#we should beat him to death with hammers

[memorydatas]

someone had mentioned that we don’t get to see dylan in present day and this is already something i was thinking about so. dylan timeline.

[heartfullofleeches]

Titus [Space Emperor Yan] and Executioner Deity Reader-

Whereas the og Executioner Reader is an axe for hire, this Executioner wants nothing more than the emperor's head on a spike. They've dealt with many of his kind before- Lawless tyrant, unruly beast. His crimes have gone unpunished long enough - They are the judge, jury, and executioner fated to give him his sentence and punishment. They have heard the pleas of those in his captivity who are aware of their legend and the only power capable of stopping them from taking the emperor's head is their forgiveness.

Titus has heard of the executioner in passing. He's lost a fair amount of... acquaintances to that old fairytale. He doesn't believe a word of it - deciding that it was some servant gone berserk who terminated his allies in such a brutal fashion. Sure, it is bizarre that they seemed to have been killed with the exact same blade, but Titus is certain fabled savior is nothing his guards can't handle themselves.

"Your Majesty, we have reports of a cloaked individual breaking into the easy wing of the castle. Several guards have already been dispatched, more have been sent to collect their bodies. Thankfully, they are only unconscious, but it is no longer safe for you here-"

"Tyrant....."

A hushed slithers down the walls - hoarse and raw like the throat of a parched soul without a lick of water to satiate their thirst. The Executioner staggers into view - weight elevated by their tool of trade.

"Tyrant.... For the crimes you have committed there is no salvation beyond your immediate execution. Pay for the blood you have spilled with your own. Lay down your own head as atonement for yours sins."

The remainder of Titus guard form a wall of defense around their king. The Executioner's teeth clench in rage. All while the emperor stares on at his adversary. Those muscles, toned from the heavy swing of their blade. That unwavering, cold stare. Had he been a lesser man that glare alone would have shot his still beating heart. Instead, it only increased the steady hammering of that feeble organ against the cage of his chest.

"I....must have them."

Titus tries shoveling past his guards. The less experience members assume their king to be taking first action. Those who know the tyrant for what he truly is can see the pure enlightened in his eyes.

"Executioner.... Is that what I may call you? Your title matters not to me so long as you are mine. Allow me to take you in my arms.... Surely a life such as yours has had scarce room for the touch of another. Allow me to free you of that burden.

The Executioner spits.

"Mock me as you will. I will grant you three nights for you to give yourself to me willing. For each night I shall return to you with the same question. Should you agree, you will face a swift death, unlike those you have associated yourself with in the past. Do not disappoint me."

Three nights. That's more than enough time for Titus to get them to come around. Then again, he'd love to see what torments they have in store for him. If they see to wrap that chain latched at their around his throat all they had to do was ask. He's just received a shipment of his favorite wine as well - what impeccable timing for love to bloom in the air.

Tangerine [Executioner Maid] is hiding in the vents speedrunning a 150k enemies to lover fanfic of her boss and his new obsession-

[cristaq]

“He died because your hatred for me outweighed any love you ever had for each other.”

He remembers that Makarov's voice was eerily calm for the situation at hand. He raised his gun and pointed it towards Price, who tried to crawl away on the glass roof of Oasis Hotel, clenching his teeth.

“Die knowing your love was weak. He died because of you. All of them did.” He cocks the hammer of his gun. “See you in hell, Captain Price.”

The memory of the moment is incredibly vivid. Price takes a swing of the whisky bottle, trying to chase it away.

“Soap died because of YOU!” Another swing of the bottle, but the voices get louder. “You never could have loved each other the way you hate me.” Maybe he is right. Maybe they should have stopped chasing. The world could have finished the war on its own. Why did they have to sacrifice everything?

“I heard you place the names of the dead ones on some shitty clock tower to honour them. Do you think anyone will ever stop to read his name? ‘John Soap MacTavish - Lived for nothing. Died for even less.’”

Price throws away the alcohol bottle and it shattters to pieces. He goes to his bathroom and takes a long look in the mirror. Makarov seems to stare back, even from death. “We are not that different, Captain Price.” He snaps and punches the mirror and he keeps at it, imagining it’s Makarov’s smug expression. Blood spills from his knuckles down on the floor. “Nothing stands between us and our goals. Nothing.”

The loud ringing of the phone dissipates the macabre thoughts and chases Makarov’s ghost away. Price picks up, his bloodied hands still shaking.

“Captain John Price? We are calling from the hospital. You are registered as John MacTavish’s contact.”

Price’s heart skips multiple beats.

“He is finally awake, sir…”

Hope blooms in his chest, replacing the hurt. Nothing will ever force him away from Soap. Nothing. He's always been his mission. He just wishes he realised it sooner.

[hauntingofhouses]

(concept art of young taigen - source ; art credit: @abigaillarson)

i cannot get over this concept art of young taigen. god.

just look at this angry bratty boy, too many feelings that he doesnt know what to do with! an abused 9 year old kid in poverty always playing with sticks in the dirt, obsessed with greatness and dreaming to escape his decrepit village—and he does!

he does escape. he runs away. this angry little boy, all claws and teeth and biting words uttered with a lisp, going on the run into a world he's never seen before until he makes his way to kyoto. and knowing him he probably forced his way in to be accepted by the dojo, growling and kicking even as he's thrown out, back into the streets, too stubborn to take no for an answer and never knowing when to give up.

taigen calls mizu a dog, weak, an orphan, a scrawny street urchin. but i can't help but think that he feels so bold to use those words because he had them spat at him too.

because taigen had the idea of "this is how the world is" beat into him from birth. he learned quickly that if you couldn't beat the world you could join it. but that meant losing your way, your values, your principles. and isn't that what true honour is? not just titles and status and glory?

we don't get to see what taigen, as a child surrounded by peers encouraging and goading him on, would've actually done if that meteor hadn't fallen right in front of them at that very moment. would he have really tried to throw that stone on mizu, killing her? we don't know.

but we do see what taigen (his true self, with no one around) does, when presented with the same opportunity. when mizu passes out in front of him, unconscious and near death, vulnerable, the path to restoring his honour lays itself out for him on a silver platter. and he wants to take it, wants to kill mizu, to claim what is his and return to kyoto and get back everything he'd worked tooth and nail for. he feels like it's what he should do. but he doesn't.

and later, again he is presented with the chance to betray mizu, likely offered by heiji shindo to get his rank reinstated within the shindo dojo. and again, taigen doesn't take it. he refuses. "stupidly loyal," fowler calls him later. loyal, like a dog.

because now, pulled away from the sneering looks and jeering words of people around him, telling him that this is what the world is, taigen had met ringo and mizu, two outcasts who refuse to follow a predetermined path to greatness. and so inside something blooms in him. something like hope. a chance to live in a world that doesn't kick you down every chance it gets, to live in a world where genuine kindness and and love and friendship and even weakness is possible, allowed to simply exist without fear.

because he'd been running away from the very idea of it the whole time. when he ran from kohama, he never looked back, never wanted to remember what it was like to be a child, afraid and hungry and angry and hurting, without the words to make sense of it, desperately wishing for something. something more. he doesn't know what. but he hears stories of great swordsmen and decides, yes, this must be it. this is what i want: glory, greatness. the twisted seed gets planted and thrives in this barren land.

and when he returns to kohama with mizu and ringo, he at last is forced to stop running. he must face the child within him again, and he tells that child to put down the stones in his hand, tells him to stop barking at anything that moves or looks at him wrong.

the child drops the stone, and taigen buys dumplings instead, gives them to mizu. the child within him, wide-eyed at the prospect of friendship, moves him to pick up a hammer and toss it to mizu. he's smiling inside even as he does it; giggling like a kid hiding a silly prank. as soon as mizu drops the hammer after him, he leaps at her, tackling her to the ground and they wrestle and laugh unbridled like two children playing while the adults aren't around to barge in and yell at them.

and then his gaze catches on mizu's lips, he stares into mizu's eyes, a sparkling blue, inviting like the open sea in good weather.

it's a man's desire that takes hold then, the child in him sinking away again, and he curses himself for it, because it ruins the moment.

everything goes to shit from there, and then it's back to being a man, back to putting on his grown-up's armour to play hero.

it fails. the shogun dies. fowler's beatings reopen all the wounds left by heiji shindo's torture. "honour is meaningless," mizu tells him. "nothing comes from being a samurai but death."

the words follow him, and he follows the words.

as everything burns down, he runs, leaving the fire behind him, and sees akemi, as well as the verdure of spring behind her, calling him. he does not hesitate then to hold his hand out to her, inviting her to come with him. "i don't want to be great," he says. "i just want to be happy."

what is happiness to him? perhaps he doesn't know it yet, or perhaps he does. but really, i believe happiness is what the child in him always wanted but never received. happiness is a home.

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 19: I Will Find You

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 4.8K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

The constant drip, drip, drip of water raining from the stalactites is unnerving, and your fingers tremble as you set up the tent. Astarion wraps his hand around yours, giving it a small squeeze. He takes the metal stake from your quaking grip and hammers it into the stony earth.

“We should not have brought them.” You catch just a flit of Astarion’s crimson eyes as they flash to the side to leer at you accusingly. “Their hearts beating is like ringing a dinner bell.”

“They promised to stay in camp while you and I do the scouting,” you conclude in a clipped response.

The initial idea was for Astarion and you to go alone into the Underdark and search for the siblings whose scars did not match the parchment that was discovered in the derelict manor. You would have been able to convince Gale to stay behind with Hecat, but Shadowheart was as obstinate as ever, declaring that you would have need of a Cleric should things go south. It’s not common for you to lose arguments, but after hours of back and forth, you eventually conceded.

Gale, Hecat, and Shadowheart are all erecting their tents in a tense silence. A makeshift fire pit has already been situated in the middle of camp, crackling and popping with whatever wood you could scavenge.

“Lovely,” Astarion chirps with feigned cheeriness. “A stationary meal then, like a hobbled goat left out for wolves.” 

“I tried,” you say under your breath, trying to keep the agitation out of your voice while unrolling bedrolls and placing furs. “They are not sheep I can shepherd. If you could have done a better job convincing them to stay behind, you were more than welcome to try your hand at it.” 

He scoffs. “As if those imbeciles ever listened to me.”

“They just want to help.” You try to assuage his irritation. 

“I know,” Astarion sighs, brushing his hands together to clean off the dirt. “I just wanted you all to myself again. I miss home — our home. Gale’s is lavish, but it’s becoming rather crowded as of late.” 

You crawl into the tent, and Astarion joins you, holding his arm up for you to curl up next to him. 

“I miss home, too,” you acknowledge. It may have started out a little rocky, but those days spent lounging in bed, talking, and making love from sunup to sundown fill your heart with longing to return. It had been nice to leave behind all of this and just be. It makes you rethink your decision not to pursue the deal offered by Aldous. “It was nice, just you and me.”

“Indeed,” he agrees with a heavy exhalation. He buries his nose in your hair. “I cannot wait for this to be over, and we can return. We could buy a new residence if the other is too… painful.” 

“Maybe,” you muse on the notion. “Where would you want to live?” 

He shrugs. “It matters very little to me. Anywhere is home with you.” 

“Even this tent?” You twist, crawling further into his lap, and he cradles you in his arms with a grin. 

“Yes,” he coos softly. “Even this godsdamned tent.”

You brush your fingers through his hair and narrow your eyes mischievously. “You’re a terrible liar, Astarion.”

The crimson of his eyes burns, and he scoffs with a rumbling, deep laugh. “I said it’s home as long as you’re here. I did not say it was an acceptable accommodation for someone of my import.” He glances around. “There is very little room in here to do all the terribly depraved things I wish to do to you.” 

“That never stopped you before,” you taunt back with a giggle. 

“And it will not stop me now,” he purrs, dipping his head to mould his lips to yours. "I am a master of improvisation, after all."

Your fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer, and he tightens his grip on you, slipping a hand into your hair to hold you to his insistent mouth. Astarion sucks on your lower lip gently and takes advantage when you gasp, slipping his tongue in to tangle with yours. 

“If you two are quite done canoodling in there,” Gale’s says from somewhere outside the tent. “The meal has been served.”

Astarion breaks the kiss abruptly to stare at the tent door with a vexed, furrowed brow. He leans close, keeping his voice low. “Canoodling? Truly? How old is he?” 

You giggle at his ire. “What’s the problem? Don’t you want to canoodle with me?” 

Astarion groans, rolling his eyes. “Decidedly not. I want to make love to you; commit the carnal sins of depravity, fuck. I do not canoodle.”

Kissing the tip of his nose, you taunt. “I see so much canoodling in the centuries to come, my love.” 

“You’re terrible,” he grunts, pushing you away playfully. “Come. We need to get you fed lest your stomach growl and keep me up all night.” 

“How bad does it smell?” You whisper.

“Bad,” he smirks. “Atrocious, if I am being totally honest. It’s times like these that I am thankful I do not have to sup on food.” 

He was definitely not lying. The food is rather bland, and you would prefer not to eat it, but it’s either this or listening to Astarion complain about your growling stomach all night, so you shove spoonfuls into your mouth and try to focus on the conversation and not the taste.

Gale, Shadowheart, and Hecat share stories, though it’s mostly Shadowheart and Gale reminiscing while Hecat is enraptured and dazzled by every tale of daring they spew. It unsettles you to let her know this much of your past, but you cannot quite see the harm in it. They know well what to keep to themselves and mostly just tell her perfunctory random things. 

“Did you really do that, dragon girl?” Hecat inquires, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Do what?” 

“Allow a servant of Loviatar to beat you bloody?” Hecat grins widely. “And taunt him the entire time.” 

You narrow your eyes at the pair, who are snickering like fools. Astarion chimes in before you can confirm or deny this. “Oh-yes. That was a splendid day,” he says dreamily. “So much blood, although a dreadful waste for it to end up on the filthy floors.”

“I seem to remember you enjoying yourself a little too much, Astarion.” Shadowheart quips blithely.

“Nonsense. There is no such thing as too much when it comes to watching others be beaten and bloodied by an imbecile in a costume,” he taunts deviously. 

Gale shakes his head in disbelief. “I must say, I am glad I missed that particular spectacle. It sounds positively hedonistic.” 

“Gods. You are truly as vanilla as they come, Gale.” Astarion laments with a smug undertone. 

Gale’s brows furrow. “What’s wrong with vanilla?”

Shadowheart bursts out laughing, Hecat snickers, and Astarion cannot hide the jubilant chuckling even though he tries. 

“Do you remember that time you got drunk on blood, Astarion? You came out of the forest, stumbling and slurring your words, looking for our fearless leader,” Shadowheart says, bringing her hand to her mouth to hide her laughter. “I do not believe I ever saw you in such a spectacular mood again.” 

“My friend!” You mock him, and giggle when he shoots you a pointed look.

“Do you people even realize how much blood there is in a bear?” Astarion grunts, crossing his arms to feign irritation and jutting his chin out pompously. “It would be comparable to you drinking a barrel of spirits to yourselves.” 

“You can get drunk on blood?” Hecat asks, obviously astounded by this new information.

Her eyes sparkle with the firelight when she looks at him, and she swoons. It makes you bristle like an angry cat, but you manage to conceal it before you can scoff. 

Astarion nods. “If there is enough of it, but it’s not exactly drunk, it’s more of a euphoria.”

“It’s drunk,” you retort quickly, shoving another spoonful into your mouth. “He couldn’t even stand without tripping over his own feet. I would never have believed he possessed the capability to be so positively ungraceful. Embarrassing, really.” 

Astarion bumps you with his shoulder, making you almost spill your soup or stew. Honestly, you’re not quite sure what to call this connection.

“Ungraceful? Let’s not go throwing stones, sorceress. Glass houses, and all that.” His eyes narrow, and he tries to frown at you, but his eyes are glinting with amusement. He gets up and bows shallowly. “As delightful as his conversation has been, if you’ll excuse me, I will retire for the night before we can do any more of,” he waggles his fingers at the group. “This," he cringes. 

“Me too,” you add in, taking his offered hand. “We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow.”

Gale smirks, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Yes. I’m positive you’ll be going straight into your trances. Rest well, you two.” 

“Would you mind keeping it down tonight?” Shadowheart gibs with a snooty upturn of her nose. “It was a long night of travelling, and I would like to get some sleep.”

Hecat eyes rake over Astarion, and you flush, but not with embarrassment. You take what you hope looks like a normal step in front of him to shield him from her sultry gaze. In all truth, it’s less for him and more for you, but both things can be true. 

“Hmm…” Astarion muses, tapping his chin with his finger. “Unlikely. We will canoodle as nosily as we please,” he chirps boisterously. 

Shadowheart groans out loud , letting her head hang, and mumbles, “I’m going to cast Silence over your tent.”

Astarion smirks. “You must concentrate to keep that up, don’t you, flower? I wish you the best of luck. I am positive I can draw it out far longer than you can manage to stay awake.” 

Gale nearly chokes on his food, going as red as Karlach. Shadowheart pats him hard on the back with a sly grin. “Hells below. Goodnight,” she finally says, chuckling and making her way to her tent.

When you crawl into your tent, Astarion digs through the pack and tosses you one of his shirts, which you quickly hurry into and slip under the furs. 

He joins you quickly, his nimble fingers doing up the laces at the front of the shirt you’re wearing. “We cannot have you catching a chill.” 

“I do not get grumpy!” You snort.

He smiles widely, the tips of his fangs peeking out from his perfect lips. “You get downright petulant,” he jeers. “Would you like to read or rest?” 

“Read,” you confirm. 

Astarion grabs the book, lays back, wraps an arm around you, and pulls you close. “Lights, my dear.”

Tiny, pinpoint spheres float from your palm into the air, like tiny golden stars. You read the pages with your head resting on his chest, and he turns them when you tap him with your finger. Before long, your eyes begin to flutter shut despite your attempts to keep them open.

He presses a kiss on your forehead, pulls the furs up, and tucks you in tenderly. You murmur, moving to push your face into the crook of his neck and inhaling deeply. The orbs of light ebb, blinking out one by one, and Astarion hums low and lyrical until you slip into your trance.

The Arcane Tower dominates the horizon with its spectral glow from the lit lamps. It’s simultaneously an unsettling and welcome sight. Though the devastation of the spawn on the environment can be seen on account of the skeletal remains of creatures large and small, none have crossed your path. It’s hard to know whether to be glad or alarmed by it. The last time you were overtaken without much warning.  

“I would hear them long before they could descend on us,” Astarion assures, sensing the neurotic turbulence that’s making you grip your quarterstaff so hard that your knuckles are white and straining. “If I give the order, run and do not look back.”  

Your brows pinch, and you exhale noisily through pursed lips. “You can give the order, but I will not run,” you retort, shaking your head. “If you think I will leave you, you’re out of your godsdamned mind.”

“They are less likely to attack me.” Astarion grunts with a pronounced sigh and a rigid scowl. “I will not smell like food to them, but you smell delectable.” 

He doesn’t understand - can’t understand — how wild and raging they are because you’ve run from this conversation despite his repeated attempts to have it. 

“Tell that to Sebastian,” you murmur dryly. You don’t pay any mind to what you said until you realize Astarion has stopped dead in his tracks and is staring at you wide-eyed and slack-jawed. 

“Sebastian?” Astarion looks askance. “You saw him?”

The fondness in his voice is unmistakeable, and even though it is beyond silly, your jealousy spikes your blood with flames, and your heart rate soars on the wings of the envious monster you’ve become. 

“He saved me last time I was here when I was attacked,” you reply tunelessly in an effort to keep the resentment out of your voice. This is not the time or place to have yet another conversation where Astarion reassures you, but it does nothing to assuage your fears. “He was the only one of the spawn that didn’t seem completely savage.”

Astarion’s head cants slightly, picking up on the revving engine that is your heart. He knows, you think, and you wait for him to react in one of two possible ways. He will either chastise or soothe, depending on his mood. 

“That soft heart is what got the idiot killed in the first place,” Astarion remarks frivolously in that devil-may-care breeze he so easily encompasses.

It’s hard not to laugh at his flippant comment. Perhaps many would find it cavalier and uncaring, but to you, it’s wholeheartedly something Astarion would say. 

“Humans are incredibly slow learners,” you quip back offhandedly with a rascally smirk while continuing down the path toward the village. 

Astarion grins deviously. “That, coupled with their supremely short life spans, it’s a wonder they have not gone extinct.” 

“There’s still time,” you concur. 

“I think we should kill them,” Astarion blurts suddenly with furrowed brows, looking at his feet in contemplation. 

