#like silence with just Mare's heartbeat as she slowly sinks to her knees with the electricons just out of focus behind her grabbing on

[lilyharvord]

Once again I am screaming and crawling up the walls like Evil Dead over the fact that all the electricons grabbed onto Mare in Harbor Bay when she saw Cal’s body and the healer trying to resuscitate him.

Like everyone around her (except for her) knew her dumb ass was so in love with him that if he died she was going to go off like a fucking bomb and kill all of them and to avoid that they literally were fully prepared to either knock her out with their own ability or contain hers as much as possible.

Which just leads me to believe that if he had died, like if the healer had failed and he had died on the sand Mare would have turned immediately to Iris’s war ship and we would have gotten the duel of the fucking century. Because Iris would have been fighting to just survive and Mare would have been blindly fighting to kill at all costs in as painful of a manner as possible. And she would have taken so many lakelanders and nortian soldiers with her. So tbh, if Dane/the Scarlet Guard was smart, they would have let Cal die in that moment and they could have ended the whole thing in Harbor Bay.

#Just thoughts #red queen #glass sword #kings cage #war storm #war storm spoilers #mare barrow #listen she would have gone full OP boss mode #like... the choir version of her theme playing in the background as she goes after Iris OP boss mode #boss room music would have started playing #and Iris would have started sweating #you cannot deny it #I just think it's neat that her rage would have been fueled by Cal's death #like it's just so them #Cal: I would die for you #mare: I would kill for you #like that is their relationship in a nut shell #I think about this moment all the time #like I can see it on a screen in my mind #like silence with just Mare's heartbeat as she slowly sinks to her knees with the electricons just out of focus behind her grabbing on #and then all the sound comes back right after we see Cal inhale but the sound is Mare's inhale #its a jarring change from peaceful silence of Mare's slow and steady heartbeat as she watches the healer try to resuscitate him to SOUND #there can be muffled sounds around her while she watching #as a treat #I just think film is neat #it's my film degree speaking right there

[whumping-every-day]

Vampire Whump 6: The Journey

I’m back at it again with more vampire whump!!! Have another 4k words of Callum and this nameless vampire, traipsing through the desert and being dumbasses. 

Content Warnings for this one: Conditioning, aftermath of torture, using ‘it’ as a pronoun, blood, fear, some comfort, reluctant caretaker, kindness, but the whumpiest kind, ??? It will get fluffier as we go, also, it’s fluffier than it sounds 

Tagging the amazing @jay-whumples @pepperonyscience @learningtowhump @robinshouseofwhump @shameless-whumper @whumpingmydarlings @whump-em and @silverinkgoldenquill, who asked for more :)

Masterlist

~~

The journey is long, and the vampire spends most of it totally numb and disconnected. Something horrible is waiting for it back in its own body, it always is. But it has not struggled, and so far, it has not been hurt. The very idea of mercy in return for obedience is ludicrous. And yet, Callum’s hand has remained, soft and gentle on its back, seemingly with no purpose other than to comfort. It had frightened the vampire, at first, thinking it was being held down. But time is trickling by, and the hunter’s hand has stayed.

It’s the longest the vampire can ever remember being touched without pain.

But as the hours tick by, even the vampire’s distance from its own body can’t ease the growing discomfort. With its arms bound behind its back, most of its weight rests on abused ribs. The pressure from being slung over the saddle is becoming harder to ignore.

The transition from uncomfortable to painful takes several hours, and as it happens, the vampire only clenches its jaw shut tighter. The creature doesn’t understand what is happening, or where it is being taken. But it is determined to stay quiet, and still, and obedient. The muzzle could be put back on at any time. Its ribs are broken, and the discomfort spikes into agony with every sway of the horse. But the creature is still covered by the bag, keeping away from the scorching sun. This is still better, the vampire reminds itself, even as tears of pain start to prick at its eyes. This is still better.

“Hey. You alright down there?” The vampire flinches at Callum’s voice. It’s immediately tense, and its fingers flex fearfully behind its back, feeling the pull and tug of the rope. It hasn’t moved, hasn’t made any noise. It’s trying to behave. But somehow, it’s still managed to do something wrong. The vampire’s breath hitches as the horse slows, biting the inside of its cheek.

“You’re shaking,” Callum murmurs, and this time it sounds like he’s talking to himself. The vampire hangs there in petrified silence, swaying slightly with the motion of the horse. “Hmm. Maybe we’ve been going long enough…” The sun it gone, the vampire realizes belatedly. The warmth sinking into the fabric has been slowly easing, and now there is a breeze nipping at its feet through the end. “Alright. Just another few minutes. I’ll find somewhere to stop.”

When the hunter pulls them to a halt next, the sound is different. It echoes slightly, distorting the clack of hooves on stone, and there is the babbling of fresh water. Callum pulls the mare to a stop, and there’s a few moments of silence as the vampire just dangles there, waiting for the inevitable.

“Alright. Easy does it…” The hunter has dismounted, and he is unusually gentle as he pulls the vampire from the saddle. “There we go. That was a long ride, I know. Jeez, you’re going to need more blood, aren’t you…” It doesn’t feel like the hunter is talking to it, and the vampire just curls into itself. It is fully expecting to be dropped, or thrown, and so is surprised when instead, it’s carefully set on the ground. “Stay.” It’s said with a hint of warning, but punctuated with another one of those little pats. The vampire whines softly and immediately goes limp, and its breath is frozen in its lungs as the hunter’s footsteps move away.

The creature is still bound within the fabric, and it can’t do much more than lie on its side, but that is still a relief. How many times, during its existence of torment, had it longed to simply lie down? The outside air is fresh in its lungs, on its tongue, and the vampire takes a moment just to feel it. There are no shackles grinding against broken bones, no muzzle burning into its mouth, no unexpected kick to its unprotected stomach. It still can’t see, or move, and its broken knees were never healed to begin with… but that is a small price to pay for the moment of rest.

There is a soft thump as something is dropped onto the floor. Then there’s the sound of shuffling, a faint clinking, and then the hunter is crouching down over it again. The vampire’s whole body tenses, and it quickly squeezes its eyes shut. The gentle handling will stop now, surely. There was no reason for it to begin with.

Instead, the man speaks. “Careful now. I’m going to take the ropes off.” The bindings begin to loosen, ankles first, then knees – and the ropes were tied more carefully there, for reasons unknown to the vampire. The hunter’s hands are cool, and his fingers are calloused and rough, but they are careful while he works at the rope.

Once the materials fall away, the creature isn’t restrained at all, save for where its arms are tied behind its back. The vampire is still naked, and the air is cool on its skin. It doesn’t dare look anywhere near the hunter’s face. Callum does not need a reason to hurt it, after all, and the man has several… even besides the obvious. It is evening now, edging into night. Soon, the hunter will have to make sure the creature cannot run.

“You with me?” There are fingers waved in front of its face, and the vampire jolts away with a pathetic little whimper. There’s no hesitation, just blatant fear, and Callum sighs. “Yikes. Alright. You just sit tight, then.”

The man pushes upright and walks away, and the lack of pain is dizzying.

The creature is left alone, and it isn’t chained down. Callum is moving about the camp, and the vampire’s gaze lingers on his back, wide-eyed and wondering. The hunter is tall, and broad, and he excludes confidence and strength. He is also scarred, and while the only visible weapon is the knife at his belt, something deeply instinctual tells the vampire that this is a man accustomed to violence. This is a hunter just like the others, with anger and wrath in his blood. But the vampire glances down at itself, and at its lack of new injuries, and it can’t reconcile the information. The confusion hurts, thinking hurts, and soon enough the creature just squeezes its eyes shut and hides behind its knees.

The hunter has left his pack by the old, discarded firepit, sitting there so innocuously. There are chains and a muzzle in there, the vampire knows, and probably other things. It wonders, absently, if all the hunter’s implements are iron-free, or if that is a mercy reserved for when the man is feeling generous.

