#when she’s in the field she wears what the other soldiers do but she has those little shoulder pieces on her shirt indicating rank

[mr-mandalorian]

ghost proposing, a little angst but very very sweet

they have the night off and he’d already be devouring her whole if she wasn’t so excited about going out. it’s a shit bar close to base, but she reasons it’s a good change of scenery.

and boy is it, terrible karaoke heard a mile away. the military wives, or rather soon to be, taken over. a bachelorette party of at least six women, loud and obnoxious.

soap and gaz find it to be the most hilarious thing in the world, applauding a brunette on stage over her disastrous performance of careless whisper. but ghost can’t help but watch y/n, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. throughout the night he silently dissects her, his assumption it being some sort of yearning for female company. but as one of the women come up to their table, asking if anyone from the squad could take a picture of the rowdy group, ghost swallows harshly. y/n jumps at the opportunity, congratulating the bride like they’ve know each other their whole lives.

they never discussed the nature of their relationship. hell, the word relationship was never even voiced out loud. but even a stranger could tell how they move in sync, his reflection and her shadow. in their line of work it was best case scenario and simon never allows himself to think about there ever being more.

but that is until y/n asks to see the ring. it’s almost comical, the gigantic diamond blinding, making her squint. ghost finds himself scoffing behind the mask, he could easily read y/n’s compliment a lie. she would never wear anything like it.

the following months ghost finds himself ring shopping. fucking hell, what is he thinking, really? his tongue can’t even roll the world girlfriend. and yet here he is, glaring at the poor saleswoman like she’s supposed to know none of these expensive rocks are good enough for his y/n.

when the ring is finally chosen, he doesn’t quite know what to do. he’s horrified of y/n finding it so the ring stays on his person at all times, even in the field. he’s less talkative than usual, if that’s even possible, always looking for the right moment. brushing their teeth together in the morning, ghost buried between her thighs in the evening. he nearly does it one late night, y/n perched on the window sill of her room. swimming in moonlight, she looks ethereal. he’s done unimaginable things in his life, taken and saved lives. none of the gore ever phased him, but the sight of her has his stomach turning.

so he chickens out. regret begins to gnaw at him as the very next mission goes haywire. y/n barks at him through the comms, the sweetest sound in the world, even if she’s telling him to get out, explosives ticking in the building. he’s trying, he really is. his gear seems to get heavier by the minute with a broken rib threatening to seize his lungs. he can make out her silhouette by the exit, but it’s out of reach. the floor crumbles beneath him.

when ghost wakes up, he immediately spots soap pacing back and forth, as much as the tiny ward of the hospital would allow him. y/n is passed out in the chair next to his bed, his balaclava clutched to her chest.

“good to have you back, lt.” soap whispers not to wake the sleeping soldier. “how ye feeling?”

“was she hurt?”

“no.” soap shakes his head, knowing how important the answer is before he can move on to his long awaited teasing, pulling out a velvet box out of his pocket. “i suppose it was foolish to question who this belonged to then. didn’t take you for the marrying kind, lt.”

he wasn’t, but if it pleased y/n, he’d marry her a thousand times. and even though ghost wants to be annoyed with the sergeant, he’s already decided to promote him to best man for finding the ring before y/n could.

when ghost gets released, it takes time to find courage to open the velvet box. it’s barely holding together, taking most of the damage to protect what’s inside. the ring is chipped, the intricate band of petite diamonds has at least five distinct cuts. they’re surprisingly neat, but asymmetrical and obvious to the eye. he can only curse, what a fool he was to convince himself that there could be something more.

“what’s that?” y/n is right next to him, her stealth impressive as she appears unnoticed in his room.

he can tell her awe for the ring is genuine, eyes eyes lighting up at the piece of jewelry. she pries it out of his hold, standing close to the window to examine the gems reflecting daylight. she disregards the cracks completely, telling him it adds character to it. the sincerity of her smile makes it hard to breathe.

“so who’s the lucky girl then?” she asks, never once trying on the ring.

“who- who’s the lucky girl? bloody hell woman, who do you think?”

they’re both dumbfounded, y/n by the answer and ghost by the question. and ghost knows he said the wrong thing as y/n shrinks in her spot, her gaze glued to the floor.

“i mean- i- i really don’t know.” she stutters, growing shy likes he’s never seen her before.

“try it on.”

“what?“

“come here.“

y/n allows him to hold her hand, sliding the ring on her finger with utmost care. it fits perfect, just her size and taste. her eyes jump between him and the ring, mind going a mile a minute.

“what do you reckon?“ his voice is low and quiet, and that’s all he says. it dawns on her that he’s really doing this, proposing in the most simon riley way possible.

“i didn’t even know we were dating.” she can’t help the jaw numbing smile that overtakes her, gently squeezing her hand in his.

“‘cause we’re not. we’re engaged.”

[thezombieprostitute]

Cherry Bomb

Summary: Mob Boss Steve's life gets a much needed dose of excitement when you move into his neighborhood.

A/N: Written for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor's Mafia Bingo AU. Dedicated to @biteofcherry.

A/N2: Reader is female, on the shorter side. No other physical descriptors used.

Word Count: ~4.5k (new record!)

Warnings: Power imbalance, Smut, Violence (comedic, if that helps). Please let me know if I missed any!

The Mob life isn't all high stakes meetings and shootouts like it's portrayed as in the movies. In fact, as Steve can attest, most days are pretty boring. At least once you've established yourself like he has.

The businesses in his territory paid protection fees. He and his men kept the people safe. It was a good deal, in his eyes at least. His Family actually looked after their community, unlike many others in the surrounding territories. Ones that just took money and fed their power trips with fear.

But he has to admit, he's bored. He almost misses the early days where he always had to be on alert. When there was a fight every other day. When he still had to work for what he now has.

Expansion has been tempting, but he doesn't have the manpower to do so and keep his current territory secure. He might be profiting from the situation but he does take the security and well-being of his territory seriously.

His boredom was such that, when he learned a new business was opening, a gardening store and nursery, he was tempted to introduce the owner to the safety payment system himself. But it wouldn't be a good look for the man in charge to do the work of foot soldiers. Instead he sent Jake and Curtis who had almost mastered the carrot/stick approach.

To say he was surprised when they returned empty handed and injured would be an understatement.

"What the hell happened to you?" he exclaims.

"New store owner is a fucking firecracker," Curtis grunts as his arm gets stitched up.

"We told her why we there and she just exploded on us," Jake said through sniffles. "There was so much pollen! I still can't breathe through my nose."

"Tried to use force and next thing I know I'm keeping my face from getting hit by a trowel," Curtis added. "She was just smacking me with it, but those corners caught me in a few places."

"We opted for a tactical retreat," Jake continues after blowing his nose into another tissue.

Bucky snorts. "She kicked your asses."

"She had the element of surprise," Curtis argues.

"Well now she doesn't," Steve interjects. "Curtis and Jake, you're out so you can heal up, maybe get some antihistamines. Bucky, since you're so eager to insult these two, you go and show them how it's done."

"Not a problem," Bucky smirks.

Less than an hour later Bucky storms in, smirk gone, scratches along his face, favoring his right leg.

"She got you, too," Curtis snorted.

"How did she get you?" Steve asks, aghast that his best man was so hurt and yet empty handed.

"Cherry bomb," Bucky grunts. "Played so sweet and soft but the second I got close, she exploded. Kicked my shin while wearing steel toe boots. I managed not to lose my footing but I dropped my face just low enough that she SMACKED ME WITH A CACTUS! REPEATEDLY!"

Curtis nods. "She's got a hell of an arm."

Bucky glares at Curtis. "The bitch smacked my ass with the damn thing!"

Curtis starts laughing and Steve steps between the two men to prevent a fight.

"You go get patched up," he orders. "Make sure you're not going to get an infection or something from a cactus needle. I'll go ahead and take care of this myself."

"Sure you're up for it?" Jake asks, nose mostly still stuffed from the pollen. "You haven't been in the field for a while."

"That's what will make it even more impressive when I get my payment," Steve asserts, fixing his tie, before heading out.

You let out a frustrated sigh as you clean up the mess from the last asshole trying to get "protection money". You'd hoped you were done with that when you got out of Rumlow's territory. You'd heard things were better here. Well, given how easily you were able to fight off those men, maybe it was better for those who could fight. And you weren't one to give in easy.

The bell above the door rings and you look up, disappointed to see another suit instead of a customer. At least the guy makes the suit look good. He's a lot bigger than the other guys, his golden hair and beard giving him an almost lion like mane. His demeanor isn't cocky like the last guy. His movements are smoother than the first two, like he's got better control over his every muscle. And you can imagine there's quite a bit of muscle under that suit. It's a shame you'll have to ruin that suit and scratch up that handsome face.

"Hi there," he says with a smile. "I'm Steve Rogers, the man in charge of this neighborhood."

That comment makes you roll your eyes. "From where I'm standing, you're not in charge of anything." You expect rage, but instead, he laughs.

"I want to thank you. Less than a week and you've already caused more disruptions than we've had in over a year."

"I caused nothing," you counter, hoping to hide how weak-kneed his voice makes you. "You and yours caused it by demanding money for nothing. They should count themselves lucky I didn't spray them with repellent."

"It isn't nothing," he claims. "We actually do help our people."

You snort. "Sure, that's what all you mob wannabes say. Keeping us safe from actually bad people who'd bring in drugs and guns. Blah, blah, blah. Meanwhile you're stealing my money that would be better spent on protecting my plants from spider-mites and sciaridare."

"How much are you spending?" You tell him the amount and his eyebrows rise as he considers. Pulling out his phone he dials a number, "Jensen, I need you to get in touch with Turner. See if he's willing to share some of his pesticides and whatnot from his nursery."

He hangs up the phone and looks at you. "You'd be paying a lot less for the stuff."

"But I'd still be paying you," you grumble. "How does that save me money?"

"I'm not charging you the difference," he replies.

"I'm still not interested in paying you anything. You can get me a small discount on the good stuff? That's not enough for me." You cross your arms and turn your nose up at him.

"It'll also help the community you've set yourself up in," he shrugs. "The parks? The food bank? You'll be helping out the people around you as well."

"That's what taxes are for!"

"That's what they're supposed to be for," he argues. "But we know that isn't how it tends to work."

You huff and he steps closer to you. He somehow manages to be intimidating while also not invading your personal space. Your mind, again, goes to the image of the muscles he's likely working with under that suit.