“The humans?” You arch a brow at him, not quite following the switch. 

“What? Hells. No. I have a casual relationship with murder, not genocide. Gods. What do you think of me?” He chuckles, smirking smugly, when you scoff at him. “The spawn. If we find them and they are beyond any hope of redemption, I think we should put them out of their misery. I likely should have done it when I had the chance. I had hoped they would be able to learn control, but if that’s not possible..." He pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts. “It’s what I would want should I ever find myself robbed of speech and reason again.”

You put your hand on his chest. His hands come to your waist, and his fingers firmly squeeze. “Whatever you want to do, Astarion, I support you. I will follow your lead.” 

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, which are scarlet mirrors reflecting a canvas of sorrow and regret. “Thank you.”

Your footsteps on the rickety boards that make up the scaffolding in the abandoned village thump, echoing out into the cavernous crepuscule ceiling blanketing the lake. The boats that once carried you towards the old temple of Shar and the forge have scuttled themselves, lying on their sides with their masts reaching out like the arms of drowning men begging to be saved.

The village is as silent as the dead, except for the soft whooshing of waves brushing the banks of the shore. Astarion offers his hand and pulls you up the small cliff, and you both crane your necks to look at the tower dwarfing you. 

“Do you hear anything?” You ask as your heart leaps into your chest with memories of watching his siblings deliberate your fate. 

And subsequently begging them to let you die, which they obviously decided was not in their best interest.

“Nothing.” Astarion says with a frown.  “They could be sleeping.”

The idea of walking through the floors of this place fills you with nothing but dread, and you swallow thickly, your muscles buzzing with something between adrenaline and terror. Astarion’s hand snakes into yours, and he holds your shaking fingers tightly.  

“You do not have to go in there,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low in a timbre meant to soothe. “I am capable of searching the place by myself.” 

Have you really become so timid that Astarion now offers to leave you behind and retrieve you when he’s finished? There was a time when he never doubted your ability to handle a situation, but it seems those times are long gone. Is it that he cannot trust you to react in time in the face of danger? Does he think you will fold like wet parchment?

The woman you were might be a memory, but you are sick of being afraid — of being the weak link. Most of all, you’re appalled by the pity you see reflected in his eyes as he looks at you like an abused pup. 

Maybe you might not be who you were, but you have the chance to become whatever or whoever you want. For better or worse, a new you awaits, lurking just outside of the box you’ve built around yourself, addicted to this lonely kind of love that has done nothing but hurt.

She might be dead. 

But you live. 

You live.

You squeeze his hand, tugging him a little more harshly than you meant to toward you, grabbing his armour, and pulling his face down to your height. “Where you go, I go. Remember? Stop treating me like a child. You requested I stop being so gentle with you; I’d like the same curtsy.”

Astarion’s surprised expression morphs into a sly grin, and he closes the distance between you, catching your lips. You melt into him, pressing your body into his. He grips your hips, pressing them firmly into his, and grinds against you. It seems like an odd place for this sort of act, but you’re not complaining. It’s been some time since he’s taken you into the dirt.

Unfortunately, he breaks the kiss just as the throb between your legs makes you squeeze your thighs together for relief. “It’s been some time since you bossed me around like that with such delicious authority,” he grins. “I quite like it, you know,” he purrs.

Astarion turns quickly and gives you a gentle shove and a playful swat on the ass. “Come on, bossy thing. After you.” 

You roll your eyes at him with a huff, but you cannot hide the yearning smile quirking your lips up and dazzling in your eyes.

You only make it a couple of steps before you hear his taunting voice. “And Kamena? If you want me to make love to you in the dirt, you have but to ask. I would be more than pleased to throw you down, let my hands explore every inch of you, map your goosebumps with my tongue, taste you.”

How would the old you have reacted to such lewd comments? No. How would the new me react? Who do I want to be?

You pivot quickly on your feet and walk backwards while he stalks toward you like a predator. His scarlet gaze is filled with a hungry desire that makes your flesh ache.

It’s time to start reacting without thinking. You were never innocent or soft-hearted, but you were sweet once upon a time. It no longer feels right. There is a new bitterness to you — a fiery bite. 

You would rather be whisky neat than sweet tea.

“It makes me wet when you look at me like that, Astarion. If you’re not careful, I might request that you take me right here.” You purr low and seductively, and you relish the way his eyes light up. 

Hedonism suits you.

Astarion chuckles, smirking mischievously. He taps his nose. “My love, I know you’re soaked. I hope the others have rested while we are doing all the hard work. I doubt they will be getting much sleep tonight.” 

“I’ll hold you to that, darling,” you taunt, turning and hurrying toward the tower. “Gale and Shadowheart will be more than used to our… late-night trysts.”

“You’re a tease, Kamena.” He grumbles, adjusting his trousers. “This is not comfortable.”

“I’m happy to assist you out of that armour at your request,” you quip, and giggle when he groans.

“Good Gods. You’re cruel, sweetheart.” Astarion growls low and silvery, walking up to you and ghosting his lips over the shell of your ear. “Now, get going so we can get back to camp. I’m feeling rather peckish.”

Astarion drags his fangs down your neck — not enough to break skin, but it sends a pleasurable shiver cavorting down your spine with the promise of later. You don’t smother the breathy sigh that shakes out of your throat, and your core clenches involuntarily.

You groan and push forward, determined to scour this damned place as fast as you can so you can retreat to your tent. The massive front doors to the tower are already ajar when you approach, and the first floor holds nothing more than barrels, crates, shelves, and boxes. There are some signs of life with random articles of clothing strewn around, but they are covered in a thick layer of dust and sediment.

The third floor is likewise unoccupied, but there are random packs here. Astarion and you rifle through them but find very little to indicate who they belonged to. They could have been travellers, adventurers, or his siblings.  

Or aventurers his siblings ate... 

Astarion stands with his arms crossed by a bed when you glance toward him. Walking over, you follow his anchored gaze and see a doublet that he seems particularly interested in. 

“Petras’s,” he mumbles.

“Was he always such an asshole?” You ask, remembering the way he wanted to eat you to get back at Astarion. 

Astarion snorts out a small laugh. “He was always a snivelling idiot. We did not get along particularly well. Why?”

“I didn’t like the way he spoke to you,” you shrug. It’s not exactly a lie. The way he talked to Astarion when you found him in the flophouse had made your blood boil, and you actually rather enjoyed watching Astarion burn him, but you refrain from telling him the whole truth.  

He regards you with a highly arched brow, reading you the way he does, so you quickly move off toward the elevator to get out of his scrutiny. There is little point in telling Astarion the specifics. It would only create more animosity, and his siblings are the only family he has. You will not be responsible for the further deterioration of whatever relationship he has left.

In the event you die, from old age or otherwise, they might be the only thing he has left. 

“Come on. We should keep moving.” 

“In a rush, are we?” He saunters over.

“I have a date with my very charming, handsome lover that I wish to get to.” You wink at him, your foot hitting the button to go up to the fourth floor. “Post haste.” 

The elevator ascends to the topmost floor. From what you recall, it’s mostly destroyed, and you doubt there would be any reason for his siblings to be there unless they were trying to watch for attacks. If that were the case, though, you imagine they would have made themselves known by now. 

When the elevator clicks into place, your heart stops in your chest when you see the pale, snake-like grin of Aldous staring back at you with several other spawn poised just behind him.  

“Sorceress,” he pouts sarcastically. “I’m disappointed in you. I thought you would have been smart enough to recognize a good deal when it was offered.”  

You scoff, turning your nose up, and your teeth grate together. Astarion growls, sliding in front of you with his daggers already held, poised and ready to kill. You cast Stoneskin on Astarion out of a reflexive habit.  

“I’ve been waiting to meet you,” Aldous chimes, his voice braided with choler. “It seems the odds between us have evened out, and I cannot wait to make you watch me drain her dry just as you did to me.”  

Astarion laughs cruelly, snarling. “I enjoyed your death the first time, but I will enjoy it all the more the second.” 

This is not a good place for a battle. The floor has fallen prey to the ravages of time in too many places, with large blocks and rubble littering the pieces that remain, restricting space and movement in equal measure.

You try to find the button to descend, but Aldous notices your movement and barrels toward you. Astarion leaps into battle, and the clash of blades rings out in the air. The two are almost a moving blur of glinting steel as they grapple. Astarion’s footwork is superior, and he gains ground until the other spawn join in the fight.

Adrenaline anoints your muscles and nerves, and your heart throttles in your chest. You cannot lose him here. You will not allow it. Flames writhe over your body, your skin heating to unfathomable temperatures, driven by a hatred so intense it seems to consume all fear. You Misty Step between Astarion and Aldous to intercept the charging spawn.

Thunderwave throws them back. Your fingers dance in their perfected rhythm, and you lace the Weave into spells with quick and masterful precision. You catch a spawn by the neck to your left, and flames erupt from your palms until their screams subside. With your other hand, you summon Chain Lightning, killing some but causing the remaining ones to seize up with paralysis.

You skate through them with your quarterstaff in hand. With limited space and Astarion and Aldous moving around the battlefield with the speed of a shooting star, there are a limited number of spells you can use for range. You’re forced into close-quarters combat, which hinders your abilities.  

Clawed fingers rend your skin, sending a sharp agony radiating through you, making you suck in a sharp breath. The spawn hisses at you through their teeth, fangs bared. Before you can retaliate, Astarion is at your side, his shoulder slamming into the spawn and throwing them to the side. There is no time to catch your breath before Aldous attacks while Astarion is preoccupied protecting you.

“Astarion, down!” You shout. 

He remembers the command and leans down, flattening his back so you can roll over him. Scorching Ray blasts from your palms, buffeting Aldous and forcing him to counter and change his path on a whim. It gives Astarion enough time to get into a better position and continue pushing Aldous back while you deal with the other spawn. 

You cannot use Sunbeam in such a small area, not with the way Aldous and Astarion are moving, but you’re not merely the embodiment of fire; you’re a wildfire that cannot be thwarted. You pellet the spawn with fire that burns as white-hot as your hatred and rage. A ball of fire to the chest of one sizzles straight through them. Shatter to throw the ones to your right off the edge of the building.  

You sink into the battle and luxuriate in the ghostly-coloured death that writhes over your skin and explodes from your fingers. 

“Solicallor, switch!” Astarion snarls.

He only ever asks to switch in battle when he’s been injured and needs a moment to recover. You look back in horror at the blade buried in his shoulder and Aldous’ maniacal laughter permeating the air. 

You cast Telekinesis, throwing the spawn in your path to him off the building, and try to sprint to his side, but you’re not fast enough before Aldous instructs the spawn remaining to create a barrier.

Every spell in your arsenal jumps off your fingers and rolls off your tongue, but you cannot get to Astarion before Aldous has pushed him near the edge of the tower.  

In a fraction of a second, the spawn all sprint toward Astarion, throwing themselves off the edge of the tower to their deaths. The last thing you see are his scared red eyes and him shifting as fast as he can to grab Aldous by his armour. Aldous thrashes, trying to pull free from Astarion’s grip, and another blade sinks into Astarion’s stomach. 

“I love you, Kamena,” he smiles as his feet lose their footing. “I would have liked to marry you in this life, but I will find you in the next, thiramin.”

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments ❤️

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes: - Chapters might be a little smaller for the foreseeable future. Sorry! - Astarion 🥺 - I smash my keyboard angrily whenever I have to write Aldous' name.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Rue the Day

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

CW: Creepy whumper, blood, restraints, magical whump, nonhuman whumpee, multiple whumpees, defiant whumpee, threats of death

“The rabbit is excellent tonight, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Guilford Wentworth sipped from his wine glass. When Kira didn’t answer right away, he smiled, and his teeth seemed stained slightly red. Kira fought back the way her stomach flipped and bile seemed to rise in her throat, fighting to find its way out. 

She had to stay calm. 

“Miss Losna?” Wentworth’s smile widened, giving the lie to the carefully practiced false concern in his voice. “Are you quite all right?”

Kira cleared her throat, blinking rapidly and forcing herself to sip from the wine as well. She kept her eyes on Wentworth, because if she looked at the display behind him, she may not be able to hold the scream back any longer.

There as a whimper, half-suppressed, and Kira set her jaw and told herself to ignore it.

“I am fine,” She managed, and her voice was calm where her heart beat with frantic, frightened wings within her chest. “Rabbit is not my-... it is not a meat I often dine on, is all. The taste is… new to me.”

“Oh? My apologies. I would have chosen a different entree, but I had heard you come from… well, shall we say humble beginnings, and I thought rabbit may be familiar to you.”

His mockery strengthened her nerves. Kira stabbed a bite of rabbit viciously, trying not to think about how the meat had been coated in a bright red berry sauce that tasted too dark and rich. She chewed, and tried not to taste copper.

Because of course there was no copper.

There couldn’t be.

It was all in her mind, all because of-

“I was not raised on rabbit, Lord Wentworth,” She said coldly, and forced her eyes down to the pale ivory ceramic of her plate, painted with a beautifully oceanic blue. Images of mermaids and sea serpents cavorting in stylized waves, blocked in some spots by the rabbit. Just to the edge of the plate, she saw a handful of painted sirens, looking at the other creatures with… melancholy, perhaps.

The whimper came again. 

Kira’s teeth worked the rabbit to nearly nothing before she swallowed. There was something to that soft sound of pain that struck her like a hammer to a gong, her despair ringing in the air so loudly she could nearly hear it. 

“It is not the siren’s fault that your son spoke up,” She managed to say, if only so she could speak over the way the siren’s careful, determined silence had begun to break against the waves of pain. “You shouldn’t punish him for it.”

“So I should end our dinner early and go punish Ford in person?” Wentworth asked, unbothered by the scene behind him, by the sounds the siren could no longer hold back. “You have quite the cold soul, Miss Losna.” His smile widened. “Perhaps I chose you better than I realized.”

“I do not think you should do anything to your son but leave him alone," Kira bit back. "And you did not choose me." Her fork dropped with a clattering against the plate. “I answered an advertisement. You had no idea who I was before I walked up your front steps.”

“True.” Guilford Wentworth tipped his head forward in acknowledgement. "You answered my advertisement for a job."

“I wish to the gods I hadn’t.”

Guilford Wentworth laughed, a harsh, barking sound that nearly made Kira flinch. Somehow, though, she held steady. “I should be honest with you, Miss Losna. I’m not entirely convinced there are any gods at all.”

Kira sat back. Took another drink of wine, and let the room spin a little around her. It loosened her tongue and stiffened her spine, but it also set her cheeks aflame and left her unsteady. Strong, but dizzy, as if spun endlessly in a dance. “That’s blasphemy.”

“It is.” Wentworth nodded, picking up a heavy red fruit and biting into it, red juice on his chin, dripping onto his plate. Kira’s stomach threatened once again to heave itself empty, and she had to grip onto the edges of the table until they nearly cut into her palms to settle the twisting, flipping sensation. “And yet… well, Miss Losna. If there were gods, then you have to assume one of them would have noticed me, hm? I have one of their own. I live longer than men were meant to live. I haven’t aged a day since my siren was bound to me. They are supposedly a gods’ children, aren’t they?”

Kira was silent, then. 

If he wanted to give a speech, let him. She would simply try to get through this meal, and try equally not to be furious with Guilford’s son Ford, whose dismissal from the table had left her alone with this monster masquerading as man.

From the window, the siren’s soft sounds of pain lengthened into a soft wail. Even that, Kira thought with a shiver, sounded like music.

Against her will, she looked at him.

The siren was strung up like a tormented saint, arms up over his head wrapped in rough sailor’s rope that scratched up his skin and smeared it red. His toes barely danced on the floor, barely able to hold even a little of his weight. To stand normally, he had to let his arms hold all his weight, and it tore the ropes in more deeply, bit by bit. Staying on his tiptoes stretched his leg muscles to what must have been screaming agony. 

He was framed by the yellowing evening light coming through the window, nearly making him a silhouette, a suggestion of endless darkness ringed in awful light.

Kira’s eyes burned with what she resolutely denied could be tears as she saw him twisting his wrists a little, blood running in a rivulet down one arm now. The muscle in his arm twitched as the trail worked down to the crook of his elbow, heading towards his shoulder.

He was naked now, the markings that kept him in bondage to Wentworth’s wicked demands on full display. Kia’s heart beat faster than the rabbit whose remains were on her plate had ever been able to run.

Wentworth had given the order in between inane commentary about weather and what grew in the garden’s greenhouses. It had been tossed out like an aside, as if it didn’t matter at all. Areyto had - staring at Kira all the while - begun to tie himself up. He had climbed up himself into position, moved each arm and leg as Wentworth ordered. The butler Babbage, his eyes clouded and cheerfully convinced he was doing something with curtains, had finished stringing him up. 

Once the weight had become to much, Areyto’s eyes had gone blank and empty. He had wiped himself from his own body with the pain.

Or… perhaps only by the work it took to survive it.

He had no ability to die.

Not unless Guilford Wentworth allowed him to.

Servants bustled around - Nadette and Babbage cheerfully refilled empty cups and whisked away each course and brought the next as though they saw nothing. Nadette had come back puzzled as to what she had even been doing upstairs when she was meant to be attending Kira at dinner, and Kira could only pray to gods that may or may not be real that the clarity in her had lasted long enough to find Kira a way out.

They didn’t see the siren for what he was, or even seem to hear his crying.

Kira did.

And she hated Ford, in the moment, for having been here but then getting himself dismissed so she had to be here alone.

“They are,” Kira said, voice trembling a little. “The moon goddess made the ocean’s creatures, sirens, the mer people, the-”

“And yet,” Wentworth interrupted, too committed to his monologue to allow her to cut him off before he was done. Kira stared at Areyto, watching salt tears running down his cheeks, even though his face was utterly blank. “And yet. Look at him, Miss Losna. Look. Does his goddess save him now?”

Kira swallowed, but her throat felt nearly closed and it took far too much effort to manage. “No,” She whispered. “No. His goddess does not save him.”

Lord Wentworth’s fork scraped in dissonance along his plate, dragging Kira’s gaze back to him. “Clearly she doesn’t,” He said, with confidence. “A century and a half, give or take a dozen years here and there, and my siren remains mine. And he will remain mine. There is no goddess of the moon and waters, Miss Losna. There is no god of the land, no mountain deities to worship, no demons hiding in the Maitsa. There is nothing but people, and two kinds of people at that.”

Kira tried to tear her eyes from the siren’s suffering, but all she could make herself look at was the bottom of her emptied wineglass. There wasn’t enough wine in the world to make this bearable.

“The first sort of person goes on living the life prescribed. Does all the right things, says the right words, gets married and bears a few children and then dies. It’s all for nothing. It means nothing. The second sort of person is far more rare.”

Guilford Wentworth stood, and Kira’s breath caught as he picked up the sharpened blade of the knife that had been beside his plate. He turned away from her, walking over to the siren. Kira should have stood, then - stood and run - but she felt frozen. 

“The second sort of person,” Guilford said, voice lower now, “Is one who controls his own fate. Who refuses to live the prescribed life. Who takes control.”

The edge of the knife cut into the unmarked side of the siren’s body, a slow slice echoing the line of his ribs. 

“Hold still for me,” Guilford said, voice low and thick with some sickening emotion Kira didn’t dare name. The siren turned to look at him, and something in his empty face flickered back to life. There was a pleading there. A scream, but a silent one. “Hold, Areyto.”

The siren’s lips trembled as the knife left him and cut again. Blood ran down to his hip, maneuvered around and over it, ran down the inside of one muscled thigh. Kira’s heart beat so hard she had trouble breathing around it now, as if her lungs refused to expand. She took shallow gasps instead. 

Her fingers closed around her own fork, unconsciously, and she pushed herself to her feet. “Stop,” She whispered. 

“Areyto is mine.” A third slice had the siren weeping openly, unable to fight the pain everywhere within him any longer. Guilford raised his free hand and wiped a tear away with his thumb, licking it off the tip and humming, as if he’d tasted the finest wine. “As you will be. I could cut you just like this, and if he commanded it, you would hold perfectly still.”

“I said-” Her voice cracked. She moved, though, without thinking, coming around the edge of the table and heading towards him. The fork seemed to come to life in her hand, silvered metal twisting and heating up until her palm felt like it was burning. But somehow the burn did not hurt at all. “I said for you to stop. He does whatever you want, leave him be. I don’t require this showcase of your power, Lord Wentworth, you already have me held here against my will!”

“Oh, Miss Losna.” Guilford sighed, happily. “You find yourself terribly mistaken. This isn’t about you at all. I’m not doing this to show you my power over him.”

