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dirty-holy-things · 3 years

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Christmas Tree Farm

Part III of the Invisible String Series

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV Read on Ao3.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x AFAB Reader

Rating: Mature, for slight references to sex and swearing.

Words: 6.6k update

Chapters: 4 / ?

Warnings: Very few. Swearing, subtle references to sex.

Author's Notes: This story is broken into two segments, with the first half being Reader and Bucky's first Christmas together, and the second half being Reader and Bucky's first Christmas spent with the Wilson's, their found family.

Summary: The winter holidays can be a challenging time for many, and you and Bucky were no stranger to lonely Christmases. But love has a curious, insistent way of melting away the ice that locks away and protects our hearts; and as time passes, both you and Bucky finally allow yourselves a little bit of that holiday cheer.

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The city lights somehow shone even brighter, thanks to the addition of copious (or one could say, excessive) amounts of Christmas lights that likely threatened to upend the entire city’s power grid. Every storefront was decked out with tinsel and trees, each mannequin was dressed in their holiday best, and you couldn’t take two steps without being greeted by a vibrant advertisement for “This season’s must-buy holiday gifts!” While you certainly weren’t a Grinch by any means, you also hadn’t had much of a reason to celebrate the holiday through the past few years; that was, until you found yourself a 106 year old, semi-stable boyfriend with a secret love for Christmas that was comparable to that of an eight year old on a sugar high.

Bucky Barnes was an intimidating figure to those who saw him in the streets, but after nearly a year of dating, you had thoroughly cracked that hard exterior to see the gentle and romantic man who had been locked away and frozen for so long. People on the streets saw a powerful man with a gleaming metal arm; you saw a man who could pick you up with ease, throwing you over his shoulder before pinning you down and tickling you. Shoppers in the grocery store saw a brooding and intimidating figure; you saw him fall asleep on the couch, his frame protectively curled around his cat Alpine. You had once been like all those strangers, only seeing that which was on the surface, but you had come to know and love him as a whole person.

And as such, it did not come as that much of a shock when, shortly after Thanksgiving dinner, Bucky’s requited love for Christmas broke through for the first time. “Hey, doll,” he started, an inquisitive tone in his voice. “Where’s your Christmas music? Been goin’ through your records but I can’t seem’ta find any.”

“Don’t have any,” you called out from the bedroom, folding the last of his laundry that had taken up permanent residence in your top right dresser drawer. You strolled into the living room to see him still flicking determinedly through your collection, hoping against hope to find something that would put the apartment into the holiday spirit. “Buck, I’m pretty sure I don’t have any Christmas records — but I can play some music from my phone, if you want me to.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweets.”

He sank into the plush fabric of your sofa, sighing defeatedly. You laughed at his exaggerated response, before moving to sit next to him, draping your legs across his and nestling into his arms. You pulled your phone out of the pocket of your leggings, searching for a Christmas playlist, before you were distracted by Bucky’s lingering, pensive look. “What’s on your mind, Bucky?”

He sighed, metal hand tracing cool circles into your exposed skin. “It’s nothing, it’s silly.”

You frowned, not thrilled with his sudden withdrawal. “Clearly it’s not nothing. C’mon, Buck, you can talk to me.”

“I haven’t had a real Christmas since 1943,” he said slowly. “Hydra certainly didn’t celebrate, and after I came back from the Blip, I didn’t have anyone to share one with. I thought — I had thought, maybe, since I have you, we could do something for Christmas together. But, if you’re not really in’ta Christmas, that’s okay.”

You could tell that his casual tone was forced, you could pick up the subtle changes in volume and pitch. Your heart ached for him, as you thought about the loneliness that he had endured for decades, all of the holidays and joy and traditions and memories that he had missed out on; and while you weren’t a Christmas person by nature, by god, you were going to be one for Bucky Barnes.

***

You fully assimilated into the Christmas spirit and enthusiasm, trying to provide Bucky with every sweet, cheesy, moment of joy that he had been denied for so long. The weeks leading up to Christmas were positively filled to the brim, near-bursting, with holiday spirit and theme-appropriate music, the lyrics echoing throughout your apartment to the extent that you wondered if future tenants may one day hear ghosts of Christmas past — also known as the ghost of Bucky Past, as he sang along to every tune that crooned its way through the small, shared space. You had never seen him so indulgently and freely happy before, so you didn’t begrudge the fourth or fifth playing of the Holiday Hits records, or his subtly-insistent urging for a real Christmas tree.

It was the second week of December when you executed your ‘master plan.’

Manhattan wasn’t exactly known for its Christmas tree farms, so you had planned on making the long and laborious trek out of the city to fetch your own real tree. Bucky was more than happy to oblige, with the promise that he could fell his own Christmas tree; you had no doubt that your sweet, sensitive, and powerful super-soldier could fell whatever tree stood before him. But aside from your confidence in his physical abilities, you wanted to give him this Christmas moment, this Christmas memory — you wanted to give him the opportunity to bring his tree back to your shared space, and to create these Christmas memories with him. You wanted to break his pattern of ignored or heartbroken Christmases, and after he had confessed his love for the holiday that Thanksgiving night, you had been thinking about all of the ways you could make this year special for him.

Bucky had been more than thrilled by your suggestion to drive out of the city for an evening, particularly for a Christmas tree, and the two of you sank into the slow, gentle peace that steadily grew as the car carried you further and further away from the bustling city. You had picked a destination that was quite far from the city center, having seen the positive reviews online and the promise of free hot chocolate; and to be honest, you thought that the brief break from city life could do the two of you some good.

He had picked you up from your apartment, after acquiring this evening’s rental car; and his time spent battling lazy rental car representatives and New York traffic had given you the perfect amount of time to enact your vision for the apartment before his call rang through, informing you that he was here and waiting by the front door. Your drive out of the city had been filled with more and more Christmas music, cups of coffee, and a stash of chocolate chip cookies that you had decided would be appropriate fuel for the evening ahead. Bucky had eaten ten out of the twelve you brought.

The Christmas tree farm was illuminated with countless twinkling globe lights, a soft golden glow radiating around you and bouncing off of the freshly-fallen snow that crunched underneath your boots. Bucky grinned from ear to ear, in an easy way that you had never seen before, and you felt a rush of confidence and surety about your somewhat-secret plan.

Upon your arrival at the Christmas tree farm, Bucky had quickly picked out the prettiest tree in the entire lot; the branches were tightly packed and well-filled with needles that smelled of pine and childhood memories. The attendant who had handed him the axe to fell the tree watched in shock and awe as Bucky cleaved through the tree trunk with two strong strokes; you laughed quietly into your hot chocolate, bemused by your boyfriend’s blatant display of strength. Bucky strapped the tree to the top of the rental car with impressive speed, and it was not long afterwords that you were hurtling back into the city, towards the apartment that the two of you now called home.

Forcing the tall tree into the slim elevator was a challenge, one that Bucky took in stride; and after multiple curse words and sweaty exclamations of frustration, it finally fit to the point in which Bucky could abandon the advanced geometry he had been working at. The ride upwards was humorously tense, as Bucky observed you being pinned in by the tree, and you nervously awaited the arrival that you had planned for your sweet super-soldier.

Your front door now held a large wreath, bedecked with poinsettias and glimmering gold tinsel; the sight caught Bucky off-guard, as he recognized that this was a new addition. “I like the wreath, sweets,” he grinned, moving to shift the tree out of the cramped elevator and free you from its heavy, pine-scented branches.

“Thought some Christmas decorations were in order,” you laughed lightly, finally freed from the cramped elevator; and you briefly wondered how long that fresh pine scent might linger within the small space. Bucky kept the tree upright while you nervously opened the door, suddenly anxious that maybe you had taken the Christmas enthusiasm too far.

Bucky was a man on a mission, as he determinedly hauled the tree through the hallway and into the living room; you had previously cleared a corner for the tree, right next to your patio door, hoping that the ambient light from the city would help to illuminate the tree that would now fill the recently-vacated space. You watched him corner the tree into the wall, ensuring it was supported appropriately, before he turned to survey the apartment that was surrounding him.

You might’ve gone a bit overboard with the Christmas decorations, but you would’ve thrown yourself overboard ten times more to see that smile spreading across Bucky’s face.

The entrance to the apartment now displayed a vibrant poinsettia wreath, and a welcome mat that said ‘happy holidays,’ a sentiment ensconced by the image of ivy and red berries. The tea towels in the kitchen were red and green, boasting cheeky jokes about holiday cheer, and the glassware had been replaced with wine glasses and rocks glasses of emerald green crystal. The kitchen table was fully dressed for Christmas, with gold and green accents at every turn, highlighted with poinsettia blossoms. Your plush ivory couch was now draped with multiple blankets: one chunky knit, one soft and fuzzy, and a wool blanket with a plaid blend of emerald green, dark navy, blood-red, and gold. All of the picture frames and artwork on the wall had been wrapped over to look like Christmas presents, the fireplace was bedecked with mistletoe and holly, and even the bathroom hand soaps had been swapped out for holiday scents.

“Sweets — what’s, what’s all this?” Bucky asked breathlessly, surveying the unexpected sight before him.

“It’s our first Christmas,” you responded, your voice barely above a whisper as you moved to wrap your arms around his waist, savoring the combined scent of pine and that which was distinctly Bucky. “I love you, James Buchanan Barnes — and I want to make every kind of Christmas memory with you. I want us to decorate our tree together, I want us to sneakily wrap up presents for each other, I want us to wear silly matching pajamas, I want us to leave the decorations up for way too long just because they bring us back to this perfect moment.”

Bucky’s strong and irresistible hands guided your body towards the couch, your bodies collapsing softly into the cushions as his plush and chapped lips pressed into the soft skin of your neck, biting gently at your racing pulse. You could feel the excitement and joy radiating from Bucky, comparable to the blazing heat of the sun, or a fire, or any other brightly-burning thing, and you knew that your decision to go all-in for Christmas had been the right one. Grinning to yourself, you thought about the extensive, and… myriad applicability of mistletoe you had acquired, and how you might work this into a Christmas miracle of your own.

