#v; resurrected sun

[shiroi---kumo]

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆He doesn't know what to say to the others words even as he turns and red meets green.

"I don't need your protection Pikkuveli."

It would be just like Usva to declare such a thing in the face of someone like the Demon Gunman. It would be just like his brother to decide such a thing when he doesn't have a clue.

They told him Usva was dead. They told him that he'd been killed in battle on the second day of the fall. Safiirin right along with him. Knight falling at her Charge's side. He can still remember the sound that left Opettaja Sinfonia when the crystal pendant of his necklace cracked clean in half.

He will never forget the way that man screamed.

They told him Usva was dead but yet here he stood before him with the flare sword in hand, ready to take down the Windarian threat if the man somehow managed to find a way out of his Mist built prison but for some strange reason Black Wind doesn't move. Even as he turns to look over his shoulder at the man of the Magun - the gunman remains as still as he ever was.

There is no yelling and there is declarations of how he will put the Snow White Swordsman in the ground if its the last thing he ever does. No, instead Black Wind reminds oddly still and he doesn't know how to process - but it can all wait for another time because Usva is alive and he needs to know how because he saw Opettaja Sinfonia's bind snap with his own eyes.

"Maybe not, but how is this even possible, Isoveli?"

A snarl and the flare sword is being lifted to point directly at him level with his own throat.

"It doesn't matter how it's possible. All that matters is I was resurrected so we could finish our fight and this time you won't squirm out of it."

Fight? What in the world is he talking about? This can't be right. There needs to be something else going on here and something in the back of his mind is screaming foul play but he knows Usva won't give him a real answer to how this was at all possible even if he asks for it.

Never has his brother turned the flare sword on him before but it seems there's a first for anything. First it was Szél and now its Uvsa. Somehow both his brothers - adoptive or blood - seem to keep turning on him. He can't say he's fond of it.

"What are you talking about?! What fight?! Usva, you aren't making any sense!"

The growl that leaves his sibling only has more red Mist flooding into the space around them and he can't say it has to be very good for anyone. There are children in the area, and that woman and the rebel faction that His Excellency is so obsessed with. There are humans in the area and they don't need to breathing in Isoveli's Mist.

"I have no idea what you're even talking about! Can't you see you're being manipulated, Isoveli?!"

"Manipulated?!" The red sun explodes at the younger's words as red eyes turn molten and he glares his brother down with the full ferocity of the raging sun he can fall claim to within their eclipse.

"Who are YOU to talk about manipulation you little LIAR! You LIED to me and you STOLE the crown from me and if it wasn't for your tricks I would have been the rightful heir to the throne!"

The elder's foot is sliding back as hands grip the hilt of the flare sword as the body of red falls into proper position to fight.

"Now draw your blade. It's time, after all these years, that you paid for what you've done."

[calicobunnyrabbit]

whoa! it's, like, symbolic.

[gaysindistress]

Limits of a Fae Heart - five

Pairings: Azriel x Reader Summary: With war looming over their heads, the Inner Circle is desperate for a solution. The one they found comes in the form of a resurrected female who’s fated to not only their Shadowsinger but once to their enemy as well. Word count: 3.4k Warnings: reader is AFAB, mentions of the female body/parts, cursing, sexual content (p in v), spitting but it's hot, choking, slight dom/sub vibes, I'm actually awful at tagging things but there's smut. for the love of all things holy, do not read if you are a minor. One | two | three | four | six

taglist: @dr4g0ngirl @isa1b2h3 @sidthedollface2

Cassian has made it known several times that the tension between Azriel and I is getting on his nerves. He’s not so casually told us to get a room many times since the morning he interrupted us. It’s truly only been a couple of days but with just the three of us to keep each other company, we’re all starting to go a little mad. 

Then again watching an abandoned camp for days on end because your high lord said so would do that to anyone.

By the fourth day of watching and edging closer to the camp with absolutely nothing to show for it, Cassian approaches me as I’m sitting by the fire, trying to warm my stiff body. He plops himself down next to me and lets out a dramatic sigh as he leans back on his hands. I don’t spare him a glance and he lets out another sigh. I look over at him to see him already giving me a playful but annoyed look. 

“Yesss?” I ask as I stick my hands closer to the flames.

“When are we going to be done with this boring stake out? The camp has been abandoned for close to a week now and unless I’m blind, there’s no reason for us to be here anymore.”

“If you’re asking to go home, just ask.”

“Fine, can I go home? You and Azzie boy can stay here and stare lustfully at each other all you want but I would like to go home and have a proper bath.”

Right on cue, Azzie Boy materializes out of a pocket of shadows and glances between the two of us. A hint of jealous shots down the bond as he takes in how close Cassian and I are. It quickly disappears as Cassian scoots over with a loud huff. 

“Well what’s your answer?” he demands lightheartedly and an arched brow.

Azriel narrows his eyes at his brother and sits across from us, the flames illuminating every inch of his sun kissed face. 

“I planned on going into the camp tomorrow and if I found nothing, then we could leave but I think Azriel and I can handle it ourselves,” I say looking from Cassian to Azriel, who’s already staring at me. He was probably wondering what Cassian was referring to but realization relaxes his face and he nods in agreement. 

Cassian claps his hands together, “Alright it’s settled then. Don’t kill each other and I’ll see you two tomorrow!”

It’s almost pitiful how excited he is to return to Velaris but it’s even more pathetic how quickly he’s on his feet and flying away. 

Azriel leans back against the fallen tree that lays behind him and props one leg up as his shadows drop an apple into his awaiting palm. He’s purposely staying silent; baiting me to initiate conversation and toying with me by pulling out his beloved Truth Teller and using it to carve the red fruit with impressive precision.

His shadows dance around me meanwhile a few brave and handsy ones find their way under my sweater and undershirt and nuzzle against my bare skin. I gasp at their snuggly behavior and go to shake them out when his voice stops me. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” 

“What does that mean?”

He chuckles as he eats a piece of apple off of the truth teller. “They don’t like when you push them away. Puts them on edge and then they don’t listen to anyone.”

I don’t heed his warning and shake them out anyways, causing them to let out a sound akin to a growl. They immediately find their way back under my clothes and practically mold themselves to my body so I can’t get rid of them so easily again. 

“Told you.”

“By the cauldron,” I groan as I attempt to swat them away, “tell them to leave me alone. They’re freezing.”

He stops his carving and looks at me curiously, tilting his head to the side slightly as his hazel eyes rake over me. “And why would I do that? They’re perfectly fine where they’re at.”

I send him an annoyed glare before I climb to my feet and walk towards the tent for another night of restlessness.

“Where are you going, sweet girl?”

“What have I said about calling me that?”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me with an intense gaze and an almost feral smirk.

“And where does it look like I’m going? To bed obviously,” I say in a clipped tone and gesture to the tent. 

“No you’re going to lay there and flop around until the crack of dawn. Come here.” The shadows imprinted onto me do their singer’s bidding and push me back towards him. 

“Excuse me!”

He cuts off what was inevitably going to be a tepid attempt at a lecture from me. “Enough of that. Come sit next to me.”

With the shadows wrapped tightly around me and pulling at me, I don’t exactly have a choice but follow their lead. They finally ease up when I’m sitting beside him, almost shoulder to shoulder and he offers me a slice of apple. 

“What’s that look for?” he asks when I look between him and the slice with a scrunched up expression.

“When did you become so commanding?”

“You have a problem with it?”

I roll my eyes at the way his plump lips are turned up in a smile and are parted to show off his perfect teeth. “I have a problem with males who think they can tell me what to do. You of all people should know that doesn’t go over well with me.”

“Maybe but I’m not just any other male now am I?”

“Yes you are.”

I go to take the slice but he pulls it away, clicking his tongue at me. “Open your mouth, pretty girl,” he murmurs to me and I know it’s a challenge designed to test my resolve.

The nickname and his low timbre sets something ablaze in me and I know I stand no chance in beating my him. His win comes in the form of my lips parting to allow the sticky sweet slice to greet my awaiting tongue. He tracks my every movement, intently watching as its juice wets my lips and my tongue cleans it up.

“It’s my job to anticipate people’s next move but you?” Azriel says with a shake of his head and goes back to carving pieces out of his half eaten apple. “Just when I think I have you figured out, you do the exact opposite of what I expected. It should frustrate me but it doesn’t. Why do you think that is, sweet girl?”

“Maybe you’re bad at your job,” jumps out with my breathy voice and he blinks at me with an arched brow. “Perhaps it’s for the better if you find a new profession or stop treating me like one of your targets. You’ll stop disappointing yourself that way.”

“Now I never said that it was disappointing.” he chides and grabs my chin when I try to look away from his soul blazing gaze, “It keeps me on my toes, never really knowing what you’re going to do.” 

“You really are like every other male; needing to be challenged but not enough to make you feel lesser. You all have this need to control.” I whisper and let my gaze fall to his lips briefly, “I’ve already told you and quite frankly shown you that I’m not one to fall in line because a pretty face told me to.”

He searches my face for a hint of humor as he holds me in place. Testing me, he leans into me and when I think he’s going to kiss me, I let my eyes flutter closed only for him to draw back. From beneath my lashes, I see a feral smirk break across his face. 

“You think I have a pretty face?”

“That’s what you took from that?”

“Answer the question.”

“You’re infuriating beautiful and I hate looking at…”

Azriel silences me with a hungry kiss, our hands desperately searching for something to hold onto as our tongues collide against each other and drink in the other’s sweet taste. His lips are soft as they slide against my own while his hands feel jagged tangling into my hair. Cold metal presses into my scalp and I can’t say that I’m surprised he didn’t drop his beloved truth teller when he launched himself at me.

My hands find their place on his chest and the nape of his neck, slowly making their way into his mess of dark waves. The soft noises that rumble through his chest when I tug at his hair emboldened me and I sharply pull, forcing him to let me lead.

He does for a moment. That is until he is shadows that are still wound around me, something I forgot about, trace over the raised lines of my hidden wings. A whimper falls from me and Azriel hungrily laps it up using his shadows to drag me into his lap. My arms wind around his neck while letting out a surprised noise when I feel his confined cock against me. We break away and that’s when I realize my breathing is so heavy that I’m almost panting but Azriel is no better. He tilts his head up again to playful nip at my bottom lip, trapping it between his teeth before letting it go and kissing the red mark on it.

I hear myself whine at the loss of his lips and heated touch but I can’t find it in myself to care. I’m slipping into the abyss of lust that is between us and pulling tight at our bond and it feels absolutely amazing. 

He’s growing cockier by the minute much to my dismay. “If you’re this flushed after a few kisses, I can’t imagine how you’d look after I’m done with you.”

With a flash of silver in the fire light, the truth teller is safely tucked away again and both of his hands come to grip my hips. He dips his head to plant wet kisses across my jaw and whispers against the supple skin of my neck, “but tell me, pretty girl, do you want that?”

Words feel pointless, coiled in my throat and morph into something else while they come out in the form of broken whines. 

“Come on, beautiful, use your words.”

I quietly mumble “yes” and let out a high pitched whine when he sucks a bruise over my pulse. He mumbles something like “good girl” as his shadows engulf us and my back hits the cold mat of my bed roll with him slotted between my legs. 

Azriel continues his attack on my neck and I lean my head to the side to grant him more access but not without teasing him. “Couldn’t walk ten feet?”

He runs his tongue up the column of my neck. “Are you complaining?” he shots back with a bold flick of his tongue of my ear lobe before taking it between his lips, sucking and nibbling on it. 

“N..no,” I try to say as my body shudders when he starts to roll his hips into mine. 

I vaguely hear his voice but I’m too caught up in the feeling of his clothed cock pressing into my core. A forceful grip on my jaw drags my attention to the male above me; his wings are flared behind him while his shadows dance around the room and curl against the both of us. Those gorgeous dark waves fall around his sculptured face and he gazes down at me with those hooded hazel eyes. 

“Keep talking to me, sweet girl. I want to hear you no matter what, understand?

I barely nod and it’s not good enough for him. He squeezes my cheeks and doubles down on his original question, “I said ‘keep talking’. I need you to tell me that you understand. That you’ll stop me if it gets to be too much.”

“Yes! Gods, yes Azriel I understand!” I moan out, already running out of patience as I arch my back and roll my hips into his, matching his pace as best as I can. 

“That’s a good girl,” he whispers before continuing his trail of blazing kisses down my neck.

I go to drag my hands down his neck but his shadows are quick to grab them and pin them above my head. He chuckles at my frustration and feeble attempts to pull my hands free as he sits back on his hunches.

With only the fire light from outside to illuminate the tent, Azriel looks like a god above me. The power that radiates off of him commands the flames to perfectly bathe every inch of his taunt and towering body. His blue siphons shimmer in the dim light, reflecting my own pathetic state back at me. If I could I would’ve turned over so I wouldn’t have to see the satisfaction on his face as he gazes down at me completely at his mercy. He makes a disapproving sound as he gently takes a leg in his hand, caressing my thigh and calf before stopping at my boots.

“You’re not going shy on me now are you, beautiful?” He murmurs against my ankle, kissing each inch he reveals as he tugs off my boot.

“Fuck you,” I choke out when more shadows join in. They replace his warm touch when he’s moved on, kneading where his hands once were and licking at the places his kisses have grown cold. Being so thoroughly surrounded by him is intoxicating and I find myself going dumb before he’s even touched me.

“Already doing that, sweetheart.”

Gods this fucking male.

Azriel repeats his actions with my other leg and moves to my pants next. We watch each other with half lidded eyes as he takes his time unlacing them and deliberately brushes his long fingers against the bare skin at my waist. When he starts the painstakingly slow motion of pulling them down my thighs, the damned shadows crawl up my torso. They drag his sweater and my thin long sleeve up my body, helping me to pull it off before tugging my bra down to shamelessly play with my breasts, groping and kneading at the tender skin.

