#he was a NIGHTMARE as an infant with crate training | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

multiplefandomfics · 3 years

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Pairing: Bucky x Stark!reader

Warnings: angst, soft smut, fluff, fighting

Words: 2862

“Y/N? Where are you?” no response.

“Friday? Would you be so kind as to tell me where my little sister is running around?”

“Of course, boss. She is currently sitting in the garden, reading a book.”

“Thanks Friday.”

Tony headed out to talk to his sister.

“There you are. Please come inside. We have to talk.”

“Alright. I’m coming.” you smiled up at your big brother.

He was everything to you. Y/N had been born in 1990 and had not exactly been planned. A year later your parents had died and Tony was left alone with an infant. Fortunately he was wealthy enough to have nannies looking after you as long as he was still in college.

But the time you did spend together was thoroughly enjoyed. Everytime he was home he took you to the zoo, swimming or you just celebrated your lives.

All in all Tony Stark was the best brother anyone could have wanted.

Then he was kidnapped and became Iron Man. And Y/N was in the middle of it all. Tony tried to keep you away from it all but that didn’t work very well. You had begged him time and time again to make a suit for you too but he refused. Fortunately you were as technically talented as he was, copied Tony’s files for his suit, made some modifications and built it.

Yours was purple and silver instead of red and gold and it had some other nice gadgets which would probably prove useful.

When you took the first flying test outside the tower you didn’t really care that you were probably going to get caught.

And of course the moment you landed again Tony busted you.

“Y/N. What were you thinking? You could have gotten hurt.” he was worried.

“But I didn’t. You really have very little trust in my abilities. I flew didn’t I? And I used your plans and software. I even have Friday on my ears at all times.” you rolled your eyes at your brother.

“I can’t decide if I should be angry or proud.” he muttered. “I trust you and your skills but please let me ease my conscience and have a look over your work before you go flying again.” he asked.

“Alright, if that calms you down, sure.” you smiled and hugged your brother.

“So what is this about?” you asked him.

“I am throwing a party tonight to celebrate taking down the hydra base and recovering the scepter.” he beamed.

“And I am invited?”

“Of course. Wear something nice.” he instructed and left you alone in the entryway.

Y/N prepared half the afternoon for the spectacle and looked your best when evening rolled around. You hung at the bar with Natasha and Bruce, let Thor and Rhodey tell their war stories and sat around the table while everyone tried to lift Mjölnir and failed miserably.

Then suddenly a mangled Iron legion droid came walking through the door saying strange stuff and ending up attacking everyone. You were just so able to jump behind the bar and duck down. After that you promised yourself that you would never feel that helpless again. You wanted to be in the thick of it all.

When the dust settled everyone was really confused. The peacekeeping program Ultron had “killed” Jarvis and taken off into the world wide web.

“What did just happen?” Rhodey asked while Thor was on the way searching for Ultron.

After a battle with Ultron and the Maximoff twins, where everyone seemed to have lost their minds at one point or another and the Hulk destroying half a town while Tony tried to stop him, you made it out alive and had to disappear and landed with Clint’s family.

You stayed there for a while and then left for Seol to retrieve the crate with the human print inside.

In the end you had a new addition to the team and a devastating fight against machines in Sokovia.

Everyone was upset after that. Sokovia was destroyed, many civilians had died and Hulk was MIA. Thor left too to shine some light onto the appearances of the infinity stones.

You stayed at the newly built compound to start your official training with Vision, Wanda and Sam.

Some time later things escalated in Lagos with Rumlow and a biological weapon. After that everyone was suddenly afraid of Wanda although she was just as scared.

A day later you were walking through the hallways, passing some office and conference rooms on your way to the gym. You were lost in thought when you heard your brother's voice. At first you wanted to storm in and surprise him but then you heard him talking.

“She isn’t actually my sister, Steve. She’s my daughter. Y/N is my daughter. I’ve never told anyone before I couldn’t-” the rest was not heard by Y/N because you had dropped your towel and run towards your room.

The next few days you just couldn’t face your father. That was so strange to think. You never said it out loud. Y/N felt so betrayed. Why did he never tell you? Of course he had been relatively young when you were born but he still could have been honest with you. Did he not want to be seen as your father? Were you such a disappointment? And over all of that stood the question after your mother. Who was she? What happened to her? Why did she not want to meet you? All those thoughts rushed through your brain and you couldn’t stop the nagging feeling that Tony didn’t want to admit the truth to you because you weren’t worth it.

