#untouched by all the sparing they've been doing

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Steve as the tutor and Bucky as the prince 😵‍💫

https://www.tumblr.com/makemonymoo/746006565355667456

[Link] to a text post from @/transpidered reading, "royalty kink where he's a soft spoiled prince and im his battle tutor who has to be a little too rough during combat lessons to teach him 😵‍💫" the reblog from OP has more details 😮‍💨

I AM SO HERE FOR THIS, YES.

Can you fucking imagine?

Bucky would be so sweet and spoiled and soft--those big eyes, that pouting mouth, and whole his body. He's never had to work a day in his life. All he's ever done is wander around the palace grounds and dismissively wave his hands for his servants to do everything for him, so he's slim, but he isn't lean. Instead, Bucky's svelte with baby fat--thick thighs, a cute, round backside, and a waist with little rolls when he sits (he's always sitting on his ass). He doesn't have calluses; he's never been told no; he doesn't know what it's like to be bad at something--the concept of having to work for something, ugh, could anything be more unfamiliar?

So, when Bucky is introduced to his new tutor who doesn't obey his every word, who tells him no often, who pushes and pushes him...

Bucky is in trouble.

The first time he practices with Steve, Bucky ends up ripping off his helmet mid-way through, his hair a wild mess, frizzy and all over his face, some strands stuck in his mouth, leaving him wiping the back of his hand across his lower face. Then, he throws his heavy practice sword to the side, tossing his helmet, too, while he's at it. Bucky wants to pout, lips trembling--he's sweaty and gross, and his muscles hurt, and Steve keeps correcting him--but he snears at Steve instead, tears in his eyes.

Steve isn't going easy on him, sparing him no pity. It's not fair.

Steve pays those big, watery blue eyes no mind, rather, after he's done huffing and puffing, he asks if he's done with his tantrum and is ready to begin again. Bucky steps forward to come at him, but all Steve does is raise his sword, pointing it directly at his chest with a silent, raised eyebrow.

There's maybe an inch between Bucky's heaving chest and the tip of Steve's sword.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, your highness."

Oh.

Bucky is in trouble because for the first time in his life, his actions have consequences and... he likes it.

Thanks for these thoughts, Jesus Christ.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Sister, Sister: After the End

When Eliza invites the entire family to Midvale over Easter weekend, none of them offer a single squeak of protest. It's been a long few weeks of working on their own endeavors, with only infrequent, hectic teamups between them.

It's nice, Lena decides after dinner the first night. The warmth, the easy familiarity that sinks in as though it never left. But even so, she's grateful for a spare moment to snag a blanket and go out to the dunes, where waves crash steadily against the quiet of darkness.

She spreads the blanket out and lays back, folding her hands over her ribcage. Her magic fills her these days, and she can feel the power of the ocean tugging at her, as though inviting her to join its current. She can also feel the shifting energy of the sand beneath the blanket, and the sway of the reeds that obscure her from the view of the house.

She's not too difficult to find though, as footsteps whisper through the sand towards her. Lena closes her eyes, biting the smidge of irritation that creeps up on her unexpectedly.

"I'm fine," she issues pre-emptively. Kara settles down on the blanket next to her.

"Didn't think you weren't."

Lena's eyes snap open as her head whips towards Nia's voice. Not Kara.

She huffs a laugh. "Sorry," she offers readily. "Thought you were someone else."

"Mhmm," Nia returns. "Considering she's the only one able to get hold of you these days."

Lena grimaces. "I know, I'm sorry--"

"Me too," Nia assures her of no hard feelings. "I could have done more to make it happen. It's just been..."

"Busy."

"Yeah. It's a little crazy to think about, you know? I'm doing more as Dreamer for the foundation than I am as a crime fighter or whatever. And you're back to being on top--"

Lena scoffs a laugh that turns into a giggle as she turns her head to look at Nia. It takes a moment to click.

"Oh--! Lena! You know that's not what I meant!"

The light smack to Lena's ribcage only earns a throatier laugh. Nia joins in with a giggle of her own, and they laugh for a long moment before calming.

"I know what you mean," Lena concedes after a heavy sigh, returning to the moment. "The foundation is everything I hoped it would be, but--"

"It's different." Nia turns her head, and Lena echoes the movement to meet her gaze.

She nods. "Yeah. As much as I don't miss the entire world being in peril..."

"You miss how it was." Nia's voice is quiet. "Even if it's better now."

"Yeah."

They stare up at the stars for a long quiet moment. The sky is clear tonight, and the Milky Way spreads out before them in a wide, untouchable ribbon. A wave of nostalgia overwhelms Lena, and not just for the good old days. Sudden tears burn at her eyes.

"I miss my mom," she whispers.

Nia doesn't turn, but pats across Lena's hip until Lena reaches down to clasp the questing hand.

"Me too," Nia returns softly. Her next words curl with a gentle smile. "They'd be so proud of us though."

Lena chokes out a bit of a chuckle, which mostly sounds like she's being strangled. "Yeah." She squeezes Nia's hand. "She would have really liked you."

"Oh my gosh, are you kidding?!" Nia's voice lifts. "My mom would have gushed over you! Especially now with the whole earthy, witchy vibe you have going on these days. She'd love that."

Lena grins. "Could you imagine if they'd had the chance to meet?"

"Oh god." Nia covers her eyes with her free hand. "Inseparable. No embarassing childhood memory would be safe..."

Lena laughs, truly, as though she actually had memories with her mother to be embarassed by. In this fictional world they've created, she would.

"Hey." Lena catches Nia's gaze, and offers a wide smile. "I'm proud of you too."

Nia's lips pinch tight, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. All she can manage is a trembling nod, and a firm squeeze on Lena's fingers to reciprocate the sentiment.

Neither of them keeps track of how long they stay out there on the shallow dunes. They simply lay there, hands clasped, as the galaxy slowly swirls above them.

[akuma-tenshi]

waves my silly arms around who wants to help me out ((descriptions of the fics under the cut))

context / descriptions of the fics:

To Discover, to Love, and to Be Set Free — Dragon Hunter x Fugitive, multi-chapter. The Dragon Hunter receives an invitation to participate in a gladiator-style arena as its newest fighter, overseen by an untouchable queen and her quiet warrior king. Over the course of his stay, he meets his fellow fighters and begins to discover the cracks in this seemingly-perfect kingdom's facade, becomes entangled with the king, and may even become the piece that makes it all fall apart.

Those Who Carried On — CoA7, multi-chapter. In a fungus-infected apocalyptic wasteland there are bunkers scattered about, built to keep the last vestiges of humanity safe and help them weather out the destruction. Frederick has been kept in one such bunker by his father, forbidden from leaving to see the sky. Struggling day in and day out for inspiration, he finally forms a plan with two other residents to escape and find freedom in the wastes. In the desolation, they meet allies, fight off the infection encroaching on the land... and perhaps even catch a glimpse of the brave new world beyond.

Starlit Steps — Seastar (Phantom Sail x Luminary), single chapter. It's been years since Frederick drowned while he was alone on the deck, but Emil still struggles with seeing him out there, so close to the railing. One wrong move and he'll find himself at the bottom of the sea again; and though Emil knows he won't die, the anxiety that churns in him never calms. Still, Frederick insists on staying out there, watching the seas for any sign of the mirage he caught sight of the night of his death. Emil wants to find a way to draw him away from his vigilant post — perhaps asking for a dance will help.

Eternity Awaits Us — Seastar (Phantom Sail x Luminary), single chapter. They've been together for a long time now, sailing the seas, exploring the world, nobody but each other to keep them company. They share a bed, share a life, have pledged eternity to each other without saying a word about it. All that's left to do now is seal the deal with a ring — over the years, Emil's become sure he wants to marry Frederick. Though... acquiring rings as a ghost with no source of income may be difficult. It's time he formulates a plan.

Life Hasn't Spared His Gentle Lover — Canon divergence / roommate AU, single chapter. It's a beautiful morning, and Emil's taking an opportunity to do some gardening. All the better when Frederick decides to join him, allowing Emil to help guide his hands and introduce him to his favourite hobby. Yet their peaceful morning "date" makes way for quiet contemplation of just what brought them to this point in their lives — and instills a new curiosity in Emil when he notices odd patterns of calluses on his lover's hands.

A Collection of Peculiar Dreams. — Frederick x Luminary, single chapter. Recently, Frederick has been having some strange dreams. Dreams about a peculiar pale-haired stranger with gentle, callused hands and eyes filled with scattered stars, clothes woven from the night sky and a smile that makes him melt. Yet each time he wakes, he's left grasping for any memory of his dream, of his nighttime visitor. The more he learns about his late-night lover, however, the more he begins to realise this stranger isn't so unfamiliar after all. (Does contain some NSFW scenes.)