“Then-” Kira came to a stop, a few feet away. The fork in her hand no longer felt like a fork at all. She looked slowly down at it. “Then why are you-”

“Because he is beautiful,” Guilford breathed, looking back to the siren with shining eyes. “Like this. Because there is nothing I cannot do now.”

Kira had no ready rejoinder, and after a heartbeat of trying - and failing - to think of one she gave up. Standing here watching her captor torture a siren who had done nothing but run into him hurt more than it should. Sirens, after all, were monsters who sang men to their deaths, who took sailors to the depths. But Areyto was also a man, if not a human one. One worn down like river rocks, and soon enough he would be fine as sand, and then he would be nothing at all. 

The air felt heavier and heavier around her, as if any moment now she would cease to be able to breathe it. The inside of her head, by contrast, felt too light, floating away from her. 

Torn in two, she decided to hell with false politeness. 

“Why not just get it over with?” She asked, without looking away. The siren seemed to feel her eyes on him and managed to - briefly - meet her gaze. There was something pleading, there, in the darkness of his eyes. 

“It?” Guilford cut him again, and Kira watched skin twitching beneath his knife and wondered if she could simply vomit all over Wentworth to make this awfulness end. In her hand, the for had become long, straightened out. A sort of tiny spear of silver, and it burned hot enough that she knew if she hadn’t been the one to create it, her hand would be blistered and bubbling. 

She raised her chin. “It, Lord Wentworth. Whatever it is you plan to do to me. Destroying my mind, marrying me off to your son, whatever it is you’ve got tucked away to ruin lives for your own amusement. Why not just do it and cease forcing me to… wait?” 

“Ah.” Wentworth smiled. “Well, that’s quite simple, Miss  Losna.”

“It… it is?”

“It is indeed. Areyto? Would you care to explain?”

The siren cut his eyes back to Guilford, staring at him with such open, baleful loathing that the sheer force of the expression took Kira’s breath away. Then the pain overtook his ability to hold the expression and he slumped into sullen silence, seconds ticking past. 

“Areyto.” Guilford Wentworth’s eyes narrowed. “Tell. Her.”

Areyto’s mouth opened without his say-so. Kira watched him as he spoke, rote and lifeless, voice thin and rough with pain. “The magic-... must be written with free will, or… or it is too weak to hold me.”

Kira blinked. “But-... wait. You-... you enthralled your first magician-”

“I had the thrall lifted,” Guilford said, voice going a little softer. He looked away, then, over towards the grand floor-to-ceiling windows. “Every ten years. For two days, I had it lifted. And she strengthened the spell.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Guilford said, almost gently, lifting his own knife just under the siren’s chin, nicking his throat just to watch the blood run from there, too. “If she didn’t, I would ensure my wife would throw herself off the roof.”

Kira took in a breath.

There was only one monster in this room.

She moved all at once, pushed by a swell of emotion that felt like being sucked under by the riptide, and reached up as high as she could. The burning-hot silver in her hand sliced through the ropes that held the siren as if they were made of butter, not heavy hemp, and the siren dropped to the floor all at once with a cry.

She turned, stepping between Guilford and the siren, lifting her chin. 

“You have no such way to force me, Lord Wentworth.”

To her shock, though he did step back from her, Guilford Wentworth did not react with fear or anger. 

Instead… he laughed. “Of course I do.”

“Oh?” Kira shifted, unconsciously moving closer to Areyto, who had not moved from the floor. She could hear him growling, a sound somehow utterly animal and deeply musical, a bass note held unending. Blood smeared under his hands, soaking into the shining wood under him. It was a deep, oxygen-rich burgundy, darker than Kira’s own - a reminder that despite his appearance, he wasn’t human. 

Not that being inhuman meant he deserved any bit of this.

She faced Wentworth head on, chin high, with every ounce of courage she had in her. The wine had gone entirely to her head, but her voice stayed steady and strong. “And what, exactly, will you do to make me obey you and help you make an empire for yourself when I would happily tear out your throat with my own damn teeth if they weren’t so blunt?” 

Behind her, the siren made a new sound.

It wasn’t quite open laughter - he was in far too much pain. But the soft sound, the huff of breath with the barest edge of volume to it, set stronger steel in Kira’s spine just the same. Warmed something in her that had frozen over before. 

“I won't lift a finger to stop you, Miss Losna.” Wentworth moved away, picking up his wine glass and taking another sip. 

Her lip lifted in a snarl at the smug lie he told so easily. “You speak like a man who hasn’t barred all the bedroom windows to keep me inside,” She responded, voice tight.

Wentworth’s smile did not waver or fade, but something in it tightened. “I will not stop you,” He repeated. “But everyone else here will.”

“You will have them… attack me? Do me harm?”

“No. I will have them do themselves harm.”

Kira froze. “What?” Her voice was a whisper. 

Wentworth shrugged. “Every single one of them will die, by their own hand, as soon as you step off of my property. Their deaths will not be quick or clean, and they will be because of you.”

Kira’s jaw worked, her eyes moving to where Nadette and Babbage still stood by the kitchen door, both of them smiling politely and seemingly unaware of the confrontation by the window. “You lie.”

“No, my dear, I do not. The order has already been given.” Wentworth sighed, voice gentling. “It was given as soon as I knew you had already met my siren. If you leave, they will die. You will consign three dozen servants to their deaths, including my butler and of course your own sweet maidservant… even the stable boy will hang himself in the barn. Every one of them will die in some way, and they will know why they do it but be unable to stop. So.” He lifted one hand, twirling his finger in pointed down. “I suggest, Miss Losna, that you drop your weapon, or I will command the first death. Which of course will be the lovely young Nadette.”

Kira hitched in a breath, fear washing cold across her. She stared at Nadette’s smiling face, where she stood across the room, and thought of the terror in the girl when she had grabbed her arm and said I don't want to be here. “I-... You wouldn't. How would your life ever continue-”

“I will. If you refuse me, and I lose my siren’s power, then my life will be short and brutish regardless. I have little to lose, if the creature is lost. So leave and know your selfishness will be their cause of death. And know, also, that I will ensure you are charged by the king with every single murder. After all, I have no magic. But you do. Or so the king will believe. Drop the weapon, Miss Losna. Now.”

“Lord Wentworth-”

“Drop the weapon,” Guilford said, voice lower than ever. “And say, yes, my lord. Or Nadette will drink the vial she carries in her pocket, and you will watch her die in agony.”

Kira stood still for a long moment.

The bit of silver clattered from her numb fingers to the floor. 

When Wentworth's eyebrows raised and he leaned forward, one hand cupped behind his ear as he waited, she swallowed and managed, in a trembling voice, “Y-... Yes, m-my lord.”

“Good girl.” Wentworth's voice was sickly sweet and low. His smile widened once more - too wide, grotesquely stretched. “Sit back down, we still have to enjoy our dessert.”

Kira felt her feet moving without her, drifting back to her chair. Her mind raced and the world around her felt suddenly unreal as she settled, staring down at her plate until Babbage whisked it away and disappeared back into the kitchen again.

Kira looked over at the siren, where he still knelt on the floor.

“You, too,” Wentworth said, beckoning the siren with a single crook of his finger. Areyto pushed himself uncertainly to his feet, struggling to stay upright. His ribs were still bleeding, the smell of it overwhelming and making Kira’s stomach flip again. Or maybe it had never stopped. 

Areyto sat back in his chair, still naked - the servants didn’t seem to notice. Kira couldn’t see anything past his bright eyes and the red of his blood. The sight of him felt real in a way nothing else in this house of horrors did. 

“You will not leave your room again unless summoned,” Wentworth said, imperious now. “If you are found anywhere else, even once, I will begin ordering deaths. If you care about the lives of anyone but yourself, Miss Losna, you will go where you are bid and do what I tell you. And you will bind my siren back to me with all the magic you can use.”

Kira kept her eyes on the siren.

She had no idea what was served for dessert. She heard nothing Wentworth said after that. At some point, she was given leave to return to her rooms and she fled to the stairs, feeling a stab of guilt at leaving the siren once again alone with this monstrous man. But it was not enough guilt to stop her.

Once she had closed the door behind her, she flung herself on her bed, screaming into the heavy soft pillow.

How had she already begun to think of this as her room? This bed as her bed? How could she have been so well encircled and not realized he would use the servants against her?

She screamed again.

This time, she kept it up until her throat burned with it and her voice began to give, going hoarse and rough. She held the pillow against her face until sparks danced behind her closed eyes as she fought for air. Finally, she threw the pillow away, watching it thump onto the floor.

Then she turned to where it had been and saw the crumpled paper there. Kira swallowed, picking the folded piece of paper up and slowly opening it. 

Young Master Ford, Young Miss Nathalie, and the twins all have rooms without bars on the windows. 

Master Ford will come to you at midnight with the siren. 

Miss Nathalie will, too.

Nathalie. Kira felt something in her settle. That would be the eldest daughter from the painting, Ford’s younger sister. Clearly she and Ford felt similarly, if they were going to help Kira and Areyto, or even just Kira…

No.

She wouldn’t leave here without the siren beside her. Areyto needed rescue more than she did, in the end, and it wasn’t his singing that made her believe it. It was her own conviction. Her own certainty.

Kira pushed herself off the bed, then, setting her shoulders with resolution and heading into the bathing room, hoping against hope she could somehow manage to get this dress off all by herself.

She was sorely in need of a bath.

-

Taglist: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings  @theelvishcowgirl  @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10   @apokolyps   @wildfaewhump   @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood @latenightcupsofcoffee @angelsproject @loony-whumptoons

[shveris]

incorrect quotes collection, part 3

today i bring you: things that definitely happened in the canon (trust me i'm gege's pc)

part 1 part 2

megumi: any room can be a panic room if you’d just give me a fucking second

sukuna, during the heian period: i was born for politics. i have great hair and i love lying

noritoshi: poison is a magic transmutation potion that turns people into corpses

miwa: this katana is actually a magic wand

momo: meet me in the inageya parking lot for a wizard duel

mai: *cocks gun* magic missile

kokichi: what the fuck is wrong with you people

yuuji: do you guys hear something?

sukuna: i hear the sound of you shutting the fuck up

satoru: what does 'take out' mean?

shoko: murder

haibara: dating

nanami: food

suguru: it can mean all three if you’re not a coward

shoko, on the phone with suguru: they’re in the kitchen again

satoru, in the background: “beat 3 eggs”… in what? hand to hand combat?

haibara, in the background: must be since nanami banned technique usage in the kitchen last thursday, remember?

suguru: gET THEM OUT OF THERE

megumi: goddamn it, the printer broke while printing out yuuji’s birthday invitations

maki: well, what are they supposed to say

megumi: “yuuji’s birthday”

panda: what do they say instead?

megumi: “yuuji's bi”

toge:

nobara: works out either way

sukuna: do you prefer gendered terms?

yuuji: i guess so

sukuna: fuck you

yuuji: where was the gendered term?

sukuna: in your mom

yuuji:

yuuji: my mom got dicked down by your twin which you ate in the womb

sukuna:

satoru: goodness me, it’s the perfect day for our hiking trip! bless mother nature

megumi, out of breath: mother nature is a WHORE

yuuji: what’s up guys? i’m back

megumi: what the- you can’t be here. you’re dead. i literally saw you die

sukuna: death is a social construct

satoru: died and came back as a cowboy, i call that reintarnation

nobara: wow, i don’t even get the joke but it sounds funny

megumi: that’s nOT. THE. FUCKING. POINT.

nobara: what the fuck yuuji, what are you doing here!?

yuuji: i missed you guys!

megumi: you just survived a car crash

nobara: the doctors said you have internal bleeding

yuuji: yeah, and? isn’t that where blood’s supposed to be?

megumi: i need to sit down…

these two are how yuuji's comeback should've went...

shoko: yeah, i'll smoke a joint tonight, but let's not get too crazy

*4 hours forward to shoko, suguru and satoru getting arrested for blocking the main road in large traffic cone costumes*

nobara: the only thing i'm guilty of is being gorgeous… and also assault with a hammer

satoru, on the night of the war delcaration: suguru, i’m sorry. i can’t keep seeing you anymore

suguru: no shit, you’re always wearing that blindfold

satoru: suguru… no…

nanami: gojo, we have a problem

satoru: what, the fire?

nanami: no, the- wait, what fire?

satoru: oh forget about it, this sounds more interesting

shoko: that was a joke. say ha

nanami: ha

shoko: now do it again

nanami: ha

shoko: congratulations, you are officially the life of the party

satoru: i would let you ruin my life

suguru: sorry, i’m busy ruining my own. you’ll have to wait

satoru, turning to suguru: my dick stopped breathing. it’s in desperate need of cpr

suguru: you’re in desperate need of a beating

shoko: or a lobotomy

suguru: both

shoko: if the beating is hard enough, it’ll count as a lobotomy

satoru: i always knew you guys were homophobic

satoru: none of those words are in the bible

shoko: psalm 119:105. “and jesus said unto his followers, should a manlet incel attempt to mansplain the blockchain to a girlboss, may she waste his time and yassify his blorbos”

suguru: he did not fucking say that

megumi: i taught my dog a new trick *throws ball* fetch!

dog: *just stands there*

noabara: he didn’t do it

megumi: that's because i taught him to ignore social conventions and think for himself

suguru: i’d kill someone if you asked me to

satoru: i’m pretty sure you’d kill someone even if i didn’t ask you to

megumi: if bees can be fish and boys can be girls, then why did my dad sell me to the zen'in clan?

nobara: i thought i was going to have to yell at you, but now i think i should hug you

sukuna, on yuuji's cheek: the real secret to immortality? not dying. you want to be immortal? okay, that’s easy. just don’t die. that’s it. refuse to die. there you go.

yuuji: but how-

sukuna, ignoring him: “but how” you may ask. well, easy. just don’t do it. refuse to. say “no, fuck you”

nobara: i'm not creepy

nobara: i'm petty

nobara: there's a difference, ya know

waiter: what would you like?

yuuji: a milkshake with two straws

megumi: *blushes*

yuuji: *puts both straws in his mouth* watch how fast i can drink this!

haibara: ieri-san, is that my mug you’re drinking out of?

shoko: no, it’s mine

haibara: it… looks just like the one i have…

shoko: you don’t have one like this anymore

megumi: i'm a witch. i mixed some herbs and crystals together and now all my shikigami know the f-word

nobara: which one?

megumi: what do you mean?

nobara: there's more than one f-word

yuuji, entring the room: you talkin' 'bout faggots?

megumi: why would we talk about cigarettes?

sukuna: i'll offer you some friendly advice-

yuuji: i don't want your advice

sukuna: well, then consider it unfriendly advice

jjk manga ends in 30 days which means i'm gonna nap on the highway after that last chapter drops :muscle:

[animatorweirdo]

Imagine needing to do something and leaving your younger sibling with Maedhros

Something came up, so you leave your younger sibling temporarily under Maedhros's care.

Warnings: Maedhros has a pretty neat time with a baby, the orcs, however, have to deal with you.

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

*Maedhros arriving at the tavern*

Maedhros: Hey, (Name). Sorry, I'm late.

*He sees you bouncing a baby on your knee*

You: Hey, Maedhros.

Maedhros: Why do you have a baby here?

You: This is Anna. She's my younger sister from my father's second relationship. Me and my siblings agreed upon a babysitting routine ever since the incident, and today ended up being my turn.

Maedhros: *Sitting beside you* Oh.

You: So, I hope you do not mind her being here.

Anna: *Giggles at the sight of him*

Maedhros: Not at all.

*Your friend comes up to you*

Your friend: (Name), we have a problem. We have an orc in captivity but he refuses to tell the location of the camp, and we are suspecting that they are holding prisoners. We need your help with the interrogation.

You: *Groans' Motherfuck----!

You: *Look toward Maedhros* Maedhros. Can you watch Anna while I'll go deal with that? I promise I will be quick.

Maedhros: Of course…

You: *Hands him the baby* Thank you. I already fed her and cleaned her from the last potty break, so just keep her entertained. It shouldn't be a challenge.

*You hand him Anna and then leave the tavern with your friend*

Maedhros: *Looks down on the baby on his lap* I guess it's just you and me now.

Anna: *Giggles*

*With you*

You: *Stands in front of the orc* Alright, you deformed pig of satan. You better start talking or it will be ugly for you.

The orc: Piss off, you human scum.

You: *sigh* Well--- you can only blame yourself for what happens next.

The orc: *Gulps in fear when you grab a hammer*

*With Maedhros*

Maedhros: You know, you're lucky. You have a good family to look after you and all you can do is just be a baby and do adorable things. Me on the other hand have to deal with six problematic adults with attidute of ill tempered toddlers.

Anna: Bah~

Maedhros: *Nods in agreement* Exactly.

*With you*

The orc: *Screaming in pain while you crush his fingers with a hammer*

You: Ready to talk now?

The orc: I will gut you once I'm free!

You: *Strikes his fingers with a hammer*

The orc: *Screams*

*With Maedhros*

Maedhros: *Bounces Anna on his knee*

Anna: *Laughts in joy*

*With you*

*You beat the orc with bare hands*

The orc: Stop! Stop! Stop! I'll tell you!

You: *Stop* I'm listening.

The orc: The camp is at the edge of the forest, hidden within a cave. The prisoners are locked in these wooden cages.

You: Now was that so hard?

*With Maedhros*

Maedhros: *Lets Anna play with his hair* I know, red is a fascinating color, isn't it?

Anna: *Puts his hair in her mouth*

Maedhros: *Chuckles* Don't eat it. It's not good for you.

Anna: *Pouts at him*

*With you*

You: Alright there's the camp.

*You and a group of rangers spy on the orcs that were guarding the entrance to the cave*

You: Just fuck them up and free the prisoners.

*With Maedhros*

Maedhros: *Holding Anna as she sleeps on his chest*

Celegorm: *Appears in the tavern* Hey, Maedhros. I thought I could find you here.

Maedhros: *Sends him a death glare* Wake her up and I will kill you.

*With you*

*You and your friends raid the orc camp*

An orc: Intruders! Run away!

You: Oh, you are not going anywhere.

*With Maedhros*

Maedhros: *Feeds Anna food after she woke up hungry*

*You return to the tavern*

You: Hey, was she any trouble to you?

Maedhros: *Hands her back to you* Not at all. She behaved very well. She was easily entertained by the few stories I told her.

You: Lovely.

Maedhros: Did you manage to handle the problem with the orcs?

You: Yes. It took longer than expected, but they're now gone and the prisoners are safe.

Maedhros: Impressive. If you can handle something like that in a few hours, then maybe I should hire you to handle my problems.

You: Only if you're willing to babysit more. I already have enough trauma with you and your family sharing your problems with me.

*Maedhros chuckles as you two then spend the night peacefully with Anna*

[cera-writes]

A Bite of the Big Easy — A Remy LeBeau Vampire AU pt. 4🩸

Pairing: Remy LeBeau x F!Reader Tags: mentions of death, blood and gore, lust, mutual pining Prompt: Reader is spending her bachelorette weekend down in New Orleans with her bridesmaids. She meets a mysterious stranger with a Cajun flair that shakes things up for her. But will it be more than what she bargained for?

The air crackled with a tension thicker than the humid New Orleans night. It wasn't just the grimoire, its worn leather cover sending shivers down your spine as you tucked it into your bag. When his hand brushed yours as you took it from his grasp, a jolt of electricity surged through you, a current that danced across your skin leaving you breathless. His scent, a heady mix of musk, tobacco, and ancient earth was filling your senses, momentarily pushing the grim truth of Sarah's death aside. It was a primal awareness, a flicker of something deeper that made a blush bloom on your cheeks, hot and unwelcome.

"Um... I forgot to ask, but how'd you heal up?" You asked, clearing your throat as you tried to divert your attention from him and the way he made your train of thought cloudy and heart rate speed up.

"Like it was jus' a scratch, cher. Vampire, remember?" he smirked, lifting his shirt to show you where the stab wound was. He could sense your emotions. It hadn't gone unnoticed from him about the way your heart rate had quickened earlier. He'd have been lying if he hadn't had sinful thoughts about you, too.

"Now... we should get goin'," Remy's voice was a low rumble, breaking the charged silence. His hand lingered on yours a beat too long, the brush of his calloused fingers sending shivers down your spine. You forced yourself to pull away, the weight of the locket around your neck a heavy reminder of the darkness you were now entangled with. You wanted to hold onto it, as a way of keeping Sarah close, but only as long as Remy was by your side while you had it on you. You now knew the dangers of what it signified.

