#wip echoed thunder

[roselinbooks-archive]

Seven Snippets for Seven Writers

I was tagged by @queen-tashie to share seven writing excerpts and tag seven writers to do the same. I have decided to find some favorite humorous scenes that I don't think I've shared before. Have fun!

@abalonetea @coffeewritesfiction @dragonauthor @mecharose @incandescent-creativity @haileypiperfights @quilloftheclouds

Falconswoop's Advice, Shifting Roots

“Here Pool, let me give you some pointers,” Falconswoop said, not missing a chance to shoot Halfmask a dirty look. She crouched down next to her little brother so only he could hear her. “First, don’t let him get in your head. They know you’re new, they know Boulder is bigger than you, and they’re counting on that. Before you ever meet an enemy in combat, you have to defeat the opponent that’s in your own mind.” “Right!” Pool nodded fiercely. “How do I do that?” “By knowing that you’re bigger on the inside.” Pool blinked at Falconswoop, hoping it was one of her bad jokes. Her expression was completely serious.

2. Wrensong's Observation, a little later in Shifting Roots

“I wasn’t aware shoving kittens into the mud counted as a battle tactic.”

3. Larkwing Volunteers, Shifting Roots

“Alright, alright, I’m going.” Larkwing yawned again and gave his pelt a shake to get rid of the debris Aspenbreeze had kicked over him. “But not because we were your new-claws! We don’t have to do what you say anymore.” Dawnfrost tilted one of her ears to the side. “How odd. I could have sworn I just heard some young cat volunteer to help the Keepers clean dirty bedding out of the nursery for the next month. Was it you, Larkwing?” “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!” Larkwing responded, bolting out of the rangers’ quarters with Aspenbreeze right behind him.

4. Baltan's "Accident", Echoed Thunder

Baltan still talks with his hands, waving them in front of himself even though he can’t see if they’re about to knock anything over. To his credit, he hasn’t broken anything yet except a cat-shaped vase Eureka found in the garbage, and Lleuwellyn is pretty sure that wasn’t an accident.

5. Peter Talks to the Egg, The Prince and the Dragon

“Hello, friend,” he said to the egg. “I wonder what you’ll be?” The egg did not reply.

6. Friend Meets Another Dragon, The Prince and the Dragon

“Mandrake. Like the plant?” “Not at all!” Mandrake’s smile widened, clearly pleased with himself. “I have a rider, so I gave myself the name Mandrake to honor that our ranks are men and dragons together; man, drake. You understand?” “Not entirely,” Friend replied, suppressing a laugh at his earnest excitement. “It…suits you.” Despite her best efforts, Mandrake huffed at her, a small plume of smoke rising from his nostrils. “What of you, then?” “I am called Friend.” More smoke poured from Mandrake’s nose as he laughed. “Friend is not a name.” “It is. It’s my name,” Friend returned. “And I much prefer it to something silly, like Manfriend or Frienddrake. I am a friend to all things, not only men.”

7. Christopher Disbelieves Morgan, WHiTE RABBiT

Christopher’s response was clipped and direct. “My name is Christopher Robinson. I am twenty-two years old and work as an asylum orderly in Woodrow, Oregon.” He took a deep breath, waiting for Morgan to write down his words. As if Morgan would ever forget a thing he said. “I’m not sure how I got here. I was driving to town, and then I woke up in the hospital. Can you tell me where I am, please?” “I’m not familiar with Woodrow, so you must have gotten pretty turned around out there. You’re in Wonderland.” Christopher narrowed his (gorgeous, stunning, bluer than the sky) eyes. “Be serious.”

[house-of-lovin]

legally binded

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | next part

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: famous!reader, mentions of hard substances, intoxication, mature language, real people (do not read if any of these makes you uncomfortable)

Note: Wrote a quick one, I don't usually write about real people so (this is all fiction, don't take it seriously) Can you tell I'm procrastinating on my other WIPs.

Word Count: 2.1k+

“Blacking out at a strip club in Vegas, are you fucking serious?”

Jake, your manager’s voice thunders around the office. 

You sink lower into the armchair, casting your eyes down – ashamed. From your peripheral, you can see Jake pacing up and down behind his desk and yanking at his tie; roughing up his usually neat-suited appearance. 

“Is it bad?” You gather the courage to ask.

There was a lot of shit that Jake lets you get away with. He’s known since you were a young teen with starry-eyed dreams. Except, your dreams did come true. You were living it, working with respected directors and actors on prestigious sets and projects; it was a shot in the dark that you would ever become a working actor much less a critically-acclaimed one but Jake took a chance on you.

But no one had warned you just how much you had to give up in order to keep succeeding at your dream. Work breeds more work, is that what they say?

Well if that’s the case, it certainly felt like it. Since your first big break, you haven’t stopped working. Seemingly flying to every crevice of the Earth to show face at yet another event they had scheduled on your calendar. 

You could barely name the day of the week.

Being in your teens in the public eye was not easy and it hasn’t gotten any easier as you entered your 20s. So they can sue you for trying to have some fun for once in your life. Granted, you may have gone overboard with it… that much you can own up to.

“Is it bad?” He scoffs, reiterating your question in a mocking tone and if it were anyone else you wouldn’t have been able to stave off your annoyance. “Try the end of times… you got locked up in jail. For possession of coke. You can imagine the headlines.”

You wince, clamping your eyes shut. Yeah, that is bad. “It wasn’t mine! It was–”

“Oh, I know whose it was!” Abruptly stopping, he swipes a finger in your direction shutting you up. “You and your little boy-toy can say goodbye to each other ‘til Liv and I fix this goddamn mess.”

“I didn’t know he had it on him, Jake. And he’s not my boy toy.” Your nose screws up in disgust. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore. The media caught wind of your weekend away in Vegas with that singer. Did you really think no one would recognize you with a famous musician in a strip club? They have pictures of you in cuffs, Y/N – you’re lucky you didn’t get pressed with charges for drug possession.” 

You hear the tired disappointment in Jake’s voice and feel guilt crawl around in your chest. No words seem to be good enough to fix the mess you created so you stay silent. You can add this to the list of headlines he has had to clean up recently. You keep your head down, like a petulant child called into the principal’s office – which in this situation, was an accurate comparison.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me, Y/N.” A higher-pitched voice echoes behind you and theoretically, if it were physically possible to pass through atoms, you’d be 6-feet under the Earth’s crust.

Far, far away from Liv.

“I already gave her the talk, Liv. We haven’t got the time. What’s the plan to fix this?” Jake crosses his arms, one elbow propped to hold his heavy head up. The bags under his eyes were a clear indication that like you, he also hasn’t slept since he bailed you out of Clark County Jail – a mere 10 hours ago.

All you knew is that you were waking up in a cold, dingy cell with a nasty hangover and an officer shouting from behind steel bars that someone had posted bail for you. Next thing you knew, you were being escorted out the side entrance of the building and into a blacked-out Escalade then driven to a private tarmac where a jet was waiting to take you back to Los Angeles.

Liv is also someone you accredit your success to. Jake and Liv are partners and often represent clients together. You liked to call them each other’s work husband/wife. Liv is a tough lady, only in her early 30s and already one of the most sought-after PR agents in Hollywood; has a boss-ass bitch attitude and a resting bitch face to match. Where Jake often played the good cop with you, Liv was guaranteed to be the complete opposite. 

Liv rounds the desk, standing beside Jake. She was dressed in business casual clothes but her hair wasn’t done like it usually was – a sign she had rushed over here upon your arrival. Staring you down with a menacing glare before rolling her eyes. “You’re not gonna like it, but I don’t care because we’re way past doing things your way.”

You sit up, a little scared. Liv is not one to mess around with. If she says it’s something you won’t like, you might as well go dig up your own grave. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I have an idea as to how to get some heat off your shoulders. Just until the press can find something else to fuss over.” She waves with a hand, furiously typing on her phone.

You and Jake shared a look, waiting for her to continue. 

“Well, are you going to tell us or not?” Jake huffs, throwing his hands in the air. Was he the only one in this damn room that felt like the sky was falling?

A knock interrupts before Liv can respond. “Hold that thought… Come in!” She holds a finger up, shoving her phone in her back pocket. 

You turn around, curiosity getting the better of you. Only, it was Jake’s assistant popping her head in. “Sorry for interrupting, sir. I know you said not to disturb you unless it was urgent.”

Jake runs a tired hand on his face. “Just get to the point, Em.” He says, not unkindly.

“Miss Olivia’s guests are here for the meeting. I was wondering if I can let them in?” The young assistant says timidly. Anyone can feel the thick tension in the room. No doubt she also saw the headlines plastered all over the internet of your face. There was an urgency in her mannerism that told you she wanted out of this conversation as soon as possible.

“Yes, let them in! Don’t make them wait.” She waves frantically. The door closes, leaving the three of you alone for a moment.

“Liv, what is this?” Jake asks before you can.

“Y/N, control your anger and be kind to our guests. This is for you, remember that.” She plasters a large smile with her last words as the door opens; multiple voices can be heard behind you. What the hell does that mean?

“Miss Ortega, great to officially meet you and Sarah, thank you for meeting us on such short notice.” Your head snaps to the side as Liv steps out from behind the desk to greet the people behind you.

The sight has you struck dumb. Why is Wednesday Addams in your manager’s office?

Granted, you know who she is. Who doesn’t? You can barely drive down any highway in L.A. without seeing her face plastered on some sort of billboard or building. But why is she here, in this office?

“Y/N I’d like you to meet Miss Ortega…” You were still rooted in your chair, just staring at them like an idiot. An uptick of a brow is raised as Jenna watches you remain unmoving. 

“Get up.” Jake kicks the back of your chair as he rounds the desk to greet Jenna and her manager, gritting under his breath. You spring up at the thud, rubbing your back in annoyance. 

“Nice to meet you, Miss Ortega.” You extend your hand when she finishes greeting Jake. 

She stood a good few inches under you, dressed casually in loose pants and a hoodie. She had a pair of sunglasses pushing her hair back, which was tied in a messy low bun; headphones around her neck.

You two have never crossed paths in all your years in Tinseltown – which was surprising considering you two are around the same age. There might have been an event or two that you had attended at the same time but you have never had the chance for a formal introduction. It wasn't difficult to see why the whole world was buzzing about Jenna Ortega.

“Just Jenna is fine.” She slides her hand in yours, sending a small, shy smile. The sparks you feel when your palms connect has you flinching almost imperceptibly. You see Jenna’s eyes snapping toward your connected hands telling you she may have felt it too. But before you can think too hard on it, you’re pulling away from her grasp. 

“Let’s all sit down, so we can tell you why you’re both here.”

Jenna takes the armchair to your left, and you fight to keep your sight straight ahead. “There’s no easy way to break the news. But here’s the CliffsNotes version. Over 24 hours ago, Y/N was arrested in Vegas. The press is having a field day, they already have the paps planted outside her house and every location she frequents. Our solution… a PR relationship, just until all of this has died down.”

You stare deadpan at Liv. Out of all the years, you have known her, this has to be the most balls-to-the-wall, bonkers shit she’s ever said to you. 

“What?” A sweet voice piques beside you, voicing out the shock you weren’t able to verbalize.

“A fake relationship, sweetie.” Her manager, Sarah says in a much sweeter tone than Liv could ever muster.

You can see her shake her head from your side eye. “We agreed to no PR stunts like this, Sarah.”

“I know, Jen. But with the recent controversy online… we just think this may be a good look. Liv called me last night and we came up with this plan and thought it couldn’t hurt with both of your situations.” At least her manager sounded apologetic. 

Jenna scoffs, feeling irritated and ambushed. “No offence, but I can handle a few nobodies online. And my situation is nowhere near as bad as hers. If anything how would pairing me up with someone who does drugs be good for my image.”

Your head snaps to her, nearly growling, “Watch it. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She bites back, turning to glare at you. “Is it not the truth?”

“No.”

“We got a drug user and a liar, great.” She mutters under her breath.

“Okay stop! You two don’t have a choice,” Sarah speaks up, sending Jenna a look you didn’t care enough to decipher. 

“Get someone else,” You say to Liv, ignoring everyone else around you. “Literally anyone else, please.” 

Jenna puffs out an incredulous scoff. “Screw you, dude.”

“Screw you too!”

“Jenna!” “Y/N!” The adults of the room shout over one another, chastising you both.

“That’s enough!” Jake shouts, getting you to break your intense glaring at the other actress. Jake’s tone slightly scared you, he was never one to raise his voice. And you knew you were balancing on some very thin and fragile ice with him at the moment. 

“This is the plan and that’s final! Jenna, everyone sees you as America’s sweetheart after the success of Wednesday. As much as it sucks, everyone is watching your next move, personally and professionally. And Y/N, you’ve been in the press for literally all the wrong things this year, and yet, the public can’t get enough of you. It’s good publicity on both sides… So you two will learn to get along – for the sake of both of your careers.” He says with a tone that leaned on threatening and you didn’t have the balls the challenge him on that. 