There’s a small commotion from where Callum has tied the horse, and the vampire flinches again, abruptly snapping back into the present.

“Whoa there, steady girl. Steady. I know, I know.” The hunter is murmuring to her, soft, soothing little nothings, and it’s familiar. It’s the exact same way Callum has been trying to soothe the vampire, and it is… bizarre. Some humans are kind to their beasts of labor, of course; those certain humans with more empathy or compassion than others. But it makes no sense directed towards a captive vampire. A vampire offers no labor, only sick, twisted amusement.

The creature can only watch as Callum dips the bowl under the shallow cut in the mare’s shoulder… which must have been the source of the commotion in the first place. The hunter is slipping his knife back into his belt, and the horse stamps a foot, clearly displeased, but she lets the hunter stroke her neck. When Callum offers her a bit of sugar, she accepts the bribe.

The bleeding stops quickly, and Callum rubs a bit of salve into the tiny slice as the mare nickers and swishes her tail. It is only when the hunter approaches with the full bowl that the vampire understands. It hardly dares to look up, as if looking at the bowl will give away how hungry it is. There will be a price to pay, it is sure, before it will be allowed to drink. Its knees are nearly whole again, and its hip is no longer grotesquely out of place… it can crawl, it thinks, if the hunter wants it to. It can grovel and beg.

“Here.” Callum sits, and he’s so close so abruptly that the vampire jerks, whining softly. Such proximity brings punishment, always. Especially when it’s feeding time.  

From where he’s sitting, Callum can only watch the vampire as it cowers in place. It’s so skinny, and the creature is still visibly broken in places. Its lower legs don’t sit right, and there is an old ring of bruises around its neck, mottled yellow and green. There’s so much filth and grit covering its skin, Callum can’t even tell what color it’s supposed to be. The hunter sighs again, and the creature flinches and immediately goes silent.

“I’m going to untie you now,” Callum says, setting the bowl aside for just a moment. “No funny business.” The knife is in his hand again before he even thinks about what he’s doing. Were it any other vampire, Callum wouldn’t have even considered letting it free. These things weren’t human, after all; they were just human bodies, dead and come back again, overwritten with mindless bloodlust. This creature would kill him in a heartbeat, as soon as it was able to. And yet, Callum looks down at the poor thing, quivering in place and face still half-healed from the muzzle, and he can’t do it.

“Steady,” he murmurs, and slices the rope. The vampire squeezes its eyes shut until the knife is put away, and even then, the creature is huddled low to the ground, eyes darting fearfully between the bowl of blood and Callum’s feet. It still hasn’t looked up at him.

If anything, it seems like the creature is more scared now that its arms are free. They fall forward automatically when the rope is cut, and the motion earns a pained gasp. They’re still very much broken, Callum notes, as the creature cradles its brutalized wrists in its lap.

No matter the case, there’s no way it can drink on its own. Callum just shakes his head and picks up the bowl again. “Okay. Come here.”

He keeps it as brief as possible, but there’s no way to feed the creature without touching it. Callum steadies it by leaning it against his side, and the vampire is thin and fragile against him, quivering like a small, broken bird. It is difficult to imagine this creature as one of the monsters he hunts.

“There we go,” Callum murmurs as the vampire downs the last of the blood. There’s a faint flush staining its cheeks, and it is a little out of breath as Callum pulls the bowl away. Horse blood isn’t much better than pigs, in terms of how much it will heal the creature… but it is better than nothing, and Callum knows he can’t give any more yet.

It is entirely habitual to reach up and pat the creature’s head once it finishes, just like Callum does with his horse, or the stray dog he sometimes feeds in the back alley. It feels natural, and he realizes only after that it is not something he should be doing.

The vampire, for its part, seems almost drugged. Its eyes are hazy and distant, and it slumps against Callum, leaning the entirety of its weight – which is almost nothing – against the hunter’s chest. It is a startling display of trust, or perhaps simply of vulnerability. The vampire has proven that it understands its position; it has not made a single aggressive move since Callum laid eyes on it, and it doesn’t seem inclined to do so now.

“Well.” Callum is mostly nonplussed, and it is vaguely uncomfortable to have the vampire’s fangs so close to his skin. Really, he ought to have the creature muzzled… doing otherwise is foolishness, any hunter would tell him so. And yet.

The man sighs, and the vampire whines softly in response, curling its injured wrists more closely to its chest. The creature doesn’t seem that old, for a vampire. Of course, age could be difficult to tell with these things… but if Callum had to guess, he’d call it young. Very young.

“You didn’t even do anything to deserve this, did you,” he murmurs. He can feel the creature hesitate against him, but there is no response.

Considering the state of its body, the vampire should still be starving… and a starving vampire should be trying to rip Callum’s throat out. But the creature is only sitting there curled into him, meek and completely docile. It’s trembling against him, faint but present, and the moment is far more intimate than it should be.

“Okay. Alright.” Callum firmly pulls away. The creature is still kitten weak, and Callum pushes back to his feet and leaves it by the firepit. It’s still unrestrained, and somewhere, somehow, Callum knows that’s a bad idea. But instead of rectifying the problem, the hunter just fixes the vampire with a warning look and jabs a finger in its direction. “You had better stay where you are.” The words or else are perfectly clear, if unsaid, and the creature flinches and nods frantically.

This was not how Callum had seen this going. When he’d first set out, he’d been expecting a vampire like the vampires he hunted; strong, fast, and absolutely hellbent on bloodshed. He’d been expecting a mission of containment. But this creature he finds himself in possession of… none of the old rules apply. The old rules can’t apply, or Callum won’t be able to live with himself.

In the end, the hunter can only sigh, again, and dig into his pack for dinner. He eats, then collects firewood from the surrounding area. It’s the dry season, and he doesn’t even have to let the vampire out of his sight to find enough wood. The creature seems to have taken his words to heart; it hasn’t moved since Callum told it to stay, and it flinches and shrinks down smaller every time it sees Callum checking on it.

The perfect obedience is unsettling.

The hunter is pulling out his bedroll and blanket when a new thought occurs. He can’t leave the creature free at night, that is too far, even for him. But Callum can still see how red and raw the vampire’s wrists and ankles are, even from the other side of the fire.

Silently, Callum digs out a less-used shirt from the bottom of his pack, and then fills his traveling pot with water. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he mutters to himself as he tears the shirt into thin strips and sets the pot to boil. It takes some time to heat up, and Callum pretends he doesn’t hear the terrified, bitten-off gasp when the liquid starts to boil. He waits while it cools, and once it is no longer steaming, Callum takes both items and comes to crouch in front of the vampire again. Its eyes widen as he approaches, and the creature whimpers and flinches away… but it’s trapped against the log. It can’t go anywhere, and it twists its face away when Callum lifts a hand.

“Let me see your wrists.” The vampire trembles, and it lets out a frightened, choked sob. But it still offers its bloody wrists, and Callum winces at the sight of the distended flesh. They aren’t even set properly, and there are still open wounds, weeping blood and puss from where the shackles had bitten into skin. “Okay. Breath, buddy.”

The vampire is still expecting to be hurt, but its terror of displeasing him seems stronger than whatever it fears Callum might do to its wrists. It is deathly still, aside from the initial cowering. Callum is as gentle as he can be as he dabs at the torn flesh, making sure the water isn’t too hot. When the wounds are at least mostly clean, Callum carefully winds the strips of cloth around the creature’s wrists. He’s got nothing to set the broken bones with… but the wraps will provide some support, and protect the open wounds from irritation. Infection is a long-lost battle, but hopefully being immortal means he doesn’t have to worry about that.

“There we go.” The vampire stares at its bandaged wrists for a long moment, and its expression is flat and uncomprehending. But its gaze flickers slowly from its wrists to the empty bowl of blood, then back to its wrists, then up to Callum, and the naked gratitude in the creature’s eyes hits him like a punch to the gut.