The Shadowsinger’s eyes are blown wide, leaving only black in the place of the golden hazel as he watches them play with me. A long sinful moan is pulled from me when the shadows tug at my nipples and it seems to snap him back to reality. He pulls my pants off completely and inhales sharply when he sees the rapidly growing wet spot on my underwear. His eyes flutter closed as the scent of my arousal invades his nostrils and when they open, a fire is blazing in them. He looks devastatingly handsome staring at that spot like it’s the first glimpse of water he’s seen after weeks in the desert. 

“Beautiful, absolutely beautiful,” he mumbles more to himself while he slides his hands up to my knees and lowers himself to lay on his stomach before me. Another pair of shadows wrap around my thighs, preventing them from closing when he lightly runs his fingers over my clothed core. I writhe and struggle against my restraints with a loud huff, halting the male between my legs. 

 “Talk to me, sweet girl,” he asks in an affectionate tone, searching my face as he rests his head against the inside of my thigh. The same soothing sensation strokes at our bond and my face flushes even more as I search for the words. “What do you want?”

Light kisses are littered on my thigh as I stutter, “more… I need more.”

“More what?” he asks, forcing me to say exactly what I want. As he speaks he les his warm and wet tongue drag across the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. “More what?” he asks again with a mischievous smirk taunt on his bitten lips as he licks directly over my covered slit.

“Touch me more, Az please.” It feels terribly pathetic to beg him and I’d cover my face if the shadows weren’t tightening their hold on my wrists. 

My mate immediately drags his thick tongue over the thin fabric covering my core and mouthes at me through it. He circles my hole before flicking the tip of his tongue over my clit. Desperate please build in my chest while my brain turns to mush having him so close to where I need him but just out of reach. It’s beyond frustrating and he knows it, smirking and chuckling at me in my disheveled and starving state.

Whimpers and whines grow into loud pleas and sinfully wanton moans as he works his tongue over the soaked fabric. After about the fourth time he nearly touches my clit, I start to realize that my wordless begging isn’t going to spur him into removing the offending piece of clothing. He wants words but I won’t let myself beg again just yet.

So I try the bond, sending every ounce of lust and desire that I have down to him. His only reaction is a slight quiver of his wings and an airy chuckle against my core. 

“Nice try, sweetheart but that wasn’t what i told you to do. Remind me, what did I tell you?”

He’s completely stopped using his tongue and has moved to dragging his fingers up and down my slit.

I throw my head back with a growl at the loss of stimulation. My heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing it to calm down so I can think straight. The shadows are quicker than me and stop any thinking I may have done with another harsh pinch to each nipple.

“Until you can tell me exactly what you need, I’m perfectly happy to keep bringing you to the edge over and over again.”

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath. “Fuck me with your tongue, fingers, I don’t care. Just fucking get on with it already, Az.” 

“Now was that so hard?”

I go to snap at him however I’m cut short by him kissing the juncture of my thigh before he pulls my underwear to the side and lightly laps at my soaked folds. He starts slow, kitten licking and teasing me to gauge my reactions. With the shadows around my thighs, I don’t have a lot of range but I’m able to move my hips against his face enough to get some relief.

Azriel takes pity on me and his tongue, wide and rough, finds my clit the moment he licks a decisive strip up my core. His mouth becomes glued to me as he brings me closer and closer to the edge. That feeling in my lower stomach grows tighter when he sucks on my clit and pulls back to blow on it. Throwing my head back, moans fall unhindered and my hips start to move wildly against his mouth.

More shadows find their way around me, caressing and kneading everywhere they can touch. Some tangle into my hair, pulling at the strands while others grope my ass only adding to the bliss that is Azriel’s expert tongue working me into oblivion. 

He brings a hand up to let his fingers circle my hole, collecting my wetness before plunging two fingers in. He smirks against me after my hips falter and he slips his free arm under me, holding my hips up so he can bury his face into me even further. I whine and mewl as Azriel circles my clit and flicks it in time to the come hither motion he’s making with his fingers inside me.

“Az…Az, oh gods, I’m gonna..gonna cum,” I cry out. His shadows double down on their groping and massaging while he doesn’t let up eating me out like a man starved. He watches my orgasm crash over me through half lidded eyes and I try as best as I can to keep eye contact however my own eyes feel heavier than ever before. 

Azriel whispers words of reassurances and praises against my heated skin as he kisses his way back up to me. The shadows around my thighs loosen and draw light circles where their bruising grip once was. The ones on my wrists relax and caress the sore muscles from being held above my head.

“You did so well, sweet girl. So good for me,” he mumbles between labored breaths that mirror mine. I nod in agreement, cupping his face and pulling him down for a much slower kiss than before.

“So perfect, made for me…taking everything I give you,” he mutters against my lips. His wings shake out above us and mine feel like they’re about to do the same when one of the shadows dances over where they’re melding into my body.

He lets his body settle against me, once again letting his hips press into mine but now it’s unbearable. Im still sensitive and the feeling of his leather covered cock against me drags broken sobs from my chest. Like the teasing male he is, Azriel shushes me against my lips as one of his hands finds my thigh and urges my leg over his hip. With my leg around his waist, he moves us at a pace that makes us both moan into our kiss. He drops his hand next to my head while the other comes to rest on my throat, tilting my head back when he pulls away and drags his thumb over my puffy bottom lip.

“Such a pretty mouth,” he growls, staring lustfully at the way that my tongue swirls around the tip of his thumb. I suck at it and he pushes between my lips, allowing me to work it with my tongue like I would his cock. His eyes darken when I release it with a pop and a string of saliva connects us.

A heavy weight constricts my chest and pushes all of the air out of breath thanks to the tsunami of burning desire that Azriel sends to me. “Open up, sweet girl.” 

With our hips grinding slowing down and moving into a lazy, occasional jolt of pleasure, I obey. Without being told, I rest my tongue on my bottom lip, a silent agreement to what he’s about to do.

Azriel’s cock twitches against me as he spits into my mouth and I swallow it with a satisfied smirk. He curses under his breath and his cock twitches again.

And this is when we find ourselves in a rather unfortunate situation; he’s fully clothed while I’m bare save for my bra that’s been pulled under my breasts.

My pawing at his chest gives him the hint and he leans back to quickly rid himself of his leathers while his shadows keep me entertained. They flick and pinch at my pebbled nipples while sneaking down to rub me through my underwear.

The moment his clothes are off, I push myself up and climb into his lap to wrap myself around him. I kiss him like he’s the air that I need and he matches me in pace and passion.

Droplets of sweat race down his broad tattooed chest and his hair is messy and tangled. His arms, perfect matches to his chest, broad, muscular and tattooed are wrapped around me, keeping me in place as he ruts into me. He rocks his aching cock against my barely covered puffy and oversensitive clit while we devour one and other. His breath hitches in his throat when I grind down on him and my nails scrap against the base of his wings. 

“Do…do that again,” he whimpers into our kiss and I happily oblige.

I start with lightly dragging my nails against the base again before moving up the ridge of his wings. The barely there touch is enough to make him groan out and break our kiss to throw his head back in pleasure. I take my chance to assault his neck with my own kisses and bites when I repeat the motions to his wings. His hips stutter under me as my delicate touch combined with the hardness of his aching cock become too overwhelming.

Azriel groans out, frustrated that there’s still a layer of thin fabric separating us and seconds later, I feel the cold tip of the truth teller slice through my underwear. His shadows remove them from between us while he holds my hips in a bruising grip to rub my wetness against him. Back and forth, he drags the head of his cock through my folds, stealing desperate moans from my swollen lips. 

“Az,” I whine as I feel his thick tip catch against my clit, “please Az.”

He coos to me as if he’s being sweet as he continues to torture me. “Please what, sweet girl?”

“Fuck me Azriel,” comes out in broken sobs when he lines himself up and snaps his hips up, fully sheathing his thick cock in my warm heat. He waits for me to adjust to his size, only moving when I wiggle against him. He sets a brutal pace, fucking up into me in calculated and determined thrusts. The near painful hold he had on me is grounding as he pumps his dick into me and I cry out as pleasure starts to build into a second orgasm.

He pulls out only to guide me lay on my side to the bed roll and drags me against his chest, slipping in from behind. Wrapping one heavily tattooed muscular arm around my neck, he lets the other come to wrap around my middle and play with my puffy clit. The corded muscles are flexing as he holds me in place against him, ensuring that I have no choice but to take his thick cock. 

“I want everyone in Velaris to hear you,” he grunts against my ear as he sets a cruel pace from behind me. Downright sinful sounds fall from my permanently open mouth and his own beautiful sounds fill my ears when my core throbs and clenches around him.

“You can be louder, pretty girl,” he urges me while tightening his already unyielding grip around my neck. My hands sink into his arm, leaving red marks in their wake as I cry out, body trembling and writhing against him.

I tilt my head back to rest against his shoulder as we continue to move against each other. His cock drags against my walls in a painful way and my eyes flutter shut from the white hot pleasure it brings me. I’m pulsing around him and pleading with him to come with me. 

“Shush, pretty girl. Let me take care of you. Come for me, beautiful. I know you need to,” his breath feels like an inferno in my ear and I involuntarily moan at his praise. I know I can’t possibly be seen as anything other than a mess; tears streak my face and sweat collects in my hairline but none of that stops Azriel, my mate, from praising every inch of me. 

The last sharp thrust and caress of his tongue against my neck are what push me over the edge as my hands dig into his arm. His own release is almost upon him as his thrusts falter and he goes to pull out but my hand darts behind me and grips his hip.

“Come…with me.”

A dark chuckle rumbles through his chest, “you want me to come in you, pretty girl? You want me to mark you with my cum? Make it so every male who ever comes near you smells me? Is that what you want?”

“Yes, gods yes yes…please…come with me…please come in me.”

My begging sparks him to snap his hips even harder than before as he works us through our orgasms together. Both sweet and humiliating words continue to pour from his mouth between his kisses as he alternates between licking and biting at my lips. His arm loosens around my neck and shifts to cup my shoulder instead while the other grasps my hip.

“You did so well, sweet girl. So proud of you, took me so well,” he murmurs, nuzzling his face into my neck while our highs start to come down and our breathing slows. Finally our bond feels content; overjoyed that we are together and basking in the raw affection we have for each other.

I know that there is a part of it that won’t be satisfied until we accept it, until I accept him and offer him a meal that I made just for him. 

My heart skips a beat when that thought crosses my mind however this time it’s out of panic. What if’s and past traumas flash in my mind, no doubt flooding the bond with seemingly unwarranted anxiety. 

I try to pull away from Azriel but he holds me as he whispers softly from behind me, “Stay with me, my sweet girl. You’re crashing and you need affection right now. Let me help you through it.”

Panic sinks its talons into me even further, causing my heart to race, my breathing to grow too fast, the feeling of slipping into thick water without a way out to overcome. Tears spring from my eyes again and his voice sounds muffled even though it’s right next to me. 

“Breath with me.” His chest rises and falls against my back and my body falls into sync with it. The bond fills me with nothing but adoration and pure contentment, pushing away the crashing low I had begun to slip into.

“Good, just follow my breathing, just like that. You did so well, I’m so proud of you. Keep breathing with me and let me take care of you, beautiful. Let me give you the affection you need.”

For the first time ever in my life possibly, I feel safe. I feel safe in the arms of this mysterious Shadowsinger. I feel protected, cared for, and loved by Azriel, my mate.

[jolalibrary]

FRANKIE THOTS FRANKIE THOTS FRANKIE THOTS (please)

well who am I to deny you such a thing ⬇️

frankie morales x f!reader warnings: smut, p in v, praise kink, mention of edging, mirror mention, quickie

🔥 Frankie loves stealing forbidden moments with you. when you head to the bathroom at a friends place, when you go to the garage to get more beer—that man is finding a door to press you against, whispering filthy words to you, pushing your underwear to the side as you slide your fingers into his hair and nails against his scalp, his other hand spreading around your hips, pulling you close, because he just has to have a moment with you. needs to show you how head-over-heels he is for you.

🔥 is this because i like it, maybe? but the man loves to praise—because he equally loves praise. he gives what he wants to receive, and fuck, you telling him how good he makes you feel, how good his mouth is, his cock—sends the man over the edge. “yeah baby? I make you feel good.” “always, frankie. fuck, always making me feel good.” and equally, "doing so good for me, frankie. bit longer and then i'll let you fill me up" as his fingers dig into the muscle of your ass as you ride him.

🔥 there’s nothing like a lazy morning, when sleep is still prevalent, and your body is just so soft and warm. your skin is on show, fabric having slipped from it's place, allowing his palm to trace you like a map, watching through half-lidded eyes as you squirm. the sun is barely peeking through the black-out curtains, but he knows what he's doing to you, can hear it, practically taste it in the air. so much so, he’s not actually surprised to find you soaked when he slides his fingers inside your sleep shorts, but he will pretend to be, “been dreaming about me, hermosa?” the moan you give him is better than coffee into his blood stream.

🔥 you riding Frankie, the mirror (see the piece in resurrected chances) coming back into play so he can bask in all the angles of you. unsure how he got so goddamn lucky as his palm slides up your breastbone, palm resting on the base of your neck as his other hand teases your clit, because “you can be good for me, can’t you? you can give me one more” and you’re nodding, overstimulated and desperate, because for him you’ll always be good. your thighs shaking, nerves on fire from the afternoon the two of you have had. likely all began because he got sweaty fixing something like the dining table or putting up a bookcase.

🔥 the two of you have plans to meet another couple at a restaurant, and you're running slightly behind, but Frankie takes one look at you all dressed up and decides—all mathematically—that if he sticks to side streets, he can shave off ten minutes from the commute to have you. hinging you at the hips over the sofa, hand wrapping around your chin to tilt you to look at him as he fucks you. your dress balled up in his fist on your upper back, because you were stern when you told him not to ruin your dress, "but can i ruin your makeup?" and you smirk, as he slams into you, moaning his name out, before replying that it's easier to fix in the car that a stained dress. BONUS to this: him redressing only for you to tell him, you’ll keep him inside you, so he can clean you up when the two of you get home. he almost feigns illness and takes you back to bed.