You had worked too hard for the life you have today just for it to be thrown away by a careless mistake. So if you had to buckle down and act in love with one of the most annoying people you had ever met, in world-record time, then so be it.

“How long…” You mumble, dropping your head in defeat.

“Three months at most. Less the quicker people forget about your night at the county jail.” Liv answers.

“Fine…” You conceded.

A few seconds of silence ring out before she answers, “Fine…”

●●●

Jake and Liv @ Reader:

I swear there's a SpongeBob meme for everything.

:)

[v6quewrlds]

andrei x reader everything plzzzz

but more or less just straight smut

oh look at that, another out of context wip that i never finished. enjoy <3 warnings: andrei x reader, kind of long, smut, size kink (reader is briefly described as petite, apologies lol), mirror sex, reverse cowgirl, squirting

The evening air was a cool embrace, a gentle whisper of the autumn breeze playing with the leaves outside the stadium. Inside, the cheers had long ago faded into memory, leaving only the echo of victory in the vast, empty space. Your heart still raced from the excitement of the game as you looked up at Andrei with a grin that could light the city. His broad shoulders and muscular frame stood out against the dimming lights, a testament to his athletic prowess. "You were amazing, baby," you said, your eyes shining with pride.

Andrei leaned down and kissed your forehead, his smile a little weary but no less brilliant. "Thank you, princess. I'm just glad you were here to see it. Wait for me in the car, I'll try to be quick."

Once he joined you in the car, the atmosphere thickened. Andrei's hand found its way in between your thighs, his thumb tracing circles along the skin of your upper thighs in slow circles as you drove home. The low rumble of the engine and the smooth hip-hop playing on the radio only heightened the electricity between you.

When you arrived at your apartment, the door had barely clicked shut before Andrei's mouth found yours. The kiss was a dance of passion, a celebration of the victory he'd sealed. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve as if it were new territory. Your hands were equally eager, pulling at his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath. Andrei's broader frame pressed yours against the door, his height leaving you feeling both protected and utterly claimed.

Breaking the kiss, he stepped back, his eyes scanning your figure with an intensity that made your knees wobble. "I want to see you," he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. Your pulse quickened as you took in his gaze, the way it lingered on the neckline of your top, the soft curve of your hips. You knew what he was asking for, and you were more than ready to give it to him.

You moved to the bedroom, and your clothes shed along the way like a trail of breadcrumbs leading to a delicious prize. Andrei's gentle touches grew bolder, more insistent, as he revealed your brown skin to the soft light of your bedside lamp. You felt the heat of his gaze on you, a silent affirmation that you were his, that you always would be his. The room was filled with the sound of your breathing, the occasional rustle of fabric, and the thundering of your hearts.

Andrei picked you up, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms winding around his neck. He carried you to the bed, his strength evident in every step despite the exhaustion of the game. He laid you down with care. For a moment, you just stared at one another, the air crackling with tension. Then, with a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine, Andrei leaned in and whispered, "I've been waiting to do this all day."

He began to kiss you again, his hands caressing your body with a familiarity that made you shiver. His kisses grew more urgent, moving from your lips to your neck, then lower, leaving a trail of fire across your collarbones. You arched your back, your body responding to his every touch. You reached down and pulled him closer, feeling the evidence of his desire pressing against you. He chuckled, the sound vibrating through your chest. "Patience, princess," he murmured, his voice a dark promise.

"Patience is not my strong suit," you replied breathlessly, your voice thick with desire. You felt Andrei's grin against your skin as he kissed his way down your body, his hands exploring every inch of you. He took his time, savoring the moment, teasing you with the promise of more.

Andrei's fingers traced the curves of your breasts before gently pinching your nipples, eliciting a gasp from you. "Mm, you're so sensitive," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. Your body responded in kind, arching into his touch. He continued his descent, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses across your stomach until he reached the apex of your thighs. You could feel the heat of his breath there, and it made you wet with anticipation.

He kissed the inside of your thigh before spreading your legs wider, exposing you to his eager gaze. You felt a thrill run through you as his mouth descended, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sensation was exquisite, sending waves of pleasure through your core.

"Mm," Andrei murmured appreciatively against your skin, his tongue swirling around your clit with a practiced ease that had your toes curling. "You taste so good." His words sent a shiver through your body as he licked and kissed, building a rhythm that had your hips bucking. Your hands found his hair, your grip tightening as you tried to hold onto the sensations overwhelming you.

Andrei's touch grew more insistent, his tongue delving deeper into your folds. The way his mouth worked you made you feel like you were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. Your breath grew ragged, your moans echoing off the walls of your apartment. You could feel the pressure building, the tension coiling in your belly like a tightly wound spring.

"Oh, Andrei," you gasped, your voice strained with need. "So good, baby. So, so good."

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, a smug smile playing on his lips. "You like that?" He asked, his voice husky.

You could only nod, your eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "I love it," you managed to murmur, your voice a whimper of need. Andrei's grin grew wider before he focused back on his goal, his tongue circling and teasing your clit. You could feel yourself getting closer, your body tightening within his grasp. Your fingers inched into his thick, dark hair, tugging slightly as you urged him on.

The first orgasm hit you like a brick wall, crashing through your body in a crescendo of pleasure. You cried out his name, your hips bucking against his face. Andrei didn't let up, his tongue continuing to work its magic until you were trembling, boneless with satisfaction. He kissed your inner thighs before making his way back up to you, his eyes gleaming with pride and hunger.

"You always look so fragile when you come," Andrei whispered, his eyes dark with desire. 

He hovered over you, his large, powerful body casting a shadow on your petite frame. Your breath hitched as you felt his erection press against your thigh. You reached up, your hands finding his broad shoulders, and pulled him closer. "Want you to fuck me," you panted, your voice thick with need.

Andrei chuckled as he leaned down to kiss you, allowing you a chance to taste your sweet slick on his lips. "Not yet, babe," he murmured, his voice dropping to a purr. He kissed a path along your neck, his teeth nipping at your earlobe, sending delicious shivers through you.

Before you could fully process his words, Andrei's mouth was back on yours, his tongue demanding entry and you willingly gave it to him. Your kiss grew heated, your bodies tangling together in a delicious dance of passion. You could feel the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, his cock throbbing against you. With a casual show of strength, Andrei scooped you into his lap, your bodies perfectly aligned. Your surprised face met his smug smirk in the mirror set in front of the bed, and you realized his plan for the night.

Mirror sex was something you hadn't done in a while, though it was a little kink that had always been a favorite of Andrei's. The visual of your bodies joined together had always been a massive turn-on for him, and it didn't take much for you to get on board with the idea either. The mirror's reflection cast an erotic picture, showcasing your intertwined limbs and the gentle contrast of your skin tones. Andrei's large hand drifted down to rest on your inner thigh, his thumb brushing the wetness that had gathered there. "You're so beautiful," he murmured against your ear, his voice thick with lust.

You couldn't help but agree as you watched your reflection. Andrei's muscular body, his dark hair falling against his tan skin, and dark eyes tracing your brown skin, was a sight you never tired of. You reached down, your own hand joining his, and guided his fingers to your center. He groaned against your neck, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you.

"Look at us," Andrei murmured, his voice a deep rumble that sent vibrations through your body. "So fucking hot."

Your eyes met his in the mirror, your smile sickly sweet. "You like watching?" you teased, your movements becoming more deliberate.

"Fuck yes, I do," Andrei groaned, his hand moving to flutter over your slick folds. You watched your reflection in the mirror, his face a mask of concentration, his hand moving with precision as he pressed his fingers into your sensitive sex. Your back arched and you leaned back into his solid chest, mouth open in a silent scream.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Come sit on this dick, baby." He lifted you slightly, his strong arms supporting you as he lined himself up with your dripping entrance.

You bit your lower lip, anticipation building as the tip of his cock teased you. "Oh, shit," you whispered, watching in the mirror as he began to push inside you. His size was never a problem for you, but the sight of his large shaft disappearing into your smaller body never ceased to amaze and arouse you. The mirror only heightened the sensation, allowing you to see every inch of him filling you up.

Andrei took his time, savoring the feeling of your tightness around him. He watched in the reflection as your body settled into his, your skin a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow. "Look how good we fit together," he murmured. "How perfect you are for me."

You moaned in response, your body stretching to accommodate his length. You watched as he pushed deeper, his muscles straining with the effort, and felt yourself get wetter with every inch. His grip tightened on your hips, guiding you down onto him. The feeling of fullness was overwhelming, a delicious pressure that made you whimper.

Andrei hummed with appreciation. He took a moment to adjust to your tightness before starting to move, his hands guiding your hips in a slow, steady rhythm. Your eyes widened as you saw the way your body responded to him, your eyes beginning to glaze with passion.

"Look at you, taking me like a pro," Andrei said with a smug smile. His grip on your hips tightened, his thumbs digging into your flesh as he helped you set a pace that was driving him wild. "I don't even think you need my help, princess. You were made to bounce on this dick, huh?"

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound a mix of pleasure and disbelief. "You're so full of it," you teased though you immediately took over. You watched your reflection as you bounced up and down, your lips parting with the softest pants. The sound of your bodies coming together filled the room, a rhythm that seemed to match the racing of your heart.

"Keep going," Andrei encouraged, his voice strained as he watched the mirror. The way your tits moved with each bounce was hypnotizing, and he felt himself drift closer to the edge. You moaned as your body fell forward, your hands catching your weight as they settled on his knees, exhaling with a whine.

"Look at you, so eager for me," he said, his voice a gruff whisper. "Think you can fuck yourself without my help?" With a smirk, Andrei leaned back, supporting himself with one hand on the bed while the other squeezed at your soft curves, watching intently as you took full control.

Your eyes met Andrei's in the mirror, the challenge in your gaze clear. You moved faster, your breath hitching as you felt another orgasm building. Andrei watched you, his own pleasure evident in the tightening of his jaw and the flex of his biceps.

"Not enough, Drei," you panted, your eyes pleading in the mirror. "I need more."

Andrei's smug smile grew into a grin as he leaned back in, taking over the rhythm once again. He picked up the pace, his hands guiding your hips over his cock, pulling and slamming with a fervor. His eyes remained locked on yours in the mirror, watching the way your pupils dilated, the way your lips parted with each desperate moan.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned, his voice strained with effort. "Like you were made for me." His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he sank in deeper.

The sight before you was intoxicating, an arousing mix of love and lust that had you teetering on the edge of a second orgasm. You felt his thumb circle your clit with a masterful precision, the pressure building until you were sure you couldn't hold on any longer.

"Fuck, you're going to make me come," you gasped, your breathing growing more erratic. The sight of Andrei's muscular body flexing beneath you, his abs tightening with each powerful thrust, was almost too much. His eyes remained locked on your squirming body in the mirror, a silent promise of the pleasure to come.

"Come for me, baby," Andrei urged, his voice strained with his own approaching climax. "You wanna be good for me? Make me feel it." His words spurred you on, your movements growing more frantic as you chased the orgasm that hovered just out of reach. His eyes reflected the hunger in yours.

"Wait, I..." you gasped, your eyes widening as an unfamiliar feeling embedded itself at the bottom of your stomach. "Andrei, I feel weird..." He didn't respond, his almond eyes locked on the reflection of your bodies as you moved in a rhythm so primal it seemed to resonate through the very core of your being. Andrei's teeth sank into your shoulder as he pounded into you, his breath coming in hot, heavy bursts against your skin.

"Just let it happen," Andrei growled, his voice strained with his own building release. "Trust me, baby." Your eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment before you opened them again, focusing on the reflection of your joined bodies. You nodded as you felt his cock swell within you.

A few more hard pumps of Andrei's thick length piercing into you had your eyes rolling back in your head. The sensation grew too intense to handle, and you felt the beginnings of another orgasm coil deep within your belly. "Drei, baby," you moaned, your voice trembling. "Fuck!"

A sudden gush of fluid spilled over Andrei's length, coating his thighs as he stared at the mirror in proud surprise. The look of shock on your face was matched only by the intense pleasure that painted your features. "Oh, shit," you whispered, your body shaking with the power of your climax. The sudden wetness only added to Andrei's excitement, his thrusts becoming more pointed as he watched you spill over in his lap, the beginning of his orgasm striking him at the sight of your pleasure.

"You're so fucking perfect," he groaned. "I'm gonna come," he warned, his voice thick with lust. "Take it all, baby."

You nodded, your eyes glazed with pleasure as you felt his cock swell even more inside you. Andrei's movements grew more erratic, his muscles tense with the effort to hold back. With one final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep within you and came with a moan that seemed to shake the room. His release filled you, hot and thick, and you felt his cock pulse with each spurt of cum.