As the two of you headed towards Bourbon Street, a metallic tang hit your senses, sharp and cloying. It was faint at first, but undeniable. Remy's movements stilled, his head snapping towards the sound of a muffled struggle emanating from the alleyway across the street. His posture tensed, a predator suddenly alert in the jungle of brick and wrought iron. "What is it?" you whispered, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

Remy didn't answer. He grabbed your arm, his grip tight but not unkind, and propelled you towards the shadows of the alley. The stench of blood grew stronger with every step, a primal fear rising in your throat. You stumbled slightly, the sudden movement eliciting a gasp from you.

Just as you reached the mouth of the alley, Remy shoved you back, his body a literal wall shielding you from the unseen horror. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound that resonated deep within you, a primal warning that sent shivers down your spine. It was raw, guttural, a sound you instinctively understood.

"Fledglings... don't move," he commanded, his voice a guttural rasp. "Don' make a sound."

Panic clawed at you, the primal urge to run warring with the ironclad grip of his command. His presence in front of you radiated a dangerous aura, his eyes glowing a faint crimson in the dim light reflecting off the wrought iron balconies that lined the alleyway. You pressed yourself back against the rough brick wall, the grimoire digging into your back through your purse strap.

The sounds of the struggle intensified, punctuated by sharp gasps and wet sucking noises that made your stomach lurch. You squeezed your eyes shut, the taste of bile rising in your throat. Images flickered behind your closed eyelids, fueled by the horrifying sounds and the metallic tang in the air. You could just imagine what the feeding vampire was doing right down the alleyway from where Remy was shielding your scent.

Remy kept his protective grip on you, his face pale and drawn. His gaze met yours for a fleeting moment, crimson eyes flickering down to your lips, then back to your eyes. The hunger in his gaze was raw and desperate, a stark contrast to the control he usually exuded. It mirrored the pounding of your own heart, the primal fear mixed with a strange, unwelcome awareness of your own vulnerability.

"Remy...?" you whispered, a hint of fear in your voice at the way he was devouring you with his gaze alone, like he wanted to do that same vile thing to you that that monster was doing to its victim.

"We need to go," he said, his voice rough. "Now." As if snapping out of his own trance.

He grabbed your hand, his touch sending another jolt through you. This time, however, it wasn't just electricity. There was a tremor running through him, a battle raging beneath the surface. He pulled you deeper into the maze of alleyways, his movements swift and silent. The metallic tang of blood hung in the air, a constant reminder of the danger you had just narrowly escaped.

You stumbled along beside him, your mind reeling. The image of Remy's crimson eyes and the raw hunger in his gaze burned into your memory. It was a terrifying glimpse into the darkness he held within, a darkness he'd just barely kept at bay. And for the first time, you saw him not just as a protector, but as something more. Something dangerous, alluring, and forbidden. It terrified the shit out of you, but it also drew you to him in ways you'd never felt.

The labyrinthine alleys twisted and turned, each corner revealing another dripping brick wall and a tangle of overflowing trash cans. Despite the urgency in Remy's movements, you couldn't help but steal glances at him. The moonlight, filtering through a break in the buildings overhead, cast an ethereal glow on his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the faint sheen of sweat on his brow.

He was a walking paradox – a creature of darkness radiating a strange allure. The memory of his crimson eyes, burning with a hunger that mirrored your own growing fear, sent a tremor through you. It was a fear that should have pushed you away, yet it was strangely intertwined with a thrilling, forbidden desire.

"Where are we going?" you finally whispered, your voice barely audible above the rhythmic click of your boots against the uneven cobblestones. The weight of the locket around your neck felt heavy, a constant reminder of the darkness you were now entangled with.

Remy didn't answer for a moment, his focus solely on navigating the maze. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low rumble that sent a delicious shiver down your spine, a shiver that had nothing to do with the damp night air. "Somewhere safer," he said, his gaze flickering to yours for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something raw and hungry in his crimson eyes that made your breath hitch.

The air crackled with a tension thicker than the humid New Orleans night. When his hand brushed yours to steady you over a particularly uneven cobblestone, a jolt of electricity surged through you, a current that danced across your skin leaving you breathless. His scent was making you dizzy, and you suddenly wondered if it had to do with him being a vampire and not your own desires.

The pullback was a struggle for him, you could sense it. The hunger in his eyes, a flickering crimson in the dim light, was a constant reminder of the predator that lurked beneath the surface. A predator whose fangs ached for something more than just the blood of the unfortunate humans they'd encountered moments ago.

You weren't naive. You knew the danger you were in. The vulnerability that thrummed beneath your skin whenever he was near was both thrilling and terrifying. Yet, a part of you, a traitorous part, couldn't help but be drawn to the danger, to the forbidden allure of the creature who both repelled and fascinated you.

Reaching the edge of the city, the oppressive weight of the buildings gave way to the sprawling darkness of the swamp. A symphony of insects filled the air, a constant hum that seemed to vibrate against your skin. Remy turned towards you, his eyes gleaming a dangerous red in the moonlight.

"Jus' up ahead," he said, his voice a low rasp. He gestured to a narrow wooden path that disappeared into the thick undergrowth.

You hesitated, the primal fear of the unknown warring with the strange sense of security Remy offered. "My hotel wouldn't be safer?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Remy's lips curved into a humorless smile. "Hotels are crawlin' with my kind, cher," he said, his gaze lingering on the locket nestled against your chest. "Here, with me, you'll be safer."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, the implication hanging heavy in the air. Safer with him? A freaking vampire. The very idea was both terrifying and strangely alluring. You could almost feel the heat emanating from his body, a potent mix of danger and desire.

"And don' worry about checkin' out. I'll take care o' that along with your bags."

You furrowed your brow. "Um, okay then."

"It's not exactly a palace," he added, a hint of amusement in his voice, "but it's secure. Ain't no vampire in New Orleans that'd dare abode with the gators. They like their fancy upscale townhouses and mansions too much to rough it out, out here. They don' call me a swamp rat fo' nothin'."

Lost in your thoughts, you looked back at the city lights, a distant glimmer in the inky black distance. Here, in the heart of the swamp, with Remy, who thirsted for your blood, a terrifying realization lay before you. But as you met Remy's gaze, a spark of something dangerous and exciting flickered within you. Maybe a hotel wasn't the only option. Some weird part of you trusted him and you kept following him despite the danger.

Remy was a hair's breadth behind you, his silhouette stark against the moonlight filtering through the cypress canopy. You couldn't see his eyes, but you felt the weight of his gaze on you, a heavy, assessing presence.

"It's not far now," he finally said, his voice a low rumble that sent a tremor through you.

The understatement hung heavy in the air. The path ahead was barely a path at all, more a suggestion of one, swallowed by encroaching foliage and slick with mud. You felt the tickling of hanging spanish moss caress your check as you trudged on underneath the trees.

Despite the fear gnawing at your insides, a strange sense of anticipation bubbled up within you. This was Remy's world, a secret haven hidden away from the prying eyes of both humans and vampires. You felt a mosquito buzz in your ear which quickly had you swatting at your face.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped onto the path. The decaying leaves crunched under your shoes, the sound oddly comforting amidst the tree frogs and crickets and whatever else was hidden away in the swamp. Remy stayed close behind, a silent guardian against the unseen dangers that lurked in the darkness.

As you walked, the trees grew denser, the path barely visible under a carpet of fallen leaves. The air grew colder, the humidity clinging to your skin like a second layer. You could almost hear the swamp breathing around you, a slow, rhythmic pulse that resonated deep within your bones.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the trees thinned, revealing a clearing bathed in a pale moonlight. In the center stood a quaint cabin, its weathered wood warped by time but still intact nonetheless. Smoke curled from a chimney, the only sign of life in this desolate landscape.

"Home sweet… swamp?" you said, your voice barely a whisper.

Remy chuckled, a low, humorless sound. "Somethin' like that." He gestured towards the cabin. "It's not much, but it'll keep you safe. For now."

His words held an undercurrent of something else, a hint of something unspoken. Safe from what? The other vampires? Or perhaps, safe from him?

You weren't sure. But as you walked towards the cabin, the moonlight casting long, grotesque shadows around you, the danger you were in felt far more real than the promise of safety. Yet, a part of you, a traitorous part that thrilled at the forbidden nature of it all, couldn't help but be drawn to the darkness that swirled around Remy, and the secrets that awaited you within the walls of this ramshackle cabin.

Pushing open the creaky cabin door, you were greeted with a surprising warmth. The air inside, though damp, held the scent of woodsmoke and something vaguely herbal that tickled your nose. A worn rug lay on the uneven wooden floor, and flickering candlelight danced on exposed beams overhead. A large fireplace crackled merrily in the corner, casting flickering shadows on the walls lined with mismatched bookshelves overflowing with leather-bound volumes.

It wasn't luxurious by any means, but it was undeniably comfortable. A stark contrast to the decaying exterior. You glanced back at Remy, expecting to see a smirk on his face, but his expression was unreadable.

He moved deeper into the cabin, stepping aside to reveal a worn but inviting bed in the only other room in the house, besides the bathroom. "All yours chere," he said, his voice devoid of its usual gruffness. "The bathroom's through that door." He gestured to the adjacent room. "And whatever you do, don' venture outdoors at night alone. By any means." His tone was unexpectedly gentle, almost… concerned.

"Noted. But... where do you sleep?" you asked, your voice barely audible.

Remy hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering to the shadowed corner by the fireplace. "Old habits," he finally mumbled. "Basement. Got a… coffin down there. Less… conspicuous."

The word hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the creature he truly was. A vampire. A predator. You should have been terrified. Instead, a strange mix of curiosity and… something else, something you couldn't quite name, bubbled up within you.

"A coffin?" you whispered, stepping closer to the bed. It was a simple affair, a wooden frame with a thick feather mattress. The sheets, though faded, seemed clean.

"Vampires," Remy explained, his voice a low rumble. "We have… preferences." He didn't elaborate, and you didn't ask. The knowledge that he spent his nights not far below you, in a coffin, sent a shiver down your spine. A primal fear, but also an unsettling thrill.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. The image of Remy sleeping in a coffin, his face pale in the darkness, was both terrifying and weirdly intimate. The weight of the situation, the danger you were in, finally settled on your shoulders like a heavy cloak.

You sank onto the bed, the worn mattress creaking beneath you. Exhaustion finally hit you in a wave, washing over the fear and the strange, swirling emotions you were grappling with. Glancing across the room, you saw Remy watching you from by the fireplace, his face obscured by the flickering shadows.

"You'll be safe here," he finally said, his voice tinged with an emotion you couldn't decipher. "For now."

Safe. The word echoed in your mind, a stark contrast to the reality of the situation. But as sleep finally threatened to claim you, a different idea crept into your mind. The warmth of the bed seemed somehow… lonely. Looking across the room, you saw only flickering shadows where Remy had stood.

Hesitantly, you called out, "Remy?"

His voice echoed back from the hallway, a low rumble. "Yeah?"

"Would you… stay here, with me, tonight?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper. Part of it was fear, the knowledge of being alone in this strange place. But another part… another part was an inexplicable desire for his presence, a comfort that defied logic.

A beat of silence followed, then, "hm... alright," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. The floorboards creaked softly as he entered the room, the firelight illuminating his face. In the flickering light, he looked almost… human. His features, usually sharp and predatory, seemed softened by the shadows. For a moment, you almost saw a hint of what he might have looked like as a human, a flicker of a lost life.

He moved to the far side of the bed, keeping a respectful distance. You weren't sure if it was to protect you from himself, or himself from you. The silence stretched, broken only by the crackling fire and the rhythmic hum of insects outside.

Remy watched you sleep, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. The scent of you filled his senses, a heady mix of fear and something else, something enticing that sent a primal tremor through him. It was a scent unlike any he'd encountered in centuries, a potent cocktail of vulnerability and a burgeoning strength that both repelled and fascinated him. It awakened a part of him long dormant – a part that yearned for connection, for a love that transcended the base hunger that now defined his existence.

Memories flickered – stolen kisses under a starlit sky, whispered promises under a willow tree, the warmth of Anna Marie's hand in his. He'd felt a love so pure, so all-consuming that it defied the very nature of the beast he was destined to become. His southern belle. But fate, a cruel mistress, had ripped her away, leaving behind a gaping emptiness that bloodlust could never truly fill.

And now, you. You stirred in your sleep, a soft sigh escaping your lips. The moonlight cast an ethereal glow on your face, highlighting the gentle rise and fall of your chest. The hunger, a primal urge he'd thought long subdued, roared back to life with a vengeance. It was a hunger not just for your blood, sweet and intoxicating as it was, but for something more. Something he couldn't quite define.

He leaned closer, drawn by an invisible force. His fangs extended involuntarily, glinting in the firelight. The distance between his face and your throat was a mere whisper, the warmth of your breath tickling his skin. He could taste it already, the iron tang of your fear laced with the intoxicating sweetness that was uniquely you.

But then, a flicker of your humanity, a vulnerability etched on your sleeping face, stopped him short. It was a mirror reflecting the faint echo of the love he'd lost, a love he craved to recapture. With a growl of frustration, he ripped his gaze away, his fangs snapping shut. He couldn't allow himself to succumb. Not you. Not yet.

He knew he couldn't stay. But he felt better knowing you were safer here than that hotel room where anyone could've barged in. The locket, with its unknown power, thrummed against his chest where he'd slipped the grimoire back under his coat. He had to find answers, to break whatever spell it held.

But as he rose, a single tear traced a path down his cheek, a silent testament to the humanity he desperately clung to, a humanity reawakened by the innocent slumber of the woman who had unknowingly become his reason to fight the monster within. He swiped away at it quickly, burying his feelings, but for some damned unknown reason, he felt like he had purpose again. And that purpose was to protect you.

He rose up before heading out the cabin door, quietly as to not wake you. He'd be back before the sun rose.

[ussgallifrey]

(She Moves With) Shameless Wonder | 23

✦ Summary: Your badge clearly said SHIELD consultant, so you weren’t entirely sure where Fury was getting this whole make you an Avenger idea from. But you had a feeling it might have something to do with the recent discovery of an artifact at the bottom of the Arctic Sea.

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Canon divergence, dialogue taken directly from Avengers: Age of Ultron, allusions of accepting death, blood, careless mistakes, dark visions, drowning, injuries, mass injuries & casualties, minor medical violence, language, references to 9/11, references to trauma suffered by Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers' mental prowess, Thor making brash decisions, violence

✦ Word Count: 11.3k

✦ Playlist: Here

✦ Cinematic Soundtrack: Here

✦ Author's Note: Okay, yeah, this one is a heavier chapter. I had a joy writing it, though. One thing that always irked me with the movie was how every Avenger suffered through a terrible vision when Wanda used her powers upon them. And originally Steve was supposed to be dealing with the guilt he had over never going back for Bucky. And, instead, we got that entire dance hall scene with Peggy. I don't know, it just sort of rubbed me the wrong way. So, in this chapter, I promised myself I would properly traumatize the poor man. Enjoy!

[Master List]

“Well, that answers it then.”

Steve’s eyes travel to the imposing figure of Thor as the god summons his hammer and begins striding out of the lab. There’s a beat of silence as the team collectively turns to watch him go.

“Okay, hold on,” you say, hurrying after the god.

Tony looks at the supersoldier with a knowing gaze of amusement. Steve’s mouth gapes, opening and closing like a fish out of water before he wordlessly turns and follows after the two of you.

The God of Thunder is already on the stairs, halfway up to the next floor with you a few steps below.

“I’m sorry, in what world do you think we should just be running out of here at the first drop of possible intel?”

“Oh, apologies. Would you prefer that we, what, lay around here and dig through old files while the real enemy is at play? Even you are too wise for that, Olympian.”

With a finger resting above your brow, you turn to look at Steve, your face drawn with clear exasperation.

“You understand what I’m saying, right?” you ask with a vaguely pleading tone.

Steve gives you an affirming nod.

“Thor,” he calls up. “If we jump on the first thing we find, we could be missing the bigger picture.”

“Or, we could just get refused entry into another country. Seems like we’re racking those up nowadays,” the goddess snarks.

You both watch as the Asgardian heaves a long sigh, his fingers flexing along the shaft of Mjolnir as he comes to his decision.

“Come on,” you implore, taking another step closer, your hand outstretched toward him, ready to put aside your own frustrations in favor of a peaceful resolution.

After a beat, Thor reluctantly descends the stairs, ignoring your hand entirely as he breezes past the two of you. You let out a little sigh as he passes, turning your attention back to Steve.

“He’s always been like that. Quick to judgment, quick to action, quick to… anger.”

At that, you absently rub the back of your neck. The fleeting image of an old memory dances in your eyes, one that seems entirely unpleasant. He distantly recalls the fact that your people hadn’t always been on such friendly terms as you are now.

Steve settles you with a warm look.

“We’ll figure this out,” he promises.

“Yeah, hopefully before the rest of them start jumping to the same conclusions and try to fly off to the horn of Africa.”

He offers you a chuckle at that, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder as you both return to the lab. The others have converged around the main workbench that Tony and Bruce had been situated at, while Thor seems to be remaining despondently annoyed near the windows overlooking the city.

“Okay, well this Sarkissian might be worth looking into,” Nat says with an open file in her hand. “There’s like eight other names here too.”

You glance up at him with a sudden assuredness in your eyes. Steve squeezes your shoulder as you move to join the group.

Since their short departure, the billionaire has situated himself at Maria’s laptop, typing away while conversing at Bruce over his shoulder. The other scientist seems unfazed and partially disinterested in whatever it is Tony is saying, too busy with his own stack of files to look up and acknowledge him.

“Here,” you smile, offering him up another stack.

Steve flashes you a smile as he glances down at the Cyrillic letters.

“Those two,” you glance over at Tony and Bruce, “Are currently working out some formula to locate Klaue. I give it an hour before they try to make for the jet.”

“So, we better get working?” he raises his brows, a smirk tugging at his lips.

In the span of forty-five minutes, you’ve uncovered a connection between Strucker and Georges Batroc. However, a quick call to Maria confirms that the mercenary is still secured behind bars. Steve finds multiple mentions of a задача мастер, which Nat informs him translates roughly to Task Master, probably a pseudo name for some lower-level manager on the HYDRA ladder if she had to hazard a guess. Someone finds a few references to an Allegra de Fontaine as well, but there’s no real record on any database that Clint can seem to find.

Which leads to Tony clapping his hands together after a quick stretch of his shoulders.

“Alright, I’m calling it. We’re going to Johannesburg, well you probably are,” he amends, pointing at everyone but himself. “I want to nip this shit while we can. Hence, scoot.”

He waves his hands dismissively, as if excusing them all from his presence.

You give a long-suffering sigh, smacking a folder closed on yet another file.

“I don’t think it’s the right path, Tony.”

“Ah,” Thor chuckles, heartless in his tone. “You would rather have us holed up in this tower then? Hmmm? Or shall we allow Strucker to take hold of the scepter once again? Perhaps he can accomplish his goals at last.”

The reminder of the Leviathan shell at the base of Strucker’s operation rings hauntingly through Steve’s thoughts. He had perused the files after Maria’s meeting the other day. He knew all about the Baron’s plans for crafting mechanical nightmares out of alien tanks.

“That’s not - ” you rub your hand over your forehead before rolling your shoulders back to give your fellow god a look, “- if we get this wrong, if we follow the wrong lead, not only do we have Strucker and the scepter to contend with, but Ultron as well. Have we truly eliminated every possibility for what Ultron could have been seeking information on?”

There’s a shattering stillness that permeates the lab. Sam and Steve share a silent exchange, a few questions coming to mind in the brief silence.

“Look,” Tony coughs after a minute. “I’m not saying it’s a great lead, but it’s our only one that, right now, could be an immediate threat. This thing gets its hands on vibranium? I’m telling you, we’re going to be in over our heads.”

“Fine,” you wave your arms in defeat, settling back on the stool.

“And hey,” the billionaire rounds the table to gently smack you on the shoulder, “if you’re really feeling all deadset on this, hang back this round and keep digging. God knows you’ll be the one to find something in this mess, Goddess of Knowledge and all that.”

With a cursory look around the lab, Steve clenches his jaw. It looked like a tornado had ripped through the place, with stacks of empty boxes and piles of papers and files strewn about the floor and every other available surface.

It takes only a few minutes longer to decide who will be going on the mission.

When Steve returns to the lounge area, already suited up with his helmet in hand and shield resting on his back, he finds you. Standing near the recently plastic-covered windows. Tony was waiting for his window guy to install them on Wednesday, apparently. You’re conversing with Nat when he emerges from the elevator.

