want that - I want the best for you Faith and you're just. I don't know what you're doing!” she shouts.

“I’m 24 and you're 25 Char, what the hell! We’ve got our entire lives ahead of us.”

“How many weddings have we been to the past few summers? How many housewarmings and baby showers?” Char snaps like any one of these guys we grew up with is worth getting to claim her in any way.

“That’s where the party dies Char. How many of our friends are the same?” I ask her.

“Just because you resent Merrick-” Char starts.

“It’s not about Merrick” I snapped, tired of that narrative. “None of this shit is real Char, I don't mind playing pretend but the charade has to end at some point! If mom didn’t have Merrick we could still live the way we do. We have an uncle you know, our fathers brother.”

“Drug money” she whispers well indoctrinated. Char looks at me appalled by my suggestion.

“Because corporations are not just as exploitative and damaging to communities, and the environment?” I ask and she looks at me like I'm a mongrel. Daddy would roll in his grave. That’s the fundamental difference - our father was never self righteous. He never made his choice of employment out to be the right thing - it was just a means to take care of his family. Char was his princess and I was his shadow.

“Our father killed people and destroyed families with the poison he pumped into the community. Merrick is nothing like that” She snaps as the car comes to a halt. I exit the car and skip photo opps heading straight into the venue I’ve had a hand in decorating - I’m not in the mood to schmooze or network. I head to the bar and get my first round as the music gets good. I throw a few shots back heading over to mingle and maintain my reputation as the ‘fun’ sister. Girls twerk around me but I spare my sisters the embarrassment of my participation. I’m on a cool down when I see Jason watching me with longing. I don’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself this much in his company. I want to run but I can’t because we’ve made eye contact. He looks like he’s been going through it and I can't imagine how much it hurts him to see me looking unaffected by our end.

“Hey” he shouts over the music, having cleared the distance between us.

“Hey” I responded.

“You look beautiful” He smiles with a hand on my hip. It should be familiar and refreshing but it just isn't. He pulls me in coming in for a kiss but I turn my head and step out of his hold before looking at him again.

“Thanks” I mutter, not nearly drunk enough to forget we're over.

“Babe, can we talk?” He asks, lips brushing against my ear.

“We spoke already,” I remind him.

“You haven’t been taking my calls,” he says.

“Because Jason I have nothing more to say!” I say louder my impatience growing.

“Then listen to me, I love you” he says and for a moment the declaration moves me. But then something about him reminds me of Rick and it all goes away.

“Then let me go,” I plead. Jason searches my eyes before anger flashes in his. He pulls me to him like this is a bid for attention, a game of cat and mouse - a way to spice up our relationship and not a breakup.

“You want more attention, I get it. I’m here. I'll work less hours and make more time for us Faith. I love you - stop being like this” he says confirming my suspicions. It's a testament to how well I’ve gotten to know him and how little he’s been paying attention. The whole thing makes me upset and I pull away but he grabs my arms.

“Hey!” A deep voice says in warning. I relax, relieved security is here but I turn to see D’s cousin Rio. His expression is displeased as he sizes Jason up. Jason releases my arms - caught in his below the board behaviour. He straightens and my head spins. Rio’s the last person I expected here or defending me. He gives me a reassured nod before glaring at Jason like Jason has lost his everloving mind. Jason goes to grab me again before Rio steps between us.

“She’s my girl, move” Jason snaps.

“Doesn’t look like it” Rio responds unmoved.

“Why don’t you go and mind your business?” Jason snaps.

“Faith, is this your boyfriend?” Rio asks, casting a look over his shoulder at me, all the while still using his body as a shield.

“I know everyone she knows and I don’t know you” Jason snaps.

“You can do better than this, ma” Rio taunts with a smile that’s only purpose is to provoke Jason.

“Ma?! Faith, who the hell is this guy?’ Jason snaps ready to make a scene.

“Jason, call me when you aren’t drunk” I shout, needing to diffuse the situation for Char’s sake.

“Faith, don’t walk away from me” he shouts, stepping around Rio to grab at me again and it happens so fast I’m shocked. Jason is grabbed by security and his wallet is plucked from his pocket. Another guard snaps a picture of his license.

“Don’t worry, he won’t be allowed back” the guard says. I force a mortified nod as security makes quick work of throwing Jason out discreetly. A few eyes are on us, Char among them.

Fuck, I curse to myself.

“Thanks” I mumble and Rio turns to face me.

“Let me guess, finance?” He says.

My head is still spinning. “What?”

“He works in finance so he thinks people can be bought? And has shit to lose that's why he aint swing on me for talking to his ‘girl’” Rio says with a knowing, taunting light in his eyes. It kills all of the chivalry of his actions.

“Yes, finance” I admit and he looks me over again like I can do better.

“Well D would’ve wanted me to look out,” he shrugs cooly.

“Thanks” I respond, feeling deflated.

“I’ll tell the staff you're a friend of the family, you need anything let us know” he comments glancing around the venue.

“Appreciate it” I mutter seeing Char’s wide eyes behind him as she makes her way over.

“No worries. But don’t ever come to the bar dressed like that you hear?” He winks walking away.

“Who was that? He’s hot!” Char asks as Rio disappears.

“D’s cousin” I answer honestly.

“How do you know him? I don’t remember this cousin.” she asks.

“He was around when I saw D” I omit the full truth and she looks in his direction some more.

“He’s hot” she repeats and I smile.

“He’s not your type”

“What?” she asks.

“I'm pretty sure he doesn’t fit your criteria” I tell her.

“What does he do?” She asks.

“He looks like he does whatever he wants.” I tell her heading back to the bar. The bartender hands me a cherry margarita before I can order.

“From the boss” he smiles and I do too. My sister watches me with a hundred questions when I don’t pay and I know it’ll be a long interrogation. I wonder if Rio’s actions are genuine kindness or flirting - either way the man is attentive and clearly dangerous. I head home shortly after the incident, skipping out on the after parties. When I wake up I see a slew of emails from Jason and roll my eyes. I see a message from char saying she’s doing hot yoga and relax until my phone rings. I check the caller ID with one eye open and see Diego’s name. Relief washes over me and I answer.

“Hello”

“Char called” Diego says on the other end of the video call.

“Yeah?” I ask and he nods.

“Asking if you were involved with my cousin” Diego says and I roll my eyes.

“Jason was sloshed and getting aggressive instead of my sister intervening your cousin did.” I explain.