👀 hope that was okay, anon.

[hobiinobs]

This is absolutely based on my very limited understanding of Tarot, but I thought it might be fun to map characters from The Locked Tomb on to the major arcana. Please if you disagree tell me who you would put where.

0 - The Fool - Paul

I - The Magician - Augustine The First

II - The High Priestess - Cytherea The First

III - The Empress - Mercymorn The First

IV - The Emperor - John Gaius

V - The Hierophant - Gideon The First

VI - The Lovers - Camilla & Palamedes

VII - The Chariot - Coronabeth Tridentarius

VIII - Strength - Pyrrha Dve

IX - The Hermit - Ortus Nigenad

X - The Wheel of Fortune - The Resurrection Beasts

XI - Justice - We Suffer

XII - The Hanged Man - Gideon Nav

XIII - Death - Harrowhark Nonagesimus

XIV - Temperance - Dulcinea Septimus

XV - The Devil - Ianthe Tridentarius

XVI - The Tower - Commander Wake

XVII - The Star - Abigail Pent

XVIII - The Moon - Anastasia The First

XIX - The Sun - Kiriona Gaia

XX - Judgment - Alecto

XXI - The World - Nona

[vraisetzen]

Hi lovely V! I just wanted to ask — what are your 5-10 top favourite things about Michikatsu/Kokushibo?

Hi lovely Anon! This is a really good question

I actually went through various oshis/favourites in KnY, with Rengoku being my first, and then Uzui; over time, however, Kokushibo won over me, and he has been my very favourite since.

His appearance: Let's get this out of the way first — I was instantly intrigued by Kokushibo the very moment I saw him. Gotouge has a splendid eye for memorable character design, and there was something about Kokushibo's six eyes, his turtleshell patterned kimono, and his sword, that made him very compelling unforgettable. And then, when I saw his human face (and how it was such a sharp contrast to Yoriichi), I thought he was so, so handsome.

His strength: I have always been drawn to very strong characters, and Kokushibo was no exception. The way he so easily sliced off Muichiro's arm, how he had hone his Breathing techniques and created so many variations, his certainty and confidence ("You only tore my kimono..."); the fact that he survived having his head sliced off, and was so close to resurrecting had it not been a moment of sentiment as he recalled his brother. He did not achieve all this easily, of course — he had honed his skills through centuries, and even as a swordsman he had worked so hard to match up to his twin brother; which brings me to my next point...

His weakness: This might be a strange thing to say, but another part I love about Kokushbo is something that perhaps many other fans might find despicable: his insecurities and desire for power. In many ways, I relate to his envy for his younger twin's abilities, such that he became blind to the many other things he was given (a title, an estate, a family). Being insecure was one thing, but allowing that jealousy to take root in one's psyche, such that it drove him into becoming a demon — I saw someone who simply wanted to emerge from the shadow cast by the sun, as he pushed the stone of Sisyphus towards an unattainable peak.

His complexity: That is not to say, however, that I absolve or excuse him of all his misdeeds. When I talk about Kokushibo, it is always in the context of him as a demon, as Upper Moon One; very rarely do I refer to him as Tsugikuni Michikatsu, because I think Kokushibo himself willingly let go of that identity the very moment he accepted Muzan's Faustian promise. But still, if the moments before his death were an indication, I think he was always so, so close to being redeemed had he only met the right person who could steer him onto the right path. Kokushibo realised that, and that is why in a moment of weakness he succumbed to death instead of holding on to his desire for power and immortality. It is this near-miss, this possibility of redemption, that makes him such a complex character in my eyes, and one that I love so much.

His personality: The fandom loves making jokes about Kokushibo's speech patterns, and I totally get it — he's just an old guy who needs to get his thoughts in order before voicing them. At the same time, I think it's such a great fit for his serious, dignified persona. We may never know what sort of person Michikatsu was when he was happily married with two children, or when he took a break from being envious of Yoriichi's talents, but I would like to think that he was as equally uptight and formal. As a samurai in the warring states period, he was most definitely raised with the class' code of conduct and behaved appropriately; I especially find his seiza to be very cute:

And if I'm allowed to dive into Kimetsu Academy here, I think Kokushibo is so, so adorable as Muzan's secretary. He's most likely underpaid and overworked, but his devotion to his employer's cause is admirable (and personally, I've always headcanon-ed Muzan's evil politics in KimeGaku as him being a progressive politican in a National Diet filled with LDP politicians, but I digress). I love that moment where Tanjiro's innocence evidently moves him, and we get a tiny glimpse of his eyes beyond the sunglasses:

Because at the end of the day, Kokushibo is just a very Old Guy™ who is just trying his best to serve his master and fulfil his own goals of being the strongest.

Thanks for the wonderful question, Anon! I hope this answers it well — frankly, there are just so many things about Kokushibo that I love, and I find so difficult to quantify them in a list. And to be honest, there are times where I do get mired in fandom's portrayal of him and his canon depiction — that when I read his chapters in the manga all over again!

xoxo, V ♥️

[shiroi---kumo]

⋆⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ He doesn't know who this man is but he can't help but think he's a bit odd. What with the way he looks and with that mask he's wearing. There's a strange aura to him and he doesn't like the way he's looking at him.

"H- have I been resurrected?"

It's the only thing he can think to ask as he tries to get his wits about him. The man raises an arm and gives him a half bow as if he is already aware of the royalty he is before replying.

"Yes, My Lord Madoushi."

And he can't say he's fond of that. Madoushi? He is a swordsman and he does possess magic and he doesn't see how that would give him such a title but this man has raised him from the dead? He has somehow managed to pull his Mist down from the heavens in order to breath life back into his mortal form so then why?

"Why, If I may ask? And who are you?"

The man remains with an arm crossed over his chest and his head tipped down as he speaks.

"I am of no consequence. A humble servant of His Excellency, The Earl. One of his many humble servants and I do say Lord Makenshi will be quite surprised to see you."

"Makenshi?" There is a tip of his head as he sounds because he's only been alive again for a few moments but there's already something twisting in the pit of his gut and there is something telling him that he won't like whoever this Makenshi is.

"Why yes, the demon swordsman of course. I believe you know him, do you not Lord Madoushi?"

The Demon Swordsman?! Does he mean - he lived?! He survived that disaster?!

His hands are balling into fist as he thinks about it and his mind is reeling of all that happened to get to this point only to know that of all people to survive the death of their world, it would have been that spineless little coward. He stole the throne from him and instead of fighting he ran. The one with the very blessing of Tiamat herself and he ran when his people needed him. Their people needed them both but the one that was to be their King ran off cowering and he managed to get away with his wretched life... He managed....

That little bastard!

"Where is he?!" The swordsman is practically snarling at the masked man as red eyes narrow their gaze.

"So you do know him then. Wonderful. I can arrange a reunion for you if you just do one small task for me. I can tell you what happened to your Misterica as well if you wish to know what has become of it."

And so he lets the man prattle on. He lets him explain something called 'Chaos' and he explains how this world works. This Wonderland. He allows this masked man to give him the layout of the land and explain that he only need to deal with a few pesky travels and he'll be able to find this Lord Makenshi.

And if there's anything he wants right now, it's to see if he's right.

He doesn't want to be right. The last thing he wants is to be right because if he is that means that little coward truly abandoned their people. If he is right then that means that little coward has no business holding anything even akin to the crown.

Their people are gone and it is all the fault of the one who was born to save them. He had no business calling himself the Holy Vessel now. He had no business calling himself much of anything - that was if he was even alive. This Lord Makenshi cannot be who he thinks they are.... It's simply not -

Red eyes meet that of the ruins of his lost home and he's taking his time to look about them. He's taking his time to take it all in to process that this would be all that's left of Misterica even in her grand splendor. This is it. This is all that's left.

Just him and some broken pillars and shattered buildings. Just him and the clouds. His home was -

Ruby red eyes are focusing on a group of people he's never seen before. Hornless. Are they Windarian? He knows at least one of them is as a man in black with deep red hair steps forward. He lifts his arm and a golden gun assembles before his eyes.

The Demon Gunman no doubt and that had to mean... That had to mean that they both failed and Windaria was gone now too. Some Saviors. Some Sacred Vessels. Some Gods. It seems neither one of them could accomplish anything but his fight is not with this man and his several decade long grudge has nothing to do with the Windarian even as he makes a move to attack him.

"Stop!" A voice cries out before the man can fire. "Please, if you must shoot, turn the Magun on me."

He would know that voice anywhere. He would know every twang and tone of those flattened notes. Why does his voice sound of flat and where is the near constant teeter of an emotional implosion?

The body of white comes to land between himself and the man in black, arms raised as if to defend him from the Windarian threat.

"Black Wind, I understand you hold me in hatred but please find mercy enough in your heart to focus it on me and myself alone."

It seems nothing changes. He's still the same heavy headed fool he always was. So red eyes can only find it in themselves to watch him. To look over every speck the of the small white form that doesn't look a day older than the last time he saw him.

He can only take in every sight of him until he notices - he has changed. The boy he knew is not the man before him. This man, he, he's not shaking. He's not showing fear toward the Windarian nightmare that stands before them, even as this black demon points a golden directly at his heart.

So that means he needs to act instead. The little fool is going to get himself killed at this rate because as per usual he's acting as without thinking. As if he needs his protection. What a joke. It is and always will be the other way around.

The flare sword is dragging through red mist that's flooded into the space around them to draw the form he calls to it and once complete, the elder sun throws the collected energy towards the demon Gunman to trap him within a temporary prison.

The body of white finally turns. Red piercing deep into wide jade green.

"I don't need your protection, Pikkuveli."

[unmeritedunearnedundeserved]

The Peter Denying Jesus Law Of Attraction Analogy

Jesus told Peter that before the rooster crows you will deny me 3 times.

What does this mean allegorically?

Peters name means ROCK, or STONE. In the original Greek it’s “Petros” where we get our word “petrified”.

And so Peter represents the “hard” external word. Your heavy, burdensome and “rock” like condition.

When does a rooster crow? Before dawn.

The dawn represents our manifestation. Because notice how the sun comes up effortlessly. The rooster represents the SIGN of our manifestation coming.

And Jesus represents the Law of Attraction and the perfect consciousness of “feeling the wish fulfilled”. Jesus is the enlightened reason.

So Jesus (the enlightened reason) tells Peter (the external world or present sense evidence) that before the rooster crows (before the sign of the manifestation)

You (the external) will deny me (the feeling of the wish fulfilled) three times. Three times as in over and over and over.

YOU SEE, the external world will deny your new state of consciousness AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN.

That is, until the rooster crows. Until the manifestation.

THE EXTERNAL WORLD IS DESIGNED TO DENY YOU. RIGHT UP UNTIL THE MANIFESTATION OF YOUR DESIRE.

IT’S NORMAL. IT’S TO BE EXPECTED.

If the physical world is denying you your desire, GOOD. That’s just Peter denying Jesus 3 times.

But only Jesus resurrects. The rooster crows every time.

If you have a desire and sense evidence denies it, that means the rooster is about to crow!

The denial is a SIGN that your manifestation is coming.

And remember.

EVERY DESIRE YOU HAVE

WILL SUMMON A “PETER” (sense evidence) TO DENY IT.

For Example: This is a story as told in the book Think and Grow Rich

“A few years back, Ford decided to produce the famous V-8 motor.

He chose to build an engine with the entire eight cylinders cast in one block and instructed his engineers to produce a design for the engine.

The design was placed on paper, but the engineers agreed, to a man, that it was simply impossible to cast an eight-cylinder engine block in one piece.

Ford said, “Produce it, anyway.” “But” they replied, “it’s impossible!”

‘ ‘Go ahead,” Ford commanded, “and stay on the job until you succeed, no matter how long it takes.

The engineers went ahead. There was nothing else for them to do, if they were to remain on the Ford staff. Six months went by, nothing happened.

Another six months passed, and still nothing happened.

The engineers tried every conceivable plan to carry out the orders, but the thing seemed out of the question; “impossible!”

At the end of the year Ford checked with his engineers, and again they informed him they had found no way to carry out his orders.

“Go right ahead,” said Ford, “I want it, and I’ll have it.”

They went ahead, and then, as if by a stroke of magic, the secret, was discovered.

The Ford DETERMINATION had won once more!”

In this story Henry Ford represents the Christ mind which sees its desire as already done and in full possession of.

The engineers represent Peter.

Notice how when Ford wanted the engine, sense evidence and the philosophies of the world denied him over and over and over.

That is, until that “Rooster” crowed. And his engine was now in existence.

Remember that this will happen with EVERY SINGLE MANIFESTATION THAT YOU DESIRE.

The evidence of your senses and the philosophies of the world will deny it. But allow it to encourage you because the Rooster always crows and the dawn NEVER FAILS.

[ltbarnes]

Anachronism - Part III

Or the placing of persons, events, objects, or customs in times to which they do not belong

Summary: Sprained ankles, snowstorms, blood-thirsty wolves and feral super soldiers. What was supposed to be a peaceful walk in the woods surrounding the cabin you're staying in with your best friend Steve quickly turns devastating, forcing your path to cross with the mysterious and burly man who can't seem to grasp social cues and the concept of privacy. His past is a puzzle that can't seem to be solved and your feelings for the sweet and giant man quickly develop from friendly gratitude to something neither of you can't quite grasp.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader, Steve Rogers x fem!reader

Word count: 9.5k (this got out of hand)

Warnings: Bigfoot!Bucky, 6'6" Bucky (he's massive. so beefy), manhandling, SMUT (18+), p in v sex, oral (f receiving), angst

A/N: this is almost a week late, I’m so sorry!! school has been crazy now before the break, but I finally got this part done. things happen in this one! a lot of progress in the relationship and some drama too

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Read my new story Resurrection here!