“I love you, doll,” Bucky exhaled against your flushed skin. “I’ve never felt so fuck’n lucky, to have someone like you lovin’ me.”

You allowed yourself a moment to sink into the weight of his words, allowed yourself to feel appreciated, valued, desired, wanted. “Loving you is the easiest thing in the world,” you whispered, your hands tracing gently across the sharp and chiseled planes of his face. “Loving you is as easy as breathing… even when you steal all of the covers, or insist on rewatching Lord of the Rings for the fortieth time.”

Bucky laughed, a deep chuckle echoing from his chest as he pulled you closer against his thickly-muscled body. “Looks like quite a lot of mistletoe here, doll,” he grinned, pressing a casual kiss against your forehead as he surveyed the state of the apartment.

“Oh, yeah, that was intentional,” you quipped, giggling as you leaned in for a kiss; only to have Bucky pull away, a devilish and almost dark grin on his face.

“Y’sure you’re ready for that?” He asked, his voice holding a shred of a threat and the weight of a promise.

“Bring it on, Barnes.”

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

Christmas had grown to become a full-fledged, extravagant, blowout event with each year that passed. The holiday season started earlier and earlier, as you both plotted and planned for how to one-up the other with some sort of holiday surprise or thoughtful gift; and you eventually grew to ignore the odd looks of your neighbors as the poinsettia wreath was now regularly hung before Thanksgiving dinner was done cooking.

This year, however, was going to be different. After a handful of long-weekend trips down to Louisiana to visit Sam, Sarah, and their family, you and Bucky had decided to take an extended vacation - two weeks, to be exact. The two of you would be sharing both Christmas and New Years with the Wilson family, and you couldn’t possibly be more thrilled — or anxious.

Over the past few years, Bucky and Sam had settled into a brotherly sort of friendship, full of barbed comments, silent hugs, and quiet words of encouragement and advice; and after you met Sarah on your first Memorial Day trip to the small town, the two of you had taken to one another like lifelong best friends, sharing a love for merlot and a sense of worry for the two men who were dead-set on saving the world.

So it came as little surprise when the Wilsons invited the two of you for an extended stay; and you had eagerly agreed to the idea of both a vacation, and a holiday spent with your found family. Bucky had pretended to be resistant for a moment, mumbling something about ‘not wanting to share his time with you,’ but had caved easily when you pressed on the matter. He was likely just as eager to have a family Christmas as you were — but Sam certainly couldn’t know that.

You had spent nearly two months leading up to your trip relentlessly questioning Sarah and Sam about gift ideas, feeling an immense pressure to get things right. You struggled to keep up with the ever-evolving interests of AJ and Cass, and you felt the need to find something perfectly sweet and thoughtful for Sam and Sarah, as they had been so kind as to invite you and Bucky into their home for the holiday season. Bucky was able to sense your nervousness about finding the perfect gifts, and was able to remain fairly level-headed and reasonable as you perused countless stores. However, as empathetic and kind as your super-soldier may be, he was still prone to bouts of boredom or hunger.

“Look, sweets, we could get the kids gift cards and I’m sure they’d be more than happy —“ Bucky started, before you cut him off with an icy glare. You were in the fifth store of the day, and while Bucky’s patience with you had extended far past a reasonable amount, he was admittedly wearing thin.

“No gift cards,” you bit, cutting him off harshly, before rubbing your hand across his forearm gently in apology. “I know Sarah said they didn’t really need any more gaming stuff, but they’ve got a pretty good deal for the new Xbox here…”

Bucky chuckled lightly, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in for a kiss on the temple, forgiving your earlier tension. “With the way you’re try’na spoil them, you’d think they were our own kids.”

You blushed, knowing he was likely right. You were prone to gift-giving and over-indulging the wants and whims of those you loved; Bucky knew that firsthand, and was fair in assuming this would extend to all you loved — whether they were currently in existence or not. “Just imagine if we ever do have kids, Barnes,” you said lightly, hoping the barely-concealed eagerness in your voice didn’t betray you. “Honestly, you’ll be even more of a sucker than me.”

“Me? No, not at all,” he huffed, arms crossing over his broad chest.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from within, unable to picture a situation in which Bucky would be anything other than a marshmallow around children, particularly his own. “Between the two of us, you’re the one who will be a softie. Mark my words, Barnes, you’re gonna be wrapped around a tiny little finger one of these days.”

He chuckled softly, eyes flitting lightly across your body. “Y’call me Barnes an awful lot, sweets.”

You nodded, shoulders raising as if to say, so what?

“Makes me think you might like the name — y’maybe might even want it for yourself,” Bucky grinned, a simultaneously mischievous but sincere glint in his eye.

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging your shoulder into his chest. You returned your focus to the sale tags in the store, trying desperately — and futilely — to quell the reflexive, undeniable excitement that came with the idea of a life with Bucky.

Marriage, a home, babies, the whole nine yards — but you were in Target, you were getting way too ahead of yourself. That was a thought for another day, another time.

***

Your arrival at Sam and Sarah’s home had been just as warm and welcoming as you expected, with Sarah ushering you and Bucky upstairs to the spare bedroom that had basically become yours after the extensive number of vacations and visits. You and Bucky both slept well that night, as the long drive had worn you down, and for the first time in several months — if not over a year — you were up the next morning before Bucky Barnes.

It was Christmas Eve, and the excitement of this day was not lost on you; rolling away from Bucky’s solid grasp was a challenge, but you managed to do so without disturbing the sleeping brunette who had been wrapped around you like a weighted blanket. You laughed quietly to yourself as he sleepily grabbed for your pillow, pulling it inwards to cradle it between his arms.

You stealthily snuck out of the room, wanting Bucky to get whatever measure of rest possible, and made yourself decent before heading downstairs to find Sarah in the kitchen. She was dressed and ready for the day, and you slumped into a kitchen chair with a yawn.

“Coffee’s ready, I’d suggest y’get it before Sam and Buck are up.” Sarah joked with a sleepy smile. So far, only the two of you were up, and you gratefully accepted her recommendation for a cup of coffee, appreciating the warmth and rush of caffeine that it offered.

“Is there anything I can help with?” You asked, as the two of you sat down at the kitchen table together.

Sarah smiled into her cup of coffee, taking a long sip before responding. “I’ll probably have’ya give me a hand with the pancakes, you’re a good judge for when to flip them,” she commented, eyes wandering to the bay window that offered an exceptional view of the sunrise. “You can also help me by giving me a heads up about the boys’ Christmas presents.”

You instinctively felt the need to say no, to preserve the integrity of the surprise and excitement of Christmas morning, but you realized that telling Sarah wouldn’t spoil the surprise for the boys. You excitedly discussed the details of the gifts, both for the kids, and for Sam and Bucky, and despite the clock indicating an obscenely early time of 7:48AM, you still felt the Christmas spirit radiating in the cozy kitchen space.

You and Sarah worked together to prepare a full breakfast, consuming cup after cup of coffee until you heard the unmistakable sound of Bucky stepping heavily down the stairs and towards the kitchen. Stepping away from the pancakes for a moment, you quickly started to brew another pot of coffee; and as you returned to your station by the stovetop, you giggled as you felt Bucky’s arms wrap securely around your midsection.

“Well this is a Christmas miracle,” Bucky whispered into the soft skin of your neck. “You’re up and outta bed before me.”

You laughed, turning to faced him as he continued to hold your body against his. “We’re not even to Christmas yet, Barnes — who know what kinda surprises might be in store for you.”

Bucky hummed suggestively, his teeth barely grazing your skin as you shivered against him. Your body instinctively molded to his, and you were in the process of turning around for a kiss when you heard, “Ah, ah, ah!”

You pulled away from Bucky with a laugh, seeing Sarah standing by the sink, hands planted firmly on her waist as she stared the two of you down with the kind of glare that only mothers could possess. “Not in my kitchen! Save that shit for Brooklyn.”

There was an undeniable heat in your cheeks, and you could see the pink tinge that Bucky’s face took on as Sarah called the two of you out. He still kept his hands on you, but with less suggestive placement. “M’sorry, Sarah, I just couldn’t help myself.”

She rolled her eyes before tossing him the coffee mug she had just finished drying; Bucky, of course, caught it despite the lack of warning. “Well, help yourself to some coffee and breakfast - I suggest you get started before the boys are up, it’ll be a frenzy before too long.”

Bucky laughed and grabbed your mostly-empty coffee mug as he strode across the kitchen; he was filling the second cup as a thunderous sound echoed through the house, as Cass, AJ, and Sam quickly filled the remaining space in the kitchen. The boys were startlingly hyper despite having just woken up - you couldn’t remember the last time you woke up that exuberantly - and Sam yawned while making a beeline for the coffee pot that Bucky held in his metal grasp. The two men exchanged the coffee pot silently, but peacefully; and you and Sarah stepped back from the kitchen to rest on the couch, to enjoy the remainder of the morning and watch the feeding frenzy that was comparable to piranhas descending on the sun-streaked Louisiana kitchen.

***

The remainder of Christmas Eve had gone smoothly and happily; AJ and Cass fell asleep close to 11PM, about halfway through The Grinch, and Bucky and Sam had carried them to bed despite weak protestations that they wanted to stay up to catch Santa. As soon as Sam and Bucky returned to give the all-clear, indicating the boys were soundly asleep, you and Sarah set to work on bringing out all of the gifts that had been carefully concealed.

You were stacking presents meticulously when you saw Bucky taking a handful of the Christmas cookies that had been left out for Santa; Sam had noticed as well, and he frowned. “Hey, man, I don’t see you in a red suit with a white beard,” Sam whispered loudly.

