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fragmentedink-archived · 3 years

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Hell to Pay: Chapter Fifty-One

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XVIIII, XXX, XXXI, XXXII, XXXIII, XXXIV, XXXV, XXXVI, XXXVII, XXXVIII, XXXIX, XL, XLI, XLII, XLIII, XLIV, XLV, XLVI, XLVII, XLVIII, XLIX, XLX

cowritten by @lux-scriptum

A/N: Happy Holidays fuckers

A/N: also trigger warning for Nik's pos dad, and,,,,, nah i think that's it. Enjoy <3

Not a day after Lev was officially banished, Biela showed up. She was brisk, not even giving Lev the chance to acknowledge the two people she’d brought along. He was to be on house arrest, enforced by a spell that the witch she’d brought along would place on him. The fact that he was allowed up to fifty feet away from the house caught him by surprise; he’d fully expected to be confined to the inside. At least this way he could follow the kids in the pool or out into the yard, though Biela had made it clear he wasn’t to be outside alone.

She’d concluded this meeting by warning Lev that the house arrest would last until he proved he wasn’t a security risk. That meant Lev needed to learn how to defend himself, to Biela’s standards.

Lev understood. There was no third chance. If Lev got killed by a demon, it’d be detrimental to Cameron’s functioning. Not to mention Lev wasn’t sure how he’d handle being kidnapped by one. All of that aside he did want to know how to protect his children.

Biela had left with the witch when it was all done. The man she’d brought, who Lev learned was her brother Caius, stuck around long enough to exchange a few words with them, though Lev got the feeling it was more to get a good feel for who Lev was as a person than anything else.

Once all that was done and over with, Lev realized he still had a full day. Cameron had Eden, and Lev didn’t have the energy to fight him while Cameron reestablished his schedule. Instead, Lev ventured downstairs, something else on his mind.

He found Sazra in her room, like he’d expected. He knocked on the doorway when she didn’t look up right away, but having her silver eyes pinning him in place didn’t exactly put him at ease.

“Hi,” he said lamely, unsure of where to start.

“Can I help you?” she clipped out.

“I hope so,” Lev said, trying not to fidget. “I wanted to ask you about suppressants. I don’t know if demon suppressants will work for me, or if I need to get angelic suppressants, but-”

“And you’re asking me why?”

Lev blinked. “Because you’re a healer?” He said hesitantly. “I figured you out of everyone in the house would know about the way I’d react to demonic suppressants.”

Sazra lifted a brow. “Why would you think that when you think your healing is superior to mine?”

Oh. Lev fidgeted for a moment, before, “I’m not versed in medicine,” he started, and then hesitated. “If I’ve offended you...” He trailed off, looking for the right words. “It’s what I was taught,” he finally said, honestly. “And I never stopped to check my bias. I just parroted what I've been told for my entire life. I didn’t think about it at all.”

“I can see that. It’s rather arrogant of you.”

Lev didn’t think he’d ever been called arrogant before in his life. She wasn’t wrong though. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “It was.”

“Hm.” She thrummed her long nails against the wooden table, but didn’t offer any more words other than that.

Lev stared at her for a long time, unsure of what to say. In the end, he said simply, “Can I try to make amends? I was out of line.”

Her nails clicked on the table. “I’ll help you. Not because you apologized, but because Cameron is my boss and I owe him my life. Anything else?”

“No,” Lev said. “Thank you.” He paused halfway out the door, and turned back. “I haven’t had a heat in about a month and a half. If that helps anything?”

“I am aware. You can go now.”

Lev took that dismissal and slipped back upstairs.

---

After some searching, Lev found Nik in the back with Eden. He had her in the pool, in a cute black swimsuit with pink polka dots and ruffles. Eden was screaming happily as she splashed Nik. Lev padded to the edge of the pool, sitting down and dropping his feet in the water.

“Hi,” Lev said, smiling slightly.

Nik paddled over, dragging a giggling Eden with him. “I had to put sunscreen on her,” Nik said solemnly. “She probably burns faster than Cameron does.”

“Probably,” Lev agreed. He reached out, patting Nik’s hair. “Nik... do you want to talk about it? Any of it?”

“What part of dragging a screaming infant out to the pool suggests I want to talk about anything?”

Lev shrugged. “I thought I’d offer. We probably should eventually.”

Nik dunked under, though he kept Eden above the water. “Sure.”

“Are you okay?” Lev asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I have you, I have Eden, I have Cameron. Everything is going back to normal.”

“You’re pregnant, I’m exiled, and I told you I lost my pregnancy in the worst way possible.” Lev hesitated. “A lot has happened. And... it’s easier to worry about you than it is to deal with everything right now.”

“Well as you can see, I am the picture of health.”

“Physically, sure,” Lev agreed. “I don’t think anyone in this house is mentally healthy.”

“Hm. Well.” Nik moved Eden to his hip, not even blinking when she smacked his face. “Is that your professional opinion, Doctor Lev? I had not realized you had gotten a psychology degree in Ghost Land.”

“Nik, please,” Lev said softly, but he really didn’t have it in him to fight. In the end, he just gave a small sigh. “Fine. We can talk about it later.”

Nik went back to playing with Eden, so Lev splashed a foot lightly and watched Eden grabbing at the water. Lev would have been content to watch, but Nik grabbed his ankle. “Nik, don-”

Nik yanked Lev in the pool, clothes and all. After sputtering at Nik while Eden shrieked, first in surprise and then in delight, Lev glared at Nik. “I’m dressed.”

“Oh?” Nik said innocently.

Lev swatted his shoulder gently. “You could have let me go find a swimsuit. Now I’m soaked.”

Nik simply hummed. “Yeah... Oh well. Better luck next time.”

Lev huffed, and reached for Eden. “Give her over. I want a turn.”

“Mm. My baby,” Nik said, kissing Eden’s cheek. “Isn’t that right, baby?” Eden shrieked, grabbing at Nik’s hair. “See? All the ladies want me.”

Lev huffed, wading closer. He grabbed Nik’s sleeve when Nik tried to pull back, but was distracted by Cameron appearing.

“Phone,” Cameron said, looking annoyed.

Lev patted his pocket, and then held up the waterlogged device. “Nik pulled me in,” he offered apologetically. He set it down on the side of the pool. “I forgot I had it in my pocket.”

“I’ll get you a new one,” was all Cameron said. “Don’t do that again.”

“Tell Nik to not to pull me in,” Lev mumbled, before looking up at Cameron.

“I’m not his mother. You do it,” was all Cameron had to say before left.

“Yeah,” Nik parroted. “He’s not my mother.”

Lev splashed him and Eden both. Eden screeched, slapping the water herself. A laugh bubbled up, real and genuine. Lev turned away long enough to take off his sopping sweater and drop it beside the ruined phone.

This was worth it, he decided, dropping a kiss on Eden’s cheek. It was worth all of it.

---

Nik spent the next few hours getting a restless Eden under control and unconscious while also wandering around the house. Cameron seemed to be off in his study, doing Cameron Things and Lev was doing Lev Things. He was about to go see if he could bully Cameron into making stuffed peppers, when there was a knock at the doors. He was this close to ignoring it, and letting one of Cameron’s lackeys get it themselves, but he was closest to the door.

When he pulled the doors open, he felt his stomach drop. He had no idea why his father of all people decided to stand right in front of him, with that irritatingly neutral look on his face, especially in Demonic Territory. But he was. “Papi.”

Az’ril looked Nik up and down slowly enough Nik folded his arms over his chest, trying to hide his stomach out of sheer self-consciousness. Though it was completely useless and they both knew it. “You are pregnant.”

Nik felt heat rise in his face. “It’s Cameron’s,” he said, instantly.

“Hm.” He looked past Nik for only a second before saying, “Are you going to let me in?”

Nik took a wordless step back and to the side. There was no point in arguing, not when he was pregnant and he wasn’t going to risk the safety of either himself or his baby just when he decided he was going to keep the little leech who decided to continuously steal his food.

His father wasn’t even two steps in the house before both Cameron and Lev decided to come into the hallway from two separate directions.

Well that was just fantastic.

“Az’ril,” Cameron said, mildly. “To what do I owe this unannounced visit?”

Az’ril’s golden brown eyes flicked Cameron’s way. “I was not aware that I needed an invitation or to announce myself to visit my youngest.”

Cameron lifted a brow and stopped right behind Nik, close enough Nik could almost feel Cameron’s body heat. “How would you be aware when you do not ask? Or visit in the last year or so, but I digress.”

Lev stopped next to Nik and tried to take his hand. Nik only shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets and said nothing. Az’ril’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but completely dismissed Cameron and turned his full attention back to Nik. “Let’s speak. Alone.”

“Nik,” Lev said, quietly.

He could feel Cameron’s gaze on him, letting him take the lead on however Nik wanted to move forward. Nik only lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, sure. I think we can find a room.”

He shouldered past Lev, without so much as a glance, aware his father was right on his heel without needing to be told to follow. He found the nearest office space and went in, immediately going to open the windows when he heard the door click behind him.

“So,” Nik said, leaning against the wall, with his arms folded over himself once more. “You wanted to talk…?”

Az’ril made himself at home by sitting in the desk chair. He glanced around the orderly office, taking note of the very sharp, immaculate furniture. “He seems to have inherited a great deal from his former station,” Az’ril noted.

“Yeah,” Nik said. “I imagine being raped every day for five hundred years, a fancy house was the least they could give him. But what do I know.”

The vaguest look of distaste crossed his father’s features. “Your crassness is bound to lose its charm,” he said, leaning back. “Especially now that you are pregnant. Even if it is with a demon’s spawn, and an illegitimate one at that. That cute attitude isn’t going to get you far much more.”

“I’m sure my cute looks will make up for it,” Nik said.

“We’ll see.”

The tightness in his chest didn’t let up a single bit, if anything it just reached further into his throat, making it that much harder to keep an unruffled appearance. The razor sharp look in his father’s eyes suggested Az’ril was more than aware. And he was unimpressed.

“How does the demon feel about your pregnancy,” Az’ril said. “Doesn’t quite seem the paternal type. As far as I’m aware, demons tend to eat their young.”

Nik chewed on his lip piercing. “He’s fine with it.”

“Is he?”

“That’s what I said,” Nik said, not able to keep the irritability out of his voice. “If you’re wanting a birth announcement, I’ll be sure to ship you one in the post. Is there anything else you wanted?”

“Actually there is,” Az’ril said.

Nik waited expectantly, trying to not squirm under that golden look.

“I do not think your demon is equipt to adequately care for a pregnant angel,” he said. “And I do not wish for a disgraced outcast to be caring for my child.”

Nik blinked. “I- what? Then where, exactly, do you expect me to go?”

“Your rooms are being set up as we speak,” his father replied. “A nursery as well, as you’re obviously keeping the child. Even if it’s part demon, your status is of mine, and I will not be having it or you here any longer. It’s about time you stopped playing house and returned to where you belong.”

“...I belong with Cameron and Lev,” Nik said.

Az’ril stood fast enough that Nik’s spine straightened on sheer instinct. “You need to stop with these convoluted fantasies of yours,” His father said, sharply. “You will come home, even if I have to drag you by your ear to do so. It’s for your own good, Nikolas.”

“But- what about them?”

“They are not my concern.” He crossed the desk. “This is my own fault,” he said. “I gave you too much freedom and left you unchecked and now your inability to take responsibility for any of your actions has led you unmarried, unmated and pregnant. So now, you will be coming home, and you will be letting me take care of you. End of discussion. Are we clear.”

Nik’s eyes trained to the ground. “Yes sir.”

“Better. Now go get your things, because we need to be leaving.”

Nik pushed off the wall and left the office as fast as he could go without sprinting out of the room. He shoved open the bedroom doors and went for the closet. He stopped dead in his tracks outside of it, anxiety clawing at his throat, but he forced himself forward to get his shit so he could get out of here.

“What’s going on?” Nik heard Lev ask from the doorway.

Nik stopped dead in his tracks before resuming once again. “Going home,” was all Nik said, going to toss a few of his jackets onto Cameron’s bed.

“This is home.”

Nik chewed on his bracelet and went back into the closest for more clothes. “Yeah, and so is Tullum. Papi is insistent on me coming home so he can take care of me while I’m pregnant.” He tried to keep the irritability out of his voice. It wasn’t Lev’s fault that Nik’s omega decided to kick into self preservation mode now.

Horrible timing, really.

“He won’t take no for an answer,” Nik said, dropping the rest of his clothes on the bed. “So I’m going home.” He fixed a smile in place. “That’s what’s best for the baby, am I right? Got to get the special angel healers and- and it’s a family thing. I’m sure you wouldn’t get it.”

Lev stared at him for a moment. “You can’t go with him. It’s not what’s best for the baby and it’s not what’s best for you.”

“And you devised that in what, the five minutes of interaction with him?” Nik asked, sharply. “Family clearly does not mean the same thing to you as it does to me and mine. There are traditions and- and I just.” Nik exhaled sharply through his nose and muttered under his breath in spanish and went back to packing. There was no point. “I don’t have a choice and it’s not like you can stop him.”

“Nik,” Lev said softly. “I know people scare me all the time, but... not like him. Not like that.” He crossed the room, trying to take Nik’s hand as he said, “I won’t let him take you.”

Nik shoved his hands in his pockets. “Do you want to die again?” Nik demanded, voice cracking. “You seem to forget that I am the only one in my family without magic. My family deals and trades in death and he has the power to absolutely obliterate anyone. Especially someone with no ties or protections offered by angels anymore. You literally just defied the laws of nature. Don’t get between us and ruin it for nothing.”

Lev’s face was the fiercest he’s ever seen from him. “You’re mine, and I’m not going to let him take you from us.”

Nik bit into his lip so hard he could taste the honey sweetness of his blood. He didn’t have an argument for that, especially when Lev’s head was annoyingly big when he was being annoyingly protective. It clearly meant he couldn’t listen to reason or fact. His father was just… he was death.

He put his head on Lev’s shoulder, not saying another word.

Nik was snapped out of his trance the moment he heard the sharp order in spanish to hurry up. His head lifted and sure enough his father was standing in the doorway with his arms folded over his chest. “We need to get going.”

Lev looked at Az’ril. “He’s not going with you.”

Cameron appeared like a wraith in the doorway behind his father, eerily silent and perfectly unruffled as he sidestepped Az’ril as if he were little more than a stool in his way. “Nikolas can take his time,” he said, coolly. “As much of it as he wants.” His pale eyes slid towards Nik, looking for his stance.

Cameron was going to follow Nik’s play, no matter what he wanted for himself. He’d let them all make their decisions and damn themselves, but it would always be their decision. He’d have no part in shaping it.

When Nik looked down at the ground, Cameron then said, “Of course, if I wanted, I could keep him here. He’s pregnant with my child and as it would be my property, so is Nik.” The sheer, so very faint distaste in those words in Cameron’s tone didn’t go unnoticed by Nik. “I’m sure you, someone of such high political standing, would understand that.”

Nik didn’t dare say a fucking word, even as Lev positioned himself between Nik and Az’ril.

His father locked eyes with Cameron. Cameron was several centuries younger than his father, even if Cameron felt eons older in the icy, composed stance he was taking. “My son is not your property,” Az’ril bit out.

“By demonic law,” Cameron said, mildly, “he is. The moment you decided to send your son into spy on me and mine forfeited your right to Nik, and made him mine.” Cameron looked over at Nik and Lev, gaging the both of them with calculated stillness. “Come here.”

Nik was frozen in place for a split second before Lev gently took his arm and nudged him over to Cameron’s side. If Lev hadn’t made him move, Nik would have been torn between standing still and being at Cameron’s side in a split second with the sheer Alpha in his tone.

Cameron fixed his eyes on Nik, and then Nik’s throat. “Of course,” he said. “I am speaking in demonic terms, and not angelic terms. So let me be very clear about this.” A chill rippled down Nik’s spine when Cameron's very sharp teeth sunk into Nik’s throat.

Lev ushered out of Cameron’s way, but Nik could sense his eyes were still trained on Az’ril as Nik instantly went limp at the claiming bite being branded into his flesh. Cameron caught him easily before he collapsed onto the ground from the amount of hormones being flooded into his body.

Nik whimpered when Cameron’s teeth came out of his skin. He caught the golden sheen of blood still on Cameron’s pale lips before pushing his face into Cameron’s chest. Cameron’s arm held him firmly in place as Nik reached for Lev’s hand.

Lev took it but didn’t take his eyes off Az’ril.

Cameron didn’t blink at the way Az’ril’s eyes narrowed. Angels held mating bonds to one of the highest standards in their lands and Cameron knew it. “You know where the door is, yes? If not I’m sure someone can show you out.”

Nik didn’t dare look up from Cameron’s chest, but he heard his father retreat from the room, and hopefully the house. “I’m sorry,” Nik mumbled against Cameron’s chest.

Cameron tugged on his hair. “Quiet,” he said, not harshly. The order did mellow the anxiety curling in his chest.

Lev lightly bit Nik’s shoulder. “You’re staying with us,” Lev mumbled against his skin. “You belong with us.”

---

Breakfast the next morning was quiet. Though, admittedly, most of their breakfast lately were quiet. Nik couldn’t drink coffee and so it took even longer for him to wake up. Cameron rarely had much to say in the morning, and Lev was always tired nowadays so quiet it was.

However, this morning, Lev had something on his mind. “Cameron?” he asked. “I had a question.”

“Hm?”

“Can we start working on a nursery? I imagine it’ll take some work, and...” He shrugged.

Before Cameron responded, he walked out of the kitchen. Lev stared after him, and looked to Nik. Nik was still staring at his decaf coffee, face blank and definitely not awake. Cameron reappeared, book in hand. Lev lifted the cover as Cameron went back to fixing breakfast.

Inside the book was... plans. Color swatches and crib options and even a sketched layout or two. Lev traced a picture of a crib made of dark brown wood and with little sea stars carved into the headboard. “You already started planning without me?” he asked, trying to not sound petulant.

Cameron flicked a look in his direction. “You were sleeping.”

A low blow, but a fair one. Sleeping had been preferable to being awake. “Point,” Lev finally muttered. “Well can I help with the rest?”

“If you want.”

“I do,” Lev said, flipping back through the book carefully. He would have called it a scrapbook if it hadn’t been so brutally efficient. Besides. If he had, Lev had the feeling Cameron would have been offended. “I’m guessing an ocean theme?” he said, peering at the options Cameron had deemed acceptable for baby mobiles.

Cameron placed a plate of bacon down in front of him. “It seemed to fit Nik’s tastes.”

“This isn’t my coffee,” Nik suddenly complained, rubbing his face.

Lev looked over. “Looks like coffee to me?” He wrinkled his nose. “Gross.”

Nik frowned. “This isn’t. My coffee.” This time he sounded more irritable.

“You’re not supposed to have caffeine, if that’s the problem,” Lev said, taking a bite of bacon.

“Says who?”

Lev offered him a piece of bacon. “Ash, probably. But also every pregnancy health book I’ve ever read. And I’ve read a lot.”

Nik slammed his mug down. “Well Ash isn’t here, and you’re not my boss.” He pulled out his phone, muttering in Spanish. Lev only got another piece of bacon before Nik startled him by shoving the phone in his face. “See? I can.” He was practically yelling, mostly from excitement from what Lev could tell.

Indeed, Ash had typed out a terse, “1.” Period included.

“Somehow that feels coerced,” Lev mumbled, before pointing out, “You have to convince Cameron too.”

Cameron sipped his tea calmly. “No,” he said. “Sit down.”

Nik plopped down, defeated. He stared at the counter sadly. “You’re all monsters.”

“Well, four more months and you can have caffeine again,” Lev encouraged.

“This leech is taking everything from me,” Nik mumbled.

Lev reached over, brushing his hair from his face. “Soon,” he promised, kissing Nik’s cheek.

Nik wrinkled his nose. “So what were you talking about before you decided to ruin my life?”

Lev closed the book carefully. “Nursery plans. Which- Cameron, do you think Nate would come paint the walls for us? I bet he’d do something pretty.”

Cameron put a plate of eggs and fruit down in front of Nik. “I already called him. He’ll be here tomorrow to start working on it.”

Lev huffed. “You’ve already thought of everything, haven’t you?”

“It’s easy. You’re both predictable.”

“What the fuck is this?” Nik demanded. “You give Lev bacon, and I get rabbit food? I’m a growing boy. I deserve bacon.”

Lev decided not to comment on the fact that he’d offered Nik a piece and Nik had decided to bemoan his coffee instead. “Eggs aren’t rabbit food,” he pointed out instead.

Nik took Lev’s plate. “Well fine then, you eat it. I’m eating your bacon.”

“Hey!” Lev reached for his plate. “Nik! Give it back.”

Nik just put his hand in Lev’s face, but Cameron switched the plates anyway. Nik whined, and all he got in response was a baring of Cameron’s teeth. Despite that Lev put a single piece of bacon on Nik’s plate.

Before any more bickering could start, a knock sounded. Lev peered over his shoulder in time to see a sentry leading a short woman into the room. She was hauling bags with her, though she set them down when she set eyes on Nik.

Nik had been in the middle of grumbling as he picked at his food, but when he saw her, he dropped his fork. “Mami?”

Lev watched them, mystified. He’d never met Nik’s mother, but when he looked to Cameron, Cameron just shook his head subtly like he knew what Lev was thinking. That left Lev even more confused, but he just looked back to see her cupping Nik’s face and fussing at him in rapid Spanish. In Nik’s defense, he looked pleased.

“Hello,” Lev offered when she seemed done. “I’m Lev?”

“I’m Mami Coco.” She looked to Cameron. “You can call me Socorro. I’ll be sleeping in a room next to Nikolas.”

Lev could see the annoyance flickering in Cameron’s face, but Nik looked happy, dark brown eyes shining as he got a hug from Mami Coco. Somehow Lev doubted Cameron would be irritated enough at the disruption in his plans and schedule enough to upset Nik over this. Instead, Cameron filled a plate for her too, and said, “Sit.”

There was a certain look to her that promised much headbutting in the future, but she sat beside Nik with a simple, “Okay.”

Tagging: @incandescent-creativity @solangelo3088 @lil-miss-red @halstudies @littleyellowdinosaur @caelisis @idreamonpaper

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #wip boost #my writing #original writing #ch: cameron #ch: nik #ch: mami #hell to pay #cameron and nik and lev

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wkemeup · 5 years

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Guiding Light (1)

series summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra and now, Bucky can’t breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 5.5k warnings: hold onto the fluff while you can 😈 🖤series masterlist

Sweat dripped along the side of your face, beads tingling against your neck as they ran down from your brow. Dampened flyaway hairs, a brush of your sleeve over your lips, and you stalked your prey, stalking around Natasha as she sent you that teasing smirk, warning you she was readying to pounce. It was her only tell.

An agonizing minute of circling the ring, just pacing around one another, waiting for someone to strike, and Natasha dove forward at you. Her hands gripped onto your shoulders and she swung her body weight out around your waist to send you barreling to the floor. Your back landed hard against the mat with a heavy thud and even Sam cringed from the sidelines as he watched.

In the moment of distraction as Nat glanced over to Sam who had started throwing playful taunts at her, you kneed her right in the hipbone and rolled out from under her weight, gaining the advantage enough to swing your legs against the back of her knees and send her tumbling to the ground. Red hair flowing up around her head like a halo as you pressed the heel of your hand to her chest, kneeling proudly above her.

A smile broke out on her face through labored breaths. “Well shit.”

You laughed, extending a hand to her and she took it graciously. After you helped Nat up to her feet, you bent over the ropes of the ring in an attempt to catch your breath, taking the weight off of your tired legs. Muscles aching and skin glistening in the aftermath of the long-winded training session, you reached for your water to find the plastic empty. Sweat dripped off the edge of your chin to the mat beneath you as you crinkled the bottle in your hand and tossed it into the bin.

Nat wordlessly handed you her own, half-filled, and offered you a swing. You took it gratefully and chugged back the remainder, a sliver spilling out the sides of your lips though you hardly noticed it amongst the sweat. You handed it back to her and she sent you that cocky smirk again, shaking her head in a laugh.

You narrowed your eyes and she nodded cheekily towards the double doors of the gym. Following her gaze, you clench your jaw at what she had been eyeing.

Bucky.

Towel draped over his shoulder, gym bag filled with gloves and boxing tape hanging from his left hand, as he walked into the gym with a natural swagger that was sure to have you biting on the edge of your lip.

He was wearing a pair of black sweatpants he had stolen from Sam’s closet nearly a year ago and a thin SHIELD t-shirt that didn’t do much to hide the ripple of muscles beneath the fabric. His left arm reflected under the florescent lights as he walked, unashamed of the appendage within the constructs of the compound. He’d come so far from the shy, withdrawn man you’d met three years prior.

You must have been staring too long because Bucky narrowed his eyes on you, even from the distance, smiling softly, just barely a curve of his lips, but it was evident enough to set a wave of butterflies in your stomach. This man managed to intimidate every stranger he came across, stood six feet high with a build that could take down most men and carried a past filled with such horrors and violence. He shouldn’t be able to be as gentle and as kind as he was with you. But he was. And he is.

