#vial shield

[mediraynyc]

Mediray History | Vial shield, Syringe shield, Nuclear medicine

Medi-RayTM produced specialized packaging, vial shields, syringe shields, shielded storage and waste containers and shielded, diagnostic radioisotope preparation kits.

Read more....https://mediray.com/history/

[randomnameless]

no headcannon about labrunta?

Labraunda?

Let's see...

In Nopes, a NPC says it was found in the Imperial palace, like some other Holy Weapons (other sacred weapons) so maybe after the WoH Macuil and Indech didn't recover them and left them to their human friends, or Adrestia seized them from whatever place they were left in...

And current Adrestia is the kind of entity who will "seize" useful weapons if they happen on them (thanks to a NPC).

Granted, for who Labraunda would have been made? Rhea already fights using a sword, and she has no rank in axes.

Wilhelm? Willy was a Holy Knight, and you can bet your ass off that if Labraunda was Willy's weapon, it would have been identified as such (maybe by Supreme Leader who MAGAs or even Rhea who would be royally pissed), but nope, the weapon associated to Willy in 3 Nopes is Seteth's a shield.

If Labraunda really is from the WoH, Rhea only gave her blood to Wilhelm, which was passed on to his descendants, and we know who was his son (or at least one of them?).

Was Labraunda Lycaon's weapon?

HC it was but

with the added twist that it's super weird that Labraunda is, in 3 Nopes, a very plain weapon without any additional effects like the other Sacred Weapons.

And so, because MH has been eating at my mind and to celebrate today's legendary hero in FEH, Labraunda isn't a regular axe, but some sort of switch axe/weapon like Eckesachs but if Zeph used its spear mode.

lycaon was very sad he couldn't transform like mom so his uncles made a weapon that would transform for him

Supreme Leader cannot unlock the "switch mode", just like other emperors before her -

Helga I, who succeeded Lycaon after his "illness" swore on his axe to continue his fight to bring prosperity and peace to Adrestia, and used it to behead her the co-conspirators who planned the previous Emperor's "illness".

The weapon's association to Lycaon was lost to time, and it just became a random "holy axe" stored in the vault of Adrestia's glorious past - in fact, when Supreme Leader used it in Nopes to sack the Monastery, Rhea didn't immediately recognise it because it wasn't as shiny and polished as it had been back then and moreover, it didn't switch. Then she was in denial when they clashed blades, because it really looks like Labraunda but it cannot be, okay the Hresvelg opposes her but she wouldn't dare to use her own son's weapon against her, would she?

(maybe this is the reason why she was so adamant to recover Willy's shield?).

When Rhea recovers Labraunda from Supreme Puppet, she feels bad because this was Lycaon's weapon, he would never have used it like it was used for during this war, and she will keep "him" with her, until the Goddess walks the land again.

Then, she activates the "switch mode" to see if it's broken - which make the BL weapon nerds happy and super curious because "wow what kind of weapon is this" and even Supreme Puppet watches in awe, this thing is seriously super cool!

[buryustogether]

songbird

the ghoul x f!reader

summary: you used to be a singer in your vault - that skill comes in handy when you least expect it, and least want to use it. but who are you to say no when cooper tells you to sing for him?

wc: 5.7k

warnings: swearing, talk of murder, blood, alcohol, gun violence, sexual tension, smut, fingering, p in v sex, biting, possessive sex, possessive cooper

You had to admit - if you and your companion didn't find shelter soon, one of you was going to drop and the other wouldn't hesitate to feast on what was left.

The deserts of the Wasteland were harsh - you had known that the moment you stepped out of your vault those months ago and you had been faced with nothing but a searing sun, sand that got stuck places it shouldn't have, and creatures and fellow people alike who would risk it all simply for a quick grab at the pack on your back. But it seemed like this past week, God or Satan or whoever the fuck was controlling this shitshow of a world was in a bad mood. The heat was unbearable, even at night when the chilly winds should have weaseled their way beneath your vault suit and cooled your burning skin. Creatures mutated by the long-settled radiation were feeling the anger of the wasteland, as well, charging without warning or provocation. To top off a less than perfect week, your water supply had run out yesterday, and unless the skies opened up and released a storm of rad-infested hail upon your head, you weren't sure you would find any more before you keeled over and kicked it.

Struggling to plant your feet stable in the mounds of sand beneath you as you made your way between the shells of buildings that had once stood tall and proud, you glanced over your shoulder at your companion. Cooper was better adapted for this kind of environment than you were, what with his hardened skin and the wide brim of his hat shielding his face, but even he looked worse for wear. When he picked up his head, seeming to feel your eyes on him, you quickly averted your gaze and set your attention back on moving one foot in front of the other.

"Fuck're you lookin' at?" he said, his voice raspy as he called out through the dry air.

"Nothing," you snipped back, refusing to give him the satisfaction of facing him again. "Just wondering if I'm going to have to carry you the rest of the way, asshole."

The heat was making you both snappy - you hated it.

Your first meeting with Cooper hadn't gone smoothly. Hell, your second or third hadn't, either. You weren't exactly sure when you had fallen into a more comfortable presence around one another, but it sure as shit hadn't happened overnight. You'd been only half a day fresh from your vault when you'd seen him scavenging madly over a mess of bodies he'd dropped where they stood, searching for a number of vials kept in their pockets that he let drip into his open mouth like a fountain of youth. When you had called out a friendly hello to him, he'd nearly shot your brains out. Cooper had taken in your shocked expression - as you'd clearly never seen a ghoul before - as well as the stark blue of your vault suit and the pack over your shoulders, then promptly told you to scoot your ass back around to wherever the hell you had come from. Of course, you hadn't. You'd followed him from a distance, watching as he'd picked his way across the dusty sands until he'd wrangled you with the lasso at his hip, told you to fuck right off, and left you tied to a number of old pipes in the basement of a nearly collapsed building.

A day later, you'd tracked his footprints in the sand to a little settlement, where you hadn't ducked away quick enough to avoid his gaze. He'd threatened to blow your brains out if he caught you following him again. He'd only half-delivered on that promise when, not ten hours later, he'd planted a fist-sized hole in the skull of a raider attempting to cut your throat for the Pip-Boy affixed to your wrist.

From then on, he'd simply chosen to ignore you as you followed behind him like a lost dog, intent on staying with the biggest, baddest wolf in the yard. After a week, he'd tossed you a part of his rations. A week after that, he'd - not too gently - invited you to sit at the campfire with him when he saw you shivering beneath your thin, vault-issued blanket a good few yards away.

Somewhere along the way you'd started to talk. Started to share - at least, you had. Cooper had simply tucked his hat over his eyes and pretended not to listen while you rattled about this and that until he physically couldn't take it anymore and told you to go the fuck to sleep.

These months later, having accompanied him all this time, you didn't hesitate to call him a friend. Maybe something more, if you let the ache between your legs when you looked at him speak for you, but you knew it was a fantasy and nothing more, so you decided to stick with 'friend.'

Back in the present, you swallowed and winced when your throat barked with a bout of pain in response. You didn't think you'd make it another mile, let alone five, which was how far Cooper claimed the nearest town was. Despite the months you'd spent adapting out here to the wastelands, you were still attempting to cope with the hardships that came with it. Vault life wasn't anything like this; there was always water to drink, beds to sleep in. Cool air to bask in when it got just the slightest bit too hot. Of course, you didn't voice these complains to your companion. If you did, you had no doubt he'd tell you to shut the fuck up and deal with it.

Just as you were about to ask if you could take a short break and get away from the harsh sun beating on your back like repeated blows from a red-hot hammer, a gloved hand wrapped around your arm and held you in place. You jerked to a stop, nearly falling back on your ass as Cooper held you where you stood. You prepared a strongly-worded question as to just what he was doing before you followed his gaze downward, to where a small handful of pairs of footprints traveled perpendicular to yours. Together, you tilted your heads to the left where the foreign prints were headed, and it was there you found a small slope leading downward into what may have once been a shopping mall. From where you stood, you were able to see that the glass dome around the center of the mall had been shattered, letting out the gentle sound of music and human hollers.

You exchanged a look with Cooper, each of you sunken from the iron-fisted heat weighing you down, then slid down the sandy slope after him when he took off toward the shopping mall.

If there was one thing you had learned about Cooper since planting yourself at his side and refusing to leave, it was that he valued silence above almost everything else. You, on the other hand, had come from a talkative vault, where gossip reached every end of every chamber only an hour - at max - after anything noteworthy had happened. Your companion had once called you the biggest yap he'd ever heard, and you would have taken it for a compliment had he not told you to shove it a moment after. The two of you had been silent nearly the entire day now, save for a few venomous barks at each other, and you cleared your scratchy throat in an attempt to lighten your shitty moods.

"I used to read about shopping malls in the magazines," you said, leaning your weight backwards as the sandy slope shifted downward. "They had all kinds of stores inside."

"Thanks for the reminder," Cooper bit back, quickening his stride. "Would have fuckin' forgot without you here."

You let your eyes roll into the back of your head as you struggled to catch up to him, your boots digging into the uneven earth beneath you. "When I was a kid, a few of my friends and I would draw pictures of clothes - because, you know, we only had our suits - and then spread them across one of our rooms and pretend to shop. It was stupid, but it we made entertainment where we could."

"Now, was this before you started pretending to be Billie Holliday?"

You gave him a sideways glance. "Who's that?"

Cooper shook his head and took off ahead of you. "Jesus fuckin' Christ."

During one of your, as your companion called them, yap sessions, you had confided in him that your vault valued the arts above anything else. Since you were a child, they had encouraged you to find something you enjoyed, as long as you were able to call yourself an artist. Painting hadn't worked out too well. Writing had been a bust. But then you'd discovered singing - a way in which you were able to express yourself without actually saying how you felt. You could drape the tunes in metaphors and similes, bump the second verse from the first, and when you were done, everyone would get to their feet to applaud as if your songs were the best things they'd ever heard. Cooper hadn't expressed much interest in this, instead taking to calling you a songbird with her wings clipped when he deemed you were at your lowest and needed to be kicked while you were down.

Of course, you hadn't shown him - you would have to be long dead for that - but over the course of the few months you'd known him, you had confided in your notebook carried in your pack all the little things you'd come up with that complimented his persona. How the gold at his heels called for you with each step he took. The way his hands, encased behind leather that creaked, held a smoke so delicately you could have imagined it was you. The rasping curl of his words when he smiled while he spoke and how each word cast a spell that made you want to follow him until the sun exploded and the earth was gone.

Cooper was an enigma you couldn't help but wonder after, and every scrap of himself he tossed to you led you on like a dog on a leash.

The music and echoing sound of laughter from deep inside the shopping mall became louder as the pair of you approached, eyes scanning for snipers on the roof or guards posted at the busted-out windows. There wasn't a person in sight, only mannequins stripped of their clothing hanging out the openings and long-shredded posters clinging to broken glass. Cooper led the way inside, picking a path across the wreckage and rubble stacked haphazardly against the entrance. You felt your pulse tick up when he produced his gun from the worn holster at his side, tapping his trigger finger against the side of the firearm in time with the music winding its way down the wide corridors.

As you followed your companion through the shopping mall, you couldn't help but ogle at the numerous attractions you passed. Shops had been boarded up and torn open again, giving you a glimpse of tattered clothes still on hangers, books tipped over on shelves, pre-war machines behind display cases that were covered in two hundred years' worth of dirt and grime. Gang signs and dirty catchphrases had been spraypainted along the walls and windows in a rainbow of colors. In the center of the long aisle you were wandering, a carousel meant for children sat neglected, still fitted with cartoonish horses who had seen better days than these.

"Did you used to come to these often?" you asked as you stepped across a mannequin missing its head.

"Shut the fuck up for a minute." Cooper raised a hand to pair with his little spat, silencing you from asking any further questions. His tongue darted out between his cracked lips as he placed his steps carefully around shattered glass and wind-up toys that would declare your position to the entire mall. He led you around a few wide corners before coming to a stop behind an old escalator, motioning for you to take cover. You crouched to peer around the other side, pulling your bag strap tighter over your shoulder. You were met with a sight that made your lips part in wonder.

Made up in the center of the mall's large atrium, directly beneath where the glass dome had been broken out, a small encampment of people had established what looked like a tiny town. Tents rested just inside nearby shop windows and winking Christmas lights had been strung above their heads. Lanterns cast shadows along the faces of the camp's locals as they milled back and forth, sharing dinners, reading from books - and dancing. Booming from a solar-powered stereo was a symphony of fiddles and guitars, harmonies of trumpets and clapping in time with the beat. A woman's tinny voice came through the speakers and she reminisced about an old lover who had gotten away. As you watched the people dance and stamp their feet along with the music, you found yourself drumming your fingers along, as well.

You were so engrossed in the music that you nearly missed what Cooper had his watchful eye on; the fridge-sized container with several spigots on its sides marked with a large piece of paper that read 'Clean Water.'

You and Cooper ducked back behind the escalator.

"Bunch of fuckin' idiots," said Cooper as he pulled a red-capped round from his bandolier and loaded it into his gun's chamber. "That shit'll attract every goddamn raider and feral within the mile."

"They're just having fun," you said, unsure of why you felt so defensive of these people you didn't even know. Maybe it was because they reminded you of your fellow vault dwellers back home. There had been a dance or performance like this nearly every night.

Cooper scoffed. "Fun like this gets you killed, little lady."

Your eyes widened as you watched him pull back the hammer of his firearm. "You're not going to just go up there and start shooting, are you?" You knew for a fact that he would. You'd seen him do it before - draw his pistol and start spinning the trigger because a raider or flock of ferals had what he wanted. But this - this was something different. Before he could do anything more, you reached out and grabbed his upper arm in a grasp so tight your knuckles paled. He flashed you a dark, dangerous look from beneath the brim of his hat, but you refused to let go. "Cooper, these people are innocent. They haven't done anything to us."

"Listen here, dollface, and listen well," he said, quickly spinning you around so that your back was pressed against the escalator. He caged you in, his gun hand still in your grasp and his other arm propped against the wall beside your head. You tried your damndest to not flush when you felt his breath on you, when his hips came just inches from pressing up against yours. "If we're goin' to be carryin' on this little arrangement, you need to learn to keep that pretty mouth of yours shut when I tell you to shut it. Now, I know you vaulties think everyone and their mama is goin' to repay that silly kindness of yours, but do not be mistaken. Keep yappin' and I will drink my fill of that there water while I make you watch, and then I'll tip the rest of it onto the floor. You hear me?"

You were at a loss for words, your tongue dry and your knees beginning to feel wobbly from the lack of water and proper rest. Just when you were about to let your eyes fall back down and accept that he was going to clear out the settlement for their water, footsteps echoed past where the two of you stood. Cooper snapped around and raised his pistol, his other arm still caging you in, and aimed down the barrel at a few young men approaching the rest of the locals beneath the glass dome. Instead of yelling, instead of dropping their belongings and begging for their lives while they pissed their pants in the presence of a ghoul, the men waved and smiled friendly grins.

"No need to hide," one said, gesturing the pair of you toward the others. "Y'all are welcome to come and make yourselves cozy. The more the merrier!"

They continued on, greeted by the other locals with shouts of welcome backs and fond hugs, paying no mind to the wide eyes and parted lips of you and your companion. Breaking away from Cooper's little cage he had created with himself and the wall - as much as it pained you to - you peeked back around the escalator. The young men pointed your way, and a number of people waved in kind and beckoned you forward. You found yourself taking a few steps toward the inviting sight of fresh water and the smell of food being cooked over one of the fires when Cooper snagged you by the back of your suit's collar and pulled you back into cover.