“Don’t see you in one either,” Bucky responded around a mouthful of a poorly-iced sugar cookie. The five of you had spent the afternoon baking and icing cookies for Santa, the neighbors, and the mailman; and while it was adorable and endearing, there was a distinct lack of artistic talent for cookie decorating.

“Bucky, share the cookies,” You laughed, nudging him to hand over the plate that he had taken hostage. Bucky grumbled, but you could see the way the corner of his lip quirked up; he was just as amused and happy in this scene as you were. The remainder of the cookies were shared, Sarah finished stuffing the stockings, and you placed the last present under the tree; looking at the last gift, you saw your swooping handwriting on the tag: To Bucky, with love.

“Is that everything?” Sarah asked, an exhausted but content look upon her face. “Last call for gifts, before Santa takes off for the night.”

Bucky coughed, giving Sam a side-eyed look that didn’t go unnoticed by you. “Should be everything,” Bucky responded cooly, but you could see the subtle flexing and whirring in the prosthetic arm that indicated a sort of nervousness within him. It was Christmas Eve, what could he be stressing about? Unless a gift had gotten lost in-between airports; but you had accounted for everything, you were sure of it. Shaking off the feeling as a side effect of exhaustion, you smiled when Bucky extended a hand to help you off the floor. “Ready to say g’night, doll?”

You nodded, and the both of you said quiet goodnights to Sam and Sarah before heading to bed for the evening. Tucking yourselves into the warm, soft bed, you saw the clock blink at 12:08AM. “Merry Christmas Bucky,” you whispered softly, planting a gentle kiss against his forehead, the soft glow of the moon illuminating the few silver hairs that had slowly appeared along his hairline.

“Merry Christmas, doll,” he mumbled happily, from the warm space between sleep and waking, the space where anything good could feel true, the space where Santa might be real and the world might be kind.

***

You had forgotten how early kids tend to wake up on Christmas morning. A silent apology to your parents passed through your groggy mind as you worked to drag yourself out of bed, having been roused by the inescapable sound of fists banging on the closed door and children’s muffled screams of, “Wake up! It’s Christmas!”

Bucky wore his usual early-morning scowl; one that would’ve sent fear coursing through any rational person, but it was a look you knew and loved. He pressed the soft, downy pillow over his head, trying to muffle out AJ & Cass’s insistent excitement. “Too… early…”

You laughed hoarsely, your voice not fully awake just yet. “You try telling them that, see how far it gets you,” you suggested, as you grabbed for your glasses and the pair of pajama pants that you kept handy for decency’s sake. Bucky grumbled again, and glancing at the clock, you realized you couldn’t blame him. It hadn’t yet cracked 6AM, and while Bucky was the early riser out of the two of you, this was a solid hour before his internal clock would typically wake him up. “C’mon, Buck, up and at ‘em. It’s Christmas morning, there’s presents and coffee waiting.”

The two of you finally emerged from the door, disheveled and sleep-deprived, only to be greeted by the loud cheers of AJ and Cass, who informed you that everyone else was already up.

***

The den quickly devolved into a chaotic mess of torn wrapping paper, slackened bows, crumpled tissue paper, and more toys and electronics than the room should’ve rightly been able to hold. The adults sat back and watched as AJ and Cass tore through every present, shouting and jumping and screaming in excitement with each gift that was voraciously revealed. You had shrugged your shoulders in a subtle I’m sorry to Sarah, as the kids triumphantly lifted the new Xbox above their heads. She didn’t seem to mind too much, however, after watching AJ and Cass tackle Uncle Bucky to the ground with promises and threats of ‘kicking his old butt at Mario Kart.’

As the glitter and tinsel settled throughout the love-filled room, AJ and Cass proceeded to withdraw from the early-morning celebrations to play with their new assortment of toys, games, and electronics. You had finished your second cup of coffee and had sent Bucky to retrieve your third, while you and Sam plucked the remaining gifts from underneath the tree, to be distributed amongst the adults.

You passed Sarah a thick envelope that was tied with a silver ribbon, and watched as she pulled forth a stack of papers of various sizes — airplane tickets, hotel check-in details, Broadway tickets — and happy tears flooded her cheeks as she hugged both you and Bucky tightly, thanking you for the fully-planned vacation. “Oh, and it’s not written anywhere officially, but we’re also volunteering to babysit,” you added, and laughed as Sarah grinned and clenched her fist in excitement.

“We are?” Bucky asked, pretending to be surprised. You elbowed him gently, and he corrected himself. “Yes, of course we are.”

The gift-giving continued, with lots of laughter and happy tears. Sam and Sarah had gifted you the slate-blue Le Creuset you had been eyeing wistfully for years, and Bucky received a set of tickets to a symphony performance and dance night, featuring hits from the 1940s. “Might have’ta bust out the old uniform for this one, doll,” he said with a sly grin. “Used to look real nice in those slacks, y’outght’a have the chance to appreciate the view.”

“Oh, I can only imagine the number of girls you pulled in that uniform, Barnes,” you teased. He shrugged nonchalantly as a thick arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you closer into his relaxed body. “Hey, ease up — you’re gonna make me spill my coffee!”

Bucky planted a solid kiss against your forehead as he drew you in closer, albeit with more consideration for the scalding-hot beverage in your hand this time. “That’s ancient history, sweetheart. No need to worry about Dolores at the nursing home stealing me from you.”

“Y’sure about that, Buck? I’ve heard stories about you and a redhead named Dolores…” Sam interjected, a playfully antagonistic hint to his voice. Bucky retaliated by throwing a pillow at Sam’s head, with the kind of ferocity that could only come from a super-soldier. “Kidding, kidding,” Sam laughed, as the pillow hit him squarely in the shoulder.

Both you and Bucky laughed, and he plucked the cup of steaming coffee from your hands, taking a sip before commenting further. “Only one girl I ever truly loved, sweetheart, and she’s right here with me,” he said softly, his voice rough and gravelly, but full of sincerity.

You knew that Bucky loved you, and you knew that you loved him. Little else in the world seemed to matter past those two facts, but you also understood that your shared love existed in a complex and challenging world. A world that you struggled to find a place in, a world that had all too many places for Bucky to fill; the freedom of narrative had been stolen from both of you, but as you retrieved your Christmas gift for Bucky, you hoped you had found a way to give a piece of that narrative back to him.

You handed him a thin, flat box; meticulously and nervously wrapped, the tag unmistakeable; To Bucky, with love.

You watched him open it excitedly, and he pulled out two photos. The first photo was from the original Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian, the one that had stood for several years now. The second photo was one that you had taken yourself, of the recently-updated exhibit; specifically, the segment of the exhibit that documented Bucky’s history. You watched his facial expressions closely as he examined the differences, and you saw his jaw twitch and throat tighten as he focused more closely upon the second, most recent image.

“W-what’s this, doll?” He asked, his voice shaking.

You placed a hand gently over his, the one that held the image of the updated exhibit. “This,” you spoke softly, pointing at the inscription, “This is your legacy, Bucky Barnes. The true one. The one that matters, the one that countless people will read every single day. This is the story that everyone will know.”

Looking at the photograph grasped tightly within Bucky’s human hand, you read aloud the new inscription.

“Born in 1916, Barnes grew up the oldest child of four. An excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom, Barnes enlisted in the Army shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. After winter training at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, Barnes and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the Italian front.

Captured by HYDRA troops later that fall, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, deprivation, torture, and experimentation; but his will was strong. In an ironic twist of fate, his prison camp was liberated by none other than his childhood best friend, Steve Rogers, now Captain America.

Reunited, Barnes and Rogers led Captain America’s newly formed unit, the Howling Commandos. Barnes’ marksmanship was invaluable as Rogers and his team destroyed HYDRA bases and disrupted Nazi troop movements throughout the European Theater.”

Bucky nodded, commenting quietly. “I’ve seen this part, at the Smithsonian.”

“Yes, that was the original; the one you would’ve seen. They also noted your date of death — but as you well know, there’s more to the story,” you added gently, drawing your finger across the image to direct Bucky’s attention to the new addition.

“Barnes was tragically captured by HYDRA operatives after what was perceived to be a deadly fall. Captain America and the Howling Commandos mourned their loss of their brother and companion, with the unit fully dissolving after the loss of Captain America.

Barnes was kept as a HYDRA prisoner of war for decades, before being freed through the work of his childhood best friend. Recruited by Rogers to fight against the Titan known as Thanos, Barnes fought valiantly alongside the Avengers and helped restore the world to its rightful state.

Barnes is recognized as one of the great heroes of our time, having successfully overcome the might of both HYDRA and Thanos. As a nation, and as a global community, we now look to Barnes as an example: an example of what is good, what is right, what is resilient, what is brave and unbreakable.”

Your hands were shaking as you finished reading the new inscription, the new addition to the exhibit; and while your hands were shaking, all of Bucky was shaking. You reached an unsteady hand out towards him, letting it settle onto his shallowly breathing chest. “This is how the world will remember you, Bucky. Not as the Winter Soldier, but as a hero, as James Buchanan Barnes. The Winter Soldier was never you — and nobody will make that mistake again.”

Bucky huffed, exhaling strongly, and you could see that he was fighting off the tears that were threatening to spill from his ocean-blue eyes; you reached to hold his hand, squeezing it tightly as you smiled up at him. His bottom lip trembled slightly as his free hand came up to stroke your face; you leaned into the cool feeling of the vibranium against your warm cheek and kissed the corner of his hand that lingered against you.

“How’d you manage to pull this off, doll?” Bucky asked, voice shaking.

You shrugged and smiled playfully. “I think you’re forgetting that I work for the Smithsonian Institute, Buck. I was able to pull a few strings, call in a few favors — and anyways, museums are pretty heavily invested in having the correct information.”

Bucky laughed hoarsely, the tears receding before they had the opportunity to fall. Sam and Sarah had watched on quietly, both of them feeling grateful for the acceptance and love that you and Bucky had found with one another. “Y’know, Buck, I was thinking that your gift was pretty impressive, but after this… I dunno, man. She might have you beat.”