“I know he told me, then asked me if guys like Jason are your type” Diego says with a knowing expression.

“We both know he isn’t” I admit. “How's the play off season going at the bar?” I ask.

“Good. You low on money?” he asks.

“No, I've been living off the tips and saving my salary. It’s nice.” I admit.

“Rio’s out of town next weekend so if you want to work let me know” he offers.

“I’m in” I tell him.

“Good”

“Did Char tell you she thinks Rio is hot?” I ask and his eyes bug out.

“Rio isn’t her type, he has a son and two girlfriends” D says, surprising even me.

“Two” I exclaim shocked and D nods. “And he’d pretend Char’s the only one,” I add, shaking my head.

“Good at it too,” D scoffs, making me laugh.

“Then he’s exactly her type, she still believes in playing pretend” I tell Jason who swallows.

“Both of you need to stay away from him.” D says before changing the subject to something lighter.

authors note: checking in with readers. the first chapter did well but the second not so much. idk if you all are busy or tired with the state of the world, tired of rio or adjusting to the change in POV. Whatever the case I'm willing to pause updating this story for now and revisit updating it later.

This story is a slower burn than Forgiveless but I promise all the mess and spice you love and more is on the horizon.

Comment, Like & Reblog if you want more of this story.

click here to ✮ join taglist ✮ and be notified when new updates drop.

@meadows5 @wnbweasley @becauseimher @ariiaeltheedonn @woahthatshitfat @miniaturehideoutmentality @kokobells @ffenthusiastt @sowhatariyana @1xtral1983 @theegoddessofmelanin @fictionalreads @roxytheimmortal @fairytale07 @rampsen @rosey1981 @lauraaan182 @lynaye1993 @g1g1l @writingsbytee @different-fandomz @rose-bliss @loveschrisbrown20 @cherrybeedotcom @ariiaellbtheedonn @motheroffae @prettylilteine @thabiddie23 @next-bex-bet @magik22 @slvt4her @blckblossom @gopaperless @naughtynolly-blog @daddiespamm

#rio good girls #rio x reader #good girls rio #rio x you #rio good girls imagine #manny montana x reader #manny montana fanfiction #rio good girls fanfiction #rio imagine #rio x oc #rio x black!reader #rio x black!oc

29 notes · View notes

josefavomjaaga · 1 day ago

Text

Laure Junot and her memoirs (Part 1 of ?)

Not sure if many people will be interested in this, but it’s been on my mind for a while now. I find evaluating and fact-checking sources both tricky and intriguing, maybe somebody else will feel the same.

Some background information: I understand Laure’s memoirs were originally published in 18 volumes, from 1831 on, by a renowned book trader and publisher named Pierre-François Camille Ladvocat, in Paris. They were edited by equally renowned editors, one of them a certain Honoré de Balzac (who would at some point become Laure’s lover). The books had an enormous success and became true bestsellers, resulting in plenty of translations, abridged versions etc. They also earned their author the famous sobriquet "Duchesse d’Abracadabrantès", due to their unreliability.

First of all: Have I read Laure’s memoirs? A world of no. Eighteen volumes? Come on. I had enough trouble focusing while skimming through the one volume 14 so far. There isn’t much of a clear line in these memoirs; they do tell the main events chronologically, but the narrative is constantly interrupted with seemingly random anecdotes or flashbacks. At one point Laure (or probably rather her editors) put in several chapters summing up another book!

I guess to some degree, this is due to the very mixed audience supposed to read these memoirs. The royalists and former émigrés should also have a reason to buy them. But so some degree, the rather confusing interruptions may have happened on purpose, to muddy the waters and to distract from various topics Laure did not want to talk about in too much detail. Her attitude towards her husband in 1812/3 may be one of them.

That is the time frame, 1812 and 1813, for which I have looked at Laure memoirs somewhat more closely, because Eugène gets mentioned in those volumes. It also happens to be a particularly interesting time, because we actually have several other sources for Laure’s life for this period: mostly her letters to her new lover Balincourt, but also a letter from September 1812 that had been intercepted by the Russians and that shows that the marriage was troubled enough at the time for Laure to call Junot "vous" thoughout the missive, and several intercepted letters from Junot, showing that Laure wrote very rarely. Finally, for 1813 there’s the correspondence between Eugène and Napoleon about Junot that quite often makes me doubt Laure’s narrative.

To start, here’s a rather random occasion where Laure’s story seems to be contradicted by a more credible source. I only stumbled across it because I wanted to know exactly when Junot, who had been in Portugal and Spain under the command of Masséna since early 1810, did return to France. Laure mentions it in volume 14, chapter 1 of her memoirs:

Masséna returned to France and left command of the army of Portugal on 15 May of the same year, 1811, and Marshal Marmont took his place. A letter from the emperor himself had announced to Junot that he had another command in the north, and that the 8th corps was going to be merged into a new organisation of the army of Portugal; he could therefore leave Spain and return to France.

Emphasis in the original. In Napoleon’s correspondence, no such letter from Napoleon to Junot seems to be in existence in the archives (as a matter of fact, as I mentioned before, there is not a single letter from Napoleon to Junot after autumn 1809). Instead, we have the following letter from Napoleon to Berthier:

Alençon, 1 June 1811 My cousin, write to the Duke of Raguse that it is necessary that his artillery be well reassembled and well supplied before making any important movement, [… several more instructions ...] that he is master of giving the order to the Duke of Abrantès and to all the generals who do not suit him, to return to France [...]

So, if anything, Junot owed the opportunity to return to Paris to his old buddy Marmont. Junot must have left for France pretty quickly, because on 26 June there is already another brief note from Napoleon to Berthier, to grant Junot entrance to next morning’s lever. Presumably, Junot had asked for an audience through Berthier, and then was allowed to take part in the emperor’s official morning reception (together with all other courtiers).

While I don’t think we can truly prove that Laure’s lying here, the probability is at least very high. But why? And about such an unimportant thing? Well, as she declares at the beginning of her memoirs, one of her motives for writing the memoirs is to restore her husband’s reputation (from which we can gather that it must have been rather bad at some point). That may have been reason enough for her to let Junot be recalled to France by Napoleon in person. Just to make him look more important than he truly was at this point.

#napoleon's generals #and their wives #laure permon-junot #jean andoche junot #Spain 1811 #Paris 1811 #napoleonic era #napoleonic wars

20 notes · View notes

tomorrowusa · 3 days ago

Text

One of Elon Musk's DOGE plutobrats has been discovered to have made virulently racist posts in the past.

