#volks quiet woods

[collectoraei]

Bobobie Weylin on Dollzone Merlin body, Wearing  a VOLKS Outfit (Dollzone outfit in last photo)

#bjd #my bjd #bobobie weylin #bobobie #volks quiet woods

[fuu9266]

A blush with death! (DA Gift Exchange 2020)

Pairing: Female OC (Valentine Volk) x Anders Word count: 1,5k Summary: Valentine and company run into trouble on their search for the elusive Harlots blush warning(s): mild language, minor injuries and lots of fluff. and here is my gift to you @the-halo-of-my-memory for the @dagiftexchange it’s kind of a crack fluff fic. You seemed like you might like those lol welp hope you enjoy!  

The sound of rain and pounding waves could be heard from outside of the damp cave the group found themselves in, Thunder boomed and the ground seemed to shake with it. Hawke had started a fire with her magic to keep them warm. The group huddled around it, each soaked to the bone from the sudden downpour. The first to speak up of the group was not surprisingly Hawke.“So how about that weather?” the young bronze skinned woman said with a smirk on her face as she was wringing the water from her short black hair. The woman next to her was shivering and not enjoying how cold she was. Her short curly brown hair was dripping water from it and her dark mahogany skin had goosebumps all over. Her Amber eyes shot Hawke a look before speaking, “oh yes I just LOVE being cold!” Hawke chuckled before replying, “well, Valentine, it's your fault for wearing that outfit!” Valentine then made a show of looking over Hawke’s outfit. It consisted of a white corseted shirt and a brown leather bustier as well as tight black trousers . A pair of leather boots were about the only practical thing she was wearing. She then looked at her own outfit which was a long red coat with a silver breastplate and pauldrons, plus a pair of tight trousers and leather boots. Raising an eyebrow Valentine retorted with, “What I’m wearing? Ida have you seen your outfit? You show more skin than me!” The two women laughed loudly. When they had settled down Ida said, “Anders sure is taking his sweet time with that wood.” Val shivered and began running various scenarios through her head of what could be keeping him. Was he taken by Templars? Struck by lighting? Oh and there's those damned spiders on steroids to worry about! She thought. She needed to find out for herself what was keeping him. “Looks like the weather has calmed down and the sun is out now so let's go see if we can find Anders before the spiders do.” Ida giggled then replied, “Drat! Letting him get eaten by spiders was my master plan!” She smirked. Val rolled her eyes and smiled back before the two left the cave. Outside they found footprints, likely Anders, leading away from the cave towards a downed tree. “Hmm let’s take a closer look to see if we can piece together where he went,” Val said. She proceeded to examine the rotting and soaked tree. it appeared at first glance like there was nothing left of his trail but then something caught her eye. It looked like feathers from his coat snagged on the dead tree limb. Further investigation showed small drops of what looked to be blood though the weather had washed away most of any signs of struggle that remained.It was now very clear she needed to pick up his trail quickly before it was too late. “Ida! Come look at this!” Ida stopped looking for more footprints and headed over to Val “Ida it looks like he got into a fight with someone... or something” She shuddered at the thought of those damned spiders before shaking the image of them from her head. “We need to find him quickly!” Ida’s normally cheerful demeanor vanished. “You’re right. We’ve no time to lose!” They started combing the area for anything that could lead them to him. A small trail of feathers and cracked glass pieces, possibly from a lyrium potion, caught Valentines eyes. “Look Ida! I believe if we follow these glass shards and feathers they’ll lead us right to him.” Ida nodded her approval and they set off to find Anders. 

Meanwhile, in a dark cave on the wounded coast

“Dear maker”, Anders sighed loudly, “of course I’d be captured by slavers while looking for a bloody flower because nothing can ever be simple while running errands with Hawke!” The cave he was being held in was dimly lit and smelled of rotting flesh he was pretty sure he was sitting on a pile of bones. The slavers began talking loud enough for him to overhear. “We’re moving the mage to the warehouse with the rest of the slaves. boss’s orders” He had already been slowly seering through the rope and with a quiet snap it finally broke. “Well, can’t wait forever to be rescued, I suppose” He shot through the makeshift door with a blast of flame. “Andraste’s tits, he’s lose!” one slaver screamed. Anders swiftly smacked the man in the head with his staff “I’m Afraid you won’t be taking another mage today or ever again!” The slavers began rushing towards him. He mind blasted the first group and called down a firestorm to keep them at a distance. One started shooting arrows at him which he blocked with a swift stonefist. The flames started dying down and the slavers used the chance to get in close to him. One rogue had ended up behind him and was about to finish him off. “Sorry but we happen to sort of like that crazy mage” Ida said before shooting the rogue in the face with a spirit bolt. Valentine rushed into the fray. She slid across the floor before stabbing her sword through a slaver. Standing back to back with Anders, he couldn’t help but admire her beauty and acrobatics as she fought. She nailed one slaver with a kick to the face before turning around and slashing another with her sword. Ida threw fire spells and froze some of them giving Anders and Val time to finish them off. “Hah! Well, nothing like a good brawl to get the blood pumping, eh, guys” Ida yelled while laughing and sending an unlucky slaver to meet the maker. “You are definitely one of a kind Ida,” Anders said while paralyzing a few more slavers for Val to finish off. “Good thing there’s only one of  her. I don’t think the world could handle more!” Val said, mirth in her voice. Suddenly her sword was knocked out of her hand. “Shit! Well guess it's time for some hand to hand.” She got in her stance and nailed one slaver with an uppercut and another got a kick to the groin and a knee to the face. Suddenly a rogue appeared behind Anders as they were about to strike him. Val jumped in the way taking a slash to the arm and getting thrown against a wooden post. “No no no! Get up Val!” Anders yelled as he rushed over to her. Ida finished off the rogue with a spirit bolt before getting to Valentine's side. Anders started to heal the wound. “Maker, please don’t be dead please.” Ida kneeled down to check for breathing. “Anders calm down she’s alive and will recover just fine, now while you tend to her, I'm Going to make sure we don’t have any other hidden guests.” He barely acknowledged her as she walked away. All his attention was on Val as he worked to close the wound on her arm and the blow to her head. “Ugh! Ouch that hurt..but at least we won.” Anders gave her a stern look before replying, “don’t pull a stunt like that again! next time I might not be here to heal you!” Val looked at him with resolve in her eyes. “I can’t just ignore if someone needs help.” Anders sighed, what could he possibly say to that? Her resolve to help those in need was one of his favorite things about her as well as her eyes. Maker, he could stare into those lovely golden amber eyes for eternity. Holding her close like this was like a dream, Her smile was like a light in the darkest night as if he was looking at the dawn itself. “Um, should I give the happy couple a moment longer?” Ida giggled. Of course she was back already. “Ha ha, Ida, you know he’s just healing my wounds!” Val laughed. He loved her laugh. It was contiguous and before he knew it he found himself laughing along with them. “Oh! I almost forgot! Look what I found just outside the cave.” Ida held up a lovely blue flower. Apparently the harlots blush, as it's called, liked growing next to slaver caves. Val and Anders stared at that damned blue flower for what felt like hours before Val finally said, “well, at least it wasn’t a wasted trip.” The silence was finally broken by the group's hearty laughter.  “Yes at least we got a pretty flower out of the deal.” Anders said as he got up helping Val off the floor next. “Well, we got everyone back and what we needed. Let's head to my manor and keep our dear Val from using that arm for a while.” Ida winked at Val and the group started walking back along the coast with Anders and Val’s hands brushing against each other every now and then. The sun was setting and it reminded him of  her beautiful eyes, golden amber, always shining brightly. He wove his fingers between hers. She looked a bit confused for a moment before she smiled at him and held his hand back. It was a simple moment but one he would have loved if it had lasted for eternity.

end

#Valentine Volk #she's amazing #she's perfect #i loved writing her #Hope I did her justice #DA gift exchange 2020 #Anders #m/f fic #this was my first my first time doing something like this I was and still am nervous lol

[eldrylva]

“Point the shield up, Astrid. Sword angled down. You won’t kill anything looking like a frightened rabbit, will you?”

