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hugmekenobi · 11 months

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S2: The Bad Batch (3)

Chapter Three: Undercover

Gif by @kamino-coruscant

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Series Summary: Some time has passed since everything that happened at Kamino and you and the Batch are trying to figure out your place in the rapidly changing Imperial galaxy. And you're having to do all this whilst figuring out where your relationship with Hunter fits into it.

Chapter Summary: A mission assigned to you by Cid sees you and Hunter make some grounds in your relationship.

Masterlist for S1

<Previous Chapter

Genre: Friends (idiots) to Lovers (we're in the lovers stage now)

Chapter Warnings: Not a Crosshair episode (his later episodes will be covered though)! No show plot here, Cid being Cid, bad flirting/flirting to manipulate, having to deal with unwanted advances, mentions of drinking, swearing, suggestive dialogue, semi-public moment of PDA (kissing in an alleyway), mild panic attack description, unwelcomed pet names, welcomed pet names (honey), protectiveness from both these two, doubts and insecurities coming to the surface, Hunter gets a bit carried away (but is a respectful king and stops), angst, fluff and feelings, hurt/comfort, implied mention of Hunter's advanced senses, SMUT (heavy kissing, biting/marking, non explicit descriptions of handjobs and unprotected PinV (be safe in reality please), mentions of oral (f) receiving and fingering, teasing, Hunter doesn't know how to be vulnerable but reader takes care of him this time round, body and general worship)

Word Count: 6.9K

Author's notes: Okay it's here! Apologies for how long it took, I really did struggle with this one but I hope you all enjoy it! Thank you @keep-calm-and-drink-caf cause your advice was very helpful! And thank everyone for your patience! I am on holiday with the fam so Ch4 may be a bit of a longer wait to but I will try to find some sneaky writing time lol

Things were peaceful in Cid’s parlour. Cid had reluctantly let you guys have fewer missions since Tech was out of commission, but you could tell she was waiting for the day he made a full recovery, a day that Tech had assured the rest of you would be very soon. Echo and Wrecker were at the bar and your head rested on Hunter’s shoulder- a more comfortable feat since his armour was off- and the two of you watched Omega and Tech play a game of Dejarik. The peace was soon broken though by a recognisable voice.

“I got it!” Lyra announced as she came through the door, case in hand.

You lifted your head and looked quizzically over at her. “Got what? What are you doing here, Lyra? Not that I’m not happy to see you but…”

Lyra stopped short. “Cid didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Oh uh… I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Your next mission. I’m tired of you lot just lazing around here. Time you made some cash.”

You all turned to face Cid as she came back into the main parlour from her office.

“Tech’s not-” Hunter started to say.

“He’s not essential. I’ve found a mission he can help with from here. It just relies on her.” Cid interrupted and she pointed at you.

“Me?” You replied, crossing your arms.

“I can come back…” Lyra said uneasily.

“No, we need that. I didn’t pay you for a social visit.” Cid said sharply.

Lyra walked over to you and handed you the case, an apologetic smile on her face.

You opened the case and stared at the bundle of fabric, shoes, and jewellery with suspicion. “What exactly am I supposed to be doing?” You lifted the dress out and your eyes widened.

“Cid, what is this mission?” Hunter asked warily.

“My client needs some intel on the… business activities of a man on the other side of the city. He’s having a party tonight and you’re the way in.” Cid said to you before she addressed the others. “You lot aren’t even needed. It’s easy money.”

“No.” Hunter replied instantly.

“Yeah, sorry, not really sold on that.” You said as you pushed the case away. “My social skills in that department aren’t exactly well developed.”

Cid just rolled her eyes. “All you need to do it get his attention and download his records. Clearly, you got some skill in that area.” She added snidely as she looked from you to Hunter.

You glared at her.

Cid raised her hands to pacify you. “Look, you got the gear right here and there are easy credits to be taken. Goggles can give you something, so he doesn’t even need to go. Right?” She directed her question to Tech.

“Technically… yes.” He replied reluctantly. He knew you well enough to tell you weren’t thrilled with the idea and the look on Hunter’s face also told him that he wasn’t either.

“Come on. I’d owe ya.” Cid pleaded. “You’d be doing us all a solid.”

You sighed heavily and ignored Hunter’s head shake. “Alright. Fine. Lyra, care to help me out with this get up?”

“You got it!” Lyra took the case from you and the two of you went into the back to change.

You shed your limited armour and got to work.

“I really am sorry about this. Cid just told me she needed you to look the part, she never mentioned the fact you didn’t know. I shouldn’t have assumed you did.” Lyra said as she kept her back turned.

“It’s classic Cid. She only told you what she deemed to be the necessary information. That often turns out to be manipulated truth or the bare minimum so don’t worry about it.” You appeased. You finished pulling on the dress. You glanced down and analysed your appearance. “Fuck me, Lyra. Exactly what part am I supposed to be playing?”

Lyra turned around and took you in. The floor length dark red fabric suited and fitted you perfectly and the slit was just high enough to grab attention but keep room for eager discovery. “Okay, I know there was a bit of misinformation but damn I’m good at my job.”

“I want to catch his eye, not an STD.” You adjusted the straps self-consciously. It was a far cry from Jedi robes or civilian clothes and armour. You had seen the get up senators would don, and you were sure even they wouldn't go for something this bold.

“Well, I should hope actually sleeping with him is off the table. Plus, looking good isn’t an open invitation.”

You heaved an irritated sigh. “I know that and of course sleeping with him isn’t going to happen, but that’s not the point. No doesn’t always mean no to some people.” You said gravely as you passed her the necklace.

“It’s a good thing you know a thing or two about fighting then.” Lyra provided by way of comfort as she clasped it. “Plus, there’s no way your man is going to let anything happen to you if it gets bad.”

Her words, in a strange way, did reassure you. You knew you could handle yourself, regardless of the situation and yes, there would be no way Hunter would let you go it alone on this sort of mission, but you hadn’t realised that would be such an obvious conclusion for an outsider. “What makes you think he’s coming with me?��

Lyra just paused what she was doing and gave you a look that screamed ‘seriously?’

You half smiled. You figured the two of you weren’t as subtle as you thought when you were in the more public domain. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“You look the part. Embrace the role and you’ll be just fine.”

“This just isn’t something I’m used to.” You mumbled as you continued to fiddle with the fabric.

“Didn’t you ever have to attend any balls or play dress up as a kid?” She asked as she batted your hands away.

“It was never on the cards for me.” You muttered. You still hadn’t told her the full extent of your past and you intended to keep it that way. For her sake more than anything.

“Hmm well that’s unfortunate cause you’d fit right in. Final touch.” Lyra added as she handed you a small bag. She looked you up and down. “Anyone who doesn’t do a double take when they see you is an idiot. This is going to be your easiest mission yet.”

“I can only hope.” You muttered as you made your way back out.

“Your sergeant is going to struggle to control himself.” Lyra teased as she followed you.

“Shut up.”

“Oh wow! You look really pretty!” Omega exclaimed as she tore her gaze away from the Dejarik board.

Hunter, who had replaced Tech for the next match, turned around at her words and he practically gulped. Pretty was an understatement. You damn near took his breath away and he couldn’t find the words to express how beautiful you looked.

Wrecker sent a playful wolf whistle in your direction, giving you an encouraging smile and thumbs up as you looked over at him.

Echo nodded his head in casual agreement at the sentiments expressed already.

“Thank you.” You said, a tad bashfully before you wandered over to where Tech was sitting. “What do you have for me, Tech?”

“Here.” Tech said, not looking up from his datapad as he handed you the drive.

“Thanks.” You walked back over to stand by Lyra.

“What do ya think Sergeant?” Lyra called over to Hunter.

You’d been avoiding his stare for a reason but now you couldn’t help but look over to him as you heard Lyra address him. Your breath caught in your throat as you saw the way Hunter was staring at you and suddenly this mission seemed very low on the priority list and finding a private space became your brain’s main focus.

Hunter cleared his throat. “You’re perfect.” The quiet awe infused utterance was all he could manage because anything else would be inappropriate for general audiences.

“Told you.” Lyra whispered as she nudged your arm. The guy was staring at you like he was willing to get on his knees and worship you the second you gave the word.

You were too entranced by his gaze to pay her words any real attention.

“Good luck.” Lyra said as a farewell.

“Thanks for your help, Lyra.” You said distantly as you registered her leave your side, but your eyes never left Hunter’s.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re wearing a dress, big whoop. Can we get to the important part?” Cid said impatiently before she brought up a hologram.

Cid’s bluntness gave you the required shock you needed to focus on the task at hand. “Who’s the target?” You asked as you crossed your arms and stared at the image of the man.

“His name is Taryn Franco. He’s in the spice smuggling business and is doing remarkably well despite the Imperial presence in the regular smuggling channels. Your job is to find out how he’s manging to do so well.” Cid directed as she brought up a map of the location.

“You want me to get his shipping routes?” You clarified as you studied the map. It really couldn’t be that simple.

“Yup. Told you it was an easy job.”

“I’m waiting for the catch.”

“The catch is you gotta make him notice you, other than that, the only thing you need to do is a bit of downloading.”

“Once you get a visual on the records, insert that drive and you’ll have the necessary information in two minutes.” Tech added.

“Got it.” You replied as you slipped the datastick into your bag. “How are we getting in? I’m assuming we’re not on the guest list.”

“You’ll have to figure that one out.” Cid said frankly.

You huffed out an irritated sigh. “An easy job would mean we had a way in in the first place.” You griped.

“Be resourceful, it’s not my problem. You better get going.” Cid said dismissively.

“Be safe!” Omega said as she gave you a hug goodbye.

Tech, Echo, and Wrecker waved you off, echoing Lyra’s message of good luck.

You didn’t even need to ask him. As soon as you walked away from Cid, Hunter stood up and followed you out the door and together the two of you made your way to the Marauder, the tension between you palpable and ready to snap at any moment. You just needed to keep it together for a little while longer.

“We can pretend I’m your guard as you look for the target. That way I can keep a look out.” Hunter said as you both walked down the ramp of the ship and moved towards the building all lit up and the one that had music blaring from the door and windows.

You grabbed his wrist and tugged him into a nearby alley. “You can’t come in with me.”

“Why not?” Hunter asked with a frown.

“Because the way you’re looking at me right now is making me want to ditch this whole thing and go back to the ship.” You said as you let out a shaky breath.

Hunter really didn’t see the issue with that. He knew you both weren’t enthusiastic about this. “Let’s go then.” He uttered as his hand traced the slit of your dress.

“Hunter.” You chastised as you pushed his hand away. You were having to use a considerable amount of self-restraint. It would be so easy to just blow this whole thing off and Hunter was making it a very tempting idea. He somehow looked even better without his armour on tonight. “Cid’ll kill us, and we need the money. I’ll be quick. In and out, there won’t be trouble but if you enter with me, that’ll make my job ten times harder because it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out our feelings towards each other.”

Hunter nodded in tentative agreement. He knew he would struggle to see you in this environment, and he knew you were right, but he wasn’t going to let you go it alone. He’d go insane. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it, but I’ll come in after you and keep my distance. You need someone to watch your back. ‘No trouble’ isn’t exactly how our missions tend to go.” He offered as a compromise.

“Fine.” You agreed. “I’ll deal with the bouncer to get us in, so we better get moving. Sooner we’re in, the sooner we can leave. And then we can have some time to ourselves.” You added with a sly grin as you nudged past him.

Hunter caught the top of your arm. “If you take less than 30 minutes, I’ll finally let you use the scarf.” He whispered, his lips ghosting behind the shell of your ear.

The tension chord had well and truly snapped. You released a heavy breath. You don’t play fair. With that, you turned your head and kissed him, and you both groaned in relief.

Hunter was quick to assert his dominance as he pushed you against the wall, his hand coming to rest behind your head so as to protect it before he moved it to your waist. Your appreciative moan only helped him deepen the kiss.

The kiss was desperate, each of you hungry for more but you both were just about resisting the urge to give into what your bodies really wanted to do but the longer the two of you kissed, the harder it got to defy.

It was your hands that betrayed you first. Yours had started to wander down Hunter’s chest whilst the other tangled itself in his hair. His had stayed on your waist and the other had slipped under the fabric and had started to caress the inside of your thigh and was steadily moving upward. So, you really had to pull back before you did get too carried away.

You both let out disgruntled sighs as you broke the kiss first.

“I am going to get that information so fast.” You replied breathlessly as Hunter let you go. You knew that moment was a bad idea as it only served to rile you up more, but you really couldn’t help yourself. You smoothed your dress down to regain your composure.

Hunter focused on getting his breathing under control. “Be careful. I’ll see you in there.”

“Invitation?” The bouncer asked as he held his hand out as you approached.

You channelled the Force and covertly waved your hand. “You don’t need to see my invitation.”

“I don’t need to see your invitation.” He replied, his voice distant.

“Me and the man that’ll come after me can enter without one.”

“You and the man that’ll come after you can enter without one.” He replied faintly.

You opened the door. You’re good to go, Sarge. With that, you stepped inside where the sound of music and people’s voices talking over it greeted you.

Hunter made to move once he got confirmation from you that he was in the clear.

“Have a good evening, sir.” The guard said with a nod.

Hunter didn’t reply, he just wandered in and set about finding you.

Maker it was loud in here. And hot. And it reeked of sweat. Hunter thought as he pushed his way past people in his search for you. He was very uncomfortable, everything was too loud, including his own heartbeat, and he knew his breathing was growing unsteady. He found a slightly quieter corner and he took some calming breaths as he scanned the area for you.

It hadn’t taken you long to find to find your host. He was at the bar eye-fucking anyone that walked past. Before you could make your move, you sensed Hunter’s Force signature, but it was filled with stress and anxiety. You projected your own calm onto him. Honey, listen to me. I know it’s loud and I know it’s crowded but focus on your breathing, focus on my voice. Breathe in and count to 5 and breath out and count to 5. We’ll be out of here soon. If you need to leave, you can, I’ll find you when I’m done. You had to fight the urge to go find him and you wished with all your heart that you could comfort him properly, but this was the best you could manage.

You made yourself focus on the job at hand and swallowed down the bile that threatened to rise in your throat at the thought of having to interact with Taryn, but you knew it needed to be done. You straightened your back and channelled an alternate version of yourself that would be able to succeed at this.

You slid into the space next to Taryn and pretended to analyse the choices behind the bar. When you felt his eyes on you, you turned to face him. “So many choices, care to help a girl out? You look like a man who knows a good drink.” You simpered.

Taryn looked you up and down and he liked what he saw. “You got a good eye, doll. Stick with me tonight and I’ll make sure you get only the best. Both in drink, and in company.”

The look he’d given you was the same one he’d been giving everyone else tonight and you very nearly left right then and there but you needed the credits. You forced yourself to lay a hand on his arm. “How could I refuse such an offer?”

He shouted an order over to the droid behind the bar. He handed you a drink and held his own glass up and took a hold of your hip and tugged you closer to him. “Cheers, baby.”

Biting back your grimace, you gave him a fake smile and clinked your glass with his. This would definitely be unpleasant, but it would be very easy to get what you wanted.

Hunter released a deep breath. Your words had helped him calm down and he was ready to wait it out but now he was having to keep it together for different reasons. He had spotted you at the bar and had to witness Taryn’s hand crawling all over your thigh, squeezing it and tracing a path from your knee right up the slit of the dress and Hunter knew you and your body well enough to tell that, despite your apparent enthusiasm, you were hating every touch. He only hoped you didn’t have to put up with it for much longer. In addition to this, Taryn kept having people come over to talk to him and each one gave you an admiring stare and would start chatting to you too and you made talking to them look so easy. If he didn’t know you as well as he did, he would’ve assumed you were a regular here.

All the interruptions had been driving you crazy. You needed to get this done before someone else came over and you had to feign interest in their seedy business activities and entertain their creepy flirtations. You waved off the newest arrival before you turned your attention back to Taryn. “So, I keep hearing from you and all these people about how well you’re doing, and I must say it’s very impressive. From what I’ve heard, the Empire has been making people’s operations quite difficult. How are you managing to avoid them?” You asked, fake in your admiring tone.

“Well, when you know the right people and have a great business brain like mine, it’s very easy.” He boasted.

“Hmm handsome and smart. How’d I get so lucky?” You flirted.

“Wearing a dress like that certainly helps.”

You resisted the very strong urge to roll your eyes in disgust. “So, can I see how that business brain of yours operates? I’d sure love a peek of your records.”

Taryn shot you a quizzical look. “Why would you want to see my transactions?”

You had to think quickly so you went for the reason you figured would make him forget any lingering questions in his head. “It really gets me going.” You murmured in his ear whilst your hand toyed with the lapel of his jacket. You hated yourself for it, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep up the charade much longer.

“Say no more, babydoll.” He downed his drink and grabbed your hand and led you to his back office.

To say you were underwhelmed by what you saw would be an understatement. All he did was bribe certain Imperial officials and put his shipments out on the days they were on shift.

“How’s that for a turn on?” He said, mouthing at you neck whilst his hands started to pull your dress up.

You cringed away from his touch. “Before we do that, can you get me another drink?”

You saw the flash of annoyance on his face, and you figured he wasn’t used to people refusing his advances all that often, but you needed him out. “I’ll make it worth your while.” You murmured, batting your eyelashes.

Taryn practically sprinted out the room.

You wiped your neck in revulsion and got to work. “Great business brain my ass.” You said to yourself as you inserted the drive, and it began its download.

You managed to get out without being spotted by Taryn and you found Hunter in no time.

“You okay?” Hunter asked instantly, breathing in relief as he saw you in front of him once more.

“Feeling gross but I got the information and yeah, I’m okay. Are you?” You asked.

“He didn’t force-”

“No, I dealt with any attempt, and he didn’t get far.” You replied quickly, not wanting to even let his mind wander down that path. “Are you okay?” You asked again.

“Yeah, I got better after hearing you.”

“I’m sorry about this whole thing. I know it wasn’t easy on you.”

“Or you.” Hunter added. “You were put in an uncomfortable situation and did what you had to do. You were looking out for the squad by doing this. You don’t have to apologise for that. I’m just sorry this was the kinda job you were handed, it wasn’t fair.”

You gave him a grateful smile. “Wanna get out of here?”

Hunter nodded, but he wasn’t able to shake the voice in his head that was bringing up every illogical doubt as weaved his hand in yours and together, you snuck out the party and headed back to the ship.