For a moment, you remained joined, your bodies trembling in the aftermath of your shared climax. Your head fell back against Andrei's shoulder, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight as he kissed your neck, his breathing still ragged. "Fuck, baby," he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with awe.

"Mm, I love feeling you come inside me," you purred, your voice still thick with pleasure. You leaned into his embrace, feeling the sticky warmth of your combined releases mingling between your legs. Andrei chuckled, his body still shaking with the aftershocks of his climax. He kissed your neck, his teeth grazing your skin gently.

"I finally got you to squirt for me?" Andrei whispered into your ear, his voice a mix of satisfaction and pride. You giggled, feeling a little embarrassed but mostly overwhelmed by the intense pleasure still coursing through your body.

You remained silent for a second, your breathing slowly returning to normal, the only sounds in the room the occasional squeak of the bed and your heartbeats echoing in your ears. Andrei's hand gently stroked your stomach, his thumb tracing idle patterns on your skin. You leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. "Yeah, you did," you admitted with a grin. "I thought I was going to pass out."

Andrei chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath you. "I knew you had it in you," he said, kissing your neck. "It's so fucking hot, watching you let go like that." He lifted you off him carefully, the evidence of your passion sticking to your thighs and his cock. The mirror reflected your messy, post-sex glow, bodies still entangled, and you felt a sense of satisfaction that was only outmatched by the ache still lingering in your core.

Andrei rose to grab a towel from the bathroom. He gently wiped you down, taking special care to clean you up before settling you into his side. "But you're okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

"More than okay," you assured him, your eyes sparkling with levity. "I just wasn't expecting it, that's all."

Andrei's grin grew wider as he pulled the towel away, taking in the sight of your sweat-slicked skin and the way you searched for his warmth. "I thought you were gonna do it earlier, but you held out on me." He set the towel aside and pulled you closer, his hand resting low on your hip.

"Must've been the game," you teased, still breathless. "You're always extra horny when you have a good game." You traced your fingertips over the beads of sweat that glistened on his chest, his heart pounding beneath your hand.

Andrei's smile grew even wider, his teeth flashing white against his tanned face. "Maybe," he conceded, his hand moving to cup your cheek. "But it's mostly just you, baby. You always do this to me." He leaned in to kiss you, his lips soft and gentle against yours. You melted into the kiss, your body still thrumming with pleasure.

As you pulled away, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. He traced the line of your curves, watching the way your eyes closed slightly in pleasure.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 32

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Well, this escalated in a way I didn't plan.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Mr. Laufeyson’s voice is a low drone. You can hear his curt tone as he comes through the front door. His slither is met by a booming timbre that makes you jump. Thor speaks loudly, enough for some of his words to thunder through the walls that divide you.

Your ears pulse as you try not to listen. You know you shouldn’t. By Laufeyson’s reaction alone, you know his brother is less than welcome. Thor’s presence brings you little peace yourself as the memory of his creeping touch crawls up your spine.

You sit behind the laptop and try to focus on the screen. If you can distract yourself, it will be over soon enough and Thor will be gone. Maybe then, you can figure out why Mr. Laufeyson has turned to ice.

“...is she?” The two words echo and jar you from your failing battle.

Laufeyson’s response is short and sharp. You fill in the blanks of his deflection; ‘none of your concern’.

“...busy cleaning up your messes, eh?” Thor’s taunting question rolls upwards as footsteps hammer up the stairs, stopped halfway as another pair shuffle after them.

“I did not welcome you in,” Laufeyson is clearer now. You assume they are on the staircase with how their voices waft airily.

“Always the gracious host,” Thor counters.

“Do not lecture me on grace. Say what you’ve come to say and go. I’m busy–”

“Oh, yes, if I had a little maid like that, I’d always be busy as well–”

“Get on with it,” Laufeyson snarls.

Thor laughs heartily, “brother, one day you will see we are more alike than you care to accept. Maybe then you would see that it is the crux of our problems. You might even appreciate our shared tastes–”

“If you’ve only come to ramble, I’m not interested. I’ve spent enough time entertaining you lot–”

“You speak as if we are enemies,” Thor accuses, “you cannot waste time on family.”

“Ah, because kinship has always been sacred in your heart,” Laufeyson scoffs, “you are like a storm, you bluster but only make a mess. Say what you came to say and leave me be. I’ve work to do. Real work.”

“Well, if I am to deliver my message, I think both recipients should receive it, don’t you?”

“Say it,” Laufeyson hisses.

“But it is meant for both of you. The little maid as well–”

You sit up straight and tweak your head. You shouldn’t listen but you’re caught now. You cannot keep from overhearing.

“House manager,” Laufeyson girds, “I’m certain I can efficiently communicate whatever nonsense has drawn you here.”

“And they say I am stubborn,” Thor snorts, “Walpurgisnacht.”

“Walpurgisnacht?” Laufeyson echoes the single word.

“Surely you recall the old ways.”

“Don’t,” Laufeyson warns.

“Mother is having a celebration. Like when we were young. Father’s agreed to it.”

“She didn’t mention.”

“Ah, yes, well, you’ve much going on. She sent me to inquire after the little maid– house manager. She would require help with arranging the festivities.” Thor explains, “oh, and you’re invited too, I suppose.”

“She has her staff, does she not?”

“Frida is too old. She only serves tea and Gertrude’s never been very strong-minded. Mother needs input, not an empty vessel.”

“Charming,” Laufeyson remarks, "well, I will consider it. Next time, tell mother to call.”

“There will be many old faces. Many may even be happy to see you,” Thor goads.

“I wouldn’t expect so,” Laufeyson retorts, “must I ask you to leave anon?”

Another rolling guffaw fills the house. You hear a grunt from Laufeyson and a muted thump. Thor quiets with a sigh, “ah, fine, fine, I shall leave you to your little– house manager. You will tell her I say hello.”

Silence roils through the air. A scuff cuts through the tension and footfalls clamour down the stairs. The front door opens and closes, leaving you to wallow in the dark cloud left behind. Mr. Laufeyson’s long exhale blows up the staircase ahead of him and you listen to his approach.

You look at the door, expecting him to come through any moment. But it isn’t that one he opens. It’s the study door that slams with a terrible force. His growl permeates through and the adjoined door clicks as the lock is flicked into place. You stare at it and frown.

You don’t suppose his mood will thaw any time soon.

✨

Mr. Laufeyson does not emerge for supper. You barely eat anything yourself as anxiety tortures your stomach. You clean up after yourself and retreat upstairs. 

You near the study, lingering before the door as you pluck up your courage. You tap softly on the wood. There’s no answer. You didn’t hear him go but maybe you missed it.

“I made dinner, Mr. Laufeyson. I’ve left you a plate in the oven,” you speak through the wood, to the ghost on the other side.

You traipse away in defeat. You’re entirely confused. What did you do so wrong? Even before his brother’s unprompted visit, Mr. Laufeyson was coolly apathetic. Yet that morning, in the shower, he’d been on fire, consuming you like flames.

Maybe you’re not good enough. Maybe you didn’t kiss him just right or make the noises he liked. Oh, but how are you supposed to know what to do?

You sit at the writing desk and tap your fingers on your chin. You squirm in your chair as the scene in the shower replays in your head. You tear it apart, trying to pick out the exact moment of your offense.

You shift on the seat and the throbbing pressure in your core ripples through you. Just the thought of his touch has you alight. You touch your hot cheeks and flutter your lashes. You shouldn’t be worried about all that, you should be working on that spread sheet.

You glance over at the study door. The house is stagnant once more. Just like those early days when you made your slow progress with a broom and mop. Something’s gone terribly wrong. Maybe… you should just leave.

You put your fingers mindlessly to the touch pad of the computer. You swirl around the cursor mindlessly. You blow out through your lips and sit up, another fraught peek towards the door.

You bring both your hands over the keyboard. No, you shouldn’t. 

You need to figure this out. You need to know what you did, or didn’t do. You can be what he wants you to be, you have to. You have nothing else.

You type, then backspace, then type again. After several times, you hit search. You click through to a site with a black background and gasp at the obscene ads that fill the margins. 

You bite down as you try to focus past the small thumbnails. You key into the search bar ‘shower’. You hover your finger over the enter key before you will yourself to hit it.

The search results are just as chaotic. You don’t know what you’re looking for. ‘Best Shower Scenes STEAMY’. Your insides tickle and you squeeze your thighs together. Invisible flames lick at you and cluster in your chest.

You mute the computer as the video loads. The house is so quiet that you’re aware of every creak and crack. You fidget as you sit through the ad of a woman giggling over a URL for meet-ups. You press your hands to your thigh, sitting forward so your weight rests on your pelvis, dampening the tingly heat.

The video begins. A woman with caramel coloured hair and a curvy body. You admire her figure and peer down at your own. Maybe that’s it, maybe you’re not hot enough? You remember how Mr. Laufeyson touched you all over, almost as if he was examining you. Did you disappoint?

You flick your eyes back up as a man enters and they step into the shower booth. You chew your lip as you fixate on his large dick. He’s very big but you think Mr. Laufeyson is too. You’re not sure. This isn’t helping, you still don’t understand anything.

They kiss and fondle each other. You lean forward, watching with a stitch between your brows. The woman drags her hands down the man’s body and gets to your knees. She pumps him with her hand and licks his tip, dragging her tongue down his length. He grabs her head and forces himself into her mouth.

She takes him greedily. Oh. That could be it. Last night, you were so afraid, and you got all teary, and you didn’t know what you were doing. 

You watch her as she touches his sack, squeezing then works her hand in tandem with her mouth on his dick. You put your hand to the side of your neck and hold your breath. You wiggle on the chair, the friction making your own arousal more obvious.

Finally, the woman stands, the man lifting her by her hair. He spins her and bends her forward. She braces the wall and as he slaps her ass several times before gripping her hip. He’s so rough. You don’t know if you could handle that.

He slides into her and your mouth falls open. Her thighs quake and your own give a tremble. Your walls clench as the pressure knots in you. The thought of doing that with Mr. Laufeyson both frightens you and excites you.

You twiddle your fingers and blink at the screen. The furrow in your forehead deepens as you lean forward. You put your fingers along the touchpad but don’t press them down.

“Ahem,” Mr. Laufeyson startles you as he clears his throat.

You sit up and quickly hit the X in the corner. Your throat closes as you struggle to breathe, caught but not entirely. He stands in the doorway between the study and library. From that angle, he can’t see what’s on your screen.

“You are working hard,” he muses as he strides in with crossed arms.

“Yes, sir,” you answer breathily. You stare him in the face, too afraid to look anywhere else as your mind dares to imagine the shower again, both of you naked, this time, you’re bent over and he’s behind you. “Um, did you get your dinner?”

You close the laptop as you stand. You wince as the fabric of your panties clings to your wet cunt. You feel like he can see right through you.

“I’m not hungry,” he stops on the other side of the desk.

“Okay,” you swallow and your eyes flit side to side.

“I never told you to come out,” he drops his arms, placing his hand on the desk as he leans over it.

“Pardon?” You blink furiously.

“I said to remain in here until I told you it was safe. If you made my dinner, then you did not obey me.”

“I… Mr. Laufeyson, your brother’s gone–”

“And how could you know for sure if I did not confirm it?” He challenges with a wry tilt in his head. “I’ve been patient, pet, but I think you may require a different sort of discipline.”

“Mr. Laufeyson?” You babble, “I’m sorry–”

“Your apologies grow tiresome,” he huffs and stands straight. “Come here,” he points between him and the desk.

You put your head down and swiftly walk around the desk. He swirls his finger in the air and you turn your back to him. He backs away and rounds to the side of the desk.

“Hands down,” he nods to the desktop.

You press your palms flat, bent slightly at the waist. He considers you and strokes his chin with a hum. He circles the desk and you in a single, patient lap.

“Stay as you are.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you utter.

“Ah, no talking,” he warns, “remember your rules, pet.”

You gulp as he turns and struts away. Is it okay again? You can’t tell. He’s still rigid and painfully formal. He hasn’t touched you, he seems to be avoiding getting close. You stare at the wood beneath your hands and shiver.

You hear him in his study. You glance over as he appears in the door frame, his hands hidden behind him. He tuts. “Head forward.”

You look ahead and focus on the wall. He nears, his shadow skewed in the lamplight. He stands behind you, a foot away and he hums. He clucks and strolls around the desk to face you.

He pulls his hands from behind his back, revealing a thick leather strap. The brown leather is faded and cracked. Your eyes round as you stare at it and he brings it taught between his hands.

“Flogging is historically a long held practice. For the monk in his self-flagellation, for the heathen in his cell, and… for the woman in her disobedience,” he explains as his lips curl. “Spare the rod, spoil the child…” He takes a breath, “and you, pet, are growing spoiled.”

Your lips part but you don’t speak. You must follow the rules. This is the test. If you fail this, then it’s over. If you fail, you have nothing.

