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thefallennightmare · 3 years

Text

Vas Prizrak-Six

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader. Slight Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 1409

Warnings: swearing, some smut, fluff, lots of angst.

Summary: Bucky and Reader’s life in Wakanda had been everything they ever wanted. But when they are told about the fight that was on it’s way to them, they fear that life would be dusted away for good.

A/N: Huge thank you to @lovelyladymayyy for the awesome ideas that I incorporated into this chapter. Great minds think alike! I really hope this chapter makes up for the last one. Enjoy!

TAGS: @mggpleasedontlookhere

FIVE. YEARS. LATER.

The rain pelted hard to the pavement under my feet while I chased the cries of the man as he crawled away from me. Blood pooled from the hole in his stomach and he pressed a hand against it, hoping it would stop the bleeding.

“Please, I’m not who you think I am!,” he cried, falling to his back.

He looked up at me, horror in his eyes as he pleaded for his life in Russian. The language was still familiar to me after all these years.

“I won’t stop until every single one of you Hydra dicks are bleeding out in the streets,” I hissed while pulling the large knife from the sheath of my black, leather suit.

His screams seized when the blade gilded across his throat, blood splattering over the exposed skin of my face. I wiped the blade on the arms of my suit to clean the blood before putting back to its place. The mask on my face had protected it against the rest of the blood spatter, thankfully, so I looked up into the sky to let the rain wash away whatever blood I had left.

My fingers worked fast to braid my long hair to the side, the new length bothering me. A new message on my phone indicated a new address from my source and knowing that it was only a few blocks away, I let my heavy boots guide the way.

You’re my everything, dorogaya.

I shook the voice from my head, not allowing it to distract me from my current mission.

The flame shield in front of me saved me from the oncoming rounds of bullets as I walked with ease to the men who were behind the guns. The shield evaporated in my hands while I pulled a gun from my belt, firing my own rounds of bullets; all hitting their marks.

With their bodies lying scattered throughout the somewhat empty warehouse, I spent the new alone time looking through the countless piles of boxes, hoping to find what I needed.

“I know you’re here somewhere,” I muttered, fingers working through the piles of papers.

“STOP RIGHT THERE!” A man yelled, gun shaking in hands with clear fear.

I peaked over my shoulder and with an annoyed sigh, I threw a fire ball towards the new soldier of Hydra who appeared out of nowhere and watched as he fell to ash.

“Weak,” I spat towards the pile of ash. “You’re all weak.”

Check the file cabinet, dorogaya.

Staring at the cabinet in front of me, I followed the voices direction and once I opened the bottom drawer, I smiled in victory.

A red leather bound book with the black star on the front.

After all of the events in Germany, the book that had controlled the Winter Soldier went missing. There were rumors that Hydra stole it again, hoping to use it to create another Winter Soldier.

I refused to let that happen.

Once the book was safely in my backpack, I slung it over my shoulder before walking outside and checked my phone for another update from my source.

He’s at his house. It’s a four mile walk. I sent a car to your current location, should be pulling up in seconds.

A slick black car pulled to a stop in front of me and with a smirk, I climbed into the backseat and gave the driver the address.

The heel of my boot pressed deeper into the guards throat, locking him into place on the hard ground. He struggled to breath while his hands failed to claw at my legs.

“Where is he?” I demanded.

“Fuck you,” The guard struggled to breath under my boot. “Hail Hy-.”

He fell to a pile of ash at my feet, the flames burning through the leather gloves.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that line before.” I groaned, brushing the dust off of my boots.

The large double staircase stood in front of me and my gaze followed the marble floors to a random doorway at the end of the hall. It didn’t fit well with the other doors and satire of the home.

“Bingo,” I smirked when the door opened, showing a staircase leading somewhere underground.

My feet went to turn left at the bottom of the stairs but the soft voice in my head told me to go right; it never steered me wrong.

“I can’t believe he did it.”

Spinning on my heels, I brought the flames to life as I stared directly into the eyes of the man I had been looking for the past five years. He was the head of Hydra in Russia and rumor had it, he had a hand in making Bucky The Winter Soldier. The grey in his hairs indicated that he was a lot older than I had imagined.

He was the last one on my very long list.

“Pierce? Yeah, old news,” I shrugged.

The old man pointed towards my face. “You look just like Soldat, with his mask.”

The mask over my mouth felt heavy with the utter of the name that I hadn’t heard in so long. Not only had my suit changed, all black leather, I had decided to start wearing Bucky’s mask, the one he wore when I first saw him again; when Steve and I were chasing him on the roof.

“I heard he was a casualty of the snap,” the man clicked his tongue. “He became weak when he found you. I told them that it was a bad idea to let you in his life. Soldat didn’t need love.”

“Man, shut the hell up,” I cursed, ending his life with a fast bullet to the head.

I was so quick that he hadn't seen it coming; my powers intensifying my reflexes over the years.

As I stared at the lifeless body, my shoulders slumped with a loud sigh.

“Well this was very anti climatic,” I mumbled.

After stuffing my back with a couple handfuls of stacks of bills, I maneuvered over the few bodies that had run cold as I made my way back outside. The rain had intensified, coming down from the sky fast. I was drenched from head to toe in seconds.

“You’ve been busy.”

Raising my gun to the new voice, my hard gaze met with a pair of solid blue eyes that stared at me with sadness. Even under the darkness from his umbrella, I could tell who it was. I would never forget what the softness of his face looked like.

“Well if it isn’t Captain America, here to save the day. News flash, I don’t need fucking saving.” I seethed, pulling the mask off of my face.

“You’ve left a lot of bodies in your path, Y/N. What you’ve been doing is dangerous,” Steve said, trying to take a step towards me.

I jumped away from him.

“They deserved it,” I merely shrugged, as if the thought of killing people without a second thought didn’t bother me. “Clint tell you where I was?”

Steve nodded. “He mentioned that you two traveled together for awhile before splitting up.”

It was my turn to nod. “Which means that Nat also found Clint.”

“I think you need to come home,” Steve said.

“I don’t have a home! My home dusted away in the snap five fucking years ago!” I yelled, my screams breaking the glass of the house behind me.

My screams to have left Steve unfazed, almost becoming used to it.

I had turned my back on him, ready to walk away, but his next words caused me to freeze in place.

“We can bring him home, Y/N. We can bring them all home.” Steve's voice was soft but firm.

In a quick instant, I had Steve pressed hard to the ground, pinning him with my hips. My sharp blade was pressed hard into the vein in his throat. I could end it all for Captain America with one quick slash.

“Don’t,” my bottom lip trembled while I let out a shaky breath. “Don’t give me hope.”

Steve raised a hand to move a strand of hair that had fallen out of the braid and with a longing gaze into his eyes, I felt it in my heart that he was telling me the truth. He had somehow found a way to bring everyone back from the snap.

One mission had ended, another one beginning.

Firs off credit to whoever created this, its fucking amazing. But this is what I had in mind when I thought of reader wearing Bucky’s mask.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes and reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #captain america #captain america x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #soldat #dorogaya

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

Text

Female tiefling guard x human princess (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This has been up on Patreon for a week, and now it’s time to share it here!

Contents: a short, fiesty, gives-no-fucks female tiefling guard, some anti-tiefling sentiments from the other guards, a soft but 'don't mess with me' princess, an army of attacking demons, a minotaur best friend, and an nsfw scene to finish. Wordcount: 6756

A dull rumbling startled Salanei from her bed and set her reaching for the deep well of magic inside her in a heartbeat. The castle was shaking.

“Impossible,” she hissed, but other guards were tumbling out of their bunks all around her, some scrambling to draw weapons, others calling sparkling magic to their hands, though there were admittedly fewer of those. The castle was built on a promontory of black rock, harsh and stark against the chill morning light, but it was as old as the land itself and nothing should have been able to make the foundations shudder like that.

Unless…

Tilting her head to one side, letting her thick, messy, black braid slide down over one shoulder, Salanei opened her core of magic a little to the surroundings. At first all she found were the life-sparks of the other guards, but then, like a murmuration of birds on the horizon, she felt something far more sinister. “We’re under attack,” she yelled, stuffing her boots on and sprinting for the door. “Demons.”

The tiefling ignored the way the others dismissed her or scoffed at her - whether through deep-rooted prejudice or uneasy disbelief at her cry of ‘demons’ - and she bolted through the palace like a rabbit through its home warren. She didn’t think, she didn’t stop, she didn’t pause; she raced up back stairs and along half-forgotten passageways, and emerged, gasping, in what had once been an upper, open-air walkway that connected the main part of the castle to the residential wing. Her boots skidded on the rough stonework, grit and dust slipping beneath her soles, and she barely stopped before the gaping abyss into the courtyard below swallowed her.

Where a thick buttress of stone had arched across the space for centuries, now a smoking, singed stump of the bridge remained and the walkway was completely gone. “Shit.” Across it, she could see more of the royal guard backing into the part of the castle that would lead to the residential quarters of the princess after only a few staircases and passages. From the looks of it, they’d only just escaped back along the parapet in time.

Looking out at the landscape around the castle, she froze, horror icing over her veins.

Demons swarmed down the hillside and pooled around the outer walls of the castle to form a seething, foetid moat, their shapes as varied as the horrific noises they made; some with wings, some with horns, some with lashing tails and glinting claws. One or two of them breathed gouts of flame into the dawning sky, and from somewhere deep below at the curtain wall of the castle courtyard, the bellow of a bull in a blooded rage made her ears ring. A second later, the whole castle trembled again and a rain of fine particles and chunks of stone clattered down around her.

They were going to breech the wall.

“Fuck.”

The span across the gulf of empty air wasn’t so big that she couldn’t use a little magic to propel herself over it, and so, summoning a gust of air to spring her forwards, she leapt lightly off the stonework behind her and let the updraft catapult her onto the far tower. She landed hard but rolled through it and came to stand smoothly on her feet, finding herself face to chest with an enormous, familiar guard.

“Brandon, it’s…”

“Bloody chaos,” he said, falling into step beside her as they moved through the shrapnel-scarred archway and into the tower beyond.

The huge minotaur was about as broad across at the shoulders as Salanei was tall, and his huge war axe was cradled gently in his massive hands; ready. He was the only person who had ever treated her with any genuine respect at the castle, and the two were somewhat unlikely sparring partners more often than not.

“Who’s behind it?” she asked as they trotted down the stairs and a pounding, dolorous bell began to sound from the heart of the castle.

He shook his shaggy, black head, the patch of white at the front of his forelock dancing in the low light. “Not sure. Reports suggest they came from the west.”

“Dorhul?” she asked, steady pace stalling in time with her horrified, faltering heartbeat.

Brandon shrugged. “Seems likely. He’s always wanted to add the kingdom to his collection. With Ria’s father so ill…”

Salanei’s black eyes narrowed and she fought the urge to ram her hard horns against a wall with the wave of bitter spite that washed up inside her. The minotaur, clearly seeing the echo of a familiar urge bubbling up in the tiefling, laid a hand on her shoulder. It was so big, it engulfed the joint completely, and the weight of it steadied her. “Easy. We’ll get through this.”

“Where is the princess now?”

“The Elite Guard took her down to the undercroft.”

