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the-cranck-hobbit · 2 years

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Take My Breath Away || Song of a Nightingale Pt.10

Author's note : English is not my mother tongue, I am french but I wanted to try to write in English so here we are ! (Don't hesitate to tell me about the errors…)

Pairing : Mitchell! OC x Rooster, mention of Kazansky! OC x Hangman, mention of OC × Iceman

Summary : Two years after the uranium mission, Maverick enjoys his new life. Working on his plane, drinking beer at the Hard Deck, building a limpy little family with Penny and her daughter, Rooster, his WSO's son and Blizzard, his wingman's and old friend's daughter.

Everything change the day he got a call which announces the existence of a 26 years daughter.

Discover the story of Ally and Bradley, find out if Kathleen will deal with her father's legacy, and meet Beck, the first woman graduate of Top Gun.

Warning : VERY BAD WRITING, age gap, mention of death, mention of diseases, mention of parents death, mention of s*x but nothing descriptive

The flight was more fun than Allyson expected. And with reason that Bradley was frightened all the flight long. Ally tried not to laugh about him, but it was so unexpected and ironic that she couldn't help but laugh to tears. “You are a fighting pilot, Brad ! How can you be so afraid about flying ?” she asked him when he could finally breathe.

Bradley’s face and neck were red from fear and shame. “It’s just that… I prefer… I prefer when I am the one who pilots. I can control what’s happening.”

Ally wiped a tear from her cheek. “I thought you flew with my father once, and that he was the one who pilots ?” Bradley looked at her, wide-eyed. “And it was the most terrifying experience of my life !” This time they both laugh. While they recovered from their laughter, Ally rested her hand on Bradley’s arms. Seeing her wiped tears of laughter from her eyes and feeling the light touch of her hand on his skin helped him to calm down.

Suddenly, the plane was rattling. Shaking immediately stopped but it brought back fear to Bradley. So Ally tried to change his mind by asking him about flying in his jet, about his mission. They talked for hours until Ally fell asleep. Her head felt in his shoulder. He wasn’t afraid anymore. In fact, he couldn’t feel anything else but the weight of her tiny body against him or the warmth of her breath in his neck. He looked down at her and gave a kiss in her hair and felt himself asleep.

When she awakened, Ally found herself curled against Bradley who was still asleep. She took the opportunity to look at him. She watched the features of his face, trying to memorize every detail. She raised her hand to touch the scars on his cheeks. She stopped a few inches and sat up in the chair trying to slow down her heartbeat. It looked as if time stopped, as if there were only both of them in the world. Before she could decide herself to touch him, the landing was announced. Ally shook her head, going back to reality and slowly shook Bradley’s arm to wake him up.

When they get out of the airport, Bradley insists on carrying both of their suitcases. Ally heard a lot of stories about Bradley’s mother, if there was something Mav didn’t overrate is that Carole raised her son as a true gentleman.

They took a Taxi that drove them to Ally’s house. It was a tiny but very cozy house, not far away from the beach. When they stepped through the door, Ally felt a wave of nostalgia. It was the house where she grew up, the house she shared with her mother.

Ally gave Bradley a tour of the house. And even if she was still smiling and kept a sing-song voice, the tall men could feel that she was trying to hide her true feelings.

He understood that feeling, this melt of warm nostalgia and of sadness. He felt that a lot after his mother’s death, and he knows that his childhood friend, miles away, was still feeling that about her father. Bradley knew better than everyone that the only things that gonna make this sadness disappear will be time.

He hesitated to talk to her, to tell her that she didn’t have to pretend in front of him. But he wasn’t sure he was the good person for that. Yes, they were friends, or so it looked like, but were they close enough to make her share these painful feelings ? Finally he decided to not say anything and let pretend that she was fine.

They ate in a restaurant in front of the beach and went to the grocery store, buying food for the week. All along Ally was telling some stories to Bradley, and was the tour guide. Despite all the countries he visited with his job or on vacation, it was the first time the pilot came to Australia. They talked about all the travel they did. Ally was fascinated by the dangerous land Rooster went on a mission, Bradley was impressed by all the country the young woman traveled in. It looked like it was hard for her to settle down. Bradley couldn’t help but smile, thinking about his mentor that was still living in a hangar less than three years ago. As father, as daughter.

The rest of the day was about Ally beginning to package her belongings that she wanted to take with her in California. She kept the family visit for the next day. She barely explained to Bradley that her relationship with her mother’s family was complicated and that she didn’t have the strength or will for this today. Bradley didn’t mention that obviously she didn’t have the strength either to enter her mother’s room. He got the confirmation that the room was “no way in” when Ally explained that she was going to sleep on the couch while she was letting her own bed to him. Of course Bradley didn't agree, there was no way that he was gonna sleep in a comfortable bed when Ally was going to sleep on the couch (even if the picture of Ally curling under a blanket in the couch looked so sweet in his head that it made his chest melt). Ally laughs telling him that he was too tall to sleep on the couch, he answers her that he was used to an uncomfortable bed on a mission and that it’s not gonna be a problem for him. Ally took a fake strict look, frowned and straightened up her hands on her hips.

“At ease, Lieutenant Bradshaw ! My House, my rules, and don’t try to disobey the order or you’ll do two hundred push ups !” They both burst out laughing. And the day finished on this joyful ambiance. Both of them did their best to not be careful of the pound of their heart, of the heat in their stomach, even if it became more and more obvious that their feelings were mutual.

After dinner, Ally brings Bradley to a Bar where one of her friends was performing. The atmosphere was calmer than in the Hard Deck, but warm and comfortable. Ally's friend was very good. She had a voice far from the crystal-clear voice of Ally but still beautiful.

To be honest, Bradley was not very attentive about the stage. He couldn’t help but stare at Ally who was swinging at the rhythm of the music, a soft smile on her lips. Finally, when a coversong of “Take My Breath Away” sounded in the room, Bradley found his courage and asked Ally for a dance. Ally accepted with one of the shiniest smiles he ever saw in her face. He promised to himself to do all he could to see that smile again. Ally had her breathing cut off when Bradley held her in his arms. They dance slowly at the rhythm of the music, always looking in the eyes of each other. It was this kind of moment where time slows down. They were in their bubble, totally unaware of the rest of the world. Unaware of the other people dancing around them, unaware of Ally’s friend who was watching them from the stage, unaware of their age gap, unaware of Maverick, unaware of everything. Bradley leaned over her, Ally tiptoed and their lips met each other.

Ally’s lips were soft against Bradley’s, his hands were big and warm on her lower back. Their hearts were pounding so hard on their chest that they were sure the other one could feel it, but they didn’t care.

They were still in their own world when they came back to Ally's house, in the arms of each other, still kissing each other. They were still in their own world when Ally jumped on Bradley’s arms, legs around his hips. He carried her in the bedroom and carefully laid her on the bed.

He took a moment to look at her. She was on her back, her hair all around her head, lips parted, red cheeks. Her breast was rising and falling at the rhythm of her breath. Her green eyes were a melt of fair and excitement. Bradley was amazed by her beauty but he began to doubt. Ally could see it in his chocolate eyes, the eyes that she loved so much. She put her hand on his cheek, just above his scars, she leaned forward, kissed him and drew him gently to her.

They slowly undressed each other. They took the time to discover their body, to find out what made the other shiver, what made them moan. More and more they were touching each other, kissing each other, the more they let go and abandoned themself to the other one. They made love that night, slowly, at the rhythm of the Australian’s waves.

_______________

San Diego’s Airport, 1986

Becca held Carole tighter than usual when they said goodbye to each other. Carole tried to smile at her friend, show her that she is strong, that everything’s gonna be ok. But it was not enough to totally reassure the pilot. “I’m coming as soon as I've graduated, I promise,” said Becca solemnly. Carole smiled, if her heart was not so heavy, she would laugh. Her friend got a gift to take such a simple thing seriously. When she was like that, she looked like a child.

“Don’t worry about us, sweety. I know you won’t forget us. So get graduated and… enjoy your life.” Carole finished her sentence winking at her friend and looked on their side. A blond-haired pilot was kneeling in front of Bradley, mading the plane-toy fly to the boy, showing him some air-tricks. That made the boy smile and even laugh. Becca’s and Carole’s hearts melted for two different reasons. Carole because the laugh of her son always brought joy in her life, and gave her hope that one day they're both gonna recover from Goose’s death.

Becca because she never saw Iceman as a man who could be comfortable with kids before. It was another aspect of his personality that he kept hidden to everyone but her. More and more Ice was showing her a new face of himself, more and more she felt for him.

Carole and Becca hugged one last time and Carole whispered in Becca’s hair “You gonna kick all these idiots' ass, I know it, Goose knew it. He believed in you as he loved you like his sister.” Carole's last words brought tears in Becca’s eyes, she held her tighter to hide it.

When they seperate each other, the two women got red eyes. Carole called Bradley, the little boy ran in Bacca’s arms, she hugged him trying (again) to hide tears. The Bradshaws came aboard the plane and Becca turned toward Ice. He looked at her through his sunglasses, waiting for her to do the first move. Their relationship (whatever kind it is) is still new and shy, but Iceman already knows that when she feels vulnerable, Becca needs to take control.

“I think we should go before arriving late.” She said “I’m not in the mood to be reprimanded by Jester.” Iceman nodded. Storm sight. “I guess that we can see I cried.” Ice tried to reassure her. “They will understand, everybody knows how close you were to Goose.”

Becca frowned, stubborn. “I don’t want them to understand,I don’t want them to think that I’m a delicate little thing. Or all my work since the beginning will be for nothing.” Ice frowned then. She was right, even if most of the pilot’s mind changed about her since the first day at Top Gun, they still think about her as a woman before a pilot, they still didn’t see her as he did. He took off his sunglasses and put them on her nose. “Like this, they won’t see that your eyes are red.”

By this simple but intimate act, Ice just took Storm’s breath away. She looked at him, her heart pounding on her chest. Before she could thank him, he took her hand and brought her back to Fightertown.

#fanfiction #fanfic #top gun #top gun 86 #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster #bradley bradshaw #tom iceman kazansky x oc #tom kazansky x oc #tom iceman kazansky #tom kazansky #iceman #Spotify

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macverse · 6 months

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Denim & Mistletoe Desires

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JC and Justin have been separated for far too long during the pandemic. With the world slowly falling back to what can be considered normal, it's the holiday season and they finally are able to be with each other again.

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I know you like it

I know you like it it it

I know you like it

I know youI know you like it it it

When you walk in it’s as if the world slows down around me. Like magic, the sea of people between us parts, and all I see is you. Perfectly dressed as always; black on black with a hint of Christmas red at your breast. You wore your glasses that you hate because I love them and I asked you to wear them. My fine ass man that I haven’t seen in over a year because of the pandemic.

We didn't need to stay apart but it was the best choice. When your dad injured his back for the second time this year and unfortunately needed surgery to help recover it was clear that you were the best person out of your siblings to make the sacrifice and go all the way to Florida to help your mom out. Although we knew we’d miss each other we ultimately decided that you’d stay put with family after your father recovered rather than risk contact trying to get back to each other. Trains were just as risky if not riskier than planes and I didn't want to ask you to drive the 42 hours between us. As the days turned to months then turned to years the 2,780 miles between you and me felt further and further away but finally tonight my eyes can behold you without the guise of a computer screen between us.

Don't know why, but girl, I'm feeling close to you

Maybe is this ocean view, I'm so emotional

And all these stars been dancing on my head

Too long, too long, too long

You haven’t seen me yet as you are greeted by the people you know closest to the door. I’m all the way across the room but I can still enjoy watching you from here. Almost everyone knows you; by association or by fame. The ones you worked with that beautiful year you spared to work with me greet you with surprise and exclamations. Mike from accounting who you used to talk about traveling with. Leslie, whose position you had temporally filled after she left to get married, hugged, and kissed you around her baby bump. It's been so long since anyone has seen anyone and everyone is a sight for sore eyes this year at the company holiday party.

David, the one who you trained to replace you, hugs you warmly and his now almost three-year-old toddler grabs on to you with joy from his fathers’ arms although he’s never met you. This does give me a chance to see you in the rare but beautiful element of you with a child. Although you've told me time and time again that you never wanted to be a father it’s always been clear that you are the best with children. Even my son, now our son cracked through your iron-clad door to parenthood. A soft smile finds my lips as my heart warms to see you take the toddler in your arms with a soft toss in the air and hug him sweetly to your body. His giggles are like music even from where I’m standing and many heads turn to see the happy child.

I wrote a song for you, I wanna sing to you

But every time I'm close to you

The words wanna come out, but I forget

It's so strong, it's so strong, it's so strong

Moving closer to where you are I am stopped by Marcella and Johan. I lose sight of you as I stop to speak with them, passing along holiday wishes and hopes for the new year but the chimes of your laugh reach my ears through the cacophony of the largest group anyone has been comfortable to be around in a while. Thankfully we’re a small company and we were able to rent out a large space to keep everyone comfortable and stress-free. We��ve had a good year despite the total shift to work from home. Lots of other brands had suffered during the past two years but WilliamRast was thankfully not one of them. Our sales dropped slightly but this year we nearly cracked the hundred million so obviously, we had to celebrate.

The other people in the group with Marcella and Johan ask me about my year, about our son but my answers come automatically because my mind is only on you. My heartbeat picked up the moment I caught a glance of your now long, gray-streaked hair. Bless your mother for keeping you from dying your gray away and keeping your luscious chestnut lock from getting too long. You look like something out of my dreams as I spy you now closer to me talking to a new group of people. We both gained and lost, and lost some more weight while we quarantined. Not that I could complain before but the return of your perfect strong, sturdy form had me wishing for your return more and more each day. Your back is to me so I take full advantage; eating up just how toned your already beautiful ass has become.

Didn't I seem like I'm catching something

That's because it's true

I can't deny it, I won't try it

But I think that you know

I look around and everything I see is beautiful

Cause all I see is you

And I can't deny it, and I stand by you

And I won't hide it anymore

I don’t want you to find me too soon. I’m enjoying watching you work the room. Not one to spoil a good show, I excuse myself from the group that had pulled me in under the pretense of needing a refill. Unfortunately, I have to turn my back to you as I head off in the direction of the bar. Our son, now almost seven years old flys by me with his cousins on his tail. He’s been just as excited to finally see you as I have been and had barely wanted to sleep the night prior.

He's not the only one that aches for you. My hand and lips were hungry to hold and taste you as my eyes were to see you. Each day we've been apart a dull ache has built inside of me that after all this time feels like it's meant to be there. For the first time in so long, it's gone and I almost feel lost without it. With each step away from you, my mind says ‘ turn around’. Accompanied with each heartbeat I hear 'he's just over there’. I'm going against my body's instinct to reclaim my place by your side but as you’d taught me the anticipation is just as sweet as the beholding. You've already been here just a few miles away from our home taking the appropriate time to self-quarantine after traveling back to me. Your last day of quarantine couldn’t have come sooner.

Our son signaled to me that I was going the wrong way, that you were behind me but I placed a finger on my lips signaling to him to not say that he’d seen me to you. I sealed our silent agreement with a wink as he giggled and continued at high speed towards you. I heard his exclamation of joy as he careened into you. Peeking over my shoulder once I reached the bar I see you crouched down hugging him and gesturing at how tall he’s gotten. You’ve missed almost half a foot of his life all this while. Even from here, I can see the disappointment under the joy on your face. I feel a pang of sadness in my chest but quickly think that you still have at least his full body height more to go and there will be time to make up for the lost six inches.

Soon you're complimenting my nieces on their dresses and I see you twirl the youngest of the two causing the light to play off the sequins on her skirt. She’s pulling your hand, probably saying she wants to dance with you. You expertly swing her up into your arms and glide across the floor in your usual effortless way. We're all a family here and there are many children here tonight but the co-founders’ children are the center of the attention. Many eyes turn your way as you waltz across the dance floor with my business partner and best friend’s youngest to the music softly playing in the room; spinning and dipping her high and low causing her to giggle and the spectators to clap as they look on.

You're in the best of moods tonight. I'm sure it wouldn't take me long to guess why...

Read the rest of the story on my AO3

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skzsauce01 · 3 years

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Hymn to Myself

Anniversary Request Special

Synopsis: The Goddess of Spring tells a mortal the story of her abduction by the King of the Underworld. Follows the Homeric Hymn to Demeter.

Warning: kidnapping

Word Count: 2.6k

Pairing: fem Persephone!reader x Hades!Hyunjin

Dear mortal, listen closely, for I have deemed you worthy to hear my tale. You have danced in my name, burned offerings to me. You shall be rewarded for your worship. Lend me your ear now, and perhaps I will lend a hand in the future.

You know me by many names — The Maiden, The Younger, the Goddess of Spring — but today I will be the Queen of the Dead. There is no need to be so frightened. Your time has not come yet, nor will I be the one to ferry you to the Underworld, as you well know. Trembling and bowing your head for mercy will serve you no purpose but do as you like.

You have heard the tale, I am sure. The Dark-Haired One seizes a maiden and makes her his bride, as her mother, holy Night-Mare of the golden double-axe, ceases the earth’s harvest in her despair. The story you may have heard prior is my mother’s version, without the details of me in the Underworld.

Like most stories, it begins with the Cloud Collector, my father. Seeing that the King of the Underworld had no queen and that no goddess or nymph desired him, he offered him a bride, the flowerfaced daughter of the Corn-Mother. The King of the Dead accepted.

As you may have guessed, I did not know about this arrangement. The nymphs I surrounded myself with then, daughters of the Titan God of Rivers, did not either, yet they braided my hair and wove flowers in. Roses, crocuses, and hyacinths entangled with violets and irises to make a crown of spring. I still remember the way they fussed over me, singing songs and pulling at my scalp. I hated it. I only wanted to pick my blossoms. Once they had finished, I walked through the meadow, leaving them behind, gathering as many of the flowers I could into my arms.

Then I spotted a narcissus, its center as radiant as the sun and its petals the color of fresh milk. Its honey-sweet fragrance filled the sky and enchanted me. I approached it with both hands, ready to hold the bud to my nose, when the earth beneath me broke open.

A golden chariot drawn by sable-black horses leapt out, and I was snatched by the gloomy Lord. I cried out for my father, he of the thunderbolt, but he was the one who promised me, and I did not know that then. The King of the Dead had me in his grasp. He refused to let go. But still I cried a piercing scream, begging the pantheon of gods seated at Olympus to help, pleading Lord Helios in his own golden chariot to come down and save me. No one heard a thing when the chariot descended back into the earth.

And when we finally entered the Underworld, my voice had gone hoarse, my body limp. The flowers I clutched to my chest were the only remnants of the sunlit earth I had, but their petals had scattered into the wind and their stems wilted in the dark. The Dark-Haired One kept his arm on me, making sure I would not be able to flee. The shades wandered in the fields below us, their moans a constant hum.

Soon we stopped in front of his palace, a cold and imposing labyrinth with a locked gate reaching to the sky. A three-headed dog stood guard, saliva dripping from its maw. The King stepped off first and offered his hand to me, but I remained frozen on the chariot. It was still warm from the sun, and I wanted to soak in every last piece I could. The hound growled and lowered its center head to sniff me when I latched onto the side, even as the Lord of the house tried to drag me off.

“Leave me be,” I cried, pushing at his chest. “My father will punish you for this. He is the king of the heavens, and you will be struck with his bolt.”

“At the behest of the Thunderer, you are now my wife. Come, my queen, into your new home.”

I had no tears left, and I mutely followed him, keeping my eyes on the back of his wine-dark cloak. He led me through the gates, the corridors of his palace, all the way to the throne room. Two chairs stood next to each other, both as black as the horses and the sky. His was obsidian, etched with bone-white carvings and lined with onyx gems. The other, the ebony one intertwined with asphodel and pomegranates, belonged to me now.

“Are you pleased?” he asked.

I said nothing, for the fight in me had died along with the flowers I left between the paws of the hound.

“Are you frightened?”

Again, no sound left me. He made me sit on my throne, and I did with my head hung low. He cradled my face, and I shut my eyes. If he desired a kiss, then he could take it. I was a wife now, to the king of the Underworld too, and I would let my husband put his mouth on mine.

“Tired,” he declared after some time. “I will bring you ambrosia and nectar, so that you may recover.”

He brought the divine foods to me, but I did not eat. He tried to make conversation, but I did not speak. The scent of the asphodels and pomegranates were suffocating, and the musk of death coated the air untainted by natural fragrance. The thick slabs of wood underneath me were unyielding, and so was I. The Dark-Haired One was dismayed.

“What is it that you require?”

“I require that I be returned to my mother and to the earth.”

