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pascallllllll1 · 1 year

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“I Thought I Lost You”

König x f!reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: smut, typical cod violence, feel free to let me know anything else I might of missed!

The blades are still whipping around hazardously, landing gears nowhere near touching the tarmac when König’s large frame jumps from the helicopter landing straight into a sprint once his boots make contact with base grounds. He sees you sprinting towards him and slows himself down to a steadier pace to catch you, wrapping you up against his broad torso. The overwhelming scent of blood and detritus fills your senses. For a brief moment König wishes he could squish you inside him, carry you with him always before silently chastising himself for such a ridiculous thought.

Much quicker than he’d prefer your bodies are separating, before König has time to dwell you’ve already reached for his hand fingers intertwining as if it was a simple action that’d been practised on many occasions previously. (It had not.) You proceed to zone out your fellow combatants as you lead the confused but obedient Austrian towards his private barracks.

For the first time ever, the possibility of losing König and him not being some invincible beast of a war machine, immune to a death sentence similar to the many ones he served others, became painfully real. In reality he’s just a man. Men and women die everyday in your line of work and there’s no way around it, but for some naive or optimistic reason you’d excluded König from the group of people you had come to terms with having to mourn someday.

The mission hadn’t been one of huge concern regarding Königs safety, yes there’s always the possibility something unplanned could go down, but nothing raised any alarms for you three days prior while listening to the confident Captain Price brief Kortac and 141. The task at hand was simple. Infiltrate a decently guarded building to retrieve vital documents for Laswell, then get out. After securing what you’d come for, König and Bravo team were cleared to move out of the old office building and regroup with the rest of the team including yourself at the evac site ten clicks out. You’d been hidden amongst thick shrubbery at a high vantage point watching the mission unfold down the sight of your scope, ghost silent and stiff by your side when the command was given over the comms. Before anyone had the chance to reply to the Captain a previously undetected bomb planted on the main floor on the building goes off, causing the structure to break apart and crumble down at the loss of its foundation. Smoke and dust rise from the rubble. A god awful ringing sound brings you back down to earth.

“König… no.. nonononononono.” Slinging your sniper rifle over your back you tried to run to him before a strong grip on your shoulders pulled you back in place with a gruff, I’m sorry kid. Ghost radio’s Price to inform him of eight armoured vehicles rapidly approaching the site. With over half the team buried beneath debris, Price makes the difficult call to continue on to the evac site. Once all remaining soldiers are clear from the area and safe they’ll be able to regroup and call in medevac. You knew leaving König behind was wrong, that you were betraying him, it broke your heart.

Hours after returning to base you’re sat outside hunched over on a crate with a smoke in hand when the medevac team notifies they’re on route to base with surviving soldiers, seven casualties reported as well. You look up at the clouds above, shielding your eyes from the bright sun with your unoccupied hand waiting for a glimpse of König coming back to you— if he was coming back to you.

•••

As you lead your best friend through the many twists and turns that are military base hallways you can’t help but think about what you’d be doing at this moment if he hadn’t come home to you. If you never got the chance to tell him how much you love and cherish him with every fibre of your being. If you never got to experience sharing a life with König, maybe even a family down the line, who knows? One thing’s for certain, you need him by your side.

The door to König’s room swings open before you slam it back shut after pulling said person past the threshold and flipping the heavy lock in place. You spin around to face König, hands patting him down checking for injuries, they move to cup his masked face and your eyes mirror his own glossy ones. He reaches up and begins removing his helmet and diy sniper hood. You like to joke that he’s cosplaying real snipers such as yourself to tease him— but if anyone else ever attempted to make fun of him for it, there’d be hell to pay. There’s been rare occasions when König removed his hood for you in the past, of course you’d seen his face before but every time felt so short and far between each other it’s hard to remember all the beautiful little details. Hood now gone, you wish you had more time to appreciate it before your hands resume their lingering paths over his body. König leans into your touch, head tilted down at you.

“Please,” you plead, big doe eyes begging him for it. Your hands grip the top straps of his tac vest tugging him closer.

“I need you. König i-I thought that was it, I thought.. I lost you. I need you… show me you’re still here with me.”

König gulps. The internal battle within his head is rapidly nearing its conclusion between desperately fighting to keep you in his life, and if that despite what König wishes for is best achieved by remaining friends then so be it, or saying fuck it and seize the chance to possibly turn the friendship you both share into the loving relationship he’s daydreamed about non stop since meeting you at risk of losing it. His mind is made up the moment he feels your lips meet the sweet spot right under the right side of his jaw.

König instinctively shoots his hand up to the back of your neck, fingers sliding through your soft silky hair before digging in and pulling hard. König closes his eyes and leans down to drag his large defined nose across your cheek until his plump lips meet the shell of your ear,

“I’ve wanted you for so long süße Mädchen.” Causing a shiver to shoot down your spine, you lean up closer to him, his warm breath ghosting over your lips waiting impatiently for you to kiss him.

“I’m so sorry for leaving you.” You confess.

König groans softly as he braces his free arm on the door by your head, the sound makes a echoing thud, the other is still tangled within your hair. You’re surrounded by him.

“Don’t apologise to me. You kept yourself safe, that's all I ask of you—“

“I love you.” You cut him off. He holds eye contact with you until it becomes too intense and breaks it off with his lips hungrily chasing after your own. In a quick, ever efficient manner König’s hoisting you off your feet and into his arms, you wrap your legs around his waist as you’re carried to his narrow bed. You can’t help but wonder how the hell this giant of a man sleeps comfortably in it, you’d bet that he doesn’t. The springs squeak from under you when you land, bouncing a little on impact. König makes himself comfortable standing at the end of the bed between your legs, tall frame towering over you as you sit up to begin unbuckling his belt. He tries speaking before he’s cut off by you freeing him from the restraint of his briefs pushing the fabric down his long legs to step out of, your hand instantly finds its way to his throbbing member, thumb circling the head of his cock smirring around the dribbles of pre cum.

“I-if it wasn’t clear…uGH-“ König gasps out trying to regain control of himself. “I love you too, liebling.”

Both your eyes meet as you change your ministries, giving him a few tight gripped strokes.

“I know.” The smile you send him has his palms sweating and heart racing.

Lust fuelled motives have König switching up the current pace of things, his growing desire for you clouding his mind from any other thoughts than his need to be inside you and feel your soft walls clenching down on him.

König, gaining more confidence in himself, climbs onto the bed trapping you under him. He hiked both your legs high up his torso, the head of his cock drags teasingly over your clit before he’s reaching down and lining himself up, pushing just the head in before pausing. You’re confused initially when he doesn’t immediately slide in, separating your gaze from his member resting at your entrance, looking up at him you see König placing a hand on either side of your head, white-knuckled grip. You have an exciting idea of what’s to come next and in preparation for it you wrap yourself around him tight and brace for impact.

The air is knocked out of your lungs in one hard thrust of his hips leaving you gasping for it to be returned. Your head is thrown back into König’s pillow surrounding you in his woodsy scent and helping distract you from your love’s massive length filling you completely down to the thick base. König gives a few shallow thrusts to help you adjust comfortably to his size before pulling back and increasing the speed the louder the sounds spilling from your parted lips become.

The sounds coming from König sound so primal. All guttural moans, raspy breaths and whimpers that have you dripping with wetness. Your juices soak his cock and run down his heavy, full balls. You dig the heels on your feet further into his back, grasping at any and all parts of him you can reach.

You’re on cloud nine.

“Mein mädchen,” König’s thrust are becoming more desperate and sloppy. “Mien gut mädchen.. bitte. Bitte für mich!” He begs.

“Touch me, please baby I’m so close, I need you!”

Like the good little soldier he is, König follows your command and crashes his mouth against yours bringing you in for a passion filled kiss to make up for the words he lacks to explain how strongly he feels for you. He outstretches a hand down to play with your pretty little clit with vigour bringing your rapidity approaching release forth.

“Ja just like that.. Ja.Ja.Komm mit mir-“ together you fall over that waterfall of pleasure, crashing and running through you like rough waters and drowning in the warmth of each other’s bodies.

Glistening in sweat and still deep in the after sex foggy haze König remains cock semi hard stuffed inside you, shifting his head down to rest against your chest to enjoy the thump of your heart beating for him. Just as his does for you.

“Ich liebe dich, so sehr.” His voice barely even whispers.

“I love you too.”

Later, quickly you decided. You’d both have plenty of time later to discuss everything. Right now you just wanted to enjoy the weighted Austrian blanket currently draped over you.

Ahhh! I haven’t posted in a while and this was kind of just something I wanted to share that I enjoyed writing. This is my first time writing for König or any COD characters, as well as only my second time writing smut, so I’m sorry in advance if something sounds wrong or off!

Also I’m still not taking requests, maybe I will again eventually just not atm! Sorry!🫶🏼

#könig call of duty #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig smut #könig #könig cod #könig x y/n #könig x you

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goodgriefwhatanerd · 1 year

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The Young Lord's Dream

The R E: 8 DLC sure made me feel things, but the most coherent one was "wow that first section would be an incredibly thematic nightmare for my S/I" so I wrote a thing.

I wake up in the deep dungeons, the cold smells of mould and old blood filling the air. After spending so many months of so many years in the place, I thought I knew every inch of Castle Dimitrescu, but these mazes of cells are alien to me.

Pulsating viscous black fluid crawls across the walls and I have sense enough to keep my distance, but what scares me is what I see in in the next darkened corridor.

The lady of the house is well known to collect beautiful young women and keep them long after they have been drained of humanity and blood. The black clad women in the cells are not amongst those maidens.

I recognise every pale, frightened face. I see it every day in the mirror.

They aren’t me, but they’re what I could have been. If I’d had the good manners to starve myself. If I hadn’t cut off my lovely blonde hair. If I hadn’t been so rude as to call myself a man and had accepted life as a beloved doll.

My lovers say they don’t mind that I can’t take the role of a man even as I refuse to be a woman. But everyone knows men aren’t welcome in House Dimitrescu. Alcina calls our dear Duke and myself exceptions. Her daughters call us their fathers. The whispering worm of doubt calls them all polite lies.

And here is proof that it was right, staring right back at me...

Screams pull me back to the present.

I don’t know when the cell doors opened, but now the girls are all around me, running in a panicked herd. Following slowly yet inexorably are ghouls born from the black tar-like pools. They are white as death and drink the very life from those they catch.

It takes several seconds before I realise I should run. There is no direction, no reason, no thought. A screaming face, water running across grey stone, barrels, grasping hands, a rusted lock which shatters with a kick. Everything is fleeting glimpses of sense in chaos.

It’s only by luck that I find the stairs. I hare into the kitchen and a new fear settles like lead in my stomach.

It was only yesterday that the girls dragged me in here to help them bake. The memory is bright and fragile, lying over the dark, dust covered room that can’t have seen human footfall in years.

I start running through the castle, shouting for anyone I can think of, from my beloved Alcina to poor Sofia who had to tidy up our mess after the fire got put out.

No one, just more empty room of dust and rubble and the hideous black slime.

And then I hear it. That laugh. I know it as well as my own heartbeat.

Not wasting any more of my breath shouting, I run up the staircase as fast as my aching legs and lungs will take me.

There’s light coming from under one of the doors. I throw it open and run towards the Duke, arms already outstretched.

I’m halfway across the room before I realise something is wrong. Beneath the porcelain mask his mouth is cruel. I can’t see his eyes, but his gaze still pins me to the spot.

“What’s this? A little rabbit delivering herself to me? My, what a surprise this is.”

This man is not my husband. He may wear the Duke’s face and voice, but that is all there is of him.

Here, I am no one’s husband. I am loved by no one. I’m just another girl to be played with and tossed away.

When the ghouls reach for me, I don’t even bother to fight.

#but a humble merchant #her ladyship

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dearkidsfromdad · 1 year

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May you live in boring times.

2/10/2023

Dear Kids,

On February 6, 2023 a magnitude 7.8 earthquake hit the border of Turkey and Syria. Since then, and as I’m typing this, over 24,000 people have been confirmed dead.

As I think of that number, 24,000, I think of my high school football stadium. Of the people that could fit in those seats, and then I imagine if every single one of them were dead. It is truly a staggering loss of human life.

Over the past few days, I have watched the news as report after report of men, women, and children pulled from the rubble have trickled in. People have been feverishly digging at the piles of rubble for their lost loved ones for days now, and the chances of more survivors is starting to dwindle close to zero. Helpers from across the world have flown in to help those left behind to search through the rubble as they race against the clock.

While I was reading about one such incident where an infant had survived many hours beneath the rubble, I saw someone had commented “may he live in boring times.” and that struck a chord with me.

Kids, I hope that you live in boring times. I hope that the world continues to get better, and that technology helps us to live better, but I want you to know that I don’t ever want to be digging in rubble for you. My hope is that you, like you are at this moment, stay in cute pajamas and sleep tight surrounded by those who love you.

I hope that you do extraordinary things, and meet extraordinary people. I hope that I can help you to have great adventures, and do awesome things that are unique and make you feel alive. You only get one chance to live on this blue marble in space, and I sincerely believe that life is to be lived.

But with all that said, I hope you live in boring times.

I will always try to be there for you. I promise I’ll do my best not to let you down.

Love,

Dad

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une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir · 4 years

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Aegon VI Targaryen = Viserys

When she opened it, she found piles of the finest velvets and damasks the Free Cities could produce … and resting on top, nestled in the soft cloth, three huge eggs. (...) Another was pale cream streaked with gold.

Hypothesis: Aegon VI Targaryen = Viserion

“The cream-and-gold I call Viserion. Viserys was cruel and weak and frightened, yet he was my brother still. His dragon will do what he could not.”

What Viserys couldn’t do? Be crowned as the Kng of the Seven Kingdoms. In the show, Aegon VI does not exist. However, Cersei was crowned as the Queen of the “Seven Kingdoms and she employs the golden company. It is likely that Cersei’s story was based on Aegon’s.

Viserys was “crowned” though... a golden crown.

"You cannot touch me, I am the dragon, the dragon, and I will be crowned!"

Khal Drogo unfastened his belt. The medallions were pure gold, massive and ornate, each one as large as a man's hand. He shouted a command. Cook slaves pulled a heavy iron stew pot from the firepit, dumped the stew onto the ground, and returned the pot to the flames. Drogo tossed in the belt and watched without expression as the medallions turned red and began to lose their shape. She could see fires dancing in the onyx of his eyes. A slave handed him a pair of thick horsehair mittens, and he pulled them on, never so much as looking at the man.

Viserys began to scream the high, wordless scream of the coward facing death. He kicked and twisted, whimpered like a dog and wept like a child, but the Dothraki held him tight between them. (...)

When the gold was half-melted and starting to run, Drogo reached into the flames, snatched out the pot. "Crown!" he roared. "Here. A crown for Cart King!" And upended the pot over the head of the man who had been her brother.

The sound Viserys Targaryen made when that hideous iron helmet covered his face was like nothing human. His feet hammered a frantic beat against the dirt floor, slowed, stopped. Thick globs of molten gold dripped down onto his chest, setting the scarlet silk to smoldering … yet no drop of blood was spilled.

He was no dragon, Dany thought, curiously calm. Fire cannot kill a dragon.

Viserys is held down by the Dothraki preventing him from escape, while Drogo uphends the melted gold upon his head. Similarly, Cersei was held down in King’s Landing by the Dothraki preventing her from escape, while (Danerys upon) Drogon burned the castle upon her head.

Danerys usurps Viserys, despite him being the rightful king. More, she doesn’t believe Viserys is a true dragon because he was killed by fire. It’s safe to assume she’ll justify her actions the same for Aegon. He burns with the rest, he’s no true dragon either.

Its in the House of Undying prophecies as well...

three treasons will you know . . . once for blood and once for gold and once for love . . .(...) Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . .

There’s the gold and there’s the corpse... but also, a bride of fire.

She had sensed the truth of it long ago, Dany thought as she took a step closer to the conflagration, but the brazier had not been hot enough. The flames writhed before her like the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought.

Danerys turns King’s Landing into Aegon’s funeral pyre. Evil.

What else? All of Viserion’s mentions are listed below... and some of them fit what we saw in the show.

A Clash of Kings

“The cream-and-gold I call Viserion. Viserys was cruel and weak and frightened, yet he was my brother still. His dragon will do what he could not.” (ACOK ~ Danerys I)

As said, Aegon will be crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms, doing what Viserys could not. If show!Cersei took over book!Aegon’s role... this fits.

How long the city had been deserted she could not know, but the white walls, so beautiful from afar, were cracked and crumbling when seen up close. Inside was a maze of narrow crooked alleys. The buildings pressed close, their facades blank, chalky, windowless. Everything was white, as if the people who lived here had known nothing of color. They rode past heaps of sun-washed rubble where houses had fallen in, and elsewhere saw the faded scars of fire. At a place where six alleys came together, Dany passed an empty marble plinth. Dothraki had visited this place before, it would seem. Perhaps even now the missing statue stood among the other stolen gods in Vaes Dothrak. She might have ridden past it a hundred times, never knowing. On her shoulder, Viserion hissed. (ACOK ~ Danerys I)

Vaes Tolorro, the city of bones , a city sacked by Dothraki and that they think is filled with ghosts. Six alleys coming together at an empty marble plinth. A city beautiful from afar, cracked and and crumbling up close. Similarly, King’s Landing, the city of ashes, after Danerys and the Dothraki are finished sacking it. Six dragon roads coming together at the capital. A city that Danerys believes to be beatiful from afar, but she’ll reduce to ruins once she comes close. Fits.

She wondered whether Aegon's Red Keep had a pool like this, and fragrant gardens full of lavender and mint. It must, surely. Viserys always said the Seven Kingdoms were more beautiful than any other place in the world. The thought of home disquieted her. If her sun-and-stars had lived, he would have led his khalasar across the poison water and swept away her enemies, but his strength had left the world. Her bloodriders remained, sworn to her for life and skilled in slaughter, but only in the ways of the horselords. The Dothraki sacked cities and plundered kingdoms, they did not rule them. Dany had no wish to reduce King's Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghosts. (ACOK ~ Danerys I)

Not even subtle... Fits..

[Robert Baratheon] sent me poisoned wine, yet I live and he is gone. "What was the manner of his death?" On her shoulder, pale Viserion flapped wings the color of cream, stirring the air. (ACOK ~ Danerys II)

In the show, Varys tried to poison Danerys because she’s crazy. In the books, Varys is #TeamAegon. It’s likely Varys will try to poison her on his behalf. Fits, though the motive will most likely be another.

Drogon was curled up beneath her arm, as hot as a stone that has soaked all day in the blazing sun. Rhaegal and Viserion were fighting over a scrap of meat, buffeting each other with their wings as smoke hissed from their nostrils. (ACOK ~ Danerys III)

Aegon and whoever stands in for Rhaegal (Jon), fighting over something. It’s likely they’ll fight over north / vale / riverlands. This happens while Drogon (Danerys) soaks beneath the sun (Slaver’s Bay, Volantis, you know the warm places, etc). Speculation for book only, most likely Jon and Aegon will naturally clash in TWOW / ADOS, while Danerys is terrorising beyond the narrow sea.

A STORM OF SWORDS

Rhaegal and Viserion were the size of small dogs, Drogon only a little larger, and any dog would have out-weighed them; they were all wings and neck and tail, lighter than they looked. And so Daenerys Targaryen must rely on wood and wind and canvas to bear her home. (ASOS ~ Danerys I)

Most likely, just an introduction. Could indicate Danerys’ forces will outmatch Jon and Aegon separately though. In the show, this fit for #TeamJon.

"Well, how long does a dragon live?" She looked up as Viserion swooped low over the ship, his wings beating slowly and stirring the limp sails. (ASOS ~ Danerys I)

A dragon lives until you kill them. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly.. Fits.

So I see. Dracarys?"