Salanei’s heart lurched and she stopped. “They’re taking her out by boat? Bran, that escape passage only leads to one place… if she’s caught out on the open water…”

“Dawn’s not far off. The sun rises over the lake,” he explained, but she could tell he was as unhappy with the plan as she was. “If the demons can even bear to look at the sunlight as it hits the water, they won’t see her. The glare will be too much. I think they expected to have broken through by now, but this castle’s a hard nut to crack, even with those numbers. It should buy her time to escape.”

He had a point. It was a flimsy hope and a prayer, but it was all they had.

They made it two floors down before the ring of steel and the snarl of demons reached their ears, and Salanei swore again, drawing deep on her reserves of magic so that it lapped like a vast lake a the very forefront of her mind; ready.

She flung a conjured talisman at the nearest demon’s head and the creature exploded into a mist of gore and black ichor. Not pausing to get splattered, she ducked low and aimed another spell - a lancing spike of ice this time - at a twin-headed monstrosity, one half of which was occupied with the head of a guard in its maw, the other half of which had just spotted her. The spike went through both skulls and pinned them to the wall before Salanei had even finished dancing lightly around them.

Quick and light as a mouse in a hay barn, she dodged and struck, until finally she was at the far end of the corridor. From behind her, she heard Brandon bellow a warning at her, asking her to wait, but she was gone like a weasel. Protect the princess. That had been what the old king had demanded of her in return for the shelter and comfort he had offered, and she had gladly accepted the trade.

Shouldering the door at the end of the corridor with a little extra magic behind the gesture, she burst through in a barrage of splintered wood and iron studs as the ramming spell cloaked around her shoulders made short work of it. Instantly, she found three spear tips at her throat, and she froze.

“Stop!” came familiar voice, and were it not for the glinting blades hovering so close to her pulse that she could see her blackberry-purple skin reflected in them, she might have gone slack with relief. “Let her go.”

“Highness,” Salanei said, bowing gratefully from the waist. “They’ve breached the castle from above, and they’re trying to get in from below. They’re only a floor above you now.”

She watched the princess’ freckled cheeks blanch, and she swayed ever so slightly before rallying her courage and pushing back her shoulders. “I have been advised that the undercroft is the safest route out of here, all things considered. Do you disagree?”

Before Salanei could reply, a guard stepped directly in front of her, his deep, maroon livery blocking her view of the princess. “Highness, we must leave. Now. Let the gutter rat fight the demons, but we have to get you to safety.”

Salanei’s lip curled back off her sharp canines and she snarled a warning at the soldier who ignored her completely.

It was a miracle that she even heard the soft tread of slippered feet on the stone floor above the clangour outside, but when the guard’s spine straightened and he shifted awkwardly back to where he’d been standing, Salanei almost snorted with laughter.

The princess’ face seemed carved from marble; all softness had shattered into hard lines, her eyes blazed green, her strawberry blonde hair falling behind her like a shield made of silk. “Repeat that,” she demanded in a voice low and deadly. When the guard stuttered himself into silence, she blinked. “Repeat that.”

“Highness,” he grunted. “Please, we cannot waste any more time! We must leave.”

“Repeat. That.”

“She’s a gutter rat, Highness. Everyone knows it.”

Stepping so quickly that no one saw her move, the princess darted forwards and backhanded the guard across the cheek. “I will not have someone spoken of like that, either in my presence or elsewhere in the castle. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Highness,” he nodded.

“Salanei, come here,” she said, turning away. Before Ria had gone two steps, a demonic portal began to open in front of her. The flickering purple and red edges were ragged as an old scrap of fabric, and a vile, sulfurous gas billowed out of it.

“Shit! Get back!” The tiefling dodged in front of the princess and brought her hands together, calling a binding incantation to mind and willing the strands of the spell to stitch the portal together again, preventing it from opening. The wielder on the other side was strong, their will like iron, but Salanei’s was stronger. Years of being whittled down until she was nothing but muscle and magic and sheer force of will had made her almost unbreakable now, and she knew it. Knowing it was half the struggle with magic.

I am stronger than you, she chanted in her head. This portal will not open.

“I knew having a magic wielder in my guard would be a good thing,” the princess muttered in her ear. “I’m just sorry my mother was so against it.”

Salanei could only grunt with the effort of closing the infernal portal. Behind it, straining against the glowing strands of her spell, a rabid demon snapped its jaws, trying to slice through the counter spell. The mage on the other side didn’t have a spare ounce of concentration to tell the beast to get back. Where was the High Mage when you needed her? Probably bolstering the wards on the castle walls, trusting that the Elite Guard would protect the princess for now.

“Get out of here,” Salanei finally rasped, sweating with the effort. The portal was almost closed.

A hand landed gently between her shoulder blades, fingers splayed wide, palm pressing securely against her skin through the fabric of her dirty shirt, and Salanei gasped as a rush of fresh magic and strength washed into her. With a snap, the portal sealed shut and she whipped around to find the princess smiling softly. “Come with me,” was all she purred.

Salanei nodded, winded and mute, and still dizzy from the surge of golden life that had poured into her from the princess and mixed so easily with her own magic. When had she learned to do that?

The path out of the princess’ chambers was littered with demons. Salanei used every trick and spell she knew, darting here, warping there, slicing, slashing, stabbing, to clear the path while the guard huddled close around their princess and picked off any stragglers who got through. The guards encircled the princess as though she were a jewel and they the setting. Nothing was going to touch her.

Out on another vulnerable, spun-sugar walkway that would lead them directly to the tower that sat atop the cavernous undercroft of the castle, a cloud of tiny, winged demons - which Salanei recognised with horror as having once been harmless forest pixies - swarmed towards them out of the lightening sky.

“Shields!” she screamed back over her shoulder, preparing another spell. Her vision swam from the speed at which she was hemorrhaging magic in the princess’ defence, but she blinked the daze away and focused on creating a wall of fire. Momentum sent the first half of the swarm ploughing straight through it, incinerating their fragile bodies to cinders, but the rest of the flock doubled back and regrouped. With a second flurry of flaming hands, Salanei danced through them until nothing remained but broken, blackened wings at her feet like campfire ashes.

One floundered uselessly at her boots, and while the princess was herded towards the safety of that final tower door by her retinue, Salanei scooped the wounded creature up in one hand and heard its infernal language as little more than a hoarse whisper, like wind through the grasslands. Tapping two fingers to her temple, she directed her magic at the creature, and connected a blue thread with its own yellow spirit thread, and demanded of it, “Who made you?”

A flash of images swirled through the connection, but she had seen enough. “Dorhul,” she spat when she saw the tall, slender figure of the most hated man in the four kingdoms. The connection sputtered, and the creature that had once been a pixie fell limp in her hand. Dropping it, she spun and trailed after the princess, blinking black spots from her vision.

Down staircase after staircase they plummeted, until finally they burst out into the echoing undercroft. Groin vaults stretched away into the darkness like the canopy of an endless stone forest, and Salanei shuddered. It reminded her of the dank dinginess of the slums so viscerally that she almost heaved.

“Don’t stop now,” Princess Ria whispered, pausing to find Salanei staring off into the darkness with wide, black eyes. “We have to keep moving.”

Nodding silently, the tiefling fell into step beside her, scanning the shadows for the faintest hint of movement, but it was still as a sepulchre down there.

The lap of water eventually reached her keen, tapered ears, and she looked up to see three small rowing boats bobbing in the shallow, underground dock up ahead. A narrow canal of water led out towards the lake, and as they all climbed into the boats, Salanei took a moment to admire the calm presence of the princess. It was a miracle that Dorhul hadn’t known about this entrance to the castle.

Ria, still clad in an incongruously soft, pastel pink gown that was spattered here and there with the evidence of their desperate escape, somehow looked as regal as she had sitting in the great hall in her father’s stead these last two years.

She had remained a steady, reassuring presence in the kingdom even as the king’s health faded away despite the High Mage’s efforts to heal him. In his absence, Ria had taken over the rule of the kingdom with the grace and justice that her father had instilled in her from a young age. The queen had died only a few weeks after her father’s sickness had presented, and Ria had mourned her for the appropriate weeks before getting on with the governance of the kingdom. Beautiful, refined, and achingly gentle, it was no wonder that the kingdom was in love with her.

Salanei swallowed thickly. Half the kingdom, and… her too.

Now, although there was the air of a frightened child about her delicate shoulders, she sat in the centre of the small boat as her guards rowed her away, her green eyes fixed on the retreating castle as they skimmed across the lake. Just as Brandon had said, the morning sun glanced off the surface, glinting like a cut gem as the castle burned behind them.

Salanei uttered a quick prayer under her breath for the minotaur who was presumably still inside the castle.

Halfway across the lake, the guards’ oars faltered with a splash. A vast wave of power pulsed from the heart of the castle and spilled out across the land in all directions, sweeping demons off the walls and parapets, scattering them to ash on the wind. The sheer, raw magic made Salanei’s ears ring and her chest tighten, but when she’d mastered herself again, she found Ria staring wide-eyed at the castle with a look of unbridled horror on her beautiful face.

“Highness?” Salanei croaked, barely resiting the urge to grab her shoulder and shake her gently. “Highness?”

“Father…” she choked. “My father is dead…”

Three thoughts raced through Salanei’s mind before it went perfectly blank again: ‘that means you’re the queen’, ‘if the king is dead it means he used a purging spell so powerful that it obliterated himself as well’, and ‘the castle is free of demons now’. “Should… Should we go back?” she finally croaked.

Ria just sat there in the little boat, her breathing shallow, her face ashen.

“Highness?”

Nothing.

“Ria?” she asked, reluctant to use her familiar name. She leaned forward to touch her arm, but one of the guards - a huge, leonine rakshasa - growled at her. Salanei bared her own canines at him and hissed like a cobra.

The sound of her bickering guards drew the princess out of herself, and Ria turned to them. “Please,” she whispered. “Not now. For the goddess’ sake, not now. Let me think.”

Chastened, they fell silent, though Salanei’s black eyes never left her princess’ face.

“We go back,” she finally said.

The leonine rakshasa’s ears pricked up and he growled softly as he said, “Highness, we only just got you out of there…”

“Look,” she said, her voice eerily calm as she pointed a trembling finger towards the castle.

A cloud of sparkling, fluttering sparks had risen like butterflies above the remnants of the highest tower, and Salanei recognised Maeva’s magical signature immediately. “The High Mage,” she whispered. “You think it’s a trap?”

Ria shook her head. “No. We have a code in case such a signal is ever used. Green with gold is a trap. Pink and pale green is all clear. We return. Now.”

The rowers turned the small craft around, and Ria sat with her jaw set and her fists clenched in the fabric of her dress, eyes intense, mind working. No one spoke or grumbled, despite how the guards’ shoulders must have been burning from the effort.

The princess ground her teeth, and muttered, “This is taking too long. It’s not your fault,” she added as a guard’s expression flickered momentarily. “You’ve all been wonderful.” Snapping her head up suddenly, the princess said, “Salanei?”

“Highness?”

“Can your tiefling magic teleport me from here?”

Salanei tilted her head thoughtfully to one side as she examined her reserves of magic. “If I do, I won’t have much left in the tank when we get there,” she said. “I’d rather not…”

“Do it,” Ria said. “That’s not a request. Get me to my father’s chamber, and Maeva can take care of the magic from there if needs be.”