"Where on this good green earth you think you're goin'?" he said in a hushed tone, bringing your face close to his with a commanding grip on your jaw. Another flutter of excitement, of blood rush, bubbled to life in the pit of your stomach and began to travel south, but you suppressed the urge to lean into his touch. You didn't pull away, either.

"They invited us," you said, your eyes wandering back over to the light flickering from the lanterns and fires. "It's rude to turn down an invitation."

Cooper harrumphed and released you a little harsher than necessary. "What you've got is a one-way ticket to bein' on tomorrow's menu, sweetheart," he said, tilting his head to follow your gaze and keep eye contact when you looked away. "If you've about had your fill of the real world up here topside, then be my guest. Go and let'em fatten you up. I'll pour one out for 'ya tonight."

Deciding not to wonder if he would actually pour one out for you, if you really meant that much, you scoffed and shook your head. "You know it's okay to let your guard down every once in a while. Smile, maybe? Wave back? No wonder you're so damn bitter, old man."

Cooper stared down at you, and you wondered briefly if he was considering slamming your head into the side of the escalator. Would he drag you away with him, you thought? Or would he leave you for the strangers just around the corner. After what seemed an eternity, he hummed a short little note and nodded his head toward the camp. "You want to play friends, little lady? Go ahead. See how far that gets you before I've got to turn around and put one between the eyes of a man who's not lookin' just for the sake of lookin'."

With the faintest hint of a smile, you blinked up at him. "You'd turn around for me?" you asked in a murmur.

He matched your heated gaze, dark eyes intense and flaring a torch in your belly. "I suppose you'll just have to find out one of these days."

Swallowing thick, you took a breath, then turned and led him toward the little encampment of people. Heads turned as the pair of you approached, and you found that most of them smiled. You waved to those who offered little shakes of their hands, trailed by a ghoul stalking in his own shadow and resting the crook of his palm on his pistol. You were met by a kind-faced woman near the large tank of water, and she was forced to speak loudly to be heard over the sound of the thumping music.

"You folks just get in?" she said, already fixing two bowls of stew from a large pot simmering over a fire.

You broke yourself from the staring match you were having with the pot, the same one Cooper was still stuck in. Although, he may have been watching the chickens that roamed inside a little pen nearby as he licked his lips. "Yes, ma'am," you said over the trill of the woman's singing. You so desperately wished you knew the words so you could sing along. "I hope we're not imposing."

"Not at all!" A bowl of stew was pushed into your hands, and you forced yourself to be polite and not spoon it down your throat immediately. At your side, your companion gave the rim of the bowl a lick with the tip of his tongue before tipping it to slurp up. "We pride ourselves in being an open community. We might be small, but that just means there's more to share." The tin cups of water she handed over didn't last but five seconds before she was refilling them. "Make yourselves comfortable and stay however long you like. All we ask is that you keep your weapons holstered and don't disturb the music."

You and Cooper took seats at a dining table that had been dragged over from the cafeteria, neither of you speaking much as you both wolfed down what was in the bowls in front of you. Both of your spoons went untouched, each electing instead to drink up the strangely-colored meat floating around inside. Cooper finished much faster than you, and shucked off his gloves so that he could dip his scarred finger in to collect what juices were left. When he was finished, the bowl looked as though it hadn't even been used.

Watching him with a small smile, you let up from your own bowl and said, "I'm waiting."

"For what, exactly, little lady?"

"Your apology." You lapped up the rest of your stew before politely setting your bowl inside of his. "You wanted to -" You hesitated and glanced over your shoulder to make sure no one was too close to hear you. "You know." Then you settled a rather self-satisfied smirk over your features. "And look where we are now. So I'd like my apology now."

Cooper sucked on his finger, ensuring he was getting every last morsel of the stew that he could, and your attention was pulled down to where his lips wrapped around his digit. A part of you began to imagine it was yours. He noticed you staring and grinned wide. "And you know what I'm waitin' for, darlin'?"

"What?"

"For you to walk yourself over there and get me seconds."

You rolled your eyes, but nevertheless grabbed your stacked bowls and began to make your way over to where the woman was tending to the pot. "You'd better be thinking about your apology," you called over your shoulder. When you turned back around you nearly collided into someone retreating back to their spot with their own dinner. You jerked to the side, attempting to get out of their way first, and in doing so rammed yourself into the stereo set on a table in the center of the little camp. You watched in horror, bowls clasped to your chest, as the stereo tumbled over the edge of its pedestal and fell to the floor, where it shattered into what must have been hundreds of pieces. The camp became shrouded in a tense, shocked silence as every eye in the mall turned to face you and look upon your sin.

"I..." Your voice carried through the atrium and down the corridors of the shopping mall, sounding like an isolated cry for help. "I'm so sorry. I - I didn't mean to, I really didn't. Here, I might be able to fix it." You bent down to try and gather the pieces with your free hand, and the moment you did, a number of the camp locals drew weapons to aim in your direction.

"Now," came that familiar drawl behind you as you heard a hammer lock into place. "Are we really goin' to be killin' each other over some silly radio?" asked Cooper, and you felt some of your nerves ease slightly when you felt his chest press against your back.

A man to your right hissed. "You killed him!"

You shook your head viciously. "No, no! I - I didn't kill anyone. I'm sorry, I really am."

"You killed Sterry!" a woman accused.

"Sterry?" You looked down at the broken stereo and began to scoop up the bigger pieces you could find. "I - I can fix Sterry, I swear -"

"There's no fixing Sterry," moaned the woman who had served you stew as she sunk into the closest bench, looking as though she were about to faint. "He's dead. And you've killed us all."

You glanced back at Cooper, who wielded both his pistols now, each pointed in a different direction toward locals who had drawn their weapons. He offered a shrouded look that screamed, 'Now, didn't I tell you so, sweetheart?' You took a shuddering breath and faced the woman who had served you. "What do you mean?" you asked.

The woman placed her head in her hand as if she'd already accepted her fate. It was a daunting sight, the face of a woman so cheery and joyful such a short time ago, now deflated as though someone had let out all her air. "This place," she said, gesturing vaguely to the mall around you. "It's infested." The word was so heavy you felt as though you nearly choked on it. "Infested with creatures that will tear us limb from limb now that you've ruined everything. The music! The music was what kept them away, and now that it's gone..."

As if on cue, from the darkness of one of the long-winding corridors straight ahead, there came the bone-rattling sound of a feral hissing and snapping its weathered jaw. A few of the locals scrambled back as the creature emerged from the inky blackness, arms twisted and eyes sunken so far back into its skull they looked like they were forever pointed toward the sky. It took a rushed few steps forward before Cooper's arm rotated and he put a hole between its eyes. The feral dropped to the floor, leaking dark blood that stained the tile floor.

"Stop being so dramatic, Uma," said an older gentleman who stooped at your feet to begin gathering the pieces of Sterry. You immediately dropped to your knees to help. "We've fixed Sterry before, and we'll fix him again. It won't take long. But while we do, we'll need something to drive those creatures off..."

Your stomach dropped when, as you stood to hand over the pieces of the stereo, you felt Cooper's hands - still fitted with his pistols - rest heavily on your shoulders. "Well, then, y'all folks are in luck," he drawled, and you could practically hear the smirk playing his lips as he spoke. "I've got my very own songbird right here. I'd be happy to lend her to 'ya if, say... you filled our flasks from that there tank when the time comes for us to leave."

"Cooper," you hissed through your teeth as you spun around to face him. Singing for your vault was one thing, but singing for a bunch of strangers in the middle of an infested mall while ferals stumbled from the darkness all around you? He may as well have tossed you back out into the wastes. "You are not going to fucking trade me -"

"Done," said the old man as he sat down and began to sort Sterry's pieces. "Have your girl start singing - anything her heart desires. Just long enough for me to fix old Sterry here."

Giving the man a mock salute that didn't quite raise to his brow, Cooper shoved you onto a bench so that you stood over the rest of the camp. From this angle, they were all able to see your petrified expression and your hands shaking at your sides. "You heard the man," your companion said and smacked the back of your knee. "Get to it, songbird."

"Cooper, I can't -"

Before you were able to finish, Cooper turned, his ears pricking at something yours did not pick up, and dropped another feral that had been silently stalking the camp from the other side. A few of the locals yelped in terror, fleeing into shopfronts and tents.

"Sing for me, sweetheart," Cooper said. He sent you a wink, tipped his hat, then unleashed another round of lead into the darkness which only his eyes could penetrate.

You felt as if you were going to vomit. Sweat began to form on the back of your neck as you fisted your hands and swayed slightly where you stood on the bench. Turning your head, you met the eyes of a few camp locals watching you from their hideouts, their expressions filled with fear, anger, anticipation. They were waiting. Expecting. Needing. Attempting to push down the swelling that was beginning to form in your throat, you looked down at Cooper as he emptied his pistols of empty shells before reloading in order to fend off the ferals attacking the camp - the very camp he'd wanted to take out not half an hour ago.

He'd told you to sing for him. So you'd sing. For him, and only him.

Clearing your mouth and opening your lips, you took a breath and forced yourself to sing. "Death will come from where the earth meets the sky." Your voice wobbled slightly, rusty from having not singing since you left your vault. That, along with the fear and dehydration sitting on your tongue. "The sand is scorched beneath his step, the future decided by his eye." As you sang, the miniature explosions banging from the barrels of Cooper's pistols created a short, quick beat you unconsciously began to tap your foot along to. "He'll come for you all in the end, you'll never be free... he'll come for you all, but never for me."

Ferals shrieked in response to the gunfire, to the song torn right from your notebook in your pack, and one by one, like stage performers who had practiced this dance a hundred times, they dropped at the feet of the camp.

"Death's got a girl who croons his songs, which is why he never stays for long. He's got to run back to his lady, just as harsh as he, he's coming for you, but he's running back to me." As you sang you realized your voice was getting louder, louder, swelling until it filled the mall's atrium and every corridor far beyond. You tapped your heel along with the rhythm you'd created, closing your eyes and imagining an audience of one; a ghoul with his arms slung out across the chairs beside him and a knowing smirk playing his thin lips. It pulled you forward, pulled forth a song you hadn't realized was already in you. "He might sound mean, but I swear, he's kind. He's just got to peer into these eyes of mine. I'll ride with him, and he'll follow me, leaving behind a trail of blood far as the eye can see. Oh, my baby's got teeth to bite and a gun to blow, see his smoke and soon you'll know. Death ain't my man, he's my right hand. He'll come for you all in the end, you'll never be free... he'll come for you all, but never for me."

You had just been nearing a second verse when, from where it rested before the old man on the table, the stereo jumped back to life and filled the atrium with thrumming, pulsing folk music. It drowned out your voice, silenced you like a gunshot, and the ferals teetering on the edge of the darkness leading to the rest of the mall stumbled back into their hiding places. The camp locals slowly emerged from their hiding places, chattering excitedly about Sterry and his newfound love of life. Feeling a little stupid still standing on the bench, you climbed down and shuffled away toward where you had been originally sitting.

Taking a seat, you rested your forehead on your arms and exhaled a shaky breath. What had you been thinking? Singing a song for the man you'd become hopelessly fascinated with while he was just a few feet away, battling ferals who were intent on tearing out your throat and taking your voice with it? You were such a fucking idiot. You wouldn't be surprised if he told you to never open your mouth again.

Just as promised, your flasks were filled to the brims with fresh water before you went on your way, leaving the mall atrium and the singing, dancing camp locals behind as you picked your way back outside. Neither you nor Cooper said much as you continued your trek to nowhere, leaving a pair of footprints like echoes in your wake. Your cheeks remained flushed long after the mall had disappeared into the horizon, and long after you picked out an abandoned building to set up camp for the night. For once, it wasn't from the heat.

You sat across the lantern and what light it cast from Cooper, who stared into the little beacon as if he were watching the most fascinating flick within its glass. You held your notebook in your lap, thumb marking your place as your tried to write, but nothing would come to mind save for the things you'd sung about today. Mortification stirred like a serpent in your belly, and you briefly considered excusing yourself to get up and throw up outside.

"Let me see that book you've got there."

Your head lifted at Cooper's request - more of a demand - and unconsciously tightened your grip around your notebook. Your notebook - full of songs, melodies, lyrics. The most recent half of which you had written about the ghoul staring at you. "This?" you said, your trembling voice giving way to your nerves. You forced out a chuckle and smacked it shut. "It's nothing worth looking at."

"Why not?" he said, voice rasping lower than the baritone he usually held it at. You swore his gaze was hotter than the sun during the day and the fires at night. "You got more songs 'bout little old me in there?"

Fuck, he knew. Fuck all, he knew. You felt your flush deepen as you pointedly tucked your notebook into the bottom of your pack and flipped the top shut. "I... I don't know what you're talking about," you said, avoiding his eyes. Instead you focused on the fraying tip of your boot. "I wrote that a long time ago. Back in my vault."

"Uh huh." Cooper stared you down for so long you thought that perhaps time had frozen. Then he took a barely-there breath. "Come over here, songbird. Let me get a good look at you."

For a long, long moment, you remained still as you ever had been. What was he saying? Normally the only time he let you close to him was when he invaded your personal space to deliver a shove or to smack your knee or thigh to tell you to get a move on. Your breath hitched when you finally lifted your head and found his gaze boring into yours, heavier than a ton and white hot like a branding iron.

"I ain't goin' to tell you again, pretty girl."

As if he had you on a fucking leash - because you swore he did - you found yourself pitching forward, crawling on your hands and knees toward him. He spread his legs slightly, enough to give you room to fit between them, and hesitantly, so very carefully, you rested yourself against his front. His rough, scarred hands, free of his gloves, came up to rest on the swell of your hips as if they were made to be there, fitting like puzzle pieces against your skin beneath your vault suit. You stared up at him, backlit by the lantern light, and let his thumb drag down your bottom lip until it slipped from his touch.

"Didn't think my songbird had such desire in her," Cooper chuckled, his warm breath fanning across your face.

You relished in the goosebumps that crawled over the planes of your skin. "I... I don't..."

"Oh, you'd be dead wrong if you said that little ditty you sang today wasn't all about desire." He settled back deeper where he sat, giving you more room to settle against him between the columns of his thighs. Your lower belly rested against his crotch, where you felt the hard outline of his cock straining against his trousers. Your heart skipped a beat or three. "If you wanted to ride with death, sweetheart, all you needed to do was ask."

Cooper sealed his lips to yours without word or warning, pulling a surprised little noise from the back of your throat that he swallowed up with fervor. As the initial shock faded, you found your eyes slipping shut and your mouth moving against his, lips opening without fight when his tongue demanded to explore your own. Bracing yourself with one hand against his thigh, you reached up with your other and cradled the back of his head, knocking off his hat in the process.

Swift to get a move on, to feel you against him and swallow up more of your sounds, Cooper easily flipped you around so that you were now lying flat on your back and he was hovering over your prone form. Both tingling excitement and nauseating nerves pulled groans from your lips as he moved to pressing harsh kisses and nips to the column of your neck, licking up red spots that would surely bruise come morning time. He shucked off his duster and abandoned it somewhere behind him, at the same time, by some skill you had no idea anyone possessed, also grasping at the zipper of your vault suit to pull it down as far as it would go.

It didn't take long for you to shimmy out of the suit, leaving you in just your underwear, the seams of which he traced with his calloused finger. It sent a chill running up your spine despite the heat prodding at your skin.