He smiled. “I have all of the riches of the earth. See what I have made for you.”

Humans called him the Wealthy One on occasion, and I understood that it was not merely a euphemism when he presented my crown to me: a golden-leaved garland with apple-red rubies the size of hen’s eggs and emeralds as vivid as moss, not a hint of death clouding its elegance. It was magnificent and befitting for a queen of spring. He undid the nymphs’ braids that still remained in my hair and placed the crown on my head.

“Are you happy now?” he asked.

“I will never be happy until I see the sun again.”

He frowned and left me alone on my throne, hoping I would change my mind. The ambrosia and nectar laid on the moonlight-silver tray. They glistened and glowed, their dangerously sweet scent enveloping the room, doing their best to entice me. Instead, I sat as rigid as a tree for days, languishing in my misery. Color faded from my features, and I looked like the very image of the Queen of the Dead, with my soulless eyes and ashen skin.

Day and night, I remained there. The Lord of the House was patient, as his realm was eternal and as I was immortal. He brought gifts to try to sway me: diamond birds perching on bronze branches, amethyst crocus bouquets with delicate sprigs of roses the colors of ripe peaches. I left them on the ground. They reminded me too much of what I no longer had. The treasures around me grew, but he persisted with his prizes and his attempts at conversation.

“There are many souls arriving today,” he would say. “How lovely,” I would reply.

“What do you think of the sky here?” he would ask, and I would tell him, “It is like you.”

“Would you like to see Cereberus again? I think he liked you,” to which I would answer, “I am content here.”

It was his offer to visit the Asphodel Meadows that drew me out of my fog.

We took his chariot, golden and gleaming as before. This time, he held out a hand for me, and I accepted. The three-headed dog at the entrance of the palace whined when I did not pat his heads like his master. The flowers I left as a peace offering earlier were gone, not even a broken stem lingering. I could only imagine that they were played with and eaten.

“He does like you,” the King whispered. He placed one arm around my shoulders as he held the reins with the other. I shrunk as much as I could, burying my nose in my hair so not to smell the death radiating off of him.

“Yes, I suppose he does.”

We stopped in one of the many fields, the asphodel ghostly white and fluttering in the breeze. The shades kept their distance when I stepped off the chariot and into the flowers. My bare feet touched the Underworld dirt, my ankles brushed the stalks as I roamed the meadow like I did that fateful day, plucking the prettiest blooms from their roots. The Dark-Haired One followed closely behind, and I did my best to keep my eyes on the iron sky as I wandered through more of the fields. Lone petals circled in the wind, adorning the false flowers of my crown with themselves. I thought about the nymphs — their songs, their chatter, their life — and nearly wept. Then I thought about my poor mother, with the beautiful garlands in her hair, finding no trace of me among the meadow, and I dropped to the ground.

“There is no need to cry,” said the Dark-Haired One softly. “The shades will not hurt you.”

“I want to go home,” I replied in-between my gasps. I thought that picking flowers would somehow soothe me, but they only pained my heart. “Please, let me return home.”

He held me up, and I saw up close the famed black locks that framed his face. “Home,” he smiled.

My spirits soared, and I clamored onto his chariot, eager to see the wispy clouds and splendid sun again. But I had deceived myself. For the Queen of the Underworld, the palace was home.

The throne was too far for my limp body to retire to, so he set me down upon a funeral couch. There, I laid and stared out the window at the vast number of souls inhabiting the fields. He brought me ambrosia and nectar once more, a feeble attempt that even he knew was wasted.

He ordered entertainers to sing and dance for me, but I stared at them like one of the many skulls carved on his throne.

However, my prayers were soon answered months later. The mighty Messenger of the Gods, with his golden wand, came and relayed my father’s message: I was to be returned to my mother, for she was wrathful against the gods. The Lord smiled and did not disobey the Thunderer’s orders.

“Go to your mother,” he said to me, “for I am not an unseemly husband. But you are my queen, and all those who do not perform your rituals with reverence, all those who do not perfectly burn offerings for you, will be punished.”

I did not care about those things. Still, I rejoiced and leapt from the couch with liveliness, my crown falling to the ground in my eagerness. To feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, to see the vibrant earth, to be with my mother — those were what mattered to me.

“Before you leave, I ask that you try the Underworld’s fruit,” he said, holding out a pomegranate. “As a blessing to us from the Queen of the Dead.”

“You have been nothing but kind to me, so I will,” I told him. I ate four of the seeds, red as the rubies on my Underworld crown and sweet as honey, before I could tolerate my impatience no longer.

The King’s chariot was already drawn with his sable-black horses. The dog eyed me curiously as I got onto the chariot with the Immortal Guide rather than his master. The messenger took the reins, and we ascended to the upper world. The taste of the pomegranate still coated my tongue when the earth cracked open.

We burst forth like a new sprout. The nymphs came out from the sea and flocked around, fussing like they did before. This time, I did not mind. I let them pull at my clothing and let them weave fragrant flowers in my hair.

My mother, with a dark robe, soon arrived. She saw me, stretched her arms out, and I ran into them, breathing in her familiar scent. She stroked my hair, all while murmuring in my ear about how I was safe now, how happy she was. I was happy too. I recounted my tale to her in a frenzy, words crashing into one another like the churning tides. We stayed together, roaming the fields, soaking in the sun and earth I had missed. I danced in the streams, playing with my nymphs in celebration, for I was home.

It was later that I learned that I was bound to the Underworld, having eaten the pomegranate seeds. I left with a heavy heart and arrived to the expectant Lord, smiling with his brows.

“You tricked me,” I said. I would not weep; I could endure my time here.

“It was a request you accepted,” he said as he strode to me with my crown. He adorned me with it, and I let him brush the loose tendrils from my face. “Welcome home, my queen.”

In the beginning, it was a partial home.

I left the palace as often as I could to roam among the asphodels and the shades. The shades grew acquainted with my presence and bowed to me, moaning cries of worship in that strange tongue of theirs. I learned to feed the horses with sweet pomegranate seeds to entice them into being obedient, and the golden chariot of the King became one of my possessions. I stayed away from him, for I still felt betrayed.

Despite my frigidness, he adored me like no other. The entertainers seemed to be a constant at his court now that I present. He offered to dance with me, to which I rejected every time. He played knucklebones with me on the rare occasion I was receptive. I suspected he let me win on several occasions in an attempt to open me up like a blooming flower. And whenever I returned from a walk through the fields, he would have a lavish bouquet of false flowers waiting on my throne.

However, over time I grew to recognize my stature. After all, not many goddesses could say that they had power like mine. I began to wear my royal title like a mantle, draping it around my shoulders and letting it trail behind me in my wake. I was not always merciful, as you may well know yourself, mortal, but it is nigh impossible to say that I was not fair. The Lord took this fervor of mine as a sign that I had forgiven him. I still do not know if I have.

I sit beside him, as his equal, commanding the dead just like he does. I let him kiss my cheek and sometimes return the favor if I am feeling kind that day. I dance with him, resting my head over his heart and breathing in his musk.

But he is the one who made me his bride and thrust the Underworld upon me.

It is difficult to say that I resent him. It is much easier to say that I cannot, and will never be able to, love him in the same way he loves me.

Thus, for four months of the year, I live as the Queen of the Dead, never as his wife.

Now, dear mortal, you have heard it all. Tell it to the world.

~ ad.gray

Extra: Sorry for the unholy amount of name euphemisms and epithets. The TL;DR is that I didn��t want the associations of the Greek gods’ relationships, and by extension their names, in this story because they’re a mess by modern standards, so I opted for euphemisms and epithets instead. I decided to not use names at all because consistency, I guess? This kind of works though since “Persephone” is telling the story to a mortal and mortals avoided saying certain god’s names, Persephone and Hades among them, out of fear or respect (source). Saying a god’s name gets their attention, and getting the god’s of death attention was considered unlucky (source). This story’s version of Persephone is pretty understanding, I guess. Also, I tried to mimic the style of the Homeric Hymn to Demeter (this was the translation I used), and the amount of descriptors is insane. Thanks for coming to my TedTalk.

Hope you enjoyed this! <3

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

The Way To Hell - Final Chapter

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man on earth. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped while a trained assassin is sent to bring him down.��

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k (including epilogue)

Warnings: 18+, smut, boomer Walker, some fluff, sexual intercourse, cock-warming, mentions of torture, implied insanity, slight mentions of gore, violence, murder, mass-shooting and death. Please proceed with caution

A/N: The ending is here and I hope I did it justice, I hope I did right by you. I will reblog my kudos, but first I must thank @agniavateira for being my beta and a source of inspiration and @raspberrydreamclouds for the cover art.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*

Now allow me to die out of stress and anxiety.

Title: See You in Hell

Down by the valley, there is a serenity that exists only in fairy tales. Damp grass caresses her naked back, the pointy little tips ticking the base of her spine, leaving a fresh trail of dew. Pure mountain mist breathes life through blue hills caked with ice; white fog vales over the forest’s lush greenery and looms above the lake’s water like a lost-love phantom.

Lying with her eyes shut, she listens to the harmony of life surrounding her: the little fish bouncing in the river, the butterflies procreating mid-air and the hummingbird chirping with bliss. Yet the most beautiful sound is the low, melodic baritone humming and reverberating against her inner thighs.

”Angel, With those angel eyes Come and take this earth boy Up to paradise.”

”Boomer Walker…” she teases, “Is that a song from your time?”

Ascending a trail of kisses up her pelvis, he scoffs and shakes his head. “I’m starting to suspect that you have a kink for older men,” he answers with a throaty growl, shifting his weight further over her abdomen. The soft fur of his torso grazes between her thighs, and she sighs with pleasure.

”Do you want daddy to fuck you?”

”That’s gross!” she curls her nose and tries to hit his head playfully, but August snaps at her wrists with perfect instinct, pinning her hands against the wet meadow. His tongue flicks over the slant of her neck while he aligns his cock at the little piece of heaven between her legs.

Sensual yet rough, his massive girth splits her walls while his lips shower her with honeyed kisses. Ingvild throws her head back, lacing her fingers with his and coils herself beneath his large body.

“August...” she pants, feeling the air gradually diminishing from her lungs with every thrust, “I think I’m dying...”

Never halting or slowing his rhythm, August lowers his head to peer into her eyes. Fingers drenched with blood snap at her jaw.

“Stay with me, Ingvild.” He demands, letting out a husky groan, though his voice is but an echo.

A grey, thick mist wafts around the darkening forest, covering her with a bone-chilling breeze; his calling carries on the distance.

“Stay, princess...”

“Don’t leave...”

“Stay. We’ve only just begun.”

Ice bites its sharp fangs into the little creases between her cracked bones as another bucket filled with frosty water showers her trembling body. The stabbing pain lasts for a lingering moment, reminding her that she’s still very much alive.

It must be the 10th bucket, or maybe 12th? She lost count at some point. Day and night melt into one another in this place, and the hours don’t make much sense.

Muffled complaints vibrate in her ears. Vaguely her sight picks on two silhouettes arguing when the world abruptly flashes white, and her jaw soaks a terrible blow. Fully crashing onto the hard marble, she tries to recover, but a sudden kick rips through her abdomen.

“Your methods are too slow, Issac!” A grey-haired agent chides, standing over the girl with his foot still drawn, “Walker could be setting his bomb somewhere across the globe any minute now, and you’re taking your sweet time with her as if she’s an art project.”

The scrawny torturer frowns and turns his back at him. Walking toward the metal desk, he browses through different equipment. “My methods always work, the pretty little girl was taught to endure pain,” he grunts in exasperation and gestures at the bloodstained bandage around her hand, “she did this to herself.”

Sighing with a mixture of frustration and disgust, the CIA agent takes another swing at Ingvild’s torso, the pointy edge of his shoe colliding with the scar at her gut.

Bloodshot eyes rise with wrath, violent tides of aftershock course at her viscera. She peers at the men through the haze of pain when a third figure appears in the room, standing calmly whilst Issac and the agent argue among them.

Tall, broad, and charismatic, the handsome man strides toward her. His tailored steel-coloured suit envelops his statuesque body as if he is made of iron.

“You’re taking it so well, princess,” he praises in his deep, melodic baritone while crouching down to take a closer look. Ingvild lifts her head, slowly breaking into a weak grin. Onyx orbs replace the storm-touched eyes, but that chiselled face still belongs to her beautiful monster.

“Did you tell them anything about where I am headed?” he asks and gives her a pout, reaching his index finger and thumb to squeeze her bruised cheek affectionately.

Swallowing the aching dryness in her throat, she manages to shake her head meekly. “No… I said nothing,” her voice cracking as she whispers. Her chapped lips stretch into a pale, awkward grin.

Tiny lines form at the corner of his void-like eyes as he smiles back, radiating with dangerous delight.

“That’s my good girl.”

The grey-haired agent throws a glance over his shoulder, scrutinising Ingvild while he stands next to Issac, who is twirling a scalpel back and forth between his boney fingers.

“Who is she talking to?”

“Not very sane this one,” Issac explains as he examines the silver blade against the light, “multiple mental disorders, dissociative personality, psychotic.”

Pushing the agent aside with his free hand, Issac steps forward. He leers at Ingvild, who stares at nothing for a long second before averting her eyes back at them.

“We just need to dig a little deeper and the little bird will sing,” he exclaims and moves closer before dropping to his knees. One of his icy hands lands on her shoulder, forcing her flat on her back. Shuddering at his frozen touch, she closes her eyes; in the bleak nothingness, she recalls the night in the lake where August let her die.

“Pretty little Ingvild, have you heard of vivisection?” Her torturer asks as he lines his twig-like finger over the spine of the scalpel. Sensing his digits sneaking beneath the hem of her shirt, she shoots her eyes open yet remains still and intrepid.

The tiny black marbles beneath Issac’s brows glint with twisted joy, appeased at the sight of the scar as he exposes her torso. Ingvild expects the pain of the blade when something tepid and unpleasantly wet slithers across her gut like a little pink slug.

“Umm… Issac…?” The agent interrupts, furrowing his brow with confusion and disgust as he stares at his colleague licking the girl’s torso.

“What?!” Issac snaps at him, his eyes narrowing with spite, “you wanted me to go harder on her!”

“Yes, but…”

“But shut up and let me do my job!” He yells and returns his glare to Ingvild who blinks at the ceiling silently. Disrupted by his touch, she bites her tongue, fighting to hold back the acrid substance that threatens to emerge from her gut.

“You fight very hard to protect a man who doesn’t give a fuck about you, little bird,” his snake-like voice hisses as he leans down to half-whisper in her ear, “just tell me where he is and I won’t cut you open.”

Ingvild sucks the air in through gritted teeth and turns her head to look away from the obnoxious little man. She seeks for her beautiful monster, finding him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. August’s empty glance wears a calm grin.

“He is in this room,” Ingvild jests faintly, her sardonic laughter stretching thin, her chest heaving, exhausting whatever strength is left in her muscles. August’s smirk widens with hers, large dimples are slicing into his cheeks.

Ticking his tongue, Issac allows the sharp edge of the scalpel cut a skin-deep line into her flesh. Ingvild stares at him stoically, not moving a muscle as shy drops of blood begin trickling down her navel.

“Are you sure about your response?” he asks, ghosting the scalpel over her abdomen while crooking an eyebrow.

Ingvild bites her lip, pretending to think about her answer for a few seconds. Lifting her head up, she inches her lips toward Issac’s ear. The scrawny man listens intently.

“August Walker is the devil, and the devil is everywhere.”

A peal of sinister chuckles spills from her lips as she throws her head back onto the ground, staring at Issac’s disapproving glare.

But her laughter soon dies.

Taut pressure pierces into her flesh, the blade penetrating deep, cutting through tissue and muscle as if it was soft cheese. Ingvild clenches her jaw, her mind flooded by charring white light that dismantles every thought while the blade continues to swerve.

For a brief moment, she finds herself in Bergen, hands covered with thick blood, holding the gushing wound in her stomach with shock. August stands above her, toying with his favourite knife and staring at the red taint.

“Time to fall, angel.”

Scattered musings run behind her eyes: Liam, the nuns at the orphanage, August, and even Erica. She’s reminded of every hit she was forced to take, every country she visited, all blending into a bizarre parade of death.

“C’mon girl, just tell us where he is!” She hears the other man shout as he steps closer with an urgent expression. “Just give us something, a country, a region, anything to make this stop, you can still do the right thing.”

The heavy stench of iron fills her nose; the warm, thick liquid trickles down her bare skin, spilling in a cross on the map of her torso. The pain now is undeniable, making her lips heavier as she makes an attempt to answer.

“I don’t…. know… any August.”

The CIA agent scoffs violently and balls his fists. “Deeper!” He orders Issac, who like a composer, trails the blade further through her gut, cutting into sinew and brittle tendons. Ingvild trembles, feeling her body grow weaker.

In her mind, she can hear caged screams.

“You will die for a man who doesn’t even care if you bleed!” The agent rasps, spit coming out of his mouth as he rages above her.

‘Stop!’

“He won’t even remember you once you die!”

‘Resist, don’t show pain. You’ve been through this before, you already died.’

“No one will.”

Swallowing every ounce of pain, she fights to remember her training, her past. Her mind scrambles for Fjellstrekninger forest, for the green pines and their stringy needles, for the scent of beech and the damp ground. She tries to imagine the silver-blue mountains of Bergen, that last time she hiked there before going to meet Liam at the gas station.

How strange that at the very same day she encountered the most wanted man on earth, not knowing she was destined to be his.

But none of these images appear before her.

‘You can’t escape this.’

Her screams shudder through the entire floor.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

August flicks his tongue over his bottom lip, glowering at the driver who gawks at him with disbelief and shakes his head. Pushing the phone against his chin, he stares forward at the rainy road, reciting in his mind the words of the MI6 and CIA apostles.

‘Erica captured a woman in her late 20s, having her tortured for information for a couple of days now. Can’t promise you she’s alive. No one goes in there.’

“I wasn’t asking,” August answers, throwing him an icy glare, “we’re taking the chopper to the Mi6 fortress in London. I don’t need to tell you what happens if you question my decisions.”

The driver tenses his fingers around the steering wheel and shakes his head once again. He means to say something, but the scowl on August’s face shuts him up right away.

“Who is she? What is she to you?”

August huffs and lowers his gaze, eyes dropping to the plutonium case and then forward through the windshield, watching the heavy rain clouds that stretch before the sky. As he blinks his eyes shut, his mind plays a vision of an inferno; cracked ground and scorched skies. He sits on a throne made of bones and drinks wine from a chalice made of human skull.

His angel sits on his knee, naked and pure, her iridescent wings tucked against her back. She stares at him with a smile full of admiration, her fingers brushing over his moustache.

‘Your angel of destruction.’

“She’s just an asset.”

‘Hell lives inside you August, it always has. Rotting you from the inside as it begs to be let out. And you will unleash it, won’t you? Your suffering must be shared.’

Vast shadows gather outside the double-pane windows of the main hall. The thick storm clouds paint the sky pitch black, swallowing the stars alive one by one. Light wanes just in time for the harbinger of chaos to march into the well-secured lobby of the sizable Mi6 fortress.

If fairytales were to be true, the devil would arrive riding a monstrous mare with hooves made of flames. But if anything, he is but a man in a tailored suit and a long trench-coat. The leather soles of his midnight-black shoes squeak as he marches on, leaving a trail of mud on the cream-coloured marble.

“Evening sir,” the security guard greets and gestures August to pass through the large weapon detector with nothing but a quick exchange of knowing looks.

The corners of August’s lips curl into a small smile beneath his moustache while he scrutinises the surroundings. Gold and pearly pillars spread across the vast hall, a false facade hiding a decaying world and the self-indulgent ghosts that harbour it. So lost in their own little lie, it takes them more than a few minutes to notice the hellhound who stepped into their haven.

It begins as a small rumble, like a seismic wave. The first tremor vibrates through the ground and the walls follow with a convulsing shudder. Gasps, chatter, and widened eyes stab at him with shock, yet they all seem to suffer from the same affliction.

Standing paralysed, they ogle at the most wanted man on earth as he combs his fingers through his hair and walks toward the elevators located at the end of a narrow, red corridor. Unapologetically confident and ever so relaxed and condescending, he ignores them.

A true king among peasants.

“Is that?...”

“What the fuck?!”

“How the fuck did he pass security???”

His confidence is nothing but theatrics, as his blue eyes carry toward the large elevators with a glossy sparkle breaking on his corneas. He tries so hard to envision her beautiful face yet all he sees is a pile of dry bones.

“Stop! Hands in the fucking air, Walker!”