He walks along the desk and rounds the corner, brushing by as he purrs, “remember your rules. Not a sound.”

He comes up behind you and you hold your breath. He tugs at the back of your skirt and shudders. He pulls the fabric above your ass, his hand trailing along the back of your panties. He hooks his finger in the elastic and tears them down to your thighs. You quiver and clench your jaw tight, fighting back a squeak.

He stretches the leather across your ass. It’s cool and smooth. You twitch as bumps rise across your skin. He pulls back and you lower your head. You wait. Nothing. 

You cautiously raise your chin and look back. He snaps the whip across your ass as you do and you spasm with the hot flash of pain. He points to the wall in a wordless demand. Eye forward. You turn your attention back to the grey blue paint as your eyes glisten. He strikes you again, the agony scalding across the swell of your ass.

Your thighs shake as he pulls back again. You await a third but it never comes. You don’t dare move. He paces behind you. You watch his shadow cast before you and he moves abruptly forward. You bite your tongue as he lashes you again. Harder as he lets out a thick grunt.

Your hands slip and you fall forward. You plant your palms more firmly as you push yourself straight. A fourth comes and sends tendrils down to your toes. You hiss through your teeth, quaking, fighting not to collapse.

You deserve this. Whatever you’ve done, you’ve earned this. 

A fifth and your knees knock together. You barely keep afoot as the sixth lands with extra bite. Seven, eight, nine… He lashes you in quick succession, as if he cannot stop himself. The tenth has you heaving, about to vomit with the pain.

He stops himself, his shadow holding up the stap. He lowers it and steps back. He sighs and turns away.

“Tomorrow you will pack for our departure,” he declares, “we leave on Friday.”

We? So you are to go with him. You don’t dare ask or say a single word. You stay as you are, shaking as you roll your eyes back against the flood.

“You will be on your best behaviour,” he warns as he nears the study door, “I trust this lesson will not be forgotten.”

He passes into the study and the door closes harshly. Your legs fold and collapse beneath you. You land in a heap, holding yourself off your ass as you whimper. You won’t ever forget.

[thephantomtheory]

That Funny Feeling | Levi Ackerman x Reader

summary: on the boat to odiha, you and levi finally get a moment of privacy after being apart for so long as you deal with all the emotions of almost losing him in the explosion | 1.4k words

notes: this has been sitting in my wip's since the lastest ep aired and i finally finished it, so here's a lil smthn.

cw: general canon-typical angst, mild descriptions of levi's wounds

-

The ship sways as you walk toward Levi’s room, and so your palm grazes the handrail to guide you, to keep you steady, the world tilting beneath your feet.

It’s a feeling that has not left you since the Walls crumbled before your eyes and Eren’s skeletal frame rose, overwhelming, into the sky; the weight of his rage shaking the earth, the thunderous footsteps echoing the hammer of your heart. It lurched within you when Hange tapped on your window and told you Levi had been severely injured; that when they found him, he was on the precipice of death, and you had to hide the wave of nausea that surged in your stomach. Then again last night, when you finally arrived at the forest and saw Levi, his body broken and his spirit marred, and the feeling rolled through your chest, settling like a rock in your throat. Your eyes were locked on his frame as you dropped from your horse. Your feet hit the ground and you waited for the wave of relief to wash through you (he’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive); instead, your world tipped on its axis, and the motion seeped into your head while static pressure built behind your eyes. Then once more, when you disappeared into the trees under the pretense of finding firewood, where the feeling choked you until you spit it all up, letting it spill out of you in salty tears, an anguished ocean pouring out from within.

Your grip tightens around the handrail. In the doorway, you find Levi sitting on the edge of the bed, his left thumb gently pressing at the knuckles of his two missing fingers.

“Are you just going to watch me like a creep?” His voice is rough and raw with a lilt of defeat, and you force yourself to hide the way it chisels at your heart.

You two have barely had time to speak since you reunited the previous night. It had been a month since you’d last seen each other, no contact; not even you were allowed to know Levi’s exact whereabouts with Zeke. But now, the distance between Paradis and Odiha has granted you a few moments of peace while the rest of humanity is crushed beneath the feet of hate. The distance between peace and destruction, then, is the space between one harbor and another.

“You should be resting,” you say, feeling the weight of air on your tongue.

“Everyone keeps saying that.”

“It’s true.”

“Sounds like a shitty excuse to get rid of me.”

Levi still hasn’t looked at you; instead, his gaze remains on his hands, folded in his lap. You go to him, lowering yourself to the floor at his feet.

His steel-blue eyes meet yours. Many who’ve encountered him would describe Levi as a stoic, expressionless man. But if they paid any attention, they would know that his eyes are the epicenter of his emotion, and they betray him every time. And so, his eyes meet yours in the first private moment you’ve had in weeks, and they look tired. You feel the ship rock under your knees.

He looks at you and, tenderly brings his right hand forward to trace his two remaining fingers across the line of your collarbones. He touches you, but he seems far away and near all at once. You want to pull him into you. His fingers find the curve of your neck, and you let him, you let him find you, his fingertips roaming over your skin. The ship rocks within the breadth of this intimacy, and his hand is on your shoulder, squeezing. He closes his eyes and lets you keep him steady.

You look at him and, softly, bring your hand to his bandaged one, the same hand that has been re-learning the shape of its lover. You stroke your thumb down the lines of his palm his eyes flicker open.

“It must still hurt,” you say, voice just above a whisper.

You notice Levi’s jaw tighten. He doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want you to worry even though he knows you already are. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows the pain. It goes somewhere deep in his belly, you think; he stores it all right in the center of himself so that way he never goes hungry.

“Will you let me change your bandages?” you ask, noticing the sticky blood soaking through the wounds by his knuckles.

He nods, knowing better than to give you a hard time about it. He doesn’t want to give you a reason to walk away, he just needs you to stay. So, he lets you help him.

You stand and gently coax him to lean back against the wall at the head of the bed. Grabbing some supplies, you settle with a knee on either side of his waist, careful not to put your weight on him.

The cabin moves in tandem with your breath. Levi’s gaze stays on you while you work, his eyes tracing over the curve of your nose and the shape of your lips. He drinks in the color of your eyes, parched after going so long without it, and the attention you hold in them as you diligently work.

You hesitate over the bandages covering his eye. It’s then that Levi’s fingers find their way to your outer thigh, and you feel them grazing loosely over the fabric. He touches you like this, in this familiarity, like he’s telling you it’s okay. You almost laugh at the irony of it, Levi comforting you.

He really does look so tired.

You unwrap the bandages like you’re peeling back the layers to open him up at the core, and it’s there where the damage is done. The sutured wound runs the length of his face into his lips, still raw, the stitches clearly rushed. And although his eye is still intact, his vision clearly is not.

It’s startling to see him so weak, so broken, after all those years of knowing him as the opposite. He looks so human. And you felt it again, the panic rising into your throat from the reminder that you had almost lost him, that you might still, the fragility of his life heavier than it had ever been before.

In a way, this is grief. What were you grieving? He’s here, living, breathing in front of you, and yet you cannot help but feel the profound loss of his former self, dead and left somewhere on that island.

The feeling hollows you out.

You loved him and you love him still, you’ll love him even when your heart stops beating.

You bring your fingers to his wrist. You’ll love him even when there’s no longer a pulse.

He says your name and you’re pulled from your daze. You know he can see the tears welling up in your eyes, despite your efforts hide it.

“Am I that ugly?”

You shake your head no, as he brings his thumb to catch a fallen tear on your cheek. He frowns.

“Do I look scary?”

Levi feels the boat shift over the waves. What if the all the ugliness he feels inside has been blown outwards, reflected in the open wound of his face, seared into his skin? What if all this time, you simply had not seen it, and now, it was impossible to ignore? It was only a matter of time, he thinks, until you saw him for what he truly is.

 “Never scary,” you shake your head again, “You’ve never scared me. You didn’t then and you don’t now.”

All at once, Levi feels guilty for ever doubting you. How lucky he is, to have you, to be seen by you and loved by you. But, oh. How terrified he is of losing you. He can’t imagine how you must be feeling, after almost losing him. He hates himself for putting you through it.

You take a few breaths to ease the slight tremor in your hands and manage clean and rebandage the rest of his wounds. When you’ve finished, you gently lean into him, wrapping your arms over his shoulders and burrowing your face in his neck. You feel his arms bringing you closer still. For now, at least, you’re both here, here, here.

The two of you stay like that, and while white noise envelops you in this moment of reprieve, the boat sails smoothly. The floor is steady. And for a while, the world is still.

©2023 thephantomtheory | do not repost my work anywhere, and do not plagiarize

[out-there-tmblr]

Young zaundads wip (24*)

(* Not 23. Turns out I can't count.)

***

Vander never would have thought there'd be money in smuggling cosmetics, but it turns out to be one of their biggest sellers. Its easy to store a tiny pot of lipstain or a few coloured powders in a fancy case shipped all the way from Demacia, and they sell out every time they get a small supply. Silco is justifiably smug about it. It was his idea to talk to the Demacian captain's until he found one willing to sell cosmetics to him.

"After all," Silco says and it's not the first time he's told this story. It certainly won't be the last, "Babette was the one complaining about the cost of buying it in Piltover. And once Kane showed me what they actually use, I could make sure I was buying what they wanted. It only makes sense that it would sell well."

"And that was the only reason you let her paint your face?" Vander asks before Silco can start talking about tariffs and prices.

"I had to have some idea of what we needed to buy." Silco's voice is a little muffled with his face pressed against the rock as he reaches inside the crack to judge if it's big enough to set a charge inside. "We need it a little wider."

Vander nods and steps forward, tightening his grip on his gauntlets. He widens his stance and bends his knees, ready to punch but Silco squeezes his shoulder. When he looks over, Silco's brows are drawn in concentration. Then Silco's eyes go wide and he turns to the mouth of the tunnel.

Everything slows down for a moment. The ground beneath his feet shakes as they turn to face the main tunnel. Vander grabs for Silco as the dirt and rocks start falling. It sounds like being too close to fireworks or standing at the open furnace of a hauler. The noise comes from everywhere and echoes around them, and all they can do is hold on to each other as rock rains down.

In the silence afterwards, Vander can hear ringing in his ears, can feel his pulse thundering in his chest. "Silco?" His own voice sounds muted and distant.

For a terrifying moment, Silco doesn't move. His hands are clawed into Vander's jacket and Vander remembers the old fisherman found on his boat, hands clenched around ropes, body so stiff he had to be cast into the Pilt, ropes and all.

Vander keeps his eyes closed against the dust in the air and loosens his hold, sliding his hands to span Silco's back. Thankfully, it moves under his hands as Silco breathes.

In the dark, Silco pulls back. He can't see him but he can feel Silco's hands at his shoulders, at his neck, tugging his kerchief up and over his mouth as a makeshift mask.

Silco tugs his head down and talks right into Vander's ear. "Lantern?"

It was somewhere behind them. It's too dark to see so they have to carefully feel their way forward, searching for the lantern and finding rock walls after two steps. They find the lantern lying on its side, the metal cage dented and the glass inside cracked. It still works faintly, enough to throw flickering light on the hole around them, the rock walling them in on all sides.

Silco stares at it with nothing but shock on his face. Then he sinks to the floor like his knees gave way.

"Are you okay?" Vander asks, kneeling beside him. He can't see any blood, but Silco's covered in dirt just like him.

It's reassuring to see Silco roll his eyes.

"I can't hear you," he says loudly, pointing at his own ears. "We need to wait for it to settle. Then try to dig out."

"Shouldn't we wait for them to find us?"

Silco gives him an unimpressed look and Vander remembers that Silco can't hear. He shrugs in apology.

"The collapse came from the main shaft," Silco says, still too loud. "They'll clear the other tunnels before they get to us. Save who's most likely to be alive."

Vander sits down, getting as comfortable as he can. He finds Silco's hands and holds it carefully, watching the dust float in the air around them.

***

[inafieldofdaisies]

(WIP) Music Monday Tag | Tagged by @simplegenius042 and @la-grosse-patate

The rules: Post a song that is relevant to your WIP or inspires it. I’m also including the lyrics.