"I still don't think I should have to pay so you can wear expensive suits and eat at fancy restaurants," you gripe. "You're profiting off of everyone in the area and telling us we're helping each other out!"

"So your saying if I was wearing say, a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants you'd be more willing to work with me?" Steve smirks as he sees your eyes go soft and you almost biting your lip at the mental image he gave you.

He's still smirking when you shake your head and glare at him. The fact that you're obviously attracted to him and he's toying with you throws you into a rage.

"Get out of my store!" you yell, grabbing the nearest object and throwing it at him.

He dodges it easily, but his smirk drops and he closes the gap between you. "Do you really wanna do this, Cherry Bomb?" he almost growls as he firmly grips your chin.

Instead of answering him, you break from his grasp and move to bite his fingers but, again, he's able to dodge. You go for a kick and he moves out of the way while pulling on you so you almost fall on your ass. He catches you before you hit the cement flooring, but you're thrown off kilter.

Using his size advantage he pushes your back against a nearby table and pins your hands down at your sides.

"You can either agree to pay, or bad things will happen to---"

In your desperation for an opening, you try to surprise him with a kiss. Instead of him being shocked and loosening his grip like you expected, he returns the kiss with a passion. You can't help the stop the small moan you let out and he takes the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth. When was the last time you'd been kissed with such fire?

He pulls away and you whine. He's still got a firm grip on your arms, keeping you pinned.

"You taste like cherry," he growls, licking his lips. You try to keep fighting but he's too strong. "Haven't had a kiss like that in ages."

"It wasn't that good," you snipe.

"I was talking about myself, but I guess it's been a while for you, too," he chuckles.

Heat rushes to your face at your slip up and you move to kick him, headbutt him, anything. Instead, he does similar to before where he uses your own force against you. And, again, he's the only think that keeps you from face planting onto the cement floor. He ends up getting you into a hold from behind, one of his thick arms around your torso, the other around your neck, pushing your head into his chest. He's got you close to a wall so you can't get enough force to really kick him. You try kicking and pushing off the wall but he stays stead.

"That's it," he coos. "Get it out of your system so we can talk like mature adults and not a tantrum throwing brat."

"The second you let me go I'm biting your face off!"

"Then I guess I'm never letting you go," he chuckles. "But I don't think you mind being held like this."

You respond with a growl but it's only half-hearted. Your estimation of what he's hiding under his suit feels accurate now that you're pressed up against him. His arms are holding you so tight you can't break free. He's steady enough on his feet you can't even use leverage from the wall against him. If you'd met him in a different way you'd be incredibly turned on.

Not to say you aren't turned on now. Your body is betraying you; nipples hard, pussy wet. It's not fair! Why does he have to be everything you've been craving?

Slowly you're able to get yourself under control. Steve feels your body relax in his hold and he knows he should let go but part of him doesn't want to. Well, a few parts of him don't want to. Your body feels so good pressed against him. Your fiery nature is exactly the kick he's been craving. But he's not one to take a woman against her will and he needs to talk business with you so he slowly, warily loosens his hold.

"Shall we go to your office? Somewhere with a lot fewer sharp objects within arm's reach?" he suggests, only half joking.

You stomp in the direction of your office with a huff while Steve follows. You eye some of the sharper utensils, some of the repellents you can use instead of pepper spray but you know he's watching you. So far he's been able to thwart your every move. But your office is small enough his larger size could be a disadvantage. You'll wait for the right moment.

Once inside the office, you promptly sit down in your comfy chair, forcing Steve to sit on the much smaller one. To your frustration, he makes no indication as to being bothered by it.

"So, you wanna talk like adults?" you snip at him.

"Best way to do business, don't you think?" He smirks at you and it only grows when he sees the frustration written all over your face.

"Extortion isn't a business," you argue.

"And yet, here we are."

"I still don't see the point of this. There's nothing you could give me that I can't do on my own."

"We're keeping Rumlow's men from following you." Your eyes widen a bit at that. "My men caught some of his foot soldiers monitoring the place. Turns out, Rumlow didn't take to kindly to the goodbye message you left for him. Personally, i think the fertilizer dumped all over his car to hide the sugar in the gas tank wasn't a bad idea. Well timed on your part, too."

"Yeah, well, I doubt your men can actually handle his. I fought off three of them alone today!"

"That's because they're under strict orders to not hurt the residents. Not without permission from me, anyways. Rumlow's men they're more than happy to hurt."

"I still have my doubts. Especially about the price of the protection."

"Protection comes with many benefits," Steve assures. "Not just the pesticide pricing, either."

"Such as?"

"Actually getting customers." Steve grinned as you were unable to hide your frustration at his words. "People in our territory support each other. You're not supported by us? You're not supported by them."

"You bastard! I'm trying to run a business and you're charging me to even get a customer?!"

"I don't tell people where to do their shopping," he objects. "It's just that the people around here prefer to buy from others under our protection."

"This is such a scam!"

"And yet, you moved here because this territory is the safest, the nicest and best for business." You cross your arms and try not to make eye contact. You know he's right, but that doesn't mean you have to be happy about it.

"So how much are we talking?" He says the amount and you give him a confused look. "You mean per week or something, right?"

"Per month," he assures. "I might be making a profit, able to wear fancy suits, but that's because I'm good with money. Not because I try to squeeze blood from a stone."

"Well I still think I can get a better deal!" you insist, not believing yourself.

He raises an eyebrow, "do tell."

"Fine, I just want a better deal where I don't have to pay you a dime!"

He considers you for a minute, slowly licking his lips. "I suppose I might be open to alternative forms of payment."

"Perv!"

"Says the woman who's been eye-fucking me since I walked in. I bet you enjoyed being manhandled, being pinned against me." He leans forward so his elbows are on the desk. "I bet your wet at the thought of me using you like a whore."

"Do you offer 'such a deal' with all the business owners in your territory?" you sneer.

"Just the ones that attract me. So just you."

That gets your attention. "Must be a long time since you've gotten laid if you're going after me."

He shrugs. "It has been a while. But it's also been even longer since I met someone so interesting."

"You want to break me," you accuse.

Steve's face turns serious at that. "I admire that fire in you. I'll never try to snuff it out. I've been craving that kind of energy so I'm inclined to encourage it, not cut it off or use it up."

"And how do you know I'm not just getting you to lower your guard so I can stab you?"

"I don't. That's half the fun." He backs away from you and stands up. "But if you're not interested, you're not interested. You don't want the protection? You don't get the customers. Maybe some of Rumlow's men make it to you."

"You're not giving me a real choice, here!"

"Pay up, and you don't have to worry about any of that. Plus, other benefits. How you pay is up to you."

"I'd be better off just giving you money," you snipe. "You're probably a two-pump chump, anyways."

He considers you for a moment, not giving you the rage filled response you were hoping for. "Either way," he replies nonchalantly before turning to head out of your office.

"Get that gorgeous ass back here!" you shout as you get up from your chair. He turns back towards you and lets you pull his tie to bring his face down to your level. You want to bite, smack, kick, anything. Instead you kiss him again.

Again, he returns the kiss with fervor, pushing you back against your desk. Your on your back and he's pinned your hands against the desk. But instead of continuing like you want him to, he breaks the kiss, making you whine and try to kick.

"Use your words, Cherry Bomb," he growls. "I need to hear you say it, or else I'm walking out of here."

"Fuck me," you mutter under your breath.

"What was that?" he teases.

"Fuck me like you mean it!"

His lips return to yours and you melt into him. One of his feet pushes your legs apart and his hips meet yours. You start trying to grind against him, desperate for release after all of the teasing he's put you through. One of his hands is all he needs to keep your arms pinned above your head. His other hand goes for the buttons of your jeans. Without breaking the kiss he's got you unbuttoned. He pulls his hips away just enough to start pushing his hand under your panties.

He smiles when he feels how wet you are already. "I guess I was right about you."

"Don't flatter yours---" your snipe cut off by another kiss.

You start rolling your hips against his hand but he pulls it away. He breaks the kiss and shoves his fingers into your mouth.

"Suck my fingers," he orders. He's barely gotten the words out before your obeying. "Good girl."

When he's satisfied with your work he lifts you off the desk and lifts up your shirt and bra, exposing your breasts. You're then forced back onto your back and he alternates sucking and biting one nipple while his fingers play with the other one. If you thought his kisses were good, it's clear he knows how to use his tongue in other ways. He switches breasts and you start rolling your hips and moaning.

"Already so worked up," he teases. "And I've barely gotten started."

"Just get to the good stuff already," you gripe.

Steve stops and wraps one of his hands around your neck. "Does my little brat just need some good, hard dick? I was going to be nice and make sure you cum at least once, make it easier to take my cock. But now I'm not so sure."

Just like with your shirt, he pulls you up, pushes down your jeans and panties, and has you back on the desk before you've fully registered what happened.

He shoves two fingers inside your pussy and you squeal from the sensation.

"This pussy is so tight. I'm gonna enjoy wrecking you," he taunts.

"Big words," you spit back at him. "Bet you can't back them up."

"Well if you're going to continue being a brat, I'm going to have to treat you like one."

Steve pulls you up as he sits down on the little chair. He throws you across his lap and shoves the fingers that were in your pussy into your mouth.

"You're going to keep sucking on those fingers until I tell you to stop," he orders.

You're tempted to call his bluff but then his other hand comes down hard on your ass. Your eyes widen in pain and pleasure. Your tongue starts working his fingers as if possessed. He spanks you again and you moan around his fingers. He starts pushing his fingers further into your mouth before pulling back a little, then pushing in again. You keep your tongue moving, breathing through your nose. He brings his other hand down again and again, your moans getting louder.

You lose track of how many times he smacks your ass. You're no longer trying to fight him. All of your brain power is just focused on rolling your hips, whining around his fingers, begging him to give you what you need.

"Is my little Cherry Bomb ready to behave?" he coos, pulling his fingers out of your mouth.

"Please...Please fuck my pussy, Sir. Please, I need it!" you gasp.

He grips your chin and turns your face towards him. "How can I possibly say no to such a polite request?"

His hand goes from your chin to your throat as he stands you up and moves you back to the desk. He gets you on the desk and moves your legs so your ankles are up by his face.

He unzips and lets out a little sigh of relief. "Don't know how hard I've been this whole time, Cherry Bomb." He pulls his erection out of his pants and your eyes widen a little. "You've been working me up all this time and I've had to hold back." He starts rubbing his cock against your clit, making you whine. "All those pretty noises, that fiery attitude, that gorgeous body. A man can only take so much."