You had scarcely boarded the Marauder when Hunter backed you into the wall of the hallway and began to kiss you. You dropped your bag that contained the stolen information and let out a surprised gasped which he used as a chance to intensify it. You were lightheaded when he pulled away, but he didn’t give you a chance to recover since he lifted your thigh and slotted himself in between your legs and started to kiss along your jaw and neck.

He breathed you in but the things that made you you weren’t there anymore. They were tainted with something wrong and unfamiliar, and he couldn’t stand it.

The way he nipped at your jaw and neck stung and his grip on you was sore and not the pleasurable kind. It told you there was more to this than simple possessiveness. Something was bothering him. The atmosphere between you now was different to how it was before you had entered the party. “Hunter, stop for a minute.” You said through a gasp as his fingers dug into your thigh in a way that was sure to leave bruises- and not the good kind- if he continued to do it.

Hunter stopped immediately and pulled away from you. Seeing the concern in your eyes snapped him out of whatever mood he was in. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” You reassured him quickly. “But what’s going on? That was… different. You don’t usually get like that.”

“I know, I know. I’m so sorry.” He went to step away from you.

You assumed things had gone too far with Taryn. You grabbed his hand and tugged him back towards you. “He wasn’t going to get far. He doesn’t even hold a candle to you. I didn’t mean the things I said to him. I don’t understand-”

“It wasn’t just him.” Hunter interrupted quietly as his hand fell to your waist.

“What are you talking about?” You asked softly, running your hand through the hair at the nape of his neck to comfort him.

“Everyone there was looking at you. Everyone. And you fit there. You looked like you belonged. Not with criminals.” He clarified hastily as he saw your brow furrow. “But with people that have something to offer that isn’t just scraping by from one job to the next. And I think it all got too much. You- You could have anyone you wanted. You could have a life for yourself and instead you chose this. You chose us. You chose me. I guess… I guess I just struggle sometimes believing you’re still here. But it’s nothing you’ve done; I just can’t get the voice in my head to shut up and it’s not your fault or your issue. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that.” He turned away from you.

Your heart went out to him. You knew it would have taken a lot for him to admit that. So often he was a sergeant first and person with real emotions second. He rarely let his guard down like this. Clearly, your conversation after the last mission didn’t soothe all the insecurities that had built. You knew Crosshair leaving would have left scars, but you didn’t think they ran this deep. You cupped the side of his face and caressed your thumb across his cheekbone. “Well, I’m glad I seem to possess such an acting talent because I was fighting every instinct to not show my disgust at the people there.” You said lightly before you continued in a more serious tone. “Hunter, I am with you 100%, I don’t even think about what my life would be like if I didn’t meet you guys or if I didn’t fall in love with you because it gets too upsetting.” You pulled him in for a hug and held him close. “People leaving doesn’t mean you failed or missed something, sometimes people make decisions that hurt but the great thing about choice is that it can also leave room for future change, you just have to be patient.” You soothed.

He knew what you were saying about yourself was true and he could only hope that what you were saying about his brother was also true. “I love you.” Hunter murmured into your neck. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. I love you too and that’s not going to change.”

Hunter met your eyes once more.

You placed a delicate kiss on to his lips before you pulled away and rubbed your thumb tenderly across his jaw. “Now, to shut that voice up, here’s what we’re going to do.”

Hunter tilted his head at you.

“First, I’m going to take a shower which you are going to join me for.” You crooned as you pushed back part of the scarf and gently bit the skin by his pulse point and sucked a bruise into the skin.

Hunter stifled his groan but his hold on you tightened.

“Then...” You kissed along his jaw, pausing before you reached his lips. “I’m going to both show and tell you all the things that make me happy that I get to call you mine.” You whispered before you kissed him. It lasted for a few minutes before you broke away for air.

“Sounds good to me.” Hunter rasped as he got his breath back.

You smiled at him and began the process of undressing him, a task you took great pleasure and care in before you slipped off your dress and the two of you made your way to the refresher.

It wasn’t a completely innocent shower, he still had to work his emotions out, but he was back to his usual self in that regard, and it wasn’t lost on you that the marks he’d left on your thighs and neck were in the places that Taryn had touched you. When he’d used his mouth and his fingers to bring you that sweet release, not once but twice, you’d decided to wrap things up in there. You cleaned each other up and after you turned off the water, you grabbed his hand and led him out the refresher. You didn’t bother to dry off and neither did he. You tenderly pushed him down onto your bunk, so he was sitting but you made no move to follow just yet. Instead, you took him in, and the way he looked had you weak at the knees. Droplets of water were scattered across his tanned skin that were just begging to be kissed away, and his dark hair fell flawlessly around his face and the necklace you had given him sat just past his collarbone. “You’re the one who’s perfect.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hunter swallowed heavily. “Well, genetics had a helping hand.” He kidded awkwardly as he felt himself growing warm under the intensity of your stare and your words didn’t help. In these particular situations, it was usually him who was the attention giver. This was a new, more vulnerable position for him to be in and it wasn’t one he was used to. But he trusted you and that’s what really mattered here. He reached for you.

Sensing some unease, you let him pull you onto his lap. Your hands found his shoulders whilst his cradled the side of your neck and your waist. You brought your lips, so they were mere inches from his. “Do you know you only have to walk into a room, and I’m left thinking when I’ll have the next chance to be alone with you?”

A low groan left Hunter’s throat and he made the decision to close the remaining distance between you.

Your hands moved to tangle themselves in his damp locks and your slick bodies and lips moved together in perfect sync, the passion and intensity between you never faltered. You only removed yourself to get air, but you didn’t leave him wanting. You pulled on his hair slightly, so his head fell back and more of his neck was exposed to you.

“You did take less than 30 minutes today…” Hunter managed to choke out as you licked away the water on the side of his neck and nipped at the skin.

You smirked to yourself and trailed your lips softly across his collarbone. “Someone’s eager. I’m reserving that for a later date. I told you; we’re doing things differently tonight.” With that, you nudged him to lie on his back and you reached your hand between you. Your mouth hovered above his and you savoured the short, sharp breaths that left him at your ministrations. Focus on my voice. Focus on my touch. Nothing else matters. It’s just you and me. You need me to stop, tell me and I will, okay?

Hunter nodded.

So as things weren’t going to be over before you had said all you needed to, you were ensuring that your movements were enough to satisfy any longing he was experiencing, but it wasn’t enough to fully satisfy him yet. His mildly frustrated grunts and the way his hips were trying to buck into your touch told you though that he wasn’t quite getting the patience memo yet. You pressed your mouth against his. “Ssshh.” You ordered softly. “I got you.”

Hunter looked into your eyes, and he saw something in them that he knew was reflected in his every time he looked at you. The loving way you were looking at him had something so pure and unfiltered behind it. He took a deep breath and relaxed under your touch.

When you felt the tension leave his body, you began. You kissed his untattooed cheek and kept your voice low but there was no hiding the sincere way you spoke to him now. “I love how you look out for us and how protective you are.”

You nudged his nose with yours and kissed the bridge of it. “I love how kind and caring you are.”

“I love how you are with Omega.” You kissed his other cheek.

“I love when you let yourself be vulnerable and that wall comes down.” You kissed behind his ear.

“I love watching you track. I love how you capable you are.” You kissed right by his hairline.

“Your hair not only looks beautiful on you, but I love how you let me pull on it when you’re making me see stars and I need to be grounded.” You didn’t miss the deep groan that left him when you used your free hand to tug on it so you could leave more marks on the other side of his neck that had been without your attention since this had started.

You found his mouth once more and kissed him deeply, lovingly. I love that you know what to say to reassure me. You continued to kiss him, upping the intensity as you did so. An act you knew he appreciated due to the way he cradled the side of your jaw. You let him have a moment of control as he licked into your mouth, drawing a small moan from you. Plus, you know exactly how to drive me wild. You included and you grinned against his mouth as you pulled away slightly to allow you both to breathe. You started to pay his jawbone some care. You laid soft kisses along it.

Slowly but surely, Hunter was starting to forget the outside world for a while. You were being so affectionate and loving and he found himself believing all you were saying. That usual voice that would tell him he was failing, or he was losing you was starting to fade into the background. He caressed your sides and continued to do what you had said at the beginning. You were what he was focusing on now.

You started to kiss your way down his chest, gently biting and sucking the skin and your hand skimmed over the necklace that sat there perfectly. I love how good this looks on you and it means so much to me that you wear it and I love you for it.

Your hand trailed up and down his arm. “I love how secure I feel in these arms when they hold me. Or when you show off how strong you are.” You added playfully before you brought his hand to your mouth and traced your mouth across his wrist before you kissed his palm. “I love how these hands play with a vibroblade. And how talented they are in… other areas.” You teased and you increased the pace of the hand that was between you, relishing in the pleasurable sigh that left Hunter’s mouth.

Hunter knew he was reaching that point of blissful ecstasy. You had driven him crazy but in the best possible way, however, this wasn’t how he wanted things to end. “W-wait.” Hunter said hastily as he grabbed your wrist to stop you.

You tilted your head at him.

“I need-” He swallowed thickly. “I need to feel you.”

You gave him a warm smile and brought your mouth against his. “And what exactly do you want to feel?” You murmured against his lips.

You left him chasing your mouth and instead took his hand once more and brought his finger to your mouth and sucked, emitting a seductive moan as you did so, and your teeth grazed the tip of his finger. “Do you want my mouth?”

“Shit.” Hunter gasped.

“Or is there something else…” You trailed off and ground against him.

A strangled groan left Hunter’s mouth. “Pl-please.” He rasped.

“Please what, Sergeant?” You said alluringly, not letting up on the slow, steady grind of your hips. You kissed him and tugged his bottom lip between your teeth.

“Fucking hell.” He said through clenched teeth, his head fell back down onto the pillow. “I need- I need to be inside you.” He said, knowing he somehow sounded shy, but he was so desperate for you that he didn’t care.

Finding his demeanour rather endearing and as a sign that you’d done your job, his mind didn’t seem as preoccupied anymore and having pushed him far enough and not really wanting to leave him wanting, you lifted your hips. You quieted his groans with your kiss as you started to move with both of your breathing quickly becoming irregular. Force you feel perfect.

Hunter couldn’t help the noises that were leaving him. You looked positively ethereal, he couldn’t take his eyes off you, and you felt incredible. Your words and comfort had helped to ground him, and he knew he was so lucky to have you. He drank in the pleasurable sighs that were coming from you and they were tipping him over that edge.

You had teased him long enough and you could tell he was close by the low moans that left his throat and the way his hold on your hips had tightened that but that wasn’t a problem. Your priority now was his pleasure. His release. And you did everything you could to get him there. You kissed him. You nibbled his earlobe and his pulse point. “I love you, Hunter.” You whispered breathlessly and then you felt him fall apart beneath you. You worked him through it, and it was only when he lightly tapped your hip that you stopped.

You planted light, sweet kisses along his neck and jaw and admired the many love bites you had left in your wake. Still with me, Sarge?

Hunter struggled to find any words. You had made him seen stars and he was still coming back down from the surreal experience you had just provided him, but he was aware enough to know you weren’t taken care of yet, something he was not used to. “You didn’t-”

You stroked the shorter strands on his hair back to silence him as you laid down next to him. “I did. Twice. Right in that shower if you remember. This was about you.”

Hunter let out a disgruntled grunt but accepted it as he kissed your brow. “I love you too.”

“How’s that voice?” You asked quietly as you tossed a leg over his hip so as to get even closer to him.

“What voice?” Hunter whispered in reply as he rested his head on top of yours.

You hummed out a laugh and closed your eyes.

In all the peace, you both had forgotten about the group of people waiting on your return. Your abandoned comms chirped and then Echo’s voice filled the empty space. “(Y/N), Hunter, it’s been a while. What’s your status?”

You and Hunter both groaned but smiled at each other as you sat up.

You reached down and grabbed your comm. “Sorry, Echo. Took a bit longer than expected. We got the data and we’re heading back now.”

“Copy that.” He signed off.

“Kinda forgot the whole point of why we were here in the first place.” Hunter said lightly as he kissed the top of your shoulder.

“I mean, that was the idea.” You said with a coy smile as you angled yourself to face him. “We better get going.” You kissed him quickly once more before you grabbed your dress and slipped it back on with Hunter following close behind.

“If you don’t want any brotherly teasing or awkwardness, you’re uh, going to need to wear this before we get back.” Hunter said apologetically as he examined the marks he’d left on your neck. He hadn’t been too careful about his placements this time around.

You tutted playfully at him as you took his scarf from him and wrapped it around you. “Better?”

“You make anything look good.” Hunter said by way of reply.

You grinned at him. “Let’s this ship in the air.” You started to walk to the cockpit.

“Hey, (Y/N).”

You turned back around to face him.

“Thank you. For all of it. I- I try so hard to be in control and keep it together. It was nice to not be for a change.”

You made your way back towards him and wrapped your arms around him, sighing happily when he held you tightly against his chest.

“We’re getting the hang of this relationship thing.” You said jokingly before you angled yourself to look at him. “You can share the load, Hunter. You’re not alone.” You said, your tone more serious.

“I know.” Hunter agreed, really believing it this time.

As the ship made its way back, Hunter felt a true sense of calm that he hadn’t felt in a while. There would still be uncertainties and he still had his squad to look after but one thing was now certain in his mind: you were it for him. He could face the unpredictable galaxy and protect what he loved with you by his side. He wouldn’t let that doubt creep in and take over like that again. He had you. He had his squad. That wouldn’t change. It couldn’t change. He wouldn’t let it.

Next Chapter>

Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy, @tpwkcalli, @fuckoffthanos, @arctrooper69, @graciexmarvel, @flyingkangaroo, @nightmonkeysstuff, @brujaporfavor, @a-streakofazure, @ladytano420, @dragonrider9905, @keep-calm-and-drink-caf, @yyourmotherr, @xxeiraxx

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 years

Note

Hi please can u write daemon targaryen x sick fem ready

Thanks for your time hope you are having a nice day :)

Absolutely sweetheart! I hope your having a nice day :) also I haven’t been well lately (not covid, I took a test) and am in need of some comfort…even if it’s written by own hand.

The maesters claimed it was a light cold that you were ailed with, not death unfortunately. Yet you get as though like you were on the presuppose of dying; from your perpetual headaches, constant temperature shifts that have you either bundling up for warmth or building up a sweat that left you violently kicking the bedding away, sneezing and coughing fits which had your poor throat raw and immobile that you had to pick and choose when to utilise your voice without cringing in discomfort.

To you it had been hell being bed bound whilst for Daemon -as sad as he was to hear the news of your fall to sickness, rushing to your shared chambers with a hastily made breakfast and jug of water held in a death grip- it had been heaven being able to take care of you when it was supposedly within the jurisdiction of the Maesters to do so. It gave the Targaryen a sense of pride -that for a time being- you had to heavily rely on him to perform your share of duties until you regained full health in which he took the job diligently. “Daemon, we have Maesters to take care of me, let them do their jobs.” You said between weak laughs as you watched your lover prepare you some fruit, that according to the Maesters whom he solicited advice from, that supposedly aided the body in advancing the recovery process and a some water upon your bedside table.

“Nonsense, you are sick and who am I to leave you in the cold hands of strangers rather then the caring hands of your own lover,” he states almost jokingly before leaning his head down so it was level with your ear as he spoke in high valerian, “besides I don’t trust the maesters in overseeing your health progress…they seem to have eyes and ears everywhere to base their own intel on when political issues seem to arise like unwelcome vermin.” He wasn’t wrong, it did unnerve you a tad when it seemed that way before you come to the notion of seeking a Maesters aid it seemed as though they’ve been granted divine powers to foresee what ailed you in that moment and what what the solution was. At first you passed it off as a coincidence but the longer the continued the more distrusting you felt towards them, no matter how invaluable they maybe that didn’t mean you had to blindly trust that what they were putting in your drink wasn’t poison.

“Your concerns, whilst valid my price, but you are royalty and with that comes duties you must uphold rather then waste away in here, being on hand and foot to my every phlegm filled whim.” You said, reaching a hand out to toy with the platinum blonde hair that fell in front of his face when he shifted to look you in the eyes as you talked, gifting you his undivided attention so willingly it melted your heart the way he looked at you with the softest eyes you’ve ever seen upon courting him. Daemon sighed humourlessly as he pulled your hand from his hair, only to bring it up to his lips where he placed a gentle kiss upon the back of it, only to place another kiss to your warm forehead. “That maybe the case but it wasn’t hard to negate them for someone else to deal with as I take care of the proclaimer of my heart.” He responded smugly, causing you to scoff which then transitioned to a coughing that had you kneeling over in your bed, blossoming worry within your lover as he quickly reached for the goblet of water he had prepared earlier, imploring you to take periodic sips after the coughing fit had subsided; officially taking his place beside you on the bed.

“Are you alright my love? What do you need, say the word and I’ll-“ his words died in his throat when you wearily smiled at him, seething down the goblet of water in favour in snuggling yourself deep within his chest, his warmth bleeding into you lovingly as you felt he headache subside as you press your forehead against the skin of his neck, eyelids growing ever heavier with sleep the longer you stayed tucked against him. You had a suspicion that most of the Targaryen bloodline ran quite warm compared to the average common folk with the blood of the dragon running through their veins and all; it was a blessing from the gods in your current situation as he made for a great pillow substitute. “No,” you croaked, mind lost within a fog as your words were muffled against his skin, “just stay here and be my personal pillow.” Your lover merely chuckled at your cute antics as he subserviently made himself comfortable in your bed without argument, finding the predicament quite rewarding for the both of you in terms of quality time. “Is that an order?” He said softly, subconsciously tucking you in even further into himself as though you being practically pressed up against him wasn’t enough for the rouge prince. “Yes it is.” Was your response before fully committing yourself to a deep slumber whilst Daemon pressed another kiss to your still warm forehead before allowing sleep to overtake him too. “As you wish my beloved. For only you can command me to your hearts desire.”

#daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen imagines #daemon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon imagines #hotd x you #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd imagines #hotd x reader

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ceo-of-sloppy-men · 9 months

Text

Ill-Fitting Armour

Ship: Zevlor/gn!Tav Rating: Mature Tags: heavy angst, injury recovery, broken limbs, Zevlor POV, post-Act 2 boss fight (like seriously massive spoilers), angst with a happy ending, (eventual) love confession Summary:

Zevlor is ready to fall asleep on the beach after escaping Moonrise Towers. His body aches, his throat is parched and his utterly defeated. Unfortunately for him, Tav has other plans.