The bad thoughts did not leave you alone anymore. You had nightmares and isolated yourself from everyone during the days.

Although everyone was constantly asking you what was wrong, you couldn’t tell them.

Until the day Natasha and Pepper waltzed into your room, overriding Friday’s authority.

“Hey Y/N. We noticed that you have been by yourself a lot lately, not letting anyone in anymore. So tell us, what is going on with you? You know you can trust us.” Pepper added the last part after seeing you hesitating. And finally you caved in.

“I overheard Tony and Steve talk a few days ago. He said something I need time to process for.”

“What did he say that shocked you so much?” Nat asked.

“All my life I thought he was my brother. He’s been my rock. We went through thick and thin and then I find out that he lied to me all these years.”

“What do you mean he’s not your brother?” Nat pressed further.

“He told Steve that he’s actually my father.” the girls looked at you dumbfounded and it got eerie quiet.

“You sure you heard that right?”

“Of course I am sure. I’m not deaf!” you said a little enraged.

“And I gather you have not talked to him about it yet, have you?” Pepper had a calming nature especially when she put her hand on Y/N arm.

“No I haven’t. I couldn’t. What if it is somehow my fault that he didn’t tell me? What if he doesn’t consider me good enough to be his daughter?” you started to sob quietly.

“Hey, look at me Y/N. If anything it is the other way around. Under all that confident exterior he is actually very insecure and I am sure that he just didn’t want you to be disappointed to have him as a father.” Pepper ensured you.

“You really think so?” you sniffed looking up at her.

“I do. You should talk to him.” she encouraged you.

“Maybe I should tell him that I know and see how he reacts.”

But before you could go forward with your plan Friday alerted you and Nat to come to the conference room because the Secretary of defense had arrived to talk about something

The fights in Sokovia and Lagos had been PR nightmares and the government and the UN did not want to stand by anymore. The Avengers had to bow to the law and sign the Sokovia accords or they would be forced to retire. They were given a few days to think about it and talk this through.

After long discussions the team split in two. Which led to the situation at hand.

Your dad had grounded you together with Wanda after you had voiced your opinion that you thought Steve was right. Well, when Clint came to pick up Wanda you stuck to them and flew to Germany. Steve was kinda surprised when he saw you get out of the car at the airport but he thought you were old enough to make your own decisions.

Well, it ended in a really bad fight in the middle of the runway. In the end you made it out with Steve and Bucky and flew to Siberia under Steve's protest.

“So you’ve been Steve’s friend since childhood, hm?” you asked Bucky while still in the air.

“Yep. Known him forever. And you are Stark’s kid?” he asked back.

“So Steve told you. Yes it seems to be true although my whole life I thought he was my big brother. He lied to me so I’m not very happy with him at the moment. Kicking his ass has been a nice change for once.” you smiled at Bucky sadistically.

“You are a sick little thing, doll!” he laughed out loud.

You landed not much later but you had to admit the crush that had already developed towards Bucky.

And then Zemo happened and that stupid tape.

Were you the only one wondering why the hell there was a security camera in the middle of nowhere on an abandoned street exactly at that point where your grandparents car was forced to crash? And all that in the early 90’s?

Tony did not want to think rationally at that point so he started a fight against Steve and Bucky. You stood by. Too in shock to do anything. The only thing you knew was that it was not Bucky’s fault your grandparents had died but hydras.

You snapped out of your trance when Tony shot Bucky’s arm off. Then it was your moment to jump between your dad and Steve.

“Stop it, dad! Think for one moment!” he was startled for a moment because he wasn’t used to hearing you say that.

“You know?” he asked and his helmet slid back.

“Yes, I do. I overheard you and Steve the other day.” you spoke silently. “Sorry I did not talk about this with you earlier but I was just so upset about the fact that you didn’t tell me. Am I such a disappointment that you thought I wasn’t good enough to be your daughter?” you asked him with tears in your eyes.