You looked back and forth between the two men; clearly, secrets had been exchanged, and you had been left out of it. Bucky winced as he leaned over to retrieve your gift, agreeing with Sam. “Yeah, shit, I don’t know how I can follow that. Rewriting history? Jesus, you didn’t even give me a chance.”

Bucky placed a long, narrow box in your hands, and despite his previous comment, he still smiled excitedly as you picked at the red, snowflake-covered wrapping paper. “Whatever it is, Buck, I know I’m gonna love it.”

The lid to the box opened with ease, and the contents both shocked and confused you for a moment. Your fingers nimbly grasped the silver dog tags that rested within the box, the metal chain clinking against itself as you looked more closely.

JAMES B BARNES

32557030 T42 2B

R. BARNES

3092 STOCKTON RD

SHELBYVILLE IN

The tags had been unmistakeable, undeniably familiar, from the moment you laid eyes on them. Holding the tags tightly within your hand, you turned to Bucky with questions in your eyes, and on your lips, but he beat you to it.

“Yes, these were mine. But they’re yours now.”

You stuttered, still shocked by the gesture. “B-But Bucky, aren’t you supposed to keep these on you? Isn’t it like some sort of rule? In case — oh, god, in case anything ever happened —“

Bucky shushed you as you became increasingly worried by the thought of something happening to him, the thought of him disappearing without anything remaining to identify him as the man that you loved. “Shh, doll. Nothing’s gonna happen to me, and that’s exactly why I’m givin’ these to you. I promise, I��m never gonna leave you. I’ll never be far enough away from you to need these ever again.”

While Bucky may not have cried, you certainly did, unable to fight off the swell of emotions that hit you like a tidal wave — but a tidal wave of all good things. The weight of his words ad his gesture was overwhelming; he was handing you a piece of himself, entrusting it to you, and promising that you’d never again have to face a world without him in it. You thought about these same dog tags, how they had rested against his chest for decades, and now having this piece of him so close to your heart threatened to entirely overwhelm you.

“I love you, Bucky, god, I don’t even know what else to say right now, I love you more than anything —“ Hot tears rolled down your cheeks, and you breath was a staccato rhythm as your gaze flitted between the dog tags and the man they belonged to.

Bucky grinned, and you could see the threat of tears had returned. “Just promise me you’ll wear ‘em — and that you won’t lose ‘em.”

You nodded and smiled sweetly at him, before handing him the dog tags so he could fasten them around your neck. His hands cupped your chin and brought you in for a gentle kiss, despite the protests of Sam and Sarah; but they sounded worlds away, because your whole world was right here, holding you, and would never let you go.

***

Taglist: @bdavishiddlesbatch @aleynaandrews @who-is-a-heretic-now

#Bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes x you #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x y/n #winter soldier #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #invisible string #Bucky Barnes fluff

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huntingbounties · 3 years

Text

Jack and the Heads Talk

“Call all you want, it’ll fall on dead ears.”

Roman stood tall next to the pile of handguns he’d gotten from the men at the poker table. The room smelled of cigarette smoke and leftover Italian food. The lowlight was a good way to set the mood.

“Who the hell are you? Did Fultz send you,” the man in the gray suit called, his face a little older and saggier behind his peppered jaw and scarred eye.

Roman pulled up his sleeve a bit to see the writing before taking a moment to think. “Gregory Earl, right? Or wait...you’re Thomas Miller now, right.” A finger pointed at the scarred man before seeing him lock up.

Bingo.

“How the fuck--Who the fuck are you?”

He grinned behind the black mask that hid the lower half of his face but knew that the energy was still there. “Okay, if you’re Greg, then that makes...you Will,” he pointed to the man with the red suit, “Paul is the guy in blue, aand...,” he trailed off as he read the other names written on his arm. “Hm. One of you is Terry, the other is a Finn.” He rolled over the mental notes he made but couldn’t exactly remember.

“You’re fucking with the wrong people here, pal! Real dangerous guys in high places. All I need is a name and you’ll be--”

Roman’s gun pointed at him and that was all he needed to go silent. “I have the guns,” he said, patting the weapons again, “so I will be manning this. Now, in this list I have, three of you get the easy route. Two of you, not so much. With this in mind, I would be very careful which name you two choose to give me.”

The two looked to each other with held breaths. Roman knew that look. They were trying to figure out some way out of this. For so long, they’d been so distant from this end of the gun. Different names, different cities, different guards. It call changed so they couldn’t be tailed, so they couldn’t be judged for what they’d done. All the money and reward, none of the punishment.

That didn’t sit well with Roman, and that’s why he lived for moments like this. Men who thought they were kings far above the law being dragged down to sit in their own piss while he knocked the crowns from their heads.

What to say, what to say.

Maybe they’d try to cut a deal with him, pay him off like they had so many other people in their lives. All they saw was material value. Drugs, fancy clothes, human cargo. It all just meant money to them. It would sicken him if the payoff wasn’t so cathartic.

“I-I-I’m Thoma-”

Three shots were fired, two going to the two that had wasted time trying to figure out a question that had been long answered, and the other going into Paul. Three bodies slumped onto the poker table while the two other men jumped and started to yell at the attacker.

“You fucking shot-You said!”

“Do you have any IDEA the shit you just stepped in?”

“You fucker! You fucking rat! How fuckin’ dare you!”

A heavy hand gripped the poker table and threw it to the side with ease. Chips scattered across the wood floor in a race to escape what was soon to come. Money scattered, the bodies fell out of their chairs while Greg and Will jumped back and nearly tripped over their chairs.

Greg was pissed, his eyes trying to burn holes through Roman while Will tried to stay cool, calm, collected. Based off his notes, that was their partnership through the years. Greg was the wild dog that intimidated people into following while Will was the business man that took a more subtle approach.

“Enough. They got the easy route.”

Roman pressed the release on his handgun, dropping the clip before pulling the slider to pop the bullet from its chamber. He dropped the gun to the floor only to pull up his shirt and jacket to reveal two hammers tucked into his waist. One was drawn out.

“You two will have it much, much worse.”

That chilled bravado from Will soon melted away as he stepped further back until he met the wall of the cellar.

Greg’s hands shook as he made them into tiny fists.

The smile under Roman’s mask diminished. His eyes grew cold as he shifted them to the man in the gray suit.

“You want some,” Greg yelled, his legs jolting into position for a moment. “Come and get it!” He lurched forward after noticeable hesitation. He slung a right but Roman shifted back on one boot to make the hit a miss. A rapid left came high to compensate for the height difference but Roman ducked it before his hammer made a dull thud followed by some sudden cracking.

Greg screamed and fell to the ground faster than the bodies had.

Roman noticed Will gain some cowardice as he tried to run around the fight, but he was far too slow. Roman blamed their comfortable lives as he grabbed the man by the neck of his jacket and threw him to the ground.

“Okay--okay, we’ll pay, alright? Whatever you want! Whatever y--”

Another thud followed by some dull cracking. The knee was shattered and any hopes he had of running were void. Will and Greg were finally similar enough that they screamed almost the same.

“If it were up to me, I’d shatter every bone in your bodies for hours before cutting your heads off with the fire axe upstairs,” he said, grabbing Greg by the jaw to make sure he looked at him, “but I can’t kill you two. Instead, we’re going to see how close we get to that before you tell me what I need.”

Roman turned back to Will who’d stopped screaming enough to focus on his words. There was that smile again as his cold blues stared into the business man’s eyes.

“Let’s start with you.”

Another swing of the hammer. Another scream rattled in the cellar, trapped and distant from the rest of the world. It would be the first of many.

#drabble #just a little one of Roman going after some of leads he was given #I want to do more drabbles as time goes on #though this is my first in a long time so forgive me if it's a little stiff or rusty

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magicalsalamander · 5 years

Text

Soleil Chaser

✶ Pairing▹ BTS Hoseok ⇆ Reader

✶ Words▹ 10.7K

✶ Warning▹ rated mature; Depictions of traumatic events, death of a minor character, blood, witchcraft inaccuracies, explicit language, and explicit themes.

✶ Summary▹ Heavily breathing wasn’t enough to get air into your lungs fast enough. You vowed to never let this happen again. You swung an ax breaking the chain holding the jaw of your Dragon. You promised to never let this happen again, but you found yourself on stage at Barter’s Beach on Talon for the Pirates taking. However, a man even the pirates feared, the Sun King of the Jade Sea, proposed a deal to you, join him or die trying? What will you choose?

✶ A/N: Header image Anan 2019/ This originally was supposed to be a one-shot, but I decided to divide it into three parts. The story takes place centuries before the show, and know no canon characters show up. Light editing, will fix soon. Thank you for reading!

✸ | Masterlist | Next

The black night sky was lit by the high red flames and spangles of embers that decorated the starless night. From the coastline to the bordering lush jungle that surrounded the city, everything—everything was engulfed in carnivorous heat.

Trembling pupils, hands and legs, you grasped onto the edge of your stone window. From your room at the near tip of the stone pyramid, you helplessly watched your city be consumed. Your eyes reflecting those red flames that licked at every part of the city. The colossal dragon ridden by a man with white hair slithered through the sky as it roared, spewing fire and destruction.

You couldn’t look away.

“Y/N! We have to leave!” Your mother tugged and yanked you away from the window as a haunting roar rung over the city. Tears rolled down your face as you took a last look over your shoulder at what was once your city, your home, Gorosh.

Your mother pulled you through the dark halls telling you to look away from it all. But how could you avoid the bodies of people that once served you as they laid bloody on the floor? The blood of your people, the ones who protected the Ghis empire…were gone.

Your mother picked you up after stumbling one too many times and tucked you deep into her neck. “Shhh, my little Harpy, it’s going to be alright.”

Your mother, she held you tight, she truly did, but that wasn’t enough. The eight-council, your father being the eighth, were brought to their knees and heads rolled on the floor, including your mothers, by the dragon rider…the people with white hair.