A staffer connected to Elon Musk's Department of Government Efficiency resigned on Thursday after now-deleted racist social media posts were resurfaced. The resignation was confirmed by a White House official who was not authorized to speak publicly. Marko Elez, a 25-year-old software engineer, was working inside the Treasury Department to cut costs and root out fraud, as part of Musk's DOGE effort. Elez, who formerly worked at Musk companies X and SpaceX, was one of two temporary appointees at Treasury connected to DOGE who have been granted access to a highly sensitive Treasury system that processes trillions of dollars in payments every year. The Wall Street Journal reported on a number of 2024 posts from an account connected to Elez on Musk's X platform and noted that White House officials confirmed his resignation after the paper pointed out Elez's activity on the social media site. "You could not pay me to marry outside of my ethnicity," the account wrote in September. "Normalize Indian hate," a separate post from that month read. In July of last year, the account posted: "Just for the record, I was racist before it was cool." In other posts, from December, the account pushed for repealing the Civil Rights Act and shared: "I just want a eugenic immigration policy, is that too much to ask." All of the posts have now been deleted, but NPR has independently confirmed them using the Internet Archive's Wayback Machine, which scrapes and archives vast parts of the open web.

That's the sort of person you'd expect Apartheid Elon to hire when he's not giving Hitler salutes.

Musk turned Twitter/X into a safe space for Nazis where his minions felt free to spew eugenics and other far right bullshit.

If Apartheid Elon isn't stopped, he'll infect the entire federal government with racism.

#elon musk #apartheid elon #doge #maga #marko elez #racism #eugenics #plutobrats #broligarchs #donald trump #autocracy #department of the treasury #slow speed coup

20 notes · View notes

the-bear-and-his-sunbird · 3 days ago

Text

The scared boy and lonely girl (Ch. 1- The scared boy)

I finally did it ! I wrote my first Emmrook Fic!! Thank you and the biggest shoutout to @dymme who has worked her ass off as my Beta Reader. Without you, this would not exist.

(Also check out her own Rook "Maggs" and Emmrich. They have a wildly different Dynamic but I love it so much!)

Also @mosoderbergh wanted to get tagged as soon as this is finished. Have several pages of this lovely man getting taken care of.

Read either on Ao3 or under the cut.

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard (Video Game), Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Emmrich Volkarin/Rook, Emmrich Volkarin/Original Female Character(s), Rook/Emmrich Volkarin Characters: Emmrich Volkarin, Rook - Character, Rook Ingellvar Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emmrich has a breakdown, spoilers for late game, Dragon Age: The Veilguard Spoilers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Happy Ending, Implied Past Violence, Post-Mortem scars, Older Man/Younger Woman, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Siobhan will take care of her man, How often can I make Siobhan comfort Emmrich in one fic, the answer is yes, Implied Anxiety, Post Fade, Siobhan matches his freak Series: Part 1 of The beetle on the lilac Summary:

"She won’t have it. Because she sees the familiar flicker in his eyes: the frightened boy ghosting around in his skull. Scared of loss. Scared of being left alone with nothing but grief and his fear of death as his companions. And no matter how much he tries to hide it and fall back into his habit of taking care of her, she sees him. She will always seem him."

After escaping the Fade, Siobhan "Rook" Ingellvar finds her beloved Emmrich Volkarin distraught. She decides its time to care for him, as he always did for her.

Siobhan knows fear.

The little demon that sits inside her ribcage and shakes her very core. As a Watcher, she knows the fear of death, as the little child that grew up in the crypts, she knows the fear of loneliness and as the “Rook” against Elgar’nan and Ghilan'nain, she knows the fear of regrets. Regret eats away at you. Like its some huge monstrosity that eats and eats and eats, always ready to remind you what could have been if you’d have been smarter and faster and someone entirely different.

The Fade prison is that monster incarnate. Trying to eat her alive, while she screams. She does not truly know where she mustered the strength to find her way through the grey haze, but something spurred her on, always at the back of her mind: there are people that need her, that care for her and that she cares for in return. Her friends. Especially those that she lost. She tries not to scream as she thinks of brave and kind Harding, as she prayes for Bellara to be still alive and to hold on, hopes that Lucanis dead body was only a trick formed by Solas.

She hopes that there are still people waiting for her: Her friends. And Emmrich. There are words that need to be said. About how she does not care about his age. What are twenty years when the person you waited for your entire life stands right in front of you? The night before the battle she wrote him a letter, in case that she wouldn‘t make it out alive and hoped that he would forgive her.

But she is alive and she needs him to hear those from herself. That she loves him, will always love him. So she fights and fights and grieves and cries and finally meets Varric. Her mentor in all of this from the very beginning. And she lets go. Lets go of the false memories in her head, let’s go of her mentor, let’s go of her regret about things that cannot be changed anymore.

Determination and hope and relief fills when she hears her friends' voices, hears them call her name. There is a tear in the prison and hands that grab her from beyond, pulling and yanking. They care about me, she thinks. I fight for them and they fight for me and they love me. They love me. I get to see Emmrich again. I get to hold him again. Please let me hold him again.

She pushes herself against the wall, as several hands pull, and finally leaves the Fade. The first thing she sees on this side of the world, in a world filled with so many vibrant colors and smells, is Emmrich’s face. Wide-eyed and beautiful, he stands there ready to catch her. And he does. He always does. She collapses in his arms and cries. For a while, there is nothing but her sobs and Emmrich hugging her so very tight. But she doesn’t care because he is here. Alive. Somehow they made it.

Her little demon in her chest tries to rear its ugly head, trying to suffocate her. What if this is another dream? it whispers urgently, but she can’t let herself listen to it. Not when she is finally out of the Fade and the cheers of her team are echoing around her. So, Siobhan forces herself to breathe (four in, hold, four out, hold) and comes back to her surroundings. As her breathing calms she notices that Emmrich isn’t just holding tight. He is clinging to her like his live depends on it. His slender arms shake as they press her body into his and as her face gets pressed into his chest she can feel his heart racing. “Emmrich?” A question and a plea.

He let’s go just enough to grab her face and searches for some confirmation that only she can give. But what exactly, she doesn’t know. Blinking her tears away she asks again, “Emmrich?” His lips purse, but whatever he seeks seems to fade into the background.