“No..” Came paired with an exhausted sigh. A scrawny little redhead with a massive mop of wild copper curls squared her feet, raising her sword and shield once more.

Broad shoulders rolled into an expression of exasperation, the large, tattooed man with kind grey eyes staring at the thin girl. His head tilted and he chuckled softly.

“Come now, little Shieldmaiden. Fenryr is watching! You can’t tire out after one loss. What ever will you do during battle?!” The large man said, perhaps as stern as he could manage as he sauntered over to the girl. She couldn’t have been more than eight years old at the time, sporting a shield too big for her body and a sword twice that. Astrid sighed loudly as that big arm wound around tiny shoulders, tugging the girl close to his chest in a hug. “I asked you a question, hm?” He teased gruffly with a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’d die. And so would the person I’m s’posed to protect.” Came with a little pout, scowling at her shield and the ground as she was enveloped in the man. She felt the nod against her head.

“Exactly. Promise me, little sister, you’ll do better tomorrow. If you want Skadi to choose you during your Conclave, you aren’t any good dead.” Came rumbled with a wink tossed down to the still-scowling girl. Astrid huffed softly past her nose, of which gave a small crinkle, but she peered up to her brother with that cheeky little grin.

“Fine then! One more time! And I’ll kick your ass, Volken! If I do, you’re gonna forget all about that stupid sword we found in the woods!” Astrid barked, playfully shoving that brick wall of a man away from her as she readied her sword and shield again. Volk laughed, a warm sound that rivaled thunder in its boisterousness, and he spun around on his heel with a little twirl to his sword as he paced back across from her.

“Atta girl. Deal’s a deal, then.”

“Astrid! Volken! Come, it’s time for dinner!” Came a woman’s voice from a small house not too far away. The pair audibly groaned, before Volk gave another laugh. “Seems you get a chance to rest after all, sister mine.” The man laughed as he made his way back over to the girl, who was pouting in the direction of their mother in the doorway, baby brother bouncing on her hip. Two other boys filed in, another girl hot on their heels. Laughter filled the small cottage as Volk’s arm wound around Astrid’s shoulders, guiding the girl back towards their home.

“Tomorrow, little ylva.”

Tomorrow never came. Astrid rolled over on her side next to Varsen after her and Adamar shared their sad stories for the evening after everyone scattered. A quiet sigh left her as those burning eyes stared through the Northman at her side, fingers trailing along that crimson ink on his right shoulder gently, a snail’s pace so as to not wake him up.

“I’d give anything to see him again.”

A little sniffle saw Astrid bury herself deeper into those blankets, the only thing sticking out of the top of them would be the crown of her head, forehead pressed gently against the side of Varsen’s chest as she wriggled beneath an arm like the night prior. Anything.

@adamarmeadowcroft

@ataleofvalor

@theborderlandcoalition

#ic things #story time with Adamar #camp RP

[friendlywriterboynamedniko]

In Your Dreams

Fandom- Blush Blush

Genre- Angsty

Pairing- Seth X Male Protag/Marshmallow

Words- 930

Note- I meant to write smut but OOPS!!! All Angst.  If your wondering why my writing is weirder than usaul, I wrote it in ‘Blush Blush’ style....cuz that’s the only way I can explain ‘Horny warm’.

Also yes I gave the Protag the name ‘Marshmallow’ instead of ‘Y/N’ Still technically a reader insert.

Marshmallow gave a tired yawn as they stared up at the ceiling. The week had been tiring, all their jobs, hobbies, and boyfriends were starting to become to much work for him, don’t get him wrong, he still absolutely loved all his boyfriends...he just didn’t have much time by himself anymore. Lucky for him he only had one animal boy left, then maybe he could go back to working one job and actually get proper nights of sleep.

He glanced at the clock on his bedside table…4 AM, he sighed, he had to get up for his barista job at 6 AM. He only had 2 hours to get some sleep, it was better than none. His eyes slid closed as he let today’s sleepiness engulf him. 

---

His dreams were usually filled with thoughts of the manamals, usually nightmares. These nightmares stemmed from him fearing he won’t find all the manamals. Sometimes he dreamed that he had never saved the others, that he had failed them, that he had ruined their lives. Nimh being a rabbit significantly shortening his already short life span, Volks living forever alone in the woods...which he probably didn’t mind, Kelby not being able to play basketball due having hocks instead of hands, Eli not being able to fit into his favorite pair of pants- Ugh he didn’t even want to think of those dreams.

Those dreams made him toss and turn to the point that when he woke up he felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. Tonight though… felt different, his body was engulfed in some type of warmness...not the comforting type of warm...the horny type of warm.

Is this…? Is this...uh….what did they call it in school? OH! Is this a wet dream? He had never had one of these before! He wondered who the subject will be? Not like he cared that much, anything was better than those horrid nightmares. ...Nightmares...despite the warmness he felt himself getting sad again.

Finally, an arm wrapped around his torso, the other wrapping around the near his butt area. The arms pulled him forward into a nice...warm body. Like really warm, like the horny warm. His face landing in the arm’s owner’s chest, smearing tears into the cloth of their jacket. ...Jacket...he knew many people who wore jackets...but combined with this overwhelming warmness…”Seth?” Marshmallow questioned as he opened his eyes, tears still falling down his cheeks, Seth was smiling down at him...well until he spotted the tears on the other boy's face.

Seth angled his head up, “Hm, what’s wrong?” He asked, his smile disappearing as he noticed the tears sliding down the other’s face. Those two words broke Marshmallow, maybe it was the year of held back emotions, or maybe it because no one had ever asked him those words. More and more tears streamed down his face as he buried his face into Seth’s shoulder.

But what was wrong, “I-I’m so tired,” He cried, “I’m scared,” he gasped, “I-I’m so scared.”

Seth just looked confusingly down at the boy, “Scared of what?”

Marshmallow shedded more tears, “I’m scared I’m going to fail. I know I’m going to fail. I’m going to fail them!” He sobbed.

Seth was quiet as Marshmallow spoke.

“I’m such an idiot! I ruined so many lives over such a stupid mistake!” 

…

“I’m such a failure!”

…

“I’m not going to find him! And even If I do I’m not going to be able to make him fall for me!” He cried.

…Seth sighed, “You’re wrong.”

Marshmallow looked up from Seth’s shoulder, “Huh?”

“You’re not a failure, you’re going to find that guy, and you’ll get him to fall for you,” Seth stated as he smiled down at the boy and patted his back.

Marshmallow continued to cry, “How do you know?”

…

…

“You got a demon to fall for you, I’m sure you can get any human being to fall for you,” He said matter of factly.

....

...

“Oh...yeah,” Marshmallow spoke awkwardly, feeling embarrassed that he had completely forgotten that point.

...

They stood in awkward silence for a couple of moments as Marshmallow tried to calm himself, then Marshmallow got a sudden thought “Um...how did you even get here?” He asked.

Seth just shrugged, “Just made some deals with Belphegor, you know the usual.”

Did he make a deal with a demon prince just to see Marshmallow? “...Why?”

“I wanted to ravish you, but as you can see I ended up having to comfort you,” Seth sighed.