You were forced to watch it all.

The pyramid, Gorosh and the Old Ghis Empire fell that night. Gorosh became a colony under the new Valyrian Freehold.

There was no way to remove the blood of your ancestors from the embroidery or the leather of your sandals. The tokar you had to abandon and exchanged for a Valerian slaves robe was never going to fit you right.

You had known nothing but freedom, but you won’t ever forget the fifth Ghiscari war and what it forever did to you.

There was no freedom under the Freehold.

You stood next to your Mistress’s throne, lightly bouncing the white-haired child to keep the newborn quiet. The throne room was balmy as a thousand candles burned; despite the temperatures still being high in this summer’s evening. The child felt heavy in your small arms; you were a child holding a child.

The great Harpy statue that used to stand tall behind your father's throne was turned into your Mistress’s throne. They had the body of the women melted and molded into a throne, only her wings remained. Your Master, the Lord, took over your father’s. The smooth, stone walls were decorated with Valyrian history, carving the conquering of Old Ghis into the pyramid’s walls.

Two guards marched onto the platform and placed a wooden, gold-crested chest down on the podium. Their metal armor clanked as they stood upright and took a few paces behind the podium. The mysterious guest delicately with their purple fingertips caressed the chest with a smirk as he turned with an extended hand. “I present to you my Lord, a gift to your newborn son. A dragon’s egg.”

Your Master raised a brow looking over to his wife, who had an equally skeptical raise to her brow. He pressed both hands on his throne and pushed off approaching the sorcerer. As he approached the sorcerer folded his hands proudly into his red robes. "Please, open the gift, my Lord."

The Lord was a relative of the main Targaryen family in Valyria. He had decided to stay in Valyria when the fifth war began while the rest of his family left. After the fifth war had ended, he had been punished for attempting to escape when he realized the weight of his decision to stay and refusing to participate in the war. So, they gave him the escape from Valyria that he wanted: to hold the captured city, Gorosh, while the Rise of Valyria happened across the sea. He was stripped of his honor, his dragon, and banished as punishment.

Brushing his long white hair from his shoulder, he haughtily opened the chest with two hands. Sitting center on velvet was the promised gradient black to red dragon egg. Like a child who just got sweets, he laughed jollily as he stared at the sorcerer who confirmed its authenticity with a nod. The Lord picked it up and it was small enough to fit in one hand. He rotated it around under the light of the torches, admiring it with the same childlike smile.

Subconsciously you tucked their newborn closer to you as he raised the egg up. You had seen what a dragon could do. What the rider had done. What it had done to your city. How they brought the beast into this city to bring it to its knees. You held the sound of anger and disgust back, trained now of what a sound out of line could do to you. However, that didn’t stop you from taking a subtle step back.

Your Mistress, who sat at the edge of her seat, gasped in delight.

As he shifted it around, it became prevalent that on the other side of the egg it had cracks and scales were chipped. His brow began to furrow in anger, “You present me, a gift to my son, a broken dragon egg!”

With a squirmy sashay, the sorcerer took the egg from your Lord. He caressed it gently like it was a child, “Oh no, no, no, my lord. I would never bring you such a curse. I present you an egg from the nest of the original dragon from the mountains of Valyria. It was tucked and protected for years, salvaged from the first war.”

The Lord perked up eager once again, anger simmering, “Yes, well then, but what if it isn’t a male dragon? Our family only births sons. Strong male beast must support strong men.”

The sorcerer placed the egg back into the hands of the Lord. “You are wise my lord, but there is no true gender to dragons’. This egg will be a strong one.”

The Lord held it up higher to the candlelight’s watching the scales of the egg twinkle a rose gold across the scared portions. He sighed in wonder, “Ah, I see it, I see gold. I have a good feeling about this egg.”

The mistress slithered from her throne and caressed her hand up her husband’s back and over to his shoulders. She squeezed as she remained behind him, whispering into his ear, “My love, we can become dragon lords. With this we can return to Valyria, but as dragon lords. Let’s take back what was ours.”

His pupils dilated as he turned around in the arms of his wife. This brought a twisted smile to the Lord's face. He leaned down and kissed her longingly. He could have power. “You’re right, we can take what our cousins took from us and abandoned us in Valyria. We’ll take Valyria one day; it’s going to be ours.”

He set the egg back in the chest, speaking to the sorcerer, “I will hatch the egg for my son. Thank you for your gift, Sorcerer. You have my word that this House will protect you on your journey to King’s Landing.”

The sorcerer bowed deeply and thanked the Lord.

The baby began crying and spitting up, you wiped at his face cooing him to shush. Your Mistress turned to you her sweet face contorted for a split second, irked by her son’s noises. “Harpy, leave.”

You bowed and began walking away, but not without looking over your shoulder at the egg. Goosebumps waved up your arms and spine. Something within you was deeply unsettled.

The child had fallen asleep and been asleep for a while. In a moment of silence, you waited for him to stir. The sudden sound of short pacing outside the room had your ear perking up. You crept, occasionally looking back to check on the sleeping baby, as you tiptoed towards the door. You placed your ear on the door listening in to the sound. The sound died out as you listened in. With a tight hand on the door handle and a hand against the door to counter the creak you knew it’d produce, you pressed it open an inch. You peeked outside of the room with the sliver of light letting out to the hall. The echoing sounds of the footsteps bounced off the walls, but the hall was empty.

With a final look behind you, you slipped out of the room. Your curiosity getting the better of you. The unsettling feeling from earlier was something you weren’t able to gargle down. As much as you tried to rest, your body felt jittery. You knew the pyramid like the back of your hand, every nook and crannies. You crept along the wall and gazed down the connecting corridor finding a cloaked figure just turning the corner. Against your instincts, your feet moved before your brain had registered. With hurried stepped you kept just behind the figure through many different halls.

You waited behind a pillar as they exited out the courtyard, rounding the broken harpy statue, to the monastery. The heavy stone door opened and allowed light to pour out over the dying grass before it instantly cut off.

You crept out across the yard and gazed around the courtyard once more before you sinked into the shadows behind the wings of the Harpy. You peeked through the metal-laced window catching dark figures standing around in a circle all softly lit by the moonlight pouring in. The figure you had been following handed off a jug to a sorceress who then held it up to the moonlight. Six, red-cloaked figured tipped their heads back and began approaching the pit of sand. The red, sacred sand from Old Ghis was like a talisman to your family. She raised it high and began pouring the liquid into the shallow pit as she walked around it clockwise. Anger simmered in your veins, feeling yourself being tainted as the precious sand was made heathen.

Dragged forward from the corner of the room by two guards was a young woman on her knees. You recognize the Goroshian girl, a kitchen maid that had recently been taken in. You watched the panicked look in her eye as she fought against rope restraints. The chest you had seen earlier was presented by two more cloaked figures. Your eyes filtered around the room and the closer you looked, in the shadows, near the guard handling the slave was the sorcerer, Lord, and Mistress. They smiled pleasantly as if they were watching a play.

The sorceress had passed the jug off and stepped forth grabbing the egg. You could see her lips moving rapidly as she picked up the egg and walked towards the pit. She held it in the moonlight chanting louder as you could hear what sounded like gibberish through the window.

The guard dragged the maid to the pit holding the back of her head with one hand. With his other hand, he unsheathed his sword holding a stoic face. After the sorceress was done with her chant, hands still in the air it all happened so fast. The guard raised his blade and ran it over her throat and sheathed his sword. Your eyes nearly bulged from your skull, but you couldn’t look away. You watched as her blood sprayed over the pits, causing a small spark that erupted into flames. The guard dragged the dead maid away and the sorceress tossed the egg into the fire. The prominent crack on the egg began to illuminate like molten lava. The sorcerous turned towards the Lord and Mistress and bowed.

The blood magic had been completed.

You held a hand over your mouth. How could such a terrible thing happen and the people around so content. That maiden was dead. The soil was tainted. Your parents, your people, were murdered. How could they be so content?

How could they do all this…and for a dragon?

You had to leave. You slipped from the window holding onto the wings of the Harpy as you slid from your hiding spot. You hurried back feeling nauseous and sick. Your vision was getting spotty as you ran back into the pyramid. You clutched onto the wall breathing heavily. Tears fell and you began sobbing in a deep corner of an empty hallway.

There was nothing you could do.

You shouldn’t have seen that.

After three years in the burning fire, the egg began to rumble. The Mistress over the years had grown impatient. She dismissed even the authenticity of the egg, but the sorceress had promised that there indeed was life. With her eyes rolling back she prophesized, “It will be a beast that will guide. The rider has leather arms like the beast.” The Mistresses needed no more provocation, in fact, she kept the room of the monastery secretive and protected to ensure the prophecy’s actualization. She even got her son to wear leather armory at any opportunity.

You pruning hands scrubbed at the stain in a cotton nightdress that wouldn't come out. Your hand was snatched from the water causing you to drop the dress with a splash as you were yanked to a stand. The Mistress dragged you along, incautious of the puddles of water or baskets of clothes. You nearly severed your head as she pulled you through the strung about clothing lines. The other slaves doing laundry as well looked at you with fear in their eyes before they averted them away quickly.

"Mistress, what—what's going on?” She didn’t answer you, she continued to drag you about the halls until you came to the royal chambers. As you arrived at her chambers another maid shoved her toddler into your arms. Naturally you took him in your arms, coddling him to you as he latched on. You were grabbed by the elbow by the Mistress and taken away without further addressing. You held her son tight to you, careful of not dropping him as she dragged you. You were taken far across the pyramid to the monastery she had been guarding so carefully. Not even you, her personal slave, were allowed in there. You looked over to the Mistress shaking slightly, you saw what happened last time to the slave girl. You didn’t want to die today. “Mistress, please, tell me what’s going on?”

She turned to you with a stoic look on her face, “Harpy, your lucky I didn’t send you to the mines.”