[darlincollins]

don't go breaking my heart

david/darlin fake dating high school au! inspired by my rewatch of he's all that (a classic)~

content warnings for vague allusion to unsafe home environment!

tag list: @dollscircus @taelonsamada @darlin-collins @romeo-the-homeo @friendlyfaded @angel-shaw

"We need to talk."

David closes his locker to face the newest pack member, impressively scruffy with their choppy, scissored haircut and oversized jacket made up of more stitching than fabric. They look serious and a little uncomfortable; not unusual for them, and of course, the fact they've actually approached him to begin with probably means the world is ending, but still. It doesn't bode well. "About?"

Their eyes flicker around the hallway, suspiciously eyeing the students passing by on their way to classes. "Not here. Lunch. Meet me in the library." They spare a glance at David’s arm, on which Asher had spent most of homeroom doodling cats and skateboards. "Leave the peanut gallery." Before David can object or demand more information, they slink away, vanishing into the crowd. Fuck's sake.

David’s next class seems to crawl by; his mind keeps drifting from their assigned worksheet to whatever his aloof packmate could possibly want to discuss with him. Part of him doesn't even want to go- the fact that they've willingly initiated a conversation with him can't mean anything good. But every time he considers skipping out on the meeting, he hears his dad's voice in the back of his head, reminding him that pack means family, and family means showing up. Besides, the difficulty their new member has had in adjusting to the pack has been a matter of extreme concern to its alpha. He would definitely want David to reciprocate if they are in fact reaching out. Still, he admits he does drag his feet a little bit in putting his books back in his locker, eating his lunch, making excuses to Ash and Milo about why he's leaving the cafeteria early, and heading to the library.

The library is never really packed, but at lunchtime it's completely deserted; even the librarian seems to have abandoned the premises, leaving the place half-lit and hazy with dust. David searches the aisles until he finds his packmate sitting with their back to a bookcase, absorbed in a battered copy of The Monkey Wrench Gang with an untouched lunch tray sitting in front of them. The slightest pang goes through him as he wonders if they eat lunch here every day, but he shoves it down- it's not like they couldn't sit with the pack if they wanted.They jump a little when he clears his throat, but quickly brush off the startle and set the book aside, gesturing for him to sit down.

A long moment passes while they stare at him, completely inscrutable. It's not often that they make eye contact with him or anyone, and David feels a little like a bug pinned to a board under the pressure of their gaze. He resists the urge to squirm or look away first, and finally they speak.

"I need you to go out with me."

David chokes on air. "What the fuck?"

"How flattering."

His mind seems to be lagging; he's heard the sounds that came out of their mouth but surely has not correctly interpreted them into words, possibly is hallucinating, possibly is dreaming. "Wh- I don't understand. Since when- why?"

"Wow, I hope the ends of these sentences are coherent."

He takes a deep breath. Maybe this is a prank. Maybe this is real. Either way, it absolutely is not happening. But how to do this without driving them further away from the pack? He's not cut out for this kind of thing, with the need for tact and gentleness and soothinghurt feelings. Why couldn't this be happening to Asher? Distantly, David recognizes that this is still going on, right now, in the present, and they're staring at him again, waiting for him to speak. Nothing to do but go for it, right? "Look, I think you're great, but-"

They make a face at him. "Ew. Stop talking."

"Ew?" (Should he be offended by that?)

"It's not like that. You know Kyle?"

"That sonal energetic from math class?"

"Yeah, him. The jackass."

"You call everyone a jackass. That's not a clear identifier coming from you."

"Most people are. But him especially."

"What about him?"

"Long story short, if I can keep up a relationship until prom, he'll owe me $500 dollars, plus I get to punch him in the face."

"What?"

They continue like he hasn't spoken. "You will help me win. In exchange, I'll give you half of the profits."

"Why would you-"

Something almost vulnerable flickers in their eyes for a second, but it's gone before he can decipher it. "What can I say, I love money. I wanna be like Scrooge McDuck diving into a swimming pool full of gold. Are you in?"

Is his brain short-circuiting? Is that medically possible? "I- Why me?"

"Because you know how to keep your mouth shut. I can't risk some random blabbing to Kyle and losing me my winnings. Our winnings, if you agree."

"What if I don't agree?"

They shrug. "Then you'll lose out on $250 and I'll find someone else. And if you snitch, I'll make your life a living hell."

"You really know how to woo a guy, huh?"

"Yeah, I'm Casanova over here. So?"

This is crazy. It's stupid. It's completely ridiculous. He shouldn't entertain this for a second, especially not with someone as standoffish and weird as his sullen new packmate who has never once given him or his family the time of day. He thinks about his dad, always stressing the importance of pack and going way over the extra mile for anybody who needs help. What would he do in this situation? David can't even imagine, because this is the kind of thing he never thought happened outside of stupid 90s movies. He did ask David to make an effort to bring the new pack member into the fold and to get to know them. But surely not by participating in some definitely ill-fated scheme involving 500 dollars, right?

He sighs. "How exactly would this work?"

They hum thoughtfully, pulling their lunch tray closer and unwrapping their cafeteria sandwich from its clingfilm before opening it and separating its ingredients into discrete piles at opposite corners of the tray. "I'm thinking we just act like we're into each other at school and pretend we're hanging out on the weekends. We can coordinate our stories in case anyone asks."

"That's it?"

"What? You think it needs more?" they ask, tearing the sandwich bread in half.

It feels... anticlimactic, in a way. But that's probably good. "I guess not."

"Fab," they say, somehow managing to pack that one syllable with more scathing sarcasm than most people could probably manage in multiple sentences. "So are you in?"

David sighs. "I guess I'm in."

"Cool." They wrap half of the bread back up in the clingfilm and put it into their backpack, then fold the other piece on itself a few times and shove it in their mouth. "We're done here."

"Seriously?"

"Hmm?"

"You don't think we have to talk about this more?"

They swallow the bread. "About what?"

David represses the urge to slam his head against a bookshelf. "Well... if we're... pretending to date. Here. There should probably... be some... physical contact."

"If you're gonna hurl, try not to do it on my lunch," they snap, pulling it away from him and picking up the lettuce that used to be in the sandwich before tearing it into shreds. "What about it?"

He decides slamming his head against the bookshelf wouldn't really do it, and briefly considers just walking away and lying on the football field to be punted around and trampled by jocks. "Shouldn't we have... I mean, some kind of... codeword, or something?" He wouldn't by any means claim to know a lot about them or their life, but... he's noticed things. Like how they always sit in places where they can see the whole room and there's no risk of someone walking up behind them. Like how they always look like they're gauging the distance between themself and the person closest to them, shuffling back if that space grows too small. Like how they watch the movement of people's hands more than their faces, and tense just a little bit if voices around them grow loud or heated. Whatever picture those pieces belong to looks pretty fucking unpromising, and if this is happening the last thing he wants to do is make them feel unsafe.

"You want a codeword." Their voice has gone stiff and angry, and shit, somehow he's messed this conversation up in a very short span of time.

"Well, yeah." He can tell he's walking on dangerous ground, but this is too important to drop.

They glare at him. "What, you think I'm gonna jump you? Crawl under your shirt in the middle of English class?"

"What-"

"Sure, fine, let's have a codeword. How about Appalachian? Or 'the spotted owl flies at dawn'? Or-"

"For fuck's sake, I am trying to respect your damn boundaries," David snarls, and they go quiet, looking shocked.

The silence between them thickens to the point of discomfort. "Oh," they say finally. "Well. That's- okay, then."

"Yeah."

They sigh, looking everywhere except at him. "I mean, we only really need to keep this up at school. And maybe pack stuff. So... it's not like we need to do anything, uh- you know. Just... we could... hold hands, I guess? Is that-"

"Fine," David mutters, feeling heat crawl up his neck. "Anything around that level is... fine. But we should still-"

"Okay, alright..." they sigh. "What about... darling?"

David contemplates the lying on the football field thing again. "What?"

They growl, rolling their eyes. "Like a sappy pet name, you know. It's subtle and if either one of us say it then we back off."

"Okay. Makes sense."

"Makes sense," they echo quietly, staring at the ground.

The bell rings and both of them jump up quickly, relieved to be done with this conversation. They pick up their tray and book, then nod at him. "I guess we can start tomorrow?"