He picks up speed and you try to spread your legs a little more, giving him better access to your clit. Instead he grabs your legs and stops moving, making you let out a "no!"

"You will keep these legs where I put them," he orders. Your eyes flash in anger and frustration but you obey, making him grin. "Good girl."

He lines his erection up with your entrance and pushes into you. He wants to sheath himself in one quick thrust but he knows he can be a lot so he opts for a slower push. Besides, watching your facial expressions as you adjust to him, as you realize he's not all the way in yet, is so much fun. The noises you make as your body isn't sure if it should be feeling pleasure or pain are music to his ears. He could easily get addicted to you.

When he's fully inside you, he lets out a groan. Your pussy is clenching him like a vise and he doesn't want to cum so quickly. Definitely not before he's got you screaming his name in pleasure.

"You feel so good," he praises. He reaches his hand down to your pearl. "Let's get you creaming around my cock like a good slut."

He sets a rapid pace for playing with your clit as he slowly rolls his hips. The juxtaposition makes you want to squirm but remembering his orders about keeping your legs where he put them, you instead whimper. Frustration building as it feels like your orgasm wants to build but can't.

"What's the matter, beautiful?" he purrs.

"N-n-need more," you sniffle.

"More what?"

"M-more!"

"Use your words."

"Faster! More! Just fuck me like I need it, please!"

"I'm going to need you to tell me now, do you want me to cum inside you or pull out?" He hisses as he feels you clench around him at the thought of him cumming inside you.

"Inside! Please, Sir! Please!"

He chuckles darkly as he moves your legs so they're pushed against your chest. "I knew you were going to be good for me," he whispers with gentle kisses to your knees.

Steve pulls out of you and lines himself up again. This time he fulfills his desire and quickly thrusts himself fully inside of you, making you keen. He pistons into you at a furious pace and you find yourself writhing in pleasure.

"This pussy feels like heaven," he whispers hoarsely. "And you want me to fill you up like my own personal cum slut, don't you?"

"Y-yes!"

"Yes, what?" His hand moves between your bodies and finds your clit.

"Yes, Sir! Yes! I'm your personal cum slut!" you screech. "Please! Please fill me up, Sir!"

The pressure finally snaps and you feel like you're drowning in pleasure, unable to even tell which way is up. Your eyes roll back and you miss seeing Steve grimace as he tries to control his own orgasm while enjoying the way your pussy spasms around his erection. He praises you as you start coming down, but his pace doesn't slow.

"Give me another, beautiful," he orders.

"I-I can't!"

"I think you can," he argues. "You just need some more."

That's all the warning you get before he pulls out of you and flips you onto your stomach. He lifts your hips and impales you onto his cock. You cry out as the new position makes you feel, somehow, even more full than before. He wraps a hand around your throat and brings your torso up so you're pressed against him. He rolls his hips tentatively and you let out a gasp as he hits a particularly sensitive spot.

"Oh, you like that?" he teases, rolling his hips again, making you whimper. "My beautiful cum slut just needed the right motivation to cum again."

With that he picks up his pace, repeatedly brushing up against that same spot making you writhe in his arms, chanting "please, please, please".

"I'm going to cum inside you and mark this beautiful pussy as mine," he growls in your ear. "You're going to cum again, get those pussy juices all over these fancy clothes, and everyone will know your my slut."

Between his dirty, possessive words and hitting all the right spots, you come apart. You cry out as your orgasm hits you, tears pouring down your face. You feel Steve stiffen as he cums with a groan and push your hips back into him, wanting to catch every drop.

You collapse into Steve and he guides you so that he's holding you in your office chair. He gently pats your head, praising you, giving you small kisses. Your curl into his touch and he holds you tight for a few minutes.

"Should get you cleaned up," he whispers.

"Bathroom over there," you mumble, gesturing in the general direction of the unisex bathroom. Steve picks you up and carries you there, looking around to make sure the two of you were alone.

He gets you cleaned up, being very gentle with you.

"What else do you need, Cherry Bomb?"

"Can you hold me for a while more?"

"Gladly." He picks you up and carries you back to your office, helping you get dressed again, before returning to your chair for snuggles. You nuzzle against him and soon fall asleep.

While you slept, Steve texted to his people that the two of you had come to an agreement and you were to be considered paid up. There were going to be some long conversations with his men after this, he knew. But when he looked at you, he knew you'd be worth it. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, his smile growing when you gave a little happy murmur.

Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @kmc1989; @lokislady82; @peaches1958; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Steadfast 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, obsession, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: King!Bucky Barnes (Medieval AU)

A Knights, Kings, and Knaves Story

Summary: you serve Duke Rogers, but when his friend, the king, takes an interest, you find your work in turmoil.

Note: I've wanted to do medieval drabbles for years. I bit the bullet and now we're all doomed. I was torn on whether to make this one Stucky however... I think Steve deserves a wifey in his own installment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The duke’s household is rarely out of sorts. The king’s decision has set the entire realm into a furor. Chests, carts, horses, rushing bodies fill the courtyard and stables as all ready for the road. Not all will go upon the road to the Field of Silk. 

As you heave a sack of wheat with Clarice onto a wagon, the hoots and hollers of servants and stablemen hushes. You glance over as you sense the disturbance, winding towards you as a snake. It is the Duke, himself looking addled amid the chaos. 

“Pip,” he calls to you, “I bid you here.” 

He stops across the courtyard and Clarice sighs in disappointment. She will need help though all seem bound in their own duty. You give an apologetic look and help steady the sack before you leave her. You dip between the bodies and axles until you reach the castle’s liege. 

“Your grace,” you greet him with reverence. 

“Not time, the king remains impatient.” He beckons you with two fingers as he twists on his heel. 

You follow him. His cloak is lined in sable, dyed red wool with a large hood. You can hear his exasperation in the wight of his steps. Given his words, you don’t wonder at the source, only of what deed the king has done now. 

“The king seeks to travel separately. To ensure there is no plotting upon his party,” he stops and hauls you through the archway that shadows an open sitting area. Frost clusters between the stone at your feet. “So, I will pose as he and go with his carriage, and you will attend him.” 

“Your grace,” you utter, withholding your surprise. 

“He would not take a large escort. To deter any suspicion, see? I do disagree,” he waves his other fist as he continues to drag you. “I suggested a proper guard. He says he can wield his own sword.” 

Despite his expounding, you cannot fathom why it should be you to accompany the king. Is the duke no sensible that one who might offer protection would be preferred? You are but a maid, you might push a broom or a mop, but a sword would be only a danger to yourself. 

“Two men draw attention. They seem as soldiers or spies. They have proper business which draws the avarice of similar,” he takes you through the rear of the castle, where only the launderers pass. “A man and a woman, a traveling couple. Not so concerning. His reasoning is sound enough but the risk...” 

Lord Rogers is ever cautious, though his stoicism wears. He lets you go just east of the kitchens. He faces you and tidies his hair, before again finding that patch of grey in his beard. 

“I cannot trust the gossips and the ganders,” he sets his feet and frames his hips. “You will go, be mindful as ever.” He huffs and shakes his head. “If I cannot wary him, surely you won’t have better luck of it, but you will do as you can to keep him some sense.” 

“As you wish, your grace.” 

“Yes, it is far from what I wish,” he tuts and backs away. “Go, you will find him at the priest’s house. All are too busy packing to tend prayer.” 

Another, “your grace” and you part. The duke goes his way, muttering, and you go yours, silent but intent. You wind your way to the front of the castle and come out into the grey of winter. You sweep across the moat, unnoticed by the guards with higher cares than a servant. 

The priest’s house is upon the outer court, nestled away from the gates. You tread along the frozen ground and eye the darkened windows. You do not spy even a single lit wick. As you reach the rear, there is a clucking noise. A cloaked figure stands near the statue of a great saint. 

The king pulls back his hood to reveal himself. You tilt your head and approach, bending a knee as you stop. “Your highness.” 

“Ah, and there she is. My steadfast servant,” he greets. 

You keep your head down, even as the yearning to search for a set of hooves gnaws at you. How should he travel so far afoot? 

“The horse is waiting for us by the river,” he proclaims. “We shall brave the trek and proceed upon the lower roads.” 

You bow your head deeper, “your highness.” One horse? You’ve not sat one yourself, only the old lame mule at the farmer’s mill those years of your childhood. 

“The priest’s door should see us out.” 

“At your ready, your highness.” 

“None of that forthwith,” he demands. “We musn’t draw undue attention. You shall be my pip and I shall be... poppet. Yes? It sounds convincing, I think.” 

“Yes, your—poppet.” 

“Perhaps a touch more softness, pip,” he nears and takes you by the arm, clasping tight the unlined cape against your arm. “Come, let us flee before any should sniff us out.” 

He brings you around to the priest’s door. Not many know of the small gate and from without, it is hidden by a thicken of thorns. He opens it and sidles against the wall, keeping hold of your wrist as he takes you with him. When at last you are free of the snagging branches, he draws you down to the path. 

“King T’Challa may be peaceable but I do not trust him to temper Stark. Neutral ground, there is nowhere that churlish monger would not desecrate,” the king rants as he takes you between the trees. 

His footsteps crunch and your pad in a light echo. His boots are fine and made of leather, yours are wool with thin pads on the bottom. You slip through the brush as old leaves weave a soggy rug across the ground. He has a tight grip on you as he feels you falter. 

“Must I slow?” He asks. 

“No, your highness. I will keep up,” you affirm. 

“Mm, dutiful...too much so” he muses. “You will need determination for the road ahead,” he brings you down an incline and a knicker greets you from the shoreline of the frozen river. “Aback this beast, your hips will surely ache for cushion.” 

“I will persist,” you say and remind yourself to keep from his formal title. You are not so certain of the promise though. 

“So we must,” he lets you go, only to grab your waist and haul you upward.  

You let out a whimper and flail, latching onto the horse and hooking your leg across it. He gets you steady and his hand brushes down your skirt. He swings himself swiftly, without much effort, and sits the saddle behind you. You are pressed between him and the pommel. 

“Best away before the winter catches us. The summers of Wakanda await us,” he snaps the reins and the horse kicks into motion.  

You can only lean into the king to keep your balance. He holds the reins in one hand and guides yours to the pommel. “Hold tight, pip.” 

[bowandbrush]

A sketch of the blue trio!!