"My songbird sounds real pretty when she's singin'," Cooper muttered as he sucked a bruise into the swell of one breast over the cup of your bra. "I bet she sounds even better screamin' for me."

His hand plunged beneath the waistband of your panties and began to explore your folds, pulling a long, whining moan from your lips. He ate you and your whimpers up, devouring your lips like he wanted to eat you whole - maybe he did - while his middle finger ran up and down your cunt a few times before deftly finding your clit and applying a bit of pressure to the sensitive bud. You cried out. It had been far too long since you'd seen any real action. It didn't take long before your folds were soaked, and he was able to gingerly nudge his finger past the entrance of your pussy. It felt foreign to have another person thrusting their finger in and out of you, building you up to a kind of high you hadn't known since far before you left your vault. In less than a few minutes - something he would surely tease you about later - you felt that familiar coil snap in your stomach and you soaked his hand with a loud, throat-rattling wail that escaped your lips and flew right past his.

Cooper pulled back with a self-satisfied smirk and pulled his hand from your panties, lifting his spread hand to show you to slick you'd coated his digits with. You were only able to huff for breath and watch with hooded eyes as he brought his fingers to his mouth and used his skillful tongue to lick off your cum. You briefly wondered what else that tongue of his could do, what it would feel like to have him lap up your pussy like it was the only thing to guarantee him his daily hit of medicine.

"Sweet as honey, baby," he cooed, bracing himself with one hand while the other worked on the buckle of his belt. "Well. Maybe Tennessee honey. You ever had a taste of that?" He knew you hadn't. But that didn't stop his smirk from growing in size when you numbly shook your head. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, baby. We'll get you a lick one day. 'Til then..."

Your limbs dancing with pins and needles, you lifted your hips to help him tug off your panties. "I'll just have to settle for what I've got," you exhaled with a hazy smile.

Cooper grinned wide, a smile that bordered on the edge of dark, as he tugged down his trousers just enough for his cock to spring free. He was thick - larger than you'd expected - and his member was rough and scarred like the rest of him. It made you want to feel him all the more. "I'll promise you somethin', darlin," he said as he positioned himself at your entrance and you locked your legs around his waist, heels digging into the edge of his gun belt. "I'm better than anything else you'll taste these days." With that he slid into you, filling you at once to the brim like he just couldn't wait to feel you from the inside. A loud, sharp yelp escaped your lips as your back arched instinctively, curling yourself up into him. He only waited a few moments for you to adjust before he started moving, pulling himself out to the tip before thrusting back inside your welcoming cunt. You were able to feel each and every ridge of him, every scar, and you swore you were getting drunk from just the feeling.

"Fuckin' shit, girl," he groaned, moving to press the flat of his hand to the base of your neck so that he could keep you in place while he fucked you. "Better than I could've fuckin' dreamed."

Cooper's thrusts began to increase in speed, your moans and whimpers accompanied by his low, almost growling snarls he panted against the shell of your ear. You couldn't believe this was happening. You were being fucked by the ghoul you'd been following all these months, the ghoul you'd been watching and studying and falling hopelessly for. And it felt good. It felt so fucking good, a part of you wasn't entirely convinced this entire scenario wasn't a dream concocted by the recesses of your mind.

"God, Coop," you heard yourself moan as your nails dug crescent moons into the fabric of his shirt. "Feels so fucking good..."

"Atta girl," he muttered, moving his head down so that he could suck at the junction where your neck met your shoulder. "Such a sweet little songbird." His grip on your hips tightened as his movements increased even further. "Might just have to fuck you good every night so I can hear you sing for me."

You panted deep as you felt your second orgasm of the night approaching at an alarming rate. Your hips bucked up to meet his with each thrust, the sound of skin on skin filling the abandoned building in which you had taken shelter. "Don't have to - ah! - even ask. I'll sing for you any time, Coop."

Cooper's breaths came shorter, sharper, and it wasn't long before he came with a harsh bite against your shoulder, one that spilled blood into his awaiting mouth and pulled your own orgasm from deep within your depths. You shuddered and cried for him, tugging him close and holding him there for several minutes after your highs had faded and your breaths evened.

Finally, he pulled himself off of you. A short whine escaped you when he slipped from your heat, and he chuckled low before tossing you your panties to slip back on. When you were both covered again, you sat up and crossed your legs as you basked in the afterglow of what had just taken place. Cooper dug around in his saddlebag for a moment before producing his inhaler and drinking up a shot of his medicine, shaking his head against the sudden buzz that came with it as he sat back on his elbows and stared at the lantern light.

"I..." You struggled to find the words so desperately clawing at your chest. "I hope you don't..."

Cooper reached up and pulled your wrist out from under you, causing you to fall back on the ground beside him with an 'umph.' He let his arm cushion your fall before sweeping a few strands of hair from your face and giving you that crooked smirk which made your legs fall numb all over again. "Oh, don't you worry yourself, songbird," he said. "I ain't lettin' you fly away from me any time soon."

[carpenterswife]

HALF OF ME (i)

SUMMARY: Despite appearances, you’d learnt Soldier Boy was, actually, capable of being a good man. Somehow, you’d wormed yourself into his good books, and had the rarest privilege of seeing him without the suit, the drugs, the ego, the everything. Just as things were going good, his heart somehow getting even warmer for you, the world separates you in the cruelest way.

PAIRING: Soldier Boy x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3573

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Sexism (set in the 1980’s), typical Soldier Boy behaviour, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, questionable morals (peer pressuring drug use), sexual content, eludes to smut, Soldier Boy may be a bit OOC at times, gore.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Becoming a world famous supe was never something you’d ever wanted. Sure, you’d grown up with their photos on your bedroom walls, your father telling you stories of when the first ever supe came to be, insisting he fought alongside the Soldier Boy in the war

The people around you seemed to idolise them. These… mostly regular people in tight suits, pretending to be better than everyone else.

You knew better. You knew enough. Enough to know supes were dirty, and corrupt, and definitely not the heroes they presented themselves to be. That their hands were more blood than they were skin anymore.

And, frankly, you wanted nothing to do with Vought or Payback — or whatever the fuck those shitty, useless superhero teams were called. (Seriously, what did they actually do? Except sit in their pretty tower and take the peoples’ taxes?)

Your father, however, had different ideas.

So, at 18, you woke up in the hospital, after an ugly head collision, with superpowers you’d never had before. A miracle, the doctors called it, a supe whose extraordinary powers had been hidden for her whole life. When you got home, you forced the truth out of your father. Compound V, he called it, a new chemical made by Vought.

No one was born a supe, he admitted, it all came from a liquid in a vial. The truth hurt you, as much as it didn’t really surprise you. Chosen by God, my ass.

This wasn’t supposed to be your life.

But it’s certainly what it turned out to be.

Payback were as shitty, if not more, than you’d originally thought. Each of them had… many flaws. Soldier Boy, obviously, was the worst. If the Devil reincarnated himself, he’d look and act like Soldier Boy.

Simply talking to the man made you want to shoot yourself.

Well… it did at one point.

Two years down the line, things had changed. Soldier Boy was still insufferable, sexist, arrogant, and a major asshole. But… he wasn’t so much a dick directly to you, as he used to be. In fact, if you didn’t know better, you’d say he was actually somewhat nice to you. As much as his macho heart could manage, anyway.

You noticed it the first time when he saved your life on a mission. He’d grabbed your waist when a grenade clinked at your feet, whirling you around and to the ground, squashing you against his firm chest, using his shield to protect you both from the hot blast. He’d shrugged it off as nothing; as something any leader would do for his team. Then you watched him hit Gunpowder about for not following his order to a T, and realised… maybe he did treat you different.

It was undeniable these days.

You were the only person on Payback that Soldier Boy could remotely tolerate.

“You need’a be more careful.” Despite the hard look on his face, Soldier Boy was staring down at you, as a Vought doctor wrapped clean bandages tightly around your midsection. It was a bullet to the wound; which, with being a supe, wouldn’t be too bad, but you didn’t heal inhumanely fast like he did. “You’re fuckin’ useless when you’re hurt.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for your concern, Soldier Boy.”

His eyes narrowed into a harsh glare. “Ben.” He corrected you, for what was probably the 50th time. Each time he did, he got more annoyed with you. “How many times do I have to say it? Is there a brain in that pretty head’a’yours?“

You grunted, spinning on the bed and hanging your legs off the side of it. “Thanks for the compliment.” Ben rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, not offering a hand as you groaned in discomfort and got to your feet. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be healed up by the time we set off for Nicaragua, if that’s what you’re worried ‘bout.”

Ben just grunted, displeased. “Ain’t happenin’.” He immediately shot that idea down. “We leave for Nicaragua in two weeks. You ain’t comin’. Sit this one out.”

You stared, expecting a joke. Clearly, he wasn’t. “Seriously?” You groaned, unhappy. What was it with this guy? “I’ll be fine. It’s a silly little bullet.”

“I was holdin’ your fuckin’ guts in your body.” He walked away, reminding you of just how bad your injury actually had been. He had, indeed, practically been keeping your guts inside of you as you bled out. “You ain’t going. You’re stayin’ here.” You chased after him, pulling your shirt on as you left the infirmary.

“Ben—“

He whirled around to face you. “I said, you’re fucking staying.” He growled, glaring down at you. God, were you glad you were on his side. This man was terrifying. Six feet of pure muscle, strength and violence. “You’re better off here, using that face of yours to get some PR.”

“And, what? The others will back you up?” You scoffed, grabbing his wrist as he went to walk away again. His expression went cold at your touch, but you didn’t flinch. As much as he tried to scare you, Ben wouldn’t raise a hand at you… probably. You had faith in the man. “They can’t fight for shit, Ben. Gunpowder hasn’t even discovered his own dick yet. You think you’re gonna have your back covered out there?”

He ripped his wrist away harshly. “I don’t need my back covered.”

“Everyone needs their back covered.” You argued. “Even you.”

He chuckled, sarcastic and dry. “You worried ‘bout me, princess?” You gave him a ‘seriously?’ look, as he took a step closer, mouth curled into that ever-infuriating smirk. “I’d perform better if you sent me off with a taste of that—“

“Ben.” You interrupted him, unimpressed. You rolled his eyes at his predictable behaviour. “I’m not gonna fuck morale into you.”

“Shame.” His eyes flicked up and down, tracing the curves of your body. “Bet you’d be a firecracker.” He walked away again, and you threw your hands up, groaning. Ben chuckled as he turned the corner. “Think it over, sweetheart.”

“You’ve got a hand.” You called back to him. “Use it!”

Conversations like that were very common with Ben.

It’d be a normal conversation (as normal as it gets with him) — and then he’d start talking about fucking you against the nearest surface, and all pleasantries went down the drain. Seriously, he thought 80% with his dick, and 20% with his actual brain.

And that was being kind.

But, beneath all of his macho assholery, was his genuine worry. You knew he wasn’t letting you accompany the rest of the team to Nicaragua because of your injury, despite how minor it was, and that he was worried you’d injure yourself further.

You’d never slept with Ben, despite how much he’d tried to charm you into his bed. Your relationship was strange. He flirted, you flirted — there were lingering touches. And, sure, he’d never put his dick in you, but his fingers were a different question. And… oh, boy, could that man use his hands.

It was like being in a relationship, just without the sex. Which was odd, as it was Soldier Boy. But, the way he smiled at you and treated you, it made you feel different to the other women.

He was just… shit it showing it.

Poor bastard wouldn’t know emotion if it slapped him in the face.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

“I am not wearing this.”

Okay… scratch all of that. Maybe Ben was just a dickhead.

He lounged back in his chair, grinning lazily, legs spread like he owned the place. He probably thought he did. “Why not?” He took a sip of his whiskey, ice clinking against the sides, eyes never leaving you from over the rim of the glass.

You held up the fabric. “Seriously?”

It was basically a scrap of fabric, with how much it covered up. You didn’t shy away from showing skin. You quite liked short skirts and pushing the line. Because, as a supe, there was a line. Vought liked it when you showed skin — apparently it made your ratings go up with the male fans, no shocker. But, too much skin on display, the male fans started calling you a whore, and the ratings shot back down.

It was a bit like a balancing game, trying to find the perfect amount of skin to make the boys ogle but also respect you. An impossible feat, truthfully.

And this? This was definitely classed as too much.

“I don’t see the issue.” His smirk said otherwise.

“My tits are not gonna stay in this, Ben!”

His smirk just grew. “Again, I don’t see the issue.”

You groaned and put the dress down. “No. I’ll get my own dress. I am not wearing that.” You tell him, arms folding across your chest. You didn’t miss the way he checked out your tits, and the way the placement of your arms accentuated them.

He rolled his eyes, obviously not happy with your decision. Leaning towards, elbows on his knees, Ben’s eyes took you in. “Why?” His head cocked to the side. “You’d look hot. It’d make your ass look great.”

“That’s not a compliment.” You grumbled, pushing a hand through your hair. Ben made a small grunt of disagreement, but didn’t say anything otherwise. “Listen, there’s a certain line. Alright? If I wear that, every guy out there will be callin’ me a whore. Okay? Imma find something else.”

He hummed and sat back. “I think you should wear that one.” Sighing heavily, you just rolled your eyes at his persistence. “All those assholes will be blowin’ their pants just lookin’ at you, sweetheart.”

“Again, not a compliment.”

Ben stared at you, and silently took another sip of his whiskey. He always seemed to think these crude, rather sexist and inappropriate remarks were compliments. Like commenting on your body. Or saying you’d be a freak in bed. Which were obviously not actually compliments.

You rolled your eyes, rubbing your forehead. “I’ll find another dress, Ben.” You told him, definitive. There was no way he was going to convince you to wear that dress.

“What a disappointment.” He grinned, lopsided. “I was lookin’ forward to seein’ you in that dress.”

“Again,” you deadpanned as he checked you out once more, “you have a hand… use it.”

Ben just smirked, and sipped his whiskey again.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

You wore the fucking dress.

The asshole always won. Always.

He looked so fucking pleased, as you walked into his after-party, wearing the dress he’d picked out for you. His smugness was clear, brushing through the crowd with ease to come to you.

Ben hummed, eyes dilating as he stared you down. His eyes lingered on your tits, as they always did. “You look…” he hesitated, trying to think of a compliment that wasn’t degrading, and failed, “fuckin’ hot. If you weren’t such a bitch, I’d bend you over right here.”

Your face pulled together in disgust, looking at him with your lips pressed together “… gross.”

He chuckled. “Drink?” He offered. “I got your favourite.”

And there he goes again.

Being nice.

It did your damn head in.

Accepting his offer, you shivered as his large hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. They all seemed to part like the Red Sea as he came through, a fact that amused you greatly.

Seriously. These women looked at him like he was Jesus reincarnated, when he’d totally call them in a whore in bed.

Ben silently reached out for your favourite alcoholic drink, pouring it into a glass. His eyes scanned over the room, smirking at a few of the women ogling, sending them rushing to their friends and squealing. He merely chuckled and handed you the full glass.

“Thanks.” You murmured, taking it from him. Your eyes stared up at him for a moment, curious, before looking away again.

What was it with him? How could be such an egotistical one minute, and then be nice and respectful the next? It was like a guessing game, trying to figure out what mood he was in.

He grabbed your wrist, his grip firm, but not enough to hurt you. “Come with me.” He guided you through the crowd once again, to the doors in the back. As he pushed through into the room, he flashed you a cocky grin over his shoulder. Dickhead.

This room was far quieter. You noticed, immediately, the only people present were supes and celebrities, not the random civilians that’d been granted a pity invite — or the women Ben thought were hot. This was the main party. There were drugs covering every table, with various big names passed out on the chairs, blazed.