All three dragons turned their heads at the sound of that word, and Viserion let loose with a blast of pale gold flame that made Ser Jorah take a hasty step backward. Dany giggled. "Be careful with that word, ser, or they're like to singe your beard off. It means 'dragonfire' in High Valyrian. I wanted to choose a command that no one was like to utter by chance." (ASOS ~ Danerys I)

All three dragons are eager to fight. “three heads has the dragon”. The Dance of Dragons II.

"The warlocks in Qarth told you that you would be betrayed three times," the exile knight reminded her, as Viserion and Rhaegal began to snap and claw at each other. (ASOS ~ Danerys I)

Not even subtle. “three treasons will you know . . . once for blood and once for gold and once for love . . . (...) Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness.

Aegon and Jon, fighting over something. It’s likely they’ll fight as a north faction versus south faction. Either against each other for the land, or against Danerys to defend each of their factions. Either way, these must be the root of their betrayals. This is speculation for book only, for TWOW / ADOS.

Her sudden laughter made Drogon hiss, and sent Viserion flapping to his perch above the porthole. "The ploy worked well."

The exile knight did not return her smile. "These are Illyrio's ships, Illyrio's captains, Illyrio's sailors . . . and Strong Belwas and Arstan are his men as well, not yours." (ASOS ~ Danerys I)

Viserion turning away from Danerys, once he hears her laugh and Drogon hiss. Similarly, Aegon turned away from Danerys, once Tyrion implies that Danerys wouldn’t take him seriously because she’s more powerful than him (Drogon is bigger than his siblings, he bullies them often). So Aegon takes Illyrion’s ships, captains, sailors, what have you, they are his and not hers. Illyrio is invested in Aegon, not Danerys. Much later, we have this...

I know she is strong. How not? The Dothraki despise weakness. If Daenerys had been weak, she would have perished with Viserys. I know she is fierce. Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen are proof enough of that. (...) Now, how do you suppose this queen will react when you turn up with your begging bowl in hand and say, 'Good morrow to you, Auntie. I am your nephew, Aegon, returned from the dead. I've been hiding on a poleboat all my life, but now I've washed the blue dye from my hair and I'd like a dragon, please … and oh, did I mention, my claim to the Iron Throne is stronger than your own?' "

Aegon's mouth twisted in fury. "I will not come to my aunt a beggar. I will come to her a kinsman, with an army."

"A small army." There, that's made him good and angry. The dwarf could not help but think of Joffrey. I have a gift for angering princes. "Queen Daenerys has a large one, and no thanks to you."

Aegon will not beg.... Viserys bristled. "Guard your tongue, Mormont, or I'll have it out. I am no lesser man, I am the rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. The dragon does not beg." I’m not saying Aegon’s like Viserys. I’m saying Aegon is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. It is his by right, not hers. Fits.

Drogon raised his head and screamed, pale smoke venting from his nostrils, and Viserion flapped at her and tried to perch on her shoulder, as he had when he was smaller. "No," Dany said, trying to shrug him off gently.

"You're too big for that now, sweetling." But the dragon coiled his white and gold tail around one arm and dug black claws into the fabric of her sleeve, clinging tightly. Helpless, she sank into Groleo's great leather chair, giggling. (ASOS ~ Danerys II)

Viserion’s behaviour is interesting. Might suggest Aegon tries to seek an alliance later after all. Speculation.

"They have been wild while you were gone, Khaleesi," Irri told her. "Viserion clawed splinters from the door, do you see? And Drogon made to escape when the slaver men came to see them. When I grabbed his tail to hold him back, he turned and bit me." She showed Dany the marks of his teeth on her hand.

"Did any of them try to burn their way free?" That was the thing that frightened Dany the most.

"No, Khaleesi. Drogon breathed his fire, but in the empty air. The slaver men feared to come near him." (ASOS ~ Danerys II)

Viserion tried to escape again. Fits.

"Remember. To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow.

"Quaithe?" Dany sprung from the bed and threw open the door. Pale yellow lantern light flooded the cabin, and Irri and Jhiqui sat up sleepily. "Khaleesi?" murmured Jhiqui, rubbing her eyes. Viserion woke and opened his jaws, and a puff of flame brightened even the darkest corners. There was no sign of a woman in a red lacquer mask. "Khaleesi, are you unwell?" asked Jhiqui.

"A dream." Dany shook her head. "I dreamed a dream, no more. Go back to sleep. All of us, go back to sleep." Yet try as she might, sleep would not come again. (ASOS ~ Danerys III)

No idea.

Drogon flew almost lazily at Kraznys, black wings beating. As he gave the slaver another taste of fire, Irri and Jhiqui unchained Viserion and Rhaegal, and suddenly there were three dragons in the air. (ASOS ~ Danerys III)

A three way battle “the dragon has three heads”. The Dance of Dragons II.

"Yunkai will have war," Dany told Whitebeard inside the pavilion. Irri and Jhiqui had covered the floor with carpets while Missandei lit a stick of incense to sweeten the dusty air. Drogon and Rhaegal were asleep atop some cushions, curled about each other, but Viserion perched on the edge of her empty bath. "Missandei, what language will these Yunkai'i speak, Valyrian?" (ASOS ~ Danerys IV)

In this chapter, Danerys threatens Yunkai, the yellow city, whose thematic are a lot of betrayals for... yes, that’s right... gold. The Wise Masters try to bribe her, Danerys steals their gold, Daario kills his boss for beauty (but he’s a sellsword, they only care about gold, and accordingly he dresses in... gold!). There are betrayals... for gold.

Drogon and Rhaegal keep together (alliance) but Viserion breaks away and goes to perch on the edge of the empty bath. Considering what the show did to “Aegon” (Cersei) and considering this, it reminds me of the King’s Landing summit where they agree to fight the Others together but then Cersei breaks faith and never shows up north. Fits, somewhat.

Something similar may happen in the books. The three dragons call a cease fire, but then Aegon shows them the middle finger and conquers King’s Landing (the empty bath) instead. Interestingly, the bath is empty, suggesting there’s nobody in power (maybe the Lannisters / Tyrells finally defeat each other and Aegon seizes the opportunity). Would fit perfectly. Aegon “betrays” for a gold, the golden crown of the Seven Kingdoms (Joff and Tommen’s crown is gold).

"Wise?" Dany sat crosslegged on a cushion, and Viserion spread his white-and-gold wings and flapped to her side. "We shall see how wise they are," she said as she scratched the dragon's scaly head behind the horns. (ASOS ~ Danerys IV)

This is all in the same “betrayal for gold” chapter, so it’s interesting. Maybe after that trolling, Aegon attempts a new alliance. After all...

Griff put a black-gloved hand upon Prince Aegon's shoulder. "Spoken boldly," he said, "but think what you are saying."

"I have," the lad insisted. "Why should I go running to my aunt as if I were a beggar? My claim is better than her own. Let her come to me … in Westeros."

Aegon grows bold, just like the dragons grow bold (this word is used) when they’re chained in the pits, and refuses to be beg. A dragon does not beg.

"When all the slaves have departed, you will open your gates and allow my Unsullied to enter and search your city, to make certain none remain in bondage. If you do this, Yunkai will not be burned or plundered, and none of your people shall be molested. The Wise Masters will have the peace they desire, and will have proved themselves wise indeed. What say you?"

"I say, you are mad."

"Am I?" Dany shrugged, and said, "Dracarys."

The dragons answered. Rhaegal hissed and smoked, Viserion snapped, and Drogon spat swirling red-black flame. It touched the drape of Grazdan's tokar, and the silk caught in half a heartbeat. Golden marks spilled across the carpets as the envoy stumbled over the chest, shouting curses and beating at his arm until Whitebeard flung a flagon of water over him to douse the flames. "You swore I should have safe conduct!" the Yunkish envoy wailed.

The dragons go cray cray at Daniella’s “madness”. Maybe they rebel against her once she threatens to burn King’s Landing, unless Aegon surrenders. Speculation, but somewhat fits (Jon shanked her when she burned KL).

There’s something here for sure though, Danerys behaved abhorrently here with the Yunkai masters and at the show’s rendition of the dragonpit, trying the same dragon intimidating tactics and breaking safe conduct.

Daario upended the sack, and the heads of Sallor the Bald and Prendahl na Ghezn spilled out upon her carpets. "My gifts to the dragon queen."

Viserion sniffed the blood leaking from Prendahl's neck, and let loose a gout of flame that took the dead man full in the face, blackening and blistering his bloodless cheeks. Drogon and Rhaegal stirred at the smell of roasted meat.

"You did this?" Dany asked queasily. (ASOS ~ Danerys IV)

Daario IS NOT a precious cinnamon roll in search for love. Danerys is stupid.

Her captains bowed and left her with her handmaids and her dragons. But as Brown Ben was leaving, Viserion spread his pale white wings and flapped lazily at his head. One of the wings buffeted the sellsword in his face. The white dragon landed awkwardly with one foot on the man's head and one on his shoulder, shrieked, and flew off again. "He likes you, Ben," said Dany.

"And well he might." Brown Ben laughed. "I have me a drop of the dragon blood myself, you know." (ASOS ~ Danerys V)

Ben is a sellsword who betrays Danerys for... gold!, then reveals that he never betrayed her. Yeah right, LOOOL. As I said, Aegon might seek an alliance later, so Ben’s twice turncloak might alude to that. Would fit that scenario.

I was going to take you home! Her dragons sensed her fury. Viserion roared, and smoke rose grey from his snout. Drogon beat the air with black wings, and Rhaegal twisted his head back and belched flame. I should say the word and burn the two of them. Was there no one she could trust, no one to keep her safe? "Are all the knights of Westeros so false as you two? Get out, before my dragons roast you both. What does roast liar smell like? As foul as Brown Ben's sewers? Go!" (ASOS ~ Danerys V)

Dance of Dragons II. Seems to suggest the Jon and Aegon take arms against Danerys once she shows her true bitch colours. Again, suggested before.

There was no sign of Viserion, but when she went to the parapet and scanned the horizon she saw pale wings in the far distance, sweeping above the river. He is hunting. They grow bolder every day. Yet it still made her anxious when they flew too far away. One day one of them may not return, she thought. (ASOS ~ Danerys VI)

Viserion running away from Danerys. Aegon turned away from Danerys once he grew bolder (a good word to use). Fits.

A DANCE OF DRAGONS

Viserion sensed her disquiet. The white dragon lay coiled around a pear tree, his head resting on his tail. When Dany passed his eyes came open, two pools of molten gold. His horns were gold as well, and the scales that ran down his back from head to tail. "You're lazy," she told him, scratching under his jaw. His scales were hot to the touch, like armor left too long in the sun. Dragons are fire made flesh. She had read that in one of the books Ser Jorah had given her as a wedding gift. "You should be hunting with your brothers. Have you and Drogon been fighting again?" Her dragons were growing wild of late. Rhaegal had snapped at Irri, and Viserion had set Reznak's tokar ablaze the last time the seneschal had called. I have left them too much to themselves, but where am I to find the time for them?

Viserion's tail lashed sideways, thumping the trunk of the tree so hard that a pear came tumbling down to land at Dany's feet. His wings unfolded, and he half flew, half hopped onto the parapet. He grows, she thought as he launched himself into the sky. (...) She watched Viserion climb in widening circles until he was lost to sight beyond the muddy waters of the Skahazadhan. (ADWD ~ Danerys I)

Fits. Bye bitch. The Martells send their regards.

Dany did not want to talk about the dragons. (...) Down in the pit, Viserion had snapped one of his chains; he and Rhaegal grew more savage every day. Once the iron doors had glowed red-hot, her Unsullied told her, and no one dared to touch them for a day. (ADWD ~ Danerys IV)

The dragons craned their necks around, gazing at them with burning eyes. Viserion had shattered one chain and melted the others. He clung to the roof of the pit like some huge white bat, his claws dug deep into the burnt and crumbling bricks. (ADWD ~ Danerys VIII)

Viserion running away from Danerys’ shackles, likewise Aegon turning away from Danerys’ entrapments and going his own way. Fits.

"The white one is Viserion, the green is Rhaegal. I named them for my brothers." Her voice echoed off the scorched stone walls. It sounded small—a girl's voice, not the voice of a queen and conqueror, nor the glad voice of a new-made bride.

Rhaegal roared in answer, and fire filled the pit, a spear of red and yellow. Viserion replied, his own flames gold and orange. When he flapped his wings, a cloud of grey ash filled the air. Broken chains clanked and clattered about his legs. Quentyn Martell jumped back a foot.

A crueler woman might have laughed at him, but Dany squeezed his hand and said, "They frighten me as well. There is no shame in that. My children have grown wild and angry in the dark." (...)

They’re not fans of Danerys anymore, not even “sweet” Viserion (he’s the nicest of the three dragons). Rhaegal especially never was, since he’s been biting her hand since before he could fly. Hopefully, they have become fans of each other. Me wants some quality time between the dragon bros, complaining about their shitty father mother.

"All I know of dragons is what my brother told me when I was a girl, and some I read in books, but it is said that even Aegon the Conqueror never dared mount Vhagar or Meraxes, nor did his sisters ride Balerion the Black Dread. Dragons live longer than men, some for hundreds of years, so Balerion had other riders after Aegon died … but no rider ever flew two dragons."

Viserion hissed again. Smoke rose between his teeth, and deep down in his throat they could see gold fire churning.

"They are … they are fearsome creatures."

No idea. Reminds me of that dumb cliff talk in the show tho. Instead of Quentyn being afraid and (later) being killed by Rhaegal, Jon was brave to pet the lizard.

I leave outside this post Barristan’s and Quentyn’s chapters, which have a lot of description. They’re basically about Viserion and Rhaegal breaking free. Of note, Viserion tries to run away from Quentyn (he just wants to be free :<) and Rhaegal kills Quentyn after he raises the leash against his brother (oooh).

#i stan these two dragon bitches #anti daenerys #anti daenerys targaryen #anti aegony #anti jonerys

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

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Yamata-No-Orochi (End) Wild Things of the Light King’s Blood

Why is this series called Yamata-No-Orochi? Because the Yamata-No-Orochi is a serpent that holds the body of the White King. Why this is significant will be clear in the end. Please stay tuned. @rurifangirl by request

The old train continued its leisurely pace towards the city lights of Tokyo in the pouring rain. In the dark and the torrential downpour, one could easily imagine it was a ghost car. In a way, it was a ghost car, because the only passengers on board were two women who shouldn’t exist in the world.

One, a raven haired beauty from Russia who should have died 20 years ago in a bombing and the other, a red haired beauty from Japan who should have been a deadpool by now and until a few days ago was forbidden to see the sun.

The fiery haired girl cried quietly into the back of the head of her giant teddy bear while you, the black haired Russian, rubbed her back and whispered softly for her to let it all out. For now, you two were all you had for company.

“Hey,” you say, “I know it seems like the end, but that man loves you.”

She looks up at you with wide red pupils and then scribbles something on the pad. “But my family doesn’t like him. I’ll never see him again.”

You gently tilt her head up, placing your fingertips under her little chin. “Remember what we said? Good friends are a little crazy. Don’t let things like family make you stop believing in your good friends, Erii.”

Even though you were younger than Erii by 3 years, she already looked up to you as an older woman and nodded obediently.

“I want to be more than your good friend though.” You roll up your shirt under your bra and show her the mottling of golden scales that had started to appear since last night. “We share the blood of the White King and a common sickness. I want to be your sister.”

Her eyes expanded. She scribbled down. “I’ve always wanted a sister!”

“Did you wish for one over the sea? Because this dream has come true. Hm…” You hum to yourself. “Let’s make it official in a vow of sisterhood.”

She sat up straight, her expression serious.

You place your hand over your heart. “I, MC, hereby vow to be the Sister of Erii Uesugi. We are bound by blood and by love. We will never betray each other. We will always defend each other. And when one calls for help, we will dash to their rescue and if anyone comes between us, may they die!”

Erii scribbled down in her notebook those same words and then she signed her name, and you signed yours.

You continued to make up this silly ritual. “Now, put your hand against my hand, sister.”

Your palms met.

“Twine your fingers.”

You clasp your hands together. Once she bought into it. You reach across with your other hand and goose her ribs!

Erii squealed and then clapped her hand over her mouth in terror! But you didn’t break your smile. You only giggled. “Sisters do things like this.” You say.

Her face was red with fear but also a bit of indignation, but underneath it all was joyous warmth. “I will find a way to trick you too!”

You sit back. “Sister, I want to ask you something. How is it that you can live so long? Your physical condition is not good. I felt it when I touched you. You have so many more scales than me.”

She scribbled down for a long time before turning the page to you. “I live because of the serum injections. The injections contain fetal blood of deadpool. Because the blood is embryonic, it has a purifying and not corrupting effect.”

“Hm…” That’s why deadpool spawning tanks were under Genji Heavy Industries. They were being bred and the blood of the fetuses were being injected into Erii. “Thank you.”

“If you come with me, I will convince my brother to treat you.” She writes.

You place your hand over hers. “Don’t worry for me. I have time. I already have a man who has guaranteed my safety.”

Erii’s mouth made a little ‘o’.

“I need to return to him. So I will get off the train early. Please rest and get better so I can take you dog sledding.”

The train made its meandering track towards Tokyo. You were one stop before Matsuyama station, however, the train started to slow. It was far too late to be picking up passengers.

Erii had fallen asleep in your arms and you tilted her head away from you and reached for your deadpool claw dagger. A man in a long cloak stepped onto the train. When his foot landed at the door, the entire car tilted as though he weighed thousands of pounds! The rainwater was rising off him in a steaming cloud and when he breathed, he hissed like a steam engine.

You give Erii one last glance and decide it was not time to be subtle or afraid. You would simply disappear with this monster. You rush forward, as fast as a pouncing lioness! The deadpool under the cloak surged with blue light, lifting its cloak and revealing its dinosaur clawed feet, and its blue-black scaled body. It arced its back and opened its mouth to roar, but you throw the dagger into its throat to silence it and then take a flying leap and kick it out of the train car.

You both land hard on the platform and you snatch your dagger out from the back of its throat and land in a crouch to face it.

The beast chokes black blood a moment, lying on its back under the platform lights and then flips completely onto all fours in a single motion!

You leap backwards and it lands where you were, cracking the concrete beneath.

The train rumbles off to continue its journey to Tokyo the Matsuyama Station, while you lure the beast away from the car. It was an open air station with several spaces for busses. But the busses were no longer running. There wasn’t much cover and the streets were empty of people.

From your lesson in Genji, you understood that the nervous center is the weak point. But this beast came armed with vertebral spines to protect that sensitive area.

A strange whistling noise comes from above and you leap to one side. A dark shape pierces the ground where you stood and then lifts, carrying bits of concrete with it. The shape moved like a loose cable, waving in the air to toss aside the rubble. Then it descends! You throw yourself back, narrowly escaping being impaled! It whips and the tip slashes side to side, nearly taking your head off and tearing into your T-shirt.

The deadpool was crouching low, a distance away, but a long tail, twice as long as the length of its body, was waving. A single muscle twitch sends the barbed sword-like tail tip into the ground with stunning accuracy!

You nod once and start backing up. The beast spider-walks toward you and the tail lashes out! You leap up and the sword tail slices clear through a street lamp behind you. The lamp crashes down towards the monster and shatters. Even though the lamp missed, it was enough distraction to let you get inside its tail range. You run directly towards it. Its mouth opens to reveal six inch long sharp teeth and it lifts a hand full of daggers.

Your movements are delicate and precise, threading the needle between the deadly bite and the deadly piercing hooks to plunge your dagger into the side of its neck and draw down, slicing through its throat, but you hit only muscle. The neck itself was armored! Now that you were inside, however, you would not back away. You leap to the other side, committing little non-lethal cuts to its back that wouldn’t hurt at all, trying to find an opening through the bony plates. The beast chases you in a tight circle, spinning in the street. You can see the serrations on its teeth. The thin lines of saliva in its mouth. You breathe in its foul breath.