His gaze travels up to the ceiling where a beam of golden light halos the room and where your plummed helm descends from an otherworldly realm. Into your hands, it drops.

“Here, just in case,” you smile, handing it over to the spy.

Nat shakes her head, glancing over at Steve as he approaches.

“He’s really got a thing about it, doesn’t he?”

“Hey,” you shrug. “If it helps it helps. Anyway, keep safe. Any luck and I’ll see you and that scepter back here in a few hours' time.”

The redhead offers you a smile and then Steve one as well before she, and the helm, head in the direction of the lab. The supersoldier turns, watching until he’s certain she’s disappeared from both sight and earshot before he returns his attention to you.

Rubbing your hands up and down your arms, you offer him a simple, “Hey.”

He lets the silence simmer for a moment longer as he takes in your every feature.

“I know that look.”

Turning your head, you settle him with a curious expression.

“Is that right?”

Steve nods.

“You think we’re about to do something stupid.”

“No,” you push your elbow into his arm. “I know you’re going to do something stupid. I’m just afraid we’re missing something important though, it’s the only reason I’m staying behind. It’s like… I have the puzzle pieces, just not in order yet.”

His face screws slightly at the insult, unable to let it slip past, “Wait, what exactly do you mean I’m going to do something - ”

“I don’t know, jump out of a moving helicarrier or something of the sort?”

“Okay,” he turns on you, flashing a playful smile. “That was one time.”

“Crashing a plane with explosives on board, then. Or, letting a superpowered man smash all of your facial bones to dust.”

At that, he can’t help but wince at the memory. Partly due to the physical pain he can recall from the instance, but mostly due to Bucky. The deeply rooted emotional pain that seeped into his very blood and turned his mind sour. That was, and still remains, the biggest sore point in his day-to-day life.

Your face falls, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - ”

“No,” he supplies, fixing you with a look that makes it known that he’s not offended. “You’re right, it was… stupid.”

Letting out a sigh, you push your entire right side into his left, dropping your head down before shyly glancing back up at him.

“You did what you had to do in the moment. You always do. Just… try to avoid any scepters to the chest and… aim for the head of any robot you come across.”

Steve lets out a little chuckle, using his free hand to wrap around your waist and draw you even closer into his side. You tilt up into the warmth of your shared body heat and meet his eyes with a dazzling expression that Steve can only describe as purely divine.

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs, letting his lips drift down to the crown of your head where he places a feather-light, barely-there, kiss.

As Tony types aimlessly away in the corner of the lab, lips pursed and forehead lines drawn taunt, you pursue yet another ancient file. One that had clearly been tucked away sometime before the invention of the personal computer, as half of the file had been blacked out with marker.

Holding your hair back with your own hand, you read through the lines of Russian reports. It was a rarity to have proper KGB files left in HYDRA / SHIELD’s hands, but you had certainly lucked out with this particular box.

The billionaire gives a long, drawn-out sigh as he pulls away from the table to rub his eyes with the backs of his hands.

“Words blurring together yet?” you ask.

“Nearly.”

Running a hand across his jaw, he stands and makes his way over to you. With one hand on the table and the other on your left shoulder, he peers down at your current reading.

“Anything good?”

“Old intel mostly, a few commander names here and there, but I have to assume most of them are long since dead at this point. There’s mentions of a base in Siberia, a dinner party with the American U.N. Ambassador set for March 1973 - ”

At that, Tony scoffs.

“ - and about a dozen mentions of the Red Guardian and the Winter Soldier.”

He blinks, “Oh shit.”

You hum in reply, flipping the page to reveal a sepia-toned portrait of the Guardian. Tony leans back against the workbench then, picking up the file for himself.

“Anything… useful to, you know, Rogers’ mission?”

You give a shake of your head, “No, unfortunately. It just mentioned his name in passing. The Asset was sent to deal with Kuznetov, the Winter Soldier was apprehended in Samara, the Soldier brought out of stasis for the mission.”

He flips another page before dropping it back in front of you, “Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

“But…” he seems to take an extra second to consider his next few words, “You don’t think Barnes is…?”

It takes you all of five seconds to consider the notion, before you ultimately shake your head, “Highly unlikely, if nearly improbable. If you can’t find him with all of your tech, how would Ultron manage such a feat? And even if he did, I don’t think Bucky would be assisting him willingly.”

“Alright,” he sighs, glancing back at his own workstation a few feet away. “Let me know if you find anything of use.”

“Will do,” you reply, already pulling out the next folder in the pile. But then you look up, just as he gets back to his seat. “Any word yet? From the team?”

He gives you a low smile, curled up at the edges as he flicks at a few buttons on his keyboard, “Just over the equator now, ETA twenty minutes.”

You give Tony a nod of thanks, before returning to the mess of files in front of you. While you had nearly limited down Strucker’s known accomplices, you were certain there was something bigger that you were missing. But as you dug in deeper and deeper, the small details became increasingly harder to look away from. Like staring at a Seurat painting and being unable to see the cheerful Sunday afternoon around all of the dots.

Just as you’re about to grab another box, your eyes catch sight of movement just outside of the lab.

“Hey,” you call. “You heading out?”

Sam, with a bag tugged over his right shoulder, trudges up the stairs to the otherwise empty lab. He gives you a little shrug.

“I got a day job, you know.”

“And here I thought your day job was chasing James Barnes across central Europe.”

Tony snorts, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

“Might as well be,” Sam drones, dropping onto the stool opposite yours.

While the rest of the team - you and Tony excluded - had all left for South Africa nearly forty minutes ago, the man across from you had decided to call it quits for the time being.

“Nah, I gotta check in on my Ma and Sarah while I got the time,” he answers.

To the best of your understanding, Sam wasn’t officially an Avenger, similar to Rhodes. Though he might as well have been, considering the amount of time he had been putting in on the HYDRA raids. Or, so Steve had told you over your various meet-ups this past year.

“That’s got to be nice at least,” you smile. “You mentioned something about a new nephew?”

He instantly breaks out into a radiant smile, “Yeah. Cass. I’m telling you, that kid is cute as hell. And as much as I love running around next to America’s golden boy all day, I’m not gonna miss out on this kid’s childhood. Gotta claim that Cool Uncle status early on.”

You give a returning laugh, “Well, never let me be one to keep you from that.”

He hops up from the stool and holds out a hand for you to shake, “Don’t be a stranger now.”

“Never.”

He’s all of three steps out of the lab, nearly on his way to freedom, when Maria runs right into him,

“Sorry, Sam,” she apologizes, almost out of breath as she strides into the lab, her gaze set directly on you.

On instinct, you stand from the table, eyeing her approach. Sam has stopped as well, turning his attention back to the two of you. And Tony’s already headed your way as well.

“I need you to suit up.”

“What’s happened?”

You glance over at the billionaire. If the team was already in trouble in Johannesburg…

She gives a light sigh, swiping something on her tablet before she turns it around for you to see.

“We’ve found Emil Blonsky.”

The name and the memory of the man rumbles around in your head as the Twitter video loops for a second time. A stone pillar is uprooted and thrown down a noisy street, people scream as the camera goes shaky.

“Where?”

“London.”

Tony huffs, “Awfully convenient.”

When both you and Maria turn to look at him, he merely rolls his shoulders.

“What? I’m just saying. Little too coincidental to have him crawling out of the woodwork, in a major city, while we’re locking in on Klaue.”

You shake your head, “He was MIA prior to SHIELD’s downfall. I had been sent to locate him before… everything with the helicarriers above the Potomac even happened.”

“Okay then,” he drops his hands. “Coincidence, not correlation.”

“Seven?” Maria implores.

“Yeah. I got it,” you sigh, already feeling the tension creeping through your shoulders. “I mean, what’s another round with the Abomination?”

Steve rocks his head back against the wall of the quinjet, eyes closed as he prepares himself for the ensuing fight. It would be a fight, he knew that much. Tony had told them the specs of what exactly it was they would be walking into. A group of armed guards and several civilians would be in the ship Klaue was using as his personal shop.

“So…”

His eyes blink open at the sound of Nat.

She only spares him a look as she loads her pistols, though her interest is much more apparent.

“Are you guys an item yet?”

When he only responds with a groan, she smirks. It was worse than when she was actively trying to set him up with his fellow SHIELD agents at the beginning of his time in D.C.

Banner’s seated across from him on the benches as well. He’s only there in case things need to be moved to a Code Green. But, despite the impending possibility of the Hulk coming out, he smirks at Steve. Apparently, even he was in the gossip loop now.

“Barton wanted to know if we should throw a party for you guys when we get back,” Nat continues, unbothered as she secures her weapons.

He fixes her with a look; a tired and all too annoyed look.

“Aww,” she coos, gently tapping his cheek. “You’ll get there sooner or later, Cap.”

“Are you done?”

“Hey, three-minute ETA!” Clint calls out from the pilot’s seat.

She offers him a curved smile as she hovers over him, hands balanced on the overhead bars, “For now.”

As she saunters back to the head of the jet, Steve grabs hold of his helmet and pulls the straps into place. He stares down at the glint and glimmer of the shield on the floor next to his foot.

“It’s… sweet.”

Steve looks up, surprised that Bruce wants to continue whatever this is.

“What is?”

“You and… Athena. I know,” he holds up a defensive hand as Steve goes to refute it. “None of our business, but… it’s kind of hard to just ignore it.”

He huffs, moving to stand as he feels the jet begin its descent.

“Everyone seems to manage with whatever Clint and Nat have going on just fine.”

Bruce shrugs, “They’re in our face nearly every day; we’ve become desensitized to it. You two though… I don’t know, man.”

Steve offers him a sigh as he looks back at the scientist.

“There’s nothing going on there.”

He laughs instead, “I got the message. I’ll shut up about it.”

With a thankful smile, Steve heads toward the cockpit just as the quinjet settles down into a grove of trees near the shoreline.

The tide has long since receded when they approach the ship. Steve watches on as a crew of men come flying down the embarkment ladder, running like their very lives depended on it.

“Well,” Clint intones, fixing his bow. “That doesn’t look too promising.”

The men stumble on the wet sand, but no one seems keen on sticking around longer than necessary as they make for the beach.

“Let’s get moving,” he commands, headed for the ladder.

Deep within the belly of the vessel, the emergency lights flicker their ominous warning to the group. The ringing sound of raised voices draws them further into the darkness. One voice, above all others, he recognizes almost instantly.

“You will be of use to me yet.”

As they round the corner, weapons drawn and gazes fixed, they come face to face with the bot that had escaped from the tower. But… it’s different. More put together, more metallic, less… friendly peacekeeping Stark drone. The white plastic shell remains, but the haphazard wiring that had been pulled apart during the fight at the tower has been fully repaired; patched.

Klaue nudges at his henchman and they quickly disappear down the opposing gangway, but that’s not where their focus needs to be right now. Klaue will be dealt with another day. Ultron is where their concern lies.

“I’m not seeing a scepter,” Nat whispers in hushed tones.

“So…” Clint calls out, “What’s with the vibranium?”

Nat readies her guns, Thor tightens his grip on his hammer, Steve fixes his posture and braces himself.

The drone tilts his head to the side, almost humanlike in the maneuver.

“Barton, Clinton Francis. Would you like me to tell you my plan? Is that an effective use of my time here? Perhaps it is…” 

“Enough!” Thor rumbles, throwing his hammer out toward the robot.

But, instead of sending the drone flying back into the wall, they all stare in slight horror as the bot grips hold of the straining hammer, turning its visual optics toward the God of Thunder. It blinks. 

“How… interesting.”

The hammer drops to the ground with a deafening clang. 

Steve watches it settle into the metal grates for just a second longer before arrows and bullets begin flying. He rushes forward, shield in hand as he leaps up to strike at its neck.

Mjolnir soars past him as he attempts to make contact, but a rough metallic arm pushes him back at the last second, sending him over the railing into the stack of weapon crates down below. As the world spins on edge, he can almost hear the sound of Natasha’s urgent calls, of electric ripples of lightning. But he pushes it all away as he moves to stand up. He sways on his feet, head heavy, and then something darts out of his peripheral.

Small, impish, the crouched figure slinks along the wall.

He throws his shield up at the last second as Ultron comes surging down toward him, the force of the robot sends him reeling right back into the crates. Electric blue light ignites just next to his prone body, which he quickly twists to avoid as Thor comes soaring down after the drone.

Steve can see Nat wandering down the stairs, slightly dazed, and he wants to call out to her, but then a girl appears in front of him. Short-statured, wide-eyed.

A kid.

A terrified-looking kid, standing in the middle of a deadly fight. He tries to sit up, but her dark eyes begin to glow red and he finds himself frozen in place.

“What…” he tries to say, but the words turn to sludge in his throat.

And then something pricks the side of his temple and his vision begins to swim.

“So, what’s the deal on Blonsky?” Sam asks, fully suited up as you guide him past the police barricade.

While Tony had offered to pull a suit out of storage to help out, you had said he would be better use to the team if anything went wrong with Klaue, or if Ultron showed up. Sam had been harder to push back. So, reluctantly, the two of you transported over to England in a quick jump.

“Uhm… a few years back the American government tried to recreate the supersoldier serum. Bruce got dosed first, things went… well, green. They wanted to take him down but, you know, Hulk. So, Emil Blonsky got another dose, but varied. And… the Abomination was born.”

You can hear the sound of aggravated, animalistic roars up ahead. The two of you pick up your pace.

“I helped get him into custody and he was on ice until someone, or something, broke him out. And he’s pretty much been off the radar ever since. Oh, and… he doesn’t get to come back, like Bruce. He’s just…”

The words you were about to say simmer out in your mouth as you round the corner where several tanks are positioned, armed soldiers at the ready.

“Like that,” you finish lamely.

Sam gawks at the creature in front of you, ripping apart the stairs in front of the Natural History Museum. You were just a stone’s throw away from Buckingham Palace. To your knowledge, the royal family was already being evacuated as a precaution.

Curious place for Blonsky to turn up though. He had to get here somehow; unseen. In a major city too. More puzzle pieces out of order, more questions to be answered.

“Like I said, stay clear. Don’t fly too low. You’re my backup, but you’re no match for this.”

Tony had questioned the idea of bringing Bruce in to help, but you quickly reminded him how that had turned out for Harlem all those years back. No, this was your problem now.

“All right,” you sigh, gripping your sheathed sword’s handle. “Let’s try not to die.”

Sam shoots you a wide-eyed look as you approach the creature.

“HEY. Blonsky!”

He turns, eyes narrowing as all of his attention focuses right on you. He drops a bent lamppost to the ground, which makes the concrete around it break under the weight.

Pulling your sword free, you twirl it around in your hand before dropping into a low stance, with your teeth bared and your eyes burning melted golden hues, you call out:

“Remember me?”

Steve blinks against the blur of red clouding his vision, the metallic taste of blood clings to his lips as he pushes up from the crates, shield in his exhausted grip as he surveys the damage. His movements feel slow; like he’s walking through molasses.

But then someone darts along the right wall.

And he recognizes that silhouette.

But the words in his mouth are deafened by a build-up of imaginary sand, so he stumbles after the person, trying to catch up to them instead.

They’re running now, faster than Steve can keep up with. And as he races down the corridors of the darkened ship, the pants of exalted breath turn to screams. Screams that grow louder, last longer. Torn vocal cords that are filleted open with a knife drench the walls in blood as that person begs for help, for mercy, for the pain to stop. And Steve can’t stop running now, chest aching as he tries to catch that person, that man.

He’s so close now, nearly catching his arm as he rounds one last corner.

And then… he’s on the bow of the ship.

The sliver of moonlight and pure starlight illuminates the terrified figure of Bucky Barnes, hunched near the railing, his hands covering his face as he shouts for Steve.

“God damnit! Why the hell did you just leave me?”

Steve takes a step forward, words desperate to spill out, but nothing falls from his lips. His mouth has been sewn shut.

No, Bucky. I’m sorry, God. I’m so sorry.

“End of the line, pal. That’s what you promised me.”

He’s standing up now, staring at the blonde with such unadulterated hatred, that Steve nearly shrinks against the power of it.

“Useless.”

He turns at the sudden change of voice that drifts from over his shoulder.

“Pathetic, can’t even save his best friend.”

Peggy Carter saunters across the ship, looking just like he last saw her in 1945. Red lips, bouncing curls, a heated look that stems from a place of disgust. She stands next to Bucky, a hand on her hip, another on his shoulder as she breaks him down with a single glare.

“Captain America, everyone.”

Rockets go off overhead. He watches the explosions in the pitch midnight skies, just for blood and guts to rain down on him. He furiously tries to wipe the sensation of sickly liquid from his eyes, crouching down as it hails upon him, obscuring his vision. He’s drowning under it.

But it’s not blood.

As his body begins to burn, his arms reach out - trying to grasp hold of anything, god anything - but his hands slice through the frozen Arctic waters. And he can feel it burning his throat, his lungs. Helpless bubbles escape his lips, but his screams can’t be heard through the silence of an endless void. Dark as the evening sky, endless as a black hole.

His body sinks as all feeling is drawn from his extremities, and he is cold, oh so very cold. So cold that he burns. And he is alone. Completely alone.

And he has failed.

Failed them all.

As his vision swims in and out of focus and he accepts his fate, his body submerging further and further, his failures fill his mind.

The names and the people he had never managed to save.

Their cries.

Their screams.

He deserves this.

This terrible fate.

It is his to grab, his consolation prize.

He sinks to the ocean floor.

“NO! You’re just making him angrier!” You call out, with your hands around Blonsky’s neck as he tries to throw you against the exterior walls of the museum.

“YOU SAID USE MY FLARES.”

“Not while I’m on him!” You roar as he manages to knock you back even harder than the other seven times.

Sam circles around, lining up his sights just in front of the steps.

The tanks had already used up some of their ammo before the soldiers realized that the Abomination was practically indestructible. Which left you to deal with the creature’s renewed anger as he threw a tank directly at Sam.

He had managed to twist out of the way in time, but it definitely landed somewhere near Harrods. Sirens had been going off nonstop since your encounter began and the screams of terrified civilians had mostly faded away as the evacuation of the city took place.

Where the hell was Sersi when you needed her?

“Oh, come on!”

Blonsky shoulders the pillar outside of the museum, making rubble and roofing collapse down upon the two of you.

Using your strength to push it off, you find yourself pulled up by the ankle. His monstrous hand wraps itself around your limb, pulling you high over the steps of the museum’s entrance.

“Puny.”

You manage to pull yourself up enough to look at him, “What did you call me?”

He smirks, fanged teeth gleaming a sickly yellow as he shakes your limp form like a ragdoll before pulling back and tossing you.

Your body soars through the air before a rough set of arms wraps around you.

“Got you!” Sam shouts as he leans right, trying to avoid a ball of concrete thrown at the two of you.

“God, he’s relentless.”

You fix the Falcon with a look that says all that you were unwilling to scream in Sam’s face as he quickly deposits you back on the ground.

“He’s really starting to piss me off.”

You barely manage to veer out of the way of a lamppost.

“What a shame.”

Against the frozen waters, against his own body’s desire to let go, he blinks open his eyes.

“Ma?”

Sarah Rogers, not looking a day over thirty, glances up at him from her rocking chair near the fireplace, her knitting needles in hand. Though she puts them down as she settles him with a tired look.

“I thought I had raised you better than that?”

Steve blinks a second time, then a third.

His hands drop down to his sides as his feet settle onto the solid wood floor of their old tenement apartment. He glances behind him, at the lone window. It’s a sea of darkness outside. The only light permeates from his mother’s glow and the low embers of the flickering flames.

“Did I raise you like that?”

“No, ma’am,” he answers, quick and sure.

“I thought I told you to stand up. Never back down from a fight. Yet… here you are.”

She gestures vaguely at him, at the room.

Storm surge rocks against the old walls, coiling up and slamming the door with renewed force.

“You’re destined for something bigger than this and you’re not going to get your answers at the bottom of the sea, are you?”

He shakes his head, feeling every bit like a young child under his mother’s gaze.

She rises from her chair, darning set aside.

“Come on then. Straight back, chin up, eyes forward.”

He does exactly that, going to perfect attention. And he can almost feel the ghost of her hand on his cheek as she looks up at him with a long-forgotten admiration that only a mother’s eyes can give.

The powerful waves slam into the door once again, causing the wood to creak and the window’s glass to crack.

“Pull yourself up, Steve Rogers.”