It’s the first time the vampire has willingly looked up at him. Caring for its wrists is a small kindness, but clearly, it’s more than the vampire is used to. Callum’s throat bobs as he swallows, and in the end he has to look away. “Right. Just… just sit tight for a sec.”

Callum uses the trip back over to his pack to clear his head. He can’t leave the creature unrestrained during the night, no matter how harmless it seems. Even a weak vampire can crawl across a camp site and slit his throat. But Callum had been expecting a vicious beast, and he’d packed accordingly. He isn’t prepared for this tiny waif of a vampire that flinches and cowers at every sudden move. He’s not going to muzzle the creature or clap it in iron chains, there’s no way.

But the vampire, when he returns, is clearly expecting both. It has shifted to its knees, palms held loose in its lap, even though Callum knows the position must be agony. It’s waiting for him, head bowed low, and it flinches when Callum drops his pack. He’s already got the rope out as he crouches.

“I’m in a pit of a pickle, here,” Callum says absently. “See, I can’t leave you free during the night… But I don’t really want to chain you up.” The vampire is frozen, and it is projecting fear with every ounce of its body. It dares a glance down to its unshackled wrists, then up to Callum as the hunter lowers himself to the packed earth.

It still hasn’t spoken, hasn’t tried to form anything except gasps. But it watches Callum, and eventually its eyes fix on the rope. There is silence for a long moment. Then it moves, very, very slowly, to hold out its wrists. They’re visibly swollen under the wrappings, and Callum knows that even the faintest pressure would bring agony. Yet still the creature holds them out in offering, head down, like it’s trying to appease him. It’s quiet for a moment, and then the vampire makes a soft, questioning kind of noise.

Callum just stares at it for a long moment, and then groans and drags a hand down his face. “Jesus, kid. You’re making this hard on purpose, aren’t you.” It’s said without any real malice, but the creature still flinches in response. It’s trembling again, and it won’t look at him, but it is still holding out its brutalized wrists. Callum stares some more, and suddenly, out of the blue, he’s frustrated. This isn’t how this trip was supposed to go, and this one vampire has somehow managed to fuck the whole thing up. “Fucking Christ, put your hands down,” he snaps. “What kind of vampire are you, anyway?”

The vampire folds under his tone like a stack of cards. One second it’s kneeling, silent and waiting to be tied up. The next it’s flat on the ground, whimpering and shielding its face. The creature doesn’t understand what it’s done wrong, but it understands that tone. That tone heralds a flurry of kicks and blows, and the creature bleats in terror as the hunter stands. It remembers those boots, heavy and spurred, it knows how much being kicked will hurt.

There’s silence, and it quivers, and waits. There’s a lot of waiting with this man, it seems – waiting to be hurt, waiting for the hunter to snap, waiting to be treated the way it deserves.

So it waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And – and there is nothing.

The vampire is sobbing against the dirt, curled into the smallest shape it can possibly manage. The position protects its vulnerable innards from the hunter’s wrath, but leaves its back and sides exposed. But there is still nothing, even as the vampire’s breath comes in panicked heaves. At some point, abject terror starts to mix with confusion. Perhaps the hunter is waiting for it. Or perhaps punishment will come the next day, when the sun rises again.

There is a faint clank nearby, and the vampire jumps like it’s been electrocuted. It wheezes in alarm, and it collapses in on itself, trying to curl its arms more around its head. But there is nowhere to go, and even if it could run… the creature knows better. How could it have forgotten so soon? Pain will come for it, no matter what it does. Pain will always come for it.

“Easy, bud.” The hunter speaks from somewhere nearby, and even though the voice is calm, it still has the vampire absolutely petrified. It thrashes and screams when it is touched. “Jesus, kid – still! Hold still.” The grip on its ankle tightens, and the vampire gives one last terrified moan and goes limp. “Holy fuck,” the hunter mutters. The vampire can’t think, or see, or move. It is consumed by the fear, and there is nothing left to do but be still and wait. “Still,” the man repeats, and the vampire whimpers.

In the end, there is no pain dealt. Instead, something closes around the vampire’s ankle, cold and rigid. The creature knows what a manacle feels like, but the metal does not burn. And that means… that means it isn’t iron. That means that even after the little scene it had caused, the hunter is still showing it mercy. There’s no burning, just cold steel, and the vampire covers its face and cries with relief.

The hunter, it seems, is done trying to talk to it. The log it is lying under is ancient and gnarled, and Callum loops the attached chain through one of the many openings, and locks it closed. It leaves the vampire with only a few feet of loose chain, but it is only bound by one ankle. It is an almost unimaginable amount of freedom.  

The vampire expects to be left like that, curled on the ground and still shaking. Instead, the human’s footsteps approach one more time. There’s a pause, and then a quiet sigh.

“I’m… I’m sorry, kid. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Try and get some sleep, okay…?” Something soft settles against the creature’s skin, and its eyes fly open, flinching back hard enough to hit its head on the log. It winces at the dull pain, but the thing covering its skin is bizarrely soft. A blanket?

The vampire’s thoughts grind to a halt for a solid ten minutes, during which Callum hesitates, tucks it in, and goes to bed.

There is blood, singing warm and soothing through its body, and exhaustion looms, heavy and foreboding. But the creature cannot quite tear its attention away from the blanket. It’s so soft, and so warm… and it smells like Callum. Even after everything, after the trouble it has caused, and after knowing what it deserves… the hunter has still chosen to give it a blanket.

The creature does not fault the hunter for ensuring his own safety. But for some unfathomable reason, Callum has decided to bind it in a way that does not hurt. The vampire is… astonished. It is reminded, suddenly, of that morning, when it had felt Callum crouch down above it for the first time, with his gentle voice and careful hands. It remembers thinking that it had felt a lot like mercy.

It is slow, and fearful, but eventually the creature’s fingers wind into the blanket. It’s like holding onto a cloud, and the vampire whimpers and immediately clutches it closer. The blanket is big enough to cover its whole body, and it is softer than anything the vampire can remember touching. It’s comforting. It’s soothing, of all the things, and the vampire is greedy in how it latches onto the comfort. It rubs its cheek against the fabric, and shudders silently at the softness of it.

In the end, the vampire is completely covered, save for the tuft of hair that peeks out at the top. The creature has crunched itself up into a tiny ball, and the blanket is tucked carefully underneath all the edges. The only thing sticking out is its ankle, and it’s the most comfortable the vampire has been in months. Or maybe ever. There are bruised fingers wound into the blanket in a death grip, and that grip is the last thing to loosen as sleep approaches.

Morning will bring a new swath of horrors, the vampire knows, because it always does. But in that moment, it is warm, and comfortable, and fed. The hunter has been so gentle with it, and the vampire can’t understand. But it does not need to understand to be grateful, and the creature tucks its nose against the soft blanket and closes its eyes. Maybe now it can rest. Just for a little.

--

[END]

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#whump #my writing #vampire whump #fear #reluctant caretaking #callum is trying #this is a monster #how long does it take u guys to read through this??? like i am genuinely curious #i cant stare at it any more but i wonder how much time it takes to consume #on that note i appreciate everyone who write for free so so much #hhnndfgfdjhgkjhfg

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Beauty and the Beast Ch.8 (Bucky x Reader)

We are getting closer and closer to the end, guys! I’m thinking I’m going to finish this one up since it’s so close, then focus on “His Shooting Star” and “The Prince and the Pauper”. 

Summary: It took the kingdom of Hydra five years to finally take advantage of the disappearance of the Stark Kingdom. It took Prince Brock two weeks to make the small, unprotected village of Marveline hate his existence. His ways left Captain Rogers to go looking for help, hoping to find a royal family that could protect the people. But what happens when he hasn’t come back? It’s up to Bucky to find out what happened to his best friend and the royal siblings, but he never expected what’s to come.