“You are with us again, Siobhan. The nightmare is over,” he says.” Are you alright?” She nods weakly and he pulls her up in a single swift motion, holding her steady as her legs wobble. There are loud cheers again and someone pats her back, hard. Probably Taash. Then she is pulled into the most awkward hug, that only Neve could give. The whole situation is a blur of hands and voices, but one thing stays prominent: Emmrich doesn’t let her go. His hands are always somewhere on her body: her shoulders, her hand, the small of her back.

It’s Neve who makes the final call to fall back to the Lighthouse. Siobhan grasps for words to explain what happened, to ask the questions she dares not to ask. For a second there is another hand on her shoulder and Davrins voice breaks through: “We can talk later.” And then his hand is gone. Emmrich remains close to her as they make their way back to the closest Eluvian. They are in Arlathan, she realises, and Siobhan revels in the sounds around her. Both from the nature and people around her.

From their group, everyone but Harding and Bellara have made it back. Siobhan shakes her head and tries to focus. Taash and Neve are in the front, Lucanis dips in and out of her vision keeping watch, and Davrin is guarding their tail with Assan flying above. Emmrich is so close beside her that it seems like he wants to melt into her skin. His slender fingers, usually gently interlaced with hers, now hold on to her with the strength of someone who is trying not to drown, his hands bloody from gripping the lifeline. Her bloodied hand, the lifeline. For him.

An unsettling thought shivers up her spine and whispers in her ear: “How long have you really been gone? What made him hold on like this?” Siobhan shudders and pushes the thought away.

“Darling, are you alright?” Emmrich asks, voice strained. The route they are taking is even, weaving through the golden trees that shine so beautifully in the warm light of the setting sun. He calls me darling. The realization hits her like lightning in her chest. After their argument she had been worried about him. About his fear of death. About their relationship and if he wants to go on with her. Relief floods in the hollowed out path of her sorrow and makes her feel weightless.

She nods and gives him a weak smile. “Don’t worry, Emmrich. Just taking in everything that happened.”

Emmrich eyes hover over her warily and a moment passes before he nods. “If you say so, my dear.”

But Siobhan knows in her bones that he doesn’t believe her. Had he found her letter? She had instructed Bellara to tell Emmrich about it before they departed for Tearstone Island. But with Bellara being dead- Gone, not dead. Not until I see a body- it is difficult to imagine what has transpired. Her head is filled with thousands of questions that chant in unison with the voices of her friends. As her chest beginning to feel tight again, she forces a determined expression on her face and instead of breaking apart, she tells them about the fade.

About Solas, about how she saw Harding and Bellara and Varric.

Varric.

“You didn’t know?” Lucanis asks, voice dripping with horror.

“No.” she answers, voice flat.

“Mierda, I’m sorry. If we had known-”

“I know.” She notices how sharp her tone is and gently adds: “Don’t apologize for something that wasn’t your fault.”

“What did Solas do to trap you anyway? Must have been quite the thing to fool you.” Neve adds, trying to steer the conversation away from the topic. Siobhan has been mesmerized by Neves perceptiveness since the very beginning. Now she could kiss her because Neve swiftly moves the attention away from the tears in the corner of Siobhans eyes. The questions hangs heavy between them anyway.

Siobhan feels Emmrichs eyes on her without looking. Why did you leave? she imagines them saying, Why did you leave me? She has no strength to look and see if her worries are correct. Instead she settles for softly caressing his iron-grip fingers. They tighten even more.

A sigh escapes her, even as it feels like there is no air in her lungs left. She chokes out, “Solas tricked me. After Harding… died. He showed me an illusion of Lucanis. Dead. Then I was in the fade. Alone with my regrets.” Heavy silence fills the open space. Eyes turn to her in honest horror but Siobhan feels too tired for whisking up a way to catch her group emotionally. She can figure out a way to regroup the team as soon as her head stops aching so much. As soon as she doesn‘t smell of blood anymore. “I’ll be alright. We get Bellara back and we do whatever it takes to take down Elgar’nan. Let's just get back to the Lighthouse first.”

Her voice is strong. Stronger than she feels anyway. Lucanis nods, his eyes flickering back and forth between her and Emmrich, and lets it go, picking up pace to join Taash at the front. Brave Taash, shouldering the loss of Harding with the same stoic silence they fight Venatori. Siobhan makes a mental note to check in on them later.

But first she has to talk to Emmrich, who, despite adding to the conversation around him every now and then, is uncharacteristically silent. The rest of the trip is mostly Neve and Davrin roughly updating her of what had been done in the time she was gone.

How long have you been gone? This sounds so long.

With every new bit of nformation, she feels more tired, making the way to the Lighthouse seem so very long; yet she pushes forward with the same determination that got her through the fade. Her friends, the promise of a better future, and Emmrich. Always Emmrich; He’s alive, he’s alive, thank the Maker he’s alive. As soon as they reach the last Eluvian, Siobhan wants to cry from relief.

The lighthouse is silent, as if grieving itself, but Siobhan can feel the same warmth, the same silent joy emitting from its core like it did so many times before. As if welcoming them home. When they gather in the library, Siobhan dismisses the group, telling them to rest. Partly for them and partly for herself. There is an understanding in their eyes. Everyone is exhausted, both physically and emotionally and the last battle still awaits them. Silently, fingers interlaced, Emmrich and Siobhan watch the others leave. As soon as the door to the courtyard finally closes, Siobhan turns her gaze to Emmrich.

It’s their first time alone after their argument, when her beloved was scared of his age and their future. And even if she wants nothing more than to fall and break, as soon as she meets his eyes, truly and fully this time, she knows that has to wait.

Emmrich is never truly silent. If he is not talking about a theory that piqued his interest or some more practical aspect of his work, he hums or mutters or tuts under his breath. His mind racing in search for new answers, curiosity and will to learn pushing him to new limits. The swiftness of his wit always as dependable as steadiness of his hands.

She is scared. Because right now he is neither talking nor steady. Silence cloaks him like a heavy shadow. His hands tremble around hers; their movement grown from a slight tremor at their first touch to an earthquake as he covers her hands with his. But it is his eyes that break something in her. The terrified eyes of a boy who was forced to wear loss like a shroud around his shoulders since he was so very young. So she pushes her own fear away and gently strokes his hands, before carefully unraveling herself from his grasp.

“Emmrich, my love, are you alright?” she says, soft but steady.

“Yes, my dear. I- I am quite alright,” his voice falters as he says it. Emmrich must know too, because he clears his throat and tries again. “Why do you ask?”