You know you did it on purpose, prayed on all fours I watched you whine at the sky so it hurts less Devoured by desire It's the fate of life Oh, you don't want it? You're a liar Isn't it fun? Isn't it nice? Feeling the rush, feeling the high You wanna touch, you wanna bite Just understand you're mine Know the fate of life And I could give you time So you wanna be a god? You pray for power in the dark Don't mistake this for an omen This is your chance to be chosen

You’ll be starving soon, baby Just you wait I’ll watch you lick the bowl’s bottom as you finish your plate Loving someone you hate, loving someone you hate It’s dog’s dinner, but isn’t it great? Couldn’t anybody anyone get used to the taste? You’ll be starving soon, baby

You see right into me I feel the vines around me grow You linger in my body Echo in my bones Giving me so much more than I have ever known You're the earth, and I am the air

You make me braver, feed the anger It only takes me higher Under pressure, I shine brighter I roar like thunder, got that hunger You can't pull me under Smell the smoke, I'm getting closer I burn just like a fire And I'm not going, I'm not going down

Swallow my tongue Back of my throat Like it's finite Only so long I can chew till I choke Hide in plain sight What have you done, my rabbit, run Caught in the head lights I guess my blood's running coldеr

Tagging, @socially-awkward-skeleton @derelictheretic @neonshrike @imogenkol

@cassietrn @strangefable @voidika @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather

@trench-rot @purplehairsecretlair @theelderhazelnut

@raresvtm @simonxriley @cloudofbutterflies92 @killyourrdarlingss @direwombat

@g0dspeeed @shellibisshe @aceghosts

@elligatorrex @carlosoliveiraa @lilywatt and anyone that would like to do the tag 🤍

[riotwritesthings]

An Agony We Deserve (Throwing Off Sparks)

WinterIron - M, 4.8k, WIP - reluctant soulmates, thriller/horror?, Bed sharing, accidental cuddling, guilt, flashbacks

There are legends. Soulmate bonds have started and ended wars, they used to reshape the world without any warning. People would change in an instant, abandon and betray everything, become completely unrecognizable, but those are just legends- It can’t be- But they are.

That's right we made it to chapter 2! can you believe it. anywhere here you go plz enjoy

Chapter 1

~~~

Chapter 2: if I think things through

Stark is pretending to sleep.

It’s been an hour since he’d stood up from the floor, declared himself “Too exhausted and not nearly caffeinated enough for this shit,” then collapsed face-down on the single mattress. He hasn’t moved a muscle since.

But Bucky knows he hasn’t slept.

Just like he knows that Stark is hungry, and that his head is pounding. That he’s uncomfortable in his suit and shoes but too stubborn to take them off. That it’s only intense focus keeping his breathing slow and steady as he fakes sleep.

He has no doubt that Stark knows the same things about him.

And Stark has to know that Bucky has been staring at him on and off for the past hour, but he hasn’t reacted. Bucky isn’t sure if it’s more stubbornness, or if he’s still in denial.

Bucky doesn’t know how the other man can deny it, he’d realized from the first instant-

From the contradiction of Hydra’s ice-cold conditioning and the warmth of Stark’s eyes. The hollow echo of his orders interrupted with the thundering of Stark’s heartbeat ringing in his ears. The usually steady, mechanical beat of his own pulse jumping to meet it while everything else fell away.

Straight away, he’d known.

He’s starting to get twitchy. He’s painfully aware of every second ticking by and the fact that he’s- they’re being hunted.

Its so weird, thinking in terms of they- He’s not alone, but it’s-

Bucky’s breath hitches and he forces it to steady again.

After decades of shit, what’s one more thing he doesn’t have a choice in?

He shoves his fingers through his hair and tells himself he’s not chasing the feeling of Stark’s hands grabbing him, grounding him. He can still feel the warmth of Stark’s skin against his palm.

Tension is building in Bucky’s chest, aching and nearly burning. He’s too aware of the irregular buzz of the bare bulb above his head, but he doesn’t trust himself to get up and turn it off. Not when every other thought he has is about crossing the room and-

At least with Hydra, he knew where his orders were coming from. Now the impulses come from nowhere, from him but not him, and he can’t decide which is worse.

Bucky shifts on the couch again, and the squeak of the springs is once again painfully loud in the small shack.

Stark still doesn’t react, and Bucky can tell that he’s doing it pointedly.

He can’t take it anymore.

Bucky clears his throat, but his voice still comes out hoarse as he says, “Stark-”

“Tony,” the man cuts him off without lifting his face from the bed, the words muffled. “You might as fucking well call me Tony, at this point.”

It catches Bucky off guard, and he forgets what he was going to ask. “Kinda hard to tell if you’re talkin’ to me or th’ mattress, honestly,” he says instead.

Stark rolls onto his back with an angry flail of limbs. He lifts his head enough to glare, and for an instant Bucky is right back in that first moment, everything falling away in the face of even a hint of warmth.

He- Stark- Tony-

Even thinking the name sends a shiver down Bucky’s spine, has his breath catching again, and the man is still glaring at him.

“Why aren’t you sleepin’?” Bucky demands, annoyance in his voice that he doesn’t actually feel.

He wants to be annoyed.

Frustration and annoyance are easy, familiar, and at least Bucky knows they come from him.

All he really feels though is exhausted. His eyes ache and his head is throbbing. It feels like his entire body has been replaced with heavy metals and he can’t even think about moving unless its to-

“Maybe,” Stark says sharply, pulling him from his drifting thoughts, “I can’t seem to fall asleep because someone is staring at me.”

Bucky blinks slowly, still staring at him.

Stark’s warm brown eyes are bloodshot as he squints against the light. His shoulders are slowly falling away from their curled, defense position, like he just can’t hold them up anymore. With a sigh he scrubs one hand over his face and then pushes it up into his hair. Bucky wishes he had the man’s hands in his hair instead, wishes he could run his fingers through-

“No defense?” Stark asks with a weak smirk that just as quickly falls away.

It takes Bucky a little too long to answer. Shaking off the hazy numbness of being activated is always a slow process, and he doesn’t really have a defense.

“Not much else t’ look at,” he finally replies, and doesn’t add that he’s barely been able to tear his eyes away.

“Excellent comeback,” Stark scoffs. He runs his fingers through his hair again and the strands of silver scattered throughout it catch in the light. When he looks up at Bucky again- warm- there’s a determined set to his jaw. “Get over here,” he says shortly.

Bucky blinks slowly again. "What?

“I know you heard me,” Stark snaps, and Bucky tries not to get distracted by the fact that he’s started shrugging off his jacket with clumsy motions. “We are both useless right now,” he says, “we need some fucking sleep, and that’s only going to happen if-”

Stark huffs, throwing his jacket carelessly into a corner. Then he starts working on his tie.

Bucky is hyper aware of the silk falling away, the exposed hollow of Stark’s throat as he undoes the top couple buttons of his fitted shirt. There’s a shine of sweat on his skin that Bucky can practically taste, and if he sunk his teeth into that spot-

His line of thought comes to a screeching halt. He didn’t- Bucky doesn’t even know where that came from- He hasn’t thought about anything like-

It’s been decades since he’s wanted anyone like that, like this, and it throws him off balance almost as badly at that first moment he met Stark.

And he does know where the thought came from. It’s the same reason he’s here, The inexplicable connection that had him fighting beside Stark instead of killing him, following the man away from the rooftop that he’d been ordered to. It’s worming its way deeper into his mind and he barely even recognizes it happening. It’s so different than the cold grip of the conditioning, so much more subtle. He may not even know all the ways it’s affecting him, and how the hell is he supposed to resist that-

Through the ringing in his ears Bucky slowly becomes aware that Stark is still talking, stumbling over his words in what could be nerves or exhaustion. Maybe both.

“We- if we’re really- I just- I don’t think I can sleep unless-”

“What?” Bucky asks again when Stark trails off. His voice comes out rough, and he realizes that he hasn’t been breathing. He’s not sure if it’s actually working to hide his returning panic.

Stark huffs again and there’s a flush rising in his cheeks that could be anger. Bucky doesn’t think it is.

“I’m- I can’t sleep with you sar far away,” Stark bites out, glaring at the wall over Bucky’s shoulder. “So would you just- please get over here and shut up?”

Bucky is on his feet before he even realizes he’s moving. He doesn’t know if he could stop himself if he wanted to, and he doesn’t want to.

The thought that he’s the reason Stark can’t sleep, that he can do something about it-

It’s like a pull in Bucky’s chest that he doesn’t want to fight. He’s crossed the couple steps to stand beside the single mattress before it even occurs to him to try, that the pull isn’t coming from him, and he finally hesitates.

“What, you want me to sit on the floor?” He demands and considers just going back to the couch. The idea makes his chest twist.

Stark is still glaring at the wall. He grinds his teeth for a second before he slowly starts curling his legs in and clearing a little square of space at the foot of the bed.

“Oh good, like a dog,” Bucky says with a snort even as he lowers himself to the corner of the mattress. The end of the bed frame sags a little more under his weight, and as he carefully shifts to lean his back against the wall he asks, “D’you want me to read you a story, too?”

“Dogs don’t read, you’re mixing metaphors,” Stark huffs as he drops his head down onto the flat pillow, eyes falling closed. “And again, shut up.”

Bucky hums noncommittally.

Part of him wants to keep antagonizing the man, and he’s not sure why. Maybe because its easy. He’s not second guessing everything before he says it, wondering what he should say, what he would have said, before.

When it comes to Stark, he doesn’t think through anything. He moves and speaks before he realizes he’s doing it and it’s easy but it’s-

It’s not real.

So Bucky keeps his mouth shut, even when Stark mutters “fucking K9 Poppins over here” under his breath. It looks like the man is already halfway to actually falling asleep and Bucky has to tear his gaze away from the line of his jaw.

There really isn’t anything else to look at in the tiny farmhouse, and Bucky’s eyelids get heavy as he feels all the tension that had been building inside him fading away.

Stark was right, being over here makes a huge difference. They’re still being hunted, Bucky still has no idea what he’s- what they’re going to do next, but suddenly he’s finding it difficult to care.

He can feel the warmth coming off of Stark’s legs where they’re curled up near his hip. The way the bed shifts slightly as Stark takes slow, even breaths. It’s hard to think about anything else.

Bucky’s eyes drift back to the other man, watching the rise and fall of his chest. His shirt has fallen open a little more and Bucky can barely see the curve of his collarbone.

Stark kicks one leg out, knocking his shin against the side of Bucky’s thigh.

“Starin’ again,” he accuses, his voice slurred. He doesn’t pull his leg away.

With a snort Bucky looks away again, tipping his head back against the wall. His fingers itch to curl around Stark’s ankle, feel the warmth of his skin directly, so he crosses his arms instead.

His eyelids are getting heavier and heavier. Maybe he just needs to rest his eyes for a second.

~~~

Bucky wakes up with his face pressed against soft fabric and the feeling of fingers gently running through his hair.

For several long seconds, he doesn’t remember where he is or why.

For a moment all he knows is peace, and comfort. He’s so warm.

Someone is carefully working on a tangle in his hair, and his pillow is moving gently with someone’s even breath.

It all feels so right.

But as he continues to wake up, Bucky slowly remembers why.

Stark-

Tony.

Bucky has hazy memories of dry lectures about soulbonds throughout history and the debates surrounding them. He doesn’t remember if he really believed any of it, at the time, but he definitely never expected to find himself with a soulmate of his own.

Fingers pull a little harder at his hair, like Tony can tell he’s awake, and Bucky reluctantly cracks his eyes open.

The sun is creeping through the countless cracks in the walls, but it’s not as overwhelmingly bright as the light had seemed when they were driving out of Germany. The sound of the wind through the overgrown plants outside isn’t as deafening, and Bucky feels like he can finally think.

Everything feels more- settled. Even if it’s settled into a different place.

It probably has a lot to do with the fact that he toppled over in his sleep. His head is resting on Tony’s stomach, and at some point Tony threw his legs over Bucky’s so he could stretch out on his back. Tony’s fingers are working at the same spot in his hair.

Bucky drags in a deep, shaking breath. He still doesn’t know what they’re supposed to do next.

Tony tugs a little harder at his hair, and his voice is sleep-rough as he asks, “Have you ever heard of the Gordian Knot?”

“Do not go Alexander The Great on my hair,” Bucky grumbles back.

Tony’s stomach jumps beneath his head as the man makes a noise that sounds an awful lot like a repressed laugh. It’s a pretty drastic change from the angry denial and snapping Tony was doing earlier, and Bucky wonders if it’s just because he’s slept.

He knows he’ll have to actually face Tony at some point, so Bucky props himself up just enough that he can turn his head without actually lifting it. It makes something in his chest pull painfully tight to see a pained wince on Tony’s face.

“You need to shave,” Tony says flatly, the muscles of his stomach twitching beneath Bucky’s stubbled chin.

Bucky hums. Then he presses his chin down a little harder, making Tony jerk with a yelp.

"This is an expensive shirt, do not sandpaper it,” Tony protests and yanks at the stands of Bucky’s hair still caught between his fingers.

It sends a shiver through Bucky that he doesn’t know how to- doesn’t want to deal with right now. So he props himself up a little more and does his best to ignore the sense of loss that hits him when Tony finally releases his hair.

Tony stares at him for a second, considering, and then says, “Not that I’m not a catch, total s-soulmate lottery here-”

Something about the words strikes Bucky as- off, but before he can figure out why Tony is continuing.

“-But why aren’t you more upset about this?” Tony asks, his eyes searching Bucky’s face. A weak attempt at a smirk pulls at his lips as he adds, “Or were you just waiting until I was finished with the full-scale freakout? Very polite of you.”