He was a paradox. An enigma. He was everything all at once.

A flush rushed to your cheeks and you waved awkwardly at him, ignoring the way Nat struggled to choke back her laughter. Bucky returned the gesture, lifting his hand subtly, and nodding at you. The unspoken connection you shared incredibly obvious to those around you though you made every effort to stifle it when they asked.

Bucky set his bag by the wall, reluctantly dropping your eye, and began wrapping his hands.

“You guys are absolutely pathetic, just so you know,” Nat teased under her breath. “You tell him how you feel, yet?”

“Nat!” you hushed, shoving her in her side enough to make her unsteady on her feet.

You stole a glance back at Bucky to find him caught up in conversation with Sam, though neither of them appeared to be particularly pleased about it. He seemed to be distracted enough to not have overheard Nat’s comment, even with his advanced senses, which let your heart slow again.

A steady sigh left your breath as you brushed the sweat from your forehead, and you admitted, “he knows how I feel, Nat. I don’t gotta say it.”

Nat rolled her eyes, though she still wore that smile on her thin lips. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Y/n.”

Your relationship, or lack-there-of, with Bucky wasn’t exactly easy to define.

The first day you met Bucky, he had already been living in the compound for a few weeks. You had been out on a month-long reconnaissance mission in Guatemala while he was getting acclimated to his new living arrangements and you missed the apparent welcome wagon. Though from Steve’s retelling, Bucky wasn’t exactly thrilled by the sudden influx of new people in his life wanting to know him and his business, trying to reassure him of a truth of his innocence he wasn’t ready to hear. He stayed seclusive to his room and barely spoke a word to anyone outside of Steve.

It took a whole week after you'd arrived back home before you ran into him for the first time in the kitchen. One morning, well before the sun had risen from behind the trees, you found him pouring what looked like his second cup of coffee.

You were dressed in your running gear, folding your right leg behind you to stretch the tops of your thighs, when he brought the mug to his lips. He sighed as he took a sip of the steaming coffee and you noticed that he looked years younger when he didn’t wear that constant scowl upon his face, when he thought no one else was around to see something softer, something vulnerable.

He had caught you staring and set the mug on the table, his features hardening in a protective layer.

You jogged over to him and extended your hand, a careful smile on your lips as you introduced yourself; an agent of SHIELD who had spent nearly five years in combat missions before Steve personally requested your transfer to the Avengers Initiative. He’d seen how you worked when you’d been assigned to his team on a few missions overseas and how you defended him without much of a second thought against Hydra’s double agents in D.C. You knew Steve well by that time and you were more than happy to take permanent residence in his team.

Steve had told you so much about Bucky that it didn’t even cross your mind to tread carefully around him. From all of Steve’s stories from the forties and working closely with him and Sam to help track Bucky down from behind a computer after the chaos in the capital, you felt like you knew him, like he was an old friend you hadn’t seen in years.

He had stared at your hand for a few awkward seconds before he finally gritted his teeth and shook it. His grip was firm, solid, and you tried not to focus on the rough feel of the callouses on his palm or the warmth of his skin. You smiled pleasantly at him as he grimaced back at you, like it took all of his energy just to tolerate being in the room with you, though he tried. It wasn’t personal and you didn’t take it as such. You could recognize trauma when you saw it.

He dropped your hand almost immediately, eyes darting to the floor. You made a note to be more careful of initiating physical contact and the fact that he liked his coffee black, and gave him a quick nod, telling him simply you were happy he was here, and left for your jog.

Determined to get to know the new member of the team and help him get settled amongst the admittedly chaotic nature of the compound, you learned his routine. He largely kept to himself, sneaking out of his room only to escape to the gym in the late hours of the night and steal food from the pantry when no one else seemed to be around. He was still in survival mode; sneaking around like he didn’t belong, as if he believed if he was caught eating it would be taken away. Even if he knew he was safe, it came as instinct. It was something he would have to unlearn.

It was around five in the morning before your runs that you’d find him in the kitchen, pouring his cup of coffee. He wasn’t as startled by your presence anymore but he still retreated back to his room after his mug was filled.

One week later, you began starting the pot for him before he even made it out of his room, leaving out the plain white mug he always seemed to use amongst the sea of novelty cups and colorful glasses the team had obtained over the years, and took your position by the wall to begin stretching.

The look of surprise on his face, though incredibly subtle, was enough to get you beaming. You made every effort to suppress it as to not make him uncomfortable but the sweet way in which his hand grazed over the mug, the sigh in his shoulders, and the shake of his head as if he simply couldn’t understand why anyone would do such a thing for him, no matter how small, pushed the smile out of you anyway.

He glanced back at you, gestured to the coffee in question, and you gave him a slight nod. He swallowed, pushing out half of a smile you were certain took most of his will power to produce and he poured his freshly brewed cup. It was your first victory with him.

After a while, he started to sit at the counter while he drank his coffee as opposed to sneaking back off to his room. He’d sit in silence, staring off into the kitchen as you stretched a few feet away. He’d leave as soon as you said your goodbye and made your way outside.

The morning you found him standing in the kitchen, wearing running shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt he must have borrowed from Steve, you couldn’t stop the grin that pulled at your cheeks. So quietly you almost didn’t hear it, he asked if he could come with you, mumbling something about how Steve had been on his ass to get some fresh air.

You took a risk and teased him by asking if he would be able to keep up with you, despite being a super soldier and all. It was the first time you saw a crinkle by his eyes, the softest of smiles on his lips that made your stomach turn. While you didn’t speak another word as you ran, he stayed at your pace the entire time.

It became part of your routine. You’d meet Bucky in the kitchen, go for your morning run together, and end up back in the kitchen for coffee afterward. It took a few days of that before he started talking to you and once he did, you never wanted him to stop.

He was shy; quieter than the Bucky that Steve described from his childhood, though he was incredibly observant and far more intelligent than the papers gave him credit for. His voice was rough from a lack of use but you noticed quickly that the words seemed to spill easier from his lips when he talked about Steve. He told you about how small Steve used to be, about their adventures as kids, and how he’d have to rescue Steve out of nearly every fight, though it seemed to be reversed these days.

The first time you laughed at something he said, it wasn’t even an intentional joke, but the flash of surprise on his face made your heart swell. He looked at you like you were something from another world, that the very idea of him doing or saying anything that could produce such a beautiful sound was so completely foreign to him. He started smiling more after that.

Soon, you started spending time with him outside of your morning runs. He’d find you outside as you read on your favorite bench down by the water and he’d sit contently just staring out into grounds as you continued your book, stolen glances up at him every few pages. You’d catch him while he was training by himself in the gym, sweat dripping down his brow as he beat the life out of a punching bag, and sarcastically ask if he wanted advice on his form or if he wanted you to grab Sam to try his right hook on next. It was the first time you’d seen him laugh; full bodied and echoing through the gym. You knew instantly from the twist in your stomach that you needed to hear more of that like it was the air you breathed.

Months later and it evolved to meeting up on the roof of the building with blankets and hot chocolate so you could show him the constellations and consistently sitting next to one another on the couch after you all but begged him to come to movie night with the team. It turned into dragging him into the city to visit old landmarks and new bookshops and sitting on the floor of your room listening to the latest playlist you’d made up for him.

It became quick glances at one another when you didn’t think the other was looking and sprinting down the hall the first time you heard him scream in the middle of the night. Cautiously wrapping your arms around his shaking form until he caved against your touch, too afraid and panicked to keep up his guard, especially around you, and you held him through the early hours of the morning. It turned into asking FRIDAY to alert you when his pulse started to increase in his sleep and a nightmare was coming on so you could catch it before it began.

He started to let you touch him even when he wasn’t being ripped awake from the darkest corners of his mind a few months after you met.

First it was his hand when you noticed the anxiety radiating off of him when Tony insisted the team take part in a fundraising gala to help with the Avengers’ public image. A soft brush, just barely noticeably, but Bucky thought about it the rest of the day. Then, it was his forearm as you reached across the table to give it a squeeze casually as you tried to grab his attention while he’d gotten lost in his thoughts over his cereal and he’d burn his eyes to the spot where your touch had left him, feeling empty without it.

While you could feel the unspoken connection you shared, though you denied it was anything more than friendship despite Sam and Nat’s teasing, it was the first mission you went on together changed everything.

You were both assigned to the west wing of the building, seeking out intelligence on a known arms dealer, when a stray agent had gotten the upper hand on you, striking a blade right between your ribs. Blood pooling at your stomach and you fell to your knees, watching as horror flashed over the blue in Bucky’s eyes, quickly replaced by a rage you’d only heard stories of as he killed the combatant.

He gathered you into his arms, holding you tightly to his chest, as he shouted into the coms for a med evac. You’d never heard his voice shake like that before. He was screaming at you to stay awake as the darkness took over your vision, and you swore you had seen tears in his eyes.

When you gained consciousness again, Bucky was sitting in a chair on your right in the med bay. His hand wrapped so tightly around yours, you couldn’t quite feel it from the ache it left behind, unaware of his own strength. The relief that washed over his features when you woke, the pale blue of his eyes clouded by the strain of red lines and dark circles below, confirmed what you had been wondering. That he cared as much as you hoped he did.

After that, you were no longer shy about seeking him out when you needed him. This unspoken, undeniable, connection you shared kept you afloat. Three years since you first met the reserved, withdrawn soldier, and he had become your best friend, your closest confidant, the one person you put above everything else.

He was everything, though you never said it aloud.

Saying it to one another made it real, made it something that could be taken advantage of and targeted by your enemies. It was too vulnerable to admit those kinds of feelings, to confess that you’d fallen in love with your best friend, with the man who had given up so much of himself and struggled just to look in the mirror most days, because if anyone else knew, if your enemies found out the extent to which you’d go for him, what you’d do to ensure his safety... they’d be able to extort you for almost anything.

You wondered if Bucky felt the same, but you didn’t dare ask him.

So, you kept to seeking one another out when the nights became too dark, cheeks flushing red with gentle smiles, watching one another’s backs on missions even if you had to go out of your way to do so, curling up next to him on the couch, and accompanying you on your morning run. Close and still never close enough.

Stolen moments. Real moments. But hidden. From the world and from yourselves.

“Y/n?”

You blinked rapidly, startling yourself back to focus. Nat was watching you with a mischievous grin that only confirmed she knew exactly who you were thinking of.

“Don’t even say it,” you warned and Nat held up her hands in surrender. She nodded towards where Bucky had been standing and you realized he had crossed the plane of the gym and was heading in your direction.

“Hey, Y/n,” he greeted softly, climbing up into the ring and swinging his legs between the ropes.

“Hey,” you responded breathily and you spotted Sam rolling his eyes teasingly behind Bucky’s back.

“Thought you might want a real challenge in the ring,” Bucky offered, the left of his lips curving up just enough to lift at his cheek.

“I’m hurt, Barnes,” Nat scoffed, feigning offense as she jumped down from the platform to join Sam on the sidelines. The two of them snickered to one another as they both headed towards the free weights on the other end of the gym.

Alone, you tucked a strand of damp hair behind your ear and looked up at Bucky. It was a wonder how you still managed to feel this nervous around him, like a kid with a schoolyard crush. Even despite all the time you’ve spent with him, the nights innocently curled under his sheets to protect one another from the horrors in your sleep, the time spent stitching each other up after missions gone wrong, and the completely obvious fact that he was so enamored with you that he could hardly stand to go a day without seeing you, you still couldn’t get used to the butterflies in your stomach.

“Think you can handle a round with me, tough guy?” you taunted, a smile tugging at your lips.

Bucky chuckled, that sweet kind of sound that you thought about when you were in your worst moments. “’Course, I can. I’m worried about you, sweetheart.”

There is was. Those little pet names he gave you. You didn’t suspect he did it intentionally as they slipped out with a different name depending on the day, but you noticed rather quickly he didn’t share those names with anyone else.

“You forget I’ve taken you down before,” you teased, stepped out back into the ring and stretching your arms behind your back until you heard a soft pop. “Don’t hold your punches this time.”

“I am a super soldier. You remember that, don’t you?” Bucky smiled, shaking out his legs as he followed you to the center of the ring.

“Yeah, a super soldier that’s got an affinity for Pixar movies and a certain ice cream shop in Coney Island. Remember that? Rainbow Sprinkles?”

He pressed his lips to a thin line, shaking his head at the nickname you had doled out to him the day he worked up the courage to venture out to the old memory with you. He was shocked to find the family owned shop he visited with his little sister still standing and he ordered the same thing he used to get back when he was young. You couldn’t let it go the whole walk around the city, laughing and clinging onto his arm for support, though he didn’t much mind that at all.

The deadliest assassin of nearly two generations and he orders rainbow sprinkles on soft serve vanilla ice cream.

“Watch yourself, Y/n,” Bucky grinned, adjusting his stance as he cracked his neck to the side.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Bucky shrugged and you let out a breathy laugh.

Then, you charged.

Bucky was exceptionally skilled in combat, but you were trained by some of the best fighters in the game. You could hold your own against him, even in the stray moments he forgot to hold back the full force of his strength.

It wasn’t because he underestimated you that he held his punches, because he saw you as an equal on the battlefield before he ever saw you spar, but because he was capable of ripping a door off its hinges on pure accident and could dent a solid metal bar with his grip. He had to be careful with you, for more reasons than he’d say aloud.

Your left swing was caught by his forearm and you spun around to plunge your elbow into his ribs, sending him back a few feet in the impact. He chuckled to himself, urging you on, and he easily defended your next three punches, blocking each one before you could land against his body. On your fourth swing, he caught your first in the air and twisted your arm to a painful enough position for you to let out a shout and he released you.

“Told you to watch yourself,” Bucky teased, pacing around you in the ring. “You’re telling me what you’re gonna do before you do it. I can see your hits coming from a mile away.”

“Oh, so now you’re teaching me a lesson?” you laughed, shaking your head.

“Maybe I am, doll. Don’t want you getting caught off guard in the field.”

“I didn’t seem to have any trouble against Nat,” you countered, raising an eyebrow auspiciously.

“Well I’m not Nat, am I?” Bucky said carefully, gently, a more serious tone to his voice. “There could be more super soldiers out there, and they won’t hold their punches like I do. I just want you to be ready for it.”

You paused, watching as the teasing nature upon his face quickly fell to the anxious twitch of his jaw line. It was in small moments like these that you were reminded of the man you knew in the beginning; timid, insecure, trying his best just to believe that maybe not everything he touched turned to stone. He'd come so far since you’d known him but he had moments where he was still afraid, still nervous he could lose everything all over again, and it peaked through in glimpses, especially when it came to you.

“I know how skilled you are but I just... I want to make sure you’re prepared,” Bucky sighed, lowering his hands. “You can understand that, can’t you?”

“I am prepared for it, Buck,” you replied, moving closer to run a hand over his bicep, bringing chills and calm in its wake. “You can see my hits coming because you know me better than anyone else. Some random bad guy in the field isn’t going to be able to read me the way you can.”

Bucky nodded, his tongue running against his teeth as he took in your words. It took him a minute, and it usually did, to bring him back from the dark thoughts in the corners of his mind.

“Alright? Let’s get back to it,” you smiled, shoving Bucky lightly in the shoulder to pull that grin back onto his lips. It took a moment longer, but as he watched you jumping to circulate the energy back into your muscles, he couldn’t begin to suppress the smile that etched its way back to his face.

This time, he came at you. Right arm swung out to your shoulders and you ducked to the side, dodging his punches in a rhythm you could only find when it was Bucky opposite you in the ring. Almost in a dance, you circled around the ring, catching a hit to his side that caused him to grunt and he clipped your hipbone hard enough to make you step back a few paces.

It wasn’t until he overswung with his left hand against your cheek that you saw the perfect opportunity. You let out a feigned cry, gripping at the side of your face as you stumbled your feet to the edge of the ring, collapsing against the ropes.

It stung, but no more the ache in your muscles and the hits from Natasha you sustained. It was expected that he’d get you at least once, but you milked it to get the upper hand.

“Y/n!” Bucky shouted, frantic nerves in his voice as he rushed over to you. His large hands set on your shoulders, exceptionally gentle, and carefully turned you around to inspect the injury he believed he caused. “Shit, shit, I’m so sorry, doll. Let me see it. Are you-”

The moment you faced him, you pounced, sending the two of you barreling to the ground. Bucky landed with an oompf and your full body weight on top of him. His hands gripped at the fabric of your shirt to keep you steady in the fall, though he winced as he adjusted his head against the mat.

You smirked, the pride of getting Bucky to the ground a feat not many could claim.

“You faked it, didn’t you?” Bucky grunted, a teasing grin on his lips.

You shrugged, tucking a hair behind your ear as it fell down onto his face. “Maybe you can’t read me as well as I thought you could.”

Bucky chuckled, staring up at you. The cool of his left hand reached up to brush a fallen strand of hair behind your ear; an unconscious, almost instinctive movement he didn’t realize he was doing until he felt the flush of your cheeks register in the plates of his fingers.

His laugh faded away the longer he kept your stare, though that look of something between awe and longing stayed present on his features, almost permanent. Perfect, ocean blue eyes held your gaze, impossible not to find yourself lost in.

His hands unbunched from your shirt and you felt them flatten against your hips. Strong hands holding you still but giving you the leniency to move without resistance, giving you the choice to stay and you took it without a second thought. Heart pounding in your chest as your eyes flickered down to his lips; perfect, pillowy, and parted, panting.

The whole world seemed to stop spinning in that moment; a moment you’d found yourself in more times than you could count, though it never seemed to move further than the longing glances, so desperate to close the space between you. The hardened muscles of his chest so evident against yours, the thick curve of his thighs, and his hand pressing so delicately into your hips.

It was so familiar, this dance; ending up in positions like this where it would only take a breath, a moment of courage, and a lapse of a few inches between you until your lips were on his. It was something you’d thought about constantly; wondered what it was like to kiss him, to touch him, to hold him intimately in a way few others ever did.

His eyes were on your lips and you could feel the thunderous beating of his heart through his chest. Too many times you’d been this close, on the edge of something more than friendship that you’d been longing for but too terrified to take the plunge, too many almost kisses and almost confessions. Maybe if you just leaned forward a little, he’d meet you half way...

You let out a shaky breath, eyes daring to dart to the shades of blue, falling closer, his lips ghosting over yours so subtle you could hardly feel it when suddenly, a cough echoed through the gym.

Heart skipping a beat, you turned your head to find Sam standing at the edge of the ring, arms folded over his chest and an eyebrow raised amusingly.

“If you two are done staring into each other’s eyes, we got a mission.”

You scrambled off of Bucky, muttering an apology as you brushed the wrinkles from your tank top. Bucky offered you a hand, helping you back to your feet, and you noticed his release was slower than usual, his fingers trailing against the back of your palm.

“What’s the op?” you asked.

“We need to obtain intel from a Hydra base,” Sam answered, eyeing Bucky with a careful stare. You took a step closer to him, the cool metal of his left hand brushing over yours. “It’s just us, Cap, and Nat. Suit up. We leave in ten.”

With that, he turned and headed back to the double doors, leaving you and Bucky alone again.

After the doors closed behind him and silence took over the gym, you turned to face Bucky. He was stiff, hands clenching at his side as he kept his focus on the wall at the far end of the room. The sharp clench of his jaw reflected in the muscle twitching in his cheek.

“Buck? You gonna be alright?” you asked carefully, keeping your voice as steady as you could manage.

He nodded, though he still couldn’t look at you.

You slipped your hand up the side of his arm, rubbing it soothingly and intentionally let it rest against the flesh of his shoulder, upon the marred skin over the thin layer of his t-shirt. He swallowed, his shoulders relaxing somewhat as you dug your fingers against the scars, massaging the tender area. It was all the seemed to ground him whenever Hydra was brought up, let alone when he was asked to walk right into one of their bases.

“I can talk to Steve,” you suggested. “I’m sure he’d understand if you sat this one out.”

The first time he went on a mission to a Hydra facility, he had been locked in a room identical to the one they kept the soldier in and you found him in the heat of a panic attack, curled up in the corner of the cell. It took nearly seven minutes before he recognized who you were and the fear in his eyes wasn’t something you easily forgot. It had been better since then, but it was always a struggle.

There had only been one time when you convinced him not to go, when he gave in and listened to your pleas. While he stayed him, you had been hurt, badly; caught up in a reign of hellfire from Hydra combatants he would have been able to protect you from, or so he told himself. You’d come home with so many bruises, he had a hard time finding a patch of unmarked skin as you were carried in Steve’s arms through the hanger to the med bay.

He couldn’t risk that happening again.

“No. No, doll. I’m good,” Bucky said, pushing out a smile you could tell was forced. He wrapped his arm over your shoulders, hugging you against his side for a moment as he worked on stilling his heart.

You leaned against him, content to let him hold you as long as he needed before he found the strength to head off to his room to suit up.

“I’ll be with you, you know. The whole time. You won’t be able to get rid of me if you tried,” you reminded him, nudging his side playfully and drawing that smile from his lips you adored. Genuine. Crinkling by his eyes. A relief in his chest.

He should have held onto the feeling as long as he could.

---

this is definitely a set up for the shit that goes down in part 2 that really kicks off the whole series, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway! feedback is always appreciated 🖤

tags 🥊 @musiclover1263 / @pies-wands-and-more / @buckygrantbarnes / @mywinterwolf / @breatheeagainnnn / @jewelofwinter / @panic-naran / @fairislesheets / @kaliforniacoastalteens / @captain-hammer-of-asgard / @daydreamsquad / @deanssweetheart / @maybesomedaytho / @montypythonsholysnail / @saharzek / @jillybeaner13 / @chubby-dumplin / @searchingforbucky / @alohafromhell1 / @tabalugax / @shesalatesh / @whyamidoingthistomyselfhelp / @aliensbecameourstyle / @bucksgoat / @serpensortiaaa / @trash-rats-unite / @hungry-pasta / @nervosaa / @lbuck121 / @sweetheartbarnes / @get0verit

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #marvel #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #reader insert #my writing #bucky fic #bucky barnes x female reader #guiding light

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kpoptrassshhh · 4 years

Text

Cherry Red

NCT two part fanfic

Genre: collegeAU!

Rating: (PG-13)

Pairing: Quietgirl!FemReader X Badboy!Yuta

Summary: Starting college in a different state is hard. Moving to a completely different country to start college, is way harder. Being the new foreign girl, you expected to get a couple funny glances or sneers your way from time to time. But the popular girl on campus just won’t give you a day without a snarky comment or an “accidental” HARD bump on the shoulder in the hallway. Finally having enough of it, you snap. And it doesn’t go unnoticed. Especially not by the biggest bad boy on campus, Nakamoto Yuta.

Warnings: Almost sexy times, leading into sexy times

“That’s it for today everyone. Don’t forget that your paper is due by twelve tonight,” your professor yells, gathering his things before making his way out of the classroom.

Closing your binder and folders, you stuff them in your book bag before walking down the stairs and out into the open courtyard of your college campus. It’s a nice spring day and everything just seems to give off a good vibe. Taking your earbuds out of the pocket of your black skinny jeans, you plug them into your phone and decide to drown out the audio of the world by turning on some music. While walking down the sidewalk you look up only to roll your eyes so far into your head you’re actually surprised they didn’t get stuck. The reason for your eye roll? Two words. Park Yujin. The “popular girl” on campus who everyone loves. Well, almost everyone. You being pretty much the only exception. Ever since you got here, she’s been nothing but a bitch to you. The dirty looks she gives you in class, the rumors she's started about you, and who could forget all those times she “accidentally” bumped into you....as HARD as humanly possible. She practically lunges at you when she does it.

Lost in thought, you don’t realize how close she is to you until it’s too late, as you hit the ground from the force of her knocking into you. Looking up, you see her and her friends giggling at you.

“Oh, Y/N! I’m so sorry! I didn't even see you there!” she fakes, covering her mouth with her hand to keep herself from laughing.

Feeling something ignite within you, you stand.

“I bet you didn’t, bitch.” you say, wiping the dirt off your ass.

“What the hell did you just call me you little slut?” she snaps back, clearly surprised that you said anything back.

You’ve never been the type to fight or be aggressive towards another person, hell you’ve never raised your voice to a fly let alone a human. But something feels different. You have no clue where this confidence is coming from, but at the moment you really don't care. You’ve had enough.

“You heard me,” you spit back, “you’re a no good bitch who likes to walk over people and make them feel like shit for no reason. But that ends today.”

“Oh yea? And what the fuck are you gonna do about it, slut?” she asks, folding her arms over her chest.

“This,” you whisper, looking her in the eye while raising your right hand to throw a punch at her jaw.

Hitting her, she throws her head back as her hands come up and try to protect her face, but it’s too late. As she hits the ground, you’re right on top of her, punching and hitting as hard as you can before she can do anything. In the middle of all this, you forget where you are and instead of campus police pulling you off her, you look up and meet the eyes of campus bad boy, Nakamoto Yuta.

Now, Yuta is a very interesting man. He doesn’t talk much to people outside his group, NCT. Come to think of it, you don’t you’ve ever seen him talk to someone other than his group for the three years you’ve been here. You’ve always thought he was extremely attractive and wanted to talk to him, but being a shy and, for the most part, quiet girl, you always thought there was no way he’d talk to you, let alone even look at you. But here you are, being pulled off of a girl by the one and only bad boy himself.