Hot tears run over her hand as she gently cups his cheeks. He leans into her touch ever so slightly, eyes still fixated on her, a forced smile upon his lips.

“My love, you are crying.” Siobhan murmurs as she cradles his head in her hands.

Like a beetles wing fluttering against a brittle wall, his resolve breaks.

Emmrich grabs her by the shoulder and pulls her close in one single motion, their bodies crushing together. His arms circle around her in the same fashion his hands held her before: with the conviction that if he lets go, she will be gone. She mirrors him in this. Siobhan grabs him tight and does not let go, as Emmrich sobs into her shoulder, one of his hands shooting up to grab the back of her head pulling her even closer.

“I thought I lost you, Siobhan.” he cries, grabbing her even tighter. “Forgive me, darling. Oh, my darling. Don’t ever leave me like that again.” Another sob shakes him. “Don’t ever leave.”

“I won’t. I am here. I’ve got you,” she coos, “We’re safe.”

As Emmrichs legs give in, she guides them both to the floor. It is not graceful, and Siobhan feels the impact painfully on her knees, and yet she stays, murmuring sweet nothings as she rocks him gently from side to side. He switches between breathless apologies and quick kisses to her cheek, her neck. Where does his body begin, where does hers end? Does it even matter?

After a while, he buries his face in her hair and just breathes. Siobhan waits until he stops crying, and then some more, before she pulls back to look at his face. His eyes are swollen and red, matching the flush on his cheeks. His hair is tousled. As she watches him, Siobhan notices that tears and snot have mixed in his slightly too long beard, which sticks out from his dark, hastily shaved stubble. Siobhan wipes away some of the snot-tear mixture, which earns her a flicker of disapproval and something akin to embarrassment, as she wipes it off on her clothes. She pays it no mind. She has touched worse things in her time as a Watcher. Siobhan smiles warmly at him, “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

She rises her feet with a slight wobble, pulling him up with her. “Will you let me take care of you?” she asks, carefully.

He blinks slowly at her before answering, “What?”

“Will you let me take care of you?” She repeats, making sure to speak slow and steady, trying to pierce through the fog that surrounds him.

“I should be taking care of you.” his voice, gruff from crying, wavers slightly. He tries to put on his usually controlled and charming demeanor, which falls utterly flat at the sight in front of her: His vest is wrongly buttoned under his armor and hair that was pulled back just enough to give the pretense of put-togetherness this morning has fallen into complete disarray. His face is marked by the river of tears that surely has made its way onto her own armor.

Even like this, he looks beautiful.

In her chest, something simultaneously blooms and aches. “No, you should not.” she states more bluntly than she intends to. As his eyes widen, she is quick to add: “You’re always comforting me. From the very first moment I met you, without fail, even if you didn’t know you were doing it: You were always there for me.”

She gazes into his eyes and hopes that without saying, he understands the worry that she feels about him, the grief at having thought of losing him and the wish to be the one he can hold onto; the one he can let himself rest with. “Let me do the same for you tonight.” She sees him swallow hard. Once, twice. Seemingly fighting against something buried deep within him. An eternity seems to pass before he gives a sharp nod.

“Thank you.” she says quietly and starts moving.

He follows her up without hesitation but while his hand still holds firmly on to her, it feels less desperate. Siobhan marks that as a small win.

When they enter the community bath a few minutes later, Siobhan has quickly gathered all his toiletries, morning robe and two nightgowns from Emmrichs room. She doesn’t like to admit it, but the thought of letting his hand go or going to her own wretched room to retrieve her nightdress made her stomach churn. Emmrich either didn’t seem to notice or didn’t mind her stealing his stuff.

A quick scan around the big room tells her that their friends are tactful or simply distracted enough to give them space. Still, she lets out a relieved sigh. “Seems like we have the space to ourselves.” she announces, arms spreading wide before falling awkwardly to her sides. Her fingers start drumming on her legs.

Emmrich only nods but says nothing, his mind seemingly somewhere else. Her brow furrows.

While the bathroom has a sauna and several showers, Siobhan always preferred the pools. The water is always perfectly warm, probably lighthouse magic, like the ever hot enough oven in the kitchen area and the various places to sit, make it a wonderful place to relax. And in that same vein, absolutely perfect for her endeavor. She lays a hand on his lower back, balancing her goods with the other and softly nudges him to the seats nearest to the water. Mirrors with golden inlays and various shelves and nooks for storage blend naturally into the white marble walls of the bathhouse.

Emmrich wanders over to one of the seats and begins unbuttoning his waistcoat without thinking. Siobhan sets down the clothes and begins spreading the various filigree glass bottles. Right now, she tries to tame the beast of fear and grief, so she can be a rock for the man she loves most in this world and beyond. So, she focuses on keeping her movements controlled and slow, talking softly to Emmrich about what she is doing. As she turns around, she sees him folding his waistcoat, his hazel eyes trained on her movements, face unreadable. With a clink, the last bottle is set upon the hard floor.

Siobhan rises and walks over to him, setting her fingers on his garments. Button by button she slowly unravels his shirt. When the last one pops open, she slides the garment down off his shoulders and presses a tender kiss to the exposed skin. She stills as Emmrich moves to kiss her head, lingering in the movement. As she looks down, she sees that his hands hover in front of the blood crusted fabric of her armor.

A look into his eyes tells her what she needs to know: The fear of this being just another hazy dream that the morning light will steal away, like all the memories of the loved ones he has lost along the way. It is the same mournful look he had when he asked her about her thoughts concerning his parents wishes.

How many nights have you had that dream with me? she wonders, How many times did you wake up, expecting to find me next to you, only to have your hand meet empty sheets? Her heart hurts yet again as she raises her eyes to meet his and finds her answer.

Too long, my dear.

Siobhan takes his hands, taking the time to kiss them again and again and again, only stopping to slip his rings from his fingers and setting them upon his folded clothes. She continues with his gloves, which she puts neatly next to his rings. When that is done, she straightens and raises her hands to his neck, pulling him toward her.

“I am here,” She simply says, as their foreheads connect, “I won’t leave you again.”

Moments later her armor falls to the floor, untangled by Emmrichs nimble hands. They spent the time unbuttoning and untying any remaining items of clothing on their bodies without talking. Shedding the items of clothing like the skin of a serpent.

When they are both finally naked, they set off towards the warm pool. The warmth of the bath is a welcome feeling on Siobhan's skin and she sighs as she lets herself sink in the water. Emmrich follows right behind her.