Ben lead you to the corner, where he’d obviously already been busy, if the half-snorted lines of cocaine proved anything.

Silently, he offered you a line, which you gratefully accepted.

You didn’t do drugs before you joined Payback. In fact, you’d avoided them, promising yourself you’d never become that type of person. But it was the norm within Vought. Every supe spent their nights filling their bodies to the brim with various drugs, poisoning themselves. So, you started smoking weed to fit in.

Then Ben found out you only did weed, and decided it wasn’t enough. With enough pressure, he’d gotten you onto any other substance he could convince you to try.

It made you more attractive, in his eyes, as you spiralled into addiction like him.

In fact, it got him rock hard, to snort lines or share a joint with you. It was so fucking hot, watching your eyes glass over as you got higher with every hit, with every line. God, it turned him on so bad.

You snorted your third line of the night, when Ben suddenly pushed you back into your chair. Bewildered, you stared at him, as he snatched up a baggie of the white powder. Your heart leapt to your throat, the moment he moved aside the slit in your dress, revealing the bare skin of your thigh. All breath left your lungs, watching him pour some of the powder onto your thigh.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

He was about to do a line off you.

He glanced at you through his lashes, smirking at the shocked and flushed expression you wore. He used his pocket knife to cut the lines, mindful of the sharp blade against your soft skin.

God, this was hot. He found it hot. You found it hot. It’d be a damn miracle if you ended the night with your clothes on at this point.

Your skin tingled as he sniffed up the first line, of his hands roughly gripping the top of your thigh to steady you, his other holding a rolled up $100 bill. He groaned in pleasure, body physically shuddering, head shaking, as the drug made his body run hot.

He did the next line, the grip on your thigh becoming tighter as his pupils began to blow up.

Was it getting hot in here? Or was it just you?

Maybe it was the cocaine in your systems, maybe it was the fact Ben was just… so damn hot, but you couldn’t stop yourself from grabbing his hair and forcing his head up as he snorted the final line off your thigh.

He looked up at you, pupils blown, lips parted. Holy shit. This man was sculpted like a fucking God. Your body shivered. “You finally takin’ my offer, sweetheart?” He chuckled, shaking off the immediate effects of the cocaine, raising himself up to your level.

“Fuck me.” You whispered, breathless, practically begging him.

His eyes went dark, almost black, with lust. The smirk on his lips made you squeeze your legs together. “Don’t need to ask me twice.”

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

You now understood the hype. You understood why women bent their knees the moment Ben uttered a word to them.

Holy shit, did this man have talent.

Your legs were still twitching, the space in between your legs throbbing and tingling with how many times you’d come on his fingers, his tongue and cock. You’d counted four, before your vision had gone white.

Jesus, he had stamina. A glance at the clock on the wall confirmed it’d been just over five hours since you’d first fell into Ben’s bed. That super strength was better for more than just fighting, after all. This man should be advertised for his abilities. No shocker he was an American sex symbol.

He’d just fucked your brains out.

And now, he was staring at you with admiration, laid on his side, in the same bed he’d just railed you in. “You feelin’ okay?” He murmured, genuinely concerned.

“Yeah.” You rolled over to face him, a jolt of discomfort and pain in your hips and thighs. You might have to hold back on… doing anything for the next few days, however. “You didn’t break anything.” You joked, soft and breathy.

He chuckled quietly, hand sliding around your waist and dragging you closer to him. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ to do that.” He whispered, uncharacteristically soft and gentle.

“To fuck me senseless?”

He smirked. “Mm, I have dreamt of that.” Your eyes narrowed in mild disgust at the image of him having wet dreams about you, swatting his chest. He grinned and caught your hand. “No… I meant how long I’ve waited to have you. You’re fuckin’ perfect. Not just your body. Everything about you is so sexy.”

Your brows furrowed, squeezing his hand, and then worming your fingers out of his. “What do you mean?” You asked softly.

He seemed to struggle for a moment. He wet his tongue with his lips, making your body tingle again. Jesus. “Let’s get dinner.”

What.

“Me and you.” Ben smiled, tracing the curves of your body with a featherlight touch. “Real fancy. I’ll pay.” Was he… asking you on a date right now? The Soldier Boy, asking you on a date? Instead of fucking you and tossing you out?

“You’re serious?” You asked softly, surprised. When he nodded, you grinned, biting your lip to contain it. “Okay, Ben. Let’s get dinner.”

His eyes lit up. Ducking his head down, his lips touched yours, gentle and affectionate. His kiss spoke so many words; his hands gently cradling your body, as he kissed you like you were made of glass. The touch was intimate and loving, widely different to the one he’d used when he’d been on top of you.

No, this was completely different. This was him being vulnerable. This was him showing you just how he felt, without the words.

He smiled against your lips and pulled back, just enough to speak, but his words were still brushing yours. “Yeah?” He whispered, in response to your agreement.

“Yeah.” You stared at him with big eyes.

He grinned, almost boyish in its nature. He stared at you in adoration, seeming to be collecting the words on the tip of his tongue.

You giggled under his stare. You sat up, pulling him with you, grabbing the blanket that he had draped over his headboard. It was fluffy and warm, and smelt like his cologne, and you didn’t hesitate to wrap it around your shoulders, cocooning yourself.

If possible, his gaze softened even more. “You’re adorable.”

Quietly, you laughed. “You sure you wanna do this, Ben?” You stared back at him. Ben was nothing if not a womaniser. Settling down was nothing like him. “Get serious with me, I mean.”

“You’re the only one I’d ever want to.”

Your brows pulled together, confused. “Why?”

Ben soothed a hand through your hair, green eyes drinking in the perfections and imperfections on your face. “You’re the only one I trust.” His voice was gravelly, still heavy with the effects of your recent endeavours. His hand travelled through your hair, and then came down to cup your cheek.

Wrapped up in his fluffy blanket, your head rested on the wooden headboard. “I trust you, too.” You whispered, tilting your head into his palm. His skin was rough, painted with callouses and scars. Every scar on his body had a story. And you’d spend the rest of your life learning every single one.

Despite himself, he smiled at you, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. “I’d kill for you. You know that?” His words made you shiver. Ben killing people wasn’t exactly new… or surprising. But doing it for you? God, it made your stomach heat up — and other parts. “These assholes don’t hold a candle to you, doll. Countess? That whore is— is repulsive compared to you.”

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes affectionately. “Ben.” You scolded quietly, though not with an ounce of anger.

The supe just smirked, chuckling deep in his throat. “You want me to drop that bullshit PR relationship I have with her? I’ll do it. In a fucking heartbeat. I’ll be with you, publicly, if you want me.”

“You’d ruin your reputation for me?” Now that — that meant something. Ben could say anything and everything; he was a master manipulator. He could get anything he wanted with that smile and his suave words. But, if there was one thing he would always prioritise, it was his reputation. He’d do anything to be the alpha male. Anything.

“I’d do anything for you.” He grabbed your hand within his much larger one, guiding it to his chest. He pressed your palm over his heart, allowing you to feel his heartbeat. “I’ll do anything for you, to be with you.” You felt the steady rhythm of his heart. He wasn’t lying. That, or he was a great fucking liar. “I’m never leaving your side. I’m yours.”

Your eyes searched deep within his. “Always?”

Ben smiled. “Always.” He leant forward, gently pressing his lips against yours in a tender kiss.

Three months later, Soldier Boy died in a nuclear meltdown.

A/N: jesus christ this took me so long to write 😭 but i’m so happy with how this first chap turned out. it’s gonna get so much more fun to write we get to the action 👀 pls lmk if there’s any mistakes, as i will go back n fix them !!! hope you enjoyed <3

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TAGLIST: @onlyangel-444 @deans-spinster-witch @fumolemon @anundyingfidelity

[buckyalpine]

LMAOO OKAY IMAGINE 40s!BUCKY (like tfa stark expo version) MAGICALLY TELEPORTING TO MODERN DAY, and Sharon’s bitch ass is hanging all over him, flirting hardcore, and is absolutely thrilled bc he’s actually giving her some attention. BUT THEN HE SEES THE READER AND IS LIKE “oh wow who is THAT” and leaves her alone to go woo the gorgeous dame. I can picture her face getting all red and embarrassed and upset. And Sam and Nat and Tony are in the background giggling.

GOD I LOOOVEEE THISSSS 40's heart has my heart cause this blushing soldier would be such a perfect mix of devilishly handsome and adorably shy.

-

"Shit" Tony huffed watching his time portal experiment start up and fail for the fourth time in a row while Bruce continued to medal with the dials, resetting the machine once more. "Why does it keep doing that"

"Give it a secondary power source, there's not enough juice with the first one"

Tony nodded, rummaging through a pile of knick knacks on his desk, grabbing a vial and adding it to the generator.

"Alright, set the timer to 19:00 hours and 40 in the past. Let's see if we can just travel to yesterday first before messing with going back years" He snorted, as Bruce punched in the time before hitting the start up button. The machine started to rumble before growing hot, the dials and buttons spinning and clicking on its own, parts starting to pop off.

"Oh shit!" Tony ducked under the table, shielding himself from getting knocked out as the portal grew more powerful, a force filed growing, knocking down things around the lab.

"What the hell did you use as a power source?!" Bruce yelled over the high pitched whizz the machine started to make, blinding light filling the room before disappearing, leaving a cloud of smoke in its place.

"I don't know, I just grabbed something that look like it'd fit" Toy shrugged between coughs as the smoke dissipated, squinting when he realized the platform wasn't empty.

Someone was standing there.

"What the hell..."

Blinking with bright blue eyes was a young soldier, dressed in a fresh, clean and pressed uniform, looking like a lost puppy while Tony and Bruce blinked in both confusion and amusement.

"Banner what the hell did you do with the timer?!"

"You're vial set everything into over drive, it must've recalibrated to 1940 instead of a couple of hours ago!" Bruce threw his hands up while the younger version of Bucky stared at the lab with child like wonder, his eyes twinkling as if it were Christmas day.

"Holy shit..." He breathed out seeing the vast technology, his mind still reeling over what was happening. One minute, he was on his way to see Steve and take some girls dancing and next thing he knew, he was sucked through a loop.

"Dear God-alright, uh-Barnes?" Tony waved the soldier over, mentally debating on what to tell him.

"Mr. Stark? It's-it's an honor, sir" Bucky shook Tony's hand before standing tall before him with his back straight, ever the bright eyed Sargent. Tony scratched his head before letting him take a seat, figuring honesty was the best police.

"Sargent. This may take a while"

-

Bucky understood bits and pieces of what Tony explained to him while getting a tour of the compound, the common room being the last place for him to check out. The team alternated between greeting and secretly cooing over the adorable young Bucky while also simultaneously laughing at Tony. At the very least, the billionaire was lucky the actual Bucky was away on a mission with you and Steve; there was only so much he could handle in a day. The soldier decided to hang back in the living room with the others, happily chatting away with Sam and Nat.

Then there was Sharon

"Hey Soldier" She winked, giving him a smirk causing the young Bucky to blush, throwing her a flirty smile right back.

"Nice to meet ya' doll" Bucky drawled out making her giggle, his lip catching between his teeth when she flipped her hair back.

"Aren't you sweet" She whispered, her heart beating a little faster when he moved towards her, his sweet baby blues gazing down at her intently. She'd tried a million times to get Bucky's attention before and he didn't look at her twice. She wasn't about to lose her chance with the new one.

"Look whose talking" Bucky chuckled back, his naturally flirty nature taking over with ease, after all it would be rude for him to ignore her.

"Someone's gotta protect him from this randy she goat" Sam whispered while Nat snorted, watching the two of them continuing to flirt, Sharon's hands toying with the buttons on Bucky's uniform, making her way up to brush his collar.

There was no way she was going to just let the gorgeous soldier go.

The machine wasn't fixed any time soon so Bucky was given a room to stay in. He loved the feeling of modern day sweats, looking cute as ever in some comfy joggers and a cotton tshirt, his fluffy cropped hair always neatly brushed and face shaven.

He was a Sargent after all. He always looked his best, even in lounge clothing.

There hadn't been a day where Sharon left Bucky alone. She clung onto his side, practically crawling up his leg day in and day out while the others side eyed the situation, keeping an eye out for the innocent Bucky.

"So, what's a soldier like you doin' without a girl, hm?" Sharon teased, pressing her hand to his chest, loving the way Bucky flirted back with her while the both of them sat in the common room with a movie playing in the background. Tony, Nat and Sam glanced at each other, quietly watching from their place in the kitchen while the blonde continued to giggle and blush, running her finger's through his hair.

"How do you keep your hair so soft, Sargent"

"Well, I- woah"

Sharon frowned when the soldier stopped talking half way after something- or someone- caught his attention. His eyes grew wide, a classic boyish smile appearing on his face when he saw the prettiest dame he'd ever laid his eyes on walk by the living room, making his heart flutter.

"who was THAT" Bucky stared in awe, seeing her stretch her arms up, still in some type of modern tactical suit, rubbing sleep from her eyes and yet she was still one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen.

"Uh-excuse me" Sharon's face twisted watching Bucky stare are you like a love struck puppy, nearly jumping over the sofa so he could run and talk to you. He didn't take his eyes off you, practically swooning when he saw you pack away the gun from you holster.

"Huh-yeah, sorry-" Bucky mumbled, still focused on you, unbothered by the way Sharon's face was now red with embarrassment, seething at what he was doing.

"Look at this guy, he's not even hiding the fact that he's staring at y/n" Sam snorted while Tony and Nat snickered, watching the young Bucky watch you with heart eyes, "Aw man, he's got it bad"

"Hey y/n, looks like someone's got a little crush on you" Nat whispered, discreetly nodding to the living room. You nearly squeaked in surprise, seeing a very very young version of your boyfriend sitting on the couch, taking peeks over at you whilst ignoring the blonde who was still fighting for his attention.

"Tony, you did this, didn't you" You sighed while Tony smiled proudly, now fully invested in how all this was going to play out.

"I'll explain later. Go wash and change and you can talk to him"

As soon as you were out of the kitchen, Bucky scrambled to the group, cheeks tinted pink, bashful as ever, looking at the three smirking faces, wiggling their eyebrows at him.

"See something you like, soldier?" Nat prodded while Bucky nearly giggled, nodding.

"Who was that" He asked in earnest, truly curious to at least get your name.

"That would be y/n. I'll introduce you once she's back down. You might be her type, y'know" Sam winked knowing damn well he was your type. After all you were technically already dating. Bucky bounced on his heels, waiting patiently while Sharon huffed, refusing to move from her spot on the couch. You made your way back down after a shower to see an exited Sam and a shy Bucky along with a smug Tony and Nat.

"Y/n, meet young Buck" Sam smiled while you held your hand out, swooning at the way he shook it gently, throwing you smile few got to see, one he had when he got butterflies in his belly.

"Nice to meet you Sarge"

"Pleasures all mine, angel" Bucky whispered, leading you off to the living room to talk to you more, offering you a seat, wondering if you wanted anything to snack on or drink, forgetting Sharon's existence entirely. Sharon nearly opened her mouth to say something, immediately shutting it with a satisfied smirk seeing the other Bucky walk in followed by Steve. Hopefully he'd see his girlfriend was a cheating whore, flirting with someone else even if it was him from the past. Her brain wracked itself in hopes that this would all crash and burn while Bucky frowned the closer he got.

"What the fuck Stark" Bucky scrunched his face walking in on some punk flirting with his girl, only to realize said punk was a younger version of him.