Jartyn, a gnoll with half his ear missing and a huge burn scar on his face, interjected, “I really must object, Highness -”

Ria’s eyes flashed and he sat back, teeth clacking as he shut his mouth quickly.

However, she got control of her frustration and spoke in a gentle, if tense, voice. “I appreciate your concern, and I owe you all my life,” she said, gathering them all into the praise with a sweep of her emerald green eyes. “But my father just sacrificed his life to cleanse that castle, and now I must return to protect his legacy. If I don’t, there’s still a window of opportunity for Dorhul to step in and claim the crown and the kingdom amid the chaos. Do you understand?”

They did, and they all bowed as one.

“You will follow in the boat and attend me back at the castle.” Ria turned her gaze to the tiefling, and held out her hand. “Now, Salanei.”

Taking the princess’ hand in hers, Salanei concentrated every drop of will and magic on the king’s chambers. Teleportation was not something many could do, and it wasn’t something Salanei particularly relished. The familiar sensation of blurring at the edges announced that they were ready, and a heartbeat later, it felt like two magical grappling hooks had yanked them by the spine and guts and had torn them away to somewhere else.

The princess landed awkwardly beside her with a cry, collapsing against Salanei as they arrived in the bedchamber of the king, and the tiefling caught her. “I’m going to be sick,” Ria hissed a moment before it happened.

Salanei supported her and held her beautiful, long hair back, and then magicked all the mess away with an easy flick of her hand.

Clearly grateful, Ria straightened and turned to her. Her eyes were pink and her cheeks were pale, but she still looked so regal that Salanei’s heart twisted in her chest.

Then Ria’s eyes slid from Salanei’s face to the bed in the middle of the ruined room. The glass in the windows had been obliterated, blasted out into the courtyard below. The twisted remnants of the lead work hung like the gnarled roots of a ripped up tree from the casements, and the rest of the room was reduced to splinters and tatters.

On the bed, there was no sign of the old king at all, but where his head would have rested on the pillow lay the golden crown, and where his heart would have been was a glimmering opal. Salanei gasped when she saw it, following at a respectful distance, a pace behind Ria.

“That’s…”

“The heart of the Lunar Forge,” Ria whispered. “Yes. Imagine what hell a necromancer like Dorhul could raise with a focus like this… That must have been how he was able to wield so much magic just now too…”

Salanei shuddered, not wanting to think about what could have happened. The Lunar Forge sat at the heart of the castle, and beneath the light of a full moon, any weapons quenched in the pool of spring water had the power to destroy demons utterly. The focus of the power was that opal. It was the size of Salanei's fist and it thrummed with power. That power did not have to be used to focus the powers of the Lunar Forge though; it could be used at the heart of any ritual, to add unfathomable power, and if the necromage had got his hands on it, who knows what he could have brought into this world.

Ria picked up the stone and the crown and then sank onto the bed. When she looked up at the tiefling, another pang went through Salanei’s chest. Tears flowed silently down Ria’s face and the urge to embrace her surged inside Salanei. “Highness,” she whispered, her heart going out to the young woman.

Her face twisted, and sobs wracked the princess then, and her guard didn’t hesitate. She stepped in close and the princess folded forwards, throwing her arms around her wiry torso and burying her face in the filthy fabric of her shirt. Her tears dampened it until the flow finally stemmed as Salanei stroked the coppery hair and just stood there, taking her grief and fears in her stride.

“I can’t do it,” Ria whispered, still plastered to her chest.

“You will. You’re not alone. I know he’s gone, but you’re not alone. You have Maeva, and your guard, and… for what it’s worth, you have me.”

It took another few minutes before Ria leaned back to regard Salanei and drew in a deep, unsteady breath.

Taking a chance, Salanei reached out and thumbed the remaining tears from the princess’ blotchy cheeks. “You have me,” she repeated as her golden eyelashes fluttered softly. A moment later, the tiefling let go and spun, adopting a defensive stance as footsteps rang on the floor outside and someone burst in.

She relaxed instantly, adrenalin dissipating when the familiar red robes of the High Mage swirled to a halt and the older woman appeared to go through a similar gamut of relieved reactions upon seeing the tiefling. “Thank the goddess,” she breathed, leaning heavily on a long, slender staff. “Ria, child, are you alright?”

Mutely, the princess nodded and stood. She touched Salanei briefly on the arm as she passed, and sent a tiny rush of her innate magic into the tiefling. The tenderness of the affection made her sway on the spot where she stood and she smiled at the princess, bowing her head.

The Queen, she corrected, forcing herself to make the mental adjustment. That’s the queen standing there now, you dolt!

The severe figure of the High Mage was made all the more stark by the harsh daylight now flooding in through the empty windows. The wind at this altitude whipped right through the room, tugging at tatters of cloth and blowing papers around like dry, rattling leaves. Maeva drew the queen to one side and the two proceeded to talk in hushed voices, leaving Salanei with nothing to do except keep watch.

She crossed to the door at the sound of — she tilted her head and strained — hooves. Demon or friend…? Brandon’s telltale white forelock and black pelt drew into view as he trotted up the staircase and she relaxed.

“You’re alright,” he smiled, tugging her into a quick hug before stepping back. “Thank the goddess. When you disappeared like that — And… the princess?”

“Queen now,” Salanei murmured. “She’s fine.”

“Goddess shelter his soul, and long live the queen,” Brandon said under his breath.

“What’s the rest of the castle like?” she asked, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder and adding, “It’s a fucking mess in there.”

“Same,” he said, leaning on the door frame and suddenly looking extremely tired. “It’ll take weeks to clear the demons and the rubble, but whatever that was, it purged them all in one go. Damned powerful magic.”

“It was the king,” she said. “He sacrificed himself to save the castle.”

“Not just the castle then,” Brandon said darkly. “Saved the whole bloody kingdom with it.”

It in fact took just over a week to get the last of the ichor and demons out of the castle, but it did take much longer to clear the rubble.

Ria insisted on being crowned in the goddess’ temple at the castle, despite the fact that half the roof was missing. Maeva and anyone with even a scrap of magic had been drafted in to weave invisible supports over the roof timbers and pillars to stop it all from tumbling in and crushing the congregation.

Salanei stood at the head of the guard of honour, her blade raised as the queen passed beneath, and she winked at one of the kitchen girls’ daughters whom Ria had selected to be one of the four train-barers. The tiny child could hardly lift the heavy material of the excessively long gown, but she valiantly did her best, along with the other children who had been chosen from the families of the castle staff. It was a lovely touch, and it had only endeared the young queen more to her people.

As the queen drew level with Salanei, she didn’t stop or break her step, but she shot her a fleeting look in passing, and the tiefling’s heart leapt. Over the past few weeks, the queen had shown her a remarkable degree of affection. She’d raised Salanei to the prestigious position of the Queen’s Blade - her personal bodyguard. But where the two had hardly interacted before the attack on the castle, now Salanei found herself often being admitted inside her private study to discuss security and plans to bolster the castle’s and kingdom’s defences with magic and boots on the ground. On such evenings, it was not uncommon for their hands to brush or their gaze to meet, but whatever swirling emotions Salanei felt, she kept her thoughts to herself. This was the queen after all.

The coronation service went on and on, but finally the oaths were taken, and the queen, now formally crowned, processed out into the courtyard beyond to thunderous cheering and applause. Maeva sent a rain of enchanted petals down around her, and she addressed her people as their new leader. All the while she spoke, Salanei scanned the crowd, but to her relief, she found nothing but adoring faces and cheering people. She met Brandon’s eye from the front row of guards keeping the crowd back, and he nodded at her.

It wasn’t until Ria was back in her chambers, again with Salanei at her side, that she showed the faintest sign of her exhaustion.

She was silent while her maids undressed her, their nimble hands undoing the regiments of buttons. Finally, they removed removed the ridiculous gown from the room and found something more comfortable. In her humble, ignorant opinion, Salanei thought that the queen looked much better in plain dresses anyway.

Ria had decided, upon Maeva’s advice, to take the rest of the day to herself, and just as Salanei was preparing to stand guard outside her door, the queen took her wrist in her gentle, firm grip, and halted her.

“No, Salanei,” she said in a hoarse, tired voice. “Stay. Please.”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“I… I don’t know,” she said with heartbreaking honesty. “I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Feeling her body go slack as her heart went out to the young woman, Salanei said, “Shall I run you a bath, Majesty?”

On the point of replying, the queen paused and changed her mind. “Call me Ria,” she said. “Please. When it’s just us two in these rooms, please… call me by my name. I’m… I’m afraid that I’ll forget the sound of it now that I’m queen and there’s no one left to call me that…”

Bowing her head under the weight of that gift, Salanei nodded. “As you wish… Ria.”

With a smile, the queen reached for Salanei's other hand and squeezed her fingers in her own. “You’re so strong, Salanei,” she said, running her thumbs over the rough, scuffed knuckles and feeling the calluses from weapons training on her palms and fingers. “You… You’re so beautiful…”

The breath left Salanei in a rush as if she’d been punched in the solar plexus. “Majesty,” she protested, embarrassed and trying to pull away, but the queen held firm.

“I mean it,” she said with a fierce light in her eyes. And then she went soft with a sigh and said, “But yes, a bath does sound nice.”

“I’ll run you one,” Salanei offered, glad for an excuse to leave the room. Her heart was thudding and her skin felt hot all over.

“You’re not my servant,” Ria barked as the tiefling made to stride away across the room towards the chambers. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I’d like to,” she said. “Please.”

With a nod, Ria accepted, and ten minutes later, a steaming hot bath stood ready for her in the adjacent bathroom, the scent of jasmine heady in the air. When Salanei emerged, she found the queen undressing again, and struggling with a button right in the middle of her back.

“Help me?” asked the queen in a surprisingly shy voice.

Silently, Salanei crossed to her and freed the tiny pearl button from the back of the dress, revealing the smooth, warm skin of her back as the fabric parted and fall away. She had three freckles just to the right of her spine. The urge to brush her fingers down the length of the queen’s back from the nape of her neck to the waist of her dress was almost overwhelming, but she forced herself to step back. “Anything else?” she asked in a croak.

With a knowing, almost playful smile, the queen looked over her shoulder and said, “Fetch me a robe?”

Licking her lips, Salanei swallowed. Had Ria’s eyes always been so bright? Her hair so golden? Her lips so…

“Salanei?”

“Of course,” she chirped and turned abruptly to fetch a robe from the back of the bathroom door and bring it. When she found the queen standing completely naked in the middle of the room with her dress pooled around her ankles, she nearly cursed. Her feet stopped and she stood there, slack-jawed and staring.

“Are you going to pass it to me or not?” Ria giggled.

Flushing hot, Salanei handed it to her and looked away as she extended her arm.

“Don’t,” Ria breathed. “Unless you want to, of course.”

She had no answer for that.

“Salanei…?” the queen asked, sounding suddenly unsure. “What is it you want? Answer me honestly.”

You.

“I can’t,” she hissed, turning completely away.

Oh gods, I want you so much, she thought. I want to make you forget everything. I want to kneel between your legs and taste you. I want to sink my fingers into your heat and feel you let go. I want to give you what no other can give you.

The queen’s voice was steady as she asked, “If you could speak freely, what would you say to me?”