Your mouth was sealed shut, but your eyes were wide open in shock. The stone doors opened, and the Mistress shoved you inside. You looked over your shoulder watching the doors close as you stared at the intense smirking face of the Mistress.

She was throwing you into the deep end.

Her son cried from the sudden motion, but you hushed him to quiet, but it was really more for yourself.

You turned around when you heard shuffling and was confronted with the sorceress. She was a young, beautiful woman, she wore a red cloak and her accessories were red as well, especially her steel necklace. You clutched him close to you as more cloaked figures appeared walking in line then began forming a circle around the pit. The sorceress stood at the top of the pit facing you.

You finally took notice that the dragon egg was rattling in the center of the fire. The red sacred sand had turned charcoal black. The sorceress commanded you, “When the egg hatches you will allow the dragon to greet its master, girl.”

Your hands were shaky, but you obliged by nodding. What other choice did you have?

You didn’t have time to prepare yourself as the egg began to violently rattle. The flame began to grow, expand, like it was breathing. Your rag of a dress flowed about you as a sudden wind in the room picked up and intensified. Loud, humming chants filled the room and it was all you could hear besides the toddlers crying. The black sand was carried in the wind and pelted your skin. You placed the toddler’s face in your neck and protected him and yourself as the flames licked the ceiling in ribbons of light.

Suddenly the flame extinguished, the wind stopped and the sand rained down. It was completely still then the sound of cracking filled the silence. You slowly opened your eyes and eased up your hold on the hiccupping toddler. It was hard to distinguish anything as your eyes adjusted to the darkness. The torches along the wall lit up, unveiling a small black and red dragon. It looked like it was carved by a blacksmith with its lacquered scales. It was no bigger than the size of a raven. It crawled from its broken shell. The forearms were attached to its red, leathery wings as it crawled forward. It had two small horns on its head and its black eyes were the nearly larger than its skull. Soft murmurs came from the creature as it stumbled through the soot. As it reached the stone rise it hopped up and it looked directly at you and kept its eyes locked on you.

Your hands were trembling as you held onto the toddler. The beast, the destroyer, came to life! Your worst fear came to life. You took a step back on instinct, but a booming command to halt stopped you. You watched the small creature move closer and closer towards you. It reached your foot sniffing then it nuzzled you once before it began climbing your dress. Its sharp nails punched holes into the weak fabric, and you remained still as a statue, whining in your throat. You were unsure of what to do. It crawled up you, twisting up your leg to your hips, up your back before it perched itself on your shoulder. It paid little mind to the boy in your arms but passed the toddler a glance. It stood on its two back feet and flapped its wings as it stood proudly on your shoulder, tail twirling around your neck like an anchor.

The sorceress looked between you and the dragon, then smiled. The stone doors opened as the Mistress stepped into the room. You slowly turned around to face her. The sorceress came to stand next to you, “The boy, son of Valyrian blood, with dragon blood within him, has been chosen, Mistress.” The dragon shifted on your shoulder crouching in a protective manner towards the sorceress.

The Mistress smile bloomed like Spring. She proudly proclaimed, “My son will reign Valyria one day, our dragonlord.”

Your heartbeat loudly in your chest and the dragon tightened its grip around your neck. You side glanced over to it as it looked at you before it blinked slowly then back to the Mistress.

You turned back to the Mistress who had already begun walking away leaving you standing there with the next dragon lord in your arms and the dragon on your shoulders.

Raising the Lord’s son naturally brought you in contact with the dragon. However, the child had no interest in the dragon, not even a glimpse as he paid no mind to it. He was sweet, always kind, but when his mother began taking care of him his personality changed. The child was often interested in other toys or entertainment the other slaves provided.

You had not much interest in it to begin with either. Every time you’d look at it the image of the dragon you saw flying over the city all those years ago crossed your mind. Your palms were sweaty and a solid feeling in your gut to say no. However, the dragon always remained by you. It clung to you like a pup. The small creature would wag it’s tail like a canine as well. You overcame the initial fear of it, when it proved itself time after time to be gentle, but most shockingly, only towards you. It never allowed anyone else to touch it, even the Lord and Mistress weren’t able to approach it without it hissing.

The Mistress relinquishing responsibility to you, putting you in charge of taking care of it altogether. That is until her son will be old enough to take over. You decided that if it was yours to take care of you were going to try, with everything in your power, to keep it from that destiny. You weren’t going to try your best. You didn’t want any other city to end up like yours.

Change doesn’t come overnight, but hands aren’t supposed to be bend metal either. A mold takes times to case, hands take on calluses and yours grew thicker. It takes gentle hands even to manipulate clay, and an even more sensitive touch to break into the heart.

You weren’t going to change it, but you were sure to mold its heart, and you had nothing but time.

-years later-

At night, after your duties, you carried a torch with you to visit the dungeons below the pyramid. You passed the other empty cells until you reached the large iron gate. You unlatched the five locks and slipped inside. You docked the torch and turned around to an elephant-sized-dragon that had one of its eyes open, but it was still comfortably laying down. You giggled slowly approaching, “Oh look at that pout. Did you miss me, big baby?”

You received a huff in response. The dark scales, sharp horns, sharp jaw, and teeth didn't match his current behavior. You giggled, cooing at him scratching at his chin, “You know I have chores to do before I come see you. May I lay down with you?” The dragon opened up, its tail swinging out and you naturally found your spot as you leaned up against its belly careful of his wings. You enjoyed the heat; it eased your tired muscles. Oddly, you held up a conversation asking about his day and did he like his meal. In his way, he would respond to you with little huffs and nudges here and there. You had learned early on that he was intelligent.

Through an exhausted giggle you sighed, spurting out something that had weighed heavy on your mind. “I don’t like that they call you ‘dragon’. I don’t like calling you ‘dragon’ either.” Although you kept a lingering laugh in your tone, the truth of it pained you inside. You had grown overtly fond of the dragon; he wasn’t anything like you had expected. You never felt threatened, afraid, or that you had to be cautious around him. He had been nothing but accepting of you.

“I don’t like that they call me ‘Harpy’, my name is Y/n.” You had somewhere along the line picked up his tail and began stroking the scales. “Can I give you a name?”

The dragon turned his head around and tapped you on the shoulder with his chin as he used to when he was no bigger than a raven.

You perked up, scooting yourself up, thinking of all the names possible. Purposefully you teased, “Hmm, how about…Greg?”

Somehow you could tell he disapproved as he thwapped his tail in your hand. You laughed, “Easy now, easy now, or I may start calling you Greg for real.” He huffed, behaving himself as he calmed again.

You stared at the wall aimlessly, the flickering light catching your eyes. “Sun, you remind me of the sun.” Something I always wish was to spend more time in the sun. “When I was a little girl, and my family was still with me—my mother would tell me stories of when she lived in Meereen. She would tell me stories of the great harpy that would have the sun glowing behind it on the great pyramid. The morning sun behind it was a site to see according to her. She used to call me Harpy, after the statue, and I liked it, but then these…murderers took it. They took my name from me.”

You turned around to him, pausing for a moment, serious this time, ”But I won’t let them take that from you. You’re not their slave. Your name is…,” you sat for a moment, “Soleil.” You sat up seriously, “Your name will be Soleil.” You received a tap on your shoulder, and you knew that he approved. You laid back down and curled up next to him. Suddenly you felt tears brim up in your eyes, “Thank you Soleil.”

After giving Soleil his proper name, you never addressed him as such in front of your Masters. It felt important to keep it between you both, just like how your name had never been spoken in front of your Masters. You didn’t want them to have that.

That was your mold.

Things change over thirteen years. Their son was no longer a newborn, you were no longer a young girl and Soleil…Soleil wasn't what they had expected.

Upon routine you approached the chambers of the Lord and Mistress, closing off your duties for the night. As you raised your hand to knock on the door you heard shouting from inside. You stood still, with your hand raised afraid to move.

The Mistresses muffled shout rung in your ears, “We should kill it.”

The Lord sighed, “We can’t just kill it, it’s our ticket back.”

The Mistress screamed, “Don’t you get it? We’re never going back! That stupid thing, it’s not a dragon, it doesn’t shot out flames, or do anything!”

“What about our son, it’s his dragon.” The lord passed by the door and you held your breath.

The Mistress sighed, voice hoarse, “He could care less about it, he never has. We’ll just get him another dragon, maybe he’ll care about that one. I’m sure we can find one from a merchant or something.”

You lowered your fist and clutched onto your skirt tight. The murmuring continued back and forth but you had blocked out their voices. They were talking about Soleil. Your blood ran cold

No.

No!

You slowly backed away crashing into the wall knocking over a Valyrian flag. Your ears were ringing as your feet took off and when you were far enough you ran for it. You ran hard, thighs burning and towards the warehouse without a second thought. You went through the back gate, traveling along the stairs. You ran through the near-empty streets, carelessly running until you twisted and turned through the streets that lead to the abandoned part of the city near the coastline. It had been too destroyed in the war to repair. You traveled through the rubble, but you knew it by heart at this point. You took more stairs towards the docks. In familiar darkness, you found the old storage warehouse for warships and barges that your father once used to have. Remains and partial pieces of ships still were there, but It had become Soleil’s new home as he quickly outgrew his old cell under the pyramid.

You unlatched the large iron bar and pushed the gate across with all your might. Running into the darkness your shoes pounded against the moist ground. “SOLEIL! SOLEIL!” You heard his chain dragging against the cement and followed your instincts towards it. You slammed into his thick neck, arms not being able to wrap around his neck anymore, but you still gripped onto him. You held him tight for a moment, hearting beating like crazy, breathing erratically. You eased up and with your shaky fingers you began moving up towards his skull, “Stay still Soleil.” You were going to break the chain they forced on him. You began searching for the pin, “Don’t move.” He obeyed and you twisted the metal pin out of the lock and the choker fell to the floor in a loud metallic crash echoing in the empty warehouse.