Coming back to your senses, you help Yuta stand you up on the concrete, as Yujin’s friends help her up. As she stands, she looks at you with tears running down her red and somewhat bloody face. Glancing to Yuta, you feel he still has a grip on your arm.

“If I were you Yujin, I’d be running,” he says, grinning and trying not to laugh.

Huffing, her and her friends walk briskly down the sidewalk until they’re out of view. You bend over to grab your book bag and phone that is still on the ground when you feel him let go of your arm. Throwing the bag over your shoulders, you can hear footsteps coming up quickly behind you. When you turn to look you can see it’s the rest of NCT and you immediately feel intimidated.

“Yo, what the hell happened to Yujin?” Lee Taeyong asks, chuckling a bit.

Yuta looks at me and then back to him stating,”I think Y/N got fed up with her bullshit and decided to whoop her ass.”

Eyes growing wide, you realize that he knows who you are. Feeling a slight pain in your hand, you bring your knuckles up to your line of sight to see they’re bloody and bruised.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” Mark Lee asks, seeing your hands as well.

“Yea, I’ll be fine. Just need to go back to my dorm and patch them up,” you state, wincing slightly when you move your hand.

“I’ll come with, you’re gonna need some help,” Yuta offers, taking the bag off your shoulders and throwing it around his.

Starting to reject his offer, you shake your head,“No, you don’t have to-”.

“I know I don’t, I want to. Trust me it’s hard to bandage both hands without a little help,” he chuckles, looking into your eyes.

Nodding slowly, he tells the others he’ll catch up with them later and you both make your way to your dorm. Once there, you unlock the front door and step inside, Yuta right behind you.

“Uh, where do you want me to put this?” he asks, holding your bag.

“Just set it on the floor beside the door,” you answer back, disappearing into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit and a rag.

Walking back into the living and kitchen area, you find him sitting at the bar, staring out the window. You clear your throat, setting the kit down on the counter in front of him and take the seat next to him. You look down at your hands as he opens the kit and takes out the materials he needs to patch you up.

“So, what made you beat the shit out of her in the first place?” he asks, taking your left hand in his and gently wiping the blood off.

“I just can’t stand people like her. She thinks she’s all that and a bag of skittles and it pisses me off. She’s also the one who spread that nasty rumor about me last semester,” you say, thinking back to when you first heard it.

“Are you talking about the-” he starts, but is abruptly cut off by you nodding your head.

“Yea, the one that I slept with every guy that looked my way. That was a fun two months of walking on campus,” you sigh, watching his large hands wrap around your tiny ones.

“Ya know, I never believed that,” he states after a minute of silence.

Looking up to him with a confused look, you meet his eyes.

“Y-you didn’t?” You ask, curiosity seemingly oozing out in the tone of the question.

He shakes his head as he finishes wrapping your hand, putting away the materials before he speaks again.

“No. I didn’t. You seemed like, well, you seemed too innocent for all of that,” he deadpans, making your eyebrows shoot up in alarm.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not that innocent,” you say, defending yourself which makes him chuckle.

He looks at the floor with a grin on his face before looking back up to you.

Nodding, he looks you up and down before saying, “yea, sure you aren’t.”

Taken aback by the look he gives you and his statement, you retort, “you don’t believe me?”

“No, no I don’t,” he states, a small smirk on his face.

“What will make you believe me?” you ask, a seemingly innocent question, you think.

“I’ve got an idea, but you wouldn’t do it,” he says, standing and heading for the door.

Standing quickly, you rush to the door and wedge yourself between him and the door, just inches away from him. You look into his eyes as you feel your heart beat increase rapidly.

“Try me,” you whisper, feeling his body heat from the close proximity.

Slowly he steps forward until your body is flush against his. You feel his hands run up your thighs, to your hips and finally landing on your waist, he gives you a squeeze before closing the distance between your lips. Melting into him, you wrap your arms around his neck, having to briefly stand on your tiptoes until he bends down and grabs your thighs, hoisting you into the air. You lock your legs around his waist as he pushes your body against the door once more, never allowing you to leave his kiss. His lips taste like peach vodka and strawberries and the thought almost makes you laugh until he ruts up into your core, igniting a fire within you. Without second thought, you moan into his mouth before he pulls away and begins to kiss and suck marks into the pale flesh of your neck. Moaning out again, you run your hands through his hair, grabbing it by the roots, and softly tugging in pleasure which elicits a guttural growl out of him that goes straight to your core.

Pulling away and leaning his forehead on yours, he halfway stares into your eyes while gasping for air.

His hand moves from your waist to cup your cheek where he draws tiny circles into the flesh, whispering, “are you sure you want to do this?”

Now you’re no virgin, but your experience is very limited due to the three quickies you’ve had in the bathrooms at local bars in your hometown. You don’t really know what you’re doing because sex has never really mattered as much as it does right now. Fuck.

Hearing his words bounce around in your head, you take a deep breath before speaking, “yes. But I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

His smile grows wider at the confession, as does the member in his pants.

“That’s okay,” he says lovingly, before looking into your eyes. You see that somehow your confession has rooted deep within him, because as you stare into his brown orbs, only hunger and fire stare back at you.

“I can teach you everything you’ll ever need to know.”

#yuta smut #nct smut #yuta fanfic #nct fanfic #yuta au #nct au

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border-spam · 4 years

Text

Leech Lord AU

Tyreen Calypso / Tyreen DeLeon / God Queen Calypso / Holy Mother Tyreen (differences from canon)

List of character traits and world-building facets for this character within my AU that differ from / are of more importance than in canon.

One of these coming for Seifa shortly. Same AU as all other twins content I’ve written. TW: drug use.

Troy’s is HERE

Traits: ✓ Positive x Negative:

✓x Confidence is not a façade.

Unlike her twin, Tyreen's self confidence is rock solid to an unquestionable level. Her God Queen persona is not an act, it's her natural disposition ramped into overdrive.

✓ Highly Empathic.

Ty is very emotionally charged as a person, and is notably in-tune in general to the energies of people she is in proximity with. She has always used this to her advantage, capable of reading a room very cleanly and modifying her behavior and approach to play on the emotional state of others.

✓ Excellent Actor.

Her enjoyment of positive attention since childhood nurtured her into a very convincing natural performer. She can switch her emotion worryingly easily from sorrow to mirth, and it can be difficult to tell at times which is the actual genuine state she is feeling.

✓ Extremely Adaptable.

Tyreen is almost impossible to deter as she automatically approaches any situation with complete belief she will overcome it. She is not easily stopped by plans going awry or not panning out, and rarely breaks momentum. Ty is so naturally assured of achieving whatever goal she is aiming for, that she see's barriers others would see as impassable, as mere setbacks.

✓ Highly Charismatic.

Her ability to draw the billions of worshippers that now compose the COV is no fluke. Between her natural charisma and intuition, and the excellently researched scripts and persona Troy writes for her, Tyreen is extremely magnetic to others.

✓ Natural Leader.

Her rock solid self confidence and personal strength makes Tyreen highly attractive to those looking for guidance and a personality they can lean on. Her royalty is unquestionable, she was born to be a God Queen, and is very, very aware of it.

x Incapable of admitting fault.

Ty's extreme self confidence and regard for her own opinion means she cannot face failure. She will aggressively, to at times a physically violent level, defend her actions and beliefs regardless of whatever evidence is presented to her that shows she is incorrect or made a mistake.

x Easily loses control of herself in high pressure situations.

Her highly emotionally charged and empathic personality can leave her unable to control her reactions when under stress or pressure. While Troy's response to conflict or risk is to become exceptionally calm and dangerously in control, his twin's is the opposite. Tyreen can easily descend into screeching, violent tantrums, or lash out physically and verbally at people she sees as the source of the emotion she is currently experiencing, regardless of if they are at fault. She is often a danger to herself and others, and cannot be trusted to stay in control when stressed.

x Self centered.

Tyreen's galaxy revolves around Tyreen. Tyreen is Tyreen's universe. She's aware that there are people she should value, she should value Troy, she should value Seifa, she should value the other Saints like Mouthpiece, but she does not feel that value. This can lead to her questioning herself at times, there is concern eating her internally that maybe she actually doesn't feel anything for anyone else, but she knows that's wrong. She knows that's weird, and Tyreen isn't a freak, so she avoids dwelling on it.

x Manipulative.

Tyreen learned at an early age that getting what she wanted was easier if she played on what the other person wanted too. She's woven this so tightly into who she is over time, that she is no longer really aware of when she's actually manipulating someone, Troy being the most common victim. If you asked her, she'd convince you she was being completely genuine and had the other person's needs at heart. It's a lie.

x Illogical.

Her firm belief that she is automatically correct and infallible is a huge threat to her, and despite having endured injury and hardships over the years due to not listening to advice or ignoring facts in favor of her own opinion, she is not open to changing.

x Greedy.

While The Leech has amplified this negative trait 100 fold, it's still one of Tyreen's natural characteristics. Her greed by mid COV is insatiable, her hunger impossible to extinguish. Nothing will ever be enough. Any satisfaction she finally feels at achieving or gaining something she has lusted for is short lived, The Leech consuming the sensation and leaving her chasing it desperately again. She is endlessly spiraling downwards, she can never be content. She is cursed.

x Values her life over anyone else.

Tyreen has built her throne on the bones of family. She has opened her arms to billions, given lost souls the belonging they craved, become a mother to the heaving masses of damaged minds across the Galaxy, but it does not contain a single person she would die for. There is no one she wouldn't kill to survive. Leda knew. Typhon knows. Troy... Troy would snap your neck before you managed to finish asking if he does.

Backstory:

Bl3 canonical backstory till landing on Pandora where the AU begins, with additional points of:

Completely incapable of physical contact with any living organism bar Troy. Her power is wildly uncontrollable, and absorbs through any barrier within seconds. Its been this ravenous since the day it first revealed itself when the twins were 8 years old, and has never given her a moment of relief from its constant hunger since.

Did not receive as much attention as she deserved as a young child due to her parents needing to provide constant care to her deathly ill twin. Tyreen suffered in silence for a long time during this period, too immature to be able to explain to her mother and father how she felt.

The Leech negatively warps her over time as it feeds within. Tyreen would have blossomed into an extroverted, empathic, loudly spoken center of attention without its influence as she grew. A positive, if slightly needy woman, with an irresistible charisma and penchant for theatrics. Her feelings for Troy would not have decayed into something so grotesque, and she could have been happy. Her insatiable, yearning, demanding half of The Leech has doomed her to inescapable misery.

Personal:

Likes:

Positive attention and recognition.

Care or concern towards her emotional state, or mental/physical wellbeing.

Very few foods, but has a great love for citrus fruits and cured meats.

Textured fabrics, her inability to touch others has over time left her quite sensitive to tactile sensations, and she is a huge fan of expensive, high end fabrics and clothing created from them

Smoking. While she has little appetite for food or drink, joints and clove cigarettes are her go to relaxants. She enjoys the physical sensation of holding and smoking one, as well as the mental relief provided by the herbs Troy grows and dries for her.

Horrendously bad romance movies. The more cringe, the better. She's seen everything, and forced her brother to watch at least half. She knows in a way she's living vicariously through them, but it feels like an innocent pleasure.

Interacting with her fans and worshippers. Tyreen is very loving and open towards the COV cultists, and genuinely sees them as the family she was able to choose to have. This doesn't change that she values them less than insects however, and she's as likely to pause for a selfie with one as she is to husk them seconds later.

Dislikes:

x Her natural hair colour.

The dark brown was Leda's. Her eye shape is Leda's. Her mouth is Leda's. She doesn't want to see her mother in the mirror, so she's focused on those parts of her that remind her the most for changes in her aesthetic. Bleach, heavy eye makeup, liner to try and alter her lip shape. Tyreen is happy with her appearance, but it's her appearance she wants to see. Not the memory of her greatest fault.

x Being challenged.

While Ty is aware there are people who's opinion's she needs to heed, like Troy and Seifa in the earlier years of the COV, she doesn't like following their instructions. It's a personal insult to her deepest core when she has to choose to not follow her own volition. Over time, it breeds contempt inside her that she doesn't care enough to quell. A trusted advisor will become someone to eventually mock, a valued sibling or mentor will become the enemy, a burden, someone she knows better than. Tyreen hates so easily, it's like breathing.

x Being looked down on.

Tyreen is a God. There is no question, no space for disbelief. She is a deity, she is not human, she transcends that term. Ten billion people across the galaxy praise her hallowed name nightly, so the idea of some corporate scum fucking bastard acting like he's above her in a meeting room, sitting in a suit he thinks is showing off his wealth when she could literally buy the company that made it, is an insult she cannot bare. Troy has to accompany Tyreen in any face to face interaction with a sponsor. He has to do the talking, he has to control the situation. Without her twin to maintain her calm, Tyreen would tear these people to chunks of viscera. She cannot abide mockery.

x Her Father.

While Typhon genuinely believes he did his best for the twins and was trying to protect them from the horrors of the Galaxy, he has ended up becoming the focal point of every single thing Tyreen loathes. The indignity of being controlled by this tiny, weak little man. The insult of being caged on a planet he decided to enslave her on. The shame towards the overbearing control and fear he showed her as she grew up on Nekrotafeyo. She hates him. She hates him. She hates him.

x Her Brother.

Troy took everything she could have been away from her. It's that simple. He did. There is no way to defend what happened. Regardless of her consuming him in the womb, regardless of what he wanted or not, he crippled her for life. He destroyed her Siren power, he stole her future, he tore any happiness she could ever have felt away from her, and left her with nothing but hunger, and hatred, and need. He's also the only person in the universe who knows her. He's the only person who cares for her. She despise him so much, she despises him so much that it almost feels like love.

x. Herself.

Not human. Not divine. Just a Leech. Just a fucking monster.

Physical differences to canon:

- Scarring is more noticeable:

Ty was glassed in the face in their first week on Pandora. Their first week. One of their earliest attempts to approach a bandit camp, and she'd had a broken bottle swung at her before she could even open her mouth to start Troy's rehearsed speech. It was also the first time she'd husked after landing, and was in self defense while the blood blinded her. The scars across her nose are jagged, and a little more set into her cheeks in depth.

- Left hand has long term damage:

Her hand sustained severe damage in a childhood incident. The white glove she wears is more to hide what she perceives as a weakness than to protect others from her powers. Cloth does practically nothing to prevent The Leech consuming what she touches, a lesson she learned the hard way in the trauma that lead to her fingers being crushed.

- Troy was attached to her stomach:

Tyreen began to absorb Troy early in the pregnancy before her Siren power flowed into him when they had merged enough for it to consider them the same being. He was attached shoulder to her sternum, and was born with her wrapped around his smaller body. Separating them did no long term damage to Tyreen, unlike her twin, but she has a massive puckered scar running from below her sternum to her navel. This is very cool if you ask her, and the sole reason she doesn't display it is to keep their origins secretive, not due to any form of shame.

Asks are open! Any regarding AU will prob get priority for now as I work to flesh it as we go

#tyreen calypso #troy calypso #calypso twins #borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #leech lord #my hcs #my writing

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willow-salix · 4 years

Text

Isolation update! Big thanks to @hodgehegposts for the prompt and fun chats.

Day 67 of Isolation on Tracy Island and today I learnt that the Tracy’s and I have totally different ideas of how to protect ourselves.

Some of us were watching a movie and some of us, namely Kayo, were attacking everyone stupid enough to go near enough.

“Arghhh,” Gordon screamed as he flew backwards and landed on his butt with a bone rattling bump.

“Who’s next?” she asked, beckoning us forward.

Alan rubbed his butt in remembered pain and shook his head.

Kayo looked at Scott.

“Nope, I’m secure enough in my masculinity to know that it's not a good idea to go up against you.”

“John?”

“Erm, let me think...no.”

Virgil was on the upper level, headphones on, totally in the zone while he painted and we all knew that nothing would get him to move bar an emergency call and that wasn't likely to happen any time soon.

She looked at me.

“Nope, don’t even think about it. I don’t know anything about your fancy moves, I’m no karate kid.”

“You don't know any self defence at all?” Scott asked.

I shrugged. “Well, I know enough to protect myself in a packed bar, does that count?”

Apparently it didn't, because less than ten minutes later I had been wrestled into my workout gear and was standing on the mats in the gym.

“I don't have a good feeling about this,” John muttered to Scott.

“Nonsense, she needs to learn, it’s important she can defend herself if the need arises. Do you want her getting hurt because she doesn't know how to take down an assailant?”

“Of course not, but it’s her.”

“True.”

“I can hear you both, you know!”

“Busted,” Scott whispered to John, who sighed, knowing he was very likely to get yelled at for that later. And he would be right.

“Don’t listen to them, don’t let them put you off, you can do this,” Kayo encouraged me. “You can’t be that bad, you must know something. You said you could defend yourself in a packed bar, so lets start there, show me your moves.”

“I don’t really have a set of moves, I kinda just make it up on the fly,” I admitted, ignoring Scott's snort of amusement and John’s groan of disbelief.

“We can work with that, on the fly is what we do best. Scott?”

“Yeah?”

“Attack her, grab her from behind.”

“I dont think so.”

“John, you do it then.”

“I value certain parts of my anatomy.”

“Gordon?”

“Sure, I’ll do it, what's the worst that could happen?”

John actually laughed at that, he knew never to annoy me.

“No, I don’t want to hurt anyone,” I said, backing away.

“You couldnt hurt me, don’t worry. I’m just gonna grab you and all you have to do is break my hold.”

“You sure?” I asked. “I fight dirty.”

“So do bad guys,” Kayo laughed.

“I can take it,” Gordon assured me.

“OK,” I shrugged and turned around for him to grab me.

“Just do what you would do in a crowded bar and someone grabbed you,” Scott instructed.

I nodded.

Gordon waited a few seconds and then grabbed me, one arm around my chest, another around my waist.

I didn't bother struggling, I leant closer.

“Hey, Sailor, oh, you’re strong. Are you single? Because I’ve got four kids at home that desperately need a daddy. You don’t have a fear of commitment do you? Because I feel like we could have something really special, you know? Do you feel it too? This special thing between us? Wanna get marrie-”

“I’m out!” Gordon dropped me like I was a hot potato.

I turned around, waiting for my praise.

Scott cracked up laughing, almost falling over, only his grip on John’s shoulder keeping him upright?

“That’s what you do in a bar?” John asked in utter disbelief. “You’re never going out alone again.”

“What if your attacker isn't some creep in a bar, what if he’s following you home and jumps you in an alleyway?” Alan asked.

“Why would I be in an alleyway?”

“He could grab you and drag you in,” Scott answered, finally gaining control of himself and managing to stand on his own.

“Who’d want me?” I argued. “I’d open my mouth and he’d run away in fear.”

“Truth,” Gordon muttered.

“Grab her again,” Kayo ordered.

“Do I have to?”

“I’ll do it,” Scott sighed, stepping up to the bat.

“So no words, just fight? Anything goes?”

“Yep, fight like your life depends on it,” Kayo instructed.

“Sorry,” I told Scott in preparation for kicking his butt.

“Don’t be,” he scoffed. “Do your worst.”

I started walking.

“Oh, look at me, an innocent-”

John snorted. I ignored him.

“-unarmed girl, all alone on this dark, dark street. It would be so terrible if someone was to grab me right about now...”

Scott struck, looping his arm around my neck and another around my waist.

I went limp and he fumbled to catch me, seizing the opportunity I lifted my foot and stamped down on his toes.

“Oww, dammit!”

Not giving a second I slammed my elbow into his stomach and jumped, smacking the top of my head into his chin. When he let go to grab his chin I spun round and went for his chest, grabbing and twisting.

“She went for the nipple cripple!” Alan screamed in delight as Scott screamed in pain.

I let go and dragged him into a hug. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you told me to fight!”

Scott accepted the hug, still whimpering pathetically.

“I said I was sorry, you know I love you!” I stroked his head getting a handful of gel which I sneakily wiped on his shirt when I patted his back.

“At least she kept it above waist height,” John commented.

“Well, that was…” Kayo started.

I waited.

“Unorthodox and creative, but a woman wouldn't fight like that. Care to take me on?”

“Sure,” I shrugged. Nothing like taking down the big bro to give you a little confidence..

“Show me how you’d take on a female attacker.”

“Give me a second!” I stuck my hand in John’s pocket and retrieved the hairband I kept there for emergencies and tied my hair back.

“OK, I’m ready. Come at me!”

Kayo launched at me and I was immediately on the defensive. I head back, hands up, nails like claws.

“What are you doing?” Gordon asked.

“Cat fight, baby!”

“Cat fight?” Alan whispered to John who shrugged.

“Your hair looks awful today and those pants make your butt look huge!” I yelled at her.

“What?” she paused before aiming a punch my way but I screamed in her face and ducked, making her jump.

“Those boots give you cankles!” I kicked her in the shin and she yelped, hopping on one foot for a second, rubbing her leg.

I scrambled to my feet and grabbed her by the ponytail, yanking hard.

“Get off!” she yelled trying to spin out of my grip.

I let go and literally kicked her butt. I never go for the back, go for the butt, they never expect it. The sole of my foot hit her square on the cheeks and she stumbled in shock. That was my cue. I leapt on her back, screaming my best Xena impression, throwing all my weight on her, riding her down to the floor. I wound her hair around my fist and leaning all my weight on her shoulders, I pinned her down.

“That is not how bad guys fight!” she yelled, squirming.

“No, it's how London girls fight. I take it you’ve never been in a drunken cat fight with someone who thinks you stole her lipstick? You’re just lucky I didn't unleash my claws and go for the eyes, or smash your face into the floor.”

I got up off her back and helped her up.

“That was dirty,” she scowled at me. “I do not have cankles.”

“I did warn you all.”

“What are cankles?” John asked Alan, who shrugged.

“You don’t have a big butt either,” I promised her. “I was just trash talking.”

“Can you girls do that again?” Gordon asked, grinning at us. “Maybe have a pillow fight too?”

Kayo and I didnt dignify that with an answer.

“I think it’s time we teach you some basics,” John insisted.

“You still don’t believe I can take care of myself?” I huffed, folding my arms.

“Oh we know you can, but just in case you aren't attacking drunk people-”

“Hey! They always attack me first!”

“You still need to learn some real self defense,” Scott finished for him.

“Real self defence? How are your moobs, my man?”

“Oww, you’re mean when you fight,” Gordon accused.

“I...I do not have moobs!” he turned away, anxiously smoothing his hand over his pecs, just to be sure.

“Yeah, OK supermodel, you’re out of here,�� Kayo ordered. “You guys too. We’re gonna start running through some basics. So, unless you want to be the attacker again, I suggest you get going.”

They got gone.

It was easier without them there and Kayo is actually a really good teacher. One day I might even be able to fight off a bad guy without resorting to a crotch shot. A girl can dream.

#kayo kyrano #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #isolation island #social isolation #isolation #self isolating

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mnthpprt · 4 years

Text

Chapter 15: For This Trick, I Will Disappear

I easily find my way to the coffee house thanks to the map Sebastian gave me along with the money. I neatly fold it and put it in my cloth bag when the streets become familiar to me. The layout of this neighbourhood has barely changed in the 126 years between now and my time, so I no longer need it to make it into the large venue. According to Sebastian, this is the place to go for the finest coffee beans available in Paris, despite the steep prices. He made sure to give me more than enough in order to afford it.

As my eyes adjust to the dim lighting inside, my nose fills with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Ignoring the few patrons seated around various tables, I march straight to the bar at the back, causing the man behind it to look up from his newspaper.

“Bonjour. I would like to buy a large bag of coffee.” The man looks down at me with a sneer.

“Sure, mademoiselle. If you can pay for it,” he laughs rudely. “40 francs, take it or leave it.”

I stare blankly at him. Surely he must be joking. Sebastian only gave me 15 and assured me this would buy more than twice the amount that I’m supposed to get.

“Pardon my language, monsieur, but there is no way in hell that is the real price,” I snap at him. I know for a fact that prices have gone up, and even in modern currency that would be such a stretch the bastard would need a chiropractor afterwards. “Do you think you can swindle me because I’m a woman, or is it because I’m a foreigner? Please enlighten me as to why you think this is acceptable business practice.”

This rat of a man is looking more offended by the second. Before I can continue on my furious tirade in the fight for a goddamn bag of coffee, I feel an arm snake around my shoulders.

“Now, now, how about we settle this with a bet?” I do not need to turn around to identify Arthur’s playful tone.

“Madre mía, lo que faltaba... (just what I was missing)” I breathe out my lament in Spanish as Arthur keeps talking over me like he doesn’t even notice my exasperation.

“If the lady wins, you give her the coffee for free. If she loses, she must pay the full price.” I elbow him on the ribs, ready to complain that I don’t even have that much money, but his shit eating grin tells me everything I need to know.

“Great idea, my dear,” I play along. “Let’s see...” My eyes scour the bar for anything I can use, gliding along the expensive bottles of liqueur that line the wall behind it, until they settle on a tower of clean saucers. “Would you be so kind to get me one of those full of water, monsieur? And an empty glass, too.”