"Sure," David says, head starting to spin nervously as the reality of what he's agreed to starts hitting him. He follows them out of the library and walks down the hallway with them in silence until another thought strikes him. "Why'd you say 'ew'?"

"Huh?"

"When I thought you were actually asking me out. You said ew."

"Oh," they smirk, dumping their leftovers into a trash can outside the cafeteria and setting the tray on top. "Yeah."

"Well?"

They shrug. "Nothing personal. You're just... way too tall."

"I'm... tall?"

"Uh-huh."

"You're tall." Still a few inches shorter than he is, of course, but definitely above average height.

"Yeah, but I'm a normal tall. You're, like, aggressively tall. It's like you're shoving my face in it. What are you doing up there, foraging for leafy growth?"

He feels weirdly offended, and then annoyed with himself for being offended by the judgement of his weird pack member who reads environmental terrorism novels alone during lunch. "It's not exactly like I had a choice in the matter."

"I know. That's why it's not personal." They turn to face him so suddenly that he almost trips over his own feet. "So... tomorrow, then."

Apparently they're done with that subject. "Right. How do you want to..."

"I guess we just act like we're together and let them figure it out?"

"Yeah. Okay."

They nod once, businesslike, and start walking to their next class, leaving David thinking about how he's going to pull this off.

"Hey, wait," he calls after them. They stop and wait for him to walk closer. "You should... sit with us. Tomorrow at lunch."

"What?" They almost look... nervous?

"It'll look weird if we don't eat together."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." Their grip tightens on the strap of their backpack until the color bleeds from their knuckles. "Okay then, I will."

"Okay."

This time, they walk away a little faster, as if they're worried he'll stop them again to say they should also get matching face tattoos or promise rings. David closes his eyes and leans his forehead against a locker, wondering what could possibly have compelled him to agree to this. Tomorrow is going to be... interesting, to say the least.

[dishonestlies-if]

I have questions I don't know if they've been asked before. So pardon me if they have if this is a dumb question.

I was reading through the game description and it days our ex spouse is the great nephew of some important person so I'm assuming they were male... right?

but then also we can choose our gender. So if I choose to play a male character. How did our daughter come to be? Unless i got that all wrong. Or is there magic involved with same sex couples having kids?

And on that topic how do the ROs react to an MC that is the same gender. Are any of them conflicted or is it a happy love all vibe in the kingdom especially among nobility?

I. How did I not notice this. What is wrong with me I'm gonna lose my mind-

Thank you for pointing out the thing with Alix! (Dis)honest Lies started out as a small project for myself and a few friends so originally the MC was set as female, and therefore Alix was set as male, seems I forgot to change their description after I decided to make it a public game. I'll fix that right away!!! (On that note, what's the gender neutral form of niece/nephew? Nibling? Nephling?)

As for the ROs:

M really doesn't care. So long as they like you for you, they're not letting anyone get in the way of your relationship, least of all some homophobic old fogies who can barely manage their own failing marriages. In any case, among the lower class nobody really cares all that much - most are too busy trying to feed themselves and their families to gossip about who's courting who; your worth and status is based on what you contribute to the community, not who you choose to spend your life with.

Legacy is an immigrant from another kingdom where such relationships are much more accepted among the upper class and monarchy, so they just embrace it with open arms (assuming, of course, they can first get over all the other things keeping them from seeking happiness for themselves). In fact, they find it funny how enraged the few disapproving members of the Court get over what Legacy deems to be a trivial matter, so once they're romanced they take great delight in courting you in front of the homophobes just so they can watch them fume, unable to actually say anything (because that's the monarch and their lover, what are they gonna do about it?). E is 100% down for it. They are actively pursuing your heart (good luck trying to evade them lol), and they will not let anything stand in their way. After all, MC is the monarch, and they are an Advisor, with the backing of the House of Alinac. Realistically, only the other Advisors could lay a hand on them, and that could spark a rather nasty conflict in the Court, which they know all the Families are actively trying to avoid. Consequences be damned, they'll get what they want - they always do. E is untouchable, and they know it; what, then, is the point in fearing Court gossip? The lower nobility can say nothing to them, at least not without repercussion. O is already hesitant to pursue the monarch, even moreso if they are the same gender. O worries about the monarch's image - they know gossip in the Court is rarely forgiving, and for the monarch to court an Advisor (unheard of in the kingdom's history), well, that would certainly spark rumours of favouritism among the Families. While likely not enough to spark the other Families into direct action on its own, it would definitely make them more difficult to deal with - not ideal for the nation. They can only imagine what the rumours would be like if the monarch's lover were to be the same gender - and the Advisor from the House of Hildebrand, at least, strongly disapproves of such unions. O would prefer to spare MC (and Batrinoa as a whole) all the trouble and simply reject any romantic advances (even if they dream of taking MCs hands in theirs).

C, on the other hand, was raised in a rather homophobic household. It was really just their father Volker who drilled into the minds of his children that same-gender partners are wrong and unnatural and will be nothing more than a hindrance in war (soldiers are generally grouped into divisions by gender, and it is his belief that if a soldier was attracted to the same gender, it would make all members of their division a possible distraction on the battlefield). Though C (and none of their siblings really, except maybe their eldest brother, the family heir) took to these teachings, C is still hesitant about pursuing MC if they're the same gender - the internalized homophobia still hits hard even after all these years, and in any case they're not so sure MC would reciprocate (at least in the beginning). Give them some time to sort things out, the wait will be worth it.

[snobbybastard]

Phillip Graves Angst

i got this idea for a one shot where daddy issues graves survives the tank and he's in the hospital and for days shepherd doesn't visit him and he's left to stew and realize everything he did was for nothing and shepherd never cared about him and he confronts shepherd when he finally visits and shepherd is just like welp you're not useful to me anymore, just another loose end to tie up and then graves starts feeling weird and shepherd is just like teehee I got the nurse to give you too much morphine and graves dies 😝 and um it's literally just angst which I usually don't do I like happy endings but I was feeling evil with the idea

!!not really proof read!!

Warnings: Mentions of violence, OD , Self-hate? , Phillip Redemption ❤️

Wordcount: 2k

Floating. That's the only way he could describe it. Weightless. Like zero Gs, drifting around so calm. Without care in the endless void he found himself in. Is he dead? He has to be.. Right? Phillip doesn't remember what got him here, so peaceful, and he's thankful for it. He doesn't have the strength to resist the promising luxury of rest. A long overdue break from the overworked aching in his veins, the unbearable muscle fatigue, the sleepless nights slowly but surely taking its toll. The images of his soldiers corpses piled up with bright crimson painted beneath them plaguing his mind, eyes sunken and bloodshot. He regretted he couldn't spare them the horror, they were under his orders and he failed them. Guilt had infected every inch of his being. He could've helped, but he didn't. He sent them out there. To die. Like lambs to a slaughter. And he might as well been the butcher.

It stings. His comfortable void had changed into a searing heat, like he was drowning in boiling water. He wanted to go back, to feel the previous serenity. He wasn't able to. He didn't deserve to.

When he finally woke up and opened his eyes the lights overheard blinded him, making him squeeze his eyes shut again. He wasn't dead. He couldn't be. Not with the smothering pain shocking though his system. His limbs were exhausted and he had a splitting headache. It felt like someone had put a bullet in his skull and it was rattling around, hitting against every nerve and causing as much damage as it went along.

Reluctantly Phillip opened his eyes, taking a minute to adjust to the vivid bulbs. His sight was still blurry, he wished he was in any condition to make sense of what transpired, but all he knew was he really fucked up. Things were staring to come into focus. A sterile room with a small window and bland curtain. He was dressed h in normal hospital clothing. It was silent, dead silent. Save for the light breeze outside and the steady beeping of a monitor. The room seemed untouched. Not that he was expecting any visitors. He didn't have any contact with his family nor anyone who would care if they received that unlucky letter in the mail. But what about Sheperd? He was certain the word about him being hospitalised would've gotten around to him by now. And by the looks of it, he didn't even blink an eye. Sure he was only his superior, a busy guy at that, but after all they've been through, everything he risked, he can't just be disposable, he's got to be worth more?

His head felt like a thousand pounds as he looked around, eyes already threatening to shut once again.

How long was he out for?

Phillips limbs were locked, desperate to function. He continued to scrutinize his surroundings. Searching for something he couldn't quite remember. An IV in his arm accompanied with bad bruising and severe burns peeling back on his skin. His fingers curl restlessly at his sides as Phillip tries to use his elbows to prop himself up. He sits up and the shifting of his weight irritates every injury he had obtained, His body yells for him to stop moving. He thinks of yelling himself, but the desire to cry out sits firmly in his thoughts, even if he wanted to his throat is cracked and dry.