“What? Of course not! You, Y/N, are the best thing that has ever happened to me. It was me who felt not man enough to be your dad. In the beginning when you suddenly appeared on my doorstep I panicked and thought I could have never lived up to the responsibility of a father. So I became your fun big brother to save you and me from disappointment. At some point I just felt that I had missed the point of telling you without the fear of consequences. So I stuck with the lie. I never meant to hurt you and I hope you can forgive me. I love you so much.”

That explanation was enough for you to jump into your fathers arms and hug him close.

“I love you 3000, dad. And can we now please get out of here? Bucky doesn’t deserve to die. Can you maybe see that he was controlled and hates himself as much for what Hydra made him do as you hate him? He is actually a really nice guy and like a brother to Steve and you know Steve, would he have bad friends? Also Buck needs help, physical and psychological. So please dad let us help him. He’s a war hero after all.” you finished your plaidoyer.

Your dad just stared at you but in the end took a deep breath and said: “let’s get home. I can’t do anything here.”

Outside you met King T’Challa who was holding Zemo in his grasp. He was gonna bring him to the CIA and then fly home to bury his father. He also promised to help with Bucky’s recovery because Wakanda had the most advanced technology to heal anything.

For months you stayed in Wakanda, which was pretty beautiful by the way, to maybe help Bucky recover step by step.

That’s also how you became close. You went for walks and to his therapy sessions together. The latter also because you thought you could use some talking about your life too.

At first he had wanted to go back into cryo but you had convinced him that that wasn’t necessary. In the beginning your dad had called you everyday to check in but he had stopped after a particularly annoyed outburst on your side.

“Bucky you alright?” you asked him one night after he had come home from his private session with Ayo.

When you saw his face you noticed the big tears leaking down his face.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” you asked scared this time.

Without saying a word he just walked up to you hugging you close to his chest and kissing you intently.

“You know how much I love you, right?” he whispered.

“Of course. but what happened with Ayo that has you this shaken?” you were persistent.

“I’m free, baby. She said all the trigger words and nothing happened. I’m free.” he repeated as if not believing it himself yet.

You started crying, too at that moment. You knew how much that meant to him, hell how much it meant to you. He had full control of his life back.

“I’m so proud of you babe. You deserve this so much. The past is finally behind you and we can start into a new future.”

“I love you.” he whispered into your hair and started kissing down your neck.

“Oh, okay. So that’s where you are going. Hmm, I like that. But let’s go inside first.”

You pushed him backwards until you reached the hut and inside your bed. You pushed him down and straddled his lap. He grabbed the seams of your blouse and tore it down the middle so the buttons flew in every direction.

“Someone is needy, hm?” you whispered while grinding down on his boner.

“Need you so bad.” he murmured

“You know I would give you everything. Come and take what you want. I swear I won’t break.” you kissed him intensely again before he threw you around and you landed with your back on the mattress.

The next thing he did was rid you both of your clothing. The look on his face was absolutely feral.

“Need to breed you baby. Fuck a baby in you.” he groaned and your pussy clenched around nothing.

“Gotta prepare you first.” he slurred just as he pushed a finger into your dripping wet cunt.

And the moment his tongue touched your aching clit you came with a cry. But he didn’t stop there. No. He kept on flicking your nub with his tongue and added a second finger to stretch your walls for his girth.

“Getting you nice and wet, baby.” he moaned. When he hit that particular spot you arched your back and pushed your pussy further into his face. It didn’t take long for you to come again. You drenched his face in your juices which he happily licked off of his face.

He climbed up your body and on the way nipped at your breasts and left hickies on your neck.

“I can’t hold on any longer. Gotta be inside you.” those words were the last warning before he breached your entrance and pushed his massive length inside your tight channel.

“Oh, fuck Bucky. So big. Shit.” you moaned loudly which seemed to spur him on.

He pummeled into you with all the force he could muster.

His blissed out face was all you ever wanted to see again.

His rhythm got erratic. You put your hand in his hair and coaxed him “Let go baby. We’ll be fine. I love you so much.”

That was all it took for him to lose it and he spilled deep inside you.

He collapsed on top of you and then rolled to the side, not to crush you. You winced when he pulled out.

“That was amazing.” you breathed out. “Yeah. Best sex I ever had.” he agreed.

You two lovebirds spent 6 more weeks in Wakanda. Then Bucky got his vibranium arm and you left Wakanda to go back to New York. No matter what you told yourself, you did miss your dad.