I lean into Arthur’s lazy embrace with an innocent smile as the man behind the bar eyes me with suspicion, but soon enough, the items I requested are laid out in front of me. Arthur and I exchange a meaningful look: his inquisitive, and mine charged with reassurance. I mouth the words “trust me” in English, facing away from the bartender. He gives me no sign of acknowledgement, but follows my lead nonetheless as I climb on a stool across from the man.

“I bet I can transfer the water from this saucer into the glass without touching it.” I pause dramatically, allowing the man to ponder my proposal. He lets out an incredulous laugh and barks at me to prove it, confident in the limitations of the seemingly impossible task.

By now, Arthur has caught on. He reaches for a cork on a nearby table and presses it into my hand under the bar. I calmly put it in the middle of the flooded plate, and proceed to pull out a cigarillo and a book of matches.

“Go on, woman! I don’t have all day!”

Unbothered by the man’s sudden loss of patience, I raise an eyebrow at him and light my cigarillo, deliberately taking my time. With it still between my lips, I stab the matchstick upright into the cork, and put the glass over it as a makeshift dome. As I predicted, the flame grows briefly before slowly dying out, and the bartender watches, dumbfounded, as the water on the saucer begins to raise into the upside down glass, pulled by a vacuum.

I dramatically exhale a cloud of smoke as I curtsy, cigarillo in hand.

“And this is how it’s done, thank you very much,” I say with a cheeky smile that truly resembles Arthur’s a bit more than I’d like. “I’ll take my coffee now, please.”

I watch as the man lets out a resigned sigh and goes to fetch what I asked for. He reappears and sets the bag on top of the counter. However, the moment I reach for it, his demeanor changes.

“No way,” he snaps angrily. “Pay up, woman.”

“What? I won the bet!”

“She won indeed, fair and square,” Arthur echoes. The bartender glares at him before taking the bag protectively in his arms and making his way to the other side, to us.

“You must have cheated somehow. 50 francs, now. Or you won’t get your coffee beans.”

50? I can’t believe he had the gall to raise the already outrageous price even more. Before I can open my mouth to protest, he shifts forward and reaches a sweaty hand to stroke my face.

“If you don’t have the money, I can think of another way you can pay, chérie.” He stands uncomfortably close, punctuating the disgusting implication of his words. I swat his hand away in a quick, brusque movement.

“How dare you request such a thing of a lady!” Arthur intervenes, getting between me and the man, who responds by throwing the sack of coffee on the floor behind him. My eyes widen when I see his fist tighten, and before I can shout a warning, he throws a punch at Arthur.

Oh, shit.

I never hear it land. Instead, the writer dodges it with almost supernatural ease, and his own fist connects with the bartender’s jaw. The man stumbles backwards, more from his own poor attempt at dodging than from the impact itself, but catches himself against the bar to regain balance. I take this distraction as an opportunity to scurry behind him and grab the coffee before I bolt to the door.

At this point, the other patrons have already heard the commotion and are beginning to react. I hear a woman scream, which seems to wake most of them from their blissful stupor. People are getting up and heading towards the exit, where I lean against the wall as I try to shove the large sack into my shopping bag.

“Arthur, run!” Now is the perfect time. He doesn’t need to be told twice, and runs to join me outside, dodging the agitated crowd, which provides an excellent distraction. He takes my hand and we sprint down the cobbled street.

After a couple minutes of running full speed, we finally stop by a wooden bench. Panting, I look back. The bartender is nowhere to be seen. I am confident we lost him shortly after we left.

“Ai, merda... (shit)” Cursing in Catalan, I let go of the heavy bag and rub my shoulder, where the handle was painfully digging into my skin. I glance at Arthur. He seems to have caught his breath much faster than me, if he even needed to at all. “What a pervert, huh?” I laugh. He does, too.

“Some people just don’t play fair,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Are you alright, dear?”

"Made it in one piece. Are you?” He nods, the cheeky smile from before back on his face. Somehow, I hadn’t noticed the beauty mark on his chin until now. “I didn’t know you had it in you to be such a gentleman!” I playfully nudge him before switching to a cheesy British accent. “Thank you for defending my honour.”

“Why, you’re welcome, dove,” he laughs. “I simply must protect a fair lady such as yourself. Speaking of, what where you doing all alone? Didn’t Sebastian accompany you?”

“I came with him, yes, but he sent me to get the coffee. Said I could explore the city on my own after,” I explain, gesturing towards my bag. “I should probably go find him in the market. Do you know where that is? I already know Paris pretty well, but some things have changed in the future and I have the feeling this might be one of them.”

“Of course, darling. I’ll accompany you.” He offers his arm and I take it, grabbing the bag with my free hand before we start walking.

#ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #ikemen #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevam fanfic #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire arthur #ikevamp arthur

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dlamp-dictator · 4 years

Text

Allen Rambles about Code of Brawl

Man... remind me to never talk about having a future Rambling in the works, it’ll instantly fall into draft-hell. But anyway, I’ve been meaning to talk about Arknights in depth for a while now, but I’ve never had much drive to actually finish the damn draft of my initial thoughts a few months ago. I couldn’t tell you why, I just lost the drive to finish the thing. However, with Code of Brawl coming to a close and my thoughts on the event still lingering I think I can use it as jumping off point to actually talk about the game.

That said, here’s the synopsis.

Arknights is a Tower Defense game for the PC mobile devices placed in the world of Terra, where an infectious disease known as Oripathy ravages the land, slowly turning people to minerals in a slow and painful process. You play as the Doctor, an amnesiac military commander of the Rhodes Island pharmaceutical company who fights against the Infected radicals known as the Reunion.

That’s about as far as I can go in a single paragraph for main story, but Code of Brawl instead focuses on the eccentric adventures of Pengiun Logistics, side faction of the game that’s a seemingly innocent delivery company with quite the ragtag group in it, consisting of the happy-go-lucky gunner Exusiai, the cold and dismissive swordswoman Texas, the excitable and energetic Sora, and the business-savvy Croissant. All led by the charismatic and multi-talented Emperor. However, as their new intern Bison comes into the fold the group is caught in a series of gang wars and organized crime trying to snuff out the company.

And unlike Fire Emblem Three Houses, that really is the basic plot without me sarcastically building anything up. With that all said, I think I can move on and talk about...

The Story

The story of Code of Brawl honestly has the best and worst of Arknights writing. I think having a story that focused on a group outside of Rhodes Island was for the better. For all the lore blurbs and archive notes we get, I think Code of Brawl proves just how little Rhodes Island is involved with the world of Terra at large despite it’s apparent reputation as a weird and quirky company with some terrifyingly powerful Operators and lofty ambitions. And while I’m still only on Chapter 4 since I’m grinding out some E2 before moving on, Rhodes Island really does more reacting to random Reunion plans than anything proactive with their goals of curing Oripathy. They feel more like a counter military force to Reunion, and a barely effective on at that given the point of the story I’m at. Code of Brawl, being focused on another group with a more direct conflict and villains, feels a lot more cohesive and interesting, as Penguin Logistics’s goal is to just get Bison through his first day and take out whatever force is harassing them this week.

Penguin Logistics as a whole is a rather interesting bunch of ruffians and seeing them is gallivant around Lungmen trading blows and bullets with gangsters is a joy to read and see. Seeing some of the inner workings of Lungmen society, seeing a bit of the underbelly, as well as getting to see the cast just have more casual interactions with each other is great. We learn that Sora really is just gay for Texas, and the all of Penguin Logistics has only 3 function braincells with Texas having one and Mostima having the other two. We get to see that Sora has probably beaten someone to death with her microphone at some point given how willing she is to bar fight. A lot of fun stuff.

And then... there’s Mostima.

Look, I like this story, I really do, but Mostima really didn’t need to be here as far as the story is concerned. All she does plot-wise is rile up Exusiai, drop some cryptic advice for Bison, shows she knows more powerful than she leads on, and is a bit of a deus ex machina for the end of the plot, and not even by that much. You could had replaced her with Chen, Swire, Hoshigumi, ShiraYuki, or anyone else that would logically be in Lungmen at the time. Hell, ShiraYuki knowing everything a being cryptic about it would at least be in character for her.

And that’s not to knock Mostima. I actually pulled her in my last ten-pull (didn’t get Waii Fu though, and I’m still salty about that), she’s a pretty good and damn near god-tier once you get her to E2 if some of the guides on her are to be believed, though her kit is a little niche for an AoE caster of her cost. However, as far as the story is concerned she shows a serious issue with Arknights as a whole. That’s its constant need to have half of their characters be mysterious.

Mysterious Characters

So, just to give an example, here is a list of characters in Arknights with a Mysterious Past™. These are characters that either have their archive notes explicitly state their past is unknown, or characters who’s past is implied but but deliberately kept unconfirmed.

With that said...

Mostima

Myrtle

Cuora

Skadi

Specter

Shining

Siege

Projekt Red

Specter

Blue Poison

Lappland

Texas (?)

ShiraYuki

AMIYA

Okay, I’m cheating a little with Texas since she has enough of her past implied, but it’s still technically a mystery as far as the specifics go. But you see my point, right? A lot of characters have a Mysterious Past™, which is a nice shorthand to not go into depth about writing their background. Now, you don’t need to give twenty paragraphs on their backstory, but something would be nice. Keeping things a mystery might be nice for the theory-crafters, but for me it’s annoy as hell to see so many character, so many high-rated that really just have their skills and design to go off of, especially with most the cast overall having a pretty simple background to them that are interesting when you read through the lore blurbs and think about it. Breeze is a former noble that wanted to do more good in the world than throwing money at a problem. Liskarm is a protective friend that joined Rhodes Island to make sure the problematic Franka integrated without problems. Frostleaf is a child soldier that wants to do some good in the world after becoming Infected. Kroos, Beagle, and Fang joined Rhodes Island after getting kicked out of their old jobs. You don’t need to be flashy, but giving answers isn’t an admission of lacking creativity. The hints might be nice for the analysts, but the fans would likely want some answers.

Again, Mostima isn’t a problem, and a lot characters in that list do have some concrete hints about their past. Texas and Lappland are likely a former mafia heiresses and old rivals. Shining was likely a highly skilled mercenary before realizing she could do more good in the world with a healing staff instead of a sword. Siege is likely apart of Londinium royalty, but was either exiled or ran due to political turmoil. But that’s the issue, likely isn’t confirmed. Mostima being a powerful character with a mysterious past just feels like a cop out to me. It’s not bad, but she’s a symptom of what some of the issues of Arknights story is. I’m not asking for AFK Arena-levels of lore, just... an explanation here or there would be nice.

But anyway that’s my main issue, moving on.

General Gushing

Despite that large critique I have, there’s a lot I love about this story. For simplicity sake, because I’m tired of all the editing, I’ll put it into list form:

Penguin Logistics in general was just a joy to see. Watching them in action and just how laissez-faire they are is hilarious, especially when paired with the straightforward and reserved Bison freaking out over the wackiness.

Speaking of, Bison made for a very good straight man to balance out all the wild antics of PL. He really kept things from getting too crazy by at least questioning the zaniness, and the point when he finally stops caring and just charges in with a crazy plan of his own just gave me the giddiest of smiles.

Given how they discuss it, PL apparently trade blows with criminals and thugs on a daily basis, and since they’re just a delivery company this implies they likely deliver drugs or other hot cargo the mafia and gangs want... and given Emperor’s personality, that wouldn’t shock me.

Emperor in general is a delight of a character. He’s about as charismatic and wild as his aesthetic makes him look. I would legit whale for him if he ever become an operator.

Learning a little bit about Lungmen culture was fun as well, as little of it as we see. It’s my personal headcanon now that the mafia and general thugs of Lungmen don’t mess with civilians because they’re either a sleeper agent under the Rat King’s protection or they might be a kung fu master in plain clothes like Waai Fu.

Waai Fu and Texas fist fighting in the streets of Lungmen is just hilarious and awesome. I honestly don’t know what that says about either of them. Texas is holding her own against a martial artist with over 10 years of experience barehanded, meanwhile Waai Fu is holding her own against what lore blurbs have implied is the former heiress/hitman of a mafia. All the while drunkards and Texas’s coworkers are egging them on. This is the dumb content I live for.

Save for some of the absolute bullshit of the challenge maps, I found the actual game content to be pretty fair and interesting. The Bullies required good defender placement, a lot of the ranged units focused on targeting the helpful buildings that buffed your characters and increased the operator deployment count, and maps themselves had a few clever chokepoints to work with... At least until they started spamming Fanatics.

Bison actually has a pretty solid kit for a free Operator. He buffs a lot of adjacent units, has a no real weakness, his tools don’t feel niche like Grani or Celycon, overall a great unit. Once I finish E2-ing all my main Operators I might build him next.

While I have issues with her as a story element, Mostima is a 6-star that has instant utility once you promote her to E2, much like Chen and Siege. This is something I’m relieved to say as a lot of my 6-stars aren’t worth much until you E2 them and I’m still trying to E2 some of my easier units like Cuora and Gavial for Chapter 5 and CC.

That’s really all I have to say on that front. So to close things off...

For the Future

Like I always say in these Ramblings, I don’t like the idea of people prattling on about being able to “fix” or “rewrite” something has already been made. It always comes across as both arrogant and ignorant to me. However, I think it’s completely fair to make requests and suggestions for the future. ‘

That said, I'd like to continue seeing side stories without Rhodes Island’s involvement. Both to see other factions in their natural element and because, frankly, Rhodes Island always feels a little out of place when involved in other stories, or at least more of a distraction than a good element if chapter 2 and 3 are anything to go by. I think a Black Steel side story would be nice. Jessica, Franka, Liskarm, and Vanille getting into shenanigans in Columbia or something sounds like a fun time. Maybe have the leader/high commander of the organization as a new operator and they’re a really powerful Supporter than can buff the party, like a 6-star version of Sora or something that gives operators insane ASPD buffs... I don’t know, something like that anyway. Ideally something a little less wordy than Code of Brawl at least.

Anyway, that’s all I have to say. Next time... I’ll talk about something else. Maybe discuss a manga or something.

See you all later.

#arknights #your dictator is speaking

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trashpandaorigins · 4 years

Text

The Body Keeps the Score Ch. 14 Reckoning

"You said it yourself bitch, we're the Guardians of the Galaxy." Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain*

Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma," by Bessel van der Kolk

I can see you in the distance, and you're heading for a fall

Sinking deeper by the minute, you're about to lose it all

You better change, before the sun goes down

You better leave, before you are the last in town.

You better raise, your fortresses or tear them down

Better Change - Dan Fogelberg

Rocket’s claws clinked against the metal plating on his collar bones, tap tap tapping against the rusted pieces. He curled in his bunk, but despite his efforts nothing replicated that surreal cautious tenderness with which someone besides Groot had dared touch those metal bolts. It was …...nice. It warmed something inside him that had been cold. Some dark place devoid of light where he had poured his malice and hatred at the world. None but Groot, the old Groot, the real Groot, the one who was gone had ever shed any light on that space inside of him. Until now. No one else besides the flora had ever touched him without wanting to hurt him, change him, upgrade or improve or experiment on him. And, like the monster he was...he’d returned the favor with betrayal. He lowered the protective mask and fired more plasma at the Hadron enforcer’s core, sealing it. No it probably didn’t need any fine-tuning but Rocket’s mind spun for something, anything to tinker with, so an upgrade it was.

“Hey, Rocket?!” Quill called over the intercom, “Can you come up here? We got a situation.” The hair on the ringtail’s back rose with irritation,

“If this is about the patch job I do more work on this hunk of junk than any of yous so make Drax repair it!”

He threw down his equipment and made his way to the main deck.

“M Groot!” The little flora rolled into the hall, giggling and munching on the tiny leaf that grew from his own arm. Rocket’s mouth twitched in an amused smile, scooping the little thing up.

“There you are.”

“I...a...am Groo..ot!”

“Quill was tossing you?”

“I am Groot!”

“Tsch, well if he did that , I’m about to get my blasters and…”

The words died in his mouth. Three Nova Corps ships, and six officers surrounded them. Rocket instantly recognized the man to the left, the one whom he had called just terran hours ago. How’d they get here this fast? The engines on those things must be over twenty quarstones.

“Peter Jason Quill and the Guardians of the Galaxy, well we didn’t think we’d be seeing you so soon. Honestly, I’m impressed you made it this far without coming up on our radar.”

Rocket reached for his holster, his other paw reaching up to his shoulder where Groot perched curiously out from behind his ear.

“What is this about Nova,” Quill’s attempt at diplomacy appeared ineffective. The officer, one whom Rocket did not recognize, shook her head. He slid his gaze over to Gamora who stood beside Quill, as stern and expressionless as ever, arms folded and stance secure.

“If this is about the Platain town I massacred...that was….a while ago,” Drax defended, both of his knives out and ready. The Nova officers ignored him.

“Lady Gamora,”

Fuck…. Rocket cursed inwardly. His body tensed, grip tightening around his sidearm. Fuck...fuck...fuck you stupid piece of pelt….you really thought you could get away with this. After all she’s done for you? You fucking monster.

“You are under arrest for endangering your fellow crew, illegal pursuit of a fugitive and to prevent further actions against innocent plants and peoples.”

Three of them encroached, the man holding cuffs.

“Hey, hey!” Quill stepped between them. “There’s gotta be a misunderstanding! You sure your not thinking of the other daughter of Thanos? The bald one with the metal. What’s her name? Nebula? Yeah her! She’s the one you ought to be after!”

“Step aside Starlord,” the Nova officer ordered. Quill grinned cheekily,

“Uh uh, I see what you're doing, but validating my badass outlaw name is not going to make me turn Gamora over.”

Shoot! Run! Get the flark out of here! The machine...or heart...whatever was in his chest raced with trepidation. Take Groot and go! He slipped his revolver out of it’s holster and gripped it tight.

“There must be a mistake,” Gamora clarified evenly. She made no move for her sword even as the officers side-stepped Quill. “I was going after Nebula. But she is no more a daughter of Thanos than I am.”

“Family relations aside, we have deemed you too reckless to be allowed out in the Galaxy unchecked. You were given your chance.”

“What chance? I’ve done nothing but pursue Nebula who is a direct threat not only to myself but to every planet she lands on.” She spoke like someone who’d talked her way out of dangerous situations before.

“That’s enough,” the woman Nova officer dismissed with a wave of her hand. “Take her away, she can answer to Nova Prime.”

“No no, no, wait man that’s not what we agreed to!” Quill exclaimed, “we just saved your lousy planet, remember?” The officers moved for Gamora, the one with the handcuffs approaching first. Rocket watched her strike the man, he didn’t even realize she’d unsheathed her sword. He fell to the ground with a thud. One down, five more to go.

“Damn it!” Quill’s blasters were out in seconds, and Drax charged forward towards the three Nova ships with uproarious laughter. Rocket took aim instantly shooting at the man he’d spoken with not long ago. The man dodged, just in time to duck and take his own shot. Rocket leapt away, the hiss of the bullet ringing in his ears. Behind him Drax shouted something obscene, rushing to beat down the third Nova officer who was making a run for Gamora. She grunted, kicking him in the temple and ran her sword through his side.

“Guys the ships they….!” Quill shouted, but Rocket didn’t need to hear the end of his words. Two of the Nova officers had gone back to their ships, now firing volleys at them and the Benatar.

“Get back to the ship!” Gamora was screaming, pivoting as three rounds of fire shot towards her. Rocket, reached behind him to grab the Hadron Enforcer, grasping blindly for the handle,

Shit…! Shit! Shit!

“I am Groot!”

The frightened saplings cry sent his blood coursing with fright. Shaking, he dropped to all fours just in time for a Nova Officer to run at him. He slid on the ground and spun, firing at the man’s back.

“Die! Die!” Drax cackled, running towards the ramp of the Benatar.

“Get the people in the ships you dumb ass!” Rocket yelled, wincing at the sound of crumpling metal. They’d only just repaired the ship!

“Groot hang on,” he instructed, he’d have to get closer to get the best shot with a revolver. He ran forward to the Nova Officer’s ships. He darted instinctually on all fours, dashing from side to side and leaping up the nearest tree, scurrying out on a limb and dropped down on top of the ship.

From this position, he could see Gamora grappling with the remaining officers, Drax and Quill on either side of her. The officer inside the ship sent solar flares at the Benatar with unrelenting force. Rocket stood over the glass dome, taking aim and shot. The glass shattered, the man inside looked up in shock, cursing something before the ringtail jumped on top of him. Clawing, scratching, biting. Tearing into the fabric of the man’s uniform. His enhanced claws scratched the metal painfully.

“I am Groot!” Groot shrieked, desperately holding on to the straps of the raccoonoid’s jumpsuit.

“Get off me!”

The officer flailed, kicking, the ship rocked. Rocket stumbled backward, turning as the whole ship veered to the left, the hail of solar beams skated from the Benatar towards Quill, Drax and Gamora fought.

No! NO! NO! NO!

Rocket spun, grabbing the controls, throwing his weight against the gun, shoving with all his might.

“Quill!” Gamora’s shout caught his ears even from inside the ship. He looked up, stomach buckling. The humie was down, the woman’s arm around him. Drax brought down the remaining officer with a quick thrust of his knife through the man’s jugular.

“Why you!” The Nova Officer behind him yanked at the scruff of Rocket’s neck with his glove torn hand. The ringtail snarled, teeth bared. He lunged forward, pointed incisors sinking into soft flesh. Warm, metallic blood spurted, filling the raccoonoid’s nostrils in a frenzy. He snarled, gnawing. The man screamed, ripping out handfuls of fur, pulling on his tail. Rocket’s teeth latched around something hard, there was an audible crack and something wet, fleshy quivered in his mouth. He rent backward, blood smattering against his fur. The Nova officer pressed his hands to his throat, gurgling.

Rocket starred, his entire body shaking, fur raised. His claws curled. In a heated rage he watched the man’s open neck, twitching, ghastly and shredded.

“I am g...g...Groot…”

The ringtail turned, still heaving for breath. The tiny flora pointed towards the ship. Rocket wiped his muzzle with the back of his paw and grabbed Groot in his blooded claws, running back to the others. Iron sweet blood slick on his tongue, he swallowed as he ran trying to get the taste out of his mouth.

“There you are furry friend, I did not know where you….what happened to your face?”

“T...take Groot,” the raccoonoid offered the sapling to the Destroyer who accepted without question.

“Quill!” Rocket shouted, eyes scanning the man for any wound as they half ran half limped up the ramp into the Benatar. “Quill, yah alright?!”

“Y...yeah,” the man wheezed, one hand pressed to his side. “It was just a graze.” Rocket snorted, though no less comforted. “You think you can get us out of here?”

“She’s taken a few bad hits but I can get her going.” The raccoonoid nodded, scrambling to the flight deck and revved up the engines.

Come on, come on, come on!

He thrust the engines up and forward adrenaline still coursing through him. He licked his lips, whiskers twitching. The Benatar rumbled, grumbled and spat, finally lifting off from Recseta.

“Drax, what’s the nearest planet?”

“Tarque. The largest planet in the Keystone Quadrant.”

Good enough.

They raced through the jump port.

---

“Where we headed?”

Quill’s voice jolted Rocket from his reverie. The ringtail licked at the inside of his mouth, the taste of blood still lingering.

“Tarque, not far.”

The human nodded, collapsing with a sigh into the co-pilot seat.

“So I’ll live, in case you were wondering,” he lamented. Rocket shook his head, ears flattened making a concerted effort to appear irritated.

“I wasn’t.”

“Okay, well we’ll stop on Tarque. Hopefully Nova hasn’t sent backup and we’ll be able to resupply before they find us. If we weren’t wanted before they’ll really be after us now.”

“Really?!”

Rocket hissed, punching autopilot. He cursed, climbing down from the seat and taking off to his quarters.

“You really did it now…” he muttered to himself, storming down the rickety stairs. His fists balled, tail thrashing.

How the flark and I am going to…

Something hard hit against his face, he teetered backward. Looking up and instantly away with shame.

“Gams!”

She looked down at him, stepping around him and down the hall with a grunt.

Rocket’s stomach threatened to empty itself before he made it to his quarters. Even ignoring Groot who called for him as he passed.

---

Tarque was just populous enough to comfortably hide a band of outlaws in plain sight. Not nearly as big as Knowhere, but still….Rocket could not calm his tight muscles. The cybernetics in his back ached, tugging at his flesh with the slightest movement.

“I’m gettin’ a drink, don’t wait up for me,” he grumbled as they departed the Benatar.

“No! Dude! We need to stick together! We need supplies! We can’t risk landing on another habitable planet for awhile! We have to get…”

the human’s voice quickly died off in the crowd of aliens. Rocket walked in a daze through the streets. Eyes shifting between the people as they bustled and brawled. It took no time to find a dank, dreary dive bar.

“Evmon’s” the sign proclaimed. Rocket peered in to the hazy room. A bartender cleaned glassed, only two other patron’s kept to themselves on either end of the long bar.

Perfect.

He shoved the door open, hauled himself up onto the stool and ordered two shots of Urkven.

If anything can wash the taste of that guys blood out of my mouth, it’s Urkven.

---

“You,” a voice seethed.