Marshmallow giggled awkwardly into Seth’s shoulder through his tears, “S-sorry.”

Seth shook his head, “No need for apologies, I’ll get you one day.”

Marshmallow wiped his tears and looked up to Seth, smiling, “Doubt it.”

Seth rolled his eyes, “We’ll see.” He then leaned down and pressed his lips against Marshmallow’s. He smiled against the other boy’s lips and said, “I will get that soul of yours.”

Marshmallow’s eyes snapped open...was that a dream?

He ran his fingers over his lips, they still felt warm, as if they had just been pushed against another’s. He looked over at the clock, 6 AM, he felt so rested despite the 2 short hours. Then he noticed his phone screen lit up, a notification had just popped onto the screen, a text message...from Seth. He grabbed the phone thinking it was a strange coincidence that Seth had texted him after he had just dreamed about him. He picked up the phone and unlocked it.

He looked surprised down at his phone as he read the text: “I’ll get you tonight.”

#blush blush #seth #seth(Blush Blush) #angst #seth x reader #seth x protagonist #seth x Marshmallow

[skulldxddy]

She's got her arms folded around his middle before Guzma sees her comin'. The tip of her nose grazes between his shoulder blades; he smells of rain, smoke and earth. A perfect scent for a force of nature like him. Max lets the rumble of thunder wash over their heads and says nothing when she's pressing up close, allowing her fingers to nestle against his soft belly. The sky lights up with a bone-shattering crack and he can feel her body flinch, nuzzling closer in seek for comfort.

   It’s nice. Calming. The sound of the rain battering down on rusty ol’ scaffolding, trickling on in through the cracks. A crappy little makeshift shelter that still connects him with the outside is where Guzma’s decided to nest himself tonight, unable to grab a lick of sleep even before the vicious throes of thunder began their wailing all over the islands. Everyone in Po Town goes sleepless tonight. They rest their weary heads on wood-rotten window sills and count out the seconds until the next clap. Guzma can hear their voices some distance away and though he ain’t there with ‘em, there’s always comfort to be found in the ol’ Skull community spirit.

   His shaky breaths cease for a moment, body tensing when arms cinch around his waist. He knows the feel of ‘em good enough that he don’t even gotta see the perp to know who it is. Guzma allows it. Welcomes it, if he’s gotta be honest. It’s company he don’t mind keeping.

   Unlike Max, Guzma doesn’t flinch when the sky lights up and roars. Call it tempering, if you will. That or something deeper. He tilts back his head, watches the dual wisps of smoke that blow from his nostrils vanish into the tumultuous night. Another blinding flash. His eyes close, ears attentive to the rain as he takes in the pleasantry of how her hands caress his stomach. When the elements quiet down for a moment, the Skull boss finally breaks their silence.

   “Fuck you doin’ out here, anyway? You gonna catch a cold.” The storm took out the power, so it ain’t like staying in the mansion’s gonna make much change. At least in there’s cosier than bein’ out here. Popping his cig into his mouth, Guzma turns ‘round to Max while reaching into his hoodie. Couple seconds of fumbling later, and he hands her a Pokéball. 

   “That’s Volk, my Volcarona.” There’s a pleasant warmth to it, something Guzma uses to stay heated when the seasons change. His big hand comes to rest on her messy little head, giving her hair an affectionate ruffle. “Go take ‘em in with the others. He’ll keep y’all toasty ‘cause who knows when this’ll relent.” He knows what’s coming. Before she can say a word, Guzma turns away from her but not before sneaking her an off the shoulder wink.

    “That’s an order from your boss.”

#maxskulline #✖ [ GUZMAX ] ash is our purest form.

[whosxafraid]

Leaves a bottle of poitin, and whispers ~last breath~

Meme:  SEND ME ‘LAST BREATH’ FOR MY MUSE TO DIE IN YOUR MUSE’S ARMS.  Put ‘inverse’ at the end for your muse to die on mines arms. Status: Open

When moments become days. And those days turn to years. And the years begin to slip into decades...centuries...eons--time becomes something weighed only in seconds. Weighed in the breathes between touches. The shared heart beats that have grown weary in their pattern. Green and gold that have watched their greatest treasures grow and become, and venture out into the wide open realms of reality. Make their own stories. Find their own adventures. And between them now is nothing but themselves. And how quickly time seems to pass here at the end.

Because he’s been asleep for days now hasn’t he? Drifting in and out. For though barely, he is older and born of more fragile stock. Their children had come to say goodbye. Said their peace, hoarded their memories....and gone. Because once they leave, there will be nothing left for the twins to recover. All of this will fade into the fog, return to the soil of the moors. And they will end where they began. Together.

      “Mo shíor?”

           Tá mé anseo.

Hushed words. No more than gentle breathing in the grand scheme of the world. The feather light shift of the bed as lies down beside him. Slips beneath an arm he’s barely the strength to lift anymore. Settles it about her, and he is grateful that at least she still has the ability. She always was stronger than him, where it mattered most. And there is a depth to how he breathes her in. Pulling every fiber of her that he can manage into his lungs. Drowning in the scent of her, the feel of her beneath his fingers. 

     “Have d’ey gone?”

            Yes, moy volk.

      “Good.”

He will miss them, they are his offspring after all. The legacy he never thought to leave behind him. And while he understands they had wished to remain until the very end--it is better this way. Better he and their mother be remembered by them as they had always been. Not the fading creatures they were now. And as much as he can, his love is drawn closer against him. A kiss to her forehead, that though sweet, is but a ghost of how once he had been able to give the affection.

             Vam kholodno, ya dolzhen poluchit' yeshche odno odeyalo?

        “Uimh.”

A finger beneath her chin. That pulls her face upward, where green catches gold. And the quiet of the room becomes something palpable. Becomes a barrier that pushes the outside world away. Where warmth and coolness, dinner simmering on the stove, the call of birds and the absence of his kin in the wood beyond---can not infiltrate the moment. Where nothing but the sound of their hearts, the winding of their fingers, and the press of their lips to each other’s exists. Because there is little they have left to wonder. Little that words could convey they have not already said. That they don’t already know. And yet still...

       “Spokoynoy nochi, moya postoyannaya.”

            Codladh go maith, mo mhac tíre.

And how silent the affair all is. How gentle and unheralded. Because death--is so much akin to falling asleep. Slow at first, and then all at once. Like the rain outside, that rain drop by rain drop washes them away from this world. An island mourning the passing of its last wolven son, and the little raven that never abandoned him.

#quothesquills #Maybe He Knows Hes Drunk Maybe He Knows Shes The One Maybe She Does Too || Quothe and Luka #Tra la la la la || Main Verse #Return To Sender || Answered Asks

[bibliotechnician]

Matriarch//Drabble

~INSPIRATION [ x ] [ x ]~

I’ve been sitting on this prompt for like ... three years now. Volk vs The Matriarch; AKA why you cannot pay her enough to go back in the Archives.

The clouds broke enough for the moon to peek through, slivers of soft white light glinting off the ruined landscape of Moscow. A low wind blew over jagged peaks shot up like mountain ranges of asphalt and masonry, whistling forlornly through the broken windows of buildings and the rusted husks of cars. The occasional clack of erosion echoed over empty city blocks, an ambient sort of silence that was broken by the muffled crunch of footsteps on frozen rubble.

Daylight was better for Stalkers, certainly, and Volk was one of few who could take the glare of day, but even her eyes adjusted better to the dark. Without the reflection of stronger light off the sheets of ice and snowpacks, she could see farther and pick up on movement easier. 