"Relax, I'll fuse you two together" Tony shrugged while Bucky's face twisted again, grumbling when his younger self kissed you hand again, pulling you up for a dance while fumbling with a phone he'd just managed to figure out.

"They're cute" Steve grinned, nudging Bucky playfully while Bucky rolled his eyes, smiling to himself a little while later when you caught his eyes, throwing him a wink. You laid your head against the young soldiers chest while he swayed with you, unaware that he was being watched by everyone else, in his own world with just you in it.

"You better fuse us together" Bucky hissed, narrowing his eyes when you giggled at something that was whispered in you ear; Tony snorted with a shit eating grin on his face.

"Why Barnes, scared of a little competition?"

Before Bucky could retort, Sharon was up and walking with purpose, stalking right towards Bucky.

"Y'know they're both flirting hard, right? Aren't you two dating?"

Bucky wordlessly stared at her while the others looked at her with confusion, the desperation becoming embarrassing.

"Sharon, shut up" Sam deadpanned while her mouth gaped open and shut before storming off.

"Back to what I was saying. Scared, Barnes?"

"You should be the scared one" Bucky sassed back, knowing exactly what his younger self was capable of; he knew that innocent boyish charm did wonders when it needed to. That being said, even his past self recognized real love, gravitating towards his one true soul mate after just seeing her once.

He watched the two of you continue to dance and whisper, the young soldier tipping your chin up, eyes flicking to your lips, his soft pouty pink lips so close to yours, leaning down so he could press a kiss so sweet-

"Alright that's it, punk get your hands off her!"

[futureplayboibunnie]

Aphrodesiacs Pt. 4

Miguel O’Hara x fem! spidey! reader

You and Miguel O’Hara were bitten by the same spider…what could possibly happen?

mmmmmm heated.

the way you guys are eating this up makes me so damn giggly. love u fr. i’m feeding u crumb by crumb.

BROOO NSFW 18+ ykykyk

A few days had passed, still actively avoiding each other, still actively desperate for each other.

Your lips were bleeding raw. It was a nervous habit now, chewing and knawing in your lips to conceal the broken moan escaping from your throat. It was like second nature, you were actually wondering if Miguel could actually see through your eyes.

Miguel was in his office, late again as usual, and he made sure that Lyla placed you as far away from him at HQ as possible, so you ended up in the shitty lab that you hated. He contemplated not letting you at HQ at all at night when he was here. But you actually wanted to see this suppressant through, you couldn’t give up. You had to at least try, no matter how hard Miguel pushed his distinctive and contrasting ideology onto you. You had to be sure, even if it was all for nothing.

You ran a diagnostic and everything seemed…fine. It would be smarter to wait but you had to try it out, not even bothering to drink it yourself first, you wanted to give it to Miguel so you could see that smug, God-like look from his face fade into normalcy: not being whipped over each other. As you closed the lights in the lab in a hurry, Lyla glitched in front of you as you headed out. You sighed as she crossed her arms and tapped her foot, a strange look forming on her face.

“Where ya going?” She said surprisingly chipper but you know she had an ultrerior motive. You waved a hand into the air she was in but she glitched to the side of you as you walked completely determined.

“Nowhere…” You mumbled, a frown settling on your lips. She didn’t believe it and she glitched in front of you again.

“He said doesn’t want to see you.” She shut her eyes and rattled your nerves with that sing song voice. Oh he doesn’t want to see you? Well, that’s funny. You would bet all your possessions to the fact that he does definitely need to see you, he just can’t because of some misbegotten respect out of his own moral code. You scowled.

“I don’t care. I have to show him something.” You gritted out hestitantly as you raised the vial up.

“Sorryyyy, no can do.” She smiled warmly and then before you can even blink, a red glitchy quilt of a cage Miguel would use for anomolies covered you. You blinked rapidly, filled with nothing but rage at the holographic AI.

Why the hell was everyone trying control you? Miguel. Lyla. Who next, Jess? This was between you and Miguel only, you didn’t care if Lyla was practically an extension of him, all you wanted was for all of this to go away. Even if you moved across the globe from him and met the hottest guy with the biggest dick, you still wouldn’t be able to unsheath yourself from the biggest problem: Miguel. As your palms hit the glitchy forcefield, you grunted hard. A thought flashed through you: what would this be like if you stopped being Spiderwoman? You shook your head and elbowed the shield.

“Lyla. I swear to God, if you don’t let me out-“ Your teeth were threatening to shatter as you glared at the faux pout that Lyla had.

“Sorryyy. Boss’s orders. Gotta go, Margo needs me!” She giggled before disappearing into thin air.

“What the hell? Are you just going to leave me here?” You yelled at nothing but a blank space. No other spiders were here, how the fuck were you supposed to do until morning? Thank God, the lights were still dimly lit so you wouldn’t be trapped in darkness…and Miguel was still here.

You felt it. In your bones you felt it.

No, no, no.

An unbidden image if him fucking you over his desk from behind as he pulled your hair seared into your mind. You felt it, you felt the thought react to all corners of your body. It would be so hard, so rough, so intense….He would cum all over your back and then plug his cock back in you. God, he would-

Please, not now. Please, why now?

-

Miguel wasn’t making any actual, practical effort to find a solution for any of this. His whole schtick was avoidance, he had done it to many women in his life, he could do it with you. Enough of being this weak, pathetic man, he could keep all of this in check if he just focus and didn’t let his mind wander or drift. He could do it. Yes, he knew he could.

Even though he was trying to not think about these primitive urges towards you, he couldn’t help a ribbon of curiosity flow through him about you. Why you? Yes it was the spider that was the root cause of this, but you….He wanted to know more. Miguel was an insatiable man with a trust that he beats down reguarly. He doesn’t trust. Ever. Even in his society, he knew that every single society and every single person in those societies had an agenda. Including him. His agenda right now was not fucking you.

He glared at his orange screens, watching clips of you fighting, clips of you walking around HQ. As much as he thought it was just “normal” curiosity with no lustridden intent, he couldn’t help but gawk at you like a fool. What was it about you that made you so damn attractive? It couldn’t have just been the spider that made him see that. He wanted to know more about you, your friends, your life….

In a fit of impulse, he wanted to hack remotely into your phone. It wasn’t even a second thought. As he had to remind himself…”just curious.” He then toggled his morals back on, this was such an invasion of privacy. It’s just so awful of him to do this, but his impulses were deemed more important right now.

He sighed loudly and screwed his eyes shut. Fine, he would destroy any pathway he had to get to your phone after this. He would never do it again.

It took about 20 minutes to do it, but he finally got in. He winced at how he was acting but as soon as his orange screens mirrored your phone, he pushed the feeling aside with a grunt and raised his fingers to start scrolling through your phone remotely using the screens. He went on your texts and there were multiple guys lined up just begging to fuck you. Your hookups were desperate for you and they wanted more. The texts you sent were very blunt and he couldn’t stop his brow from furrowing as his eyes skimmed.

- Come fuck. Left the door open

- On the way.

it should be Miguel that kicks the door in to see you, his face contorted into a snarl just imagining someone else doing it. He knew he shouldn’t but he kept scrolling.

- Need to ask you something.

- What about.

- Are you fucking a guy called Miguel or something

- What? No.

Miguel’s eyes widened as he read the message. What? He was stunned and tinged with a heated anger. You were talking about this to other people? No one could know, that was the first thing you were both told.

- Then why’d you whimper his name when we fucked.

You didn’t answer that text. Miguel’s mouth unhinged open as he saw those little words written out in front of him. Wait…you fucked other guys and…pretended it was him? Like Miguel was doing to all his women? Jesus Christ, this really wasn’t manageable. You moaned his fucking name when another guy had his dick in you. He felt so fucking smug and triumphant, a smirk lifted up his face. Oh the thing’s he’d do to you in order to make you whimper his name. Your other men must be racking their brains and going crazy trying to found out who he is.

You had a few friends you shot messages too but all there were now recently were hookups. Miguel frowned. He went to one chat and his eyes started gleaming red. He scrolled and found a picture of you. Posing for the camera for this random guy. Naked. Miguel swore he felt the vein on his temple thrum behind his skin, his dick hardened so fast that he was sure he’d be the most pathetic man on Earth, but how could he not? You looked so…delicious.

You were sat down on the edge of your bed, phone angled to the side so that your chin rested on your shoulder, the look on your face made him groan. You pouted at the camera and tensed your brows, lips glossed and wet, eyes gleaming with desperation and arousal. Your legs were spread wide apart and he could see very clearly how wet you were, your tits sat so prettily he just had to close his eyes and grunt. “Oh my fucking God….”

Your body was better than he could ever fucking imagine, your thighs especially. He couldn’t wait to eat you out. He wanted to frame this picture and put it on his desk so he could fuck his fist while he worked, maybe he’d get you to suck his dick under the table and-

No. Por favor. Control yourself. This means nothing.

He was lying. This meant everything.

He was pulled by his mindless gawk unkindly as an alert popped up on his screen, it was the security camera picking up on something.

You.

“Lyla! I swear to God someone let me out! I can’t be here all night. Miguel?” You screamed, he looked at the live footage and he sighed thickly. His face was hard, his eyes were mean and bore a visciois crimson hue. Seeing you like that, posing for another man made him jealous beyond pure reason. He would put a bullet between his eyes and fuck your face after he did it.

Miguel shook his head hoping to fly away this tangible and unreasonable jealousy. He was doing the exact same thing, he fucked other women like it was a new hobby and in some ways it quite had to be. But they really didn’t mean anything. They weren’t you. It felt like nothing too. Though, he didn’t know if your hookups meant nothing to you. Maybe you were in love with one of them, that’s why you were so desperate for a suppressant so you could truly love someone else. Miguel’s face went blank and then contorted back to pissed again. He was the one that told you to stay away from him….

He punched the console that helped him hack your phone and then threw it across the room in a fit of anger. He stood still for a minute and raked a hand to regain his composure. He took a few deep breaths to find balance again and then walked out of his office and to where you were so he could make you go home and stay there.

Miguel clenched his fists in order to avoid punching any more of the infrastructure and he felt his knuckles turn a piercing white. He found you in the distance in the red forcefield, looking unhappy as ever and all he could envision was you naked under the suit. He groaned as he approached you, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The look you gave him was deadly. You were so pissed. This wasn’t normal anger, it was animalistic and wild. You were sure you were turning more and more red the longer you stood. Viscious wasn’t the first thing you were about to be right now.

“Let me out of this goddamn cage right now Miguel.” You quietly seethed, eyes piercing and frown growing. He had never seen you this angry before, it was alarming yet refreshing. He mirrored your exact same look as he took the forcefield down, your body langue nor your face seemed thankful.

His eyes flicked at the vials and his face grew even more indifferent, he stepped forward and snatched the vials from your hand and crushed them with his palm as you watched in disbelief. Your mouth opened in a gasp and then you fell even more furious than before. You grabbed onto his collar and leaned in, faces still bearing the same scowl, up real close.

Instead his free hand pulled your hair back and he whispered in your ear. “Don’t send naked pictures of yourself to anyone else from now on, we clear?” He spat out coldly, venom boiling and seeping into his blood as he uttered the words.

You attempted to hide the flash of surprise on your face through the anger but what was impossible to conceal was your arousal. How the hell did he know? What the fuck was he doing? It’ll be a snowy day in hell before you ever forgive him for breaking the vials. You gave him a poisonous look before you leaned in to his ear, his scent already messing with your brainwaves.

“Next time I see you…I’ll kill you myself”

He let go of you and then turned his back on you, forming a portal for you and for himself, glancing at each other as you walked through it and disappearing into the night.

-

i’m making it painful. i’m making u wait for it ahahahaha

-

taglist (giggles): @thel0velykey190 @scaleniusrm @drefear @imkikibtw @tbeanie3 @spxctorsslxt @saturnknows @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @mafer383 @i-feel-violated @crowleysthings @avatar-lover @tbeanie3 @l3laze @wyvernnest @rowboatweeb @schniti-is-in-the-house @defnot-bri @awkward-d3rs3-dramer @hasai69 @unnisumi @irongardenermaker @d1lf-loverrr @iamv1n

[draconic-desire]

DD’s Yandere Poll Series: Surviving the Yan!Penacony Boys (based on this post)

Rules/warnings: Read the below scenario and pick your answer or comment your own reaction. Dark content ahead!

Incident #3 — The Interrogation

Bright light floods your vision, eliciting a hiss as you repeatedly blink to regain your senses. Shielding your eyes is useless; your hands are pinned tightly behind your back, your wrists already starting to throb.

Once your eyes adjust, you find yourself tied to a chair, arms and legs bound to the wooden frame with thick rope. A few tugs and attempted kicks lead you to quickly relent that your bindings aren’t budging.

Shaking the fuzz from inside your head, you examine your surroundings.

While most of the room is cloaked in shadows, your chair is illuminated with a bright spotlight, highlighting the laminated flooring beneath your feet. Directly in front of you stands a long bar, perched upon a podium to elevate any individual behind it. The room is completely bare otherwise, giving a cold, clinical appearance.

How in the Aeons’ names did I end up here?

“Ah, you’ve finally regained your senses.”

You jolt, the voice to your left sending gooseflesh across your skin. It’s deep, full of condescension and authority, and almost certainly male. Sweat trickles down your neck.

Confirming your suspicions, a tall, muscular figure steps from the shadows beside you.

Your already rapid heartbeat skyrockets. Despite his scowl, the man is undeniably handsome—golden eyes to complement his dark purple locks, full lips and strong, toned arms on display thanks to his single-sleeved attire. You’d typically be blushing as he grips the back of your chair with one arm and leans down close to your face, if it weren’t for the unwelcome and compromising position you’re in.

You struggle to swallow. “I—um, sir, there must be some mistake—”

“You are (Y/n) (L/n), are you not?” he interrupts. His breath, minty with a touch of sage, tickles your nose as he closes the gap between the two of you even further.

“Um, yes…?” You cringe at how pathetic you sound, but really, how else are you supposed to react when a stranger has you apparently kidnapped and tied up?

The man rolls his eyes. “Come now, at least admit to your own name. If you can’t do that, how can you own up to the consequences of your actions?”

Head spinning, you ignore the fact that you think he just implied you’re stupid to instead focus on his latter comment. Despite your situation, you can’t help the spark of indignation that rages in your chest. Maybe that’s what makes you stupid: your sharp tongue. “Excuse me? Consequences? Are you lecturing me? And how do you know my name? Who even are you? Why am I here?”

Tilting his head slightly, the man lets a subtle smile pull at his lips. “Finally asking the right questions.” He stands and paces behind the podium in front of you, appearing like a judge presiding over court.

“My name is Dr. Veritas Ratio, and you, (Y/n), are my wife.”

You jerk back like you’ve been hit. That is certainly not what you were expecting.

A startled laugh escapes you. “I don’t have a husband.”

Ratio hums in response, jotting down something in a book he pulled from his robes. “And what is the last thing you remember before you woke up here?”

“Woah, woah, are we just going to glance over the fact that you’re claiming we’re married?!” you shout, panic creeping into your bones. So not only have you been kidnapped, but the individual holding you is also insane. Great. “I’ve never seen you before in my life!”

A deep sigh fills the room, followed by the sound of lead scratching against paper. A low mumble that you can barely discern contemplates, “Perhaps the dosage was too high this time? Such an amnestic response is unusual… Could a physical stimulus be required to invigorate her hippocampus?”

The damn man is treating you like a science project!