Rocket’s mind swam with the alcohol he had consumed in the last...well...he wasn’t keeping track of the time and the foul fleshy taste of the Nova officer’s neck was not washing away as he’d hoped.

“You betrayed me to the Nova Corps.”

“N...no I didn't,” he slurred, groping for the glass before him.

“What did they offer you?” She fumed stalking over to him out of the darkness. “Units?”

“....yeah,” he burped a little and took another drink. “Lots of units.”

“What were those units going to buy you, Rocket?” Gamora’s voice rose beyond rage “Weapons for your anger? Booze for your pain? Friendship? Sympathy? Answers?!” She glared at him with such ruthless disappointment the raccoonoid almost had the audacity to look ashamed. “I thought we were worth more than units. I thought you learned your lesson.”

“What lesson?” Rocket managed a sneer.

“That there are things more precious than bombs or ships or getting rich. Family....empathy...” Rocket rolled his eyes. “You know who taught me that?”

“Lemme guess, Star Shit?”

“Groot.” Gamora answered shortly. Rocket watched her face shift from livid contempt to something he couldn’t name. Something softer...sadder. The thing in his cybernetically enhanced chest nearly shorted out.

“I thought...we were a family after that. That we could be something better. Groot taught me that. That’s what his sacrifice meant to me. I thought....I was sure it would mean something to you too. I thought if anyone could get through to you it would’ve been him.”

She looked down at her glass, tapping her finger against the rim. Hair fell over her shoulder obscuring her face.

“I was wrong about you both. I guess his death wasn’t worth much after all. Not to you anyway.” She turned back to face him, eyes searing as she looked down at him with disgust.

“You were right Rocket. You are a monster. I’m sorry Groot didn’t realize that sooner. It would’ve saved him if he had.”

She looked down at her hands.

“The people from Halfworld were right. I should’ve given you back to them.”

Sobriety came crashing back to the ringtails mind, brought on by stomach dropping dread.

“Y….you wouldn’t....”

“No but I should have. I wouldn’t do that though. I’m not like you.”

“W...what?” Rocket tried to conceal the hurt in his voice trying to stop it from shaking already afraid of what she was going to say. Even his bravado has its limits.

“Your heart. You have none. The only thing that's there is a cybernetic pump. No different than this tap,” she gestured to the bar.

“At least the bar tap can bring people joy and comfort.”

“Shut up! You don’t know what the flark your talking about!”

“I saw the scans Rocket. You had them saved on your data pad. You want to know what was in there?” She jabbed a finger towards his chest,

“A metal pump with wiring connected to your main circulatory system. There’s no heart. Just a machine.”

His tail trashed madly, claws curling around the bottle in his paws so tight it smashed.

“Shut up! You're no better than Thanos! You’re a murderer and a killer and you’ll always be one!

Gamora curled her fists, ready to strike. He braced for it, but the blow never came. Instead she only slammed her knuckles into the counter.

“Papa Thanos never should’ve let you out to Ronan and we never should’ve trusted you!” He bared his red stained teeth. “You’re worse than Thanos, he knows he’s an evil son of a bitch, but you,” Rocket stood up on the counter of the bar, leaning in to the assassin woman’s face so close his nose nearly touched hers. “You pretend to be good and care about people! Your worse than him! I hope Nebula finds you! I hope she murders your cybernetic ass!”

Gamora’s hand swung out grabbing him by the back of the head and lifting him off the bar counter with ease. She strode out the door and dropped him with a thud on the hard ground.

Rocket rubbed his head, staggering to his feet.

“When we get back to the ship, I’m telling the rest of them what you’ve done,” she threatened.

“N...no!” the ringtail shouted, turning his back on her. He dragged himself off, into the thin alley between the bar and the next building. If Gamora saw him go, she didn’t bother to follow him.

---

The ringtail slid down the wall, onto the trash infested ground. Gamora’s furious green face screamed at him everytime he closed his eyes.

He smelled of filth and stale booze, his stomach lurched and he wretched onto the ground beside him. The world spun in a dizzying mess.

Where was Groot? Where was Groot to tell him Gamora was wrong? To tell him he did in fact have a heart, a real one? Maybe If I finish this bottle I can find out. He smiled at the thought. His head lolled to the side to see the cracked green bottleneck still clutched in his claws. The big dumb flora smiled at him in his imagination. If Groot were here we could run off, if Groot were here…. he’d curl up in those long wooden arms and sleep off this terrible nausea. If Groot were here he’d...be ashamed that he had sold Gamora to the Nova Corps.

The thought made the raccoonoid sick again, vomiting.

“Hey! Look what we have here?”

Something hard knocked Rocket in the ribs. He doubled over curling in a ball.

“Give us your units rat!”

A flash of white pain exploded across his head. Everything went dizzy. Something trickled down his fur and dripped onto the cold ground. He tried to reach for his gun, but hard fingers grabbed around his wrist, twisting it. He yelped in pain,

Groot!

He tried to snarl and bite, but the assailants shoved him against the wall; a hand closing around his throat.

“Where are your units?!”

“I d...don’t got n..no uni...units!”

The fist smashed into his stomach again, knocking the breath from him. He gasped, small claws scraping frantically. The second attacker pulled at his tail, the tender bone snapping. Rocket chittered with agony before being flung to the ground once more. Fingers rifled through his pockets but try as he might the raccoonoid could not move.

“S...stop! St….aghh,” he gagged as three feet at once beat into his stomach and back. The paneling in his spine twinged and spasmed, pinching his nerves and crushing his bones.

“Hey!”

A bright flash of yellow light streamed by, screams, shouting.

“Leave him alone!”

Rocket opened his eyes a sliver,

“Quill?”

More shots, the man ran into his attackers, shooting and beating at them until they ran.

“Rocket!” The humie was at his side in an instant.

“Oh shit man, I’m sorry I didn’t come in time. Gamora said she found you at a bar….I just didn’t know which one! There’s so many of em and…”

Rocket yowled as the human attempted to lift him up.

“Sorry man, but we gotta go, I heard the word Nova’s on our tail already.”

The man’s words drifted into his ears and out again, replaced by Gamora’s.

I thought you learned your lesson. I thought...we were a family after that. That we could be something better. Groot taught me that. That’s what his sacrifice meant to me.

His vision clouded even as Quill tucked him safely to his chest and hurried through the city. He tried to imagine Groot’s branches; the soft little lights of spores, the smell of earth...but all his nose could sniff was alcohol and vomit.

He had to do something. What would Groot do? No fuck that, Groot would NEVER betray his friends. What...what would Groot want him to do? Make it right. But how?

Rocket swallowed, tasting the blood of the Nova officer still stuck to his throat.

---

On the Benatar, after Quill had forced him to drink water and sit in the common area the raccoonoid slowly began to regain his thoughts, slipping off the couch and heading for the weapons storage.

“Rocket!”

The raccoonoid jolted in panic, but steadied a little upon seeing the humie. He grabbed several guns and a med kit, stuffing them into his pack.

“What are you doing?”

“Somethin’ I shoulda done a while ago.”

He sniffed, taking a casing of bullets and made for one of the escape pods.

“Dude, where are you going?”

“Someplace I’ll probably regret,” he whispered slowly, checking the fuel saloge. “If I’m not back in four turns just...just take care of Groot okay?”

“Rocket…” Quill reached out a hand to him.

Either Gamora hasn’t told him yet...or he’s even dumber than I thought.

“He needs watering everyday, twice a day. Make Sure he still sleeps in his pot and that he gets enough sunlight. He should be under the portrain lamp for at least thirty nano secs. But not too much or he’ll dry out.”

“Rocket, man where are you going?”

The ringtail punched the codes, opening the pod and strapped in. Looking up at the humie who blinked down at him, naive and innocently unaware. It made the heart. ..no, machine in his chest cinch.

“If I’m not back just tell Gams….tell her I’m sorry, kay?”

“Rocket whatever is going on we can talk this out man!”

“No. We can’t. Trust me.”

He looked away before that stupid face made him change his mind. He punched in the coordinates.

“Fine,” Quill muttered. Trusting him.

Something thudded into Rocket’s lap. He paused, glancing up at the humie again.

“Quill, I can’t...take one of your elemental blasters.”

“You're not taking it. Your borrowing it,” the man corrected, smiling. The raccoonoid looked over the weapon and sighed heavily, taking it in his paws and strapped it to his side. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the man’s face again. But pressed the release button, holding his breath as the escape pod released.

#my writing #the body keeps the score fic #groot #baby groot #drax the destroyer #drax #rocket raccoon #gamora #peter quill #star lord #gotg fanfiction #gotg fanfic #Guardians of the Galaxy #this is a duzy #gamora and rocket friendship

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ansheofthevalley · 5 years

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Till The Sun Grows Cold And The Stars Grow Old - Chapter 7: Why Does It Hurt So Much? [Part 1]

Summary: Sansa is finding taking care of her loved ones more difficult than she anticipated. It seems as though the games of King's Landing have followed its players to Winterfell. But how much can one hide within its walls? And for how long?

But that's not all that worries her. Words prove to be incredibly powerful: an enemy trying to get to her; a family discussion; a confession made late at night... But there's also a soft gaze and a touch that set her skin aflame.

Why does it all hurt so much?

"Lord Varys, I didn't expect you to see you so soon" Sansa said to the Spider, remembering the conversation she had with him the previous day, before she and her family told the Lords and Ladies of their current situation. And of Jon's parents, the voice in her head added. How Jon wasn't her brother but her cousin, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and her aunt Lyanna. She tried her best to keep her emotions at bay, the thought of Jon out of her head.

"Well, I'm afraid, my Lady, we weren't able to finish our conversation" Varys declared, bowing his head just a little.

"I think we did" she offered. She could remember how he was trying to convince her on making her union to Tyrion Lannister "official". “You were very clear on your stance, Lord Varys, and I like to believe I was very clear on mine. I think there's nothing left to discuss".

"Forgive me, Lady Sansa, but I'm afraid it's not our last conversation that brought me here today".

"Then what is it that brought you here today, Lord Varys?"

"Your family. And the future of Westeros"

Sansa felt worry starting to take root in the pit of her stomach. Nothing good can come out of people trying to play with her family as if they were mere pieces of Cyvasse.

“Please, sit”. Ever the courteous lady. “And what is it exactly what my family can do for the future of Westeros, Lord Varys?”

He dedicated her a sweet little smile. Innocent even. There’s nothing innocent about this man, the voice in her head reminds her. “Your House is one of the few Great Houses that’s still standing. As you know, House Tyrell and House Martell no longer exist. So, you can understand the importance of connections, Lady Sansa”.

“Of course, Lord Varys. I assume you’re hinting at my House’s connection to the Vale and the Riverlands. Am I right?” she pointed out. Sansa knows that House Stark is vital for the future of Westeros. After the execution of Littlefinger, the Houses of the Vale reaffirmed their support of House Stark and Northern Independence. And now that House Frey was extinct, her uncle Edmure could retake his position as Lord of Riverrun. The three kingdoms make more than half of Westeros.

“You are correct, my Lady. From all of the people of this country, your family is the most well-connected” he agreed. “Which is why you understand why I think it would be beneficial, to everyone involved, to join Houses in good faith”.

Sansa sighed. Not again, she thought. She wouldn’t let it happen again. I’m not some plaything that can go from man to man so I can appease people, she thought, bitterly. Good faith be damned.

“Lord Varys, I’m afraid you’re losing your time, as well as making me lose mine. I’ve already told you, I have no intention-“

“Just think about it, Lady Sansa” he begged her. “What better way to heal the realm than to unite two Houses that were once enemies, but now can rebuild Westeros”. His voice was hopeful. He truly believed there was a chance she’d agree to it. “You are a highborn Lady, with a great mind for politics. Tyrion is a clever man, one that made it his main goal to restore Westeros to its peaceful days. Think of the thing you could accomplish together: the greatest minds of Westeros, united as man and wife, united as Lord and Lady to save the realm”

Sansa felt an urge to laugh. If it weren’t for the fact that, once more, someone was trying to make her marry a man she had no interest in marrying, she’d find the situation hysterical. But truly, all she wanted to do in that moment was scream and be left alone.

She tried to keep her emotions in check before speaking. “Lord Varys, I’m sure you have other matters to tend to, so I’ll go straight to the point”. Her voice was low and calm, just as the skies are before a winter storm. “Your efforts are futile. Flattery and pretty words won’t work. I won’t honor the vows I was forced to say at the Great Sept of Baelor”. Her voice was firmer now, leaving behind that quiet strength. “My marriage to Tyrion Lannister was a farce. One that happened so the Lannisters could secure Winterfell for themselves. Not only was I a prisoner of House Lannister when I was forced into that marriage, I was just a child. I’ll grant you; Lord Tyrion was always decent towards me. He never forced himself on me, he respected me. But that’s where my gratitude ends. I don't owe him anything. Nor do I owe anything to anyone else”.

Lord Varys looked amused. As if he was enjoying a mummer’s farce in a spring fair. This only irritated Sansa more, even though she tried her best to not to let it show.

The Spider started tapping his fingers on the top of Sansa’s desk. “I was afraid you’d say that” he admitted. “Well, not quite like that” he granted. “I must say, Lady Sansa, behind your image of a Lady, you truly are a daughter of the North”.

“Is there anything else you wished to discuss, Lord Varys?” she asked, paying no mind to the compliment.

“Yes, actually” he replied, his face turning more serious. “There’s the matter of Jon Snow”

“What about Jon?” she hastened to ask.

"Well... He's a very impressive young man" he started. "He's a bastard that rose above his station. He was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch; the North chose him as King". There was something akin to admiration in Lord Varys' voice. "And he's unmarried".

At his words, Sansa felt her cool demeanor crack just a bit. Littlefinger’s words echoed in her head. Jon is young and unmarried. Daenerys is young and unmarried. At the time, Sansa brushed that idea off. Why would Jon want to marry a Targaryen? But of course, last night everything changed, when Jon revealed to her that he had been sleeping with the Dragon Queen. An alliance makes sense. Together, they'd be difficult to defeat, Littlefinger had said. It’s as if his words came back to mock her. Stupid girl, the cruel voice in her head said, you think you know everything but you know nothing at all.

“Jon and Queen Daenerys” she whispered. It hurts to say their names aloud, it hurts so much. Her worry was no longer alone, for it found a companion in pain, a pain so sharp it made it difficult for her to breath.

Varys observed her for a few seconds before replying. “I assume the idea already crossed your mind".

"Littlefinger mentioned it while Jon was in the South" she admitted. "But I'm afraid you'll have to talk to Jon about this, not me". Even the thought of Jon considering this proposition made her heart ache in ways she didn't quite understand. Stupid girl.

"This possible alliance involves you, too, Lady Sansa" he explained. "It involves you and your family".

The worry she felt started growing, threatening to consume her, little by little. "What do you mean?" she inquired. She had no time, no energy for games.

Varys folded his hands on his lap and focused his trained eyes on her face. "I believe I'm not mistaken when I say that few people know about Jon Snow's true identity". He took his time while uttering the words, letting them fall out of his mouth slowly and clearly, as if waiting to be interrupted or corrected. But Sansa didn't say a word. She just stayed still, while her mind went into a frenzy, trying to find a way out of this situation. It wasn't supposed to go like this. Her cool demeanor seemed to crack some more. She could feel the weight of the truth on her shoulders, the weight of what that truth could do. But she could also feel the fierce desire to protect her family, to protect Jon, in her heart. She drew strength from that.

Varys seemed to notice the fear in Sansa's eyes. "Do not fret, my dear Lady Sansa" he tried to assure her, giving her one of his seemingly innocent smiles. "I won't say a word about it. After all, it's not my secret to tell-"

"Nor is it yours to play with" she interjected, her voice as hard as iron. Southron games have no place in Winter. They can pretend and say all the pretty words they want... But when the white winds blow the lies away, only the truth will remain unscathed. "Do you know what happened to the last man that tried to use me and my family as pawns, Lord Varys?" she said as she moved towards the hearth. She stared at the flames for a few moments, giving Varys time to connect the dots.

"You killed Littlefinger" he finally said, surprised.

"We held a trial. My siblings and I, along with the Knights of the Vale exposed his crimes. He was found guilty and executed". She walked slowly towards him, like a wolf does its prey. "Our enemies toyed with us, Lord Varys. They hurt us, tried to maim us, tried to kill us". There wasn't cruelty in her voice, no. It was strength that covered her every word. "But they all forgot something important".

The Spider's eyes were still focused, but curiosity gleamed in them. "And what would that be, my Lady?"

"That the North remembers, my Lord" she declared, going back to her seat.

A smile, a little genuine smile formed on Varys's lips. "That, and that a pack of wolves is unstoppable, if I may say so" he added, offering her one of his little bows. He seemed lost in thought for a moment or two, as if he was trying to find the right words to convince her. "But you cannot defend yourselves alone. You need allies, Lady Sansa. I'm sure you know that".

"So you think marriage is the way to go, the only way to go" Sansa hoped the words unspoken were clear enough. The only way to keep the Dragon Queen content.

Varys leaned in, as if he were afraid the walls of Winterfell would listen to what he had to say to her. "You're a smart young woman, Sansa. I'm sure you noticed how... important the Iron Throne is to the Queen".

"You think once she knows the truth, she'll see Jon as a threat" she observed. Sansa and Varys both knew this to be true. Daenerys would see Jon as a threat. And how is it exactly that she deals with threats?

Sansa felt restless. Her fear and worry were overtaking her mind. But there was something else, something she could only identify as determination taking over her heart. She wouldn't let anything happen to Jon. She promised him so. I’ll protect you, just as you protected me, she had told him that night down at the crypts. And she meant every single word she said. I'm a Stark of Winterfell. I can be brave. I can be fierce.

"She could. He's Rhaegar's heir, which makes his claim higher than that of Queen Daenerys'. But if they were to marry..."

She didn't like this. She hated it. Jon is not a Targaryen. Sure, his father might've been Prince Rhaegar, but he was a Stark. His place is here, in Winterfell, with his family. With me. She immediately pushed that thought away.

"... sure you agree with me, I know you can understand-", she barely registered Varys' words. She was too lost in her thoughts and feelings to pay attention to what he was saying. Surely about how great an idea it is for Jon and Daenerys Targaryen to marry, the voice in her head said, bitterly.

"What you're proposing is for Jon to decide, not me. And definitely not you" she cut him off, as composed as she could possibly be in that moment.

"Lady Sansa" he sighs. "This is the easiest way to bring harmony to our country".

"Like I said, Lord Varys. This involves Jon, not me. I'm afraid you're seeking for validation in the wrong person".

It wasn't until she finished talking that she realized that she walked into a trap. He wanted to know how I felt about this. But why?, she wondered.

Because he knows that union isn't the only possible option, the voice in her head told her. And you know it, too. Then, she remembered the conversation she had with her siblings and Jon after finding the truth about his parents.

Lord Royce and the rest of the Vale swore fealty to us. Think about it, the North and the Vale, joined in arms and faith. And with the Freys gone, we can take back Riverrun, in the name of uncle Edmure. Should things with your aunt go wrong, we’d have the support of half of Westeros

We could have more than that...

She stopped herself lest her eyes gave her thoughts away.

"But you know him. Would he consider this proposal?" Varys insisted.

"He would do whatever is best for our people" she replied, matter-of-factly. The Master of Whisperers hummed in response. He was looking at her attentively, as if she were a riddle he was so close to solve. Sansa was resolved to do the same. Gods know what else he might know.

The silence in the room was turning tedious, so he broke it. "You've proven to be a capable politician, my Lady" he said with that little smile that exasperated her. It reminded her or King's Landing. It reminded her of people that were ready to use her and discard her the second she was no longer useful.

"You were able to come to that conclusion in such a short amount of time?"

"It might be winter, my dear" Varys laughed, "but my little birds still fly. I've heard quite a lot about the Lady of Winterfell. You see, they tell me she's very dedicated to her people, lords and smallfolk alike". He's trying something, she thought. "If you ask me, that's one of the things that makes a great ruler: genuine care. Another is to know the people around them, to know what they want" he explained. "But I'm sure the departed Lord Baelish taught you well". At the mention of his name, Sansa felt a shiver go down her spine. Even with him gone, the wounds he inflicted were somewhat open. He's gone, but his death didn't remedy the things he's done, the things he took from me and my family. Sansa lifted up her chin, trying her very best not to let the memory of a cruel, ambitious man tear her down.

"He taught you very well, if I may add" Varys continued. "You were able to outsmart him. Many people tried it, and many people died for that very reason".

Sansa was tired of this. She was tired of Varys, tired of his games. In silence, she stood up from her chair. "Lord Varys" she sighed, "I think I've made myself clear during our conversation" she said as she walked towards the door of her solar. "As for your proposal regarding Jon-"

"I tried to help your father, you know" Varys interjected, still sitting in one of the chairs laid in front of her oak desk. The mention of her Lord father made her freeze. Suddenly, she found herself fighting the tears away. Will my heart ever heal? she wondered.

"I visited him in the Black Cells" he started. "I begged him to declare himself a traitor, to forsake his honor..." Sansa heard the chair move. She didn’t see Varys approach her, she was still facing the door, unable to tear her eyes from it. As if the act of looking at any other thing than that door would break her into a million pieces. "I asked him to think of you".

The thought of her father, all alone in those cells, imprisoned like a common thief, just because he dared to tell the truth. The memory of him standing in front of the people of King's Landing, admitting his treason, only to... Sansa felt like the air was being sucked from her lungs. She started to cry silent tears. She let herself be vulnerable in front of a man that was known for taking advantage of the vulnerability of others. But she didn't care. Her heart ached for her father. Her heart ached for her innocence. Her heart's been aching since that day. And it never stopped. She turned around slowly to face the Spider. If he's going to use this against me, she thought, at least let him see what he's using. Let him feel despicable for doing such a cruel thing.

"You may ask why I'm insistent with these plans, so I'll tell you the same thing I told Lord Eddard: I don't serve Kings and Queens; they're people, just like any of the kitchen maids that work on an Inn in the Kingsroad or a farmer that never left his town" he explained, while giving her an earnest look. "The only difference, given my experience, is that Kings and Queens are more concerned with the power they can get". He then turned to the hearth, absorbed by his own words. "If they dedicated half the time and energy to matters of state, to the people, the realm would be flourishing, instead of drowing in yet another war". He talked like a man that was tired of his task but wouldn't give up on it, not just yet. "So, you may ask yourself who do I truly serve, the answer is simple". At this, he turned to face Sansa. "I serve the realm, my Lady, because no one else seems to do so".

His words rang true with her. This might be the first time he's being completely sincere in our entire conversation, she thought. The exasperation left her little by little, and started to be replaced by curiosity and an eagerness to know. Why would a man so concerned with the well-being of the realm stand beside a Targaryen?, she wondered. One that burned her enemies alive. But she kept those questions to herself.

He walked closer to her, probably wanting to reach for her hand, but he was aware of the way she stiffened, so he stopped on his tracks. "You care about your people, I know it. I've seen it. So please, Lady Sansa. At least take my proposals into consideration".

She just stood there, trying to read him. There was a distinct gleam in his eyes. Desperation, the voice in her head told her. He looks like a man that's running out of options.

Varys took her silence as some sort of quiet refusal. "You think that just because you slain one giant, there's nothing else in the world that can terrify you, but there is" he stated. "The realm is not yet safe".

He is desperate, she thought, because he's afraid.

"I assure you, Lord Varys, me and my family, as any other northerner, will do anything and everything in our power to keep our people safe" she was quick to answer. "We take care of each other. Especially through hardships". Sansa thought he might give her some witty remark, or retort her right away, but his answer didn’t come. Instead, he stayed silent, with wide eyes, trying to read the woman in front of him.

"Unless there is something you're not telling me" she prodded. "Maybe about the Dragon Queen's previous allies?" Sansa made sure her tone left nothing out. I know about the Reach. I know about the Iron Fleet and Dorne. I know she's done nothing for them.

Realization dawned on Varys' face. Sansa took the silent confirmation gladly. She now knew for certain who exactly she was dealing with.

"I beg of you, my Lady" he started, not worrying about masking the uneasiness in his voice. "Daenerys is your ally. There is no need of making her your enemy".

"Does she terrify you, my Lord?" she found herself asking. The voice of Varys the Spider didn't answer her, his silence did. "You know, Cersei once gave me a piece of advise. She told me that I should make sure the people fear me more than they do the enemy. She told me that in doing so, nobody would dare to cross me" she explained. "Why do I feel your Queen is not so different from Cersei in that matter?"

Silence met her question once more. One by one, all of Sansa's fears were being confirmed by Varys' silences. Sansa had no energy to keep on going. She was heading towards her desk when she heard Varys sigh. "I hope you're careful, Lady Sansa. I really do".

"And I hope you keep your word, Lord Varys" she said in a voice like iron. "This isn't one of the games of the Capital".

"In that we seem to agree, my dear" he offered, before bowing and leaving the solar.

Once she was alone, Sansa felt her emotions wash over her: fear, anger, helplessness, determination. Each one more aggressive than the former. But, as if all of that weren't enough, her mind started playing with her heart. The ever-present ache she felt whenever she thought of those she lost was like a sharp dagger in her chest. The ever-present fear she's been feeling ever since she found out about Jon's parentage. The miserable feeling she couldn't get rid of ever since Jon told her about him and Daenerys Targaryen.