The water rushes in, bursting through the windows and extinguishing the fire. His mother and the apartment are sucked up by the glossy darkness of the ocean. But he kicks his feet, strains against the burning in his lungs and his limbs, as he surges for the surface. Giving it everything he can as he rises, higher and higher. And he can almost see the light when a hand appears in front of his face -

“Hey, how many fingers am I holding up?”

He blinks against the sudden change, pulling back slightly and squeezing his eyes hard to fight against it.

“Come on, Cap. I can’t wrangle Nat and Thor by myself.”

And then reality settles back into place.

He lets out a breath.

He is Steve Rogers.

He is Captain America.

And he needs to shove his shit away and be a leader right now.

Pushing off from the crates, he eases himself up, with Clint’s help and a pained groan.

From across the floor of the ship, he can see Nat situated on the bottom of the grated stairs; head in hand. Thor is leaning against the railing up above them all. They both look like they’ve been through the wringer a few times over.

He stares at the archer, pulling his helmet off as he surveys the damage. There’s no sight of Ultron or the girl anywhere. Just four heroes lingering in their defeat.

“What the hell just happened?”

In the distance, he can hear the horrid sound of the Hulk’s screams echoing off of the ship’s walls.

“Let’s recap later?” Clint suggests, shouldering his bow as he moves to help Nat up.

Steve stares up at Thor, who’s already returning his look with one of pure fear. He’s never been so uneased before as he is seeing that haunted look in the god’s eyes. But their situation isn’t changing and standing here won’t even begin to help them, so he picks up his shield and does what he knows how to do; lead.

Sam flew too low, his wing’s been snapped right off the pack, and he is at the mercy of the Abomination.

“Come on, focus! You know you want to take it out of me. I’m the one who locked you away, remember?”

You’ve positioned yourself right in front of the other man, sword at the ready. Verbal threats spitting like fire from the tip of your tongue to distract him, to hold his focus away from the very vulnerable human behind you.

Blonsky brushes you to the side with a swipe of his massive arm, throwing you off balance. Sam backs down the steps of the museum’s entrance, armed and ready to fight. But he must know that mere bullets won’t even deter the creature.

And then, from across the white rooftops of the English city street, a charging whoosh rocks you both back, as fifty Legion bots come soaring to the rescue.

The Abomination does his best to beat them back, but they quickly overpower him, jumping on top of his back until he’s buried under the weight of metallic drones.

There, in the aftermath of destruction, surrounded by crumbling buildings and sirens and armed officers and broken tanks, Blonsky submits to his defeat. Pushing yourself back to your feet, sweat dripping from your brow, you sheath your sword.

“You good?” you call out to Sam.

He taps down his chest and thighs, a little breathless as he answers, “Still intact, still breathin’.”

You give him a nod. It was all you could hope for after that encounter. Moving toward him, you pick up the broken piece of his wing pack. He frowns at it.

“Thank god for Tony, at least.”

He looks over at the pile of drones, still squirming slightly as they try to keep the monster pinned down. Blonsky’s gilled face is peeking out from the bottom of the pile, he blows a raspberry with his tongue - unable to do much more than that.

“Must have fixed the interface or something,” you sigh, brushing at the dirt and grime on your bare arms. Striding over toward the pile, you ask the first bot you see, “Do we have transport ready?”

“Everything is ready to transport the Abomination,” comes the monotone reply.

You give them a nod, lightly tap Blonsky on the cheek - he growls in return, but is completely incapable of moving - before you return to Sam.

“Okay, let’s wrap this up. I’ll talk to the captain in charge and get everything secured.”

He absently rubs at his arm, staring at the pile of robots atop the mutated creature, “Bet Steve’s having a hell of a lot easier time than we just did.”

Giving a smile in return, you say, “We can only hope,” before you walk over to the approaching soldiers to finish off the last-minute details of Blonsky’s transfer. 

A group of journalists and camera-wielding reporters try to push past the barricade to get a good shot of the final moments, all eyes on Blonsky and Tony’s legion bots.

The tower is quietly humming when you and Sam pop back into the lab. Maria startles from behind her laptop. Her suit jacket is removed and she has her hair pulled back tight, with a troubling look on her face as you both laugh.

“Remind me to never team up with you again. No solo missions with the Warrior Queen,” Sam smirks, removing his goggles at last.

“I’ll try not to take that too much to heart,” you smile in return. But then your gaze meets the agent’s, and your joyful mood sinks. “What? What’s happened?”

“Tony. He’s had to call in Veronica.”

Sam’s head tilts to the side.

“Who’s Veronica?”

Maria sighs, “You mean what is Veronica.”

As you both turn to look at each other in confusion, she pulls up a video - a live feed - of a giant Iron Man suit currently pummeling Hulk into the pavement. Eyes widen in horror, you watch on as the cameraperson ducks into a doorway as the Hulk chucks a giant piece of concrete at the suit.

“What the hell happened?” Sam questions, hands poised on his hips.

“Unknown,” she clips. “Something attacked the away team - ”

You feel fear clutch at your throat like a skeletal hand.

“ - only Barton was able to get through to me. He’s got the others now, in the quinjet. But, obviously, Banner’s situation is becoming a concern.”

“I can go.”

Sam pushes at your arm, “You just took on a Hulk. And, no offense, if it wasn’t for the Legion jumping in - ”

“I had him on the ropes. He was getting worn down. Another chokehold and I would have - ”

Maria holds up a hand, silencing you both.

“Sam. What did you just say?”

He opens and closes his mouth for just a moment before he answers, “I get that she’s got the godly powers and all, but if it wasn’t for Stark’s pals coming in to save our asses, I’m not sure how great we’d be walking about from that all right now.”

She blinks.

“What are you talking about?”

“Tony, he sent in the Legion. There were like, what, fifty of them?” you question toward Sam, and he nods at your assessment.

“Stark didn’t - we didn’t. Oh my god.”

She spins away so fast, that you almost feel whiplash from it.

“Are you saying - ”

Maria already has a phone to her ear, “No we didn’t release any of the Legion, are you insane? Why would you think that - Yes, hello? Do you currently have the Abomination in hand?”

You take a step forward, brows furrowing, “I secured handover with Captain Randall myself.”

With a long-suffering sigh, she tucks the speaker into her neck. 

“While you might have done that, those drones clearly had something else in mind. He’s missing. And I can assure you, neither this tower nor the government sent in anyone other than the British military to assist in that operation.”

In an instant, your heart sinks, guilt and terror rising through your chest like hot magma as you question what have I done? Horrified eyes land on Sam, who looks equally startled by the revelation.

Maria listens to the caller for a minute more before she asks you, “Did they identify themselves?”

With delayed horror, you realize that, “No, they didn’t.”

“Okay, yes then. We are dealing with an armed force. Likely all stemming from a central command point. I am aware, yes - ” she trails off, moving out of the lab, but not before flashing her stern eyes at the two of you.

You drop down onto the nearest stool.

“How did I not know? How the hell did I not suspect - ”

Sam kneels down, holding a hand to your forearm, “I didn’t either. I didn’t say one damn word when I saw them.”

“But I should have known! Tony would have never let the Legion out this soon after the AI was corrupted. Cronus, they’re probably connected right to the rogue bot. And now, now, they have Strucker, and the scepter, and the Abomination!”

You scrub your hands down your face, dragging the skin in aggravation at your own pitiful lapse of intelligent thinking. How could you not have known or even suspected just for one second -

“Okay,” Maria sighs, returning to the lab. “One sliver of good news is that we have Banner in transport now. He’s unconscious, but he’s been secured. At least… that threat’s over.”

“But I’ve just made another one,” you surmise, shame drenching your expression.

Before she can even speak, something whips right past her - sending the loose papers from the file boxes flying up in a sudden flurry. They scatter across the room like falling leaves in autumn as you all turn to stare at the new presence in the room.

“You know,” the thick-accented boy with shock white hair gleams, arms crossed as he plucks his fingers against the edge of her laptop. “This place is not nearly as secure as you would expect it to be.”

Bruce is deposited like a heap in the middle of the jet. Tony drapes a thick grey blanket around his shoulders as he gives a cursory glance around at the rest of the battle-worn team.

When Steve had been pulled out of that vision, he didn’t expect to hear the Hulk’s roars. Let alone for Tony to suit up and send one of his strongest armors out against their fellow teammate. Even if it had been entirely necessary, considering the circumstances.

The billionaire’s eyes drift over to Steve, and whatever he sees in the supersoldier’s eyes makes him shudder and press forward with a strange rigidity to his posture.

He’s talking to Maria, that much he knows. But Steve can’t really make out any of the conversation as the images and the words from his vision float around in his mind. The blood and guts, Bucky and Peggy, drowning in an endless abyss of darkness and silence.

Across from him, Natasha is silent, curled in on herself on the bench. Her body silently quakes with violent tremors and her emerald eyes are distant, as though she’s still stuck in her own nightmare. Clint’s speaking to her in low tones, rubbing her back. Steve looks away.

“Blonsky, really?”

His ears perk up as he glances around the corner to see Tony perched at the controls, a phone pressed to his ear.

“And Wilson? Good on them, hope they make it in one piece.”

He gives a hollow laugh at his own joke, but his lips don’t even crack into a smile.

“No, we’re just gonna… keep off the radar and… I don’t know, figure it out.”

Steve looks down at his lap, his fingers are clenched together in a weak fist. There’s tension in his shoulders and he doesn’t know if he wants to exhale a breath or punch a wall. The dichotomy of his own feelings is so scrambled together that he’s not even entirely sure what he is feeling right now.

Only that he aches.

Aches in a way that even the sensation of drowning can’t fully encompass.

It feels like his head isn’t properly screwed on right now; like he took one too many blows. But he knows that isn’t the case. Hell, he was knocked over just like when he was 90 lbs soaking wet. He hadn’t even been a match for that singular robot. Let alone the girl.

Apparently, when he asked Thor and tried to question Natasha, he was the only one who had actually seen her face. Clint had shot at her, from behind, but she had been whisked away by the drone before she was able to force a painful vision upon him.

If that had been the girl that those files from Strucker had been referring to, then, Steve could only wonder, where the hell was the other one? The boy with enhanced speed?

But, as he stares at the broken expressions resting on his team’s faces, he decides that at this moment, he could honestly care less. So, he turns in on himself even further and closes his eyes. Willing the darkness behind his eyelids to not remind him of frozen Arctic waters.

“Where is he, the one with his name on the tower?” The boy aimlessly kicks at a stool. “Bombing another populace perhaps?”

Maria aims her gun at him, hammer cocked.

“You need to step away - ”

Before she can even finish the sentence, he’s standing beside you, holding your sword in hand.

You quickly pluck it from his grasp, staring in slight horror at the fact that you hadn’t even felt him grab it, let alone seen him move across the room.

“Touchy,” he comments playfully as he circles both you and Sam.

“The hell do you want, kid?”

The boy, who’s barely even a foot shorter than Sam, merely shrugs as he continues to move toward Maria, entirely unbothered by the Glock pointed at his face.

And then, like the slow-rising sun, it dawns on you.

“You’re the mutant, from Strucker’s lab.”

He pauses, for just a second to look at you before he rolls his shoulders and smiles, “Guilty.”

“What do you want?” your brows furrow.

“Peace, in our time.”

Sam leans his head toward you, “That sounds familiar.”

Maria huffs, “Been talking to the killer robot, have you?”

“See, he’s a very convincing man.”

“He’s manipulating you,” you say, plain and even.

The boy stops, turning to stare at your face. Something glimmers in his cool eyes, but he blinks it away.

“He said you would say that.”

Sam snorts, “How surprising.”

“Come on kid,” Maria implores. “That thing, whatever it promised you, is not worth it. He’s not going to be the thing that protects you or saves you. Either of you.”

His eyes sharpen at her final words.

“And you will? Friends of Stark? The man who drops bombs on babies and children? How about the man who watches a city crumble to ruins and walks away when he’s done in the spotlight?”

“You think Ultron can do better?”

He shrugs again, leaning against the workbench, “I don’t know. London looks good right now.”

Sam shoots you a look.

“But I digress,” he smiles, bashfully shaking out his hair before he meets your eyes. “For the Goddess of Knowledge, you really are oblivious.”

Your gaze hardens.

“Meaning?”

A shot rings out, blasting through the lab as an explosion rocks the floor - hardware and files shooting up into the air before crashing down upon the three of you, fire breaking out across the electronics, and the glass windows overlooking the lab below shatter.

You hold out your arm, blocking Sam from a falling file cabinet.

The boy’s already at the entrance to the lab, grinning ear to ear.

“What? You didn’t see that coming?”

As he zips away, disappearing in a flash, another face comes into view. A masked face.

“Hey, sweetheart. I was really wondering when we’d get to finish our little fight?”

The flashing red and white lights begin going off overhead as Maria pulls the fire alarm - a sharp wailing joins the chaos - as Rumlow points his gun directly at you and Sam.

You end up donkey-kicking Sam to the side as you roll to avoid his fire. The ex-STRIKE member gives a maniacal laugh as he chases you across the lab with his gun. Bullets ricochet across the workbenches and the walls as you dive and twist to avoid him.

“God, like shooting fish in a fucking barrel,” he gleams. You can’t see the smile behind his mask, but you can hear it in his voice. That sick voice of his.

“Incoming!” Sam hollers from across the room.

And you watch, in horror, as a Legion bot comes soaring past - right through the shattered windows into the secondary lab a floor below. 

Unwilling to have another failure, another moment pass you by, you take a bullet right to the calve as you jump up and go running after the drone. Followed by another to your left flank and shoulder. Through the broken window frame you go, cutting your skin in the process, as you crash onto the metal grated floor.

With thrumming terror in your chest, you can only stare as the robots around you - all that had been offline since the first breakout - now power on. Their blue optical lenses flash red for just the briefest of moments before they turn to look at you. And you see it before it happens, but you’re powerless to stop it as they surge toward you. As the physical force of the drones presses into you, you find yourself pushed further and further down the tunnel, toward the entrance; the exterior door of the tower.

Your body is pushed into the metal and you can feel your lungs burn as the weight settles against them and you can’t even let out a scream of rage before the door caves around you and you begin to freefall - with a hundred Legion members flying after you.

Like a swarm, the white-colored bots zoom past, surrounding you, crushing you, as you fall to the ground like a lead weight. The floors of the tower zoom past on your right, and you’re bracing yourself for impact as the air rushes up past you, and people begin screaming.

Your body lands with a sickening aftershock, caving through the pavement and the dirt, deep past the sewers, into the underground tunnel of the subway system.

For a few, terrifying moments, your head swims - your vision blurred and your heart beating out of your chest. Each and every extremity aches in a way that isn’t even describable. But, as the breath slowly releases from your weary lungs, you blink at the overhead halo of sunlight beaming down upon your prone form on the tracks.

And then, you sit up.

Pain eases from your back as you press up onto your knees, bits of gravel falling off your skin, before moving to your feet.

A roar, feral and animalistic shoots out from your throat as you call forward your weaponry and leap out of the massive hole that had been burrowed into the Earth.

The street is in pure chaos when you land on the sidewalk. Above you, the tower’s circled by a smoke plume. Someone crashes into you, and you try to righten to the woman, but she’s in such a state of panic that she just scrambles to her feet and continues running.

And that’s when, above the screams and the sirens, you hear the sound of creaking metal.

You take a step back, then another, and another.

Stark Tower is ablaze, a massive hole torn from the side of the structure where the bots had escaped. But the broken windows have flames billowing out of them like dragon’s breath. And nothing short of pure horror coats your body as you realize that it is happening again.

With fear powering you forward, you go running for the entrance to the building where hundreds of employees and agents are quickly exiting the doors of. The lobby is in shambles like a gunfight had taken place - where one very likely took place. But you push past the crowds of scared humans and make for the stairs.

But those too are crowded, nearly impassible.

Now, stuck with the realization of what was to come, you do all that you can do.

“Come on, this way! Hurry,” you call out, directing the flow of traffic. As the upper floors begin to creak and whine.

“What the hell?”

Steve, having had a few minutes to pull himself together, glances up from his place next to Natasha, as Tony’s confused voice reaches his ears.

He gives the assassin a reassuring pat on the shoulder before he stands and makes his way over to the billionaire.

The supersoldier doesn’t see it at first, but then they clear another cloud, and Steve’s eyes spot the massive plume of blackened smoke rising high above the Manhattan skyline.

“Can’t get through to Hill,” Tony bites, jamming his finger on button after button.

“Holy shit,” Clint gawks, peering over the console alongside them.

The jet soars past the buildings of the Lower East Side. News helicopters are circling the area, and Steve has a concerning feeling settling in his chest as he realizes what building is currently ablaze.

“I leave for two minutes,” Tony clips, eyes glued on the sight in front of them as the quinjet grows closer. And then he presses further forward, “Was that…? Barton, did I just see - ”

The archer nods, “Yeah, man. That was definitely one of your Legion guys.”

Steve pushes closer, twisting his neck slightly to look out the same direction as Clint. And, sure enough, he spots it in the sky. Two, no - three, bots residing on the roof of a building near the Tower.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Tony intones, disbelief clouding his words. “See if I ever leave Hill in charge again.”

But the humor drops like an enemy shell as they all watch in horror as the smoke begins to emit from the lower levels of the tower, breaking through several floors of windows before the top half starts to sag.

“No, no, no, no,” Tony begins chanting as he pushes the throttle forward, nearly sending Clint and Steve tumbling backward. “THOR,” he roars back. “Do something useful!”

The god in question raises an arched brow before he heads toward the opening ramp of the jet, hammer in hand. But they all know, especially at that moment, that there is nothing even Thor can do to stop the crumbling building from falling.

And so, the three of them stare as the upper levels of the tower begin to sink down upon the lower levels.

The street is little more than brown ash and rubble as you push the pile of concrete from your back. You can hear the screams already ringing out for help, and your chest is in your throat because you remember this exact moment, but you were completely useless to prevent this.

And so, you begin to hobble across the destroyed ruins of the tower, following after the voices of terrified civilians. You had nearly evacuated everyone when the building began to crumble down upon itself. You had even seen a white-haired boy zip past with a masked man before everything went dark; he had stopped briefly to give you a dainty wave before they disappeared in a flash into the crowd.

There were two others with you in the stairwell when everything came down. You had used your shield and your own strength to protect them. And, bless the gods, it had been enough. But the fates of Sam and Maria were still a mystery to you. You could only hope and pray that they had made their way out somehow.

“I got you,” you call out as you locate a woman whose leg has been pinched by a sheet of glass. Blood stains the debris-ridden street around her and you know, that even by human standards, it would be a miracle if she didn’t pass from blood loss in the next minute.

But you lean down and hold her hand in one tight grip as you begin to survey the damage.

“I can assist.”

Your eyes widen as a Legion bot appears. The immediate instinct is the deck the creature in its artificial voicebox. But you resist.

And instead, give a defeated, “Okay.”

The drone holds out its hand, freezing the wound before it successfully pulls the glass from her body. You hold her hand as she lets out a gut-wrenching scream.

An AI voice speaks over the sound of terror, “Coordination with EMS and FDNY in progress. Proceed to Grand Central Station…”

You give a weary nod at the robot as you back up, allowing the woman to be lifted up by the drone who then carries her away. Watching them go, your gaze lingers for just a moment longer, before the screams return to your ears, and your body moves back into motion.

Through the damage and the broken pillars of Stark Tower, you find others. All are being attended to by Legion bots.

“This is madness.”

Thor touches down beside you, a troubling furrow to his brow as he surveys the damage.

“They are not to be trusted.”

You gesture at the one nearest the two of you, one that is applying a tourniquet to a man in a suit, “They’re helping.”

“Are they?”

“What would you have us do here? Fight them?”

Just then, a bot walks directly in front of you, its visual optics are glowing neon red.

“Perhaps, Athena Parthenos, you should.”

It shoots you, point blank, in the chest.

Thor roars, slamming his hammer down upon the bot’s head.

You lift your head from the street where you’ve been shot back, “Thor! Don’t engage them - ”

But he’s already turned to the next available Legion bot, eyes glowing a terrifying blue as he hollers, “I will tear you limb from limb!”

You’re on your feet in a second, sword to his throat.

“And I will knock you into unconsciousness if you even think of laying a hand upon them.”

He turns, eyes blazing with fury as he stares down at you. You drop your sword to your side. 

“What madness has befallen you? Have you not seen what they have done? What they are capable of?”

“All I see is a man set on vengeance.”

“I am no mere man.”

He brushes past you, hammer held aloft.