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  • •

Three days.

The sun has once more set and you're still left in the cabin, three days after you first left the safe and nice house belonging to your boss. Three days since you met what could possibly be the sweetest and most caring person you have ever gotten the chance to know. Three days of Steve not knowing where you are.

You've been stuck in your own thoughts the entire evening, staring out of the window into the snow-covered evergreens. Winter is sulking because of your distance by interrupting the silence with a grunt or huff every now and then, trying to get your attention without saying anything. It reminds you a little bit of the dog your family had when you were a child.

And it's cute, a few hours ago you would have to stop yourself from throwing yourself at him, but you're just too worried. The thought of Steve being out there in the snow all alone searching for you is terrifying. The thought that he's not, that no one is looking, is even more terrifying. In reality, spending resources on a mere assistant who got herself lost in the woods during a snowstorm might not be very tempting for anyone. But you mean more than that to him, don't you? Steve might not be head over heels for you, but you're still best friends.

Five minutes ago, you think, Winter put food in front of you and nudged the plate your way. You haven't touched it yet, despite him looking at you expectantly for the entirety of the duration.

"Do you know what Christmas is?" you ask him suddenly, as if your mind hasn't been occupied by the most depressing thoughts known to man for several hours.

Winter does something likened to a flinch when he hears your voice. It makes you feel bad. You've been neglecting him the entire evening to feel sorry for yourself.

He only shakes his head in answer, nibbling on his food silently. He's not looking at you.

"It's Christmas in a few days. I was supposed to spend it with my friends back in upstate New York where I live," you tell him, lowering your gaze to the plate in front of you.

Your stomach is two seconds away from grumbling, yet you have no appetite. But Winter has been looking so upset over you not eating that you take a bite anyways.

With food in your mouth, and his gaze on you once more, you continue to tell him about something he probably does not care about.

"Usually this time of year everyone puts colorful lights up on their houses, and eat a lot of good food. And give each other presents if they can afford it."

"Presents?" Winter asks, a low mumble that sounds uninterested, but the twinkle in his eyes says differently about his curiosity.

You smile, the first one for the day. "Yes, presents. Things that you give each other to show how much you appreciate and like them. Maybe to family or friends or if you have someone you're in love with."

Winter looks like he contemplates something—thinking it over so thoroughly that his brows furrow—before he gives you a gentle nod.

"And some people have a Christmas tree. Just like the ones right outside here." You point out through the window. "You put lights in them and colorful things so they're all pretty."

"Sounds so weird," he murmurs in answer, drawing a faint chuckle from your lips.

"Yeah, it is kind of weird."

A sigh leaves you that leads into several seconds of silence. There's still a cloud hanging over the two of you that hasn't really been dissolved. You haven't been fair to him and the both of you know that.

"I'm sorry for not talking to you tonight," you say. "I've just been a little sad."

Winter looks up at you hastily, drilling those icy blue eyes into your flesh until it heats under his attention. His lips have never looked as pink and full as they do right now. At least for the duration of your unconventional friendship.

"Why?" he asks, moving a barely noticeable inch closer along with your words.

"I'm worried that the ones looking for me might get hurt out in the snowstorm. Or that no one is looking for me at all."

You exhale loudly with a sniffle, more so because of the incoming cold rather than tears. 

"Can stay here. With me." He barely looks at you, cheeks and ears flushing a shade of red you have yet to witness on him.

"I know, Winter. I know."

After the food is cleared from your plate and a few hours of talking, of Winter asking you endless questions about the peculiar things you tell him about, you're laying next to him in the tiny bed. He's wrapped and tangled around you so tightly you wouldn't be able to escape even if you wanted to.

It's starting to become a comfortable habit, sleeping next to him. You're afraid you won't be able to fall asleep without him when you get back.

"Why awake?" he whispers after what must have been an hour of you staring up into the dark ceiling. Winter's head rests on your chest, legs dangling off the edge of the bed. Giant.

"Just thinking," you answer quietly.

"No sad?" he asks without ever opening his eyes. "Don't like when you are sad."

Your lips find their way to his head, resting softly before pressing against his hair. "No sad this time. Go back to sleep, okay?"

He nods reluctantly. Winter doesn't fall asleep until he hears your breathing even out, until your eyes have fluttered closed and tiredness has finally dragged you down.

Sweet man.

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  • 

When you wake up, Winter is not there. By the light you can tell it's already long past morning, and you've probably been sleeping for a long time.

Stretching out in the bed with a yawn, a few minutes pass by before manage to sit up. The daily check up on your foot reveals that the swelling is almost entirely gone. It didn't hurt as much last night, but there's still pain each time you put too much pressure on it.

Instead of panicking over Winter's absence, you pin it down to him being out on a food run and instead haul yourself over to the fireplace to grab the empty pot standing beside it.

It's freezing cold outside when you scoop up snow into the copper, and shiver still when you're watching the water move up to a boil over the fire.

What must be a good while later, after heavy reflection and discussion with yourself, you know you have to change shirts. The one you're wearing right now is sweaty and stained and outright gross. The one you came in has been hand washed in warm water you boiled yesterday, and has dried completely by now.

The old shirt is thrown over a chair while the new is searched for inside of the cabin. And you find it, laid prettily on the couch underneath a knife. Limping to the other side of the room, you squint until you can really see what it is. It's the one Winter was carving the first night.

Smooth wooden carvings are turned around in your palm as the door is opened, bringing in a snow-covered Winter to the cabin with dozens of newly chopped logs in his arms. You're not really paying attention and neither is he, because while he thinks you're still sleeping, you get up to your feet with your gaze still stuck on the handmade knife.

"Did you make th—"

A shirtless Winter stands with his back turned, revealing the intricate map of muscles underneath his skin. Sweat coats his body from what must have been a grueling session of chopping firewood and you're suddenly speechless.

The power you've possessed these past few days, the one that made you hold back and control yourself, is slipping out of your grasp. When Winter turns around, he's met with your gaze boring into his very soul, pupils blown wide and chest heaving.

He must notice the change in you—it feels so painstakingly obvious, the way your thighs are pressing together and lips part in lust.

There's a low rumble coming from the very depths of his chest, skin flushed and glistening with sweat. His long hair covers his face but you can still see his eyes—the ones that are pinpointing you in place where you stand breathing shallowly. You don't know if you should run away or towards him. He's big and threatening and so beautiful as he stands there wanting you.

An involuntary whine from your throat breaks the trance-like staring contest that has occupied you for half a minute, and you know in your gut that you can't even stop yourself now. It's him, thoroughly and completely, the only remedy to the incurable condition of being so taken by someone you can barely breathe without them.

Winter crosses the room and has his hands on you in a mere second. And there's not a passionate and heart stopping meeting of your lips that follows—instead his face snuggles into the crook of your neck while he presses your body into his.

He's rubbing his face against yours, inhaling your scent and licking your skin. It's shameless and so very him. Winter is humming and growling while you're whining for more. All you manage to do is squeeze his arms, holding him closer despite it being impossible.

"Winter," you pant, sliding your hands up to his face. The skin of your palms meets the rough stubble on his cheeks, creating friction that is slightly painful but entirely ignored.

His pupils are blown wide as you guide your lips to his, pressing softly to begin with before Winter has had enough of your gentleness. It's messy and not entirely comfortable when your teeth clash and he uses too much tongue, but you love it—the unrestrained need overtaking his urges to the point where he doesn't care as long as he can have his mouth on you.

Winter ruts against your legs, pressing his hardened cock against you like an animal in heat. You think maybe that is exactly what he is. And the kiss doesn't last longer than a minute—he has so many parts of you that needs to be discovered. Frustrated and impatient hands grab at the fabric of your shirt, tugging instead of tearing it away as it seems like he wants to do.

"Off. Off, please," he breathes out, eyes zoned in on the outline of your pebbled nipples against the burgundy fabric.

Your shirt is thrown away carelessly and without aim a few seconds later. And there they are—your breasts right in front of Winter once more. Those wonderful and soft things that has made him go crazy these past four days. Ever since you let him touch them the second day he's been staring at them every now and then without subtlety, shamelessly ogling even with a shirt covering you.

When you push the straps off your shoulders, reaching behind your back to unclasp, Winter seems like he forgot to breathe for a few seconds. The bra falls to the ground, baring your breasts completely for him.

A growl fades into a near whine as he instantly reaches out, with both hands, gently running his fingers over your skin despite the aggressive urgency he showed only a few moments prior. He touches you as if you are fragile, delicate and valuable, despite having been treated as anything but for such a long time.

Winter gives out pleased hums while lowering himself down to his knees without his hands ever leaving your breasts, lips trailing down your skin until they meet the hindrance of your leggings.

"Smell so good. Taste too," he mumbles against your skin, desperately trying to rub himself against every naked spot.

Your fingers are tangled up in his hair, pulling at the strands while trying to get actual thoughts into your head instead of only thinking about the way your thighs clench together with each swipe of his tongue on your skin.

"Honey," you breathe out with a gentle tug of his hair to tilt his face upwards. "Winter."

Pale frozen lakes swallowed by dark pupils snap their attention up to your panting face. Your lips part in slight shock as you see how obvious it is that he wants you—that he wants nothing more in this moment than to have you. And god, you want to feel him inside of you just as much.

"Do you want this? Do you know what you are doing?" you ask him, your lustful eyes turning soft for a few seconds of concern.

Winter squeezes your thighs while letting out a quick puff of air through his nose.

"Am not stupid. Know that, uh—know what to do. What this is."

His hands almost subconsciously move over to your ass, palming the soft flesh with his fingers digging into your skin. You nod with a smile suppressed by your teeth biting into your lower lip.

It's enough confirmation for him, you think, when his arms snake around your waist and haul you down onto the floor. A piercing shriek followed by manic giggles sounds from your now heaving figure, splayed out underneath Winter's hovering body.

He only frowns in response—he's probably about to combust and tear the rest of your clothes off your body, take you right here on the floor while you're laughing at him.

"Why laugh? Not funny." He frowns, earning a soft carress of your hand against his cheek.

"No, no, honey," you force out through chuckles. "You've done nothing wrong. I'm happy, okay? This doesn't have to be so serious all the time. Sex is fun too, you know?"

His lips find the sensitive skin right beneath your ear, trailing over gently before inhaling heavily, biting down just enough for a shallow mark to form. A soft gasp sounds from you, drawing his hips to press down between your legs. That shut you up quickly.

"Want Bunny to be mine. Like wolves," he murmurs while shamelessly rutting himself against you. You can feel the outline of his cock through the barrier of his pants and the thin layer of your leggings. It scares you as much as it makes pools of heat soak through the fabric of your underwear. "Together the whole life. Want to be with you."

His words throw out all logic and memories of the man out looking for you in the snow. In this moment, the only man existing is the one panting above you, creating marks on your skin and telling you he wants to be with you for the rest of his life, despite having only met you four days ago.

"I'm yours," you breathe out in a choked attempt of regaining your composure. A deep rumble emits from his chest, a pleased and wild one, that tells you exactly how he feels about your answer.

Your head is pressed against the fur laying underneath your figure as your back arches, trying to increase the friction between you while feeling yourself start to rut back against him.

"Mine," he growls every other second while rubbing his cheek against yours.

Winter is starting to lose his own composure, growing frantic in his movements and you think he's going to come in his pants soon if you don't slow down.

A gentle hand to his chest and a slight push stop him, earning a confused stare from your big bear.

"Slow down. I don't want it to be over so soon," you whisper, eyes stuck on his pink and full lips, parted with each agitated breath.

He doesn't answer, because how could he, when your hand starts to trail down his stomach. It's his turn to gasp with the feeling of your cold palm running over his skin without you ever breaking eye contact.

You're not usually a shallow person but, god—the built muscle covered by soft flesh underneath his skin has turned him into a bulging Hercules. You've barely even noticed the mass of scars running along his left shoulder until your fingers touch the uneven skin. He's beautiful.

"You're so handsome, my love," you whisper with your lips hovering over his soft skin, pressing barely-there kisses to his chest.

Winter has stilled above you, letting you have your moment of worship without disturbance. You pull his face down to your lips for one last kiss before your hands wander further down.

"Will you take these off for me?" you ask him, tugging at the waist of his pants.

An adorable, enthusiastic nod is all the answer you get before he frantically rids himself off his last layer of clothing. No underwear. Interesting and slightly concerning. No complaint from your side—but the shock is absolutely present.

Large, throbbing and veiny. His cock stands proud, on the verge of bursting in front of you. Winter is entirely naked and you forgot how to breathe. Exhale on three? Inhale first?

Leaning on your elbows, you push yourself up just slightly to see him even better. You can't help it. Winter wears a smirk so devastating you don't even care how proud he looks—he knows the effect he has on your poor body and there's no use in hiding it.

"Don't look so smug, Bigfoot. You already knew," you tell him, heat plaguing your face to the point where you have to press your cold hands against your cheeks to calm yourself down.

The eye contact soon becomes too much and you reside to start peeling your leggings away from your skin. An impatient huff follows almost immediately from Winter.

"I want to," he says, pulling you closer to him with the same amount of effort as moving a glass of water.

There's not much grace in the way he pulls them off—they're tight and tricky and he almost tears them when he grows impatient. But you give him a raised eyebrow when you spot the thoughts turning inside that pretty head of his.

"Ugh, so hard. Why even have these?"

Winter's tongue sticks out from his mouth as he struggles through your fit of laughter, huffing in frustration. The pants are thrown across the room, landing over by the door. And the patience he previously showed is thrown away too, when his metal fingers clasp around the band of your underwear and tear them right off your body.

"Wha—"

Winter leans back on his knees with a sigh, as if he has just ran a marathon, while your wide-eyed shock tries to recover from what the hell he just did. Oh god, he's so hot.