“Tell me I’m not out of line,” Salanei breathed. “Tell me —” she couldn’t finish it. It felt… blasphemous even to begin to voice her desires. This was the queen. And she was a gutter-rat tiefling from nowhere, with no family and nothing but her magic and her fighting skills.

“I want you, Salanei,” the queen said unflinchingly. “I want you, but I don’t want you afraid.”

Her lips parted when she heard those words, and she turned to face her queen properly. Ria still hadn’t done up the bath robe, leaving a column of perfect skin exposed between her covered breasts, and a soft nest of golden hair between her legs. Salanei’s fingertip ached to touch her just there and see if her knees would buckle at the contact.

Without a word, the queen turned and walked slowly towards the bathroom, leaving the door open. An invitation? Salanei stood there for a long time, listening to the slosh of the water in the huge copper bath as the queen got in and then lay back. Steam billowed out of the room, coiling along the floor like crooked fingers calling.

Swallowing, her heart thudding, Salanei padded into the bathroom and came to an uncertain halt. The bath stood in the centre of the small chamber, and the queen had her back to the door where she reclined in the steaming water. “Come here,” she said gently.

“Would you like me to stay?”

“I’d like you to do more than that, if you feel comfortable…” she purred, and as Salanei drew level with the bath, she looked up at her, features sharpening. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to, alright? I’m well aware of what I am, and what your station is. If… If you feel as though you’re… obliged in any way to… to…” tears filled her eyes but she refused to let them spill, and in a rush Salanei knelt on the cold marble beside the bath and put her left hand on the rim of the tub.

“No,” she said fiercely. “I want this. Trust me, I want this…”

“You can touch me,” the queen said in a low voice, tilting her head back. The bubbles just skimmed the surface of the water, but as she moved, fragrant waves lapped at her chest and Salanei glimpsed the roundness of her breasts beneath the water and the dusky pink of her hard nipples too. “Please…”

Salanei slid her right hand into the water, her plum-purple skin in sharp contrast to the warmth of the queen’s own, and she found the inside of the queen’s thigh, letting her palm play up and down it for a moment. Ria let out a long, broken moan and arched her back a little, and it suddenly occurred to Salanei that she probably hadn’t ever been touched like this. Aside from being dressed by her maids, she was always apart, always unreachable, always kept safely at arm’s length.

“I…” Ria faltered, her eyes still closed. “I never thanked you. I never found a minute, but… I should have made time. You’ve given everything to me, and you helped to save my life.”

“I made your father a promise,” she said, still just cupping the curve of her thigh in her hand, hardly daring to believe that this was happening. “And I grew to love you years ago. Your goodness, your grace, your kindness… You won me heart and soul, Ria. I’m yours. Always.”

A tear slid from Ria’s eye and disappeared into the dampness on her skin at her neck. “Touch me,” she whispered, voice intense, and Salanei complied.

She moved her hand further up her smooth thighs, feeling her tail coiling around her own ankle as her body heated up and she began to get wet from the sheer anticipation of touching the queen like this at last. How many nights had she touched herself with thoughts of the queen’s pleasure ringing in her imagination?

At the smooth glide of fingertips over her folds, the queen’s legs fell apart and she bucked weakly, sloshing water almost over the rim of the bath. Another moan escaped her and she let her head loll as Salanei repeated the gesture on the other side before circling her swelling clit and then nudging just beneath it.

A shudder ran through the queen and she gripped the edges of the bath as Salanei brushed against her, teasing and testing, finding out how she liked to be touched, where was too sensitive and what garnered her the most vocal reactions. Slow and firm seemed to drive her closer to towards her peak, while tentative and teasing made her buck and gasp, shivering and grunting with satisfaction delayed. Naturally, she drew out the process for as long as she could, and oscillated between the two.

“Please!” Ria finally gasped, curling forwards, knuckles white on the rim of the copper bath as Salanei ran one callused fingertip back and forth just between her clit and her entrance. It was far too slow and far too teasing. “Oh goddess… oh goddess…” she chanted, her whole body winding tighter and tighter. The water could not disguise the slickness that eased Salanei's attentions either.

In a single motion, Salanei slid two fingers deep inside her and crooked them, pressing against her walls while circling her clit with her thumb, and the queen shattered. Salanei was fairly certain she’d soaked through her own underwear, but nothing could distract her from the tight, clenching heat as pleasure ripped through the other woman and swept her away with it. She gave herself completely to it and convulsed, water slopping over the edge of the bath and onto the floor and drenching Salanei's loose trousers too.

“You’re so beautiful,” Salanei crooned as the queen continued to come. “Goddess, but you’re so beautiful…” She kept the pressure inside the queen’s body with her fingertips, easing her through it until finally Ria slumped back against the bath, her chest heaving, her eyes closed, and the softest, sweetest look of joy on her face.

When she’d caught her breath, she opened her eyes with a flutter of golden lashes and whispered, “I want to do that to you.”

“I’m yours,” Salanei replied with a wry smile, withdrawing her fingers and tracing a fond touch across her sensitive inner thigh without removing her hand from the water.

“Give me a moment to feel my legs again,” Ria said, “And then help me out of here, and I’ll return the favour. I do feel bad that you were on the floor though,” she said, a tiny frown pinching her eyebrows together.

Salanei laughed hoarsely and said, “If you knew how wet I was, you wouldn’t have said that.”

The queen went still, a surprised smile on her face. “That got you wet? Doing that to me?”

“You have no idea.”

With that, Ria stood somewhat shakily, water cascading down her perfect body, and, with her eyes practically glowing, said, “Show me.”

___

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#tiefling #exophilia #sapphic exophilia #wlw #tiefling x human #female tiefling x human #female tiefling x female reader #female reader #female monster

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ahgastae · 4 years

Text

curiosity (wip) – bang chan x f!reader

➥ word count: 6.1k | spider-man au | action (?? idk) | fluff

➥ m.list

➥ a/n: alright,, let me explain myself lol. i started writing this like?? over a year ago? and eventually got to the point where i kind of just lost ALL of the ideas that i had for where i wanted this to go. SO, instead of letting it sit in my docs forever, i decided to go ahead and post it here for all of you! i hope you enjoy ♡

One thing you can say for sure is you really, really didn’t expect your life to go this way. Not that you have any idea as to how you actually want it to go, but barely hanging onto the edge of the tallest skyscraper in New York definitely isn’t on the top of your list. You feel your fingers start to cramp from the weight, and part of you realizes that this might be it. The end of the infamous Black Cat. Done in because you finally decided to do something good with your life.

Tch. Figures.

A bitter smile spreads across your lips. Of course, this would be the way you go. Ever so dramatic, but on your own damn terms. The thought is comforting, even if it only soothes your beating heart just a bit. You focus on that when your fingers finally start to give out, and you lose your grip on the edge of the rooftop.

When your eyes slowly slip closed, and you feel the wind rushing through your hair.

There’s a small voice in your head telling you to hold on, that it’s almost there. It’s weird. It almost sounds familiar. Almost like-

“Y/N!”

You jolt up in your bed, chest heaving as you struggle to regain your breath. Stars twinkle faintly outside a large window to your right, but your vision quickly adjusts to the rest of the darkened room. Your hands release their iron grip on your plush comforter, a sigh of relief escaping your lips. You’re in your bedroom. It was just another nightmare.

A scoff. ‘Just another nightmare.’ You’ve been plagued with the same stupid dream for weeks now, and you still can’t figure out why. It always starts and ends the same way. You’re hanging off the skyscraper, you try to hang on for as long as you can, you realize very quickly that you can’t hold on any longer, and then you fall. Presumably to your death. But you never seem to make it that far.

Not that you want to, but don’t most people not wake up until they hit the ground during those dreams? Why do you wake up gasping for air before you’re even halfway down? You suppose you should be lucky, but you can’t help feeling like there’s more to it than that. Especially with that voice, the one that calls your name? You always hear it calling out to you, every night, right before you wake up. Tonight wasn’t any different.

You sigh, swinging your legs over the edge of your bed and eyeing the clock on your night stand. 3:25AM.

….Shit.

Well, you’re probably not getting back to bed anytime soon, so you might as well put this wake up call to good use. Padding over to your closet, you carefully swing open the wooden door, cringing to yourself when a slight creak echoes off your bedroom walls. You wait a few seconds just to make sure you’re in the clear. But the apartment is completely silent, save for your roommate’s soft snores in her room next door.

The hidden panel in the back of your closet slides open with a click, and you can’t help the excited smile on your face. No matter how you’re feeling, the sight of that black catsuit never fails to brighten your mood. Your hands run along the smooth material, quickly changing into the familiar suit, and grinning when you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window. You didn’t really plan on going out, but….

Looks like the Black Cat is going to have some fun tonight after all.

The museum is quiet when you drop through the skylight, landing softly on the balcony of the second floor. Your EMP seems to have done its job, as the security system is powered down and there doesn’t seem to be a guard in sight. They’re probably all back in their office, hurriedly trying to figure out what the hell went wrong. If only they knew about the small, catlike figurine hidden on the roof. Although, maybe not. You don’t mind leaving your adorably deceiving EMPs behind, but they’re not for some random night guard to find. No, you leave them behind for a specific someone. A certain web-headed hero, if you will.

Oh, who are you kidding? It’s no secret (at least, not to him) that you love to tease New York’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Everywhere you go, every heist you pull, you always make sure the hero knows it was you. Obsessed? You wouldn’t say so. Sure, you definitely get a little too excited at the thought of just barely slipping out of his fingers again, but you don’t spend every waking minute planning his demise like some of his other big, bad villains.

Really, if you were to rank yourself, you’d probably be somewhere between “Lovable Anti-Villain” and “Hero With an ‘F’ in Good”. Not super “evil,” more like just enough to keep the wallcrawler chasing your tail.

But that’s not the entire reason you’re here tonight, slipping into the museum’s new exhibit on fourteenth century Japan.

The law labels you a criminal, Spider-Man believes you’re misguided, but you know what you are. You’re the Black Cat, a thief notorious throughout the underground. Well, you say that, but of the people that actually believe you exist, very few have actually seen the Black Cat in person. Actually, it may just be Spider-Man, now that you think about it. Maybe that’s why you feel a weird connection with the wall-crawling hero.

Either way, bottom line is you’re a thief, and a damn good one at that. It’s definitely not the most noble profession (or legal one), but your very specific set of skills make you the best at it, so why not? Plus, it’s not like you’re entirely heartless.

No, you only steal from the wealthy of New York, the highest of elites, the ones who can stand to lose a few thousands (or millions, if you’re feeling pretty moody that night). You’ve tried to explain that to Spider-Man, that it’s okay for you to steal from them because they’re the ones who deserve it. It’s downright disgusting how many of them used dirty means to come into their wealth, methods ranging from less than savory to straight up nefarious.

You may be bad, but you’re definitely not worse than them.

That brings you back to the exhibit. Most of the artifacts in this room were already either stolen or bought from the black market, so what does it matter if you just continue that line?

The latch of the display case clicks as you open the lid, admiring the ancient Japanese tea set nestled inside. You don’t really know its value yet, but it’s going to earn you a pretty penny, that’s for sure. Your hand reaches into the case, hovering over the ceramic teapot when you hear it.

THWIP.

You drop to a crouch, glancing up at the webbing splattered across the lid of the display case. If you hadn’t moved, that would’ve been all over you. And you’d definitely be pissed, if you didn’t know exactly where it came from. A sly smile crosses your face as you stand and turn, locking eyes (or masks?) with your favorite hero perched atop one of the exhibit’s statues.

