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yourhighness6 · 5 months

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Zutara's Song is Definetely The Great War by Taylor Swift

I've seen a lot of Zutara songs and playlists out there and I wanted to share my opinion on my personal favorite

I want to start out by saying that this analysis is going to completely ignore Taylor Swift's intentions when she wrote the song and any analysis of the song in concurrence with her life. I'm also going off my personal feelings that the first verse and chorus are Zuko talking to Katara, the second verse, chorus, and bridge are Katara talking to Zuko, and the remaining parts of the song are them reflecting after the war.

My knuckles were bruised like violets,

Sucker punching walls, cursed you as I sleep talked,

For me, this was pretty typical season 1 Zuko. Angry at the world, fighting everything in sight, ect, ect. It's only after the first two lines that the song gets a little bit more specific.

Spineless in my tomb of silence,

Tore your banners down, took the battle underground,

That third line is really reminiscent of Ba Sing Se. He took himself out of the story, until, of course, he had to make a choice in "Crossroads of Destiny"

And we know what he chooses

It's almost phrased in the form of an apology, which connects it even further to their story. "Tore your banners down" could also mean the fall of Ba Sing Se in general. Aang is Katara's banner, the avatar who she put so much hope in, but the Earth Kingdom banner is also who she was fighting behind. Azula killed Aang, so I would personally say it's the latter, but I saw two meanings behind it so it's totally up for interpretation.

And maybe it was egos swinging,

The "egos swinging" bit resonated with me a lot, because at this point in the story Zuko isn't done with his character arc. He still seeks his father's validation over his own moral code, and although it seems to me like he's gotten over a lot of his entitlement, I think he still feels entitled to his throne. That's one of my favorite things about his arc, actually, that he comes from a place of privilege but eventually, unlike Azula, realizes that the right to rule isn't given by birth but by true care for the people you represent. (some politicians should take notes)

Maybe it was her,

To me, the "her" in this case is Azula, convincing Zuko their father will be proud of him if he returns to the Fire Nation, although it could also mean Mai. Again, open for interpretation.

Flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur,

This could mean a lot for different people. I've seen a theory about Zuko possibly disassociating (not unlike similar theories about Darth Vader), which I think is interesting. It could also maybe represent the guilt he still feels, which is my personal opinion.

Moving on, the chorus is fairly generic once again,

All that bloodshed, crimson clover,

Uh-uh, sweet dream was over,

My hand was the one you reached for,

All throughout the great war,

The hand part stuck out to me because of the part in the final agni Kai when they reach for each other:

(screencaps are bad quality but ya'll get the idea)

Then it goes back to the any enemies-to-lovers generic dynamic again...

Always remember, uh-uh,

Tears on the letter,

I vowed not to cry anymore,

If we survived the Great War.

And then we switch to Katara's POV:

You drew up some good faith treaties,

I drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone,

You could argue that this is several moments throughout the series, maybe at the end of the war when she gets together with Aang, but I connected it most with her time spent on the ship after book 2. While Zuko was trying to fix his relationship with the Fire Nation and return to his family, Katara was isolating herself, worried about the war, about the avatar, avoiding her father and Sokka out of shame and feelings of abandonment. It was an extremely dark time for her, and although Zuko was trying to feel hopeful about his return, he doesn't even smile when he reunites with Mai. He knows he made the wrong decision.

You said I have to trust more freely,

This is after Zuko's redemption arc, during "The Southern Raiders" (which is probably my favorite ATLA episode, btw). Zuko encourages Katara to trust him, feeling that he is changed and is now deserving of it.

But she refuses to forgive or trust him

I would argue this is for good reason. She is clearly angry at more than just him, the entire Fire Nation, in fact, for murdering her mother and starting the war, but it is also very personal. When he betrayed her in Ba Sing Se after she revealed such a devastating detail of her life and they shared a connection, her abandonment issues probably came into play. It's similar to the trauma she had with her father after he left to join the war. She is scared that the people she cares about will leave her, just like her parents did, whether they had a choice or not, and just like Aang did when Azula shot him with lightning, again, without meaning to. Zuko left her intentionally to join the Fire Nation, even after she offered to heal his scar, a very important moment in their arcs. She is forgiving, optimistic, helpful, and kind to someone who hunted her and her friends for nearly a year, and he throws the offer of her most valuable asset back in her face and is instrumental in Aang's near death experience.

But diesel is desire, you were playing with fire,

He helps her. He uncovers her trauma, aids her in working through it, is supportive even when it was probably more than he bargained for.

And maybe it's the past that's talking,

Screaming from the crypt,

Telling me to punish you for things you never did,

Her mother did die at the hands of the Fire Nation, under Zuko's family's orders, whether they came directly from Ozai or not. But he wasn't the one who killed her or ordered her death, and he IS the one who is trying to defeat his father and end the war in favor of balance and peace. She realizes that...

So I just defied it,

...And finds it in her heart to forgive him.

After that, we start on the chorus again.

All that bloodshed, crimson clover,

Uh-uh, the bombs were closer,

I think that last line also refers to a different scene, much earlier in "the Southern Raiders", when Azula attacks the temple...

My hand was the one you reached for,

All throughout the Great War

...And Zuko saves Katara.

(I might do a separate post analyzing just this moment because holy crap there is A LOT there)

Always remember, uh-uh,

The burning embers,

I vowed not to fight anymore,

If we survived the Great War,

I think this refers to the agni Kai specifically, as does most of the bridge. The fire everywhere, the fear, the fact that it's the last battle of the war. It just fits.

It turned into something bigger,

Somewhere in the haze got the sense I'd been betrayed,

Your finger on my hairpin trigger,

Everything is depending on this battle. If they can't defeat Azula, what will happen to the Fire Nation? Will the people now just be under a new, arguably stronger and more powerful tyrant?

Soldier down, on that icy ground,

Looked up at me with honor and truth,

Broken and blue, so I called off the troops,

But they never learn what would have happened, because their combined efforts defeat Azula.

That was the night I nearly lost you,

I really thought I'd lost you

But not before Zuko (or rather, Azula) gives Katara the fright of her life.

(the love and concern on her face is so heartbreakingly beautiful it makes me want to sob)

And now everything is fine! The bridge is over and the next verse is full of hope.

We can plant a memory garden,

Say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair,

For the poppy part, I'd like to address a particular fan theory. In the final scene, Katara has a pink flower in her hair.

(I left the usernames on, but please lmk if anyone wants a different type of credit. screenshot taken from this post: x)

According to another source I found, this flower is a pink peony, which symbolizes prosperity and a happy marriage.

(flower analysis originally from this post: x)

I know that this is a peony, not a poppy, but close enough? Also, if it were a poppy, it would symbolize compassion and platonic love.

Either way, I think of this as a kind of goodbye from Zuko to Katara. No matter what the situation was at the end of the series, whether Zuko was in love with Katara, Katara was in love with Zuko, or they were in love with each other, "platonic love" and "happy marriage" were a goodbye. It's either wishing her the best with Aang, or saying they can only be friends because of Aang or because of duty, but that he loves her anyway. (oh look, I made myself cry) At least, I think that in canon context. But within the song, it's a peony and they're now engaged lol

Anyway, the verse continues.

There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair,

And we will never go back to that,

And then the chorus starts again, but it's tone is far more hopeful than before. The worst is behind them. The war is over.

Bloodshed, crimson clover,

Uh-uh, the worst was over,

My hand was the one you reached for,

All throughout the Great War,

Always remember, uh-uh,

We're burned for better,

I vowed I would always be yours,

'Cause we survived the Great War.

It's just so perfect! I love it! (psst, if anyone wants me to also analyze another "Zutara song" feel free to ask)

#zutara #atla #avatar the last airbender #zuko #katara #zutara flower #the great war #zutara song #zuko x katara #katara x zuko

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late-to-the-party-81 · 1 year

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The music that we make

AN: I made the mood board for this 'verse last year for @firefly-in-darkness' moodboard challenge. Then, @the-slumberparty posted their week four writer challenge - Across the Universe. Having just written an alternate universe fic as part of the week three challenge I had to come up with as another one. And then I remembered this! Hope you enjoy.

Beta’d by @lunarbuck

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and mood board/banners by me

Masterlist

Summary: Bucky Barnes is the handsome, but focussed Conductor of the Brooklyn Symphony Orchestra. You are the newly placed first chair Violinist. Your love affair with him is a secret, for fears of favouritism. You may be the musician, but he’s the one who plays you like an instrument.

Relationship: Conductor Bucky Barnes x First Chair Violinist Reader

WC: 3.7k

CW: Dickish behaviour, Excessive alcohol consumption, bit of fluff, Smut (Oral -F receiving, Edging, Overstimulation, PinV sex, Rough sex, Aftercare), Dom/Sub dynamics (‘Sir’ kink), Potential Power Imbalance, Some angst, Musical references.

The last strains of Dvořák’s Symphony No. 9 faded away. There was a moment of heavy silence and then the audience burst into applause. Your heart was beating hard in your chest, your head dizzy from being carried away by the music. No matter how many times you heard or played the New World Symphony, it was still as magical as it had been when you’d first heard it as a child.

When Marisa, the lead oboeist, had played her solo, you swore you’d felt a tear run down your face. And the melancholy minor key of the flautists, the rousing harmonies of the brass, then you and your fellow strings entered, bringing something light and ethereal. The layers of symphonic pieces spoke to your soul in a way no other music did. How did small black dots on a page somehow encompass the entire complexity of the human condition? The sadness? The joy? The anger? The passion?

The audience certainly agreed. They were all on their feet.

Your eyes flicked up to where he stood; your conductor, James Barnes. Up and coming, somewhat of an enfant terrible in both conductor circles and orchestral circles alike. He worked hard. He worked his musicians harder. Always trying to get to the central core of the piece and evoke all those emotions tangled up in its composition. And he was full of emotions himself. All of you in the Brooklyn Symphony Orchestra had seen the joy and the anger. But only you had seen the sadness and the passion.

The sadness was when you’d gone to see him in his office after a particularly difficult rehearsal that had left several orchestra members on the verge of tears, and as first chair, the one he’d selected when he’d started his tenure, you were the conduit between him and them. The passion came a bit later.

Tap tap tap

You lightly knocked on the door. Today’s rehearsal had been bad. Barnes had obviously been in a bad mood before you’d even started, walking in with a face like thunder and barely talking before tapping his baton on his podium. It had only gone downhill from then. The flautists’ timing was off, the lead horn was flat, and the cellists obviously didn’t grasp the depth and nuances of the composition.

At the end of the session, he’d practically stormed out, leaving most of you in shock.

“He can’t treat us like that…”

“I realised I was flat and was re-tuning before he even said anything…”

“He didn’t have to be so awful about it…”

You sighed as you realised what you had to do.

You listened nervously outside of the door, waiting for the invitation to enter. It didn’t come. You knocked again.

Tap tap tap

“You either want to come in or not. Commit to it, for fuck’s sake.” His angry shout penetrated the door and filled the hallway.

Fine! If that’s the way he wanted it…

Bang bang bang

You put all your strength into the knock, wincing a bit and shaking your hand at the pain in your knuckles.

“Come in!”

You opened the door and stepped through, not sure what you were expecting to find, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t finding your erstwhile leader sitting on the floor, back to the wall, bottle of bourbon in hand, in a room that looked like it had been ransacked. Then you looked at him properly. His usually well-coiffed hair was in disarray as if he’d been pulling and tugging at it. His face was flushed, eyes red-rimmed, and cheeks wet. Somehow, his pathetic state did nothing to detract from how attractive he was.

You immediately dropped to your knees in front of him and plucked the half-empty bottle from his grasp. He flailed, trying to reclaim it, but you kept it out of reach.

“What the actual fuck, Barnes? I’m guessing from all of this,” you gestured to the room and then to him, “that there’s a particular reason for you acting like a complete douche earlier?” You stood back up, placed the bottle on the far side of the room, and snagged a bottle of water from the shelf behind his desk. You held it out to him, and he took it from you sloppily.

Despite your intentions to rip him a new one when you’d arrived at his office, now all you wanted to do was comfort him and try and find out what was wrong. You slid down the wall next to him, and he turned to look at you, his eyes still glazed and unfocused.

“You gonna tell me what happened or what?”

His lip trembled, and he fell forward, his head resting in your lap as he started to sob. Without thinking, you started to stroke his hair. How long you were there, you weren’t sure but you eventually realised that he’d fallen asleep. Carefully you snagged his sweater from where it was discarded on the floor, folded it up, and managed to slip it under his head as you slid your legs out from under him. There was a throw on the small couch and you dragged that off, placed it over his slumbering form and, with a small backwards glance, left.

Barnes was a vastly different man at the next rehearsal. He still looked as though something was eating him, but he was kinder and more forgiving, well for a conductor at least. He didn’t mention his previous behaviour, and no one else brought it up. Conductors were known to be volatile, and everyone just chalked it up to one of those things, and they assumed you’d talked some sense into him. But you knew better.

When the rehearsal came to an end, Barnes walked over to you. He watched for a moment as you loosened your bow and placed it into the case above your heirloom violin.

“Ummm, I was wondering if I could talk to you. In my office. When you’re done?” You gave him a small nod, taking in how tired he looked. You wondered how much sleep he’d actually gotten after you left him. He flashed a brief smile, and you couldn’t take your eyes off him as he walked out of the rehearsal room.

Ten minutes later and you’d waved off your colleagues, telling them you needed to check in with Barnes about the upcoming season. This time when you rapped on his door, it opened almost immediately. You were taken aback by the smile that greeted you because such a thing on Barnes’ face was so uncommon.

He opened the door wide and stepped to the side, gesturing for you to enter. As you did so, you noticed how it bore little resemblance to how it had looked on your last visit. Everything was definitely in its rightful place now.

“What can I help you with, Sir?”

At the honorific, his lips twitched. He didn’t say anything at first, but walked over to the sideboard and poured two short measures of his remaining bourbon. You realised he’s seen the flicker of consternation that flashed across your face when he shot you another wry smile.

“Don’t worry, this is the only one today, and that’s how I plan on it staying.” He strode back towards you, miles away from the drunken, pathetic mess of your last interaction. His moves were cat-like, predatory, and you were reminded about how attractive you found him. “But no, there’s nothing you can help me with - I invited you here to say thank you. Thank you for being so kind to me when I absolutely didn’t deserve it. I was anticipating the backlash, but you didn’t give it.” He took a sip of his drink, and your eyes were drawn to the movement of his throat as he did so. You felt a rush of heat suffuse your body and took a sip of your own. However, the burn of the liquor did nothing to cool you.

“And thank you for just staying with me, and not probing. I’m used to dealing with everything alone, and you made me realise that maybe I don’t have to all the time.” He looked down for a moment, his lips curling up into a soft smile as if caught in a happy memory. “I can’t remember the last time someone stroked my hair until I fell asleep and then tucked me in. It was probably when I was a child.”

You wished he hadn’t said that because the way you were thinking about him was definitely not motherly.

“Oh, and you don’t need to call me ‘Sir’. James, or even Bucky, is absolutely fine, especially when the others aren’t here.” He finished his drink and placed the empty glass down on his desk. Another step towards you and you were practically toe to toe, forcing you to tilt your head to keep eye contact. And what eyes they were. Ice on a clear day, but also sometimes sea mist, swirling in the sky. You swore you could write your own symphony about his eyes alone.

His long, slim fingers, which held the baton with such precision, plucked your glass from your fingers and placed it… somewhere. You weren’t paying attention. No, your attention was on the tip of his tongue as it peeked out from between his lips and swiped the residual bourbon from them.

“Unless - and I hope I’m not reading this wrong - you’d like to call me ‘Sir’?” You heard a strange noise, only to realise it had come from you, a sort of strangled moan. Your heart was beating in your ears, and your lungs were burning. You should move, but you didn’t want to. How could you? James Barnes was standing in your personal space, his gaze fixed on you, asking if you wanted to call him ‘Sir’. You should say something. Something meaningful, or at least coherent.

“Yes. Sir.” The words left your lips like a sigh. Okay, it was nowhere near as meaningful or coherent as you’d wanted, but you no longer cared because he was kissing you, his hands cupping your face, and your own hands were clinging onto his shirt lest you fall on your ass with how jelly-like your legs were. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, and you opened them to let him in. You were ready to be devoured by him, to go down in flames and be sacrificed at his altar in honour of him.

You didn’t even realise he’d steered you around the room until the back of your legs made contact with his sofa. The only reason you didn’t stumble was due to your grip on his clothing. Barnes urged you down, his larger body hovering over yours as his lips broke contact and trailed down your jaw and neck. Your sharp, indrawn breath seemed to spur him on as he laved your flesh with kisses and soft nibbles.

Bucky’s hands had left your face too, roaming down your body over your clothes, and your hands worked on their own to return the favour. They dipped to his waist, before working their way under his shirt to feel the warm firmness of his skin. You were burning up with need. With passion.

“Please, please, please…” His teeth scraped lightly along the column of your throat before he raised his head to look at you again. Your fingers dug into the flesh of his lower back, urging him onwards to wherever he wanted to go, wherever he wanted to take you.