As soon as he is seated, he pulls her wordlessly into his lap and holds her tight to his chest. With a bit of wriggling she manages to turn around and straddles him with both her legs firmly pressed against his tighs In different circumstances, this position would make her melt in his hands. But she simply grabs his various lotions and, after properly wetting his hair, starts massaging a shampoo, which emits a strong herbal scent, into his hair.

Emmrich relaxes visibly into her hands, his arms dropping to settle around her waist, closes his eyes and sighs. Siobhan proceeds slowly and full of intent. Right now, there is nothing better than just being in the moment with him.

Since she had gotten to know him, she had been mesmerized by the singular dark strand that floats in the grey starlight-sea that is his hair. She twirls it gently between her fingers, watching it reflect the light, sifting through the individual strands as if swimming through the night sky. He is the star that guides her to safety, the one light to follow home into his waiting arms.

On an impulse she kisses his hair and promptly regrets it, as shampoo enters her mouth. Emmrich chuckles. Sputtering she decides to leave the kisses for later.

When she is finished and looking for a small bowl to wash it out, she catches Emmrich watching her through half open eyes, the shadow of a smile dancing on his lips. Yet there is a certain edge to it. Siobhan boops his nose playfully, “Close your eyes, I need to pour some water over you.”

He complies. She nods contently and reaches for the bowl, filling it quickly up with warm water. As she moves to pour it over him, one hazel eye peeks up at her.

Suddenly she remembers the day he showed her his view of the fade. How interlaced with wonder and intimacy it was. And how he made her heart flutter when he told her to take a breath.

Siobhan does her best to mimic his voice, “Ah, ah. Take a breath. Slow. Deep.”

Another disapproving look, “Darling, this is hardly fair. Could you keep your eyes away from such beauty, when it sits right in front of you?” he cocks his head toward his shoulder slightly.

He is a very bad liar. Siobhan knows that, while he jokes with her, there is something eating up his insides and if she could, she would take all the pain away from him. But right now, seeing him accept her help is enough for her and she lets it slide.

“No, that's why I keep staring at you,” she says, “Now close your eyes. I mean it.”

He clicks his tongue but compiles, tilting his head to give her better access to her hair. “Will you also reveal to me the woven intricacies of the fade, as I had the pleasure to do?”

“Weren’t you just fine with watching my body mere moments ago?” she asks, a smile curling her lips.

“Well, one might hope to see more than single wonder a day, hm?” he hums.

Siobhan shakes her head. Conversation always flows so easily with him. Is anyone as lucky as she is to get to see him like this? This kind and gentle man, curious and quick of wit. Sometimes insufferable, but always easy to love. At least to her.

With a swoosh she gently pours warm water over his hair. She fills the container up and repeats the process until there is nothing left of the produce in his hair. Then she starts lathering his hair in the second lotion. A quick glance at his face tells her that Emmrich could fall asleep any second. Sleepless nights have put dark circles under his eyes. Knowing him, he has worked himself to the bone trying to get her back. She can imagine him standing hunched over his desk until deep into the night, seeking answers to the question of her disappearance.

Before she can dwell on this, she gently washes out his hair again, shielding his face with one of her hands, and then moving onto his body. Emmrich opens his eyes again and moves to sit upright. She reaches for a orange bottle and puts it on her fingertips. However as she tries to put it on his face, her hands get caught in his. She shoots him a questioning look.

“That’s not for the face.” he says calmly, taking it out of her hands. “But for the body.”

A small groan escapes her lips before she can stop it. There is no real annoyance in her voice but to reassure Emmrich Siobhan puts on the most lighthearted tone she can manage and says, “Well, my love, what is the right bottle, then?”

Long, nimble fingers reach for a different, significantly smaller and purple colored, bottle and hand it to her. Siobhan quickly rubs the soap off on her chest but is again stopped by Emmrich, who tuts at her and pushes her finger lightly aside. He begins spreading the soap on her chest before stopping at her scar.

It’s a gruesome, yet thin line that runs from her sternum down to her waist, cutting through the skeletal scars etched on her skin since birth. A fresher scar to accompany the old ones, as if death itself had marked her.

She remembers the day she showed it to him for the first time. Emmrich looked so horrified back then, the implications of what happened to her evident to him. Yet he was kind, comforting and took her flirting in that particular situation with grace. When they kissed that day, Siobhan felt the safest she had in a very long time.

Now, Emmrich traces the scar with his soapy finger. Up and down. Again and again. Then his hands fold above her heart tenderly. Hazel eyes meet hers and they both still for a second, before he bows his head and puts a lingering kiss to the top of her scar, next to her heart.

Without words, she understands: I love you.

Joy spreads in her chest and Siobhan sets on her task again. She puts the right cleanser on her fingertips and starts rubbing circles on his cheeks, his strong but slender nose and his forehead, taking a little extra time along the way to massage his temple and jaw. The muscles are tight and she imagines him with a clenched jaw, rubbing his eyes, before continuing taking notes from several books.

The feeling of his fingertips on her face snaps her out of this thought. Emmrich looks utterly in love as he takes his turn in removing the grime and sweat from her face.

She chuckles. “Did you use the proper one?”

“Of course. Only the best for you.”

The next minutes are spent caressing each other's body and drawing soap circles on exposed skin. Sometimes they kiss the little trails that are made, which results in some awkwards laughs as soap enters their mouths. Tears and laughter mix as they lose themselves in the wonder of having each other.

Emmrich presses a lingering kiss to her neck and she laughs when his stubble tickles her.

“My love, your beard,” she giggles as she tries to move away, but he only holds her tighter.

“What of it, darling?” he asks innocently, rubbing his chin on the sensitive part that sits right between her neck and shoulder.

“You are tickling me,” She’s still trying to get out of his hold, “I thought a gentleman is never without a comb and a razor. What happened to that?” He is at her cheek now, short stubble brushing against her freckles. She shrieks, “Emmrich, please!”

His head cranes as he stops and looks up at her. “Laugh again, my dearest, my impossible Siobhan. Then I will get rid of this unsightly stubble at once.”

She does. Only for him can she laugh like this, this silly Professor, her favorite person. She kisses him, despite his beard and despite the soap because he is just so incredibly himself that she would have the strength to walk into the Fade and find a way out again, just to see him like this.

They untangle after a while, but never truly stop touching. While Emmrich shaves his stubble and trims his beard and Siobhan washes the dirt and blood out of her auburn hair.