  Chapter 8 

"I love him." 

The words seemed to echo in Sam's mind as he tried to explain the situation to his friends and family. No one could grasp at the fact that Bucky was gone. Everyone thought it was going well and to hear the sound of Bucky leaving for the second time? They couldn't understand. The unspoken truth was that they were running out of time. And no one knew what to do. Fear was taking the lead.

 "Everybody, calm down," Rhodey shouted, voice carrying over the arguments already filling the halls. "Give Sam a chance to explain." 

All eyes were on him. He fidgeted slightly, knowing this would be a little difficult to explain. "She's...She's in love with him."

"Then the spell should be broken," a voice shouted, their face lost in the crowd. 

"No, it's not enough." Wanda this time. Sam breathed a sigh of relief when she appeared not too far away from him. "The curse isn't merely a Stark falling in love, but someone falling for her as well."

"Does it count if he doesn't even know who she is?" 

More murmurs and arguments arose, everyone wondering if that was true. Was that a legitimate fear? Were these secrets going to be what kept them in this cursed state forever?  

"Enough." The tin voice rattled through their minds, cutting thoughts and opinions short. No one expected to hear that voice. Tony creaked his way down the hall, ignoring the concerned look that Rhodey sent his way. This was certainly not about him. "I know that our family hasn't done the best by you. The curse wasn't right and we - I accept full responsibility for the mistakes of my father. If there was a way to turn you all back, you know we would take it in a heartbeat. You all have been good, loyal people. And I'm sorry." A pin drop could be heard, the silence was so deafening. No one had really seen Tony in years. It was as if a ghost had walked into their lives. He stood, armor glinting even in the low light. If he could give that smug smirk and enjoy being the center of attention again, he might've. But these circumstances caused a different set of emotions to dance in his stomach - anxiety, fear, worry. "Well, don't everyone talk at once."

Awkward laughter cracked through the tension. It seemed that there might be a chance that everyone would adjust to his sudden reappearance with little to no issue. "It's good to see you here, Your Highness," Scott spoke, earnings nods of agreement and a few smiles. 

The anxiety slowly melted away and Tony found himself feeling a little more at ease. It would all be fine. It would all be fine. "Well," he cleared his throat, the sound akin to a pebble dropped in a tin can. "Where is my favorite stable boy, huh?"  

Heads turned, eyes searching for the boy Tony had taken under his wing before the curse had struck. Peter had made himself comfortable aiding Wanda in the kitchens, but before he was the best stable boy the kingdom had ever seen. Tony was eager to train him to be a knight some day, making it his mission. However, the two hadn't crossed paths in quite some time. 

"He isn't here." The confusion laced in Maryjane's voice signaled that she hadn't expected that. Wanda, Sam, and Rhodey immediately scanned the crowd, panic starting to set in when they realized the little teacup wasn't among their friends. 

Even so, their panic was no match for Tony's anger. "What do you mean? Where is he?"

 -------

 Arriving home wasn't something that sat well with Bucky. He didn't understand it, but he felt like he wasn't coming home. It felt like he was leaving it behind. Dismounting the mare he had borrowed from Y/N's stables, he stared at the small house before him. Steve had to be here. He wouldn't be foolish enough to confront Brock and his men over and over. Not without backup. Right?  

"Steve?" Bucky stepped through the doorway, gaze scanning and searching for any sign that his friend had been here recently. "Steve, please tell me you're here."  

Nothing. 

Making his way to the stairs, they creaked under his now foreign weight. He was hoping and silently praying that maybe, just maybe, Steve was sleeping hard enough that he didn't hear Bucky's arrival. But the sinking pit in his stomach reminded him that Steve had never been a light sleeper. 

 "Steve," he tried once more, opening the door that lead to his bedroom. It was empty, bed neatly made and fresh drawings hanging in the air to dry. Bucky clenched his jaw, trying not to let his fear bring up the worst possibilities. "Damn it..." His voice was barely above a whisper, trembling as he tried to keep the tears at bay. His choosing to trade places with Steve was what brought this mess on. It was his fault.

 "Mister Bucky?" 

That...That wasn't Steve. Bucky looked down at the satchel attached to his hip. It had been where he had stored the mirror, but there wasn't anything else in there. Or so he believed. 

 Peter nudged the flap of the bag open, grinning up at the man who stared at him in complete shock. "Hi!"

 "What the hell are you doing here?" Bucky lifted Peter up, setting him on the bed and crouching before him. So many questions ran through his head. Did Y/N know? Were they looking for him? Why was he even here?

"I wanted to figure out why you left." 

Bucky frowned. "Peter, you shouldn't be here." 

"And neither should you. You should be with Y/N." 

"No, I should find Steve." He rose, his mind already listing the different places Steve could be. The best one to check would probably be the tavern.

 "You stay here."  

"But -"

"Peter, stop. I don't have time for this." Bucky walked around the bed, closing the satchel as Peter hopped across the thin mattress. "Just let me find Steve and I'll be right back." The door closed behind him, silencing Peter before he could develop any sort of argument. Rushing down the stairs, he came to the front room as the not-too-distant sound of horses met his ears. What was that? 

Opening the door, Bucky stumbled back when he came face to face with an unexpected guest. His hand instinctively grasped the leather at his side, his jaw clenching and shoulders tensing. "Brock." 

"Hello, Barnes." The Hydra officer leaned forward, arm propping itself against the doorway and revealing the sight just behind him. Steve was in chains, unconscious and head cast to the ground, a hollowness to his face. He'd lost weight and the injuries did nothing to help keep his strength. The sight made Bucky's heart stop. This was what happened to his best friend? This was what he had caused?

 "Steve..." He stepped forward, his mind instantly reeling and instinctively acting on all he could think of - instinct. He was stopped by Brock's hand pressing against his chest. His piercing gaze shifted to the officer before him. Oh, all Bucky wanted was to punch that smug grin off of his face. "Let him go." 

"No." His grin turned into a smirk as he added, "I think I have a better idea." 

The sound of shouting forced Peter to look away from the door and instead, to the window on the opposite side of the room. He hurriedly made his way across, struggling to finally reach the windowsill, but finding aid with the nearby chair. Breathing hot air against the cloudy glass, he squinted and struggled to make out the figures. "Bucky!" Hopping eagerly when he recognized his friend, Peter's brow scrunched when he noticed that someone was punching him. "No! No, stop it!" Peter spun around, looking around the room for some form of escape, but finding nothing that could be of any use. "Come on, there has to be something." 

Bucky's knees hit the ground, arm unable to dodge the foot that kicked the back of his head. His face greeted the mud and he grimaced. It tasted disgusting. He grunted when one soldier twisted his arms behind his back, another yanking his hair back and forcing him up. 

"So where were you, Barnes?" Rumlow asked, his voice closer to Steve. 

 Meeting Brock's gaze, Bucky sneered before spitting out grass and dirt. "Go fuck yourself."

 Brock scoffed before gesturing for one of his soldiers to throw Bucky's bag his way. He caught it with one arm. "Let's take a look, shall we?" He watched the way Bucky's eyes flashed, the emotion something he didn't care to think too much about. Instead, he flipped the satchel over and spilled out its only contents. The mirror.  

Bucky jerked, trying to free himself from the two soldiers. Through gritted teeth, he spat, "Be careful with that."

 Brock smirked, tossing the satchel to the side before picking up the mirror. He didn't pay much attention to the reflection, instead flipping it over. The smug expression, that pleased glint in his eyes, it vanished at the sight of the insignia on the back. He turned his attention back to Bucky. "Where did you get this?" 

Bucky grinned. "Bite me." 

"You can never make things easy, can you? Always having to turn me into some sort of bad guy." Brock rolled his eyes and turned away, taking strides towards Steve. Bucky tensed when he saw one of the soldiers pass him a sword. "Do I have to ask again?" Stepping behind Bucky's oldest friend, he held the sword to Steve's throat. The look in Bucky's eyes earned an amused grin. "Where did you get the mirror, Barnes?"