“You want more, sweetheart? You crave it, don’t you?” The backs of his knuckles drifted down your cheek. “You’re my Allegra, aren’t you? Going full pace, excitedly, and without worry. I know what you need.” His lips captured yours again, but with an intense hunger. His hands worked efficiently on your clothes, and it was a matter of moments before you were bare beneath his gaze. His eyes roved over every curve, every swell and dimple. Every small scar and stretch mark. You were not ashamed of your body, but under his singular attention you felt overwhelmed, your eyes closing in response.

“Do not hide from me, Allegra.” You felt the trail of his lips across your stomach, the light graze of his stubble. “You will keep your eyes open for me.” Despite the heaviness weighing them down, you forced your eyelids to rise. There was no ice left in his eyes now, only dark wells of lust pulling you under. You kept watching him as he moved lower, dropping to his knees and nudging his shoulders between your thighs.

“You will watch, my little songbird. You will watch as I taste you and learn you. And you will ask me before you come. Your orgasms are mine to bestow. Do you understand?”

“Yes…” You breathed out your response. He raised an eyebrow, signalling that he wanted more from you. “Sir. Yes, Sir. I understand.”

“Good girl…say red if it gets too much.” His voice was deep, and rumbled up his throat like a purr. You had little time to think about it as his mouth curved into a smile, then he dipped his head lower, and…..ohh!

It took all your willpower not to let your eyes close again under his erotic onslaught. His own sparkled knowingly as his lips roved over your pussy, making good on his word to discover all there was about you. His tongue, which had explored and claimed your mouth, slotted between your folds and swirled around your clit before moving down to dip inside your weeping channel. Your fingers clutched for purchase, one on the fabric of the small couch, part of you registering it was the throw you’d covered him with, and the other in his brown hair.

“Oh, God! Fuck!”

He fucked you with his tongue, his nose pressing up against that most sensitive part of you as his hands cradled the backs of your thighs, with your legs over his shoulders so he could move in even closer. You’d never had anyone come close to making you feel like you were feeling now, untethered and a slave to currents you had no control over. There was a tightness to your belly, like a string wound too tight.

“Please, Sir. I need to come.” He shook his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. You whimpered, and he granted you a small mercy by changing his focus, sliding his lips back up your pussy to wrap around your clit and suckle it gently. You cried out, eyelids fluttering before you forced them open again at a small pinch to your thigh.

Bucky then moved his hands, one placed at the base of your spine, holding you up and open, and as he continued to torture you with his mouth, he traced around the opening of your pussy with one finger before sliding it into you. Your body shook, clenching as you tried to hold off your orgasm.

“Please!” You’d never begged for anything before in your life. He broke contact briefly to growl out “No” and then returned within a heartbeat, his finger sliding in and out of your wetness. When he added a second, your legs trembled again, and you bit your lip. In response, Bucky grazed his teeth over your clit, forcing your attention on him and he shook his head again. It took you a moment to realise that he wanted to hear you, hear your cries of ecstasy.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. Oh God! Please, please, please!”

The bastard crooked his fingers, massaging your sweet spot, and tears started to roll down your cheeks at the effort you were using to control your body as it was swamped in sensation.

“I can’t! Please! I can’t, I can’t. Sir! Need to come. Need to come.”

His eyes bored into yours, holding you on the precipice, and you swore that the word he’d told you was climbing up your throat.

Then he nodded.

And you screamed.

Your back arched, and you could no longer keep your eyes open. The world was both white and black against your eyelids, complete static, as you felt electricity run through your body. The hair on your arms was on end, every nerve in your body sending conflicting signals to your brain. Up was down and down was up and you couldn’t breathe, but were also dizzy from too much oxygen…

You must have blacked out because when you opened your eyes, you were wrapped in the throw, and Bucky was squished on the sofa with you, your head on his lap as he gently rubbed his hand up and down your arm.

“Hey, there you are, sweetheart.” His smile was warm, and you broke into one of your own in response.

“Hey.” You stretched your arms above your head and flexed your toes. “Oh my God, I feel wiped out and…” A thought suddenly struck you. “What about you?” You moved your head and realised that ‘little’ Barnes was still half awake.

“Don’t worry about me. This was all about you. Trust me, you letting me do that was enough for now.”

You smiled coyly. “For now, eh? Does that mean you envisage us spending more time together?” He flushed, so different from the dominant persona he’d just displayed to you. He rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Well, I wouldn’t say no. But, like only if you want to. No pressure or anything.”

You nibbled at your lower lip, thinking. “We’d have to keep it between us. The others wouldn’t like it. They’ll think you only gave me first chair because I agreed to sleep with you.”

Bucky nodded, leant down, and kissed you gently.

That was the beginning of your secret relationship.

Somehow you’d both kept it quiet, you and Barnes managing to maintain a professional relationship in the rehearsal room before you’d retreat to his office where he’d take you apart before putting you back together again. The first night he fucked you with his cock, you lost count of the number of times you came, and by the time Bucky finally allowed himself to spill inside the tight clutch of your pussy, you were like a rag doll, just allowing him to move you up and down his cock, like a living sex toy.

It was evident from the first that he loved to hear you, loved the noises that you made. It was as though he had made it his mission to try different things with you, just to find out what new noises he could drag from you. And you had never thought you’d crave the submission he wanted from you, but giving over all the power and control was freeing. Trusting him completely brought you peace. But now the season was at a close, and you wondered what that would mean for the pair of you. Would the passion fade away without the music there to draw you together? Or would you still continue to make your own private symphonies?

The audience was still applauding, and Bucky was taking his bow. He then gestured to you, a broad smile on his face and you stood, taking your own, before the pair of you turned to the rest of the orchestra, encouraging them to rise and receive the accolade as well. You all deserved it - you’d all worked hard. You smiled until your face ached and until the adrenaline started to subside, leaving a strange melancholy feeling in your stomach.

You started the lead-off, guiding your fellow musicians backstage to where you would all clean your instruments and put them back in their cases. Some of you were then going to go out to a bar and toast a season well done.

“You got a minute?” Barnes was beside you, face neutral, and you schooled your expression into something similar.

“Sure.” You closed the latches on your violin case and then followed him down the corridor. He stopped, looked around in each direction, before taking your hand and then drawing you through a door. As soon as it shut, his lips were on yours, and your hands were in his hair.

“I need you, Allegra.” His body pressed up against yours, his erection pushing into your stomach.

“You have me, Sir…” It was the truth. He had you for as long as he wanted you. You didn’t know how long that would be, but you’d enjoy it while it lasted.

Bucky deftly opened the fly of his pants, pushed your long black skirt up and your panties to the side. You hooked your leg around his hip, opening yourself, and he plunged into your wet warmth in almost one stroke, swallowing your shouts and whimpers with his mouth. He slammed in and out of you like a man possessed, and all you could do was hold on.

“I want to take you home, Allegra. No more trysts in offices and store cupboards. I need you on my bed where I can really take you apart. And I need you in it in the mornings when I wake. No more living this life pianissimo. I need it and you, forte. What do you say?”

Your heart soared and the sounds of a thousand symphonies filled your ears.

“Yes, Sir!”

Tag list: @jobean12-blog @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky @tuiccim @yarnforbrains @sidepartskinnyjeans @flordeamatista @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @seitmai @talia-rumlow @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @jen-with-a-pen

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #Orchestra au #navy and roo's sleepover #bucky barnes x y/n #late writes

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thatslayer · 1 year

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[ ♛ ] send me a url and i'll tell you the following;

my opinion on:

Bruce Banner as portrayed by @phdinrage

character in general: Aw. I love Bruce so much. He was always a great character (Mark's incarnation, at least, not that I don't love Norton but holy cheese was he a bad fit for that role), but he's one of the characters who's gotten better and with time. I haven't seen She-Hulk yet, though, so don't quote me on that.

the mun: Jandon is one of my bestest, closest buddies and my most prolific ship partner. He's the one who convinced me that Faith and Sam Winchester had potential, and eventually turned out to be canonically perfect for each other. He's also a canon nut like I am, and that makes our rp universes so much better.

do i;

follow them: I will always follow. Any blog, any time. <3

rp with them: While it's 99.9% discord, I write with Jan probably more than I write with anyone else. We always have a ton of threads going in discord group verses or my private server.

want to rp with them: Yes, always!

ship their character with mine: Only across all our blogs, all the time lol. I realize that the ageism in the rpc means that people don't get what Faith sees in Bruce, but for a guy who's famously 'always angry', he's also gentle and kind. If you had any idea how long Faith's waited for someone to be kind to her. He doesn't judge her (maybe given that he's been more destructive in his life than she could ever hope to be), he's eternally her biggest cheerleader. He's sweet and dopey sometimes, and says corny things, and also is insanely dangerous which frankly is kind of a thing for her. Plus, he's stupid smart and Faith's sapiosexuality gets her into a lot of trouble, sometimes.

what is my;

overall opinion: Awww, Jan. I love you with my whole heart, even if you are a weird lil kitty sometimes.

#mun thoughts meme #phdinrage

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immortalmuses · 3 years

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a small starter for @mercifulmemories ‘s Natasha

“So I heard you like Thai food...” Bruce’s voice comes from behind Natasha, but it’s hardly the first indication of his approach. The physicist’s footsteps are deliberate and audible as he steps around the breakroom counter, setting two plastic bags on the counter and offering her a crooked, close-lipped smile, “...I do, too. And there’s a pretty traditional Thai place six blocks from here.”

Pulling fragrant and steaming cartons from the bag, Banner gestures to each in turn, “...Pad Kra Prao with jasmine rice, Gaeng Keaw Wan with fermented noodles... they even had Gai Haw Bai Toey.” Prying the edge of a carton open, the Physicist plucks a bit of leaf-wrapped chicken from inside with his fingers and pops it into his mouth. He offers Natasha an abashed look, “....I , uh... even got Pad Thai. Enough to share, pending Tony doesn’t find us.”

#ha ha i told dani this would be super short #i don't know what happened #mercifulmemories #thread: mercifulmemories01 (Natasha)#Fandom: Marvel #c: Bruce Banner | Hulk #Banner: threads #Banner :: verse :: Always Angry

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realityhelixcreates · 3 years

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 77: Like a Good Old-Fashioned Barn Raising

Chapters: 77/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time

Summary: Buridag begins!

Loki was awake long before you were, getting preparations ready, loose ends tied up, last minute orders sent out. He allowed you to sleep until you woke on your own, having removed his little illusory alarms from you some time ago.

Sometimes flower petals still rained upon you, and perfume rose from your footsteps, but no more snakes in the bath.

So you rose slowly, stretching and yawning the grogginess away at your own pace. Time was very hard to tell by looking out windows at this time of year, but when Loki entered the room carrying an egg sandwich, a little pile of fresh potato chips, and a glass of coffee, you placed yourself firmly within brunch territory.

Loki flicked on your sunlamp, gestured at the chair, and handed you your brunch once you'd taken your seat.

You munched your food and absorbed your light while Loki laid out the day's plans. You'd get dressed in a ceremonial outfit that included your armor and helmet, and join the parade that was gathering even now.

They were initially going to put you on Sleipnir. You had asked them not to. Sleipnir was magnificent, but you had no connection to him, nor to Leynarodd, who was the second choice. Your sweet, stout, shaggy little Acorn was who you preferred, a horse that belonged to no one initially, but who had formed a trusting bond with you.

Your clothing was, predictably, green, the underdress and apron a dark mossy color, hemmed on all edges with fine gold braid, embroidered with stripes of delicate knotwork, and your mark, also in gold. Over the top of this went your quilted tunic, in it's shimmering jade, and then your armor; the breastplate, the tassets, the bracers, pauldrons, greaves, and poleyns, though the last two were not visible. They went on over the leather trousers you'd been given to wear under your dress. They were sleek things, made of tough black leather, pleated in diagonal patterns, just like something Loki would wear. You thought the pleats had the advantage of putting more leather between you and any danger, and were flexible as well.

There were actually places where your familiar oval brooches could be fastened, your strings of shining beads strung between, your chatelaine dangled. Your belt was tooled leather and brass findings, hung with a leather purse, your Yggdrasil phone case, a small drinking horn carved with your mark, and of course, your knife. A little burst of deep pink against all the gold, green, and black.

You wore a minty-green velvet cape, a gift from Andsvarr, and your beautiful helmet to top it all off. You truly looked like something out of a fantasy novel, someone who looked like they should be standing next to the legendary figure that Loki currently cut.

He looked enormous, with his many asymmetrical layers, and molded shoulder guards, his billowing cape and hair spilling from beneath his magnificent curling horns. He shone with nornbein, and his cloak, shot with silk, shimmered subtly.

“You're so beautiful.” you mumbled. Loki smiled, and leaned down to adjust your cape, cheeks dusted with pink.

“Thank you.” he said, “I make every attempt. Though I think I will fade into the background under the power of your radiance.”

Warmth rushed to your face.

“Um, I know we've got to hurry and get Acorn, but I want to ask you a favor, Loki.”

“Anything. Tell me what it is and I'll make it so.”

You took a deep breath.

“I need you to stop trying to impress my father.”

The pink on his cheeks transformed into bright red.

“Ah. Yes, I rather hashed that, didn't I? I apologize. I thought that was still standard procedure, but your father, uh, explained otherwise.”

“Mhm, I'll bet he did. Look, I know you wanted to surprise us, but when it comes to things like that, you really oughta run it by me first. I could have told you that wouldn't work out the way you thought it would. You know, saved you from being chewed out like that. You can let me save you sometimes too.”

“ Like with the Huldra.”

“Kinda. Dad's not as bloodthirsty as she was, but he's a lot more stubborn.”

“Like father, like daughter, hm?” he teased.

“You have not seen me be stubborn yet.” you warned, and he gave you a quick smooch.

“A blessing, I'm sure. Very well, I agree. Surprises get run by you. Anything to save me from another tongue lashing. That man truly does not hold back.”

“I mean it though.” you persisted. “I'm not saying that you can't have any surprises at all, but talk to me about big stuff like that. If it's something that Asgardian law or custom would demand, but would be insulting to a human, we can maybe hash out an alternative that would satisfy both. That's the point, isn't it? Please, I really don't want to deal with anymore trouble between you two. Don't get hung up on impressing him, he has every reason to reject it, and he will. No more gifts, no toasts, no calling attention to him in public, nothing. He hates being the center of attention. Just let him be a guest, and see, without interference, that his little girl is doing fine on her own.”

“I really didn't mean to make him so angry.” Loki said, a little crestfallen. “And the more I tried to explain, the angrier he became. I just wanted him to know how much I value you. I wanted you to know too.”

“Material culture is different where I'm from. There are places in the world where that would have been understood and appreciated, but we've stopped doing it. In the same vein, fathers don't make all the decisions for their daughters anymore, so you don't actually need his approval. But...I need you to understand, it's not just that you took away his child, though that's bad enough. It's that I'm the only family he has left. My grandma only had one kid, and that was my dad. And she's dead, and so's my granddad, before I was even born. And then my mom died, and Beth too, and so I'm all that's left for him. And I have this giant Sword of Damocles hanging over my head all the time, and he's had to worry about that for my whole life. Most of the women on my mom's side all died from this, but occasionally, rarely, there's one that doesn't. I'm starting to hope that might be me. Maybe the magic is protecting me. But he's not going to be able to accept that so easily. I'm all he had left, and you took me away. That's all that's going to be important to him. You didn't even have to do the things you did in New York, this is the worst possible crime you could commit, in his eyes.”

Loki heaved a sigh of remorse. “And I cannot even return you to him. It seems there is one more thing I cannot set right.”

“The best you can do is make sure I'm okay. And don't bother him anymore. And maybe let him come visit more often. The more he sees me living my life and being fine, the more confidence he will have that I'm actually safe here.”

“I shall endeavor to help you thrive.” Loki promised.

“All right, so if that's settled, we should go get our horses.”

******

Acorn was, like you, a bit overdressed in your opinion. Long tabbards and blankets covered her from nose to rump, green and gold, embroidered with oak leaves. They were so long, they almost brushed the ground. Ribbons were braided into her wild mane and tail, and bells jingled with every movement. Like you, she could barely be seen under her splendor. But she was probably warm, and happily accepted a carrot from your hand. Placid as always, she let you up on her back, and fell into step behind Leynarodd, who likewise, followed up behind Sleipnir, whose hooves still rang like bells even over the thin layer of packed snow that covered the recently cleared streets.

There was a whole procession of people-this was a parade after all, and Thor, on Sleipnir, was preceded by the twin Valkyries, carrying Asgardian banners, as well as several musicians, and Beli, who chanted an ancient epic on the exploits of Buri.

Saga had translated the chant for you a while ago, and it sounded something like the sensationalized, self-aggrandizing boasts of pharaohs, or Mesopotamian kings-the kind that claimed to be rulers of the world, or rulers of the heavens themselves, to have battled armies of demons, killed giant lions with only a stick-that sort of thing. But when Beli called out those verses in such an ancient dialect of Asgardian, the words themselves felt powerful.