You ran towards the dim light pouring in from the cracks of the main barge door. You grabbed onto that light, grabbing onto the handle and struggling to push it open. Your adrenaline was running on high that you didn’t hear the thuds coming from behind you. Soleil stuck his head in between the slight gap you’ve been able to budge and pushed the gate open. You both kept going until it was completely open.

The warehouse had a ramp that led into the water, but it also had a cement dock that led to the beach. You bent your neck backward as Soleil stood upright, towering fifteen feet tall. He leaned down to nudge you cutely in a greeting, but you couldn’t manage to greet him properly. You grabbed onto a horn as he dipped towards your level, walking backward, your voice was tight, "Come on, Soleil. Stay low.” His tail wagged behind him as he followed you out to the beach in a crouched position.

The cascading sound of waves welcomed you both on the empty beach. Soleil whined at you, his large body fumbled awkwardly as you let go of him, trusting him to follow. You stood at the edge of the water gazing towards the pyramid, which seemed small from this point. You turned and gazed at the vast horizon, a full moon in the sky. This was the edge.

You turned and urged Soleil with a small command for him to lower his head again. “Soleil, my good boy, “clearing your throat of building tension, “listen to me, listen to me good.” Your eyes were glassing up, voice unrecognizable. “You’re going to fly, fly far away!”

You hear in the distance the sound of the hounds echoing from the pyramid. The Lord must’ve given the orders out.

“Go! Soleil! Go!” You let go of him stepping away from him, getting wet as the waves crash around your ankles. He quirked his head to the side, for the first time not responding to you.

“Go! Don’t come back! GO!”

He shook his head and sat on his two hind legs. Tears were running down your face, “Idiot, you’re going to die! THEY’RE GOING TO KILL YOU!”

He refused to move just stared at you.

The sound of barking intensified; they were near the warehouse. You charged at him and fruitlessly began pushing at Soleil, but he wouldn’t budge. Your feet buried in the sand with each push. Pathetically you begged, “Please, please, Soleil. Just go.”

The barking was just around the corner, you could tell they were at the stairs.

He swooped his neck down and you couldn’t understand until he nudged you, remaining at your level. You looked at his eyes who were locked on yours. It was like he spoke your name to you calmly. The look in his eyes spoke greater to you than you had anticipated. You heard his message loud and clear.

You had nothing here. You weren’t even human to them here. This wasn’t your home and it hadn’t been for a long time. He leveled his head down completely, closing his eyes. You looked over your shoulder back at the pyramid. What were you staying for?

You grabbed on and climbed onto his back between his winged arms like you had seen that man ride that dragon. You held on tight to his spines as he shifted about. You were facing the sky vertically, then he squatted and lunging into the air. The sudden motion made your stomach sink, you were so terrified you were unable to breathe as you felt weightless. The cold wind was intense as Soleil soared up and up into the night sky. You kept your eyes closed until he evened out, body arching and falling as he graciously flew. You opened one eye at a time and looked over to his wings that expanded at least thirty feet. You dared to look at the sea below then behind and you could see the shoreline of Gorosh in the distance. The shore was lit up by torches and barking hounds. The pyramid was smaller as you barely saw the lights of the town.

Somehow, you didn’t feel a sense of emptiness. Freedom. You faced forward, with a big grin on your face. You’re never looking back. “Faster Soleil! Get us out of here.”

He flapped harder than before and you arched forward holding on tight.

You traveled for hours, sticking alongside the shore as you had no idea where you were heading. You had only known of Gorosh your whole life, all other cities mentioned were just that. Mentions. You didn’t stop for hours in fear of being found. When you felt you were far enough, and Soleil slowed down significantly, you spotted a small lagoon separated from the Summer sea and decided to stop there.

Slowly you slid yourself off his back, holding onto his spines still for dear life. Tumbling off him Soleil turned around instantly and helped prop you up with his stout. You laughed as you stood, thanking him none the less you had made it to the ground in one piece. You sought out a small dry patch of land and took camp there. Soleil was like a child, he rushed for the lagoon, enjoying the cool water after his body heated up from flying for hours. You had managed to create a small fire, a trick you had learned after working in the kitchen. Soleil hunted for fish in the lake, eating his fill then came out with a few extra he dropped for you. You thanked him, although, they were slightly mutilated from his teeth, giving him a good pet. You ate and enjoyed the warmth of the fire. You leaned up against a tree with a heavy sigh, and like a lap pet Soleil twirled around and found himself a spot next to you. Although he couldn’t fit his head in your lap anymore, he closely leaned up against you.

You breathed a heavy sigh, you stared up at the sky. You couldn’t remember the last time you had seen the stars. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this relaxed. Although, the adrenaline was wearing off and your body was feeling heavy with exhaustion. You ran your hand over his head gently and he lightly purred in content. Your eyes were falling and you let them feeling your body succumb to the exhaustion.

Your body stiffened automatically when the purring turned into a deep growl. It vibrated you awake as he lifted his head facing towards the tree line. You knew beast, creatures and other beings lived in the jungle of Sothoryos. As a child in Gorosh, you were never allowed out in the jungle for that reason. You didn’t have time to interpret before you heard movement in the foliage and breakage amongst the trees. You attempting to mount Soleil discreetly. You needed to get out of here quick. Arrows sliced through the air, striking the tree you were leaning on. You ducked down avoiding another attempting to hurry and mount. “Soleil, let’s get out of here!” As soon as you had a good grip on his spines you felt him stiffen. An arrow struck Soleil on the leg. The reaction was quick as his eyes rolled and his body fell to the floor in a thud. You rolled away from his with the momentum of being flung. You screamed, “Soleil!”

As you turned around you were surrounded by men with mask covering their face. Blocking out the full moon one raised a bat and swung it a hard striking your head and all went black.

Stirring within, you felt the echoing vibrations of a muffled roar drum through you. It rung and rung through the darkness of your mind until the prickling, cold, unshaven stone digging into your arm brought you to consciousness. Your eyes shot open, ears buzzing, and every inch of your body tingled with a different degree of pain. The sound of chains rattling amplified the sharp pain in your head. You clutched at your temple, bringing both hands up unexpectedly. They were bound by handmade, silver chains. You inspected your hands, unregistering what you saw until your eyes widened once again.

When did this happen? What happened? Where were you?

The familiar sound of growling and screeching rung in your ears. It all came back to you. You weren’t dreaming, that wasn’t a nightmare. You were kidnapped.

You blinked away the dizziness, the sound of Soleil screeching resonated in your ears again. His pain ticked off yours sending a painful burn down your spine. You forced yourself off the wall into a sitting position only to be weighed down by the chains around your wrist. You tried again but felt a tug realizing you weren’t alone in your attachment. Ten other women dressed similarly to you in slave robes were connected to you, all huddled around one another in a cluster. Fear was evident in their eyes as they scurried away from you.

You scanned the room itself, noticing it was a large holding room with a single entrance or exit and no windows. The stone infrastructure was crumbling, and the planked ceiling had a hole in it allowing sunlight to pour in. This room at some point must’ve been a storage room.

You heard a howling cry from Soleil that sent goosebumps all over you, and like a mother bear driven to protect her child, a fire sparked within you. You were going to escape.

You stood up swaying slight, body still lucid, head throbbing in pain but all those were secondary at the moment. Slowly you dragged your heavy body over to the makeshift door made of rotting planks. Squinting one eye closed you peered through a thick crack. Guards were posted around the door and as soon as they moved slightly you were able to see where you were. Various makeshift buildings were posted like a marketplace. The market seemed to be placed between two mountains. In the distance, you could see fog covered green and slate rocky mountains. Through the scattered palm trees in the plaza, you noticed across the busy plaza was a high, stone stage. It was surrounded by an audience of men, but as you looked closer at everyone you realized they weren’t ordinary men.

They were pirates.

You recognized the black attire of men, their barbaric shouts, and the black flag with a skull. On the stage your black and red dragon was center stage, his mouth muzzled by heavy chains and limbs chained by even thicker chains suppressing any movement.

The image of Soleil coming towards you for the first time, the time he first let you rest on him, flew, and when he lowering his head to you at the beach when you told him to leave crossed your mind. He wasn’t like them. Soleil never gave up on you…and you weren’t about to give up on him. Anger boiled within you, how dare they! How dare they treat him that way. He wasn’t a slave and he will never be!

You gazed around, the women murmuring and gasping as you moved about yanking on the chain occasionally. In your frantic stupor, you stumbled over a rock. You hissed when you hit the ground scrapping your palms and knees on the dry stone. On your knees you shakily wiped your wounded hands on your robe, then it hit you. Stone.

Without hesitation you grabbed the stone, disregarding the pain and blood, and began slamming it on your linkage to the next person. The sound was loud in your ears, but the roaring cheers outside were enough to cover what you were doing. A thick sheen of sweat was building up on your skin as you used all your strength.

You had to break the chain.

The janky metal bent with each strike and eventually it broke into pieces. Although you still had cuffs on, you were no longer bound to the gang. You tipped your head back towards the ceiling heaving as you tried catching your breath. You squinted as the heavy clouds passed and let warm sunlight pour into the room. It felt so nice for a second before the clouds came back. You stared at it, blinking hard before you were moving again.

There was no stopping there, you pushed discarded wooden crates under the hole in the ceiling. You stacked smaller empty ones on top until you were sure you could reach the top. You climbed the crates, thighs protesting as you pushed yourself up, hands burning, but you kept pushing up. You reached the hole in the ceiling and grabbed onto the splintering, water damaged wood ceiling. It cut into your hand as you pulled and yanked and broke it to pieces to create a big enough gap for yourself. You weren’t sure the wood was strong enough to support you, but you had no choice. This was your only way out.

You turned back to the women staring up at you with a harsh whisper, “It’s your choice if you leave or not.”