“I’m starting to think you like us meeting this way, Spider-Man.”

The playful lilt in your voice never fails to catch him off guard. His broad shoulders tense, and it takes everything in you to suppress the giggle from escaping your lips. But he’s quick to compose himself, like always, and you’re almost certain you can hear the smirk in his tone.

“What can I say? My mom always told me to follow my dreams.”

You laugh, trailing a hand along another case as you stroll towards him, “How did you know I’d be here?”

“New exhibit filled with priceless artifacts and no rooftop security,” He shrugs, jumping from the statue’s head and landing in front of you with a soft thud. “Figured it’d be a cat burglar’s dream come true.”

“You thought of me?” You step closer, resting your hands on the white spider emblazoned across his chest. The muscles tense underneath your fingers, and you smirk when his hands twitch in the corner of your eye. “Don’t worry, Spidey. I promise I’m on my best behavior. I just want a few teensy, tiny things and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Sorry, Cat, but I don’t think any of these artifacts are for sale.”

“But they could be,” You shrug, turning away from him. Your fingers toy with the latch on a nearby display case. “See, I think I have a buyer who would love to add something like this to his collection…”

A gloved hand wraps around your wrist before you can open the case. Your eyes trail up his arm, blinking innocently at his white lenses.

“You know I can’t let you do this.”

You smile, leaning into him once more, “Can’t, or won’t?” He stays silent, and you reach your free hand up to cup his masked face. Your thumb softly traces back and forth on his cheek. “Isn’t it funny,” you whisper, “how something as simple as a piece of fabric can keep someone from knowing who you really are?”

“Cat…”

“Do you really think that you can save me, Spidey?” You tilt your head, eyes desperately scanning his face for any sign of his thoughts or feelings. “How do you know if I even want to be saved?”

He swiftly tugs you closer, and despite the white lenses shielding his eyes, you feel his gaze pierce into your own. When he speaks, his voice is soft but deep, and for the first time since you met him, you’re rendered speechless.

“Because you wouldn’t still be here if you didn’t.”

Before you can respond, the sound of footsteps down the hall startles you both. Spider-Man’s grip loosens as he quickly turns towards the exhibit entrance, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on. The guards must have finally figured out that someone is after the new exhibit, and they won’t be happy to find two intruders standing inside.

Your eyes shift between Spider-Man and the exhibit entrance. It won’t be hard for you two to escape together before the guards even set foot in this room, but what will you do then? Will you laugh and tell him that he’s wrong about you, that you really don’t want his help?

….Or is it that you don’t think you deserve it?

No, he’s just wrong. Spider-Man doesn’t know you, and it’s silly of you to even pretend that he does. You know you like your life just the way it is. That’s not going to change, no matter how much your chest tightens as you gently tug your wrist out of his grip.

It’s not going to change, no matter how much a part of you wishes he would notice you climbing up to the skylight in the center of the room. That he would stop you from slipping through it, and back into the starry night. That he wouldn’t let you fall through his fingertips yet again.

But you’ve never been particularly lucky. Especially not when you really want to be.

By the time you get back to your apartment and change out of your gear, it’s already well past dawn. Like usual, your roommate is still asleep, blissfully unaware that you were gone for a good portion of the night. Which is good, because you really don’t know how you would explain your “other life” to her if she ever found out.

With your suit safely stowed back in its hidden panel, you collapse onto your bed with a heavy sigh. What a fucking night. You’re a little upset that you ended up leaving empty handed, but you knew that was going to happen as soon as you saw the wall-crawler. He really just guessed that you were going to be there tonight. Are you getting that predictable?

Ugh, no. You shake your head. The last thing you want to think about right now is what happened at the museum. How could such a simple sentence send all of your thoughts into a whirlwind of emotions?

“Because you wouldn’t still be here if you didn’t.”

His voice still echoes in your mind, and you stuff your face in your pillow with a groan. This is dumb. Why are you freaking out over this? It’s not like he meant anything by it, just his usual Spidey “I can help you!” stuff. Yeah, that’s it. He just gave you the same spiel he gives all his other enemies, nothing more, nothing less.

….But why does that hurt more?

You throw the pillow off your face as another sigh escapes your lips. Sometimes you really wish you could be one of those super evil villains. You know, those ones who never have to deal with their feelings and shit because they’re too busy taking over the world. Although, you guess you don’t really want to take over the world, at least not all of it. That’s way too much responsibility. You wonder if the people who actually do want to rule the world think of how much time and effort that’s going to require. How do they prepare for that? Is that mental preparation how they’re able to turn off all their feelings? Could you somehow learn to-

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

You shriek at the sudden whisper in your ear, instinctively rolling away from its source and tumbling off the end of your bed. Your butt hits the floor with a dull thud, and you glare at a giggling Sana over your mattress.

“What the hell was that for?!”

“S-Sorry!” She chokes out. “I didn’t think I’d scare you that bad!”

Crawling back onto your bed with a grumble, you eye Sana as she struggles to collect herself. She really shouldn’t have scared you that bad, but you guess the lack of sleep and your frazzled thoughts are finally starting to catch up with you. When Sana finally manages to contain her giggles, she plops down on the edge of your mattress with a small huff.

“I really am sorry for scaring you, Y/N,” She reaches out to squeeze your hand. “I thought you would have noticed me walk in.”

You shake your head, giving her a small squeeze in return, “It’s fine. I’ve just...been having some trouble sleeping lately. That’s all.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Her voice is so sincere and caring, you almost find yourself saying yes. You don’t, though, because you can’t tell her the real reason why you haven’t been sleeping, and you don’t think you can bear to lie to her about it, either. With that, your roommate leaves, going back to her room to get ready for her day while you try to muscle up the energy to start yours.

Throwing your legs over the side of your bed, you grab your phone from your nightstand to check the time. Oh, looks like you got a good number of texts during your daydreaming, too.

...And it looks like most of them are from your best friend.

changaroo 🦘 : hey, jinyoung’s in a bit of a mood today, so make sure you’re here on time, alright?

changaroo 🦘 : also i think i have an idea for your next article, i’ll tell you about it when you get in

changaroo 🦘 : y/n, you were supposed to be here 20 min ago, everything okay??

changaroo 🦘 : ….you fucking slept in again, didn’t you?

changaroo 🦘 : hold on i’m texting sana

Ah. So that’s why she was in your room. Chan’s texts are just what you need to get yourself out of bed, though, instantly motivated by both your best friend’s caring nature and the thought of your boss’s wrath hanging above your head. The last time Jinyoung was in a “mood”, you ended up covering the city’s sewer system for a whole month just because you left your dirty coffee mug sitting in the break room sink. That’s a mistake you only make once. Or four times, if you’re poor Hyunjin, who just can’t seem to stay on your boss’s good side, no matter how hard he tries.

Speaking of which, you really need to get your ass moving, or else you’ll wish you only had to cover rats and raw sewage.

Your chest heaves as you approach the Daily Bugle building, the red neon letters standing tall and proud atop its roof announcing the paper’s presence to all of New York City. Some tourists stand around here and there in front of the building’s entrance, and you have to push past them in order to make it inside. Once inside, you think you can take a brief moment of rest.

Until you notice the clock above the receptionist’s desk and realize you’re almost forty-five minutes late.

With a small cry, you take off in another mad dash towards the stairs, taking the steps two at a time and only almost faceplanting once before you finally burst onto your floor. Everyone immediately turns at the noise, and you avoid their probing eyes as you make your way to your desk.

You sit down, turn on your computer, and get yourself ready to act like you aren’t almost an hour late to start your day when you sense a familiar gaze still boring into your forehead. You can’t stop yourself from glancing up, finding his eyes staring at you over your monitor.

“Not. One. Word.”

Chan laughs, leaning back in his chair and giving you a view of his entire face. He mimes zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key, and a small smile crosses your face. Leave it to him to automatically brighten your day.

If you’re being completely honest, you were a little worried at first about the curly haired Australian your boss decided to place at the desk across from you. Not that you didn’t like him, but you didn’t exactly become the paper’s best investigative journalist by sitting around and making friends. Sure, you don’t necessarily need this job given your…”other” career, but it gives you something to do during the week and keeps your mind busy. That, and you really just like digging into people’’s deep, dark secrets.

Long story short, you weren’t exactly thrilled about some new guy coming in and taking your eye off the ball. At least, that’s what you thought, until the day Christopher Bang showed up and introduced himself as your new partner. Turns out, Jinyoung didn’t just hire a new photographer for the Bugle, he hired a new photographer specifically for your articles. You knew then that you just had to suck it up and deal, but you didn’t count on Christopher (or Chan, as he later insisted you call him) being literally the nicest, most charming guy you’ve ever met.

And despite your attempts to stop it, you and Chan quickly became “thick as thieves,” as he likes to call it. The phrase makes you cringe a little every time he says it, but you can’t deny its truth. If you were to trust anyone with your secret life, it would definitely be your best friend. Now, you’re never going to do that because what in the hell would you gain from it, but the sentiment is still there.

Actually, speaking of secrets….

You glance up at Chan again, except this time his attention is focused on his own computer screen. Part of you wants to just leave him be, but this has been eating at you since you talked to Sana this morning. Or, no, when you first woke up at 3AM today. You swallow your pride, clearing your throat just loud enough to get Chan’s attention. His brown eyes immediately find yours.

“Something wrong?”

“I, um…” You bite your lip. “I had another one of those dreams again.”

Chan’s brow furrows, and he leans forward in his seat, “The falling one? Isn’t that the fourth time this week?”

“It’s the twelfth time this month, Chan.”

“Shit…” He mumbles, running a hand through his blond hair. You try to ignore the way your heart speeds up at the small action, staring down at your keyboard to hide your face. You’re just...not used to trusting someone as much as you trust Chan. Yeah, that’s it. Absolutely nothing but that sole reason alone. “Y/N?”

“H-Hm?” You blink up at Chan, cheeks heating up even more when you realize you were caught daydreaming. Again.

“I just figured there must be a reason you keep having the same dream, you know? Like, maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something?”

You think for a moment. Could that be the case? Is your subconscious really fucking up your sleep schedule for some important message that’s getting lost in translation? Are you just a dumbass who can’t understand your own brain?

Honestly, all valid possibilities.

Before you can respond, though, the phone on your desk rings loudly. Chan’s brow raises as you pick it up, but you both already know who it is. There’s really only one person who uses that line, and it’s the same person you were hoping not to hear from today.

“L/N, my office. Now.”

And then he hangs up. Your boss has always been a man of few words, but sometimes you really hate how such a short sentence can strike so much fear into your heart. Chan watches as you stand up and adjust your outfit with a heavy sigh.

“Tell him you haven’t been sleeping well lately,” He suggests, and for a minute you think he’s actually being earnest. But, of course, he just has to open his mouth again, “And if that doesn’t work, then at least we’ll be exploring the sewers of New York together!”

A laugh bubbles past your lips, “Are you serious?”

“Hey, I’ve always wanted to know if the Ninja Turtles were real,” Chan grins widely, chuckling when you just shake your head and walk away. He can still see the smile on your face, though, and it only grows when he shouts after you, “You know you wouldn’t mind being the April to my Casey!”