She paused long enough to look around, trying to pick up on any activity in her immediate vicinity. When nothing out of the ordinary moved and the sky proved clear of Demons, she shifted the Preved on one shoulder and checked the pressure on her Tikhar hanging on her side before moving on.

The glimmer of faint light caught the edges and columns of the Moscow State Library, casting it in shades of silver-painted ivory. It likened a pantheon of godly folk before the clouds covered the moon again and stole its facade, turning it back into the ruin it was. Still, it was beautiful to her, caked in grunge and blood and bodies of fallen humans and monsters alike. The towering structure was still a beacon, even if it matched the destroyed world around it.

The path she took was well-worn to her, one she knew all the nooks and crannies. Still, she kept her head down and her eyes vigilant, watching shadows and paying mind to how far off the howls of Watchmen sounded. A few times, their closeness gave her reason to pause and look around before continuing. Only once did she see a Watchman scout too near for comfort, standing tall and dark against the clouded sky on what used to be a van. The hand on the strap of the Tikhar tightened as a precaution, though she didn’t move. Simply watched and listened as best she could to hear if its pack was nearby, holding her breath so it wouldn’t interfere.

After a minute or two, the scout stepped down and bounded away from her and with no sign of its pack anywhere close by, she let herself breathe again. Once she had the rhythm back, she returned to her journey toward the Library.

The rest of the way was fairly uneventful, her path crossed by small skittering vermin and nothing more exciting. Even the open courtyard of the Library, a danger to any unprepared visitor, was quiet. A quick look around was given as she ascended the stairs with carefully-placed steps, expecting one of the Librarians to be out on a night-time romp. A brisk wind swirling around the pillars of the building was all that greeted her for her efforts, the chill it brought with it penetrating even her thick radiation suit and causing her to shiver.

Volk turned toward the front doors, ornately carved brittle wood that creaked and groaned and threatened to give way as she pushed one of them open. It wobbled unnaturally along its surface, but swung open enough for her to fit through. She shuffled her equipment around as she entered, keeping her armament and her bags separate to avoid entanglement, before pushing the door closed behind her with a gravelly click.

The entry room was a disaster, as it always was. Bookshelves were tossed about and broken, books scattered across the floor (or ground into it in some of the more damaged cases), drifts of snow piled beneath the glass-less windows while ice glistened from the barren frames. Across one of the doors that lead further into the interim was a tangled mass of wood, one of the plants cultivated here; she suspected its canopy was dangling along the walls and ceiling in the upper mezzanines. The room was a shadow of its former self, she knew this only from seeing pictures of it in books ironically taken from its very walls.

Once she assessed she was alone and not in any immediate danger, she changed the filter on her mask and continued in. Her observations of the resident Librarians that lived further in helped her crest the pile of rubble that was a partially collapsed doorway into a smaller antechamber beyond the entry, scurrying over it and slipping with a little wriggling beneath the precariously balanced door frame above. She tried to keep as silent as possible, though the Preved at her back clacked against the fragile wood and hardened plaster mush that kept the haphazard supports from collapsing at the smallest sneeze. Worried, she stopped long enough to scan the room for any company of the mostly-unfriendly kind and, on noticing she was all alone, continued on through.

The room she entered was in better condition than the last, an antechamber by decay alone. The staircase that lead up and still further in was sliced almost neatly in half by a support beam from the roof above, the rest of the structure having collapsed at just such an angle to cover everything from the elements above with little openings between stonework. The bookshelves on both levels of the room and by association their books were still mostly intact, a few destroyed from the caved roof scattered along the rotting flooring. Even with a few books left on the shelves, the room had been picked clean, by her or others. Her target lay further still into the building and she shifted her weaponry again as she ascended the stairs carefully to the final door.

It opened with some resistance, grinding against the floor with a loud squawk. The noise caused her to stop and listen. Although there were no Librarians in the first two rooms to worry about, they were always in the main Library itself and were touchy to foreign noise. Especially one, a big one who towered over her by at least two feet alone and easily dwarfed her by build and weight. She had designated it as male, given its aggressive territorial tendencies, and named it ‘Shit’. He was more than a little picky about noise he couldn’t pinpoint and would rush at whatever the source to confront it. He was the one Volk worried about the most at this point in time.

She listened for a half a minute and when she didn’t hear his battlecry, pushed the door open a little further and slid in. The main hall was a thing of beauty, rows of intact shelves hiding all number of treasures and dangers, the vines from the plants grown in the Library dangling from the ceiling and down the walls as expected. The skylight high above the main floor let a little light in, but not much. She was going to have to rely on spurts of her headlamp and memory to navigate this without running into something meaner than the three Librarians she knew.

Every step was carefully planned and placed, making sure no unusual noise broke the ambiance. It would do no good to draw attention and agitate the inhabitants within the labyrinth of shelves. Making them such only served for them to start setting traps and causing trouble, as told by many other Stalkers who had tried to infiltrate the bastion of knowledge and culture and failed, in one way or the other. It proved Librarians were smarter than the average mutant monster, however, and with her own observances of the creatures, Volk had discovered that they could be reasoned with, so long as it was on their terms.

She entered the shelves in the middle of the main hall, aware of her surroundings on all levels she could. Movement on one wall caught her attention and she looked up out of reflex toward it. There was one of them now, a Librarian she did not recognize hanging from the support framing on one of the mezzanines and pruning leaves from one of the vines. The sight caused her to stop suddenly, accidentally kicking a pile of books amid rubble. Almost immediately after the sound of leathery paper and pieces of masonry clattered into the quiet, the familiar roar sounded. The Librarian at the mezzanine was gone in an instant, disappearing into the shadowy confines of the floors above.

Even if she knew him on relatively decent terms, Shit still scared the crap out of her. As he should, since Librarians were deemed as one of the most dangerous monsters the surface had to offer. Volk felt her stomach drop and her heart stop as the ground thudded to announce the arrival of the big alpha male. She backed up enough to give him space, a thing she had done many times before, like the lightweight flutter of adrenaline flooding her system at remembering he was still an apex predator. She waited for him, squaring herself up and leveling her eyes at where she anticipated his to be.

Shit was a monolith, for sure, nearly filling the entire aisle between bookshelves. He skid to a hard stop against one of them, wobbling the heavy furniture and knocking several books onto the floor in the process. Though her first instinct as a Brahmin Stalker was to catch and retrieve them to preserve their condition, Shit was considerably more pressing. Her eyes found his and she held her ground, her hands away from her weapons. The stare-down was nothing short of a dance of territory and no one brought a gun to a dance.

The massive Librarian rose up on his legs, making himself considerably taller than before and forcing her to crane her head back enough to maintain eye contact with him. After a moment, the lip-flap pulled back to show his teeth in obvious threat, one fist pounding his chest with a roar of his name.

“ssssSSSSSSSSSHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT”

He took a step forward, she took one back. “It’s me.” she replied, calmly but loudly.

His head tilted to one side, then the other, and he unleashed another roar. “yyyyYOOOOOOOOOUU”

“Ja. Me.”

He contemplated the response again, tilting his head one way and then the other before he took a deep breath, loud through the sharkish teeth still showing. She never broke eye contact with him, even when he fell forward on his knuckles again and slammed a fist into the floor so hard, it broke more of the floor tiles and she felt it through the worn concrete. “sssSHIT”

“It’s me.” she repeated, moving her hands up to toward the back straps of the gasmask on her face.

The motion caught his attention and the curiosity caused him to break eye contact and look at the moving hands. There was a brief moment where it registered in either the animal or the logical brain what he’d done. She held her position, hands no longer advancing for her mask and her eyes still facing forward, when he gave up the dance. Everything in her stopped on the spot when he roared at her, his teeth mere inches from her face, and then he turned and fled back around the bookcases.