He raised his hand instinctively to the scarring on his forearm. He gently traced the indent, wincing slightly at the feather-light touch. The skin was still sensitive after what had happened.

The mattress he was laying on was like a brick, it might've been comfortable at one point but Graves could feel the imprint he had made from laying down so long, being able to feel each and every sore on his back from being bedridden. Phillip is military, so he could sleep on a rusty bed of nails if he had to, but there's still a very noticeable difference between pitched tents in the middle of nowhere and some temporary apartment he rented out. And right now, he'd do anything to be back in the warm embrace of his home.

A few days blew by, only in the company of passing nurses who tried their best to make their visits as quick as possible. As much as Graves would hate to admit it, he was lonely. He missed the Shadows. His boys. His family. And given all that time alone, Phillip was left with his thoughts. The same ones he tries his best to get away from.

--

It mostly revolved around the Shadow Company. Usually if there was a mishap and some tragedy happened he'd always make sure his boys got the best treatment he could manage, and if they didn't make it, he'd inform their families as soon as possible and help them as much as possible while grieving. But recently, with all the deaths, all those lives.. nobody could have kept track. Now those families couldn't get the closure they needed, only able to go off some stupid information that they're MIA, giving them a sliver of hope, false hope. Or if they found a body- or what was left of one, KIA.

They deserved more than him.

He wasn't a leader-, he wasn't brave.

He was foolish.., gullible and reckless.

He put his trust blindly in someone who would send all of the Shadows in a building engulfed in flames without a second thought. Someone who would berate his men on the daily. Toss their lives around for fun. How could he have been so stupid?

He thought he could keep his guard down- if only for a moment, just because he felt as if Sheperd had good intentions.

Sheperd didn't care about him, not in the slightest. He treated Graves like shit, and he tolerated it. Pushed him away like a new pet desperate for attention.

But he would be lying if he said he didn't feel the need to make up for losing the missiles, especially since it was someone he was loyal to.

His mind would also wander to the things he had done.

He tried to make himself believe he was pressured into doing it- it's not 100% wrong, but he wanted to prove himself. Show people that he's not just some coward, though he feared it had done the opposite effect.

He deserved to die, in that tank.

No, it wouldn't make up for everything that was lost, but it would get rid of one more problem.

He knew he made a mistake.

Just like many, many times before.

He couldn't get rid of the feeling of pure guilt, that just slowly gnaws away at you, that follows you endlessly. Like a heavy strain on your shoulders that you can't seem to ever shake.

He didn't think he would end up like this when he took the job. He was a good man before this.

He just got mixed in with the wrong kind of people. An honest mistake, really.

He didn't want this.

Phillip Graves wanted to help people.

After the merciless massacre in Las Almas, he became an empty shell of a man, following orders without question. He was a husk of someone he used to be.

An empty pit in his stomach. Never-ending and condemned.

He had seen a lot, more than most. Full of enough pain and misery to destroy most. He held strong, well, tried to. He had one two many reasons for an emotional break.

But he didn't, not until Sheperd. Phillip had thought he saw everything, but the General had brought a new kind of brutality to his work.

--

For the first time today the door of the hospital room creaked open. Phillip, who was half asleep, snapped his eyes open, the sudden sound avoking newfound curiosity, he gave his full attention to the two figures in the doorway. It was a nurse- and Sheperd.

He looked fine, no ounce of regret, no softness in his features to show he messed up- the kohl on his eyes only highlighted the sharpness of his gaze. A tight coil in Graves chest tightened, just the sight of him- all high and mighty, no remorse for all the lives his so-called 'operations' cost, made every drop of his blood boil. Like molten lava, bubbling and waiting to burst.

Phillip clenches his jaw so much that he can feel his teeth squeak. Sheperd tips his head slightly, taking a few steps forward until he's at the foot of the bed. If Phillip hadn't been bedridden for days he would have jumped up on him right now and punched that fucker right in the face.

The men remain silent as the nurse goes to the beside, rumaging through a tray full of medical tools and equipment. Sheperd looks down at Phillip, a sorry sight. An eery, serene stare that send chills down Graves body. "You look like shit, Commander."

That's the first sentence he spoke to him in over weeks.

"I can't imagine why," He'd quip back, venom radiating from his tone. Sheperd gave him so much as a glare, crossing his arms.

The nurse approached Phillip with his daily needle of pain killers, and disinfected his arm with a cotton pad before injecting a needle into his arm, right into a vein, a light hiss escaping his lips.

"Where the hell have you been?" He asked Sheperd, narrowing his eyes. He thought he'd like some company or atleast someone to talk to after all that time alone but he's already irritated by his presence.

"I've had work to do, it seems to have piled up when someone fucked up the past few operations," Those words sliced into Graves heart sharper and more precise than any blade. He was only following orders. Orders from him.

His jaw couldn't have gotten any more tense and he balled his fists, his white-knuckle grip digging half moon crescents into his palms. 

"I gave everything I had, everything, and you blame me?!" His voice faltered, and he swore he saw something in Sheperds expression, his nostrils flared, a manic look in his dark eyes. Usually Sheperd was more of a private person. More shielded and not as easy to read. A poker face always plastered on. Now he had something more easily identifiable—more of a primal feeling, something hostile.

Theres silence, layers of thick tension.

"...I thank you, for that.." Sheperds voice is disturbingly passive, his tone is calm compared to his incensed body language. Two conflicting feelings are giving mixed signals to Phillip.

"—But you are no use to me anymore."

"What?" His voice was unfamilarly quiet, almost forgien to his ears.

"You served your purpose, quite poorly. But

that's beside the point. You're useless to me now."

His breath left his lungs as though he had been sucker-punched. Phillip feels like his gut had been ripped open, he was used.

He couldn't be serious.

Why would he do this? He proved himself practical multiple times, maybe having a few slip ups but he always tried his best to fix them. It painted his usual black and white world, red. There was a strain on his chest that persists even as he pushed it down, a cold shiver shocks through his body as he tries to defend himself to the best of his ability.

"I'm... I'm not.."

"And by the looks of it, you're just another loose end to tie up." Sheperd interupts sharply with a small shrug of his shoulders.

The anger Phillip felt was watered down, diluted into heartache. The person he thought he could trust the most, had betrayed him.

"I can still—"

"No. No you can't. You've had enough chances." He breathed out a sickening chuckle.

Phillips breath seemed to be caught, like he was choking. He didn't know what was happening, he went wide eyed with panic. His eyes went to the nurse for help, but she only stood back and watched.

"I told you, you're only another loose end to tie up."

It was horrible. He had no choice but to watch the two as his head was hung down low and his skin was as cold as ice. He didn't even know if he was still breathing. The room was quiet once again this time only for the sounds of a mix between gagging and coughing. He struggled, until his body goes limp, he lies flat on his back, and stares at the white ceiling. The ceiling seemed to spin in circles and a deafening buzz rung out in his ears.

"Pathetic."

Phillip Graves knew he would die, slow and painful, it was only a matter of time. Only a matter of wounds that had yet to scar over. It was always coming

He believed- knew that he would die alone. Just as he deserved— charred and broken by his past. Trust was a risk, and Phillip took it like a fool. And now here he was, alone again, burned and betrayed once more.

[gallifvrey]

okay but -

the first day the doctor is staying over at their house, its - for lack of a better word - normal. it feels normal, like having a friend over, even having the doctor over. they're coming down from the rage and anger of "the giggle". no one knows how to reconcile with the hurt they've caused, how to move on from the hurt they've experienced.

donna's just grateful that her family is alive if nothing else. they're clearly struggling - rose staying in her room, sylvia quieter than normal, even shaun seems a bit more keen to compliment her than usual. and then theres the doctor too - sitting in the living room sometimes, pacing around the garden at others.

it's not even like he seems restless - rather just a bit uncomfortable. staying around after a devastation like this is busy, but its the kind of busy that donna knows he's not used to, is uncomfortable with. too many long meetings on rebuilding UNIT. too many boring discussions about the future, prevention. the doctor has some great ideas, but donna can see (can feel, almost, her mind flashing with the memory of a brain moving that fast, of a body that unable to keep still), can see how he's itching to do something.

but still, it's the days after that are even worse. the meetings peter off, the plan is in motion and the need for the doctor for such mundane tasks is gone. the doctor has time to rest now.

of course, he doesnt. donna discovers this as shes woken up at 3 in the morning by scraping on her window, the night before their first actual day off. the doctor explains that he is just resealing the windows - they had started to become less sealed, and it can let in breezes from the time winds, and those can be very dangerous when you sleep.