An animatic idea I have for the maskface AU (that I have no time to actually start on 😭)

cowboy episode! Leo gets to hang out with some non-brother pals, and boy is it chaotic. (I’m gonna rant the general story below)

Mystic energy throughout the US is fluctuating and causing mini-earthquakes and vibrations that not only start momentarily irritating dogs/animals, but disrupt cloaking brooches and other mystic areas like nether realms, force fields, and invisibility cloaks. hueso’s hidden restaurant and passages to the hidden city are slowly being revealed, which is a huge problem.

The secondary story is with Frida, actually. being Big Mama’s daughter, she has since abandoned her high position in the Battle Nexus and as mama’s number two to be with her blood family.

In the first couple weeks of Venus temporarily living with the hamatos as a spy for Mama, Frida watches through a mystic orb longingly, observing the cold assistant Venus soften and learn what friendship, love and family is about. She grows to love the Mad Dogs with each day, and decides to flee from her life with Big Mama.

Unlike Venus (who’s still undercover, but losing her will to fulfill her mission and return to B.M.) she hated the spider for years behind a facade. Despite acting the most like Mama out of anyone, She was given enough freedom in her teen years to discover Big Mama didn’t mean anything she said.

now she’s showing her brothers and human sister on how to have a proper spa day. Raph is loving the his retirement from leadership.

Leo, Venus and Usagi portal just in time to where the source of the problem seems to be, Texas. With Donnie communicating through Leo’s wrist comm to help him navigate and uncover the issue. Leo’s portals now being nearly useless with the mystic quakes, this gives the trio the prefect excuse to dress like cowboys and wrangle some horses.

Leo is very sure of himself. He helped hueso charm a bird before, right? Wrong. The horse drags him about with the rope Leo tried throwing over its head. Much to his dismay. He loves ponies.

Venus approaches a different horse. She has this in the bag. Unlike Leo, who is a self-assured idiot. With a straight face, she’s got this handled. Also Wrong! Now there are two turtles being thrown around.

Usagi tries befriending a horse by sharing a love for carrots. Sure enough, they all love him. He’s just a natural animal charmer.

this whole adventure is really distracting Venus from her real mission established about 2 months ago. She doesn’t even want to go back to wearing 10 pounds of armor, being forced into things she doesn’t want to do or wear, and guarding empty hallways for days at a time.

And she forgot how much she hated Leo when she first knew him. Some arrogant, annoying reflection of what draxum really wanted in a super soldier that she couldn’t give to him as a yokai child. But now she couldn’t love Leo any more. It was making her sick.

later on, they discover an illegal oil rig operation going down, drilling into a mystic hotspot that is causing the whole ruckus. They use the power of friendship and stupidity to stop the bad guys and fix the mystic conundrum.

That’s basically the episode.

[room-surprise]

Modern Military Uniform of the United Empire (Dungeon Meshi modern AU)

AO3 Version here!

AEGIS

In my fic, “Show Me How to Get Off the Ground,” Mithrun was once a member of an elite military unit, the Advanced Expedition Group for Intelligence and Security, or AEGIS.

Most civilians refer to them as “the Canaries” instead, a pejorative nickname that has become so well-known that most people don’t realize that it isn’t the unit’s real name, or that it’s an insult. Even AEGIS members sometimes use it.

The nickname is a reference to the yellow bird on the AEGIS logo, which looks like a canary, the bird that coal miners famously use to detect gas leaks. The canary warns the miners of the presence of dangerous gasses by dying, implying that AEGIS members frequently die while doing their duty, and that the government treats them like they are disposable.

The bird featured in the AEGIS logo is actually a skylark, which is one of the many birds that are associated with the elven goddess of warfare and wisdom, Atana. Skylarks are the first birds to sing in the morning, and so they are believed to bring news quickly. Every morning, Atana’s skylark returns to her, and sings the latest news from the war front. The aegis was also a device carried by Atana, usually depicted as a shield or armor made of goat skin, and sometimes decorated with the head of a defeated enemy or monster.

(In the real world, the aegis was either a shield or armor made of goat skin, used by Athena or Zeus. It often had a gorgon's head on it.)

AEGIS operatives are commissioned officers from other branches of the United Empire’s military who have been scouted by AEGIS for their special skills. They are put through extremely advanced magical, military and espionage training, and are considered some of the most elite soldiers in the world. Because all AEGIS agents are selected from commissioned officers, the vast majority of them come from elven nobility.

AEGIS specializes in undercover spy work done behind enemy lines. Because of this, they don’t have a field uniform since they spend most of their time in disguise, dressed like ordinary people. They only wear their formal dress uniform while they are at their home base, doing training, administrative work, or preparing for their next undercover mission.

MISC LORE

ATANA (𐀀𐀲𐀙)

Atana is one of the most popular gods in the United Empire. She’s strongly associated with the capital city and the royal family. She’s usually depicted as a beautiful elven woman with obsidian skin, white hair, red eyes, multiple arms, and wearing nothing but an aegis. Each arm bears a different weapon or tool, and her face is always serene, even when she is smiting her enemies. She’s usually shown surrounded by many different types of bird, and in ancient art, she sometimes has a bird’s head.

She is the goddess of wisdom and warfare, and most people consider her the “primary” god of the elven pantheon, and other gods are usually treated as subordinate to her. Atana embodies elven virtues such as intelligence, cunning, charisma, skill with magic, and stoicism. 

(Atana is a fusion of the real-world goddesses Athena and Durga.)

THE GREAT WAR (1932-2000)

Sometimes called “the great war between the long and short-lived races,” this war began with the Far Eastern Alliance attacking the United Empire’s colonies in the Eastern Archipelago to reclaim what they saw as territory that belonged to them. After 68 years, the Great War ended in a stalemate, with both sides committing atrocities, and both conceding and gaining territory.

The Great War had a huge impact on the relationship between the long and short-lived races, and technology and magic developed during the war has shaped the modern world into what it is in the story.

[lovebillyhargrove]

Part 3 of 👑⚔️king Steven x knight William ⚔️👑

***

The king is shackled and thrown into a cold cell in a high tower. There are no windows, there is no fireplace, no torch or even a single candle and Steven is surrounded by infinite darkness.

He does not know how much time passes until one day — or night — the door opens, and Maxine, wearing a hooded cloak, rushes into the cell. She is holding a heavy key ring in her trembling fingers and unlocks the shackles on the king's wrists and ankles.

"We have to run."

The witch from the woods, the one who does not speak, is helping her. She has opened the doors downstairs using a magic spell, and sent heavy slumber upon the guards.

So the three of them flee and hide in the woods in the witch's house where people dare not go.

Maxine tells Steven her step brother's story.

"He was born a bastard son to a very powerful king of faraway lands. The King's name is Neil. He had this child with a beautiful peasant woman, and never wished to see him or have any connection to him from the day the little baby was born. Until eleven years old William had a very modest and simple, yet a happy childhood staying with his mother, working in the fields, in the woods and on the farm, until one day soldiers came and took him to Neil. The son and the mother got separated, and never saw each other again."

"I myself was a little baby at the time when my own mother married Neil out of need. Her husband — my father — had perished in the war against Neil who seized our kingdom without much effort."

"Neil is a ruthless king who is driven by an insatiable desire to conquer lands and other kingdoms. He seems strong like metal, however, he has a secret, his weak spot. It was rumored that he sold his soul to the devil and gained incredible power and countless troops, but was cursed in return."

"Since that time he has been unable to have children. So as it turned out, William was his only child."

"Upon coming to terms with his own infertility and having found no cure, Neil suddenly needed to get his son back, which he did. The boy's mother was banished from the kingdom, and no one knew where she went, and whether she was indeed allowed to leave. There were more rumors that Neil imprisoned her in the underworld, giving false promises to William to reunite him with his mother in return for his absolute obedience. The boy waited in vain, and then began to openly express his defiance and rebellion against Neil, causing unimaginable debauchery and starting multiple riots, and eventually he wandered away to distant lands, looking for his mother and collecting hardships and adventures. Hence the strange marks on his body — although I do not possess the exact knowledge of what they mean or how he got them."

"He found himself in your kingdom, King Steven, not by chance. William was searching for a way to the underworld, or the Upside Down, in the hopes to find his mother there. He indeed came across the passage, and fought an enormous dark monster, however, unsuccessfully, for he then was found in the forest, on the ground, defeated and bleeding. That was how William ended up on your land."

"All this time Neil did not rest, he wanted to bring his only son back. The news travel far, and it finally has reached him that William was staying in a small kingdom on the ocean shore."

"Neil found him and ordered him to return, but his son refused. Neil also ordered him to kill you and proclaim him the ruler. William refused again. Neil captured me and began to blackmail his son that if he did not obey, he would leave me to die in an unknown place. William then swore to help take over the kingdom in exchange for information on where Neil was holding me captive."

"It was the Upside Down again, and both of you saved me, but William was forced to assist his father. It seems as if Neil has this power over him, the calling of blood that my brother is trying so hard to resist .."

"But where is his mother?" Wonders king Steven

"No one knows, and Neil has been silent. William fought the evil spirits from the underworld and searched as much land up here and down there as he could, but failed to find her anywhere."

"So after he betrayed you, William rebelled against his father again, miserably weighed down and disgusted by his own treachery towards you. One night I overheard their conversation ~

"All the lands that are in my possession, even the underworld — I will leave it all to you! You will rule this earth and beyond!"

"I do not want anything from you, father, for you have conquered everything out of greed and vile pride, you have spilled blood of so many innocent people, you tore me away from my mother, you are not above blackmail and torture. You are the embodiment of evil, and I wish to be no part of it."

***

Neil, consumed by rage and helplessness, throws his only son into the Upside Down until he bends to his will.

Steven descends to the realm of darkness one more time, finds William and frees him, challenges Neil to a fight.

They cross swords, the noble king pierces Neil's chest, and a horde of demons flies out of his open wound. In an instant, Neil's whole body turns black, his soldiers everywhere disperse into inky dust, the earth opens up, and Neil is dragged underground by dark slithering snake-like vines.

..

Steven and William spend the night in each other's arms. However, the next morning the king discovers a letter on the white sheets

"My beloved Steven, my pretty king,

There is dark blood flowing in my veins. I can feel it, can sometimes see it coming through. You, my love, belong to the realm of light, with your boundless kindness, wisdom, valor and blinding beauty.

You cannot fathom, and you definitely should not even try to, how it feels to be the only son of a man whose greed and thirst for power had no sane limits. I am not worthy of your love, nor will I ever be.