You have taken hold of one of its dorsal spines nearest the back of its head. So the faster it turns, the faster you turn, like a dog chasing its tail. You pierce it again and again until the spine starts to lift off its back.

Then you mount it, its blood soaking between your legs and you stab downward, looking for the spine. Frustrated and in agony, the beast rears up, lifting you nearly 10 feet in the air in an instant, screaming, tail waving. You scramble to hold on and not get thrown by the momentum. Your eyes widen as you hear that deadly whistle and you let go and crash to the ground hard.

You sit up and the beast is standing upright, mouth open in shock, the barbed tip of its own tail protruding through the back of its own head! You were like an annoying fly that landed on its head and it killed itself in its attempt to swat you. It falls forward so hard that cracks appear in the ground where it lands.

You sit wondering. You were someone who was adept at using the God’s Eyes fighting technique, but this time you surprised yourself.

Screeching tires heralded a roaring black sedan as it careered around the corner. The window was down and a long rifle emerged from it! You turned and scrambled to your feet. The bullet shattered against the wall of a building, blowing dust and stinging bits of masonry into your face. Your eyes scan for cover but there is none sufficient to shield you. That bullet was big enough to completely shatter your skull!

Your heart leaps at the sight of a tall figure in the dark who was suddenly illuminated by headlights. He was dressed in period clothing, a long red Kimono with flowing ornamental embroidery of Lycoris Radiata. He pulled a red sheath from his sleeve as you ran toward him, gasping in desperation. As soon as he pulled the sword from its sheath, a great wind gust blew by you.

The black sedan collides with that wind and bursts apart, shattering as if it hit a concrete barrier head on.

Ruri Kazama holds the bright silver blade aloft and you duck behind him, and then he brings it down hard. Another blade like wind slices the car clean in half.

“How did you know I was here?” You gasp.

“There was a report of a deadpool. I may not be a member of Hydra or of Cassell, but all Hybrid species have an obligation to clear these beasts. I’ll let my brother’s men take care of the rest of this mess. Come, we need to hide.” When he gathers you against the silk of his cloak you can smell the scent of tobacco.

Hand in hand, you run through the heavy rain to a waiting car. As soon as you’re inside, it peels off into the night, driving full speed and crashing through the deep street flooding. “Ruri Kazama. I gave you all my star-hearts.”

“I know. I’ve been looking for you, but you disappeared.”

You look up into his dark eyes. They were serious as they scanned you for injuries. You quickly gasp and cover your torn shirt with your arms. “I want to join you to help you defeat Herzog. Caesar and Chu Zihang cannot bear my presence any longer. They fear I might lose control. Caesar says I’m better with my own kind.”

Ruri turns away from you. “Then you care nothing for me?”

You gasp hurriedly. “That’s not it at all. It turns out you were right. I am a perishing flower. I just didn’t know anything. But… I’m not giving up. I don’t think my death is inevitable. And I won’t throw my life away for anyone. I don’t want you to either.”

He stares down at you and you realize that he is older than you but not by much. He is older in spirit. Looking up at him was like looking at an ancient dragon. His long black hair frames his gentle boyish face and again your eyes blur the line between man and woman.

“If you will have me, I’ll be yours.” You say. “Only, you must fight to live and not to die. You must not die for me. That is not noble. It's terrible! I don’t care what anyone else says. Understand?” You look into those eyes and you’re again reminded of an impossibly deep pool where you couldn’t ever see the bottom. His eyes were like the lake of Baikal that reached down, deep and cold into the center of the Earth’s crust.

He was silent. You feel like you’re stepping out of bounds, but you have to have this promise. This was nothing like the touching moment between you and Chance. You feel like your spilling your guts in a hurry, rushing through the vows on your wedding day. “Don’t throw your life away. Not for me. Not for anyone. Are you listening? If death comes, it comes but don’t you give yourself to it. Don’t! Find another way out. Or fight.”

His silence sent cracks up and down your fragile heart and then you remembered that you couldn’t accept this either at first. It took three times before you stopped seeking death.

Much to your shock, you return to the Takamagahara Night Club. You wonder if he’s getting rid of you. You both get out of the car and he holds out an umbrella over your head and cradles your body under his arm. Together, you walk through the doors. “You live here right? The other aces have not returned yet. Bathe and dress and meet me behind the bar.”

One of the waiters offers you a large jacket over your shivering shoulders.

His eyes are still serious and deep, but they had softened looking at you. “I accept your proposal.”

#Dragon Raja

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suuung · 4 years

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Interconeccted, chapter (1) kylo ren x reader

a kylo ren x reader fanfiction. warnings: this fanfiction will develop dark themes as it goes on.

chapter 2: here

through which two force-sensitives could influence each other or even feel each other's physical, emotional or mental pain.

“The food we’ve managed to get will last us months.” Your cousin cheered.

You hum back reading one of the few books in the abandoned pile. All of them were quite dusty after finding them scattered on the ship you rested on. It was titled; The Forgotten History of Jedi

“Now we’ll just have to sneak it back.” She mumbled.

Shea grabbed the heaping bags and stepped out, putting them on the horse.

“Lets go!” She hollered, annoyed.

You reluctantly placed the book in your bag, leaving the rest behind. You sat up on the horse and felt sadness erupt through you again. The both of you live on your own in a small village, a very isolated one for sure. ‘Adventure’ like this didn’t happen often, only every few months. She thinks she knows well. She is the older cousin and the only one to take care of you after your family died of famine at your young age. It wasn’t common for families to survive on this planet, there was little to food and yet your family was not rich, and barley had made enough to get by so ultimately you and Shea are still struggling.

As you rode the horse back to town heat licked at your sunburned face and coiled around your limbs. Looking up at the bright sky and everything seemed to have a glaze. The headache that the heat brought felt unbearable. You suddenly felt your thoughts slip away, a blackness coming over you. Like a blanket, but not a blanket of warmth but a blanket of coldness making you recoil in fear. Suddenly, a sharp pain drove through you. Collapsing and falling on the hard gravel beneath you both. Pain sizzled through your legs up your chest increasing in small waves across your face. Swiftly your body curls into a small ball while the pain burns and radiates.

Everything became fuzzy; then nothing at all.

You woke, everything feeling broken and detached. The familiar decaying ceiling in your eyesight. You had bandages wrapped tightly around your head, assuming that was from the fall you sat up slowly. The headache was unbearable. Looking around you were alone and Shea’s bed across from you was empty.

You called for her but your response was silence. Glancing at the chipped and broken clock, noon just hit. She’s probably at the market selling junk.

There was water beside your bed, hesitantly reaching for a sip the glass slipped. Pain coming over you in sparks. Reflecting something sharp, making it worse each time it touched. The glass broke and made a loud shatter. You didn't wanna bother cleaning it up. It ended as soon as it started, although the headache was worse, the pain had subsided.

Swinging your legs over the bed and walking into the crooked kitchen catching yourself from tripping on your own feet. You lived in a small hut outside the village, fairly run down and little to no insulation. You were hungry, you hoped she would return soon as you looked at the empty containers.

You remembered the book from yesterday, your memories did feel fuzzy. You walked over and grabbed the book, returning to your room and sat on your bed.

The Jedi are the opposite of the Sith, another group of force wielders, the Sith use their passion, and other strong emotions to fuel their power.

Turning the page brought you to the index.

History Of the Jedi

Force Chosen

Movementuls

Force Bond

It caught your eye, going to the page number.

Common to occur between Jedi Masters and their apprentices, a Force bond, also known as Force chain or Jedi kinship, was a link through which two Force-sensitives could influence each other or even feel each other's physical, emotional or mental pain.

Stronger force bonds need a balance of the light and dark sides. Weakers have light and light; dark and dark.

Turning the page again you felt your fingertips burn.

Another page flip.

Fighting or hardship together with the forcebond causes their powers to become amplified as the bond between them grows stronger with every passing moment.

It is known for the beginning of a force bond to include physical pain bursts and may cause the pain to double by the effect of altering two minds.

This can’t be real, the tales were true about the force. Mother always told you and your sister it was a hoax, a scam. Something the galaxy could never accomplish.

Suddenly loud crashing and screams were heard from the village. Fear choked you as the face of your cousin appeared in your head. This must be another attack from the first order. You’ve heard hellish tales about them, they must be looking for someone.

You stumbled to the window looking out. Your heart sank. Everyone in this village has had a family member snatched. Giving a child freedom to roam was asking for the first order to take them.

You ran outside, grabbing a knife from the kitchen. Clutching onto your shirt you held it up to cover your mouth, wind was blowing furiously from the ships landing on your planet. Blasters were shooting civilians and they were taking men and children. You snuck behind ships, running over loose rubble and tumbling down steep sand, feet slipping as your throat shocked and inhaled deeper, faster crying for Shea.

You caught yourself off guard. A stormtrooper spotted you and yelled out. Your adrenaline demands you to run, you keep running but you know your time is up. Out of the corner of your eye you see something sharp and red shooting at you. You try to jump out of the way but it's too late. You scream and collapse to the ground as your wrists are bound and you are guided onto a ship along with other kidnapped citizens.

The whole thing felt fuzzy, and soon enough the doors closed and the ship took off. You woke to the doors opening once again, but now being inside a landing bay for ships. You must be on the imperial navy ship. Only bad things have been heard to be done here. A stormtrooper barked orders for everyone to stand, they grabbed each person kidnapped and pulled them into different lines, Men and women. A stormtrooper tugged harshly at your shirt shoving you into the line of other girls, everyone was terrified. You were all barked at again to follow each leader of your group. Still handcuffed you walked down the hallways of the imperial ship. It was dark and tourture filled.

You were halted, all of you given a number by a droid.

“CLASS: FEMALE: TROOP” “ID: 2310984”

You watched those numbers inbrand into a storm trooper suit, then gave them to you. You wanted to die. Your new life you must act as you can cope with being caged, now fed on a schedule as farmyard pigs, and spoken to without the slightest trace of love.

It has been a month in this hell-hole. You still havent seen a trace of Shea. Your life feels so meaningless, perhaps it's because there is no love here, no hugs or kind smiles, no-one to tell you everything will be okay. And then there are the eyes of everyone here, alive and dead, as if they are so desperate for this nightmare to be over, to be able to leave this place.

You started off your morning like all the other mornings. The female base dorms are cold and dark. You never manage to sleep so breakfast feels like an eternity to arrive. You are given cold scraps of food each morning, along with water. You are in stormtrooper training for the next 2 weeks. You still don’t know what to expect after this, perhaps things will lighten up and you will be brought more light into your new dark life. You are taught daily the mantra not to feel bad for the killings of villagers. Not to feel guilt anymore, not to feel human emotion. You’ve seen so many things this past month you want to forget, one thing still burns within you.

The image of General Hux and the Commander Kylo Ren. You were with your cohort of Stormtrooper Trainees going to retrieve practice guns. The mantra settling in your head once again, You are stormtroopers. You are the keenest weapon in the Emperor's arsenal. Do not fail him. Do not fail me. Your world felt in slow motion as you walked past the commander.

Your heart felt like it stopped beating and your whole body felt heavy, like it was pulling you. The shackles on your handcuffs strained and made noise.

Panic. It drove through me fast and hard.

Breath. It felt so hard to capture.

Movement. Something I could conjure once again.

Force you've never felt before, a force that was screaming at you to run but as if your body were reborn in its most perfect form.

You coaxed yourself to sleep each night trying to re-feel that day. To grasp those feelings of warmth and pulling you felt for that short moment. You needed to be close to him again, your body screamed and ached for it each day but you were still met with the same cold mattress each morning.

The helmet of Kylo Ren was all you saw each time you close your eyes. Suddenly you were brought out of thought by an announcement calling a meeting for all stormtroopers led today by General Hux and Commander Kylo Ren.

You and all the other female soldiers in your dorm put on your uniforms quickly, your heart pounded as you put on your helmet. Your leader lined you all up and made your way to the docks outside where all thousands of them were perfectly lined up. One screw up and your life will be over.

About a half hour later of stormtrooper groups getting led in to get ready for the announcement General Hux with Kylo Ren stood at the podium. Your heart started to pound rapidly as you kept your composite and stayed as still as you could. Anxiety crept up as you started to shake. Kylo spoke, his voice altered from the mask.

“As commander of the first order, we will be initiating an attack on the desert planet of Jakku tomorrow morning. Trainees will not be sent out but will remain on the ships as extras if needed. We are in search of Lor San Tekka. We believe he has a piece of the map leading us to Luke Skywalker.”

You began to zone out as Kylo stepped down from the podium and General hux began to preach about the attack. Your mind felt fuzzy as you kept your gaze on Kylo through your helmet. His cape flew furiously in the wind, flapping and whipping.

The more you stare the more dizzy you feel. A sharp pain woke you out of your trance. It was on the side of your head, like a headache of a million arrows shooting at you. Your arm fell down slightly but you picked it back up hoping no one had seen the slip up.

You kept your eyes on Kylo, and you swear you felt your heart drop out of your chest at the sight of him clutching the side of his head staggerly. He stumbled and looked down at the ground still clutching his head.

You gasped quietly as your heart pounded, the pain you had felt stopped completely the moment he felt it. Soon enough he stood and gathered his composter.

You felt yourself not being able to breathe properly, not being able to conjure what just happened. Then, suddenly, he turned his head towards your direction and the cold eyes of the helmet stung into you.

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raz-b-rose · 4 years

Text

Donsy Week 2020: Day 4: Future

This one twisted in such a way even I was surprised lol. Liked the experiment and will probably rewrite it sometime.

Words: 1705

@donsyweek

Donald always thought he could plan his whole life out, and his teacher encouraged that mindset with the constant writing of future plans. He always thought he would graduate high school and go to college for a degree that could take him anywhere. He would travel, sailing the seas of the world. That was not how everything has played out so far.

The war happened, and he was drafted fresh out of high school. He sailed the seas alright, just not in the way he desired. It was a difficult choice on whether or not to make friends during his time in the military. He could lose any of them at a moment's notice, but spending that much time together it was inevitable that a brotherhood would be formed.

He saw the world, but he wished he could forget some things. The rubble of the cities they patrolled for survivors or made their base camp were seared into his mind. He could smell the smoke and taste the dust still to this day.

He hated camping and campfires now. He hated canned food, he hated the smell of plaster and he hated the feel of sand and dirt beneath his feet.

Afterwards, returning home to Della and Scrooge, part of him was chipped away at by his experiences and his memories constantly taunting him with the inability to put himself back together.

Della understood, to a degree. She flew for the army, delivering troops and supplies. She was never in war zones though, rarely saw the aftermath of battles. She tried to help, she tried to get Donald to talk.

However talking to someone, only months after returning home, who did not fully understand his experiences was difficult. He did not want to share the knowledge of war with his sister, he wanted her to live knowing nothing of the horrors he saw. It was easier to share with someone who already had that same knowledge.

Donald sat on a bench across from the sea. He was thankful that despite everything, his love for the sea was left untampered with. He could watch the waves all day. He did watch the waves all day. Scrooge didn’t know how to handle the changes in Donald, so for the most part he had left him alone. Alone to relive and process everything while staring out at the water.

The sun reflected off it now, the early morning chill in the air ineffective towards him. Even after all this time at home, he still rose before the sun, the still peacefulness of the mornings, before others took to their respective days, a reminder that he fought to save these mornings for everyone else and that was good.

The sun made its way above the horizon little by little, the colors gaining a purple and pink hue blending with the blue of the sky and the sea. The asymmetrical blob that was the sun quickly gained power and was impossible to look at anymore.

So he closed his eyes, relishing in the salty air and humid breeze. He took in the creaky, warped weather worn wood of the bench with his fingers. He sat there every morning and knew every groove and divot of this wood almost as well as he knew the wood of his boat.

The wood shifted, a weight taking occupancy beside him. He didn’t open his eyes, wanting to prepare himself in his bubble a little while longer. Interactions with the citizens of Duckburg were still challenging, something he knew he had to work on to regain a sense of normalcy. Not for him, he would never be normal again, but for the citizens. So they could be comfortable in their innocence around him.

Slowly he opened his eyes, the sky now a lighter purple, pink all but gone, and blue taking control with the sun to declare the day had begun. He glanced at his seat partner, surprised to find a young woman as the occupant.

She looked around his age, her feathers white and perfectly held back in the fashion he had seen most women wearing these days. He wasn’t sure what it was called. Della wasn’t one to take notice of fashion trends, so he himself never knew.

Her hands were placed delicately in her lap, eyes closed as she too seemed to be talking in the morning. He saw her take a few deep breaths, so he elected to leave her to her thoughts, still deciding himself if he would even strike up conversation with her when she was done.

Looking back to the water, he watched the waves push and pull, a constant game of tug of war. A battle of the elements. A battle of nature. Something natural and uncontrollable to man. Maybe mankind had taken too much inspiration from the natural world around them.

She adjusted herself beside him, reminding him of her presence. Her eyes were now open and Donald couldn’t help but stare. This woman was not only his age physically, but it seemed spiritually as well.

She had a heaviness to her eyes and a haunted look to her soul. She met his gaze as well, their shared memories being exchanged with a single glance. He saw the way her hands shook the slightest, a broken smile offered to him.

“Daisy.” She said softly, holding out her hand.

“Donald” Her hand was not soft. It had a roughness to it that spoke to her experience and sacrifice.

“It’s a beautiful morning.”

“It truly is”

They didn’t speak anymore after that, letting the wind converse for them, the waves adding their own opinions. One by one, people leave their homes, people passing by in front of them, blocking the view.

Donald stands, offering a hand to Daisy. She takes it without hesitation. Both of them were quick to break contact however, both walking deeper into the city with no destination in mind. Donald observes as men dash down the side walks, almost all of them checking their watches while they walk. Women had their own sense of urgency, walking as quickly as they could in their heels, moving politely through the crowd.

“Would you like to join me for breakfast?” Her voice holds a gentleness, quiet and sad.

“I would be honored” He follows her into a shop Donald swore wasn’t here before the war, but he could never be too sure.

He sips on his coffee, watching the patrons outside the window, the waitress having just left the table with their orders. He hears the clink of her spoon as she stirs her own coffee. Besides Della, she was the first woman he met that drank coffee almost as black as he did.

“It's strange isn't it,” He says quietly, “It's almost as if nothing has changed, but we both know that isn’t the case.”

She hums in response, lowering the cup from her lips, “I only just returned,” His eyes widen a little, while she takes to looking out the window, her eyes clouded with memories. “I was a nurse, trying to rebuild something, anything for the survivors.”

Donald felt guilt bubble in his gut, grief weighing heavily on his shoulders. “I was no help in that department, I can barely hold myself together on a good day”

“Nothing wrong with that, the things we’ve seen, it's enough to haunt you for three lifetimes” She whispered, slowly looking back at him.

He laughs dryly, “I was going to travel the world, but now, I think I’ve seen enough”

She laughs as well, “Yeah, but home feels just as foreign right now, does that ever change?”

“I still feel that way too, I don’t know if it will. I hope so.”

The waitress returns, placing their food in front of them. She offers them a blinding smile and a command to enjoy before flouncing over to another table. He picks at his eggs, still having trouble with his appetite even after all this time.

“What are your plans now?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I used to think about my future all the time, but now it just seems so clouded and impossible”

She nods, taking a bite of her own eggs, “I don’t think I can be a nurse anymore, not right now anyway”

“Enough for three lifetimes,” He reiterates, she whispers the words again herself, gaining that far off look once again.

Donald looks back out the window, taking notice of all the families and couples and friends and single people all going about their lives. He glanced back at Daisy. It was easier to talk to someone who already shared in the knowledge and he knew he had to talk eventually.

“Would you be interested in being foreigners together?”

“That sounds nice,” Again her tone was soft, but there was less of an element of sadness to it now. And so two foreigners in their home city shared a delicious breakfast.