Bucky's gaze never wavered from his unconscious friend. He couldn't fail him again. "I - The castle.”

"The only castle around for miles is Hydra's and this," he flipped the mirror around, showing the back to Bucky. "Isn't the Hydra insignia."

Bucky bowed his head, strands of hair shielding his face as he tried to blink away tears. "No, it isn't."

"So care to share with the group?"

Clenching his jaw, Bucky refused to look his way. Steve was the stronger of the two. Always had been. He was a good man, a fighter. He didn't deserve this. But if Steve was awake, if he could fight, he wouldn't want Bucky to say a word. The idea of Hydra getting the upper hand was something Steve would never let happen. Shoulders slumping, he couldn't help but wonder - how did it get this bad?

"Alright, have it your way." Brock tossed the mirror to Bucky's feet, the reflection staring up at him, mocking him. Bucky blinked, fresh tears slipping down his cheeks and onto the glass. He glanced up, seeing the sword raise.  Steve might not want Hydra to win. But Bucky did not want Steve to die. His eyes grew as the sword came down, struggling to break out of the grip of his captors. "Wait!" The sword stopped only an inch away from Steve's neck. With his back to Bucky, Brock gave his soldiers a knowing smile. He turned to face Bucky, flipping the sword and striking it into the ground. "Yes?" Bucky's panicked gaze looked from Steve to the mirror and back. He could right this. He could help Y/N through whatever Brock had planned, but he couldn't save Steve if he was dead. Eyes never wavering from Steve, he said, "Show him. Show him everything." Brock's brow furrowed, confusion evident. It vanished as quickly as it appeared when he noticed the reflection in the mirror begin to change. Gone was Bucky's reflection, quickly replaced by the woods. It seemed to be traveling, showing the way to the castle that appeared just beyond the trees. Brock picked it up, eyeing the imagery carefully. It was dark, a looming structure he couldn't quite place the familiarity of. It wasn't until the image rippled again and showed a wild animal, a beast, that Brock dropped the mirror in disgust. "What the hell was that?" The sight of Brock's disgust made Bucky's stomach churn. Not so long ago, he would have reacted the exact same way. Now that he knew Y/N, the clear reaction only made Bucky angry. "She is a good person. Someone better than you could ever be." Brock laughed. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you have feelings for that creature." When Bucky's gaze never wavered, Brock laughed. "Are you in love with that thing? That beast?" Bucky jerked forward, fighting off the guards only long enough to rise to his feet. They pulled him back, a third soldier unsheathing his sword and pressing it to Bucky's neck. He didn't flinch, staring Brock down. "She's not a beast." "A 'she' is it?" Bucky growled. "Yes." "Careful, Barnes, you're sounding a little like a beast yourself." "She's good and kind. There's more humanity in her heart than you and your men combined." "She's a danger to your town's people." "No more than you, Rumlow," he spat. Something shifted in Brock's features. Bucky couldn't quite place it, but the sight sent a shudder down his spine. He clenched his jaw, flinching when Brock raised his hand, pressing the blade against Bucky's neck. It pricked the skin, allowing a slow trickle of blood to glide down his neck. "Let's see about that, hm?" Taking a couple steps back, he turned to his soldiers. "Let's pay this castle and its beast a visit!" Soldiers cheered, rising up with excitement and immediately going to their horses. Hand catching the shoulders of two nearby soldiers, Brock said, "Take care of these two. Make sure they can't follow us."

"Rumlow, I swear to whatever god there is that you will pay if you so much as touch her." Bucky tried to throw off the soldiers holding him back, ignoring the stinging pain that came from his neck. Brock looked his way and smirked. "You'll have to catch me first, Barnes." "Rumlow!" Bucky lunged, missing the sight of one of the soldiers raising the hilt of his sword. He was struck in the back of the head. Falling to his knees, the last thing he saw was Brock mounting his horse before everything went black. Peter's features were pressed to the glass to the best of his abilities. He fidgeted nervously. Bucky was unconscious like his friend. The soldiers were leaving to attack his home, his friends and family. And he was stuck here. "This isn't good. This is not good. Not good at all."

----

Tags:

Beauty and the Beast:

@learisa​ @xoxalwayschangingxox @cap-just-said-language​

All works:

@rinthehufflepuff​ @the-captain-bambooty 

#beauty and the beast au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky angst #avengers fairy tales #peasant!bucky #seb #sebastian stan #seb stan #royal!reader #stark!reader #beast!reader #peter parker #chip!peter parker #gaston!brock #avengers au #avengers #marvel #marvel au

[monstersandmaw]

kinda basic but a dragon shifter woman w scales and a tail and dragon eyes x vampire woman who fall in love, and nsfw if thats okay? the vampire is also queen of the vampire clan and the dragon is a cult escapee

also!! i forgot to add but the dragoness’s name is celant and the vampire queen’s name isviolet! thank you!! 

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.

Hope you actually remember sending this ask in!! Sorry it’s taken me so long to do. This was for the 10 free thank you stories in honour of the blog hitting 1000 followers. I’ve got two more left now, and you can find others here. Those requests are now closed.

Vampire Queen x Female Dragon Shifter (nsfw)

Violet laystretched out under an endless canopy of stars above. Her eyes, the irises sosubtly different from humans’, picked out colours of the spectrum no one elsehad access to, and she savoured – craved– these rare nights alone on the plain.

As far as even hereyes could see, the grasses blew, wafting and shifting, hissing, whispering thesecrets of the land and bringing with them the scents of the night. A haremoved quietly with barely a rustle; a fox stalked it. An owl glided on silentwings, seeking mice, and far enough away to maintain his respectful distance,her most faithful servant and bodyguard stood watch over her.

She had learned tobe alone with Endon in a way that she could with no one else.

Everyone assumedthat she would one day wed Endon, but she had no interest in men. Theirrelationship was closer to brother and sister, though he was ever deferentialto his queen.

As she lay on herback, Endon’s horse stamped a hoof and snorted, and the warder patted themare’s black neck. “Easy, Orchid,” he murmured, his voice deep and quiet as thenight itself.

Violet knew shewould have to return to the castle, to her duties, to her empire of the night,but just a few moments longer was all she could hope for.

Endon’s headsnapped around, his attention fixed on something to the east, and his sword wasout of its scabbard in a heartbeat, and Violet sat up, fingers pressing intothe grass.

Someone was coming.

The way thefootfalls staggered told Violet and Endon that this person was exhausted, andas they both strained through the darkness, their vampire senses heighteningthe sounds and scents, they waited until a figure lurched into view in thedistance.

Violet could justmake out that there were two pinpricks of light following behind this figure,and as they drew into better sight, she gasped. A thick, scaled tail hungbehind her, and as she ran, she cried out, the desperate sound faint on thebreeze. It was an unearthly call, but Violet knew it for what it was. The powerin this woman’s blood sang to her.

She was a dragonshifter.

“Endon,” Violethissed. “Kill those priests.”

“My Queen,” hesaid, shifting through the night like the shadows to which their kind clung.

Violet herselfshifted, feeling the landscape slide by as she moved outside of time itself,faster than any eye could follow save one of their kind, and she drew to a halta short way away from the exhausted woman.

When she saw her,she cried out again and staggered to a halt. “Help me, please…” she sobbed,swaying.

Violet approachedher slowly, eying the talons on the ends of her scaled, lizard-like fingers,and then let her gaze sweep back up her feminine body to the elegant curve ofher neck and up to her eyes. Her eyes were as unusual as Violet’s own. Theywere golden, with a slit pupil, and a blazing red ring around the iris. Longblack hair tumbled loose down her back, thick, and wild from her flight.

Before she had achance to react, the dragon shifter slumped forwards, exhausted, into Violet’sarms.