Thor followed slowly, Sliepnir plodding along, both of them absolutely huge. Loki and Leynarodd came right behind, only slightly smaller. And then you and Acorn, almost comical in your stature, diminutive by comparison. You were keenly aware of it, but either all of Asgard was too polite to say anything about it, or they simply didn't care.

The human guests, corralled in roped off areas, whooped and cheered when when you passed. Behind you, more musicians played, and a circle of Seidkonas walked in silent dignity. Then came more banners, the rest of the Valkyries, representatives of each noble house and guild, and the rest of the Aesir in Asgard, provided they didn't already have another position in the parade.

After them, the gathered Asgardians began following, lengthening out the procession, bright balls of magical light bobbing overhead. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, and would be slinking away in a mere three or so hours, so the mage lights sparkled everywhere. Helpful Einherjar herded the humans to the next specially roped off area, so they could follow the parade as well; you caught a few amused faces at the playful rowdiness displayed by celebrating humans.

That was just how humans were when they were excited about something. Humans loved to holler, to jump, and dance, and clap. Some of them were even trying to keep time with the music.

You weren't actually able to pick out your father or Tara in the crowd, nor anyone else you knew, so you just kept your head forward and your back straight, trying to look as dignified as you could.

You'd only ever seen a few of what you considered 'proper' parades: in a small town a parade mostly consisted of people waving from the backs of neighborhood pickup trucks and tractors, maybe decorated with balloons or paper chains, blasting music from dusty old speakers. In the autumn, there might be pumpkins and corn stalks, and usually hayrides. But never anything like this spectacle.

As you got closer to the construction site, the apprentice mages responsible for all the floating lights started throwing sparks from their hands, like colorful sparklers. The gathered Asgardians began lining up in their designated areas, ready to play their part. The foundations had already been dug, and everything that needed to go into them was already there. All that remained was the pouring.

Thor, Loki, and yourself dismounted as close to in unison as you could manage, the horses carefully lead away to a temporary enclosure. You headed to the stack of decorative bricks, and took your place among the Asgardians there, while Thor gave the order for the cement to pour.

While this went on, Beli gathered his students and skalds in front of the Huldrastone to recite a modern epic. Within the first few verses you realized that it was about the Huldra's attack, and your confrontation with her.

Of course, the poem was much cleaner and more elegant than the actual events had been, but certain things had still been included. Your ears burned beneath your helmet when Beli reached the part where you had 'bestowed upon the fallen prince, a gentle sacrificial kiss, knowing that to trade life for life would grant him breath once more.'

You had finally spotted your father and Tara in the crowd; he crossed his arms and glared upon hearing the verse, while Tara gave you a cheezy grin and thumbs up.

As the poem reached its conclusion, the cement finished pouring, and a new recitation began. As Thor and Loki knelt and began scratching ritual runes into the wet cement, Beli's current group of student came forward and began telling the story of Beli, while apprentice mages illustrated the words with colorful, stylized illusions.

There were harrowing battles against huge stone people, the construction of the original Bifrost, which at that time connected a fleet of alien ships to one another. The illusions showed the gathering of construction materials, the building of a platform in space, and the grand revelation of the crystalline platform upon which Asgard slowly grew. Mountain and plain, river and ocean, building after magnificent building rose into the sky. Their ships captured and carved an asteroid, then set it in orbit as a bright new moon. All this was accomplished by the use of a glowing, icy blue cube that was difficult to look directly at. It was compelling though; it caught and held your attention with its beautiful, sparkling light.

You knew what that device was: you had learned about it in your lessons with Saga. It was the object known as the Tesseract, a four dimensional creation meant to house the incredible energy of an Infinity Stone. Perhaps that was why it was simultaneously fascinating, yet hard to perceive. Your curious human brain was drawn to its uniqueness, yet equally unable to fully fathom it.

That device was the key to Asgard's existence and eventual success. It was unthinkable to you that Odin had just lost it on Earth, as Sagas histories had proclaimed. It must have been a terrible loss.

Thor and Loki completed their carving, and began the process of imbuing the foundations with divine power. Goosebumps rose on your arms, and there was a pricking in your sinuses, like you were about to sneeze. There was almost a flavor to it.

The actual blessing didn't take nearly as long as the rune carving ritual, and soon, the two brothers stepped back, to allow others to begin their work. More mages worked a spell together that lifted the water out of the cement, drying it within moments. People came forward with wires and pipes, floor and wall supports, insulation, hammers, plaster, bricks, and mortar. In rotating lines people laid flooring and installed fixtures, scraped grout and assembled frames. Every now and then youths moved through, sweeping up dust, always away from you.

It suddenly became clear that that was why you were so far back in line, why you'd been assigned a decorative brick, something that would be placed near the very end of the construction. There would be no dust then. Gratitude swelled in your chest, but you said nothing. There was singing now, simple, repetitive melodies that sounded like work songs.

Every hour, volunteers carted huge, heated cauldrons around the lines and groups of human spectators, dipping out hot drinks like witch's potions, and it was possible that there was a simple sort of magic in things like hot chocolate, strong coffee, and buttered rum on a cold day.

The building went up faster than you thought possible, the widows, doors, and lights being set into place as auroras began ribboning across the sky.

Finally, there was one brick left. You lifted it up, as the singing seemed to intensify, scooped some mortar from the pail, and fitted it all into the only remaining slot. Giving the brick a light pat to make sure it was secure, you turned back to the assembled crowd.

“We did it.” You said, and the cheering began.

#lasabrjotr #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

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kyloren · 4 years

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i was never really into the jonsa ship, but that post of yours has got me really interested... do you have any fave fics of them??

welp, we’re going old-school, lads. prepare for some of my favourite fandom throwbacks well, I failed at that, I put some of the newer things on the list, too

CANON-VERSE:

Now You See Me: Kissed by fire, Ygritte thought to herself, just like me.

Goodbye Means Going Away (And Going Away Means Forgetting): Memory is unreliable. No one understands this better than Rickon Stark.

Take My Crown Away (Don’t Smile So Sweetly, My Love): A world where everything is easier. Except for those who love, and love too much.

Build a Ladder to the Stars: Jon abandons the Night’s Watch to join Robb’s cause. After rescuing Sansa from King’s Landing, he and Sansa find themselves in a relationship they never saw coming.

A Winter’s Tale: The War of Three Dragons comes to the Vale, bringing Jon Snow and Sansa Stark together once more.

The Winter of Our Discontent: In the end it is Jon and his men of the Night’s Watch who come to take her back to Winterfell.

tell me true (who are you): Ned Stark brought a dark-haired, grey-eyed bastard babe home and called him son. Years later, Jon Targaryen does the same.

Lift Me Like an Olive Branch and Be My Homeward Dove: She never dreams of Jon Snow but in the end he is the one that comes for her under a Targaryen banner, the might of Winterfell and the North behind him with their father’s sword on his back.

The Whispering Ghosts (Left You Out In The Cold): Winter came and brought Jon home. [this is the first Jonsa fic I ever read, boy, did it fuck me up]

A Bronze Crown: In the end there are no knights. In the end Sansa must rescue herself. Based on the prompt: he doesn’t ride to her rescue; she comes north with her granduncle and the armies of the Vale to wage war on the Boltons, save his life and teach his assassins and the Boltons a sharp lesson.

how ruthless are the gentle*: “Yes, I do.” The easiest lie he’s ever told, by far. It came so naturally, he hardly thought of it as false. “She’s easy to love.”

Tell the Ones That Need to Know (We Are Headed North)*: After years of confinement in the Red Keep with Ned prisoner in the black cells, the Dragon Queen comes. With the knowledge that Jon Snow is actually a Targaryen, she agrees to let the Starks return to Winterfell only if Jon marries one of the Stark daughters. Sansa volunteers so they can all go home. Soon she figures out being married to Jon isn’t bad, but it is complicated.

Cripples, Bastards and Broken Things*: We know no King, but the King in the North whose name is Stark.

Dragons of Red, Dragons of White*: An AU where the Battle of the Trident took place, but just between Rhaegar Targaryen and Robert Baratheon. Their duel and its outcome have ramifications that none could foresee. In the world built afterwards, dragons once again rule and roam Westeros, among them the son of a northern beauty and the king. Prince Jon and his kin, Stark and Targaryen alike, face new challenges from both without and within. Whatever the future holds, the Seven Kingdoms will learn that, whether in a coat of red or a coat of white, a dragon still has claws.

A Knight’s Watch: Jon Snow is forbidden to take the black by his father. Instead he sent to squire for a famous knight, beginning a long arduous journey that causes him to cross paths with characters he never would have. Along the way he learns truths long hidden and discovers love in the most unlikely of places.

The Conquest*: Three hundred years after Aegon the Conqueror built a new empire on the ashes of the Valyrian Freehold the known world is a place of war. The Targaryen Empire is pressed by enemies, the Seven Kingdoms war amongst themselves and forces contrive to pull them all apart.

Live Without Shame: When Catelyn’s treatment of Winterfell’s Bastard unexpectedly softens, Sansa reconsiders her relationship with Jon. But despite the revelations that ensue, Jon must and will always remain Winterfell’s Bastard and suffer its consequences.

The Tempered Kingdoms*: After years of wars, death, destruction, politics, and White Walkers, a tentative calm has returned to Westeros partially due to the rulership of King Jon and Queen Daenerys. But politics rues its head again as Stannis Baratheon demands his right to rule, while the former Queen Cersei languishes in a cell, plotting her revenge against all who live above her. Sansa Stark is forced to return to King’s Landing after being found by the rumored lovers Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth.

winterbloom: “You’ve traveled a long way for a rumor.” Sansa lives at the Wall under the protection of her brother Jon Snow, but when Sandor Clegane comes looking for her, she and Jon begin to realize that she is not as safe as they once hoped.

As History Changes: Jon agrees to accompany Stannis south to the Vale and he meets a person he did not expect to meet.

hold onto your heart (you’ll keep it safe): When Sansa turns eleven her wrist burns. She excitedly unwraps the cloth guarding her skin, waiting eagerly for the name to finish forming. The dark letters stop after only three and when Sansa leans in closer she realises that she knows that name and she knows that handwriting already.

carve your heart into mine: Sansa spent many evenings sewing her wedding dress by the fire, dreaming of her husband. The gown spilled out of her hands like a silver river, burning brighter from the light of the flames. She had embroidered it with a noble husband in mind, but she wed her lowborn love in the godswood, with snowflakes falling on her veil.

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE:

Into the Darkness of the Grave: The tragic death of Eddard Stark’s cousin Lyanna brings her estranged son back to Winterfell House, the family’s old plantation home, for her funeral.

The Other Shoe: If anyone had told Sansa Stark that she would be married to Jon Snow, expecting a child with him at the age of nineteen she would have laughed at them. Not because Jon was a bad person, for he had slowly come out of his shell in the past seven years; not because she was young, her parents were married right out of Hogwarts; simply because Sansa Stark seemed to be the anthesis of a happy ending.

several sunlit days: Everyone knows you don’t date Robb Stark’s sisters unless you want to spend your days avoiding hexes and angry bludgers shot at your head. Too bad Jon’s traitorous feelings could care less.

the unexpected champion: Jon must swim to The Black Lake and retrieve something *cough* Sansa *cough* stolen from him. This task makes him realize who he should invite to the Yule Ball.

Where Did You Sleep Last Night: Sansa needs a new guitarist, Jon needs a new band, and the two of them definitely don’t need each other.

and labor till the work is done: Stark Industries is a family legacy she was hoping to avoid: Robb is a project manager, grooming to eventually be a partner, Arya is a summer intern with Bran sure to follow next year and Rickon in another three, and even Jon Snow, who is technically not family but who has been around for as long as Sansa can remember, works as an estimator. But Sansa is not who she was at sixteen or eighteen or even twenty and she’s still in the process of learning what’s truly important, like who she is, who she wants to be, and what kind of people she wants in her life.

One Of The Few Things: Jaime and Sansa spend a lot of time pining over Brienne and Jon together. Sometimes, they actually even do their jobs.

flower shaped heart*: Alayne Stone has lived her whole life in her hidden tower, forbidden by Mother to leave. But she yearns for an adventure like the ones in the songs, so when a man named Jon Snow crashes into her tower and into her life, she seizes the chance. They travel to King’s Landing where the floating lanterns shine each year on her nameday. The new world is exciting and frightening, but Jon Snow is there to guide her every step. He is not nearly as terrible as Mother said men are, though the rest of the world might be. Danger, betrayals, and lies form the steps of their journey as Alayne uncovers terrible secrets.

Crawl up to my Room: Jon left her side after a few moments of silence and she watched him leave with a quiet thought playing in her mind. He was her stepbrother for only a few hours, and she already found herself utterly fascinated and irritated with Jon Stark.

in the summer, as the lilacs bloom: “You did tech in high school,” Sansa points out. (Yeah, I did tech because you were playing the lead and I was in love with you.) Jon doesn’t tell her that, though. Of course not. Instead he agrees to spend his summer stage managing this passion project of hers, and some trace of his seventeen-year-old self has dried out his throat at the thought of three months’ constant contact with Sansa.

Down from the Mountain: Sansa flies home from college after her older brother Robb, one of the country’s hottest young pitchers, is hurt in a car accident. Robb’s best friend Jon is there to help the Stark family in any way he can.

Little Bed in the Big Woods: “I stared at him for a solid five minutes because he looked like what I imagine god would look like if god was a lumberjack.”

A Game of Stars*: When the Mad Emperor hears that the Starks are Force-sensitive, he discovers the hidden rebel base on Hoth. He sends Jon there with one order: Burn them all. But bring the Stark children to Coruscant. It’s time for the two most powerful Force bloodlines in the galaxy to merge.

I’ll Pack My Goods for the Arkansas Woods*: When Sansa’s brother goes missing, it falls to her to defend the house and the woods against the greed of the Boltons and Freys. All of this would be much easier if she could fight fire with fire, and there’s a saying in the valley: that all the Starks are a little wild, and all the Targaryens are a little mad. Her cousin Jon just happens to be both.

In the Face of Death: On a long list of things Jon never expected, Sansa came top.

United States of Irreversible Oblivion: With the government losing its fight at the northern border, Sansa’s only hope is that one of its soldiers, Office Jon Snow, will return for her and save her from the horrors of a collapsing society.

remember me love when i’m reborn: ‘Longest Night’ has biggest night in hollywood history. “Joffrey wanted someone to make him famous, and as soon as Sansa wrote a movie for him that did just that, he left her in the dirt.”

Hear the Wolf*: The Starks are in Hogwarts. Sansa has to learn to stand up to her ex-boyfriend and Jon has to learn to face his past. They’re determined to do it alone. Will they ever admit they’re stronger together?

Somewhere in the Winter Woods*: Lost on her way to her grandmother’s cabin in the winter woods after running away from home, beautiful young Sansa thinks she’s run into trouble when she crosses a white wolf in the forest. Instead of harming her, the animal guides her to his master, a handsome warrior named Jon who lives in solitude and clothes himself in black.

* marks the ongoing stories.

#jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #jon x sansa #sansa stark #jon snow #game of thrones #*#anonymous #ask box #in this tag resides fanfiction

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everythingheard · 1 year

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bruce tag drop!

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lady-plantagenet · 3 years

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A Bygone Era - Chapter 11

This is the newest chapter of a long-term fictional project of mine. It is a story centering around the lives of Lady Isabel Neville, George of Clarence and Richard Neville 16th Earl of Warwick (heavily also featuring Anne Beauchamp 16th Countess of Warwick and Anne Neville). It is told alternating between their POVs, occasionally dipping into that of others from the outside eg Cecily Neville, Margaret of Anjou’s. It is based on history, as opposed to TWQ series!

Points of views so far include: Anne Beauchamp Countess of Warwick, Lady Anne Neville, George Duke of Clarence, Lady Isabel Neville, Richard Neville Earl of Warwick,Cecily Neville, Dowager Duchess of York and Margaret of Anjou

This chapter is through Margaret of Anjou’s POV:

[Text]:

10th July 1470

Among roses red and white presided the daisy - or so she had taken to inwardly correcting herself when whispers of her unenglishness would close around her like mocking rattles shook by the fauntkins that once haunted her nights. And then Edouard was finally born to her and those nightmares were assuaged only to be replaced by newer, more detestable faces: York, Warwick, Salisbury. And so the rattling returned after eight years, but it was that of armour.

At Angers she was now Marguerite again, although every time she would look back to her hands, she could believe it less. The long, white fingers that had once flashed brilliantly over parchments, whether it was a charter she penned or a match she wove for whichever gentlewoman of hers was yearning that week, would never straighten out as they once did. At times when she held her reins, she would cringe for their finery. Ma mère Isabelle, sage Yolande, to which end will your memory guide me when not even you have known exertions such as these?

But before her stood only her father, René with as many chins as he had titles. It was only in his presence that she would even dare examine her wrists or roll a fallen hair into her lap, checking how it greyed. Behind him the ‘Mary in The Burning Bush’ sizzled with the draft, bellowing forever through those red halls of her childhood. Even after the longest absence, she could still point to curls of orange paint and placings of ultramarine which Froment let the Duke of Anjou add by his own hand. Beauty in devotional dialogues as in verses he exchanged with the renowned Charles D’Orléans, the sarcenets and masks whirling in every colourful performance of the Passion of Angers, would there ever again be a place for her there? She would sometimes wonder - if, for all the families with men riding out, grizzling in battle squalor so to keep the brute from their ladies’ doors, whether god had played a twisted experiment on the men and women of her house. Twisted still, how the contrary courted every generation.