“In your dreams, Christopher!”

His loud laughter follows you all the way to the stairwell, and your chest feels light as you climb up to your boss’s office on the top floor. With Chan’s bright smile in the back of your mind, it’s hard to remember what you were so worried about in the first place. At least, until you’re standing right outside your boss’s door.

“Thank you for taking your sweet time, L/N. Please, sit down.”

Park Jinyoung is, for lack of better words, intimidating to some, and outright terrifying to others. You like to think you’re somewhere near the former, but the look on the twenty-four year old’s face right now is enough to send even the most despicable villains running for the hills. Really, who needs a Spider-Man when you’ve got a Jinyoung to just death glare the bad guys away?

You take a seat in the chair in front of his desk, nervously wringing your hands in your lap. He spends a few more seconds shuffling around the papers and files on his desk, then fixes you with a deadpan look.

“Do you know why I called you in here, L/N?”

“Because I was...late again?” Your shoulders hunch, automatically preparing for the verbal barrage of scolding to start, but it never comes. You glance up at Jinyoung cautiously, shocked to find his brows raised in amusement.

Much more to your surprise, he chuckles, leaning back in his office chair, “You look like you’re about to faint, L/N. I really think you need to loosen up a bit.”

“O-Okay, sir-”

“That’s why,” Jinyoung cuts you off, “I want you to take on a new side project for the paper.”

You blink. A side project…? What could he possibly mean by that? And how does giving you more work equate to you “loosening up”?!

“Let me explain.” You stay silent as your boss clears his throat, sitting up in his seat to look you in the eyes. “Truthfully, it would be less of a side project and more of an ongoing investigative piece. It’ll take the place of your other responsibilities for the Bugle, so you can divide and spread out your workload as you see fit. You don’t even have to report to me until the full piece is finished, if you’d like.”

...Is this a test? Because it feels like a test, doesn’t it? He gives you some too-good-to-be-true offer, and then fires you for being stupid enough to accept it. Or, maybe-

Oh, god, is this where the sewers come in?

“I’m sorry, sir,” You force out, steeling your nerves against his hard gaze, “but I think I’m going to decline.”

You hope that’s going to be the end of it, that Jinyoung will just nod and send you on your way, but of course that’s not the case. No, instead your boss surprises you for the second time, and he actually smiles.

“Are you sure, L/N?” He asks, and you get the strange feeling he’s getting some sick satisfaction from messing with you. “I haven’t even told you what the piece is about yet.”

A small sigh leaves your lips, “What...What is it about, sir?”

“Oh, it’s simple, L/N,” Jinyoung’s smirk grows, taking your question as an acceptance of his offer. His next words shock the objection right out of you, though, and leave only one thought in their place. “You’re just going to do this city and this paper a favor, and finally find out who New York’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man really is.”

...Fuck.

“He wants you to what?!”

You flinch, pulling your phone away from your ear as Sana’s voice screeches from the device. Honestly, she hadn’t been your first choice to tell about your new “project” (Jinyoung didn’t give you much choice, after all), but Chan was nowhere to be seen when you got back to your desk. You did, however, have one simple text waiting on your phone.

changaroo 🦘 : had to run out. meet you at the usual spot for lunch. my treat <3

So, here you are. Waiting at the pizzeria you and Chan regularly meet at with your roommate loudly screaming in your ear. You mumble something to Sana about needing to go and seeing her at home, and hang up the call. You love her, you really do, but right now you need someone who’s not going to blow out your eardrums without listening to what you actually want to say.

But it’s starting to look more and more like that won’t be Chan, either.

The blond boy has a habit of disappearing every now and again, both during and outside of work, and right now is starting to seem like one of those times. It doesn’t usually take him this long to respond to your texts, and he never likes to miss your little ‘lunch dates’ without any warning. Either something is seriously wrong, or…

“This just in, the NYPD advises all civilians to evacuate the east Harlem district. We’ve received reports of the Rhino attacking parts of the area, along with sightings of the masked vigilante, Spider-Man. That’s all we know for now, but we will continue to keep you posted as the story develops. Now, onto the…”

Ah, that makes a lot of sense. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Chan’s mysterious disappearances always line up with whatever villain of the day getting their ass kicked by everyone’s favorite “vigilante.” The news anchor’s choice of words makes you snicker, but you can’t help but worry for your friend. Most people run away from villain attacks, and it doesn’t sit well with you knowing Chan is regularly risking his life just to get a few good shots for his portfolio. His photos are amazing, there’s no denying that, but you always wonder how he gets his impossible close ups of villains and their destruction. It’s almost like he has to be right in the middle of–

The bell above the pizzeria’s door rings, jolting you out of your thoughts. You look up expectantly, but it’s still not your best friend. A quiet sigh escapes your lips. Another look at your phone tells you that you can’t wait here much longer; you need to get back to work sometime today. Still, it pains you a little bit to stand from your guys’ booth. Your usual tip is left on the table despite it being only one meal, and you head back to the Bugle with your best friend lingering in the back of your mind.

Back at your desk, you finally get a chance to mull over your new “assignment”. Jinyoung has tasked you, for whatever reason, with figuring out Spider-Man’s real identity. You remember now why you wanted to talk to Chan so badly. You thought, since he’s always running back and forth between villain attacks, that he would have some kind of idea where to start. That, and you really just wanted to rant about your asshole boss to your best friend. Chan ended up being a no show, though, and he’s still not answering any of your texts. You hate to admit it, but you’re a little lost.

Your first thought was to use the connection you already have with the spider to your advantage. You’ve “known” each other for a couple years now, and maybe, just maybe, you can convince him to actually take off the mask. It wouldn’t be that hard to just don the Black Cat suit and wait around one of your usual hang outs for him show up. Actually, that would probably be the easiest thing to do.

Except that you can’t.

As you stare at Chan’s vacant desk in front of you, you’re bitterly reminded that Y/N L/N has been assigned this job, not the Black Cat. And unfortunately for you, Y/N L/N does not have the same connection to Spider-Man as your alter ego. Looks like you’re starting this investigation from square one.

...Which is why you wanted to talk to Chan. He’s your partner, after all; he’s “technically” supposed to help you out with this stuff. That is, if he was actually fucking here. Maybe you should drop by his apartment on your way home, just to make sure he didn’t get trampled or something trying to get a snapshot of the Rhino’s rampage. You try to tell yourself you meant that as a joke, but it doesn’t stop the flash of worry in your chest. You’ve seen firsthand some of the destruction Spider-Man’s battles leave behind. Hell, you’ve even experienced it. And honestly? It doesn’t sit well knowing your best friend makes a hobby of putting himself right in the middle of it.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips, and you’re just starting to consider giving up and calling it a day when your phone lights up with a notification. You hastily snatch it off your desk, immediately perking up upon seeing the name on your screen.

changaroo 🦘 : sorry i missed lunch...take out at mine?

changaroo 🦘 : i’ll order from that korean place you love <3

The tension in your shoulders immediately melts away, tension that you didn’t even realize you were holding. You waste no time in responding, though; relieved to know that he’s okay, but wanting to mess with him a little bit for leaving you on radio silence for so long.

you : tsk tsk channie

you : don’t you know how rude it is to leave a lady waiting all by her lonesome??

you : frankly i don’t know if i’ll ever be able to trust you again (tear emoji or some bs idk)

Three little dots pop up seconds after you press send, and you bite your lip to stop the smile threatening to break through.

changaroo 🦘 : my apologies, princess!!

changaroo 🦘 : please, allow me to make it up to you with some of your fav ice cream from the convenience store down the road!

you : hmm…

you : with or without sprinkles?

changaroo 🦘 : uh, with ofc. just who do you think i am??

A small laugh bubbles up your throat, but you cover your mouth before it can escape. Woojin, head of the paper’s advice column, side-eyes you from his desk a few feet away. You don’t notice, though, happily typing out your reply to Chan with an eager grin on your face.

you : apology accepted. i’ll be there in 15

you : ...casey 😉

The train ride to Chan’s apartment is a familiar blur. You’ve taken it more times than you care to count, and it’s honestly become a bit of a habit to instinctively get off at his stop. You don’t have to stop yourself this time, though, putting your legs on auto-pilot and letting your mind wander as you walk. Today has been….a real doozy. From that stupid dream this morning to Jinyoung dumping a monster of an investigative piece on you with zero notice, you’re exhausted, to say the least. No wonder Chan’s front door is such a comforting sight.

You gently rap your knuckles against the wood before letting yourself in, like you always do. A relieved sigh escapes you as you drop your bag by the door, inhaling the light, summery scent of your friend’s home. That reminds you, you’ve really been meaning to ask him what air freshener he uses. Or maybe it’s his cologne, because it’s not just his house that smells this sweet; it’s Chan himself. Or who knows, maybe he’s like your coworker Minho and it’s really both. Actually, now that you think of it, isn’t it a little weird to have a specific smell you associate with your best friend?

…Which is something you can worry about later.

“Chan!” You call as you walk into the living room, eyes scanning around. There are various take out boxes scattered across the coffee table, but the blond is nowhere in sight. You try again, “Chan?”

A frown etches onto your face when there's still no response. That’s weird. It’s not like him to just leave when he knows you’re coming over, especially without telling you first. But the food on the table is still warm, meaning he had to have been here recently. Did you somehow miss his text? You pull your phone out of your back pocket, confirming that you did not, in fact, miss any “brb” texts from Chan. So, what the hell?

Your search takes you into the small kitchen next, but there’s no sign of your best friend there, either, unless the dirty dishes in the sink count. Oh, gross, you know for a fact some of those have been in there since last week. Your nose scrunches up in disgust and you quickly move on from the room, but not before making a mental note to tell Chan to do his fucking dishes.

However, the bathroom is empty, too, leaving the apartment’s one bedroom as your last stop. If you had more of a conscience, maybe you would think twice before barging into your friend’s bedroom unannounced. Then again, boundaries never really have been your strong suit.

The door swings open, and the first thing you see is abs. Nice, well toned abs that, as you soon find out, belong to your best friend. Said best friend is frozen, one of his signature black tees pulled halfway down his torso. After a few seconds of stunned silence, you force yourself to tear your eyes away from Chan’s stomach, only for your cheeks to immediately explode in pink when your gaze meets his.

A small squeak leaves your mouth, and you quickly mumble something about waiting for him in the living room before slamming the bedroom door shut. That could not have gone any worse.

#bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #chan x reader #chan x you #skz chan x reader #chan #bang chan #skz bang chan #bang chan fic #bang chan fluff #skz x reader #skz x you #skz fluff #my writing #guess who still has no idea how to tag things lolol

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addindashopping · 6 years

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Gadget Cooking Shield Aluminum Frying 1x Splatter Oil Splash Guard Anti Home

Gadget Cooking Shield Aluminum Frying 1x Splatter Oil Splash Guard Anti Home Auction price: $2.14 Bid count: Buy it now: $2.14 via eBay https://www.ebay.com/itm/Gadget-Cooking-Shield-Aluminum-Frying-1x-Splatter-Oil-Splash-Guard-Anti-Home/163056865373?hash=item25f6f2505d:g:U00AAOSwGV9bAamh

#eBay #Home & Garden #Gadget Cooking Shield Aluminum Frying 1x Splatter Oil Splash Guard Anti Home

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mangowall · 3 years

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null Description: Cooking Frying Pan Oil Splash Screen Cover Anti Splatter Shield Guard Kitchen Tools The oil splash screen keeps cooking surfaces, counters, walls and floors free from ...