AO3 link if you want, or you can read it under the cut.

He has never welcomed the bite of a cold night’s air. He has always bundled his scarf tighter around his neck in the winter and rubbed his gloved hands over his tail during his watch in Elturel. Yet when he stumbles out of the mindflayer nest, battered and bruised, his mouth feeling as if he swallowed sand, he gulps down the cool night’s air. He wraps himself in it, clinging to it tightly. The night’s air nips at his nose and scrapes down his tail, screaming his freedom back into his old bones. As he sways on his feet, he considers dropping right here and forgoing camp altogether. A nap in the grass sounds especially nice.

Until the phantom, unwelcome sensation of slimy probes slithering through his mind shudders through him. In an instant, his eyes are wide as he stands rigid. He can’t sleep. He doesn’t deserve sleep. They’ll find him if he sleeps. He has to make it to – he has to make it somewhere before he can sleep. Was there an inn somewhere? Hadn’t Tav mentioned an inn? Could he sleep there?

Would he be safe, or would he just put more people in harm's way?

Triumphant, wavering laughter sounds behind him like the bells of the church, and he’s yanked from his mind to see them standing there. Well, more like leaning. They have one arm slung over Halsin’s shoulders, the other over Karlach’s, limping out of the tower. Wyll trails behind them, looking no better off than the other three but able to walk on his own. Zevlor’s heart sinks as he finds himself at a loss. Had he still possessed his oaths, it would be such a small task to rest his hand on their shoulder and breathe life back into their battered body. Instead, he stands there helplessly, familiar sorrow drowning his heart.

He's not sure what God takes pity on him for them to look up, lay their eyes upon him and beam as if all his sins had burnt away. For but the briefest moment, time itself stops so that he may hear his name pour from their lips like honeyed wine for all eternity. Not even Halsin nor Karlach could hold them back as they wiggle free and limp toward him. He’s at their side in an instant, catching their fall despite the scream that wants to tear from his throat the moment he puts weight on his left arm. He bears the pain as he stares at them with utter terror.

“You’re injured; why are you coming to me? You should have stayed right where you were. I would have come to you – I was going to. You’ll only make your injury worse by walking on it,” Zevlor scolds them. Had he froze again? Had they called out to him, and he stood there stone-still? Was that why they tried to come to him?

“You’re injured too. You were swaying on your feet, Zevlor; it was instinct. I wanted to help,” they whisper, placing their hand gently on his left elbow as if they know his arm is broken. They ease their weight onto his right side, wrapping their arms around him.

He does not deserve their kindness, yet they do not deserve to be pushed away. So, he holds them gently, cradling them as if they were the bundle of stars he’d imagine every night in Avernus, hoping he’d wake up to them from that endless nightmare. “I do not deserve your help. Not after what I’ve done.”

“I don’t care,” they state with a quivering voice, holding him tighter. “I’ve had enough of people telling me I have to base my beliefs upon theirs. If I decide you deserve my help, then you deserve my help. We have healing herbs back at camp, and if Halsin knows how to splint my broken leg, he’ll know how to fix your arm. Come with us –“ they squeeze him tightly as if his rejection was their hopeless morning in Avernus – “Please?”

Zevlor’s heart crumples at the way their voice wavers as if expecting him to refuse. He can do no more than clutch them tighter, wincing when he jostles his broken arm and white-hot pain sparks through his body. He nods his head against their neck before he can find his words, wrestling with the last bit of his resolve so that he doesn’t break into wrecked sobs. “I couldn’t possibly refuse you even if I wanted to. Point the way, and I shall do my best to help you there.”

“There’s no need for that,” Halsin chuckles heartedly, coming up behind them. “Karlach, give me a hand here if you will. I’ve been craving Gale’s cooking before we crashed into that new Hell, and my hunger has just returned now that we’re free from that unnatural place. I can feel it eating away at my stomach as we speak!”

“Hah! I bet I’m hungrier, old man. Gale better have a double batch of bread rolls because I’m going to eat a whole dozen!” Karlach argues playfully, patting Zevlor’s hand gently to encourage him to move it.

He pulls away from Tav, letting her sling their arm over her shoulders. Halsin barely glances at him before lifting him off his feet and carrying him in his arms. Zevlor opens his mouth to protest on account of his dignity, but the moment his feet no longer need to support his weight, all the strength flees his body as he suddenly realizes how tired he truly is. So, he lets Halsin carry him back to camp, stealing glances at Tav to make sure that they’re not going to suddenly vanish or pass out or die. They glance back at him, and he must look positively horrible because they pat his knee and tell him to rest. That he’s safe. That he’s earned it. Even when confronted with his transgressions, all they offer is forgiveness. As if they could see past the hellfire in his eyes and into the locked box he keeps his heart inside so that they can’t hear the thundering symphony it’s composing for them.

Unfortunately, no matter how much he wishes he could sleep, even if it is just to please them, he can’t. A fiery pain spiderwebs its way through his body, pulsing at his side as they make their way to camp. He can do nothing more than clutch it tightly, pretending not to notice it. Each step Halsin takes is agony, yet he knows there is nothing they can do for him. If they cannot fix Tav’s broken leg, they cannot fix what is most likely just hunger. That’s all this is. Hunger. He’ll be fine with a little supper.

He hears camp before he sees it. He smells it, too – hearty stew wafting through the air as someone mutters about needing more basil. Laughter greets them as they find their way back, Jaheira meeting them at the edges of camp to help Wyll to a seat by the fire. He tries to brush her off, but the glare that she shoots him clamps his mouth shut. Halsin sets Zevlor by the fire with the promise of returning shortly. Zevlor opens his mouth to tell him to take care of the others (and himself) first, but Karlach sets Tav down next to him, and suddenly his mouth is as dry as it was on the beach.

“How are you feeling?” Tav probes gently, fishing a bottle of water out of their pack. They take a long swig of it, sighing when they pull it away from their lips.

“Like I just crawled out of Avernus for the second time,” Zevlor admits, dragging his hand through his hair. Strands cling together, held together with dried blood and whatever horrid fluids covered the mindflayer colony.

Laughter escapes them quickly, wrapping him in a warmer blanket than any breath of fresh air. It curls around him like the arms of a lover, entrapping his hopeless mind to the point that he finds his tail unintentionally curling around their side. The moment he catches himself, he moves to pull it away, but with a small, considering hum, they place their hand over it, rubbing small circles into it with their thumb. He is certain they have no idea what they’re doing to him as he feels his heart pound in his chest. All he can feel is their soft touch – he could die in this moment and have never been happier.

“Drink, you sound like you need it,” Tav instructs him, pressing the bottle of water into his hands.

A cocked eyebrow shuts him up before he even realizes he’s opened his mouth to protest. So, he takes the water instead, treating himself to a small sip at first and then a greedy gulp. Then two, then three, then four. He feels his stomach cramp, yet his parched mouth demands more, having been starving and dehydrated for untold days. There was no way to tell time down in that mindflayer hell. His stomach cramps again, yet he ignores it in favour of drinking more still, until their hand wraps around his and pulls the bottle from his lips.

“Slow down, slow down; you’ll make yourself sick,” they urge him, worry bubbling in their voice. The edge of their sleeve is used to wipe away the spit dribbling down his chin, and his ears fold back in embarrassment.

“My apologies, I should have –“

“No, none of that. No apologies. Just take a deep breath for me,” they say, still indirectly holding his hand.

He does as he’s bid and winces, having forgotten the pain tearing through his side. They catch it instantly, and he screws his eyes shut to be free of their judgment. He cannot face their disappointment anymore today. The water bottle is set down in the dirt next to them as they turn themself to face him fully, letting their injured leg stretch out however it wants. His tail has curled around himself, attempting to make himself smaller, attempting to hide. Only now does he realize how laboured his breathing has become and the shockwaves of pain that ripple through his broken body with each breath.

“I should have set your leg first,” Halsin says, approaching the two of them finally.

“My leg can wait. Zevlor needs your help first,” Tav says dismissively, resting their hands over the buckle of Zevlor’s belt. “May I?”

“You’ll only be disappointed,” Zevlor mumbles, fiddling with the rim of the water bottle.

A tender hand cups his cheek, brushing back a shameful tear he hadn’t noticed was there. Their touch is warm and comforting – far more comforting than he deserves. He can’t help himself; he leans into it, every starved and broken piece of his soul surfacing at the slightest hint of affection. “You could never disappoint me. I’m merely worried. May I see?”

He’s so close to shattering, and they have no idea. It takes every last bit of his strength to bite back the wrecked sob desperately attempting to claw its way out of his throat. Instead, he nods his head, letting them pull his belt away.

“Oh, do not stand there like a dumb-founded child, Halsin. Pick one and help them; I will take the other. There are two of us, after all. Three, if you count the patient who refuses to acknowledge their own injuries are just as bad,” Jaheira scoffs, approaching the group and lightly knocking Halsin upside the head.

“I thought you might not have enough left after helping purge Moonrise and then healing Wyll,” Halsin confesses, taking a seat in the dirt next to Tav.

“I know how to heal people with more than just magic – I would not have survived this long if I did not,” Jaheira states plainly, taking a seat at Zevlor’s side. She does not know him, and Zevlor is grateful for that. He doesn’t have to worry about disappointing her with the extent of his injuries.

Tav is adamant about helping him out of his armour. They undo each tie as if they had tied them a thousand times, forcing Zevlor to swallow back the idea of them helping him into it every day. There was always a tie or two in the back he couldn’t properly do up on his own. Yet he knows he could never have that. They certainly wanted better than an old Hellrider cast out of Elturel, who couldn’t even keep his people safe when they needed him the most.

He flinches when they pull his shirt from him and gasp. He knows he’s covered in scars, probably a few bruises as well, and that it’s not a pretty sight. His body never was a pretty sight. It has always been covered in dramatic reminders of his fiendish heritage – reminders that are only more painful after Elturel’s fall.

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Halsin mutters at his side, and Zevlor wants to curl into a ball and die.

“You didn’t think it was that bad? Are you looking at the same thing I am?! How could you not notice this while you were carrying him?!?” Tav all but cries, squeezing his hand as if trying to distract him.

Zevlor forces his eyes open, seeing Tav and Halsin staring at his side in horror while Jaheira dumps several herbs into a mortar. He swallows thickly before lowering his head to stare at his own side. Vomit nearly escapes him when his eyes land upon the gash dragged from his ribs and across his belly. It’s green and oozing – definitely infected – with horrible purple and green bruising (black in some places as well) surrounding it. Two hands cupping his face wrench his tear-stained gaze away, bringing his head up to look at Tav instead.

“Focus on me, don’t look at it. Just focus on me, okay?”

“Am I going to die?” He hates the way his voice quivers, but he has to know. If these are to be his last moments, he cannot let them go silently.

“I’ve already got something for your infection; just hold still so that I can apply it,” Jaheira orders him, taking a piece of cotton to wipe away the puss first.

“Hold on, Jaheira, let Halsin set my leg first so he can give you a hand,” Tav interjects, turning their attention to her whilst holding Zevlor’s face.

“Fine, but he must do it quickly. We need to treat this,” Jaheira sighs, sitting back against the log to wait.

“I only need a moment,” Halsin assures her. “Is this the position you want it set in? You probably won’t be moving for a while after I do this.”

“Hold on then,” Tav says, holding up a hand. Halsin gives them a curious look but nods, helping them reposition themself behind Zevlor with his head resting against their chest, a horn on either side of their neck. Zevlor gladly leans back against them, breathing easier at this angle and soaking in the warmth radiating off their body. Gods above and below, he must be delirious if he can’t find it in himself to advocate for his aching heart. “Is this alright with you, Zev’?”

“I can breathe easier. Thank you,” he answers honestly, taking their hand in his own. “Squeeze my hand as hard as you need. I promise you can’t do worse than my existing injuries – you might even distract us both.”

“Thank you,” they whisper against the top of his head, giving his hand a light squeeze.

“Ready now?” Halsin inquires, positioning his supplies around their leg.

“Do it,” Tav nods, squeezing their eyes shut.

Halsin instructs them to take a deep breath and focus on holding it, yet they scream all the same when he snaps their bones back into place. Zevlor can’t help the way his tail curls instinctively around them, trying to soothe the pain as he squeezes their hand. They tense rather than squeeze his hand, their whole body locking up until Halsin urges them to breathe again.

“Zariel’s flaming ass, that never gets easier,” Tav pants, folding in around Zevlor. They’re careful not to hurt his existing injuries, but he welcomes the arm wrapped loosely around his neck and their steady heartbeat against his skin.

“Now, may I fix your lover, or will you make me wait longer?” Jaheira asks, an edge of understanding in her voice.

“He’s not my – we’re not –“ Tav stammers, letting go of Zevlor’s hand and leaving him crestfallen. He lets his hand go limp at his side where they left it as if it would bring theirs back.

“You certainly told me to keep an eye out for him like he was. You had a wild look in your eyes while you said it, too, constantly checking over your shoulder as if you expected him to appear over the horizon,” Jaheira recounts, wiping the puss from Zevlor’s wound. He’s never been more grateful for the pain, giving him something else to latch onto other than bitter heartbreak. He has no right to even be heartbroken. He knew he had no chance at their heart even before he almost gave into the absolute.

“I – Well –“ Tav continues to stammer, shutting up quickly when Jaheira shoots them a look of disbelief.

“Jaheira, perhaps we should change the topic of our conversation? This is not something we should meddle in – especially not right now,” Halsin points out, taking Zevlor’s broken arm and examining it to assess whether it requires a splint or not.

“All the more reason we should discuss it now. He needs a distraction from what we’re about to do. He gave one to Tav so willingly, as if it was second nature, and they positioned themself so that he could breathe easier after you told them they would not move once you set their leg. I have only seen such behaviour in those deeply in love,” Jaheira argues, scowling at the last bit of puss before tossing the soiled bandages into the fire.

“They are adults; I am certain they are more than capable of confessing their romantic feelings for each other without our assistance. And they are sitting right next to us – we are working on one of them,” Halsin points out, deciding that Zevlor’s arm did not require him to reset the bone. He splints it carefully, wrapping the bandages around it diligently.

Shooting back in the argument, Jaheira starts working the antiseptic salve into Zevlor’s wound gently. He’s grateful for the pain all the same, as it distracts from the heartache eating away at him faster than the infection. As embarrassment bubbles in his chest, threatening to overturn his empty stomach, Zevlor feels a finger gently brush his pinkie. He curls his hand around it, feeling Tav’s hand slip into his own, lacing their fingers together. His heart thunders wildly in his chest as they squeeze his hand.

“Break my hand if you need to; I won’t mind. I know the salve can’t possibly feel good,” Tav whispers quietly as Jaheira and Halsin continue to bicker like old friends.

“I don’t want to hurt you. You’re already stuck in this position because of me; don’t let me make it worse,” Zevlor begs, hanging his head carefully so as not to nick them with his horns.

“I’m holding you because I want to. Because you need to be held right now. You could have told me you were uncomfortable; I would have moved and gotten some of the pillows from my tent so that you could still breathe easier,” Tav says, stroking their thumb against the back of his hand.

Even the mightiest of mountains fall, and Zevlor is no mountain. Not by any stretch of the truth. He turns his head to the side, burying his face in their shoulder as if it would hide him away. As if he could bury himself in their arms and the world would blanket him in darkness, hidden from both judgement and sympathy. Thankfully, they lean their head back the moment he moves so his horns don’t injure them – one less thing for him to worry about – letting him fully turn his head. His body shakes as he feels hot tears roll down his cheeks, his ears pressed flat against his head. Halsin and Jaheira politely ignore him, probably pinning his wrecked sobs on the pain of his injuries, yet Tav cradles him in their arms, whispering soft nothings under their breath for only him to hear. What could he possibly have done to earn their kindness, their sympathy? What silent prayer to an unseen God blessed him to feel their hands against his tattered skin?

Their hands card through his hair, uncaring about the dried blood and grease tangling his locks together. Carefully, they pull away the hair tie, barely holding his hair together. They are patient, letting him sob until he’s nothing more than a shivering mess struggling to breathe. Cradling his hand, they let him calm down until he realizes that his torso has been bandaged and they have been left by the fire. He manages to force himself to take a deep breath, feeling it waiver in his lungs as they encourage him to take another with a kind hand rubbing his back. With the fear and stress finally slipping his mind, he finds himself able to melt into their arms, letting their hum of approval wrap around him.

“Do you think you can eat something?” they ask tentatively, resting their head atop his.

Zevlor’s stomach growls before he can respond, and they laugh, a sound that rivals the greatest symphonies. He can’t even bring himself to feel embarrassed as he unfurls himself from his cramped position.

“Don’t worry, Gale’s already dishing up dinner. How are you feeling? Any fever? Pain?” Tav immediately questions him, resting their hand on his forehead to try and judge if he’s running a fever. He can feel their worried gaze flicker over him, attempting to assess the collateral damage of the battle.

“Nothing I haven’t felt before,” he says without recounting the memories of Avernus. Even if the salve had numbed the pain in his side, it has still wormed its way through his body, pulsing from his broken arm.

“Here, chew this,” they instruct him, seeing right through his awful attempt at hiding his pain.

He stares at the leaf they drop in his hand, unease settling in his stomach. He cannot take medicine from their hands, no matter how willingly they give it. They have done enough – too much – for him, and he has given them so very little. Guilt twists in his gut like a frightened snake. “You should be taking this. You actually had to fight Ketheric; I just had to limp out of the nest,” Zevlor argues, trying to press the leaf back into their hand.

They cup their hand underneath his, brushing their thumb against his wrist. Their brow is creased together in worry, twisting his heart into knots. “Please, take the leaf, Zev’. I’ve already had one – Halsin made sure of it. You may not have fought Ketheric, but finding your way out of the nest must’ve been no easy task. All I had to do was jump down a fleshy tunnel – I had no idea how to get out of there – you had to map your way through a mindflayer nest whilst injured and exhausted.”

“Okay,” he says, swallowing his argument. He plucks the leaf from their hand and chews on it, staring at the ground, unable to bring himself to meet their gaze.