Donald always thought he could plan his whole life out, and his teacher encouraged that mindset by writing about future plans. He always thought he would travel, sailing the seas of the world. That was not how everything has played out.

Donald jumped, gasping in surprise at the dull pain on his stomach. He wiped the sleep from his eyes, shaking off the remnants of his dream, slowly gaining his bearings.

“Dad! Come play with me! No more sleeping! ”Lying across his stomach, with wide eyes and an even wider smile was Thomas. He ruffled his feathers, slowly sitting up in his chair, adjusting his son so he sat on his lap.

“Donald, what have I told you about afternoon naps? Now you’re going to be up late again tonight” Daisy enters the house, closing the door behind her, scolding Thomas for leaving the door open again.

“Yes Ma’am,” He sassed, smirking at Daisy’s glare, rising to kiss her, prolonging the kiss when Thomas started to shout his disgust. She smacked him gently on the shoulder, kissing his cheek before leaving the boys alone.

Donald wasn’t too sure how his future would look for a short period of his life but now, with Daisy and Thomas, he knew it was a good one.

#donsy week #donald and daisy #donald duck #daisy duck

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blankdblank · 3 years

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Brother Dearest Pt 34

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 – Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10 - Pt 11 - Pt 12 - Pt 13 - Pt 14 - Pt 15 - Pt 16 - Pt 17 - Pt 18 - Pt 19 - Pt 20 - Pt 21 - Pt 22 - Pt 23 - Pt 24 - Pt 25 - Pt 26 - Pt 27 - Pt 28 - Pt 29 - Pt 30 - Pt 31 - Pt 32 - Pt 33 -

“James, could you hand me the pliers?” The cold handles should have tapped your hand by now or at least the scent of your fiancé who was just beside you admiring the efforts you were putting into getting their precious record player back up and running to dip into the collection of records. “James?” You asked looking up finding yourself now on your feet back in the barracks of that hospital where you had been forced into pretending to be Eddie’s brother. Onto your feet you stood and turned around seeing the other nurses readying the empty beds and stations for any possible injured soldiers.

The cocking of a pair of guns however turned your head to the words, “Lookie here, a little jack rabbit.” Swallowing dryly you stepped back and in the firing of the guns held by both sneering Bucky in his uniform and Steve in his Captain costume your hands rose from your sides drawing a pair of beds to morph together as a shield with blankets freed. Mattresses were lost to the cold tile floor now coated in the rubble of an explosion. Panting hard your body shivered under the cover of wildly flapping blankets and a heavier weight above the sheets engulfing your head and shoulders the scent of smoke and the distinct aftermath of grenades mingled with still burning flames. Around you walls exploding from the blasts collapsed to the sound of marching and engines soaring above and driving nearer to the smoldering base hospital.

Over that however louder and louder you could hear the sounds of the nurse who had kept such a close watch on you shouting over the engines to the sound of soldiers trying to drag her away, “You have to keep looking! She’s in there! Bunny! Bunny! You have to find her!” The building however collapsed all around you and was reduced to piles of broken glass, split burnt stones and warped metal with none else able to be heard other than those shouts for your rescue.

Finally able to unclench your eyes and above the floor in the kitchen on your floor you found yourself falling underneath your sheets and comforter. Just a foot to the floor at your hands extending flat beneath you in a hover you stopped with the blankets engulfing your panting self trembling in a drop of your knees to hold you. Again you had the dream, ending with those same shouts, though Bucky and Steve were new, yet not unexpected as this was around the time of year you’d crossed paths with your brother at that show. Smoothing your hands over your face the shaking was all the more noticeable to you remembering just why they had given you that medal.

Fifteen nurses in all and yourself, the youngest of the bunch with a single one who had claimed you looked so similar to her baby sister she’d left at home. Her and one other had been found alive once the Germans were through with their sport, both mangled and brutalized like the others both screaming for the soldiers hoping to take them to be healed to stop and find you. They knew what you must be facing if they didn’t, if they couldn’t, and their minds kept imagining more. There was a record you were shown of the details of that inspection of the ruined hospital, what those women suffered, their pleas to have the soldiers keep searching haunting those men as well who had shared accounts with the army Doctors.

A child lost to war imagined dead or enslaved by enemy forces to what terrible end. Two out of fifteen alive left to fear and dread what became of the lost little girl laid in wait until the men were asleep then ended their own suffering with borrowed pistols. Adding themselves to two more pine boxes flown home with daughters unwelcoming for open caskets, a flight delayed when remaining limbs and features taken as inhumane trophies from enemy forces gunned down were discovered and added to the caskets joining the numbers of fallen soldiers.

Among the tasks and photos taken in the separation from the brothers after the return to Canada was one where you had met the parents of the two found nurses who alerted the forces of your imagined fate. Parents who celebrated the news of your discovery among the soldiers with your brother, wounded and promoted to an officer’s rank, a rank the military upheld due to the alternative. Pure glee you weren’t captured, that one of their nurses had survived, a new patch of a historic degree was an easy gift compared to another pine box for a young orphan with no one to receive it. That was your weight, those nurses all honored in their falls as protecting the youngest, telling you to run, a half truth you had upheld remembering that report of their screams. They saved you, that was your gift of kindness for those parents unable to welcome their little girls home safe again. In your purse you kept their pictures gifted to you to never forget the women lost adding to the weight of your good name.

Turned from the bathroom on a midnight trip James in the light from the door eyed the stripped empty bed making him look around the room with heart giving a heavy thud, “Jaqi,” he whispered, “Darling?” unable to crack his voice louder mentally he reached out still feeling you at home asking, “Where’d you go?”

Whimpering back you replied, “In the kitchen,”

“Ki-,” exhaling sharply at your weak tone he hastened to meet you there wondering if you’d gone for tea and if so how you’d managed it with all the sheets so fast. Quiet as he could manage to not startle Venom he went on his toes across the cold floor to the kitchen where once past the sitting room he eyed you rising to your feet in the bundle of sheets and comforter. Hands outstretched to help you up and look you over asking, “What’s wrong?”

Shaking your head you said, “I don’t know how I got here.”

“What do you mean?” He asked brushing your curls from your face with hands lowering to circle your coated back drawing you closer to his bare chest. You shook your head, “Had a dream, the one at the hospital,”

“You were making beds when it collapsed again?”

“I,” your head shook and you wet your lips, “I asked you for pliers, I was sitting on a chair that vanished, I thought I was fixing the record player. But guns cocked, and I stood and turned, Bucky and Steve had the guns at me,” his brows fought not to clench feeling your nerves still on edge. “And I pulled beds in front of me, then I heard the nurses shouting to soldiers pulling them away to find me, and I woke up.” Out from the covers your hand pointed upwards lifting his gaze to the shimmering cloud of silver and blue fading, “Falling, from there.”

“That,” his brows furrowed in his shift around you with eyes still aimed upwards, “So,” he huffed shifting to be in front of you again with a comforting place of hands on your shoulders, “You can, teleport.”

“I don’t even know how I did it.” You squeaked out.

“Well, just like your mirroring my claws, that came out in your sleep.”

“Great, so I can teleport myself into the street middle of the night.”

“That won’t happen”

“If you ever wake up cold and alone you’ll know where to find me.”

He scoffed, “Your dream, you moved the beds and what did you think of? Best you can remember?”

“Spoons, I, I wanted spoons.”

Turning his head he smirked nodding his head at the open silverware drawers, “Spoons,” up again his hand moved cupping your cheek shifting your eyes to his, “I love you, come back to bed?” With a nod you leaned into the warm kiss he hoped might calm your trembling. “I’ll help you make the bed up again and I’ll hold you. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t think I could forget their faces even without the pictures. I really thought someone might have helped them too.”

James hugged you as you reached the bed having brushed his arms under the covers to pull you into his chest, “We all did. I’m so sorry we weren’t there for that meeting.”

“I knew it would be bad, if I would have been split from Eddie, but, not pieces and trophies. Even animals don’t do that.”

“No they don’t,” he hummed tightening his grip on you.

“Don’t know why I saw the guys there.”

James smirked saying, “Maybe you saw their picture in the library earlier, We all know how much we’d like to see them filled with spoons like screaming porcupines.” Making you giggle and in his pull back move to remake the bed to bring you right back to his arms underneath those same covers pressing a kiss to your forehead in the start of a story of your favorite constellations he used to help lull you back to sleep on bad nights you woke to nightmares.

“Oof,” into James’ back you bumped in a turn inside your closet making him chuckle in his former try to fashion the bow around your back on the ribbon belt to cover the seam on the waist of the flowing mint dress reaching your knees with ribbon ended sleeves reaching just above the elbow. “Sorry,”

“No apologies,” a couple more slips of the ribbon and he grinned at his work adoring his times in the morning helping you to get ready, kneeling with the bow completed and hands raised to guide your turn to help you into the black heels to match the ribbon he secured. Peppering sweet kisses on each knee tailed by a warm lingering kiss on your lips enabling him to tangle you in his arms again, “Timeless as always, Darling,” his eyes traveled to your loose curls, “Down today?”

“Might just pin a side back,”

“I’ll help you,” That had you giggling and going with him to the bathroom mirror where he claimed your comb to ease the tight curls of yours a bit looser while you found a couple pins.

“This how men were back in your youth?”

Lowly he chuckled humming by your ear in a move to steal a kiss on your cheek, “Back in the days of those corsets and gowns you asked me if I missed, when the servants were scarce it was the husband’s job to assist dressing his wife. Numerous buttons and laces to adjust.” Again he kissed your cheek, “And no, should it cost me time with you no, I wouldn’t wish to return back to that time. I very much enjoy our morning routine. Do you?”

His eyes met yours and smiles spread to your sheepish nod earning another sweet kiss on your cheek, “Very much. What do you think would happen to this time if we would have one in a crib and one on the way?”

Again he chuckled humming, “Babies love schedules. Teddy is a lovely baby, no doubt ours will be just as mellow. I’ll make certain we have our mornings no matter how many munchkins we have.”

“Hmm, what about ten? Even then?”

Chuckling again he turned your chin to plant his lips on yours, “More munchkins the better, then Vic will no doubt be involved. No nannies needed for our little family. Our little morning routines may grow more crowded but I will always spare some time with just you, my Darling.”

“Sometimes I wish I could stop time, stay with you in a little bubble.”

“No you don’t. I know the feeling, but you don’t. And you never want to go back, because you can’t change things, you can’t freeze a moment, because the longer you stay there the more it will hurt.”

“You’re getting that look again,”

Shaking his head he tapped his nose on either side of yours, “We spent decades hiding in our memories. It doesn’t help, only hurts. The most painful thing is when you never said goodbye, never closed that book, almost like you’re trapped even when you try to let go until someone shakes you loose somehow. Change is terrifying, but we’ll be here, and we’ll face it together.” Sweetly he kissed you on the lips melting into the kiss you rose up a bit more to deepen it, then he hummed, “Us and our own little army, joined with however many squishy can supply,” making you giggle softly.

“Am I pushing too hard, with Kitty?”

Shaking his head he cupped your cheek staring sentimentally into your eyes, “He about shoved me off a cliff to be brave enough to hold your hand, and you were the one to demand we date and steal a kiss on top of that. What you might feel as a push is a gentle poke. I think he could have fun with a movie star. Breathe some life in his sails again, he’s already swooning, does favor blondes. Had you hurt his feelings I’d have let you know. So you go on ahead and keep befriending young miss Norma Jeane because her pulse picks up around him. We’ll need some of your magic to pull this mission off.”

You giggled saying, “Young Miss? I can’t be a year older than her.”

Again he kissed your lips, “All the more reason for you to be best friends. Young dears out in this rough city breaking rules and claiming names for yourselves. Need as many allies as you can get.”

Downstairs the doorbell rang and you stole another kiss then turned still in his arms to add your lipstick you blotted to be worn down more to the sound of Eddie’s hurrying to welcome the early guest inside. “She’s early,”

James chuckled claiming your hand for the walk down, “Maybe she’s hungry.” Grinning wider to the sound of footsteps following the racing paws of the dogs going down, “Subtle,” he muttered to you making you giggle again and spot Victor slowing once he reached your floor smoothing his hands over the buttons on his shirt. “Norma must have smelled Eddie’s cooking.”

Victor rumbled back, “I’ll get on the coffee.” You both nodded then grinned to his back following him to the stairs only for him to rumble, “I can feel you smirking.”

“I am merely adoring Olive’s excited waddle,” at the base of that flight of steps he turned for the next and you smiled at him in his brow ticking up at you, “You can’t say it isn’t adorable.”

“You’re plotting something,” he rumbled in the two steps you took closer.

“I’m always plotting something, whoever said I could be the voice of reason in our group of daredevils obviously doesn’t pay attention to my actions. I’m the hot headed one.”

Victor chortled, “You are not hot headed in the least. Mastermind if anything. And you, Pipsqueak, are just getting warmed up.”

“Keep encouraging me and there’s no telling what I may get up to.”

James hummed leaning in to kiss your cheek, “Whole point Darling. Let’s start a revolution.” You rolled your eyes to Victor’s chuckling turn to continue going down the stairs.

“Oh this is just so splendid,” you could hear Norma Jeane saying on her way to the kitchen, “Oh how precious!” Clearly meant for Teddy who Eddie named for her.

Dawn said in the hanging up of a coat, “You look lovely,”

“Thank you, I am terribly sorry for being so early, only they said it might rain later, and I didn’t buy an umbrella,”

You all came into sight turning her around with a grin and eyes darting between you and Victor who nodded his head to her, “Morning Miss Norma, coffee?”

“Ooh, I do enjoy a nice cup of coffee.” She said shifting watching his path to the stove for the water to boil before turning to the ground coffee and the pump contraption he favored using from his travels for a finer cup of coffee you still couldn’t stand the taste of. A much finer job of concocting the brew for the men here as you and Dawn used the boiling water left for your morning tea to go with your juice.

James said, “Well we’ve plenty umbrellas if you need one, tend to hoard them, never can walk away from an umbrella sale.”

Lastly her eyes shifted to the last to speak, her silent friend, grinning as you finally spoke to ask, “Hungry?” Her lips parted as if to protest and you said, “I should warn you, no woman goes hungry here, figures be damned,” making her grin creep wider, “Besides, no telling how long Miss Margaret will keep us on our feet today.”

On her feet she turned accepting your arm looping through hers to guide her to the table where she grinned at being helped into the conversation around her, Eddie grinned pouring the pancakes from the batter he had mixed, “Apparently Dave got these awful tickets to this fight today and I somehow got pulled along.”

James, “How awful we talking?” Setting the table for everyone including Norma not used to seeing guys handle the readying as Dawn continued to feed Teddy.

Eddie, “Apparently the guy is scraping the bottom of the barrel for fights, well under his weight class for his height and now he’s gone and paid for a chance for the third best fighter who has a habit of breaking faces. Fool’s gone and trashed his career before he’s even had one.”

Victor said, “He not eating by choice or for funds?”

Eddie, “Funds, sounds like. Owes some up tops and is trying to scratch up some dough by bumping the match.”

Dawn, “You can’t be serious, he’s paid to fight a high ranked fighter beat him out of a match?”

Victor shook his head, “Got to be a hefty payday for that beating, been there.”

James chortled, “Oh ya, like the time you got paid to track down that mule and came back with a split face.”

Victor turned pumping his tube of coffee saying, “Hey, I would have caught that mule hours earlier if that goose wouldn’t have spooked him. Not any worse than your saying you could find that bear.”

James replied, “I found the bear.”

Victor chortled, “Ya, then we found you butt naked down to your boots the next morning walking back to town,” spreading giggles around the table as James clicked his tongue at his brother trading embarrassing tales of his own in revenge.

James nodded, “Like I said, found the bear.” Looking to Eddie he said, “What’d third chair guy do to be taking bribes to fight?”

Eddie smirked saying, “Took a low punch to the kidneys his last try at a title match and pissed himself.” Drawing chortles from the brothers, “Trying to beef up his reputation.”

Victor nodded replying sarcastically, “Oh ya, fighting an underfed thoroughbred, bound to get him that belt after his bladder purge.”

James, “Don’t know why he feels the need to stoop, hit anyone in the kidneys hard enough they’ll empty their bladder.”

Looking to Norma Jeane you asked, “Have you seen boxing matches before?”

She shook her head, “No, I hear they can be brutal.”

“Only heard about them, and we had two boxers in our troops they liked to share on their favorite fights. One kept bragging about him nearly losing a rib from one.”

Victor chortled, “Oh yes, Tommy was fun, then he got his foot jammed in that storm under a log and was just helpless. So much for those broad shoulders of his.”

Norma Jeane asked, “Do you go to fights often?”

James shook his head, “Not since we were kids. Boxing was a quick hustle to earn some cash.”

Norma Jeane looked the brothers over, “You didn’t want to keep boxing?”

Victor chuckled saying, “You can only take getting hit in the face so many times before a desk job is more appealing. Jimmy’s an Engineer and I’m an Architect.”

James, “Ya, got used to breaking our knuckles in other ways. And when we got punched it was more of a surprise.”

Norma smiled saying, “Wow, you both must have done well back in Canada, out here in New York I can’t imagine anywhere else you could build something.”

Eddie chuckled finishing off the last of the batter, “Oh you’d be surprised how easily people could find room to build. But from what we’ve seen of Canada it’s not so sandwiched. Should see it just miles of green in the spring time, bound to be all golden and red by now.”

“Oh I bet it’s beautiful,” she sighed out, “I grew up mainly in California, not much for seasons near Los Angeles. Even here so far it’s wonderful, when does it start snowing?” She asked excitedly.

Looking to Eddie you said, “November? Late November early December.”

Eddie nodded, “Sounds about right. You planning on being here then?”

In a shrug as he carried the tray of pancakes over she answered, “I don’t rightly know. The company didn’t give me a time to be back, just said to attend some classes. I’m certain if they had something for me to be back for they would call. They know where I am staying, after all they are footing the bill.”

Dawn said, “No doubt if you are still in town Bunny and Eddie could show off the best spots to visit.” Widening her grin.

Food was served out and the conversation continued on all she had plans to do while staying here between her classes a few days a week. Clearing the table was when the bell rang and the guys all led you three to the door with Victor holding Teddy saying, “Have fun ladies. Find something nice.”

James opened the door for you revealing the driver there nodding his head watching as you were helped into your jacket and handed your purse. Eddie helped Dawn pressing a sweet kiss to her cheek after she grabbed her purse from him then he turned with Norma’s coat in hand. She thanked him for help easing it on as James stole a quick kiss from you and joined the guys in watching your group following the driver to the flag bearing car a group of kids had come to crowd around to peek inside. The car was empty and excitedly the kids waved you all off on your way up to Manhattan. Much preferring the subway over this spectacle with pretty much everyone you passed imagining someone from the First Family was inside, a fact proved wrong as Margaret Truman came out of the family apartment and joined you inside with a smile as you all shifted letting her sit between you and Dawn.

“Morning,” she said breaking the silence.

“Sleep well?” you asked and her head tilted slightly.

“Not really, bit of a loud night last night.” She replied.

“Well, Yankees are doing well so far I hear from Eddie. Or at least he heard from the sports desk at the Bugle.”

That had her eyes on you, “We did read those articles about Congressman Farley, he didn’t, we heard he was threatening a woman from Brooklyn, about his son?”

“He tried to, didn’t stay long in our home. I made my point clear to his son who obviously ran to Daddy for some backup.”

She looked you over asking, “The Brooklyn Bugle said his son assaulted a woman at Columbia, and then he went to your house.”

“Brent touched my breast in class and was shown the error of his ways. Following that his father came to our home calling me a whore and tried to threaten us. I didn’t give him much time to explain what threat he was issuing, if he would have me expelled or just to ruin my reputation, I kicked him out and he sped off when he pissed off the block for the slur he kept shouting. I consider the problem dealt with, no need for concern.”