The vampire caughther easily, and knelt down in the grass, easing her body down. Endon dispatchedthe dragon priests with almost amusing ease, and returned to her, sinking toone knee and bowing his head.

“It is done, YourMajesty.” He raised his head then, and looked at the unconscious woman. “Who isshe?”

“I don’t know,”Violet said, trailing her fingers around the strong jaw of the beautiful woman.“But I will see to it that she is taken care of. Look at these clothes,” shesaid, eyeing the ragged dress she wore, stained and filthy. “I will take careof you,” she crooned. “Come, let us return to the castle with her. Can you takeher on Orchid?”

He nodded and lifted the woman up in his arms. She stirredand he smiled at her, the gesture a rare sight on his stony face, and a sectionof his long, dark hair fell forwards, partly masking his ice-grey eyes. “Youare safe now,” he said. “I’m going to put you on my horse. Do you think you canride?”

She exhaled in despair. “I… I don’t know…”

“Hold on,” he said, placing her into the saddle as thoughshe were a child, though with her tail she was a little more cumbersome thanshe looked. Once she was settled, he swung up easily onto the great war horse,and looked down at his queen.

“I will run straight home, old friend,” she said with a wrysmile, shifting again and streaking across the landscape in a blur. She wasold, and powerful, and few could rival her for speed or strength, and she wasat the castle gates in mere minutes.

The guards on duty bowed their heads, not taking their eyesoff the horizon, and as she swept through the outer courtyard, she summoned thehousekeeper to her side.

The older woman, who happened to be leaving the keep throughanother exit at that moment, scurried over and bowed her head. “My Queen?”

“Endon will be arriving soon with a guest. She is weak andinjured, and is to be treated with the utmost care and respect. Have roomsprepared for her in which to recuperate.”

The woman nodded, and left.

Violet could only wait now. There was no way she was goingto start dealing with any of the other tasks she had yet to accomplish thatnight, and so when Endon’s horse cantered into the courtyard, hooves ringing onthe flagstones, she crossed to the window of her chambers and looked out.

The arrival of the dragon shifter certainly caused a stir inthe castle, but by the queen’s decree, no one entered her rooms without expresspermission from the queen or her warder. Endon, as Captain of the Queensguard,had the final say in all matters to do with security.

The dragon lay on the bed and as Violet sat with her, hereyelids fluttered open for the first time. Sunlight now beat against the closedshutters, but the room itself was dark, lit only by a few candles.

“Where am I?” she croaked, trying to sit up.

“Shh, be easy,” the queen murmured. “You’ve been throughquite the ordeal. Rest. Regain your strength, and then we will talk. My name isViolet.”

“Celant,” the dragon smiled before slipping intounconsciousness once more.

Over the course of a few weeks, Celant’s strength returnedto her, and in time she was able to rise and walk with Violet through thecastle. On the first occasion this happened, upon seeing servants and vampirenobles drop to their knees and murmur their respects at their approach, Celantturned to Violet and gasped, “You’re… You’re the Queen…?”

Violet reached out an elegant hand and touched Celant underher chin as she made to bow her head. “I am the queen,” she confirmed, “But Iwould not have you treat me as they do. Please, you are my friend. Have we notspent the last fortnight sitting on the same bed discussing things as two younggirls do?”

“Yes, but… I had no idea…”

“And what of you?” she said, as they began to move off.

“What do you mean?”

Violet turned and stared pointedly at Celant’s beautifultail and eyes, raising an eyebrow.

Celant sighed. “I have been a prisoner in that cult forlonger than I care to remember. They call themselves priests of the dragon, butthere is nothing sacred about what they do. Please, I would prefer not to speakof my time there.”

“Very well,” Violet said. “I will not ask again.”

“Thank you.”

“Come, I would show you the castle gardens. I plantednight-blooming jasmine last year, and I am told the first flowers are beginningto show.”

As they moved through the halls, however, Celant couldn’tmiss the way that the nobles looked at her. She shuffled uncomfortably asViolet engaged one nobleman in polite discussion and his wife licked her lipshungrily, not taking her glowing eyes off Celant’s neck.

When they moved away, Violet turned back to Celant andfrowned. She placed a hand on her arm. “What is it? What’s wrong? Are youunwell?”

“No,” she said. “Why… Why do they look at me like that?Surely they know of dragon shifters…?”

Violet sighed. “Your kind are most definitely known to us.Unfortunately, the blood of a dragon shifter is considered a rare and potentdelight among my kind. Please, forgive me. You are unmarked, and therefore theyare beginning to hope that you might be available to be claimed.”

“I don’t want to be claimed by anyone,” she fired back.

Violet smiled. “Nor shall you be,” she said. “But you willprobably have to be marked in some way to dissuade the others.”

“Marked…?” she asked, gaze drifting to Violet’s mouth, whereher permanently-elongated fangs rested behind beautiful lips.

“Come,” she said instead. “Come to the garden. We candiscuss it there.”

The jasmine was indeed beginning to bloom, and they satbeneath the fragrant branches of the little climbing plant, staring up at thesky in companionable silence.

“I’ve never had the luxury of friendship with anyone,”Violet said after a while.

“What about Endon?”

She smiled fondly. “He is very dear to me, but he is andalways will be my servant. Most trusted, but still, we can never be friends. Not like you and I arebecoming.”

Violet turned to Celant and took her hand in hers. Sheraised it and into it she placed a ring.

“This is my family’s signet ring,” she said. “With this onyour hand, everyone will know that you are not to be touched, as surely asthough you bore the mark of my mouth on your neck.”

Celant stared at it, her dragon’s eyes flaring in the darkas she gazed on the delicate yet worn engraving on the gold ring. Then sheturned back to Violet and said, “Your mark?”

Violet smiled, revealing her long canines. “I assumed youwouldn’t want that after your comment about being claimed…”

Celant closed her fingers thoughtfully around the ring inone palm, and raised her fingertips to her throat. Her claws were black andhard in the night and she raked them gently across the delicate skin of herneck. “I never imagined I would want to be marked by anyone,” she said. “Not after…well…”

Violet nodded but remained silent, letting this beautifulwoman speak.

“But in the weeks I’ve been here, in the time I’ve got toknow you,” she said, turning her burning eyes on Violet’s face, “I have come tothink that perhaps it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I were to allowsomeone to claim me.” The humour in her eyes danced like tiny flames, andViolet’s chest swelled.

“That person would have to allow themselves to be claimed byyou in return,” the queen said, her voice insistent.

Celant smiled. “Indeed.” She opened her hand and looked oncemore at the glinting ring which lay there. “I will wear this, but I would likeyou to mark me in your own way.”

“You would let me drink from you?” Violet asked, amazed,unable to hide the way her eyes flared with excitement.

“I would. And maybe I’ll show you that dragon shifters haveteeth as well, vampire…”

Violet laughed, the sound filling the courtyard like thesoft tinkling of glass bell. “Very well,” she said, raising her hand to theback of Celant’s neck and caressing the hair there between her fingers, makingthe woman shudder with pleasure.

Celant slipped the ring on to her little finger, and turnedher head to expose her neck. The scales which melted into smooth skin at herthroat posed little obstacle to Violet’s sharp teeth, and as she tilted herback slightly, lovingly, the vampire lowered her lips to Celant’s skin andkissed her.

Celant moaned, eyes closing, taloned claws rumpling theskirts of the dress she wore as her fingers clenched in pleasure.

Violet kissed her over and over, and then, when Celant’sarousal reached her nose, Violet opened her mouth wider, feeling the venom ofthe royal line surge, and sank her canines into Celant’s neck.

The blood that coursed through her was like nothing she hadever tasted. The effect of the venom on Celant was intoxicating too. Where inhumans a vampire’s venom would provoke arousal, here, amid the swirling scentof the jasmine, Celant slipped into a euphoria like Violet had never seen inanother.