Tears dribble down his face as the pulsing heat slops off his body, leaving him blissfully pain-free. The sensation is horribly foreign, his hands shaking, expecting for the pain to return tenfold. He winds them around his sides in hopes that it hides how unsteady he truly is. The softest whisper of touch consumes him as they pull his hands away from his injured side, delicately cradling his cast in their hand. He can’t help the way he leans into their touch, how he slumps against their solid body and lets them hold him. Adrenaline has leached out of his body, leaving him nothing more than a compliant mess, too hopelessly in love to bring himself to pull away. He’ll cling greedily to even the faintest of touches they’re willing to give him, memorizing the cracks in their skin so that he can recount them to himself whenever he needs.

“I can give you something stronger if you need,” they offer, and Zevlor freezes, fearing they read his mind.

“Give him this; it’ll help him keep food down,” Halsin interrupts, sitting down in the dirt next to them. He has three bowls of stew and a potion bottle with him, the last of which he uncorks and holds out. “There’s enough here for you to split it; it’s too strong for one person to drink alone.”

“Thank you, Halsin,” Tav says softly, taking the potion. They keep one hand on Zevlor’s broken arm, forcing him to keep it elevated, but the other hand wraps around the neck of the potion bottle. Zevlor waits as they eyeball half of the bottle, grimacing at the taste, before finally handing it to him. “Drink, you don’t want to insult Gale by tasting his stew twice,” they joke, making Halsin chuckle. Zevlor smiles weakly, letting out a small huff of a laugh and nearly curling in on himself when fresh pain streaks through him. “It’ll help, I promise,” they insist, feeling him wince against them.

He takes the bottle, taking a small sip at first and grimacing at the taste. It has the distinct aftertaste of goblin piss and mouldy cheese. Yet he brings it back to his lips all the same as instant relief washes through his body. The nausea he hadn’t even realized was hiding under his exhaustion is banished to the far corners of his mind as he finds it easier to breathe. Taking a slow, deep breath once the potion is finished, he closes his eyes, revelling in the pleasant numbness.

“He looks better already. Less green than before,” Halsin points out as he takes the potion bottle away.

“He’s stopped shaking too,” Tav comments, bending their unbroken leg for a more comfortable position. “Think you can keep food down?” they ask, rubbing his shoulder firmly.

“I’d eat a raw imp right now if I had no other options,” Zevlor says despite himself. He can still taste the imp, blood dripping down his chin as he cups his hands in a feeble attempt to catch it while still holding the limp body to his face. He’d been so hungry he had eaten the bones, and had Tilses not stopped him, he would have eaten the guts too.

“I promise you; my stew is far better than raw imp!” Gale defends himself, walking over to drape a hide across Zevlor’s lap. He keeps on walking afterwards, settling down on the west side of the fire next to Wyll with his own bowl of stew. “The only thing ‘raw’ in it should be the parsley on top. Which you can thank Halsin for since he was the one who made sure it wasn’t poisonous.”

“Thank you,” Zevlor manages to rasp out, taking the offered bowl from Halsin. “I meant no disrespect by the raw imp comment, I –“

Gale holds up his hand to stop him: “Please, don’t apologize. It is not the first odd thing someone has implied they have eaten or would eat. But if you continue, you’ll most likely spoil our appetites. Eat your stew, Zevlor, before your potion wears off.”

“Right, sorry,” Zevlor mutters, picking up the spoon. He cradles the bowl with his broken arm, picking up a spoonful of potatoes, turnips, carrots and barley. There are chunks of meat in the bowl, but for now, he takes only the vegetables.

“No need to apologize,” Gale says dismissively, feeling rather pleased with himself when Zevlor takes a small bite and then immediately goes back for another, then another, then another.

The camp falls into light conversation as dinner is finally eaten, and everyone puts the memories of the Mindflayer nest behind them. Plans for what they’ll do once they reach the city are discussed – some goals heavier than others – and Zevlor lets himself sit in silence, picking at the last few mouthfuls of meat in his bowl. He knows he needs to eat them, but after the nest… it takes him a good thirty minutes to get through the five chunks in his bowl, using the fire and weight against his back to distract himself. Tav is busy talking to Halsin by the time he’s finished, and not wanting to interrupt their conversation, no matter how tired he is, he leans back against them and lets his eyes close. They don’t seem to mind, gently stroking their thumb against the back of his hand. He feels sleep settle heavily in his bones, calling him under like a siren’s gentle song. He can sleep here. He’s safe to sleep here, he decides.

He barely sleeps despite his exhaustion. Each time he closes his eyes, he sees an Absolute cultist leaning over him, inspecting his injured body, tapping on the pod to keep him perpetually awake, perpetually in Avernus. Yet each time he surfaces from a light doze, he feels the arms around him, rubbing his back and the gentle vibrations through his body as Tav talks to their companions. It’s enough to let him rest – at least for as long as the potion lasts. He can pinpoint the exact moment it clears his system, leaving him in dull agony once more. He doesn’t dare open his mouth and interrupt their conversation to ask for more. He doesn’t deserve more. He just screws his eyes shut and bares it.

He's not sure when someone gently shakes his shoulder, rousing him for his light slumber. He blinks groggily, finding the walls of a tent staring back at him. When had they moved him? He could have slept by the fire – they didn’t have to go out of their way for him. He’s nestled into the crook of Tav’s arm as they hold a potion out to him. It’s much smaller than the last one, and he moves to take it, hissing in pain. Someone takes it for him, pressing it to his lips, and he swallows, too tired to protest that he could have taken it. The pain vanishes a moment later, and he takes a steadier breath.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner,” Tav whispers softly, rubbing his back to distract him from the pain. His mind clings to the sensation, sinking its claws around it and focusing every ounce of attention he has left on it.

“It’s okay,” he hears himself say, his voice weak and wavering, choking in his throat. He can’t cry again. He doesn’t want to cry again. Please, don’t let him cry again.

“No, it’s not. I should have noticed – you could have said something. Why didn’t you say something?” Tav presses, circling their hand on his back as if they can tell he’s clinging to it like a lifeline.

“Because I don’t deserve it,” his tired mind confesses, and he tries to bite back every word. To stuff them back in his mouth because they don’t deserve to have that dumped on them. They don’t need his problems on top of their already towering pile.

“Oh, Zevlor…” they whisper, wrapping their arms around him gently so as not to aggravate his injuries. He bites back the choked sob at the tenderness of their actions, the careful attention to his well-being that he has done nothing to earn. “You have done nothing wrong. The Absolute may twist a little part of us into what it wants us to be, but it is up to us if we give in to it. If we let it twist that part of us.”

“But I did,” Zevlor insists, curling in on himself. Unable to hold them out of fear of the guilt on his hands staining their skin. “I let it – I let it convince me.”

“No, you didn’t. You broke free from it. Even if you had almost accepted it, you knew it was wrong. Your denial is far louder than your acceptance. If you had given in – if you were truly guilty – you would not be here in my arms, letting me hold you,” Tav points out, resting their forehead against his. “You are alive, Zevlor. You are yourself. You are not another one of the Absolute’s pawns, stumbling around like a husk, ready to take any orders given to you.”

In any other state of mind, he’d argue against them, fighting every step of the way and refusing to agree with them. Yet he’s tired, and his brain cannot fumble together a stronger argument than ‘I almost gave in.’ Forgiveness has never tasted sweeter than coming from them, staring into their eyes with his vision clouded in tears yet to be shed. There’s an overwhelming urge to lean forward and kiss them, to let them know just how much their words mean to him, to feel that love reciprocated. The moment shatters around him instantly as a pang of more sinister guilt crawls its way into his chest and sinks its claws into his heart. He doesn’t deserve to be held like this while his mind races – while he pretends it means no more than friendship to him. They have offered him more kindness than he could ever hope for at every turn, yet all he can think of is greedily stealing more. He pulls back, staring down at the ground and refusing to meet their gaze.

“You deserve to know the truth before you keep holding me like this,” Zevlor croaks, swallowing the lump that builds up in his throat. They give him space, holding him tenderly as he forces his led tongue to work again. “You can hate me after this – I don’t care, I’ll deserve it. But I can’t… I can’t keep letting you sit there and tell me these things without knowing what you mean to me. Jaheira was right, at least about how I feel. I can’t pretend anymore. I’m so hopelessly in love with you that I’d walk through Avernus for a hundred years if it would please you.”

Silence falls over the tent as he waits for them to get up and leave. He flinches when a hand comes forward, gently cupping his cheek and turning him to face them. They wear the softest smile, making his heart hammer in his chest as he finds himself unable to breathe lest he ruin the moment.

“I would never ask you to walk through Avernus for me, but that does not mean I love you any less. I should have told you back at the party before we parted ways. I should have gone with you and gotten your caravan to Baldur’s Gate instead of getting all of us tangled up in this mess,” they confess, and he hangs onto every word, feeling their thumb brush against his bottom lip. “May I kiss you?”

It's by no means a coordinated affair. His lips are on theirs before he can breathe a word, pulling them closer with his good hand. When they only pull him closer, their other hand splayed across his back to support him. He leans further into the kiss, letting them take every piece of himself he has left. Even when they pull back, they place butterfly kisses on each other’s lips, unable to fully pull apart. They’re apart just long enough to catch their breath before they’re plunging back into each other, desperately trying to memorize every last detail freely given to them.

When they finally pull apart, panting to refill their lungs, Zevlor flinches as he yawns. He doesn’t want to be tired. He can’t fall asleep now. He has to stay awake and –

“Lay down,” Tav whispers, stretching out across the bedroll and spare blankets, pulling two pillows over for them.

He complies easily, letting them pull him into a position where he can breathe the easiest, his arm elevated on another pillow. They prop their leg up before twisting their body, curling around him the best they can with a contented sigh. He allows himself to pull them closer with his good arm, grinning like an idiot.

“Sleep, Zevlor. It’s a long way to Baldur’s Gate, and I don’t intend on letting you out of my sight again,” they insist, resting their head in the crook of his arm. “We can watch the sunrise another day, one when we don’t have to fumble around our injuries.”

“I’m sorry,” he rasps because it’s all he can think to say.

“Don’t be. I love you,” they forgive him, kissing his lips gently. “Just get some rest, okay? I’ll keep you safe.”

He knows he can’t argue with them, so he turns his head and kisses them a final time, just for good measure. Just to remind himself that he can. “I love you too,” he whispers.

Tav smiles softly, curling closer to him, surely able to hear his thundering heart. He cannot help but smile back at them, basking in the feeling of them curled up next to him. The idea that they trust him enough to fall asleep next to him is harrowing. Guilt still weighs heavily on his consciousness; its claws dug deep into his heart, yet in their presence, all he can feel is overwhelming forgiveness. He lets himself fall asleep there, focusing on his sloppy confession rather than the transgressions of his actions. For once, he does not dream of Avernus.

#tav x zevlor #tav/zevlor #bg3 zevlor #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #hurt/comfort #heavy angst #tw gore #tw injury #gender neutral tav bg3 #zevlor #zevlor bg3

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charlottan · 9 months

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that said im really loving the dead zone its written so well and the concept is great ive read like almost half of it in a couple days which is really fast for me. its a really funny book because i didnt expect him to spend like 150 pages with the main character in a coma but he did it. i thought johnny would be out on the town using his psychic powers by page 50 but it took until like 200 for it to really stsrt happening. and then i feel like he takes it real cool like theres not really any monologuing in his head about "what the fuck is going on". like it didnt faze him is what im saying. i also didnt expect the religion angle from his mom becoming so evangelical and joining cults and stuff. thats a very interesting plot point to put in Funny Guy Get Psychic Powers book. his books are always kind kf like that though its like if you had two or three book ideas and combined them. thats how he does it. so its a story of mind powers as well as recovery from physical trauma as well as Religion Bad, all these plotlines bundled up. and for that matter theres also the Nazi sidestory and the Killer sidestory and the Lightning Rod Salesman sidestory. it really feels like way more of a Packed story than what you could fit in even 579 pages. very excited to see how this all comes together

#booktalk #probably my first time straight up Book Talking where i actually feel like i have a lot to say about something i experienced for once lmao

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randombush3 · 1 year

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Sunday Morning

florence pugh x footballer!reader

summary: based off the Maroon 5 song ‘Sunday Morning’

words: 1470

warnings: gets a little bit angsty

notes: just a little in-between-er while i work on the lengthier, juicier stuff. And absolutely NOT proofread x

This is rare.

Waking up to a bed with both of you in it. Not needing to attack the day ahead. Being allowed to listen to the rain falling, softly beating against the windows of your bedroom.

Sunday mornings like this are so special.

You yawn as you slowly open your eyes, skin prickling. Expecting it but feeling betrayed nonetheless, you glance at where the covers should be, knowing they’re bundled around your girlfriend because she gets so cold during the night ever since you developed that habit of rolling over in your sleep. You steal what’s yours back, not waking her but not minding if she stirs. She makes a quiet noise as your cooler skin slots beside her furnace, but this is the only sign of life.

Clouds shroud the light that briefly illuminated the bedroom, and you drift off once again, this time, with your girlfriend twisting to fit the mould you are in, burying her face between the pillows and your arm.

You struggle to remember the last time you woke up like this. You don’t live here half the time, having to find ways to split time between football and actually having a life. Things just get so crazy, and living the life you have built with Flo gets hard to do. She knows you try, and is also to blame when it comes to the lack of occupation your shared apartment has at times.

Every plane ticket you buy to lengthen the distance is bought because you will gladly hit the road, get up and go, if it means that someday you will be led back to her. You can leave easily because you know you will be coming back, and you know that when you head on a flight bound for wherever she is, you are returning home.

Thinking back to the week you’ve had — the tears you’ve shed, the stress, the pain — this may have been all you needed. To hold her again. To love her and to touch her. After all, in the darkness, she is all you see. The light at the end of a tunnel, the encapsulating warmth that draws patterns over your skin and marks you as hers and only hers forever. The happy ending to a horrific seven days.

Your musings must have woken her. Maybe you were thinking too loud.

She murmurs something unintelligible, eyes half-open but indefinitely looking at you. Then, louder, she brushes her hand over your hip, touch feather-light and careful, saying your name wistfully. You are quickly reminded that this day-off has come about due to a fractured ankle, a pang of grief stabbing into your heart like a blunt knife, forced through. You’ve been allowed three days to process and make sure you’re in the correct mental state to even begin recovery. She held you last night while you cried, and asks you again how you are feeling.It is a question commonly used in your relationship, but packs more meaning right now. There are a lot of feelings, obviously.

“I want to do something today,” you reply quietly, not needing to raise your voice barely above a whisper. Such is the tranquillity of two women alone in bed together. (Unless you happen to be doing something else — then forget that statement.) “So I don’t become a lump on the sofa.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “Rest your bones with me right now,” she whispers, amusement not hidden at all. “And then why don’t we go for brunch later on?”

“Yeah, okay,” you mumble, disappointed once more by the restrictions in place. You don’t bring your crutches into the bedroom for fear they’ll haunt you while you dream. “I can drive us to that place in Greenwich. I’ll go slowly.” It’s a desperate attempt.

Her reply is instantaneous. “Absolutely not.” The attempt fails like it inevitably would. “Can we watch TV? I’ll grab your crutches.” And with that, you start hobbling away to the kitchen to prove you can move on your own, and get tricked into making her coffee. You never want to leave.

Three weeks later, she visits you in Barcelona. Your apartment here is your own, empty of things that smell like her. She changes that quickly, taking over every surface with things she somehow managed to fit in her suitcase, spreading out her shit until you can barely find your toothbrush. You know that brands send her their products to try, but don’t hesitate to remind her she doesn’t have to actually use them. You’re sure your bathroom cabinet might fall off the wall with how full it is.

It’s Sunday again, the fourth day of her trip, but the first day of doing nothing. There's quite a bit to do and see in the city, and she’s forced you to show her around. You get a lie in today because the girls have a game later. You can’t play for another four weeks at the very least, but have promised to watch and support them. Even if the thought of playing still makes your fists clench and your breath hitch. How are you supposed to not do what you were born to do? It’s your destiny, your fate, and a stupid ankle shouldn’t have gotten in the way of that. (But it did.)

“Morning,” she says, blinking in order to adjust her eyes to the light pouring through the blinds. “What time is it?”

You shrug, unable to check because your girlfriend is on top of you and your phone is too far away. “I know that you said you didn’t want to—”

“I recall you agreeing,” she interrupts indignantly.

“Right.” You smile. “I’m really feeling much better; my ankle doesn’t even hurt. So… we can—you know?”

“Feeling frisky?” she teases, sitting up, straddling you. Your fingers trace her every outline, feeling like artwork. Irreplaceable. You would definitely hang her up in a museum. (If she were a painted picture, not a person. No — that would be unethical.)

Flo leans down and brushes her lips against yours, half expecting you to have teeth waiting there for her. You take it slowly at first, however, aware of how big a lie your update on your ankle is.

You’re interrupted by the buzz of the bell at the entrance. Lucy and Keira are asking to be let up, considering they don’t have to start preparing for another two hours. They know Flo’s round, which typically means to leave you the fuck alone, but Lucy says she brought coffees and wants to talk to her favourite person. It makes you and Keira both feel amazing when the person she means is Flo. Really amazing.

With a sigh, you let them up, and enjoy the rest of the day in the shadow of your girlfriend.

Then, when Flo flies back to England and you’re left alone, you suddenly feel out of place and unwanted. It seems the one good thing about you — football — has been snuffed out with a small breath, and there is a crushing weight on your chest all the time. Maybe it has been there all along. Maybe Flo helps you not to notice.

With her gone, all you can do is notice. It consumes you to the point where you stop charging your phone and leaving your flat and attending your recovery sessions. It’s flagged up immediately by the club, who can fix the work-related problems, but you don’t tell anyone about the radio-silence Flo is on the other end of. The poor woman has to reach out to your friends to make sure you’re alive.

After a week, you send her a text; a brief hello. She responds quickly, and you reply hours later. She doesn’t text back for a day. And then you sway back and forth like branches in a storm, stable and unsteady. The weather changes, and you’re still together when the storm ends.

The arguments happen while you are in separate countries, and end within two weeks. The next time you see her, you’ve been on good terms, though some wounds are still fresh. Flo knows that you are going through a time where living is becoming increasingly harder to do, especially since your recovery period has been extended due to your blip in attendance.