He was now looking at her, crossing his fleshy arms in a manner so familiar that she anticipated his tact from a league away ‘When I rode at Jeanne D’Arc’s side in the crusade of Orleans, she- ‘ strange of him to resurrect La Pucelle like this, helped to the flames by the Earl of Warwick’s very own father-in-law. She lifted her hand. Those same granddaughters of Warwick would come in her presence with their ancestor’s banners mingling in their skirts as in their overmighty subject blood and pack into her own robes as their grandmother of Salisbury had done some March procession ago. May they burst like the blistering skin of a snake. ‘Whither you come again father to sacrifice your own daughter in the interests of the country, only now this is to be made my own doing?’

Réné’s hands fell to the side, the sound broke her thoughts. Velvet was not supposed to make that sound when it met, she looked back and saw the black had faded from the fabric, not unlike the scarlet sunsetting the halls - at least now that she chanced another look. Mary in the Burning Bush, her father’s gaze followed hers to the painting. She burns but is not consumed, La Pucelle...

Her father’s rings were boring (digging/gripping could work) into her shoulders, however they did not dig much. Gentle impoverished man, I see I shall fight for you too. ‘The divine mystery’ he whispered behind her as if he himself beheld it now ‘jesu, her only son, ma fille, likewise as he, our only light. Marian’s sacrifice’

‘Sometimes, I think my king husband is much like the spirit of Most High’ she murmured not unkindly, for Henry’s was not the beacon laying the flame that would make ashes of the heart. Longing, in the end, had but one care, to cocoon, stifle and transform that which was unruly. Not yearning, the yearning that brought with it no peace; the gaudling of her London court for which the fashionable youth adored her, daughters of Chaucer down to her gilded ladies would forsake the altars for their Guinevere. Had the Yorkists only the craft to have seen that tale through complete materiality... She gave out an unbalanced sigh, while her mind addled on whether monsieur Warwick’s imagination coming to them would leave the brutes with naught else but smashing the cocoon, however snuggly lain in its stony bower.

July beams lingered, heat shattered off the floors, and so she tried to pull at the linen that clung to her wrist, more that it was unfashionable it was a grey that summer suns liked to singe ‘Have my thoughts wound about your tongue, mon père? you do not appear to have any words for response’

‘Ah?’ He turned her towards him raising an eyebrow ‘I was not aware you sook any, was there are question I did not note?’

‘Yes’

His amusement faltered when he saw her unamused ‘Ah, yes, your sacrifice. It was ever your way Margaret, though whether it is for France or your son I do not know’

Her robe drew their shadows when she fell back, black thistles on grey from the gallery’s corners. ‘I’ she shook a crooked finger ‘you ask me this? I who- have you any idea why it is that the English so hate me father? It is not for I traded tin and wool; it is not for my founding of colleges...’

Now it was he who raised the hand ‘Indeed ma marguerite, your kingly husband rules over a nation of merchants huddled in village kingdoms. They who would cast the white of a lady’s hand anywhere but in council. The jealousy of the English is legendary, I know’.

‘Not that either’ her voice was terse while she took her seat on the stone bench. It was much more worn than she had found it years ago, if rock would splinter rather than burn. ‘It is because they think like you and my cousin le roi. Henry and Edouard’s people, once they were also mine - descendants of Charlemagne as are we? They have never forgotten how I had Maine and Anjou surrendered, all for you et comme ça I became France’s agent. Not a queen for England was I: mercantile where their English roses are industrious, that was, before I was the wastrel of a lavish court where their ladies stayed stately patrons steeped in pious splendour... and yet the Yorks are not England, not more than Pembroke, Somerset, Suffolk, Exeter’

Réné stepped back and huffed a laugh, the way his lips sat after, thin and waved would have looked shrewd in other men’s faces, never in his, sat among his folds of pink and white skin ‘But the Monsieur le Warwick is’. He shuffled next to her, the pale blue of his eyes renarrowing as he concentrated on setting down his fleshiness on the little space, she could concede him on the bench ‘Not as us, ma marguerite, kings of Jerusalem, rulers of Majorcas and Minorcas...

‘Must he too make them different’ she realised she sounded like Henry, looking up with eyes rounded and rimmed so darkly by unsleep that she did not notice the footsteps approaching ‘Can crowns and people be so? The English and the French? Ah to stoop l’Agneau into an alliance with a subject, to have my posterity sat on thrones built on concessions, to they themselves be so as well?’

‘And so, you helped them to it when you gave Berwick back to the Scots. An act singing of the auld alliance’ Father and daughter looked up, it was something said with all the bitterness of an erstwhile groom of such a match. ‘I cannot say I minded that much’ Louis XI of France had just returned from mass, crossed himself and twitching his long Valois nose, Margaret was reminded how this was a man who went to prayer mechanically as in all manner of things; mimicking other’s gestures with the mind’s thoughts separate. Perchance all ceremony was indeed same to him, the prie-dieu of vespers though softer than the stone under his breaches and spurs when he had knelt with his Stuart dauphine at an alter times passed. She had died and he had burned all her poetry Margaret was horrified ill-befallen queen to be.

He was prudent, like Salisbury’s prudence but York was now a house of alchemists. Why have at Boccacio’s matter when bare re-anatomization could make for Lydgate’s fall of princes? Sometimes not even names need be changed. Her wandered to Queen’s College with a sigh; she could be angry no more.

He did not walk as much as swept with the blue heaviness of his robes as they cooled the sun off the flagstones, atop his head comically lay only a black skull cap which made his face smaller, less discernable.

‘and Carlisle’ she feigning her approval ‘France never breathed while England was strong’ behind Louis, Réné stood up shooting her bewildered looks. Just as nor would my son buttressed in from the North and South. But sectioned up part and parcel from within?

‘You now speak like a prince madame. A prince of France’ he spoke barely moving a lip ‘good did it you this spell at Angers, I see we are past ravings for vengeance’ he stayed the way he also did but now swung his eyes from one side to the other like a pendulum ‘I always know when to come, as does Warwick it seems. Two days ride they tell me’

‘Him? He’ she grabbed at the column grilling the window behind her as though she meant to wield it ‘here?’

Her father shrank away and Louis’ voice curled in amusement as he flicked a speck of dust from his collar ‘St Mary would do well, resplendent enough for an oath, the floors need no bending from our treasury without offending Monsieur’s apparent newly exalted tastes’

His confusion at her silence could almost have been taken for indignance, he now turned to her father with the same look. ‘I told her, nephew, we are agreed, Fortescue would not write to you without her consent you know that. She noticed how he hated being called that. ‘Marguerite-‘

‘That was in May’ she gathered her thumbs in an inward gesture and under her chin ‘before I knew they made a mockery of our assistance; all he did these months was spend all that Bourrée had given him and without profit. A lord without profit, think sire think.’

‘Leave the costs of their presences to me’ he retorted ‘all his sailors and had they ten children each are the poor’s bread sat next to you and yours all these years’

‘Maine and Anjou were scores that’ Margaret hissed ‘and you forget that by even deigning to compare your obligation to us as that towards Warwick. Edouard is a prince of France too - remember that.’

He huffed laying both hands on the counter-table. His sleeve’s fleur de lis pattern dragged to clarity when he stretching, lit the three candles that lay atop although it was daylight. The servants were sent away, he seems a very practiced man in these respects. ‘So I hope that you remember that when you prevail over that idiote de York’

‘Believe you in the right of Lancaster then?’ she heard an ounce of hope in her father’s voice ‘That Lancaster is good for the country? Warwick is either to be turned water crossing to his ruin or turn for my grandson? Advising a York had always been futile’. Had he not heard what had just been said?

‘Yes -oncle’ he narrowed his eyes, chaffed his heel while he spoke ‘rather... good for the world as well I think’

Margaret approached him, catching his sleeve when he tried slightly turning his back ‘it is good you see, for Pembroke will be governing besides your friend Warwick and we can insure an even goodlier reign over England under an even redder rose’. He looked over his shoulder with features pointed in irritation, The King of France was but around her age, yet he looked as those old English bankers that bit their coins and and found they were not gold.

Nearly two years ago, Jasper’s enterprises had cost Louis much, but now he had come back with only little accounts of assizes and short-lived sieges. Inwardly, Margaret felt pleasant. Apart from her, no one angered them as he did, he was now to Champagne, on his continuous quest. With every return she felt she could reclaim new pieces of her old court, and unknowingly his gallantry rebuilt her court of chivalry, regarbing her a Guinevere when he knelt. Regarbed, for the love they both bore Henry was second only to that for Edouard. As did Catherine de Valois, faithfully, as her welsh suitor longed, yearned and served. Wedded and then to die for his step-son’s cause. She once wondered whether such a musing could ever cross a busy mind like his, the welsh do have their romances, as do the French. But even though England pools them all to herself in the end, lovely waters of red and blue they stay.

‘It is good of you’ Réné said, patting his gut in a manner going with his satisfaction ‘that you also hold that an alliance between these two kingdoms is an ideal. You may yet grow to be known as the Europe’s bringer of perpetual peace, le prudent est la meilleure que l’universelle aragne, non?

‘Oncle...’ his dark eyes dropped to his simper and Margaret was beginning to realize was something Louis used to mock, ‘yes, yes. I also happen to know men like the Monsieurs Warwick and Clarence and they do not fall easily and will always know where to find me at every exile, especially now that Edward will never allow them to the force of Calais again. Though I had their wives housed with my Queen and gave the princeling a bolt of pretty green silk to appease him, one month since landing at Normandy they have caused me nothing but trouble. They did not spend all the coin Bourrée gave to them to affront you but to bade me recognize them, and loudly enough to bring Burgundy in his throes of idiocy, to tell me how I am breaking our treaty of Péronne by not attacking them for what they did to his ships. Attack? Ack all these men think about is hitting one another with their sticks of steel - dense as their skulls’

She raised an eyebrow Craven ‘Then you would not object to having Warwick kneel during the audience. He who bespoiled us, your treasury and my virtue- ’Many hard hours had been wasted like this. she felt herself being grabbed by the shoulders to which she responded by looking back at him in confusion, he proceeded to slip down and now she felt more shocked. ‘Marguerite, belle cousine, I beseech you. We need Warwick to invade and you need him most. France will not bear war with Burgundy, think on your hatred for those carver princes of your kingdom, just so is my wrath for Charles le Temerraire, he is like your York for me. The father and son merged in an even greater traitor. England has not razed to the ground, but if France falls, I split, just as my father had when he betrayed the maid of Orléans to them - the English and the Burgundians. Marguerite, I am not my fool father, I will not betray you and so you will not betray me. Do not trifle, dissimulate instead, I urge you as one sovereign to another. Take this as my kneeling in lieu of Warwick, as repayment for my father’s debt towards the maid’ And an England divided would suit you just as well, if not better than an alliance. Far less costly. His words sounded well-chewed, but such thoughts were overborne and unheard, thoughts paling to those for spirit of the Maid ‘who had raised Charles to throne’ and how it had ‘renewed in the Queen’. You who once followed a peasant girl follow now a queen, soft sprang the echoes, Captain Margaret.

‘Maman!’ her son came bounding in like a sprig, a tall, stately boy whose features were never left by the serious air that his childhood hung about them. His father’s blue eyes were squarely cut in his face and shone whenever in the presence of men with whom he could prove his mettle - he had the leanness of someone who never grew too easy. Just so, upon sight of Louis his tone dropped and he pecked her on the lips before sitting himself at the edge of the stone bench. ‘Comme les anglais’ her father joked and even the king managed a small smile ‘like the English princes’. She knew well that they were too old for this custom, but how many mothers so raised their sons so alone and unattended by others, the lord’s manger had straw for warmth where St Michel only stones.

‘I met the lady Anne’ started Louis ‘a vivacious girl, t’was her proud sister’s wedding festivities, but she did not strike neither me nor my brother le duc as one much saddened by much’

Your beloved Monsieur must be ever in god’s gratitudes to have found in you the wedding land for all his daughters and woes. And so now Margaret would lean onto his marital prowess as he unto her martial, for she knew Warwick had no third daughter, no alter avenues for alliance.

‘It is a shame cousin’ she said stroking her son’s cheek, faced away she could still feel some disaffection forming itself in that proud head ‘how you let harbour the joining of Isabelle to that shaking boy’ at that Edouard removed his cap while his mouth twisted in a callous smirk, the fringes of his yellow hair, had long been growing over his face and the concealment was timed perfectly for Louis not to see. The universal spider hated recall for parts in webs he left to the wind for miscalculated threads layed and they both knew that well.

‘Yes, Clarence still shakes but for quite something else, but that blunder is of no account, for remember - the sisters are co-heiresses one is as good as the other, the stately Isabelle may be marble, but Anne is the clay, with perceptive eyes, childhood and better French’ his face softened while he paused, as if readying for the next persuasion. ‘Do you know? She had approached us at the second day festivities, coyly to ask us if now that her sister is married and her English suitor had forsaken the match, if we now had a French prince for her, so that she may honour her sister, and remain apace. Her father had laughed, and not long after her mother - it was that which rather shocked me’

It was a little girl’s boldness that Louis would not know to invent. Margaret smiled, close-lipped but slipping involuntarily like a streak from the fireplace strays to a nearby pot, leaving in its wake a black but warm smudge as its patronage. If god have given her all her father’s spirit, we may harness her boldness to ours.

‘Perceptive?’ Edouard peaked one eye as he slipped back his blue skull cap. He could not image what would have to twist in a fourteen-year-old girl’s eye for anyone to see such moods. In hers he had only known the same that dwelled in all other men’s eyes. It is he who is most like la pucelle Margaret thought a little tinged with guilt.

She approached Edward in his bright brocades with the shift of her faded ones, she cringed at the sound as she regathered her skirts over to her knees, waiting for the dust to settle ‘So what say you my son?’ From the corner of her eyes Louis raised an eyebrow to her father’s fidgeting.

He held them all paused a minute, and then scrounged up his nose. ‘One may be good enough for a pretender’s traitor brother but not for us’ he raised his chin in a way that never before so struck the image of a Henry looking up at mass, and proclaimed ‘we will not be compromised, concede to servants who so tear our country asunder, those who injure our person so with illicit raisings of arms and slander’. My son, our son.

Réné had long slipped off from their side, so he made his way forward to finally speak ‘mais petit-fils, can you not see how Warwick’s acceptance of this marriage would be the strongest declaration to the world that he retracts his statements?’ Such was ever his wont- playing bubbling grandfather, but while gently nodding his head with her son, blue eyes smiling on blue, Margaret wondered if there was another tact she had not quite noticed before.

Edouard slipped away with disappointment and suspicion forming into one of his pouts, little matter as they were all rosebuds to Margaret. His look to her was unshaped and she knew the thought that what stood behind those heavy-lidded eyes remained unsure ‘Édouard, if I may brook those insults levered at me, then you must learn to as well. Your justice must bend to compromise’ perhaps you may transfer some of this Marian devotion to your wife, lose some for me if you will. When she store at the painting again, the flames no longer appeared to flicker, nothing moved but an orange light, muting all with the mark of the day’s descent. She wondered if this new girl’s hair hued the same, held any of the colour’s warmth, would at least for Edouard.

Louis lifted one finger and thrumping it on Edouard’s shoulder, the youth looked up ‘do know something else, you may have an annulment should the union outstretch its use. Without consummation there can be no bind, papal dispensation notwithstanding’

‘She is all but fourteen, it is true’ her father murmured ‘Monsieur appears to have a woman’s heart when it comes to his children. Or so that is the impression you have given me’

Louis nodded ‘I know better than to presume to know his mind, but he readily shows himself willing for a delay. Of what cause I do not know’

‘Ah now the dog insults us!’ Edouard blurted

‘Hushhh’ Margaret did not hide her grimace ‘he is now to be your father-in-law, lay him before you as a shield, for soon we may have no more swords’

Find the rest of the story on AO3… (link in the reblog)

#margaret of anjou #richard neville 16th earl of warwick #anne neville #louis xi #edward of lancaster #edward of westminster #rene of naples #a bygone era #i wrote this #r&r please xxx #i would appreciate it so much!#whether here or on #ao3 #the white queen #the wars of the roses

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ivystjamess · 3 years

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𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐈 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐖𝐍

WHO: @jazziejazxo and ivy st.james. ft mentions of: davis, julien, joey, kenna, noah, sammy, otto, lemon, ruby, eli, and winnie. WHEN: fri night. 2/5. WHERE: north hills mall. WHAT: bumping into each other at the mall, jaz and ivy have a heated exchange turned dream sequence of p!nk’s ‘cuz i can leading up to new direction’s regionals competition.