She was able to track him for a while, the galloping gait tapped out by his knuckles hitting the floor stopping only when he started walking again some ways away. He didn’t sound particularly angry, or at least not angrier than usual, but she would have to keep an ear out for him and an eye for any potential traps he might lay for her in his annoyance at losing the territory battle. She let out a breath she had been holding without realizing and after a quick glance to make sure no other beady eyes were watching nearby, readjusted the Preved again and made her way further into the bookcases, eyes scanning book bindings and ears open to the Library.

Seeing pictures of what the Library had been made her wonder slightly at where the winding maze had come from, even as she traversed through it. Perhaps it was put together by the three big Librarians that frequented this room as a means to confuse prey, human Stalkers and other animals alike, or perhaps it appealed to their better temperament concerning plants and books. The shelves in this portion always seemed to be kept fairly well stocked and the books themselves were in about as decent condition as one could imagine; torn and stained and water-logged in some cases, but still legible in most. Theories of Librarians being human once had some proof here, in the way the labyrinth was kept, and she always found it abjectly fascinating.

She was putting a few books about pre-war economics in her bag when the shadow on the other side of the shelves moved. It made her jump and take a step back to wait and give the encompassing Librarian on the far side some space, trying to catch a glimpse of it through the open slots. The gasp she let loose at realizing it was there spooked the monster just as much as, with a low rumble, it turned and fled. Unusual for a Librarian, for sure, but it proved to her which one she had just encountered; Oops was a giant among Librarians from what little she’d witnessed over the past few years, though she had never seen it in the full open. It tended to hide from view and run rather than challenge. Which was good, because in her mind, nothing that large should be so quiet and if it was an aggressive monster, she would have been dead long ago due to it. Oops’ encounter merely upped her awareness, remembering as she finished settling the books in her bag that if Oops could get so close, another less-timid one could as well.

Slowly and cautiously, she turned the corner, keeping her eyes at a level they could catch any other Librarians looking to surprise her, listening to the shuffling of the creatures in various parts of the building, and taking note the one who had been tending plants before was slowly making its way back to finish the job. It was out of range and wasn’t paying her much mind, so she wouldn’t focus solely on it as she moved into the aisle Oops had been hiding before. The way was empty and with a final look behind her to make sure nothing was sneaking up, she walked down the aisle part way.

Another book of interest to the Brahmin was pulled and slid quietly into her bag, something about the History of..., the last part of the spine smudged in something black. A quick thumb through the pages showed it was still somewhat legible, so it could be useful. She turned her head and stopped when something seemed slightly out of place. The shelves at the end of the aisle moved strangely in her view and after a cursory glance around to make sure she was still alone, she moved forward to investigate.

The disparity was realized when she noticed a shelf behind the one she was focused on, offset a width back and lined so the edges overlapped and made it look like a solid wall from a distance. She couldn’t help the smile that moved across her face behind the mask at seeing it. If the Librarians were the ones moving shelves around in cognitive patterns and making secret passages to trick the eye, they had much better spacial recognition than most people thought. She would have to make note of it to write down later. She mused that she should probably keep a pad of paper and a pencil with her the next time she came to write down more observations of human-like behaviour and comprehension.

The new path was shorter than expected, leading out to the side in an alcove beneath one of the mezzanines. Volk stopped there, looking around carefully and paying especial mind to the pruning Librarian. It stopped on noticing her, looking almost curiously in her direction. However, after a moment of changing attention nearer the front doors, it decided she wasn’t worth it and went back to pruning. She heard Shit huffing around near the doors, a fair clue that the one above saw her as one of his and didn’t want to toy with something he considered family.

Once she was under the edge and nearer the windows on the far wall, she took a moment to look around. It was darker, even with the windows, and she had to flash her light around to see certain details and, more importantly, if there was anyone hiding in the shadows beyond the clouded night’s light. She thought she saw eyes at one point, but bringing the light back to where it was showed an empty hole in the wall instead. She let the light linger there to make sure nothing was waiting to pounce before deciding to move on.

The light beam was dragged across the floor in front of her to the wall opposite the hole, illuminating a door set into it and out of sight without a light to reveal it. She flicked the light off to avoid drawing any attention from nearby Librarians, sending the far wall into darkness, and walked toward it with slow careful steps meant to muffle any noise. The closer she came, the more she saw the door again, materializing out of the darkness. When she was a foot from it, she took care to change her mask’s filter and look around again. Librarians were just as sneaky as she could be, if not moreso. This was their terrain, after all, and they likely knew more than one way to creep up on unsuspecting Stalkers.

The door was an old metal fire-door, not uncommon in buildings like the Library. She held in a laugh as she thought on how such things did little good for the fate that befell Moscow. It was a small joke, something that made her relax enough to put her hand on the bar and push.

It took several good leans into it, but eventually it pulled free from the settled frame and swung inward with some difficulty. The wall and frame groaned worryingly, rust from the crumbling metal frame raining down on her as she passed under it. The concrete landing on the other side was small, made smaller with the door. 

After making sure she was alone in the space she had entered, she grabbed the side of the door and made to push it shut. As soon as it started moving again, what little support it gave to the wall above was disturbed. With the sound of crumbling weakened plaster and the rending crack of rusted metal, the wall above and around the door came crashing down, effectively cutting her off from the place she’d just left. She shielded herself with her arms over her face to protect the mask from any projectiles, hearing and feeling in the concrete landing as the metal fire-door tipped over with a loud clang and fell off the edge of the landing. It hit the ground far below, smacking things on its way down, before she decided to assess her damages.

The filter in her mask was changed again on account of radiated plaster dust choking the air briefly and from the other side of the collapse, she heard Shit roar and stomp his way in the general direction of it. He wouldn’t see her through the rubble of ancient wall and twisted metal, so she turned her attention instead toward the room she had entered. 

The light was flicked back on, charged with a few pumps of the battery, and cast across what used to be a shaft with a spiral staircase moving down into the bowels of the building. She shined the light briefly toward the bottom and through rusted concrete supports that had once been a central column for stairs, she could see the bottom and -inevitably- the door. Not knowing what exactly was below to meet her, she turned the light off again and let her eyes adjust to the grimy darkness.

The stairs seemed fairly intact, at least, and with nowhere else to go, she descended the stairs. Every step was cautious, every nerve alert to the feel of the crumbling stairs beneath her. A few times, she had to jump over gaps, moving a few steps forward quickly on landing to make sure she didn’t bust through and fall. 

She made it to the bottom without much incident, noticing the floor was shimmering. Water, probably from the thaw of ice and snow leaking into the basement of the Library and pooling. Sure enough, when she got close enough to observe the door in better detail in the murk around her, she noticed it was lapping at the edges. She decided not to touch it, as it was not hard to guess it wouldn’t bode well for her if she did. Carefully, she used the door as a bridge, stepping on it to get to less-soggy ground.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the new darkness that was the subfloor space she’d entered. Support pillars that were almost as big as she was rose out of the gloom, defining clear sections around an otherwise wide-open chamber. A few clusters of questionably glowing mushrooms on the floor and walls provided just enough light to accustom herself to, and she concentrated on what she had been told by other Brahmin Stalkers concerning the Library at length to figure her location. It hit her then that she knew where this was. This was an entrance to the Archives, though she would have to find a different way back up top.