Still, be sure of the following —

My love for you will remain in my heart, which is tainted with blackness, until my last breath. However, I cannot expose you to the dangers my feelings for you may entail.

Forgive me."

William has again set off into the blue, letting fate and chance guide his journey. Will the king wish to follow and bring his lover back, and if so, where should he look for him ..?

***

Part 4

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 3: The Summer Has to End Someday

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter three of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 2.9K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (once or twice), Drinking, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC,

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect.  Reader is occasionally described as "curvy." If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Philadelphia 1935

"Sit still." You say, dipping your brush gently in the small pot of water at your knee, before stroking it through your paints and placing it against the pad of watercolor paper in your lap.

It was a beautiful day at Fairmount Park. Children ran across the grassy fields flying kites and avoiding the outstretched hands of their mothers, while couples lounged on blankets with picnic baskets overflowing with sandwiches and champagne. The sun was sending gilded light across the pond that gently rippled with the breeze that brushed through your hair, pulling it across your rosy cheeks that blushed under Ben's gaze.

It was your 16th birthday and despite your mother's insistence to take you shopping in the busy stores that lined the streets downtown, you had refused, choosing rather to come to the park and prepare your mind for the party that would follow this evening. You had already glimpsed the abomination of purple tulle that your mother expected you to wear and you hoped that a quiet afternoon in the park would wipe the monstrosity from your memory.

At least before you were squeezed into said dress later that evening.

"I’m bored." Ben stated, leaning back on his elbows where he was sprawled next to you in the lush grass that was no doubt staining the light blue dress that clung to your body. One you had chosen for yourself that accentuated the way you looked, rather than hid it as the other dresses your mother bought for you. However, when Ben came to pick you up this morning your mother had insisted you bring a coat, despite it being the middle of summer. You hadn't missed the flash of anger in Ben's eyes when she wrapped the coat around your shoulders to hide your curves. The same coat that Ben immediately removed when you walked out the door and threw over the wrought iron fence that surrounded the front of your home, before looping his arm in his to direct you toward the park.

"It was you who said you wanted me to paint you." You sigh, looking up at your friend.

Ben's navy suit jacket was open, the buttons of his matching vest and white shirt underneath strained as his muscular shoulders pulled against them and made your breath catch as your eyes traced them. There was a pale pink phlox flower in his front jacket pocket, one you stuffed there earlier despite the roll of his eyes. You had wanted some contrast between his suit and the color of the flower, and despite Ben's annoyance, he obliged you as he always did.

"I was hoping there would be less clothing involved." Ben grins at you.

"You know, no other gentleman speaks to me the way you do."

"I didn't know you considered me a gentleman y/n. I thought that you knew me better than that." His grin quickly shifts into a mischievous smirk that makes you bite the inside of your cheek and turn back to the page.

A year had passed since Ben got you watercolor paints and ignited a unquenchable passion for painting. Something about the way the colors ran together soothed you, the gentle stroke of the brush against the page calming the usual frustrations of your life.

One of which was sitting beside you, looking entirely too attractive for someone who'd just rolled out of bed and was wearing the exact outfit he had been wearing when he snuck through your window last night. This morning he had crawled out the window and rang the doorbell at the front of your home, acting as if he'd been up for hours.

You pause at the thought of last night. Ben was leaving for boarding school number seven at the end of the week, but the way he looked when he showed up the night before, rumpled and smelling of cheap whiskey, meant that he and his father had another disagreement. Despite his inability to talk about what happened, if it was your burden to bear, to always be there for him, you welcomed it.

"Hey." Ben's hand comes down on your arm to draw your attention back to him.

You look back up at him. "Hmm?"

"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?" He turns his head to the side to examine you.

"Thinking about the party."

"Oh right. Should be fun. Can't believe I received an invitation. I thought your mother would have burned it-"

"She tried." You smirk. "I snatched it from the fireplace just for you."

"How thoughtful."

“Selfish really. There’s no way I’m going through one of those parties without you again.” You snort, catching his emerald gaze.

“The Christmas party was not that bad-“

“Says the guy who got drunk on eggnog and then preceded to flirt with a potted plant!”

“That potted plant was more interesting than that idiot How-“ Ben’s next words are cut off.

"Y/n!" You hear someone shout from behind you.

Howard Stine struts towards the two of you across the sidewalk, where a few other boys stand in a tight group. He’s wearing a sand colored suit and vest, with the chain of his golden pocket watch catching in the warm sunlight with each stride forward. At Howard’s appearance, Ben sits up from his relaxed position, leaning towards you.  

“Speak of the devil.” You hear him mutter.

Ben nods his head towards the group of boys, who nod back in greeting. Ben was more popular than you. Your own circle of friends was reduced to Ben, your housekeeper, the gardener, and a handful of girls your own age that only wished to talk about how close you and Ben were and once they realized you were just friends, they then proceeded to ask you if you could set them up.

As if you would ever set them up with him, you were still trying to set yourself up with him.

A few of the group of boys you recognize as the sons of your father's friends and others boys you'd seen Ben stumble around with on the streets after a night at the bar around the corner. You watch Ben's left hand go to the flower in his front jacket pocket and crunch it in his fist before the others can see it.

The action made you smile to yourself, because despite Ben not wanting them to see him with the flower, he had still allowed you to place it there.

Howard blocks the rays of sun above you so that you don't have to squint up at him. He wasn't terrible looking. Howard was your height, with reddish brown hair that was slicked back over his head and he had a dusting of cinnamon colored freckles on his cheeks, but he was nowhere near as tall or broad as Ben. Where Ben was muscular, Howard was lanky, his hands small and sweaty. Ben moved with a grace and elegance that you couldn't comprehend, while Howard plodded along, stumbling on solid ground. Howard's pointed chin was nothing like the strong jaw of Ben's rugged face. Something that you studied whenever Ben was with you and you spent several nights devoted to capturing in your sketchbook.

"Hi Howard. How are you?" You smile at him, brushing back your hair from your face with your free hand.

Howard's eyes move from Ben to you, taking in your close proximity. Ben's hand was still touching your arm, and the tip of your knee an inch away from the outer edge of Ben's thigh. In fact, Ben had leaned towards you so close when Howard came over that his breath rustled through your hair.

"Good. What are you doing?” Howard moves a hand through his hair to tousle the reddish waves.

“Ben is obliging me. It’s a beautiful day and I wished to capture it.” You wave the brush in your right hand for emphasis.

“Ah.” Howard squints at the watercolor paper. “Well it’s certainly interesting. I didn’t know you liked to paint.”

“She likes all kind of things Howie.” Ben responds with a smirk, his voice dripping with suggestion.

Your eyes flash a warning to where Ben sits. He’s withdrawn his hand, but he’s still leaning close enough to you that you can smell the spicy scent of his shampoo and cologne.

It reminds you of this morning when you woke up and realized that Ben had pulled your back into his chest while he was sleeping. When his arm was curled around your waist as he buried his head in your hair and muttered something in his sleep that you couldn’t understand. The thought makes you flush bright red, remembering how wonderful and intimate it felt to be there.

Howard ignores him. “We're all going to go to Wallman's on the corner for shakes, I was wondering if you wanted to come?" He doesn't acknowledge Ben.

“Well-“ You begin to say, taking in the beauty of the pond and your paint stained hands.

The truth was you didn’t want to go, you wanted to sit there in the grass forever with Ben, where you couldn’t tell if you were warm because you were under the golden light of the sun or under Ben's gaze.

“She’s busy.” Ben says before you can finish your sentence.

Howard’s smile becomes tight. “I think I was asking her.”

Ben shrugs. “And I think I just gave you an answer.”

"Why don't you just-" Howard begins, but Ben is already up off the ground, pressing his chest against Howard's, his green eyes blazing in the light of the sun.

"Why don't I just what Howie?" Ben's voice is low, the deep rumble stirring something in the pit of your stomach.

You loved a lot of things about Ben, but his temper was not one of them. Ben rarely lost his temper with you, yes you did annoy him and he would lose his patience, but he often turned that anger into teasing.

"Ben." You stand, leaving your watercolor pad on the ground, so you can place your hand on Ben's shoulder. It was supposed to be a gentle reminder. Ben knew that you were more than capable of making your own decisions, but you couldn't help but wonder why Ben had responded the way he did.

Is he jealous?

Ben looks down at you with a frown, but finally he sighs and takes a step back.

Howard's eyes are narrowed at where Ben now stands to your right, Ben's arms crossed over his muscular chest, but Howard's gaze shifts back to you expectantly.

"Howard that's really sweet, but it's getting late and I have to get ready for the party tonight." You force a giggle to ease the tension in Howard's shoulders. "You are coming right?"

"Of course." He smiles. "I was hoping that you'd save a dance for me."

"She-" Ben begins to say, but you elbow him in the side, hard.

"Of course I will."

“Great. I guess I’ll see you tonight.” He frowns one more time at Ben before turning back to the group of boys on the sidewalk and leaving with them.

Ben stands there for a minute watching him go.

"You should try to be nicer to him." You say, tugging on the sleeve of Ben’s jacket to grab his attention.

"Why?" Ben snorts.

"Because-" You shrug. "He's sweet and he’s interested in me. I’d hope that you two would get along.”

Ben rolls his eyes. "You could do better."

"Last time I checked the suitors aren't exactly lining up. Not to mention you tend to scare them all off." You wave a hand around you for emphasis. "And I'm not getting any younger."

"Neither am I, but you don’t see me settling for Howard Stine.”

"I didn't realize he was your type." You snort rolling your eyes at him as you sit back down in the grass and pick up your painting again. "I haven't seen you courting anyone recently."

You try to keep the happiness from your voice at the thought. Ben hadn't been trying to chase after as many girls in the past few months as he had previously. And you wondered if his father was trying to arrange him with anyone. If Ben’s mother had still been alive you knew that she would have found someone suitable for Ben, but you’d heard your father say something to your mother behind a closed door that Ben’s father had asked about one of the daughters of his work colleagues.

The thought makes something in your chest tighten to the point of snapping. You hated the idea of watching Ben court someone else, watching someone else kiss him, run their fingers through his hair, and hated the thought that Ben would spend the night with someone else other than you.

Of course when he spent the night with you, all you did was talk, but it was possible that Ben might find that sense of companionship with a lover rather than you.

And then where would you be? Alone.

Ben reclines back as he did before, shaking his hair out behind him, and closing his eyes. It's lighter in the sun, more of a honeyed brown than the usual oak. "I leave in a week."

"Hasn't stopped you in the past." You mutter more to yourself than him.