‘Ah, took them long enough.’

Standing between the carpeted walls of the narrow corridor, only mere inches from the silver doors, August slowly spreads his long fingers and lifts his hands in the air. His keen ear catches at least three firearms as the guards cock their guns at his direction, panting with fright.

“Turn around so we can see you, piece of shit!!!” A presumingly young hero barks behind him.

“Someone call Director Sloane down here right now, she’s not going to believe it!!!”

The soft rumbling in the lobby grows into impending thunder. A flash of pale purple lightning floods the lit vicinity for a split second, echoing the small grin that spreads across August’s beaming face.

“Oh, I don’t think so, son,” he speaks serenely, almost like a tender fatherly coo. Not bothering to turn, he tilts his head up and inhales sharply.

“Go.”

Sharp gasps of shock and terror reverberate between the walls of the fortress as sudden darkness veils the main hall. The smell of their fear is almost as delightful as the strong smoky scent of gunpowder. Like shooting stars, the rapid gunfire pierces through the night. Cries, incoherent screams, and panicked gasps make for a beautiful concert, so much that he wishes he could stay, but he has a girl to rescue.

‘If she’s still alive…’

Swallowing the bitter bile, he enters an elevator and presses the button for the basement level. He watches the flickering beams of light as his men continue to execute the remaining agents before the doors shut in.

Drawing out his handgun and relieving the safety, he leans against the shuddering metal and stares at the neon red number while reminiscing on the day he met a pretty girl with an unpleasant smile.

“Too bad, I would have loved to see you again.”

“Well then, if our destinies were meant to be entwined, you will.”

The basement level seems completely abandoned and eerily silent. No wails nor cries carry on the chilly air.

His Ingvild is forbearing, she would never show her suffering. Would she?

Inching toward the interrogation cell, his hand runs across the naked concrete walls, sensing the coarse texture against the pads of his fingers. Opaline droplets of sweat bead his forehead and his lungs sink with the effort.

Muffled voices perk his ears the closer he gets: two men, no woman. No sounds of violence, no signs of her in there whatsoever.

‘Angel, are you being brave for me?’

Arriving at the door, he takes a deep breath and gingerly pushes the handle. The pungent scent of salt and iron pervades his nostrils as he steps a foot into the shower of blinding white light. The brightness hurts and for a moment it feels as everything before him fades.

Until his sight sharpens and he notices the two shadowy figures standing with their backs facing him. They look like vultures preying upon a corpse.

Her corpse.

‘No! Change this! Make this right!’

Wings of cherry-dark blood spread from her snow-pale body. Motionless, his girl lies with her top huddled around her chest to expose her bleeding gut.

‘You are too late…’

Pure, undistilled rage burns within August’s throat, so ferocious it stings in his eyes, making his entire body tremble. He lifts his hand and fires the gun hastily, shooting both men in the back of their heads before they even get the chance to turn and look at the man who executed them.

“Ingvild!” August pants, rushing and falling to his knees before her.

“Angel?” He presses one hand to her gut, trying to pressure her gushing wounds while his fingers etch around her nape to pull her closer to his face. Blood, still sticky and warm, tarnishes his clean outfit while he cradles her in his arms.

“Please don’t do this to me…” He whispers, shifting his hand to caress her bruised face, recalling the last time she was dead in his arms.

The world kept spinning on its axis when she died back at the lake. So why does it feel like right now it stopped in its place?

Pressing her to his chest, August shuts his eyes and shudders with fury. All emotions come to life, and every one of them hurt.

“You are not here…”

A deep quivering sigh of relief soars from his throat, mouth cracking into a smile at the sounds of her hoarse whisper and delicate moans. Blinking faintly, Ingvild half-opens her eyes and stares at him through heavy lids.

“I am here,” he whispers, brushing away the sticky strands of hair from her face and squeezes her cheek beneath his thumb, “I came to take you, we have to go.”

Shifting his arms, he tries to lift her up, but his petite woman is suddenly made of the heaviest rocks; her stiff muscles protest in his grip, making it impossible for him to manoeuvre her out of fear she will bleed to death.

“We were both at the garden,” she mumbles drowsily, licking her bloodied teeth before breaking into a maddened smile that quickly dies as she depletes her remaining strength. “I’m tired, I want to stay here and dream.”

“Ingvild, we don’t have time for this,” August warns with concern, noticing how her eyes roll back and her lashes flutter shut, “there’s a helicopter waiting for us on the roof. You have to get up, you have to survive this, you have to come with me! Please!”

Fat, oily tears roll down her temples, mingling with the blood and tangy sweat on her face. Opening her eyes again, she peers at her beautiful monster, recognising the familiar ocean and its eternal unrest.

Did he come here for her, or is it just a dream?

“Why?”

‘Tell her.’

Brow lifting and face softening, his hands clutch her tightly. He rocks her from side to side, holding her protectively. Ingvild senses the wrath that pours from his heart, the thundering beat throwing its fists against his ribcage as their bodies collide.

“You know why,” August suggests huskily, nearly begging, bargaining not to admit, not to say the words he was always so afraid of. But naively, her gaze pleas in return, the child-like innocence piercing a hole through his chest.

“Tell me,” she begs him.

‘She needs you to say it.’

“Because I need you.”

The words nearly crack on his tongue, his throat suddenly so dry it sears. He glances down at the fallen angel, sensing the most excruciating thirst, where the only way to stop it is by stealing several deep kisses from her lips.

“I need you by my side,” he murmurs above her lips between desperate, helpless kisses, hoping to breathe life into his weakened valkyrie, “stay with me, angel.”

An awkward stretch tugs at her cheeks, hurting as if someone slices them with a blade from side to side. For the first time in her life, true laughter crisps her face, followed by crystal-like tears that run down her sullen eyes.

“I love you, August.”

Every nerve in his body tingles with tendrils of light, reaching out deep within his gut and spreading throughout his tendons. For a moment, he feels divine, sanctified by the words of his angel, his woman, his by free will.

Offering her a brief smile, he captured her lips for one last stolen kiss. His thick moustache scratches at her tender flesh while a little hum plays on his tongue.

She tastes like blood and honey - the tarty flavour of victory.

“We have to go now, princess, I have to finish this.”

Gingerly rising to his feet, he hooks a hand below her knees and places the other against her bruised spine. Bloody footprints trail behind him as he carries her outside the white room, trying to make for their freedom.

Locked down in her office, Director Erica Sloane inhales and exhales by practice, brushing a hand through her sweat-slick hair while trying to call every backup unit. Bullets still rip through the air in every story; the sirens howl while red lights flicker from outside. She puts her hands around her ears, trying to shut the noises out, uncertain if the screams she is hearing are her people still being slaughtered, or her mind playing tricks.

Walker is many things: an idealist, a manipulative snake, a monster. But this is a side of him she never anticipated. There is no need to question his motives this time. She is smart enough to figure it out.

To risk so much, a man must feel deeply for a woman.

Her anxiety spikes as guilt seeps in when her phone suddenly rings.

“Director Sloane,” she pants against the receiver. Somehow, as she hears the deep, measured breath, she knows.

‘Walker.’

“Hello, Erica, did you miss me?”

Erica clenches her jaw and stares spitefully into nothing, “Hardly.”

She hears him scoff from the other line, her mind piecing together that horrible, pretentious grin of his. The bile climbs up her throat just from the vision.

“We don’t have much time, but I just wanted to thank you.” August pauses, sighing with the bliss of a madman at her ear, “You see, if not for Lacey, if not for you kicking me to the curb the way you did - I would have never become what I was meant to be. And you sent me an angel to light my way…”

“You’ve manipulated her.”

“No, you did,” August interrupts calmly, “I set her free. I will set them all free and unite them.”

The anger simmers in her gut to the point of nausea. She holds her breath, counts to ten and tries to gather her thoughts. ‘August wants a bargain,’ she thinks, but for a reason, it feels like he already won.

“Can you come and look out of the window for me, please?” He asks politely.

Turning her head at the window, she narrows her eyes and bites her plump lips with hesitation.

“If I had a sniper on you, you’d be dead 5 minutes ago,” he assures her.

She gets up from her office chair slowly, her fingers reaching to uncover the blinds. The storm weakened, yet heavy clouds still loom from above like a noxious mist. She seeks for August on the horizon, listening carefully to the sounds on the line. She realises they are coming from above. Her sharp eyes detect the helicopter: far, yet close enough to see his shit-eating grin and that hand that waves at her.

He has the girl with him. Who knew a monster could care.

“You know, you are the only woman in the CIA I haven’t fucked.” He provokes and then hangs up suddenly.

Erica watches as the helicopter takes off, her eyes widening with fear as the notion of her own demise resonates like a stinging slap.

The blast takes her along with the entire building within a split second.

Standing on the cliff by the edge of the valley, August stares down at the tranquil scar that swerves amidst lush, fertile mountains. The crystalline Indus river lies before his eyes, its sweet water so clear that the sky mirrors upon the brim.

It’s not every day when a simple man becomes a god.

The melancholic beauty of nature makes his fingers tighten around the detonator, thumb ghosting over the button as he allows himself a couple of last seconds to inhale the air of the old world.

Oh, how many will die for this god to receive his halo.

‘I wish you were here, my Ingvild…’ August muses with anguish, feeling an awkward jab at the spot where his heart should have been.

A sudden rumbling noise of a helicopter makes his gut weave.

‘That better not be Ethan fucking Hunt! I should have thrown him off the cliff in Norway!’

Alarmed yet stoic as ever, he draws his gun, aiming it at the aircraft inching its way to land on the other side of the flat terrain. The last thing he needs right now is someone meddling with his affairs, but it quickly becomes clear to him that if someone wanted a monster like him dead, they would have sniped him from the air before he could even see them coming.

‘Did you forget the woman is nothing but a valkyrie?’

“What are you doing here?” He calls out at Ingvild and frowns at the pilot, abruptly struck with anger. “I specifically asked to make sure she stays rested!”

The pilot shrugs while Ingvild makes her way toward August with mild effort. Dark circles rest beneath her eyes, yet she is still so very beautiful to him, especially when she frowns.

“She was very persuasive and horrendously stubborn,” the pilot retorts.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” August mutters to himself and watches the little battered woman making every attempt to remain stoic as she steps closer. A shadow of a malicious grin creeps on her frosty eyes.

Once upon a time, she promised him she will always find him. She has no intention of breaking that promise.

“Did you think I’ll let you do this without me, August Walker?” She sulks at him as she finally moves to stand in front of him. Every nerve in her body is inflamed with pain, yet the thought of not being here at the birth of the new world brings greater agony than imagined.

Something she compares to missing out on the birth of a child.

“We are in this together now, this is our cause, our better world. You don’t get to leave me behind.”

Her hand reaches for his wrist, thumb pressing to feel his quickening pulse. Wonder paints his eyes and his lips gape softly. He promised himself Lacey will never cross his thoughts again; yet he can’t help but think about that night in his study and the pain of betrayal.

‘How is she even real?’

Gently peeling her fingers off his wrist, he looks at the detonator. He then takes her hand in his, placing the device in her slender grasp.

“Forgive me, my darling. You’re right,” he apologises and turns her over to view the horizon. A shiver surges through her as she senses the weight in her palm when August moves to stand behind her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“We do this together.”

Pesky little honeysuckles flutter within her chest as his arms wrap around her carefully. One of his hands holds hers, raising it up slightly to position the device in front of her chest.

“Do it angel, set them free.”

Taking a deep breath, Ingvild slides her fingertip over the red button. Scattered images of her life briefly flash through her mind, ending with the single moment where their gazes first met that day in Bergen.

Bright heavenly light cleanses the sky and loud thunder rips through the earth. Standing on the trembling ground, August and Ingvild stare into the distance while slowly turning to face each other. They hold their hands together, both gaping with awe as rich golden hues pour into the sky.

Enamoured, and lost within one another’s beauty, they share a long, lingering kiss.

Epilogue.

Sharp and heavy, the blade split the wood in half as if it was made out of soft butter. Resting the blunt side of the leaden axe over his shoulder, he pauses and observes the pile of firewood on the ground. His lips move in silence as he counts before crouching down to pick up another log and place it on the stump.

Strong shades of pink and orange spread between the clouds, kissed by the drowsy sun as it makes its way to slumber beneath the earth. It’s been 8 months since the coming of their new world. Even though there is still work to be done, August decided a hideout was necessary to let her mend her wings.

“Loki!”

Ingvild rushes into the green field with a wide, toothy smile. Feral rivers of chestnut-brown reach the small of her back, floating behind her as she runs around giggling.

‘That smile, like honey. So pure, so real.’

Playful barks answer her call, and a German Shepherd puppy appears from across the green hill, jumping over one of the logs ecstatically and wags its tail.

“Careful or I’ll cook him for dinner,” August mutters and points the axe at Loki’s direction. The pup tilts its head at him and barks with playful rage, growling and baring its needle-like teeth.

Ingvild pauses and gives August an icy stare before grabbing the large puppy and holding him to her chest, “You’re a shitty liar August Walker, you love him. Always sneaking him bacon when you think I'm not looking and snuggling him in your sleep.”

August shrugs, brushing away her comment before sticking the axe into the tree stump. “Get inside, time for dinner.” A small grin stretches on his lips as he sees her walking away, kissing the puppy on his wet little nose.

The scent of cedarwood burning at the mantle and brewed coffee welcomes her home as she enters the cabin, immediately filling her chest with mellowness. She allows Loki down on the ground before walking into their cosy bedroom where she removes her trousers and remains in an oversized sweater and black thigh-high stockings that August gifted her after they left Kashmir.

When she returns to the living room, August is sitting at the study with his laptop open. A small wrinkle lines his forehead while he runs two fingers over his moustache. A map and coordinates are visible on the screen, along with a messaging platform which she only assumes is a conversation with one of the apostles.

Loki lies guarding at his feet.

“Come here, princess,” August calls, reaching out his arm toward her. “I have something to show you.”

Sneaking toward him like a large feline, Ingvild takes his hand and lets him guide her to his lap. Her legs fall to each side of his thighs, and August rests his chin at the small crook of her neck where it always belonged.

“What are you looking for?” She asks, casually pulling the sleeve over her wrist to scratch at a peeling hammer tattoo gracing her skin.

“Don’t touch it, let it heal.” August answers and takes her hand in his, entwining their fingers together tightly. An illustration of an angel wing decorates the same spot on his arm. As she glances at the way the black ink is embedded into his flesh, she can’t help but smile and ever so slightly grind herself on the semi-rigid bulge beneath her ass.

August growls against her neck, grazing his stubbles over her supple skin before reaching a hand to unzip his tracking trousers and pull out his swelling manhood. After a soft scuffle of her panties, he lifts her hips and slides himself fully within her wet, angelic cove.

“August…” She sighs, fluttering her eyes shut for a split second, embracing both pain and pleasure. When August fills her, she is ethereal, as if a piece that was missing all her life has finally made it back home.

“You always look so beautiful with me inside you,” he murmurs against her neck, planting bristly kisses down her jawline before returning his glare forward. Ingvild only moves slightly above him, swaying slow and smooth on his thick, throbbing girth and squeezing him tight between her walls to relish in their bond.

“I have a present for you.” He opens a tab on his browser while his fingers toy with her clit with surprising tenderness.

“What is it?” She moans as he presses down on her sensitive pearl.

“I found Liam,” he explains, a twinge of pride and a spit of revenge hanging on his baritone. He growls slightly as her cunt clenches around him by his words. “He’s hiding out in Sao Paulo. I plan to bring you his head.”

Sucking on her bottom lip, she grinds a little harder, feeling August deep in her gut. The temptation to ride him hard and rough is too great, but this sweet slow torture always brings her to a higher ground of ecstasy when they finally fuck.

“Can it wait, my beautiful monster?” She asks sweetly, reaching her talons to clutch his thigh as he pushes further in and bottoms out inside her with a grunt. “I’d like to stay here for a while and be your angel for a little bit longer.”

August lifts his cerulean gaze back to Ingvild, the clear sky in his deep irises slightly darken as he observes the serene look on her face. His hand rises to cup her chin and turn her head to the side to meet his possessive lips. He cages her mouth with his, devouring her with the lust of a hungry man.

“You will always be mine and mine alone Ingvild,” he promises as he ends the kiss with a nibble on her chin. Ingvild licks his saliva off her mouth and stares back at him with the oxymoronic union of innocence and sinister urge before she leans back and continues to look at his plans.

‘Who is she to you?’

‘She is my queen, and I am the king of hell.’

_______________________________

Additional Notes: Song lyrics by Elvis Presely - Angel. Additional Inspiration by Nine Inchs Nails - We’re in this together.

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Mission Impossible’s franchise or August Walker.

#henry cavill #august walker #august walker x ofc #august walker fanfiction #henry cavill fanfiction #the way to hell #henrycavill

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b000mbayah · 3 years

Note

You're not speed, you are the Flash(and also a talented writer btw). It's always me, your loyal anon with a new request: can you do a Twice's reaction to the reader(gender neutral obv) overworking himself?

Thank u <3

-S Anon

PS: who is your ult bias?

Oh thank you for another request S anon! What would I do without you😁

My ultimate bias? Uhhh… oh no. I'd have to say Dahyun.

:･,'*✧*:`･ﾟ'•;*✧*,°.`•✧*'•.;*°✧*･,'*✧*:`･ﾟ'•;*✧

Nayeon

The poor bunny had walked into the unavoidable trap, pushing you to be the best singer you could be, technically. She had encouraged you to practice more, practice more high notes, alongside the low notes.

However, once your vocal chords had snapped and you could no longer speak, that's when she realised she messed up.

She was in tears for days as she watched you ponder around the house, a notebook and pen in hand. The fact that you can't even sing is upsetting enough, but the sight of you not being able to even speak is much worse.

You have to wait sometime till you'll even be able to speak again, even then it will be a faint whisper. Someone has to take your lines whilst you're resting.

Even if it wasn't entirely Nayeons fault, she still carries a universe worth of guilt.

Jeongyeon

She wasn't having it. Jeongyeon cares for you the most, you being a part of her life since even before she was a trainee, and so she HAS to be protective over you.

That's why when she saw you leaving the house, that same determined look on your face, she jumped out and stopped you, wrapping her arms around your body.

She'd refuse to let you go, she can't possibly do that, she'd beat herself up about it for days on end if she did.

She can't let you continue your sessions alone, what if you pass out or… or something bad happens and she's not there?

Not a single chance she's risking it, she refuses it.

Momo

Momo knows what it's like, what it's like to have the bare minimum in a song, one of the members with the least amount of lines, the least amount of attention.

That's why she understood you when you were having the same problem within your group. Since you two are close friends, she knows everything that's going on with you… apart from how much you've been overworking yourself to prove to your company that you deserve more of the stupid yet very much wanted and deserved spotlight.

You two were having dinner when you passed out, your entire body gave up on you as you flopped to the side. Momo, being in a panic, called a waiter over since she had no experience in any of this.

As soon as you were back up and alright again, only then did she have the confidence to speak with JYP, demanding that he shed some light on the situation, giving you more lines AND a week or two off from practice to recover.

Sana

Ever since you started to reject her hugs and cheek kisses, she knew something was up, her brilliant mind was telling her so.

Seeing you at practice everyday, sweating and not having the suggested breaks was a tad concerning.

The amount of times you'd stay behind after practice or when you'd leave the house early to get to the given dance studio had her on high alert.

Sana had even followed you to practice a few times, she knows how hard it can be to have everything perfect.

She'd never have you practice alone after a special talk.

Jihyo

She found out that you were sent to hospital due to lack of iron in your diet. Once she was finally allowed to go and see you, it took a whole week of begging JYP, she bought you gifts and a wide range of food to help you out.

Jihyo couldn't hold back the feeling of melancholy that twisted deep inside her guts, it had burst by the time the doctors came in to give her information on your confirmed condition.

She'd stay behind after closing time and hold your hand as she'd pray for you to get better soon. Jihyo had come to the conclusion that your forced diet was the problem, not enough iron in it at all.

She had scheduled a new diet, one that's healthy and can keep your managers happy just so this wouldn't happen again, well… hopefully.

Mina

Mina can't help but pity your condition. Your anxiety had climbed your torso and reached into your head, taking control over your thoughts like a virus.

Mina watched as you make slip ups on stage and the bashful comments you get, leading you to overwork yourself in every aspect of your career.

Mina couldn't do much, having a rather quiet voice and silenced thoughts. However, she would be able to soothe your thoughts at night since that's when her voice is heard most.

Her voice mixed with the faint sound of crickets at night is always something you love, something that covers up your needs and fears.