She advanced further into the room, looking down as the sound of crinkling and tearing reached her, and grimaced. Even in the dimmest light provided by the bioluminescent fungus, she could see the spines and covers and pages and papers that had been books and folders and cards, stock and organization of a library of any merit. There was something down here that apparently didn’t like paper, given the condition of the partial mush on the floor.

A shuffling further in caused her to stand perfectly still and listen closer. If there were other entities in the Archives with her, she wanted to be perfectly aware of what they were, how many, and where they were coming from. There was something about mutated Librarians told to her by a few of the older Brahmin, creatures that were hulking and nasty in temperament. Probably, they were the ones that had strewn the contents of the Archives about, having none of the care and precision of the Librarians above. That meant they were possibly more animal and less reasonable. With this in mind, she glanced around slowly to take stock of her surroundings and when nothing stood out as threatening, she continued her trek in.

The dim light played tricks on her eyes, causing her to stop every few feet as she navigated the twisted catacombs that were once the Archives. Glimpses of things moving in the peripheral put her immediately on edge, especially when she looked to find nothing there. The soggy ground muffled her footsteps, a sensation that only served to send disgusted shivers up her spine. The squelch of the marsh of soggy pages was like nails on a chalkboard to her. She didn’t want to be down here anymore, she decided. Not if everything truly valuable was scattered on the floor, squishing underfoot.

She had gone a fair ways into the twisting maze of the Archives, keeping an eye out for any stairways that might lead up to the ground floor and musing that it was surprise she hadn’t run into a single one of the mutated Librarians yet when she did. She turned a corner and almost walked into it, it was simply sitting in the path. It was a relief to her that she had found one, having begun to discount the noises she heard being something of less savory existence, like Lurkers or Nosalises. Or her own imagination. The knowledge that there was still something she recognized and knew making sounds made her relax. Maybe they weren’t as difficult to figure out as the stories told. Maybe she could stare it down and get it to leave her alone like most of the others she knew.

The beast was immense. Easily bigger than Shit and scrunched uncomfortably into one of the spaces between support pillars. Even through the gasmask, which filtered a fair bit of odor, she could pick up its pungent stink. The way the skin, colored darkly, sagged in unnatural places and bubbled at equally unnatural angles and made it seem like a grotesque memory, something dredged up from a nightmare. The eyes haunted her, big and gold, partially reflective in the dim light of the mushrooms. There was no intelligence in them, nothing but the cool gaze of a predator who has been waiting patiently for prey to come to its waiting jaws.

It looked at her, the eyes alone almost as big as the palm of her hand, and she looked back at it. Eyes met eyes, and for a second, Volk believed she had managed to calm it with the usual tactic, not that it appeared agitated. If anything, it was regal in its gruesomeness, calm and unmoving. She felt nothing menacing about it, outside its size, and figured that perhaps it was the reason there were no others prowling in her path. 

“Your name is The Matriarch.” she told it, her voice barely a whisper. “You are respected and honored.”

Whether it was that it finally registered her existence or maybe that her voice had disturbed it from a disquieting nap, quiet as she was, giving it a name broke the facade. With a deft speed unexpected of such a large creature, The Matriarch rose upright and pushed through the columns it had nestled between. The concrete crumbled and snapped and it landed close by the Stalker, the unsettlingly human-like screech of a roar emphasized by pounding its fists on the floor. 

Despite not knowing her way, Volk wasted no time and simply ran away from it. You weren’t supposed to run from Librarians, much less turn your back on them, but she felt like this was one exception to the rule. It didn’t matter if she looked at it or not, The Matriarch would kill her either way. This was the feeling she got from it, and she had no intention of proving or disproving the theory with such wild aggression shown.

Drawing on her own reflexes to move out of the way of obstacles that rose from the gloom in front of her, her feet occasionally slipping on the slick floor covering, she kept a wary eye on the walls around her, flicking on her light when she found she saw nothing. It didn’t matter whether or not she was seen by anything, the one thing she worried about was rattling along behind her, screaming in raw anger at her existence. Dark shapes darted in and out of the corridors and alcoves and accessible rooms, she assumed they were other Archive Librarians, making a bid for their own for safety from the rampaging monster. Too bad hers was still not in sight.

She felt a swipe at her back, didn’t dare turn to look when it scratched the metal of the Preved still hanging there, the strap tightened to keep it out of the way. She didn’t look back, kept looking for a way out, and didn’t see the broken threshold on the floor. It caught her boot, sent her sprawling through rotten putrid papers and books, and in her panic, she drew on everything she had. Both the human ... and the animal.

One of her hands reached out to try to stop her from skidding, catching a jutting tile edge through the mash of paper beneath her, using her faltered grip to pull her around and up. Her boots gripped into the messy floor and as she spin around, the light illuminated another one of the staircases leading to the main Library above. As she turned, however, she saw The Matriarch barreling through the corridor behind her, its mouth wide in a roar and its eyes shining deviously. It froze her for half a second, long enough for the creature to pull an arm back for another swing. Instinct took over and despite herself, she leaped sideways into the stairwell and ascended it on all fours as far as she could before using her legs.

Maybe she thought that leaving the Archives would settle The Matriarch down enough she could get away without further incident, but clearly, she had underestimated the thing’s territorial rage. Such a shrieking retaliatory fit at being disturbed paled Shit by comparison, making the big alpha Librarian look timid, especially since Shit would never actively pursue an intruder into another alpha’s territory.

The stairwell echoed with the sounds of the deep angry roar and that of crumbling concrete and the screech of metal supports, and a quick glance down proved her fear to be true. The big Archive Librarian had bashed its way after her and was trying to follow her up the shaft, the vibrations of both howl and force of strength cascading chunks of the narrow space on them both. Not that it slowed the monster below her with its twisted caricature in any way, huffing after her and occasionally taking a good clean strike when she was in range as she scrambled over holes in the stairs and the rubble of others from above.

Halfway up, she turned to face The Matriarch, feeling her heart drop through her stomach at how close it was. Reflex made her jump to avoid the sweeping deformed claw that reached for her, pulling the Tikhar to aim between its eyes. Normally, she would never aim a weapon at a Librarian, but this was self-preservation now, The Matriarch proved it couldn’t be reasoned with. Though she felt a respect for it still, it was no different from a Watchman in the streets outside.

The ball hit its mark or at least close to it, the beast losing its grip on the walls and stairs and falling backward. She took a moment to settle the rifle back at her side out of the way and change her filter, gasping through burning in her lungs that was not just breathlessness. She took a moment to catch her breath again, and was standing up to continue her ascent when a deep groan resonated in the stairwell, raising in volume and intensity to that terrible roar.

The bearing had only stunned the beast, not killed it, but she had no time to think on it when the black arm wrapped itself around the steps she was standing on and forced her backward. One foot fell into empty space between the stairs, her hand flailing for balance coming in contact with the grid frame for what had been a concrete pillar up the center of the shaft, and she wasted no time in swinging herself around and using that to scale the distance between stair pieces. 

The Matriarch had found purchase, staring at her from under the platform as she landed on the other side before pulling itself up and resuming the chase. She barely heard it anymore, her ears ringing with the flood of panicked adrenaline in her system, her heart pounding in her chest, and the lightheaded breathlessness. The final stretch of the stairs was finally in view, as was the vile hand that gripped the side of the upper tier as she passed it, barely missing her by mere centimeters. Never before had a door on the surface of Moscow looked so inviting.

She crashed through it with reckless abandon, the wooden barrier ornately carved and heavy. Had she been in her right mind, she would have admired how well it stood up to irradiated time, but she wasn’t. The situation didn’t call for it. She did, however, slam the door shut as soon as she exited, the main chamber of the Library echoing with it.