But you definitely promised to come back every time you got the chance.

#marvel #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #Steve Rogers #tony stark #fluff #fanfic #Smut #angst #wakanda #age of ultron #civil war #multi fandom

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maxparkhurst · 3 years

Text

SHADOW’S WARMTH

It was cold outside. Winter’s frost fogged the stained-glass window and only shadows cast from the fragmented light broke the chamber’s monotonous sprawl. Despite all his layers, Augustine shivered. He adjusted the crate of potions in his arms, vials chiming in alarm, and followed his sister through the Cathedral’s entry arch. Their echoing footfalls heralded their path through the pews. His steps sounded far off, muted beneath the dull buzz in his head. Fatigue nestled itself in the space between his shoulder blades, sickly sweet as it pulled the muscles taut. It made his arms quake beneath the weight of their delivery. He wasn’t sure when this sudden case of shakes began or if it’d ever leave.

Augustine kept his gaze trained on the small of Max’s back. Unlike some, he found no solace in the home of the Light. If anything those cold, empty pews sent a shiver down his spine. To believe in fate written by a sole force was to revoke one’s own agency in the coming of destiny. If he were to believe in anything, he believed in their work and the help it’d provide to those less fortunate. Thus, instead of raising his eyes to the angelic depictions splayed on stained glass he turned to his mentor for guidance.

Max walked with the same composure she always possessed. Those unaccustomed to her measured smile and level voice found his sister to be enigmatic. They approached her with wary eyes and shifting feet. Such was the case with the deacon who met them half-way.

“Master Parkhurst.” He dipped his head to Max, wringing his hands within the trenches of his belled sleeves. A pleasant, albeit weary, smile touched his lips when he turned to Augustine. “And son?”

Augustine mustered a meager grin. He wondered if it looked as fake as it felt.

“Apprentice,” Max corrected. She inclined her head to the deacon as she breathed a laugh. There wasn’t any emotion placed in the gesture. As with most things, the laugh was for display only. Something to fill the silence and lighten the air. “It’s good to see you in good health, Brother Matthews.”

Brother Matthews shifted on his heels, sending ripples through the hem of his diaconal vestments. Augustine imagined those flowing robes should bring a modicum of comfort to his restless soul. Quite the contrary. The gentleman hardly filled them out. Only the knobs of his shoulders poked through the dense fabric. Everything else? Lost beneath yards of cloth.

The deacon doesn’t wear the robes, he drowns in them.

“As good as I can be in these troubling times,” Brother Matthews chittered, running his fingers through an already thinning hair line.

His scalp visible through wisps of hair startled Augustine. This deacon could only be a few years older than him. Yet here this gentleman stood with less hair than perhaps what he started with at the beginning of the year. Stress must’ve aged him. Augustine grimaced and stole a glance up at his own locks. Had he faith in some deity, he’d pray to keep his hair once everything finally settled.

“...the potions?”

Augustine blinked. In his tired stupor, he missed the deacon’s question. The beginnings of a crimson blush crept up his neck as he scrambled for an answer. Luckily, Max stepped in.

“Yes,” she mused, coaxing the crate from Augustine’s grip, “They are.” She adjusted it in her arms, rattling the vials inside, and dipped her head to Brother Matthews. “If you’ll lead the way, Brother?”

Brother Matthews looked between the siblings before obliging with a nod.The hem of his robes fluttered as he drifted down the row of pews, looking almost spectral in the waning light. He paused at a stairwell’s threshold and beckoned. “This way…” he murmured.

Max stole a glance up at Augustine. Concern glistened in her eye as they made their descent down into the church’s underbelly. He tried to dissuade her skepticism with a forced smile. It merited a quirked brow followed by humoring silence. She hastened to fall in step with the deacon, lowering her voice so that they may converse in private. It suited Augustine just fine. If anything, he appreciated the momentary solitude. It allowed his thoughts to settle for the first time in over a week.

Has it really only been a week?

Augustine hugged his shoulders. He felt as if he lived two life times while toiling through this whole mess. With the brisk shake of his head, he dismissed the thought. Instead, he focused his gaze on the cobble stone and counted each step down into the lower levels. Only the faint glow cast from torches illuminated the long stretch of shadows. Each step deeper in the darkened veil seemed to put the deacon on edge. His shoulders buckled. His steps quickened. And he wouldn’t stop stealing suspicious glances at them over his shoulders.