You think he wants to be annoyed about his battle but doesn't really succeed—his hard-on still stands tall as ever and the red tip seems to be aching at this point. Your laughter quickly dies down into a simple smile, staring up at the soft giant crawling over you.

Fingers tangle up in dark strands, nails scraping over scalp, and Winter cradles your body so gently you might just fall in love with him completely. He's strong and big and so rough around the edges the phrase doesn't even cut it, but this man is so soft with you. All the throwing around and carrying is still done with such care, with the exception of that first day. Then it was a little frightening but now you don't even want to walk on your own anymore. He can throw you over his shoulder anytime.

"Cute. Pretty bunny," Winter whispers, pressing his lips against your forehead just as softly as you did to him before. He's mimicking, reciprocating what you've shown him. "So pretty."

Your hands sneak around until they are resting on his back, splayed out across his scarred skin. With a tug, you push him towards you until the head of his cock nudges against your wet folds. A guttural groan escapes his lips, eyelids closing as he takes in the new, yet not, feeling.

You know he's done it before somehow, but it has to have been such a long time ago. He doesn't even remember seeing a pair of breasts—the feeling of being inside someone has probably escaped his mind entirely.

"So wet." His head hangs down, muscles in his arms bulging with restraint.

"Winter," you breathe out so quietly he probably can't hear you. "Please."

It's the soft permission that allows him to finally push inside. Your mouth falls open, limbs tensing tightly, as his cock stretches you out completely with a single stroke. It's a little too fast for your liking, but he doesn't know any better. And you haven't really told him what to do.

But the feeling of him. He fills you completely, stays so dangerously still while he grunts and huffs with the feeling of you wrapped around him.

"Oh," he says. "Mhm."

He still hasn't moved but his little sounds drive you crazy. You're still getting adjusted to him inside of you and you like this moment where the two of you are the closest you can be. But after what must be at least a minute of relative stillness, you want him to push inside again.

"Move...please?" he asks, sounding a little too choked for his own well-being.

"You can move now, honey," you tell him, lips just hovering over the corner of his mouth and finding it hard yourself to form coherent sounds through your small whimpers.

And the gentleness suddenly disappears with a good thrust into you that steals every last ounce of air out of your lungs.

"Soft," he murmurs into your ear. "So small. Mhm."

All you can do is moan and whine and whimper because holy fuck you never knew sex could feel this good. It's not so much about his technique or attentiveness as it is about the pure want. Each thrust signals a lack of constraint so wild he barely has any control of his sloppy movements.

The entirety of him is pressing you down into the floor, chests rubbing against each other. Winter soon seems to have some form epiphany about your breasts—his right hand cups one of them while pure adoration shines in his eyes, squeezing and massaging out of tune with his thrusts. Poor guy barely knows what he's doing but it doesn't matter to you. You're so deliriously euphoric underneath him, filled by his large cock and fondled by his mouth and hands.

"Love these," Winter whispers, eyes still locked on your breasts. An out of breath laugh escapes you in between the whimpers, palm traveling up to his cheek. "So pretty. Cute."

He's so beautiful like this, with beads of sweat running down his face and lips parted for heavy breaths. Not a lot of time passes before he starts to whine, and you're done as soon as that sound comes from his lips.

Your legs nearly shake as they cling onto Winter's waist, pulling him in closer subconsciously while your head is thrown back in ecstasy.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," you ramble on mindlessly while Winter's thrusts get sloppier and quicker with each second. He's grunting like a madman, rid of all sense of carefulness he possessed when you started.

"Bunny...feel—oh—so good."

His words are choked and breathless, as if he's forcing himself to tell you just how good you're making him feel. Sweet, sweet man. And according to him, entirely yours.

Winter stills above you, letting out the loudest and most wanton moan you have ever heard from a man as he comes inside of you. Your breath stutters, lips falling open while feeling his pulsing cock throb with each load.

The two of you stay there for several minutes, calming yourselves down from your heavy breathing with him still inside of you. His arms are cradling you tightly to him, somehow mindful of not crushing you under his weight despite everything. Despite him not knowing and still being so gentle.

When you finally open your eyes, it's with a ridiculously large, but tired smile. He's nuzzling into your sweaty neck, rubbing his nose against you.

"Liked very much. Mine now?" he asks suddenly.

A startled chuckle is forced out of you, fingers tangling themselves up in his hair, stroking and scratching gently over his scalp. God, can someone stop this man before you quit your job and stay here?

"Yours now," you whisper, pressing your lips against his head.

Winter hums in delight, squeezing you just a little tighter. He grows half-hard inside of you again, but you know you can't take another round of this tonight. You're sore like never before after taking his, to be frank, giant cock. Honestly, you're surprised you didn't make a big fuzz over it in the first place.

But he doesn't seem to have any more intentions of a second go. Instead, Winter stands up with you still in his arms to walk towards the bed while his free hand strokes the back of your head softly.

"Sleep. Little bunny so tired."

And you are. But as much as you would have liked to just fall asleep right now with his softening length inside of you, UTIs do not go well together with that kind of behavior.

"Any chance you might be able to carry me outside?" you ask him, finger trailing over his nose until it touches his upper lip. "It's been a whole day without you throwing me over your shoulder. That's too long."

Winter gives you a look that tells you he finds it funny and you find it even more fun that he gets humor. The progress he's made in just a few days is amazing.

When you go inside again, you're clinging on to his front instead with your legs wrapped around his waist, face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. How does a man who has probably not showered for ages smell good? Are you becoming delusional?

Winter halts his pace towards the bed for just a second, bending down slightly before laying himself down with you on top of him. Face to face, just like that first night. Maybe a little more tired this time and definitely happier. Also stark naked.

When you're preoccupied with tracing the scars on his chest, Winter brings forward the thing he picked up just a minute earlier to lay right in front of your line of sight.

"Made myself," he whispers proudly.

The knife lies there, the one you saw a few hours earlier. A bunny is ingrained on the handle.

"A present. For you."

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

You woke up to Winter running his tongue down your naked body, pressing kisses to your stomach while waiting for you to wake up. Or, he kind of woke you up by repeatedly poking your cheek while saying your name. You didn't mind all that much.

"More," he told you, looking up through his lashes with that innocent gaze of his. You had no plans of saying no from the beginning, but it would be impossible doing so with those eyes of his pleading.

Five times. That's how many times you came this morning. After the first round Winter realized he liked the feeling of your slick so much he wanted to taste it. Then he proceeded to ask if that's something people do—you told him that, yes, that is very much appreciated.

For an hour Winter was buried between your thighs, ferociously lapping up your wetness without as much as a pause for breath. It seemed to make him genuinely upset when you told him that you couldn't take anymore. A promise of more later was what it took for him to get rid of his pouting.

Now you're sitting on the couch, alone, feeling remorse for making him stop. Winter has been gone for about an hour now and you miss him unreasonably much.

The better part of the hour has been spent running your fingers over the knife he gave you yesterday. You hope you won't have to use it, but it feels like a crime to not carry it with you constantly now.

A present. Did Winter remember what you told him about why you give them? He cares about you, you know that already, but to give up something he started working on before you even met is so...loving. It's the sweetest thing someone has given you.

You're also begin to suspect that a cold has struck you down. Yesterday your nose started to become runny and now your temperature seems to have a hard time deciding where it should be. In this moment you're unreasonably warm, and the fire feels much more burning than it has done before. Goddamn sickness.

The fresh air is equally relieving and excruciating. Even though you're sweating profusely, goosebumps appear on your poor skin as you stand on the porch. Fevers suck.

At least it's not snowing as much anymore. It's more of a calm snowfall than a storm now. You wonder if that bear ever found their mom again. If it shows up again you will probably adopt it because you can't stand the thought of a bear cub wandering around all alone looking for their family.

It's not until you turn around, hand on the door handle and halfway through closing it behind you that you hear the rustle. And you almost think that it might be the bear again, or maybe Winter has come back, but when you hear your name being shouted desperately chills run through your spine.

"Y/n! Good god."

Steve is wading through the snow to his best ability, because even super soldiers have a hard time getting forward in this weather. And he's exhausted and devastated and so goddamn relieved, you see that clearly as you stand shocked in the doorway. He throws his shield to the ground, palm running over his face as he nears the stairs leading up to the porch.

You stumble inside as he throws his arms around you, bringing you tightly into his chest that is heaving out of exertion. It takes a few seconds to adjust to fact that he is here, and he found you.

Relaxing into his hold is an euphoric feeling. His suit-clad chest is cold against your cheek but you don't care. It's Steve, for god's sake. Steve who was spent the last five days searching for you in a snowstorm.

"I thought you were dead. God, sweetheart," he murmurs into your hair, lips pressing against your head. "Don't leave like that again, Y/n. Please don't."

Steve's familiar hold draws unusual tears from your eyes as you press your face further into his chest. He holds you so tightly, uncaring about his strength when he has you back. You're alive and he's damn sure of not leaving you out of his sight again.

With a step back, Steve forces himself to release the tight hug so he can get a good look on you. His eyes, that are almost as blue as Winter's, you realize now, rake over your figure with brows furrowed in concern and a hard stare.

"Your foot. It's hurt," he remarks, hands lingering on your shoulders while eyeing your perfectly normal looking feet. ”And you have a fever.”

"Wha—how did you know my foot was hurt?" you ask him, entirely baffled by his observation. Damn super soldier genes.

"Are you alright? Does it hurt?" Steve ignores your question. "Have you iced it?"

"Well, I don't exactly have an overflow of ice packs out here."

"There's 2 feet of snow right outside the door." He nods towards the window and the soft snowfall that has drastically calmed down from the storm that has plagued the last few days.

"Don't be a smartass," you mumble through an unconvincing attempt at repressing your amused smile.

"Brat," Steve whispers to himself while pulling you in for another hug, resting his chin on top of your head.

You don't even comment on that—having your safe place back with his arms around you makes you so deliriously relieved that you don't have it in you to talk back. It's actually infuriating how good you fit against him, almost like it shouldn't be this natural.

The warmth spreading from your chest sends spirals of anxiety and doubt into your already overfilled mind. You slept with Winter last night, and it was possibly the most wonderful you had ever felt. This same warmth that erupts each time you lay eyes on Steve now finds a way to come forward in Winter's presence too. But the love you have for the blonde super soldier hasn't resided because of your newfound feelings for the gruff Bigfoot. What does that even mean? That you're turning into some lesser version of Katherine "it's okay to love them both" Pierce?

“Are you okay, Steve?” you ask suddenly, moving your hands up to his cheeks. “How long have you—have you been looking for me this entire time? Five days? Oh, god, Steve. You can’t be out in a snowstorm for that long, you idiot!”

“Woah. I never said I was out that long. You’re drawing hasty conclusions.”

“You weren’t out all this time?”

“Well, yes, I was—“

“God, you absolute jerk. You could’ve died!”

“I wasn’t unprepared, Y/n. I had supplies with me an—“

Steve’s head suddenly snaps towards the door. Within a second the hold goes from relieved and exhausted to stiff, tense to the point where you immediately notice Steve's change in demeanor. His arms slowly slip away from encasing you entirely to his hands holding onto your upper arms tightly.

Going unknowing of Steve's abilities is not difficult, even while spending each and every day in his presence. He doesn't flaunt his advantages, instead reveals them in the subtlest ways—like now. You know that he hears better than a goddamn cat and can smell someone's cooking from a mile away, but sometimes when you're reminded it comes as a surprise.

Without even tearing his rigid gaze away from the door, his voice that was tender a few seconds ago turns stern.

"Y/n, get behind me."

Steve doesn't give you time to react before he shuffles you behind him, gently, covering your figure with the entirety of his. God, those shoulders really are broad. You never really understood what Tony was making fun of until now.

Your initial confusion quickly turns into slight dread as you realize exactly who will soon come in through the door. Opening your mouth to calm Steve's fighting mode down is futile—you're not quick enough.

The door is thrown open, smashing against the wall. Winter stands heaving, zeroed in on the threatening man standing a mere inch away from you. What feels like a minute is no longer than a few seconds of him assessing the situation, but you see so clearly that what he judges it to be is danger.

"Wint—"

Your words die in your throat as Steve is ripped away from you in a mere blink, thrown against the wall with a too strong metal arm before he can react. Before you can react. A punch is launched towards his face, just barely missing before the second hits his cheek.

The scream echoing through the cabin is yours, running up to the scene without even thinking. "Stop! Winter, stop!"

Hands pull at his shoulders, frantically trying to get his hand away from Steve's throat. You're already crying and Steve is bleeding.

All of a sudden, blinding pain shoots up your nose, launching you back with a stumble that sends you to the floor. That goddamn foot. Winter's elbow must've connected with your face while throwing another punch towards Steve.

With your hand covering your now bleeding nose and tears blurring your sight, sitting on the floor, you open your mouth once more.

Winter's name is called out in a pained whimper. Steve's too, because he's fighting back just as strongly. None of them know how little threat they are to each other in reality.

"Please stop! I know you both!" you sob.

Winter falters for just a second, allowing Steve to get the upper hand until he manages to grab Winter's arms, gathering them behind his back while turning around to face you.

It's as if the rivalry dissipates in a second as they catch sight of your bloody and tear-streaked face. Steve releases your newfound friend's arms, allowing the latter to slip away. He rushes up to you, hands lifting you up from the floor until you're standing in front of him.

"That's Steve. My friend, okay? He's my friend," you tell him through a sniffle, trying to rid yourself of the tears.

But Winter is barely listening. His eyes take over your face, frown so deeply etched in between his eyebrows it might just become permanent. The heavy breathing is unsual for your Bigfoot, but so is it for Steve.

"I did this? I hurt?" Winter breathes out, both hands traveling up to cup your cheeks.