Either way, overworking yourself or not, Mina will always be there for you, through thick and thin.

Dahyun

Dahyun would join you, wanting to keep you company in case something does happen. The image of sweat covering every inch of your smooth skin isn't something she wants to come true, to actually happen.

She'd make sure you'd have breaks every half hour and she'd run out to get some food for you both to snack on.

Dahyun is your best friend, it makes sense that she's doing all of this for you. You'd do the same either way.

God knows what will happen if you do eventuality faint. Although, one thing's for sure, Dahyun will be in utter panic.

You'd have to hope that she remembers those accessed classes she got whilst in the military, those skills will come into play.

Chaeyoung

She'd be all smiles around you and all frowns away. She knows that if you see her face diminish the bright light then you'd also be depressed. Seeing the small, merry-go-lucky girl sad would have an impact on you since it's 'your' fault..?

Chaeyoung knows about the consequences of being an idol and you are just trying to suppress that feeling, the feeling of being ignored, and that's what led you to overworking yourself.. again.

She'd tell you jokes and smile at you randomly. She'd try her absolute hardest to cheer you up and she won't stop until she's successful in her mission.

Her hands would clamp around yours as she'd tell you some joke Dahyun had told her in hopes to see your smile, even if it's just once.

Chaeyoung is persistent in her actions and won't stop anytime soon, it's now her job to break your streak of overwhelming hours spent by yourself.

Tzuyu

She hadn't noticed how much you've been overworking lately, doing the most supplementary efforts for that extra credit. Although, when she shot notice she'd pay extra attention to your actions.

Tzuyu is more of an observer, and that's what she did, she observed your actions from afar and from up close.

Once her suspicions were confirmed, that you were indeed overdoing practically everything, she'd move into your room, forcing Nayeon, Jeongyeon and Jihyo out. She'd make sure you're comfortable with the idea, of course.

Once you gave her permission she'd practically become the mother you've never had. She'd sing you to sleep, using her heavenly voice, and play with your hair and rub circles on your firm skin.

Tzuyu would be more caring than anything, something rather shocking since, like I said earlier, she's more of an observer.

#korea #kpop #girl+group+imagines #gxg #jyp #writing #twice #jyp twice #mina #nayeon #reaction #twice reactions #dahyun #Jeongyeon #momo #sana #jihyo #tzuyu #Chaeyoung #requested #request #answer

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honeytae · 3 years

Text

Bublé would be so offended right now.

hi my loves! so this is a christmas piece since the holiday is only a few days away and, idk, i guess i just felt like doing something christmas-y while i could. it’s basically just some very soft joonie content, wrapping presents and singing and...yeah. a dream. anyways, merry christmas to all of you who celebrate!!

tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy

genre: fluff

word count: 1.8k

“Babe, where’d you put the tape?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, sitting up on your knees and placing your hands on the soft carpet, slowly crawling in search of the roll.

“Huh?” Namjoon poked his head out the doorway of the kitchen, a bottle of wine in one hand and a glass clutched in the other.

You smiled at the man’s appearance, bare skin glowing and comfortably dressed in his favorite pajama set as he lifted his forearm to his forehead to swipe strands of dark hair away from his eyes.

“I can’t find the tape.” You repeated, Namjoon frowning in confusion before trading the glass off to tuck underneath his opposite arm, hand patting his pocket and slipping in to produce the small item with a triumphant smile.

“Why-”

“I don’t even know.” He cut you off with a small grin, both of you giggling as you stood to walk toward his outstretched arm, hand reached toward your approaching frame.

Slipping the piece of plastic between your fingers, he brushed his appendages against your own, making you smile at the subtle action as your hand went up to cup his face.

His golden skin was glowing underneath the lights from your Christmas tree, his dark eyes sparkling down at you as he shyly watched you fawn over him.

His cheeks were a soft hue of pink, the hot skin evident of the alcohol he’d consumed while sitting by the fire with you for the last few hours.

“Your cheeks are all flushed. You’re so cute.” You cooed at him, Namjoon’s cheeks darkening even more at your words as a bashful smile curled his lips up, hand coming up to hide it while he tried to recover from your compliment.

“I don’t know how you’re not used to me calling you cute by now. I do it every day, baby.” You chuckled, Namjoon scoffing as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“You still give me all the butterflies.” He mumbled against your lips with a soft grin, connecting your lips in a swift kiss before wrinkling his nose against the tip of your own.

“Good. That’s my job.” You ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead and smiling at the soft satisfied sigh coming from him at the action.

“Are we almost done wrapping?” He inquired softly, you humming positively as you slightly turned back to glance at the large stack of wrapped presents for your combined families.

“We’re getting there. It’s getting late, though, so we can take a break and do the rest tomorrow if you’re getting tired.” You proposed, Namjoon briefly pondering the idea before shaking his head.

“We only have a couple left, may as well get it done tonight. I was on my way to pour more wine, anyway.” He gestured to the glass he’d shifted back to his hand, you nodding and meeting his plump bottom lip with a soft peck before backing away to return to the work in the living room once again.

Watching you walk away in an oversized sweatshirt and one of his many pairs of gray sweatpants, the apples of his cheeks strained with his happy smile, reluctantly dragging his eyes away from you to turn back into the kitchen to retrieve the wine glass you'd been sipping from earlier.

“Do you want more, babe?” He called out, his eyes focused on the ceiling as he waited for an answer from you.

“Is that even a question?” You responded, smiling at the sound of your boyfriend laughing from behind you as you retreated to the living room.

Noticing that the fire had dimmed, you cursed as you stumbled over the roll of wrapping paper you’d conveniently placed in the middle of the carpet, luckily catching yourself before you fell flat on your face.

Quickly recovering, you approached the fireplace, grabbing ahold of the iron poker previously leaned against the wall to adjust the burning logs, nodding in satisfaction when you successfully reignited the flame.

“Oh, bub, I could’ve done that.” Namjoon pouted from behind you, already feeling guilty about you taking over the present wrapping duties as he had made all his presents resemble lumpy sacks of coal earlier in the afternoon from his lack of experience.

“You think I’d trust you with fire?” You asked incredulously, proud of the reaction you got as he let out a “hmph” of disapproval.

“Ouch.” He put his hand over his heart, a small smirk on his face as he shook his head at your teasing.

“Only kidding, baby. But, my mission is to keep this house standing.” You shrugged, Namjoon pursing his lips with an eventual nod as he bent his knees to land on the ground, groaning in the process.

“Mission successful, then.” He sat down beside you, crossing his legs underneath him as he handed a glass over to you with a sigh.

“I like our tree this year.” Namjoon observed as his eyes focused on the garland looped around the tall pine, his eyes sparkling with the reflection of the lights lining the branches.

“Hm. Me, too.” You glanced back over at him, lifting your wine glass to your lips and swallowing the tart liquid as Namjoon hummed in thought.

“It was so much fun.” He grinned, looking back at you as you scooted closer to him so that your shoulders nudged against each other.

You both smiled at the memory of Namjoon lifting you onto his shoulders so that you could better reach the top of the tree, adamant that you be the one to put the star on despite him having the height to easily do so himself.

It was the first time in years that both of your lives were slow enough to be together through all the festivities of the holidays, and it felt amazing to finally be able to take in all of the moments of it together instead of only a few before one of you had to take off for a work commitment.

Doing even the simplest things with Namjoon throughout the traditions in the month made your heart happy; something that made you even more aware of just how much the man meant to you.

Spreading your legs out in front of you as you set your wine glass down onto the floor, careful to place it out of the way so that it couldn’t get kicked over onto the rug, you pulled a package between your legs, grabbing a roll of wrapping paper to continue hiding the presents from view.

Tasking your boyfriend with curling the ribbons on the presents you’d successfully wrapped, the two of you worked in silence other than soft humming from your throats and the crackling of the fire; occasional mishaps with one of the name tags making you both giggle.

“We need to get more in the mood.” Namjoon spoke up, discarding the scissors in his hand with a toss to the ground as he reached over for your phone.

Swiping up to unlock it, he eagerly navigated to your music library, switching onto a holiday playlist and smiling at you as the first notes of “It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas” began pouring out through your speakers.

Having figured out that your boyfriend wasn’t too great at wrapping presents earlier in the evening, (for god sake, the man couldn’t stop ripping the paper), he’d happily let you take over, opting to watch as you properly folded the paper over the various packages bought for your family.

That pattern continued now as you sat with him, his long legs spread on either side of your body, arms locked around your torso as his chin rested on your shoulder, lightly swaying you both to the music.

His eyes peeked over your shoulder, first to watch what your hands were doing, but gradually shifting to watch your face as you bit your lip in concentration.

You giggled slightly at the tickle of his breaths puffing out from his nose onto your neck, Namjoon chuckling before leaning back a bit to relieve you of the feeling.

You felt incredibly at peace as the sound of Michael Buble’s honeyed voice came from the speakers, the man behind you quiet as he mindlessly played with your hair before you heard a dramatic inhale from his chest, causing you to raise your eyebrows in curiosity at the sound.

You snorted as Namjoon began singing horribly off-key to the Christmas tune, covering your mouth with your palm as you leaned forward to double over in your laughter.

“And the thing that'll make 'em ring is the carol that you sing,” His voice cracked on the last word, making you laugh even harder as you clutched your pained stomach.

“What? What’s so funny?” He asked, feigning confusion as he lightly laughed along with you.

“Bublé would be so offended right now.” You sighed as you wiped tears from your cheeks, giggles still escaping as they bubbled up in your throat.

Pushing the remaining unwrapped gifts away from your legs in defeat, you stretched your back out to lay your head down on Namjoon’s thighs as he continued to exaggerate his vocals for your benefit.

You continued giggling as he held notes longer than necessary, his voice wavering and breath running out as he definitely wasn’t using the right placement to do so.

As the instrumentals faded out and the next song began, he looked down at you, the smile on your face making his heart flutter.

“What is it, hm? You don’t like my holiday spirit?” He asked teasingly, classic dimpled grin beaming down at you as the paths of tears down your cheeks were illuminated by the firelight glowing over you.

He gently caressed the wetness of your cheeks with his thumbs, pad of his finger swiping the soft skin underneath your eye as you hummed in reply.

“Mm, maybe you should stick to pouring the wine.” You bit back a smile as Namjoon’s smiling face turned into one of offense, scrunching his nose up to further emphasize his dislike of what you’d just said.

“Wow, someone’s getting a lump of coal.” He muttered, feigned annoyance on his face breaking with the smile your laugh gave him once again.

“And someone’s getting mintcho in their stocking.” You returned, Namjoon’s face twisting in a disgusted grimace as you smirked at his never-ending hatred of the chocolate.

“Santa would never do that to me. He loves me.” He smiled, you giggling with a nod as you stared up at the man, eyes tracing his features as he did the same to you.

”You are very lovable, Joon.” You agreed with a poke of your pointer finger to his dimple, features scrunching at the sudden touch as a small smile graced his face.

“I love you.” He said softly, brushing your hair back with his fingers and making you hum in appreciation.

“Oh? Am I lovable, too, then?” You teased him, Joon ducking his head in laughter before lifting it to look at you again.

“The most lovable.” He confirmed with a nod, both of you smiling as you leaned into each other, lips joining in a tender kiss as the fire crackled beside you.

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

Note

Hi, for heartbeats how about

12. "Don't worry, I'm just checking your pulse."

24. "That's not how you use a stethoscope"

for poor John please. :)

Homework Mishap

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: John, Scott, Gordon

I've had a few inquiries about what happened when it was Gordon doing the homework Alan did in my previous ficlet, and what do you know - these prompts fall very nicely for that, so consider this a prequel of sorts! Marginally more whumpy, but still mostly fluff, and certain brothers being careless idiots.

Poor John, indeed. He didn't ask for this!

Heartbeat Prompts

“Hey, John.”

Those two words, if said in a particular tone, could get his guard up faster than even the smell of Grandma’s cooking. The minor drawl, with the hint of something almost sing-song, coming from his big brother was the exact combination.

“No,” he said bluntly, turning around from where he’d just entered the den to depart again before whatever his brother wanted became apparent. The fact that Gordon was perched on the sofa next to Scott with a giant grin on his face was the unnecessary confirmation that it was nothing good.

He made it as far as the stairs before a hand caught his wrist, tugging him to a halt and almost – almost – overbalancing him. An arm wrapped around his chest bodily, saving him from a tumble but also well and truly pinning him in place.

“Let go, Scott,” he demanded, trying to yank himself free to no avail.

“It’ll only take a minute,” Scott promised, as though that was supposed to be reassuring.

“What will only take a minute?” he demanded, thoroughly un-reassured. “Let go.”

“You caught him!” The appearance of Gordon, amber eyes gleaming, was far from unexpected but still unwelcome. “Hold still, Johnny.”

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped instinctively, yanking harder to get out of Scott’s iron grip and stamping on his in-step when that failed.

Scott yelped, but John’s victory – and freedom – was short-lived as Gordon latched onto his wrist with fingers that had the grip of tentacles.

“Don’t worry,” the squid told him. “I’m just checking your pulse.”

John tried to break his grip, but Scott recovered quickly and he soon found himself captured again. “Why?”

“Homework,” the blond menace beamed, entirely too pleased considering his ongoing campaign to see how many times he could throw his homework in the pool before the school stopped accepting “it got wet” as an excuse.

“You hate homework,” he said flatly. Scott chuckled in his ear.

“He just needed some incentive to do this one,” his big brother said in his ear. “Sorry, John.” He didn’t sound sorry in the slightest.

Gordon being willing to do his homework meant that John reluctantly stopped fighting and let him take the pulse measurement in peace. That did not mean that Scott was going to get away with this. Now that he was thinking about it, John was pretty sure what the homework was from his own school days, and knew that Scott could easily have offered himself up instead of setting Gordon on him.

There would be revenge.

John’s idea of revenge usually involved technology, and just enough of a time lapse that his target started to forget they’d wronged him. It was very effective, and highly satisfying, but this time John thought he should change it up a little. Otherwise, he’d get predictable, and Scott was annoyingly good at catching patterns in his brothers’ behaviour.

“All done,” Gordon chirped, releasing his wrist. “Thanks, Johnny!”

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbled, but his attention was on Scott as the arms holding him in place slackened. “Am I free to go now?”

“Yup!” Gordon had a habit of popping his ‘p’s when he was either satisfied or attempting to be obnoxious, and John wrinkled his nose at the spray of saliva that accompanied it.

Scott let go and John moved.

The squawk his big brother made as he collided with the floor was highly satisfying, and John pinned him down with a knee in the small of his back before he could get his breath back.

Gordon let out a disbelieving but impressed whistle.

“Gerroff,” Scott mumbled, trying to push himself up. John leaned down a little more heavily, aware of the stairs less than a foot away.

“No,” he said simply.

“John.”

“Scott.”

“Wow,” Gordon breathed, and John glanced up at him to see that he was staring, open mouthed, at the pair of them. “Johnny, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Well, at least he’d caught one brother off-guard, although from the big brother beneath him, it was pretty safe to say he’d caught him both. Scott was good at escaping if he got a whiff of being a target. Just ask Virgil.

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” he said, shrugging.

That was a mistake.

Sensing distraction, Scott exploded into movement all at once, surging upwards and unbalancing John in the process., sending him toppling to one side.

It would have been fine if it wasn’t the side where the stairs were.

John had a split second of realisation, just long enough to snatch at Scott, before gravity took hold. Scott, unfortunately, wasn’t balanced either. A desperate attempt to use his big brother as an anchor, mirrored by said big brother when he realised what was about to happen, failed. His fingers snagged Scott’s arm, Scott’s own hand wrapping around his arm in turn, and there was a flash of blond, then he was falling.

Well, rolling. They were rolling. Down, and down, and down the stairs, in a tangle of limbs. The handful of seconds it took to reach the bottom of the thankfully short flight stretched for eternity but also passed in the blink of an eye.

John’s landing was soft. There were arms around him, again, a hand on the back of his head, and a warm body beneath him. His own hands were fisted in fabric, and he took a moment to breathe before letting go and trying to get up.

The protective arms around him were reluctant to release him, but as he tugged again they fell away and he rolled painfully off of his brother.

“John! Scott!” Gordon clattered down the stairs after them, two at a time. “Are you okay?”

“What happened?” That was Virgil, running over to them.

Next to him, Scott let out a groan. “Ow.”

“Don’t move,” Virgil ordered, looming over both of them. “What hurts? John?”

He winced. “Is everything a valid answer?” At the look of panic on his brother’s face, he held up a hand. “I think I’m just bruised.”

“Hmm,” Virgil said dubiously. “Scott?”

“I’m fine,” their idiot of a big brother said, although he notably didn’t move. “Urgh.”

“Gordon, grab a medscanner,” Virgil said.

“F.A.B.” The blond whirlwind vanished as John watched Virgil scrutinise Scott more closely, clearly concerned that he was doing as he was told for once.

“Scott, what hurts?” Their brother groaned again.

“It’s fine,” Scott said, contradicting his behaviour. “Same as John; bruises everywhere. Bruises probably have bruises.”

“Neither of you are moving until you’re scanned,” Virgil told them firmly. John found himself amenable to that declaration and didn’t protest.

When Gordon skedaddled back onto the scene a minute later, he wasn’t just holding the requested medscanner but also a stethoscope.

John eyed him warily as he approached with it, passing the medscanner over to Virgil, who promptly deployed it on a protesting Scott. “What are you doing with that?”

“Checking you over,” his brother said, and before John had a chance to protest that that was what the scanner was for, once Virgil was done with Scott, the cool metal end was being pressed against his… neck?

“That’s not how you use a stethoscope,” he said. Gordon shrugged.

“I know.” Then there was a spark of mischief in his eyes and John eyed him warily as he leaned closer. “Want to get Scott with it later?”

John glanced over at the brother in question, who was still protesting that he was fine to Virgil. The medscanner was flashing up yellows and oranges, but nothing serious. As Scott had taken the brunt of the fall, John was willing to bet that if his brother was fine, he would be, too.

And revenge that didn’t backfire painfully – literally – was still required.

“Hold that thought,” he said quietly, and the stethoscope promptly vanished. A moment later, Scott was sitting up and the medscanner was passing over John’s body, accompanied by worried brown eyes.

Yellows and oranges, the same as Scott, flashed up, and Virgil sighed.

“So,” he demanded. “What happened?”

“Scott pushed John down the stairs and John took him with him,” Gordon chipped in sunnily.

“What?”

“They were helping me with my homework.”

“Unwillingly, in my case,” John felt compelled to add, pulling himself into a sitting position and sending a glare Scott’s way. His brother shrugged, then winced. “If we’re done here, I’m going to my room. Don’t disturb me.”

He dragged himself to his feet, ignoring Virgil’s offered assistance, and began the trek to the sanctity of his room. Gordon would no doubt follow shortly, wanting to properly plan a prank on Scott, but his squid of a brother had more than enough sense to at least make it subtle when he did decide to follow.

In the meantime, John was going to flop on his bed and start planning what could be done with a stethoscope.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #john tracy #scott tracy #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #thunderfluff #drabbles #such-a-random-rambler #heartbeat homework

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sunjaesol · 3 years

Text

baby, you ain't being slick

juke | human!au + strangers | title: juice // lizzo

He didn’t want to be here. Alas, his friends could be persuasive if they wanted to.

After a shit day in the studio, another rejection letter from agencies all around, contrived lyrics scratched on lined paper and one sugar crash, Alex and Reggie decided to go to a karaoke bar. Of all places they could go to take the edge off, they decide on an establishment that would literally be his cause of death. Luke despised karaoke bars. Why listen to drunk people blabber lyrics they didn’t know (nor cared about) into a shitty mic at two am while sipping on an equally shitty margarita? Why torture himself with music when music itself was kicking his butt as of late?

But then Alex told him mocking drunk people was fun and Reggie begged for a chance to sing ABBA, so Luke couldn’t refuse. He already acted like a douche enough today.

So there he sat, on a barstool at Neon Affluenza on a Wednesday night peering into the aforementioned shitty margarita. The place recently opened and has gotten pretty good reviews, Luke quietly admitting that the vibe of the bar was pretty dope. Dark walls and black hardfloor flooring, dimmed lights and purple LED giving everyone a mysterious glow. The stage was small, as usual, with an underpaid DJ on the side playing the tracks. It was packed, loud chatter and clinking glasses overpowering the slurring words of the heavy-lidded, burly man onstage working his way through a Céline Dion track. Luke wondered for a second if the singer thought about how many people butchered her song and brought slander to her name every second of the night in all the karaoke bars all over the world. Oh well. At least she had a record deal and, you know, any significance.