“Figured you wouldn’ want to share that either.”

“Quick learner,” Tony says with approval, his smile getting a little more real.

Tony watches him as Bucky considers how to actually answer the question, considers why he hasn’t reached the same levels of panic and denial that Tony did. It’s not a hard question to answer, and he figures there’s not much point in lying.

“Kinda used to not being in control, at this point,” Bucky admits slowly, dropping his gaze. He gets caught up staring at the hollow of Tony’s throat again.

He can see it when Tony swallows hard.

“Fuck,” Tony finally says, his chest hitching. "That’s- you should be more upset. This whole thing is- it’s kind of really fucked up." When Bucky’s eyes flick back up to him, Tony grins a little and adds, “No offense. I’m sure you’re a ‘swell fella’ or whatever, when you’re not in murder mode.”

It startles a rough huff of laughter out of Bucky.

He’s the assassin turned fugitive who can barely be trusted with his own mind. He’s pretty sure the most fucked up part is that Tony got stuck with him of all people as a soulmate.

And Tony has no idea just how fucked up their situation is. He doesn’t know what-

Bucky’s stomach rolls and twists as it comes rushing back to him. The sound of Howard’s choked final breath- the feeling of Maria’s throat under his-

Both of them- He killed them. He remembers the snow falling around him, not feeling the cold of it. The crunch of it beneath his boots-

The tacky feeling of blood-

He doesn’t know what his expression is doing as the waves of memory crash over him, but Tony has been watching all of it with eyes that suddenly seem much more alert.

Tony is opening his mouth, eyebrows pulled together in what might be concern, and all the fake peace that Bucky woke up with is crashing down around him.

His blood is running cold, breath catching in his throat, and he- What if Tony asks-

They’re way too close for Bucky to try and claim nothing is wrong, in every possible way. Tony can feel his breathing picking up. Tony can probably feel the complicated mess of emotions trying to choke him.

The guilt is overwhelming. It’s filling his lungs, crawling up his throat.

“Are you-” Tony starts, slow and careful.

Bucky’s entire body freezes, like he’s finally feeling the cold of that night. He wants to look away from those clever eyes, too warm, but he can’t.

What if Tony already knows-

But what Tony asks is, “Are you taking your turn with the panic attack?”

“No,” Bucky croaks out even though he probably is. Panic is the least of his problems.

What kind of fucked up universal powers would do this? Would forceTony to be here like this, with him?

“No, I- I’m-” he stutters. He has to find some way out of this situation before- before Tony reads the truth all over his face- “I- bathr-room-”

“Sure, I also hyperventilate when I need to pee,” Tony says dryly. But at least he starts pulling his legs up, untangling them from Bucky’s.

Bucky sits up too quickly. The shift of his weight causes the bedframe to creak beneath him, and then two of the feet give out.

The end of the bed hits the ground and Bucky has to quickly adjust his weight to remain upright as he slips to the floor.

Tony isn’t as quick.

He slides down the mattress in a flail of limbs and lands practically in Bucky’s lap. His elbow collides with the side of Bucky’s head, but then his arm wraps around Bucky’s shoulders and they’re-

They’re pressed together from hip to chest and he can feel Tony’s startled huff of breath ruffling his hair. When Bucky can’t help but look up at him, Tony is so close.

His eyes are still so warm.

At least Bucky isn’t hyperventilating anymore. He’s not breathing at all.

Tony’s eyelashes are so long. His calloused fingers catch at the shoulder of Bucky's shirt and then grip tightly.

When Tony takes a shaking inhale his chest presses more firmly against Bucky's, warm skin and metal hidden beneath his shirt.

What else was Bucky doing, before he found his arms around Tony’s waist in an attempt to steady him? What else could possibly be important?

He can’t remember now.

Nothing is more important.

All that matters is the fan of Tony’s breath across his lips, and if he gets just a little closer-

The steady thump of Tony’s heartbeat jumps a little, obvious when they're pressed so close together.

It’s nowhere near the frantic racing of Bucky’s pulse, still struggling against all the guilt pulling his chest tight-

Reality comes crashing down on him again, snapping him out of his daze.

Bucky jerks back, away from Tony and the inexplicable urge to get closer.

He shouldn’t- he should be getting far away from Tony, none of this is real-

After what he did-

The back of Bucky’s head collides with the wall, stopping him in place before he can get very far.

Luckily Tony seems to have woken up from the haze as well, and he lurches away in the opposite direction. Even if it doesn’t feel lucky, even if it feels like the loss of contact is tearing something open in his chest-

No, it’s not real-

Tony slides himself haltingly across the uneven floor, putting a couple of feet between them. He’s still staring at Bucky with wide eyes.

Bucky scrambles to his feet and starts backing towards the door. He needs-

He just needs a second, needs to breathe. He doesn't need to be wondering what Tony's lips would feel like against his, what they would taste like-

Most of all, he needs to figure out how to handle the fact that his soulmate is Tony Stark, after what he did to Tony’s family.

And Tony doesn’t know.

It takes all of Bucky’s effort to tear his gaze away, to force himself to ignore the tearing, burning feeling in his chest as he turns and reaches for the doorknob.

“Be back,” he promises as he pulls the door open with a loud creak.

He’s talking to Tony, but he’s also talking to the yawning pit that’s opening wider in his chest with every step he takes. He will be back, even the thought of leaving- of leaving Tony-

He just needs a second to himself, needs to fight down the guilty panic before it comes spilling out of him.

“Don’t tell me it’s an outhouse situation here,” Tony calls after him. His voice is shaking despite his obvious attempts not to let it. Like he’s also struggling to breathe through the growing distance.

The thud of the door shutting between them makes Bucky waver on his feet.

He only makes it a couple of steps away from the shack before his knees give out. He slumps to the ground as the memories overwhelm him.

Snow. Blood. The smell of gunpowder and burnt rubber.

The unfamiliar sound of his own name, spoken by a man he should have recognized.

Howard and Maria are two names on a long list of lives Bucky has taken, but now he has to look their son in the eye and-

And Tony will find out. Bucky can’t avoid the truth when he can’t avoid Tony, when Tony is already under his skin and they-

They’re soulmates. Whatever that ends up meaning.

Bucky has to- has to tell him. Or he won’t be able to look at Tony without the guilt trying to choke him, and he- he wants to look into those warm eyes.

He has to tell Tony. And then- and then Tony can decide. And fuck, maybe it’ll make Tony hate him enough to overpower this bond that neither of them chose.

Even if the thought of- if Tony leaves, if Bucky doesn’t know where he is, within arm’s reach-

A pained noise tears its way out of Bucky’s chest as he curls in tighter around himself. His face feels wet and every breath wheezes out of his lungs.

He can still smell blood.

Bucky wants to go back inside and wrap himself around Tony again, let the rest of the world fade away, but- that’s not real.

And when he goes back inside, he has to tell Tony. He has to ruin the tiny sliver of peace that he has, and even if it is fake-

He doesn’t want to lose it.

But he might. He has to.

By the time Bucky’s breathing returns to something approaching normal the sun has climbed higher in the sky. He slowly becomes aware of the hard ground beneath his knees, the wind stirring his hair. His hands are shaking where they’re fisted in the dirt.

The warmth of the sun on his back is nothing compared to the warmth of waking up with Tony’s legs thrown over his-

Bucky sucks in a shuddering breath and begins slowly pushing himself to his feet.

Even with the conversation that’s coming, the confession, every step he takes back towards the farmhouse is a relief. He can feel the distance between him and Tony closing in the loosening of the knot in his chest, the irrational steadying of his pulse.

He pauses at the door, wipping at the tears still covering his cheeks. Time to possibly destroy their bond before it can even really take hold.

Why is he disappointed by that thought? Bucky has to remind himself that he should want freedom- He does want it-

As soon as he steps back into the shack Tony’s head jerks up to look at him, a complicated mix of emotions on his face. Bucky can identify relief and what might be concern, but the rest of it is a mystery he wishes he could solve.

Tony quickly drops his gaze again, apparently returning to glaring at the old landline mounted on the wall. The tension strung through his entire body is obvious, his hands shaking until he clenches them together.

They fall into a silence that hangs heavily, filling the air with what Bucky can’t bring himself to say. He needs to, he knows that, but he can’t force the words out. Tony’s next breath shakes slightly on the inhale, like maybe he knows that he’s waiting for something.

Or maybe Bucky is projecting. It’s impossible to know, and he’s pretty sure that would have bothered him more even yesterday.

Bucky opens his mouth, but what comes out is, “Pretty sure th’ phone doesn’ work.”

His voice is raggged, thick with emotion, and Tony’s gaze flicks back up to him again.

“I fixed it,” Tony says dismissively. He slumps back further into the couch, crossing his arms tightly across his chest.

“By glarin’ at it?” Bucky can’t help asking as he shuffles a little further into the room.

Tony huffs and his lips pull up slightly at the corners, like he’s trying not to smile.

“While you were definitely not panicking,” Tony says, finally looking up at him again, “I’ve been thinking about how completely fucked we probably are.”

Right. They’re still being hunted.

All of the different people looking for them had been all he could think about last night. And between waking up to Tony’s warmth and the realization of what he’d taken from Tony, he’d managed to completely forget.

Tony is watching him closely, no doubt taking note of Bucky’s surprise despite his best attempt to hide it. Bucky is sure that he’s going to ask, and he’s trying to prepare himself to just say it-

“So I glared at the phone until it started working again,” Tony says instead, returning to doing just that, “and surprisingly, it even still has service.”

Bucky immediately misses the weight of his warm eyes, no matter how heavy.

“We- I need to figure out what’s happening,” Tony continues, uncrossing his arms and flexing his hands, “who our biggest concern is, what they’re saying- I need to call Rhodey, he’ll know, but-”

When Tony trails off to scrub at his face Bucky can’t help drifting closer, his heart twisting in his chest.

“But?” Bucky prompts. He stops moving when something occurs to him, and he reluctantly asks, “Do- should I go so you can-”

“No!” Tony says quickly, half-rising from the couch with the force of his answer. His eyes go wide and he sits back down, mouth working for a second before he drops his gaze and grumbles, "Don’t- don’t leave the room again. For a bit."

Bucky doesn’t let himself sigh in relief and takes a couple of steps closer. Tony is still grinding his teeth, like he has something else to say, and Bucky waits.

He doesn’t think about the things he needs to say.

"I don’t know what to say," Tony gets out in a rush of air, dropping his head back against the couch and closing his eyes. "I don’t- how the fuck am I going to explain this? How do I- even start to explain what- what it’s like?"

Bucky doesn’t know how to help. He can barely make out all the things the bond is doing, all the ways it’s already affected him, he can’t explain any of it to himself, much less anyone else.

“Blame th’ contagious Hydra brainworms?” He suggests weakly, trying for a grin, and Tony’s weak huff of laughter is gratifying.

“Somehow, I think that might be even worse,” Tony says dryly. He pushes himself to his feet and waves a hand at Bucky, saying, “Go- go sit somewhere and pretend you’re not listening. I’m going to call him and I’ll- I’ll figure out what to say.”

He can tell how nervous Tony is to make the call, but Bucky doesn't actually know him well enough to know exactly why. Tony could be worried about how 'Rhodey' will react, or how bad their situation will turn out to be, or any number of other things.

Bucky wants to though, wants to know everything about Tony, more than anyone else. Even if it's not real, even if he doesn't deserve it-

Tony swerves on his way to the phone, bumping their shoulders together casually before stepping away. He firmly doesn't look at Bucky while he does it, but there's a hint of color in his cheeks.

The brief contact sends a bolt of- of something through Bucky that makes his breath catch, makes his steps falter on his way to the other side of the shack. It’s comfort and familiarity and a hundred other things he doesn’t want to look into right now.

He tries to remind himself that it’s not real, but it’s getting harder to care.

Chapter 3

[reyesstrand]

wip wednesday

thank you for the tags @ironheartwriter @heartstringsduet @whatsintheboxmh @bonheur-cafe <3 hoping to have this coda up in the next day or two!!

A rumble of thunder, an echo from the storm that ended up being the city’s saving grace, is what pulls them apart. Carlos looks at him, looks practically right into his soul, and lingers a moment longer to stroke his thumb along TK’s cheek before he digs out his keys and unlocks the car. He’d had to park on the street, and TK spares one last glance over his shoulder before he follows his husband past the sidewalk. Tommy’s house is warm, and inviting, and the golden glow of lamp light shines just barely through the curtains. His fingers tremble a little as he aches with something he can’t name, but he smooths his palms down the front of his jeans and smiles when he realizes Carlos is holding open the passenger door for him.

“Thank you, baby,” TK says, scratching lightly over Carlos’ forearm as he ducks into the car. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he’s suddenly surrounded by Carlos—his reusable coffee thermos in the cupholder and his cologne heady and lingering on the seats—and he lets his head fall back as he settles.