"You didn't mean to—it's okay, Winter, really—"

"No," he growls. "Am sorry. Not okay, I hurt you."

"Y/n."

Steve speaks up, stealing your attention to look at him over Winter's shoulder. The poor super soldier is so lost and concerned, standing dumbfounded and still rigid a few feet away.

You wipe underneath your nose with the sleeve of your shirt, soaking the fabric with your blood and snot and tears.

"Who is this?" he asks you, stern and tense.

"I'm sorry, I should have told you when you came," you sniffle. "This is Winter. He took me in when I got lost and hurt myself. Or Winter is not his real name, we don't know what it is. He doesn't remember much."

Winter has turned around, covering you like Steve did only a few minutes prior. None of them has yet backed down entirely from their suspicion, still puffed up and glaring. But that glare quickly disappears from Steve's face as soon as he looks Winter in the eyes.

Fear, contempt and hesitancy turns into shock. A sadness so deeply etched into his very being that instant tears spring to his eyes. All you can do is be confused in the turnaround of expression in your best friend.

"Bucky?"

An immediate flinch runs through your limbs when you hear Steve's small voice—as if he's back into the weak body he possessed all those decades ago.

Bucky. Bucky is dead, has been so for a long, long time. You know how much Steve misses him, but the mention of his name in this moment makes no sense.

And Winter seems to agree. His left arm reaches behind him, grabbing your upper arm until you're pressed tightly against him. If it's for your comfort or his, you're not sure.

But when you look up at Steve, and see the grief emitting from his entire body, you know somehow that the person you've been calling Winter for five days is in fact the person who has been lost for a near century.

Bucky Barnes—alive and well, clinging onto you for dear life. Shit.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Steve and Bucky have been talking for thirty minutes. Or, Steve has done most of the talking despite feeling like he should just cry for five years first. His best friend, the one who was more family at one point than his real one ever was, is alive after being presumed dead since the 40's.

And Steve didn't do a goddamn thing. He did not search for him when he fell off that damn train, did not search for as much as a blood fleck. He's just been grieving for a near century instead, feeling sorry for himself when his brother was tortured and brainwashed for decades.

Bucky is nowhere near the man he was before. He doesn't exactly remember Steve, despite feeling like there is some familiarity there. Steve would like to think there is, at least. And the man has spent so much time deprived of his own language that he can barely speak it anymore. The lame jokes Steve tries to tell him go right over Bucky's head.

Mostly he has been suspicious regarding Steve's relationship to you. That's practically all he's been doing—asking about you. It prides Steve that you've been talking about him, but it hurts even more that Bucky is completely infatuated with the woman he loves.

"So...uh, what have you been doing these past days?" Steve finally asks, twisting his fingers back and forth.

"Have been telling things. Like about Y/n and Christmas and, uh, movies. Also eat and sleep much because Y/n is so small."

Steve can't help but laugh. Of course Bucky thinks you're bordering on unhealthy when he's a giant now. He's always viewed Bucky as this big and strong man he could never live up to, but even now when Steve is big himself, Bucky seems massive.

"Meet bear other day. Small but was so scared when saw Y/n outside with bear over her. Thought she was dead."

"A bear?" Steve asks, tensing up instantly.

"Yes. Small child bear. Just wanted to play. Y/n say it was kind."

All Steve can do is shake his head. Sounds like you but also not. You'd be reckless enough to play with a bear, but should have been scared mindless by it too.

"Do you remember me at all?" he asks after the comfortable silence allows him to think too much.

"Remember small man. Also light hair like you and blue eyes but very small."

A loud crash sounds from inside, hindering Steve from asking anything further because now the concern takes over entirely and both of them rise from where they sit on the stairs.

Another time, then.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Thirty minutes of incessant tapping with your foot against the floor. You're starting to  become annoyed with yourself. An old rag filled with snow is pressed against your nose that hurts like a son of a bitch. At least it's not broken.

Steve and Bucky are talking outside, you think. You can't hear sounds from two miles, or through a thick door, unlike the two men. It's driving you crazy.

1945. That's when they last saw each other, and your imagination has been digging itself deeper and darker with each minute. What if Winter was tortured and held captive for all this time? What if he'll never remember again and Steve is left heartbroken? What if they're both just sitting in awkward silence or have beaten each other half to death?

James. Bucky. That his name is not Winter is hard to process and you will have a tough time calling himself something else than the nickname you've given him. This person that you've become so infatuated with is also the same person Steve grew up with. Winter is just as much his as he's yours.

When the waiting turns torturous and you haven't heard so much as a sound from them in a long time, you can't bear to sit in silence any longer. You stand up from the chair too quickly—it shoots back and falls over against the floor, earning a few chosen curse words from your mouth. Those bastards out there probably heard it.

You almost get the door thrown in your face when you've walk up to it. They absolutely heard you.

"Are you okay? What happened?" Steve asks.

"I just pushed off the chair too hard. It fell over," you answer while letting them inside.

Steve instantly takes your arm over his, taking on your weight as you walk. Why does he have to be such a gentleman all the time? Hate him. Perfect bastard. Winter, or Bucky, is more chivalrous than the average man but in more...brutal ways. You would never find Steve throwing you over his shoulder. You kind of like the contrast.

You glance over your shoulder to see Winter's reaction to Steve having his hands on you. It's not horrible—he's staring at the point of contact but it doesn't look like he will attack him any soon. Progress, maybe?

By the fireplace is where you let go of him, bending down to throw more logs to fuel the fire. Even Steve can feel how cold it is, and that makes him worry for how it feels for you.

He and Bucky stand with a good distance between them, waiting for you to sit down. But you don’t.

“Are you hungry? Have you eaten anything?” you ask instead, pointing toward the pot hanging over the fireplace.

“I’m fine. I was well prepared,” Steve answers.

“Oh. Uh—water?”

“Sure,” he says, because you look like you’re desperate for something to do other than stand in this tense silence.

The pot is hung on a hook too far up for you to reach, and it’s obvious as you stand on your tiptoes while stretching your arm as far as it goes. That’s Steve’s sweet girl as he knows you.

Soon enough you have a 6’6” man crowding up behind you, taking down the pot for you without even trying. Damn Winter. He is a gentleman.

“Here,” he tells you, patting you on the head like he did a few times when you first met.

Fighting the smile desperate to break through is futile. It’s just too sweet to not react. Steve probably thinks it’s condescending or something, but you know that’s not his intention.

“Thank you, honey,” you whisper, fighting the urge to kiss him. God, his lips are right there. “Steve, could you just go outside and get some snow real quick?” You reach the pot over towards him.

With a nod and attempt of a smile, he turns around and goes outside for barely a minute. When he gets back, Winter has his nose pressed against your neck and arms wrapped around your waist. A sweet giggle sounds from your lips, filling the house with more warmth than fire ever could.

The sound of his footsteps snaps you out of the short lived trance, pushing away gently from Bucky’s hold while accepting the pot back with a soft ‘thank you’.

Steve sees the strain in Bucky's pants, how his cock grows with each second as he stares at the outline of your nipples through your shirt. Steve's shirt. There’s no subtlety in his attraction in the least, and no thought to other people being present in the room either.

Bucky's hand reaches out for you hesitantly, but is quickly swatted away by yours.

"Not now, Winter," you whisper as quietly as possible, wishing desperately that Steve has temporary hearing issues.

"Later? Sex again?"

The words come crashing down over the room, halting your breathing just as heavily as if someone had their hand around your throat. And you know he doesn't understand why what he just said is devastating and excruciating and deadly. But god, you could cry right now.

Your head instantly snaps up until you catch sight of the wide-eyed Steve Rogers who's clenching his jaw ridiculously tightly. His lips part in quiet shock, eyes flickering everywhere in the room but at you and Winter.

"You—you slept with him? You've had...sex?" Steve asks, ears suddenly burning red and his cheeks too and god, why is the picture of you and Bucky together not heartbreaking? Why is all of his blood suddenly moving away from his head to his cock when he should be burning with jealousy?

But you don't notice. No, all you see is disappointment and disgust. Steve probably hates you and the feeling is so debilitating that you'd do anything to fix it. The sudden desperation bubbles up so quickly that you can't control what comes out of your mouth next.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." You bury your face in your hands for just a moment. "I'm just...I don't know what to do anymore."

A pause. A gulp. Are you doing this? Are you finally confessing after ten years? You don’t know what to say because you love him but you also just slept with his best friend but the both of you thought he was dead and you didn’t know that it was Bucky out of all people. How could you ever have known when you haven’t even seen so much as a photograph of the man? Or, you probably have in some history book but it was such a long time ago.

The tears spring to your eyes before you even give them permission to, desperately trying to blink them away. You’re not going to cry. You’re going to stand here and tell Steve the truth like an adult.

"I've spent the last decade being so goddamn in love with you, Steve, and I've never even had a chance. Now I think I might love someone I met five days ago. I don’t even know anymore, it’s all just...”

"Love?" Winter breathes out, but you're not even listening.

"And it's not even enough, is it? Of course it had to be your best friend who you thought were dead and has been gone for 80 fucking years. It’s not enough that I’ve spent a decade of my life in vain, only to finally find someone that likes me that—that’s Bucky Barnes. Your Bucky.”

Silence. Excruciating silence as you realize what you just confessed, as you wait for any kind of reaction. But you wouldn't even know what to say if someone else told you this.

"You're in love with me?" Steve asks, sounding like he had the breath knocked out of him. "All this time, you've..."

With his hands on his hips and gaze on anything but you, a minute passes by of his silence and your tears. Winter just stands there, entirely dumbfounded and that worries you too because that man hasn't spent a minute longer than an inch away since you came here.

It just becomes too much. Wiping away your tears with the palms of your hands, you walk away without a word towards the door.

"Leaving?" Winter asks, sounding much more upset than what he's displayed these past minutes.

You nod, back turned away from the two of them. You still feel their stares.

"Just for a while. I need to breathe."

The door closes gently behind you, and the cabin is left feeling empty despite the two people still standing. Winter starts heading towards the door as well, but is stopped by a hand to his arm.

"Don't. Let her be alone for a few minutes, okay?" Steve says, even though he doesn't want to leave you be anymore than his friend.

The feeling of hard metal where soft flesh should be underneath his hand is heartbreaking. Steve tries not to show it. Bucky has been through enough and someone sulking out of guilt is not what he needs. It's not about Steve and he needs to stop feeling sorry for himself.

In reality, he should push away the sorrow and allow himself to feel happy. Because you just said you loved him. You love him. And yes, you just confessed your feelings for the punk beside him as well. But it doesn't matter that much, he finds. It should, because Steve has always been traditional but it when it comes to his best friend he usually finds himself breaking the rules.

Whatever happened between waking up in New York 2012 and now standing a completely changed man in a cabin, discussing with himself wether or not he could ever share a person with someone else? He knows the answer is you—this goddamn woman who has taken up every single waken thought for a decade.

But he doesn’t really know if you want to be with him. That’s not always the case, he’s learnt. He loves Peggy, but he would not want to go back even if he could. That is not the person he is anymore, and that’s damn sure when he’s considering a—what do you call it again?

“Y/n okay?” Bucky asks him after a while. He’s standing in line with the window, watching you were you sit on the porch.

You don’t have a jacket or shoes on, which is very typical of you. Stubborn. Steve always have to tell you to put more clothes on.

“I think she just needs to think. I didn’t—my reaction wasn’t very great. I should have told her how I felt instead of keeping silent,” Steve answers.

“Love her too? Back?”

“Yes. Of course I love her back. More than anything. You know her—it’s hard not to.”

“Winter loves her too. So much,” Bucky says, eyes never straying from your figure. “But still mine?”

“That’s for her to decide. And you can’t own a person, Bucky.”

“No?”

“No. All you can hope for is that she chooses to love you, chooses to show up everyday. But you can't say that she has to be with you. It's not fair and not right. You can just hope that it'll turn out that way."

Bucky is quiet. Steve doesn't really know if he understood.

"Then want that," he says after a minute of silence. "Want Y/n happy all the time.”

Steve gulps. And it’s not because he’s upset—he feels calm. Like if Bucky feels it too, maybe he’s not so far from the right thing.

“Winter, huh? That’s what she calls you?”

“Yes. Nickname. Like bunny.”

Bunny. Steve have always stuck to the classics—sweetheart, honey, darling. But it fits you. Might not be the thing he would come up with initially, but it feels natural.

“So cute and pretty. Like bunny we saw.”

A particularly loud sob sounds through the door, drawing the attention away from their conversation to your figure. You’ve sat down on the porch stairs, head buried in your arms.

“C’mon,” Steve mumbles, nodding towards the door.

You hear the door being opened, two sets of footsteps walking on the creaky, old wooden floor. You don’t want them to see you like this—all weepy and broken and sad. Rejected.

But god, when a warm jacket is placed over your shoulders you cry even more. Strong arms lift you from your seat, sitting down again before placing you in their lap. Your head falls back against their chest—Winter.

Steve crouches down in front of you with that stoic but solemn expression he so often wears. You never know what he’s thinking in these moments and it bothers you. But it feels okay to some point when he takes your cold fingers in his hands, rubbing them warm again.

Despite the affectionate gesture you can’t bear to look at him. Instead you bury your face into Winter’s shoulder, inhaling his scent. It actually, somehow, calms you down. The sobs soon turn down into sniffles and your breathing goes back to relatively normal.

“Y/n,” Steve says gently, as if he’s afraid the mere sound of his voice would upset you. It never could. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to act like such a jerk. I was just shocked.”

His fingers run over the back of your hand, tracing invisible patterns over your skin that leave shivers in their wake. Winter has his face buried in your hair, nuzzling shamelessly. He’s in his own world right now, and you suspect he’s not listening to a word being said.

“Sweetheart, you just told me you loved me. That you love this old punk after knowing me for a near decade is…it’s the most wonderful news I could have ever gotten.” Steve has brought your hands up to rest against his chin, lips aching to touch your skin. “I didn’t know I was allowed to feel this way any longer and you just made me the happiest man in the goddamn world.”