For someone as old as you, Augustine mused, You shouldn’t be so scared of the dark.

Augustine simply didn’t understand. He grew more at ease the further from the Light they traveled. Warmth from the torches’ flames started to seep into his chilled bones. His arms slid down to hug his stomach as he cocked his head back, feeling the cobblestone walls brush against his shoulders. Small and dark. He closed his swollen eyes and heaved a sigh. Memories, vague and diluted images, lapped against the foreground of his scattered thoughts. The touch of fire… Press of stone… Long, dark shadows… If he let it, the memory could wash over him. Swallow him whole and cast him far from this cold, hellish nightmare. Send him to a simpler time. A time when he was small. And all he had to worry about was the next page read from Max’s lips as they nestled in the corner of their father’s forge.

He could be there if he fed the memory. Let it grow and consume his waking thoughts. All he needed to do was stoke its flame.

But there was work to be done…

He pushed the memory aside and opened his eyes. The stairwell led down into a hewn stone chamber. Smaller than the Cathedral’s grand hall but bigger than their apartment. Perhaps at some point it housed their clergy’s tomes and relics. Now bedrolls dominated what little space was available. Families huddled atop these meager homes, each in a different stage of misery. Some were mourning. Some were frightened. And some simply watched him pass with a blank stare.

Augustine paused and canted his head. A voice lifted in song. His heart ached from how sweet it sounded. He tossed a way-ward glance over his shoulder, watching as the deacon joined Max in offloading vials onto a workman’s table. They’d be fine without him. He shuffled his way through the huddled masses, following that melodic voice through the winding desolace.

“We cannot thank you enough for your contribution.”

Brother Matthews voice. Spoken just a notch above a whisper. His quivering drawl broke the teen’s concentration for a split second. Augustine didn’t need to look at his sister to hear the cordial smile gracing her lips. She always spoke in the same tone; pleasant and unwavering.

“We’re only doing our part. Just as the church is doing theirs…”

Augustine allowed their conversation to fade into the background. Scanning the room, he listened for the voice. So sweet. It’d been days since he last heard another human being’s voice, much less hear one in song. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the sound of people. His heart yearned to hear child’s mirth and city bustle. To hear the town crier and to listen to the lady’s chitter. To feel warmth and life again in the city. For now, it’d settle for this voice. One so delicate...That it possessed him to follow it until he found its source.

“Awake, our souls; away with fears… … let every trembling thought be gone; Awake and run toward thy heavenly light, … And imbue me with cheerful courage.”

The girl’s hair glimmered in the torch’s dim light, glistening pale like silver thread. She bowed her head as she knelt on the cold stone. Dressed in nothing but a tattered dress, she shivered as she breathed each word. She spoke with a lyrical somberance which captivated Augustine. He watched her in awe until she caught sight of him. She balked, a hiccup catching in her throat.

Augustine bristled. “Y-your song!” he stammered, curling into himself, “It was… It was lovely.”

Her demur countenance darkened. “It’s not a song,” she murmured, “It’s a prayer.” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I’m praying for courage…”

“Praying for courage?” he echoed.

“Yes.” The girl pursed her lips, turning her gaze back on Augustine. He felt his face warm as she searched him with wide, doe eyes. No shame resided in them, only resolve punctuated by the furrow of her brow. “The Prayer of Awakened Souls. Don’t you know it?”

Augustine shook his head. “I’m afraid not...”

“Why not?”

The question caught him off guard. A disquiet smile touched his lips as he tucked either hand in a pocket. He chewed on the question before shrugging. “The Light is viewed differently in Kul’tiras,” he professed, “There are Tidesages who blessed the ships and waters. As far as the Holy Light…” He averted his gaze. “Well. I figured it was only used by paladins…”

“By Paladins…” she echoed, flashing him a teasing smirk, “So they can smite their foes?”

Augustine bristled. He rubbed the nape of his neck. “M-maybe…”

The girl hummed with amusement. She scooted over on and beckoned Augustine to sit. “The Light,” she explained, settling back, “Is used for so much more. It can be wielded by anyone. You. Me. Even an infant. It grants those who believe in it strength.”