She pretends she doesn’t see the nervous glances he shoots her, when he thinks she isn’t looking, but she makes sure to inch closer and presses her feet against his calf. When every ounce of grime and unwanted hair is well and truly gone and their skin is all wrinkled, they leave the water.

Once they are dry, Siobhan reaches for the nightgowns and passes one to Emmrich, before putting on the other. It is white a snow and feels wonderful on her skin. Siobhan lets out a relaxed sigh. She is in the middle of figuring out a way to twist her hair out of the way without a pin, when she hears Emmrich stop in his tracks.

“You are wearing one of my nightgowns,” he says.

She turns around, hair still in her hands. He wears his nightgown and was apparently in the process of sliding the last ring, the one his father gave him, on his hand. His marvelous, pretty hands.

“Yes, I thought if it looks this dashing on you, maybe I should give it a try, too.” She swishes the fabric between her fingers and bats her eyelashes at him, her voice dropping low. “What do you think?”

Something between a huff and a laugh escapes his lips. Then his gaze travels her body.

His brow softens, as he murmurs “I believe you could wear anything and still look positively radiant, my dear.”

With a surge of confidence Siobhan twirls once to make a show of her outfit. She is rather tall, yet not nearly as tall as Emmrich is, so the garment hangs awkwardly around her body in a few places.

“I look like a fool.” she laughs.

“You look exquisite.” he remarks. His eyes shine with unmasked adoration and Siobhan feels so very loved.

“Ah,” she says, while swaying over to him, “Do I now?”

Emmrich seems to drink her in for a moment, beginning to trace his finger down her neck and shoulders and Siobhan catches his hand between hers, before he can get too distracted.

“Will you give me an answer, love?” she whispers.

“Yes. You always do.” He simply states. And then he pulls her hands close and presses his lips to them like his very life depends on it.

Shortly after they make their way out of the bathroom, hands entangled.

When they arrive in front of Emmrichs room, the opening door reveals a welcome sight to her: a skeleton in Watcher's robes. Happiness bubbles in her chest. Manfred has become a source of joy in the Lighthouse, and also in her life. Seeing him and Emmrich working together and the bond they share is a constant she found comfort in, even more so since Manfreds revival, as he grew even more curious of the world and his newfound powers.

Siobhan remembers very well when she showed him how to use the stick he found as focus so he wouldn’t cause an uncontrolled explosion anymore. That only helped marginally, but her heart still swelled with pride. No matter how often Emmrich tries to deny it: that is their son, undead and flinging magic around. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Manfred!” she yells happily.

“Siobhan!” he hisses equally as exited. He stopped calling her “Rook” shortly after being able to say Emmrichs name.

He jogs over, apprentice mantel swishing behind him and hisses again. “Siobhan’s back!”

“Yes, I am,” she says, “I need to see your next project. As I promised.”

Manfred seems to light up, joy evident, “Yes!”

He looks so adorable when he says it that Siobhan could cry. How could anyone ever find him unsettling? Then Manfred looks at Emmrich, “You shaved!”

Emmrich clears his throat. “Manfred, we talked about that. It is considered rude to remark upon such things.”

“Ah, yeah. But more importantly,” Siobhan interrupts. “Could you look if there is any food around and bring them to Emmrichs room for us? Maybe you could also fetch us some tea, if you would be so kind?”

Time passes differently in the fade but her stomach has started to growl rather loudly. She had a suspicion that Emmrich isn’t better off in that aspect. Manfred nods excitedly and runs off.

Both watch him leave, before entering Emmrichs room. After the door closes behind them, she allows herself to still for a second. When she fetched the gowns, she did not allow herself to rest. Now she just inhales the familiar scent of his room. Embalming salves, old books, the ever crackling fire and his distinguished perfume collection. It smells like warmth, like home. She squeezes Emmrichs hand gently and takes a quick look around the room.

Books and pages sit on the desk, scattered about, next to all sorts of equipments. Some of them she recognizes, but others are foreign to her. For him, this must classify as chaos. Both ignore it for tonight.

Johanna Hezenkoss‘ skull still sits at her table behind his desk. Mercifully she remains silent as both stride towards Emmrichs hidden bedroom. Yet there seems to be a strangely warm glow coming from her. Maybe this is only caused by her tired eyes and Siobhan dismisses it. She will have time to pester the woman for answers after they defeat Elgar‘nan.

The door mechanism clicks and the secret space behind Emmrichs bookshelves reveals itself. It is still like she remembers it. His wooden bed stands upon the deliberately placed woolen rugs, their pattern fitting nicely with the various decorative pieces of art in his room. At nearly every wall there are even more bookshelves, extending his collection well beyond what is seen in the main part of his room, but also many jars and baubles, each telling a new compelling story.

But to her, the most beautiful thing in the room is the armchair, that stands before yet another fireplace. Emmrich had taken her there many times after they started seeing each other, her blanket around her shoulders and a warm tea in both their hands, as they weaved memories and stories to a tapestry of words. And she loved it. The simplicity. How natural it felt to be with him even at the very start of their romance. The memory brings a smile to her face once more.

Siobhan wants to move toward the bed, which by now calls like a siren to her, when Emmrich stops her. As she turns around, she feels her brow furrow, but lets herself be pulled back a few steps nonetheless. With the way he straightens something within himself, she realizes exactly what he is trying to do right now.

“Thank you for taking care of me, my dear.” he says, voice smooth except for the smallest hint of lingering roughness. He tries to sound unbothered and in control, “But you must allow me to return the favor.”

“Yes. Tomorrow.”

“Siobhan.”

“Tomorrow, dear.”

She won’t have it. Because she sees the familiar flicker in his eyes: the frightened boy ghosting around in his skull. Scared of loss. Scared of being left alone with nothing but grief and his fear of death as his companions. No matter how much he tries to hide it and fall back into his habit of taking care of her, she sees him. She will always see him.

But words that usually come so easy to her fail her now. What could she possibly say to make it all better? Is there anything that could convince him that he does not need to shoulder this feeling alone? Instead of saying anything, she moves. As if she could protect him with her arms she catches him in an embrace.

In an instant he is around her, yet again heavy with grief. Or maybe it never left at all. And she holds him patiently as she waits for him to speak, using her hands to caress his back ever so slightly until he begins to melt into her. Several times it sounds like he might say something but nothing comes out. His lip quivers as he finally chokes out: “What if I don’t get the chance?”