IVY LIKED TO THINK SHE HAD THREE HOMES. her actual one, whatever stage she be performing on (whether that be field or actual stage) and north hills mall. since entering her teenage years, she’d spent about as much time at the mall as she did doing her morning and nightly routines. so naturally, she knew the busy and the less busy times to go on her bi-weekly shopping sprees. thursday night was always pretty mild, and ivy liked it that way. she didn’t want to deal with a bunch of other people while shopping, who would? as she stepped onto the escalator to head down to the main floor, she caught the unmistakable gaze of jaz evans standing by the fountain and glaring daggers up at her. at this realization, ivy expedited her time on the escalator by walking down to give jaz a piece of her mind.

jaz’s intentions weren’t malicious at first. part of jaz’s goal for this semester was to refocus on the things that really matter. She was helping ND win regionals, being the best possible friend/sister/daughter, and checking drama at the door. after spending an entire weekend in bed and in constant worry that her voice wouldn’t recover from her random weekend sickness, jaz was more focused on these goals than ever. she was at the mall searching for the perfect gift to thank her mom for both taking care of her all weekend and helping her prep vocally for her big competition debut. but when she spotted ivy, all of that focus went out of the window. suddenly she was feeling just as insecure as she did when vocal adrenaline stormed the auditorium. her gaze didn’t waver even as ivy picked up speed. who did she think she was?

stepping up to the other girl, ivy shrugged her purse up on to her shoulder and flashed the fakest of smiles, “jaz so funny to see you here!” she started mild before concluding with a blunt, “i like couldn’t help but notice that look you were giving me.” a signature ivy st.james condescending pout graced her lips before she continued, “all shook up from the fundraiser? or was it our performance last week?” she asked with the tilt of her head. relations between ivy and jaz hadn’t always been so tense, in fact, they had a pretty healthy relationship prior to the blow up in the green room at sectionals. jaz always encouraged ivy to maybe be a little kinder, and ivy encouraged jaz to trust her talent a little more. that was all well and good until jaz had made it personal. taking ivy’s spot as captain? doing that duet with julien on the ski trip? ivy figured maybe jaz was a little ruthless with all this effort clearly being put into making her angry or jealous and arguing with her. with all this pent up frustration toward her former friend, ivy had no problem letting venom flow off her tongue unrestrained. “well, i have to get going! good luck with like, buying new directions’ cheap-o costumes or whatever you’re doing here. hopefully you find something that can hide the inevitably horrible choreography you’re going to be doing tomorrow. bye!” and with that, ivy turned her back, ready to walk away.

in a few blunt and nasty words, ivy had somehow confirmed all of the misconceptions jaz had made about this girl. somehow this new ivy was so bitter about not getting her way at sectionals that she literally transferred schools to create a “aha i told you so” moment. jaz was suddenly extremely angry at ivy, more than just disappointed. could she have been the reason davis just stopped talking to her out of the blue? jaz’s mouth moved faster than her brain could process. “honestly, whatever, ivy. just storm out or something…it’s the only thing you’re good at.” jaz spoke, venom dripping off of her words. she rolled her eyes and turned around, mumbling. “how were we even friends?”

wondering if maybe she had been a little too harsh, ivy froze in her place. obviously she didn’t want things to be this way. but ivy made her bed and had no problem laying in it. sure, there were surges where she missed the team, or the little moments like going to the pumpkin patch with jaz. it was the same as she got her surges of missing julien. but those days were over and gone. now? they were at war.

both still heated from the exchange, their backs still turned, suddenly rock music began sounding throughout the mall as the pair aggressively whipped around to face each other. speaking over the music, jaz began ‘Rock and Roll, Rock! And I drink more than you! And party harder than you do! And my car's faster than yours too!’ making disgusted vocalizations at each other complete with lots of eye rolls and aggressive expressions, ivy pushed past jaz and strutted to the bathroom as she sang ‘P.I.N.K. P.I.M.P I'm back again I know y'all missed me.’

as the bathroom door swung open, ivy was suddenly in a locker room, donning work out gear. in the locker room, ivy continued to sing as she sat down on a bench and began taping up her hands, ‘Yeah I talk shit just deal with it.’ hands now taped, ivy continued to sing hostilely, slamming locker doors shut as she passed, the final one slamming shut as she belted, ‘You can try and try you can't be me!’

at the chorus, ivy and jaz both sounded as they popped up in different locations. ivy could be seen doing a variety of activities such as jumping rope, doing laps around an empty boxing gym characterized by black and blue ropes and banners, as well as sit ups all while davis lingered in the background either timing her, egging her on, or sitting on her feet as she did her sit ups. jaz, on the otherhand, remained in a gym decorated similarly to the other one, but with red and white adornments. in work out gear similar to ivy’s jaz also did a number of training activities; push ups, speed punching a punching bag, and running up and down the stands while julien stood by encouragingly as her coach. as this training went on they sang in perfect harmony, “but it's alright, I don't give a damn, I don't play your rules, I make my own, tonight I'll do what I want 'Cause I can”

when the chorus came to an end, the focus was pulled to jaz coming up from a push up and looking directly forward and singing, “I know I'm rare, you stop and stare, You think I care, I don't You talk real loud, But you ain't saying nothing cool” rising to her feet, she passed julien and gave him a high five as she moved to grab a water bottle and continued singing. glistening with sweat and aggression in her eyes, she arrived to the end of her verse and dramatically dumped the contents of her water bottle over her head as she belted out, ‘You can try and try you can't be me!’

moving into the second chorus, ivy and jaz were suddenly in a filled arena full of cheering fans. in ivy’s corner, eli, winnie, kenna, and sammy could be spotted sporting their TEAM IVY shirts in the front row, while in jaz’s corner noah, otto, lemon, and ruby could be spotted wearing their TEAM JAZ shirts as they cheered for the impending match. cutting between ivy and jaz as they entered with davis and julien from their tunnels, their voices again joined as they eyed each other from across the arena and sang their angst out.

jaz hopped into the actual arena first where joey stood center in a referee’s shirt, but ivy was close behind. they were both followed by their respective coaches. as the bridge arrived, joey called the competitors to the middle of the ring. ivy and jaz shrugged off their blue and red robes and made their way to the center of the ring. while joey soundlessly laid out the rules of the boxing match, ivy and jaz’s eyes narrowed as they stared each other down. jaz began singing ‘yeah I'm super thick, people say I'm much too chick’ now verbally competing, ivy tauntingly cut her off, ‘come and kiss the ring, you just might learn a couple things.’ they were equally matched though as jaz now jumped in with ‘i'm tryin' to school ya dogs--’ but was abruptly stopped by joey blowing his whistle (which sounded a lot like ruff ruff ruff ruff ruff ruff ruff) and signaling their conduct was disorderly. paying no mind to the ref, ivy got right back in on the action with ‘i'm your worst nightmare.’ followed by a ‘bring it we can take it there’ from jaz, then concluded with ivy belting ‘what are you scared?’ over jaz singing the chorus.

with the climax of the song behind them, the last two sets of the chorus were filled with cut scenes of ivy and jaz leaning up against the ropes and vocalizing individually, circling each other in the rink ready to strike, and retreating to their corners to talk to their coaches. occasionally, a fan or two got rowdy enough in the crowd that it cut to their equally as energized antics, but when all was said and done, ivy and jaz stood in front of the north hills mall fountain wearing their normal clothes, backs facing each other, and absolutely silent other than the water bubbling beside them.

eventually both seem to come to the conclusion, it wasn’t worth engaging with one another. it would only be trouble, and a stinging reminder of friendship lost. it was easier to say nothing at all. so ivy stuck her chin up in the air, and jaz pushed some hair behind her ears, and they carried on their separate ways.

THE END.

#self para #jaz #davis #julien #joey #kenna #noah #sammy #otto #lemon #ruby #eli #winnie #i don't play your rules i make my own

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lordofcrowns · 4 years

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DRUNKEN SAILOR // ARCHIVE LINK

Despite the encroaching night, the docks were still bustling. Burly workers milled about, sailors and merchants alike going about the last of their business for the day, the latter hawking wares and seeking to crack open the coin purse of any passerby they could convince.

This far north, the leaves on the trees grew a medley of color ranging from rich indigo to bright cobalt blue, now dusted with a sugary coating of peach and amber sunset lighting. Speckled between the deep blues were flames of orange, brightly burning street lamps that marked the way up the cobblestone steps from the docks into town. Thick clouds hung over the shore, tinged the same colors as the sunset, save one heavy grey cloud that threatened rain. A watercolor painting, all reflected in the mirror of the sea.

On a cliff overlooking the scene was the local inn and tavern. Oil lanterns and tattered banners swayed in the wind, beckoning travelers and locals alike inside, out of the biting cold. On an icy northern night like this, few could resist the comforts of a warm hearth, strong drinks, and good company.

[ MUSIC // AMBIANCE // ARCHIVE LINK ]

Unsurprisingly. The tavern itself was seething with activity. After all, any who were willing to keep the peace were welcome here. Many even hung their weapon belts at the door - trusting the town guard to see to their safety. Red cherry wood was stained purple, drenched in the shade of the cool evening. The building was old - a big, open space with two floors and several hearths, built of stout timber and set upon a sturdy stone foundation. Rugs covered the stone floor, thick curtains kept the draft out, and soft furs were draped over furniture.

In the center of the main hall, down from the ceiling grew one of the local trees, a great spectacle of vibrant blue foliage and inky black branches - limbs that stretched down and had been tied and trained to hold the many, many lanterns flickering brilliant gold and crimson through old, smoke-stained glass, that together made a chandelier. A blend of different tongues, all overlapping and fighting to be heard over one another, caused a din that made it difficult for the innkeeper and her customer to hear themselves.

“Iyrngybet… what you’ve given me here is not even half of what you owe.”

“Aye… that is the right of it, lass.”

The burly Roegadyn man awkwardly rubbed the back of his head and avoided the eyes of the innkeeper. The woman was smaller than him practically by half, but her no-nonsense air had him shuffling his feet and pouting like a schoolboy being disciplined. She sighed at him with rather evident disappointment, but did not seem angry.

“Well… I have horses that need grooming and stalls that need cleaning.”

The Hyur woman hardly had the time to finish her sentence before the brawny man was wrapping his arms around her and picking her up in a tight bearhug. Luckily for her, the rafters in the ceiling were high, so she did not risk hitting her head despite the way he twirled her around.

“Oh, yer a gem, Maude! A right gem!”

“Yes, yes…” Maude did her best to sound exasperated, but the laughter in her voice was palpable. “Put me down, please.”

“O’course.”

He very gingerly set her down, and the freckled woman brushed her skirt free of the many wrinkles the unexpected hug had put in it.

“I will expect you bright and early tomorrow morning, sixth bell. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly!”

Maude, the innkeeper and tavern’s owner, felt a good deal older than her twenty and six summers. A hyur woman with a sharp wit but a kind heart, she opened the tavern and inn to any who would keep the peace, and who agreed to comply with the local guard who watched her door.

Her dress was a layering of mismatched petticoats, cream linen, and an old, many times mended hempen bodice, laced haphazardly with fraying jute cord. Her auburn brown hair was tied back in a long, loosely plaited braid that reached her hip in total length, wrapped about her temple and tying underneath her long hair was the one fine thing she owned - a vivid blue silk sash.

As the tavern’s sole proprietor and the only staff she could truly afford, Maude had her hands full filling and refilling drinks, fetching dried meat and loaves of bread, and assigning rooms to the sailors and travellers as they came and went.

She didn’t mind, though - she liked to be kept busy, and in her handful of years living here, she had grown to love the town, the tavern, and its people. The majority of her customers were regulars she knew by name, the other sailors she vaguely recognized when they passed through during certain months.

There was, however, one figure present this evening she did not recognize at all. He was mild-mannered, unobtrusive - he spoke to the guard before entering and even agreed to leave his sword belt at the door. And much to her delight he paid his coin without hesitation, excuse, or flimsy attempts at bartering. He was garbed in a dusty matte black coat, layered over a simple leather doublet and creamy, low-cut white shirt. Brass buttons had been worn down over time, seams stretched and quilted lapels scuffed from wear and tear. He had introduced himself as a sailor, and he had the look of one. He had thick brown hair and one piercing, gold eye, the left - the right was covered with a leather patch, a relatively common feature amongst sailors. His skin was tan, the corners of his eyes wrinkled, but only in a way that really showed when he smiled.

There was little unnatural or unusual about the Miqo’te, save perhaps a certain lazy grace with which he moved and carried himself. As the evening carried on, she found herself paying him more attention. There was a brooding expression on his face, an almost alarming focus that furrowed his brow and tightened his jaw, that with a suave charm was instantaneously covered once he felt eyes on him. It took him no time at all to warm up to the locals and join in with the drinking.

He held aloft a full tankard, by nature of his height towering over most of his newfound company. He had a gruff, guttural, but still somehow charming singing voice.

“Hey ho, to the bottle I go! To heal my heart and drown my woe. Rain may fall, and wind may blow, But there’ll still be many malms to go! Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain, And the river that runs from hill to plain. Better than rain or a rippling brook, Is a mug of beer that brings me luck!”

This unfamiliar sailor had enough of a boom behind his voice that it filled the room right up to the brim, but even it threatened to be drowned out by the laughter and chorus of voices that joined in alongside it to sing the familiar diddy. A beat rose up, a mix of boots stomping against the wood and fists slamming into tabletops. Maude was sure she had never seen the tavern so full, or so lively.

Iyrngybet was perhaps the loudest and rowdiest of all those drinking, though despite this he always handled himself well. He was the friendly, rambunctious sort - even without the drink. And much to Maude’s relief, he and this new stranger seemed to get on rather well. They were clapping each other on the back and toasting tankards together between verses. The last note of the stranger’s song faded out to thunderous applause and hollers. The Roegadyn wasted no time then in striking up a new rhythm and bellowing out the words to a new ditty. Another popular song, an age old warning about pirates and thieves, the ones that come for naughty children in the night.

“My mother said he listens My father’s seen him walk Stay in bed, asleep at home Be spared the slaver’s lock.

With whip he’ll bind your ankles Blind your eyes with sash and cord And if you cry out in the night Alone he’ll take you aboard.

The slaver snake, he waits With coiled whip and black clad hand Beware the viper's bite, my son Fear Captain Stacy's brand!”

Iyrngybet drained the last of his tankard amidst many cheers, and resounding boos for the pirate in question that the song had referenced.

“Haven’t heard that one since I was a wee child, eh?” A patron said to her as she refilled their proffered glass.

“Indeed,” She replied. “I fear much to his dismay, dear Iyrngybet ages himself by nature of his song choice.”

Though her feet ached and she longed nothing more than to sit down and enjoy a moment’s quiet, Maude couldn’t help but smile and readied herself to pour another round of drinks. At the very least, this stranger and his charm with the crowd made for good beverage sales.

Still, his charm left her with an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. She brushed it off as the excitement of having a new face in town, for after all - it was a rather rare occasion.

Down on the docks, five score sailors were disembarking an unmarked sloop, leaving behind the now pitch black sea and heading up the hill towards the wintery blue forest, and the tavern itself. They moved swiftly and silently, light footsteps barely seeming to touch the ground they tread upon. They wore matching colors of black and gold, and not a word was spoken between them. Hand signals were made, and packs began to peel away, moving through the town and into the woods. All the while, that grey cloud still lingering in the midnight sky grew darker and darker. A storm was imminent.

“Hail to you, good ser. If you seek accommodations for the evening, I have beds for rent.”

The Miqo’te leaned gently from one side to another, fighting to keep himself even slightly upright, before simply nodding. Maude bowed her head and made every effort not to smile at his drunkenness, lest the stranger take offense.

“A room is five-hundred gil. Have you the coin to pay?”

Before she’d even fully finished her question, the Miqo’te had set down a small leather satchel of gil on the bar. Maude pulled the coin purse towards her, counting out what was owed to her swiftly and returning the excess, as well as the pouch, to their owner. She tucked the gil away in the safe kept beneath the counter before straightening up and tossing her scarf back over her shoulder.

“Right this way, then…” Maude used a small key she kept on her person to open a wide, flat drawer beneath her bar, within which were nestled many similarly shaped keys. She selected one and extended her arm.

“I will show you to your room.”

The man simply nodded, pushing himself back a pace from the bar before falling in behind her. He wobbled precariously now and then, after a time deigning to reach his right hand out to trace fingertips along the wall in an effort to steady himself. They ascended a flight of steps, walking at a leisurely pace around the upper level of the atrium of the tavern, where the Miqo’te had to transition to leaning against the wooden banister to keep himself upright. Maude walked slowly, leaving her guest ample room to catch up without rushing him, and meanwhile glanced down at the still drinking and dining patrons below. Laughter still bellowed upwards towards the rafters now and again, but a few - like the Miqo’te she now escorted - were content to begin finding their ways to their beds.

Along the balcony of the atrium they walked, to the far side of the brilliant chandelier and blossoming tree branches, and down a hallway that provided some small shelter from the loud volume of the guests, was the available room she’d chosen for him. She unlocked it and pushed the door open, stepping back and meaning to hand off his key to him. But when she turned around, she could only stifle a small chuckle. He had stopped perhaps five fulms behind her, and was now leaning with his elbow against the wall, head nestled into the crook of his arm. She cleared her throat, swallowing her laughter before addressing him.