She felt faint. She felt trapped.

She wanted peace. She wanted her family.

You want Jon, that voice in her head told her.

Brushing aside that little voice (one that sounded like her old self, the one that dreamed of princes and gallant knights), she made her way towards the Great Keep. It was time to listen to the people: their needs and their worries, and the Lady of Winterfell didn't have time to dwell in hers. She had to do her duty.

(You can read the rest of the chapter on AO3)

#jonsa #jon x sansa #sansa x jon #Jon Snow #Sansa Stark #got #jonsa fanfiction #actuallyjonsa #jonsa fandom #my fanfiction #my writing #my stuff

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vulpinesaint · 4 years

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Nyctophobia - Ch. 9

Sebastian trusts one person entirely and completely-and it certainly isn’t the strange boy who washed up on the shore of his island kingdom.

After a disastrous turn of events, however, the pair are forced off on an adventure through a land that neither of them know anything about. With a bard, a spy, and maybe a bit of magic, they’ll have to fight hard to get back home…

Wherever home is.

link to chapter one

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Chapter Nine - The Prince In The Cell

The town jail—or the guard house; it was one of the two and Sebastian didn’t have enough experience with either to tell which one—only had a few cells. Sebastian ended up in one, behind stone walls and a wooden door with a space cut out for a few metal bars. He was isolated from the world, save for sound, with only a cot and a chair. They hadn’t told him anything about why he was there; just separated him and Robin and put him in a cell.

He was decidedly unfond of the situation. He felt trapped.

A guard opened the door. She looked as if she might’ve been in charge—she certainly carried herself with more decorum than the other guards Sebastian had come into contact with. She looked around Marianna’s age. Maybe a bit older. Sebastian glared at her, mistrusting, as she entered the cell.

Upon arresting them, the guards had taken his and Robin’s things, among them his mother’s dagger. They’d also taken one of his knives when they’d caught him trying to pick the lock with it earlier on. This all left him with only one blade, the odds of which he did not like.

“What am I doing here?”

The guard exhaled, closing the door behind her. One hand rested on the hilt of her sword. “I could ask you the same thing, kid.”

Sebastian glared harder.

The guard pulled the chair over in front of the wooden cot and sat down. “Sit down,” she told him, gesturing to the cot. “We’re going to have a conversation.”

Sebastian said nothing in response. The guard sighed and turned the chair to face him, bracing her elbows on her knees. “Look. Here’s the situation. You match the description for a couple of criminals that the Queen’s issued and official warrant of arrest for. You and your friend, I mean. Our men might have been a little quick in arresting you, but you match the description almost exactly. Now—hold on—” she held up a and as Sebastian opened his mouth to protest. “There’s something I want to know. See, the Queen didn’t say anything about what exactly these criminals did, and the men and I are all awfully curious. Either way, you’ll be turned into the capital for imprisonment or execution or what have you, but we’ll treat you nicer if you let us in on your secret. Sound good?”

The word execution rang in Sebastian’s mind. He was being falsely accused. Him and Robin both. His thoughts raced. “That’s impossible. There’s no reason for my companion or I to be arrested.” Might was well try for the truth, before anything else.

The guard raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, really? Because to me, you look awfully similar to—” from her pocket, she produced a piece of paper, and began to read. “Two young men, late teens to early twenties, both with brown hair. One tall, near six foot, green eyes, and one slightly shorter, with blue eyes.” She paused, and glanced down meaningfully at Sebastian’s boots. “Odd clothing or mannerisms. Got the report just this morning, actually. And then you two showed up.” She folded the paper and tucked it back into her pocket.

Sebastian’s expression didn’t betray his alarm. He kept his expression schooled as he racked his brain for any reason that the queen of this country would know about himself and Robin. They’d stolen from someone, but that man couldn’t have pinpointed them as the thieves, and there was no reason for the queen to be involved. It had to be someone else fitting their descriptions. “I’m sure you have the wrong people.”

The guard hummed a reluctant agreement. “Well. I wasn’t entirely convinced, at first, either; but that weapon and that partner of yours certainly aren’t helping your case.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Royal indignance started to creep into Sebastian’s tone.

“Well, to start, not many people have daggers like yours. Especially not the one in your bag, and the one that you pulled out of nowhere to try and pick the lock.” She tilted her head, smiling at Sebastian. A false sweetness honeyed her expression. “Care to tell me more about that?”

Sebastian did his best not to let his expression budge when she mentioned the dagger. “The sapphire knife is a family heirloom.” No real lies. Not yet. “The other is for protection.” He still had one of his daggers, in his right boot; he could kill the guard then and there and attempt an escape. His mind ran through the scenario several times before he bitterly accepted that he’d probably be overwhelmed by guards the minute he was out the door.

He still didn’t know why any of this was happening, and to be frank, he was panicked—though he was good at hiding it, even from himself. That was what he’d been doing since landing on the damned beach. He’d been caught for a crime he hadn’t committed, and his weapons, apparently, were conspicuous—skies, what kind of idiotic people didn’t carry any kind of protection with them? Since when was self-defense considered criminal? Stupid people, stupid guard, stupid continent—

“Oh, really?”

Sebastian decided to switch tactics. Build up a lie. Hope for the best. Hope they’d seem innocent. Any further with the truth, and he’d have to tell them where he was from, and he sincerely doubted that any of the idiotic mainland people would believe that he was a prince from an island that none of them had ever heard of. “We’re travelling. There are thieves on the road, you know.”

“And where are you and the other young man travelling to?

He shrugged. “Up the coast.”

That seemed to throw the guard for a moment. “Up the coast? Toward the capital?”

Sebastian had no idea where the capital of this damned, cursed country was, but he went along with it. “Yes. Toward the capital.”

“And why would that be, exactly?”

Sbeastian kept his expression schooled. He knew how to lie, to come up with something believable on the spot. It would’ve been easier if he knew how anything in te damned kingdom functioned, but he did his best. “We’re seeing the question. Thought it would be a nice trip, going up the coast.”

The guard nodded, but didn’t seem to believe him in the least. “Hmm. Well. There’s still another problem.”

“And what would that be?” He couldn’t escape his conspicuous clothes, but he’d provided a viable explanation for everything else, he felt. He didn’t know why he had the compulsion to lie his way out of all of it. He felt trapped. He wanted out.

“Your companion, there—well, it’s almost comical how much he looks like his wanted poster.”

Sebastian’s guard slipped. “His wanted poster?”

The guard produced another piece of paper from her pocket, and unfolded it. “We’ve had this one for a while, actually. Couple of months. Long enough that Jenson must’ve recognized your little friend.” She turned the paper to show Sebastian, and he was so startled by the striking likeness of Robin on the paper that he didn’t get a chance to read the charges against him before the guard folded the paper back into her pocket.

“I might’ve been willing to believe that you didn’t know about his crimes. But with a warrant out against the both of you? I can’t see how there’s a chance in hell you’re innocent, kid.”

“He wouldn’t—” Sebastian started, the confused outburst escaping him before he had the chance to consider it. Bad move. A slip-up.

The thoughts he’d been having those past few days clicked in his head. The musings over Robin’s past life. What if he’d really been a thief?

A hint of confusion slipped into the guard’s expression, but it disappeared after a moment. “Look, kid. I’m giving you a chance to confess, here.” She sounded kind, compassionate; Sebastian might’ve been convinced by it if he hadn’t been surrounded by liars his whole life.

He changed tactics. He drew himself up, lifted his chin, and gave the guard his iciest royal stare, the one that told the people around him that he had status. He’d learned it from his mother. He used to watch her staring down at the nobility, and he’d practice the expression in mirrors, in the reflective surfaces of crowns and blades. “I have nothing to confess.” He told the truth, but it felt like keeping up an act, rather than defending himself.

The guard studied his face. She was older than him—not old enough to be his mother, but maybe an aunt, or an older sister. Sebastian had never known any of his family members. His mother had been an only child, and her parents had died rather early on. His father’s family, the royal side, had been as resilient as his father himself when it came to surviving attacks. He’d never seen more than the occasional portrait of any of them.

“I think you’re making a mistake here, kid. This is your last chance at leniency.” The guard leaned in closer, elbows resting on her knees and hands clasped. Sebastian held his ground. “If you won’t cooperate, we’re not going to be so nice when we take you off to the queen tomorrow.”

“Maybe the queen can tell me what I’ve done.” He’d almost said ‘your queen’. He detested this place.

The guard laughed, short and almost sympathetic. “Brave. The queen’ll filet you alive.” With that, she stood and left the cell. She didn’t even bother to keep an eye on Sebastian as she opened the door. He felt irrationally insulted.

The rest of that day was spent pacing the cell. He didn’t sit down on the cot, but he did jump up on the chair a few times when he was sure nobody was around. He didn’t want to relax. It felt wrong.

Nobody fed him, and his stomach grumbled a number of times—they hadn’t been eating that well since landing, and he wished desperately for good food, while cursing the idiotic guards that were stopping him from eating.

As he sat, waiting for morning, waiting for whatever would happen, he thought a few things over. Most importantly, how he would escape—whether he could pick the lock with his remaining dagger, whether he would be caught if he tried, whether he would be able to get Robin out if he were to take that route.

Something in his mind reminded him that it would be a hell of a lot easier to just leave Robin and go without him. Something else, fond and fierce, violently quashed that thought. He couldn’t leave Robin. Robin trusted him, Robin was dependent on him—he’d promised himself that he would protect him. No way in hell was he going to leave him to the whims of some guards.

Especially now that he’d seen that wanted poster.

That was the other thing on his mind. Robin had done something. And the two of them, at least two people who looked like them, had done something bad enough to have a warrant issued by the queen. Sebastian had no idea what was going on, and it frustrated him to no end, made him want to scream and throw the chair against the wall and cry.

He staunchly ignored the impulse to cry. He kicked the chair against the wall. Nobody came in to check on him, so he glared at the piece of wood and left it on its side. There was a jagged crack in the wood. He felt a little better.

He couldn’t help but think that maybe this was some sick sort of reversal of his and Robin’s situations. Robin had been pulled into Sebastian’s life, into danger and uncertainty, through no fault of his own. The opposite was happening to Sebastian now.

The sun set, and his mind had made no real progress. All he’d been able to settle on was that there really was something to the little things he’d noticed about Robin—the quiet movement, the easy theft, the way he could hide his emotions so naturally, the unease at sleeping in one room for too long. There was something to connect it all, some common thread in the shifty tapestry. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.

Night fell. He could hear crickets outside. There was no light in the cell. He stood by the door, at full attention, waiting for any sign of movement. He hated being stuck. He hated feeling unprepared. He hated feeling trapped.

The sound of boots approached his cell door, hours later, in what must have been the middle of the night. Sebastian perked up. There was no reason for a guard to come to the cell, this late, unless he’d severely misjudged the time, and he was being taken to the queen of this awful, horrid kingdom.

Maybe it was Robin. Maybe he’d gotten out, gotten keys; he’d held his own in the escape from the castle, and Sebastian knew he could steal, so—

Keys turned in the lock, and the door opened to reveal a guard; the same one who had arrested them earlier. Sebastian’s heart fell. Robin’s footsteps had always been quieter.

“Hey, there, prisoner.” The guard grinned, baring pearly white teeth. His sword was drawn, and trained on Sebastian’s neck.

Sebastian couldn’t see any hint of sincerity in the man’s expression. He lifted his chin, as regal as he could be, daring an attack, and glared back.

“Got a proposition for ya,” the guard continued, undaunted by Sebastian’s response (or lack thereof). “See, we don’t get paid that well. And I couldn’t help but notice this pretty little silver-blue dagger with your things. Quite the weapon, isn’t it?”

Sebastian refrained from using his remaining knife at that point, but glared daggers nonetheless.

The guard kept on. “So. Here’s my deal for you. I’ll let you out, give you your stuff, and you can be on your way. You give me that pretty dagger in exchange. You get your freedom, the rest will assume that you took the weapon, and I get something nice for myself. Everyone wins.”

“No.” Steel braced Sebastian’s tone. There was no way in hell he was giving up his mother’s dagger. It was precious. Valuable. It was—

Well. It was the last thing he had of her.

“Oh, come on, kid,” said the guard, who really didn’t look that much older than Sebastian himself. Sebastian positively bristled at his patronizing tone. “It’s not like you have much choice in the matter. I may not know what you did, but I know you’re guilty. Either you get out now or you get convicted, and you won’t get your precious dagger back anyway.”

A long pause. Silence. “Fine. Let me out.”

The guard lowered his sword, and stepped aside, and Sebastian stepped out of the cell. It already felt easier to breathe.

The guard led the way to the door of the jail, or guard station, or whatever it was called, and gestured to Sebastian’s pack, where it sat by the door. He must’ve placed it there beforehand. There was a smugness in his grin, and with the placement of the pack, he’d obviously been certain that his plan would work; there was a surety, an egotistical confidence to it all, and Sebastian absolutely detested it.

“There you are, mystery man. You can be on your way, now.” A hint of silver-blue flashed in the guard’s hand, in his pocket, and Sebastian tensed. Then something else occurred to him.

“Where’s my companion?”

The guard looked entirely satisfied in himself. Sebastian didn’t have the words to describe how much he hated him in that moment. “Your little ‘companion’ wasn’t part of the deal, kid. Either you go on without him or you stay here in a cell.”

Sebastian’s glare was icy as he bent to pick up his pack from its demeaning place on the floor, and he kept it trained on the guard the whole time. His hand rested on the top of his boot.

Sebastian had been fighting for a long time. He’d been training with sharp weapons since he was a child, and he knew how to use them, knew how to use his body, to move fast and defeat opponents. The guard obviously didn’t have those same advantages. Sebastian had a blade to his neck and a hand around the hilt of the man’s sword before the shock had even begun to set in.

“Where are your keys?” he hissed, and when the guard muttered some incoherent, fearful answer, Sebastian ordered him to hand them over.

“Now, take me to my friend.”

Keys in hand, knife to the guard’s neck, Sebastian felt better than he had in a while. This was a plan. This was action. This was him, having control, having agency; he could do something. He was saving Robin. He reveled in it as they walked to Robin’s cell.

The guard walked slowly, silent, trying to maintain composure. Sebastian had met this kind of man before. They all possessed a certain brand of cockiness, a self-surety, and they all, inevitably, feared death above all else.

When the guard pointed out the cell, Sebastian confirmed, nodded, and plunged his dagger into the man’s throat, twisting it sharply. He’d still have to wait for him to die, but at least he wouldn’t be able to scream for help.

The guard made a gargling sound and dropped to the floor. Sebastian flicked his hand away sharply to get some of the blood off and turned to unlock the door to Robin’s cell.

Robin hadn’t slept, either, and he looked tired and on-edge, but seeing him felt like a breath of fresh air. Sebastian did his best to ignore the look on Robin’s face when he saw the still-dying guard.

“C’mon. We have to go.” Sebastian considered crushing the throat of the guard further, but then decided that having blood on his boots would not be helpful if he were to get caught again. He stepped around the forming puddle and knelt, retrieving his mother’s dagger from the guard’s pocket. He felt much better with it in his possession. It didn’t quite fit, but he slipped it into his boot.

Robin had emerged from his cell, and picked his way around the guard. He didn’t look happy about it, but he didn’t say anything. Sebastian offered his hand. He wouldn’t admit it to himself, but it was a nice reassurance, to know that Robin was there. After a moment, Robin took it. Sebastian led the way out of the little complex. He was still missing a dagger, but he didn’t have time to go poking around while they might still have gotten caught.

At the door, Sebastian stopped to put his pack on his shoulder, and they made it outside, into the moonlight and the fresh air. The place they’d been held was just outside town, up on a hill; there was a lovely view of the moon and the town. He would have stopped to just… sit, and revel in his freedom, but he was still anxious about being caught.

Even if he had stopped, he wouldn’t have lost much time.

“Stop!”

Sebastian and Robin both whirled around, dropping each other’s hands. Another guard—the tall, broad-shouldered one who’d helped in arresting them—stood with his sword at the ready. “Look, nobody has to get hurt,” he said, glancing between them with a reticence that gave Sebastian pause. “But I can’t let you go. Come with me.”

Robin took hold of Sebastian’s wrist and whispered to him. “Let’s just run.”

“He’ll call for backup. I have to make sure he won’t call anyone.” Sebastian handed his things to Robin.

“Sebastian—” Robin started, but Sebastian was already moving, determined to leave no loose ends.

“You can still go back to your cells,” the guard said, as Sebastian walked toward him. “There doesn’t have to be a fight. I don’t have to call anyone else out here.” His sword was leveled at Sebastian’s chest, and his hands tightened around the grip. Sebastian kept his pace even. He knew how to fight off a sword-user with his daggers. He’d had enough practice with one to feel fairly confident.

A problem presented itself, however, in his weapons. Usually, two daggers provided a defense and an attack, but he only had one, and his mother’s blade was much smaller than what he was used to. It certainly looked more ceremonial than practical, and while it could do damage, it didn’t look strong enough and certainly not long enough to block a sword if it needed to. The last thing Sebastian wanted to do was ruin his mother’s dagger for one stupid fight. He opted to only use the one in his hand. He would be fine. The other guard didn’t seem to have much going for him, combat-wise, so this guard would probably be the same. Didn’t seem like people fought much over here, anyway.

Knees bent, like a cat ready to strike, Sebastian moved into the range of the sword. He had to get close enough to land a hit. Possibly two. The guard struck first—a swing at the shoulder that Sebastian was able to block—and then he was close enough. He aimed a stab at the guard’s neck, but it was blocked. Another swing from the sword. He dodged back out of reach as the blade surged towards his torso, then, as the guard was recovering, darted back in to strike again. The guard raised his sword. That would be easy to block, he thought, and slipped under an arm and drove his blade into the area where he would find the guard’s heart. He pulled away with a rush of victory, breathing harder, though the fight wasn’t over. He’d landed a strong hit. It would be easier from then on.

He’d been too confident.

Blinding pain shot through his left shoulder, and he barely registered the sword through the pain and then the feeling of blood seeping into his clothes. A flash of metal pulled away from it as the solid figure of the guard staggered back.

The pressure of hands appeared on his left arm and right shoulder, and Sebastian tried to jerk away before he registered that it was Robin, solid and gentle and pulling him away from the guard.

“Come on, Sebastian. Let’s just go,” Robin pleaded, shifting his grip from his left arm to around his waist when he hissed in pain.

“He’s not dead yet,” Sebastian insisted, fighting tears and not feeling the pain all at once. “I have to finish it.”

“No, you don’t,” Robin said, firmer this time. “We have to run. Come on.”

Sebastian protested again, but Robin pulled him away, out into the night. He gave in after a few more minutes, unable to focus on the pain and protest all at once. They broke into a run, Sebastian holding onto his arm to try and keep it from moving too much, and Robin pulling him along. Over his shoulder, Sebastian saw the guard make his way across the doorstep of the guard house, and heard him call for help.

It took a moment for the other guards—the woman from before, and one that Sebastian didn’t recognize—to run outside. By the time that they did, Sebastian and Robin had made it down the hill, and were running across the town towards where they’d left their horse.

The guards called for someone to stop them, but Sebastian could barely hear it over the pounding in his head and of his feet against the cobblestone. He saw people emerging blearily from houses and storefronts, but he and Robin were past them before they had any opportunity to stop them.

He could have sobbed with relief when he saw that the horse was still there. Robin let go of Sebastian and ran to untie the animal. Once that had been done, he pulled himself up, helping Sebastian up after him. Once Sebastian was holding onto Robin, probably getting blood all over the other young man, Robin gave a sharp “Hyah!” and they rode off into the darkness, leaving the yelling of the guards to fade into the background.

oh, boy. long wait, huh?

at least this probably had enough action to make it a little bit exciting. are you guys intrigued? tell me what you think!

also, people tell me to stop hurting sebastian, but i gotta tell you that it’s not gonna stop anytime soon. either way, i mean, i already killed his mom, so i’m not sure there’s much worse i could do to him. just saying.

anyway! i’ll try and be a little faster on the next update. no promises, though :)

see you guys next update *finger guns*

~ Love from Rai ~

TAGS: @virgils-jacket , @nemothesurvivor , @deathshadowrules , @yayroos , @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars , @rainykingdoms

(let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

#nyctophobia #chapter nine #original writing #creative writing #fantasy

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jays--writing-blog · 5 years

Text

The Unimaginable (Chrom x Queen Regent!MC x Lon’Qu)

~Fire Emblem: Awakening~

A/N: I’ve been having the mighty need to write some Fire Emblem: Awakening fics for a very, very long time. This is the first time I’ve written for this fandom, so I hope I honed it alright. Perhaps I might turn this in a series if you guys want?

This originally was a story I wrote for an original story of mine... many many years ago, but I decided to rewrite it with my two fav FE boys.

~SFW~

Word Count: 2,174

Find me on Ao3 at obsessivelystrange

“Ahem,” an older, higher ranked guard cleared his throat as he lifted himself upward from his respectful bow to the Queen Regent who sat regally on her golden encrusted throne. Her Consort, Lon’qu stood where could always be found; at her side, his sword staying stationary on his hip, ready to use at any moment.

“You may speak,” The Queen nodded in approval as her hands smoothed over the cloth of her elegant, jade gown. The royal guard cleared his throat once again before speaking. “I am... unsure on how to address this issue, your majesty,” his eyes searched the Queen Regent’s face, trying to find encouragement in her mild, yet encouraging smile.

Y/N quickly became accustomed to the fact that her high tanking station would be intimidating to more than an abundance of people--- even those that held high official ranks of her own. She learned that nearly eleven long years ago when the crown of Ylisse was placed upon her head with her now late husband, Chrom, by her side.

“I have served under many generations of exalts within these very palace’s walls and never had much of an issue delivering news, majesty,” he admitted sheepishly, relinquishing another cough from her throat.

Y/N could see the guard’s white mustache twitching as he tried to force the news from his lips.

“Come now,” Lon’qu, spoke out to the guard, urging the elderly guard to continue. The Queen knew Lon’qu could sense something was horribly off. She also knew Lon’qu would have no issue springing into action at a moment’s notice of an attack.

“Let him take his time,” Y/N nodded at her husband’s direction, thoughtfully. “I’ve known him since my first arrival to the palace,” she hoped to assure Lon’qu that nothing serious was taking place. “Take your time, Sir Michael,” she addressed him by name, hoping to ease the guard further.

“There is a visitor awaiting you outside by the castle gates, milady. I most highly recommend greeting him.

Y/N perked an eyebrow. “Outside? Why not usher him inside?”

“I-It’s complicated your majesty. I thought about bringing him inside myself, but I only come to find that it would be most appropriate to meet him outside... alone.”

Lon’qu stiffened at the proposition. “I will accompany the Queen Regent---”

“Milord, I highly advise against that in this instance and this instance alone.”

“What about her protection?” He inquired, in a tense voice.

“I can assure you, milord, she is no danger.”

“Besides, I have my guards. There are many other things that need attending by the Queen Regent’s consort, anyway, “ she grinned, lifting herself up from her throne. “Would you care to check in on Morgan and Lucina?”

Lon’qu released a sigh. “Very well,” he nodded. “If you do find yourself in need of me, I will remain near... you need only call for me.”

“I know,” she smiled, lifting her gown ever so slightly to walk forward without tripping on the delicate silken fabric that skimmed the ground. “Please, lead the way, Sir Michael.”

The sun was out and gleaming with its bright rays, burning down onto the cobblestone terrain of the castle’s front courtyard. It was the perfect day for an outing in the gardens, Y/N noted. Perhaps after her meeting with this unknown guest, she could bring Lon’qu and her children down for a stroll. “What can you tell me of our guest?” The Queen Regent questioned, keeping her hands elegantly folded together holding her head up high as usual.

“I don’t think I should be the one to explain. Besides, he is just down there,” he gestured straight ahead. “Just by the gates, your grace,” he squinted to keep the sun’s blinding light from his eyes and pointed forward.

Y/N’s eyes surveyed the path before her. A tall figure stood in front of the cast iron gates that led to the entrance from Castle Town, to the Castle Grounds. It was monitored at all times to ward out any unwelcome guests or to usher in innocent citizens in need to an audience with the royal officials inside.

Using her right hand to block the sun from her eyes, Y/N looked down the pathway to possibly get a better image of the figure. The figured seemed familiar--- she didn’t know in what way, however? Perhaps it was an old friend from the battles she helped fought all those many years ago against Gangrel and Grima... That certainly would be a pleasant surprise seeing as many of them had gone their separate ways, back to their own homelands to defend against their own invaders.

“Go on, your majesty, I shan’t hold you back anything further,” Sir Michael nodded, standing aside.

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“I will be behind you, but I will assure you again, our guest has no intentions of laying a harmful hand upon you. You know him quite well, actually. Quite well,” he repeated, before coughing once again.

The Queen nodded, her smile vanishing as her thoughts raced on whom awaited her at the end of the pathway. Without consciousness of her own movements, she pressed forward on her own, lowering her hand from her eyes but keeping her vision locked on the blurry figure before her.