Before you can retort, he pulls out two small vials of liquid, both no larger than your thumb. He sets them down on the table before you and gestures to each individually.

“You now have a choice. Drinking this,” he motions to the right, at the vial possessing a golden liquid flecked with sparkling, iridescent particles, “will restore your memories. You’ll remember me, and everything that led up to this point.”

Remember him? Did he drug you into forgetting, and this was the next step in his experiment? If what he claims is true, why would a husband ever do that to his wife? Your head throbs.

“Or, choose this vial,” he points to the lefthand bottle, a concoction so dark it mirrors the midnight sky, “and you will forget everything and get to walk out that door shortly after.”

Your eyes narrow at him. Surely there was some sort of catch. His language was too vague to be of any comfort at all.

“Why are you making me choose at all? This all seems like one really fucked up joke.” You tug at your bindings again, letting out a growl of frustration.

Ratio pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “You’re lucky I’ve grown so fond of you that I can overlook your insipid questioning. You will choose.”

“And what happens when I do? Surely it’s not as simple as remembering you or being freed. You don’t seem like a man who would go to all the trouble. What’s in this for you other than forcing me to be your little lab rat?”

After a pregnant pause, Ratio clucks his tongue. “Fine. I suppose it doesn’t matter if I give away the answers. You’re clearly not thinking straight.” He places his notebook down and picks up a vial in each hand, holding the small things between his thumb and index fingers.

“The gold bottle here will completely restore your memories. You want to know the whole truth about us? How you ended up in this room? Why it’s not the first time we’ve had this conversation?” Your breath hitches; what did he mean not the first time. “Then drink this one. It will probably give you a leg up, since you’ll recall all those past times you tried oh so fruitlessly to escape me.”

He then raises his opposite hand as your horror builds. “Alternatively, this vial will completely wipe your memories, but only of me. You’ll recall everything about yourself, your life, hobbies, et cetera…but in doing so, you will be helpless the next time we meet. You will have no defenses, and one way or another, you will be my wife again. That much has already been proven true.”

The floor falls from underneath you. Aeons, how many times have you taken that midnight liquid? How many times have you been in this very scenario, drugged into forgetting him, only for him to court you time and time again. Clearly you must reject him each time, but he’s so lost in his obsession that he has to reset you each time you try to flee. The thought makes you immediately nauseous.

Despite your dry throat, you manage to croak out, “And if I refuse to take either?”

Ratio’s expression darkens, his chin tipped up haughtily. “Don’t test my patience, (Y/n).”

You gulp, eyes flicking back and forth between this two hands. You must choose.

[galedekarios]

musing on the rooms of the companions

i didn't want to put it in my main post since none of it is confirmed, but here's my take on it:

emmrich's room:

the statue echoes the one of the grand necropolis

the incense burners & lamps mirror the one he had in the trailer

the myriad of skulls in the shelves at the back

the many vials and potion bottles that he's also pictured with in his concept art

2. neve's room

the teal pops of colour just like in her outfits

the very tevinter style of architecture + aesthetic

tevinter heraldry (dragon) on decor / lamps

the huge crime investigation cork board behind the desk complete with several pieces of thread connecting maps and clues and sketches of people

prosthetic leg at the left hand side near the sideboard

3. davrin's room

grey warden crest

dark spawn statue

a plethora of swords and shields

4. bellara's room

same head of a statue as in her concept art

magical / elvhen artefacts + spheres

colour scheme choes her outfit

lots of triangles hanging from the ceiling, which have been part of her design nearly everywhere from her earrings to her armour

appears to have one of the halla statues you can collect at the winter palace in inquisition

5. taash's room

lots of dragon trophies / statues / paraphernalia from horns to sketches to wooden statues, v fitting for a dragon hunter

what surprises me is the amount of nug statues

lots of scrolls, maybe contracts or tallies/debts

6. harding's room

harding was described as a "romantic" and as someone who "loves nature"

rooms reflects that with lots of plants, a open water pool, lots of warm and natural light

has an outdoors feel to it, fitting for a former scout

which leaves...

7. lucanis's "room"

i assume it's a pantry? or a storeroom for food?

there doesn't seem to be anything personal here at all, which is perhaps fitting for someone who is both described as an assassin and as a workaholic, but it still surprised me to see just how barren his living space is, with no trace of himself seemingly, apart from a nondescript cot set up in the back

[mediraynyc]

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[aemondwhoresworld]

SYRENA — PROLOGUE

pairing: gwayne hightower x targaryen!reader

summary: on her ten-and-eight name day, her father, the king viserys i targaryen promise y/n she can have whatever she wish for since it’s her name day, even a man that she always been dreamed about. ser gwayne hightower

part of series: SYRENA | word-count: 3,3k

inspo: syrena by kiki rockwell

warning: angst to fluff, arrange marriage, infidelity, mention of cheating, use of y/n, aemma arryn still alive in this, etc.

au: i am a long time reader but this is my 3rd time to write, so there will might be a mistake here and there, english is not my first language, i did use google translate for some part, also use an online high valyrian translator. any feedback, comment, like and reblog are the motivation for me to wrote next part of this series (if you wanted to), and also please if you have any idea to add into to this, that’s would be lovely too!! anyways i hope you enjoy my first ever series

DIVIDER by targaryen-dynasty

There was a calmness that filled the room, with only the gentle sound of breathing and the feeling of anticipation in the air. "The hour of the wolf" — that period when the night has not yet fully faded, but dawn has yet to arrive — is a time you rarely experience. Though there is a hint of fatigue, something within you waits for those first rays of light.

You sense the silence of the space around you, yet within, there is a strange liveliness, as though you are grasping a precious and fragile moment between the vague and the real. Gradually, you begin to notice the gentle light from outside creeping in, stirring you from the initial stillness.

Could today be a special day? Yes, it is indeed, King Viserys I Targaryen, the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms name day

The hurried footsteps and the clatter of armor outside blend with the room’s tranquility, creating an interesting contrast. It seems the world outside is bustling and hurried with its tasks, while you remain in the calm and peaceful atmosphere of your bedchamber.

The soft fragrance of flowers and scented candles from the previous night still lingered, creating a soothing and comforting atmosphere. These scents seemed to evoke memories of a peaceful, long night, where you could let yourself sink into a deep sleep without the worries of the outside world other duties that come with being a Princess.

The bedroom retained its warmth and familiarity, like a small haven shielding you from the chaos and stress of life outside. In this moment, you felt a sense of safety and tranquility within your private space, before stepping out to face the world.

The gentle footsteps of Elin, your handmaiden, echoed faintly from outside the door — a sound you had grown so familiar with that you recognized it without needing to look. No matter what state you were in, her footsteps always brought a sense of reassurance and comfort. In this Keep, respect was expressed through small gestures, such as how Elin patiently knocked before entering, even knowing you might still be asleep. She understood every small detail of your life, from daily habits to personal preferences, ensuring that you always felt respected and properly cared for.

The sound of her footsteps and knocking served as the beginning of a new day, carrying with them the peace and care that Elin always provided. Your only true friend.

Elin entered with a concerned expression, her eyes showing a hint of confusion when she saw you were already awake. Her voice was gentle but filled with sincere care, “Princess, did I make too much noise and wake you?” Elin knew you were usually a deep sleeper, nearly impossible to rouse, but today was an exception.

She stood there holding the items for your morning routine — a soft towel, a bottle of scented water, and a few delicate vials of essential oils. Elin's face showed slight unease as she realized you had risen before dawn, something she had never witnessed. Nevertheless, her eyes still reflected the caution and readiness to serve.

You smiled gently at her, your gaze softening to ease her worries. “It’s fine, Elin, I simply wanted to wake up early today,” you replied with a calm yet authoritative tone. Slowly, you sat up, feeling each muscle stretch as you raised your arms to loosen your body. The gentle sensation spread through your limbs, bringing full alertness to your mind.

You stood, letting the faint morning light filter through the curtains and touch your skin. The sounds from outside continued, but now, you no longer paid them any mind. You stepped into a small private chamber separated by a wooden door, a space where you often found peace and privacy.

This room, though simple, was where you felt most at ease — a sanctuary for personal moments amidst the rush of palace life. Elin remained still behind you, patiently waiting, as always, ready to assist you with your morning preparations with unwavering dedication and loyalty.

Elin carefully helped you into a deep crimson gown, a garment of refined craftsmanship and elegance. Every stitch was made with meticulous attention, reflecting the dignity of House Targaryen. The gown was gently cinched at the waist, accentuating your figure, and the intricate patterns on the collar, bearing the Targaryen sigil, served as a reminder of the thick dragon's blood running through your veins.

Elin continued her familiar, deliberate movements, fastening a pair of ruby earrings to your ears — the deep red stones matching your gown perfectly. These earrings were more than just accessories; they were a meaningful gift from Rhaenyra, the sister you admired and loved dearly. You raised a hand to adjust the earrings, ensuring they sat perfectly in place.

This piece of jewelry had become an inseparable part of you, a symbol of loyalty and attachment. When you wore them, you not only felt protected by your family’s love but also imbued with strength, confidence, and the determination to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Elin finished her task, stepping back to admire her work. You stood there in the crimson gown, the ruby earrings sparkling like symbols of power and eternity.

You paused briefly, gazing at your reflection in the mirror, then called out, “Come in,” your voice just loud enough to carry through the door, summoning the person outside.

The door opened slowly and carefully. Someone entered with respect, creating no loud noises or disturbances in your peaceful space. The light from the hallway trickled into the room, but it could not overpower the serenity within.

Rhaenyra entered, her eyes lighting up with mild surprise at the sight of you already dressed. 

“Sister” she called, her voice carrying its familiar warmth, though she couldn’t hide her surprise.

“Nyra,” you responded with a soft smile, meeting her gaze directly. Both of you were well-acquainted with each other’s small jokes, and immediately, Rhaenyra burst into laughter, teasing you, 

“Oh, right on time! I thought you would still be struggling to get out of bed.” Her voice carried a hint of humor, as if she was intentionally trying to provoke a reaction from you.

You smiled, your eyes sparkling. "It's Father's birthday today, so I have to do something to surprise him… to make him proud," you replied with a tone that was both slightly excited and mature. Both of you understood that this wasn’t just any day; it was an occasion to honor and reinforce the bonds of your family.

In the early morning light, which now allowed you to clearly see Rhaenyra, you and your sister shared this intimate moment, filled with love and a deep connection between the two of you. The morning had not fully dawned yet, but you could sense that this day would be memorable, full of unexpected events, and, most importantly, marked by the presence of family love in every moment.

“Come, father and mother and others are waiting for us to break our fast together”

Rhaenyra smiled and extended her hand towards you, a familiar gesture since you were both children. You took her hand, feeling the warmth and comfort that she always brought. Despite your age, this vast Red Keep still felt like a labyrinth at times, and Rhaenyra’s presence always made you feel less lost.

The two of you walked together through the long, cold corridors of the Red Keep, where the early morning light had only just begun to filter through. As you approached the breakfast room of House Targaryen, you saw your father, King Viserys, seated regally at the head of the table. To his right was your mother, Aemma Arryn, her face gentle yet carrying the characteristic contemplative expression she always wore. Rhaenyra took her seat to his left, and you sat beside your mother, feeling the bond and tranquility of family in the air.

Alicent Hightower, daughter of Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, sat beside Rhaenyra. Alicent always maintained a polite and reserved demeanor, though her presence within the Targaryen family created an unspoken distance that you could never quite overlook.

You approached King Viserys, looking into his kind eyes. “Good morrow, and Happy name day, father” you said softly, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on his weathered cheek, marked by age and the heavy burdens of kingship. His face brightened with a warm smile as he responded, 

“Thank you, my dear daughter.”

As you and Rhaenyra approached the table, Otto Hightower looked up, nodding in greeting with a deep, courteous tone, "Good morrow, Princesses." You returned the nod, maintaining your poised demeanor as a princess, “Morrow, Otto.” Your gaze quickly shifted to Alicent, who always wore a calm and pleasant expression.

Alicent offered you a soft smile, her face friendly but composed, a subtle gesture of polite acknowledgment. You responded with a gentle smile of your own, one that was both delicate yet sincere, showing respect and a sense of connection between the two of you. In this royal space, every gesture and glance carried layers of meaning far deeper than words, and you recognized that despite the complexities surrounding you, moments like this still managed to create a brief sense of peace.

The morning light gradually filled the room, and you could feel the harmony among the family members, at least during this breakfast. The exchanged smiles, though subtle, brought a warmth that momentarily alleviated the heavy responsibilities and power that came with being part of the Targaryen bloodline.

You smiled softly at your mother before taking your seat beside her. The breakfast proceeded in a warm, cozy atmosphere, the gentle clink of cutlery mingling with the light yet meaningful conversations. King Viserys and Otto Hightower discussed tonight’s grand feast — a significant event where all the Lords and Ladies from across the realm were invited to celebrate.

You quietly enjoyed your meal, listening to the conversation and savoring the rare moment of calm, even though you knew that for kings and nobles, such peace could vanish at any moment. Yet, for this morning, everything seemed to be in its rightful place.

After breaking your fast, you retreated to your favorite place: the library. This was the space you always sought whenever you wanted to escape the pressures of royal life, or simply when you desired solitude. Surrounding you were towering bookshelves, filled with countless precious volumes. You immersed yourself in the world of stories and knowledge, a sense of peace washing over you as you turned the pages.

You were halfway through reading one of your favorite books, allowing yourself to get lost in its captivating words. But then, the sound of commotion from the carriages outside reached your ears, breaking the quiet of the library. Cheers of excitement, particularly the enthusiastic voice of Alicent, echoed through the thick walls. Clearly, something exciting had just happened outside, but you found yourself uninterested.

Ignoring the noise, you tried to refocus on the book in your hands. The letters on the pages filled your mind, drawing you back into the story, as if offering you an escape from the stirrings of palace life. You were aware that there were many important matters happening outside, but in this moment, the world within the pages was all you needed.

The outdoor luncheon had been in full swing for some time, the air lively with laughter, conversation, and the pleasant clatter of utensils creating a cheerful and relaxed atmosphere. You stood with Rhaenyra, nibbling on a few delightful dishes and chatting, occasionally breaking into laughter that mingled with the festive ambiance. But in a brief moment, you noticed that Alicent was nowhere to be seen, which caused you a flicker of surprise.

Just as you began to wonder about her, Alicent appeared in the distance, approaching with a radiant smile on her face.

"Princess, allow me to introduce Ser Gwayne Hightower, my brother from Oldtown," Alicent said with pride evident in her voice. You looked beyond her and saw a tall young man with auburn hair and striking blue eyes. Ser Gwayne was clad in gleaming armor, the collar of his cloak bearing the sigil of House Hightower, a clear symbol of his family’s status.

"It is an honor to meet you, Princess," Ser Gwayne said with formal grace. He bowed slightly, lifting your hand and placing a gentle kiss upon it, a sign of his respect.

You smiled faintly, your voice soft yet firm, a clear reflection of your station, "The honor is mine." Without another word, you turned and walked away, your steps deliberately slow as you made your way towards the royal gardens — a place where you always found peace on bright, sunny days.

As you reached a quieter part of the garden, you suddenly heard your name called from behind. You paused, a hint of surprise in your eyes. Ser Gwayne's voice reached you, 

"Might I escort you for a while, or perhaps join you for a walk through the gardens?"

You turned back to find Ser Gwayne standing there, his eyes expectant. Patience was etched on his face, as though he would wait for as long as necessary for your response, fully respectful of your every move.