Margaret, “Father was very concerned reading all the differing versions of what had happened. Then he heard Brooklyn, and he knew we had to check on you.”

Smiling at her you replied, “That is very kind. I do happen to be very resilient, not the first time someone has tried to intimidate me.”

Margaret, “No, I can’t imagine it would be.”

“For now, we should focus on the night ahead, on a scale of Coney Island to the Dentist how fun are we talking?”

Her grin inched out again as she giggled out, “Closer to the Dentist. However there is some footage father wanted you to see. Apparently there was a group of directors sent to film different battles and you were in a few. Other than that we will have a lovely meal through talks from various experts. A good few are just dying to get to hear your expert opinion on magnets.”

“Oh I highly doubt that,” you giggled out adding, “More like they want a good argument. Prove me wrong.”

Dawn, “If I can ask why would magnets be a big deal?”

Margaret shrugged, “Oh you never know, inventions and such. That Stark fellow especially might be interested with his flying car.”

Your eyes narrowed a tick as Norma said, “Someone is making a flying car? Oh that sounds complicated.”

“I don’t think magnets would work for that.”

Margaret said, “You never know.”

Norma asked, “How wouldn’t it work?”

“Well, a magnet gets weaker in effect the farther it is from something metallic, so arguably you would still need to be close to the ground or buildings if you manage to get it to climb up buildings too. Even then it could harm the people inside.”

Dawn, “If it fails you mean?”

“Or if it doesn’t, people are essentially magnets themselves, there’s iron in your blood, you put a powerful enough magnet up next to someone it could tear their blood out, stop their hearts, kill their brains which need constant blood flow. Not to mention the effect on their bones from the marrow inside where the blood is created. Arguably you could make a propeller powered platform that the car could hover over but you would be dipping more into aeronautics over magnet power. There would still have to be an engine that wouldn’t be affected by the magnet and fuel with a low enough metal content to not sludge up and clog the pipes.”

Norma Jeane smiled saying, “Wow, and you learned all that in your college classes?”

Looking at her you shook your head, “No, public library. And Eddie used to bring me along to the junkyard before the war, taught me a fair bit on engines.”

Norma Jeane, “How would you build a flying car then?”

To the floor your eyes shifted in thought and you said, “I don’t think we have what I would need. I would probably have to invent what I need first before I could make one. Probably have to have a way to manipulate propellers, but it would need something like a balloon for lift so the air forced out couldn’t hurt other people when it goes to land or take off.”

Dawn cut in saying, “And you would need to think on fuels as well.”

Norma Jeane asked, “Would steam work?”

“Could, though it couldn’t go too high, air gets colder the higher you get and it could freeze even with propellers. Part of how airplanes keep up, oil has a low freezing temperature and the engines pound so hard that it keeps the oil moving. If that was to freeze the engine would stall and fall out of the sky when the propellers stop spinning.”

Dawn, “But if you had a decent insulator for the steam it could work.”

Margaret eyed the street as the car stopped and smiled saying, “We’re here.” The door opened by help of the driver and out you came one at a time with the three behind the First Daughter eyeing the designer shop you had never dreamed of going to before. Two attendants came to open the double doors of the shop surrounded by cameras capturing the latest shopping trip for Margaret.

Inside you went and more attendants flocked to greet your group, all grinning as the doors were locked behind you by the doormen there to ensure the press was kept out. Margaret said, “I am thinking pink,” wandering off with finger aimed to a distant rack taking two attendants with her. The rest split between your group taking a rack at a time. Possible options were shifted to the arms of the attendants.

Each tag making your heart skip a little knowing how each dress you touched could have paid your rent for a year at least with ample for food and utilities. All the same the reminder from the guys had you grabbing a few options while Dawn did the same, choosing colors that might be flattering against yours. Lowly to her and Norma however you muttered, “I am sorry it seems we may be in for a boring night.”

Margaret finally made her way back to your group with a couple racks of choices come to see yours. “Nice choices, ready for the fun part?” She asked guiding you back to the changing rooms where each of you and all together looked over the choices of the others giving comments.

From a few flowing options to tighter ones you seemed to have shared that preference. Though from the mix you ended up choosing the one you thought James might enjoy helping you with the most. Forest green, a bit low in the back below the shoulder blades, sleeveless with a sweetheart top synched at the waist above the extra double layered flap of fabric over your backside and hips adding emphasis to your figure. Almost like an added sleeveless jacket over the skirt, that was simple flaring out at the knee.

Dawn however chose to go with her off the shoulder hugging purple dress to accentuate her figure while she still had it, streamlined to the flare at her knees with a belt around her waist. Off her dress Norma chose a maroon dress with spaghetti traps hugging her perfectly with a slightly tighter skirt than both of yours that she hurried to change out of to inspect the coats on display. While she chose a silk lined white fur coat she squeaked in easing around the hanger of the dress she’d chosen. Dawn’s eyes and hand fell on a white mink shawl she just couldn’t pass on close to a small blanket in size. You however couldn’t pass a grey fox fur shawl shorter than Dawn’s reaching just your waist.

Altogether the price was staggering but with the high profile event a knee weakening half off had you all walking out with a great deal. Norma wrote a check ensuring she’d been given a hefty payday to come and study while keeping up her appearance and wardrobe. For yours and Dawn’s you counted out your bills saved in higher amounts from tips along with some funds withdrawn in case of emergencies when you had hushedly reminded her she’d brought the wrong purse forgetting her checkbook at home. Though for the price anyways she would have needed to have a notice from her bank that Eddie had approved an amount like that for her spending. A plus you imagined for having not married yet, as one day you’d need a signed notice from James to carry in your checkbook he’d soon have full legal control of.

Final total counted out and passed over you smiled to the woman at the register saying, “From my tips and comic book funds.”

The woman gave you a curious smirk, “You read comic books?”

“I own and help design two comic series.”

Margaret sighed out taking hold of her bags, “I wish I had more time to read comics. Father has me focused on fundraisers and charities since the war ended.” Smiling again however she said, “Time for accessories.”

Shoes however surely followed in the next designer shop with purses galore as well to choose from. More attendants came over with ample choices on parade around you all to go with the champagne flutes you were given. Behind Dawn’s back you downed yours after a short while and traded flutes with her making her smirk at your wink allowing her a bit of time to keep the news in family. Half you drained to not have her seen as bubbly crazy with another smiling sip to finish off more of the near gag inducing drink. Shoes however requiring both hands allowed you both to pass over the flutes to inspect a pair closer. Exhaling sharply through a momentary fight not to shiver you caught sight of Norma sneaking another sip of hers she set down to hurry to your side asking about her own choice. “I think these would be lovely.”

“Yes they would.” You said moving to claim your own pair of shoes you surely didn’t need, yet with how hard the attendants were pushing and Margaret’s outright demand that you all had to have special shoes for the occasion. Dark silver pumps matching your fur covering nearly half of the top of your feet snugly in case of steps fitted thanks to the heel of it. Similar in shape to Dawn’s with a strap above the toe of the shoe covering most of the top of her feet in her favorite style in a purple shade to match her dress.

Norma chose red sandal heels and hurried with her hand claiming yours to bring you over to the purses before Margaret could snatch up the best of them. Right off Norma chose a white beaded one with a silver clasp as you eyed a fold over clutch in shimmering velvet the same shade as Dawn’s gown she smiled in accepting once she reached your side, admiring the golden clasp accent on the top flap. Under your arm hers looped and she guided you through to a few choices, on you couldn’t even open until you found a silk forest green clutch with three strips diagonally overlapping across the front, secured with a silver clasp and a golden stringed tassel on the side. “I think this will look good with your dress.”

You nodded peeking inside only to grumble at the price tag making Dawn giggle and say, “You know what James would say.”

“Oh yes I do, and Victor and Eddie, not to mention the Brocks.” She grinned and with bags handed over to attendants you joined Margaret in her inspection of bags, five of which she claimed for her own. Near to a sigh you murmured, “Please slap me if I ever grown that spend happy.”

Smiling at you she whispered back, “The moon would explode first,” luring your grin back out.

The young woman from good standing and good family clearly having no problem with using her position and name to get as much as she wanted burned against everything you stood for. From such harsh beginnings you had vowed never to forget that unending hunger, never to forget what cruelty can come with entitlement of any kind. Above all you had sworn to yourself to be kind, with so much anger and pain tucked away inside of your past you had hoped between bouts of sheer rage at those who were cruel or malicious snapping your final tether of restraint that you could be kind.

Hoarding good or wealth was never your intention, but having some cash on hand was always a benefit especially when you felt the urge to send funds to your cousin or aunt. They had work and ample funds thanks to the Brocks up there, still they were your family and the last of your actual blood. Family was what you were clinging to, perhaps if you could help them succeed and find comfort through their lives this pain from Steve might dwindle, the loss of your parents would never leave but maybe that one word he called you might muffle over time from your memory.

“Bunny,” Dawn muttered and blinking away the mistiness of your prickling eyes you noticed the trembling of the sterling silver lined mirror at your side you stilled with a smile forcing back down that path of mental wandering again.

“Rabbit hole, sorry.” Her hand smoothed along the arm looped in hers.

Softly she asked, “You don’t think Venom would hiss at my coat do you?” That had you giggle behind your lifted hand and she said, “He used to hiss at the mounted heads at my parents’.”

“It was the eyes. Skeptical of marbles, something with his old home. Dangerous to get trapped in.”

“Oh, I suppose I can’t use them for vases then.”

“You can, just glue them down so I can’t break them on accident.” Making her giggle and watch as you smiled and answered one of Margaret’ questions on a pair of bags she was stuck on to go with her new shoes.

With a grin she turned and asked, “Have you decided a major yet?”

“No, though I heard you graduated in the spring with a Bachelor Degree in Arts, well done.”

She smiled, “Yes, thank you. Nearly did not swing it, physical education is a fickle thing. But I passed a swim test and got my credit. Have you signed up for physical education yet?”

“Bowling, next semester, it’s a lawn course and they don’t want to freeze anyone.”

Her lips parted in a widening grin, “My father loves to bowl, keeps talking about building an alley at the White House.” She looked to Norma, who came over with a second bag she was considering, “Have you bowled before?”

Norma, “Bowled, oh, with the pins, no. My foster father talked about taking me when I was young. Always got put off, then the war started. You like to bowl?”

Margaret nodded, “Though I am not as practiced as my father. You, Dawn?”

Dawn chuckled, “Oh, we’re the ones who introduced Bunny and Eddie to it. Our town in Canada has a theater and a bowling alley, big pulls in town, used to make it a bi-weekly thing, have a whole tournament for it. Bunny almost won once.”

You giggled and shook your head, “You are generous, for all my skills in Advanced Mathematics the scoring goes over my head. I needed a split and I lost with a two pin blow against a five pin slammer. I thought my five strikes would have put me ahead but apparently not.” Making the ladies chuckle as you looked at the second purse in Norma’s hand, “Ooh, that’s pretty.”

“I know, pink fake fur, now I just need to find a dress to go with it sometime. My weaknesses, pink and fur.”

“I think mine would be mint, don’t know why, and yellow, I do love a good pop of yellow.”

Dawn asked Margaret, “What are your plans now you’ve graduated?”

She smiled saying, “Singing,”

“Ooh, brave,” you said and she looked at you making you shake your head, “Not against you, I’m terrible with speeches, I can’t imagine singing to strangers. I can manage a lullaby to Teddy or Eddie’s Nephews and Nieces but that’s my line.”

To herself she giggled replying, “I have heard that sentiment often. Though I doubt there will be any expectations beyond me being the best of the best.” She looked you over, “No doubt you were given that weight as well.”

“I doubt anyone expected much from me beyond becoming a housewife. War is over, back home we go.”

Margaret, “One day that will change, perhaps for our daughters.”

“Oh we’ll make it change, whether they like it or not.”

She looked you over asking, “No clue at all for a degree?”

“I was thinking science, maybe math. Just see how far I can get against the current. Apparently Columbia has women requiring a vote to attend graduate courses there.”

“They will vote for you. No doubt about it.”

“Well they’ll have to, I’m going for a Masters, though I will settle for a Doctorate, they will be seeing a great deal of me in the years to come.” Two more bags were rounded up before you all made your ways to the registers where your funds were dwindled even more with the half off bags and shoes. Though to go with the purchases unlike with the gowns the smiling woman behind the counter eased four bottles of Chanel No 5 in their protective boxes into small goody bags joined with a bracelet each, white gold with diamond and grey stones in sideways V’s all around alternating colors to the clasp. With lips parted you watched the boxes they were in closed and added to the goody bag to go with a box of chocolate covered cherry candies.

A call to the security team had Margaret off before her initially offered lunch in her own car while you were all helped into your own car where Norma smiled in dabbing her new fragrance behind her ears making you turn away blinking a few moments for the powerful scent. Certainly distinct, especially the hint of rose and jasmine in there almost had your eyes water. But as you couldn’t bear to wear much past the scent of green apple and honey from your soaps the fate of your bottle was sealed as a gift to Gina and Ambrose, soon to be joined by Dawn’s as the woodier ingredients had her stomach churning. Excitedly home again bags were lifted and with the help of the driver and brothers on the stoop from a walk brought up to be explored as the first of the rain drops began to trickle down.

James’ smile lingered looking you over as if to guess what you had bought, “Have fun?”

“Well, the three of us bought a third of what Miss Margaret bought.”

Victor chuckled and said, “Well she has been on tour recently.”

Lowly to James you whispered, “35 grand, I counted, she dropped without a blink.”

Victor stole a glance your way then focused on the bag that Norma was showing off to him widening his grin at the playful choices before she delved into the shoes available. Dawn crept over saying, “We even got these goody bags, I can’t keep the perfume though. Bit musty,” James looked over the bottle impressed at the elite French brand.

“Eddie’s sisters would love them, was going to send them mine. Anything past soap is-,”

Norma’s squeak had you all looking and grinning at Victor’s near soppy grin at her folding herself in her white mink coat, “Isn’t it just to die for?!”

With a nod he said, “Very chic, certainly will have some heads turning to that alone.” She nipped at her lower lip as he delved more into what he knew on furs.

Though lowly by your ear James hummed, “You bought furs,” using a finger to tug your bag closer making you roll your eyes at his lifting the folding boxes from inside it. The one you tapped he smiled opening and pulling out the grey fox fur shawl. “Now this is wonderful.”

“They had a lot of browns and whites, I liked the grey, and it’s so soft.”

He nodded and smiled at Dawn, “Do we get to peek at yours?”

She nodded and got to showing off her fur and bag and shoes ending with a stolen hug from James in her excitement, surrogate until Eddie got home before her trot off to get Teddy from his pen in the living room fussing from his nap noticing he was alone. Again James chuckled and got to inspecting your shoes and purse, rewarding you with a nice warm kiss and tap of his nose and forehead to yours a moment, “Perfect choices. Do I get to see the dress too?”

“When I hang it up. Thought you might like it, few hints to your old days. Will need help with it.”

“I will love it, you chose it.” Carefully he tucked your things back into their boxes and bags to take up to your room later as you went to go and check on the meal slowly cooking in the kitchen luring him in after you granting beaming Victor and giggling Norma time alone for their chatter to grow.

Pt 35

All –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea , @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore, @mariannetora, @shes-a-killer-kween, @ggbbhehe4455, @xxbyimm (Hobbit x oc)

X Marvel-Cast - @himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @changlingkhat

#James Howlett x Reader OC #Victor Creed #Eddie Brock x OC #Venom #Nightmares #Grim Past #Dress Shopping #Margaret Truman #Making Friends #Class Differences #Norma Jeane

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agapaic · 4 years

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Tianshan / "you need to learn to love yourself" (feel free to change/rephrase this to your liking!!) He Tian's POV pls? Thank you! Love your writing

22.

He Tian kicks his boot through the rubble of an old shopping centre. Only the shell of the east-side wall still stands, windows smashed in, wysteria creeping twenty feet over the concrete. A cherry blossom stands in the middle where a fountain must have once stood, metal coins scattered beneath glass and metal rebar. Something catches beneath his boot, and He Tian reaches down to unleash it from the ropey shackles of a tree root.

He turns the plastic bottle in his hand. Learn to love yourself, it reads. Apply moisturiser morning and night to clean skin for beautiful skin.

He Tian chuckles lowly to himself. When he glances around, he suddenly sees the array of little bottles and plastic pipettes and synthetic makeup brushes sticking out through the mortar like dark new shoots. He’s standing above the remnants of a cosmetics counter, he realises. A department store, maybe.

He Tian tosses the bottle to the ground. It skitters, bounces three times, and a crow caws as it launches from an empty window, dark wings beating against a still, dry air. He shakes his head. There’s no food here -- no water. What could have been here was likely pilfered long before the world turned. A warehouse would’ve been better, but the maps aren’t reliable anymore.

He Tian sighs into the confines of his mask, a make-shift bandanna with a strip of filter gauze stitched into the centre. Two days of trekking, and the wasteland offers him this: a blue-grey sky that is too bright to look at, and the dust that will come soon -- it always does.

He Tian glances down again, deliberates, and picks up one of the bottles. Every find is a treasure. Every treasure can be bartered for. How many women -- how many men -- would pay well for something like this? A few packets of ramen, maybe. Perhaps a litre of bottled water. Even lighter fluid or four cigarettes or--

‘Dry skin?’

He Tian whirls.

His gun is loaded, but cartridges are hard to come by for his brand of pistol, and he only holds it with his finger on the trigger. Words aren’t a threat -- but they can be.

He holds his arm steady, but there’s no one there. He knows the voice came from the general direction of behind, close enough not to be an echo, but fuck knows He Tian has heard things that weren’t really there before now.

‘I won't shoot!’ he calls out. ‘Just tell me what you want.’

There's a snicker. ‘You don't even know where I fuckin’ am,’ comes the voice. ‘You think I'm gonna be worried about you shootin’ me?'

Keep talking, He Tian thinks, eyes roaming the landscape. Even a twitch of a mouth will be enough for He Tian to line up a shot.

‘I guess you're right,’ he says, keeping his voice steady, his arm steadier. ‘Are you going to shoot me?’

‘Not if you get off my land, I won't. And leave the product with you.’

Product. Land. Typical stakes in territory. He Tian doesn't have time for it. The guy sounds his age, maybe — and angry. Nothing new.

‘Guess you need the self-love moisturiser more than I do,’ He Tian muses. ‘It's dry as balls out here.’

‘I manage.’

I. Not we. He’s alone -- and He Tian's found him. Just the shadow of him, standing in the empty window frame of the wall. But a shadow is enough.

‘How the hell...?’ He Tian murmurs. Did the guy climb up there? Scale the wall with deft fingers? He Tian catches a flash of red, the sun beating down on a lock of hair as the guy rolls the back of his skull against the wall.

And He Tian shoots.

Mortar and plaster implode from the wall, a grey plume bursting into the air. It doesn't hit the stranger, but the impact of bullet on stone is enough to send him falling from his hiding spot, a fox chased from its den.

And then three things happen: the hovering crows launch into the air again, wings kicking up dust from their perches, shadows flashing across He Tian's eyelids. Then -- the thump, the groan. It's a high enough fall that the guy could've broken his legs, or worse, but He Tian gets the feeling he knows how to land well. And thirdly, finally, the wall starts to tremble.

He watches it, uncertain at first, and then hears the crack.

Fuck.

The wall could have stood there for another twenty years, if it tried hard enough, went undisturbed. A few chunks plummet to the ground, clouds of grey dust ballooning into the air on impact like the aftermath of an airstrike. And then the wall starts to lean.

He Tian doesn't remember moving, remembers the feel of his surroundings changing, of rounding the corner of the wall and seeing a guy his age sprawled on the ground, a piece of metal piping jutting through his thigh, and then the hair. Not red from dust or the dried rust-coloured blood of a head wound or the burning rays of the sun. Actual red. For a moment, He Tian feels as if he's been struck, too.