"Maybe nothing has caught my eye." He opens one eye to study you.

"Hmm."

“Or perhaps I’d much rather spend my last days of freedom with you.” He flirts with a wide smile.

“Last days of freedom?” You laugh, ignoring his tease. “We both know you’ll probably be back within the month.”

Instead of laughing, Ben’s smile fades into a frown and you wonder if he’s thinking of his father.

“Ben I’m sorry I didn’t mean-“

Ben shrugs it off and pulls out a silver flask from his jacket pocket. As soon as he opens it, the sour smell of whiskey floats through the air before he takes a swig. He holds it out to you, but you wave it away, focusing back on your paper.

"So if he's the one, why didn't you go with him to Wallman's? You made up a bullshit excuse that you had to go home." Ben takes another pull from the flask, but you can't shake the shift in his tone.

"I wanted to finish painting." You say to avoid the truth, that you didn’t want to leave him, because you could tell he was still upset over whatever he and his father talked about last night. “But I do need to go home. Mother is no doubt waiting with a horde of maids to make me presentable.”

You frown to yourself imagining next few hours where you would be slathered in creams, your hair tugged and swept up over your head, your body scrubbed almost painfully, and finally the corset that would cut off your circulation and make it impossible to breathe.

You wondered if any other girls your age were subject to such torture.

“Just admit it y/n, you find Howard as boring as a sack of flour.”

“He’s from a good family, he’s a gentleman. My mother would be pleased-“ You start to say, defending Howard even though you didn’t like him as much as you liked Ben.

“Your mother would be pleased with a cactus as long as it meant getting you out of her sight.” Ben snaps back.

His sharp words sting against your skin and you drop your eyes to the paper again, welcoming the silence that follows. Because he was right.

Your mother thought you were a disappointment. She had started comparing you to your sister-in-law who was flawless, effortlessly beautiful and graceful. Your mother voiced her disapproval many ways with disapproving looks, snide comments on what you wore, how you looked... It wasn’t for lack of trying. You did whatever she asked but each time it was never good enough for her. You weren’t enough. And it was something you kept close to your heart. Ben knew that better than anyone.

That’s why his words hurt so much.

“Sweetheart I’m sorry-“

“It’s okay.” The tears that burn in your eyes smear the image of the page in your lap.

“Y/n please look at me.”

You don’t raise your head. “I should go. She’ll be mad if I’m late-“ You begin to put away your things.

Ben’s fingertips come to your chin, tilting it back to look at him once more.  He looks sorry. His green eyes are paler now, like clover, wide and open, his mouth pulled down into an apologetic frown.

“Please don’t go. I’m sorry. Just stay a little longer.”

You sit there for a moment, his hand cupping your cheek and as a tear falls Ben brushes it away with his thumb. The gesture is gentle and surprising. Ben tolerated the occasional hug, but this was more intimate. It made your breath catch.

“Okay.” You whisper.

Ben relaxes and drops his hand from your face, but he’s still watching you. You know he’s trying to think of something to say to make you feel better, but when he can’t come up with anything, he reaches over and plucks another flower from the bush on his left, before stuffing it in his front jacket pocket.

It enough to make you smile and this time he returns it, understanding that he's been forgiven. You allow the warmth of his gaze seep into your skin and you bask in the warm glow of his smile.

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this series, let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak

[red-winter-is-coming]

*looks at Pure Vanilla in an AU we've been working on* What if we just.... *hits them with the plural beam* Perfect :3

Or, hi we like talking about how our own collective works but that feels like tmi for most people so here we're talking about Pure Vanilla's system in a WIP AU :D

-----------

The Vanilla Collective, as they like to call themselves, formed due to the general trauma they experienced as a child soldier, under both Dark Enchantress and Shadow Milk. All the more solid headmates are various incarnations of Pure Vanilla himself. They do have a few non-Vanilla based headmates, but they aren't as complete, being less 'solid', for lack of a better term.

Nobody else is aware of them being plural, and they don't really care either way. Vanilla is glad that it means nobody is giving them special treatment, with Recluse arguing that at the very least, Golden Cheese should know, as she's the only Ancient they're traveling with.

While there's no physical changes when somebody else takes over front, several of them have small ways of finding comfort. Recluse's eyes tend to darken slightly, and he'll pull out a cape similar to the one he wears in canon. Healer will wrap bandages over his eyes, finding comfort in the feeling, while Art will leave the right eye exposed, but completely covers the left one.

--

Vanilla/Vil - The 'host' and the one who primary fronts. He's vaguely aware of a lot of the things the others remember, due to how rare it is for anyone other then him to front alone. He's usually more quiet, yet supportive. He's the one driving them to seek out answers with Golden Cheese, much to Recluse's annoyance. The 'good tempered one', although he has a secret gremlin streak that only the Ancients and his headmates know about.

Truthless Recluse/Recluse - Primarily functions in a protector-like role. He tries to keep most of the traumatic memories away from the majority of the collective, with only Art and Vil also having memories of certain traumatic periods. Generally more harsh to those who aren't part of the collective, but has a good heart. The most serious of the group, but will occasionally crack and join the chaos.

Healer - The only one in the primary fronter trio without any specific memories of the trauma, as this is simply against what they are here to be. They tend to take over front when Vanilla is doing badly and there's no active threat. The only time they've been forced to stay alone in front was under Dark Enchantress, which ended up with them not having any memories of that period of time anyways, due to Art forming. The most upbeat besides Lamb, and the most chaotic by a long shot. Very eager to hit somebody will his staff.

Artificial Vanilla/Art - A headmate split from Healer, during the time Healer got frontstuck. Art has most of the memories of this time, and is more closed off. They dislike fronting, as the main experience they have is one of the worst times the collective experienced. In the rare moments they co-front, the entire front looses the ability to see out of their left eye, even though that wound has been healed on the body. As they are primarily based off Healer, they retain his more chaotic nature, but is more subdued.

Lamb - A little, he's the memory of who Pure Vanilla was before everything went to shit. He's usually kept away from front, due to their less then ideal situation. Healer has taken on a vaguely parental role to Lamb, taking care of him in the headspace. Lamb is typically regarded as the 'small fragment of innocence' the system still has, leading to everyone trying to keep him safe at all costs. The most upbeat, and likes wandering around the enchanted forests and flower fields of the headspace!

Lily/Gold/Blizzard/Holly - a quartet of less 'solid' headmates, all child versions of the other Ancients. The term 'fragments' could be used to describe them, but Lamb calls them Wisps. They can usually be found wandering the same forest and gardens that Lamb calls home, and the five of them stick together most of the time. They tend to appear more spirit-like, with paler colors and bright blue/white mist obscures their faces and follows them around. Overall much more happy then the rest of the system, partly due to the fact that they aren't formed enough to front.

The Herd + Cream - not exactly headmates, per say, but animals that reside within the headspace. Cream is a Cakehound that Vanilla used to have under the Witches. Art can't stand to look at her without needing to step away to cry. Healer, on the other hand, adores her despite not remembering her that much. The Herd, as they're affectionately called, is a flock of sheep that Lamb tends to. Their wool is light blue, with soft swirls of white. They're very affectionate, and will often follow Lamb around without the little even noticing!

[mightiestofmumblers]

Simon Riley, who's been surrounded by death for longer than he can remember. It's become harder and harder to remember the years without it. Whether the ones who fall are the soldiers beside him or enemies at his own hands no longer matters to him, not really, not like it should.

Ghost, who becomes used to watching that final spark leave a set of eyes before they become glossy and empty. It takes him years to notice that final little thing. Nothing more than a reflection, but She's there.

Ghost, who questions Price and Soap, quietly and reluctantly, but they don't understand. They don't get it like he does. And it doesn't make sense, he knows it doesn't. Soldiers are known to go insane after too long in the field, perhaps that's what's happening to him.

It's after not sleeping for 60 hours that he sees Her after all, sweeping or floating through the battlefield, draped in every colour on the spectrum and not a single one of them. Ghost has never seen a face like it, and he knows he never will. All of Her reeks of paradoxical features and curves that swirl and change whenever he thinks he's finally grasped some aspect of Her. She bends down, soft and caring, as the final light slips from his teammate's eyes, and She carries him with her while his body remains.

The second he tries to stop Her, reach out and touch her, his hands slip through her. For one moment lasting years and less than a second, She glances at him. He doesn't blink, but She disappears anyway.

Years pass. Ghost recognises her. Always. In time, she watches him through reflections. She follows him wherever he goes. But there's nothing cruel about it. It's impossible with the sad smile shining from Her. It's not something she does but rather something that she is.

Ghost, who no longer has any true fears on the battlefield. It's simply another work day. But it changes when he sees Her. How She looks at him. He isn't afraid of Death but he manages to stagger back. Running is futile, he's seen others feverishly try to crawl from Her, fingers scraping at the ground until the skin wears away, a bloody trail following the leg no longer there and all of it with no use. Fighting is quite the same: as impossible as this entire thing is improbable.

"Shhh." Something beyond a voice, coming from his own head, he's sure, coos. "So close to me. You rarely ever are. How long has it been? No... you're alright, my love."

Ghost stops. She's infinitely tall yet he looks down at Her. Her smile isn't sad as She stretches a hand towards him, lifting the bottom of his mask, and that's when an inkling of fear finds him. For years, She's been his sole comfort on the battlefield. A single neverending entity he could always trust to be with him no matter how many years were to pass, but after wishing for so long to see Her, have Her closer, he wants nothing more than hundreds of miles to separate them.

"Is it time?"

"Afraid not, love." She smiles with a thousand pleasant summer days and cosy winter nights. "I have a job to do, but you've been close to me for so long. I want to see your face before I go."

Death lifts the skull, removes every layer until his scarred skin is visible to Her.

"How can I see you?"

"What a wicked thing it is." A sigh falls from wonderful lips as She caresses his cheek with a cool touch. "I'm sorry, Simon."

"Simon..." He repeats, tasting the foreign word.

She's fading.

"Wait! How can I-"

"Don't worry, love. No matter what, you'll see me again at the end."

Ghost becomes worse, more than he's ever been. With enough blood on his hands and enough souls at his feet, he can see Her again. He haunts the battlefields like never before, staring into the eyes of his victims for the mere chance of catching a glimpse. However long, no matter how many bodies it takes, he will see Her again.

« ⌑⌑⌑⌑⌑⌑⌑⌑⌑ »

I've had this in my ideas doc for, like, years, and I just needed to get it out lmao. I'd love to write a full fic but unless I'll get 30 hours in a day, I don't have that kinda time lmao.