Alex sat next to him, grinning face illuminated as he texted Willie, as Luke lazily let his gaze drift across the room. The man has stopped and gotten a weak applause, the next person ascending the stage and singing - Jesus fucking Christ, kill him now - “Firework” by Katy Perry. This night truly was the worst.

It didn’t help that for some reason, three girls have come up to him. Was this an ongoing bet from one friend group or something? To see which one of the girls could crack him? Any other night, he would’ve relished the attention, maybe even chatted one up enough to go home with. Flirting was second nature to Luke. The third girl was his type too! When he rejected her avances, she just shrugged and continued her way to Reggie. Which, he must admit, was a pretty confident move on her part. Regardless - Luke wasn’t in the mood and nothing, or no one, would change that. (Maybe he could sneak back to the studio...)

“Excuse me-” A female voice called out, tapping his arm.

He rolled his eyes. “Not interested.”

She scoffed. “You’re sitting on my jacket, asshole.”

Turning to face her, he froze for a beat. His unimpressed glare turned surprised at how pretty she was. Like, “double take on the street”-pretty. If he thought the girl from before was his type, he was mistaken. This was his type. She regarded him with minimal interest, brows raised and arms crossed.

“So?”

His reply stuttered out slowly. “Uh... huh?” Awesome. He was twenty-three and unable to speak to a pretty girl like some pimply eleven year old playing spin the bottle for the first time.

She tugged on his stool and - oh. The stool wasn’t leather, it was suede. He was sitting on her leather jacket. Shit. He terribly hoped he didn’t have butt sweat, or else mortification would take him out and not the piercing belt of the drunk singer. Either way, he embarrassed himself.

“Shit!” He rushed from his chair and held the garment out for her. “Sorry!”

With a sneer, she grabbed it from his grasp, fingers brushing and letting heat ripple up his arm. Holy shit. Yup. The night took a turn. He had to know who she was.

She pulled the jacket on. “Thanks, I guess...” Just as she was about to disappear back in the throng of drunkards, he called out for her.

“Uh, hey! I didn’t get a name!”

The girl turned around, an amused - hella attractive - expression flitting across her face (damn, in what factory did they make her?), and tracked his body with her eyes. Instinctively fixing his slouch, he hoped she was into that punk-rocker aesthetic. That jacket was sort of a clue, right?

An ironic smile tugged on her lips. “Thought you weren’t interested, loverboy.”

Oh, fuck. His flirting game found their match and it was wrapped around a 5′4 girl with glossy curls and eyes glinting with challenge. Luke recovered as fast as he could from his whiplash and swaggered over to her, a charming smirk falling on his lips - the one he so often pulled to make the front row fawn. The girl didn’t look away, raising her chin to level his intensity. A giddy feeling spread in his chest. This could be fun.

“That’s before I knew the leather jacket belonged to a pretty face like yours, princess.”

“Trust me,” she laughed, also attractive. Everything about her was fucking enigmatic. “I’m not a princess.”

He tried again. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?”, she shot back.

He licked his lips, grinning, and held his hand out. He’d gladly bridge this animosity if it got him a name and a number. “I’m Luke.”

His hand was met with cold air, the girl laughing again and showcasing the cute, little gap between her teeth. It should be an imperfection, but it kind of made her better. Jeez, he didn’t even know her! Why she was laughing, however, he didn’t know. He’d lie if he said his ego wasn’t slammed.

“Are you-?”

“Next up: my girl Julie with Lizzo!” The DJ yelled in the mic, a gaggle in the crowd hooting and whistling. His dream girl winked, throwing a thumb at the stage and shrugging like she felt sorry for interrupting the conversation.

“That’s my cue. Bye!”

“Wait!” Argh! He didn’t pay attention to the DJ! Now he still didn’t now her name! A beat later, though, the latter words processed. Lizzo. This girl was going to sing... Lizzo? The most revered pipes of the 21st century? Yeesh. Maybe she wasn’t so perfect after all.

The girl jumped on the stage like she owned it, the first notes of “Juice” booming from the amps, her body moving with the beat. Straightening her jacket and mirroring the smirk he just sported himself, Luke’s throat went dry.

“Oh.” Alex casually came to stand next to him. “That’s Julie.”

“What?!”

But then she opened her mouth and any sensical thought flew out the window. Her voice was fucking magnificent. Clear, kind of raspy, yet loud and strong and an undercurrent that suggested years of rigorous training. This was not just some girl singing - she was singer.

If I'm shining, everybody gonna shine I was born like this, don't even gotta try

Her eyes searched across the heads and then stuck on him, that damned smirk widening and sending him a look that would bring any man to his knees. And then, to finish him off, teasingly waved at him as she spit the lyrics.

I'm like Chardonnay, get better over time Heard you say I'm not the baddest bitch, you lie!

Julie zoomed through the lyrics with ease, dancing and singing like it was breathing, and oozing every bit of confidence a person could have. Cocky nods and flirtatious winks and sinking in her knees to direct a lyric to people in the crowd. He corrected his previous thought: she wasn’t a singer, she was a performer; and she had him stammering.

All of a sudden, she jumped offstage with the mic, the adoring audience parting for her like the Red Sea and the bartenders brightening the LED’s to give everyone a proper look at what she was doing. Luke should’ve known that one verse wasn’t enough - should’ve known that if he was the Flirt King, Julie was the Flirt Queen. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face though. She was incredible and - fuck it - the coolest girl he’s ever met.

Coming to a halt right in front of him with that smile meaning checkmate, she obnoxiously pointed at him as she sung the bridge to the audience.

Somebody come get this man I think he got lost in my DMs, what? My DMs, what? You better come get your man I think he wanna be way more than friends, what? More than friends What you want me to say?

Luke was shaking from laughter, flushing red yet buzzing with exhilaration at this girl putting him in his place. Putting on a show! Where has she been all his life?!

Before he could snatch her waist, she ran back to the stage to belt out the last chorus with all her might, a dazzling smile breaking through. It was the first genuine, earnest one of the night and... wow. Julie was breathtaking.

Alex, unfazed, pressed his phone in his face. “She’s a singer from LA. Thought you’d know her.”

Her song ended, applause so deafening the pedestrians probably heard too, Julie making a silly face and bumping fists with the DJ. She must be a regular here. Weaving her way back to the bar, Luke mustered all his bravado into a laid-back stance and nonchalant smile. He couldn’t hide the mischievous spark in his eye though. That checkmate was still up for grabs.

“A water, please,” she asked the bartender. Catching her eye, she turned towards him. “Hello again.”

“Gotta admit, Julie-” he leaned back, elbows propped on the bar. “-wasn’t too bad.”

From the way her eyes lingered on the movement, triumph flared in his chest. She came closer, cocking a hip and placing her glass next to his arm. “Ha! I can sing circles around you.”

He leaned in with a grin. “You’d be surprised.”

She didn’t back down. “Is that a challenge?”

“Ask me again in the morning.”

Huffing, she uttered: “What makes you think I’d go home with you?”

“Cause I do ‘wanna be way more than friends’ and, well-” He closed the space between them, calloused fingers tugging on a curl and tucking it behind her ear. Her skin was hot from the lights. For a beat, her resolve waned.“You’re still here.”

Those eyes that have been driving him wild flickered to his lips. He held his breath in anticipation. One night with this girl and some snarky lyrics later and he’d be back on the saddle. This was what he needed to get out of his funk. After, everything would just go back to normal. Right?

Her lips suddenly grazed his, gaze flicking up and giving him a killer grin. Right - maybe not entirely back to normal. He wouldn’t mind Julie giving him a look like that more often.

“You got yourself a deal... loverboy.”

@blush-and-books @willexx @unsaid-emily @alexjulies

#not me..... missing the bar my friends and i were known at for killing karaoke #not at all #why would you even IMPLY THAT #juke #jatp fanfiction #otp: i think we make each other better #written cause im in a slump so i am unslumping myself #might make this a full thing idk

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gingwrites · 3 years

Text

Untitled Vampire AU (ot7) - Part 6

Series Masterlist | BTS Masterlist

Summary: Min Yoongi gets turned into a vampire and abandoned by his sire, but is adopted by the Kim coven.

aka

I decided to turn my one shot about maknae yoongi teething as a vampire into a full fic. Title subject to change. I just really have no idea what to name it right now.

Pairing: Established ot6, future ot7

The next few days passed in the same fashion, Yoongi sleeping most of the day away, and during the few times he was awake, he was eating. It was still a battle to get Yoongi to slow down while drinking, giving himself a tummy ache most of the time, though never as bad as that first one. The others were content to take turns watching over him.

“Why’s he sleeping so much?” Well, mostly content. “I just want to play with the baby and get to know him!” Jungkook whined.

“He’s a baby, Kookie,” Seokjin sighed. The three maknaes had been getting a little restless lately, spending more and more time watching over Yoongi, waiting for the moment he would next wake up.

“So?”

“So? Do you not remember anything about when you changed?” Seokjin replied. “You know very well that vampire changes don’t happen instantaneously. His body is changing and it’s taking a toll on him. He needs all the rest he can get.”

“Oh,” Jungkook pouted. He wanted to spend time with the baby, but he definitely wanted him to be healthy.

Seokjin patted the seat next to him on the couch, indicating for the younger boy to join him, which he happily did, launching himself into his hyung’s side. Seokjin let out a grunt when Jungkook landed on him, but a smile still spread over his face at the younger’s antics.

“I know you really want to spend some quality time with the baby, but right now, the best thing for him is to sleep and eat. You have all the time in the world to get to know him. Have a little patience,” Seokjin soothed, pulling Jungkook further under his arm.

“Okay, hyung,” the younger boy still pouted, but this time his lip wasn’t sticking out quite as much since he was getting cuddled.

After about a week of Yoongi being with the Kim coven, Yoongi started staying awake for longer periods of time and being more aware when he was, causing the maknaes to be constantly surrounding their new baby, always wanting to be the one to hold his attention.

“So now that I think I’ve finally had a chance to process everything, I have a few questions,” Yoongi asked one night when they were all gathered in the living room after Yoongi’s feeding.

“Ask away,” Seokjin nodded, happy to see that Yoongi seemed to be accepting the fact that he was a vampire now. Maybe all he had needed was a chance to process it internally and let his body take some much needed rest.

“Okay, so I know we don’t sparkle in the sun from personal experience,” Yoongi started, glancing over at Jimin when the older vampire let out a small growl at the mention of the state he had been in when found. “But, does the sun actually kill us, or is it just really, really painful?”

“Well, you’re a baby, so the sun is more harmful to you than it is to someone older, like me,” Seokjin replied. “You’ll eventually build up a sort of tolerance to it, but that will take a while. If you were to stay out in the sun for a long period of time now, it could kill you, but it would be a super slow and painful death.”

“So you’re not going anywhere near a window or outside anytime soon,” Namjoon commanded. The others all nodded their heads in agreement. Yoongi wasn’t about to argue with them. He never wanted to feel that pain again.

“But like I said, as you get older, you’ll build a tolerance to it,” Seokjin continued. “It won’t kill you once that happens, but you can still get burned, though not anywhere near as bad and it would take a longer period of time in the sun.”

“Okay,” Yoongi nodded, taking in the new information. “Next question: I thought I was supposed to have fangs?”

Seokjin chuckled, but before he could respond, Jungkook spoke up.

“You mean like these?” Jungkook had a massive grin on his face when Yoongi looked over. Two little glints caught his eye, and Yoongi leaned over before he could stop himself. Without even thinking about it, he brought his hand up to Jungkook’s mouth and gently touched the tip of one of the shiny teeth that he’d never seen before.

“Ow!” Yoongi quickly pulled his hand back, sticking his finger in his mouth to help soothe the pain.

“You hurt the baby!” Taehyung yelled, leaning over to slap Jungkook’s shoulder.

“I’m okay!” Yoongi quickly reassured, not wanting the others to blame Jungkook or see Jungkook sad that Yoongi had hurt himself because he was dumb enough to touch a vampire fang.

“Back to your question,” Seokjin spoke up, ceasing the small slapping fight Jungkook and Taehyung had gotten into, “You will get fangs, but it’s not an overnight process. Think like an actual human baby. Their teeth come in slowly and they go through a teething process. The rest of your body has gone, and will continue to go, through changes for about the next six months or so. It’s one of the reasons why you’ve been sleeping so much lately. Your body needs a chance to recover from all the changes.”

“Okay. Can we see our reflection?” Yoongi asked next.

“Yes,” Seokjin stated simply.

“We actually used to not be able to,” Namjoon followed up. “Nowadays, mirrors are made of different materials than they used to be, but vampiric myths obviously haven’t caught up.”

“Garlic?”

Everyone but Seokjin (and Yoongi) burst into laughter, Jin’s entire face turning red.

“What? What’d I say?” Yoongi questioned, confused as to why that had been funny.

“You can blame that entire myth on Seokjin!” Jimin was able to get out through his laughter.

“Jin was allergic to garlic when he was human,” Hoseok started.

“And it somehow carried over when he was turned,” Namjoon continued when Hoseok couldn’t because he was laughing so hard. Yoongi snuck a glance over a Seokjin who was still as red as a tomato.

“Our Jinnie here is old enough to have been around when people still believed vampires and other ‘mythological’ creatures were real,” Namjoon continued the story. “The village he was living in decided he was a vampire and had captured him. They were holding him in a barn while they were attempting to set up a pyre to burn him at the stake. It was a very dramatic time if you can imagine.

“But, it was harvest season and the owner of the barn had just harvested all his crops. Jin was tied up next to a basket full of, you guessed it, garlic. His allergy is so bad that even smelling it can sometimes cause him to break out in hives and his throat to close up. Which is exactly what happened. The humans quickly figured out what the garlic was doing, but they wrongly assumed that it would kill him and that it applied to all vampires.

“Luckily, Seokjin was able to escape before any lasting damage was done, but the myth stuck and was quickly passed around from village to village,” Namjoon finished the story, much to the amusement of the others.

“I hate you all,” Seokjin mumbled, arms crossed over his chest.

“Love you, too, hyung!” Taehyung sing-songed.

Yoongi couldn’t help the small smile on his face. It was a little funny if he was being honest. And raised the question of how old Seokjin actually was, but he guessed that was a question for another time.

“Do you have any more questions?” Seokjin asked, trying to get the others to move on and leave him in peace (which he knew was never going to happen, but he loved them all the same).

Yoongi thought for a moment, thinking of all the vampire movies he’d seen in his lifetime, which surprisingly wasn’t a lot. He had never really been much of a supernatural fan, which he found ironic now.

“Super speed? Super healing? Super strength?”

“Yes, yes, and yes, though there are limitations,” Namjoon was the one that answered this time. “We’re definitely not as fast or as strong as the movies make us out to be, but we definitely have an advantage over humans. But you’ll need to learn to control both once you’ve finally finished your transformation.”

“As for healing,” Seokjin took over, “There are limitations for that as well. You have to be well fed for you to have accelerated healing, which is why your burns were so bad when Jimin found you. You hadn’t fed, so your burns couldn’t heal.”

“So what can kill me?” Yoongi asked nervously, not really sure he wanted to know the answer to that question.

“Most things that would kill a human won’t kill you,” Namjoon replied. “Besides the sun when you’re still a baby, a stake through the heart, fire, silver bullet, and decapitation. Those are pretty much the only things that humans have continued to get right over the years. You can’t get sick, and even if you’re injured, no matter how bad the injury, as long as you can feed, you’ll heal just fine.”

Yoongi nodded, taking in all the new information. He felt like his brain was going to explode. There was so much to learn, but at least he had forever (literally) to learn it all. And people who would teach him and actually seemed to like teaching him.

“Just one more question for now,” Yoongi said after another moment of processing, feeling himself starting to get tired again. “Is there anything else that’s super important to know about vampires? I mean, can we fly? Do we have special powers? Can I read minds?”

The others laughed, causing a smile to spread across Yoongi’s face at his silly suggestions.

“No, no flying or mind reading,” Hoseok laughed.

“Ooo! But some vampires do have special powers!” Jungkook bounced in his seat.

“Like Jin hyung!” Taehyung all but yelled.

Yoongi quickly turned to the older vampire, not expecting this turn of events. Seokjin’s eyes flashed purple, but he blinked and they were back to their normal brown, making Yoongi wonder if he’d just been seeing things.

“So you have special powers?” Yoongi asked, curious as to why this hadn’t been brought up before.

“Yes, I have special powers,” Seokjin spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “Not all vampires have powers. It’s very rare and is different from person to person.”

The room was quiet while Yoongi processed his words.

“Oh! What if Yoongi has powers?” Jungkook yelled, causing the fledgling to jump.

“He doesn’t,” Namjoon quickly spoke up, crushing any hope that Yoongi might have already had about potentially having special powers. “You know they show up once a fledgling is turned. None of us saw anything, so no powers, unfortunately. Like Seokjin said, they’re very rare.”

Yoongi had turned to look at Namjoon while he spoke, but Yoongi saw Seokjin flinch ever so slightly out of the corner of his eye at Namjoon’s words, but by the time he’d glanced over, Yoongi didn’t see anything amiss. That’s the second time his eyes seemed to be playing tricks on him. Maybe he was more tired than he felt.

“Alright, that’s enough questions for now. We can answer any more questions you have tomorrow,” Seokjin spoke up, taking command of the room. “Time for you to get back to sleep, baby. You’re barely sitting up on your own as it is.”

Before Yoongi could process it, he was laid across the couch, head in Hoseok’s lap, blanket tucked around his body, Hoseok’s hands running through his hair. Yoongi’s eyes slipped shut before anyone could even tell him ‘goodnight.’

As Seokjin washed Yoongi’s bloody thermos in the sink later that night, he kept thinking about their conversation. He still hadn’t told the others about what he had seen. If he’d even seen anything at all. He wasn’t trying to hide anything from them, but he didn’t want to cause a mess if it was all for nothing. It was just nothing, right? It had to have been a trick of the light. Afterall, no magic had manifested itself since then.

Seokjin shook his head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts. It was nothing. It had been nothing. There was no way that Yoongi had powers, had those powers. Maybe if he kept repeating it, it’d be true.

Finally an update! I finally had inspiration for what I wanted to happen in this chapter this afternoon, so I've been working on this update since then! I hope you all like it! Let me know what you think! If you have any fluffy ideas/requests, let me know here, on ao3, or twitter/curious cat (@/yoongismandu)! I want to have a bit more 'normal life' and Yoongi adjusting to being a vampire before I get into the plot that I actually have planned for this fic.

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voltagesmutter · 4 years

Text

Dazai, Mozart, Isaac.

Prompt: “Say my name,” “Louder,”

Pairing: Dazai, Mozart, Isaac.

Fandom: kemen Vampire

Dazai:

Your date with Dazai had been wonderful, he’d taken you for a stroll around the gardens followed by a picnic full of your favourite snacks and treats. Spending time with him was one of your fondest things to do at the mansion, he was a perfect gentleman. Which was great but also highly frustrating. He’d taken you out a few times now, expressing his fondness to you with flirting and teasing motions, only never going further than kissing you. A few chaste kisses followed by more a passionate glide of his lips with a slip of his tongue into your mouth causing a breathy moan from you. He parted from you leaving your knees weak and ache between your thighs for more. “God damit Dazai,” You huffed, turning in your sheets, even since he kissed you the heat brewing inside you refused to calm down leaving you as Arthur would say ‘a horny mess’. You skirted your hands up your thighs, pushing up your night dress and letting out a slight gasp to feel how wet you were between your legs. You’d not had sex a long time before stumbling into the door, now living in a household of handsome vampires whilst in the beginnings of ‘courting’ one, you had a lot of pent up sexual tension. You let your finger graze your folds, spreading your lower lips before circling you clit and letting a finger dip into you. You gave into your own pleasure, biting your lip to hold your moans, letting yourself indulge in where you knew you liked to be touched best. The heat rose within you, stomach knotting and unexpected “Dazai”, “Dazai more please,” fell from your lips as your orgasm began to take over your body. Just as you was about to hit peak a “Say my name again,” hungrily groaned from the corner causing you to shoot up. Dazai purchased on your window ledge, lust filled eyes fixed on you as he inhaled the scent of arousal in the air, “Louder this time,”. No need for questions of embarrassment, you continued, whimpering his name louder and louder, knowing he was watching you as you came around two fingers with your back arched off the bed. “That's it little dove, let yourself go,” He hums, encaptivated by the way you tense over your own digits, singing for him with your heels pushed into the mattress.

“Dazai, what are you doing here?” Panting slightly as you recovered, pushing down your nightdress as your sense came flooding back to you.