“Ser...?”

Maude’s voice trailed off as she noticed he seemed to be very quietly humming yet another drunken ditty. His mumblings could hardly be considered lyrics, but she recognized the tune as one of the ones sung earlier in the night.

“My mother said he listens My father’s seen him walk Stay in bed, asleep at home Be spared the slaver’s lock…”

She smiled to herself, thumbing over the key in her hands and simply hoping the man would find himself just enough to make it to the room he’d paid for. His voice replying to her snapped her out of thoughts.

“How old were you the first time you heard that song?”

“Hm? Why, I suppose I was just a girl when I-”

Maude glanced back up towards him, eyeing him curiously. For perhaps the first time the entire night, she stopped and truly looked at this sailor. She noted the cleverness present in his face. The odd, unsettlingly crooked smile hovering at the corners of his mouth, the dangerous alertness visible in the one, glittering eye she was permitted to see. The way his body wasn’t shaking or swaying at all anymore.

He had been deceiving her all night. This man was not drunk at all.

Now that she was up close to him, Maude couldn’t help but squint at the way she could swear his entire presence seemed to flicker. His thick brown hair seemed to catch the lantern light in bright flashes of turquoise blue, the dusty brass buttons of his coat giving way to brilliant gold.

The longer she studied him, the colder Maude felt. But he just smiled at her, slowly straightening up to his full height. Having regained control of her tongue enough to stop staring dumbfounded, she took a respectful step back, once more offering his room’s key to him. It took every ounce of strength and self control not to stutter or give away her discomfort. She didn’t know who she was dealing with, or why he would lie, but it made fear grip her cold. She knew to be careful.

“You make strange conversation, ser. I think bed rest would do you well. If you need anything else, you need only ask.”

“Or perhaps you are like me.” Though she attempted to change the subject, the Miqo'te overrode her. “Placing little stock in such fanciful tales.”

He spoke slowly and softly, but this did little to dissipate the Hyur’s nerves. She realized immediately that this man had her backed into a corner, and out of the line of sight of the other patrons for the moment.

“Pray, rest easy.”

His voice was like a purr. A quiet rumble deep in his chest. It was as if he’d read her mind, or perhaps he had seen her eyes flick momentarily over towards the hallway behind him.

“I do hope you will forgive my belated introduction.”

Something translucent like scales seemed to ripple and fall from his body as the glamour dissipated. Brown hair instead shone a seafoam teal, worn long save for the short buzz on either side of his temples. The dusty, worn-in coat was now shed for a clean, elegant looking black and gold uniform. There was not a single seam or wrinkle out of place. Polished gold at his shoulders emblazoned with a calligraphic “S” denoted his rank. His hands were covered with a pair of oily black gloves, and adorned with gold rings. One such hand went behind his back, the other in front of him, as he gifted the innkeeper a formal bow, still smiling.

“Captain Cyril Stacy, a pleasure to meet you.”

The Hyur caught her breath a moment, eyes tracing over the man now before her, unsure if they could even be called the same person. As was quite common among some Miqo’te, his breeding was written practically in ink along every sharp line of his face, in his imposing silhouette and broad shoulders. And, despite his casual, perhaps almost jovial demeanor and the superficial camaraderie among the tavern folk earlier in the night, his voice had the immistakible, careless authority of someone wholly accustomed to being obeyed.

She knew the name, she knew the song, she knew the stories. She knew exactly who this man claimed to be.

“Are you mad, or brilliant?” She whispered. “Drawing attention to yourself all evening like that, my good Captain…” She spat his title at him with contempt crisp against her teeth, a mixture of mockery and disbelief. “Among my patrons there is no shortage of bounty hunters. Adventurers who would be eager to claim the prize you proclaim yourself to be.”

Cyril merely chuckled quietly and shook his head.

“You think me more reckless than I am, love. Your patrons will hardly remember the evening.”

Confusion was plastered all over the innkeeper’s face until she took a few moments to listen carefully. It was quiet. The laughter, the chatter, it had all died down.

“What have you done?”

Worry boiled over into panic and Maude picked up her skirts, shuffling sheepishly a few steps aside from Cyril. When he made no move to stop her or block her path, she darted back towards the atrium. She grabbed the banister and leaned over worriedly, taking in the disturbingly quiet scene before her.

A lucky few had made it to the comfortable, fur-draped chairs that surrounded the crackling hearth. The others dozed at their tables, slumped over with heads resting atop folded arms or even one another. A few of the most unfortunate simply collapsed, sprawled out over the bearskin rugs or slumped down in a heap against the wall. It was as if they had been put under a spell, none of them so much as twitched or shuffled in their sleep.

Heavy, slow footsteps behind her alerted her of Cyril’s approach, followed closely by his still quiet voice. As he stalked up behind her, he pulled a kerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the sides of his neck clean of the rum he’d splashed on it to make him smell intoxicated.

“Rest assured, they are not harmed.”

These were her patrons, her people - when they came to her establishment they were in her charge. That this man had so easily weaseled his way in and drugged every drinker was a thought both terrifying and humiliating. Anger boiled in her blood, and without thinking she whirled around and pulled her hand back to strike the man in the face. In the middle of her motion she seemed to realize what she was doing was unwise, and in that split second of hesitation, Cyril reached up and grabbed her wrist before she had the chance to slap him. He still spoke softly, even as he threatened nonchalantly to crush her arm in his grip.

“You ought to be thanking me. I may very well have rescued your floundering business from the softness of your heart.”

Maude grimaced and attempted to tug her arm away, to no avail.

“I beg your pardon?”

In one fluid movement, Cyril spun her around - holding her arm behind her as he marched her back over towards the railing. He reached his arm about her and rested his free hand on the banister while he directed her attention to the dozing patrons.

“Look at the sorry lot of them. Drunkards and beggars. Doubtless, some wretched sod lies in a heap behind the building, threatening to drown in his own vomit. Those that can stand up leave the next morning without paying what they owe, to return again the following eve. Such people are worthless if left to their own devices.”

Maude’s bright eyes darted from one sleeping form to another - Iyrngybet, Damien, Eliza, Ihri'a, Bardi, Oshonne… She knew them by name! They were her townspeople, her friends, her family. And to hells with it if they couldn’t always pay in coin! They paid her back in other ways, helping her tend to the establishment. To her, that was more than enough.

“Rapacious man! Does your black heart beat only for coin? A man drowned in the drink is more honorable than you’ll ever be.”

“Oh, my darling. You wound me with such harsh words. I am not an evil man. You should know...”

As he spoke, his hand left the bannister, gloved fingers sliding up to caress and curl about Maude’s bare neck.

“I do this for you.”

Maude snarled and wrestled herself free of the Miqo’te, scrambling a few paces away from him and whipping around to face him. Again, he made no move to hold her in his grasp, nor to stop her from wriggling free. And even as she glared at him with fire in her eyes, she was well aware her efforts to free herself of his hold were only successful because he allowed them to be.

“Wh-what in the world? How dare you insinuate I would do business with your kind!”

“Abandoned by an unfaithful husband.” The pirate began. “A beloved sister, dead so young.” He took a step towards her as he spoke. “Aging and ailing parents, to whom you send every small amount of coin you can spare…”

Maude’s heart was racing. How much did this man know? So beside herself with shock was she, the innkeeper didn’t realize she’d been shuffling away from him until her back hit the wall. He brushed her hair back behind her shoulders, tracing his hand along her cheek to her chin and tilting her face up to look at him.

“And a kind heart. One far too soft for business. But you need not worry any longer. I will look after you.”

He smiled softly at Maude, keeping his one eye on her as he brought his other hand to his ear just long enough to tap the receiver of his linkpearl.

“Move in.”

There was a bright blue flash of light and almost instantaneously a resounding boom as what was surely lightning split the sky above the tavern. The door to the tavern flung back on its hinges, the guard that should have been watching it absent from his post, as uniformed sailors filed into the building. Maude yelped and shrunk back in surprise. Through the glass windows she could vaguely make out the silhouette of a massive airship, shrouded in a thick, unnatural fog that it seemed to use as a cover, teetering precariously close to the cliff.

And at the sixth bell of the next morning, Iyrngybet - like so many others - was nowhere to be found.

#IT'S DONE I DID IT SLAPS IT DOWN #my writing #drabbles #captain cyril stacy #normal disclaimers for Cyril being a jerk #writing on tumblr #ffxiv #ff14 #Final Fantasy XIV #Final Fantasy 14 #ffxiv balmung #ff14 balmung #balmung #balmung server #balmung rp #ff14 rp #ffxiv rp

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twentyghosts · 4 years

Note

Character writing meme - Bruce Banner!

I have a lot of Bruce headcanons, thanks for asking!!! I never was a particular fan of Hulk comics but Avengers 1 came out right when I was finishing grad school which I jumped into immediately after finishing my Peace Corps service so I really connected with his particular flavor of fish out of water and mapped a lot of my own experiences onto him. But I’ve also (obviously) written several AU versions of Bruce myself which has given me a lot of opportunity to think about what things I think are defining characteristics of Bruce (regardless of Hulk/superhero status) and which things are key MCU traits.

1) He’s someone who’s socially aware and relates to people living in poverty. He’s seen first-hand how generous people who have almost nothing can be, and he wants to give back and protect those people as much as he can.

2) MCU Bruce is a medical doctor!! I feel very strongly about this! I don’t think this is something that’s inherent to Bruce across different canons/AUs but I think that it would be extremely irresponsible for Bruce to be acting as a doctor the way he was in Avengers 1 if he wasn’t actually a medical doctor. I have written about this at length elsewhere but it’s so important to meee

3) Bruce is vegetarian! Is this because I am vegetarian also? Yes kind of but also I think it ties into his social/environmental consciousness and his desire to minimize the amount of harm he does. I’m not ride or die about him being a good cook--I could also for sure see him as living off of ramen noodles and the kindness of others--but no meat for him thanks. Similarly, I see him avoiding conspicuous consumption of all sorts. (Which, yes, makes living with Tony Stark a huge adjustment.)

4) Bruce is a trauma survivor--this is something the MCU has been a little cagey on showing explicitly and so it’s something I personally use to varying extents in my fic. But even if he didn’t grow up full on “watched his dad murder his mom and then accidentally killed his dad in retaliation,” he didn’t grow up in a safe environment, as a result his self esteem has taken a hit and he’s very protective of children and other innocents. (This goes back to #1 also.)

5) He’s “always angry.” Which: same. So it’s really interesting for me to figure out how this translates into different verses. Like in MCU it’s the Hulk, and in comics it’s explicitly disassociative identity disorder, but maybe in a milder AU it’s just like a constant low-level passion for social justice and an actionable anger at how fucked up The System is.

6) Floppy hair.

[Hit up my ask box for more character headcanons ]

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immortalmuses · 3 years

Text

A closed Starter for @affcgato‘s Tony Stark

|| May 8th -- 13.06 hrs EST -- Stark Tower ||

As a Fortune 500 company, Stark Industries fields thousands of incoming calls every day. Each one is handily redirected to its appropriate recipient via the AI switchboard programmed to work in coordination with reception. But separately, there exists a private line. It’s known only by the exceptional few, an encrypted number that goes directly to the Stark Tower Penthouse. And when this line receives a call, it is automatically answered by JARVIS himself.

"Stark Industries, how may I direct your call?"

"Jarvis." Bruce sighs down the line, his voice worn smooth with exhaustion and something else (something much harder to explain, not quite relief). "-- Thank God.... Have you seen... Is Tony there?"

"Doctor Banner, how nice to hear from you again." JARVIS returns, his voice losing some of the mechanical rigidity of an answering service, "I'm afraid Mr. Stark is currently in a meeting with prospective Stakeholders. Would you like me to take--"

Bruce cuts the A.I. off, a thread of impatience (desperation) bleeding into his tone. "Right, right. No. I mean... I'm sorry, Jarvis. A message won't be much help. I've.... there was an incident. I sort of lost... control." He draws in a gulping breath, the sound split with static through the call's connection.

"...I see. Is that why you are calling from a payphone outside Süleymaniye Camii in Istanbul, Sir?" JARVIS inquires, unfailingly polite.

Despite himself, Banner laughs, a throaty noise that’s weak and almost bemused. "....yeah. That'd be it. Long way from home, huh?"

"I shall alert Dr. Stark of a {Code:Green} and deliver the coordinates to his suit." JARVIS replies, already pinging both Tony’s personal devices and the Suit-Room in the Tower.

"Thank you...” Bruce breathes, “I didn't... I'd rather not be picked up by S.H.I.E.L.D..." Relief rings true in the physicist’s voice this time, words roughening with an emotion he doesn't want to examine too closely. "...I'll just ...wait here."

"Very good, sir."

There’s the non-sound of hesitation, a clicking on the line that suggests a faltering connection, then-- "...And Jarvis? Could you.... Ask Tony to Bring a pair of Pants?"

"Of course, Doctor Banner. He will be with you Shortly."

The call drops, but elsewhere in the Tower, Tony's Personal PADD lights up with a notification marked 'URGENT'

#affcgato #thread: affcgato05 (Tony)#This is from an idea i had ages ago #i hope u like!#Fandom: Marvel #c: Bruce Banner | Hulk #Banner: threads #Bruce: threads #Banner :: verse :: Always Angry #ic

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

More Than Words (Three)

We meet Logan (Movie-verse Wolverine!) in this chapter and our boys do the Awkward Dance of Not Being Able to Bone Yet. Plus a little Clint/Logan softness at the end because I love them.

Quick note: for the sake of this fic, *Victor/Sabretooth* is also movieverse, and is just as awful as he was in the Xmen Origins: Wolverine movie.

MTW MASTERLIST HERE

*******************

Chopping wood was therapeutic.

The repetitive motion, the rhythm of lift and swing, lift and swing, the strain of muscles that gave way to a satisfying sort of burn, and the gratifying crack of a perfectly split log.

It was a productive chore, a much needed chore, a necessity that could be done every single day for a year and still be on the to-do list the very next day. Dead trees had to be cleared so nothing could fall and crush the cabin, the woodshed filled and kindling box stocked so the fire wouldn’t go out on the cold nights.

Chopping wood was therapeutic, productive and necessary, and right now it was the only thing keeping Wade from wasting the morning by sitting inside the cabin and watching Peter sleep.

Wade hadn’t slept at all last night. He’d sat up by the fire and listened to the Omega’s sleepy sighs, clenched his fists when Peter had dreamed and that perfectly pert nose had scrunched in distress. Peter woke up at one point, stretching and yawning before sending Wade a sweet if not dazed smile and promptly dropping back to sleep.

Wade had scrubbed his hands over his face, counted backwards from about a billion and when that wasn’t enough to convince him not to just climb right in bed with the Omega and cuddle him close, Wade had bolted out the front door to start the morning a chores a full three hours early.

Keep it together, Wilson.

“You smell stupid this morning, Wilson.” A sudden scent of bittersweet and almost feral, and Wade paused mid way through a swing. “Stupider than usual, anyway.”

“Logan.” With a reluctant half smile, Wade adjusted his stance so he could see the dangerous Omega. “What brings you around?”

“Not gonna comment on your scent, huh?” Logan was the sort of Omega that made Alphas reconsider exactly how Alpha they were feeling, his deep voice perpetually grumpy, the usual sweet Omega scent tinted wild enough to make even Betas uneasy. Even now as he teased Wade, Logan looked and sounded all of two seconds from rage and it was only years and years of shared history and hard earned trust that kept Wade from growling as Logan sauntered closer. “Glad to see we can agree on one thing at least. You smell stupid.”

“We’d agree on lots of things if you weren’t such a prick.” Wade was careful not to turn his back on Logan, but he continued splitting logs. “What’r’you doing up here? We’re not exactly neighbors, so why are you wandering around my part of th’mountain?”

“I was at the falls looking for Victor.” Logan whistled sharply towards the woods, and Wade startled as a canine nearly as high as his waist trotted out of the trees and flopped in a graceless heap by Logan’s feet, chin on his paws, ears perked up in interest. “Picked this pooch up along the way.”

“Pooch.” Wade eyed the beast, noting the size of it’s paws and color of it’s coat. “You mean wolf. Why were you looking for Victor at the falls with a wolf?”

“Border town up the way has chalked up six bodies in the past month.” Logan began gathering pieces as Wade tossed them aside, stacking them in his arms and carrying the pile to the woodshed. “Two different ranchers, one’a their wives and a whole posse of law enforcement types.”

Wade clenched his jaw. “Sounds like the type of trouble your brother likes to cause.”

“Probably got caught stealing and killed the ranchers, then the lawmen that came after him.” Logan’s tone didn’t change, but his scent wrinkled sadness for a second or two. “I went up there to check, try and bring him back, but he was gone by the time I made it.”

“How long’s it been since you seen Victor?” Wade hefted another log up onto his splitting bench. “Palmito, right? End of the war? Seven years is a long time, Logan. You know damn well if Victor doesn’t want to be found, he’ll just disappear into the woods.”

“Well I’m gonna find him anyway.” Logan scratched the wolf pup behind it’s ear and went back to collecting wood. “He needs to pay for what he did. Not just in that town, but for his war crimes too.”