He watches as Carlos moves around the hood of the car and spares a moment to put his bag and jacket in the backseat before moving in behind the wheel. TK takes in everything: the flex of his biceps, the way the light shifts through the window and catches in his liquid brown eyes, the delicate shadows over his beautiful face. TK swallows. He almost never saw Carlos again, a fact that hits him squarely in the chest.

no pressure tagging @paperstorm @strandnreyes @theghostofashton @butchreyes @carlos-in-glasses @birdclowns @freneticfloetry @irispurpurea @liminalmemories21 @alrightbuckaroo @pelorsdyke @nancys-braids @captain-gillian & open tag <3

[of-sinners-and-seas]

A Song of Spirits

OF SINNERS AND SEAS - BOOK ONE

A WIP INTRO

From the minds of @isabellebissonrouthier and @lady-grace-pens !

GENRE: adult. high fantasy. dark fantasy. dark romance.

POV: third person limited. past tense.

STATUS: writing.

CW: gore. strong language. explicit sexual content.

VIBES: ruby hearts and obsidian eyes. crashing waves and thundering skies. the bile of regret. the seduction of sin. tired eyes. heavy sighs. old photographs. tarot cards whose edges are worn by love. a broken body in a black room. clashing swords. a dusty throne. secrets exchanged in a back alley where the only judges are the street lamps that blind the stars above. pearls. jazz. rusted bars of a once-gilded cage. self-proclaimed godhood. bruises from lips that used to berate you. fresh ink from a letter scrawled in the dead of night. hidden longings. confessions. voices in the wind uttering words of destiny.

clotted emotions. a journal in tatters. flashes of light in the corner of your gaze. a pair of stilettos echoing down a rain-slick street. the stench of death. creaking wood. weapons that belong in your hands. the ache of nostalgia. the weight of the present. the sharp cracking of autumn leaves. milking blood from a wound that won’t heal.

THEMES: fate vs dreams. loyalty vs betrayal. history. secrets. self-worth. loneliness. mysticism and fortune telling. power and control. what do you want and how far will you go to get it? where will chasing it land you? In a better or worse position? Could you even handle it? How can you be sure?

SYNOPSIS:

Seven pirates. Seven thrones. Seven deadly sins.

All vie for dominance over their fantastical world, thinking themselves to be as close to immortal as could be. But the question of what, exactly, they are remains elusive, as is the reason why they crave a seat atop the world’s throne, battling to be the most dangerous sin of them all.

Some long for power. Some lust for a sense of identity. Others simply chase the thrill of the war they’ve locked themselves into.

Is not the root of all clashing swords a wretched cry for one’s own purpose?

It is for Katty, mistress of Envy. Her interest in the eternal war has been waning, and the figures roaming the streets of Eiffel have captured her attention more and more.

Families. Friends. Couples unscathed by the tests of time.

Her presence on her own pirate ship has become a rarity. Her lover, Delvan of Greed, has waxed on about his disapproval of her flippant desires, stressing the importance of what truly matters in their lives.

Fortune. Power. Status.

Katty knows this. And yet, she aches for more.

When the cards of fate unfold for her a passionate affair with the prince of Pride, Braven, behind the backs of their allies, Katty remembers the spark that being Envy once carried for her.

It’s only natural she chose him to accompany her on a secret mission to infiltrate the ship of Gluttony, also known as Flint. While Braven seeks information regarding Flint’s relentless search for who they are, Katty seeks a chest of personal valuables he’d stolen from her. More than either of them bargained for, Braven is captured and Katty is filled with regret. Sooner than she could even think to fall back on her own allies for aid, Flint captures them, too.

Katty must rescue them. And she must rely on Braven’s twin sister, wretched Morannah of Lust, in order to stand a chance against that giant, hulking man.

When the girls invade, cruel revelations are sparked: one calls into question the sins’ immortality, and the other permanently alters the nature of their war.

After all, what is an ally worth when all ends in betrayal?

•••

Pinterest Board | YouTube Playlist

INTRO TO THE SERIES

MEET THE SINS:

Envy | Pride | Lust | Greed | Wrath | Gluttony | Sloth

EXPLORE THE WORLDS:

Eiffel | Polarys & Lorallyn | Geldour | Valoma | Guisse | The Desolate

MEET THE FIRST MATES:

Gigi | Mikael | Désirée | Alusia | Marigold

•••

TAGLIST: @the-inkwell-variable @fifis-corner

[gingermintpepper]

Hi Ginger :DD Time to spill some tea >:))))

🌤️🌩️🌪️

Heyyy Pen, always glad to spill my guts (seriously, I'd never post anything any other way)

🌪️Sum up a WIP with a few fic tropes/Ao3 tags.

A particular Zeus + Apollo centric wip I have can be summed up as 'No beta, we die like Persephone', 'Father-son bonding', 'The not-so-glamourous side of being the god of Prophecy' and 'Zeus is a Complicated Father (he is doing his best)'

🌤️Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP.

From the same wip as mentioned above:

"You should have a drink."

Apollo slaps the kylix out of his father's hand, nectar sizzling when it splashes on his heated skin, "Fuck your drink! What good will drinking do us now?! What problem could it possibly solve?"

Past his heaving breaths and the frazzled curls of his hair, Apollo can only see his father. Stalwart and tall, not a single hair of his ruffled by Apollo's outburst save for a single raised eyebrow. Shame is a lightning strike through his chest, regret its swift twin. "Father, I -"

"You know," and Zeus gathers the fabric of his thick chiton round his knee, stoops low on his haunches, "the same could well be said of your anger." He grabs the spilled cup. There's a chip in the lip, an ugly fracture whose cracks now stain the once pristine depiction of his father and stepmother's wedding day. It was Father's favourite drinking cup and now it's ruined.

Zeus kneels in front of him, and Apollo wishes he wouldn't. He wishes his father wouldn't look at him with such understanding eyes. It's Apollo who broke his favourite cup, Apollo whose inaction have doomed Persephone, Apollo who will forever speak destruction and doom into being.

"Phoebus," he says, and his voice is so calm when all Apollo deserves are curses, "lashing out will only cause more pain, more destruction." His father pries his fingers out of their balled and quaking fist, gently rests the ruined kylix in his palm. "Have a drink with me. It'll help, I swear it."

🌩️ Share something funny/cracky from your WIP.

Naturally, from the same wip:

"Phoebus."

Five small white heads poke out from the tangle of dense brown curls laid out against the rug. Zeus snorts, amused, "Phoebus, it is time to get up."

The sprawling lump of fine hair and limbs shudders. His crows all scatter, the tinkling of their adornments like chimes as they search for new perches in the high walled room. A muffled sound dully echoes about the room. Zeus laughs, crossing the threshold and making peace with the ten sets of talons now seeking purchase atop his horns and shoulders. "I didn't quite catch that, child. You'll have to raise your head so I can hear you."

The crow closest to his ear begins picking at the sapphire in his earring. Zeus brushes it off, looking away for just long into to miss Phoebus digging himself out of his miserable pile of pillows and furs, "I said, it is not yet morning, father. Whyever would you have need of me now?"

What a cute thing-! Blue eyes bleary with Sleep's heavy touch, pretty curls all frayed and thick from being teased by his birds and crushed by his pillows. Oh, if only dear Hear could see him like this, surely she'd forget even her distaste if faced with such a charming side of the boy. He can't help but try flatten some of those poufy curls with his hands, "Training of course. You've until your birds find new perches to grab your sword."

Phoebus blinks, "What?"

Zeus smiles, he tilts his head, filling the room with the roar of thunder, startling both Phoebus and his flock of birds. "I'll see you at the field."

[mrsshabana]

PLEASE QUEEN, I need answers, in your post talking about some wip's that you were thinking about, I saw "shark", I hope I'm not hallucinating, but please, can you tell me a little about it??🏃🏃🏃

Omg yes! I'm so happy you asked about this one! The shark au is something me and @lilliumteaandbeez came up with. We have a ton of lore we came up with together, though I don't have much written for it. I believe I wrote this in February, and it isn't much but I'll share what I have!

More about Sharktaro though, he is also a siren! So, for the people that have been asking me for a siren au, this is the start of it.*･♡

✧:･ﾟ→ My WIP's

𝑺𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒏!𝑮𝒚𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

Your motion sensored camera got activated last night.

That’s why you find yourself trudging through a light rain shower, stepping through heaps of wet sand and over slippery rocks. 

The camera had been set up in an alcove seated on the beach. A small cave sits on the edge of the ocean, with a deep pool of water seated in the middle of it. But deeper into the cave, the water becomes more shallow, and there is a rocky ledge circling the edge of the water, perfect for you to set up your camera to observe the unusual alcove.

It was for research of course. As a marine biologist you are always searching for unique phenomena. With this particular experiment, you were hoping to catch seals using this alcove as a shelter when hiding from circling sharks. But instead you were notified in the middle of the night by a strange photo being captured.

You couldn’t quite make out what it was. It was blurry and dark. The creature looked long like a seal but it almost appeared as though it had sharp claws. Having no idea what it could be, you are filled with anxiety and curiosity as you arrive at the cave.

Sounds of distant thunder echo in the distance.

You turn the corner and step into the darkness. The approaching storm blocking any sunlight that may have illuminated your path.

Flickering on your flashlight, you point it towards the shallow end of the cave.

Before you lies a humanoid figure. Laying on its side, back facing towards you.

The bottom half of its body resembles a shark. A long blue-green tail littered with dark spots. The spots cover his entire body, even the upper half which resembles a human man. The creature has a large fin on its back and pointed ears. Its body looks emaciated, ribs moving with each shallow breath that he takes. And a mess of black and green hair sits atop his head.

The water surrounding his body is bloody, and his tail seems to have gotten tangled in a net.

“Oh my god…” you gasp under your breath. The small sound is enough to startle the creature, quickly turning around, staring right at you.

His eyes glow yellow, slit pupils dilate from the bright light. He opens his mouth to show rows of dagger sharp teeth.

A high pitched, rattling screech echos from his mouth. Hissing at you with every ounce of energy he has left, you know this is a warning. But you can’t stop yourself from walking closer to him, you want to help him. It’s in your nature to help and rehabilitate injured marine life, and a mythical merman is no exception.

As you get closer he starts to panic. Flailing his tail, showing his teeth, hissing loudly. He tries to get away but he is too tangled up. It doesn’t take long before more blood spills out of him, and he can’t muster enough energy to continue.

His eyes get heavy and his breathing becomes more shallow but his hissing persists as you stand a few feet in front of him.

“I-It’s ok,” you mutter, taking a few steps closer to him, “I’m going to try to help you.”

Throwing your backpack to the ground, you take a seat in front of him, rummaging through your bag to find any supplies that may be able to help this poor creature. You always make sure to come prepared, because out in the field accidents happen all of the time. So luckily you have an emergency medkit. It’s meant for humans but you are sure it will do the trick for the time being.

When you reach out to him he snaps at you, almost biting your arm.

“Hey! I’m trying to help you! I know you are scared, but I promise I won’t hurt you.”

You can see the hurt and fear in his eyes when he looks at you. He has no idea that you are trying to help him. But the blood spilling from his wounds is too much and he loses the ability to care. He knows that he will die soon, so he stops fighting you.

The largest wound is on his tail, near his hip. It’s a deep laceration of some kind. 

Cutting part of the net, to give you enough room to tend to his wound. You decide that stopping the bleeding is more important, and you will work on untangling him afterwards.

There is no time to waste so you hurry and disinfect the area and prep your needle. With trembling hands you begin to suture the large wound, resulting in a low, painful whimper coming from him.

“I know it hurts, but I have to do this or you will bleed out,” you console him but don’t stop stitching him up.

The skin on his tail is thick and tough, taking a lot of effort to get the needle to go through. But after lots of struggling, you manage to get the wound sutured. Taking some gauze and holding it to the wound to soak up some of the blood.

Scanning over the rest of his body, he has lots of smaller lacerations. They look like claw marks. But you can’t think of any sea creature that would have claws like that…

Once the bleeding mostly stops on the larger wound, you go to care for the other wounds. Disinfecting, covering with bandages, and suturing a few that are particularly deep. You run out of gauze pretty quickly, as he has many wounds and the moisture of his skin combined with the humidity in the air quickly dampens them.

[henrygrass]

WIP Wednesday

I was really hesitant to post this after the news today reached me here in Europe. Despite not being directly involved, it still makes me angry and disappointed for all the people that deserve so much love, people that will have to fight so hard through the next years. (Also I'm not a fool, it will impact Europe as well). Thank you @heartstringsduet for inspiring me to post this, I hope it will brighten the day, even if just a little.

A few lines from my fantasy(ish?) AU. It’s still mostly scattered, unedited scenes, but I’m working on it.