She cried out, and the heady scent of her arousal bloomedaround them. The blood slipping over her tongue was sweet and full of the powerof the dragon inside Celant. Violet had to pull back before she made herselfblood-drunk on the taste of her, and as she withdrew, Celant moaned.

“We are alone,” Violet purred. “Would you like me to takecare of you?”

“Yes,” she breathed, chest heaving, hips squirming.

Violet raised her hand up the inside of her leg, pushingback her skirts, and Celant opened her legs. The vampire’s sharp teeth madequick work of her underwear, and in no time, Violet’s tongue was teasingCelant’s swollen clit in tantalising circles.

She lapped and licked at her wet folds, until Celant wasshaking and even growling the deep, sonorous sounds of the dragon she couldbecome. The queen traced the soft scales on her legs with her hands, all thewhile edging Celant closer to her climax, before slipping first one fingerinside her, and then a second.

As she crooked them, pulling back to tease her clit with herthumb, Celant cried out, long and loud, and bucked against her. She clenchedhard around Violet, growling and snarling as she came, torso contracting underthe force of her orgasm.

When she finally slumped, still twitching, back against thebench, Violet licked her tongue over Celant once more, tasting her and makingher whimper, before joining her back on the bench.

Panting hard, Celant cracked an eye open and hissed, “Ican’t believe I just had the queen of all vampires between my legs…”

“Perhaps I can be there again some time,” she smiled. “Irather liked being on my knees for someone for a change.”

___________________________

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#vampire #dragon shifter #female leaning #sapphic terato #female vampire #female dragon shifter #dragon

[saidelia-draconis]

💘- A memory that gets their heart pounding

  The windswept valleys of the northern wastes were cold, beautiful, and insidious. The young woman sat at the roof of the world, staring out across an ocean that stretched out as far as she could see; even on a clear day. She had her back against the palisades that separated the cliff’s end from the tournament grounds. She had closed her eyes, just beginning to nod off when she heard the voice behind her.

“Knew I would find you here, Dragon.”

  Her eyes lit up as she heard the voice, as did her cheeks. She glanced to her left, taking in the sight. The similarly young man stood a few inches taller than her, clad in a white, black, and gold-trimmed cassock. His sun-colored hair was just long enough to fall into his eyes, which a sweeping motion soon corrected. He knelt down by her side, caressing her chin with a hand. A soft pluck turned her face to meet his, initiating a tender kiss. All she could think about was the bristling that the beginning of stubble left on her cheek. Once he had finished, he pulled back, gazing into her eyes for a few moments. Her cheeks were no less red

“I told you to quit calling me that. It’s bad enough that everyone else does.”

“Oh… Sorry, dear. I just thought you didn’t want to be called LITTLE Dragon.”

  The paladin uttered a huff, giving the man’s ribs a playful swat as she returned her gaze to the ocean. She was no less flustered after the two had finished their greeting

“You’re such an ass, Cousland.”

   The coying jab she had thrown at him seemed to bother him little, if at all. He sat down next to her in the snow, laying his head against her shoulder. The two wrapped arms around each other, each holding the other at the waist.

“You know, I think I need a nickname. Something sweet, like Dragon’s handmaid.”

“It’s gonna be cliffjumper, if you keep trying to get under my skin.”

  The young man feigned shock, draping a hand over his chest. He pulled back, staring at the woman.

“Lady Draconis, I’m surprised at you. That’s hardly a way for someone of your stature to speak.”

“Well. Unless I’m part of some noble family I haven’t heard about, it’s just dame. And you’ve heard Halveth speak. He’s downright gross.”

    A snort of laughter was his response before the chaplain pushed himself up to his feet. He tugged an arm as he held onto the wall. Her gaze soon followed the yanking on her limp arm.

“Alright. I’ve been good. I came here and made you smile. It’s time to do what I want to do. Come on. I have something to show you.”

“Alright, alright. I’m coming. Hold your horses.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. We have to go to the stables, first.”

   The two stood straight-backed, awkwardly shimmying towards the grounds proper, and the promise of safety. Once they were no longer at risk of plummeting down onto the rocks at the bottom of the bluff, they eased into a steady gait, the man reaching for her hand. She shied away, eyes on the stables.

“Come on. Just this once?”

“No, Sam. People are watching.”

“Why should that matter?”

   The question remained unanswered as the two finally arrived. The man lead the way, arriving at a stall. In the stall, a solitary horse with a silky fur the same color as the mountaintops. As the cleric started to saddle her up, the paladin busied herself with tending to the mare. She offered a few carrots, scratching its muzzle.

“Hey there, Faith. I haven’t seen you in a while. How’s my baby?”

“Good thing I’m not the jealous type, eh Draconis?”

   She rolled her eyes, climbing up onto the horse after him. He gripped the reins, and she squeezed his waist. After trotting out of the grounds, the two took off on a brisk gallop. They had just enough time to admire the scenery as it passed. With or without the scourge’s destructive reign over the continent, its beauty was inescapable.

   The two rode for a good thirty minutes, finally stopping in a shaded clearing. The priest dismounted, and she followed suit. It took him long enough to try hitching the horse. Eventually, the paladin took over for him, tying the mare to a tree. All the man could do was mumble a swift ‘thank you.’ Finally they were alone, staring awkwardly at each other. Finally, he broke the silence.

“It’s been a while since  we’ve had a night alone, just the two of us.”

“I… I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that things have been so crazy lately.”

  As soon as she spoke, his arms were around her. Another disarming kiss left her stunned and silent. Hands suddenly taken in his, he stared at her wordlessly. The kind of penetrating stare that kept her comforted. As if he saw through who she let everyone believe her to be to who she really was. He smiled knowingly, his fingers rubbing the frigid metal of her gauntlets.

“You don’t have to apologize. Things are hard for all of us. All you have to do is be here with me now. I love you, Saidelia Draconis.”

“I… I love you too, Samuel Cousland.”

   For a while longer, the two stood still. It seemed almost as if time itself was playing along as well, letting them have their little moment. She kept her eyes closed, holding the healer against her. Finally, she was interrupted by a scratchy kiss. She opened her eyes to see the man staring back at her, his hands around her hips.

“So what do you see yourself doing after the war is over?”

   She blinked, looking somewhat taken aback. It was a question she had never considered before. A momentary pause found her with no answers. She laughed, feeling foolish. Finally, she shrugged.

“I… I have no idea, to be honest. I never thought about it. I guess maybe I’ll stay in the Crusade. The world always seems to need saving.”

   The young priest grinned, slowly sinking to one knee as he stared up at her. From a pocket in his coat, he fished out a simple, golden band.

“Well… Whatever you decide on. I was maybe hoping you would consider spending it with me?”

   The woman felt her breath caught in her throat. She gasped, her eyes widening. She could feel her thunderous heartbeat. Her voice broke as she tried to reply.

“Are… Are you–”

“Yes. Saidelia Draconis. Will you marry me?”

  She uttered a little squeal of a gasp. She fumbled fruitlessly with the straps on her wrist, trying to shed her gauntlets. Finally, the man helped her, just as she had helped him. Once they were off, he placed them in the snow. The ring was perched on her finger, awaiting her reply.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Of course I’ll marry you!”

#Asks #Prompts #Backstory #Writing

[lilyharvord]

Would u consider writing a marecal fic where Mare gets pregnant without knowing in the middle of everything and then has a miscarriage during like a battle scene and she’s all confused and hurting and Cal is freaking out and then he helps her through it??

May I... may I interest you perhaps in Cal not knowing at all?... And it’s sort of in the middle of everything sort of not.... and she loses the baby while she’s alone? Um...so yeah, for some reasons I couldn’t stop thinking about that scene in The Help while I thought about this ask, so here we are...  wow this shit was sad... ): 

Closing the door as softly as he could behind him, Cal smiled to himself before softly setting his bag down next to the end table that took up more space in the tiny hallway than necessary. Edging forward to glance around the corner at the living room, his smile slowly died when he realized it empty. 