He Tian could leave him there, let the wall finish the job, walk away with one less enemy to confront in a year's time in a desert where no one is for anyone unless there's something in return. But something stops him.

The redhead groans under He Tian's handling, no time for gentleness, and He Tian drags him across the gravel and far enough out of remit that, when the wall finally crumbles, the dust is only a faint sting in He Tian's eyes. Minutes pass, the dust settles, and He Tian pulls down his bandana for a deep breath.

‘You fuck,’ the guy is groaning, voice hoarse. ‘You stupid fuck.’ His eyes are closed, and He Tian notices that his eyelashes are red, too.

‘I saved your life,’ He Tian says, crouched beside him.

‘You don't get a fuckin’ thank you for almost tryin' to end it!’

He splutters, protests lost in a coughing fit, wretching dust and plasterboard up from his lungs. There isn't much blood around the metal lodged in his thigh. A clean impalement, by the looks of it, but He Tian doesn't know if he'll ever walk right again.

‘I'll fix this,’ He Tian says. ‘You can't defend yourself like this.’

The guy pries his eyes open, just barely, thin slits that have no appreciation for the smile He Tian has started to wear on his lips. If nothing else, He Tian thinks he looks a little frightened.

‘I don't need your help,’ he spits, trying to sit upright and getting only so far as to rise up on his elbows with a sharp, defeated exhale. ‘You tried to fuckin’ kill me. Who's to say you're not gonna kill me for real as soon as you get to my supplies?’

He Tian's smile widens. ‘Around here?’ he asks, taking in the desert, the rubble, the familiar emptiness. He sits back on his heels, gun loose in his hand. ‘Well, sweetheart, I guess no one but you and me.’

—

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#19 days #prompts #tianshan #old xian

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otherworldqueen · 4 years

Text

hihi i’m adina, i’m 22, and i play CETUS.

here is my super long bio if anybody actually wants to read it (it’s super long i’m so sorry). as i said in my app, there are a lot of assumed connections/pronouncs for the sake of expanding my interpretation of CETUS. but ofc, ALL THESE CONNECTIONS CAN BE RE-WRITTEN since I wouldn’t wanna godmod.

[ PART I ]

— 1980 —

He was born within a confinement of sterilized, white walls, with human men and women looming over a screaming mother in labor. A mutant was born, and though his mother’s trembling fingers reached for her precious baby, it was a doctor who first held him, dubbing him his first name: 0958.

It was his mother’s petrified screams, sweat pouring from a pale forehead, that convinced the doctor he would be more useful under the care of a mother rather than another doctor. She had begged and pleaded, even fighting against vaccinations that disciplined her until her speech was slow and heavy, powers negated. It was only when she agreed to a series of experiments after pointing out she was one of the first to have birthed a son within a testing facility, that her aching arms were allowed the comfort of her son.

There, 0958 found solace in her warm, weak limbs, lips eager for nutrition in the form of his mother’s milk. There, with tears streaking down his mother’s face, came his second name: Fin.

— 1988 —

To the countless doctors that came, saying and doing nothing other than jabbing him and his mother with needles, he remained to be 0958. However, to a desperate mother, he would always be Fin.

It didn’t take long for Fin to learn how to bare his fangs and sink dirty, jagged nails into the humans that entered their domain. His skin would bristle with every strange doctor, and he learned to growl, scream, and kick before he could talk. Each and every time, Fin would receive a backhand - but to the boy, it was just another red mark to add to the countless injection sites that littered his arms and legs. Threats of being separated from his mother would temporarily subdue him, the boy hissing as he was squeezed tightly by his mom.

She taught him love and patience amidst cruel humans who only tested on him in attempts to bring out dormant powers. “Never, never trust them, Finny,” she had always said. And he listened, believed with his whole heart, because when had she ever done him wrong? She was always the one to protect him, to fight every time they dragged the boy away for yet another round of “analysis” and “research.”

Fin learned to associate those words with pain in the form of needles, electric nodes, and the same fucking memory tests over and over again. But he gritted his teeth and sat through everything - the “0958,” the bullshit medical jargon - because at least he would end the day against the safety of his mother’s chest. Even through the strange liquids they pumped into his small body, even through the countless pints of blood they took, leaving him delirious and faint, Fin took the abuse.

— 1990 —

Until his mother was taken away, kicking and screaming.

He wished that he could remember his mother in any other light other than how he saw her that day; dark hair clung to her forehead, wretched wails cut short when she was slammed against the floor, body slumping, nails breaking against those dreaded, sanitized tiles.

Something snapped in him that day.

Fin believed that it had been a long time coming; there was only so much a 10-year old could handle, having been wound tight by countless experimentations. His anger and upset, having only been simmering beneath a defensive surface, blossomed into the powers that they so desperately wanted to awaken: destruction manipulation.

He had never been so happy than when he saw white tiles painted red, with countless corpses littering the floor. He couldn’t stop, overdosed on the strength that washed over him at the sight of fear across doctors’ faces before he so brutally snapped their necks. The building crumbled around him, and delicious screams echoed in the air. He deserved this, deserved the retribution after years upon years of mistreatment.

The boy didn’t stop, didn’t listen to any of their pleas for mercy. Had they shown him mercy when he needed it most, he hissed back, before a flick of his flat palm was enough for their insides to rupture. On this day, he was Cetus; a sign of misfortune to any who crossed him, a bad omen for any and all humans that stepped in his way.

“Never, never trust them, Finny,” his mother’s sweet voice echoed in a raging mind; the only light to guide him as the testing facility he grew up in perished in a sea of ash and rubble. Stumbling from a devastated location, Fin fell to his knees as tired lungs filled with smoke. There, the death of Fin was the beginning of his new life.

CENTAURUS was the one who had found him lying atop cracked pavement. When Fin had woken up on a strange couch, surrounded by pale, yellow walls, he panicked. At first glance, CENTAURUS seemed human, and Fin was enraged, shoving CENTAURUS against chipped paint, demanding for answers - all of which the stranger so graciously gave through a charming, lovely smile.

“I’m just like you,” he had said, before a hand came to brush against his face. A feeling of calm washed over the boy as he unknowingly fell victim to the sweet feeling of sensory deprivation. All of a sudden, the pain that he harbored had dulled, and yet his eyes filled with tears as he finally allowed himself to recall the unfortunate fate of his mother. It was CENTAURUS who held him all throughout that night, their bond forged from their shared, mutant connection.

“What is your name?” he had asked, so sweetly.

“...” how could he answer, when Fin only made him remember his mother, and 0958 was a label given to him by human doctors - the same ones who would never utter a single word after that night.

“I don’t know.” he whispered truthfully. And CENTAURUS smiled that beautiful smile - how could he ever feel bad?

“Alright, Buckshot.” It was a teasing name that etched heat into his heart, wedged into his memories even long after he had given himself a proper name; Axel.

[ PART II ]

— 2000 - 2010 —

They were inseparable ever since that day. Whenever CENTAURUS found himself at the mercy of wicked humans, Axel was the first to throw himself into the inferno, ripping up pavement and reducing everything to rubble if it guaranteed CENTAURUS' safety. He trusted them with his life, just as they trusted him with their own.

It was why, when CENTAURUS brought up Westchester, Axel was willing to follow.

“A safe place? For mutants?”

“Yes, Axel...this could be our new beginning.”

And a safe place it was indeed. When they arrived, Eric had been there to greet them personally. The welcoming environment and the immediate feeling of belonging brought a sense of community that Axel never had. It was clear that many held Eric in great respect - and Axel could feel the pull the man had with his handshake alone. Not one human breached the boundaries of Westchester, and yet, Axel couldn’t shake the feeling that Eric could do more than just keep peace.

This was everything him and CENTAURUS had dreamed of; a place where mutants like them would feel welcome. The peaceful smiles tossed Axel’s way, the friendly conversations….it should have been paradise. But for a man who had come out of the womb fighting, all he could feel was a restlessness that the community couldn’t satisfy. After all, how could the equality that Eric so often preached be achieved when “peace” did nothing to remove humans from their high chairs? How could Eric build an entire school for mutants to hone their powers, and encourage peace? If Eric wasn’t willing to bring mutants to their true potential, then Axel would.

When Axel went to the streets after months of being locked within Westchester, he felt invigorated. Who knew that it would take months of pure peace for Axel to realize that the streets of chaos was where he thrived.

Axel was alone in his first rally.

“Come on, buckshot, it’s dangerous…”

“What am I supposed to do? Sit around and twiddle my fucking thumbs and let mutants out there suffer?”

“It’s not your responsibility to save them.”

“You would rather they die?”

“That’s not what I said - ”

“You didn’t have to say it.”

Perhaps that should have been Axel’s first hint that CENTAURUS was never destined to be in his future; not when they were so willing to let mutants die for the sake of peace. But despite the crack in Axel’s heart, he went on with his rally. Axel yelled inspiring words until his throat grew hoarse, using his powers to force humans and mutants to listen when his voice no longer could.

One rally became two, more and more mutants joining his cause until he led mobs to wreak havoc down the streets. Some of these mutants included ORION, LIBRA, and CARINA, who turned out to be the family that Axel never knew he needed. They believed in his cause, believed in him, and were empowered by the justice that Axel sought to bring.

More often than not, Axel came out by the skin of his teeth, littered with bruises and bloodied limbs. But he never stopped, not even when humans begged for mercy, teeth knocked out of broken jaws (always in “self defense,” of course) - especially not when his fellow Horsemen were there to pick him up when CENTAURUS wasn’t. Every person that submitted only served to fuel Axel’s thirst for vengeance. In each human, Axel saw the cold glare of the doctors and nurses he grew up with - the same ones who treated him as less than.

It served them right to be on the other side of the spectrum for once.

With each escalated riot, with each parade that ended with destruction in his path, the further that CENTAURUS separated themselves from Axel. The smooth-sailing conversations and laughter turned to endless arguments and fights.

“You can barely even call yourself a fucking mutant if you’re not willing to stand up for them the way I do.”

“Don’t you dare say that. Just because I’m not willing to watch you kill yourself - ”

Axel only remembered a sea of red rage that mingled with heartbreak over arguing with his best friend.

“I can take care of myself just fine.”

“Axel, you’re barely even letting me talk - “

In the end, what were they even fighting over?

“You might as well just fucking say that you don’t care about me.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“You’re just as bad as those fucking humans.

“That’s not fair. I - you know what? I’m done.”

“What?”

“I’m done, Axel.”

In the end, was it even worth it?

Through the angry tears and the broken knuckles, Axel had to convince himself that it was. A metal heart, softened over the years for CENTAURUS now wrenched and pried apart, left to rust in the ever-brewing storm that followed CENTAURUS’ exit from Axel’s life.

But if CENTAURUS was going to leave him? Abandon him? Then fine.

He didn’t need them. If CENTAURUS wasn’t going to support him, then Axel didn’t need someone like them to slow him down.

[PART III]

— 2010 - NOW —

The HORSEMEN officially came together in 2010 as the parades and riots they hosted began to grow into an overwhelming size. There were many mutants who saw their cause for “equality for mutants,” and wanted to do more than just attend the occasional rally. Axel, ORION, LIBRA, and CARINA were so tightly knit that the founding creation of the HORSEMEN was natural.

Finally, their petition for equality had a symbol to showcase their passion. Not only did the image of the four HORSEMEN represent the community of mutant activists they had gathered over the years, but it also presented a beacon of hope for any and all mutants who were wronged by humans.

For years, Axel was content with the achievements they accomplished together as the HORSEMEN. They had made incredible strides promoting equality for mutants, and the idea that Axel not only was a part of it, but was elected leader for their organization, made a jaded heart tremble.

However, just like when he entered Westchester for the first time, it didn’t take long for Axel to want to strive for more. There was no reason to settle - not when they held immense power and sway right at the edge of their fingertips.

Carolyn gave Axel a new purpose in life.

From the moment Axel was called in to meet Carolyn, there was an immediate pull that the mutant never felt with Eric. This woman was headstrong, persuasive, and powerful. With one soothing word, she could calm the everlasting storm that raged within Axel’s mind.

“Tell me, CETUS...Westchester wasn’t enough for you, was it?”

“Of course it wasn’t.” Axel still remembered the way his nose wrinkled at the question. “To think that I would sit around, wading in serenity that may not even last - it’s a waste of my abilities.”

“Yes...it is.” she had laughed, and it was as smooth as silk the moment it hit his ears. “I’ve seen what you’ve done with your...HORSEMEN. You are an impressive young man who would benefit from the help that I can give you.”

“...”

“...you desire what is best for your HORSEMEN, do you not?”

“Yes. Of course I do. I want equality - ”

“Oh, CETUS,” that honeyed laughter yet again, “I know you desire more than that.”

And how could Axel argue when Carolyn echoed the words he didn’t want to voice? For a while, there was a niggling dissatisfaction with fighting for equality among humans. After all, how could mutants be equal when they were so much more powerful? Axel’s fingers twitched in anticipation at Carolyn’s words, a dark need for more allowing itself to bloom to the surface of his eyes.

Those sharp nails came to scrape gently across Axel’s bangs, and he leaned into her clawed touch. An old, dusty memory flickered; one of his mother whispering soothing words into his ear, long nails coming to brush dark hair away from his eyes.

“I can give you what you want and more, CETUS.”

If Carolyn’s alluring presence wasn’t enough for Axel to fall under the charm of the Hellfire Club, then her promise of power was. Not everyone shared his opinion, and it didn’t take long for his HORSEMEN to doubt that Carolyn and the Hellfire Club truly had their best interests in mind. But Axel was engulfed in the enticing flames of hellfire, blinded by the power and the money that began rolling in as a result of Carolyn’s intervention. With the influence of the Hellfire Club behind him, Axel could finally, finally live to his true potential. He was born to destroy, and the club only encouraged the use of his mutant powers. Their sponsorship allowed Axel to gorge himself on the weaknesses of humans with no end in sight to his rampage.

Of course, no one - especially not Axel - was expecting to lose Carina the way they did.

It was devastating. Axel remembered being overwhelmed, gashes littering his arms as he did his best to protect the mutants in the rally. He remembered the distance beeping - a familiar sound he didn’t realize was a bomb until Carina had leaped to her death.

Axel barely had time to mourn, wrestling with the immediate tears and heartbreak as he took the rest of the HORSEMEN to safety. He remembered dragging LIBRA and ORION away from Carina’s remains, and when they found refuge in their headquarters, it was then, and only then, that Axel allowed himself to succumb to the agony brought on by the loss of Carina. His metal heart cracked under the pressure, but it wasn’t long for a blazing desperation for justice to lick his wounds clean.

Never would he let a human get a one-up on his kind again.

Eric’s disappearance, as unfortunate as it was, means that Axel has his hands full with taking care of his HORSEMEN. Panic is rampant among his people, and he is using every ounce of will to make a show of strength. Axel is empowered by the Headmaster’s disappearance, using it as an opportunity to recruit new members and expand upon his organization. He refuses to succumb to the insanity that surrounds him - though Axel is unaware that he already is by turning to Carolyn and the Hellfire Club to satisfy his endless greed for justice. With his mentor on one hand and his HORSEMEN family on the other, only time will tell if Axel will be able to make the inevitable choice or snap under the pressure of being torn in two.

#ooc #bio

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let-love-run-red · 5 years

Text

Vaehra Rahthone

Since being sent back to the wall, life had been much less, exhilarating for Jon Snow. He had been in wars, seen life after death, fought the army of the night king, and ridden dragons. Nothing could compare to that, not even the wilderness of the far North.

He trudged through the snow, leading his horse through the trees as he scanned the surroundings, watching for anything of interest.

"I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory." He was Jon Snow, born a Targaryen and raised a Stark. He had known power, known women, held lands. The celibate life of the knights of the watch didn't fit him anymore. He was grateful to be back in the North, where he felt at home, where Ghost could roam free and the wind whipped his cloak through the air. But there were certain things he missed.

He missed his sisters, Sansa ruling the North (which he had his apprehensions about), and Aarya sailing West of Westeros, likely about to sail off the edge of the world by now. He missed his father, not the Targaryen prince he'd never known, but the man who raised him. He loathed he was not the one to kill Joffrey Baratheon, the spoiled cunt who had ordered his father's head removed, his mother the reason the war started, he wish he could've driven a sword through her heart rather than hear Tyrion relay how she and Jaime had been crushed by rubble.

His horse chomped at the bit behind him as he walked, shaking it's head to brush off the light snowfall that was filtering through the trees.

He missed Winterfell, the noise of the courtyards, the sound of arrows piercing into targets, the huffs of horses, the laugh of Bran and Rickon as they ran through the courtyard while Robb walked with their father.

He missed Bran's innocence most of all. He hated to call the new King anything but his brother, but, Jon wasn't sure Bran was the same Bran he'd known all those years before. Before Jaime pushed him from the window, before his trek through the North, before he became the three eyed raven, before, before, before. The wars had changed him.

Though, there was nothing the wars hadn't changed.

Jon was lost deep in thought as he walked, focused on following the footprints Ghost left in the snow as the direwolf trotted ahead of Jon and his horse.

Kings landing, now a pile of ash and rubble from when his queen, his beloved Queen Daenerys, had burned it to the ground with her dragon. The war changed her most of all, he believed. Jorah Mormont had told him stories of the Queen, stories of when her dragons were just eggs and she rode across the great grass sea with one of the greatest Dothraki hoards. Stories of when her dragons were young and she liberated the slaver cities of Essos, striking down her enemies and showing nothing but mercy and justice.

Oh how Cersei's actions had changed her.

Jon hadn't realized that Ghost had stopped in his tracks and almost tripped over the large wolf. Jon stumbled and swore, his horse jerking it's head against the reins Jon held in his hand. Jon straightened himself, turning to look at his horse and running a gloved hand over it's thick dark coat. He looked around the woods, realizing the sounds had stopped.

There were no howls of direwolves in the distance, no chittering of the white foxes, the birds made no sounds, not even the trees dared to whisper their names in his ear. He suddenly felt uneasy, glancing around warily. He slowly turned to his horse and mounted the saddle, settling himself on the horses back and turning the horse back the way he had come, whistling for Ghost to follow.

As he rode, he listened for the sounds to return. but it only seemed the further he went, the quieter he got. Until he heard the horn of the wall sounding loud and clear through the sudden silence.

One burst

two bursts

three.

That was impossible, white walkers were gone, Aarya had killed the night king with a shard of dragon glass through his heart and the rest of the dead had gone with him. Jon kicked his horse into a gallop, following the sound as he headed towards the wall, his black cloak whipping behind him as the horse pounded through the heavy snow. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that faced him when he arrived at the wall.

Dragons. There were dragons everywhere, in every color he could imagine. A blue dragon swooping through the air, dodging the spears and arrows thrown and launched in its direction, a black dragon perched atop the wall, watching as the blue dragon swooped through the sky, a gold dragon hovering in the air just out of spear range, and so many more. Green, red, gray, orange, yellow, even purple. Jon continued his gallop towards the gate, guiding his horse around a large snowdrift.

His memory kicked into overdrive as the snow began to move, reminding him of how Drogon had risen from the snow drift before he had killed Daenerys. But this dragon was most definitely not Drogon. It was white, for starters, and it also had four legs with two wings protruding from it's shoulders. The dragon stood tall, shaking the snow off it's wings and whipping it's tail around before raising it's head and breathing a jet of fire into the sky. Jon's horse startled, rearing backwards unexpectedly and throwing Jon to the snow. Ghost ran to Jon's rescue, positioning himself between Jon and the dragon and snapping his teeth. The white Dragon sprang into the air, beating it's enormous wings to raise itself further into the sky. Jon scrambled to his feet and continued his run to the wall, banging on the gate and yelling in the feeble hope he'd be heard above the noise of dragons and the men yelling atop the wall.