Currently, you’re waiting for your plane to taxi onto the runway. It’s raining in Barcelona and you’re not supposed to have any time off, but as you stare out through the glass oval of a window, you swear you catch a glimpse of Flo in the reflection. It’s Sunday morning, and the sun hasn’t risen yet, and you’re hoping your heartbeat emits a signal for Flo. Something that sings ‘I’m coming back to you’. You will always find a way to bring yourself back to her.

tags: @pewpughpew @ridleypugh @jeyramarie @flosbelova @kassies-take @delfiore @yelenabelovasbxtch @xsophiesx @slut4milfs69 @sunshadesnrainbowz @wandasbb @karsonromanoff

#florence pugh fanfiction #florence pugh x reader #randombush3 #florence pugh one shot #florence pugh x you #florence pugh smut #florence pugh x y/n #florence pugh #florence pugh imagines #florence pugh fluff

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duckprintspress · 1 year

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June 2023 Releases: 6 All-New Titles from Duck Prints Press Just in Time for Pride Month!

Happy Release Day, Everyone! We publish new short stories and novelettes for our General Imprint on the fourth Thursday of the month, and here we are with five new short stories and a novelette!

June 22nd Releases:

Title: Of Loops and Weaves Author: Catherine E. Green

F/F, Getting Together, Maximum Fluff

Robin loves to sit in the local coffee shop, crocheting a sweater for her friend Dee, who she hopes will become more than a friend.

She doesn’t expect to need to frog a chunk of project.

And she really doesn’t expect Dee to walk in on her doing so…

Title: Solarpunks: Viva la Revolución (a story in the Solarpunks ‘verse) Author: J. D. Harlock

Found Family, Utopian Future, the Very Teenage Urge to Rebel Against Authority

The future is perfect, with strong community ties, collective ownership, plenty for all, and an ideal balance of private life and public life.

In such a setting, what’s a group of bored teenagers to do to shake up the order of things?

Sami, Ros, and Amara aren’t sure…but Sami has a plan.

Title: Seal Island Author: K. B. Vimes

M/M, Queerplatonic Relationship, Ace Trans Main Character, Selkies

Michael has always known he was a boy, and always known he didn’t fit in with either the boys or girls around him in the quiet fishing community where he grows up. To escape the insistence of his friends and family that he become a “proper young lady,” he seeks refuge on the island in the bay where the seals sun themselves during the summer.

It’s not until he’s 18 that he realizes he might be able to make the island a more permanent home. Will the seals welcome the young man who’s never felt like he’s belonged?

Title: More Than We Deserve Author: Nicola Kapron

M/M, Finding a Slice of Hope Amidst Dystopia, Trans Main Character, Spies and Super Soldiers

Every year, the employees of The Winterborne Group have to fill out Form 301-A, checking off boxes related to gender and sexuality to enhance the megacorp’s diversity numbers.

This year, Dice uses this opportunity to finally, after years of passing, tell the company he’s trans.

That’s not the problem.

The problem is that Grey, Dice’s favorite company-owned Horizon super soldier, has asked for Dice’s help completing his Form 301-A.

Title: Live Like There’s No Tomorrow (a short prequel story in the Welcome to PHU ‘verse) Author: Tris Lawrence

Family Feels, Surviving Cancer, Finding Hope Through Everyday Struggles

Middle-school student Jackson is not particularly upset about his cancer; the doctor’s assure him he’ll recover, and his biggest concern is that his friends will be a grade or more above him by the time he’s able to get back to school.

Well, that and that he’s sure that his mother is keeping a secret from him, but he can’t figure out what that secret is and she’s not talking about it.

Title: Moongatherer Author: Willa Blythe

F/F, PTSD, Recovery From Trauma, Bonding While on a Quest Together

The Summer Solstice is approaching, the day when the sunlight lasts the longest and the dangers of being out in the world, exposed to the harsh rays, is greatest. As is their way, Clan Firefox has once again chosen two representatives to travel to Moon’s Rest and make an offering to the Goddess to bring the moonlight back.

No one is surprised that Pomegranate will be making the journey.

But everyone is shocked when Honeycomb is selected, and no one more so than Honeycomb herself.

And, as they set out on their journey, all Honeycomb can see is the memory of harsh solar rays and burning fires…

Maybe during this journey, these two young women can find more than they ever thought to seek…

Think they all sound amazing? Well, you should, because they are. And we’ve got you covered – you can buy ALL SIX of these new titles in one awesome bundle – and save 20% off the list price for buying each story individually!

Come on over to the Duck Prints Press webstore and find your new favorite short story! And, while you’re at it, don’t forget to check out the anthology we’re Kickstarting!

Want more stories, and to support our awesome, queer-owned, fandom-based small business indie Press? We rely on your backing on Patreon to keep our prices low and maximize the royalties we pay to authors! Support us, and get free stories every month – the higher your backer level, the more you get!

#duck prints press #new release #our titles #short story #novelette #queer short story #queer novelette #queer publishing #catherine e. green #j. d. harlock #k. b. vimes #nicola kapron #tris lawrence #willa blythe

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icarusfrommars · 22 days

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In The Muck

In the land of Tolria there resides a Bard and a Guard, two traveling companions who seek to see the world, giving performances and engaging in heroics wherever they find themselves. The two have spread their names far and wide as a pair of mischievous do-gooders, who are always ready to take up arms against the evils of oppression and hopelessness. A duo so dauntless that in some places of the land their names are synonymous with bravery and heroism. With chilling might and wondrous talent they brave their adversaries, bringing steel and song down upon their dastardly victims. The pair that is so grand, so fierce tha-

"Can you please stop with your boasting, sire." protested the Guard, more commonly known as Royal Protector Xantumal Chorster, actively hacking through the underbrush in a fussy sort of way, fit with many grumblings and shakes of the head to emphasize his dislike of the situation.

"Excuse me for trying to think of ways to market us to the masses in these dismal backwater places!" came huffy reply from the Bard following behind, whose full title was Prince Xerseine Thornbush Drestar, the Glamorous and Most Elegant, Second in Line of the Throne of Drestar and Duke of Drent, Illusionist Extraordinaire, Daring Magician, and most importantly an Elf of the Common Folk. A humble title for one so narcissistic. Xerseine will suffice, however, for purposes of this story. "Ugh! My boots keep sinking into the bog and I have the constant presence of a sneeze I am right on the verge of, but it won't seem to tip!"

The elf vigorously scratched his nose in a manner befitting that of his aristocratic heritage and let out a frustrated groan, very clearly an indication of his noble distaste of the fetid swamp they found themselves trudging through, which was nothing if not insistent on dragging the two down inside. Both of them had ample amounts of filth clinging to their clothes and flowing into their boots, something that Xerseine often mentioned in a manner that shows his dignified restraint against complaining about issues he nor anyone else has control over, that being not very much. Xantumal, meanwhile, was at this point accustomed to his companion's cries of disgust with their situation, as he had only been already dealing with them for five shards (months) at this point.

"It's probably the stardust geysers. A local from town told me that they were more active this time of year. Apparently it's a common side effect for elves and other magical beings that get too close. Something about arcane particles or whatever."

"Well, it's all just dreadful if you ask me. You're so lucky that you humans have no natural sense of the Ley as we elves do, otherwise your eyes would be watering just as bad as mine are."

"First of all, saying "you humans" like that is…" Xantumal started, but halted his words midway. Scolding his charge went against his training and place, he knew that much. He caught himself on more than one occasion on this journey nearly speaking out of line, and it had only gotten more frequent as the two spent more time together. Xantumal took a deep breath, steadied his emotions, and respectfully turned towards his prince.

"Apologies, your highness. What I meant to say was that I think the water in your eyes is more likely from the multiple bouts of sobbing when you and your cape fell in the muck. Sire." He ended his helpful retort with a sharp jab on that last word.

Xerseine beheld the bundled up silk he clutched between his fingers. This fine fabric was imported from the distant shores of the islands of Caerdonel and was worth many weights of gold. Well, it was when it wasn't sopping wet and riddled with the essence of the swamp. It was completely ruined, no hope of recovery whatsoever.

"Oh. I suppose you're right." That was Xerseine's favorite cape. He only donned it because he didn't have another one that matched his outfit for today. His "arcane allergies" once again began to act up, as he instinctively rubbed his eyes on his sleeve, spreading more of the swamp's mess upon his pale face.

With that sorted, Xantumal returned to his work of slashing through the tall swamp grass that blocked their path. The two found themselves in this situation after recently coming across the town of Chambery, situated just near the border of the Silver Bog here in the country of Mariton. They arrived in town yesterday evening, and decided it would be good to try their luck with the local inn. Usually the pair made good money in a small town like this, seeing as the townsfolk don't often see magic or High Elves that often, let alone both at the same time. That was how they managed to afford their way through Faloque, after all, and they hoped that it would be the same for Mariton. However, unfortunately for them, this was not the case. While Faloque was destitute and looking for any sort of comfort or break from the monotony of their lives, Mariton was much more of an intellectually minded land whose forte was inventing new forms of magic. So an illusionist strolling on into town and putting on a show was less of a spectacle, and more of a nuisance to most.

The two thought that Chambery would be different, since it is closer to the Faloque border, but once again the two were met with empty stares and uninterested audiences. Xerseine's attitude of self aggrandization and belittling of the townsfolk who passed by in a hurry also certainly did not help. It was less of a nuisance, and more akin to verbal harassment. Eventually, the town guard, if you could call a twelve year old with a wooden sword and an old man who could barely hold his weapon straight a "town guard," demanded the pair pack it up and shut it down. After a back and forth between the geezer and the elf about who was older than the other (it was not Xerseine), Xantumal decidedly pulled the elf aside so he could stew in sophisticated anger, and packed up the stage himself.

However, this left them empty-handed, as the only coin placed within Xerseine's Viol case was a chocolate one, which melted inside and completely ruined the splendid velvet lining. Up until this point they managed to get by relatively easily, without needing to resort to too many acts of daring and no trudging through swamps, but worse came to worse. The Bard and Guard found themselves broke, hungry, and desperate. Over drinks that were extremely cheap but still too expensive for them to really afford (causing Xerseine to have to give up another one of his favorite scarves, which was the 5th time this shard), the two discussed the idea of possibly doing what they dreaded the entire adventure: actual adventurer work.

"And so, alone in the wild, our heroes present themselves up to the challenge. The Bard, regal in all his actions, nobly acquainted and a friend of the folk, was called upon by the unfortunate souls of the quaint village of Chambery to fell the foul dark beast residing within the fog-layered waters of the Silver Bog. A terrible thing, made of sharp teeth and deadly smoke which came in the night with an unholy groan and terrible stench, full of… malicion and… devilrocity! For weeks this godless creature came knocking around the locked shutters and barred doors, looking for an unguarded entrance where it could slink in and devour the residents whole. When it could not, it found the chickens and the lambs and the asses and consumed them in the farmer's stead! As a hero of the people always should be, the Bard was determined to venture forth into the putrid swamp, convincing the hesitant Guard to tag along on his quest to hunt down and-"

"Sire, the people of the town deal in forestry and lumber, not livestock," Xantumal corrected the elf, who had returned to embellishing their current situation, "and if I remember correctly, you were the one who begged me not to accept the job. You're changing the story again."

"Xantumal, I have explained this to you on many occasions at this point. Oftentimes you must sacrifice historic accuracy in order to maintain the audience's interest in the narrative." Xerseine dismissively flicked a lump of muck from the pointed tip of his sharp nose, and placed an expression of intellectual superiority upon his muddied facial features.

"I see." Xantumal did not, in fact, see the importance of such falsehoods and narrative changes. He often wondered why Xerseine felt the need to alter the story in such small ways, and mostly the results he came down to were that it must be an issue of ego for the elf. He wasn't too far off the mark either.

However, it was easier to simply agree and move on rather than sit and listen to an hour's worth of Xerseine's tedious ramblings on the structure of stories and how to captivate the audience in the right ways and so on and so forth. That was yet another thing that he had become accustomed to on this journey, and he considered it even worse than the complaining at points. At least when his lord was whining Xantumal understood what he was complaining about. But when it came to theatrics, he was much less invested.

"All I'm saying is that-" He hacked through another clump of cattails in their way, which clung to his sword, "maybe your audience might appreciate a real story for once." He shook the plants off his weapon and proceeded with his work, his patience with the bog wearing thinner and thinner with each swing.

"I resent the notion that my recountings are in any way fictitious. They are simply… revised to be more appealing." Xerseine adjusted his nose and sniffled regally once more, with the faith that it would provide a moment of relief from the dust of the geysers which permeated in the air. Alas, another fruitless effort that only muddied his face further. "And besides, they can't discern fact from fiction. To those people, my word might as well be gospel! I'd wager I could begin my own religion were I willing to try."

He scoffed at the notion at first, chuckling to himself as they continued forward through the watery underbrush. However, upon further introspection, perhaps that concept wasn't so far fetched as it seemed. It would certainly be a consistent form of income, and he imagined that his royal bloodline would give him an advantage over a more common individual in growing a following. Perhaps founding a sect of his own might be a profitable venture. Only as a business opportunity, of course.

"Sire?"

The elf pondered further. He would likely need an upfront investor in order to afford a compound, though with his web of contacts that shouldn't be too upsetting of a predicament. The question, then, was one of compelling new initiates. He required a satisfactory foundation on which to structure the cul-... organization.

"My liege?"

As a baseline, he needed a compelling hook for new investors. Something that would truly enamor them and thereby entice them to part with their earnings in a consensual manner. Something that was entrancing on the surface, but underneath was simply fruitless. He delved deeper into the concept, with the sense that he was nearing a breakthrough.

"Prince Drestar."

Perhaps a tier system would be sufficient? If a member invested more, then they would be provided greater benefits in the afterlife? Yes. He was closing in on an epiphany. It can't be the afterlife though, that market has been cornered. It would have to be afterlife-like, but what would it be? He was drawing close to a conclusion, he could sense it. It needed to be something tangible, yet elusive. Unknown, yet commonly speculated on. Not gods, no, but…

"Xerseine!"

"Extraterrestrials!"

At this time of year, in the beginning of the season of Growth, you can hear many beautiful noises within the Silver Bog. The distinct pop of a stardust geyser releasing the pressure generated by the latent magic of the earth. The gentle creaking croak of the Wyrd Frogs, whose mating season was in arrival. The soft clicking of young Silver Bats, searching for a delicious meal of tasty Fog Moths or juicy Brush Beetles. An eerily pleasant droning of the Zuratura Bird, who has sparked many folktales and legends of Bog Banshees luring men to their deaths. There are many more sounds of the swamp, and the residents of these areas often refer to these unnervingly captivating noises as Nature's Orchestra. If you ever find yourself with the privilege of visiting the Silver Bog in this season, it is highly recommended that you truly immerse yourself in this beautiful symphony of nature, as it is a most fantastic sound to behold. However, all of this majesty and more had been drowned out by the incessant and irritating racket of Xerseine's woes and Xantumal's constant frustrated grumbling for the past few hours.

But in that moment, the orchestra of the bog overtook the unspeakably awkward silence that befell the Bard and the Guard in response to the elf's inexplicable outburst. Xantumal stood in stunned confusion and surprise, doing his best to wrap his brain around why Xerseine could have possibly gone completely silent for five minutes before randomly yelling out about aliens. He was not doing very well at it, completely puzzled by the prince's crazed declaration as his face sat with a strained expression in an useless attempt to comprehend his charge. For his own part, Xerseine felt extremely daft, with his arms outstretched towards the sky in a gloriously inane manner and a mirthful expression on his face. Slowly, extremely so, he lowered his hands and melted away the childish grin, replacing it with a bashful grimace.

No words were given for some time as the pair stood there in confusion and embarrassment. Neither side seemed to be able to acknowledge what just happened in a way that would be comprehensible, leading to a standoff over who would mention it first. Eventually, however, Xantumal finally cut through the tension.

"We're… here." He stated with a shake of his head and a rough exhale from his nose. With his right hand on his hip in a disapproving way, his left gestured to a small clearing past the underbrush, where an island of more stable ground revealed itself.

Xerseine, ever eager to evict himself from both the torture of the muck and the foolishness of the situation, bounded forward from the spot where he statued to the respite of solid ground. Hopping on his right foot, he swiftly unbooted his left and dumped the grayish-brown slime back into the swamp from whence it came. The elf swapped feet and repeated the action for the other, before desocking his toes and giving the genuine Opretonian goat wool stockings a good wringing. Xantumal pulled his feet out of the mud as well and joined Xerseine on the shore in cleaning out the gunk that had built up in his greaves, making sure to give his feet a good massage as well, which was an understated yet important part of being a Royal Protector. Most of the common folk don't realize how much standing there is when you're charged with protecting the royal family, often for hours at a time. Taking good care of your feet, then, becomes not only a necessity, but often taught in basic training for royal guardsmen such as Xantumal.

"Right, I believe this calls for a drink, then!" Cheered the prince, who produced a most expensive and luxurious bottle of genuine Longeaves Port Red, meant only for a momentous occasion. Considering that the two of them just managed to wade through the leech-filled murk of the Silver Bog without the misfortune of one or both of them dragged into the mud completely, this might as well be as good a time as any. Well, that and the unfortunate situation of the elf lacking in any other bottle of indulgent which might help distract him from their current plight. Xerseine gave his pockets and pouches a pat in search of his favorite ornate gold bottle opener, made by the dwarves of the Northern mountains and carved with ancient runes that were said to enchant the bottle to taste as fine as starlight. A fine marketing scheme that the dwarves came up with to sell more of them off to gullible elven princes. Unfortunately for that gullible elven prince, the bottle opener was nowhere on his person to be found, neither was it discovered within the confines of his traveling purse. In fact, the bottle opener was comfortably resting under the counter at the inn of Chambery, where an intoxicated young bard had left it on his stool the previous night after insisting that it was a truly magical artifact to a disturbed barkeep.

Adorned in grime, missing a precious trinket, and completely sober, Xerseine finally let loose his mounting rage in a reserved and eloquent manner befitting of a prince by exclaiming the most foul words he could conjure up to the heavens above. Meanwhile, Xantumal continued to stretch his legs, having moved on from tending to his toes and now performing his standard fitness routine in order to maintain his strength. While he was not a huge fan of workout culture and dieting and other so-called "healthy living" techniques, Xantumal certainly understood the importance of keeping his body in good condition, especially his legs.

He never skipped leg day. Ever.