There was a set of schematics on the beat up coffee table, and a cup of tea next to it though. 

Stepping completely into the room, he ran his hands along the worn back of the couch, and glanced at the papers. They appeared to be a set of battle plans for an assault on a Lakeland stronghold. Tyton’s name was even signed at the bottom of them. Cal flipped the folder closed, not to stop him from looking at it though. The door was unlocked, which meant anyone could have been here. Gisa could have walked from her shop a few blocks over, or Ruth could have swung by and dropped off the tea leaves from the little terrace garden she kept. Neither of them had clearance for those files, and if they had seen them it put them at risk.  

“Mare?” Cal called softly, and regretfully. He hoped that his visit would be a surprise. He had a whole evening planned. First he’d surprise her here, then they’d take a walk into downtown Ascendent, and then he’d buy her dinner at her favorite restaurant on the lake. Plan never lasted the first ten minutes of battle. He found himself repeating that phrase more and more lately. 

When there was no reply, he walked back into the hallway and poked his head into the kitchen. The tea box was open, and he took the two steps it always took him to reach the counter. Mare’s shoebox apartment sometimes drove him insane, simply because it was so small they were always on top of each other when he stayed here. But it felt oddly empty without her loud personality filling it right that second.  

He set his hand on the kettle and lifted the lid. It was still practically full, and the water was hot. She had just poured her tea and sat down... he smiled and then gently closed the lid and spun around to search the kitchen. 

“I told you once that I was a good hunter. I still am a very good hunter, and if you want to be found...” trailing off with a smile, he edged back into the hallway and walked towards her bedroom. Opening the door quickly, he almost jumped into the space. The bed was mussed, she obviously hadn’t made it this morning, and her sleeping clothes were thrown on the chair near the window, but there was no sign of her. 

Now he just felt stupid for calling out like he did. 

Something clattered in the bathroom, something heavy. It almost made him jump out of his skin. “Mare?” He called to her. When she did’t reply, he crossed the room to the worn bathroom door. He remembered having to sand it down when she first moved in because the last tenant had left it a mess. 

The handle stuck when he turned it, and he tried it twice more before recognizing that it was locked. Knocking softly and calling through the wood, he tried to keep his worry out of his voice. “Mare are you okay?”

“Yes. Fine. Just need... a few minutes. Go to Gisa’s shop and wait for me.” 

HIs brows drew together when he heard the strain in her voice. Turning away from the door he crossed to the nightstand on the other side of her bed where he thought she kept the emergency key to unlock any door in the house. The landlord had warned her it was an old house and the doors tended to lock on their own and that it was best if she kept that key on her at all times just in case. 

Before he could open the door, there was another heavy clatter followed by a something that sounded suspiciously like a sob. Spinning on his heel, he dropped his shoulder as he hit the door as hard as he could. It splintered under his weight and he ended up almost spilling onto the ground when he fell through. 

He managed to catch himself on the sink but the first thing he still noticed was the metallic reek of blood that permeated from almost every direction in the bathroom.

“Get out! Get out Cal!” Mare screamed as she threw part of the towel rack that had fallen to pieces around her at his head. He barely managed to dodge it, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the puddles of blood around the tiny bathroom. His heartbeat was practically in his throat as he slowly raised his eyes to see Mare curdled up on the floor against the edge of the bathtub, her face red and tear streaked. She looked terrified, or perhaps sick. All the color was gone from her face, and that scared him more than anything. 

Hesitantly, so he didn't touch anything around his feet, he slowly crouched down, searching Mare for a wound. There’s wasn't a visible one that could have possibly spilled that much blood. 

“There’s so much blood. I didn’t think there’d be so much.” Mare hiccuped before gripping her hair in one hand and clenching it into a fist. When she closed her eyes, more tears rolled down to the join the others in neck of her thick sweater. 

“Hey, okay, it’s...” was it going to be okay? Cal didn’t think that was best thing to say anymore, so he slowly rose to step over the blood and join Mare on the other side of the puddles. 

“I lost it.” Mare whispered as he slowly sank down onto the floor with her. “I lost it.” She repeated once more when he slowly wrapped an arm around her shoulders and brought her towards him so she could bury her face in his neck.

 Her face was burning against his still wind kissed skin. Glancing around the bathroom once more, Cal slowly began piecing things together. His stomach dropped to his knees when he reached the obvious conclusion, but he didn’t dare say anything in case it made this whole thing worse for Mare who seemed to have finally quieted in his arms. 

“I barely had it,” she croaked, “I didn’t even know if it was a boy or--or a girl. It didn’t even have fingers or toes.” 

He ran his hand up and down her back slowly, trying to keep her sobs at bay. She didn’t seem in danger of dropping into hysterics, but then again, Mare had always been spectacular at hiding how close she was to the edge. 

“I told Gisa... and she told my mom.” This time a tiny sob escaped. “I told Sara I was coming to see her tomorrow.” 

“Let’s get you in a warm bath.” Cal whispered against her temple. He pulled a hand away to stretch and turn the bath on when she didn’t protest. She only curled his jacket into her fist, but didn’t say anything else, not even when he slowly lifted her to remove her shirt and the remainder of her undergarments. Tossing them into the corner, he slowly wrapped an arm under her legs and lifted her off of the ground. Steam rolled out of the bath and around the room, fogging the mirror. The room was horrible at ventilating, it always had been. It drove him insane when he showered because it was like stepping out into a muggy Archeon day when he finished. 

Setting Mare in the water, he picked up a towel and set it over the largest puddle of blood before grabbing one of the small washcloths. When he turned around, Mare had drawn her knees up to her chest and was staring blankly at the other side of the bath. 

Dunking the cloth in the water, Cal sank to his knees outside of the bath before pressing it to the base of Mare’s neck. Squeezing it to run the water down her back, he whispered, “The next one...” he swallowed, realizing the mistake, and ended up biting his tongue. After this traumatic incident, he highly doubted there would be another one ever again. 

“I dreamed it was a boy two nights ago,” Mare’s spoke as if she hadn’t even heard him. Then again, maybe she hadn’t, because her lips had curled up at the edges into a whimsical smile that made him pause from wiping the cloth up and down her back. She closed her eyes and expelled a long sigh along with one more tear. He tracked its path as it rolled down her cheek, counting the long seconds that she sat in silence. The last thing he wanted to do now was say something that pushed her deeper into this terrible moment. 

When she spoke again, it was with a crushed whisper. “I’d already named him Shade.” Her shoulders caved with the name, and she dropped her head to rest it on her knees, as if suddenly the weight of that idea, or dream had become too much. Dropping the cloth into the water, he replaced it with his hand on her neck, caressing the heavy branching scars there. 

 “Then we’ll bury him by the lake. Near your favorite tree.” He whispered, and she finally turned blank eyes on him. He’d seen a similar ache in those eyes before, when she’d lashed out on the Blackrun, and when she’d stared him down on a balcony after making a decision that had almost ruined his life. It was a bone deep sorrow, an ache for a future that could never exist. 

He gave her a halfhearted smile in response, and she nodded before reaching out with a dripping hand to cup his cheek. Water rolled down and droplets landed on his pant leg, and still he couldn’t pull his eyes from her face. She returned his smile, but that look didn't leave her eyes. 

Reaching up, Cal closed his hand around hers and slowly brought her fingers to his lips. “I’m here. For as long as you need me to be, I am here.” And in that boiling bathroom, surrounded by smoke, he let unspoken words hang between them. 

And I will be there long after you no longer do. 

#(*ask lily*) #(*shut up lily*) #jesus christ on a cheese cracker #come and get y'all angst #damn this hurt my soul to write #I mean I head canon she looses at least one baby before Coriane #but geez #doesn't mean I really wanted to write that pain down XD #red queen #glass sword #kings cage #war storm #broken throne #post broken throne #marecal #poor babies