“I was taking my nightly stroll when I heard the beautiful crys from my name coming from a certain songbird, and well, I simply couldn’t resist come to see why she was singing,” Smirking as he pushed himself up and strolled to your bed, the mattress dipping as he sat beside you stroking your hair, “You know you shouldn’t leave your bedroom window open, unless you want someone bad like me to enter,”. His hand slowly made its way down your jaw before following the curve of your neck, he hesitated at the hem of your nightgown top before moving his hand down to cup your breast with a nod of your head. He shuffles around to be kneeling between your thighs, spreading them and pushing up your dress to lick his lips hungrily to see your core slick with your release pooling onto the sheets below. “I was trying to be gentlemanly during our date,” His fingers dancing over your thighs before grazing over your clit and pushing one inside you. He pushed another finger into you, watching you once more breathlessly call out his name and for more, “Dazai fuck me… please,”. “But if I’d have known your wanted me to just as much as I want you,” Stripping himself off his clothes, leaning atop of you to press his lips to yours for the first kiss this evening, his cock pressing against you, “I would have fucked you in the garden,”.

Mozart:

The aphrodisiac should have worn warm off by now, major on emphasis of should. But as you rocked in Mozart’s lap, bringing yourself to another climax and willing for more, the effect of it still clearly pumping through your veins. “Wolf… wolf please,” You whispered, unsure what you were begging for as you fisted his white hair for support, the sound of the piano bench creaking with each and every roll of your hips. “Say it again, meine liebe,” He whispered softly, one hand stroking your lower back before cupping the round of your ass. You whisper his name once more, thighs trembling as you continued to softly rock. Mozart softly whimpering as you tightened more around him, himself nearing his peak for the first time this evening.

A simple slip up of gifts from Arthur to a fellow friend caused you to drink the aphrodisiac bottle, now suffering the effects of it was you. The heat bubbled inside you all morning, Leonardo keeping Arthur far away from you once they discovered the mix up in case he tried anything. Comte demanded you be sent to your room but you assured him you would be fine, you was fine. You was doing really well at just ignoring the surging heat inside you, the dull ache between your thighs until you was alone with your best friend. Mozart. It didn’t help you was madly in love with him anyway but being alone as he softly played for you, whispering sweet words of song as you sat beside him. It wasn’t until his hand his hand accidentally brushed over yours as you reached for the same key and a shared needing look between you did a spark within you light. The next few minutes were a blur, little words exchanged as you kissed, finding yourself in his lap as you both worked to rid each other of clothes. “I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage,” You whispered, the wetness pooling between your legs pressing against his naked thigh. “Fraulein, do not fear what you speak,” He cupped your face as he pressed kisses to your jaw, “Your guard maybe down because of Arthur but you know I would never pursue anything to harm you, if you wish for us to stop merely say, if not let me indulge you in what you need, I have want to give you nothing more than the pleasure you desire”.

“Louder meine liebe, please,” Gentleness in his voice, holding the side of you behind, letting you work yourself to the height of your own pleasure. “Oh-Mozart,” Head buried into his neck, fingers digging into his shoulders as your wrapped your arms around him, his own release hitting just from the way you called his name. He cradled you close with his arms around you, shallowly thrusting as he helped you through your high, gentle kisses pressed to your sweating skin. “Geht es dir gut, meine Liebe?*” His native tongue slipping through as you panted in his arms. “So good wolf… I feel so good,” You hummed nuzzling against his skin, leaving kisses along it. His softening cock still buried in you, arms embracing each other, “If you wish, I’d love to continue this in my room, let me indulge you fully my meine liebe,”. The normal harshness of his persona fades away as he melted into your hold, light lavender eyes staring lovely into yours. “But if you come with me,” He tucked a stay hair behind your ear, “I won’t be able to share you or let you go,”. “Oh wolfie,” You whisper cupping his cheek, “I’ve always been yours,”.

Isaac:

“Say my name” Heat pulsing from Isaac as he pulled your hips back, his words almost drowned out by the sound of skin slapping together. Theo had been teasing you at dinner, getting a little too close for your boyfriends comfort. Isaac deciding the minute he had you alone that he would remind just exactly whose you were.

“I-Isaac!” Arms collapsing so you rested upon your elbows, hips anchored in place by Isaac's iron grip as he continued to push into you, the bed beneath you creaking with each movement.

“Louder,”.

“Isaac!”.

A growl left your lover, “Louder!”.

“Isaac!” The air in your lungs leaving your body as Isaac pounded into you in a pace that made the bed frame shake, threatening to break. The shunt of the headboard against the wall, a loud slap filling the room as his hand collided against your skin causing you to whimper. Never had Isaac done such an action before, the sudden shock of it causing you to climax instantly, gripping his cock tightly as you compulsed around him. “Oh… oh… oh Isaac!” Tears falling as you came over him, back arching as he drove home with his thrusts, his self control losing with each second. He fucked you brutally through your orgasm, your normally shy lover driven mad by lust as his pace never faulted. A following strangled cry of his name came out as his fangs bit into your shoulder as he leaned over you, a second orgasm blending into your first, a third threatening to happen as he Isaac continued to hit your g-spot, overstimulating you to the point you was seeing white and drooling from your mouth. He continued throughout the night, until “Isaac” was the only world you could form, leaving you mind-blown and boneless. A smirk on the normally reserved physicists face, his claim to you heard loud and clear to the other residents, especially to anyone who dared try to get close to you again.

1000 Giveaway Masterlist

*Are you okay my love

#1000 followers #ikemen dazai #ikemen vampire dazai #ikevamp dazai #ikemen isaac #ikevamp isaac #ikemen vampire isaac #ikemen mozart #ikevamp mozart smut #ikemen vampire mozart #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikemen #ikemen vamp smut #ikemen series #ikevamp headcanon #ikevamp isaac smut #ikevamp dazai smut

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silverarmedassassin · 3 years

Text

Home For the Holidays (1)

Bucky x Reader | Words: 8,608 | Warnings: None

A/N: Happy holidays and happy December 16! This is my holiday submission for @wonderlandmind4 Fall/Winter challenge. My prompt was: B is very enthusiastic to introduce A to all their traditions, but tries to be sensitive when A seems like they’re struggling to fit in/enjoy themselves.

I’ve been working on this guy for so long, so I decided to split this up into two parts. Part two will be posted this weekend! I’m so happy to finally be sharing this bad boy with you all! If you feel so inclined, I would love to hear what you think. Happy reading!🎄

From the time he was a young boy, Bucky has had an aversion towards the elderly. Which is ironic considering since, technically speaking, he is the elderly now. It’s not that he doesn’t like old people; it’s just that they make him uncomfortable. Which is why, on a balmy Sunday in October, when he walks into the Brooklyn Manor nursing home, he feels his skin crawl.

This trip has been a long time coming. Two years on the run, a voluntary deep freeze, a universal war, and the obliteration of half the earth’s population and its subsequent return, to be exact. But no amount of time would ever prepare Bucky for the visit he was about to make. But it was “essential to his healing,” as Sam so often liked to say. This, along with therapy and the establishment of a place of his own outside of the Tower, was meant to help him move past what had happened to him, help him see that he was a victim and that people still loved him despite what he was forced to do for all of those years.

"Good morning," a cheery redhead says from her spot behind the front desk. "Can I he-" She cuts herself off when she looks up from the computer screen and sees who is looming over her.

"Er, hi," Bucky says, suddenly convinced this is a terrible idea. He should expect nothing less, considering his line of work, both current and past. "I was told Rebecca Proctor lives here..."

It took a second for the woman to register what Bucky had said, but then she jumps into action and begins to type into her computer. "Of course! Are you a relative?"

"Brother."

Her eyes go wide for a second before it clicks. "Oh my goodness, of course." The woman grabs a sticky note from the pad next to her keyboard and scribbles down a series of numbers before handing it to him. "Her room number is 117. This is the code to get into the residence portion of the building. If you need help finding the room, there should be a nurse's station in every hall."

Bucky offers a tight smile and nod of appreciation as he takes the slip of paper from the woman. As he makes his way deeper into the facility, he can feel his nerves waxing and waning with each step. He shouldn't be nervous. It was just Becca, just his little sister, one of the last living ties to his life before all of this. But it had been so long, who knew if she would even recognize him?

When Bucky recruited Sam to help him find out where, or even if, his sister was living, he figured it would be a fruitless quest. He was surprised, however, when Sam came to him a week later with the address of the building he was currently attempting to navigate, shyly dipping his head every time he would pass an older woman in a wheelchair or a group of men concentrating on a board game. Sam had managed to hunt her down with a little help from his Avenger title. The nurse couldn't give him much information since he wasn't a relative or listed on her medical files, but what she could share broke Bucky's heart.

At 102 years old, technically a little less since she was a Snap victim, Becca's memory was less than stellar. Her children had made the tough decision to place her in a home after her mind had started to slip, and she was no longer able to care for herself. It makes Bucky feel guilty because he wasn't around to help.

But today, hopefully, that would change.

After a little wandering and a helpful point from a nurse, Bucky finds himself standing in front of the oversized, thick oak door with a golden plaque in the center proudly displaying "117." He waits a moment, listens for any sign that someone is in the room, but all he hears are the general noises of a nursing home just after lunchtime. He raises his hand to knock but stops short of making contact. Should he knock? What if she’s sleeping? He wouldn't want to wake her. He decides to slowly press the door open instead.

He enters the room slowly, unsure of what he will be greeted with when he reaches the end of the short hall blocking his view from his sister's bed. What he sees, however, thoroughly surprises him. Instead of finding a small, frail body lying in a too-sterile hospital-grade bed, he finds his sister sitting in one of the two armchairs in front of her window, quietly looking out into the garden just outside. After a moment of shifting back and forth on his feet, Bucky clears his throat in an attempt to catch Becca's attention.

The woman slowly turns her head to eye the intruder, and, to Bucky's amazement, a slight look of recognition flashes across her face. Despite her age and sunken appearance, her bright blue eyes still shine as brilliant as they did when she was a little girl. He focuses on those eyes as he slowly crosses the room to her.

"Hey, Becca. Do you," Bucky grimaces as the falter in his voice caused by the tears that are starting to form in his own blue eyes. "Do you know who I am?"

To save his sister from having to crane her frail neck to look up at him, he settles himself into the chair across from hers. The smooth velvet is cool on his overheated skin, and he could sink into the feeling of comfort it gives him. Another piece of home, he thinks as a picture of his family's home flashes across his mind, the two chairs nestled in a similar position to how Becca has them now.

Rebecca studies her brother for a moment before a thin but bright smile spreads across her aged features, and Bucky lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. "You're from the pictures. Just over there."

Bucky watches as a boney finger points to the dresser, the top neatly cluttered with picture frames and trinkets, a sign that his sister had lived a full and happy life after he'd gone. He gets up and makes his way to the piece of furniture to better look at the mixture of black and white and colored photos scattered together. It's strange, he thinks, seeing his sister's life play out across the years in the span of just a few short seconds. When he lands on a black and white photo in an aged frame, he freezes. Smiling back at him are his parents, Bucky himself sitting in front of them on their home's front steps, and Becca nestled snugly in their mother's arms. From when they first brought her home, Bucky thinks to himself as he reaches out and caresses the delicate glass. He moves on to another older photo, this one depicting the two Barnes children dressed in their Sunday best with a scrawny Steve Rogers thrown into the mix. Bucky shakes his head at the sight of his best friend, remembering all the trouble he used to get the two of them in.

The last photo he sees, though, causes a lump to rise and settle in his throat. Frozen in time in the cracked and fading film is the last time he ever saw his family. Bucky, Rebecca, and their parents stand on the dock just in front of the boat he was to ship off on. Becca and his mother have a tight grip on him, and his father only offers a tight smile to the camera. Looking at the image of his younger self, not too different from what he looks like now, is a heart-wrenching moment. The man in that photo has yet to see death first-hand, feel the visceral need to kill or be killed. That man was still innocent, naive to the world, and convinced he was invincible.

Bucky remembers that day and how, despite the nerves, excited he was to see someplace other than dinghy Brooklyn. Yeah, that war wasn't one he signed up to fight, but he'd made a promise to himself he would do what he needed to keep his ma and sister safe.

As he reaches for the frame, a soft knock on the door startles him from his thoughts. "Mrs. Proctor!" a sweet voice sing-songs as the door is pushed open once again. "I hope you didn't fill up at lunch. I brought-Oh!"

Standing in the doorway, both hands full of reusable bags filled to the brim with goodies of all sorts, is a young woman. Her smile, one of the prettiest Bucky's ever seen, he thinks, falters just a little when she sees his towering form taking up so much space in Becca's room. However, she recovers quickly and nudges the door shut behind her as she makes her way deeper into the room.

"I didn't know you were expecting company this afternoon," the woman says and deposits the bags onto the bed. "Who is this?"

Bucky studies the woman in an attempt to figure out who she is to his sister. She couldn't be a daughter or granddaughter, right? She looked nothing like them. Plus, she was calling her Mrs. Proctor. Bucky also felt confident in his ruling that she was not a nurse or staff member at the facility, considering she wasn't wearing scrubs or donning a facility badge.

The only indication that she even belongs in this facility is the sticker she wears proudly just above her heart, with "Y/N" scrawled in bright red letters.

"The pictures," Becca finally says with a smile, pointing towards Bucky. "He's from the pictures."

Their visitor looks between Bucky and Rebecca with a soft look somewhere between pity and a faint sense of joy. "Bucky," the frail old woman says, and Bucky instantly feels the lump that had settled into his throat not ten minutes earlier begin to grow again.

Y/N must sense the energy shift in the room because she quickly pulls out a few homemade goodies wrapped in cellophane and places them on the rolling table next to Becca's bed. "Well, I'll let you be with your visitor, Mrs. Proctor," she says as she shoulders her bags again. "I'll see you Tuesday evening, okay?"

Becca simply nods as she watches the younger woman make her exit, then shifts her attention to Bucky as he steps back towards her and crouches down.

"Bec, you remember me?"

She says nothing at first but brings her hand up to rest on Bucky's freshly shaved cheeks, a fresh set of tears gathering in their twin blue eyes. "You came back."

Bucky sits with his sister for two hours after they reacquaint themselves. The nurse that spoke with Sam was right; it was difficult to be around her, as she often slipped up with her memory. She couldn't remember the names of her grandchildren, nor her great-grandchildren, but when she saw their smiling faces looking back at her in the pictures, she knew they belonged to her. Her fragile mind, however, seemed to favor older faces and memories. She could recall events from when she was a teenager and even got some details right from when Bucky shipped off. The remembrance came with a repeat of the same stories two or three times, but Bucky didn’t mind. He was never around to bear witness to some of these stories, and it was just good to hear his sister’s voice again.

It's around 3 o'clock when Rebecca begins to grow tired, and so Bucky takes that as his cue to take his leave. He helps his sister into her bed for a pre-dinner nap, then quietly makes his exit when he is sure she is fast asleep. For a visit he was hesitant to make, he can't think of a better way to have spent his Sunday afternoon.

As Bucky makes his way back through the winding halls of the facility, a jaunty tune he recalls from his teenage days plays through his head, and he feels like he could face the world if needed, which is why he finds himself doing the unimaginable as he reaches the redhead at the front desk.

“Excuse me,” he says with a renewed sense of confidence that had been absent earlier in the day. “I don’t know if you can give me this information, but there was this woman...Y/N I think her name is. I don’t think she was a nurse, but maybe someone else that works here? Would you be able to tell me if she was still around?”

The woman smiles gently back at him but shakes her head. “We’re such a large facility, I’d need to see a face to know exactly who you’re talking about.”

There’s a momentary lapse in his confidence, realizing just how weird the question could come off. He’s suddenly very glad she had no idea who he was talking about and hopes she doesn’t mention it to anyone else.

“Uh, thanks anyway,” he mutters as he gives a small nod. “Have a good rest of your day.”

Oh well, he thinks to himself, at least I could make it out my door this morning.

The Snap impacted each and every person differently. While most think the Vanished had it the worst, people tend to forget about those left behind. Many lost their jobs due to closures and shortages, others were evicted due to insufficient funds for rent. The uncertainty of it all, the not knowing what happened to family and friends, not knowing when you’d find your next job, if you’d have money to buy groceries this week, took a harder toll on some than others.

You had been a relatively fortunate one. Since moving to the city, you hadn’t quite made a large group of friends yet, which meant there were fewer people for you to lose. Your family had somehow lucked out as well. Due to an abundance of workers suddenly gone without a trace, you’d been able to snag a corporate position that you managed to hold onto even after the Snap was reversed.

However, the one downside was the aftermath of families coming back to their homes only to find that someone new was living in their space. That, unfortunately, happened to you. Two days after everyone reappeared, you had a knock on your front door. When you opened it, you found a lovely couple who had just been married before the Snap and had just started renting the apartment you were living in. And, even though you’d called this building your home for the past five years, you did what any half-decent individual would do and moved out. Goodbye state-of-the-art gym and central location, hello paper-thin walls, and a forty-five-minute one-way commute.

At least you were able to take a few days off of work to get your belongings out of the old apartment and into the new one. Most of the larger furniture had been the couple’s, which meant you only had to carry a few pieces into your second story Brooklyn brownstone apartment. The problem, however, was that there was no elevator in this renovated building, which meant you had to find a way to carry your low-quality Ikea TV stand up the too-narrow stairs without busting a wall or your furniture. The only thing you were close to bursting was a nerve because it was turning out to be more of a two-person task, and you were the only one participating in this moving process.

“Fuck you,” you groan as one of the stand’s legs gets caught on the stairs again. Despite the chilly breeze that was blowing in from the building’s front door you had propped open, you were perspiring more than would be deemed ladylike. With the rate you were going, you would need to need to take another full day off just to get your stupid furniture into your apartment.

“Do you need some help?” a voice calls from above you. You peek over your shoulder to find a rather tall, rather bulky man standing at the second-floor landing. It hadn’t even occurred to you that people might actually need to use the stairs to, you know, go about their daily lives. What doesn’t go over your head, however, is the fact that the man standing at the top of the stairs was not a complete stranger like you originally thought, but someone you knew almost too well for not actually knowing him at all.

“That would actually be wonderful,” you huff out a laugh, attempting to be nonchalant about the fact that Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier - soldier turned assassin turned Avenger - was standing just feet away from you for the second time in twenty-four hours, this time in your new apartment building. Maybe this place wasn’t as safe as you had thought?

He makes his way halfway down the stairs, and you attempt to shimmy out of the way so that he can grab the corners you had been holding up. “If you could just get this thing back down the stairs, I could-” Your meager offering of help is cut short when Bucky manages to slot his arms into place and life the entire piece like it was nothing. A metal arm will do that to someone, you suppose.

You awkwardly direct him to your apartment, shoving open the door to 2B and waving your arm to give him a vague idea of where you want the stand. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver. I thought for sure I was going to have to take the thing apart to get it up here.”

“It’s no problem, really,” Bucky says as he stuffs his hands into his jacket’s pockets, the stiff leather shifting and rubbing as he does so. When he looks at you for the first time, his bright blue eyes light up even more with recognition. “Hey, you were visiting my sister’s place the other day.”

“I was,” you laugh as you extend your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation before a warm, leathered hand slips into yours. “Bucky,” he says as if you wouldn’t already know who he is. "Do you, uh, need help bringing anything else up?"

You watch him as he slowly glances around your small apartment, void of much except for a few boxes and the stand he just carried up and your mattress you've yet to shimmy into the bedroom. “Oh! No,” you laugh, realizing how pathetic your new home looks at the moment. “I have movers bringing the rest of my things from storage tomorrow. But thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s really no problem. If you, uh, ever need anything, I rent the unit above you. Not sure how often I’ll be home, but for whatever it’s worth,” he shrugs as you follow him back out your front door.

“I’ll keep it in mind. I guess I’ll be seeing you around?”

Despite his nod of agreement, you don’t see Bucky for another two weeks. You try not to let the unexplained but forewarned absence weigh on your thoughts. With the exception of listening for the creaks of his floorboards that never come and the brief visits with his sister, you find yourself doing everything you can to not fixate on the Grecian god of a man you have somehow come to call a neighbor.

It’s not until you receive a call from Rebecca’s daughter that you finally admit he was home.

“Oh, I’m...I’m so sorry…” you choke out when Mary informs you her mother had passed away in the early hours of the night. Despite having no real relation to the Proctor family, you’d known them for a handful of years due to your time spent at the nursing home. In that time, they’d come to be like family to you, so their loss affected you just as strongly as the passing of your own family member would. “Have you told her brother?”