TK collapses to his knees on the soft, leafy terrain of the woods. His vision blurs with swirls of green and brown as jolts of agony surge through him. His arms and chest throb with pain, echoing like a cruel reminder of a past he can’t quite grasp. The stinging sensation burrows deep within his flesh, leaving him gasping for clarity amidst his shrouded and fragmented memories.

He desperately sinks his fingers into the damp soil, gripping the cool earth like a lifeline as he searches for the pulse of the world. However, the deeper he goes, the more dread grips his heart. He can feel every root, every vein of life beneath him; each tendril, vine, and blade of grass just at the tip of his fingers, but none of them sing to the rhythm of the world.

He remembers feeling it before, but the intertwining melody that once carried life through the soil is now a hushed, distant whisper buried beneath layers upon layers of silence. 

A single weak pulse reaches him, and he gasps as his heart echoes in response, the sweet thrill spreading throughout his body. He shakes as the sweetness reaches his tongue, a single drop that can’t quite quench his thirst. 

It prickles and stings as it cracks his skin further before closing up the wounds that expose his raw flesh. He lets out a muffled cry as the pain flares sharply before becoming a dull throb. He looks at his arms; the fresh burns are now pinkish, jagged scars that spread like a web across them. He whimpers as he feels the flow slip through his fingers, unwilling to heal him further��leaving him hollow once more.

Panting, he struggles to his feet and takes wobbly steps before a roar pierces the air. Instinctively, he crouches behind a tree, watching a wagon unlike any he has ever encountered approach rapidly—its sleek, blue body gleaming under the sun like a steel sword. It is not pulled by horses and emits growls and thunders. 

In the blink of an eye, it dashes past, leaving behind a faint trail of dust and a sharp, acrid smell that stings his throat. TK follows the wagon with his gaze, briefly meeting its glassy red eyes as it disappears down the wide dirt road. 

He gapes as he sees the tall, angular structures on the horizon that seem to reach for the clouds above. His chest tightens, and he takes a step back, leaning against the tree behind him.

“Where am I?” he gasps, his eyes drawn to a tall, green sign displaying a word he doesn’t recognize: Austin.

Open Tag, and take care of yourself. Remember that you are worthy and you are loved.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

Hi Pandora!!!

My turn to ask you about your WIPs 😉

It’s so interesting not to reveal the characters, it makes everything even more exciting ^^ I know all these stories will be captivating, but there’s one title that caught my attention... “Hellbound” Is it… what I think it is?

Will we get to see Kid and his throne in hell? 👀

@armiliadawn hi sweetie!!

It's fun this way, right? 😋

And yes, it is exactly what you think it is! Our Kid sitting in a throne of jagged metal, wearing his crown! I have so many good things planned for this story, but I don't have the time to write it 😭😭

I only have a little bit of the beginning writen, but I will show you a little snippet, hope you enjoy it!

Suddenly a shadow looms over you and you fleetingly wonder how there can be a shadow in such a dark place? Your question is quickly answered when you turn and face none other than the King of Hell himself: Eustass Kid.  Your heart stutters and you fear it’ll stop on its own. He is as menacing as all the stories make him sound - more, even. One arm completely made out of metal, sporting long, sharp claws that can rip anything - anyone - into shreds with the blink of an eye. Chains of all sorts hang around his thick muscular body like adornments and his wild red mane is held back by a metal crown. He is every bit as imposing as any king, and he knows it. Amber eyes linger on your skin, burning hotter than the scalding ground of Hell itself, his power oozes out of him in waves, bending you to him against your own will.  “Yer the little human who wandered into my domain unannounced?” His voice thunders around you and it seems to echo within Hell itself. Creatures of all sorts scream and screech and you bite your lip to stifle your own scream of horror. “Curious.” There seems to be a hint of amusement in his voice.

I hope you like it! 😋

[goodluckbabeheffron]

words wip game

rules: you will be given a word. share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

i was tagged by @corrosivesaints!! tysm <3 the word was CRASH

C: "Crazy." Hoosier snarked, without glancing up from the tattered book he was reading. "He would say you're crazy, Runner."

R: Rumbles overheard pulled Leckie's eyes away from his, the sounds of distant shouts and thundering footsteps echoing off the searing steel walls stealing his attention away from Runner.

A: "Actually," Leckie started, before he was cut off by the collective groans from all corners of the table. He grinned as he shook his head in defeat. "Fine, I'll save the lecture this one time."

S: Silence fell over the foxhole, thick as a blanket. Chuckler yawned and slumped down to join Hoosier against the rough dirt ground. Leckie went back to staring at his notebook, chewing his lower lip as he lost himself in thought again. Runner watched him from across their makeshift home, resisting the urge to tell him that he'd make his lip bleed if he kept biting it.

H: Heat radiated off the ground as the dull thuds of Chuckler's knife against the shell of the coconut faded into the background. Runner drew on his cigarette, eyes closed and shoulders propped up against a fallen tree. If he wasn't aware of what the next few days were going to hold for him and his friends, he could've compared the moment of peace to the afternoons he has spent running up and down Woodlawn Beach as a child.

hmm tagging @randlemartin , @ww2yaoi , & @youcalledmebabe but no pressure obvi <3 your word is MOVIE

[typosandtea]

Wip whenever! x2

Tagged by @notanandalitebandit and @fablewritesnonsense !! Thanks so much ^_^. I no pressure tag @secondhand-lions @gardening--tools @acorncoffeeformysweetheart @fuzzydreamin @romaniwasteland @voidthewanderer + if you see this and would also like to! (Sure that’s lots of tags but I love all your work and could tag so many more people too)

Drawing:

Charlie tagged tango in [this post] so annoying sibling vibes tango and piper gets to shine hehe

Writing:

Inspired by [this post] Bandit reblogged a little while ago tagged with fo4 that put bees in my brain:

Fo4 dead wife came back wrong.txt

This is still in what I presume is the early stages of draft 1 with much to write still, though I have no idea how the process will turn out for me since I’m still figuring out this whole creative writing thing! It’s a bit of a jumble of notes and dialog so sorry if it’s difficult in its present state! I haven’t quite got dialog pacing yet but it’s progress from nothing! There is weird spacing from it not copying formatting nicely. It’s as vanilla as possible postgame so none of my usual fellas are there!

The Vault

0==[x]:::::::::> 1 <:::::::::[x]==0

Despite codsworth's incessant fussing at breakfast, Nate ran into no trouble on the short hike up to the rusting vault.

of course it was easy since he'd made most of the trecherous journey in the days before, much of the danger wasnt even from the usual threats, supermutants, remaints or the like, but from the shear strength of the gale that had the audacity to stop each time they took shelter.

its like the comonweath skies were laughing at him each time he emerged to thick clouds only to inevetably be drenched within 15 minutes again.

Curie, a modified miss nanny that he and Hancock had freed from the depths of the disease infested vault recently was following along, and she had more to say about the hazards of the commonweath than he would have liked,

"Monsuer, this weather may be hazardous to your health, temperature sensors indicate zat zis rain is a potential for hypothermia," she fretted "And zis radiation! oh its is postively frightful zat the basline levels are so high, and the levels in the rain! mon dieu." [fix terrible accent]

While he appreciated the concern, his pateience had worn thin with her near constant commentary on his health and the state of the commonwealth among other things over the muddy trek (ze diseases!),

though he understands where shes coming from, after all he too was horrified only so many months ago,

christ, had it only been a year? he felt like he had aged a century in that time.. perhaps the cryo messed whith his sense of time he had wondered, that or his age was finaly catching up to him.

After they took shelter for the umptenth time yesterday, triggred by his pipboy's geiger crackling to life nearly in sync with curie and a particularly close peal of thunder. once somewhat settled he had` asked her about the the effects of cryo, he hadnt understood most of what she'd said, but the few tidbits he did glean from her overly technical explanation were worring to say the least.

Nate is brought crashing back to the present by the dull thud of the vaults elevator echoing mournfuly under his distracted march. Pausing to let the echos die away relatively undisurbed, bar the sound of curies engines, he listened

Standing stone still on that spot again, he drank in his surroundings while he waited.

The wind whistling through the death-tinted trees, the autumn sun just barely clawing its way though gaps forming in yesterdays gale, the rustle of leaves freshly liberated by the breeze on the decaying ground, there seems to be less crows about this year though.

All a far cry from the picturesque oranges and blues of the clear day he rembers centries ago, its as if the shock wave had blasted the very colours from the world.

Keeping an eye on his pipboy he directs curie to the elevators controls, [(go into vault to mourn Nora, but curies sensors pick up that Nora is faintly clinging to life, her sensors are much more sensitive than the vaults) que pandemonium ]

Task force

0==[x]:::::::::> 2 <:::::::::[x]==0

(The hurricane of activity to get Nora from deaths door in the vault to stable in the castle. Amari and curie integral, Hancock and Preston rally people to make it possible. Nate is terrified of losing her again, )

Hosptial

0==[x]:::::::::> 3 <:::::::::[x]==0

(Now that she's stable and here in front of him he's terrified that she won't remember him. Oh she does remember him and her son!!! So much awkward explanations for what Nate had had to do. Explains that the institute and the bos had to go for peace. She rejects this. )

Nora (aghast): have you gone mad??

Nate(frustrated that nora doesnt get it): Look around! the whole worlds gone mad nora!! nothing is the same anymore I- .. we've had to change to survive, everyone out here is fighting to live every day!

Nora: and why do you think that is nate!! fighting only leads to more war, And no, I don't think you've really changed at all nate, you're still the same tool of a man the military forged, a 'war hero' who solves his problems by blowing them up!" Nora spat with more venom that nate remembered these arguments ever having.

Nate(desperate): "listen to me nora" nate pleaded "you cant reason with the monsters out there, they kill without discretion, because they can!"

noras eyes were narrowed practically to slits "Is that what you called our son, a monster?" she takes a shaky breath "funny how its still 'us and them' after all these years, I though you would have learnt the consequences the first time" Nora snarls coldly

Nate: "No Nora please I'm not talking about people — "

nora: "PEOPLE?? so your enemies dont even qualify as human to you anymore what the hell is -"

"LISTEN TO ME" Nate roars having lost patience "the radiation and the institute has done awful things to people and animals out there, they are quite literally not people anymore -"

hancock, from the doorway: "careful what line you tread there sunshine .. "

nate: "Feral, mirelurks, supermutants, and god damn deathclaws among other things are all over the commonwealth, and they kill and eat inocent people all the time, our whole mission is to protect people from monsters like them and raiders! "

Nora: "…. And what about these raiders? are they even people to you either? do you strike them down without even trying to talk? " accusing

nate: "its not like that! they attack first!" defensive, arms rasied in exasperation.

Nora: "what was it you told me after anchorage? that you wished you were allowed to try to talk to the reds? that you wished you could be anywhere that wasn't killing on command? well guess what you bastard, who's orders are you on now? who's keeping diplomacy out of your bloodied hands this time?" she practically spat,

nora's eyes were a-flame like he had forgotten they could be, how he had missed her firey passion for its warmth, her strength, but right now she was a raging inferno of justice, and he couldn't even look at her .. he'd fallen in love with her righteousness all those years ago and now it would be their undoing he fears, he just needs her to see

Nate takes a breath,"we -I fight raiders because thats what needs to be done, we have lost so many good people to them, more than half arent even fighters they just tried to stop them from taking their only food or their family." he murmurs "you should talk to the abernathys, they well know the consiquences of trying to talk raiders down.." He still cant look her in the eye, had he ever tried to talk raiders down? work somthing out, hell even ask why they were raiding at all? nate cant recall any time like that..

Weeks pass

0==[x]:::::::::> 4 <:::::::::[x]==0

(It's a very awkward weeks while Nora recovers in curies and amaris care, she's still pissed and processing that Shaun is dead and was old; and that Nate blew up two seperate people groups… Nate doesn't know how to explain to her that it's nothing like pre war, monsters are real now. )

Nora's Leave

0==[x]:::::::::> 5 <:::::::::[x]==0

(Nora makes up her mind to leave both Nate and the castle, he is crushed but outfits her and prepares her as best he can (he still loves her, she isn't so sure after what he's done) focus on Nora's feelings )

Nora's very bad week

0==[x]:::::::::> 6 <:::::::::[x]==0

((Perhaps merge with above) Nora experiences what the wasteland has to offer with heavily armed codsworth at her back, danger montage, recruits piper as she's a prime story, piper helps her catch up on major events as well as history of the institute and bos, through piper doesn't know a huge amount about Shaun. )

Awkward Reunions

0==[x]:::::::::> 7 <:::::::::[x]==0

(It's been a few months and Nate runs into Nora when he's in diamond city, he doesn't visit often and she has made herself at home there, it's awkward at first but soon they fall into old rhythms, but they've both moved on and it's not so bad Hancock and piper, their partners turn up, the end with a shared look of somewhat peace and a sense of what they had is gone forever. )