“Thor, please. Don’t make me - ”

But he just shakes his head, as if disgusted by your very presence, and lifts off from the ground. You can see the flapping red cape that drags behind him as he soars down the street. His hammer clobbers three Legion bots, and a dark cloud looms over him, as he lands - ready to fight.

With a long-suffering sigh, you survey the people around you. Everyone who appears to be injured is being attended to.

Having no other choice, you take off down the street - jumping over every obstacle in your way. While your heart seemed to ache with the position you were being placed in, you knew what you had to do.

They’re unable to land the jet. Instead, they circle the area, watching on as more and more drones flood the cityscape. Tony still can’t get into contact with Hill and is instead trying to get through to someone at SHIELD, which is also proving to be a fruitless endeavor.

Behind him, Bruce is still knocked clean out and Natasha only now seems to be coming back to her senses. Though she’s still in no fit state to do much of anything. And even Steve can feel the hesitation in Barton as his eyes flicker between the chaotic streets and the spy.

“Just one thing after the fucking next,” Tony mutters, dialing another set of numbers into his phone.

And they’re just sitting up here, doing nothing as more robots dive down into the city and people are probably stuck under rubble and injured and Steve can feel that impatience rising like a rocket in his chest and he needs to do something before he jumps out of the damn jet himself and -

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

At that, he glances back over at Tony.

“If the world could just stop falling to pieces for one goddamn second!”

“What is it?”

“Well, ignoring the mass panic happening down below, and the likely high number of casualties, and the possible murder bots running rampant, we currently have two mythical beings trying to rip each other’s heads off down on Fifth Avenue.”

Tony turns in his seat, hands folded in his lap as if presenting this news to Steve brought him only further frustration. Like an exhausted principal faced with his most unruly students.

Steve blinks.

“What?”

But then he sees the storm clouds looming closer and shocks of lightning lighting up across the sky and he just knows, in an instant, that what Tony is referring to is truly a worst-case scenario.

The billionaire stands with a sigh, slapping the back of Steve’s shoulder as he passes.

“Come on, Cap. We’re tapping in.”

He turns, watching as Tony summons his suit. Before the face mask can fall into place, he fixes the supersoldier with a tired look, “Too bad I used up Veronica, huh? Hey, Legolas, take the controls. Try not to shoot any smoldering buildings while you’re at it.”

Clint gives a little salute as he situates himself into the seat Tony had just vacated, appearing slightly pale himself.

He looks on at his shield, an object that seems heavier now than ever as he follows Tony off the ramp - soaring down to the city streets together.

They’re about a block off, but Tony flies past him, leaving Steve to jog after him. He has to ignore the lost-looking civilians, covered in soot and debris, crying out for help - for him to help. Because he’s already faced Ultron and a mutant today and the amount of destruction that caused the five of them was more than enough. The last thing they needed was for you and Thor to eviscerate the damn city in the aftermath.

“Whoa!”

You crash into a row of garbage cans next to him, having been thrown several yards by the shock of violent lightning. He’s bending down in an instant to help you up, but you push past him, blinders on and oblivious to everything else around you.

“Will you just listen to me!” you roar, jumping up high above both him and the lamp posts as you throw your spear at the Asgardian.

Tony takes the hit, blocking the weapon with his arm.

“Okay, time-fucking-out!”

Thor zooms past him, knocking Tony to the side as he collides with you in mid-air. His hand wraps itself into your hair and pulls back hard enough to make you scream as you knock your head right into his.

As if snapping out of a daze, Steve throws his shield up at Thor - knocking into the God’s side and making him release his hold on you. He goes careening to the street, body slamming into the debris-ridden ground multiple times before he slumps into a heap about a block away from the three of you.

You drop down just a few feet from the supersoldier. Doubled over, ragged breaths being pulled violently inward as you summon your dory back to your side.

“Stay out of this,” you warn.

Steve moves forward, tugging on your forearm, forcing you to look at him.

“This isn’t the way.”

Your expression darkens, “He’s trying to destroy the bots, even the ones assisting the injured!”

“And you’re doing what, exactly?”

Tony hovers above you, dropping down a few feet with his thrusters.

“Actively destroying the city over a pissing match? Sound familiar, right?”

God, the forest in Germany. That seemed like a lifetime ago now. And here Tony was, throwing your own words right back at you.

They seem to work, however, as shame clouds your features. Dipping your chin down, you utter, “I wasn’t even… Cronus, I wasn’t even thinking - ”

“Hey,” Steve chides, voice going soft as he draws his hand down your arm just to slip it into your left hand. “We’ve been through a lot, but we need to stop this before someone else gets hurt.”

Your eyes are nearly brimming with tears when you dare to look up at him and his heart fucking aches seeing such blatant emotion on your face. But you nod, quickly looking up to Tony.

“We need to regroup. We’re no good here right now.”

“Yup,” he immediately agrees.

Thor is sauntering closer, looking ready for another bout.

“I know a place, but we need to calm him down before anyone goes anywhere.”

You turn away from the towering blonde then, moving further down the street, toward the ruins of the smoldering tower, leaving Steve and Tony to verbally subdue the God of Thunder.

It takes several minutes, the majority of which Thor looks like he’s ready to stalk off after you, or worse yet, take his anger out on one of the nearby drones. But Steve spots a journalist over Thor’s shoulder and Tony instantly guides them toward the jet - still hovering above the city.

You’re aboard, sitting beside Natasha. Your weapons are gone and your face is ashen. And, as Steve approaches with his helmet in hand, he can only make out the fact that you’re both quietly conversing in Russian to avoid anyone else overhearing - even him.

“Okay,” Tony settles back into the pilot’s seat. 

Thor stays near the back of the quinjet, purposefully avoiding the rest of the team as he paces, anger clear as day on his face.

“Where to, Double-O?”

You pause, looking up, narrowly avoiding Steve’s eyes. But they meet all the same, and god, he just wants to hug you right now. Because you’re locked in your own suffering and he’s still haunted by the visions swimming in his mind. But you gently brush past him to speak to Tony.

“Here,” you say, leaning down to set the coordinates yourself. “We’ll be out of the city, off-grid.”

“Can’t ask for much better right now, can we?” he sighs, flicking the autopilot into gear.

You remain by the controls, watching as the city zooms past. 

As they escape; as they disappear. Leaving a city in ruins, Steve tries to reset his thinking, but even then, he knows they might be making a massive mistake.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

[adkawariatka]

Hi so I am mainly posting my art buuut for a few months I have been thinking about that idea.... You see I am a fan of Danny Phantom fanfiction and have been reading some for almost 2 Years..... I AM not confidend in my abilities as writer especialy that english isn't my first language (for any mistakes sorry). I am especially fan of dcxdp works and I wanted to share:

Because in some concepts ghost are territorial and Jason is somehow touched by death, imagine Danny fleating from ghost Hunters (GIW and his parents) for months and stumbles in his chase into Gotham specify in to crime alley. And there is Jason with some other bats preferably Nightwing and Red Robin in crime alley, meeting over some other case. And then Jason looses himself in The Pit and starts to run somewhere. where? To The place where Danny unaware of The fact that he just crossed line of someone else's territory (because Jason isn't dead but only touched by it and it is hard to sense him especialy for such young ghost as Danny) started to get ready to spend night on some rooftop. So Danny exhausted wounded and sleepy gets hammered by Jason who is in The middle of pit attack over something unalive entering HIS territory. Of course with Dick and Tim hot on his tail and Batman on his way. When Jason starts to attack Danny The present bats of course start to defend him. Meanwhile, Danny Has a melt down over fact that he overstepped on someone else's ground and that super Heroes from Gotham are adamant on making The owner of said ground even angrier at him. And he knows how furious he must be because he wos in his shoes more times that he can count. So he does The only sensible thing. He shouts at The bats to stop and pushes himself before Jason. Making sure he doesn't look in The burning green ice of The other creature he bends his knee. Tuning his head to The right and a little up. So his throat is easly accessible to The other Sharp fangs assuming position generally accepted in Infinite relams as non thretening and humbled. Jason then stops his assalut shocking present heros. Danny takes IT as good sign and starts to talk:

Danny: hello The mighty owner of this ground. I am Phantom, traveler who entered your territory by mistake. I understand your Anger and desire to punish me. My mistake brought you fury and inseciurity for that I am sorry. Please forgive to this humble wayfarer if you wish to penalize me I will gladly accept but please don't be harsh as I am only trying to pass and mean no harm.

Danny isn't first to crossing paths with other relams inhabitants and he learned some culture he is not some rude brat and does knows about Proper apologies. He expects beating or some favour, if The owner does not decide to kill him.... Hopefully. He did stupid mistake after all. He blames concusion and that two days old gun wound. Meanwhile Jason is in shock how this kid in matters of some strange pose and few Words brought him back peace. As are The bats obserwing The scene.

Jason: what did you do?

Danny doesn't lift his gaze. Feeling still some fury and concusion

Danny: I.... -and stops and thinks what he is suppoused to do. Beside stepping on his territory. He wracks his head for other offenses while Jason gets agitated by lack of response

Jason: What did you do!!!!!???

Danny is a little confused but he sees bats starting to creep closer and reading their wepons. Danny is tired and irritated at them. Do they want to get him killed that badly?

Danny: STOP right there! We are in The middle of a negotiations!

Then risks a glance to his listener. He windens his eyes identyfying The creature as touched by death. Someone who died and come back often caused by clinical death but there are sometimes complications. When he focus he can feel all the corrupted ectoplasm in front of him.

Danny: I don't know what you mean touched by death. I know I am trespassing and that you are angry. If you decide what price should I pay.... Do you want a favour? Or... To let out your frustration?

Jason stares dumbfounded and then asks:

What?

Danny: for entering your territory...?

Danny gest a little confused

Jason: what did you called me? What price... Who The hell are you?

Scratch that Danny is totally lost.... As his conversationalist apparently. But he did not survive alone on The run for that long without being a little sly himself. Lifting his head he looks at Jason and allows his own eyes to flash green. He hears curses from bat themed heros.

Danny: Lets do IT that way. I will anwser three of your questions and you will forget about my faults. Do we have a deal?

Jason narrows his eyes and makes a decision this kid knows something about him also Has pit inside him and doesn't wanted to RIP his throat... Yet. He will try. Decides and gives his hand to The kid lifting him up.

Jason:Deal, why did you called me touched by death?

Danny: because at some point you died.... And came back. Its not as rare as you might think. Clinical deaths and all. It happens and leaves permanent Mark on you.

He can see The bats getting closer listening. And even trying to sat something before they get cut off

Jason: How do you know that?

Danny: we can feel it. Inhabitants of Infinite relams have ability to sense others Like themself. Its Like six sense. pretty cool right?

Jason: We as you died too. So you too took bath in lazarus pits. How do you Control pit madness? what are Infinite relams and its inhabitants?

Danny: what? I don't know what this madness or pits are... Infinite relams idą dimension where dead lives on. Its a place that Ghost, old gods, magical creatures and other various beeings calls home.

Jason: do who are you?

Danny grins misheviously and takes view steps back. He now stays closer to The edge of The roof. Thanks to The conversation he could asses The situation and gather his power for escape.

Danny: I am afraid that wos fourth question.... Thanks you for your generosity touched by death. I Hope we will never see each other again.

And then he proceed to jump of The roof. He hears The frantic footsteps and vioces. then flies few alleys away from this territory. He hits The ground hard keeping The invisibility on because he is not stupid to think that its Safe here. His wound got worse. He is hungry cold and hurt badly. He hopes he will survive this.

Soooo that's it. Its only na idea if you want to work on its feel free just let me know if you do because i would love to see what you created. Like i said ealier its my first work, Prompt.... something i don't even know what to call IT😅

[moneypowerglorymiddleofmiami]

finnick odair x reader: a 75th Hunger Games AU

tw: brief mentions of death.

You could feel the muscles of your eyes pull taut as you shut your lids together. The world was completely dark, embellished merely by the blaring sound of a horn that rendered you deaf for a few horrific moments. You felt absolutely nothing except the rushed hammering of your heart against your chest, as if it were desperate to seek freedom from your body. Your limbs were limp and seemingly frozen to the ground. For a moment, you were catatonic.

Slowly then all together, your senses returned. You took a deep breath and smelled the faint scent of something burning. You heard the faint crackle of a small fire starting to burn out. You could feel the heat against your skin. The smoke was so palpable in the air that you could almost taste it. You opened your eyes but saw nothing but black.

You blinked several more times to adjust your vision to the light. 'What's happening?' You thought to yourself with a panicked edge. Nearly all the memories you had prior to dropping onto the ground were gone. You couldn't recall a single thought.

You scrambled to stand up, making a hasty effort to move away from the area. Smoke could attract the other tributes, and by God, even though most of them were your friends and colleagues, the lines were always blurred inside the arena.

The telltale crunch of a tread against the branches alerted you to someone else's presence. You pulled your knife out of the sheath, holding it at bay. You heard a rustle of the leaves to your right and immediately turned towards its direction. You could feel your heart beat twice as fast, but took deep breaths to calm yourself down. You were at an unfair disadvantage, and the intruder could kill you easily.

Then you heard a familiar voice call out your name, trying to appease you.

"Finnick?!" You almost yelled out, even though you were certain he was in close proximity. Your emotions were still high with panic and dread. It was hard to stay calm when you’ve lost one of your vital senses inside an arena full of murderers.

"It's me." He responded calmly. You felt his hand on your wrist, pulling the knife from your grasp. "It's me, sweetheart. Calm down."

Relief wasn’t enough of a word to describe how you felt. The both of you lost sight of each other soon after the bloodshed of the Cornucopia. He was still gathering his weapons while you fled and made your way into the forest in an attempt to dodge the spear being hurled at you by one of the other victors.

You felt your grip lose its tension bit by bit as his thumb rubbed sweet circles on your skin. Without thinking too much about it, you engulfed him in a tight embrace. He returned the affection with as much gusto, trailing kisses on your skin, brushing his fingers through your hair.

"Where did you go?" You asked. You pressed your nose against the crook of his neck. "I heard a cannon boom before I blocked out. Thought it was you."

He kissed your temple before bending down to whisper in your ear in an attempt to soothe you. "Everyone's at the lake. We should go join them."

You didn't know who 'everyone' entailed, but you trusted Finnick's instincts enough to trust them on his behalf. Before he could move away, you clutched his elbow. “I can’t see.”

He offers to carry you, but you insist on walking the entire way down due to his newly incurred injuries. You and Finnick made the trek towards the base of the slope, your hands wrapped around each other’s forearm to gain stability. He instructed you on where to lift your feet, where to step, which path to avoid. It felt nostalgic— bringing back a memory of two sixteen year-olds who still played juvenile games as a measly attempt to relive the childhood that was ripped away from them.

"Who's at the lake?" You finally managed to ask after a few moments.

"Johanna, Wiress, Beetee, Katniss and Peeta." He enumerated, some you knew better than others. "Move to the right. There's a tree root in front of you."

"Look at you: making friends. They ought to give you a golden star for that." You remarked, a teasing smile on your lips. You relaxed for a bit; the rebellion’s plans weren’t going awry after all.

He snorted in return. "I'd rather leave this place alive."

"Don't we all?" You said wistfully. "So, has Johanna had a screaming fit yet?"

"5 in the last 2 hours." He replied. "That's a record."

"A definite improvement." You nodded your head. "And how are Panem's newest lovebirds?"

"Blissful in their love nest." You could hear the amusement in his voice.

"How sweet." You told him sincerely. “Young love.”

“You’d know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you?” The grin in his voice was palpable. You felt your face flush as memories of flirtatious banter, capricious teasing, and heated touches between the both of you flooded your imagination. He pressed his lips against your reddened cheeks.

"Found her." His voice rang out. You assumed he was talking to the others as he helped you sit down. The sand felt uncomfortably damp and warm underneath you, the mesh fabric of the tribute uniforms certainly doing you no favors. Finnick remained behind you like a guard dog and you unconsciously leaned against him.

"Look who finally decided to show up." Johanna said, the inflection in her tone harsh but welcoming all the same. You felt her take a seat beside you. “Lost your way to sea, siren?”

“You know I like to make a grand entrance, Jo.” You said in jest, bumping your shoulders against her’s. You and Johanna, prior to Katniss’ success last year, were the two youngest women in the current Victor lineup. Where she was volatile, you were steady— perhaps that explained the immediate friendship between the both of you.

“What’s that?” You heard the familiar rasp of Katniss’ voice. You immediately snapped your head towards their general direction, hands behind you and ready to lift your body up in case of any forthcoming danger.

“Easy there, tigershark.” Johanna explained, pushing you down by the shoulders. “It’s a parachute.”

“It’s for you, honey.” You could hear the relief in Finnick’s voice as he drew closer. Within a minute, he was holding up your chin, dropping liberal amounts of liquid solution into your eyes. You blinked away the liquid, and when you finally reached clarity, you saw his sea-green eyes peering down at you. While you earned the moniker of District 4’s Siren, it was always your belief that Finnick was mayhaps just as deserving of the title: the hues and emotions beneath his eyes so captivating that it was as alluring as a siren’s voice.

The furrow in his eyebrow gradually disappeared when he saw the recognition on your face. You grinned up at him, pulling him down to kiss him. With your eyes closed and your lips against his, the sound of the waves crashing became and the scent of sea salt became more prominent. For a moment, you could pretend that you were at peace on the shores of District 4— troubled with an endless bout of nightmares and fears, yet still somehow content and at peace whenever Finnick’s arms wrapped around your form.

𓇼 ೀ ‧₊˚ ┊

— the concept niggled in my brain too much and i couldn't resist.

[syringesyrup]

Swissdew first kiss? Idk if you’ve written that before or not buuuuuuuttttttt hey?

don’t ever ask me for swissdew ever again i’m crazier than all of you

warning for uh. suggestive shit i guesssss idk Old Men Ghoul Yaoi.

A lot of crazy shit happens in Dewdrop’s life.

Being pulled from the pits of Hell, playing in some Earth band because apparently it’s what the man downstairs wants, having his entire biology changed and set aflame. See? Crazy shit.

And he takes it. He takes all of it. Each hammer to his side, each beat down. He somehow always manages to get back up at the end of it all, no matter how much it fucking sucks.

What he can’t seem to take is the living and breathing pain in his ass that is the new ghoul. A multi ghoul, because that’s a thing that exists, who has not shut his mouth since he crawled out of the summoning circle that was not meant for him. The Clergy found use of him, of course, no matter how hesitant the Cardinal was at the sight of a ghoul who was far too powerful. The question was if it was even safe to have a ghoul with such unstable magic be in front of humans. Not that taking risks was something they didn’t do.

The worst part? The most excruciating and aggravating part of it all?

Dewdrop likes him. He can’t get enough of him.

He’s insanely funny. He’s always clever with his jokes, crafting them so quickly and ensuring a laugh from everyone in the room. His confidence with each jest only makes him funnier. He even gets Sister Imperator to laugh. What a rare sight. It pisses him off when all his little comments make Dew crack a smile. He has to turn his head away each time, not wanting to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him smile at such a dumb joke.

Not to mention his talent. For some reason, he just knows how to play every single instrument that is thrown at him. He nearly beat Mountain’s drums to death on his first week. His voice, gravelly and angelic, makes Dew’s heart falter each time he sings so beautifully into a mic or just casually. His fingers are careful, playing each note on a guitar perfectly. It drives Dew up the wall with how good he is at it. How skilled his fingers are. Dew grows curious with that realization. He thinks about it a lot. More than he should.

And he’s so, so fucking hot.

His arms drive Dew nuts. Thick and strong enough to do all the things Dew would ask of him. His shoulders, his fucking shoulders. Broad and built to handle the weight of a guitar for hours. His chest doesn’t help Dew get much sleep at night either. It’s unnecessarily bold and melts down into the pudge of his stomach. Sue him, but Dew has a thing for tummies. A place where he can bury his face and fall fast asleep against the warmth. He wonders if Swiss’ stomach holds a heat, like a fire ghoul pillow. The thought of it makes Dew purr and get red in the face. And, oh Lucifer, his ass. It’s nothing like what Rain has packing, but it’s enough to make Dew stare long enough that Swiss has definitely caught him. Dew has stared at what he has packing in the front, too. He’s seen the way Swiss’ pants hug him tightly up there. It makes Dew’s mouth water, the thought of him between Swiss’ legs just sucking greedily on his-

“Earth to Dewdrop. Are you reading me?”

Dew jolts up. He doesn’t even remember where he was or what he was supposed to be doing. He takes a step back and blinks, registering the rest of his bandmates staring at him. Right. Practice.