Xerseine's completely senseless one-sided shouting match with the sky concluded with a draw, as the elf stomped and stamped at the soil beneath him. With a dignified pout and a smattering of muttered curses, the bard slipped the still soggy garments onto his feet once more and retrieved his purse from where it rested on the ground. Xantumal moved on from his 50 jumping jacks to now 50 lunges, which he threw a cross-body toe touch in with as well. He was already at 19 completed by that point, with the final 100 one-armed push ups just around the corner. 50 for each arm, of course.

"Hurry it up, Xan. We haven't all day here." came a curt demand from Xerseine, who was ready to simply kill the damn thing and go home.

"Twenty-three… Twenty-four… I can't, sire… Twenty-five… Twenty-six… If I stop now, it would result in possible cramps and… Twenty-seven… Twenty-eight… that would obviously not be good… Twenty-nine… in the heat… Thirty… of battle… Thirty-one…" The guard prided himself on maintaining his strength, but prided himself even more on keeping with his routine.

"Can you at least skip the push ups? Just… do them later or something."

"Forty… Doing them later would… Forty-one… Forty-two… go against my routine… Forty-three… Forty-four…"

"And doing them right now would go against my orders. You decide which is more important."

Xantumal did not respond to that. He knew that it was yet another attempt to get a rise, as that's all Xerseine ever seemed to want from him. Well, he hadn't given the elf the satisfaction of truly speaking out of place yet and he wasn't about to either. For a moment, he did consider simply ignoring Xerseine's command and just completing the routine as usual, but thought the better of it. Xerseine pined for disobedience, so the most disobedient thing Xantumal could do was to simply do what the elf asked of him. Therefore, he simply finished the lunges, did his post-routine stretches (slowly as possible, just to frustrate the prince even further), and gathered his gear. He turned back to Xerseine, who was still visibly on the cusp between simmer and boil, and stood at attention as another small act of personal rebellion.

With a roll of his eyes, the bard set off, with the guard marching in a comically overblown manner. See, he could totally enjoy himself! He wasn't just an uptight stick in the mud! Obviously the words of a drunken Drestar from last night still reverberated within a cranky Chorster's head. It didn't help that Xerseine was acting especially… Xerseine-y today.

The elf stopped after only a few paces, and Xantumal halted in his tracks as well, giving a good military stomp to truly punctuate his act of obedient defiance. Xerseine gave a few troubled 'erms' and 'uhs' before stamping down a boot of his own and turning left, with his companion resuming his over-the-top performance behind. Once again, after a short while, the elf stopped and muttered to himself. Resolutely he once again pivoted, this time making a half turn to go the opposite direction, and set off, with Xantumal behind. They only managed to get another thirty steps or so, before Xerseine paused yet again, made a series of anger-filled arm flailings and let out many frustrated grunts and groans, before finally spinning around to show Xantumal his face, flush red with mounting rage and clearly reluctant to admit anything.

"Yes, sire?" Xantumal mischievously teased, faking an innocent inquiry.

"Damn you, Chorster, you know what's wrong!" Xerseine managed to venomously spit out behind clenched teeth, seething with annoyance.

"I'm afraid not, my liege." It took everything he had not to crack. Somehow he kept it steady, though, proving the drunken bard from last night wrong once again. See, he was capable of good acting.

If there were a term for the expression the elf provided his guard, it would have to include the meanings of several different phrases that all involve the desire to inflict incredible amounts of bodily harm. However, to his credit, he once again spun around, gave an anguished cry that would likely give even arena pit fighters pause, before returning to face his companion, this time with a forced grin pushing its way forward through tightly held lips. "Xantumal. Quit playing games with me. This is serious, and I would very much like to get it over with so we can get out of this terrible swamp full of mosquito bites and allergen geysers!"

"I agree with you, sire. This bog is quite dreadful." Xantumal put on his best impression of Xerseine's voice, which he saw caused a vein to bulge in the mocked elf's forehead. Both of them could hardly hold it in anymore, and the man's eyes began to wet from the humor of the situation.

"Good," Xerseine was holding out his hands in desperation as his eyes were wide as saucers, "so tell me."

"Tell you wh-" A small crack in his facade caused him to release a tiny giggle, once again drawing even more ire from Xerseine. The game was coming to a close, but first he cleared his throat and regained his composure.

"Tell you what," here came the final blow,

"Xersy?"

Xantumal knew that the elf's mother used to call him by that nickname when he was a child. He also knew that the prince hated it beyond anything. Xantumal let loose his laughter, unable to continue any longer with the bit. He had finally gotten one over on his liege, after so much mockery and torment, and it was liberating! Meanwhile, for Xerseine, the gates of wrath were unleashed. The bard's head might as well have been smoking, as the words he shouted were tinged with fiery breath.

"Where the Hells are we supposed to be going, you insolent pigheaded willowsniffing fatbritched hornswallowing gitsuckling bootstamped venomsnatched coneydogging thoughtrotten buffoon with a diseased incontinent garden hamster for a brain?!"

With each different insult, Xerseine forcefully poked and prodded and punched Xantumal's chest. All the while, the man could not stop himself from releasing every ounce of mirth in his body, nearly keeling over and collapsing from the full chested cackling emerging from inside. For five shards at this point Xerseine had belittled, mocked, bad-mouthed, and bullied Xantumal, all without a single ounce of retaliation. Thus, for Xantumal to finally pull off this victory over Xerseine? Well, it felt absolutely glorious!

That was until the prince forcefully smacked him across the face with an open hand.

An enraged Drestar shoved himself close to the stunned Chorster, an accusatory finger aimed directly at his face. "How dare you speak to me that way, guardsman? I am your prince and you will show respect towards me and my name! In case you have forgotten, guardsman, my name is Prince. Xerseine. Thornbush. Drestar. And I am your superior! If I ever hear you refer to me in such a way again I will have your head mounted on a spike. Am. I. Clear. Guardsman. Chorster?"

Xantumal had never seen the elf like this before. Usually, even if he was the recipient of light mockery, he would simmer for a short bit but always take it in stride. But this? This was hatred. This was rage. This was a level of fury that the guard didn't even think the prince was capable of. He stood, transfixed in shocked silence. On one hand, his training was so ingrained into him that he instinctively felt the need to drop down on one knee and plead for mercy from the elf. However, on the other…

"You struck me."

"I did, yes," Xerseine raised his right hand once again, this time to go back across the other side of Xantumal's cheek with the back of his open knuckle, "and if you do not submit right now, I will do so again."

Xantumal was raised to be a Royal Protector. It was the duty of his father, his father's father, his mother's father, his mother's mother, and on and on up the tree spreading out into various mothers and fathers. From the day he was born, he was instilled with a sense of honor and service to the crown of Drestar. His place was below, a protector, a guardsman. So why, then, did he feel so conflicted at that moment? He knew in his head that he needed to follow his training and the teachings of his mentors, however in his chest he felt a growing flame, ready to be released. He felt unsure, uncertain. His identity and purpose were on the line here and yet…

Xerseine went to bring his hand against Xantumal's other cheek, but it was immediately taken a hold of by the man's own hand.

"Listen here, Xerseine! For five shards, no, for the last twelve years I have done nothing but submit! I have taken every insult, every order, every outburst, and I have handled them all in stride! Because you are my prince by your bloodline, yes. However, if you have forgotten, your titles were stripped, Prince Xerseine Thornbush Drestar. You have no claim over anything anymore, Duke of Drent! In fact, you have no right to order me to do a single thing! Yet, for all of the time I have spent with you, not once did I ever question my loyalty. I have been and always will be loyal to the crown of Drestar. To your father!"

Xantumal held tightly to Xerseine's wrist, wrenching it from its place near his cheek to firmly twist it around, causing the elf to wince in pain. By this point, the one with the stunned and fearful expression was no longer the guard, but the bard. Xerseine had never before been spoken to in such a manner by anyone, let alone his own servant, and he certainly hadn't been taken ahold of like this.

"Don't you ever question my loyalty again. I am here on orders from your father to look after you, not yours. In fact, I was actually only ordered to watch you so long as you stayed within the borders of Drestar! Yet here we are, in Mariton, hundreds of miles away! I could leave you here and now and be fully within my duties as Royal Protector. I choose to stick around, Xerseine, because if I didn't there is a more than likely chance you would already be dead."

With that, the man releases the disgraced elf, tossing him back with force enough to send him to the ground. By this point, whatever anger Xerseine harbored was completely eradicated, replaced entirely by fear and remorse. Xantumal looked away, returning his focus back to the mission at hand.

"Get up! We promised we'd deal with the monster, and that's exactly what we're going to do. Afterwards we can discuss our… arrangement."

The man hoisted the elf up by his collar and set him on his feet. It took a rough push, but soon the two were in motion, in pursuit of their prey. A chilled breeze blew through the swamp, choreographing the fog in a strange dance that made it seem almost alive. The orchestra that sounded so serene before changed their tune to one of suspense, as the two infiltrators barreled forward into uncertain danger. Though Xerseine embellished the appearance of the creature they were after, in truth nobody in town could give an answer as to its real appearance. The only bits of information that they gathered was that it was large, pitch black, and wielded a sharp row of teeth. The two weren't even certain whether or not its lair truly lied ahead, as it was seen as a bizarre speculation by an old town drunkard. However, as it was the only lead they had to work with, they decided that traveling through the murky bog in search of a small den hollowed out of the side of a hill was better than just wandering into the bog in hopes of bumping into the damn thing.

Thus, after three hours of trudging through that muck, they finally arrived at the hill the drunken man told them about. From this angle, it was hard to tell if there really was a den within, as it just seemed to be a normal hill. As they rounded the left side, however, it all changed. Sometimes old codgers just simply have a way of inexplicably knowing things, through the sheer power of insanity and alcohol. Right there, fast asleep within a small crevice that would be nearly imperceptive in a heavy fog such as this to anyone who wasn't looking too hard, was their culprit.

A young girl, who could not have been any older than 11 or so, and who was wrapped up in nothing but a thin cloth to keep her warm.

"Pantheon be praised," a troubled Xantumal said with an exasperated sigh, "we've got a… kid… situation."

Xerseine, who was cowering both in shame and terror, using Xantumal as a human shield, slowly poked over the man's broad shoulder pads. Expecting a ravenous beast to be residing in the hole, he was not prepared to see just the small, shivering child in its place. With a scoff and a wave of his hand to signify the dismissal of his foolish fright, the elf gave a wide step around his flesh shield, shooting Xantumal a mischievous wink.

"Oh, I'm fantastic with children! They absolutely adore me. You just stay here. You might scare her off with your combative stance."

"Combative stance? I don't have a… combative stance." Said the man whose hand was resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword and whose legs were firmly planted in a way that would allow him to release the blade with a swift upward slicing motion with a wide berth, perfect for sudden and swift decapitation.

Xerseine provided an unconvinced glance in response, then returned his attention to the dozing youngster. Her lengthy raven black locks obscured her facial features, though that was not what stuck out to the elf. Judging by how her milk-pale skin clung to her thin bones, it was clear to Xerseine that she was extremely famished, and were it not for the slight amounts of movement upon the surface of the paper thin shawl that covered her, most others would have mistaken her for a corpse. The privileges of elven eyesight were almost as satisfying as the privileges of elven nobility in that sense.

A stardust geyser only a few meters away gurgled with arcane gas, causing Xerseine's nose to once again continue its unfortunate irritation and his eyes to flood over. He doubled over, took in a deep breath through his nose, and violently released it with a sneeze so loud it reverberated across the murk and startled a pair of hunters looking for a wild swamphen that would provide a tasty feast for tonight's supper.

Both Xantumal and Xerseine froze, as the poor girl stirred in her slumber. A bleary-eyed visage peered out from underneath the veil of hair, curious as to the intruders who decided to interrupt the small bits of slumber she was able to afford. As her gaze came into focus enough to comprehend the sight of two strange men with swords looming over her, she paused for a minute in surprise. The scrawny one reached out a hand which came much too close for her liking. The girl released an ear-splitting screech, even louder than Xerseine's outburst and causing those hunters to flee in terror, crying about bog banshees out for their blood.

Thinking quickly, Xerseine snatched up his flute from his pack and jammed it against his lips. A soft tune from his childhood erupted from its ornate brass construction, intended to soothe the disturbed child and laced with a twinge of magic to make sure it took. Take well it did, as the girl switched from a terrified scream to instead a silent and tense observation, her breathing extremely fast-paced. Her knees were pressed up to her chest and she attempted her best to cover herself with the small bit of fabric she was previously using for warmth.

"Yeah. You sure are great with children, sire." bluntly stated Xantumal, with an unconscious slip back into his protectorate role. He was still on edge about the situation, with a sense that something was off about this unusual child. His hand did not move from the hilt of his sword.

Xerseine ignored the man, offering a graceful gesture of kindness and fair noble generosity to the girl. "Hello there, fair maiden. We are no marauders with intentions to bring harm upon you. We are simple and humble travellers in this realm." Slowly and methodically, he inched towards her. She responded by bundling herself up in an even tighter grip and ducking her head deeper into the comfort of her knees. Xerseine was unsure if the girl could even comprehend his words, her eyes darting between him and Xantumal, who was still just as poised and ready to release his blade at any moment. The elf followed her gaze over his shoulder and shot his companion a commanding glance. Xantumal relaxed his shoulders and fixed his posture, however to the sword his hand was kept firmly gripped around. "This scowling fellow here is my loyal servant, Xantumal."

The bard looked back at the girl, attempting to reflect kindness in his eyes. To an outside observer, however, it was more along the lines of an uncomfortable bowel movement. "Most know me as Prince Xerseine Thornbush Drestar, the Fair and Honourable and…" He suddenly felt a sharp taste of bile in his mouth as he began to recite his title, as if his body were rejecting his own personage. The elf cleared his throat, conceding the attempt at formalities. "You can simply refer to me as Xerseine."

Xantumal was firmly concerned with ensuring Xerseine's safety, and so kept his expression narrow and expectant of the worst. However, this small moment of humility from the prince did evoke a slight twitch of his brow and a flare of his nostril.

"What is your name, little one? I promise we are an honourable duo and shan't bring you harm."

The girl gave no response, however her breathing began to still. Slowly, her fear subsided, and she relaxed her bunched up form as the surprise of the two strangers fell away. Xerseine once again turned to Xantumal and gestured for him to provide his cloak. The guard approached their bags which they abandoned near the water's edge, rummaged about within his own, and produced a blue and white cape which was standard issue for those within the royal protectorate. Unlike Xerseine's drape, however, Xantumal had the foresight to pack the cloak away so that it would not become drenched during their crossing through the muck. The elf took it from him with a thankful bow of his head–which once again gave Xantumal a brief moment of pause–before offering the article to the girl. Slowly and gently, as if taming an animal, he set it down in front of her and retreated a few feet back towards his partner, giving her space to retrieve it if she so wished, which she did.

"I'm getting a bad sense here, sire. There's something up with that girl. She's unnatural."

"Nonsense. It's simply your soldier's paranoia acting out of turn."

"I'm telling you, I don't like this. Sometimes it's more than paranoia, it's intuition."

"How is it that a helpless young lady all alone in the bog gives you such trouble, Sir Chorster?"

"I can't explain it exactly. It's as if something about her is rotten… Like she has an aura of curdled milk."

"First of all, disgusting, secondly, that's not how you speak of a lady, third…"

Xerseine let out a wheezing chuckle at Xantumal's insinuation of this "aura" about the girl, holding onto his shoulder for support as his knees buckled from his unquenchable mirth. The guard, stoic as ever, kept his gaze affixed to their subject of conversation. His grip on the sword tightened even further.

Nearby, that same geyser from before once again began to bubble and fume, spewing that mystic ash into the surrounding atmosphere. Xerseine's nose had only barely recovered from the previous bout of frustration, as yet another was brought upon him. The same reaction was had by the girl, who utilized Xantumal's cloak as a sort of oversized handkerchief as she doubled over from the fumes.

Within a split second, the man lunged forward past Xerseine and readied his blade, its point aimed right between the eyes of the girl, who was immediately once again accosted with fright. He had been suspicious of her presence this entire time, and now there was clear proof that something was amiss. The only beings who react to the dust of these geysers are…

Xerseine, catching his breath after a series of sniffles, placed a firm hand on Xantumal's shoulder and spun him around. "What is the matter with you today? You can't just brandish your sword at a maiden such as her!" With a bit of a scuffle, he grappled against Xantumal's tight grip on his sword. He gave the guard's hands a few harsh slaps, before finally and forcefully wrenching the blade from him. "You need to be more considerate of those who are lesser off than yourself! Therefore…"

The sword now in Xerseine's hand was a precious heirloom to the Chorster family. It was a time-honored tradition that the sword, made of pure silver ages ago, was passed down to the most recent Chorster recruited into the royal guard. As Xantumal was that most recent candidate, it had been in his possession for many years at that point. He treated the blade with more care and tact than a father might treat his son, and he never went anywhere without having it on his person, with intense emphasis on anywhere. It meant more to Xantumal than anything else.

So, of course, Xerseine casually and uncaringly hurled it over his shoulder and into the swamp.The guard could only look on in horror and unbelievable anger as it soared through the air, its silver beauty glinting off the small rays of light that pierced their way through the trees, before it was swallowed whole by the mud of the swamp with a sucking sound. Xantumal made a very similar sound, as he exhaled every molecule of air from his body all at once and deflated like a ball punctured by a hundred spikes.

"Therefore, I rescind your right to bear arms in her presence entirely." To the maiden, he gave a deep bow, and to the stunned Xantumal he gave a pat on the shoulder. "As I said, you shan't be harmed by our presence, young one." To Xerseine's delight, the girl stood from her cowering spot and cracked a smile in his direction. He returned a smile of his own and once again bowed deeply. Finally, he was getting through to her!

Or so he thought. As he raised his head and the pair locked eyes, he realized he hadn't truly given her face a thorough examination. The girl's eyes turned red and bloodshot, unnerving the elf. With a frightened falter, he fell upon his behind, crushing something hard and uncomfortable underneath him.

Xantumal managed to finally break himself free from his disbelief, and began towards Xerseine with a definite intention of harm upon him. However, upon witnessing that the girl had reversed the roles and was standing over the elf, duty replaced rage. The man threw himself in front of Xerseine, walling him off from whatever this thing approaching was.