The reveal of your face once more is torturously slow. He wants to see the entirety of you, regardless of the tears and snot and what not.

“Of course I love you, Y/n. I’ve loved you for the better part of 8 years. And I wish we had gotten over ourselves a bit earlier so I could’ve had you all this time instead of pining after you like a damn punk.”

A loud sniffle sounds through the space between you. Your hand is gripping Winter’s tightly enough to bruise a normal person while blinking furiously. Have you gone mad? Do you miss Steve so much that you’ve conjured up this fantasy of him in some weird fever dream?

“You do?” you ask weakly.

“I do, sweet girl. More than anything.”

“Me too,” Winter chimes in from where his face is pressed against your skin. His voice is muffled and sounds on the verge of humorous considering everything. “Love bunny so much. Want to be with you all time.”

A laughing sob escapes you, shaking you where sit perched in his lap. All you can do is bury your face in your hands again, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes.

“No cry. Happy, okay?” Winter says.

“I’m not sad, honey. I’m happy. Happier than ever.”

•  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  •  • •

TAGLIST: @enchantedbarnes @imyourbratzdoll @cjand10

Part IV

[ducktoonsfanart]

Orthodox icon - Portrait of the resurrected Jesus Christ Pantocrator - My version - Happy Orthodox Easter! - Bible (Religion)

"I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in Me, though he die, yet shall he live" (John 11:25)

"I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me." (John 14:6)

"Look, I am coming soon! My reward is with Me, and I will give to each person according to what they have done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End." (Relevation 22:12, 22:13)

This is how Jesus Christ the Savior and Redeemer spoke, according to Christians the Son of God, and this is how Jesus will speak at the end of time and He has existed forever. Yes, because for Christians Jesus is God, it is written with a capital letter.

Yes, I admit that I'm not a believer and I'm a sinner, but I always try as hard as I can to correct my mistakes and follow God's way, and that's my right to believe because I believe in salvation through Jesus Christ.

Certainly to all who are Orthodox (especially those who celebrate according to the Julian calendar and who celebrate after the Jewish Passover) who live in Palestine, Syria, Egypt, Armenia, Greece, Serbia, Cyprus, Russia, Belarus, Bulgaria, Romania, Georgia, Ukraine, Montenegro, North Macedonia and to all Orthodox people living around the world, I wish you a happy Easter! Christ is risen! Христос васкресе!

If someone asks me, yes, it is celebrated differently among the Orthodox and differently among the Catholics and Protestants, so it turned out to be a completely different Easter this year. Don't worry, there will be a joint Easter next year. So Orthodox Easter fell on this day. The day he was crucified and died, resurrected and defeated death and the devil and proved that there is eternal life for all of us who believe. Glory to Jesus Christ who died for all of us sinners and rose again for all of us to save us!

And on this occasion, I drew a portrait of Jesus Christ as my redraw of Christ Pantocrator, which was first recorded and left in the monastery of St. Catherine in Sinai in the 6th century AD, 500 years after Christ's resurrection. I also combined colors like the icon (Christ Pantocrator) from this site: https://milanmosaicart.com/christ-pantocrator-mosaic/

Drawing Orthodox icons is not at all easy and requires a lot of effort, of course there is rarely traditional drawing of icons and painting with wood colors, so I wanted to experience how it goes and this is how it turned out. Of course, I apologize for certain details, especially the lips, it's my first time doing it. Yes, Jesus is the Pantocrator, which means the ruler of all visible and invisible because Jesus comes from God the Father and holds the Book of Life in which all the data of all of us who live on Earth are collected, and around Jesus, unlike other icons, I drew the Sun and the Moon and the stars because Jesus rules over all and they obey Him and Jesus Himself brings the light of life. Yes, around Him is a solar halo that is marked for Jesus and for all the angels and saints who follow God's way and here you can see the initials with the Greek letters Ο Ω Ν, i.e. ὁ ὤν, which means "He Who Is". And above are the initials in Greek which means Jesus Christ (��ΗΣΟΥΣ ΧΡΙΣΤΟΣ). Of course if I'm wrong somewhere, please correct me on some things. I certainly wanted to thank God for everything He has helped me so far and for what He will help me in the future. However, a bit of religious content is not out of place.

And yes, we don't know exactly what Jesus really looked like and yes, it can be presented as idolatry, however this is not idolatry, but icons that show what Jesus Christ would look like in His miraculous glory and what is shown from Sinai is one of the closest we can to imagine and certainly the beginning of iconography. Glory to Jesus Christ!

Also this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=icjexnL6rI4 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HxN_wrMo0Y0

Happy to all who celebrate Easter today and Christ is risen! If you like it feel free to like and reblog this! And if there are things that need to be said, feel free to tell me here.

"Lord Jesus Christ Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner."

[eye-lantern]

Do you think BOE names are foreshadowing?

Commander Wake, last name "oops there goes gravity", died falling from space.

Oh yes.

I never thought about this one specifically (her other names are great but I'll Comme back to them later), but I believe that the names always have at least a bit of a link to the true nature of the character or their role in the story.

I don't think anyone in the tlt universe is able to understand it, except maybe John, as he does name people with the knowledge of what those names meant before he nuked everything. Like a twisted inside joke or a wish that it would "take". Kinda like some parents chose a name for it's associated virtues.

But on the other side, BoE has done kind of the same. They don't live forever and meaning will get lost over a myriad, so they tried to preserve their culture by giving names with meaning, but a lot of it is lost to them (I think they still have some context because a lot of those are way too close to their original meaning even if they don't seem to make any sense at first. They are the only one appart from God to use names like he does.

About Wake, I don't think anyone in BoE ever pronounced Wake's last names like in the song but there is no way Jod did not take psychic damage the first time he heard it. Because it is a stupid reminder of what he destroyed, and then erased from everyone he resurrected.

Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead:

From Shakespeare's Henry V, meaning "remind yourself of the great deeds of your ancestors". It speaks to Wake's strength and unification of BoE, she is the incarnation of the survivors or Jod's carnage, and of the rebellion's myriad of history.

But to me it also is a call for Gideon. The original sentence is meant to convince Henry V that he should raise an army to take back what is rightfully his, the throne of France. Gideon's heritage is the throne of god, and the command of BoE. We could say she took the first as prince Kiriona Gaia but she didn't do it by Valliance. To do that she would have to kill Jod.

"Awake", is also in a very simple way what she does, she has tried to wake Alecto, she "woke up" Pyrrah by giving her a reason to take control of Gide1n more frequently, she took control as soon as she was woken up as a ghost and became a revenant, and when her daughter's sword entered the mithraeum she regularly woke up as a dead lyctor. And she is of course the Sleeper, who won't stay sleeping. Like, almost on the nose there.

Kia Hua Ko Te Pai (let goodness flourish):

That one is a slap in Jod's face. He is at least mixed Maori/indigenous. This is a part of the Maori version of the New Zealand national anthem. New Zealand's beginnings were bloody and monstrously racist. Having the Maori version of God save New Zealand become an official anthem was the recognition of decades of fighting done by Maori activists for their rights, against the imperialism of the state. Jod's pretty recent ancestors have known that fight. And now he is that oppressing, cruel and inhuman empire. And Wake is throwing this reminder in his face.

If those choices are conscious from BoE then the choice of this precise verse could be used to ground Wake, ala "don't forget why you are doing this".

Snap back to reality, oops, there goes gravity

For BoE necromancy is a crime against nature, an unwelcome alteration of reality itself. And Jod is the incarnation of that. Killing him would make the world "snap back". It would also "kill" the sun again, creating a giant gravity well, absorbing everything in the system, or just disseapear, flinging the system all across the galaxy. Either way, gravity's gonna have quite an effect.

As the phrase comes from "loose yourself" by Eminem, it could also be taken as a reminder of the daunting task ahead and a way for Wake to steel herself and "take her shot".

And she, as you said, died falling out an airlock at the edge of space.

Our lady of the Passion:

This one may be one of the most fascinating. Sure she is passionate and all but, Pash is named after a painting, on of a madone and child. The lady in question is mourning the future suffering of her child, his Passion.

I think BoE names are codenames, given when entering service by a superior. Because Pash would not chose that name. But someone we know would choose a powerful sounding name while also being a sorrowful reminder of the pain this child entering a fighting force will face, Wake.

And suffer she did.

All of those are both a good fit if chosen in universe, but also include prophecies or dramatic irony. Seeing that House names carry that dramatic irony/prophecy too (Corona was almost called Cainabeth), I believe it is a intrinsic property of the locked tomb universe.

[mlobsters]

supernatural s11e23 alpha and omega (w. andrew dabb)

so i've often complained about how dean and cas's relationship is talked about a lot more than seen onscreen (we're best friends! ok when?) but this part of this season has been a lot more of dean showing how cas is high priority to him. it feels a little out of nowhere to me i guess, because i never got whatever vibes they were trying to establish (i didn't come into the show with any sort of bias other than i knew destiel was The Thing and got blindsided by wincest feelings out the wazoo). anyway, i just try to accept that the show is gonna try to sell me on dean and cas being close, and try not to bitch (too much) about not getting it. clearly failed that brief today

oh, i thought lucifer bailed because he thought amara was gonna off him via cas, apparently it was amara who yoinked him out

LOL chuck clinging onto sam is really cracking me up. he looks so small and sam looks like he doesn't even notice there's a person hanging off him

CROWLEY Well... that was a complete and utter dog's breakfast, wasn't it? CAS I didn't know dogs had breakfast. DEAN Cas is back.

i was 🤔 because since i (clearly) watch gbbo i know the phrase is dog's dinner lol. if a dog eats in the morning, is that not a breakfast, cas?? haha and dean's response to sam like obviously cas is back, based on the doofy comment (and voice, amirite)

based on their reactions and the dramatic music i was expecting something a little more exciting than an especially pretty sunrise

oh, the sun is dying. that is very dramatic. i don't know that would be the conclusion most people would make from that view

oh no, is this british men of letters? 😴 you know MoL storylines are my favorite. and a new batch of them

really. because we don't have enough characters. i hate the music, i already hate the premise and it's only been literally a minute

CHUCK Sam. I get it. Even if we could lock Amara away, it wouldn't do any good now. I'm dying. And when I'm gone, a cosmic balance between light and dark—it's over.

beating the dead horse of "what about the other deities" and here's the problem right. you know (they probably know) they'd make a fucking mess if they tried to address it. but they did address other religions and deities in the past several times! oh what is God just the most important god or somethin :p i know it's a no-win situation, but it still irks me on the regular

CAS I was just... so stupid. DEAN No, no, no. It wasn't stupid. You were right. You were right to let Lucifer ride shotgun. Me and Sam wouldn't have done that.

all right. bend the story around so it wasn't a fuckup

DEAN You know, sometimes me and Sam have got so much going on that...we forget about everyone else. CAS Well, you do live exciting lives. DEAN Yeah, that's one word for it. But you're always there, you know? You're the best friend we've ever had. You're our brother, Cas. I want you to know that.

and i'd offer that he's the best friend they've ever had because he's been semi-indestructible and resurrected all the times he has died when their friends pretty much never get that kind of service.

i try to really be fairly neutral when watching and writing these up, i obviously have some bias towards sam and dean as a unit because the show sold me hard on it from the get-go. but i think the lack of relationship established to me, and the very large presence cas and destiel has within fandom and even just the outsider perception of spn based on that large fandom presence - well. stuff like this, i just don't like it. it doesn't feel true to me and it kinda sorta pisses me off. and it pisses me off that part of my feelings about the character are based on some dumb kneejerk reaction to the fandom stuff. and it's perplexing.

the previous show i was into was teen wolf. stiles/derek is obviously the prevailing ship there - and there's almost nothing in canon between them. really working with crumbs. the ship that is much smaller but i can totally vibe with is scott/stiles. but i happily read all sorts of sterek fic too and it never bothered me like this does. so i'm reminding myself that it's not that it's a ship i think is more fanon based than canon that is the problem. or even that it's the popular ship. i think it's an amalgamation of the weird mismatch for me in the show, the fanon-sold-as-canon meta i see sometimes (which i avoid meta in general now) and (honestly) the virulent hate directed towards wincest shippers that i'd stumble into when just browsing the spn tag. anyway. (maybe if i keep explaining, someone will understand!!)

she really does look beaten down

SAM So, we don't really have a choice. I mean, look. Y-You've got darkness and light. You take one side away and— CAS It upsets the scales—the whole balance of the universe. SAM Exactly. But you take both away, and now both sides of the scale are empty, so...

*raising my hand to ask about when they killed those other deities*

CAS Well, what about souls? They fuel your demon deals. Souls are living batteries. They're full of energy. They're full of light. Each one is as powerful as...100 suns?

okay so would this process destroy the souls? i mean better than being tortured in hell, but the ones that are ghosts.. surely they're not all destined for hell after they get taken care of? guess it's a moot point of the earth/universe gets wiped out. ends justify the means etc

well that was cute

got their shiny rock stuff full of people and billie lurking around, of course, why not. we don't have enough people involved in this. man i'm crotchety this evening. ah right, because billie has access to a lot of souls? having flashbacks to whatever fucking season that led to the leviathans lol. marcia, marcia, marcia!

is amara having a crisis of conscience or something

AMARA So you hate him. WOMAN Well, a little bit. Sometimes. But you know family. Even when you hate them, you still love them.

eyes about rolled back into my head. so all the things we said about amara, scratch that

i do like the little flirting between crowley and billie though, that was cute

ROWENA You won't carry the bomb. You'll be the bomb.

oh for fuck's sake. and they're busting out the mushy music, not surprisingly. i refuse to get upset over this because i'm sure it's also going to be walked back very shortly. like hey amara doesn't want to kill everyone anymore because she was sad about some flowers she killed and realized the importance of family from a conversation with a rando in the park

dean's gonna (not) die-die and get thrown in the empty and he hasn't even talked to sam about it. power through. (the part of me that empathizes too much with sam had the brief moment of despair, "dean's going to leave him again! forever")

oh, come on. pulling the dead parent card? this is the kind of thing that edges into emotional manipulation for me. there better some really good fucking hugs in this episode in payment for this bullshit.

no no NO funeral planning. i actually had that conversation with my dad with terminal cancer when i was 16 and no. (he didn't want the wake to be sad but i mean. fucked if i can remember what it was like) not when it's all gonna get taken care of miraculously some other way. do not push these buttons for some shit that got cooked up halfway into the episode. i said i wasn't going to get upset and clearly that was a failure.

so do we find out chuck was lying about something. is the british mol thing just like, introducing a new plotline for next season.

look at that, amara and chuck are all peachy now.