“No. We have no way to contact him. I know he’d spent some time with Ma at the nursing home, so I left a message for them to pass the news and my number on if he came in or called. But I haven’t heard anything.”

“I actually have a way to reach him. I’ll tell him to give you a call, okay?”

When you get home the following day, you’re greeted by the sound of Bucky’s shower turning on. Five minutes later, it shuts off. You give him another ten before you make your way up to his apartment. The idea of telling this man, a practical stranger who you knew nothing about other than what you’ve read in books and seen on tv, that his sister passed away leaves you feeling nauseous. This isn't exactly what you pictured when you said you’d see him around.

He’s quick to answer his door. You’re taken off guard when his door is pulled open to reveal his broad chest covered in a blue Henley that is clinging to his still-damp skin. It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts and remember exactly why you were here.

“Is everything okay, Y/N?” he asks as you drag your eyes up to meet his own.

You clear your throat and shake your head in an attempt to gather your thoughts. “Uh, yeah. No? I’m sorry to bug you, but I, uh...You haven’t heard from Mrs. Pro-er, I mean Rebecca’s daughter, have you?” When he says no, you sigh. You knew that was the answer you were going to get, but a part of you still hoped you weren’t going to have to be the one to deliver this information. “Mary called me yesterday. She, uh...She wanted you to know...uh...Rebecca passed away...early yesterday morning…”

You can visibly see Bucky shift through several emotions - shock, grief, anger, to finally an almost expressionless mask. You unintentionally stiffen at the sound of metal shifting and grating together, which seems to break Bucky’s haze. You can tell he’s struggling to find words in that moment, so you continue on, hoping a coherent sentence will come out.

“I know I’m probably not the person you want to hear this news from, but I couldn’t really give her a way to contact you and...Here!” You shove your hand out towards him, the small piece of paper you wrote Mary’s number down on resting in your palm. “I told her I’d give you her number. So you could call her or whatever.”

Bucky just looks at the slip for a moment before you clear your throat. “Listen, I’m really sorry. I wi-”

“Thanks, Y/N,” he cuts you off and grabs for the paper. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go call her.”

Before you can respond, Bucky is turning his back. “Yeah, okay,” you whisper to the dark oak of his door before making your way back down to your own apartment.

“The service was beautiful, Mary,” you say as you hug Rebecca’s daughter. “She would have loved it.”

“It’s all thanks to Bucky. He paid for everything.” Mary says as she sets her gaze over your shoulder. “Or, I guess Uncle Bucky is more appropriate to say…”

You turn and follow her gaze to where the man in question is, his great-great nieces and nephew using him as their personal jungle gym. You can tell, even from across the room, that his face is absolutely glowing, eyes crinkled in the outer-corners with delight as Bridget, the youngest of the bunch, wraps her tiny arms around his neck and demands a horsey ride.

“I’m glad they’re taking it so well,” Mary says as she watches her grandchildren. “It’s almost like he’s been a part of their life this entire time instead of just appearing out of nowhere.” There’s no hostility in her voice when she says this. Rather, she sounds remorseful. “I went my entire life hearing stories about my uncle. My dead uncle. Yet, after all these years, he shows up looking exactly like he does in the pictures I’ve been looking at since I was a little girl.”

You felt for Mary and the rest of the family. You couldn’t begin to comprehend how difficult and confusing it must be to find out that the man you’d come to know as just a ghost story was alive and real and more than willing to be a part of even the most difficult moments in life. It’s a testament, you think, to how good of a man Bucky really is. Despite the horrors of his past and the apprehension he’s likely still faced with every day, he’s still willing to put himself out into a world that has been less than kind to him.

As if your thoughts summon him, Bucky looks up and over to where you are standing. When he catches your eye, his smile grows. You’re sure there has never been anything as beautiful as Bucky Barnes flashing a megawatt smile at you. “At least you’re in good hands.”

You decide not to stick around for the luncheon after the service so, after snagging a few refreshments and a quick chat with a few of the family members you recognize, you begin to inch your way closer to the exit. You hadn’t seen Bucky since you’d spoken with Mary, and you were in the middle of trying to figure out why that left you with a hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach when you’re abruptly stopped on your way to the doors.

“You can’t leave before I get the chance to apologize for the other day,” Bucky says, a small smile gracing his face. He cleans up well, you decide as you get a better look at his lightly stubbled face. He has his hair tied back in a neat, low bun, which allowed his eyes to stand out more than they usually did, and a black-on-black suit is stretched just right over his broad chest. If you didn’t know better, you would think he was a model on loan to add some cheer to the rather dreary day.

Bucky quirks his head and shifts his body weight when it takes you a bit too long to answer, and it’s only then that you realize you’re ogling him. His sister just died, Y/N, you chastise yourself, this is not the time to be checking him out.

“I, uh,” you clear your throat, hoping he can’t feel the heat that is rapidly clawing up your neck radiating from you. “I don’t want to intrude on family time,” you say rather lamely. It was true, but for whatever reason, Bucky left you feeling almost guilty.

He lets out a humorless laugh and crosses his arms. “If anyone is intruding, I think it’s me,” he says as he looks over your shoulder back into the banquet room the rest of the family is in.

You turn to follow his line of sight and can’t help but smile when you see one of his great-nieces twirling around, showing off her dress. “Nah, don’t say that. The little ones seem to love you,” you laugh, hoping to lighten the mood just a little.

Bucky chuckles and then sighs. “Yea, but I just...don’t feel like I belong.”

Hearing Bucky, this man who had his entire life ripped from him multiple times, who, after spending just a few short hours in total with, you ardently believed deserved every good thing in the world and then some, say that he feels he doesn’t belong among those who are supposed to love him most broke your heart. You know that it’s likely untrue that Rebecca’s family was anything but unwelcoming, but that Bucky even felt that way caused a pit to open in your stomach.

“Oh, Bucky…” you say softly, trying to avoid sounding full of pity. “I’m so sorry this all has happened to you.” He averts his gaze and shrugs. “You know what? I could probably stay for a little while longer…”

At that, Bucky looks back at you, eyes as bright as when his own sister recognized him on that very first day. You knew then that, no matter what, you’d do anything to keep that look on his face.

“I promise it won’t be for nothing. They have a ton of food, and I guess there are some famous deviled eggs that, not to sound awful but...are to die for.”

You stifle a laugh and shake your head as Bucky leads you back into the banquet room, excitedly rambling on about the various food items his relatives have to offer. After piling your plates full and grabbing a coffee, you follow Bucky to a small table conveniently tucked away in the corner. Over the next hour, you watch Bucky’s perfectly constructed walls begin to crumble just a little. You quickly uncover which topics make him uncomfortable, particularly those revolving around his current line of work and those he can talk about endlessly. You learn the ins and outs of what it was like being friends with Captain America before he was the size of a brick house. You also discover that Bucky is someone you could listen to talk for hours on end.

“I don’t think it ever came up,” Bucky says as he takes a seat back at the table, two fresh cups of coffee in hand, “how did you know my sister?”

You hum your thanks and take a sip before answering. “Well, a few years ago, or I guess a few years before the Snap, I started volunteering at the nursing home. You’d be surprised how many families just shove their parents or grandparents in those homes and forget about them. They get lonely and just want someone to talk to that isn’t a nurse or whatever. It got worse during those five years. Rebecca never really needed me to sit with her; her family visited all the time. However, she was still one of my favorite residents.

“She talked about you all the time, you know. Even when she couldn’t remember her own children’s names, she always had a story to tell about you. She was immensely proud of you.” Bucky grunts, and you playfully roll your eyes at him. “She was a good storyteller. Sometimes it was hard to tell if she was trying to pull my leg or not. She...she was something else, but she’s going to be dearly missed.”

A somber sort of silence falls between the two of you then. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s the kind charged with a unique sense of melancholy. It’s so strange, you think, to share a common heartbreak with someone you still barely know. Loss and grief have a curious way of bringing those once unknown together.

“Uncle Bucky,” a high-pitched squeal cuts through the moment and brings with it the excited, flushed face of an excited great-niece. “Uncle Bucky, I made you something!”

Bridget worms her way up onto Bucky’s lap, a piece of paper with her hand traced to look like a turkey in its center. “To Unkle Bucky, Luv Bridget” was written sloppily across the top.

You watch as Bucky’s expression goes from one of strain to that of absolute joy. “Thank you so much,” he smiles as he takes the paper and examines it as if it were a piece on display at the Louvre. “I know exactly where I’m going to hang this as soon as I find a frame.”

The little girl, who bears a striking resemblance to her long-lost great-uncle, beams as she wraps her arms around his neck and squeezes. You catch Bucky’s eye, causing him to break into an even wider smile. You hope he can see how truly and unconditionally he is loved.

You watch as she scrambles off back to where her brother and cousin are sitting, coloring away. You nod at the sweet drawing. “Planning on spending Thanksgiving with them?”

Bucky smooths his hand over the paper in front of him and thinks for a moment. “They invited me. I guess they, we, have family in Indiana that they usually visit for the holiday. I just...I don’t think so. I don’t want to be that far from where I’m needed most, and I think meeting a whole new set of family would be a bit much, ya know?”

You hum in response, fully understanding the dilemma. It’s unfortunate, though. “Well, I’m sure I could never compete with a real home-cooked meal, but I’m staying home because I don’t...really agree with the holiday and will be heating up a nice frozen turkey TV dinner if you would like to join. I might just throw in a pumpkin pie, too.”

Bucky looks up then, a soft, small smile turning up the corners of his lips. “Thanks, Y/N, really. But I’m not sure. Might not even be home,” he shrugs.

“Well,” you say as you look at the time on your phone, “the offer stands just in case you change your mind. But, hey, I think it’s time for me to leave for real now. I have some work to catch up on before I go back to the office tomorrow.”

You can tell he’s disappointed, but Bucky offers to walk you out anyway. He wants to stay and help his family clean up, or he would offer to walk you home. You make your rounds to say goodbye to the family you were familiar with and, when you reach the kiddie table to say goodbye, Bucky’s great-nephew Jackson refuses to let you go.

“Will I ever see you again even though we can’t come to visit Grammy no more?” he wails as he buries his little face into your stomach.

“Jackson, please,” his mother says as she comes to diffuse the situation. The little boy lets out one last sob into your dress before letting his mother pull him into her arms. “Y/N will still be around,” she smiles mischievously, directing her gaze over your shoulder to where Bucky waits at the front doors. “I’m almost sure of it.”

You can feel the heat of embarrassment as it claws up your neck, and you quickly give another round of hugs and goodbyes to the children before heading back to Bucky. “Is everything alright,” he asks as he hands you your coat.

“Fine. Jackson is just…” you slip on your coat and refuse to meet Bucky’s probing eyes, “dramatic sometimes.”

The weeks following Rebecca’s funeral saw Bucky locked away in his apartment. Calls from Sam and Wanda went unanswered, and the curtains were scarcely opened. He’d even ignored your attempts of delivering some semblance of comfort. The pasta dish you dropped off was left mostly untouched in his fridge, and he’d only managed to eat half a slice of a pumpkin pie you’d left for him on Thanksgiving. He knew that hiding away was doing nothing for his mental health, would do nothing to help him move past the loss and pain, but it was all he knew. How he reacted was all he could control, and Bucky liked to be in control.

His control, like most things in his life, came to an end far too quickly when Sam decided he’d finally had enough. Bucky knew that he couldn’t hide from his friends forever, but he would have liked to come out on his terms.

“Man, I know you’re in there,” Sam shouts as he knocks on the door of Bucky’s apartment. He’d been there for five minutes now, and, at this point, Bucky was testing to see how long he could keep the man waiting. “Seriously, Buck, open the door, or I’ll use Redwing to knock it down. And I won’t pay for repairs or reimburse your security deposit.”

Bucky sighs before hauling himself off of the couch. “What?” he deadpans as he opens the door. It takes everything in him not to slap the toothy grin off of Sam’s amused face.

“I was beginning to think I was going to have to call the Smithsonian - tell them to get your exhibit ready because, as far as any of us knew, you were dead,” Sam says as he pushes past Bucky into the apartment.

“What do you want?” Bucky asks again as Sam looks around the scarcely decorated apartment. From the discontent on his face, Bucky could tell Sam was less than thrilled with the state of his apartment. It was dark, the only furniture being a couch, a small coffee table, and an old TV he’d stolen from the Tower. Not exactly what one would consider a "space of their own."

“Listen,” Sam says as he moves to push open the curtains, “you’ve spent enough time locked up in here. You need to get out, see the sun, get some air. Plus, Wanda misses you, and that spider kid has been coming around asking for you.” Bucky grimaces at that. Peter Parker had asked his fair share of questions about his arm, and Bucky didn’t feel like entertaining the teenager anymore.

“Don’t give me that look,” Sam continues as he flops down on the couch. “Go get dressed. You can hang out with the crew for a few hours today. I promise if you have the worst time of your life, I’ll let you sit in your own filth and wallow for the foreseeable future, okay?”

After a moment of contemplation, Bucky agrees. Despite his dwindling interest in seeing anyone outside of his own reflection, he knew that seeing his friends - his chosen family of mix-matched misfits - would make him feel at least a little better. So, he allows Sam to tidy up the apartment, put away the dishes Bucky has been neglecting, and open the rest of the windows while he goes to get dressed. Bucky will never admit, however, just how much lighter he felt when he emerged from his room to the man he reluctantly called his best friend, smiling back at him.

December creeps up in a flurry of deadlines and personal obligations. The two-week break your company gave you every holiday season was a welcomed reprieve to the daily hustle and bustle of life, but it also meant long hours at the office in the weeks leading up to the holiday. Plus, the holidays were always a sour topic around the nursing home, as many of the residents were left to their own devices instead of being a part of family celebrations. That meant, in addition to staying until six or seven o’clock at work, you were spending hours afterward crafting decorations, cards, and personalized goodies for each of the residents you visited each week. This all, understandably, left you with little to no free time.

So, when the first of the month came rolling in, and you were yet to have played a single Christmas song or even thought about pulling your tiny table-top tree from storage, you felt deflated. You’d never been so thankful for online shopping and overnight shipping because, by Saturday afternoon, you had a brand new artificial Christmas tree waiting for you on your building’s front steps. In your excitement of getting into the holiday spirit, however, you completely overlooked just how you were going to get this tree up your narrow stairwell. It was like moving day all over again, except for this time you were sure a knight in shining vibranium armor was not going to show up to save the day.

To your dismay, you hadn’t seen Bucky since his sister’s funeral a month ago. It’s not like you hadn’t tried to make contact. You had prepared him a small meal the day after and had even left him half of the pumpkin pie you picked up from the market down the block. The only way you could tell he was even inside his apartment was the fact that, when you went back up to check, the items were gone. That or one of your other neighbors had taken them for themselves. Either way, you were missing Bucky. Even though you’d only had one proper conversation the entire time you’ve known him, you enjoyed just knowing Bucky was around. The thought of him suffering to any extent made your heart twist into unmanageable knots.

You sigh as you prop the building’s front door open, bringing your attention back to the task at hand. You were strong and independent, and you were more than capable of getting this hefty box up to your apartment. With that mindset in tow, you’re pleasantly surprised to turn around and find Bucky and another man making their way towards the building.

“He’s alive,” you exclaim, unable to hide the smile that blooms across your face. You’d feel embarrassed at the overexcitement that laced through your greeting, but you were genuinely happy to see that he had been out of his apartment and with a suspected friend.

“Uh, hey, Y/N,” Bucky says as he looks down to his boot-clad feet. Despite his quiet demeanor and tendency to be closed off, you’d never seen Bucky so...shy.

So you turn your attention to the second man standing in front of you. “I’m Y/N,” you smile as you bound down the stairs to the men, hand out and waiting for Bucky’s friend to shake, “Bucky’s neighbor!” You hope that whatever icy tension that had settled over Bucky would thaw if you directed the spotlight away from him.

“Sam,” the man says as a toothy grin breaks across his face. “Bucky didn’t mention he had neighbors.”

“It’s an apartment building, bird brain, of course I have neighbors,” Bucky mumbles as he buries his hands in his jacket pockets. He looks at you then or rather looks past you at the tall box leaning against the brick building. “What’re you up to?”

“Well, I just got a new Christmas tree delivered,” you say as you bite your lip and try to hide your desperation for help. “I was just getting ready to take it up.”

Bucky looks from you to the tree before settling his gaze on you. “Do you need some help,” he asks coyly.

You don’t even attempt to mask your smile as you guiltily nod your head. As Bucky turns to look at his friend, Sam puts his hands up. “Nah, man, I was getting ready to leave. Plus, heavy lifting is more your thing,” he says before looking at you. “Plus, Bucky is still learning how to play nice with others. And it’s my day off.”

You chuckle and playfully roll your eyes. “You better go relax, then. I’m sure a day off is rare for a superhero.”

As Sam starts backing up towards the way they came, he nods. “I like her, Buck. She really gets it. It was nice meeting you, Y/N!”

“Bye, Sam,” you wave as you watch him make his way down the sidewalk. “He seems really nice,” you say as Bucky hauls the tree box over his shoulder.

“He’s a pain in my ass,” he grumbles as he nods towards the front door.

All you can do is laugh and lead the way to your apartment.

“Thank you so much, Bucky,” you say as he finishes up pulling the faux tree from its too-small confines.

“It’s not a problem,” he shrugs and takes a step back to look at the tree. It’s in pretty rough shape, but once you’re done with it, no one will ever be able to tell it’s lived most of its life in a cardboard box. “You know, I haven’t had a Christmas tree since 1942.”

You stop shuffling around in the bin of ornaments and turn to look at him. “You’re joking,” you say, absolutely appalled. When Bucky shakes his head, you make a decision. “Stay and decorate with me, then.”

This obviously takes Bucky off guard, and before he can even attempt to come up with a reason to say no, you’re busting out your best pout, absolutely determined to share some holiday cheer with him this afternoon.

“Fine,” he sighs, but you can see the hint of a smile twitching on his lips.

You put Bucky to work immediately, pointing at boxes and bins full of ornaments, tinsel, and other holiday goodies. To your delight, he has quite the eye for placing ornaments, a skill he attributes to having a best friend who forced him into art classes and design lectures as teenagers. You’re almost certain he’s enjoying himself, a suspicion that is all but proven when he starts cheerfully humming along to the Christmas station you have playing on your phone.

“I’m really happy to see you out and about today,” you say as you hand him a sparkling orb to hang on one of the taller branches.

Bucky falters in his movements just a little before delivering the ornament onto its new home for the season. “I’m sorry I disappeared for a little bit…”

“Oh, Bucky,” you say as you place a hand on his metal forearm. You'd been surprised when he took his jacket off to reveal his metal arm with little more than the sleeve of his t-shirt covering it. You try not to think of the implications behind the small but seemingly intimate action. “Never apologize for how you grieve. We all process and deal with things differently.”

A moment passes in silence, though it’s not awkward. It’s simply a moment where both of you seem to process what was said. Surprisingly, it’s Bucky who breaks the silence. “That pasta thing you left me, that was really good,” he chuckles.

“Remind me, and I’ll write the recipe down for you. It’s one of my favorite comfort foods.”

Time passes easily with Bucky. Despite what Sam said early, Bucky is an excellent companion to decorate with. He cracks jokes every now and then and comments on your collection of antique ornaments. You even manage to get him to try some of that crockpot wine you had attempted to make earlier in the day. By dinner time, your tree is fully dressed and situated in its corner, and you’re tipsy on holiday cheer and alcohol. As you make your way towards the couch with a fresh glass in your hand, Bucky begins to hum along to Bing Crosby’s “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” as the beginning notes start to float through your apartment.

“God, I remember when this song came out,” he says quietly as you take your seat. “They played it nonstop at camp. Dunno what they were trying to do, raise our spirits, maybe? It just made me think about how Ma and Becca were going to be all alone that Christmas.” He pauses then, likely lost in the memory. You’re about to say something to pull him back from wherever he drifted off to when he adds, “I couldn’t help thinkin’ that this was a song I’d ask a girl to dance to, too.”

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you laugh as you set your wine glass down.

“Oh sweetheart, I had girls lining up outta the hall to dance with me back in the day. I wasn’t always so…” he turns to look at you and gesticulates with both arms to make his point, whatever that may be.

You squint your eyes in a challenging glare and stand. “You have to show me these moves, Bucky Barnes.” He opens his mouth to protest, but you quickly cut him off. “I’ll sing along if you don’t. I know you can hear the concerts I put on for my shampoo bottles in the shower. Save you and the neighbors the show, come on.”