There it is. Emmrich has lost so much, so early in his life. No matter how much time passes, there will always be the young boy in his heart and there will always be days where he feels afraid again. But Siobhan knows that she will be there to hold him every time, until time itself ends. She will always try to shy away the darkness and the sorrow from him. Because she loves him. She will always love him.

Smiling warmly at him, she tries to soothe his fear, even if just for a moment, by saying two words with more conviction than she feels: “You will.”

And then she pulls him, ever so softly, as she walks backwards to his bed and this time he follows.

Apparenty it takes a fight against two elven gods and her being trapped in the fade to get Emmrich Volkarin to eat food while in bed. Manfred brings them lavender tea with honey and two stuffed sandwiches which they take eagerly. They eat in thoughtful silence. But it feels lighter somehow. More hopeful. When both are finished they clean up and ask Manfred to bring the dishes back to the kitchen.Siobhan in return promises him to assist in his next project, no matter what it is. Emmrich gives her a glance which tells her, that she will regret this. But he smiles anyway. He is so very proud of his son. Brave, curious Manfred.

Siobhan wonders if he sees himself in the wisp. A lost soul trying to understand the world. Maybe that is why they were inseparable since they met.

“Our son is becoming more like you every single day,” she says as they settle for the night. He chooses to rest on the side closer to the door, as if shielding her with his body could hide her from the world that tried to take her not so long ago. ”You are an exceptional teacher for him.” she adds, stretching her long legs on the mattress.

“Oh, Manfred learns marvelously quickly on his own. I merely guide him.” he murmurs.

She caresses his cheek and whispers, “You do so much more than that and you know it. He learns from you.” Emmrichs hand covers her own and watches her intently as she continues. “Allow yourself to take more credit for yourself, my heart. He could be so much on his own but a part of his greatness comes from you guiding him. And both of you help each other grow.” A tear prickles in the corner of her eye. It has but a moment's time to fall before Emmrich steals it with a kiss.

“Oh, but what a marvel it is, to have such parents as us,“ He pauses and smiles fondly, „Someone like you.”

He kisses her. Warm and alive. It feels like he tries to capture the moment in his brain, with an intensity as his lips meet hers, again and again, pouring his undying devotion into her. She feels warm deep down to her core as if a small fire has made itself home there. Small sighs escape his lips, which are mirrored in soft moans rising from her chest. With a sigh she opens her mouth for him and Emmrich dives in immediately, like she is his salvation. They share long, open mouthed kisses, exploring each other with a mixture of unhurried intention and unparalleled yearning. But that isn’t enough, as Emmrich pulls them even closer together, when there is already no more space left, as if he could hide if only he would manage to escape into her skin.

I am so glad you are back, he seems to say with every kiss.

I will always come back home to you, she answers.

More tears are shed in the warmth and comfort of the bed, but this time they are tears of relief and love. Even when they have to come up for air, they hold onto each other.

She kisses the top of his head and pulls him onto her chest before reaching over to grab one of his thick blankets, carefully draping it over them both with tired arms. Then she does it with another one, cocooning them in warmth. Before she can find another, Emmrich lifts his hand and grabs a different one, which she hasn’t noticed before, as it was slightly hidden under one of his pillows. The fabric is thick and purple, with some Hand-made embroidery at the bottom.

Its her blanket, which has been gifted to her by her friends. Emmrich must have taken it from her room while she was gone. Some part of her is glad that at least something remained to keep him company. He looks at her, slightly unsure, and she presses another kiss to his brow before she takes the fabric from his hands and covers them in another warm layer. The blanket smells more like him than her at this point and Siobhan feels herself relax, too.

Mossy and floral with a rich undertone. Like the flowers breaking from the soil in spring. Alive. Beautiful. Unique.

Siobhan lets her head fall back on his soft pillows and sighs contentedly. Emmrich lays his head down on her chest, a hand resting over her beating heart. As her eyes fall closed she feels Emmrich stir every now and then, being way beyond exhaustion.

Forcing her eyes open, she begins gently caressing his head and weaves words for him, like she did so many times before. When she was a child and hiding In the darker corners of the necropolis, Siobhan would make up stories. Hidden under her skin were words that wanted to be spoken, nestled right beside her heart. As if those would make her feel less lonely. It brought her comfort when she was young, no matter how silly it was to others. It still does.

So she makes up a story about a scared boy who meets a lonely girl deep inside the darkness of the underground. In return for his company and wit, she tells him stories. And because they are very brave, they try to find their way back home and have many adventures on the way and make a lot of friends. Because of course they do.

“Will Manfred be there as well?” Emmrich mumbles against her skin.

She smiles. “Well, yes of course. He is the wisp that helps them after all. The boy promises him a body for his help and because he loves the boy sooo much, Manfred brings light so they can see they do not get lost.”

Emmrich smiles and finally closes his eyes. While she tells her story, she slowly feels her darling drift off. Siobhan notices her own exhaustion seep into her, beckoning her to follow into pleasant dreams, but she keeps on talking. Even when his breathing has slowed, she does not stop, until the story has a happy end and Emmrich is well and truly asleep.

Then she watches him.

There is always something controlled about him. Back when they first investigated Johanna Hezenskoss activities, he told her that he always chooses his words carefully. And he always acts like it; as if one mistake could topple his whole life over, leaving nothing in its wake.

But in his sleep he softens.

She loves the crows feet around his eyes. How they dance around his skin when he talks or smiles. With her index she trails a line, softly as a whisper. Emmrich stirs slightly and Siobhan pulls away, settling on caressing his head instead.

Emmrichs lips are perfectly framed by smile lines and the mustache, he cares for meticulously. Siobhan sees them talking, smiling, pursed and, if she's lucky enough, kissed swollen and red by her. Now they rest slightly parted, letting his soft snores escape.

Her eyes trail his high cheekbones and curved nose. His wrinkles and worry lines. Even as the shadows of the flickering lights dance around the ones on his forehead, they seem less visible somehow. As if sleep had whisked away the traces of sorrow and age. He looks so heart-achingly young, curled up against her under the heap of blankets.

She presses a soft kiss to his forehead and silently vows to keep both of them safe: the scared boy and the curious professor.

#emmrook #Emmrich volkarin #rook #Siobhan x Emmrich #Siobhan Ingellvar #Emmrich x Rook #datv #Da:tv spoilers #beware the tags at the beginning #there are spoilers #also just my luck that I wanted it posted hours ago but then Ao3 was down #also finally i get to use the tags:#my rook #my writing

20 notes · View notes