“War makes animals of us all.” Wade slanted a sideways glance at the Omega. “And when you got states fighting against each other, families on opposite sides-- that tears people up. You and Victor know better than most how easy it is to slip feral when the air reeks like blood. Victor was a little outta control but--”

“Just cos we’re animals don’t mean we gotta be wild.” Logan interrupted. “M’good at what I do, and what I do ain’t all that nice but Victor lost it. Killed just for the sake of spilling’ blood, tore up families and the sorta people that had no business being hurt. Innocent people. He’s gotta be brought to justice for that.”

“And you’re gonna bring him to justice?” Wade wrestled another log up onto the bench. “You think he’s gonna let you bring him in?”

“If I can find him, I’ll have to kill him.” The Omega said evenly. “Victor isn’t gonna let some Sheriff hold him in a cell, and he’s not allowed in Haven so that isn’t an option either. If I want this to stop, I’ll have to kill him.”

“Yeah?” Wade adjusted his grip on the ax and raised his eyebrows. “What does your Alpha have to say about that?”

“My Alpha.” Finally a real smile from the Omega, Logan’s always brittle scent warming at the mention of his mate. “Clint just wants a chance to drop Victor’s pieces off a cliff.”

“Still mad about Victor coming after him when he heard you two mated?”

“Still missing feathers from it.” Logan confirmed, then leaned in and blatantly sniffed at Wade, nostrils flaring and eyes narrowing. “I wasn’t kidding about you smelling stupid, Wade. What do you scent like? What have you gotten in to?”

“Easy with the nose.” Wade pushed Logan away with a huff. “I don’t smell like any--”

“It’s an Omega.” Logan realized, ignoring Wade’s push to get right back into the Alpha’s space and take a deeper inhale. “An Omega and-- and Cable. You scent like an Omega and Cable. What is that? You been messing with that time jumping bastard?”

“I haven’t been messing with Cable.” Wade shot a quick look towards the cabin door. “But I uh, I found someone in the woods real early the other morning. Looked like he’d been dropped outta the sky and left for dead so I put him in the cabin to sleep it off.”

“You put an Omega in the cabin to sleep it off.” Logan repeated. “An Omega that tangled with Cable and ended up alone in the woods. What in the hell are you thinking? For all you know, Cable could be trying to kill them for some future time traveling reason. Hell, that could be Cable’s mate and he’s gonna come back and kill you for interfering.”

“He could come back and try to kill me.” Wade deadpanned. “And the Omega isn’t Cable’s mate or anything like that, I checked. He’s just as confused about all this as I am. No idea why he ended up here.”

“Cable isn’t the type to mess with Omegas and he’s definitely not the type to teleport them random places, trust me, I’ve asked him to try it with me.” Logan lit one of his ever present cigars and puffed a rings of smoke towards Wade. “Where’s the Omega from?”

“More like when is he from.” Wade was hard pressed not to laugh when the Omega’s bushy eye brows flew towards his forehead. “Yeah. Cable found him some hundred and fifty years in the future, dropped his ass back here for some reason.”

“On accident?”

“Pretty sure he didn’t mean to leave the kid alone in the woods at dawn.” Wade shrugged, trying to play off the wiggle of unease skittering down his spine.

He didn’t want anyone else knowing about Peter, not yet anyway. Logan was a good guy, stable in his bond with his Alpha Clint, but he was still going to ask questions, and questions meant other people would get involved and Wade wasn’t ready to share the Omega with anyone.

Not that Peter was his Omega to hide away, but the thought of other people knowing still made something uncomfortable twist in Wade’s stomach.

“So you got an Omega locked away in there who’s a hundred and fifty years away from where he belongs, and you have no idea why Cable left him.” Logan squinted at the Alpha. “You talked to Doc Banner about it yet, or had him check the Omega out?”

“Nope.” Wade’s next chop was more aggressive than it needed to be, the log splintering beneath the blow. “Not yet. Pete’s still sleeping and I gotta get some meat put away for the winter before I can get to town. Conversation with Doc Banner will have to wait.”

“I can take him.” Logan pointed out. “I’m on my way down the mountain right now. I can get through town and drop the kid off with Banner before heading home. Go wake him up and tell him to--”

Wade snarled, low and startlingly vicious and Logan stopped mid sentence, a knowing light in his eyes. “Oh...I see.”

“You don’t see anything.” Another overly aggressive swing and Logan dodged a few flying shards. “Peter’s not going with you. I’m not waking him up until he’s got enough rest, and he’s not going with you. He’ll go to town with me when I’m good and ready.”

“Hm.” Logan bent to pick up the shattered pieces, tossing anything salvageable into the kindling box. “It’s not a real scent match, you know that right?”

Wade white-knuckled the ax and willed his voice steady. “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” Logan’s blase statement made Wade almost irrationally angry and when it bled hot into his scent, the big Omega held up both hands peacefully. “You know damn well an Omega so far outta their reality will scent desperate and needy and that’s why you’re acting so possessive. Happens every time someone new comes to Haven, every Alpha in town starts getting crazy for a while. You are not a scent match with Peter, it’s just cos of the situation. You know that.”

“I know what I know.” Wade bit at the inside of his cheek until it tore and he tasted blood, hoping the pain would keep him centered, keep him from flying off the handle and roaring at the Omega for daring to suggest he and Pete weren’t scent matched.

Logan was being rational about all of this in a way Wade was physically incapable of right now, and he should be grateful to his friend for pointing it out.

He should be grateful instead of letting his vision tinge red at the mere suggestion that his Omega the Omega Peter wasn’t meant to be his.

But Peter was meant to be his. Just met or not, accident or not, Cable’s influence or not, their scents matched and Peter had admitted to knowing him. Peter was meant to be his.

Mine.

Omega.

“Wade.” Logan said quietly, and then sharper when the Alpha tensed and started to growl. “Wade! Snap out of it! Clear your head and listen! You can’t go all Alpha on the kid when he’s--”

Logan’s voice trailed off, his head cocking in interest and Wade knew without turning around that Peter had woken up and come outside. “--when he’s-- holy shit, Wade. Is that him? Is that Peter?”

“Yep.” Wade closed his eyes and breathed in deep, a shudder running through him as he caught the sweetest edge of lavender and honeysuckle in the morning air. “That’s him.”

“Wow.” Logan moved around Wade to go towards the Omega, but Wade caught his arm and squeezed hard with a deadly warning of, “Don’t you dare. Not before I’ve seen him.”

“...Fair enough.” Logan wasn’t an Omega that backed down from anything, but he backed down now, folding his arms and averting his eyes until Wade stopped growling. “But I want to talk to him, Omega to Omega. Understand?”

“Give us a minute.” Wade said gruffly and Logan nodded in agreement.

Fuckin’ interesting is what it was, the way the Omega relaxed immediately as Wade approached, the way Wade’s entire frame softened when Peter turned his direction.

A quiet, “Good morning.” from the Omega echoed in a near rumble from Wade. Peter’s hands stuffed into his pockets even though his entire body angled towards Wad while the Alpha was holding himself still even though he was practically straining to lean close and scent the Omega. Peter’s head was paused in an awkward posture of not quite submission while Wade’s shoulders were slumped in an attempt of comfort versus dominance, both wanting to be close, neither letting themselves be near.

A truly scent matched pair was almost always touching if they were in the same space, and it was almost physically painful to watch Peter and Wade try not to touch when it clear they needed to be together. They stood too close to be casual, too far away to be intimate and it was painful.

And when Logan closed his eyes and stretched his senses, tapped into the part of himself that borderline animal and breathed, he could almost taste the way honeysuckle and black licorice wove together, lavender and cedar wound into a single heady scent.

“Not a side effect of the circumstance, then.” Logan muttered in disbelief. “Would you look at that.”

Closer to the cabin, Peter peeked over Wade’s shoulder to sneak a look at the Omega by the woodpile. “Who is that? Is he really an Omega? I’ve never seen an Omega so big.”

“That’s Logan.” Wade started to reach for Peter and then let his hand fall away. “Old friend of mine, and yes he’s really an Omega. Every bit as big as any Alpha you’re gonna run in to and just as dangerous too. Be careful. I trust him, but you need to be careful.”

“Dangerous?” Peter bit at his lip, playing with the edge of his shirt nervously. “Why is he dangerous?”

“My mutation keeps me about half way to feral, so I’m more dangerous than most Alphas, more dangerous than most wild Alphas too.” Logan cut in and when Peter’s eyes widened in surprise, the other Omega made a motion over his own ears. “Yeah, I can hear you.”

“He’s alright.” Wade inclined his head towards Logan and motioned for Peter to follow. “This is Peter. Peter, Logan. He his mate got a place along the high ridge on the other side of the valley.”

“Nice to meet you.” After another night of solid sleep, Peter’s dark eyes were clear and bright, sparking with curiosity as he looked Logan over, and then warming with immediate affection when he saw the big dog. “I guess you know I’m not from around here?”

“Wade told me.” Logan didn’t look away from the other Omega, cataloging every hint of expression on Peter’s face. “Had a run in with Cable, huh?”

“You could say that.” Peter’s gaze landed on Logan’s forearms, at the twin sets of faded scars running from his knuckles to his elbows, then moved up and up to the mutants face, nose wrinkling as he caught the bitterness in Logan’s scent and the undercurrent of something off. “You’re a mutant too. Like Wade? Like Cable?”

“No one’s a mutant like Cable.” Logan scoffed, but there was no heat in the words. “But yeah, sort of like Wade. Little less human.”

“Little less human.” Peter echoed. “What does that--”

His jaw nearly unhinged when the scars at Logan’s forearms rippled and the skin at the Omega’s knuckles split and three claws?--stakes?-- bones slid from between Logan’s fingers and out almost ten inches into the air, horrifying and other wordly and just-- just--

Mutant.

It was mutant.

Wade growled when Logan’s claws made an appearance but didn’t make any movement forward, and Logan watched Peter very closely, reading the Omega’s scent for any hint of fear or terror and smiling a little when Peter only made an impressed sort of noise.

“That’s amazing.” It wasn’t immediately obvious if Peter realized that he’d reached for Wade, nor was it obvious if Wade realized he had automatically moved forward and taken the Omega’s hand but Logan saw it all. “Absolutely incredible. How do you do that? Can you tell me? Does it hurt? Do you ever bleed? How long have you been able to do that? Are the scars from the first time it happened?”

“Most people scream when they see these, not ask a bunch of questions.” Logan said bluntly, and Peter replied, “Most people probably scream when they wake up in a different century too, but you know what they say about curiosity and the cat.”

Logan wrinkled his brow at Wade, who made a similar ‘I dunno’ expression before tuning back in to Peter, whose lips were moving through a hundred different muttered questions as he inched closer to examine the claws.

“Did you ask Wade this many questions?”

“I threw up.” Peter finally got the courage to touch one of the claws, and he recoiled from the too textured feel of bone. “I mean yeah, I asked a bunch of questions, and I yelled at him a little bit, then I threw up when he told me I’d time traveled. Over it now, though. Everything’s fine. Could you tell me if--”

“Give me and the kid a minute.” Logan told Wade, not surprised at all when the Alpha bared his fangs and growled again. “Put those away, you know I’m not going to hurt him.”

“I’m fine.” Peter absentmindedly pressed at Wade’s hand and then pushed him away. “I’m fine. I have about a thousand more questions though. I need to know everything about these. Logan, can you--”

“Are you safe here?” Logan lowered his voice to a near inaudible whisper, and Peter shut up abruptly. “Wade’s a good guy and he’s a good Alpha but you’re always gonna be safer with an Omega. Do you want to come to Haven with me? We can be there by sundown.”

“Um.” Peter cleared his throat and shook his head. “How-- how do you know Wade?”

“We fought together in the war.” Logan turned his hand over so Peter could press lightly at his palm. “Answer me. Are you safe here?”

“Which war did you fight in?” Too immersed in his curiosity to worry about a blatant breach of personal space with a very dangerous mutant, Peter traced the nearly faded scars up Logan’s forearm. “Was I wrong? These aren’t from your claws?”

“Yes, they’re from when I was young and stupid.” Logan said impatiently. “And we fought in the all the wars. Now tell me--”

“I’m safe here.” Logan wanting to take him away made Peter feel itchy all over, itchy and anxious and uncomfortable, so he dropped Logan’s hand and folded his arms over his chest. “I’m safe with Wade.”

“You’d be safer with an Omega.” Logan retracted his claws and Peter jumped at the ick noise they made sliding back into place. “You aren’t from this time and whatever you are feeling with Wade is more than likely a result of you being needy, you know?” Logan tapped his own chest. “Omegas just about cry out for Alphas when we are uncertain of things and right now you’re real uncertain. Misplaced, out of your own time, probably a little desperate. Are you sure you want to stay here?”

“I want to stay.” Peter took a step away from the other Omega, a step closer to Wade. “I’m safe.”

“You’re not really a scent match.” Logan was lying, he’d never seen two people more obviously a scent match in his life, but he kept a close eye on the Omega’s reaction anyway. “It’s just time travel effect and you’re in need of some stability.”

“Right.” Peter took another step away from Logan, towards Wade. “That makes perfect sense. Most of the textbooks in my time believe scent matches were a biological assurance that pairs would mate and continue the species, not actually true love or soulmates like it tends to be romanticized.”

“Uh-huh.” Logan raised his eyebrows. “You still wanna stay?”

“Yes.” Another step back, and this time Wade stepped forward to meet Peter halfway, his arm automatically winding around Peter’s waist to keep him still. “I’m staying.”

“Alright then.” Apparently satisfied, Logan’s gaze flickered warm, and his next words were too quiet for Peter to hear.

“Congratulations, Wade.”

The Alpha turned his nose into Peter’s hair for a split second, then offered his old friend a smile. “I’ll be town in a few weeks. Say hello to your mate for me.”

“Stay safe.” Logan said in return, and then with a nod towards Peter. “Welcome to Haven, Peter.”

“Thank you.” Peter lifted his hand in a half wave, and they stood in silence until Logan and his dog had disappeared down the hill and into the trees.

It was only then Peter realized Wade was still holding him, and beyond that, Peter finally realized he was holding Wade, pressing at the Alpha’s hand with his own to be sure Wade didn’t move until Logan was gone.

“Sorry.” he said immediately, dropping Wade’s hand and pulling away. “I didn’t realize I was doing that. Didn’t realize I did it earlier either. Sorry.”

“No harm done, Omega.” Wade answered, and then with a grimace, “Sorry. Peter. No harm done, Peter.”

“It’s fine.” Peter waved off the slip, partly because he knew Wade hadn’t meant anything by it, partly because it really was fine. He sort of liked being called Omega when it was Wade saying it. “I can’t believe I slept so late. I didn’t even hear you leave this morning.”

“You were pretty out of it.” Wade forced himself away from Peter and back to the wood pile, lifting the ax and splitting the next heavy log, decidedly not letting himself stare at the way Peter’s slim fitted pants hugged his legs or how he hadn’t known how slim the Omega was until Peter had shed the bulky sweater for this clinging long sleeve. “Find the water I left you to clean up with?”

“I did.” Peter smoothed his still wet hair back with a self conscious smile. “Thank you. I think I’d kill for a shower but it was nice to at least wipe down. I didn’t need the clothes though, I had extras in my pack.”

There was no reason to tell the Alpha Peter had held the clothes up to his nose and inhaled until he was light headed and swimming in Wade’s scent. It had been a moment of weakness was all. He was vulnerable and like Logan had said, probably desperate for some stability and of course he was reaching out to the nearest Alpha. Nothing to worry about at all. Definitely didn’t have some higher-- some higher meaning.

“Logan offered to take you to Haven.” Wade said then. “Why didn’t you go with him? He’s safe. A little wild, but safe.”

“I’m safe with you.” Peter pointed out. “Why would I leave you to go with a stranger? I’m safe with you.”

“You are safe with me.” The Alpha’s smile was evident in his voice. “But Haven has real showers.”

“Tempting.” Peter circled around the splitting bench until he could see Wade again. “But um--if you don’t mind, I’d much rather stay here with you.”

The ax stilled, Wade’s voice very soft as he answered, “I’d much rather you stay here with me too, Pete. Least till Cable comes back for you.”

“It’s settled then.” Peter looked down at the scattered pieces of wood . “Should I help?”

“If you’re gonna stay, you’re gonna work.” Wade set up another piece and went back to chopping. “Stack the pieces there in the shed, gather the little bits for kindling. Do you know how to build a fire?”

“I know how to turn on a gas fireplace.” Peter stacked as many split logs as he could fit into his arms and staggered over towards the shed. “And I’ve been known to roast a marshmallow or two on a previously started fire, but no. No, I’ve never built one of my own. Why would I do that? I have central heating and I can honestly say, I’ve never once gone into a store and seen firewood for sale in the city.”

“Of course not.” Wade didn’t know what central heating was, but Peter’s sarcasm was about thick enough to cut with a knife so he responded in kind, “You gotta be useful for something other than just being pretty, Pete. You catch any of those fish you sometimes eat?”

“I catch them on sale at the grocery store.” Peter shot back and Wade cracked a grin, flashing his fangs at the mouthy Omega. “And I’ll have you know I’ve made it very far in life just being pretty. Dunno why it should stop working now.”