donna, woken mid sleep, just nods and turns over to place the pillow over her ear and block out the noise.

but thats just the beginning. she comes downstairs in the morning to find the entire kitchen in shambles, the doctor claiming that he was inventing something that would cut down her morning routine by hours. she is not interested in arguing before shes had some coffee, so she just smiles, grabs the (so far untouched) kettle, and moves on.

by the evening the doctor's managed to put together the appliances in more or less the same fashion - though the toaster seems to sing now while it's toasting ("always good to have a nice tune to wake you up, yeah?"), the fridge makes a kind of grumbling noise as the food starts to go bad ("useful in telling what you need to eat!"). the oven, so far, seems to be untouched, until they notice that any magnetic items brought near it seem to cause the oven to act as a sort of metal detector ("this, perhaps, was not the must useful addition").

the changes don't stop. over the next week donna discovers that amongst other things - her closet's been reindexed so all the clothes are arranged by date of manufacturing. the kitchen spices are restocked with flavors from planets she's never heard of. donna swears that the hose was even repainted.

this goes on for weeks, which turn into months. the doctor just doesn't seem to stop. either doing things around the house or running into the tardis and fiddling with things there. it comes to a point where sylvia, dona, rose and shaun are sitting around the table, watching the doctor muck about the garden where sylvia goes "does that man ever rest?"

and just that alone hits donna - makes her realize, she never sees him rest. the bed in the spare room is untouched, he's never just sitting down except at meals when she makes him sit down, makes him get some food inside of him. time lords, she's been told over and over again, don't need to eat as often. but she feels his bones digging into her in the occasions that they hug.

its like taming a cat, she thinks, to get the doctor to come inside and rest for a moment. a bit of deceit, a bit of trying to make the space more comfortable for him, and a lot of time and patience. it takes another few months of a more pronounced effort. of conversations with the doctor - of "this was meant to be a break. you're not taking one"

she's not even sure it works, really. figures she's done her best and its a part of them that wont change. and its fine, she's donna, she's lived in their head, knows how much is going on in there.

its not until one night, when she's woken up to a noise coming from down the hall. it takes her a moment, of heading closer to the noise and realizing its coming from the doctors room, to figure out what it is. and it shatters her heart when she does.

the doctor, in his room, crying in his sleep. clearly trying to muffle the noise, but its only so possible when you're unconscious. she hears the beginnings of screams, occasionally, but cut off, as though trying to stop anyone from hearing. as though trying desperately not to let anyone find out.

(Why does he have to sleep out here?)

(He doesn't want the others to hear him crying.)

[moa-broke-me]

wait hold on, let me try (i've been wanting to do this for a while but I wasn't sure you'd appreciate it, with the third chapter already out and all. maybe it could take place before they woke up, idk)

-

Luke's heart squeezed as he walked in on the two of them cuddling in bed. He should've known better than to separate them, they were obviously attached at the hip.

Don't be ridiculous, Kronos chided. We want soldiers, not babies. We can't coddle them the way you did Annabeth.

Luke winced at the mention of his owlette. She probably hated him now. 'I can't just push my nature aside like that.' He mentally argued.

Sure you can. You did it last summer.

Luke winced again. He'd never stop feeling guilty about poisoning Thalia.

He sighed and kneeled down to shake them a little. "Hey, it's time for breakfast." He muttered.

Nico groaned awake, and then shook Leo. "Yeah? What is it?"

"Time for breakfast," Luke repeated. "get up."

Leo and Nico both groaned and got up, Leo following behind Luke, and Nico behind them both.

They sat at the covered bench at their campout, with a small bowl of oatmeal, a glass of milk, and half a slice of toast each. Luke had hoped that he could get some of the enchanted plates from the cafeteria back at Camp Half-Blood, but for now, supplies were running low. Normally, they relied on the few Demeter kids that ran off with the TA to grow their food, but it was winter, and a particularly harsh one at that. Any crops they did manage to grow were so small that it was more economical to just sell them and use the money to buy oatmeal and powdered milk in bulk. And even then, they couldn't be sold for more than ten cents or so each, so it was a waste of their strength to bother growing them at all.

Both of the boys had finished theirs in under a minute, and he felt so bad for them, knowing for a fact it wasn't enough to feed a baby.

Don't. Kronos advised. They need to learn to live with this kind of hardship sooner or later.

Luke wanted to scream, but he would sound like he'd lost whatever sanity he'd had before. So he settled for clenching his fist tightly, looking down at his own untouched plate. He sighed, and gave Leo his oatmeal, and Nico his toast. He'd just have to subsist on milk for now.

Luke could almost see Kronos face-palm, his seven halos, representing Saturn's rings, jostling from inertia. What are you doing? You're the general here, you're the leader, and by far the strongest demigod soldier we have! And you're gonna give up your food for the sake of two scrawny little brats?

This time, he argued back under his breath. "You said we were supposed to let them heal, how can we expect them to get better if we don't feed them?"

They've gotten fed just as much as everybody else here. They shouldn't get special treatment just because they're your personal projects!

Kronos' scolding was interrupted by a cheek resting against his shoulder. Nico had closed his eyes, asleep again. Luke stroked his hair sentimentally, looking back to Leo. "You wanna go back to bed too, Leo?"

He yawned. "Okay."

Luke stood up, carrying Nico on his hip. He was so tiny, so fragile. He's been through enough hardship already. "Ok, come with me." He held his hand out, and reluctantly, Leo took it.

He led Leo to his tent, which was the biggest and closest to the kitchen, which made it nice and warm. "We can get your things from your tent later, if you want."

Leo sat on the blow-up mattress that Luke had, before curling up on it like a cat on top of a heating vent. "Thank you."

Luke laid Nico on the bed next to him, and he curled up to Leo in his sleep. "No problem, kid."

No matter what Kronos said, he'd take care of these kids. He would look after them, make sure they were safe and healthy, grant them any softness he could spare in such a hard and unfair world.

Ugh. What a sucker. Why did I pick you again?

Chapter 2 of the Valdangelo AU!

Tw: Cringe Man's POV

"Master Kronos, they're just kids. They're hurt, sick."

We'll let them heal and train them to fight like warriors.

"That doesn't make us any better than the Gods, we-"

DON'T YOU DARE COMPARE ME TO THOSE IMBECILES!!! Kronos yelled, the ground shaking. Luke wasn't phased at all.

You aren't any better either. You used those girls and their little friend. These kids are powerful. We do what needs to be done. Do you understand? Luke thought he did. It was the same situation as the Percy kid, so why did it feel wrong? He shook his head. Kronos was right. Besides, the training takes years. They won't go into actual battle until they're way older.

"I understand. I apologize for my incompetence. They'll turn out great."

-------------

When Nico woke up, his first thought was fire. Fire, he saw fire. And Leo. Leo.

"Leo!" He yelled, sitting up quickly, which only caused his head to swim and his stomach to churn. He leaned over the bed and puked on the floor. He regretted it a minute later but shook his head having more important things to worry about. He saw a cup of water on the desk next to him and drank it with shaking hands. He shook in pain and layed back down, his surroundings not familiar in the slightest.

Then he remembered someone carrying them. Are they in danger? Did they get kidnapped?! The questions made his head hurt more, tears falling so he made himself relax. When he was, he couldn't help himself and fell asleep.

-------

Leo woke up on a stiff matress, warm, comfy. Which made him confused. Warm? Comfy? He couldn't remember what happened. He sat up and got dizzy but shook it off and got over it quickly. Then it all came flooding back to him. Nico was dying. Fire. He had to use fire. Some blonde guy. Blue eyes. Scar. Name? Luke. Luke offered help. Leo was crying. Hysterical. Couldn't think. Agreed.

Mierda. He thought and stood up. He needed to find Nico. But he didn't want to alert anyone who might be here. He stood up slowly and froze when he looked around. He just now realized where he was. A tent. He started panicking.

Oh dear God, I shouldn't have trusted him. This is the start of like all True Crime stories, I need to find Nico. He thought sneaking out. He kept going towards the sounds of talking but stopped when he saw monsters. Tons of monsters just everywhere in the middle of the forest. There were people here and there, but he hid behind a tree anyway. Until, they transformed into a green lady who rolled her eyes and left, showing him to everyone - thing? - there.

"Shit."

--------

Nico felt much better the next time he woke up. So he got up and looked around. The throw up was cleaned up, and he felt anxious. Someone else was in here. He got out of the tent and closed the curtain, and shook his head. Monsters. Lots of monsters. He spent so much time out of camp that he forgot he was a demigod. Maybe he wanted to forget he was one completely.