Jon risked a glance behind him at the dragons flying low, spotting something glinting off the chest of one green dragon. Looking closer, it appeared to be armor. Armor that covered the dragons chest and underbelly, ran up it's neck to join to a headpiece that rested between the dragons' eyes, armor that wound around the dragons tail and legs. These dragons weren't wild as Jon had thought, they belonged to somebody.

And the closer he looked at the dragons the more obvious that became. They flew in formation, dove together, rose together, followed a lead dragon. And as Jon looked even closer he could see saddles on the back's of the lead dragons. Jon pressed himself against the wall as the same white dragon as before came to a rolling halt in the snow, a giant's spear protruding from it's shoulder. It howled and chittered pain, attempting to scramble away as the men fired more arrows and spears towards it. Why wasn't this dragon wearing any armor?

Jon made a move to push himself away from the wall and run towards the dragon. He couldn't bear seeing it in pain. Yes, dragons were fearsome and destructive creatures, but as Jon had learned from Drogon and Rhaegal, they could also be benevolent and loving. None of these dragons had caused any damage to anything, they had just flown about castle black.

As Jon took a step towards the white dragon the ground in front of him exploded in a flurry of snow and ice. Jon covered his eyes, only to look up and see the large gold dragon that had previously been hovering above the action had landed next to the white dragon, large wings covered in metal plates spread as an umbrella over the dragon and the person now standing next to the white dragon.

The person working to pull the spear from the dragon's shoulder, glancing back to the gold dragon occasionally. Now that Jon could see one of the dragons without it moving, he could see that this dragon was easily twice as large as Drogon had been. Powerful muscles rippled beneath it's scales as the dragon shifted it's wings to cover the white dragon and rider more.

Jon shifted his attention to the rider. They were wearing a thick fur cloak, the ruff around their neck a deep red color, that of a fox's fur. On their head was a large helmet that mimicked a dragon's head. They wore trousers with leather patches on the seat, obviously made for heavy wear while riding, and a thick tunic. Jon watched as they wrapped their arms around the spear, bracing their foot against the white dragon's upper foreleg and pulling with all their weight. The white dragon let out a screech and a burst of flame that hit the gold dragon's wing. The gold dragon just shifted it's wing.

Jon made a haste decision, running towards the rider and the white dragon, darting between the gold dragon's legs. The gold dragon whipped it's head around to look at Jon, rearing it's head back and beating it's wings. Jon could see the fire forming in it's throat as Jon reached the white dragon, Startling the rider as he grabbed the spear and started to pull with the rider. The rider turned to the gold dragon.

"Vilor keligon!" They called, the shape of their helmet causing their voice to come out as a growl. The gold dragon swallowed it's fire and shook it's head with a resounding warble. Jon helped the rider pull the spear from the white dragon's shoulder. The dragon scrambled to it's feet with a few huffs and shook the snow off it's body. The rider turned to Jon and voiced their thanks, rushing back towards their dragon.

"Wait!" Jon called, the rider turned to look at him again. Jon found he had so many questions, yet none of them would come out.

"I'm Jon, Jon Snow." Jon called instead. The rider squared their shoulders and stepped towards him slowly, examining his features. The helm made it look like a small metal dragon was watching him rather than a human. The rider suddenly let out a shrill whistle, and the white dragon whipped it's head around to look at them. The rider said a few words to the dragon before the dragon lowered itself onto it's belly, flattening one wing against the snow.

"Go, go!" The rider shoved Jon towards the dragon's wing. Jon stumbled over the large limb, falling flat onto the outstretched webbing of the wing. The dragon chortled quietly as Jon stood on it's wing, the mysterious rider bustling him up the wing of the white dragon. Jon did as he was told and settled onto the dragons shoulders between it's wings, gripping the spikes that protruded from it's back. The dragon sprang into the air suddenly, and pumped it's powerful wings through the air as it rose, swooping over the wall towards the South. Jon suddenly had a great regret.

"tolvys jikagon!" He heard the rider call. The gold dragon rose into the air after the white dragon, letting out a bellowing roar to the rest of the flock of dragons and moving ahead of the white dragon. Jon glanced behind him to see the mass of dragons rising into the air, following the gold dragon towards Kings Landing.

Jon shifted uncomfortable on the white dragons back. This dragon was much larger than Rhaegal, and he was unaccustomed on how to ride the dragon with little to no discomfort. Looking to the others, he could see they were obviously comfortable on the backs of the dragons. Looking at the rider on the gold dragon, the same one who had pushed him onto the back of this dragon, they looked like they'd been born on the back of a dragon. He realized that with this person that was definitely a possibility. With any of these people really.

He heard a few chitters from the dragons around him as they glided through the air, wingtips brushing as they warbled and hummed to each other. He looked up to the white dragons head, watching as it looked around. Suddenly the gold dragon surged upwards, followed by the rest of the dragons. Jon startled and grabbed onto the spikes in front of him as his dragon rolled and tumbled through the air. Jon heard roars of laughter from the other riders as he looked around to see the other dragons flipping through the air, folding their wings to dive only to snap them open at the last second and surge upwards once again. His dragon was doing backflips through the air, swishing their tail and chattering to the gold dragon.

"tolvys ilagon!" He heard the rider of the gold dragon call. The gold dragon let out another bellow before folding it's wings and tucking into a dive. The rest of the flock followed, including Jon's dragon. Jon gripped the spikes, squeezing his eyes shut and lowering himself against the white dragon's back. He heard wind whipping and branches snapping before the dragon landed on the ground with a thump. He risked a glance up to see a large lake in front of them, a rocky shore on the far side. The dragons had bundled themselves into the forest, doing their best not to knock over trees. They must be at Long Lake, he realized. So close to home.

Looking up Jon realized the gold dragon no longer had a rider. He worried for a split second that the rider had fallen off in the dive, until he saw the rider near the river. The white dragon he was riding approached the rider with a few low warbles. The rider turned and held out one gloved hand. The white dragon chuffed and pushed their nose against the riders hand. The rider stroked the dragons nose, humming lowly to the dragon. Jon sat up higher in an attempt to see over the dragons shoulders, only to have the rider snap their attention to him.

"Come down Jon Snow, you're in no danger." The rider said, their voice masked by the reverberation of the helmet. Jon slowly swung one leg over the dragons back. The white dragon craned it's head around to glance at him, shaking it's head before stretching one wing from where it was neatly tucked down to the ground. Jon walked down the wing, standing on the ground and looking back at the dragon. The dragon shook itself as it folded it's wing before springing into the air again and doing a lap around the lake.

"Dont go far!" The rider called as the dragon flapped away. The rider turned back towards Jon, clearing their throat and reaching up to remove their helmet. The gold dragon appeared behind the rider, folding its legs under itself with it's head next to the rider. The rider removed their helmet, allowing long brown hair to tumble down her back. Jon felt himself taken aback at the beauty he saw, unrivaled by even that of Daenerys.

"Jon Snow, it's time I finally introduced myself." She said, removing one glove and offering it. Jon shook her hand, unable to swallow the lump in his throat long enough to speak. The rider pulled her hand away, walking to the gold dragon and hanging her helmet off a hook on the dragons saddle.

"I, It's lovely to meet you." Jon said, finally managing to speak. The woman turned to him with a smile.

"How do you know it's lovely? You've barely met me." She quipped. Jon stumbled over his words as she let out a burst of laughter.

"Relax, Jon Snow. It is lovely to meet you too." She said, a glint in her honey brown eyes. Jon let a soft smile cross his face.

"I am Queen Vaehra dragonborn of the house Rahthone, first of her name, rider of Vilor the gold, the fire walker, Queen of the dragons, the riders, and the shapechangers, protector of the shadowlands, the grey waste, the Mossovy forest, the old Valyria, the new Valyria, and the thousand islands, bringer of light, and voice of the earth."

Jon immediately dropped to his knee, bowing his head and taking a deep breath. Why did he have to fall for another queen? He heard Vaehra laugh, followed by the deep chortle of a dragon. He looked up to see the gold dragon's throat bobbing as if it were laughing at him.

"Rise Jon Snow, that is not necessary, I am not your queen." Vaehra said, offering her hand to Jon. Jon gingerly took it, and Vaehra hauled him to his feet with surprising strength. Jon stumbled and caught his balance.

"I know your bastard name, Jon Snow, but you are something else aren't you?" She said. Jon hummed deep in his throat before clearing it and opening his mouth to speak the title that was fit for a king, but belonged to a knight of the watch.

"I am Aegon of Houses Targaryen and Stark, Sixth of His Name, the Resurrected, 998th Commander of the Night's Watch, the White Wolf, rightful heir to the iron throne." He spoke. Vaehra looked at him with approval.

"The lost King, the last Targaryen." Vaehra said. Jon looked to the ground as a blush covered his cheeks. There was suddenly a loud spash in the lake next to him. He looked towards the lake, only for Vilor to throw his wings around both he and Vaehra to block them from the wave of water. Once the water had subsided, Vilor lifted his wing for Jon to see the white dragon paddling in the water with her wings spread to either side of her.

"Dessaly, what on earth are you doing?" The rider snapped. The white dragon paddled to the shore, climbing out and shaking like a dog. Vilor once again raised his wing as water droplets splashed against the armor.

"Dessaly?" Jon questioned, it was not a name he had heard before. The white dragon trotted towards the group, lowering itself to it's belly and butting it's head against Jon's back. Jon turned and rested his hand on the dragons nose, looking into her deep amber eyes.

"Yes, Dessaly. She's one of our speed attackers, which is why she doesn't have armor." Vaehra explained. The dragon, Dessaly, hummed deep in her throat and opened her mouth wide in front of Jon. He started and backed away, only for Vaehra to chuckle and step forward, grabbing his hand and placing it palm down on Dessaly's tongue.

"She likes you." Vaehra said. Jon felt the air from Dessaly's breath whoosh around him. It smelled of fire and charred meat and Jon wrinkled his nose. Vaehra started rubbing the roof of Dessaly's mouth with her gloved hand, gesturing for Jon to do the same. Dessaly hummed contedly before Vaehra pulled her hand away. Jon moved his hand as Dessaly slowly closed her mouth, huffing a breath in Jon's face before pressing her nose against his chest.

"I had no idea dragons liked that, Dany's never did that with anybody." Jon said breathlessly. He never thought he'd touch the inside of a dragon's mouth. He looked to Vaehra to see her face fallen.

"Yes. I know." Vaehra said curtly. Jon could sense that he had touched a nerve. Vilor pushed his armored head against Vaehra and she rested her non gloved hand on the dragons nose.

"Your so called 'dragon queen' was nothing but a fraud. The dragons she had? Were wyverns, not dragons." Vaehra said. At the mention of the 'dragon queen' the rest of the riders on the shore turned from what they were doing, walking towards Vaehra to listen to her story.

"The eggs stolen from the shadowlands belonged to a flock of wild wyverns. They were furious when they discovered the eggs missing, and of course assumed my kingdom was the one responsible. They didn't get past the border, we felt horrible, they just wanted their eggs back. We sent one of our trackers after the eggs to see if she could find them, she returned with the news that the eggs had been gifted to one Daenerys Targaryen."

"At first, I was overjoyed, a Targaryen at last! the lost family, the ones who had left Valyria and been wiped out in their new Western playground, but as soon as they hatched I realized she had nothing but ill will for them. I should have known from the beginning, I should have stolen the eggs back, shattered them, something." Vilor hummed in his throat and Vaehra rubbed his nose.

"Wyverns cannot truly be a dragon. You can sink as much training, love, will, into them but they remain wild inside. All the times they snapped at her, I never thought they'd stay with her through their juvenile years. And when she chained them, when she chained them it took my entire queens guard to keep me from breaking their chains." Vaehra growled and Vilor mimicked the growl.

"We followed her movements with scouts, I watched her while she was in Essos, left the running of the kingdom to my council, but when she crossed to Westeros there was no way I could leave my kingdom so far behind. I left, and sent my stealthiest scout to keep tabs on her. He sent regular updates, he's, and Bran the Broken, are the reasons we're here."

"We've met with Bran the Broken, he agrees that dragons, true dragons, need to be reintroduced to the world. That is why we are here." Vaehra finished her brief explanation.

"The Queen believed her dragons were true," Jon started. The riders surrounding them whipped their head towards Jon, every one of them on edge. The dragons surrounding them also turned their heads, some baring teeth.

"That belief does not change her actions. Don't you agree Jon Snow?" Vaehra asked. Jon swallowed. Daenerys was just doing what she thought was best, but at what cost? Jon had promised, she would be his queen until the end of his days.

"She was just attacking her enemy. Taking her rightful place." Jon explained. Vaehra stood taller, squared her shoulders, hand on the hilt of the dagger resting at her hip.

"One does not burn the herd to expose the wolf." She hissed. Vilor stood to his full height, shaking himself off. "Especially not when the herd is willing to throw the wolf to the flame." Jon listened to the armor clanking against the dragons scales as he stretched his wing to the ground. Vaehra stepped onto the base, walking up the wing as Vilor lifted it and started to fold it in.

"We are traveling to the lake near Torrhen's Square. We will set up camp there for the night, then continue to King's Landing in the morning." Vaehra said, replacing the helmet atop her head. The rest of the riders nodded, clambering onto their dragons and positioning themselves in the saddles.

Dessaly hummed at Jon, lowering herself to the ground. Jon sighed and walked up Dessaly's wing, settling himself on her back and gripping the spikes in front of him as Dessaly followed Vaehra and her dragon into the sky.

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alien-from-pluto-writer · 5 years

Text

Death and I are old Friends

Back at it with the weird stuff @alexprompts

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The ringing in Cyrus’s ears was nothing compared to the roar inside his head. Everything he had known had been flipped upside down and thrown aside as if it were no more than garbage, and now he didn’t know what to do.

The prophecy – the one thing meant to ensure his and his family’s survival against a world turned to rubble – was nothing but a lie. And he had fallen for it like a desperate soul would fall in love.

His body fell weak to the ground, shaky hands clutching at his chest where an irregular rhythm pounded against shattered bones. Tears fell as his body burned from the inside out, ears ringing from the swell of fate as it realigned.

“I trusted you,” he choked out, eyes screwed closed as a flare of white hot pain flared through his head. He gasped in air with torn lungs, and settled an icy glare on the Master.

The Master. The Master that had manipulated him and his family like controlling the movement of sheep, guiding all of them towards the foxes and guns that waited on the other end of the field. All for the sole purpose of ensuring he would never die.

But the Master didn’t care that for him to live eternally, he would have to steal the years of innocent men, women and children that wanted nothing more than to live. All the Master did was watch as Cyrus’s family fell to the ground and collapsed into puddles of misery and death.

“How could you do that to us?” Cyrus sobbed, “You said we’d live – that everything would be okay – that we’d be happy!”

The Master looked down with distant and empty eyes, as if he was no more than a discarded piece of clothing, hands locked together in front of his hand-tailored suit, rings adorning each finger shining in the faint light of the moon.

“Cyrus, do you truly think if I had told you, you would have wanted to do it all?” the Master drawled in a deep and careless voice.

It sent insects crawling down his spine – that complete disregard for their suffering. The one thing that made them all human – sympathy, understanding, love, empathy – seemed to be absent from the Master. As if someone had reached into his mind and soul with withered hands and plucked them out like the feathers on a bird.

Could he even be considered human anymore without them?

“You’re a coward,” he growled, bitter anger replacing his tears. The Masters eyes flickered with a darkness before it was buried beneath a cold mask. “Your own fear of something uncontrollable drove you mad didn’t it –“he let out a ragged laugh, ignoring the blood that seeped onto his tongue and coloured his teeth.

“-- That endless dark waiting for you each night as you closed your eyes. Oh I pity you, old man. So cowardly you pushed your fear onto others in an attempt to escape it.”

His body met the ground with a painful thud, the boot to his chest making his heart and lungs stutter, pain flaring through his body as he let out a muffled groan. The Master stood, eyes burning, hands clenched at his side – a silent warning to keep his mouth shut.

He ignored it.

“Didn’t you know – death and I are old friends,” he said, words dripping with an insanity that could only be pulled from memories of lonely and quiet nights, of grief and misery, of days when the sun didn’t hit his skin.

A lie – a terrible idea, but it wasn’t like he had anything else to loose. He was already held in death hands.

“Laughing to each other in heavy nights, pain in our souls as we danced through the stars. Secret whispers of cruel ideas when everything gets just that little bit too boring.” What was he even saying anymore? “I know what death wants, the sounds of their cries, the echo of their laugh. I know them, old man.”

It should be concerning that he could play so well with the strings of insanity. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Oh how they yearn for your soul,” he laughed, relishing in the way the Master didn’t seem to know what to do. “How they wish to rip their teeth into your heart until their teeth are stained black with your sins.”

His eyes were blurring around the edges, head growing thicker and thoughts growing fainter - but still able to see the slight flicker on the Master’s face.

So many lies. But he had been told so many that he didn’t care how many lies fell on his tongue.

The Masters eyes widened at the look in his eyes – he believed him. How wonderful.

“They’re waiting for you~,” he sang in a haunting voice. “The moment they take my soul, it will only be moments before they pluck yours out of your body.”

The Master’s arms shook, eyes wide with the kind of fear that he had only minutes ago felt himself when his family had been murdered. He had never seen him like this, that cold mask finally dripping away like syrup off the edge of a kitchen counter.

He let out a laugh as the Master span towards the door, growing in speed as a panic flared inside his mind.

Cyrus could only imagine what was going through his head – terrified of a broken and dying man who had only spat lies from a blood red tongue.

The hall grew cold, lights flickering as a cool wind swept through the air and took away his pain. The ceiling howled as the beasts of the wind dived and weaved through the arches and rafters, barrelling towards the man that rushed through the door with the speed of adrenaline.

Death would be kind to Cyrus, but he knew that when their hands finally wrapped around that of the Master’s, pain would turn into their greatest strength.

After all, one does not cheat death and get away with it.

#alexprompts #alexpromptspropheciesandlies #what the hell does my writing keep turning in to?#insane mc's are apparently my thing?

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sailorshadzter · 5 years

Note

hi don’t know if you’re still taking s8 prompts but I’ve got one: Sansa waits with Bran at the Godswood (much to Jon’s horror) I don’t know how it would be explained.. or maybe she’d sneak off to do so... but Idk something involving that. with a very emotional post-battle jonsa reunion

this was fun for me. i love angst and this had the perfect amount of it!! thanks for the request!

send me prompts

He just wants to reach the Godswood, he just wants to protect Bran. He just wants to stop the Night King before it’s too late. Jon stares up at what used to be a living dragon, reduced to being an ice puppet pulled along by the strings of the Night King, and knows his only way to Bran’s side is just past this damned dragon. If he looks past it, he will see the godswood, he will see Bran there and at least know he still yet lives.

And so he cranes his neck from behind the rock he cowers behind and it’s not Bran that he sees. It’s her, it’s Sansa. Her red hair is like beacon in the darkness, shining in the torchlight that Theon holds standing before her. Jon feels his stomach sink to his knees, his breath stolen from his very lungs. What was she doing there? Arya had sworn she sent her down to the crypts where she would be kept safe from harm. His heart begins to pound in a way it hadn’t been until that very moment. Suddenly, there was a new reason for him to reach the godswood. And as much as he loved Bran, it was one more important than him.

Jon goes to rise up, but yet again he’s forced down as Viserion blasts him with another wave of blue fire. It’s only then he sees movement to his other side, a small figure darting around the rocks, so small and quick she’s undetected by the dragon. Jon knows it’s Arya and he rises up just as Viserion makes to turn, as if he’s noticed her then, and he screams as the dragon turns back to him. “GOOOO!” This might be it, this moment very well could be his last. He’s entrusting his duty to Arya, he knows that now. He only hopes she makes it in time.