"If that is your wish, Ser," you replied, your tone distant yet polite. You resumed your walk, hearing the hurried steps of Ser Gwayne behind you as he tried to match your pace. In the stillness of the garden, you wondered what this knight from Oldtown might bring into the already intricate web of your life.

Ser Gwayne walked beside you in the garden, a slightly improper gesture since a knight is typically expected to follow a few steps behind a princess. However, you did not mind, as he posed no apparent threat to you. After a lengthy stroll, the two of you arrived at the area with the stone benches where you often rested. You sat down on the intricately carved bench, while Ser Gwayne stood nearby, his demeanor somewhat reserved.

Noticing this, you broke the silence 

"Ser Gwayne, you may sit with me," you said, lightly patting the empty space beside you, signaling for him to sit.

"Is that appropriate, Princess?" he asked, his tone tinged with concern. As a knight, Ser Gwayne was fully aware of the consequences of any misstep regarding you—it would be considered treason, a fate no one, especially he, wished to face.

"Of course," you replied, looking at him with a playful glint in your eye, "Your princess permits it." You smiled mischievously, as if to test his nervousness. Ser Gwayne responded with a slight smile before sitting down beside you.

The two of you gazed at the garden together, watching the flowers gently sway in the breeze. You shared with each other your personal interests, hobbies, small yet captivating stories. Time seemed to pass quickly, and by now, the sun had begun to set, signaling that the evening feast was near.

"I think it's time I return to my chambers to prepare for the feast," you said softly, smiling as you stood up. You bowed gracefully before turning to leave.

But before you could take a step, Ser Gwayne offered, "Then let me escort you," his voice still warm and courteous.

You gently shook your head in refusal, your tone light but firm “There is no need, Ser Gwayne”. You wished to avoid any rumors that might disturb your life or tarnish both your reputations. Smiling, you bid him farewell and turned to walk towards the stairs leading into the Red Keep, heading to your chambers to prepare for the grand feast tonight.

The friendship between you and Ser Gwayne began to blossom through the intimate and profound conversations you shared during his stay in King's Landing. Before meeting him, your life seemed to revolve around books and solitary strolls in the garden. But since Ser Gwayne’s arrival, he has filled those lonely voids, bringing new joy and happiness into your life.

Despite the age difference, you couldn’t stop yourself from falling deeper into your feelings for Ser Gwayne. The meetings and conversations with him made you realize that your heart had begun to stir, and that love was growing increasingly intense. Just at the age of ten and six

Ser Gwayne’s presence had transformed your life, bringing emotions you had never experienced before. Are you ready to face the challenges and difficulties that this relationship may bring, especially when Ser Gwayne must leave?

You had just dismounted your dragon, feeling the cool breeze as you touched the ground. After handing Matarys to the dragonkeeper, you began to walk inside the Red Keep. Not far in, you encountered Rhaenyra, the sister you always trusted. She approached you, her eyes showing a mix of concern and sadness.

“Since Ser Gwayne arrived, I’ve seen you much happier, dear sister” Rhaenyra began, her voice filled with genuine concern. It was clear she was worried that what she was about to say would bring you sadness.

You looked at her anxiously, your heart filled with emotion, and urged her, “Oh Nyra, just tell me already.”

Rhaenyra took a deep breath and then slowly said, “Ser Gwayne is preparing to return to Oldtown.”

Before your sister could say anything more, you felt your heart clench. You brushed past Rhaenyra, quickly making your way towards the door leading to the front courtyard. It didn’t take long to find him; with just a glance, you recognized the familiar figure of Ser Gwayne, who was preparing to depart.

You approached Ser Gwayne, gently placing your hand on his shoulder, feeling the firmness through his armor. Ser Gwayne turned his head, his eyes briefly showing surprise upon seeing you. But soon after, you could see a sadness in his eyes. Those eyes seemed to reflect his inner turmoil — not just about leaving his loved ones in Kings Landing, but also about parting from you, someone he had grown attached to.

The two of you stood there, your eyes meeting in a moment of silence. In his eyes, you recognized a deep sorrow, perhaps similar to what you were feeling in your heart. No one knew when you might meet again, and that only made this moment all the more difficult.

Ser Gwayne softly broke the silence, as if to lighten the heavy atmosphere, 

“Princess Y/n,” he addressed you, acknowledging your presence, before continuing, “Is there something I can do for you, Princess?”

You ignored his question, your emotions welling up, allowing you only to say, “Ser Gwayne… I did not expect you to leave so soon.” Your words were filled with uncertainty, but also a hint of shyness and hesitation.

Ser Gwayne looked directly at you, his expression softening. “I apologize, Princess, but I didn’t expect me to leave so soon either,” he said, his tone tinged with regret. He had turned fully towards you, facing you so he could see your face more clearly. Before you could respond, he continued, “But I promise you, Princess, that once I’m in Oldtown, I will write to you often.”

Ser Gwayne’s promise offered some comfort, but it couldn’t dispel the sadness in your heart. You could only nod and reply in a soft voice, “I will wait for your letters, Gwayne.”

Not wanting to prolong the farewell, you quickly turned and walked back inside the Red Keep. You knew that if you stayed longer, watching Ser Gwayne leave on horseback, you might not be able to bear the pain.

As you entered, Rhaenyra was waiting, wrapping you in her warm embrace. She gently stroked your silver-blonde hair and, with a soothing voice, reassured you, “Ziry jāhor māzigon arlī.” But at that moment, those comforting words couldn’t stop you from breaking down into tears. The sobs wracked your body, leaving you unable to speak, as you leaned into your sister’s arms, letting the pain slowly subside.

“He will come back” You whispers in your thought

[to be continue...]

please let me know what you think about this first chapter of my first series!!! please be nice and thank you so much for reading til the very end

add yourself into this series taglist HERE

taglist: @allyly ; @moonfl3uur ; @secretf1lms ; @anpacax0 ; @beebeechaos ; @tatolover0821 ; @sachaa-ff ; @coubalts ; @scarlettsft ; @lunaloomer ; @scarlettsft ; @liafiction ; @dunevitani ; @mimivtaem

[greenqueenhightower]

Thoughts on the Larys x Aegon Scene in 2x06:

"He executes justice for the fatherless child and the widow."—Deuteronomy 10:18

Larys visits Aegon as he lies on his bed, healing from his injuries. Aegon is most eager to cloud his mind with milk of the poppy, just as his father had done. As he is handed the vial with the drug, Larys assumes the authority of a family member entrusted with Aegon's care. He purposely withholds the drug from Aegon, to instruct him. He wants to instill in him the conviction that he only has his mind to depend on now. Aegon's mind should be sacred to him, just as it is for Larys.

"You have already written yourself into legend. You have survived dragonfire." Larys begins to bore through Aegon's mind. He is not a mere mortal man. He is a legend. Despite his trembling and silent cowering at the sight of his brother, Aegon should not feel completely wasted.

"I came screaming into this world." Larys breaks the news of the extent of his injuries to Aegon. The young King's distraught and mutilated state stirs up something inside him, something that Larys has long kept shut. In response, he does something remarkable; something we've never seen Larys do before: he becomes vulnerable.

"My lungs were strong but my foot so twisted that my father named it sorcery." Breathing heavily, Larys reveals that he, too, was shunned by his father since birth. His deformity was something that Lyonel Strong never came to accept just as Viserys never accepted Aegon as his son and heir. Larys' fate is akin to that of his King. Aegon's grunts of pain stop and he fixes his attention on Larys.

"They will stare at you... or turn away." Aegon and Larys cry together, the wounds of both exposed bare. Larys lets Aegon in on his inner trauma of being despised and disposed of because of his disability. Does Larys fear that Aegon might suffer the same fate by his family? Does he empathize with Aegon's pain because he sees himself in him? Does he want to prepare him for or shield him from the cruel world?

"They will underestimate you... and this will be your advantage." Larys' face hardens as he reveals the bitter truth. Aegon musters up whatever courage he has to exclaim "No!" and shake his head in disbelief.

"Help me. Please." Larys warns Aegon that his life is in danger and he begs for his help. Aegon has come to trust Larys with his life. Has he found an ally and a friend in him? He now wants Larys to protect him. He turns to him like a refuge in a storm. He knows he can depend on him. Like a child pleading with his father, Aegon's eyes plead with Larys.

Larys responds with his determined face and trademark smirk. What will he do to protect his King? One thing is certain: Larys is a ruthless executioner of justice. He has killed his own family, whose eyes so wickedly and hatefully stared at him, for all the injustices inflicted on him. He has tortured and killed all those who betrayed his trust. He is bound to be equally merciless with those who dare touch or thus dehumanize Aegon. Larys assumes the role of father and protector for Aegon, ready to execute his own version of justice for what he cares about.

And apart from himself, Larys has shown that the only other soul he cares to avenge is Aegon.

[sun-kissy]

Hi! Could you write headcanons for marauders with a dhampir reader(half vampire half witch) whos a part of the marauders? No romance if possible xx

hello!! thank you for the request, this was really fun to research about and write. let me know if there’s anything i got wrong :)

headcanons of marauders x half-witch, half-vampire!reader

tw: mentions of blood

• james goes starry-eyed whenever you do even the slightest of cool things, like one-handedly lifting a large stack of books because of your enhanced strength

• he forces you to play quidditch with him, happy that there’s “finally someone who can give him some competition” with your fast reflexes

• he’s insanely protective of you, and immediately gets riled up when someone is mean to you

• and he protests that you should speak to dumbledore about getting safe sources of blood to consume, frustrated when you keep insisting that it’s okay

• sirius can’t keep his eyes off of you when you move because you do it so gracefully that he wonders if you’re even real

• he thinks your being a vampire is the coolest thing ever. like when he’s introducing you to someone new, he never forgets to mention, “oh, and she’s a half-vampire,” and he’ll wrap his arm around your waist proudly as you die of embarrassment

• he hexes anyone who dares to say a word about your vampire identity

• you and sirius have the same dark humor. essentially matching each other’s freak

• sometimes he just shows up with big bottles of blood for you to drink and never tells you where he got them from

• remus asks you to teach him all about the dark magic you know, the two of you spend hours in the library pouring over books about enchantments and darkness

• if someone discriminates against you, he’ll just silently glare at them, but later he’ll cast the nastiest prank ever known to humankind on them

• remus and you just get each other, both of you having that one dark part of yourself you can’t seem to love

• the two of you go on walks late at night and sit near the black pond to talk about how deeply you hate yourselves

• remus is eternally grateful to you for helping to heal him with blood magic after full moons. he acts like he hates that you’re doing this, but he’s so thankful he has to blink tears away

• he offers to kill people (with a straight face) in order to satisfy your blood cravings, which you hastily decline

• he spends hours researching until he finally finds a spell, which he casts on you when you’re asleep every morning, so the sun doesn’t affect you as much throughout the day

• on the off-chance that remus forgets to cast the spell, the boys overreact when you start to burn up in the sun

• sirius shrieks and grabs your hand, running and pulling you to shelter while screaming about how you’re dying and melting away

• james immediately tries to stand tall and shield you from the heat, hurriedly ushering you back into shelter before he worriedly takes a look at your burns

• peter just lathers some magical sunblock on you which he carries around with him

• peter was terrified of you and your abilities when you first met, but slowly grows fond of you

• he’s the only one with common sense when it comes to your need to consume blood, and charms goblets to automatically produce it

• he always has vials of blood in his bag for you

• you’re the marauders’ secret weapon when playing pranks because you’re really good at sneaking around and detecting when someone’s gonna catch you

• they make sure you never feel like a burden, and always do their best to help you, whether it’s by finding shaded paths to walk on or by staying up with you when your nocturnal tendencies act up

[peachesofteal]

I keep thinking about Simon having to come home and telling Darling that Johnny is gone.

Not canon for Dead Disco. MW3 spoilers.

The little vial weighs a thousand pounds in his pocket. It holds the weight of his entire life, his love, one half of the only good thing about his entire existence. His future, turned to ash. Stolen. Vanished in a blink of an eye, like he was never even here to begin with. One light of his life, bright blue eyes that shone in the darkest moments of Simon's life, ripped away. His Johnny, now his angel.

His Johnny. His future. Yours. The life he shared, with him, with you. Gone now, forever.

It should have been him. He should have been there. He should have caught that bullet in his skull. Not Johnny. Not the one who had so much more, so much promise, so much to live for. All Simon had was him, and you. Johnny had the whole world.

He rubs his face, blinking his eyes wide to stare at the front door of the flat. He tries to force himself to take a step, put his key in the lock and cross the threshold, but his legs won't work, body rebelling against the logic of his brain.

If he doesn't go inside, then his family can't be ruined yet. He can still live in this in-between, daydreaming about Johnny just lagging behind him, coming up the stairs from the car, complaining about how tired he is, or going on and on about how he can't wait to see you, and he doesn't care if you're asleep, he's waking you up this time because he knows you'd want him to.

If he doesn't go inside, he can save you too. He can still safeguard your heart, still protect you, still keep you whole. He can save you from the pain, the heartbreak. Succeed where he's failed.

How can he face you? How can he open this door and tell you Johnny is gone? That he failed, failed to protect him, and in turn, failed to protect you. Failed to keep the love of his life safe from harm, like he always promised.

His hands tremble, sob cresting in his throat that he covers his mouth for, pressing his palm tight enough to cut off the flow of oxygen. How is he supposed to live, without Johnny? How are you supposed to? How can the two of you exist in a world where he does not exist?

He doesn't know. He thinks, most likely, he was never supposed to know.

You're freshly showered. Hair still wet, little droplets of water on your legs, absolutely beaming in one of Johnny's t shirts. You're happy to see him, no doubt expecting Johnny to be just behind him, and you've already got your arms extended, half skipping, half running towards where he stands, silent and shell shocked, just inside the door.

"You're home!" You breathe in his neck when you jump into his arms, and like a robot, he holds you tight, hands closing around you, entire body curling over you, squeezing you so tight he's sure it must hurt. If he can just, swallow you whole. Burrow you into his skin, hide you, shield you, keep you safe, then you'll never have to know hurt again. You'll never be faced with this pain, again. Not like him. "Where's Johnny?" you mumble, mouth full of sweatshirt and skin, his muscles turning to stone without his say so. You push off, trying to peek around him to the hallway, standing on your tip toes. "He still coming up?" The lump in his throat scorches his skin like lava.

"Darling."

"Hmm?" You look up at him, really looking, searching, and a small frown tugs your lips downward. "You look tired, Si." He can't answer, can't even speak, so he takes you by the hand and walks you gently over to the couch. As you sit, your face twists into something more confused, and finally... wary. "What's... going on?"

"There's been-" He can't. His heart screams in his chest, fire burning through his veins, mind shattering pain ripping through his skin.

"What is it?" You whisper, and when you look at him, he sees the fear in your eyes, the worry. They dart from him to the front door, waiting. Watching. Looking for the man who's not coming home. "Where is Johnny." He takes your hands, folding lithe fingers into his palms and anchors them there as he tries to take a deep breath.

"He's gone." They're barely words. Barely anything. And he realizes, in the back of his mind, that it's the first he's said them. First time he's told anyone, that Johnny is gone. First time that he's needed to. It's agony.

"Where did he go?" You rear back, confused.

"He-"

"He's gone where?" You try to pull back, legs shifting restlessly under you, but he strengthens his grip. He cannot let you out of his sight now, not ever. "Simon." Panic tinges his name, and he closes his eyes, trying to stave off the tears that are trying to spill over. "Simon, you're scaring me."