The girl took a few steps in the pair's direction as Xantumal called out, "Go no further, creature! Leave us and the town nearby alone, or else we will be forced to claim your life!" His warning, however, was difficult to hold up when he was without weapon and his companion was flat on his ass in the dirt behind him. The child before them began to shift, her thin, milk-pale frame becoming lanky and gaunt with her already tight skin stretching to fit these elongated limbs. Her blood-red eyes sunk into her skull, which barred nasty, dagger-like rows of teeth, yellowed and ridden with grime. The fingers and nails on her hands extended out, resembling sharp talons and which could undoubtedly puncture straight through the toughest of armors mankind could fashion. The creature's hair also fell longer, almost touching the ground despite the fact that the monster was well over 7 feet by the end of its transformation.

The two shot nervous glances at each other. They found their beast alright.

Before there was time to react, Xantumal was quickly swatted aside by the monster, his body flying through the air and slammed into the murky water of the bog with a painful splat rather than a splash. The guard groaned in pain, though nothing seemed to be broken. Praise the pantheons for padded armor! With mud clinging to his loose dreads, he lifted his head up and gave a shout to Xerseine.

"Quickly! Play something and put the thing to sleep!"

The beast methodically and patiently creeped towards the downed elf, who was trying his hardest not to need new trousers for reasons beyond trudging through a few miles of mud. He scooted himself backwards, away from the beast who was approaching at a brisk pace, all the while scanning the landscape for where his flute could have rolled off to.

Then he scooted another foot backwards and found the remains of his instrument underneath him, with a fine dent in the shape of his rear right in the middle. This must have been what he fell upon a moment ago, and it now was useless for any sort of music making. Unfortunately, he left the rest of his musical toolkit with his bag, on the other side of where the monster was gaining on him. There was no hope of getting past the thing to retrieve them. He would undoubtedly be skewered well before he got the chance.

Xerseine took a fearful moment to wonder how his life ended up this way. He once lived lavishly and comfortably in the grandest palace in the world, with servants at his every beck and call. He didn't have to lift a finger for an entire day and everything would be done for him. He owned titles and land, with entire regions under his direct oversight. The galas and parties and balls he put on within his holds were said to rival those of the Gods themselves. Fascinating all with his noble recountings of adventures that he most definitely embarked upon. He was one of the most powerful political figures in all of Tolria not but 6 months ago.

And now here he was, about to die in a swamp to a… Hair…ling… He'd workshop out the name in the Realms Beyond, he figured. The elf, with a long sigh and acceptance of his fate, closed his eyes and waited for his swift end to come to him in a dignified way, with the honor of those in his royal heritage. He gave one final, serene prayer as he watched his doom come near.

"Oh, Pantheon! Xantumal! Please save me! Xantumal, help me! Please! I don't want to die!"

The Hairling, who frequently enjoyed the sound of its prey squealing in fear, pulled back its lips even further than they already were as far as they could go. It drew its black tongue along the rows upon rows of deformed teeth, imagining how good this defenseless little morsel must taste. While the monster wasn't too keen on the taste of human, this being wore a different scent around it. It reminded the creature of fresh fruit in the springtime and the smell of morning dew. Yes, without a doubt, this little snack was full of mouth watering and incredibly juicy magic. The Hairling drew its claw near to the morsel, before rearing back and…

With a cry of battle and a leaping lunge, Xantumal appeared as if he was summoned by Xerseine's cries and tackled the creature to the ground. The two rolled a few feet from Xerseine, a tangle of black hair engulfing them both. The guard and the monster wrestled there in the dirt, the man somehow overpowering the unholy strength of the beast. Xantumal began to send blow after blow into the teeth of the monster, causing his knuckles to become cut on their points. The Hairling gave out a vicious cry of pain and frustration, desperately trying to tear the revolting human from off of it.

"Xerseine! Now!" called Xantumal, gesturing to their packs on the shoreline. The elf quickly did as told, managing to finally find his footing in spite of the fear gripping his whole body. He threw his weight towards the bags, quickly stumbling his way to them as fast as his unstable legs would take him.

With a roar of rage, the Hairling threw Xantumal off of its prone position and once again back into the mud. He landed with an "Oof!" this time right against the rim of one of the geysers which were so active during their trip. He gave it a quick glance down inside the hole.

It was frantically bubbling, and looked ready to burst at any moment.

Meanwhile, the Hairling quickly got to its feet and, with a shake of its gaunt face to reorient itself after the human's beating, started after its tasty little snack. The beast lunged forward after Xerseine, who was only a few feet from their packs. It managed to just barely take hold of the morsel by his ankle, causing him to fall to the ground just barely out of reach of the bags. It succeeded, despite the intrusion of the disgusting human, and now it would feast on the fruits of its labor, or in this case, meat.

Xerseine strained his arm as far as it would reach. All he had to do was grab a hold on his bag…

The creature pulled the fresh meat closer, closer. It managed to get to its feet, still with the meal in its claws, and went to examine its prize.

Which is exactly when Xerseine swung his bag as hard as he could against the sunken eye socket of the monster. With a screech and a howl, the beast recoiled in pain and covered its injured eye, its vision becoming full of pinpricks of light which staggered the beast. Xerseine managed to slip free of its claws and quickly found the ground below him headfirst with a thud. The elf was now the one seeing stars, waving his arm in frantic search of the pack he dropped when he fell.

Now the monster was exceptionally enraged, turning to Xerseine with the intent of doing worse than simply eating him alive. It once again shook its head, cleared its eyesight, and bounded forth, talons first, ready to rip the elf to shreds.

Unfortunately for the Hairling, Xerseine found a hold of his violin. He didn't have the bow, but that didn't matter. Thinking quickly, he plucked the strings that he vaguely remembered would cast his sleeping spell, hoping that it would be enough to stop this terrible monstrosity.

But instead of dropping to the dirt in slumber, the creature was launched into the air, flying away from Xerseine as if a sudden force sent it careening backwards into the muck. Both the bard and the monster were stunned, neither expecting such a spell to emerge from his improvisation. It landed not too far from where Xantumal lied against the geyser, as the man waded his way to the Hairling as quickly as the swamp would let him. Once again the creature attempted to clamber to its feet, but the unstable ground underneath the muck proved to be a greater adversary than anticipated. It seemed nothing was going in its favor today…

Xantumal was swift in reaching the monster, engaging it in a headlock from behind as it struggled to get to its feet. Though the beast's claw-like nails swung and swiped, the guard had a hold of it in such an angle that it could barely reach behind. Xantumal heard the geyser bubbling behind him, about to blow. With all the strength he could muster up inside of him, he dragged the Hairling, kicking and howling and swiping, right over the arcane geyser. He stuck himself within the geyser's pit, feeling the heat rising on his back.

During all of this, Xerseine had willingly entered the murky waters on the other side of the island. Frantic and mostly running on adrenaline, he combed the waters for the sword he so carelessly discarded before the creature emerged. He cursed his own name for doing something so foolish, wading through the waist high muck in desperation to find the blade. Where could it have gone? Where is… Ouch! The elf stepped on something sharp and long in a particularly deep section of the swamp…

Xantumal felt the geyser boil beneath him. Sensed the aura of it, as he had when they first entered this bog. It reminded him of times as a child, running about playing knights with his older brothers. He wished that he could be home right now, to be able to make mischief like that once again and get into all sorts of trouble. To dream of being a great hero to the people and receive recognition by the king himself. He shook his head. This was no time for childhood reminiscing, especially since he held a very angry and squirming horror creature pinned down, who was doing its best to take his head while halfway inside a geyser about to explode on the two of them.

"Xantumal! Your sword!"

The guard saw the silver blade spin through the air once again, landing not too far from where he and the creature were interlocked. He turned his gaze to the island, where Xerseine stood, covered head to toe in mud and dripping wet. The elf gave the man a confident nod, and readied the bow to his violin. Xantumal flung himself off the beast, who swung wildly at the man as he escaped, managing to cut a nasty length down his back with one of its claws. As he trudged through the water, he could sense the beast's aura of spoiled milk and rotten eggs on its way after him, looking for revenge against the guard.

Suddenly, there was a whistle from the shore, as the creature turned to see its desired meal standing confidently at the top of the hill. The monster screeched once more and abandoned its hunt on the man, still prioritizing its next feast over anything. It saw the elf place the bow against the strings of his violin and begin a tune. Xerseine didn't have time for words with the last spell, but this one deserved a proper casting, he determined. The bard closed his eyes and exhaled, before quickly fiddling out a tune.

Oh, Hairling! Oh, Hairling!

A beast they described, yet none could expect

The wickedness of your smile, the awfulness of your stench!

Oh, Hairling! Oh, Hairling!

Your game was set when you challenged the bard!

And the match was met when you battled the guard!

Oh, Hairling! Oh, Hairling!The truth, it seems, your sneezes did give away,

And soon enough, your arcane allergy will save the day!

Oh, Hairling! Oh, Hairling!

Remember this when you're long dead!

'Twas your own fault we chopped off your hairy, hairy head!

Though it could not understand the words, the Hairling recoiled with each verse, as if it were being tormented by countless voices. It felt the taunting force of Xersine's song like a million arrows in its head, as it stumbled backwards towards the geyser. It tried covering its ears, tried shutting its eyes, tried to screech over the words, but nothing worked. On and on the nasty musical meal taunted him, repeating that same song until it could no longer bear it. The monster reopened its sunken eyes, ready to tear the elf to shreds.

And it was at that moment that the geyser directly behind the monster erupted. A massive shower of arcane dust fell upon the beast, covering every inch of it above the water with scalding hot fumes. The monster cried. The monster howled. The monster screeched.

Then the monster sneezed. And sneezed. And sneezed.

It simply could not stop. It was completely overtaken by the geyser's influence, completely rendering it unable to see where it was going or what it was doing. The Hairling sneezed for almost a minute straight, until its vision went cloudy and its face went numb. It sneezed long enough for Xantumal to grab on to his sinking sword. It sneezed long enough for him to make his way over to it.

And when it was doubled over, its lungs on fire and its nose finally clear of the particles that refused to leave, it discovered that it sneezed long enough for the man to raise his sword and bring it down upon the creature's neck, parting its hairy, hairy head from its body. ----------------------------------------------------

"I do believe that they shorted us for this job."

Xantumal Chorster and Xerseine Drestar sat at the bank of the Silver Bog, counting out the gold pieces they received in return for the head of the creature that tormented the small town of Chambery in the country of Mariton. The original reward poster offered a total of two hundred gold for evidence of the slaying of the monster. There were, in fact, only one hundred and eighty two gold pieces in the coin purse which they received.

"That's not even the worst of it. Look, Xers."

Xantumal divided his share into two separate piles, one that had coins featuring an insignia of three shields and a crown above them, while the other pile was made up of coins with a triangle hole through the middle and an ornate arrangement of flowers surrounding it. They were very clearly distinguishable from one another, even from a distance. He picked up one of the triangle cutout gold pieces and help it up to the sky

"A good amount of this is Faloque currency. We can't even use it here in Mariton. Damn crooks…"

"I wouldn't jump to calling names too quickly, my friend." Xerseine interjected, unwrapping one of his coins that turned out to just be made of chocolate and popping it into his mouth, "Perhaps it was simple blind ignorance of how the rest of the world actually works. Or maybe they just didn't have enough gold here in town."

As if Xerseine had just spoken in ancient tongues, Xantumal gave him a confused and worried expression. "Are you sure you're feeling alright, sire? We were in that bog for quite a while. You didn't contract anything, did you?" Instinctively, Xantumal went to put his hand to Xerseine's forehead to check his temperature, just like Granna used to do when he was sick.

Xerseine batted the man's arm away and scoffed heartily. "I feel perfectly complacent, though I appreciate your concern. However, my nose is certainly ready to leave this swamp and never return. I still have that itch that refuses to go away." He ruffled his nose with a sniffle, only gaining a small bit of relief from the attempt. He sighed and opened another chocolate coin, resting it on his tongue and letting it melt against the roof of his mouth.

"If you say so. You're just acting… strange is all. More understanding all of a sudden." While the elf wasn't looking, Xantumal quickly nabbed one of the chocolate coins and snuck it in his own mouth, crushing it to bits with his tongue against his teeth.

"I suppose I realized something in the muck. Perhaps it was just an idle reflection but on our way back I saw myself, really probably for the first time ever. Covered head to toe in mud, beaten up, missing half of my valuables, and clothes ruined and I… Well I guess I had a revelation of sorts. I used to hoist myself up upon the backs of other people, telling their stories, lifting their experiences and puppeting them as my own. I never stopped to consider the people who risked their lives to ensure a small town like this could sleep in peace, even for a single night. I never gave credence to the lengths they must have gone through for something so small. I just… bastardized their tales with tawdry fluff. You were right, Xantumal. Sometimes the true story is better to tell." Xerseine moved his pile of chocolate coins in between the two of them, not noticing the one that was pilfered a moment ago was gone, "And sometimes, you just have to accept the truth, despite its mucked up visage."

Xantumal felt as if he had just been shot by an arrow in that moment, as he responded to that confession with a look of abject shock the likes of which he had never experienced before. Did he hear him correctly? Did Xerseine just say that he was… right?

"Don't hold your mouth so agape, Xantumal. You don't want a Silver Mosquito flying in there." Xerseine gave Xantumal a slap on the back and a hearty laugh at his own joke, but Xantumal still could do nothing but stare at him with disbelief. Xerseine, the elf who challenged the king himself and was banished for it, admitted to being wrong for once? It was completely unheard of, and yet here they were.

"Hello? Xantumal?" Xerseine waved a hand in front of his friend's face in an attempt to wake him from the stupor that claimed him, alas to little results. Xantumal still remained just as stunned as before. Xerseine switched tactics and gave a quick snap right in front of the man's eyes, and that seemed to summon him back into his body, though he was still unable to bring himself to form anything coherent for a moment.

"Y-yes, sire. Apologies, your highness, I didn't… Wow." Xantumal had no words. He legitimately had no idea what to say in response beyond "Wow."

Xerseine, for his own part, was extremely confused at Xantumal's strange attitude, but waved it off. Having to live so short of a life must make you crazy earlier, he thought. And so, the two sat in silence, finishing off the last few chocolate coins between them and listening to the gentle creaking croak of the Wyrd Frogs, the soft clicking of young Silver Bats, the eerily pleasant droning of the Zuratura Bird, and all other sounds of Nature's Orchestra that can be found in the beauty of the muck of the Silver Bog.

Art by @madiroller

#Xerseine Drestar #Xantumal Chorster #OC #short story #dungeons and dragons #Tolria #Young Misadventurers #fantasy #writing #paranormal

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kriskubed · 10 months

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Klaine Word Scramble 2023 - Day 1

I really didn't plan on doing this, but I saw the first prompt and this just sort of happened, so... We shall see if more prompts get written!

LNSEDAC (Candles, Dance, Lane, Sea, Cane)

A glimpse at older Klaine enjoying a sweet moment in Provincetown.

[on AO3]

After spending their impromptu honeymoon there, it became tradition for Kurt and Blaine to visit Provincetown each year. Sometimes they’d come for their anniversary in November, others to revel at Pride, but in recent years they had taken to making their annual trip in September, after the crowds of summer had died down, and before the chill of late fall set in. They weren’t as young as they once had been, and they appreciated the slower pace as well as being able to enjoy strolling on the beach without bundling up against the elements.

They had just finished dinner at one of their favorite restaurants and were meandering down the lane back to their little cottage by the sea arm in arm. In his opposite hand, Kurt held a cane , which he claimed was simply for fashion but Blaine knew he carried for an extra bit of security on longer walks ever since his knee surgery two years before. He’d rarely needed it after his initial recovery, but it was a comfort to him nonetheless. And Blaine had to admit he did look dashing carrying it.

The sun was setting as they made their way up the path to “their” house. They’d been renting the same place for decades, ever since they’d had both the time and the money to get away for more than just a few days, and the tiny house was full of memories. Kurt headed for the front door, but Blaine tugged at his arm and led him instead through the side garden to the flagstone patio in back that looked out over the beach. “Come on,” he said. “It’s a beautiful night. Let’s not go inside just yet.” Kurt smiled and followed willingly.

Lights twinkled from the beams of the pergola overhead as dusk settled in, and Blaine set about lighting the candles that were scattered around in metal lanterns and glass hurricane lamps artfully arranged on the patio’s various tables. When he was done he returned to Kurt’s side.

“ Dance with me?”

“There’s no music,” Kurt protested, even as he took Blaine in his arms.

“When has that stopped us before?”

Blaine settled his cheek against Kurt’s shoulder, fitting right into the spot that had first come to feel like home more than sixty years before.

They shuffled around the patio to nothing but the sound of the waves crashing on the shore. It was Blaine who finally broke the silence, his breath warm against Kurt’s neck as he began to sing.

“Never knew I could feel like this…”

#klaine-word-scramble #klaine #klaine fanfiction #blaine anderson #kurt hummel #kws 2023

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honeesucker · 1 year

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Gliding Into You

Pairing: Keigo Takami (Hawks) x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,024

Content Warnings: Hawks calls the reader ‘Chickadee’, allusions to past relationship violence/PTSD, Hawks injured by a window / wound tending, mentions of blood, soft descriptions of intimacy (feelin’ dreamy).

*For @frostthecupcake ‘s collab! 💐

Click here for the rest of the collab! ♡

The snow-covered streets of Musutafu were a pristine white after the new snow that fell in the late afternoon; you had watched with excitement as you wrapped up your workday at a prestigious Hero Recovery Center – a perfect fit given your quirk that allows for healing at a cellular level. This new job in the city center of the Pro Hero capital of Japan, and your newly found freedom after breaking free from your ex-partner and their controlling, manipulative hold over your life for the last six years left you feeling light enough to float off down the street.

You were currently walking home from some post-work holiday shopping, bundled up in a thick jacket with a plush scarf wrapped around your neck pulled up high enough to cover your mouth and nose, fluffy earmuffs and mittens added for extra warmth, leaving only your eyes exposed to the icy air – evident by the dusting of snowflakes landing on your eyelashes. However, none of the discomfort of the chilled weather dulled your good mood as you carried two bags – one with steaming, crispy chicken for the Christmas holiday and the other holding a small box that had a perfectly delectable looking strawberry shortcake from your favorite bakery. This was the first time in a long time that you've been able to partake in the regular traditions of the Christmastime holiday and you practically skipped down the road that led to your apartment – you on the top floor of a 60-floor luxury apartment high-rise. Your apartment was also something new that you weren’t used to having to yourself, but your job gave you a hefty sign-on bonus due to your skill and their desperate need for people with healing quirks, allowing you to gain one of the best overlooks of the city. Your building also came with heavy security given the status of many who lived there, and that security was worth the cost alone to you.