Bucky gives you a mock grimace before giving in. You’re not sure if it’s the wine that’s causing time to feel so slow or if it’s the fact you want to savor the image of Bucky standing over you, flesh hand outstretched for you to take. You don’t question it, though, and simply step into his warm, welcoming embrace. It’s all too easy to melt into Bucky’s arms and allow him to guide you around your tiny living room.

A few moments pass with little more than Crosby’s melodic crooning drifting around the two of you. You hope that, despite how close you are, Bucky can’t hear how rapidly your heart is beating. When you finally muster the courage to look at him, you find that he was already looking at you. He squeezes your hand a little and gives you possibly one of the most tender smiles you’ve ever seen.

“Nice to know I still have it,” he exclaims as he winks, and you smile and shake your head before resting it on his shoulder.

When the song ends, Bucky ends his effortless glide across the antiqued hardwood floors, and you pull back from his chest enough so that you can look into his eyes. If your gaze lingers a little too long on his plump, pink lips, you’ll never admit. Despite the impossibly low lighting of the room, you can see the way Bucky’s crystal blue eyes sparkle and dance when they catch the lights from your tree.

“Thank you for helping me today,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“‘Course,” Bucky replies and, as the seconds pass, you’re pretty sure that he begins to lean towards you, eyes flicking between yours and your lips.

Just as you’re about to close the small distance, a disorienting ringing begins from somewhere. Bucky pulls away, irritation quickly taking over his expression. “Goddammit,” he practically growls as he pulls his phone from his pocket. “What, Sam?”

You watch as a range of emotions flash across Bucky’s face before a seriousness shadows his features. He barks out a gruff, “See you in a few,” before quickly ending the call. “We’re, uh, needed. Immediately.”

“O-oh,” you mummer, disappointed that he has to leave so quickly. You watch from where Bucky had stopped the two of you as he gathers his jacket and scrambles to put his boots on. He’s almost to your door when your brain finally catches up to what is going on, and, in that moment, you’re appreciative for how small your apartment is because you’re able to get to him before he is fully out of the apartment.

“Wait, Bucky,” you call as you grab for his arm. When he turns to look at you, you almost back out of what you’re about to say, but you persevere, knowing that the world will continue to turn if he rejects you. “Come to Christmas with me. My parents only live two hours away. We’re pretty low-key, no big party or anything. Please?”

Bucky considers you for a moment before he visibly softens and nods. “You know what, sure. That...that sounds great.”

You smile so wide when you hear him accept the invitation, something you thought for sure would be for not. Before you can even consider your actions, you’re leaning up to place a chaste kiss on his rough and prickly cheek. “Stay safe out there,” you say gently. Bucky simply nods, a blush begins to work it’s way up his neck.

You stand in your doorway until you hear the front door of your building click shut behind him. You’ll never confess to it, but when your own apartment door is securely shut behind you, you do an excited, happy dance.

#bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #Wonderland4SeasonalWC

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storms-path · 3 years

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Day 4 - Baleful

“The Baleful Bard is a myth, the Baleful Bard is a myth, the Baleful Bard is a myth…” The terrified mantra of the soldier rang out across the battlefield, now deathly silent where moments before it was filled with chaos and death. The skirmish had been a bloody one, but now all that was left was for the victors to claim their spoils. For her to pick clean her enemies’ flesh from their bones.

She was supposed to be a story to scare new recruits. The Baleful Bard, a figure emerging from the Doman mists, humming a funeral dirge as she struck without mercy or humanity, carving any unfortunate Garlean in twain with her terrible chakrams, feathering whole squads with arrows of death before vanishing back into the fog. Some said she was the ghost of an Au Ra butchered by the initial invasion, hungry for vengeance. Others said she was one of those so-called Auspices, some crow demon taking flight to visit death upon Doma’s foes. Few believed her to be real. Fools, fools, fools!

The soldier froze, hearing footsteps approaching. He ducked down, trying to nestle further into the tree trunk he’d stuffed himself inside of. He’d hidden in there when he realised the terrible fate that awaited the rest of his comrades. Cowardly, perhaps, but he had no intention of dying in savage lands, and certainly not to some mythical demon. He was a pure-blooded Garlean! He deserved better than to die in some backwater territory!

The footsteps were getting closer. A frightened squeak escaped the soldier’s lips, thankfully muffled by his helmet. He dared not look to see who was approaching, be they salvation or certain death. A lesser man would be praying, begging some higher power to be saved from their fate. One of the savage conscripts, probably. But he would not lower themselves to their level. He would face death as a-

An arrow slammed into the tree behind him, black feathers unmistakeable as they quivered from the force of the impact. The soldier couldn’t help but shriek in terror, only to realise his fatal mistake. He didn’t get the chance to make another.

The woman put away her bow, looking dispassionately at the freshly-made corpse before her. That was the last of them, it appeared. A coward who wouldn’t even stand and face their death. Barely deserving of the arrow that now decorated their helmet. She sighed, turning away. The resistance was getting sloppy, letting a patrol get so close to their latest hideaway. She’d need to remove the bodies before another patrol stumbled on them, though. Let the Garleans stew for a while before coming to the obvious conclusion.

Three years Sanda had returned to her homeland to find a nation in chaos and a people under iron boots. Reeling from the death of her father, the loss of her sister, the short-lived companionship of Troop Falsiam before taking those final, fateful steps to see the land of her parents, it was no wonder something broke inside of her when she came across the devastation of what was once a proud people. But the rage inside of her, the unthinking fury to rend, kill and break the horrific monsters that had done this… She hadn’t anticipated such hate dwelling inside of her.

The Doman Resistance had found her surrounded by a field of dead Garleans, singing a wordless, terrible song and looking for all the world like her own world had shattered to pieces. Without Yugiri and Gosetsu’s gentle, persistent help, she’d likely have never recovered. But when they finally thought to ask her name, Sanda’s lips spoke another name instead. Arashi.

She couldn’t say why she had done it, couldn’t say what drove her to speak her sister’s name of all things, but it felt… right. As if she didn’t deserve to have her own name any more. Stupid, obviously, but by the time she recovered herself enough for true coherency, the time to admit her mistake was long past. She suspected Gosetsu saw through the lie, but the roegadyn said nothing. He had been a good friend of her parents, he said. He had been there to see them off when they left Doma. Telling him the news of their deaths broke both of their hearts. But his grief allowed Sanda to process her own. She loved him for that, this kindly uncle she’d never known.

Now here she was, hunting Garleans for them. Facing down certain death time and time again, building up a legend among both sides as some demon of death. The Baleful Bard, the Garleans had taken to calling her. Well, fine. Let them fear her. It made them sloppy, made them easier to hunt. The resistance may falter, the Garleans may break Doma, but she’d make them afraid for every moment they spent in their conquered land. And she’d reap that fear as it blossomed, until she could finally topple the spider lily who caused this wretched fate to bloom in the first place.

#ff14 #final fantasy 14 #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #FFxivWrite2021 #FFxivWrite #sanda washi #gosetsu #yugiri mistwalker #arashi washi #bit of a grim one today lads #turns out sanda's been having a Bad Time in doma #but it's fine she's fine everything's fine #trauma will be resolved eventually probably #for now murder-therapy is in vogue

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givemeonebreath · 3 years

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A big, messy Linked Universe playlist

Link for Links

Heavy on the angst, because of who I am as a person. (At the same time, don’t take it too seriously, man.)

Influenced by canon, manga (TP Link is really Going Through It™ ), my personal perceptions, and popular fandom canon.

A pretty wide variety of genres, with a bias towards metal and prog rock.

I kept snippets of lyrics for most songs, also because of who I am as a person. (Some were particularly hard to narrow down to just one verse or chorus.) Those - and a little more rambling - are under the cut if you really want, in the order of the playlist. But. It’s long.

I didn’t initially make this with the intent to share, but hey. Throughout my past year+ of listening, I’ve been haphazardly adding songs to a playlist I very creatively named Links. If something reminded me of them, whether through the music or lyrics or both, I threw it on the playlist, so some songs might seem odd or vague. Some are really on the nose, as subtle as a sledgehammer. (Sky for Sky? Dude. Sorry.) Some are there because of a fitting line or two that stuck in my head. Ultimately, music - like any form of creative expression - can be interpreted in a multitude of ways.

My listening habits and tastes are erratic, which is why this is one big, jumbled playlist and not separated for different Links. Not to mention if I did that, some (Wild, Legend) would have a lot and some (Wind, Four) would have none, both because of my own familiarity with them, and because of the general themes of the music I tend to listen to. Most songs are a general ‘hero’s spirit reborn’ mood, anyway - those are the first part of the playlist. The second half is more nuanced to specific Links, plus a few Ganon vibes.

1. Deep Purple - April (Koji Kondo, composer of the original Legend of Zelda theme, was into Deep Purple as a kid, and it shows.)

2. Kamelot - Regalis Apertura

3. Au4 - So Just Hang On, Beautiful One (I’ve posted this here before. I can’t hear it without thinking of LU now.) So I slipped in through the gate almost unknown. All my border stamps were late. Seven days old. Cold hand griped my shoulder blade, broke the bone. Bloody nose and turned away, all the way home.

4. FC Kahuna - Hayling Don��t think about all those things you fear, just be glad to be here

5. Glass Animals - Youth Boy, when I left you you were young I was gone, but not my love You were clearly meant for more Than a life lost in the war

6. Pain of Salvation - Restless Boy A restless boy in a world too slow A flame born into cinder, ash, and glow I've given everything I gave it all Yet find myself alone

7. Haken - The Endless Knot Our design shifted frame by frame! Across the line our cycle starts to fail. Our design shifted frame by frame! Across the line we die to live again. We need a story to believe in. We need a hero to prevail. We need a challenge we can overcome, it takes a tragedy to make us one

8. Kamelot - Memento Mori (I particularly associate this with Time and Twilight) I am the god in my own history The master of the game I may believe if she would come to me And whisper out my name Sometimes I wonder where the wind has gone If life has ever been Sometimes I wonder how belief alone Can cut me free from sin

9. Katatonia - Fighters Look I told you so We never stop If we said that We'll back it up For sure You know We're fighters

10. Megadeth - This Day We Fight! (I mean, all Links, but particularly Warriors) For this I was chosen, because I fear nothing With confidence I tread through the dead of the night Off to another war-torn, faraway battlefield Wherein lies a demonic enemy horde

11. Moon Tooth - Igneous Well, the spirit took me And this old broken body leapt up and danced Settin’ out Settin' out with all my heroes in a bundle at my back Hawk am I More wings span in my shadow than overcast Yeah, you know what they say Always need something to look up to, ha

12. Samael - Moongate Destiny, tomorrow is today Destiny, without boundaries How many nights will we spend together traveling infinity back and forth and again How many times will we go together questioning eternity about us about our wonders...

13. TOOL- Parabola This body holding me reminds me of my own mortality Embrace this moment, remember We are eternal, all this pain is an illusion

14. Lunatic Soul - Blood on the Tightrope No matter how hard you try To shut down your feverish thoughts They hunt you down with no regret Cause you have to fix it all

15. Hybrid - Keep It In The Family

16. Soul Savers - Unbalanced Pieces Gone, now carry on Through violent seasons I call you mother, mother, mother In vain, absent chain The twilight's bleeding And the playing board has two unbalanced pieces

17. Steve Von Till - Valley of the Moon All she gives is a stone facade Like ill-given flowers at a dead man's wake Here we slave for the dreams of another And fight over scraps like wayward dogs

18. Ludovico Einaudi - Experience

19. Lunatic Soul - Summoning Dance Three stones on the right side Three stones on the left My vicious circle of life and death “Oh you want it” I hear it again “Oh you want it” My burden Curse to break

20. Lunatic Soul - Through Shaded Woods Run through your shaded woods Run through your shaded mind Run through the night Run away Run through the darkness Run

21. Lunatic Soul - Naavie

22. David Bowie - Nature Boy There was a boy A very strange, enchanted boy They say he wandered very far Very far, over land and sea A little shy and sad of eye But very wise was he

23. The Dandy Warhols - Sleep Well, I could sleep forever But it's of her I dream If I could sleep forever I could forget about everything

24. Au4 - Everyone is Everyone (and Everything is Everything) Tripping and tumbling, Flipping and fumbling. Flowing on the rivers of sadness That have been forever rumbling. But from dawn until now Of all the paths that I could have gone down Of all the valleys That I could have been flowing through. In spite of all the chaos And all that has come between us, How is it I still find myself Here with you.

25. Kingcrow - Everything Goes Your hands again upon the ground Falling rain for hours and hours As you learn the game Time dispels the fog ... Ever been there? Ever felt like prey? Ever thought your mind was feeble? Lot of things that don’t make sense

26. Pain of Salvation - Icon As a child I felt too old And now when I'm grown-up I feel too young A different kind so I've been told Just slightly out of reach and out of time

27. Sophia Loizou - Divine Interference (I got spooky dungeon vibes. Also, the title.)

28. Carpenter Brut - Fab Tool Runnin Gunnin Forward in the phantom shatter so grand Splatter grand, arcanum fuel Wrought iron out of the sky Over me, tells no lie

29. Blue Stahli - Death Will Have to Run All on the open road Where none will ever grow A journey toward the known With countless miles to go

30. Gyroscope - Mistakes & Ladders I am the first? No I can't be the first A continuous nothing, destined for something Tell me who you are and why you trapped me here

31. Queens of the Stone Age - Run, Pig, Run Run, pig, run Here I come

32. Chali 2na & Krafty Kuts - Guard The Fort The swords are drawn and odds are stacked And we clash the impact's a thunderous clap Calm demeanor Even though we are under attack [...my turn to guard the fort ready for combat]

33. The Great Discord - Army of Me (lol)

34. Kongos - Terrified I think I'll start again and change my name You only live once or twice, what a shame Somebody fucked up when designing this game

35. Woodkid - Run Boy Run Run, boy, run! This ride is a journey to Run, boy, run! The secret inside of you Run, boy, run! This race is a prophecy Run, boy, run! And disappear in the trees

36. The Beta Machine - The End A million miles away from you this time I'll do what it takes I'm on my way If lines are in the sand I'll go under If I can make it in time I will bring you back with me

37. Devin Townsend Project - Gump When we last met who was I? I'm sorry we no longer see eye to eye The energy to keep you in while keeping myself out I'm sorry how you'll take this But I just don't have the patience anymore

38. Arrested Youth - Riot! I can't get much satisfaction living in this cave It's tough to breathe, I'm in the belly of the beast Can't sleep with all my rage With me and all my generations living in this cage Pick up your guns and tell your sons, tonight we break the cage

39. Led Zeppelin - Friends So anytime somebody needs you Don't let them down, although it grieves you Some day you'll need someone like they do Looking for what you knew

40. Faunts - M4, pt 2 (Wild) Fight your foes you're not alone Holy war is on the phone Asking to please stay on hold Bleeding loss of blood runs cold And I need you to recover Because I can't make it on my own

41. Faith No More - Ashes to Ashes (Wild) I want them to know it's me, it's on my head I'll point the finger at me, it's on my head Smiling with the mouth of the ocean And I'll wave to you with the arms of the mountain

42. Devin Townsend - Jupiter (Wild) I know you At least I think I do Everything's changed But in the days that are so dark It's wonderful

43. Katatonia - Neon Epitaph (Wild) Shadow of my shadow Cling not to my grief I am long left behind now You are free

44. The Smashing Pumpkins - The Beginning is the End is the Beginning (Wild) Time has stopped before us The sky cannot ignore us No one can separate us For we are all that is left The echo bounces off me The shadow lost beside me There's no more need to pretend Cause now I can begin again

45. Katatonia - Lacquer (Wild) My voice travelling Soaring bird above your head The house we lived in Ridden with disease ... The levee breaking I can't live to fight once more The road to the grave is straight as an arrow I'm just staying around to sing your song, baby

46. Eskimo Joe - This is Pressure (Wild) There is no romance in suffocation The walls fall down like your expectations You want to scream And you want to shout But you've built up steam And you can't let it out This is pressure

47. Portugal. The Man - 1000 Years (Wild) We'll wait 1000 years Until the end of time We'll wait 1000 more Dressed up in gold and white We'll climb the mountain sides To find what's in the sky We'll dig through mountain sides To find what's deep inside

48. Au4 - An Ocean’s Measure of Sorrow (Wild) Forgot my name and who I was. Memories of nothing floating up. All of the sorrow we once knew, Colours the ocean's water blue.

49. Band of Skulls - Carnivorous (Twilight) I am corrosive and cohesive Like a chemical bond I'm all together undone I am the broken kingdom I'm just so, so, so So carnivorous

50. Glass Animals - Flip (Twilight) I wanna go back with a club and attack I wanna take to my guns and break you I gotta make my little foe take his own

51. TV on the Radio - Wolf Like Me (Twilight) My mind has changed my body's frame, but, God, I like it My heart's aflame, my body's strained, but, God, I like it

52. Kamelot - The Spell (Twilight) All my demons cast a spell The souls of dusk rising from the ashes So the book of shadows tell The weak will always obey the master

53. OSI - Radiologue (Legend) I was dreaming I was heading west thirty days faster Had a fever woke up in a sweat bailing out the water Can't go on Can't go back Heard your voice coming through the noise wrote it in the radio log Hurt my head, wondering what you said so I threw it overboard

54. Katatonia - Don’t Tell A Soul (Legend) I have been destroyed by the perfection that is a lie see I'm moving soon see my feet are already on the road and if you know where I’m going don’t tell a soul

55. Haken - The Mind’s Eye (Legend) The shape of things to come are closer than they seem Changing your design every time you disappear I'm planning my escape through portals of your mind Where people seem to drop like flies

56. Pain of Salvation - Species (Legend) Sometimes I hate my fucking species Yet most days I'll do anything to please it My generation was fooled to pursue our dreams But it is not what it seems You never need what you want And you rarely want what you need

57. Euringer - Do You Kiss Your Mama with That Mouth? (Legend) All my life, misunderstood I'm fuckin' too smart, too smart for my own good The last question, before I go is "Hey motherfucka, do you kiss your mama with that mouth?" Yes! I kiss your mama with this mouth

58. !!! - Pardon My Freedom (Legend) Like I give a fuck, like I give a shit Like I give a fuck about that shit Like I give a fuck about that motherfucking shit

59. Team Sleep - Ataraxia (Legend) Froze asleep Coma deep I dream I'm out with you Alone at sea

60. Oliver Tank - Embrace (Legend) You're in my dreams The world is torn apart at the seams And I don't wanna leave Wearing my heart on it's sleeve

61. Machine Gun Fellatio - The Girl of My Dreams (Is Giving Me Nightmares) (Legend) The girl of my dreams is giving me nightmares I don't know what it means but she's got multi-coloured hair When she stands in the sand I dream of peaches And I'm not sure what that means either

62. Earl Greyhound - Shotgun (Legend & Hyrule) I am nobody, nobody is who I am I am a traveler on this land And nothing, nothing, nothing in my hands

63. TV on the Radio - Staring at the Sun (Hyrule) You're staring at the sun You're standing in the sea Your mouth is open wide You're trying hard to breathe The water's at your neck There's lightning in your teeth Your body's over me

64. Echo & The Bunnymen - The Killing Moon (Time) Fate Up against your will Through the thick and thin He will wait until You give yourself to him

65. Sufjan Stevens - Sugar (Sky) Don’t break my heart, don’t break my flow now And all this rage has got to go now Let’s take up this lifeline Come on, baby, gimme some sugar Don’t make me wait Don’t make me wait too long Don’t make me sing the sad song Come on, baby, gimme some sugar

66. Obsydians - Ascension (Sky) Rise above the hardships you’ll face I will sign and keep on rising As long as you are giving me your soul and keep me awake Feel like home and spread your light around I will listen and just be there As long as you are giving me your love I’ll give you my soul

67. Sonique - Sky -_-

68. Enter Shikari - The King (Ganon) Watch your back, my friend I'm about to kickstart a cycle Of never ending revenge And this time it's primal, it's tribal

69. Saul Williams - WTF! (Ganon, Hylia) "You've been polluted, uprooted by time You have been muted, computed but I'm A living vessel of the one, of the moon, of the sun" Hey! You ain't as dead as you seem, what the fuck? Hey! But you keep living your lies

70. These New Puritans - We Want War (Ganon/ Dark Link/ any nemesis I guess) Shadows dance back up, it's happening again If you listen carefully you might hear them whisper: "We hold all the secrets, we hold all the words; But they're scrambled and broken so you'll never know" Can't you see them Floating like black ash? Can't you feel them Crawling down your back?

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #listening to music while I stare blankly at nothing is legit my number one hobby #and then shit like this happens #linked universe playlist

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