Augustine sat cross-legged and quirked a brow. “But the Light exists…It’s part of this world, just like arcane and nature magic. Believing or not, it’s an irrefutable fact.”

“There’s a difference…” She took his hands in her own. “Between believing in its existence and believing in it…” She pressed both their hands to his chest. “When you truly embrace it. Its warmth will fill you.”

In his palms, he held his chittering heart. He searched for such faith in each pulse. His smile softened. He found no Light in his chest. It only harbored the crackle of a still borne fire. “I think I understand now…”

Augustine nodded thoughtfully as turned to steal a glance over his shoulder. The conversation between Max and the deacon looked to have drawn to a close. Shadows danced off her lithe form as she crossed the chamber, coming to stop just before him. She looked between him and the girl.

“It’s time to go, Augustine.”

The girl released his hands and curled into herself. “Augustine,” she murmured, brushing back an errant lock of hair, “That’s a nice name.” She summoned a demur smile. “I will pray that the Light gives you strength.”

Such a strange sentiment that he found oddly comforting. Augustine returned the smile as he rose to his feet. “I appreciate it…” A twang of guilt touched his heart. He couldn’t offer words of comfort. Not in the way her expectant gaze asked.

For his gifts of strength came in the form of tiny vials and mason jars.

Previous Chapter: What We Can

#The Alchemists #Pre-patch stories #Act 1: Chapter 3 #| Shadow's Warmth |

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kisuminight · 6 years

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Master Damus’ son, the mocking letter read. Lucky he doesn’t take after his father. But he might, if he came into contact with a Fallen Star, and these days the Hunters held fast to vengeance more than their own creed.

So Aeon crept through the night slip-slink-shifting from shadow to shadow. Even if the Hutners believed him chasing ghosts across the seas, they would take precautions. The place he searched for would have no shadows at all. He couldn’t even search for familiarity—Master Damus’ son likely wouldn’t exist-pulse-feel anything like his father.

Very likely, if the letters spoke the truth about an adolescent human, raised human by an unknowing mother, instead of an infant-child safe within his father’s territory.

Shadows greyed out, falling-ceasing-plunging away into a pool of blinding light. Aeon hovered on the edge, peering out into the world of sun-fire-reflected with red eyes. A Hunter guarded the periphery, iron gauntlets fitted for both weapon and defense, with a brace of throwing knives strapped around his upper arm.

Was this the best the Hunters had to offer? Perhaps Aeon shouldn’t have worried.

But Aeon would always worry over traps. This one seemed useless because they designed it for another, not him. Doubtlessly something about this would severely stagger Damus. Bad luck for the Hunters; Aeon and his master shared none of the same weaknesses.

The Hunter looked to the outside, not to the shadows or even to his prisoner. Mistake, especially with the faint hum of power-and-death rattling Aeon’s teeth. A Fallen Star rested somewhere inside the—warehouse? Yes, one used by a known Hunter front-company. With proven illegal actions, Master Damus would force them from his city within the week.

Slinking-dancing-slipping back into the realm of fire and light, Aeon snapped the Hunter’s neck and lowered him soundlessly onto the ground. Crossing back into shadow, Aeon re-examined the room. No other guards. Only one person, drowning in a flood of light and sickly sweet with the resonance of a Fallen Star.

Too late. I’m so sorry.

An Awakening always hurt-tore-ripped, when sleeping heritage swamped an unaware mind. Aeon should know; he’d nearly gone under that tsunami-mudslide-avalanche of power himself and never come back up for air.

Slowly, Aeon step-tap-returned, wary in case yet another trap might spring in his face. A boy—no, a young man sprawled within a bounded circle. His hair shone with the same dark color as Master Damus’. Hints of gold glinted-speared-sang from the small peeks Aeon glimpsed of the bare skin on his face and hands.

Most disturbing of all, two horns curled backwards from where they sprouted from just above his ears. Lightning strikes of blue twined around them, and the entire ensemble resonated with ancient, lost words.

“Shards.” Not Master Damus’ bloodline. Well, maybe, but something far worse lurked beneath that; more powerful, more terrible, and clearly overriding the original demi-human traits. It always did.