He shook his head and took a breath to prepare himself. He just needed to sneak past them, find Leo, and escape. Simple. He took another breath and stuck his out, looking for a way to get past them. He sighed when he didn't see a way out and was about to go back in, but he spotted someone running past. A person. Curly hair. Leo. He smiled and ran after him the attention on him too now. He didn't care.

"Leo!" He yelled and he stopped and turned around. They hugged tightly, Leo digging his face into his shoulder.

"Nico, what's happening?"

"I-I don't... I don't know." Then someone touched Nicos shoulder, and he flinched and took out his sword.

"Stay back!" He yelled, and they all backed away.

"Hey! It's okay! It's me! Remember?"

"Luke?" Leo asked, and he nodded.

"Yeah... I brought you here to help you remember?" He asked, and he nodded.

"But-but what's happening, who-what-who are these people? Everyone... they said I was insane. Please tell me this is real." He cried and Nico grabbed his hand.

"Hey. Breathe. You're not crazy. This is real. Everyone who said you are are mortals. I don't... know if you're a demigod but I'm... one."

"A... demigod?"

"Half God, Half Mortal. Like me. Hermes."

"Hades."

"He's definitely a demigod." A monster said, and Leo sat down.

"How did you find out... who it was?"

"It's called claiming. A glowing symbol of the Gods signature will appear above your head." Luke explained and Leo covered his face.

"Are you... okay?" Nico asked, and Leo nodded.

"Just... need a minute."

"Let's go back to the tent I was in." He said, helping him up and walking away with him. They sat on the bed, and Leo broke down.

"I almost lost you." He cried, and Nico grabbed his hand, trying to hide his tears.

"It's okay now. I'm here." His voice cracked and they hugged and just held onto each other the rest of the night.

-------

@moa-broke-me @yonemurishiroku @pjo-hoo-toa-freakazoid @potatoman-taterdude @unidentifiedimp @the-demigod-slytherclaw @im-always-lost-in-a-book @stillcarmine @art-randomness @cryptic-ember

[wolfie-bee]

uchahvia [synergy]

read it here on twitter

read it here on ao3

Kara was listening to every syllable, every hesitant pause, the flittering heartbeats, the gently rushing of blood high on Lena's cheeks, even the bit about 'science.' And yet all she wanted to say was that it had nothing to do with science, but everything to do with Lena's spirit.

The admiration in Kara's eyes is wondrous to behold and those feelings in Lena's heart stir, magic still rushing beneath her skin. A need arises to close that distance, but she resists, uncertainty rooting her to the spot as she smiles at Kara. 

"I thought about protecting you."

“I could hear.”

It may be the worst time for this kind of decision, but she is done with denial. Her senses are swirling with Lena's presence, love, and magic. Resistance is how they’d been torn asunder. But she is here and Lena is so open and- Kara gently floats closer.

"I wasn't sure if my magic would work." Lena admits, a slight waver in her voice as her fingers twist together. Kara's closeness emboldens her and she reaches out with trembling hands. "I don't know what we," she pauses, let's out a breath, "what I would have done if it hadn't."

Kara relaxes into the sensation of Lena’s palms meddling against the glyph of her household. “I have never been fearful ever,” Kara murmurs, her lips resting against Lena’s forehead. “I knew, I know...I've never doubted your abilities. I never will.” She hears Lena's heart stop.

"Your trust means everything to me," Lena whispers and the way that Kara's eyes soften with affection leaves her breathless beneath her arduous stare. That magic still humming at her fingertips rustles like a restless lion and she doesn't notice the way her hands glow with it.

A kaleidoscope. Spinning clarity, vivid patches, everything from Lena’s breath to the magic Kara senses flowing ardently in her cells. She can’t hold back the purr that grows in her own chest, something wild in her ravenous. Cocooning Lena in her arms, she shifts so their lips–

are inches apart, until they're almost breathing the same air. The way that Kara holds her is bold, wanting, and Lena wants, oh, she wants so fervently her heart aches. She spares a thought for the Team scattered within the Tower, that anyone could walk in at any moment and yet…

Kara kept them heatedly sculptured together. Only their lips untouched-Kara flowed them into one another, softly, perfectly, as if every atom, every star, every rasp, every chisel stroke of their lives has been a tidal wave waiting for the crest from this initial sealing of lips.

Lena's hands move to frame Kara's face and she moves in, slowly, pressing a chaste kiss to Kara's sun-kissed cheek. A soft breath shudders past Kara's lips, the sound making Lena weak in the knees and she's just about to do it again when the doors to the room abruptly burst open.

Kara’s every fiber had been tuned to her favorite radio station, Lena. Alas, she’d heard Brainy’s deft footfall all the same. Pulling away from Lena felt like falling into a sink hole of Kryptonite, but she did. Wanting their whisper soft reconstitution to be private and freeing.

Lena's reflexes slowed, and by the time she realizes they've been interrupted, Kara has already taken a respectable step back. It takes everything to orient herself, to prevent her body from swaying readily into Kara and she drops her hands, trying to calm her frantic heartbeat.

Kara’s grip is so hard on the medical bed that she crinkles the lip into a razor thin line.

“We think we’ve solved the puzzle of how to utilize the totem's energy.” Brainy met her eyes, clearly not aware of her and Lena’s frenzied heartbeats and the fiery moment they'd shared.

It takes a few seconds for Lena to register Brainy's words and note the quivering pulse of magic jumping at her fingertips in direct protest to the distance once again separating her and Kara. But she clears her throat, finally turning to him and the moment regrettably slips away.

It had been a busy, but successful day. Yet Kara was vibrating with a restless energy, it had been happening more frequently since her return from the Vrrosh Dokhahsh [Phantom Zone], as if her psyche had finally woken up. So here she was sitting on the tallest building in National City gazing at the stars. She had been urvish [calm, tranquil] of late, regardless of restlessness and the totem chaos. She knew this had to do with a certain pair of eyes, a specific heartbeat, a delectable pair of lips she had yet to taste with her own. The totality of what her shesur [soul] yearned for was right there.

A sweet breeze fluttered under her cape as she watched the play of twinkling stars in the ehsh [sky]. This was her zhgehv [planet] now and she had just as much right to thrive as any other zhehiod [being, living thing]. She focused her vision and watched the Aurora Borealis dancing in the distance and then she was in the air.

Directing the totem exhausts Lena and she's lovingly coerced into going home. But being back in the penthouse is strange. The walls are bland, the rooms too clinical. There's an urge to go back to Kara, to her loft, to snuggle up beneath the soft worn blanket and await her return. 

Instead, she fills her glass with a delicate amber wine and pads over to the balcony where she passes the time. As if summoned by thought, she sees her, an imposing figure high above the cityscape. There's a sharpness to her eyes and a regality to the way she holds herself as she draws near, a goddess among mortals. But the sharpness in her softens, and those otherworldly eyes hold Lena spellbound as she floats closer till she's suspended in the airspace next to the balcony.

"Supergirl." The name bursts from her lips with a reverence that makes Lena flush.

Kara lets her senses unfurl as she flies toward the one place her shesur [soul] desires. Letting go can be overwhelming, other times, like tonight, it is a canvas filled with all the colors of a palette, working in harmony. It suffuses Kara, her cape dancing in tandem on the breeze.

Her entire being seems to know what this flight means. She is the knight errant heading home - it is fitting. It is the most right she has felt since Krypton exploded before her eyes. Tuning in, she feels the magic gently flowing under Lena's skin, hears the cadence of her heart, gazes at her bent tiredly upon the railing of her balcony, then Lena catches her eye. Suddenly, her being softens, eyes never leaving Lena's, now, she understands why Krypton means 'Our Land' that is what swimming in Lena's ehl ehshov [star blue green] eyes is -her land, her haven. 

Something clicks gently into place. Kara’s powers naturally focus on Lena in a way they have never before. Every part of her inside and out from her Kryptonian soul guided by Rao [Kryptonian main deity] and the Girod [Kryptonian virtues] to her yellow sun imbued body to her dhrroshium [refugee] Kara Danvers zhehiod [being], fused together.

"Ms. Luthor." Kara replies, a soft chuckle leaving her lips though her entire body is taut, purposeful.

Stillness. Jev. [Happiness ; Joy] Urvish [Peace; Harmony; Calm]. That is what swirls on the wind, what dances on the light in their eyes, as their souls sing to one another. Kara gently floats over the railing, never stopping, Lena turns completely in sync. Wildness throbs through Kara’s body. She can taste the echo radiating from Lena. She wraps around Lena like clouds do a mountain and finally their lips are bound. Kara has never felt such uchahvia [synergy].