She was shaking fiercely with the overflow of adrenaline as the barrier moved and blocked out the sight and sound of the Archive Librarian what was still ascending the stairs beyond, sweat mingling with tears behind the mask’s face plate as she wheezed to catch her breath. She put her back to the door in an attempt to calm down, hoping with everything that not seeing her or knowing she was there would end the pursuit. Knowing she had almost died below, and in the stairwell. It was a miracle she was in one piece and hadn’t lost bags or equipment, and it was just enough to make her decide to leave the Library alone for a while.

She heard the familiar roar of Shit as he heard the noise from the door, caught sight of Aha not far from her. Strangely, Aha wasn’t making a move of aggression toward her, standing across the alcove with its head tilted, its fangs showing. But not at her. She stared at the Librarian quizzically for a second before it occurred to her.

It was looking at the door.

The first blow boomed in the small alcove, the crack of splintering wood audible and Aha taking a step or two forward with a roar of threat of its own. Volk pushed herself to run, getting to her feet. One step, she saw Shit gracefully crest the top of one of the labyrinth’s bookcases and come running in full battle mode. 

The door exploded into the Library with such a noise it made her ears ring instantly. The force of it hit her, as well as most of the door itself, a fair chunk of the wood slamming her hard enough to send her flying a fair ways from the fight for territory. It toppled her head over heels, her face meeting the tile floor with a sickening crack as the acrylic all but shattered. She was vaguely aware she had taken some of the wood with her, felt the slight tingle of radiated air against the skin, the odd sensation of knowing large splinters of the door were embedded in her back and arms and legs, but being too much in shock to feel the pain or care.

The world was a blur through a cracked lens, hollow and far away from her, the trickle of moon’s light through the windows illuminating both Aha and Shit beating and scratching and biting something nearly twice their size, trying to pummel it back to where it came from or kill it trying. She heard none of it, could barely concentrate on the intricacies of any of it. Had surrendered herself to what she took was the creeping cold of death. The fight was over. She lost, slowly beginning to close her eyes.

Something blotted out the light from a window near her. It was big, whatever it was, and distracted her long enough from her fate to put together that there was one more Librarian left unaccounted for. That or this was a very awkward angel come to take her to whatever afterlife was in store for her. 

It moved toward her slowly, shyly. A hand reached forward, carefully patting the side of her head before it and its twin gently lifted her up and settled her along one arm. She could feel it through the tears in the suit, the roughened warm skin of the arm. It was soft to her, it was safe overall. The muffled angry roarings were disregarded for this, though there was one final glimpse of the battle scene. Shit was winning, Aha was nursing itself.

She saw everything else through snippets of fleeting consciousness. Her saviour bolted through the Library. Through a window. Across the courtyard. The moon was pretty, it was peeking out again. Moscow was cold. The car at the base of the stairs was too, she could feel it, but not the splinters yet. She longed for that warm arm again, the glimpse of sympathetic green eyes watching from around the statue. A roar here, a roar there, squealing of some small nuisance or another. She should really change her filter, she couldn’t reach her filters. She could barely bend a pinky, couldn’t move at all. The green eyes glowed as the moon hid behind the clouds again. A flashlight’s beam on the statue, no more eyes. The light on her, washing the broken face plate with white. Human hands, reaching for the tag around her neck, checking her pulse. They were chilly, there was more than one here. Muffled voices, the filter changed thank God, being lifted off the car. Humans were not as careful, but they were friends. Green eyes, green eyes. Green, hopeful, caring eyes. 

Oops. Darkness.

#Metro 2033 #Metro OC #rated for copious amounts of librarians

[thecalamitywitchalessandra]

Bold what your muse likes, italicise what they hate. If they’re indifferent, leave as-is.  

Repost - don’t reblog

Tagged by: @ask-thedepressedkidatthetable

Tagging: @samuraiofice @tandemxri @devrim-the-iron-chain-automaton @thehuntersinstinct @honor-and-humanity @volk-vin-hellsing @lady-silver-hair

Taste:  Sweet | Salty | Bitter | Umami | Sour | Chocolate | Bacon | Vegetables | Fruit | Berries | Carrots | Cake | Cookies | Pretzels | Pasta | Tomatoes | Applesauce | Sauerkraut | Pickles | Olives | Potatoes | Ice Cream | Pineapple | Pineapple on pizza | Fish | Beef | Garlic | Spinach | Mushrooms | Cheese | Milk | Juice | Marmite | Beetroot | Anchovies | Gefilte Fish| Peppers | Wholewheat bread | Marshmallows | Mango | Broccoli | Peanut butter | Nutella | Mint and chocolate | Cashew nuts | Tofu | Brussels sprouts | Grape flavor

Touch: Soft | Rough | Smooth | Sticky | Slimy | Hot | Cold | Damp | Wet | Clammy | Coarse | Fur | Velvet | Silk | Lace | Hot metal | Cold metal | Paper | Plastic | Bubble wrap | Wool | Wood | Tree bark | Hot asphalt | Leaves | Wicker | Sand | Rocks | Rough rocks | Smooth rocks | Hair | Skin | Tight hugs | Gentle hugs | Lip kisses | Skin kisses | Holding hands | Rough touches | Gentle touches | Scratches | Bites | Sunlight | Light sheets | Thick blankets | Baggy clothes

Scent: Flowers | Sea water | Chocolate | Fish | Cooking onions | Cleaning products | Citrus | Lemons | Grapefruit | Oranges | Rain | Freshly cut grass | Wet dirt | Wood | Cologne | Perfume | Fire | Smoke | Gasoline | Tires | Paint | Chlorine | Pools | Fresh bread | Cooking bacon | New books | Coffee | Linen | Vanilla | Cinnamon | New car | Coconut | Sunscreen | Nail polish | Mint | Cigarette smoke | Leather

Sound: Loud sounds | High pitched sounds | Low pitched sounds | Quiet sounds | Loud voices | Soft voices | High voices | Deep voices | Morning voice | Snoring | Rain on windows | Fire crackle | Crickets | Frogs | Typing on a keyboard | Horse hooves on gravel | High heels | Laughter | Deep laughter | Giggling | Purring | Dog bark | Howling | Car engine | Distant chatter | Bird chirps | Classical music | Pop music | Folk music | Rock music | Country music | Klezmer music | Violin | Piano | Frying food | Nails tapping

Sight: Red | Orange | Yellow | Green | Blue | Purple | Pink | Black | White | Silver | Gold | Shiny | Dull | Shapes | Orange lighting | Natural lighting | Seaside scenery | Forest scenery | Field scenery | Patterns | Clear skies | Cloudy skies | Night time | Day time | Sunrise | Sunset | Stain glass windows | Old buildings | Stone buildings | Wood cabins | Spring | Summer | Fall | Winter | Brick buildings | Moss | Flowers | Gardens | Hedge mazes | Corn mazes | Lakes | Rivers

[coloneljamesmoriarty]

Something a bit cuter (hopefully?) to make up for the last thing I wrote. <3

Verena stills suddenly as she circles their camp, making Bradford freeze as well. She’d caught the scent of something and nowadays that usually wasn’t a good sign.

He rests a hand on his gun. “ADVENT?” he asks quietly.

Verena takes a moment longer to sniff the air, then looks back at him. “No. Nothing dangerous,” she says. Without explaining further she starts off into the woods, only pausing once she’s gone as far as she can go without him.

He should call her back, berate her for trying to head back off into the woods when it’s starting to get dark, but he knows she’s smart. She wouldn’t take any risks without good reason to. He hides his bag under a log and follows her.