[smellyrottentrees]

Simple OC Ask Game

Thanks for the tag, @willtheweaver!

I’ll answer for Am’asy and Arroti both (MC and personal favorite). If you’d like to see this for other characters, don’t hesitate to ask!

1. What is something your OC would never purchase for themselves, but would (secretly?)be delighted to receive as a gift?

Am’asy: A nice dress that she can wear without worrying about it getting ruined.

Arroti: New clothes in general.

2. Is your OC ticklish? Has anyone ever dared to find out?

Am’asy: Yes, and Kys’so takes advantage of it often.

Arroti: Yes, but He would never allow anyone to find out.

3. How easy does your OC find it to apologize?

Am’asy: Not easy. She tends to find it difficult to admit she could be wrong.

Arroti: Easy—but only if He believes He actually was in the wrong.

4. When did your OC first see a dead body? If they have not seen one yet, how might they react to doing so?

Am’asy: When she was a young child, and it was fairly traumatic for her as it had been her grandfather.

Arroti: Unknown. He responds with utter neutrality, unless it was someone He was fond of.

5. Does your OC have any recurring dreams? Have they told anyone else about them?

Am’asy: Usually nightmares of being hunted by a leopard through her family’s grain fields. She would only admit something so silly to Kys’so.

Arroti: It is unknown if He dreams.

6. Is your OC stingy with their money (or other resources)? Or are they something of a spendthrift?

Am’asy: A certain level of frugality can be expected of her, living off a soldier’s allowance, but when she does have extra money she likes to splurge on snacks.

Arroti: He only takes as much as He needs of anything, but will not hesitate to share with others. So not stingy so much as… focused on subsistence.

7. Does your OC have a sweet tooth? Or do they prefer to avoid sweets and sugary treats?

Am’asy: A small one. She likes carb-heavy foods.

Arroti: Not particularly. He prefers salty or umami flavors.

8. Is your OC easily provoked by insults or mockery?

Am’asy: Yes. She has some pride and gets irritated easily.

Arroti: No. He is, however, provoked by threats of aggression, no matter how unlikely it is they would do any harm to Him.

9. Where is somewhere your OC has visited that they would not want to visit again?

Am’asy: Ny’zasaji, the jungle queendom under Yetova’s control. She would claim it worse than Deri if you asked.

Arroti: If He could avoid the Furajyan imperial palace, He would. He doesn’t fit well in it.

10. Is your OC somewhat flirtatious?

Am’asy: Not knowingly.

Arroti: When He wants to be.

[queenofmoons67]

stitching up the loose threads of his soul: 1/15

Master Post

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, some cursing

Link is wrist deep in blood and viscera when the message arrives: Seven strangers have arrived at the castle gates with their eighth companion hanging onto life by the last threads of a life spell. They need a doctor urgently, and Zelda has asked for Link.

Link looks at the messenger, then down at his bloody hands—still in a soldier’s guts, two fingers pinching an artery closed while five more hold a needle—then back at the messenger.

“Go,” Nurse Kaori says. She closes her own fingers over the artery delicately, then elbows him away. “We’ve seen you do this a dozen times; we’ve got it.”

The other nurses and doctors nod, each stepping up around the operating table, and Link wastes no further time in stripping his hands of their bloody leather gloves, grabbing a field bag from the counter, and gesturing for the messenger to show the way.

The man is a sergeant, high enough in rank to have served in the war, and it shows in the speed at which he turns corners—this is a man who has run the castle halls while Ganon knocked on their doorstep, let alone while a single man threatens to die there.

Link matches his speed with ease. He may not have run messages through the castle, but he has fought here and ordered troops into different positions. By now, he knows the castle better than he knows the village he grew up in.

They rush around a final corner to find that the main doors are already braced open by two guards, letting Link and the messenger hurtle out. For a moment, the afternoon light is blinding; while the operating room was well-lit, the rest of the castle relies largely on window lighting during the hot summer months, preferring to let their eyes adjust than to bake in both the heat of the day and the wall sconces.

Link’s eyes adjust now, clearing to reveal enough heavily armored strangers that his hand automatically flexes for his sword hilt before he tracks the eighth stranger bleeding out on the two hundred year old stones of the castle entrance.

Four of the strangers turn to look at him. One, in a wolf pelt, has been pacing, while another in a white cape trailed him. A boy with a war hammer slung over his shoulder stands beside a person with pink hair, both of them talking with Zelda.

A man in a four-colored tunic holding gauze and a teenager continuously pulling items from a slate kneel across from another teenager, whose glowing hands are pressed to the head of their injured party member.

The injured man wears armor from neck to toe. Link would be impressed at the show of strength, except someone has clearly taken advantage of his lack of helmet and led him to where he is now: Lying on the ground, unconscious, surrounded by worried friends.

Link advances into the huddle and kneels so that his knees bracket the injured head, giving him the best access to the wound possible. He drops his field bag next to himself and takes only a moment to pull on clean leather gloves before snagging gauze from Four-colors and reaching for the injury.

“Let me see,” he orders brusquely.

The healer looks up and blinks away tears. “It won’t stop—”

“Head wounds bleed,” Link reassures. “I know what I’m doing; trust me.”

Link doesn’t expect anyone with the life of a friend in their hands to trust him right away, but he does expect them to recognize when they have no other choice, and the healer does. His hands retreat, and Link inserts his own swiftly, pressing gauze to the wound. From there, he eases back in increments, revealing only parts of the wound at a time until he has a complete picture.

Link’s not surprised the healer is in such a state. Even for someone experienced with healing, head trauma is scary, and this wound… he can see where healing has begun, where blood vessels have knitted back together and cracks in the skull have fused. A red potion, he guesses, plus the magic of the healer, covering what must have once been a gaping head wound.

“You’ve done well,” Link praises, and flashes the trio a smile. “I think he would have survived even if you hadn’t gotten him here, but I’m going to make sure of it, ok?”

He doesn’t wait for a response before focusing back on his patient. The various tissues covering the skull haven’t healed yet, but that will happen with time. Even the blood seems to be remnants from before the blood vessels healed, now leaking out with no where else to go.

Link’s main worry is contamination. He knows well from the war how even a small cut can become infected if left open to the environment, and if the man’s brain becomes infected, his chances of survival are minimal.

Link tosses the used gauze to the side, takes fresh ones from Four-colors, and presses it around the most blood-soaked areas, cleaning up as much as he can. Then he nods at the slate-wielding teenager.

“My bag has a small jar inside it. I need one of the needles, and also the suturing thread next to it.”

Slate-wielder jolts into action, and even goes the extra kilometer and threads the needle.

“Good,” Link says, taking the supplies. A small spell slips from his fingers and over the needle and thread, cleansing them, and a secondary spell does the same for the injured area—and then he bends to the task of stitching a man’s head back together again.

Master Post / Beginning / Next

[dutchdread]

Got a question why do some fans say tifa know the real cloud when in ff7 original she says they were never close as kids in the life stream scene? Even in remake and rebirth she say on the gs ride I can't remember us ever being this close before. Doesn't that make the playing field equal for aerith because tifa didn't know the real cloud either right?

I don't know if they're saying she "knows the real" Cloud, because I sort of agree, she doesn't really get to "know" the real Cloud until he bears his soul to her in the lifestream sequence. I think it's better to say that Tifa is "connected" to the real Cloud, narratively speaking, while Aerith is not.

First though I have to address the misconception that Tifa and Cloud weren't close as kids. They were, traces of two pasts gives us some insight into the childhood of Tifa and Cloud, and in it we learn that Tifa and Cloud were closer when they were VERY young, but grew apart later on. The implication is that this is when Cloud started developing feelings for Tifa, which caused him to distance himself. But there is still a difference between that and Aeriths connection. I think the best scene to explain this is the most obvious one, the water tower scene. In the water tower scene we discover that while Tifa likes Cloud, she wasn't sure yet what sort of "like". Mirroring Aeriths scene at the end of rebirth. But while Aeriths scene ends with the "but" of "liking, BUT not like liking", Tifas story goes a little different. Cloud says he'll be a soldier, and that he's not like other boys, not knowing that this was the 4th time someone has said this to her. And yet, the proclamation didn't disappoint her. Because it's not the alure of Cloud being a famous soldier that catches Tifas eye.

"she'd discovered that Cloud - the quiet neighbour who had always seemed as unreachable as the stars - was just a normal boy like any other. She'd come to understand that she did like him. And it was that special kind of "like" - the one that ties up your heart, making you yearn to be with that person for the rest of your days.

It's that moment, where Cloud bears his soul to her for the first time, when he's "just a boy", that Tifa falls in love. In other words, Tifa fell in love with the exact antithesis of the fake soldier persona that he put on later in life. The irony, and beauty, of this story lies in the fact that Cloud believed he needed to be this heroic soldier for Tifa to notice him, but all he really needed to be was just a boy with some dreams, he just needed to be himself, to be human. For Tifa, Cloud was already a hero just as he was, the boy that followed her up the mountain.

When Tifa meets Soldier Cloud, she's put-off by his eyes and his soldier persona, because that's not who she hoped to see. She hoped to see that hopeful shy boy from Nibelheim that asked her to come to the water tower. Meanwhile Aerith liked his eyes and soldier persona, because that IS who she hoped to see, only in Zack. She's longing for the boy she's wearing pink for, whom she sent letters to for 4 years. Of whom it was her one wish to "spend more time with". Both girls in essence are looking for that connection with the fake Cloud/Zack conglomeration. But only Tifa has the real connection, because at the heart of the fake Cloud lies the real Cloud, and not Zack. Which is why her dates and interactions with Cloud go naturally, because that's his heart shining through from underneath the fake persona. And that's why all the dates with Aerith are so rough, because Aerith is bouncing energy off of him in a way that would work with Zack, but Cloud is not Zack, and because of that the entire thing feels forced and unnatural.

[exbex]

@katatonicimpression, @abarbaricyalp

prompt: 🥋

“You use the wings too much.”

Sam floats down, wings out and withering look on his face. “Not a super soldier, android, alien, or wizard. No special suit. The wings are all I have to even the playing field.”

Bucky scowls. “Your wings could get damaged.”

“Or ripped off. Yeah, I remember.” Sam isn’t smirking, there’s nothing teasing in his expression. He’s sore, maybe physically, maybe brooding over something that would make reminders of his vulnerability sting. Bucky considers, then reaches for his left shoulder. “Let’s both lose the vibranium, make the playing field a little more even.”