AMARA Dean, you gave me what I needed most. I want to do the same for you.

...they couldn't zap dean back home before they left?

TONI We've been watching you, Sam. What you've done, the damage you've caused—archangels, Leviathans, the Darkness, and now, well— the old men have decided enough's enough. I mean, let's face it, Sam. You're just a jumped-up hunter playing with things you don't understand and doing more harm than good.

great. couldn't go to the good old nugget of the police or fbi being after them, gotta step it up to some supernatural police

so what dean needs most is his mom. ok, sure

[rollercoasterwords]

hello! i am in desperate need for ao3 fics so i've decided to ask u for some recommendations. preferably wolfstar or jegulus (or both) but i would also be interested in a drarry fic if u have any recs of that.

these r some of the ones ive already read:

literally all of ur hp works

choices

kill your darlings

atyd

art heist baby!

drugs and surgical scrubs

thank you <3

lol sure i will do my best but keep in mind that this is not a fic rec blog bc i. do not read enough fic to like...provide a wide selection. this year especially i have not been reading v much fanfiction so most of my recs will probably be repeats of the fics that i always suggest when people ask me for recs lmao

(side note u can also look thru the #fic recs tag on my blog + my bookmarks on ao3!)

anyway. u will have 2 excuse the repetition but here is a list of some of my faves:

all the lonely people by superloonyluna @superloonyluna (wolfstar)

last of the summer sun by superloonyluna @superloonyluna (wolfstar, jily, dorlene, regulus/emmeline) [this one is a wip but it is. one of my absolute favorite stories <3]

the son and heir of nothing in particular by aeridi0nis @steelycunt (wolfstar)

the way we look like animals by dykesiriusblack @dykefever (j/r/s)

bury a friend by theinvisiblemuseum @theinvisiblemuseum (wolfstar, jegulus, pandalily, dorlene, emmary)

kept in cages by sweet_s0rr0w @sweet-s0rr0w (drarry)

notes on a resurrection by newleaves (drarry)

of memories and milk thievery by moonymoment @mayescapade (wolfstar)

astra inclinant by eleventy7 (scorpius malfoy/james sirius potter...i know this isn't one of the ships u asked for but just. trust me)

soup-pocalypse and the great curry cataclysm by squadofcats (drarry)

dear your holiness by mollymarymarie @mollymarymarie (wolfstar)

that's the art of getting by by sarewolf @sarewolf (wolfstar)

beneath a big blue sky by eyra @eyra (wolfstar)

[bastardpacs]

A Theory on Malakai Black V Colors, focusing on Gold

This has been cooking in my head since last years Double or Nothing lol but I started feeling a little silly over my previous theory posts lol But I finally shook it off, and I am sadly and unfortunately back to bug you all with these 💗

I'm always terrible at starting any writing lmaoo so I'm going to try and start with focusing on the heavy use of red recently since the House's return, a color that was once used sparingly as both a beacon and warning. To run back to several allusions made by Malakai of a burning house, now paired with his most recent jacket, which bears either the image of a flame-enshrouded Kali - a deity of violent change - or Manasa Devi - a snake goddess, known for her protection against poisons - and the words written with it:

thehannahhorror: ‘The House had to burn / To be built in ash / Tongue of Black / Free the dark within… / Sweet hands of Death, / Bury this agony, / Suffer his enemies / To these licking flames. / May their lies spill out / Of open wounds, / Like the serpent’s speech hereafter. / The House must endure / This, the raging storm / Create chaos, consume / Their jeering laughter.’ - The Black Tongue, 2022

Fire has traditionally been seen as both an exacting punishment and thing of purification. These new allusions and the imagery of a burning House go hand-in-hand with the presence of Kali, who is commonly depicted dancing in fires, fire which, used in her presence, is meant to represent the idea and concept of change through destruction. A resurrection from ashes.

It's almost as if we see The House itself finding its own change in these fires, presented visually through this burning, red entrance.

But focusing just on gold, this all goes back to Double of Nothing of 2022...

This was the heaviest use of gold we had seen, now seemingly inhabiting the House's entire being, seeping from the eyes, the mouths... The only other use of gold we had seen until that moment was in Malakai's gear, but in that moment, it had become something else entirely.

I am going to try and divide my thoughts into two paths: one of gold, and the other the color yellow.

Gold has always carried the status of stateliness and royalty. Of kinghood, godhood, divinity, and immortality. Of greed and avarice.

We see it's undeniable connection to the color yellow: a metal associated with the sun, and by extension, intrinsically tying gold to the sun itself. And with the gold dripping from their mouths, it brings an interesting visual connection to the imagery of the sun-consuming demon, a concept that has commonly been tied to the apocalypse, from ancient Egypt to the Norse, where the devouring of the sun and moon was the herald of the end times.

Continuing to touch on the idea of gold/yellow as a color in the idea of it's symbolism, especially in tarot, we find a neat connection to the other colors he has used in his gear and entrances. Within tarot imagery, red that of the conscious intellect, the physical, blue was seen as the intellect of the subconscious, and finally yellow, gold, that of the superconscious, and through that, it's connection to the highest planes of our existence. A connection to divinity.

What's interesting now that I'm actually thinking about it and writing it down as I go is that, Malakai used colors as a way to 'count down' to Brody's debut; those colors were, in order, yellow, blue, red. With the idea of tarot symbolism in mind for these colors, it almost feels like it was a herald, a calling, of the descent of something spiritual to something physically manifesting on earth... So yeah, I'll definitely have to think about that...

But the greatest thing I couldn't shake was it's connection to ichor, the very blood itself of the immortal Greek gods.

While the color of ichor is never explicitly described in any sources, aside from the Argonautica that claimed it 'flowed like molten lead' and the Illiad where the gods 'may bleed, nectareous', it is both traditionally and poetically seen as gold in color, unquestionably due to the Greek's association with gold being a divine and immortal color.

But the thing that's really interesting about ichor itself is that while it was lifegiving to the gods, it was poisonous to humans...

malakaiblxck: The dark sun, poisoned by gold blood.

In the Greek concept of 'ichor' we again see the connection between two contrasting elements: immortality and death, life and poison. Poison that was once black spat from Malakai's mouth, now is gold and brings both immortal life to himself and a painful ending to his enemies.

We see that idea now, again, of a poison being the catalyst for change; perhaps this time a change to the House of Black. Continued motifs and ideas of godliness and ascension, both physical and that of the conscious. A completed circle. Or, at the very least, a completed cycle.

Now what I find really neat is the explicit image of a golden blood, a golden poison, that was not harmful to the bearer, but harmful to mortals - harmful to Malakai's enemies. Not a rotting thing within Malakai himself, as the black mist seemed to be. I feel like there are very interesting, warlike connotations to this, especially now considering the red entrance and potential allusions to the Red Horse of war. A figure who, wildly swinging a great sword, could be seen as a violent bringer of change, like Kali, like Malakai...

It was his newest mask though that I fell in love with and made my mind go crazy.

It's definitely difficult for me to see the exact coloring of the inlay in this mask, but to me personally with the current use of gold and vaguely gold-like coloring, it heavily reminded me of the art of kintsugi, a very beautiful Japanese practice of repairing broken pieces with a mixed gold. The philosophy behind it being that it brought a sort of respect and reverence to our past, our hardships that we faced, our flaws, and our experiences that create our being and brought us to where we are now. To not hide them, but to embrace them.

It's interesting that, after the burning, "death", and resurrection of the house, that Malakai would return with a fractured and now healed mask, a respect to the hardships that the House has faced, a reverence to carry those hardships that had faced in his own face.

If this is a reference to kintsugi, then it's fun to explore even further into Japanese imagery in relation to Malakai and what he has been presenting, especially again the idea of horned demons and gods, of things not entirely evil yet not quite good either.

But again, the potential use of kintsugi and ichor as a philosophical image really brings forth the image of a divinity and change... Of praise and beauty in the violence, but this time quiet, from within, within the very walls of the House, as opposed to a blessing on his enemies... And like the fires of the Tower card, burned and buried, dust to dust, and returned from the ashes.

I'm going to cut myself off now before I go off any any more tangents djdj so I'm just going to end this with a film quote that is always in my head; that I now play on loop in relation to Malakai and the House of Black.

I have existed from the morning of the world and I shall exist until the last star falls from the night. Although I have taken the form of Gaius Caligula, I am all men as I am no man and therefore I am a God. - Caligula, (1979)

[shiroi---kumo]

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ He can't believe what he's hearing as he watches his brother fall into stance. He can't believe what he's hearing as he listens to his sibling demand that he draw the Maken so they can settle this spat once and for all.

"THAT'S what you're mad about?! THE CROWN?!" The younger of the brothers bellows as his hands fly up to his forehead instead of his back. His sword is never drawn but instead a circlet of dark silver is pulled out from beneath snowy locks and tossed to the ground.

"Take the damn thing!! I don't care. We're all we have left, Usva and if me having the crown is going to separate us than with Tiamat as my witness I renounce the throne here and now. We have no kingdom to rule. It doesn't even matter which one of us has the throne. That crown is as worthless as my Oath was."

And the sun of this cosmic eclipse can only stand in awe as he watches the circlet fall to the dusty clouds below.

"You mean more to me than the crown ever did or ever will."

This isn't what he was expecting. This wasn't what he was told. That strange masked man with no name told him that this Lord Makenshi was a fierce warrior and a force to be reckoned with... but were they talking about the same man? The man before him is no warrior. The man before him is the same foolish little puff of a cloud that he's always been.

Except for the look in his eyes.

Pilvi's eyes were darker now. They weren't as vibrant as they once were. There was a darkness linger in the back of jade moons that spoke of tales he didn't know if he wanted to tomes to read. Something happened to him in all these years because his pikkuveli was lacking his light.

There had been a lot that the masked man didn't tell him .... or lied about and if he knew one person in the whole of the cosmos that wouldn't lie to him when it came to serious matters....

This was stupid.

He's been given the gift of a second life and he's going to squander that trying to get his brother to fight him when he clearly doesn't want to? He's going to throw it all away over something so long in the past? Pilvi renounced the throne without a second thought or hesitation. Did no one else really survive? Has Pilvi been living on his own this entire time?

"Tell me the truth, Valkoinen. Is there really no one else? Have you been alone all these years?"

And he watches as a small frame pulls in on itself and arms raise to cross over themselves as hands awkward grip at his upper arms. Jade eyes dropping down to stare at the space just before his feet letting snow fall like a veil before his eyes.

"Joo, Isoveli. There's no one else. It's just us."

[juiice]

The Locked Tomb Fic Recs (7)

Part 1+ Links 

Ok, I’m back with another fic rec, this time the theme is …

Nona The Ninth!

Mind the Tags like always.

We Need To Talk About Nona By peacockbutchboy    Rating:T

Five times Nona and Joli were having two completely different conversations at the same time, and one time all the cards are laid on the table.

So funny, and i love seeing more of Joli and the school.

The safe water By: the_ninth_house_glared Rating: NR 

They didn’t even know what set her off. Maybe it was the heat, or the cramped confines of the bathroom where they were waiting out nearby gunfire, or the fact that she had gotten one of her arms trapped underneath herself somehow, or a combination of all three.

Nona screamed, and the walls shook. A bit of loose plaster flaked down from the damp patch in the ceiling.

Cannon fill in, and very good.

the river remains By:Raxheim    Rating: G

After the flame, when the stranger with strange eyes comes to her, Nona screams.

Two Weeks Fresh By: apocalypticTaco    Rating:M

Pyrrha walks into the library in the morning, furious, and blocks Paul into the corner of two bookshelves with her arm. “You’re toying with me,” she accuses.

“Yes,” they say, and after a few seconds amend: “Just a little bit.”

Hee hee

post-canon cottagecore au 🌿 Series By:babiewomon  Rating:E

 V cute griddlehark with minor cameos by others. more of a post-cannon than during ntn.

Home and havoc By: the_ninth_house_glared Rating:G

"If Cam and I didn’t love you as much as we do,” said Palamedes, “we would take turns throttling you, then give all your magazines to charity.”

this one is brand new but i love it already.

What If Nona Was Dogs By:somarysueme  Rating:G

For personal reasons, the rock that had become ugly meat (that had– for just a brief moment– become a beautiful, beloved child) was now six dogs. This decision, while admittedly made under duress, had nonetheless paid out in dividends. As she lay in sun beams, as she rolled around with herself across the soft ground, she liked to count the reasons why this had turned out to be a terrific idea.

BEST FIC EVER. i would read 1mil word about nona being dogs, but we only have 6,000. And i love them. Also check out the fic somarysume was trying to right when they wrote this one, Gideon Nav and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Resurrection

till to love and live be one By: patiencespardon   Rating:T

a series of bucolic vignettes exploring a world in which everyone takes the opportunity to be just a little selfish.

or, the nona fix-it babyfic au absolutely nobody asked for. also, palamedes is alive in this one. sorry I don’t make the rules.

This one is very cute, and i love nona in this.