Maybe it was an old ally? A noble visiting from the land’s far off? Maybe a retired member of the court? Her mind wandered further and further as she got closer and closer.

Her eyes adjusted to the light as the mysterious figure came into better view.

She halted immediately as her brain began to decode the identity of the man before her.

“Majesty,” the familiar voice sent a warm chill down Y/N’s spine, reeling her mind into the past. Her eyes bore into the familiar man before her--- her late husband Chrom, the Exalt of Ylisse.

His indigo shaded hair was unkempt and longer than she’d ever remembered witnessed before. His familiar army fatigues were caked in dirt and dried blood, revealing some parts of his skin where pieces of fabric were slit off. He spoke and stood with the same modesty he held the last time she saw him. He even still had that same smile that graced his cut and dry lips. Chrom still held himself higher than the Queen, but he looked sickly and dramatically malnourished.

“Chrom?” She questioned, feeling her heart stop completely. “Chrom?!” She repeated in utter shock, bursting off into a sprint to close the remaining distance between them to get a closer glimpse of him.

He hurried closer to her, moving with a limp in his step but wanting to meet her in the middle of the courtyard.

It was him. It was truly him! It was the same man that had left for war nearly eight years ago. It was the father of her son and daughter. It was her husband! The Exalt!

It was the man that she and the people of this world thought was killed in the line of battle all those years ago... a man that took years to mourn.

Was she dreaming?

“Chrom!” Y/N finally confirmed, finally noticing the steady stream of tears now flooding down her cheeks as she rushed into his embrace. His arms were already wide open and waiting.

“I thought---” she could only force out those two words before choking on her sobs and burying her face into his chest.

His gentle, familiar hands smoothed down the back of her locks, pressing a chaste relieved kiss to her forehead. His eyes fluttered shut as his free hand wrapped around her waist pulling her closer to his body. His thumb gently glided over the silk of her dress, allowing the feeling of safety rush over his body for the first time in years.

The guards all stood in silence, watching the reunion from a safe distance.

“We already have no privacy,” he teased, sliding the hand that took comfort on her waist slid upward to her wet cheek. He used his thumbs to vanquish the falling tears with ease. “Remember when I told you I would go to the ends of this world to be with you all those years ago?”

Y/N nodded, sniffling but failing to hide her overwhelming joy of being Chrom’s presence again.

“I wasn’t joking,” he chuckled softly, a hint of sorrow stun behind his words.

“What happened, Chrom?” The Queen’s eyes never left his. “The strategies I had sent to you were---”

“They helped me survive,” he smiled somberly. His eyes glanced down to their feet. “I was a prisoner of war. The Exalt of Ylisse is a mighty bargaining chip.”

She blinked, unable to fully process what he revealed to her. “You’ve been a prisoner... all of this time? Ever since I got word that you had passed?”

He didn’t nod. He didn't even blink.

“Oh, Chrom, I should have known! I should have known that notice was a fake. I should have known you were out there. I should have---”

“Hush,” he pulled her closer into his chest, placing his chin on her shoulder. “There was no way to know, Y/N. The only thing that matters now is that I’m home... with you, Lucina, and Morgan,” he muttered. “How are they? Are they healthy? Are they faring alright?”

The queen quickly remembered the last time he saw his firstborn was when she was only three years old. He last saw their youngest, Morgan, when he was still merely a newborn.

They were the reason she didn’t accompany him on the battlefield.

Her heart dropped as reality suddenly snapped back into her mind. Ignoring every screaming instinct in her body and soul, she gently pushed on Chrom’s chest, backing away very slowly.

She remembered Lon’qu. Her...consort--- her newly wedded husband.

“What’s the matter?” Chrom’s voice suddenly turned frantic. “Are our children okay?”

The Queen blinked and forced a smile. “They’re fine. They’re great... They are both healthy, smart, everything we dream they would be.

”She’s eleven now, yes?

Y/N nodded. “Yes, she eleven. He’s only eight.”

“Every waking moment I thought about you and our children--- praying you all remained safe and sound.”

“The battles stayed well off from Castle Town. Everywhere else was not as lucky. Our troops as you know were spread thin. I was sending strategies to generals across the continent, trying to ease the blows,” she explained, as her sadness became more and more evident.

“Love, what’s wrong?” He reached outward to touch her cheek, but she took another step back, evading his touch. “Do I reek?” He jested.

“No, no,” she forced a chuckle. “I---” She swallowed hard.

Lon’qu stayed in her mind. He was the one man... the one person.. that she could find comfort in her grief; the grief for her kingdom, the grief for her husband, and the grief for her people.

They’d known each other since the beginning during Chrom and Y/N’s first visit to Ferox. He always held a hesitation toward women, but Y/N helped break his phobia. After gaining news in Chrom’s supposed demise on the battlefield, Lon’qu and Y/N bonded closer and closer, being the only ones to help each other through the hardest of times.

The Queen recalled thinking on the day of her wedding with her consort, if she would ever love someone after Chrom, she was lucky it was a friend as kind, caring, and protective as Lon’qu.

“Should I just say it?” She uttered under her breath, perhaps a little too loudly.

“Say what?” Chrom asked, raising his left eyebrow inquisitively.

She gave no response.

“Y/N, you can tell me anything--- just as before.”

“... I am...” she paused to bite down on her lower lip. “I have a new husband.”

Her reveal relented no reaction other than silence, allowing only the bird’s optimistic song’s fill the courtyard.

“I see,” Chrom frowned, avoiding her stare. He paused a moment longer as guilt washed over her. “Does he treat you well?”

“Oh Chrom,” her heart raced at his question. “Yes. He was the only one that truly cared for me while I was grieving--- grieving for you. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. For six years, I was only a conductor of business for the health of the Kingdom. I had to rule for the next blood heir of the throne--- our daughter. But.. he was the only one that took notice of my state of being and he... he helped me. I shouldn’t--- I shouldn’t have married him. I should have known you were out there! I should have---”

“Stop,” a sad smile grew back onto Chrom’s lips, as his eyes met with hers once more. “There isn’t a way you could have known,” he assured. “Does he treat the children alright?”

“Of course,” she didn’t hesitate to answer. “They both know he isn’t their father, so they... have a special relationship.”

“I see,” he nodded. “What’s his name?”

She inhaled sharply. “It’s... It’s Lon’qu.”

#chrom x reader #lon'qu x reader #chrom #lon'qu #fire embem awakening

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blankdblank · 7 years

Text

That's my Throne!!

Fluff, Nervous Thranduil, Mild Smut

...

Mairon the Admirable. Since the beginning of things he was focused on order and perfection, though as always in the end for love he gained far from it. Bluebell, the Hobbit Mother, a creation of Yavanna’s granted the strength of a Maiar in Eru’s affection for the pure being set to bring to life a race of creatures focused solely on defending all good, green and homely. For all her traits and carefree motions through Yavanna’s gardens she easily spotted the one she believed to be her One in Aule’s workshop already sending her an adoring glance hoping she would finally look up.

In Vanlinor time mattered little but far sooner than anticipated a Daughter was born. Mirroring her mother in all but the pitch black hair bearing her mother’s unrelenting curls. But as everyone knows Mairon soon met Melkor and darkness and mischief began at what could be achieved and ruled in the world outside Valinor. Seemingly ageless the innocent toddler was granted reprieve in the eyes of Manwe. Ties with Bluebell and their child were severed when confronted with a choice, should he continue his path to spare his child he would agree never to see or claim her again leaving her as child to Mairon the Admirable, a title he was no longer allowed to claim. Soon he left those heavenly shores forcing himself to never look back as Bluebell’s love for her first child brought about more in her absence. See, there was another catch, neither parent could raise her.

From the Elves in Valinor Yavanna herself carried the child to her new Father. Out of the many possible she chose young Celeborn with another daughter of his own nearly fully grown. Time rolled on and yet you never aged, at least not until Celeborn had settled from Lindon into Lothlorien. All eyes turned to the brightly growing child in their midst at the first sign of growth. Through to the end of the first age you lived there, uncertain of where you fit in exactly sending you to the Hobbiton nearby their borders. You had learned all you could about Elven culture and hoped to learn more about your assumed Hobbit side.

Sure you had small feet and were just barely over five feet tall but still in appetite and stubbornness alone you clearly fit the description while your love for crafting seemingly from nowhere and ability to greatly control all plant life around you added to your Elven appeal drawing a great number of requested visits for you to from your Smial Celeborn frequently visited even with the struggle of his tall stature.

From the minute you entered BagEnd there was something about you that drew Thorin to you right away as a kindred soul. And the nearer you drew to Rivendell he saw his suspicion about who you were was true. Camp was set and a hiss was heard in your move through the trees around you making your head turn as you palmed a golden ring you found filling the canteens at Gloin’s side. In your turn back to the camp you were tackled by a nearly naked screeching shriveled creature. Over your body a wash of blood passed through the water from the now dead body Gloin kicked onto the shore after scooping you up out of the water. Coughing up water you were circled by the Dwarves all checking on you before assigning a search group to scout the area. Leading to the discovery of a trio of trolls that were easily ambushed with their hoard tucked away in a Hobbit formed trunk able to carry twenty times normal capacity of a trunk its size easily holding it all.

Curiously you eyed the ring in your palm and eased it on your finger only to watch it vanish from sight as Dwalin met your side. Still it sat unseen but was felt pulsing lightly as your mind snapped out of your reoccurring dream of a man you knew as your father wreathed in light with a mother far smaller and far brighter in a world long since visited by you. With a grin you joined the men on returning to camp to rest for the night before heading to Rivendell in the morning.

…

Slipping out of the Elven kingdom at the first sight of the woman refusing to claim you as her child since first laying eyes on you now darkening as her eyes turned to you. A ring was torn from her finger by its own will after her darkening gaze deepened in her approach to you at her arrival. Without a word however you muttered a single word in ancient Valinorian, “Diminish,” and her eyes snapped open shifting to a lifeless gaze on her body’s walk to the gates of Rivendell on her path to the Grey Havens. Before any Elf Lord could find and console you the Company had followed your lead packing and hurrying out of their borders leaving only word of a dispute of some sort between you sending the White Lady to sail as you all but vanished into the wilds again.

South along the Misty Mountains you traveled to the pass of Khazhad Dum. The clear path you had hoped to find was filled with orcs and goblins battling the beast in the lake they had stirred. A single utterance from you as the Balrog came to face it sent out a pulse from you cascading off the angled doors left open to sweep through the massive keep fading all the dark creatures as nothing but piles of armor and weapons left behind when their bodies were destroyed. Disbelieving chuckles came from the company as they scurried inside collecting all keys along the way, the doors along the way were sealed with not just the traditional locks but with Elvish runes you marked around the edges keeping all dark creatures from reentering again.

That pulse had done more than you could see, around you dust fell and as ancient runes lit up awakening the mountain keep to seal and light itself again. Places to rest were secured along the way until you reached the edges of Lothlorien. Still unable to sleep for lack of exertion you sat awake peering out over an overlook at the vast hall of pillars lost in thought until Thorin settled heavily at your side. An easy smile formed on his lips as he asked, “Can’t sleep?”

You shook your head, “No. I keep having this dream.”

Gently his hand folded around yours making your eyes drop to your lap seeking the source of warmth now coating them. In a turn of your head you locked your eyes with his seeing his deepening smile in his shifting a bit closer to your side. Lowly he spoke before you could say anything. “I wished to share something with you.” You nodded, “My people, we have a tale of our Father Mahal. In the beginning before the world began to darken one of his pupils among the Maiar fell in love with the Mother of Hobbits. They had a child, however as Mairon-,”

“You know this tale?”

He nodded seeing the tears and doubts filling your eyes, in a comforting rumble he continued, “We have guessed you are this child. And should it be true you are not your father just as I am not my grandfather. You have earned your place among us and no doubt you have earned our respect and trust. There has been no sign of any dark corners in your being, after all our Father ensured your protection by severing your ties with Mairon before you could be corrupted as well.” His hand rose to wipe your cheek, “We have all agreed to keep this fact between us, you will be marked as Maiar and treated as an adopted daughter of Lord Celeborn among my people. You have my word.”

With a hint of a smile you leaned over resting your head on his shoulder earning a chuckle from him, softly as you looked over the great hall again, “I get flashes of him, your Mahal,” his head turned to peer at you in shock, “I remember his hopes he had for your people and what you would achieve.” He wet his lips anxiously uncertain of what you were trying to say, “I used to wonder what you could do and now that I see it I don’t think he would be disappointed. Such a grand place, even in the dark.”

A grin grew on his face at your compliment for his kin, “Just wait until we scrub it up.”

Around the borders of those lands you led the men catching sight of a few passing guards in crossing the river towards Northern Greenwood. On your path the guards raced off to alert Lord Celeborn of your passing and path ahead. All as your eyes lingered on the Southern kingdom and the shadow rising there shooting off into the distance at your arrival sending deathly cries of the dark creatures dwelling there in their final moments of life as the source of their power and protection fled sending off a powerful pulse to destroy all left behind.

Pt 2 on ao3

#Thranduil #Fluff #Nervous #Mirkwood #Thranduil x Reader #lotr #hobbit #Thranduil x Reader OC

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beeblackburn · 7 years

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Do you think it is possible that Stannis, instead of burning Shareene, declares her his hair, with Davos as a legal guardian, and makes Melisandre burn himself "to wake the dragons".

Thanks for the question!

While that’s tempting to consider for Stannis’ morality and I’m sure it’d read off as more “noble” of Stannis to sacrifice himself… no, I don’t think it’s likely for Doylist and Watsonian reasons.

Before that, we have to get into the roots of Stannis’ trajectory. What is Stannis’ character arc? A petty, bitter, hurt, (seriously, all the wound imagery with him is just…) sad, sullen boy putting his past slights above his duties rising to put aside his personal grudges to become a better person, a worthy messiah, a man worth following through title and deed and a “king who cared.”

His journey is one that intertwines his king self with his messiah self together, crystallized with Davos and Melisandre as his most trusted advisers, being often at odds with each other, a complicated duality in Stannis trying to reconcile the responsibilities of the king (upholding the rules and justice of the kingdom) with those of the messiah (doing whatever it takes to save humanity).

So where Stannis’ political arc begins in the Prologue, starting with his starting preparations for the War of Five Kings and then him complaining to his father figure why his life sucks, everyone’s mean to him and that he hates everyone like the unpopular, downtrodden boy he is, his religious arc and its themes arises in A Clash of Kings’ Davos I and it’s buttressed by its crucial myth:

“Burnt,” said Salladhor Saan, “and be glad of that, my friend. Do you know the tale of the forging of Lightbringer? I shall tell it to you. It was a time when darkness lay heavy on the world. To oppose it, the hero must have a hero’s blade, oh, like none that had ever been. And so for thirty days and thirty nights Azor Ahai labored sleepless in the temple, forging a blade in the sacred fires. Heat and hammer and fold, heat and hammer and fold, oh, yes, until the sword was done. Yet when he plunged it into water to temper the steel it burst asunder.

“Being a hero, it was not for him to shrug and go in search of excellent grapes such as these, so again he began. The second time it took him fifty days and fifty nights, and this sword seemed even finer than the first. Azor Ahai captured a lion, to temper the blade by plunging it through the beast’s red heart, but once more the steel shattered and split. Great was his woe and great was his sorrow then, for he knew what he must do.

"A hundred days and a hundred nights he labored on the third blade, and as it glowed white-hot in the sacred fires, he summoned his wife. ‘Nissa Nissa,’ he said to her, for that was her name, ‘bare your breast, and know that I love you best of all that is in this world.’ She did this thing, why I cannot say, and Azor Ahai thrust the smoking sword through her living heart. It is said that her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the face of the moon, but her blood and her soul and her strength and her courage all went into the steel. Such is the tale of the forging of Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes.

Mortal effort alone failed Azor Ahai, sacrificing an animal with no emotional attachment followed in failure, the Azor Ahai myth makes it clear: being the messiah and saving the world from darkness means you have to sacrifice what you love "best of all that is in this world.” Nothing in the myth says anything about self-sacrifice so where’s the precedent for that move on Stannis’ part?

But yes, after that, let’s break down why Stannis burning Shireen is the only outcome out of the culmination of Stannis’ messiah arc:

Doylist-wise, this choice is absolutely within GRRM’s wheelhouse of exploring human condition. To quote GRRM at Balticon:

“We have the capacity for great heroism. We have the capacity for great selfishness and cowardice, many horrible acts. And sometimes at the same time. The same people can do something heroic on Tuesday and something horrible on Wednesday. Heroes commit atrocities. People who commit atrocities can be capable later of heroism. It’s the human condition, and I wanted to reflect all that in my work.”

As Jaime had done a heroic thing by saving Brienne from the fate of the Bloody Mummers’ bear arena while being responsible for pushing Bran off that window, Theon had done a fist-pumping jump that was unambiguous heroic in saving another innocent life from Ramsay’s hands while being complicit in Stony Shore and Winterfell’s takeover and Dany had rescued slaves while crucifying 163 of the Great Masters, Stannis is no exception.

From allowing human burnings to be done in his name, to assassinating Cortnay Penrose, to coming close to burning Edric, Stannis has also ascended Davos to Hand of the King, listened to rescue the Night’s Watch and lived up to his title of Protector of the Realm as a result, both defending the Night’s Watch and understanding the true threat beyond the Wall. Burning Shireen will be Stannis’ greatest example of this duality at work: an act of great horror meant to save the world.

Secondly, GRRM also has a thing for the Threefold Revelation. From the subtle hint, to the more blatant one to the spelling it out, so much of GRRM’s future plot points can be inferred via dissecting his past books such as the Red Wedding, Lady Stoneheart, Bran’s hiding in Winterfell’s crypts, the Frey pies, Aegon’s “survival”. Stannis burning Shireen has the same set-up for the threefold revelation hit us, already set up in A Clash of Kings and A Storm of Swords.

From the foundation of the sacrifice:

“In ancient books of Asshai it is written that there will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him.” She lifted her voice, so it carried out over the gathered host. “Azor Ahai, beloved of R'hllor! The Warrior of Light, the Son of Fire! Come forth, your sword awaits you! Come forth and take it into your hand!”

To having a sacrifice, but no emotional investment:

“I was sick unto death of this wretched boy before he was even born,” the king complained. “His very name is a roaring in my ears and a dark cloud upon my soul.”

… All to set us up for the logical conclusion of this approach and the dramatic devastation of having a sacrifice and every right to emotional investment between Stannis and Shireen, especially when the Others come a-knocking.

Lastly, GRRM has been pushing Stannis towards taking up the messiah role of Azor Ahai since the opening pages of A Clash of Kings’ Davos I, laying the singular myth that’ll define Stannis’ messiah arc and dialogue in A Storm of Swords with Edric Storm. Having the messiah saving the world be built up from sacrificing someone they loves rather than themselves is a thematic choice on GRRM’s part.

Fantasy has long made being the messiah or savior too easy, not excruciating enough, and allowed the leeway of self-sacrifice as the final test of being the messiah such as a recent example like Harry Potter. It’s easier to look good and noble when you’re tossing yourself into the fires. How many people would stop seeking out the messiah role if it entitled sacrificing an innocent life that they loved most of all and be alive to remain accountable afterwards?

It’s a keen genre critique that’s meant to challenge and beget us to question what the hardships and what being the messiah truly entitles, how devastating it can truly be to take up that moniker for yourself and walk those steps and myths of past messiahs. There are consequences and costs to being the messiah that GRRM is forcing you to acknowledge because such questions haven’t been asked before… and they should for us to appreciate what being the messiah demands of a person.

Watsonian-wise… well, for starters, Stannis is the king and messiah. He needs to take charge of the men in order to bring order and protect his people, especially when the Others starting marching and eventually besieging Winterfell. He’s the best military commander and fending off the Others will require the same passive heroism that helped win Robert’s Rebellion and endure the Siege of Storm’s End. Pragmatically speaking, sacrificing himself should be the last resort rather than the first one, considering his military status, logistics organization and commanding skills. It just strikes me as a tactical misstep for him to consider himself as the first choice.

Secondly, while Stannis still harbors a healthy skepticism to R'hllor as of A Dance with Dragons, he’s inching closer to believing it and is already believing the powers brought from Melisandre’s visions brought via R'hllor. Stannis’ relationship with R'hllor was complicated from the get-go with him being an atheist taking advantage of the powers brought from allowing himself be tied to a new religion:

Stannis stood abruptly. “R’hllor. Why is that so hard? They will not love me, you say? When have they ever loved me? How can I lose something I have never owned?” He moved to the south window to gaze out at the moonlit sea. “I stopped believing in gods the day I saw the Windproud break up across the bay. Any gods so monstrous as to drown my mother and father would never have my worship, I vowed. In King’s Landing, the High Septon would prattle at me of how all justice and goodness flowed from the Seven, but all I ever saw of either was made by men.”

But it’s been a gradual progression for Stannis from there…

“So did my brother, the day before his death. The night is dark and full of terrors, Davos.”

“It is the great battle His Grace is speaking of,” said a woman’s voice, rich with the accents of the east. Melisandre stood at the door in her red silks and shimmering satins, holding a covered silver dish in her hands. “These little wars are no more than a scuffle of children before what is to come. The one whose name may not be spoken is marshaling his power, Davos Seaworth, a power fell and evil and strong beyond measure. Soon comes the cold, and the night that never ends.” She placed the silver dish on the Painted Table. “Unless true men find the courage to fight it. Men whose hearts are fire.”

Stannis stared at the silver dish. “She has shown it to me, Lord Davos. In the flames.”

Four days ago, one of the king’s own squires had succumbed to cold and hunger, a boy named Bryen Farring who’d been kin to Ser Godry. Stannis Baratheon stood grim-faced by the funeral pyre as the lad’s body was consigned to the flames. Afterward the king had retreated to his watchtower. He had not emerged since … though from time to time His Grace was glimpsed upon the tower roof, outlined against the beacon fire that burned there night and day. Talking to the red god, some said. Calling out for Lady Melisandre, insisted others. Either way, it seemed to Asha Greyjoy, the king was lost and crying out for help.

And it’s going to leave Stannis open to the temptation and desperation of sacrificing his heir to save the kingdom, to give himself fully to R'hllor and fulfill the Azor Ahai myth in full.

Lastly, death pays for life, and Stannis has not been shy with considering an 'ends-justify-the-means’ approach to blood sacrifice:

“Edric—” he started.

“—is one boy! He may be the best boy who ever drew breath and it would not matter. My duty is to the realm.” His hand swept across the Painted Table. “How many boys dwell in Westeros? How many girls? How many men, how many women? The darkness will devour them all, she says. The night that never ends. She talks of prophecies … a hero reborn in the sea, living dragons hatched from dead stone … she speaks of signs and swears they point to me. I never asked for this, no more than I asked to be king. Yet dare I disregard her?” He ground his teeth. “We do not choose our destinies. Yet we must … we must do our duty, no? Great or small, we must do our duty. Melisandre swears that she has seen me in her flames, facing the dark with Lightbringer raised on high. Lightbringer!” Stannis gave a derisive snort. “It glimmers prettily, I’ll grant you, but on the Blackwater this magic sword served me no better than any common steel. A dragon would have turned that battle. Aegon once stood here as I do, looking down on this table. Do you think we would name him Aegon the Conqueror today if he had not had dragons?”

“Your Grace,” said Davos, “the cost …”

“I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning … burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?” The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King’s Landing. “If Joffrey should die … what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?”

Stannis ground his teeth again. “I never asked for this crown. Gold is cold and heavy on the head, but so long as I am the king, I have a duty … If I must sacrifice one child to the flames to save a million from the dark … Sacrifice … is never easy, Davos. Or it is no true sacrifice. Tell him, my lady.”

And, keep in mind, Edric’s case was a lot more selfish for Stannis than Shireen’s is going to be:

“It would be a wondrous thing to see stone come to life,” he admitted, grudging. “And to mount a dragon … I remember the first time my father took me to court, Robert had to hold my hand. I could not have been older than four, which would have made him five or six. We agreed afterward that the king had been as noble as the dragons were fearsome.” Stannis snorted. “Years later, our father told us that Aerys had cut himself on the throne that morning, so his Hand had taken his place. It was Tywin Lannister who’d so impressed us.” His fingers touched the surface of the table, tracing a path lightly across the varnished hills. “Robert took the skulls down when he donned the crown, but he could not bear to have them destroyed. Dragon wings over Westeros … there would be such a …”

So, where does that still leave us in the end in terms of Stannis’ ethos?

“If I must sacrifice one child to the flames to save a million from the dark … Sacrifice … is never easy, Davos. Or it is no true sacrifice.”

Stannis is both king and messiah and those two identities have been separated, cleanly divided between Protector of the Realm and Azor Ahai, but when the Wall collapses, the Others march across those ruins, enslaving dead wildlings and watchmen and the monsters lay siege, the walls of Winterfell being the only door dividing humanity and the Long Night, the world and the eldritch slavers carrying the end of it, Stannis will be forced to confront reconciling his two identities. Desperation and drive to be the king who protects his people and the hero who saves the world will force his stiff hand to choose in a matter of the human heart in conflict. His tragedy boils down to this and it has built up to this excruciating choice:

In the face of the apocalypse, the world or one child?