“There you are.” Copia smiles. “Everything okay?” He’s far too kind for Dew’s liking. It almost seems malicious.

Dew nods’ gripping his guitar and strumming a bit. “Sorry. Where are we?”

“Just starting Con Clavi.” Copia says, fumbling with the microphone in his gloved hand. “Rain was just about to start for us.”

Dew nods. “Right. Okay.”

Copia stares for a moment longer, worry in his eyes before he turns to Rain and gestures vaguely. The water ghoul nods before adjusting his shoulders and beginning to strum on his bass. Dew misses when it was his turn to play this song. When it was his song.

He lets his eyes flicker a bit too far, landing on Swiss.

He’s smiling at Dew.

No, he’s grinning. He adjusts his guitar in front of him, reeling up to push his hips into it. Dew swallows hard, watching as the multi ghoul grinds into his guitar with a dark haze in his eyes that just won’t leave Dew’s own.

When Swiss flicks his tongue out of his mouth and licks at his fang, Dew has to look away before he forgets how to even play guitar.

.

“Distracted today?” Swiss asks him as they all file out of the practice room. “Feeling okay?”

“Fine.” Dew mumbles, attempting to weave his way through the crowd of ghouls and away from Swiss before he loses his composure. He almost makes his way in front of Cirrus before a large hand wraps around his wrist, holding him back.

“Woah, woah, woah.” Swiss laughs. “What’s the rush?”

“I have…things to do.” Dew lies through his teeth. He’s trying not to lose his mind due to the realization that Swiss’ entire hand wraps around Dew’s wrist so easily. His fingers are touching his palm. His stupid big ass hands that Dew wants inside of him-

“Hopefully things means sleep. You look sick, spitfire.” Swiss observes, leaning down to get a better look at Dew’s red face. “Can fire ghouls get fevers?”

“I’m fine.” Dew grumbles, pushing himself away from Swiss. The rest of the band has already turned the corner, leaving the two of them alone at the end of the hall. “Stop touching me.”

“Sorry.” Swiss frowns, retracting away from Dew. “Seriously. Get some rest.” Swiss says before stepping around Dew.

He’s free. He’s finally free from how close Swiss just was. He’s free from what could have been a disaster. He almost wants to smile at the relief he feels. He takes in a deep breath, and wow, he can breathe.

He’s a fool. No, he’s a fucking idiot. When does he ever catch a break.

Swiss’ hand collides with his ass, a meaningless gesture. Dew clearly does not expect it or else he would have stopped himself from moaning at it.

It gets deafeningly quiet after that.

Dew’s hands slap over his mouth and he leans down, eyes wide as he stares at the floor. Anywhere that isn’t Swiss’ face. He watches the multi stop dead in his tracks and slowly turn, staring down at Dew with impossibly wide eyes.

Dew wants to die.

“No way.” Swiss says. “No fucking way.”

“Sh-shut up. Please, shut up.” Dew mumbles, taking a step back to escape. Futile. Swiss is already grabbing his wrists and rendering him useless. Dew bites the inside of his cheek as he watches his large hands hold him still. Dew wants more. He wants his hands everywhere. On him, inside of him. Just everywhere.

“Dewdrop, what was that?” Swiss asks, and Dew can fucking hear the smile in his voice. Dew shakes his head as he continues to look down. He’s in so much trouble if he looks Swiss in the eyes right now.

“Dewww.” Swiss coos, his voice laced with venom. “What was that?”

“You scared me.” Dew tries. “I was startled. Shut up.”

“Uh-huh.” Swiss grins. “I’m sure.”

“Let me go.” Dew whispers. He can feel his body heat rising. This is far too dangerous for the both of them.

“Oh, I don’t think you want me to.” Swiss says. Dew, who didn’t think he could possibly embarrass himself any further, whines at Swiss’ words. He hears Swiss’ breath hitch at it, surprising the both of them.

“I stand corrected.” Swiss laughs. “I knew it.”

Then, Dew makes the worst mistake of all time.

He looks at Swiss.

“Oh, fuck.”

He’s so much better up close. Dew can see the way his pupils flex in his eyes as he studies Dew. The way his freckles dust across his face like stars. The curl of his hair and his beard, curling up at the base of his curved horns. The light that sparkles off of his piercings. Dew looks at his lip ring and swallows hard. He wonders how that would feel. Swiss opens his mouth to laugh and Dew stares at the black ball on his tongue. Oh, now that. That must feel good.

“I knew you wanted me.” Swiss grins. “I could fucking smell it on you, ya know? Cinnamon works well for you.”

Dew swallows again despite how dry his throat is right now. He parts his lips, stuttering as he tries to find the words he knows his brain possesses. Swiss laughs lowly as he watches Dew struggle.

“C’mon. Use your words, sweetheart.” Swiss coos, making Dew’s knees feel like they’re not there anymore. He reaches up slowly, gripping at the loops of Swiss’ belt tightly and tugging.

“Trying.” Dew mumbles, slipping his eyes shut as he breathes shakily. “I’m trying.”

“You got it.” Swiss soothes, moving a hand up to rest on the back of Dew’s neck. The spikes there instinctively perk up to no avail. Swiss holds them down, safe from any damage they may cause.

Dew shakes his head. He can’t do this. This is stupid. This is horrible and cliché and he can’t think-

“Please.” Is all Dew can muster. It’s the only word he can even remember right now. Well. Besides the multi ghoul’s name. His knees finally buckle when Swiss pushes on the back of his neck, craning his head up as Swiss moves in.

“Again.” Swiss whispers, just an inch from his face. “I want you to mean it.”

“Please, please, please.” Dew begs, holding onto Swiss like it’s the only thing he knows how to do. Swiss growls, actually fucking growls, before yanking Dew up and smashing their lips together.

Dew moans into his mouth, hot with need and cries of please and Swiss with each small part of their lips. Swiss wastes no time with it either, already pushing his tongue in and pressing the black metal ball against Dew’s own. It makes Dew choke for a moment before he bathes in it. Bathes in the way Swiss tastes like hot smoke and candy, the little strawberry wrapped ones that he was given by Copia when his newly summoned tastebuds were ablaze.

Swiss hooks an arm around his waist, pushing him back against a door as he fumbles to open it. They fall back into it, stumbling into the closet before Swiss kicks the door shut behind them. Dew hears supplies clatter behind him as Swiss pushes him against the shelf, his hands digging under Dew’s shirt as he moves up to grab at his chest. Dew winces when he hooks a claw through one of the rings on his nipple and tugs slightly. Swiss hums, smiling down at Dew in the limited lighting of the closet.

“You like that, huh?” Swiss grins. Dew nods, lips parted as he pants a ‘uh-huh’. His hair is a mess now, his bun slowly coming loose from having his head rubbed against the wall. Swiss smiles at him before slowly leaning closer, his lips ghosting over Dew’s neck. Dew shudders, his hands gripping at Swiss’ arms as he feels Swiss smile against his neck. Dew can’t help the noise that escapes him when Swiss runs his tongue across Dew’s skin, his fangs poking slightly into the sensitive skin there. Swiss smiles against his skin again, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest before he moves his hand down to undo his belt. The sound of it makes Dew buck his hips up, grinding on Swiss’ thigh that has found its way in between Dew’s legs. Swiss only laughs as he moves up to growl in Dew’s ear, leaving the fire ghoul shaking.

“Let’s see what else you like.”

[cricket-reader]

Safe and Sound

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox | Taglist

Summary: Bucky finds you. Everything goes wrong so quickly (yet again). Can Bucky forgive himself for something he blames himself for?

Warnings: language, canon level violence, death, kidnapping, captive, torture, injuries, Bucky’s self-hatred/negative thoughts, fluff

Word Count: 1830

Prompt: "At least it can't get any worse." | Stairs | Concussion | Hammer

A/N: Day 16 of June of Doom by @juneofdoom

Part One

Bucky swears up and down that he’s losing his mind.

When he went to find you in the rubble and ruin of the small restaurant, you weren’t there. He practically tore the place apart looking for you before remembering the necklace he gave you. Anyone else would have deemed it controlling. And in any other circumstances, Bucky would have to agree. Giving your significant other a tracking necklace is a shitty and controlling thing to do. That is unless you were a POW for an extremist group hell bent on making your life suck.

And that is exactly what he is, unfortunately. So instead of ripping him a new one like most people would if the person they had only been dating for a few months decided to get them a fucking tracker, you were willing to hear him out. Right now, he thanks every god above you were willing to listen.

He doesn’t even want to know the lengths that Hydra will go to make you suffer for making the mistake of loving him. If he can just get you home safe, everything will be fine.

He hops on his motorcycle and drives to the spot your tracker is. Worries claw at his brain. What if they discarded the necklace? What if this is a set up? What if he doesn’t make it in time? He forces himself to push those thoughts to the back of his mind.

Worrying won’t save you. Worrying won’t bring you back. He can’t let his emotions get the better of him.

The man that had been delivering punches to your gut and slapping you around froze upon hearing a rumbling sound. Knife in hand, he frowns. “I guess this means we don’t get to finish what we’ve started. Bummer.”

He actually has the nerve to sound disappointed. He sets the knife down along with the other torture devices he had one of his goons bring—which to your horror includes a pair of pliers, a hammer, and many different types of sharp objects. You hear him yell at the men watching to prepare for the Winter Soldier.

You would have corrected him had it been any other circumstance. He is not the Winter Soldier. He is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. A man worthy of much more respect than it seems they’re willing to give him.

You see your boyfriend stomp down the creaking stairs. He’s pissed. You definitely don’t envy the men surrounding you.

“Let them go, Warrenson.” Bucky’s voice calm and collected, not betraying any emotion. He hasn’t looked at you which you figure is probably a good thing. You don’t want him to lose his cool just because you’ve gotten a good beating.

“We will. As long as you come peacefully in return. Hydra wants their Soldier back.”

Bucky clenches his jaw. He knew that someday you’d be used as leverage. This is why he should never have agreed to go on a date with you. This is why he doesn’t deserve happiness or love. This is why you are better off without him ruining your life. He destroys everything he touches with his dark, infected soul. Nothing good comes from knowing Bucky Barnes.

“I’ll do it,” he mutters. The heart wrenching protest from you begs him to look your way. You sound destroyed and distraught. No, he can’t look at you. It will demolish any and all of his resolve—what’s left of it anyway.

“Bucky, no! Don’t do this, please! No! I’m not worth it, okay?”

His heart shatters like the most fragile glass or porcelain, his soul crushed with the weight of a thousand suns. How could you say that you aren’t worth it. He’d burn the world for you.

“Shut that bitch up!” a man orders. A sharp throbbing pain erupts at the back of your head. You cry out, and Bucky loses all of his resolve. No one fucking hurts his babydoll and gets away with it. No one.

Bodies dropped like flies in the blink of an eye. Now you have always known that Bucky is skilled, but… well, let’s just say you are surprised.

He rushes over to you and releases you from your restraints. He looks over your body, relief nearly palpable to see that you had no major visible injuries. He had seen the hammer and pliers along with a plethora of knives. He’s just glad he got here in time because if he didn’t… he doesn’t want to even think of what they could’ve done to you.

You saw the far off look in Bucky’s eyes. You knew he is probably coming up with some way to blame himself for all of this. Your hands reach to grab his face. His eyes refocus on you, feeling your gentle hands with their delicate touch. You smile at him, not paying any mind to the throbbing of your skull.

“I’m okay, Buck, it’s fine.”

He frowns. His brows furrow deeply. Nothing about this is fine. He’s sure that your ribs are coloured purple and he can hear a sight slurring in your voice.

“Baby? I need you to tell me if anything is hurting real bad. Did they hit your head real bad?”

“Hmm?” You think for a bit. Maybe they did, you’re not really sure anymore. “I think so?”

“How does your head feel?”

“Mmm… kinda like someone is takin’ a hammer to it. It hurts, Buck… I wanna go t’sleep.”

“No, no, no, stay awake for me, c’mon. Let’s get you outta here.”

He hauls you up onto unsteady feet. You kinda just wanna stay there, maybe take a quick little nap. That should be fine, right? But Bucky told you not to. You frown. This is a dilema.

You stumble your way up the stairs and say, “At least it can’t get any worse.”

He smiles, or at least tries to… it’s more like a grimace, at your attempt to brighten the situation.

Turns out you spoke too soon, however.

The stairs groan under you before both you and Bucky are plunging through the wood. You hear a high pitched scream. Then you realise it’s you making that god awful noise.

Bucky curses under his breath as the wood gives way to both your weight. He wraps his body around yours, taking the brunt of the fall. He can’t let you get hurt more.

The wind is knocked out of him as his back collided with the ground. A piece of wood stabs through his torso, and he grits his teeth as you come down on top of him.

“Baby?” His voice is breathy. You whimper, terrified out of your wits. “I’m so sorry, doll. Can… can you reach in my pocket? Grab my phone and dial… dial Sam.”

You reach down and accidentally hit the wood post that’s sticking out of him. His groan is so guttural, even in your haze, your brain panics. You try to look down, but Bucky can’t let that happen. You’re only going to panic more. “Keep your eyes on me, m’kay?”

You nod, instantly regretting it. “Babe?” Bucky questions, seeing you wince.

“’m fine,” you insist, lowering your hand, being more careful this time around.

You make contact with the brick that he calls his phone and pull up Sam’s number. You make a joke about not knowing how to work the old thing, but Bucky thinks you’re serious. He goes to grab the phone, but you indignantly pull it away from his grasp. “Was a joke, Barnes. I’m perfectly capable…”

You were gonna say more, but it is so much work to talk. Maybe you should have convinced Bucky to let you nap. Then you wouldn’t be on top of him in a hole under some stupid stairs.

“Bucky? What’s up? I thought you were on a date.”

“I’s me Sammy,” you giggle. Why are you giggling? Nothing makes sense anymore.

The man on the other end of the phone groans. “Please tell me he didn’t get you plastered. Did you try to out drink him? Cause I tried that once… that was not a fun morning.”

“No… we’re under the stairs, Sammy.”

“Under the stairs? What stairs? Why—“

“You ask too many questions,” you mumble, half of the sentence jumbling together. Black starts to creep into the corners of your vision. “Think I gonna take nap now.”

Sam furrows his brows, hearing Bucky yell at you to stay awake. “Sam! Listen to me, you need to come help we’re both injured—“

You gasp, “Bucky hurt?”

He can’t stop you from looking down. Your gasp is so loud he can barely hear Sam muttering to him over the phone.

“Doll, hand the phone to me,” he demands. Tears form in your pretty eyes, seeing the wood sticking out of your boyfriend.

“But.. you hurt.”

He sighs, “Yes, but I need the phone so someone can save us.”

You nod, tears dripping down your face. Your heart is beating like a hummingbird is in your chest. You press your hand against it, crying out in pain. Your head hurts so bad. So does your stomach and ribs. You just want to go to sleep.

You don’t remember exactly when Sam showed up. But he is here now with a full team of firefighters and medics. The firefighters extract you both, though it takes more work to get Bucky out.

The next thing you know, you’re waking up in a hospital. Sam somehow convinced the medical staff to let you and Bucky share a room, knowing that you both need each other.

When Bucky wakes up, he is panicking. His panic settles when he sees you safe and sound in bed. His gut twists seeing the ugly purple bruises on your face. This is all his fault. He should have never got himself involved with you. Your life was better without him in it. He ruined you like he ruins everything.

“Bucky?”

He focuses on your voice. Tears blurring your figure. “Yeah?” He doesn’t deserve to call you any pet names. He doesn’t deserve to call you his. He doesn’t deserve you.

“You can stop that negative self-thinking right now.” You glare at him.

“But—“

“No buts!” you interrupt. “I’m too selfish to let you leave me cause you’re scared you’re gonna hurt me. To be honest, I’ll be more hurt if you leave me than if someone were to kidnap me again. My abandonment issues can’t take much more, so if you–”

“You deserve better–“

“Don’t give me that bullshit. I want you god dammit! Why can’t you understand that I love you?”

His eyes grow wide at your outburst. And your words. That was the first time you said you loved him. He thinks he could get addicted.

“You… you love me?”

“Yes! I didn’t think you were that oblivious! I’m in love with you, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Tears form in his eyes. “I… I love you too…”

You smirk at him. “You better.”

Bucky Taglist: @harleycao

Story Taglist: @cjand10 @marvel-stories33 @casa-boiardi @drunkbirdbug

[maespri]

persona 5 classmates when you answer a question correctly: holy shit… is he a descendant of albert einstein? he’s too smart for his own good…

person 5 classmates when you answer a question wrong: fuck this guy is so stupid… we should all beat him to death with hammers

[peemanne]

INFINITE WEALTH SPOILERS IN MINI RAMBLE AHEAD!!!!!!! YEAH!!!! LIKE FINAL CHAPTER SHENANIGANS!!!!! REALLY BAD!!!!!!!! YEAH!!!!!! (and also touching on y2 and y6 and gaiden i guess but come on)

YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!!!!!!! IF YOU ARE NOW ON YOUR WAY OUT, SEE YOU LATER AND ALSO CHECK OUT THIS COOL PHOTO OF ZHAO I TOOK

Been mulling over IW's story since I beat it, and while there are still aspects I'm very much still mixed on, one thing I've surprisingly found to actually only be better after thinking about it even more was the final boss in Ebina. And yeah yeah he could have used a tad bit more screentime, but I think the stuff he does have and all the stuff he symbolizes are really well written. In Gaiden, we dealt with the manifestation of the yakuza itself, and now we face off against the manifestation of all the wrong the yakuza's done. Despite Kiryu's best efforts, there's so many lives he's endangered. So much death that follows him and those around him, and he's completely aware of this. Kiryu shows a lot of self-destructiveness throughout the series, like in Y2 where he gives himself up in a practically suicidal draw with Ryuji, or in Y6 where he so readily throws himself away at the first chance he gets. I still remember Haruka's line in that game: "Don't look so satisfied about this!". And especially in IW, knowing that cancer's got him that much closer to death's door, he's still so ready to throw himself away. But now that's he's forced to rely on his allies, now that he gets to really reflect on all the friends that he's made throughout the years, now that he has Ichiban telling him to really LIVE, he's done running. Kiryu sees a lot of himself in Ebina, because he knows the look of a man who's hellbent on throwing himself away.

Ebina knows he's fighting a losing battle. He leaves Sawashiro alive and he repeatedly begs for Kiryu to kill him at the end of the fight. Look at the demon on his back: he knows he's falling into hell, and he's intent on dragging the reason why he's falling down with him. And that's why it's so cathartic seeing Kiryu beg to him at the end. He's breaks down, seeing the personification of all of the sins the yakuza, and he cries out apologies. Because that's what this fight is about. Atonement, against a vengeful spirit. A breaking of the cycle, further hammered in by the choice to name Ebina's moves after chakra points ("Pierce the Muladhara, Cripple the Manipura, Wheel of Samsara"). The theme The End of Denial is such an amazing choice for this too, a much more sorrowful, reflective track than most of the other final boss themes. It's not just a cheeky bit of "look how far we've come" that they've included the original Yakuza's intro guitar in here, it's Kiryu directly reflecting on running away. Running away from the Fourth Chairman spot. Running away from Daigo and the clan. Running away from his family. Running away from all the wrongs he's done throughout the years. And now that Kiryu finally finds himself ready to confront it all, even if it's in his twilight years, there's not a chance in hell he's gonna let it slip past him, as he takes Ebina head-on. I couldn't disagree more with the notion that Ichiban should have been the one to fight him. Despite it being his half-brother, this just isn't his fight to take.

It's why this line means so much. Teary-eyed, he begs the man he just punched down for forgiveness for everything the yakuza has done, and he begs for him to LIVE, to not throw himself away the very same way Kiryu has. And this is how he breaks the cycle.

This is how Kazuma Kiryu finally gets to live again.

~ ~ ~

ok thing over! i've been thinking about a write-up on this game's finale ever since i beat it last march 30th and ebina's an aspect i really had to stew over, and i finally got to it in the same way i did with my gaiden mini ramble. by making a long text wall in a discord server and figuring that it'd fit well enough to be put here

i'd really like to shoutout @.FormerSoulKing on twitter and their post on IW's religious symbolism for inspiring this post. it's also just like, a really cool read.

additionally i'd also ramble about the ending scene with ichi carrying eiji out at the end and how it's like him "setting things right" and not letting what he watched happen to masato happen to another friend of his but honestly i just love that scene so much i don't think i could ever properly put it into words