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superkirana · 3 years

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ONICORN Kitchen Oil Baffle Plate, Cover Folding Windscreen Camping Stove Board Grease Splatter Guard for Frying Pan, Anti Splatter Shield Guard, Oil Block for Kitchen Restaurant Use. (1PCS, White)

Price: (as of – Details) Description: 1. Non stick, and folding design. Convenient to use and storage. 2. Made of aluminum foil, protect against hot, or harmful grease. 3. Keeps cooking surfaces, counters, walls free from grease splatters. 4. Three hinged panels unfold and surround your pans and skillets to provide a protective wall. Specifications: Color: white, black Feature: folding Material:…

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#kitchen tools for frying

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zombieheroine · 7 years

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Crystal veil [MegOp, TFP, T]

@bonnini here it finally is! The fic you asked for and I took way too long to write. I hope you like it. <3

Rating: T Words: 2400~

[This work on Ao3]

The battle of Crystal City went down in history as one of the bloodiest and most beautiful battles of the War for Cybertron. It was a long, hard struggle on the ground but after the Vosian air-force joined the battle the Decepticon front pierced through the Autobot line of defense, and after that it was like a flood of fire taking over the city. The tall buildings made of crystal and glass didn't exactly crumble or collapse as much as they shattered, raining millions and millions of glimmering shards from the high heavens all the way down to the ruined black roads. What little remained of the internal structures of the shattered sky-scrapers and towers were covered in melted glass that ran like liquid in the heat of the bombs and flames.

Megatron wasn't in the front line but he was certainly in the field, one couldn't mistake him for anyone else as he was leading the second wave of soldiers in an arrow head formation, efficiently sweeping over the scattered, retreating Autobot ranks. Even if it wasn't the front line Megatron was still fighting as if it was: as if he was the one trying to breach the enemy front, to run up against a steady wall of defense, and in charge of either opening the path or offlining trying. He finally had his war, finally got to tear it all down and set fire to everything of old, everything was going to be burned clean, and he wasn’t about to do things by half. So he fought on, he fired his fusion cannon towards the fleeing soldiers, and whenever he got close enough he sliced down his sword, the very same he had had since the Pits and had carried all the way here. The energon splattering from the bots getting shot and torn apart all around him seemed even hotter on his plating than the fires from the bombs did. “Starscream!” he yelled into the comm over the thundering noise of the battle, “split your air force into smaller hit teams and spread them along the front!” The seeker sounded almost bored when he acknowledged the order, and mere kliks later the flyers above soared up, breaking off from the fire fight and disappeared into the black smoke above the city, regrouping and forming new attack formations. Megatron would have been a fool if he didn't appreciate his air force, but he preferred to keep his own pedes on the ground and take a more hands-on approach to the battle. Starscream sounded almost detached from the battle, content to keep his distance and play it safe, and Megatron knew he would never understand choices like that. What fun was a fight without direct contact? What pleasure could there be if you didn't get to pound your fist against your opponent's armour and destroy it? What kind of a satisfaction would all this death and destruction be if he wasn't elbow-deep in it himself? Nothing. It felt like it was truly raining glass, so never-ending the shower of crystal shards was, clinking and jingling as they hit Megatron's helm and armour and bounced off. He wished the battle would never end. He wished there would be an endless supply of Autobot soldiers for him to demolish, shoot and slice in half. Only spilled energon and fire could soothe that wound, the void inside that had been carved into him by being nameless and worthless for so long. But even if his hunger was tended to as he greedily rampaged through the previously so clean and orderly streets of Crystal City and destroyed anyone and anything that happened on his path, even when he was the very tip of the sword that was his army, there was still something missing. He was reaching for something more than simply tearing down these buildings of glass and crystals and slicing through rows of enemies, and that was to strike through that red mark each enemy was bearing. Except the mark they were wearing was something more than a simple shield on armour. It wasn’t just a mark, it was a symbol, and behind it was greater meaning, something that Megatron’s sword couldn’t reach no matter how hard he struck.

That shield, the symbol, stood for something, someone, and only striking that mech would soothe the rage. And yet no matter how Megatron searched the battle field, the enemy he yearned for was nowhere to be seen. The city was coming down around them and enough sky-scrapers had rained down as shards of glass that the landscape was starting to resemble smooth plateaus of fire, but still the hastily retreating Autobot troops were missing their greatest weapon. Frustrated, Megatron growled to himself and ordered his army to regroup. The order was sent out to the strike unit too, and the advancement halted for a moment when the Decepticon soldiers fell back into their assigned places behind their commanders. The wounded and the offline were quickly counted and the useless ones were hauled behind the lines for scrap. The weapons were reloaded and ammo was spread equally among the troops. It was a fast regrouping and the orders were still the same when they moved again: Search and destroy. Cover as much ground as fast as you can, take no prisoners. The short break did nothing to calm Megatron down, and the same rage was still fuming within him when they moved again, and this time he took his rightful place in the front. He was the opened fire, the first flame, the tip of the sword, and when he moved he pierced through his enemies like they were nothing more than tin foil. No one was his match. The glass rain had turned from sharp to wet as the glass and crystal melted in the shimmering hot air. Drops of red-white glass hit the ground and the fighting bots, and despite his fury Megatron noticed those droplets sluggishly running down his armour. Liquid glass and energon mixed together and probably reflected the flames around them. There was no end in sight. It felt like the cruel grinding of the battle had gone on for a small eternity before the retreating Autobots finally regained some of their spirit. Even in retreat they closed ranks, the able took the wounded and ran ahead before the bots still in fighting condition took their places and met the advancing Decepticons and returned fire. It seemed that they had finally found more ammo as bullets and grenades joined the blaster fire again, and Megatron grinned as the fight regained some of its spice again. Now their enemy was pushing back again, and cutting them down like this was so much more rewarding than chasing the fleeing troops had been only moments ago. Megatron felt his battle fury flaring and his old grudges treated by its caress.

And then at last, only a (former) block or so ahead of him, midst the crystal ruins and flaming fire and black smoke, showered in the same glass rain as he was, stood the greatest war machine the Autobots had, and Megatron felt his spark burning at the sight. Optimus Prime’s armour might have still been cooling down after the recent upgrade, but the mech carried it like it was a part of him already, his transformation perfected and the full power of it realized. Optimus still wielded his new blades like he was holding them rather than them being a part of him, but he was a terrifying opponent to any foe that came within range. Now he was as built for war as any mech from the Pits, and yet he still moved fast and light like he had before, a blur of red and blue and silver as he stood his ground. Here was the point where the free advance of the Decepticon side was finally being stopped, all because the Prime had brought order to his troops and set the line of defense right there where he stood and obviously refused to move. Autobot soldiers around him joined the front with newly found courage and motivation, and the battle formed on place. Megatron passed on new orders for his troops, creating dense units that he ordered to strike the Autobot front as one and pierce through anywhere they could and break the line of defense, but he had to admit that Optimus had chosen the place for the stand-off well: Here the buildings had already collapsed and thus the environment was mostly stable, the roads were wide and the heavy stone bridges built over them were still intact, creating higher ground and cover for the defense, and with only a quick glance Megatron could see that if they wanted to strike through here they’d have to make it through the bottleneck that the heavily manned bridges and roads created. But that was of no import now: The city had lost already. There was nothing behind except rubble and fire, nothing worth guarding, only ground to conquer, and the battle would sort itself out according to that soon. What Megatron cared about was that red and blue war machine that had become the tip of a sword for the Autobot army, standing his ground high and mighty and dominating the field with his presence. Optimus had his face turned upward as if he was facing off the entire enemy air force like that instead of only the beak of it: The ground forces around him were dealing with the Decepticons on pede, and Optimus alone was watching over them and firing his ion blaster towards the three seekers making attack dives at him. He dodged missiles and blaster fire, dancing on his place but never taking a step back. His defense was grounded and solid, his blades and blasters returning everything shot in his direction while his strong armour took the grazing missiles and plasma shots like they were nothing. He protected his troops from the assault from above while his troops watched his back, the Prime never having to lower his gaze from the sky. Megatron gritted his dentae, shook his sword dry of energon and opened a comm line. “Starscream,” he snapped, “take your flyers and attack the back of Autobot lines!” When Starscream responded the previous indifference was replaced with hard surface probably hiding strain: “My Lord Megatron, the anti-aircraft fire is too strong there. We cannot break through!” “Then take on the edges of the front line! Just get away from the front! Now!” No further argument followed, the seeker was probably content to retreat anyway, and as Megatron readied his sword again with his optics on his prize the seekers firing at Optimus soared up and didn’t come back down. Among all his rusted grudges there was one fresh wound, one throbbing ache that no amount of energon spilled or Autobot shields destroyed soothed. Megatron stepped forward, breaking off the line of his soldiers with his sword ready and fusion cannon cycling up. The first step away from the line felt like breaking the sound barrier, like he was piercing through an invisible wall into a different plane of existence while his spark beat like trying to power up every single battle protocol and weapons system his frame had. But after that first move his steps became light, and suddenly his frame didn’t weigh dozens of tons but was as light as a droplet of crystal falling from the sky. He sprang forward. “Optimus!” he roared as he charged towards the Prime, the other sword’s edge, the new war machine, his traitor of a brother. “OPTIMUS!” The world on this side of the invisible wall was quieter, the blaster fire only a faint buzz in the background as Megatron charged. He swatted the enemy soldier around him aside like they were nothing, their fire or blades grazing him or even directly hitting him feeling like nothing, and then, at last, Optimus lowered his gaze form the sky and met his optics. Little Orion was no more. Something grand and terrifying had been written over that little archivist, something who would take equal footing with Megatron, something Megatron had expected to loathe for that, but now as he met those flaming blue optics and was welcomed with a sword he knew he could never hate this, only hunger for it. The little spark that had been Orion Pax had flared into a flame, forged into this war machine in the core of their world only to be returned here, as the grand jewel in Megatron’s war, the final and greatest thing to be conquered. Megatron brought down his sword and Optimus received the blow with a blade of his own, the battlemask guarding his faceplate but his optics glowing and giving away every emotion he could have hidden behind the mask. Their linked swords vibrated and rattled the armour of both, and the lock held for entire three kliks. “Optimus,” Megatron hissed through his gritting dentae before the Prime dissolved the lock of their blades, throwing them both back before re-engaging with equal force, “there you are.” Megatron’s spark was beating hard and steady and shimmering with something he soon recognized as joy. Even if the rest of the battle would be endless, there was no greater pleasure in store than the one here, with just the two of them. For Megatron, defeating Optimus would be the sweetest victory he would ever taste, and his systems cycled up to maximum power just at the thought of reaching that.

“You kept me waiting,” Optimus replied as he dove into a fresh attack with his blade first. A roaring laugh tore itself from Megatron as they entwined into their private battle. Optimus was like he was, covered in energon and glass, and he was more beautiful now than he had ever been. His optics glowed as blue as the energon running down his plating, and he was covered in a thin crystal veil that splintered as he moved, its cracks reflecting every colour of the spectrum when light hit them. The rest of the battle was forgotten, it was all just background noise. This was it, this was the meaning of it all, this was the core of the entire war. And Megatron loved every single swing of a sword, every blow, every burn, and every cut, everything he could give and receive from this, from the opponent he was made for.