Lena inhales a sharp breath, Kara's mouth a warm welcoming heat as her hands desperately curl around her neck, sliding over the smooth material of the supersuit and into silky blonde curls. Her magic reacts unprompted, a sensation rising against her palms to tease at Kara's skin.

Suddenly those emotions in her heart are amplified, the intensity of her yearning reflected in the warm wet heat of Kara's mouth and the soft bow of her lips. It's a long awaited kiss, one that burns with the intensity of an imploding star as Kara's mouth parts above hers and Lena arches against her, releasing a short breath as their lips briefly disconnect. Since Kara came into her life she's been breaking down Lena's defenses, slipping so effortlessly into the pieces of her until she'd made her home there: like she was always meant to be there.

And Lena loves her, the words she's long since held back wanting to rush to Kara, to spill out in the air around them.

"Kara," Lena breathes into her lips, drawing her down again for a wet, open kiss. The kiss turns desperate, needy and Lena's heart flutters, a shiver rushing through her as those white wisps at her fingers flutter and tangle in Kara's hair.

It draws a smile to Kara's lips, one that Lena feels mirrored on her own. And she can't help that her heart belongs to this woman, this woman who had been flung across the cosmos and into her arms.

Kara didn’t need to breathe much, but she wanted to devour the scent and taste of Lena into her being for eternity. Every atom of her body was awakened, yearning to savor every beauteous curve of Lena's body, her hands already ardently caressing her hips, her back, further still.

Only fleeting moments of light have broken up the dark boulders of her shesur [soul]. But hearing the wild, deep moans Lena is releasing, her powers tangled in the strands of Kara’s hair, her stepping onto Kara’s boots to weave the molten heat of their lips and tongues even closer.

Kara feels frenzied, her heat vision eyes blending with the magic pouring from Lena’s fingertips. Their heartbeats and moans storming across her senses. She wants to consume Lena’s body with her eyes, tongue; mark her with teeth and nails, piece by piece inhaling the only sounds and flavors she ever wants to know. She is tired of restraint, this kruvush [marvel] of a woman emboldens her. The aching canyon that has been her shesur [soul] somehow every single moment of its creation makes sense - it’s her - the cosmos knew it was her for Kara.

This fragile, strong, brave person is what her shesur [soul] always needed - it’s the warmth she has never felt, the light she never understood until their body’s ravenously had caught up to what their souls already knew. The heat of Lena’s thighs tightly wrapped around Kara’s waist as she floats, no space between them, they are one.

Kara gently cups her hands around Lena’s face, bringing her impossibly closer, exposing her shesur [soul], for the first time, she pours the words into Lena’s mouth, “Zhao w rrip, I love you. Nahn rrip w khap i ehrosh, you are my life.”

She hears a sob form in Lena's throat and bends forward with the sheer force of the emotions roiling through her. Kara tucks Lena firmly against her, wrapping them in her cape, and slowly takes them closer to the stars.The stars which she was hurled across to find her true zehdh [belonging, home].

Lena's heart is a fluttery mess, a vibration that lights her from the inside as Kara's lovely words brand themselves onto her soul. The kryptonese curling on her tongue is exquisite, and messy tears spill from Lena's eyes at the love that she can feel burning against her skin from Kara's every touch. She hadn't dared dream of being the one Kara would fall in love with. But now she's not sure how she could have missed this: the adoration and want tempering their every interaction. She clings tightly to Kara, lips trembling where they press against the  underside of Kara's jaw as she closes her eyes.

"I love you too," the words pour out of her in sweet loving surrender. "I love you so much, Kara."

Her confession draws a shuddering breath from Kara's lips as they float higher in the sky and Kara holds her just a little tighter. Lena has never liked flying, never liked the swooping paralysis of nerves only eased by sedatives during flights. But Kara's strong arms hold her securely to the warmth of her body with National City as a sea of tiny dotted lights sprawling below. And she's not afraid.

Lena releases her tight hold on the woman, trembling hands shifting to frame Kara's face, pressing their foreheads together. The moon casts silvery light down upon them, making Kara's golden hair glow and her blue eyes shimmer and Lena falls just a little bit more in love as Kara leans in and kisses her. 

It quickly morphs into something hot, heavy, and Lena can't help sighing Kara's name like a prayer to Rao himself. She shivers despite the cape keeping her in the cocoon of Kara's warm embrace as the vestiges of lust tease at the fluttery notes of love burning brightly in her chest, spilling from her lips into Kara's mouth in an approving moan as the kiss deepens and her body burns. Kara is all that she can feel, taste, touch, an all consuming mark branded onto Lena's quivering heart and Lena never wants to leave her side.

“Zhao [love],” Kara moans in the short bursts between their increasingly heated kisses. Zhao Zhao Zhao echoes through her zhor [heart] and shesur [soul] on a loop.  Despite, or perhaps because of, the wild desire finally allowed to flare through her body; Kara has never felt closer to zhguzhor [imagination], to Rao. 

Pausing, Kara nudges their foreheads together once more, her heart has never felt this rhythm, and then she gazes into Lena’s eyes, she loves, but, more so, she burns. She is a flame, a falling star, but with every heated touch, wild lick, and fervid caress she is sharpened. 

It’s, as if, the only way to fully experience, fully connect with Rao was allowing herself to be both freed and marked by love. As she ardently suckles just under Lena’s chin she rolls them in the air so they are laid against one another as she flies them somewhere just for them.

Kara touches them down on a secluded rooftop across town, her arms searing around Lena’s waist, the edges of her eyes still aglow, their lips, barely apart.

“Where are we?”  Lena asks absently, her hands secure on Kara’s glyph as she floats them toward a small case. 

“I have a few of these around the country,” Kara kisses her deeply, fully.

Inside are a few essentials and Kara quickly unrolls a large sleeping bag. She holds out her hand, beckoning Lena near, and they are in one another’s arms again, lips dancing under the clear moonlit sky.

Hey everyone, thank you so much for reaching this far! This fic was inspired by the gifs above (credit to: @CSIRJen on twitter) and it was initially written on Twitter for today's Supercorp Sunday by @snowydragonscave (who wrote for Kara) and myself (I wrote for Lena). If you enjoyed it please let us know! And Happy Supercorp Sunday ❤ 💙

[summercreolefanfictioner]

the crown and the throne (DiaLovers fanfic // Game of Thrones AU)

the prince who had nothing || ayato

Prince Ayato of the House Sakamaki. The Third Son of the King. The Heir to the Throne. The Conqueror. The Wielder of Blades.

That was Ayato's name... before he made a grave mistake. Now, he's been stripped of everything, and people call him different names—names that would only rub salt into his wounded ego.

The Rebel.

The Exiled.

The Problem Child.

The Prince of Nothing.

Ayato drank to his heart's content, feeling the bitter taste of beer linger at the tip of his tongue. He's been traveling to different countries outside Westeros ever since his prince title was removed from him. And to make things worse, he wasn't allowed to set even a part of his foot on the soil of Westeros until Karlheinz says otherwise.

He glared, gripping the handle of his mug tightly. He thinks people who pass by him bark a laugh at his stupidity.

What a fool, trying to defy his own king.

But Ayato knew to himself he only did the right thing. His father—no. NO. He can't even call him "Father" now. The fucking old man is nothing but a cruel piece of shit, womanizing behind their mother's back and impregnating women for the sake of power and the success of his evil schemes. Heck, even touched his sister maliciously (hence, the birth of Subaru).

Not only that. He sees them, his children, as nothing but mere pawns. The only time he calls them his children is when they've done something remarkable to him, like him conquering all the untouched lands near Westeros and making sure they obey no one but the King or when Laito gains valuable information from the enemy or how Kanato would use his darkness to burn their family's enemies to the ground.

But they had to suffer in exchange for being valuable.

Sometimes, he would hear Kanato cry to his stupid bear, whining about how he was tired of using his powers just for the sake of wanted affection. Laito might not know it to himself, but every so often, Ayato would notice the youngest triplet scratch his skin like it was dirtied. On the other hand, he remembered the innocent people he killed with his blade (Hildbrand) and their cries for help. He wanted to be sorry for them, but how could he be sorry?

He killed them deliberately, and all because of his parents' bidding.

That's why I had to do it, he justifies, even if it had gone in the wrong direction. Even if I lost everything.

And for him, what he meant with everything was Yui.

Yui was the only light to his dark days, the one who comforted him with her words of wisdom and reality. The only woman who embraced him as the prince who stained his hands with sin.