The Nullifier burned, sharp and hot against his wrist, and Aeon reached for the silver knife he carried more for tradition rather than the thought he’d ever have to use it.

The head rose. Gold-blue-black eyes and a splash of gold cutting the face in half like jagged warpaint. Aeon recognized them. Knew-recognized-remembered when eyes gleamed gold alone, playing peek-a-boo behind long falling bangs, and the deep scar under gentle eyes changed them into something mistakenly fierce. Would there be a mark across his belly, too, thick with deep gold?

“Shione. Oh, Shione.” He looked good, despite the golden burns stretching from fingertip to elbow. And older, just a bit.

But not much older. Not old enough to have been a sentinel for less than five years. Still, no wings yet (so strange, for all that the patterns flash-burn-branded themselves before his eyes with every second spent looking to his friend Shione).

Aeon drew away from the light, clutching the silver knife as though it could save his soul. As it would save Shione’s. Some trap. Good trap. “This was never meant for the Master at all, was it?”

A shape dismounted from the rafters, all broken-cold-glass smiles and dark, satisfied chuckles. “I knew the Council’s attack dog would come running if he heard his master was in danger. You still forget to check up, brother.”

“We haven’t been brothers since you tried to murder me for coming back alive.” When he’d woken from the lingering nightmare-memory-penance of the Comet Fall choking-dying-gasping for air with Lee’s blood-slicked blade whining wetly in the agonizing blur of candles-and-moon light.

“Mm, while I certainly wouldn’t object to your master’s death, I’m glad you’re the one who came.” Claws flexed, and Lee bared his teeth-grinned-smiled in the same way he always did when the world conspired to tilt exactly the way he needed it to.

“Aeon?” Black-blue-gold eyes drifted hazily over his frame, the tone pleading and childlike. So unlike the clear-headed Shione, younger yet still more mature than Aeon’d ever been. The last time he’d heard it like that, the last time he’d heard Shione’s voice at all….

(Slick coils unspooling-unwinding-falling as they slid from the gaping slice, blood spilling as Aeon tried to hold them in, keep them in long enough to get Shione to a bed. With the only doctor treating Moro, gods, trying to keep both alive might end up with two people dead on the ground.

Aeon could remember-visualize-relive with sickening clarity the way he’d had to tamp every spark and flare of terror, lest they become true flame and he killed his friend by his own hand. And then, just when he thought they’d stay safe and allowed himself to be directed into searching out the rest of the Hunter team—Lee, it had to be Lee, how had he not noticed the way they’d trained themselves into monsters, how Lee’s laugh came stronger and more joyous-hungry-savage than before—well.

The bombs went off, because Lee couldn’t allow for the possibility of Moro surviving. And in the end, only innocent, unknowing Shione died. Except where he hadn’t. Not so innocent now, huh?)

That’s a Hunter thought.

“Aeon?” Eyes cleared, gold pupils narrowing to slits as unearthly light lit the blue like tamed star-stuff on a bed of black, lines of lightning-strike power beginning to trace across Shione’s body. “Him. He’s the one who tried to kill Moro. Who went after the Fairweathers.” Blades of light erupted as the first section of a sentinel’s wings formed.

“Well isn’t that interesting?” Bastard. Who did he think he was fooling; no runic circle could hold a sentinel, after all. But the stupid hand motion and amused smirk told the story.

He wants me to talk Shione down. “I know, Shione.” The shadows whispered-chimed-hissed, rasping against each other as they writhed at Aeon’s feet, but he didn’t risk calling them yet. Lee certainly carried a way to disable Aeon’s most powerful ability, and running smack-bang into it would undoubtedly tilt the balance of power definitively into Lee’s court.

“Shione, your eyes are blue.” Blue and unnatural, like a demon peering out from his friend Shione’s face. Who to trust? None of them were safe; Shione might kill him. The monster in Shione’s skin definitely would.

But Lee became a monster long ago (and reveled in it; gods, why hadn’t Aeon ever noticed sooner? Soon enough to drag them both out before they—). And while he originally offered a clean death, now the best word Aeon had for him was obsessed. Keeping an eye on lee, he edged closer to the warded circle, marked by light.

“It’s not safe.” Shione rose with beautiful, deadly grace. The silvered sound-soul-aura began to crackle inevitably closer towards a fierce-beating war drum as yet another wing section lanced into view.