“Cos bein’ pretty isn’t going to keep you from freezing when the winter storms come along.” Wade pointed out. “And a well built fire will.”

“Eh. So long as I have someone to build the fire I should be fine. I’ll just have to find someone who thinks I’m pretty enough to--ow!” Peter ack!ed when a log rolled from his arms and right on to his toes. “Oh! Ow! Son of a--!”

“Pretty enough to drop wood on your own feet?” The Alpha snarked. “Oooh yes, excellent survival plan. One for the adventure books.”

“Point taken.” Peter scowled and carried the rest of his load into the wood shed. “Will you teach me to make a fire? And you know, not to freeze?”

“I’ll teach you.” Wade trilled comfortingly when when Peter cursed over a sudden splinter. “You’ll be fine.”

“Thanks.” Peter tossed away the splinter, wiped away the dot of blood and went right back to work on the pile. “I might not be panicking anymore about all of this, but I’m still a long way from home. Any help you wanna give me is great.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” The words came more serious than Wade had intended. “I’ve got you, Pete. I’ll take care of you. If you want to stay with me, I’m gonna take care of you.”

“I um--” Peter swallowed hard when the Alpha’s eyes shifted red. “I know you will. Sounds crazy but I’m not real worried about anything right now. You’ll teach me to build a fire, I’m going to take notes on everything I learn so when Cable comes back I can remember it all and uh--” he spread his hands and shrugged. “I’m okay. I’m staying.”

“You’re staying.” Wade ran his tongue over his fangs and started chopping again. “Glad to hear it.”

The wind shifted just then and Peter got a noseful of protective Alpha scent, possessive and heated and he all but ran for the wood shed, dumping the logs and planting his hands on his knees, bending over nearly double to try and catch his breath.

Alpha.

A few moments later, Wade called, “Pete?” and Peter straightened back up, wiping his mouth and forcing out a calming breath, willing his own scent to settle.

“Yeah, yeah I’m coming. Just a sec.”

“Alright?” Wade asked once Peter joined him again, and the Omega nodded.

“I’m fine.”

I’m fine.

**************

“How much land do you have?” Peter asked as he followed the Alpha across the clearing towards a barn he hadn’t noticed the day before. “How did you come to own it? How long have you lived here?”

“I have as much land as I want.” Wade undid the door of the barn and clicked his tongue to the animals inside. “And I own it because I came to Haven, decided I wanted to live outside of town, and picked a spot no one else was living on.”

“So it’s a verbal contract only?” Peter ducked through the doorway as well, exclaiming in quiet surprise when he found two horses and a goat in the stalls inside. Judging from the noise in the back, there were chickens waiting to be fed as well and Peter’s stomach growled at the idea of fresh eggs for breakfast.

“No contract needed.” Wade tossed a handful of grains at the goat, then looped a rope around it’s neck and patted it towards the open door so it could wander through the yard and graze. “I live here, Logan and his mate live across the way on the high ridges-- no one owns the land, we just see where others have settled and pick a different spot for ourselves. That way when I hunt, I’m not too close to anyone else, but if I need help, the village is less than a day’s travel away.”

“Huh.” Peter jumped backwards when a huge head swung his way, one of the horses huffing and nosing at his hair. “Oh man, he’s big.”

“She.” Wade corrected, patting the mare on the nose and shoving her back until he could get close enough to unlatch the doors. “This beauty here is Bea, big boy on the other side is Arthur.”

“Bea.” Peter stood out of the way as the red roan lumbered past, reaching up a tentative hand to brush at her side. “She’s lovely.”

“Pretty girl.” The Alpha rumbled, and Bea’s ears twitched towards him just before the gelding trotted out behind her, gray spotted with black and gorgeous, heavy hooves pounding at the ground.

“I took Arthur to war with me.” Wade ran his fingers along a white scar at Arthur’s side. “He’s getting to be an old horse so it’s Bea I take hunting, Arthur only has to pull the wagon with her when I go to town for supplies.”

“I can’t ride a horse.” Peter posted up at the side of the barn, arms crossed as he watched the horses parade out in the sunshine. “Always wanted to try, but never had the chance. Not a whole lotta horses in the city.”

“I’ll teach you to ride if you want.” Wade clambered up to the loft of the barn and sifted through the hay, pitching several piles down into the stalls. “Teach you to milk the goat and gather eggs and--”

“I think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves.” Peter said dryly. “I wanna ride the pretty ponies, not get up close and personal with goaty nether regions.”

Wade leaned on his pitchfork, shoulders shaking as he laughed and down at the stalls, Peter grinned up at the Alpha.

“Well like I said, if you’re gonna stay, you’re gonna work.” Wade jumped from the loft and landed with a thump, dusting off his hands before coming up on the Omega and standing just behind him, flattening one palm on the door frame and using his height to peer over Peter’s head to keep an eye on the animals. “And if you’re going to not eat meat, it’s going to be your job to gather milk and eggs and all the-- all the grass you munch on. I’m a hunter, not a gatherer Pete. I don’t forage for weeds.”

“It’s not weeds, it’s--” the word salad died on Peter’s tongue when he whirled around ready to get sassy and found the Alpha all but looming over him, Wade braced against the frame and almost trapping Peter between his body and the wall of the barn.

No, trapped wasn’t the right word. Peter wasn’t sure what the right word was but oh it was something because right now all he could do was feel was the heat pouring off Wade’s body, smell the heavy notes of licorice in the Alpha’s scent blending spiced the longer Peter stared, hazel eyes flickering red when Peter wet his lips.

“...Pete?” Wade asked hoarsely, and the Omega gasped in a too shallow breath. “Sure does things to an Alpha when you look at him like that.”

“S-sorry.” Peter finally finally tore his eyes away, ducking his head and backpedaling to give himself some breathing room. “It's um-- it’s salad. Not weeds. Salad.”

“Yeah well, you can gather the salad then.” It took Wade a moment longer than he wanted to admit to pull himself out of the daze. “The animals are fine for right now. You want to see the rest of the property?”

“I think I might--” Peter cleared his throat. “I might just um--” a vague motion that meant absolutely nothing. “I should probably--” he jerked his thumbs to the empty space behind him. “Shit. I need a minute.”

“I know.” Wade didn’t mean to growl the words, but the way Peter’s eyes glazed over made the mistake worth it.

“I know.” he tried again. “I’ve got some more work to do in here, then I’ve got about eight trees to get chopped up and a woodshed to fill so you uh-- you can wander but don’t go too far.”

“I won’t go far.” Peter mumbled, glancing at and then away from Wade’s thighs as the Alpha crouched down to pat at the goat. “If I get hungry--”

“There’s all sorts of weeds.” Wade finished. “Big weeds, little weeds, weeds with flowers. Snack all you want.”

“I hate you.” Peter couldn’t help his grin. The Alpha was equal parts breath taking and ridiculous and despite everything, Peter had never felt more at home in his life. “I’ll find some goddamn weeds.”

Wade’s laughter followed Peter back across the clearing and halfway down the hill as Peter headed for the outhouse, but by the time the Omega made it back up to the cabin, the steady rhythmic thunk of ax on log meant Wade was right back to working at the wood pile.

Peter shivered through a sigh of relief over the sudden space.

Being around Wade was suffocating in a way that made Peter think he’d be happy to never breathe again, but it was overwhelming too. Overwhelming and new even if he knew in his soul that they were right.

The romance novels talked about mate’s finding each other, scent matching and being bonded by sun down. There were stories passed down from great great grandparents about love at first sight and mates that passed away within minutes of each other because their souls refused to be apart. Every year there were at least two new cheesy movies that promised synced heart beats and Omega’s lost in euphoria from nothing more than their Alpha’s scent and it was overwhelming.

Overwhelming and right and not anything Peter could think about right now.

Instead he busied himself wandering around Wade’s property, clicking at the horses and coaxing them close to he could pet them, grabbing his notebook from his pack and winding through the trees, going as far as he dared so long as the cabin was still in view over his shoulder.

Around lunchtime, the Alpha whistled sharply and when Peter came back around, there were cooked eggs and sliced bread waiting on a plate by the door. Peter didn’t trust himself to not act like a fool if he went to Wade to say thank you, but it did warm a secret place in his heart to know the Alpha was going out of his way to make food Peter would eat.

It was just eggs and bread but it felt like more and whoo boy that wasn’t anything Peter could think about right now either.

When the sun started to dip on the horizon, Peter took his notebook full of scribblings and definitely terrible attempts at drawing plants he didn’t recognize and headed back to the cabin, stopping only to wash his hands before going inside and offering Wade a smile.

“There you are.” Wade’s tone was light but his scent was heavy with worry that lightened only when Peter put the notebook down and came to sit at the table. “How were your weeds?”

“Green and crunchy.” Peter reached for a nearby mug, took a long drink, and then instantly wanted to die as his stomach rebelled against the very strong taste of very strong liquor. “Oh my god! Oh my god what is that?! What is that!?”

“Moonshine.” Wade switched the cup out with a glass of milk and grinned as the Omega chugged it. “Can’t imagine the milk tastes real good after that.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it curdled on the way down my throat.” Peter wheezed. “Oh my god. How can you drink moonshine? It’s practically gasoline!”

“Well that’ll teach you to take a man’s drink.” Wade reprimanded him mildly. “Besides, it’s about the only thing that gets someone like me drunk. Sure will put a little Omega like you on your ass though, so stick to milk and water, Pete.”

Peter’s only response was a loud cough and then a glare when Wade took a sip of the moonshine and didn’t even blink.

“Guess it’s my fault for assuming it was water.” Peter finally grumbled, and took another swallow of milk. “Did you um--” another short cough, and this time Wade’s eyes dimmed in sympathy. “--did you get all the wood done?”

“Got enough done.” Wade rolled his shoulders to ease a still lingering twinge. He’d chopped wood for a good five and a half hours today as Peter had gone exploring. Anything to keep his mind off how Peter had looked there in the barn, anything to keep him from following Peter through the woods just to stay close, anything to keep distracted from the instinctive need to keep the Omega set tight in his arms. “What about you? Take enough notes to last you?”

“I could write about all this for days.” Irritation over the moonshine abruptly ended in favor of talking about his day, and Peter launched into a rambling chatter about how there were plants on Wade’s land that he was sure didn’t exist anymore in his time, how the trees were so huge it almost made him believe in things like Big Foot because a Sasquatch could definitely hide in this mess, and oh! Did Wade know how old Logan was? He could kill for internet access right now because he had to know if there were reports of men like Logan running around and maybe it was the same person and--

“Christ, you’re beautiful.”

Peter’s mouth clapped shut, his eyes wide when the Alpha breathed the words. “...wh--what?”

“You’re beautiful.” Wade said again, before his brain came back on line and told him he was being stupid. “I keep waiting for you to panic and cry or something, but instead you’re sitting here drinking moonshine and asking me a bunch of questions and your eyes are all bright and you’re smiling and it’s--” there was his brain, screaming at the Alpha to shut the hell up. “-- it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful, Pete.”

“Oh.” Peter gulped and whispered very very softly, “You’re beautiful too.”

“No, I’m not.” Wade ran a hand over his bare scalp, tugged the sleeves down further to cover the scars on his hands and then just as quickly tried to adjust his shirt collar to cover the ones at his neck. “But thanks all the same.”

“You are.” Peter meant every single word, and the Alpha rumbled quiet and grateful when he saw the truth in Peter’s eyes. “I um-- I don’t think I’ve ever met an Alpha that makes me--” horny. “-- I mean, you are--” holy shit I’m bad at this. “Um--”

“Pete.” Wade bared his fangs in a knowing smile and the Omega shivered. “Are you hungry?”

“...starving.” Peter hid his flaming face by looking down at the table. “Thank you.”

They ate in relative silence, both Alpha and Omega all too aware of every movement and change of posture and every single breath the other took.

Overwhelming.

Right.

“I feel bad for taking your bed.” Peter said later after dinner, exhaustion written across his face and the slump of his shoulders. “I guess when I was comatose it was alright, but I can put some blankets on the floor on the floor or sleep in the big chair by the fire so you can have the bed back.”

“You’ll sleep right there.” Wade didn’t look up from stoking the fire. “You’re still over tired from whatever Cable did to you, you’re about asleep on your feet. Go on.”

“No really, it’s fine.” Peter insisted. “Wade, I don’t want you to--”

“Sleep in the bed, Pete.”

“Wade--”

“You’ll sleep in my bed, Omega!” Wade growled, hazel eyes bleeding dark red and Peter stumbled back a step first in fear and then--

--then he realized the Alpha didn’t scent angry or upset, he scented pleading and protective, scented warm and coaxing and possessive and Peter nodded slowly, backing up until his knees hit the bed and he could sit.

“Thank you.” Wade went back to the fire, purposefully looking away so Peter would have the chance to undress and slip beneath the covers. “Sweet dreams, Pete.”

“...sweet dreams.” Peter curled up beneath the blankets that smelled like his Alpha the Alpha Wade, and breathed out in an exhale that seemed to come right from the bottom of his feet.

He was fine, this was fine.

“I have to secure Bea and Arthur for the night, then I’ll be back.” Wade passed by the bed, clenching his fists so he wouldn’t be tempted to run his fingers through Peter’s hair, or brush them down the Omega’s cheek. “You’ll be right here.”

“I’ll be right here.” Peter snuggled deeper into the bed, and the Alpha left with a smile on his face, the scent of content Omega in his nose.

******************

{Authors Note: This Clint/Logan pairing is entirely self serving on my part. I wrote a blurb for them in my Ironhawk fic and I fell in love with Winged!Hawkeye being mated to Logan so here we are again}

******************

High on the ridge above Haven was a cabin built some fifty years previous, stones pulled from the mountain and used to build walls, heavy logs split and smoothed for the roof, rooms added on as needs changed until it sprawled across the ridge, blending into the wilderness behind it and nearly invisible from all angles until a traveler was nearly upon it.

Inside the cabin, Logan was just coming from a long over due bath, water streaming down the Omega’s body as he drip dried in front of a roaring fire, a cup of his favorite whiskey held in both hands.

But when warm feathers wrapped around his torso and nearly covered him to his toes, Logan put the cup down and turned round to burrow into his mate’s arms.

“I do like when I come home and find my Omega naked in front of the fire.” Clint rumbled, sharp fangs landed at the silvered bond mark on Logan’s neck. “Why didn’t you call for me sooner?”

“Because you would have wanted to share my bath and your wings get gross and waterlogged.” Logan said flatly, and his Alpha only laughed softly and held him even tighter, dark feathers fluffing up until Logan was fully surrounded. “I missed you Alpha.”

“I missed you too.” Clint was a full four inches shorter than his Omega, but it didn’t stop him from gathering Logan up close and it certainly didn’t stop Logan from acting beautifully rarely submissive and tucking his head into Clint’s shoulder. “You didn’t find Victor?”

“He moved on before I caught him.” Surrounded by the safety of Clint’s huge wings, Logan pushed and prodded until Clint fell onto the sofa cushions. The Alpha immediately made room for the Omega against his chest, grinning when Logan tumbled naked into him. “Picked up another dog and stopped by to see Wade though.”

“Is it a dog or another wolf, love?” Clint wanted to know, and when Logan didn’t answer, his grin stretched wider. “So, a wolf then. Well what’s new with that scarred asshole Wade?” Clint ran his hands gently up and down his Omega’s back. “Done anything stupid lately?”

“He’s found himself an Omega.” Logan melted deeper into his mate’s embrace. “Pretty thing tangled with Cable, ended up dumped on Wade’s land and the two of them are scent matched.”

“Probably trauma bonded.” Clint said absentmindedly and Logan countered, “I saw them, Clint. They are a true scent match.”

“Huh. Didn’t know that could happen more than once in a lifetime.”

“Maybe when you’re indestructible like Wade and me and Victor, a lifetime is an amount of years, not judged by when you die. Theoretically we could have all sorts of mates, right?” Logan shrugged, and when his Alpha went very still beneath him, added, “Don’t you worry though. I’d find you in any lifetime. Don't matter how many of them I get. S’always gonna be you, Clint.”

Clint relaxed again, humming in contentment when their scents mingled, heart beats slowing and syncing together as they reconnected.

“So if the Omega was mixed up with Cable--”

“Yeah, he’s from real far in the future.”

“Whew.” The Alpha blew out a deep breath. “Isn’t there something about how being in the wrong timeline screws with you? That’s why Doc Banner is always a little off, right? Cos he doesn't really belong here?”

“Something like that.” Logan ran idle fingers through Clint’s feathers, straightening out the ones closest to his mate’s shoulders. “Don’t think it matters though, Cable would be better off leaving them alone. Wade will rage out and tear Cable in half if he shows back up to take Peter away.”

“But it could kill that Omega to stay here with Wade.”

“I know. But it’d kill both of them to be apart. They’re scent matched, true mates. Timelines and right or wrong has got nothing to do with it. They’re meant to be together.”

“Hm.” Clint turned his head and left a very soft kiss on Logan’s temple. “I know the feeling. Guess we’ll just have to see what happens.”

***************

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