And so he closes his eyes and thinks of her; of her sweet smelling red hair, so soft it slips between his fingers like silk. Of her lips, even softer still, and warm when he kisses them. Of her blue eyes, brighter than even the rarest of sapphires. He’s only glad he told her the truth.

Viserion opens his mouth and Jon can feel the heat as the fire ball begins to circulate in his mouth. In one single moment, his life will be gone. But then… Cold. He can feel the cold wind blowing, he can hear what sounds like ice crumbling to the ground. And so he opens his eyes. Viserion has crumpled to the ground in thousands of pieces and all around them, the remaining white walkers and undead have done the same. He doesn’t dare believe it. Not yet. Not yet.

But then he sees her, there in the distance, with her hands over her mouth, and he knows it’s all over. Arya had made it, Arya had won. And though every inch of him ached, Jon moved through the rubble and towards the godswood, passing what was left of Theon’s men and stumbling to stand before Bran.

She turns to him at the sound of his approaching footsteps; she was pale faced but unharmed. “Jon!” She cries, rushing forward, uncaring of all the eyes that were upon them. Jon felt her arms come around him, realizing only a moment later that her grip was all that kept him from falling to the ground. “You’re alive,” she whispers over and over again, her voice soft and warm against his ear as she held him close, tears pouring down her face. Jon looks out over her shoulder at all of the others that remained alive- Theon was not one of them and his heart aches for her loss of him. Arya stands just behind them- she’s bruised and bloody, but she’s alive. Bran too is unhurt and for that Jon is thankful.

[ x x x ]

When he wakes the next morning, he’s surprised to find her asleep at the foot of his bed. Ghost sleeps curled around her feet, though the wolf raises his head at the sound of Jon waking. The movement of his legs must wake her for a moment later, she too is rising up, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she leans in closer to him. “You’re awake.” She says, relief flooding her eyes in the form of tear as she reaches for his hands; even they were bruised and scraped. He feels her thumb gently rub across his knuckles, her touch so soft he couldn’t even be certain she’d done it at all. “I’m so glad.”

Jon stares at her for a long moment, as if he dares not believe she is there and so is he, that they are safe inside a room in what remained of Winterfell. “I thought of you,” he says without thinking, without hesitation. For some reason, he needs her to know. “When I thought Visieron would burn me alive… I thought of you.” She blinks at him, drawing back ever so slightly in her surprise. But then her face softens, her eyes spilling over as she leans over him and buries her face into his thighs beneath the furs. Jon strokes her long red hair, thankful he’s been given the chance for another moment such as this. “But why…” He asks, his question drawing her back up. “Why didn’t you go to the crypts? You could have been killed out there!”

For a moment, she doesn’t know what to say to him. She doesn’t want to worry him more than necessary. She’s alive, after all. She stares back at him for what felt like an eternity before she looks down at her lap, hands twisting together as she fights to find the right words. “I did… At first. But… Tyrion.” She finally speaks softly, looking back at up him then. “He said he had once read that the Night King increased his army by animating the corpses upon the battlefield. He said it might prove the same for the crypts.” Jon’s heart has begun to pound. “They almost all died,” she whispers, shaking her head as the terrible images run through her mind once more. “All but Gilly and Tyrion and me and a few others.” She remembers the sounds of flesh tearing from bone. She remembers the screams of the living as they were torn to pieces by the undead. She remembers how it felt to plunge a dagger into Rickon’s dead flesh, watching her little brother die once more before her very eyes.

It takes Jon only a moment to realize the severity of her words. He thinks of her then, pale and frightened in the crypts, surrounded by the undead with no one to protect her. He thinks of her fighting back with the dagger Arya had given her that night, no knowledge in her about how to wield it. And more than anything… He thinks of their family, rising back up from their graves to cause her harm. “Sansa, I’m sorry,” he whispers, cold dread rushing through him as he reaches for her hands, though he suddenly feels as if he has no right at all. But she places one hand over his, giving it a squeeze as she raises her gaze to meet his. “I never thought… I thought you would have been safe there… Instead, you could have died.” He can’t begin to grasp what he’s done, what his decision has caused. All of those women and children, innocent lives taken because of his own stupid decision.

“We all did,” she murmurs softly, shaking her head. “We all thought it to be safe down there. You needn’t blame yourself.” Her sapphire gaze burns deep into his soul, the intensity of it sending chills down his spine; those were eyes that had seen far too much. “When we came back up, I knew where I had to go. I snuck around the back until I reached the godswood.” She offers a somewhat apologetic smile. “I know it was stupid to go there, but I figured if I was going to die, I wanted to be with my family.”

Jon squeezes her hand again, sitting up straighter in his bed so he could lean in close to her. “You’re the bravest woman I know,” he whispers as he tips his forehead down to meet hers, raising his hands up so they could slide into place on either side of her face. “And I love you for it,” he continues, capturing her mouth with his before she can respond. The kiss is sweet and long, a kiss he hopes says everything that his words cannot. When he draws back, she’s smiling. “Help me dress, won’t you? I want to see the damage,” Sansa nods and rises from her chair, moving about the room to grab him clean clothes.

When he’s dressed, he leans on her arm and together they walk out into the cold morning air, where they might begin to talk of rebuilding the home that was theirs.

#anon asks #send me prompts #jonsa #jonsa fanfic #jon x sansa #my writing #i wrote this

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gumnut-logic · 5 years

Text

A Little Chaos

From Here

This is the fic formerly known as ‘Rough as Bags’. It finally has a title :D The plan is to finish this fic and get back to Bellini, but I haven’t written much this week at all. I hope you enjoy this bit in any case :D many thanks to @scribbles97 for listening to my raving.

-o-o-o-

Wellington Police had the entire block evacuated. The woman in charge did not look impressed as both Scott and Virgil approached.

Scott had nabbed a pod vehicle and flown down. Virgil had his exo-suit on and was seconds away from breaking through the nearest wall. He had piggy-backed the pod on the way down and his expression was fit to melt the visor on his helmet.

“Commander Tracy, this is a unsafe crime scene. I am aware that you have two operatives in the building, but please, you must trust us to defuse the situation.”

“Ma’am, we have equipment that can assist.” He tried to think over the sound of harsh breathing, a whimper from the woman he loved. A man’s voice...

She pinned him with her eyes. “We will follow proven protocol to save lives, Commander. International Rescue has no jurisdiction in this case. Please-“

A gun fired within the building.

And over the comline.

“Kayo!”

Virgil moved and Scott reached out to grab him. “Virgil! No!”

“Kay!”

“Virgil!” Scott dug his fingers into his brother’s shoulder and the expression he shot at Scott was one of desperation.

A woman’s voice, threatening Em. God.

The sounds of a scuffle.

“You b-“ Kayo was cut off as the comms screeched, something hitting it hard, and the line went silent.

But only for a moment.

“Bitch fought like a bloody wildcat.”

The shoulder under Scott’s fingers heaved.

“What did you expect? You knew what we were going up against.” The sound of a flesh hitting flesh. “You’re an over confident moron.”

“God, Lou, I did my best.”

“Well, your best wasn’t bloody good enough was it? Now she has two holes in her.”

“I’m quite happy to give her another one. A more decisive one.”

“You’ve killed enough today, Jerry.”

“Never enough, Lou.”

“They live, Jer, or we don’t get our money. Now, tie up the wildcat and the cripple. Make sure she’s not going to bleed out on us. We need to get moving. Her bloody boyfriend is outside with that damn Thunderbird of his. Move your ass or lose it.”

Scott was staring at Virgil. The man looked fit to explode. What the hell? This was planned? His teeth clamped together and ground enamel.

“John, give me all the lifesigns in the building.”

His brother didn’t answer, a hologram appearing over Scott’s wrist control without a word. A large proportion of the people in the building were clustered together in the centre on the top floor. Six life signs were off to one side, near the door to the closet the women had been hiding in.

“I like this one. She’s pretty.”

Scott’s skin crawled. Only years of experience kept him rooted to the spot. He bit the inside of his cheek and tasted blood.

Em and Kayo were still quite a distance from the main group. “John, can you detect the weapons in the building?”

A series of red dots appeared beside the life signs. Five beside the large group. Four with Em and Kayo. Out the corner of his eye he noticed the police captain frowning at the hologram.

Scott ignored her.

Virgil turned, his gaze fixing on the display. “John, I need a structural readout.”

He definitely wanted to go through a wall. Scott wouldn’t mind joining him.

“We have yet to hear their demands.” The captain had sidled up to them.

“Oh, I don’t think they have any.” Scott pressed his lips together. “They’ve got what they wanted.”

She frowned up at him. “How do you know?”

“Thunderbird Five, relay the last section of overheard conversation to Captain Vona.” The woman blinked as John connected to her headset without missing a beat. Her eyes widened as she heard the criminals’ discussion.

“I need a copy of this for voice recognition analysis.”

“Give it to her, John.”

Her tablet pinged.

She stared at him a moment before punching repeatedly at the screen.

Virgil was still staring at the building’s structure.

Nine armed personnel of unknown skill. Fifteen hostages plus his girlfriend and his sister.

He eyed the layout of the building.

“I have an idea.”

-o-o-o-

Someone was touching her. She frowned and pain shot through her head. She gasped and let out a breath.

“That’s it baby. Does that feel good?”

There was a hand on her belly, creeping up towards her bra line.

She opened her eyes to find Greasy Hair leaning over her, his hand up her skirt.

Oh god, no!

She pulled away, fingers automatically darting to her her palm sensors.

They were gone.

Looking down, her hoverscoot was still attached, but the fingers on her belly were undoing the harness.

Panic rose, she tried to roll away, but found her hands tethered to a pipe.

“Oh, I definitely like you. Your skin is so soft.” His grin was no longer perfect, a swollen face and broken teeth due to Kayo’s fist imprint skewed his expression, making it just that more terrifying as his fingers trailed just under her sports bra. “And you can’t run.”

A click of buckles and velcro and her ‘scoot came away from her body. She couldn’t feel his touch on her stumps, but she whimpered anyway.

“Oh, I like the sound of that. Do it again.” He reached for her.

The wall beside her exploded into the room. A flash of blue, green and yellow and Greasy Hair was grabbed by a familiar claw and lifted bodily away from her. His squawk of fear was suddenly cut off as the claw squeezed, cutting off the man’s breath.

“Em!” And Scott was there. Her Scott. Oh god, her Scott.

His fingers were at her wrists and her hands were free. She grabbed him and clung, her breath coming in short pants.

She discovered she was shaking.

And he was holding her so tight.

Oh god, her Scott.

The room lit up red and it shook her out of her daze for a moment. Virgil, it was Virgil in his exo-suit, had dropped Greasy Man in the corner and was now burning a hole in the wall on the other side of the room.

Beyond the door, there was a sudden roar of VTOL and breaking glass.

Scott untangled himself from her and darted over to secure Greasy Man before he regained his senses.

Virgil kicked the wall in.

A sharp flash of red and someone screamed. A gunshot.

“Virgil!” Scott launched himself towards his brother.

But Virgil did not respond, his step through the hole in the wall, firm and determined. Another bright flash of red and the sound of a something solid hitting the floor. both brothers disappeared through the hole in the wall.

Em inched over to her hoverscoot which lay discarded and now covered in dust. There was no sign of her palm sensors.

Shit.

Screw it. She’d do this the old fashioned way.

Putting one hand in front of the other, she dragged herself across the room. She didn’t know where Kayo was, but chances were Virgil did, and last she saw of her friend, she was in need of medical attention.

She couldn’t feel the masonry rubble beneath her stumps, but it bit into her hands. She still had her closed-end leggings on. The...bastard...hadn’t got far enough to take them off her. Her stomach knotted. She shook herself. Focus now.

Fall apart later.

Peering through the hole Virgil had made, she found Garlic Breath and Weedy Man on the floor. Weedy Man was sporting burns to his hands. The burnt remains of their firearms lay beside them.

Scott and Virgil were on the other side of the larger room. Virgil had shed the arms of his suit in order to gather up an unconscious Kayo. She couldn’t quite make out the quiet words his lips were forming.

Em opened her mouth to call out, just as the door to the room flung inwards and open. The blond woman from before charged in.

Her back was to Em, and her gun pointed at the two men on the other side of the room.

She hadn’t seen the doctor, and as she aimed, Em took advantage.

Using everything she had, She pushed herself forward with one arm and grabbed the woman about the legs with the other.

They both went down.

“You bitch!”

Em had a split second of barrel in her face before a whirlwind of blue and grey disappeared the gun and grabbed her, pulling her away from the woman on the floor. A snap of bone, a thud and the woman was out cold.

Em’s vision was suddenly full of his gorgeous blue eyes. “Are you okay?”

He was holding her so tight, so strong. She allowed herself a second to feel his safety, closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. “I need to see to Kayo.”

He swallowed, blinked, and, without a further word, carried her over to his brother and his fiancee. She didn’t fail to realise he was shaking almost as much as she.

-o-o-o-

TBC

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #kayo kyrano #em harris #virgil/kayo #scott/em #warm rain #gentle rain

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foundoutthehardway-blog · 5 years

Text

music in the trees

Happy Hanukah, @notwhateveryonesees -- I hope you and Wanda enjoy your gift!

There is so little left, here. It breaks Wanda’s heart. It has nothing to do with the will of her people; Sokovia is broken, battered, and broke, and that makes it so hard to rebuild. She finds herself pressing her right hand to her left arm, again. The government never got a chance to tattoo numbers into her skin, but she can feel them there anyway, sometimes, the shadow of a shadow of fear.

Here and there, people have rebuilt their homes with the scraps of others; it brings to mind Frankenstein’s monster. A wall set slightly crookedly and nailed back into place. Sokovia has always been so vibrant and beautiful, so difficult to subdue, and it’s difficult to see it like this. She slips her hands into her pockets, seeking warmth. The air is crispy, and while there is very little snow on the ground, it’s mostly gray mush. An early snowfall, then. If she closes her eyes she can picture herself as a little girl, throwing snowballs at Pietro while he squealed in delight. They never pulled their punches. Snowballs might be a child’s game, but they played to win, and though Pietro might remember differently, Wanda won much more often.

Here and there, through murky windows, she can see a menorah burning brightly, and it warms her heart.

“Wanda…”

“I know, Pietro,” she says, reaching out to slip her arm into his elbow.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I know how you think.” She offers him a smile.

Pietro shakes his head, and they stand in the place that was once the town square nearest their home. It’s a wreck, but people have been working to restore it, which makes her happy. You can’t keep Sokovians down for long. They are an ornery people; like the shrubs that push up through concrete, they won’t be defeated. To the twins’ left, a door opens, and a woman steps out holding a pie that is still steaming, a little girl and a little boy at her feet. The little girl locks the door before running to catch up, chattering excitedly. Puffs of white steam drift from the pie, along with the scent of spices and apples.

It’s a sight so familiar and forgotten that Wanda instinctively presses closer to her brother, and he drapes an arm over her shoulders.

“There is only so much we can do,” he says, quietly. “We’re needed elsewhere. We’re needed everywhere.”

“I know. But we can still help. It’s Hanukah, Pietro. They struggle and fight and won’t be put down; we can do something to make them happy. Something to lift their spirits.”

“No Santa Claus. Christmas in America is so strange. Why would they celebrate a fat man breaking into their homes and eating their food? Trampling on their rooftops with his pack of filthy reindeer? How is it that children fear clowns, but not this man?” He shakes his head, and glances at Wanda with a twinkle in his eye. She elbows him in the ribs for his troubles.

They take a seat on a stone bench in the square. It’s so dark, here. And peaceful, even with the damage, and the trees fighting to survive.

“What do you miss the most?”

Pietro shakes his head. “Mother.”

Of course. That’s not what she was asking, though. “I didn’t say who,” she says, gently. “I said ‘what’.”

“When the neighbors came, with food. Lighting the menorah in the fading light. Remember one year I gave you a rock as a gift?”

“The one with the outline of a heart on it. I remember. I suppose it’s still here, somewhere, buried.”

“Maybe some other boy will find it one day and give it to his own sister.”

It’s a nice thought, like a legacy. Thousands upon thousands of years had created that little stone, and maybe thousands upon thousands of children would pass it between each other, at Hanukah, or on the playground. Sokovia would rise again. Her spirits were not crushed, could never be crushed. Too much spirit for that.

Wanda climbs to her feet and closes her eyes, centering herself, summoning her own power. Not just the magic in her hands, but the spirits of her ancestors, the women who created homes, the men who played with the children, the fierce families who defended Sokovia against every threat, side by side.

“What are you doing?” Pietro asks, though she can hear the smile in his voice. He trusts her. He always has. Wanda enjoys a fleeting memory of the two of them as small children, cuddled up like cats under a pile of blankets one year when the heating wasn’t working so well. Pietro’s fluffy curls had tickled her face.

“You’ll see,” she says, and she raises her arms, feeling the energy crackle over her skin. The image of the square is clear in her mind; every broken piece of concrete, pilled up by the eastern boundary until someone could decide how best to dispose of it; the trees, working so hard to survive the damage to their branches and roots.

When the magic in her veins shifts to her fingers, it’s easy to see what she has to do. Funny how that happens, sometimes; the plan doesn’t form fully until the power has been summoned, and then the route is mapped out in her head in a heartbeat. The pile of broken concrete isn’t a pile of broken concrete at all; it is the pieces of the benches that dotted the square, and the pieces still fit together fine. Wanda pictures the joins veined in scarlet, like kintsugi, the benches remembering where they belong as they tumble into place. The roots of the trees are like arteries. Sundered, but they know where to be. Water seeps up through the earth and begins to nourish them, and all at once Wanda can feel the first stirrings of new growth where the branches have broken off; and the broken limbs themselves descend into the earth to nourish the soil.

Strange how this sort of work can be so tiring, and so energizing, at the same time.

Wanda feels Pietro’s hand on her shoulder. He lends strength, and he always has. Womb to tomb. Whether he knows it or not, she loves the feeling of channeling that energy from his veins into hers.

The grass crackles as it returns to life, lush and green. Broken walkways repair themselves and settle back into place, ready for a thousand new footsteps, lovers pausing for a kiss, children stepping over cracks for fear for their mothers’ spines, chalk games under the trees.

“Be careful,” Pietro says. But careful isn’t a part of Wanda’s makeup. She feels the power crackle in her hair, feels a non-existent breeze ruffle her long jacket and gentle her cheeks.

“It needs adornment,” she says. “Something to help celebrate Hanukah.” She can picture people coming to admire the square over the coming days, eating sweet pastries under the trees. She sends her light into the freshly green foliage, lighting the trees up with dancing red sparks like a billion tiny globes. There is nothing she cannot do.

She hears doors open, across the road, people peering out at the square, murmuring about miracles. It’s better she and Pietro remain unseen, so she cloaks them carefully before she calls the birds into the branches of the trees to light the night with their music.

Alone, and in pairs, and as whole families, people creep from their homes, mouths open and eyes wide, drawn to the lights and music. Children reach to pluck flowers from the grass, soft purple and white clover buds blossoming improbably in the cold night.

What they do here over the coming days, that’s up to them. Wanda’s work is done.

“We should go,” she says. “This is not our home, anymore. We are needed elsewhere. But we will come back. There’s still a lot of work to be done.”

They step out of the square, and Wanda feels a strange tug in the direction of their old home. She raises her hand, again. The power gathers in her fingertips, and she can feel it, somewhere beneath the rubble; a small gray stone with the white outline of a heart on it. She beckons it, and feels it begin to emerge from the earth, an inch at a time, until it flies into her hand.

She smiles, and Pietro beams back at her. He takes it from her, and weighs it in his hand. “I remember it larger.”

“You were small,” she says.

Pietro places the stone where it is sure to be found, and they slip into the dark night, to find their way home.

~fin~

#notwhateveryonesees #fao: secret santa #i hope this is okay!#i don't know Wanda as well as you do obviously #but i tried to get a feel for your voice for her by stalking your blog #enjoy! happy holidays and a glorious 2019 for you

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