They travel through the trees with Verena constantly at the outermost range of what they can bear. She occasionally pauses to catch the scent again, but by the time he’s almost caught up she bounds off into the brush again.

After nearly ten minutes she rushes forward despite the pain, forcing Bradford to run straight through some bushes to catch up. When he does, Verena is already trotting back to him with her quarry in her maw.

It takes him a moment to process the clump of feathers hanging delicately from her mouth.

“Premysl?” he asks incredulously. He drops to a knee and ghosts a hand over the bird’s form. It was definitely a Eurasian Sparrowhawk which had no business being in North America, especially with the decline of prey. As beaten and bloodstained as it was, he was sure he recognized the slight pattern on wings.

The bird was, unfortunately, passed out and unable to respond.

Verena presses against his side and leads them back to their camp.

He wakes in the morning not to the sound of Verena growling in warning, but instead to the feel of cool feathers nestling against his chest. He rolls onto his back, which earns an angry chirp from the bird.

“Don’t move,” he chirps softly. Tentatively, Bradford rolls back onto his side. Verena joins them, flopping down on the other side of the sparrowhawk.

“Are you alright?”

Přemysl shakes his head.

“Can you fly, at least? We need to get moving soon.”

He’s quiet for a moment, seemingly taking stock of his being. “Wing hurts, leg hurts, I think a rib is cracked,” he says.

Verena presses her nose gently into the feathers at the base of his neck. “Sorry about the wing. I tried to be gentle.”

Přemsyl chirps again, sounding almost like a laugh.

After a moment’s hesitation, Bradford gently places his hand on Přemysl’s back and scratches his feathers. The action draws a satisfied huff from the bird.

It’s a delicate topic for all three of them, but it is one that must be broached. Bradford would rather have the conversation on the road, where no one could overhear and question them than anywhere else.

“Is she nearby?” he asks, turning his head just enough to glance at the bird on his shoulder.

Přemysl seems to deflate in the corner of his vision. “We’ve been separated. Entirely,” he says quietly.

“What did they do to you?”

Claws dig into his shoulder nervously. “The only thing that matters now is that she’s in this spacesuit thing. It separated us, and I fled,” Přemysl explains. He glances down at Verena to gauge their feelings before adding, “I don’t know if she felt it. They forced their way into her head. She’d been mind controlled since home was attacked.”

Bradford pauses for a step at that. He’d thought it odd that the aliens had attacked Pilsen only a couple weeks after their base had fallen, but if it was specifically to break her will then it suddenly made a lot more sense. He lifts his hand up and scratches Přemysl’s belly.

“Is she somewhere we can find her?” he asks, continuing on their way to the nearest haven.

“I flew north for nearly two months before I found landmarks that I recognized. And that was - what? - nearly three years ago? If they’re smart, they’ll move her somewhere else.”

“And you’ve been alone all this time?” Verena asks, looking up at them.

The sparrowhawk nods weakly.

“You’ve got us now, Premysl,” Bradford assures, offering a few more scratches.

He presses into the hand and chirps. “Přemek,” he says quietly. “She’d want you to call me Přemek.”

“John!” Volk greets, dragging the man into a hug. “It’s been too long. Good to see you too, Verena.” He offers a piece of jerky to the wolfdog who scarfs it down eagerly.

It’s no use fighting, so he allows the hug to happen for as long as Volk wants it. “Volk, Nadya,” he greets, nodding to the man and eagle in turn. “I’ve been hearing more rumors of your exploits lately. Your Reapers are making quite the name for yourselves.”

“You’ll have to tell me what those stories have become. I hope they make us out to be as terrifying as ADVENT seems to think we are,” he laughs. He grabs his shoulder and starts to pull him into the base. “Come on, let’s have a couple drinks.”

“Actually, there’s something-”

Before he can finish his thought, Nadya takes off from Volk’s shoulder and into the sky. They both look up, and Bradford whistles before anything can get out of hand.

Přemysl lands on his outstretched arm, far gentler than he’d seen him land on the Commander’s arm when descending from the same height. Nadya lands back on Volk’s shoulder a moment later.

The two bird squawk angrily at each other. For being a fraction of the size of the eagle, Přemysl was more than capable of cowing Nadya.

Volk takes a step back at the appearance of the other daemon and gets Nadya to quiet down. “What is that thing?” he asks, eyeing the sparrowhawk.

Bradford rests a hand on Přemysl’s back, feeling him quiver. “This is Premysl, Tatiana’s daemon,” he explains. “He’s part of the reason I’m here.”

Volk’s gaze travels between him, Verena, and Přemysl, eventually settling on the hand on the bird’s back. “I hope you have a better explanation than that as to why he’s here. That’s unnatural,” he says.

Přemysl chirps softly and hops up onto his shoulder. “We’ll explain, but it’s probably best done while we’re both still sober. And assuming he and Nadya can get along,” Bradford says.

“She’ll behave as long as he can,” Volk says, glancing between the daemons. He turns and gestures for them to follow.

Movement like lightning catches his attention out of the corner of his eye, and Bradford turns just in time to see Premysl tear the throat out of an ADVENT trooper.

“I thought I told you to stay on the Avenger?” he tells Přemysl as he circles back around to land on his shoulder.

“And stay away from her any longer?” he scoffs. “I’ve waited twenty years for this.”

“If anything happens to you here, she’ll never forgive us,” Verena adds helpfully.

Přemysl just squawks in response.

They continue on into the clinic with Kelly covering them. He can feel Přemysl practically quivering on his shoulder, and he can only hope it’s from excitement and not anything else. He might be at more risk of dying from a heart attack than from ADVENT.

“That’s her,” he says as the cover on the tank slides open. “It even still has one of my claw marks on it.”

He doesn’t need telling twice, so he breaks the glass and brings the Commander home.

When she finally wakes, days after Operation Gatecrasher, she can’t push herself up even if she wanted to. Přemysl has tucked himself under her chin and stretched his wings across her shoulders, as if more contact would make up for the twenty years separated. Verena also lies spread across her chest, relaxed but still ready to leap up should she need to defend them.

“Přemek?” she asks, voice crackling. He presses himself more firmly into the crook of her neck. She brings a hand up to scratch his back, bumping into Verena on the way. “You act like you haven’t seen me in years.”

“He hasn’t,” Verena says. “It’s a long story.”

She glances down at Verena, then over to Bradford. He offers her a sheepish smile and begins to explain what the world has come to.

“You two don’t need to keep your relationship a secret, you know,” Shen says casually before Bradford can leave engineering. She glances over her shoulder to see him stunned still. “I mean, you kind of do a terrible job at hiding it, if you’re even trying to do that. And everyone who was here before Gatecrasher assumed as much already.”

Silence hangs between them for a moment. “Excuse me?” he stutters.

Shen turns to face him and even her otter pops his head up from the edge of his container of water. “Premysl perches on you almost more than he does the Commander, and Verena all but begs for her to pet her,” she explains flatly.

“The rest of the crew is more concerned about how openly affectionate you two are than how Premysl and the Commander have been severed. And most of them have seen that they’ve been severed with their own eyes,” the otter adds when neither he nor Verena respond. He splashes Verena’s nose, if only to draw a reaction from them.

Fortunately, before he’s forced to think of anything to say, Přemysl swoops into engineering and lands on his shoulder. He chirps something softly into his ear. “I need to go,” he says firmly.

Shen and her daemon only shoot him a knowing smile before turning back to their work.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Premek,” he grumbles once they’re out of earshot. “You and the Commander both.”

#my writing #premek is about half a pound 13 inches long and with a 25 inch wingspan #nadya is going to be around 11 pounds #maybe more who knows #xcom