Your night doorman was there to greet you before you even walked up the snowy steps, holding open the door for you as he gave a bright smile with his greeting as you passed him to enter the heated lobby, snowflakes already melting off you. One of the lobby security guards had already gone ahead and pressed the elevator button for you, and within a few seconds the melodic ding! announced its arrival. You bid both men goodnight as you entered the elevator and within a few silent minutes, save for the gentle instrumental Christmas music playing from the elevator speakers, you were already being greeted by the sight of your door – you walking swiftly to reach it and punch your key code in so that you could finally unwind and enjoy your night. You sat your bags down atop the thin, sleek table in your entryway as you pulled off your scarf and coat to hang, your mittens and earmuffs being hung on your coatrack with the other snow-dampened items, and finally your shoes as you slipped your feet into the comfy house slippers you had waiting for you. You grabbed your bags and walked across the open space that led to your kitchen adjacent to your living room, unbagging and setting the cake box and the chicken on the countertop of your kitchen island, the steam filling your apartment with the mouth-watering smell of fresh fried chicken.

While you couldn’t wait to eat you knew you had to get out of your work clothes and shower to truly feel relaxed, so you rushed to your room to grab your favorite soft, black pajama set consisting of a baggy long sleeve top and soft, cheeky shorts. You left the fresh clothes sitting on your bathroom counter as you turned on the shower, stripping the day away as you put your worn clothing in the hamper, and finally stepping into the warm spray of water and steam. The feeling of the water nearly being hot enough to burn your skin felt nice compared to the icy chill you walked home in, the scents of your shampoo and conditioner and body soaps helping to relax you as you made your way through the familiar routine. You had spent an extra five minutes or so in the water before relenting, getting out of the shower and drying off with one of the fluffy towels hanging on the wall. Once dry you slipped on your fresh clothes and walked into your bedroom to grab a pair of fluffy socks, and your house slippers, and after slipping into both you sat on your bed for a moment to check the messages on your phone you had plugged in to charge on your nightstand.

It was this moment of peace you were ripped from as your whole body reacted, jumping back onto your bed with your back against the wall. Your ears were ringing from the shattering sound of glass and splintering furniture and soon, aside from the new chill taking over your space and the howling of the wind, you weren’t picking up any further sound. Your heart was beating like a hummingbird’s wings against your chest as the edges of your vision blurred into a narrow tunnel, anxiety gripping your whole body.

If it was him, he would have made himself known by now.

You decided there was no avoiding whatever the fuck awaited you outside of your bedroom, finally scooting to the edge of your bed as you carefully set your feet on the ground, taking tentative steps toward your bedroom door in case the situation called for a stealthier approach. As soon as you gathered the courage to peek around the corner to see the destruction of your living room and balcony sliding door, glass and splintered wood scattered across the expanse of your living room – what you saw lying in the middle of the room was truly the last thing you expected.

“Hawks?” You whisper-shouted. Surprise erased your anxiety as you stepped carefully out of your bedroom. Hawks wasn’t moving as you took in the mangled look of his ice-covered wings, even in their current state they were unmistakably the iconic red wings the number two Pro Hero was known for. You saw that his tan pants and jacket were shredded up, probably from crashing through the glass, and your eyes zeroed in on the first signs of pooling blood beneath his wings and head.

Immediately you went into action, kneeling beside Hawks without a care for the glass or splintered wood digging into your knees as you began to assess the damage before you. You didn’t want to move him in case there were more severe internal injuries that could be made worse with the wrong movement, so you elected to leave him in the half-fetal position he was in as you activated your quirk. Glowing tendrils of soft electric blue began to extend from your fingertips out toward the unconscious hero, your fingers making quick contact with his body. You shut your eyes as your quirk helped you to visualize what you were feeling in his body. He was out cold, so luckily there was no need for pain management now. You focused initially on closing the wounds that were causing the largest blood loss, reducing the wound size of the laceration to his scalp and his left side where glass had sliced across his abdomen. Smaller tendrils of your quirk broke off and continued to work on the cellular structure of his skin, pushing out any embedded glass and working on the smaller cuts – your larger focus was now on Hawks’s wings. His wings suffered damage that you knew didn’t come from just flying through the glass door of your balcony, he was missing a lot of his primary feathers and there was serious damage done to the body of his wings; extensive internal damage that was pushing your quirk to the limit of what you were capable of, to stich the inner fibers of him back together so that he would be able to fly again. Your mind was racing, the internal structures of Hawks’s body in your mind's eye as your quirk worked its way through his body. You pondered what caused this kind of damage – nothing naturally occurring that you could think of in your years of treating emergent medical cases – no, this had to be the cause of a quirk... the question left is what kind of quirk causes this much cataclysmic destruction in the body?

“Fuck,” the word was a harsh, breathless whisper between your teeth as your body continued to be pushed closer to the edge of your limits than it ever had before. “Almost done, need you to keep pulling through this, Hawks.”

“M’doing mhh’bst-” the words were mumbled, dreamy and quiet like when someone talks in their sleep, words mushed together but you can still make out the meaning. Your heart stopped in your chest as you realized he was back on the living side of things – you wanted to sigh in relief but feared that the second you relaxed even a little your body would give up on itself.

Just a little more!

A last push of your quirk extending within Hawks’s body and repairing the final bits that would ensure his successful recovery, and you could rest yourself.

Finally!

The final damaged structure within Hawks was repaired, a snap! felt throughout your body that told you it was all completed.

He would be okay.

He would- your vision blurred and narrowed, black dots and twinkling blue specks dancing in what remained in your diminishing vision.

“Fucking called it,” you mumbled, body slumping to the floor beside the now-healing Pro Hero. Your eyes closed to the sound of his steady breathing.

Breathing.

You could allow your body to rest knowing that Hawks was breathing and would continue to breathe – although not without consequence. His body would ache like nothing he had ever experienced due to being put back together at the cellular level the way he was, due to the unknown quirk's damage, and the regular bruising and scrapes from coming through a window would be present and heal as they normally would – but at least he would be left with no open wounds.

The last thing you saw before your vision totally blackened was the steady rise and fall of Hawks’s chest, crimson plumage fluffing up in his sleep as the color returned to his face.

Darkness enveloped your consciousness as you succumbed to exhaustion, the weight of the intense healing process taking its toll on your body. It was a deep, dreamless slumber that seemed to last an eternity until the repetitive beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor became clearer the more your surroundings garnered more clarity. When you finally regained full consciousness, you found yourself lying on a soft bed, the aroma of disinfectant and the low hum of medical equipment filling the room. You blinked a few times, your vision slowly adjusting to the sterile white room with daylight filtering in through the large windows. It didn't take long for the events of the previous night to flood back into your memory—the shattered glass, Hawks crashing through your balcony doors, his damaged wings, and the mysterious quirk that had caused such devastation to his body.

You turned your head to the side and saw Hawks sitting in a chair beside the bed, his eyes fixed on you. His wings, though wrapped in bandages in a few spots, appeared to be in a better state than before. Relief washed over you as it dawned on you that he had made it through the ordeal with only a few aches and bruises.

"Hawks," you managed out with your voice a weak, hoarse whisper. He immediately leaned forward, his expression a mix of concern and gratitude.

"You're awake," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine relief. "How are you feeling?"

I managed a small smile, my body still aching but the worst of it subsiding. "Better now. How long was I out for?”

“About three days,” he said, a worried expression overtaking his handsome face.

“Damn...” You whispered, settling back against the paper-covered pillow, albeit a bit crunchy sounding it was more comfortable than the floor you lost consciousness on.

Hawks nodded, a hint of weariness in his eyes. "Your quirk... it saved me. I've never experienced anything like it. You're truly amazing."

"It's just my quirk doing its job. But I'm glad I could help." You couldn’t help it as you blushed, feeling a surge of pride mixed with a touch of embarrassment at his words.

Silence settled between you both for a moment before Hawks spoke again, his voice softer this time. "I owe you my life. I can't thank you enough for what you've done." A warmth spread through your chest as his words sunk in. Hawks, the number two Pro Hero, expressing such gratitude towards you—it was overwhelming. But more than that there was a bond between you both forged through the shared experience of that night.

"You don't have to thank me, Hawks," you replied, your voice filled with sincerity. "I'm just glad I was able to help. Besides, healing others is what I do."

A few hours after you woke up you were allowed to leave the hospital’s care, Hawks offering to walk you home. The night air was cool, and a light snowfall dusted the streets, creating a serene atmosphere. Hawks draped his arm around your shoulders, drawing you closer to his side as his wings shielded you both from the bitter Winter night air. The two of you walked in sync, matching each other's steps as you made your way back to your apartment.

“D-Do you...” Your voice trailed off softly as you thought your idea over again, wondering if it was too inappropriate to offer... finally you settled on asking Hawks back to your place. “You know, I never got to enjoy my friend chicken and the strawberry cake I bought for the holiday... I’m sure the food went bad by now. Do you wanna stop on the way back and come up to eat, if you’re not too busy?”

Hawks was taken aback as he stared at you, a bright look in his eyes. “Really? You want to eat Christmas food with me?” Hawks couldn’t stifle the laugh as you turned away from him quickly, not missing the blush on your cheeks as an embarrassed look took over your face.

“Yes, I do,” you stated simply, not playing into his teasing.

Hawks looked ahead, still leading you both back to your apartment as he smiled to himself, his plumage fluffing up as he grinned. “That sounds amazing, I’ve never had a chance to sit down for Christmas food like that.... I’d love to, with you.” His admission made you pause, and you glanced up at him, seeing the light blush on his tanned cheeks as he smiled. You couldn’t help the flood of butterflies taking over your gut as you just nodded, mumbling a ‘good’ under your breath and walking on with him. You made the same quick stops at the same places you had that night, grabbing fresh friend chicken for the both of you and a small, decadent Christmas strawberry shortcake.

The anticipation grew as you reached your apartment building, the savory smell of fried chicken growing stronger with each step. With an open door as your doorman greeted you, you entered the lobby together. Hawks glanced at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I can't wait to dig into that fried chicken. It’s honestly one of my favorite foods.”

“I’m glad I got a double portion just for that very possibility...” You grinned up at him, winking as he smirked, impressed with your forethought.

You rode the elevator to the top floor in comfortable silence, the soft drone of Christmas music playing in the background. As the elevator doors opened you led Hawks to your apartment, the delicious aroma growing stronger with each passing moment, and the moment you stepped inside the tantalizing smell of fried chicken enveloped the room, making both of your mouths water.

Hawks shrugged off his coat, revealing casual street attire underneath, and you followed suit, hanging your coat on the rack by the door. Excitement radiated through the air as you entered the kitchen, placing the boxes of crispy chicken and the cake on the countertop... your eyes trailing over to your living room, refurnished as if nothing ever happened.

“You... replaced my furniture?” You stated simply, confused and appreciative.

Hawks looked a little nervous as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Y-Yeah, I hope you don’t mind but I had a sidekick help me track down the item numbers and replaced everything that could be replaced... there’s a box in the living room of some little trinkets that got shattered, that it didn’t seem right to throw away until you went through it.

“Thanks, I appreciate that a lot... you didn’t have to go to the trouble, though,” you mumbled out, amazed he even arranged it almost exactly how you had it before.

“I kind of crash-landed into your living room,” Hawks sighed, looking in the living room as his eyes clouded over with the memory. “I’d say it’s the least I could do to repay you.”

You quickly brushed off his words and without hesitation you opened the cake box, revealing the perfectly crafted dessert. The sight of the fluffy layers of cake and creamy layers of whipped icing, topped with vibrant red strawberries brought a smile to both of your faces. Hawks's eyes widened in delight, his mouth watering. "It looks incredible, Chickadee. I can't wait to taste it."

Chuckling, you retrieved a knife and started slicing the cake, carefully placing a generous slice on each plate. The sweet smell of the cake mixed with the tangy freshness of the strawberries was a heavenly combination. Meanwhile, Hawks began unpacking the fried chicken, setting it out on a large platter. The golden-brown crust and the savory aroma of the chicken and spices made your stomach growl even louder. You couldn't resist reaching out and snatching a small piece, savoring the crunchy texture and the burst of flavors.

“Oh wow,” you breathed out with a mouthful between your cheek. “This is even better than I imagined... or is it only this delicious because I didn’t have it for three days?” You both laughed as Hawks grabbed his own piece, practically moaning as he bit into the crunchy skin of the chicken leg, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“I don’t even have words,” Hawks whispered, looking at you with a dreamy expression. “This has to be the best fried chicken I ever ate, how have I never stopped at this place before?”

You smiled, winking. “It’s a hidden gem, but now you know my secret... guard it closely, number two.” Hawks laughed, saluting you with a nod as he took another bite, savoring the taste... and with that, you both dug into the feast before you, savoring each bite of the succulent chicken and indulging in the delicate flavors of the strawberry cake. The room filled with the sound of contented sighs and the occasional expression of delight as you enjoyed the meal together.

Between bites, you shared stories and laughter, finding comfort in each other's company, even in silence. The stress of your guys’ meeting slowly melting away, replaced by a warmth that came from being surrounded by good food and even better company.

As the night progressed the plates were emptied, and the cake was devoured, leaving only satisfied smiles and contented hearts.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, Hawks and you had found yourself falling into a comfortable routine. It all started one evening, when Hawks soared through the darkened skies of Musutafu, his crimson wings beating rhythmically as he approached your apartment building. The sight of your balcony, adorned with twinkling lights, had become a beacon of solace for him.

Landing gracefully on the railing, Hawks peered through the glass doors looking into your living room. He could see you curled up on the couch, engrossed in a book and with a mischievous grin he tapped lightly on the glass, startling you out of your reverie. You jumped at the sudden noise, your eyes widening as you spotted the familiar sight of Hawks outside. A mixture of surprise and delight washed over your face, and you hurriedly unlocked the doors for him to enter. The chilly night air followed him in, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin as his chilled feathers brushed against you.

"Hey Chickadee," Hawks greeted you with a playful twinkle in his eyes. "Mind if I join you for a while?"

“Do you even have to ask at this point, Hawks,” you muttered playfully, motioning to the balcony door. “Or knock? You know I leave it unlocked for you.” Hawks only laughed, smiling his signature smile as he took off his boots, and coast, and settled down with you on the couch. Your bodies close yet comfortably distant. Conversation flowed easily between you both as you discussed your respective days, shared stories, and exchanged laughter. There was a natural chemistry between you, a connection that grew stronger with each passing encounter.

As time went on, Hawks found himself seeking solace and comfort in your presence. In you, he found a respite from the pressures of hero life, a space where he could be himself without judgment or expectation... and you cherished your time together, reveling in the opportunity to learn more about the enigmatic hero with the scarlet wings, trying to quell your growing feelings as you level yourself with the reality of him being a popular Pro Hero, and that you were just friends.

Just friends... but on clear nights, Hawks would take you on exhilarating flights through the starlit skies, the wind rushing through your hair as you soared together above the city. You would laugh and shout, feeling the thrill of freedom in each breath so high above the city. In those moments, it was as if nothing else mattered—the world below faded away, and it was just the two of you, connected by the shared experience of flight.

Back on your balcony, you would sit side by side with each other, your fingers gently intertwined as you watched the city lights sparkle below. Hawks would talk about his dreams, his aspirations, and his fears. And you would listen, your presence a comforting balm to his weary soul... he had never had such a freedom to be himself more than when he was with you. But it wasn't just the adventurous nights that bound you together. You both found joy in the simple moments as well—a cozy movie night with popcorn and blankets, cooking together in your kitchen (it was you cooking and Hawks snatching up still-hot, half-cooked pieces of food), or simply enjoying each other's company in comfortable silence. You discovered shared interests together, exchanged secrets, and offered support in times of need. Through your time together, you both learned to trust, to open your hearts to one another, and to embrace the vulnerability that comes with true connection, not just friendly banter and polite half-truths.

And on this starlit evening, as Hawks stood on your balcony, his wings stretched out wide behind him, he turned to you, an unusual softness in his eyes. "Chickadee, you've become such an important part of my life," he confessed, his voice filled with a mixture of sincerity and adoration. "I never expected to find someone like you—a person who understands me, who accepts me for who I am. I'm grateful for every moment we've shared."

Touched by his words, you smiled as you bit your lower lip to keep from blurting out your own feelings, a soft blush on your face as you just nod. “Me too, Hawks, me too.”

A couple of weeks later you found yourself in a situation you never imagined, as the moon cast a gentle glow over the room as Hawks and you found yourselves wrapped in a tender embrace, seeking comfort and closeness in each other's arms. The events of the day had been overwhelming for him, and now, in the quiet solitude of the night, he sought comfort and reassurance in the presence of the sweet person he came to love.

Hawks massaged his fingers gently against your scalp, his touch soothing and filled with unspoken affection. The utter softness of his touch sent shivers down your spine, grounding you in the moment. You leaned into his warmth, feeling his steady heartbeat against your chest, syncing with the rhythm of your own as your bodies pressed against each other, limbs tangled together. His scarlet wings, usually a symbol of strength, were now tenderly draped around the two of you, creating a cocoon of safety. The soft plumage brushed against your skin, their gentle touch like a whisper of assurance that this was all truly real.

With a soft sigh, Hawks pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering against your hair. "You mean everything to me, Chickadee," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity and vulnerability. "In a world filled with chaos and uncertainty, villains and heroes... you are my anchor, my sanctuary." You couldn’t find the time to reply before Hawks leaned in, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. It was a kiss expressing a depth of emotion that mere words couldn't convey. The softness of his lips against yours ignited a fire within, warming your entire being. It was a kiss that held promises and unspoken devotion, a testament to the bond between you.

As the kiss deepened, the world around you faded into the background, leaving only the two of you entwined in a moment of raw intimacy. Time seemed to stand still, allowing you to explore the planes of each other’s bodies. Hawks’ touch almost clinical as if he were trying to memorize each bump, scar and curve to you as his mouth continued to dominate yours... Eventually, the need for air forced you to break the kiss, but the connection remained. Hawks rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

"I love you, Chickadee," he whispered, his voice laced with such adoration it almost made you cry.

You could only press one more soft, sweet kiss to his lips as you whispered back to him. “I love you, Hawks.”

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