#maccadam #megop #transformers #tfp #megatron #optimus prime #kapteenin raapustus

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undertale-rho · 4 years

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Underearth: Book 4 - Chapter 19

Further down the path, Frisk approached the Judgement Hall. The beginning of the end.

Stepping over the threshold, there was a sudden clap of sound followed up by complete darkness, a glow of gold, and a collapse back into the Judgement Hall.

Frisk looked around, spotting his corpse lying on the ground with no head, and a massive blood splatter just above, surrounding a sizable hole in the wall.

"So, that's why there's been no LOADs this time around." Frisk heard a composed voice say further in the hall.

Looking to the source of the voice, he saw a shadowy figure kneeling on the ground holding a long device of some kind. When the figure stood up, he identified the device to be a rifle.

"I know it's anti-material, but it works very well on people nonetheless." the figure said.

"Who are you?" Frisk asked.

The figure gave a chuckle, placing the rifle on the ground and kicking it aside. "I am nobody. Just a simple man trying to live a quiet life."

The figure started walking towards Frisk. In turn, Frisk did the same.

"If you just want to live a quiet life, why'd you just shoot me?" Frisk asked.

"I didn't much appreciate you killing all my friends and family." the figure answered.

The two stopped moving when there was six feet between them. Though the light, Frisk got a clearer look at the figure. He was Human. No outcrops, no excess calcification, no rotting flesh. A full, flesh-and-blood Human with wild brown hair, piercing green-grey eyes, and fair skin. A Human who wore stock blue jeans, a plain white tee-shirt, and dark-brown leather boots.

"I haven't killed any Humans." Frisk said.

"What makes you think I'm actually Human?" the figure asked.

"If you're not Human, why do you look exactly like one?"

"Why did Serif and Charon look greatly Human?"

Frisk thought about this. Why did they look Human for the most part? Focusing back on the figure, Frisk asked his next question.

"If you're not Human, what are you?"

The figure gave a quiet "heh" to the question. "I guess you could say that I'm caught somewhere in-between."

"What do you mean?"

"My genetic code contains both Human and Monster DNA. So do my brothers, but not to the degree of my own."

"How? Did one of the past Humans—"

"No. It was done through a process strikingly similar to cloning."

"Why? To what end?"

A smirk emerged on the figure's lips. "Have you ever wondered why Monsters are so weak? Why they can be killed with such ease? My creation was an attempt to make this not so. It all lies within the SOUL. Most Monster SOULs are a thousandth of the strength to that of a Human SOUL. Few Monsters are exceptions to this, such as Asgore, Toriel, Grillby, Serif, Charon, and so on, having only a hundredth of the strength rather than a thousandth.

"Papyrus is like any other Monster, having a thousandth of the substance and energy to that of Humans. Sans, however, has the strength of a Human's SOUL in terms of energy, though his substance is lacking. I suffer no such detriment, having Human-levels of both substance and energy."

"What does substance and energy have to do with anything?" Frisk asked.

"Everything. Though my 'father' and brothers are Monsters, slay me and my SOUL will persist like that of Humans. Fight me, and I will not exhaust so easily."

"Who are you?" Frisk asked again.

"I have already answered that question. I am nobody. A simple shadow in the background, eternally observing."

"I mean what's your name."

The figure broke into a full smile at that point. "My name is Calibri Gaster. In case you haven't guessed it by now, Sans Gaster and Papyrus Gaster are the brothers I spoke of."

"And, by what you have said, you would be the strongest entity in the Underground?" Frisk asked.

Calibri tilted his head a bit. "From a purely numbers perspective, you could look at it that way, yes."

Frisk's spirits rose in that instance. Here he was, face-to-face with the one he was told to seek.

"Then please, help me." Frisk said.

Calibri stepped back, aghast at Frisk's request.

"Why the hell should I help you?" he asked.

"Because it's in your best interests too. I'm not saying help me kill everybody, I'm saying help me stop the thing that's actually doing it!"

"You mean the LOV inside you? You're the one who wanted it to grow in the first place, don't try this innocent crap."

"No, I mean Chara. She took the LOV I had and is planning to use it to destroy all of Humanity."

Calibri started laughing. Frisk's hope began to drain at this sight.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"You..." Calibri worked out through the laughter. "You honestly expect me to believe that story? What the hell do you take me for, a complete idiot? Chara has been dead for six hundred years. Her SOUL was absorbed by Asriel and was never found after he died. Chara is long dead, with no chance of returning."

"Please, you must believe me!" Frisk pleaded.

"Enough! I've had enough of your games. You and Flowey are no different. Seeing as he probably tried to kill you, I'd say he's dead, though that could've easily been a ploy to make me drop my guard around that bloody flower. Whatever. Doesn't matter anyway."

Calibri reached behind him and pulled out an empty canister, placing it by a pillar. "I hope you don't mind," he said, "but I'm gonna kill you and take your SOUL to Asgore so that the few remaining Monsters can finally leave this place. Don't mind the SOUL jar. Oh, and if you would be so kind, don’t return after I kill you."

Stepping back towards Frisk, Calibri's eyes glowed red. A black cloth-like substance began to form over his entire body, with shaped pieces of bone appearing around him and attaching themselves to various places until his entire body was armored, save his head. His chest, which was covered in a breastplate that looked like a shield with ribs coming out the side and around, featured a heart-shaped hole in it which began glowing a dim red. Over his head, a skull-like structure with two tall horns appeared. Once fully encased, the eyeholes of the skull flashed red before returning to being black.

In his next steps, Calibri summoned a blade of simple design and two more massive skulls of similar design to his helmet.

"Approach, Frisk." Calibri said.

Nervously, Frisk drew the dagger from its scabbard. The two then began circling one another, each one waiting for the other to strike first. As Frisk watched Calibri, he noticed that small glowing orbs were forming and growing in size within the skulls situated on either side of Calibri, and the light within the heart-shaped hole in Calibri's chest piece was growing in brightness.

As the two continued to circle, Calibri raised one of his arms, pointing it at Frisk. At the same time, one of the skulls behind his opened its maw and fired a beam of red energy. Upon striking Frisk, the Human simply collapsed to the ground. As the corpse lay there, a tiny golden orb formed above it, and every part of his body was sucked into it.

Behind Calibri, a larger golden orb appeared, collapsing to reveal Frisk within. Calibri turned to face his foe.

"Give up." he said. "You won't beat me. Give up so the remaining Monsters can at least be free."

"I can't do that." Frisk retorted. "If I give up, Humanity will be destroyed."

"By what? Chara? She's dead, and you're a liar."

"I'm telling the truth!"

"And I'm done talking." Calibri had the other skull fire its beam, engulfing Frisk in another flare of energy.

Frisk charged Calibri from the golden orb as it respawned him, drawing the revolver on the way and firing a few shots at the creature. One shot landed in an upper spike of his left shoulder-pad, while another landed in his gut, and another in his leg. As Frisk closed the last of the distance, Calibri raised one of his arms and placed his palm on Frisk's chest. When he did this, a beam of energy erupted from a point on his palm and shot through Frisk.

"How many of those things do you have?" Frisk asked after he respawned.

"Enough. The fission beam is a perfect anti-Human weapon, capable of eviscerating a Human SOUL in a fraction of a second. While yes, if I wanted your SOUL it'd be stupid to use them. With you, it'd be even more stupid to avoid using them."

Frisk drew the revolver again and charged Calibri, firing rounds as he did so. Seeing the rounds, Calibri brought up his sword to deflect them, but was surprised to see the first shoot right through the blade. Seeing his tactic foiled, he dispelled the holey sword and nimbly dodged the rest of the projectiles.

When the bullets had passed, Frisk put the revolver back into its holster and drew the knife. Flipping it around, grabbing it by its square blade, he then threw the knife at Calibri. Seeing the knife hurling towards him, he simply stepped to the side and avoided it completely.

Frisk smirked when he did this, his eyes now glowing blue. Calibri, coming to a realization, felt a pain suddenly sink into his back. This pain continued through his back until a knife-blade emerged from his chest, continuing through until the dagger freed itself, leaving a gaping hole behind.

"Got ya!" Frisk said, catching the dagger out of the air.

"Did you now?" Calibri asked, his eyes glowing red as the hole in his chest closed and was re-armored.

What the hell? Frisk thought.

Not sure what to do next, Frisk used gravity magic to grab hold of Calibri himself and shoot him up into the air. Once near the ceiling of the Hall, Frisk caused him to slam into the ground, cracking the surrounding tiles.

Shocked by the development, Calibri slowly sat up and made both skulls open their jaws and fire their fission beams, while Calibri fired a third from his hand. As the light from the beams cleared, Calibri looked for any sign of Frisk. Nothing.

The sound of an orb forming came from behind Calibri as he looked ahead. Summoning another sword in his hand, he slashed out behind him, though Frisk vanished before the sword connected. Standing up, Calibri felt another sudden pain in his back, which caused him to flip around and slash once again into thin air. Again, pain emerged, and again his slash hit nothing.

Tired, Calibri's eyes glowed gold for a few seconds before he flipped around to strike at Frisk, who was there this time. As the sword approached Frisk's head, his eyes turned ivory, and Calibri hit a shield that formed to protect him. Frisk's eyes then turned blue as a weight enveloped Calibri, forcing him to the ground. When the weight lifted, Calibri didn't bother moving.

"Finally giving up?" Frisk asked as he approached the pathetic form of Calibri.

Calibri didn't answer as he tried to move his limbs.

"I won't kill you, Calibri." Frisk said, offering a hand to the creature. "I really do need your help."

Calibri let out a coughing laugh as he slowly sat up. "I know you're only trying to gain my trust so I will be easier to kill." he said. "But don't you worry. I'm going to save you the trouble!" Calibri then tightened his grip on the sword and drove it through his neck. A few seconds later, the two skulls disappeared and Calibri himself turned to dust.

Frisk, slowly gripping what just happened, knelt down to the dust. "Nonononononono!!!!" he said, picking up the dust, which clung tightly to his hands.

"CALM DOWN." Frisk heard the machine's voice in his head. "USE GRAVITY MAGIC AND GRAB THE SOUL JAR. NOW!"

Clinging tightly to the last remaining glimmer of hope, Frisk called the SOUL jar Calibri laid down by a pillar to his hand. As it flew towards him, a red, heart-shaped object—Calibri's SOUL—began to rise from the ashes.

"USE GRAVITY MAGIC TO OPEN THE JAR AND COLLECT HIS SOUL!!!" the Timepiece said.

Quickly, Frisk caused the lid to open, and the orifice to consume the SOUL. As soon as the SOUL was inside, Frisk grabbed the jar and its lid out of the air and closed it.

Inside, the SOUL moved around, slamming into the walls of its prison, but to no avail.

"EXPERTLY DONE." the Timepiece said. "NOW, IT IS TIME. CONTINUE TO THE THRONE ROOM."

Heeding its words, Frisk tucked the jar under his arm and continued through the last of the Judgement Hall, bound for the Throne Room.

Sozo : Gaster Overdrive

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#undertale #undertale au #undertale rho #UTRStory #underearth #sozo

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