Hope this satisfies.

#stannis baratheon #shireen baratheon #the others #davos seaworth #melisandre #azor ahai #r'hllor #edric storm #cortnay penrose

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theaiexperiment · 7 years

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Man I have been working on this picture FOREVER. Thank goodness I’m finally done now. Anyway I bet some of you people that have role played with me see me either role playing or having Sardonyx mention my other Sonic oc, Gertrue Stripes on here right? Well like I’ve mentioned in a few rp’s in Sardonyx’s dimension Gertrue Stripes raised a large amount of the Freedom Fighters, when their parents were either robotisized or killed and even taught them how to defend themselves. Her husband Azubuike helped raised and train them at first too, but one day he just disappeared. So below the read more is a little one-shot concerning their beginnings to this decision, enjoy!

It was a dark day in this vast forest belonging to the Acorn Kingdom, as clouds covered what would have been radiant sunshine with some veil of forlorn, grey cotton. What made matters worse was the situation ensuing between an egg-shaped, human scientist and two female mobians in a small village. These two individuals were tasked with taking care of some children whose parents were off to fight in the Great War, or had perished during it. As they shared their last moments of freedom scowling the so-called scientist, a quiet individual looked onto them from afar.

Eyes of a deep, brown coloring witnessed events unfold around them a fair distance ahead in both silent horror, hatred and admiration towards those who had been captured. Surrounded by the safe haven that was an oak’s dense foliage their owner (a white, female lynx with black spots on the edges of her ears and muzzle) remained undetected by Robotnik’s bulky, metal soldiers... for now at least.

A deep respect practically flooded the ivory and sable mobian’s core, towards those innocent caretakers refusing to reveal the children‘s whereabouts. They really were valiant allies and good friends indeed. The feline just wished that she could repay their brave actions, one day. Seeing the greedy, human scientist however caused a wildfire of loathing to arise within. She could not BELIEVE the Acorn Kingdom used to trust this man with their very lives, at one point! She vowed to never make a mistake like that again, as his betrayal and elimination of her dear comrades was completely unforgivable.

As the lynx, Gertrue watched those people become emotionless, mechanical servants of that dreaded doctor frustrated tears rolled down her cheeks. In all truth she wanted nothing more than to fight through those robots and save her friends, but logic and reasoning kept the feline at bay, because other matters needed solving at this time. Descending downwards from her precarious position in an oak tree with nimble, quiet movements, it didn’t take long for the white mobian to land upon grassy terrain. After running across some disguised, forest path for a few minutes she then stopped in front of some dense underbrush. Making her way through the bushes and long grass, she then was greeted by a blaster pointed directly at physique. However once its owner laid golden hues upon her, that weapon was immediately stowed away as a relieved breath absconded from his lips.

“Oh thank goodness you’re back. I was beginning to worry.” the blaster’s owner (a male tiger) expressed in airy drones.

Gertrue’s lips displayed a quick smile, as she often adored it when her husband Azubuike expressed his sweet, genuine compassion, for it showed that he cared. She dismissed his previous actions, because BOTH of them needed to keep their guards up during these trying hours. Placing hands upon her hips she then portrayed a confident smirk.

“Now now my dear Azu, hasn’t our time together taught you that it takes a lot more than some robots to destroy me?” Gertrue said with an air of brief confidence, causing the tiger to momentarily grin before her expression shifted into a considerate frown. “But never mind that, are the children safe?” As if right on cue, a little boy’s voice penetrated their surroundings.

“Aunt-auntie, what’s going on?”

Shifting their gazes the adult felines starred at a group of children with calm frowns on their facial features. The group of young ones consisted of a blue hedgehog, another tiger (who was in fact their own nephew), a chipmunk princess, a rabbit girl and a baby fox. These small individuals were all children of people who Gertrue and Azubuike had become good friends with during their time in the Great War. Their protection meant the world to the older cats, as they not only were key components for a better future but also the only piece of their friends they had left. Walking up to the striped cub he held the youngest one in his arms, the lynx gently placed a hand upon his shoulder.

“It’s Robotnik again, Felix. He’s finally found us so were going to look for another place to... hide now, okay?” Gertrue explained in the gentlest of tones (though it took all of her self-restraint not to hiss at that dreaded word, ‘hide’). She didn’t think concealing the truth to her little nephew about their circumstances was a good idea, for he would probably find out on his own eventually.

As the lynx explained their predicament to Felix, Azubuike looked at them with a sincere expression of protectiveness, whilst hidden admiration flickered inside his core. Gertrue had always managed to be the most logical yet compassionate person in trying times, and it was one of the many things he loved about her. He just wished she didn’t have to use that ability of hers so often. Throughout these recent years it seemed like no matter how hard both of them tried, they kept facing one ordeal after another. Even as they both retired from the war early to keep an eye on their orphaned nephew, conflict eventually broke into their ‘protective barrier’. Granted the older, striped mobian sometimes wished that they could’ve kept fighting back instead, but he couldn’t leave his deceased sister’s only child unattended. Still despite all these austere, haphazardly events ensuing all around them, Azubuike was going to protect what remained of his family... even if he had to sacrifice his life for their sake.

As these thoughts were strolling through Azubuike’s mind Felix gazed upon his aunt in uncertainty, whilst little hands held an infant fox with a surprisingly professional grace. One thing about the young tiger was that he often wanted to help people in any way he could. This included assisting the caretakers with their work, every now and then, as a result he eventually learned how to carry an infant properly. The baby he carried was named Miles Prower, though because of a minor... mutation most people called him ‘Tails’. As he slept peacefully in a blanket’s warmth, the striped cub looked at his aunt with concern whilst biting lower lip. Just then a small, feminine voice squeaked forth.

“Miss... Miss Stripes, are Lilly and Rose... dead?” a little chipmunk girl named Sally asked, with trembling form and tears brimming the edges of her eyes. Since she had no memory of her mother and had little chances of ever seeing her father again Sally often looked upon Azubuike, Gertrue and the two caretakers as parental-figures, so loosing those individuals practically tore the young girl’s heart asunder.

Seeing the chipmunk on the verge of tears, Gertrue got up once more so that she could focus attention upon her. Caressing her cheek in a motherly fashion, brown eyes gazed into weeping, sky blue orbs with sympathy alighting inside them.

“They are not dead sweetie, they’re just... not going to be the people you and I know for a while.” she explained, before getting up with a renewed fire burning inside dark-brown pools. “This isn’t the end though... I promise that once we find a new base I will teach each and every one of you how to stand your ground. As far as we know we’re about all that’s left of Nigel’s Kingdom. All of you are going to be inspirations to the world I just know it, and know that I’m going to help you achieve your destinies any way I can.“

At this speech Azubuike couldn’t help but frown in concern. Placing his hand upon Gertrue’s shoulder, he then motioned her off to the side for a bit. Once they were a few feet away, he folded his arms over each other and spoke in hushed drones.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Gertrue? Raising these children is one thing, but now you’re offering to train them for battle. I thought you didn’t wan-”

“I’m sick of running away, Azubuike!” the lynx proclaimed through an outburst of fierce drones. Seeing her husband’s worried expression, she then released a weary sigh and spoke in a softer voice. “I’m sorry, dear. It’s just that... I’ve been on the run for such a large portion of my life, and I’m sick of it. I don’t want to live in fear at all now. I want to set an example for these children, so that they can see that some things are worth fighting for.”

Rather than become angry with his own wife, the older tiger nodded in understanding. Unlike most people, Azubuike knew the FULL story behind Gertrue’s past. The lynx had a very... difficult life. She entered from one conflict into another loosing both her parents and siblings in the Dragon Kingdom, then going off to another country right as it was in the middle of some great war. He could only comprehend how conflicted she must have felt, during those times. He just wanted to make sure that she was fully committed to this change, and seeing those embers spark alive into inside her brown irises proved was more than enough proof of the white feline’s determination. Now grinning from ear to ear at the sight of his wife’s seriousness, he then couldn’t stop himself from bringing her into a bear hug.

“Thank goodness. I was starting to miss the days when you had that fire in your eyes, as we stopped the enemy.” he said spinning around in happiness, as he did Gertrue couldn’t help but laugh.

“Hah! I should have figured you couldn’t go a few years, without getting into a scrap or two.” she teased, whilst he placed her down. Once he did however a thought skimmed across the lynx’s mind, causing her to frown again. “Problem is... I have no clue as to where we should go now.“

At this confession the older, male feline placed his thumb and forefinger on lip’s edges, before countenance smiled from a long-forgotten memory.

“Do you remember when we found that abandoned base, not too far from here?” he asked.

Once his inquiry absconded into air’s currents Gertrue’s eyes widened in realization. “Of course! How could I have forgotten that?” she said, before turning towards the group of children with renewed hope radiating from facial features.

“Alright kids, we may have been knocked down but we’re not out. I know things are difficult now, but we’re not going to give in.” the lynx proclaimed in authoritative drones, as all young eyes gazed upon her with newfound faith and admiration. “If it’s a fight Robotnik wants, than it’s a fight he’s going to get. Once we get to our new home I will personally teach the fighting skills I’ve learned throughout the years. However I’m not teaching you how to fight in order for you to just get revenge on someone. No, I’m going to show you how to fight... for your freedom.”

#FREE TO RE-BLOG #BUNNY DOODLES (Mun art)#Gertrue Stripes #Felix Stripes #Azubuike Stripes #PLEASE DON'T LOOK AT ME NOW (Sonic)#Freedom Fighters tag//#Sonic oc #((here have a somewhat decent one shot and art :D))#((I'll probably edit a bit more of this later when I have the time >v>;))

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marvelxqueens-blog · 7 years

Text

Persuasion: part 9- Back into the fight

Pietro Maximoff x OC Based around avengers age of ultron • ( warning: There is a scene that involves blood and murder it is in italics) "Ultron took you folks out of play to buy himself time. My contacts all say he's building something." Nick fury tells the group. Clint's daughter runs into the room with a Piece of paper in her little hands. She goes round the table and gives it to Natasha. Walking across the room, towards Tony playing darts, I notice it is a cute drawing of a butterfly. "The amount of Vibranium he made off with, I don't think it's just one thing." "What about Ultron himself?" Steve asks leaning on the doorframe. Grabbing a dart I throw it at the board before Tony, smirking at him, only just missing bullseye. He narrows his eyes at me. "Ah. He's easy to track, he's everywhere." Nick fury replies. Next to me Tony picks up his dart. "Guy's multiplying faster than a Catholic rabbit. Still doesn't help us get an angle on any of his plans though." " He still going after launch codes?" Tony asks, Throwing his dart at the board. It lands with a thud next to my own. "Yes, he is, but he's not making any headway." "I cracked the Pentagon's firewall in high school on a dare." Stark says, turning to look at fury. I snort. "Yeah, well, I contacted our friends at the NEXUS about that." "NEXUS?" Steve asks Before Fury can reply, Bruce answers, "It's the world internet hub in Oslo, every byte of data flows through there, fastest access on earth." "So what'd they say?" Clint questions from the kitchen, Fiddling with a dart. "He's fixated on the missiles, but the codes are constantly being changed." Tony walks past me and reaches to pull out the darts. "By whom?" He asks. Suddenly Barton's dart shoots past us landing on the bullseye sharply. Tony and I both look behind us at Barton, who shrugs smirking. "Parties unknown." "Do we have an ally?" Natasha asks hopefully. "Ultron's got an enemy, that's not the same thing" "He has friends?" I mutter sarcastically. "Still, I'd pay folding money to know who it is." Fury continues. "I might need to visit Oslo, find our "unknown."" Tony says as we move into the main room, after our humiliating darts defeat to Barton (not that we had a chance, though it DOSENT make the loss less sad.) "Well, this is good times, boss," Natasha says crossing her arms, "but I was kind of hoping when I saw you, you'd have more than that." "I do,"'Nick fury replies, to which I raise an eyebrow. "I have you." Everyone flicks glances at each other, dubiously. "Back in the day, I had eyes everywhere, ears everywhere else. Here we all are, back on earth, with nothing but our wit, and our will to save the world. Ultron says the avengers are the only thing between him and his mission. And whether or not he admits it, his mission is global destruction." "All this," he says gesturing at Barton's loving home, " laid in a grave." Out of he corner of my eye I see Clint look at Fury a sad look on his face. It must be heartbreaking to think about you home, your family, destroyed. I've been there...I make a mental note to protect Barton so he can come home again. So his kids don't loose their dad, and his wife Doesn't loose her husband. Screams pierce the air. "Mom?" I gasp, jumped down from the tree. I run through the long grass, the blades whipping my little bare legs. When I get to the path to my house, the gravel bites my feet. I didn't think to put my shoes back on. Biting back tears I run down to the door. My brother painted it blue 2 months ago, the paint already peeling, and it reminds me again of the empty space in me now my brother is gone. Why would he bother to paint the door my favourite colour if he was leaving? Another scream breaks through my thoughts, the blood curdling sound high and female and coming from inside my house. And then silence. The only sound is the door creaking as I push it open with both hands. Tiptoeing down the corridor, I'm now glad I didn't wear shoes the sound would have brought attention to my presence. There are no lights on in the house, only a dull yellow colour floating lazily through the window from the setting sun. I turn into the kitchen, reaching to touch on the light. My fingers touch something warm and wet on the wall. I turn it on. There's blood on the walls, on the light switch and on my finger. "Katie..." "Mom?" I whisper, jerking my head to the floor. She is sprawled on the tiles and I notice how old and fragile she looks . One hand is putting pressure on her side, the other is just lying beside her. Running to her side, I notice that her side is bleeding slightly . "Mom..what..who did this?" I ask, with my hands over her own. The wound isn't deep. "My little princess, I've come to take you to join your brother!" My head snaps to the door, where a man stands in a dark trench coat, I can't make out his features. "He misses you. I miss you." He says, his words dripping with sweetness. The light reflects off a small pin of a octopus of so escort on his coat. "Get away from us! I don't know you!" I screech, my hands out to defend my mother and I. At the time I didn't know what my powers could do, but I had to defend my mother somehow. "Oh Katie... The witch has made you forget me.." The man says bitterly, chuckling. He walks towards me stepping over my step fathers body. I hadn't notice him on the floor before, a single bullet wound in his head. My step father had never shown much love to me but I didn't want him to die.. Gulping back tears, I glare at the man. "Go away!" I growl, looking him straight in the eyes that are so familiar. "That's no way to speak to your father, Katie." I look at him in shock. He reaches out to touch me. " GET BACK!" I scream pushing him away. White light shoots from my palms as my father is pushed backwards roughly, slamming into the wall. He falls like a rag doll, unconscious, to the ground. The room is silent again. "Katie... Go up stairs and back a bag..only essentials...quickly now..." My mother rasps, pulling out a phone. I jump up, my nerves wired and dart to the door unsure about what I just did. I don't look at my dad as I passed him, but my step fathers body and more specifically the emblem of an eagle in a circle on his shirt. "So stand. Outwit the platinum bastard." Nick fury finishes, sitting on a chair. "Steve doesn't like that kind of talk." Natasha says innocently, and I smile (partially at the banter, partially because the banter is returning to the team again instead of this tension filled group.) "You know what, Romanoff?" Steve replies trying to keep a straight face and Natasha smiles mischievously back at him. "So what does he want?" There is silence to Nick fury question before Steve speaks up. "To become better. Better than us. He keeps building bodies." "Person bodies. The human form is inefficient, biologically speaking, we're outmoded. But he keeps coming back to it." Tony adds. Next to Natasha Bruce looks down at the girls drawing, and I smile a bit at how comfortable they look together. "When you two programmed him to protect the human race, you amazingly failed." Natasha sighs "They don't need to be protected, they need to evolve." Bruce Says quietly, still looking at the drawing in thought. "Ultron's going to evolve." "How?" Nick fury asks "The vibranium." I guess, tugging on a strand of hair. "Has anyone been in contact with Helen Cho?" • "I'll take Natasha,Clint and Katie." Steve says walking with me and Stark. "Alright, strictly recon. I'll hit the NEXUS, I'll join you as soon as I can." Tony replies. "If Ultron is really building a body..." I mutter "He'll be more powerful than any of us. Maybe all of us. An android designed by a robot." Tony says, ruffling my hair. Dodging out the way I run ahead of them, out the doorway. "You know I really miss the days when the weirdest thing science ever created was me. " "I'll drop Banner off at the tower. Do you mind if I borrow Ms. Hill?" I hear fury say behind me, hearing another voice to my right I look to see Clint and Laura talking quietly. "...re-flooring that sunroom as soon as I get back..." Smiling to myself, the mental promise in my mind to keep Barton safe (not that he needs my help) solidified, I walk out of the front door. • From the jet I watch Steve jump over the railing and land on the roof of the U-gin Genetic Research Lab roof. "Two minutes. Stay close." Caps voice says through the comms unit. Clint flies the jet upwards, as I listen into the conversation inside the lab leaning on his seat. Behind us Natasha is reloading her gun. "Dr. Cho!" Steve's voice comes through comms. "He's uploading himself into the body." Helen chos voice is quiet and she's breathing heavily, she must be injured. I flex my fingers angrily, wanting to hit Ultron for hurting the innocent scientist. It could have been Pietro or Wanda but I can't see them hurting innocent people. After all the only reason they volunteered to Strucker in the first place was revenge for their parents and city. "Where?" "The real power is inside the cradle. The gem, its power is uncontainable. You can't just blow it up. You have to get the cradle to Stark." "Did you guys copy that?" Steve asks us "We did." Clint replied "I got a private jet taking off, across town, no manifest. That could be him." I say, tapping at a screen. "There.It's the truck from the lab." Clint says, pointing below the jet, his own device showing the cradle inside. "Right above you, Cap. On the loop by the bridge. It's them." "three with the cradle, one in the cab." I add, watching my screen. "I could take out the driver." Hawkeye suggests. "Negative! If that truck crashes, the gem could level the city. We need to draw out Ultron." "How? He Doesn't exactly like talking to us cap'" I ask. In response, I watch as Steve jumps onto the roof of the truck. "That would work." I mutter. Steve swings the door forward but Suddenly the door to the truck blasts open, causing it to break and fall on the road. Cap falling down on it "Well, he's definitely unhappy! I'm gonna try and keep him that way." "You're not a match for him, Cap." "Thanks, Barton." "He's probably just Hungry, give him a snickers bar." I say, moving to get my guns. After placing them in my gun holsters on my thighs, I jog back over to see that Cap is now fighting Ultron on the roof. Steves shield is throws back and forth, in what looks to be a deadly game of frisbee. The shield lodges into ultron, who pushes it off. It falls away from cap, leaving him unarmed and unable to defend himself when Ultron blasts him off the front of the truck. "Nat, your up." Clint shouts behind him to Natasha. Steve lands on the windscreen of the truck, and the robot driver punches at him through the glass. Steve rolls out of range, clinging on with one hand, before flipping round the side of the truck. Inside the jet, Natasha gets on a motorcycle, ready to drop. "Shame there's not two of theese." I sigh, marvelling at the design. "Next time kiddo." She winks, before turning forwards towards the hatch. "We got a window. Four, three...give 'em hell." Natasha drops out of the Quinjet and rides towards the truck, weaving through the traffic skilfully. I jog lightly back to the front of the jet after closing the hatch. "I'm always picking up after you boys." Natasha says in the comms, after picking up Caps shield and swinging it onto her back. "They're heading under the overpass, I've got no shot." "Which way?" "Hard right... Now." Clint says watching the road. Natasha heads over to the truck where Ultron has Steve in a strangle, holding him over the truck side. Nat throws Steve back his shield and he uses it to knock off Ultron from him. Before Natasha can get closer, Ultron raises the road in front of her forcing her to stop. Moving the bike around she darts onto the pavement chasing the truck. "Clint, I've gotta help them somehow." "can you two draw out the guards?" Natasha asks us. Clint Looks at me "Let's find out.". The jet turns around and aims at Ultron, firing a succession of bullets at him and successfully causing the robot to file out...straight at us. "What now!?" I say panicked, and Clint just laughs at me. "Buckle up!" Without questioning, I throw myself into the copilot seat buckling the seatbelt. Suddenly he spins the jet round in the air, so fast everything a blur, shaking the robots of us. "Ugh..you could have just taught me seatbelt safety the easy way Clint.." I moan. "They're heading back towards you. So whatever you're gonna do, do it now." Clint says, bringing the jet back down. "I'm going in. Send Kat down to Cap." "Yes!" I squeal, pumping my fist. "Um... How do I get there?" "Cap, can you keep him occupied?" Natasha continues "What do you think I've been doing?" Steve says out of breath. "There on that train, I can fly low enough to get you on near it." Clint says and I nod mutely, walking to the hatch. My catsuit is bulletproof and I'm hoping it's also resistant to falling out of jets. "Ready Kat?" Barton asks. "I was born ready." I say feebly, not feeling ready at all. "3, 2, 1" the hatch opens and before I can chicken out of it, I jump out. For a few seconds I am free falling. Hitting the ground, landing safely on the ground and rolling. Standing up, I look to see the train that Ultron and Steve crashed into,coming towards me. "Okay now to get on it... Bad plan, bad plan.." I mutter and start to sprint away from the train, glancing back at it. Bending my knees as I run I get ready to jump through the hole Steve and Ultron caused on the train. I'm about to jump when suddenly my feet leave the ground, not of my own accord . Squeezing my eyes closed, I tighten my grip around the thing holding me. I feel like something hit us, or we hit it, but I am moved to the side. Then before it has started, it's over. With my feet on the ground I open my eyes and quickly shut them again when my vision spins, leaning on my carrier. "That wasn't even your first time with me draga." Holding a finger up to Pietro's face (or rather where I presume his face is) I shush him. "Pietro, darling, give me a moment please.." Pietro laughs, his laugh is a low but gentle sound. Looking up I see Wanda opposite us, her hands glowing with red mist, bending the bars. Then I notice who she's stopping- Ultron. I turn and see Steve, raising an eyebrow to ask if he's ok. Steve nods at me, and I nod in return looking back at Ultron. "Please. Don't do this." "What choice do we have?" Ultron turns away from Wanda, looking at me and Pietro. Removing myself from speedy, I look at Ultrons red eyes trying to shut his programming down. The robot looks like it's shutting down for a second before it laughs robotically. "Oh Kat, your mind games don't work on me." Suddenly he fires a blast in our direction. I feel myself being pulled to the side and I loose my footing. Ultron flies out of the train Ultron flies off. "I lost him! He's headed your way!" Steve says into the comms. Feeling a body beneath me, I look back down. "After this we can have a date, first? Not that I'm complaining.." Pietro's face smirks back up at me. Rolling my eyes I roll of speedy and stand up. "I don't do dates, Sonic." I say bluntly. Holding my hand out to the man, I pull him up. Then I walk over to Steve, ignoring Pietro's gaze. "Cap, you see Nat?" Clint asks in our ear. "Nat? What happened?" I ask Steve, as we walk down the train. "If you have the package, get it to Stark! Go!" "Do you have eyes on Nat?" "Go!" As the pair of us Join Wanda, Pietro speeds up next to us in a blue and silver blue. "Civilians in our path." Before Steve can say anything more, Pietro speeds off. "Can you stop this thing?" Steve asks Wanda. Wanda also moves to the side, and me and Steve run to the front of the train. "Kat get the people towards the back of the train, they will be safer down there." Nodding, I move backwards to the screaming people, looking at them in turn and telling them to move away. The train jars a bit and I see Steve being thrown back by a bit of rubble that crashes into his shield. Wanda brings her hands up then down a the train floor, red energy pushing into the floor. A high pitch whining sound echoes through the train, making the people around me cover their ears groaning more. Finally the train draws to a close. "Please exit in an orderly fashion." I shout sending the people out the doors safely. Finally when all the people are off me and Wanda also jump out the door. We look at each other for a moment, then nod a small smile on our faces. Together we jog over to Pietro, hunched over on a crate. Wanda touches his shoulder gently. " I'm fine. I just need to take a minute" Pietro gasps out, breathing hard and clutching his chest. "I'm very tempted not to give you one." Cap says, walking in from the side. "The cradle, did you get it?" Wanda asks him, moving from Pietro. I look at Pietro an eyebrow raised when he looks up, still out of breath. The male maximoff winks before lowering his head again. "Stark will take care of it." Steve says, as I turn back to the pair. Wanda looks shocked, and she shakes her head mutely for a second. "No," Wanda says slowly "he won't." Steve and Wanda have a long staring contest, and I feel Pietro's presence stand up behind me. "You don't know what you're talking about, Stark's not crazy." Steve says. Even I can tell he is unsure of himself. "He will do anything to make things right." No one moves, and Me and Pietro look at each other eyebrows raised. Then Steve turns away from us, his ear on his comms unit. "Stark, come in. Stark. Anyone on comms?" The comms unit is silent, no one speaking. "Ultron can't tell the difference between saving the world and destroying it." Wanda says ominously, her accent more prominent. "Where do you think he gets that?" • Disclaimer: I do not own anything owned by marvel, or any of the marvel characters.

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