"He's gone. He- he died, darling. We lost him." He's not sure if he's even in his body anymore. He can feel his face growing wet, his sight distorted by his tears, hands clutching onto yours so fiercely, like someone is trying to rip you away.

"No." You tell him, like it's that simple. A denial. Refusal. "No, stop. No he can't be. He-"

"Please." Simon begs, pulling you into his chest. "Please, I know-“

"No- nononono. Simon. No." You're cracking now, crumbling under the truth, twisting in his grip, trying to pull away.

He lets you. Lets you jerk backwards, look at him head on with those wide, horrified eyes.

You stare him like he’s a stranger. Like you’ve never known him a day in your life, like you’re trying to peer into his brain, see the truth for yourself. He watches you, sees how your mind works to process it, sees how your eyes fill with tears, how your face crumples.

And then you scream.

You scream like you're being torn to pieces. You scream like you're watching it happen, all over again. Scream like a third of your heart is being ripped from your chest, your entire body shaking, fingers fisting in your hair and yanking. Ripping it out from the roots, fingernails digging into your scalp until they draw blood, chest splitting open with awful, terrible sobs. Sobs he never wanted to hear. Sobs he'll hear for the rest of his life, every time he closes his eyes, played with the sound of that single gunshot.

"Darling." He grabs back onto you, holding your hands in his, detangling them from your hair, and you don't even realize, don't even respond, breaths coming in short, frantic gasps that make him feel scared.

"He said... he promised, y-you promised." You cry, broken, and it buries him beneath a mountain of despair. "He can't b-be gone, he can't be gone, he can't." He holds you tight, tucks your face under his chin, into his neck. You shake in his arms, matching the trembling in his own body as his tears fall, and he lowers the two of you to the floor, rocking back and forth, murmuring nonsense into your hair above the sound of your moans.

Time passes slowly. You cling to him, almost like a child, refusing to move your face from his neck, pressing so hard into his skin he thinks you may be hurting yourself, until you fall asleep, exhausted from stress, heartbreak, grief. Your body worn out from crying, crying so hard you were coughing and gagging, screaming so loud your throat grew hoarse. For hours, he holds you, soothing you back to sleep whenever you startle awake, telling you that he's here, that he's got you, all while keeping his eyes fixed on the wall, where a framed photograph looks on with memories frozen inside it’s glass.

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Follow Me

Request: Can you do something like Vault 4 in the show but with Coop and the reader and how they'd react to friendly faces (or what seem like friendly faces?) A/N: This prompt GOT ME GOOD. I started out with Vault 4, scrapped that, and somehow ended with hippie Ghouls singing Uncle Kracker songs that we're pretending are original because they definitely didn't exist in the pre-war Fallout universe a totally realistic Fallout story that involves hippies and the ocean Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language Summary: You can't help but be suspicious of everyone you meet in the Wasteland, but a group of friendly, musically-inclined Ghouls just might be the exception.

Word Count: 1.9k+

(Gif Credit to @オレは強い)

“You get the caps?” 

Cooper tosses a bag tied with twine your way in response. It’s heavy, the sound of bottle caps clinking in a soft reassurance that you can afford to rest your aching body for more than just a couple nights.

“There isn’t anything in these damn dunes but sand and rocks.” You kick at the ground, “Might as well start pedaling back east.”

There’s a moment of hesitation before Cooper answers. 

“Not this late. We’ll go west. Follow the coastline.”

You sigh in defeat, resigning yourself to the fate of slogging through thousands of tons of sand. 

“Problem, sweetcheeks?”

A scowl curls your lip at Cooper’s sarcastic jab. He’s already walking west into the orange halo of a setting sun. 

“Just don’t want to hike back through more miles of dunes if we don’t have to.” You mutter and follow behind him. 

If he was going to be a prick, you were at least going to use his already-irradiated body as a sun shield. 

After a substantial payout on your most recent bounty, Cooper and yourself were both ready for a break. It had been a long few months of job after job and patience was wearing thin. You’re both getting more snappy with each other as the days slip by; Cooper is more dependent on his Vials after exerting himself, and you’re plain exhausted. Sunburned, sweaty and dry all the same. It is a volatile mix of attitude and flaring tempers, both of which you and Cooper possess a staggering amount of.

The drop location for the bounty had been far west in the sand dunes, nearing the coastline. Cooper had made the drop while you sought out shelter for the night. Sought being the key word, as you’ve been hiking through sand for hours with nothing to show for it. You met back up with Cooper at the crest of a dune, where he’s huffing down a Vial and pacing like a caged animal. 

And now, you’re back on the move. 

You trail in his shadow even when the sun sinks below the sand and a full moon rises. You’re comforted by the absence of heat and creeping relief of dusk as it soothes away the day’s burns, but desperate for a reprieve from the elements. It takes you a few moments shuffling through your pack while walking to find the salve you’d mixed up months ago and slather what remains of it on your roasted cheeks. Trying to put the lid back on and not fall flat on your face is a chore, made more difficult by Cooper’s sudden stopping in front of you. 

“Damn, a little warning would be…” You trail off, looking ahead. “Nice.”

It had been years since you’d seen the ocean, and its grandeur isn’t lost on you. Waves lap at the thirsty shoreline, breaking up the moon’s silvery reflection. For miles and miles, as far as the eye can see, water dances and shifts until it mixes into a twilight sky on the horizon.

A childish bout of excitement washes over you as you observe. Only one more hill of sand separates you from the water. Cooper sighs as you weave around him and hustle towards it. 

“Don’t you get in that water, woman.” He barks, “I ain’t fishin’ you out.”

You ignore him and hike up the next dune. Forever seems to pass as you climb upwards and you curse the sand once more. You’re almost to the top, ready to make a mad dash to the water when a voice stops you. 

“Hello!” A surprisingly happy voice catches you off guard, coming from your left, “Welcome, friends!” 

Cooper is immediately on guard, pulling his pistol. The Ghoul persona steps up to bat, his face all hard edges and glaring eyes. Despite the arguing and bickering you’ve been putting each other through, his protective streak drops over you like a shield. Now at your side, he nudges a shoulder in front of you.

Ghouls can take bullets a lot easier than a human, after all.  

In the direction the voice came from, you take stock of not one but several figures in a circular camp. They’re grouped around an old cable spool that’s topped with bottles of various liquor and drinks, and they move to the twang of what you think is an old guitar. A small fire crackles next to the table. The guitar chords reach your ears in slow waves, an inviting tune that makes you want you go down and dance with them 

The figure who’d called out is closer, hands held up in a placating manner. You’re surprised to note the familiar lack of a nose and wrinkled skin that labels him a Ghoul. He’s apparently younger than Cooper - as most Ghouls are- with skin a little less warped and blonde hair that still seems to grow rather wall from his scarred scalp.

“Woah there, brother. Take it easy.” 

Cooper doesn’t relent. “We ain’t here to make friends. Just passin’ through.”

There’s something about this stranger that’s genuine. That’s not to say you haven’t met real, genuine people in the Wasteland, but kindness is something found few and far between these days. You've met a few Ghouls outside of Cooper, most of which are inherently more friendly due their outcasting from a lot of the major settlements. They’re usually chatty, comforted by the sight of a smooth-skin traveling and being in close quarters with another of their own kind.

Your Ghoul, though, is less willing to accept friendship on the fly. 

“It’s not about the destination, folks. It’s about the journey.” He pauses, “And the people you meet.”

You blink at him and turn to Cooper, who snorts. “Well ain’t that sweet.”

“Listen brother, I know life is rough out there but I swear- we’re just here to enjoy what we can.” He motions over to the camp, where another male Ghoul is picking the guitar and laughing with the others.There’s no weapons lying about, and a clear line of sight in every direction.

A smile pulls at your lips, and you place one hand on Cooper’s forearm. The music is washing away any sort of hesitation you had, reinforcing the desire for rest. 

“Sorry, my partner here is a little paranoid. We wouldn’t mind stopping.” 

It takes a few moments of convincing (half of them being threats of physical violence) for Cooper to stand down. You’re fairly certain he knows these Ghouls are harmless, but can’t escape the suffocating paranoia that comes along with two hundred years of Wastelanding.

Shortly thereafter, you're introduced to the ragtag group, sharing only your first names and settling your things against the side of an overturned car that only has half of the roof sticking up from the sand. Kevin, Phil, Desiree, Cody and Mallorie regale you with their stories, about leaving the major settlements for a life on the road and somehow being happy and relatively unscathed by Wasteland violence. 

Through it all, Cooper is predictably standoffish, amber eyes shooting daggers into anyone that gets too close.

Which, with this group, is everyone. 

They aren’t just friendly, but physical, rubbing your shoulders and patting you on the back. One of the female Ghouls braids your hair while Cooper sits stock still across the firepit. They attempt to make conversation with him, most of which ends with no response. You scowl at his rudeness each time, and nudge his shoulder to prompt one word responses once you’re returned to his side of the fire. 

“So, where are you folks headed?” The female Ghoul who’d braided your hair inquires. 

Cooper is quiet beside you, cigarette dangling from between his lips. 

“Not sure.” You answer, glancing to your side to look at the ocean. “We kind of just... Move. Wherever we can find work, we go.”

“A shame that we’re still slaves to money after being nuked.” Phil, who’s been strumming on the guitar since you joined, speaks up. “You’d think everyone could just be peaceful now.”

And that statement actually gets a reaction from Cooper. It’s a snort, but a reaction nonetheless.

“Ain’t nobody peaceful out here.” Cooper stubs his cigarette out on the rotted metal of the car, “Everybody wants somethin’. Money, drugs, power.”

“Guns.” You add, lighting your own cigarette. 

“Not us.” Desiree, the very same that braided your hair, looks around the group, “We left all of that. All we want is peace.”

While it was a nice thought, you’d seen too much to ever believe it was true. The Wasteland truly metamorphosizes people, and not always in a good way. There’s always someone clamoring to be the newest leader, the brightest glow of hope for the world. 

“True that, sister.” Phil lifts his drink and the group follows, toasting to her words. “And to our new friends, I hope you can find peace someday.”

You smile in spite of your own thoughts, raising the cigarette in your hand in a lazy nod to their previous toast. The group cheers once again and lifts their drinks towards the sky. You bump playfully into Cooper’s shoulder, and your Ghoul stares at you from under the brim of his dirty hat. His eyes are narrowed and you know deep down he’ll never be able to escape the grip the Wasteland has on his heart, but that doesn’t mean you won’t try your damndest to get a smile out of him. 

“I got something the cowboy will like.” Phil pats his guitar as if it’s a shiny new car, “I dabble in the country genre.”

Cooper tilts his head back and steals the cigarette from between your fingers. “This oughta be good. You gonna regale us with some Johnny Cash this evenin’?”

Kevin pipes up then, smoothing out his blonde locks. “No Johnny Cash here, man. Phil’s got some original stuff. We call it ‘new age’ country.”

“Well, I’ll be.” Cooper finishes your cigarette, and starts working on lighting a second to make up for it. “Let’s hear it.”

The sarcasm drips heavy from his voice, and you resist the ever-so-common urge to slap him for his rudeness. You’re plucking the newly-lit cigarette from scarred fingers when Phil starts strumming the guitar again, now in a slow beat that immediately makes you think of the ocean swirling behind you. It’s a melody far different than that of the Wasteland radio stations, something new and creative that sends an excited tingle up your spine. You nod your head with each note, nudging the Ghoul beside you. He takes a long swig of whiskey, watching your swaying out of the corner of his eye. 

“You don't know how you met me, you don't know why

You can't turn around and say goodbye.”

Happy to have something cheery  in the sprawling hellscape you’re forced to live in, your smile cracks wider. Cooper is watching Phil now too, one hand resting on his thigh and the other loosely gripping his whiskey. 

“Follow me, everything is alright. 

I’ll be the one to tuck you in at night. 

And if you want to leave, I can guarantee

You won't find nobody else like me.”

Warmth washes over you at the lyrics and you lean into Cooper’s side. He shifts around to make it comfortable for you, and the fingers of that arm find your hip. Phil keeps crooning into the night, lulling your eyes shut as your cigarette turns to ash. Your eyes flutter when Cooper takes another swig of liquor, sweeping over the group. Everyone’s swaying to the tune, singing along and dancing. It’s not until you move to settle back down that movement catches your eye and a shit-eating grin spreads across your face. 

Cooper’s boot just so happens to be tapping along with the beat.

thanks for reading, much love ❤

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Star Wars: The Acolyte

Pairing: Qimir x fReader

Fic Rating: E (explicit)

Chapter Rating: Mature

AO3

ONE

Everyday—

Everyday is the same. Morning’s light shines, spackled and fractured through the tattered, burlap curtain. You raise your arm to shield your face. You cringe. You groan. You sit up. There’s a satisfying crackle when you roll your head from one shoulder to the other. Convinced that you should go to work, you stretch, then drag yourself out of bed (if you can consider a blanket on the floor and a rolled up shirt for a pillow as a bed). Still it’s better than waking up, face first in dirt. You’ve been there before and you’d rather not be there again.

Work is work. Food is food. Drink is drink. Evening is evening, but with that you can at least drown the dull life you live in copious amounts of liquor. Numb reality away and drift—drift in an imagined haze of a life where you’re free from this drudgery. And that’s exactly what you do today. Drink. Drink. Drink until you nearly disintegrate. Same as every other.

But this day is not like every other. You stumble out of the local bar and wander by the apothecary’s humble shop. There’s an agitating jingle that wraps itself around your head that’s just begun to throb as a breeze blows through, rustling the makeshift set of chimes near the smeared window. Grasping the corner of the building, fist closing as you wrap an arm around your waist, you steady yourself. A deep inhale and exhale and your stomach gurgles, lurches, threatening your evening and maybe even tomorrow morning too. Doubling over, you swallow, and gulp, and will the contents bubbling in the back of your throat downward. Downward into the pit of your stomach where it belongs.

“Not looking so good.” There’s a tsk. “I can help with that.”

You glance up to see an unfamiliar face that’s half smiling at you, eyes mostly hidden in the shadow of the hood of his cloak. That’s not the apothecary you know. It doesn’t matter, not when your insides want to be your outsides. You try to shove back some of the hair sticking to your temples and suck in fresh air. Even though it’s evening, the air is stale, and ripe with wet blanketed heat. It only makes matters worse.

“Please, I’ll take anything you’ve got,” you manage to croak.

The apothecary shuffles away and reappears after what feels like an eternity, a small vile in hand. He pops the cork and offers the vial. “It’s bitter,” he warns.

Throwing your head back, you dump the burning liquid down your throat and bitter is an understatement. Still, its effects are immediate. You straighten out, palm still pressed to the side of the building.

“Better?” He asks.

You give a nod. “How much?” There’s hope it won’t be your life’s savings but it would have been worth it. Any cost would be worth it to be able to crawl home and not spend the night hunched over a toilet and waking up to the incessant throb of a hangover.

He waves a hand at you. “Consider this one on the house.”

Eyeing him suspiciously, you give the empty vial back. “Nothing’s free.”

He folds his arms across his chest. “This is. You’re special.”

“I am not special,” you say.

Nobody’s special.

He throws you a curious smile, a chunk of his dark hair swooping down over his cheek. He leans in a little closer to you. “I think you are.”

He bites down on his bottom lip. Whether it’s to hold back more of what he wants to say or some kind of flirt, you’re too far gone to sort it out or really care.

“And I know you’re wrong,” you reply. “But thanks for the assist anyway.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he replies.

With a shake of your head, you shove off the wall, leaving him behind as you continue your trek back to your hovel of a home and pass out.