Yui... she was my lady.

He drank away his sorrows with the last of his beer, wiping off the bitter liquid from his mouth. He had always promised her they will leave Westeros and marry somewhere they could live in peace and have many children. But after he had taken her innocence and kissed her lips with assurance, the High Priest, Seiji Komori, married her off to one of his cousins, Shin Tsukinami.

In the middle of his musings, he felt someone watching him, probably one of his father's men or from the enemy households who wanted him dead. He didn't get to chug down his other drink, slipping his hoodie back on as he went out of the pub.

He saddled on his horse and commanded it to go faster. He has to lead them away. It was already nighttime, and he didn't want to deal with pests before he goes to sleep. However, he could sense them nearing him as he went into the forest. It was getting harder for him now to make a way out.

Curse the moon for not sparing some light.

One of the men after him drew an arrow and was about to shoot him when a dragon swept in front of them and shrieked, blazing them alive with its flames. Ayato immediately pulled his horse to a stop, witnessing how the animal protected him. Well, the dragon was the size of a small dog. Nonetheless, it can blow fires that will send the whole forest down.

Once they were turned into nothing but ashes, the dragon turned to him and set him on fire. Ayato tried to protect himself, but the fire didn't burn him. Instead, it just coated his body as the dragon whimpered, sending an unknown message that he was its master.

As the fire died down, the dragon flew again and Ayato decided to follow it. He smirked in delight.

Prince Ayato, The Unburnt, the name sounds heavenly.

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[witchofthescions]

The blade felt awkward in her hands. She'd never really been one for swordplay; magic was her passion and her strength. But after her display on the Steppe, she had to wonder if maybe she had drunk too deep of the forbidden power of black magic. Perhaps a change of direction was in order.

"Well, well, don't you look the part. Ready to harness the darkness within to set the wrong things right."

Erna's gaze flicked back to the armor-clad hyur. Fray's expression was, naturally, unreadable through the all-concealing mask.

"Now, bear in mind that while the darkness gives you strength, that strength comes at cost. That is but one sacrifice, though─and justice demands many."

Erna's gaze drifted to the ground, her mind filling with thoughts of those who had given their lives before. Moenbryda, Haurchefant, Minfilia. The Warriors of Darkness. Everyone at Rhalgr's Reach who had been callously mowed down. Hells, even the Scions who had been unlucky enough to be at the Waking Sands when it was attacked oh so long ago.

"Say a man─a venerable, untouchable man─harms a child in unspeakable ways. He strides through the Hoplon, secure in the knowledge that he is beyond punishment. But for one who cuts down that vile beast as he flaunts his freedom, who knows how many others will suffer? Such was the dilemma faced by a goodly knight long ago. He knew that he would be stripped of his titles and denounced for the deed."

Erna fidgeted with the hilt of the blade, absentmindedly feeling the well-worn leather wrappings. If she were to raise her voice at the wrong time, to the wrong person, or draw her weapons in the wrong place... But the Warrior of Light had a reputation to uphold. She had to be a beacon of hope, of righteousness. Of everything the Light is supposed to represent.

"The threshold we refuse to cross is a line we drew for ourselves. We fear the consequences, and people suffer for our indecision. Everyone who held that crystal came to conquer that fear, and became who they wanted to be. That knight was the first. Will you be the next?"

Erna looked to Fray unsurely. She felt like a novice all over again.

"Think on that while we look into the commotion down below."

Erna sheathed the blade and tracked the other voice to a wailing old woman. A younger, tired-looking young man was with her, offering her what comfort he could.

"What seems to be the problem, ma'am?" Erna asked.

The old woman lifted her head, her face a blotchy mess from her crying. "Please, I don't know what to do! It's...it's my granddaughter... I didn't see him standing there─and I know that's no excuse, I should've been more careful. But my granddaughter, she started yelling at the Temple Knight─and I tried to stop her, I did! But then he said she had to come with him, and... and if I could just tell him how sorry I am, maybe... maybe he would..."

The tired young man shook his head. "...He'd take you too is what he'd do. Even if you went and begged the blue bastard to intervene, it'd be too late by then." He hung his head and lowered his voice, tone sounding almost defeated. "...Ain't the first time they've taken a girl her age. If she doesn't fight back, they might let her go after..."

The man didn't need to finish that sentence. They all knew where it was heading.

"No, no!" the old woman wailed. "There has to be another way!"

"Ah, Ishgardian justice," Fray remarked with sarcasm dripping from every word. "They might spare the girl, you know. Leave her with a few scars and a lifelong lesson."

Erna wrinkled her nose in disgust at the thought.

"...Or we could beat every last one of them to within an ilm of their lives and rescue the girl. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Erna's eyes widened at the thought. She looked to Fray, considering the idea for just a moment... before the corner of her mouth ticked up into a smile.

"I knew you would."

"Everything is going to be all right, madam. When I'm through with those knights, they will not dare trouble you ever again."

The old woman's face lit up. "Oh, thank you, thank you!"

Erna headed off into the city, Fray keeping pace with her despite the disparity in the length of their strides. "Assuming they didn't just drag her into an alley, they've taken her to either the Congregation or the Tribunal. The honorable Ser Aymeric wouldn't suffer such reprehensible behavior under his roof." On this, they agreed. "The inquisition, on the other hand...well. So that leaves the Tribunal. If the girl is still alive, I imagine they'll make all manner of threats. 'Come any closer and she dies,' and so forth. If so, we'll need to make something perfectly clear to them... We're not here for her; we're here for you." Erna nodded along. "Once they understand she means nothing to us, they'll attack us or flee. I don't know about you, but I'm eager to find out which."

Judging from the wicked grin that crossed Erna's features, that made two of them.

[ganymedesclock]

You should see the TvTropes entries for Lotor and his team. They've typecasted Lotor as the standard evil villain type. Bleck,

Yeah, I’m aware.

I mean, I have kind of a mixed relationship with TVTropes, because they tend to do this, and there’s a really unfortunate angle to a lot of the tropes, including seemingly innocent ones: like “Action Girl” suggesting that a female character that is capable of defending herself is inherently unusual and noteworthy while for men the comparable trope is “Non Action Guy” because we all know men are always physically strong and women are always physically weak, right...

As far as Lotor’s page, my biggest issue is the repeated idea that Lotor “pretends to be a good guy” when, as I’ve said before, it’s a fairly big deal that Lotor’s whole agitating for compassion to the downtrodden is not something that wins him points with his audience at all. The audience he’s speaking to is Zarkon’s empire, where mercy is practically a dirty word. When they’re whipped into a fervor for him, it’s because 1. his sparing Throk benefits them, because they think now they’ll be able to get off the hook around him in a way they don’t with Zarkon, and 2. because he carefully packaged all of it in the empire’s atmosphere of Conquest And Domination.

I think a lot of fans feel like Lotor as a character is trying to willfully deceive them into liking him and thinking he’s a good guy and so there’s this very personal anger. And I think that’s a lot of the fandom dislike of his character- they feel like he’s somehow aware of the fourth wall and trying to get in our good books as a character rather than being a complicated character with some sympathetic sides and some scary ones where both are flexed and come into play depending on the situation- exactly as the writers described him pre-season 3. That you’d feel bad for him and also be scared because he’s a threat.

One of the entries calls Lotor a “[female dog] in sheep’s clothing”, a more ‘generous’ one claims he’s “faux affable”.

The interesting thing is, I’m familiar with what tvtropes specifically means by “faux affable” and Lotor doesn’t fit that outside of his carefully staged political game in s3e1. Otherwise, when Lotor’s talking about the heroes (he hasn’t really had a conversation with them yet) he’s dryly sarcastic and very clear about his unfavorable opinions.

When Lotor talks up Allura, “Someone’s learning,” and “well-played, paladin,” he means it- he acknowledges that he’s being shown up. I think that would put him as much more genuinely affable. Faux affable in TVTropes’ vernacular is “I’m here to cut your limbs off but I’ll call you a good sport” while Lotor not only is more honest about his feelings unless he’s very specifically trying to deceive a targeted audience (which he only did once) but compared to Zarkon’s salted earth attacks, Lotor tends to be more than happy to leave Voltron with partial victories.

In s3e4, robbing the team and making away with the comet, Lotor really could’ve been nasty and tried to blast the hell out of Voltron while they were floundering unconscious. But as long as Lotor gets what he wants, he doesn’t have too much of a problem letting the paladins have what they came for, such as the way he leaves Puig relatively untouched.

This is why I stopped hanging around Tvtropes.