“Not safe for who?” The Nullifier, Shione’s Nullifier, wrapped around his wrist like a leashed-anticipatory-crouched livewire. At least Shione remembered that much. Had someone known about the trap Shione unknowingly carried? Enough to take precautions against it?

They hadn’t told Shione, then, for him to give it away so thoughtlessly. Or maybe they had, and Shione didn’t care in favor of seeing his friend Aeon come home safe? That sounded like him.

Gold drifted over Aeon’s shoulder to rest on Lee, lounging on one of the crates as he toyed with a notebook of spell-pages. “He’ll pinion you. Snap your legs and lock you in a Suncage.” The third section shivered-exploded-vibrated into view.

Three to fledge. Five to lose. Seven to Ascend. And Shione replicated the work of years in a few moments and half in fever-daze. How much longer before Shione vanished for good as the beast in his soul ate away his heart for more power?

“I hadn’t thought about a Suncage. Thank you for the suggestion.” Eyes blinked, deep and slow, filled with a predatory intent that betrayed the passive smile on Lee’s face. He fiddled with a throwing knife, balancing it hilt-down on a fingertip. Aeon’d given it to him on his sixteenth nameday; the whole brace contained a mechanism to release poison.

“Lots of blue and gold, huh? What happened to liking white?” Master Damus always berated him for suicidal recklessness; no need to stop now. On a chance, Aeon stepped over chalked lines-and-runes. “May I see?”

Like a protective dog called to his master’s side, Shione came. His eyes remained ever-fixed on the quietly-seething Lee. Fearlessly, he stepped up to Aeon’s side, ignoring both the silver knife and the Nullifier. Aeon didn’t know if he should be grateful or worried.

Something ancient and indifferent paused near Aeon’s shoulder. The fourth section appeared inexorably, and something almost mimicking concern slipped Lee’s mask. “You proved your point. And your ineptitude. Now – ” the order caught itself in Lee’s throat and he bared his teeth savage-angry-possessively.

“Scared of someone who’s never taken a life?” Aeon couldn’t resist the taunt, no matter how untrue. Shione had killed at least once (and then broken down in tears, gods hadn’t that been a mess), and that was before a sentinel’s hate for life rose and consumed his will. But Moro had claimed the spilt blood in all official reports, and Lee hadn’t seen enough to learn otherwise.

“He should be.” Shione stepped past Aeon now, wings waving to drive-chase-shepherd Aeon back, away from the edge of the circle. His palm hit the ward’s barrier and his fingers dug in, distorting the way pwer flowed around them. Wings rang-chimed-roared like a crystal clock tolling the hour of death, and extended. And extended, and extended.

Two at once. Six sections. But Shione left Aeon there, at his back with a silver blade. How well would the dinky little thing even work, anyway? But now, it represented foolish-broken-betrayed hope and desperate folly more than a useful weapon.

With the shriek-crash-sigh of withering magic, the barrier popped like a soap bubble. Lee vanished, fleeing out the door, and his sudden retreating movement tugged at Aeon’s instincts to hunt-and-chase. Shione’s own head titled like a wolf scenting prey, but he instead turned his attention downwards to scuffing out chalk lines. Aeon envied his control.

And then bright wings chipped-in their final section, just to laugh at his optimistic viewpoint. Seven sections. A sentinel with seven-sectioned wings. Gods, it was beautiful; awful in the old sense and terrifying to contemplate as buried-and-grieving instincts sat up and took notice.

Not even all the silver in the world could change things now. Rabbit fast, his heart burned with panic-and-love, Aeon let the floor drop away as he fell-dove-escaped through his own shadow. He needed to report to Master Damus; about the trap, about Lee, about Shione the sentinel… about a request for heavy ordinance.

Later, Aeon would mourn his friend. For now, the Council need to prepare for war.

#my writing #project: updating the medium #though this one is more recent #when your soulmate dies and turns up as a world killing monster #or: when your soulmate thinks you're dead and fails at staying out of trouble #the stalker that caused the whole damn problem in the first place #poor communication kills #mentions of:#blood #gore #bombs #possession #dehumanization #secret organizations having a shadow war #Aeon is very good at lying to himself

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