He removes his arm before Sam can protest, but Sam stands, looking skeptical. “Alright,” he finally says and removes his wingpack.

Sam doesn’t take advantage of Bucky being down an arm. Bucky’s honestly annoyed by it, until he realizes that Sam is looking for other openings, other weaknesses that Bucky wasn’t even fully aware he had.

Weaknesses he could only know from having paid very close attention. That has Bucky feeling…something. Impressed, yes, admiring even.

Exposed. Vulnerable. And for some reason, Bucky’s not mad about it. A memory comes to him, out of nowhere. A cute girl, Rachel something, who knew how to make him blush, and she could do it real subtly. Not even always flirtatiously, no, she’d point how how sweet he was, how good he was with his sisters. The kinds of things not everyone noticed, and Bucky had felt seen but not exposed. It’s similar to how Sam has pointed out how good he is with Sam’s nephews, without a hint of worry or hesitation over whether he can trust Bucky with them.

Bucky’s on his back all of a sudden, Sam hovering over him. Bucky is suddenly aware of Sam’s tendency to wear jewel toned, form fitting shirts that suit him particularly well.

“You good?” Sam peers down at him.

“Yeah,” and it comes out raspier than it should.

“Need a hand?” Sam offers his hand, Bucky considers pulling Sam down, flipping him…and then his mind goes to a place he’s going to have to unpack later, when he’s alone. So he accepts it instead, and uses his lower body to leverage himself off the floor.

“You’re right.” Sam doesn’t let go of Bucky’s hand for an extra second. “I can’t afford to get complacent.” Something crosses his expression, worry or sorrow or anger, but then it’s gone. “Thanks for your help.”

It’s not fair, Bucky wants to say, that Sam has so much stacked against him, but there’s no use pointing out what they both know. “No problem,” he says instead. “You’ve got this; I’m just here to back you up.”

That gets a real smile out of Sam, and Bucky feels butterflies, or maybe hummingbirds, take up residence in his stomach, but Sam just claps a hand on his shoulder and asks if he wants to go get dinner before Bucky can do anything stupid.

“Yeah, sounds good.” And this time his voice isn’t raspy at all.

Sam retrieves the wingpack. Bucky reattaches and recalibrates his arm. Interestingly enough, he still feels a little off-balance as he watches Sam walk away. Yeah, that one will have to be unpacked later.

[holsten-from-hasa]

I need to post more about my wynn ocs, honestly.

But for now here's an overview of them, because I will be posting torments for them when I can.

Also please feel free to send asks for them. I love to ramble.

Anyway.

Phobos "Phoebe" Mneme - She/her - Trickster Assassin

Originally from Fruma, Phoebe is an assassin whos magic is almost entirely based in illusions. Able to do near impossible things as long as both her and the target believes she can, she keeps a tight hold on how people see her just so she can keep that edge. She's made a name for herself as the flashy new hero of Wynn who walks into hell and comes back where no one else has - their 'Little Phoenix'.

She has a sister named Deimos, that she nicknamed 'Sunshine', who walked the same path she now does in a now-destroyed timeline. From Deimos' powers, Phoebe is 'trapped' in a time loop that resets every time she dies. Originally, this sent her a long ways back, but now Deimos can create 'save points' for her.

Together they're trying to save the world, keep their friends, and avoid some of the disasters Deimos witnessed in her timeline. It's... Going. Some things can't be changed or are better off left alone. The life of a hero is exhausting.

Willow - She/he - Boltslinger Archer

In the time after the Factory's shutdown, there were a lot of volatile opinions on the subject of it and mechs in general. Willow was a mech mechanic during this period, one of the best in the field on account of her unorthodox usage of body modifications.

Following an attack on the workshop where he worked, he was left scarred and missing an arm. Though she had an excellent prosthetic that met her needs, he still felt uncomfortable while wearing it. It never felt like it was truly hers and was a constant reminder of what had happened. But, of course, being seen without it was enough to have people questioning him on the street.

So, as any self respecting mechanic does, she began tinkering with what records existed of the magic of the constructs of Gavel - the magic of the Colossus and of the smaller, ruined constructs in Cinfras County. The magic of binding flesh with something other than.

Of course, nothing ever turns out as planned.

Ananke - He/him - Fallen Warrior

Terrible things can happen to anyone, really. Terrible things also have the horrible habit of happening to some of the best people. While the latter is debatable in Ananke's case, it cannot be denied that what happened to him was terrible.

Fatally wounded by corrupted in his early days as a soldier of the Detlas Army, he was left behind by his peers as they ran to save themselves. It's not like he can blame them for it, but he still feels incredibly bitter over the entire thing.

Yet it was less than a week later that he walked back into Detlas. Not as an undead, but as alive as a person could be. There's been several questions as to how in the time since, but none have ever been given a straight answer.

<<[What lurks beneath will raise itself again. The sun rises. The moon sets. And the fires of dawn burn furiously.]>>

Rumours that he was corrupted continue to circulate, but they're never proven. Even when they test Ananke himself for any signs of it.

Edwyn - They/them - Summoner Shaman

Edwyn is dead. At least, that's what everyone believes. If they saw the state they were in these days, they'd probably come out swinging torches and pitchforks.

Fortunately, they can't see the state they're in.

No one can see them at all.

In a state between living and dead, both and neither but not undead, Edwyn wanders the province of Wynn trying to understand the world. They have no memories of who they were before, but some places and people tug at a faint sense of familiarity that brings curiosity if nothing else.

To understand why they exist as they do is all they seek. To understand the world and its intricacies is a fun hobby.

To understand who they used to be is a necessity they wish wasn't.

Edwyn is dead. They just wish the world could accept that.

[fifufkafifu]

Aot fan character!

Name: Angeli Everhart

Age: 15

Height: 156 cm

Eyes: Green

Hair: Red, cut short like a boy

Distinguishing features: Freckles, lively eyes, often looks a little confused

Subdivided

Angeli hails from a village inside Wall Rose. Her life was destroyed overnight when the Titans attacked her home.She hid in the basement, but was unable to save her younger brother, father and mother. Their screams haunt her to this day.

After the tragedy, Angeli decided to join the army to protect others. Despite her young age and apparent naivety, she trained to the point of exhaustion, turning herself into a physically strong and resilient fighter.

Strong in spirit, determined and courageous, but at the same time naive and a little sweetly silly - can believe in simple things and easily gets lost in complex explanations

Serious in battle, but outside of battle she can be absent-minded, ask ridiculous questions or say what she thinks without thinking.

Sees the good in people first and foremost, even if it is not always justified

Has a big heart and is always ready to help.

Excellent physical fitness: strong, resilient, good body control

Maneuvering device: confident, sharp, with a pronounced attacking manner

Good at close combat

Doesn't always grasp tactics the first time, but learns quickly as he goes along

Angeli often wears a red thread on her wrist as a memory of her brother. She also likes to write down "things to understand later" in a notebook.

Sometimes she might say something like:

"What if the titans just have really bad eyesight, so they attack? They just don't like us visually?"

"Is it possible to tame a titan if you feed it apples?"

Angeli Family Secret: "Echo's Blood"

The Angeli family came from an ancient, forgotten branch of the Ymir people. Not from the royal line, like Fritz, and not from those who wielded Titans - but from the vanished sideline that never received the power of a Titan, but...was associated with the “sound wave of memory,” called Echo in legends.

What is Echo?

This is a rare genetic legacy that allowed individual descendants of Ymir to resonate with the memory fields,the very ones that “contain” the memories, pain, experience and even fighting instincts of all bearers of titanic power over the centuries.

But unlike regular memory ciphers, which are only accessible through Titans, Echo carriers do not transform, do not mutate - their bodies simply “absorb” the shadow of experience. Sometimes it is passed down through generations, sometimes it freezes, sometimes… it awakens.

How did this affect Angeli?

Since childhood, she had good reactions, agility, and a sense of “what to do” in a dangerous situation.But only at the moment of the strongest emotional overload - when pain, fear, guilt and determination "exploded" in her, She activated Echo, and without realizing it, her body began to move with a precision that could not be trained. She intuitively repeated the movements of those who had already fought for centuries. As if she were their vessel.

Why didn't anyone know about this?

Her parents knew. They were hiding. Father was one of the last keepers of the ancient records of Echo, and when he began to notice that Angela was showing intuitive fights even in childhood (for example, she fell - but always like a soldier, without breaking her arms), he got scared.

So they moved, hid, lived quietly - until the titans came and destroyed their village. The one who could have told her the truth also died in the fire...

What now?

She doesn't know about it.

Hange might find some strange deviations in her reactions and nerve conduction someday, but she won't fully understand.

And if she ever touches the secrets of History, Zeke, or the ancient archives, she might awaken something else.

💞 The first art is a future comic, or rather just the first page of it! I want to show how echo works 💞

[sammylbir]

If it'd be alright I'd like headcanons of, if Mukuro & Junko were almost physically identical, which would probably imply Junko has a surprisingly strong build since Mukuro was one of the greatest soldiers ever in her teen years.

How do you think they'd use this to mess with their friends & what other student of the series would be likeliest to pass as both of them in a good disguise? Could be like an Ultimate Imposter deal or not

Huh.

Well I didn't expect a request like that. Can I even do that?

Course I can!

Junko and Mukuro both were raised in the killing fields together. In this timeline, Junko actually followed her sister and thus, both became soldiers, killing many on the battle field.

Of course, Junko grew just as strong as Mukuro as a result and fell in love with the despair she witnessed on the battlefield.

In order to set her plan in motion to fill the world with despair, Junko returned with Mukuro to Japan and became a model.

However, when becoming a model and fashionista, Junko's clothing choices were rather modest in order to hide her strength and muscles, to give off a cute gyaru look. She didn't even wear any clothing that were revealing, which frustrated both her agents and her fans.

She does train in secret like Mukuro, in order to do her dirty work herself if it comes down to it and deliver some despair personally.

Whenever someone tries to stop her, Junko would reveal her true strength and beat the enemy by herself.

Her classmates didn't know of Junko's built, though Sakura did suspect that Junko was stronger than she looked.

Mukuro and Junko do switcheroos sometimes, if one does not want to do the other's work right now.

They can mimic each other perfectly.

The only one who could physically imitate them would be Peko, with the right amount of make up and disguises.

In non despair, the twins regularly troll their classmates with switcheroos (Though Mukuro only reluctantly goes along with it)