You gathering all the strength left in your arms and extended your hands as far as the cuffs would allow you. You held on tight as you pulled your body up with a groan. You pushed and pushed until you were sitting on the roof. You blinked against the harsh light but as soon as you looked back to the plaza you saw pirates gather closer around the stage and the crowd cheered. Soleil growled thrashing his head around and that was enough to get you scooching faster but still carefully to the back edge of the building. The alleyway behind was empty and below you was hay in a cart next to more crates. You weren’t sure if it was clean, but it was your best bet. Holding your breath, seeing Soleil behind your closed eyes you let yourself fall over the edge. Your stomach turned but it was over quick as you plopped onto the soft hay. A puff of hay floated about as you stared up at the grey sky. Tickling your peripheral, tattered curtains blew as the breeze picked. You huffed and groaned as you got out of the cart and walked over to it and yanked it from its abandoned home. It was large enough to wrap around you and over your head around you like a cloak. You made sure your face was covered.

Under disguise, your bare feet trod the cobblestone with a false sense of direction. You weaseled through the crumbling white buildings and as you rounded the corner you filtered into the crowd like a beggar.

You heard a loud growl surge from Soleil's through the crowd and pirates jolly hooting in a recall. The sound eventually was drowned out by the loud calls of shop owners with their sales pitch. An announcer on stage spoke over the hooting, “This beast was caught last night, and the first bid is going to be starting at 10,000 Gold.”

The crowd erupted into furry as shouts of different prices rang out. The number disgusted you as it kept increasing and increasing. The auctioneer shouted the numbers he heard them. You moved towards that voice. You groaned as you accidentally bumped into someone hard. You bowed in silent apology not bothering to look up and kept moving towards the stage.

You didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t have a plan, but you knew you needed to stop this somehow.

You stopped near the edge of the stage; you were the stillness amongst chaos. You peered up for that somehow…that something. You had gotten this far, but now what?

You looked around you and focused on the arms that clearly hung from the waist of the pirates. Pirates were brutal men; they were men that collected skulls as an offering to their god. They pillaged and raped at will and were more than happy to leave you for dead. Your eyes caught a sharp reflection of light as it nearly prophesied itself. You weren’t sure where this courage kept coming from, but your legs were light and arms heavy. You peered at the blacksmith shop near the stage, an ax was sticking out of a log. You briskly walked over to it and with cuff and dangling chain clinking lightly. You pulled it from the wood with a hint of struggle before you turned around without detection. The ax was heavy in your hands, the wood was unpolished and it bit into your raw hand.

Your throat was dry as you readjusted the weight of the ax in your cuffed hands. You weren't sure with what you were about to do would do anything. You weren't sure you were going to live after. You looked at Soleil, the look in his eyes wasn't the confident one you saw last night. The need to change that is raw. As your hearing dies out and the sound of your panting fills that void you stride forward eyeing the stairs the lead up to the stage. Your heart was beating hard in your chest, you could feel the veins in your neck throbbing. You lunged up the short staircase then broke into a run as your makeshift cloak fluttered off you. You had your eyes set on a chain. You pushed past the auctioneer; his face full of surprise as you pushed him out of the way. You swung the ax around until it was twelve, men rushed onto the stage and went to lunge at you. When the ax was high in the sky you used that same momentum to slam it down with a guttural scream on the chain that was attached to his muzzle.

As soon as the ax slammed down the chain cracked and broke, the long chain attached to the muzzle and the muzzle itself loosened around Soleil and feel in a metallic crash. Soleil acted immediately and roared breaking the chains lingering on his mouth as the links rained down. The man who grabbed you knocked the ax out of your hands as he tackled you to the ground. Seconds later he was pulled off you by Soleil’s jaw and the horrid crunch was heard and rung through the crowd. He jerked his head sending the body sliding at the front of the crowd. The pirates backed away creating a gap from the dead body. Soleil with his chin he tugged you closer to him and under his chest protectively. You clutched onto him whispering his name in relief.

The stunned crowd was paralyzed, even though they were men notoriously perilous. A dragon could bring men to their knees.

A booming voice cut through the silence, “I’ll take the wyvern…and it’s rider.”

The heavy crowd parted down the center, splitting evenly as a man confidently walked towards the stage. He stepped over the body to stand just near the front of the stage. His white blouse was tucked into his black pants, with a black long coat. He was decorated in gold accessories, most notably his golden broach on his breast of a sun.

He stood confidently, unbothered by Soleil, “I’ll give you a few options girl.” His eyes gazed up to Soleil, Soleil arched his neck back further ready to strike.

In a clear voice, he drawled it out simply for you, “Join me, or die.”

The sweet smile he seemed to offered had suddenly translated as cynical. “I take you, girl, and the wyvern with me.”

You felt sick to your stomach. Another person wanting to hold you captive, a pirate at that. However, you were under the chest of a chained beast. You had no other way out, no plans. If you did, Soleil was still chained and you had no weapon, you didn’t even know how to fight. The pirates that seemed to be a part of his crew around him all looked ready to strike.

In a low voice, you gave your condition, “No one will touch my dragon, even you.”

Surprisingly, the man smiled and bowed. The man turned towards the auctioneer, who was shaking in his boots at the edge of the stage. In fact, the population that was once around the stage had disappeared except for the men following the pirate in the center. The man whose smile reminded you of the sun pointed with a single hand, "Release the wyvern.”

With trembling hands, each of the thick chains was undone. You were holding onto Soleil's neck, prepared for the next move of the pirate.

With a gesture of honor, he placed his hand over the sun brooch, “Wyvern rider, welcome aboard my ship.”

You clutched onto the horns of Soleil as he dipped low, soothing him and yourself as you started at the man who smiled so gently, but underneath if you weren't sure to trust it.

The auctioneer still stood near you cautiously watching Soleil for a sudden attack. You asked, “Who is he? The man who just—bought me?”

The man scoffed to keep his ego, yet still cautious. “Ignorant girl, you choose a death worse with that man.”

Your eyes shifted, as you tried to suppress your internal panic. You had grown up in a household of many tragic men and women, guest who’ve done horrible things, and served those who caused horror. You’ve seen a lot, but based on the contortion on this man’s face you had another thing coming. A small huff came from Soleil at the man. Almost to himself, he whispered, “I don’t know why he’s in the Summer’s sea. He never travels west. Something must be wrong.”

The man began retreating and down the stairs. He spoke as he retreated, a sick smile forming on his lips as he laughed through it, “No one knows who he is, or where he’s come from but everyone knows what he’s done. He’s a hope collector, light collector, and life collector. Anyone who was slain by his black sword suddenly became skeletons. The only man who sailed to Leng and survived the Old Ones. Some call him Jay the Sun Chaser, but he’s the Sun King of the Jade Sea.”

You had heard of that name before, amongst the maids and guards before. It was near impossible to be of Sothoryos and not know of the Sun Chaser. But what he’s done, or why he was king was a hushed conversation, never truly knowing who or where he came from.

As he stepped on the ground, “He's killed plenty, girl, and I'm sure you're next. His skull collection on Skull island blocks the Sun, quite fitting for the Sun King don’t you think? You’ll be the next offering along with your dragon too.”

Up until this point, you hadn’t felt fear. You did what you had to do yet, your blood ran cold.

The auctioneer vanished into an alley and you were alone in the center.

Your hands shook as you held onto Soleil. Just what did you do.

You hugged your knees close to your chest preserving any heat possible. The cell was cold as a breeze crept along the floor. Each time the boat rocked the wood protested in a haunting creek. Waves tirelessly hit the side of the boat. The only light was a lantern that hung in the hall outside your cell, but you knew it was out there.

You could hear footsteps from above going back and forth all day long. You were in the bowels of the ship, but you weren’t discarded. In fact, you always had visitors, two specifically. Because of that, you had been told vicariously that Soleil was still following.

The wooden stairs creaked one at a time as a heavy boots stride towards you. He was later than usual. You leaned up and kept your eyes straight on the bars, awaiting your visitor. The steps grew louder before they stopped in front of your cell, blocking the light. Slowly you tipped your head up and met the shadowed eyes of a man as he tilted his head down to look stoically down at you. The man was thin but slightly muscular; his feline-like demeanor and features were always hard to read. He was the one who picked you up from the stage that day. He took hold of your chain and escorted you, uncaring of Soleil. As you were about to board a small rowboat you turned towards Soleil and for the first time spoke up to your escort, "I had a condition. I won't go if he won't follow."

That was the first time you had seen the feline smile, “He will follow. I don’t doubt that.” You were picked up and placed into the smallest rowboat.

You turned around to Soleil, “Stay close. I promise it’s going to be alright.”

The feline man began rowing and you watched Soleil pace the shoreline whining, at that point you had to turn away. You didn’t doubt that man’s words either.

Soon, by slippage, you had found out his name was Yoongi, second hand to the omnipresent figure that ruled this ship. You had yet to see him, the Sun King, only having direct interaction with Yoongi or Taehyung, a mischievous crew member who pulled the short stick in having to take care of you.

Yoongi brought out a ring of keys and unlocked the cell. “He’s requested your audience.”

You slowly got up, your legs prickling as they’ve gone numb from sitting too long. Your hands were still cuffed, and your wrist was raw and blistering. The moist air didn't make it any better egging on the sweaty friction.

Taehyung came trotting down the stairs in a bit of shambles, “I’m here, I’m here!” You kept a straight face, attempting to conceal a giggle at his clumsy behavior. He was a bit of happiness on this rig. Taehyung was the complete opposite of Yoongi, they always bickered, but you could still tell they were close. He would come down on his downtime and talk to you. It kept you sane. You had expressed to him your fear of his King. Ironically, he laughed, “I can’t confirm or deny what you heard, but just…be prepared. I recommend to just…be yourself when you see him. He doesn’t respond well to pretense.” His words didn’t ease your mind, but you figured if he accepted someone like Taehyung maybe you had a chance.

They escorted you up countless floors. You felt burning eyes on the back of your head, yet you didn’t pay them any mind. You already knew their eyes were staring at you intently and judgingly. In passing you heard them whisper, “A woman on board is going to get us all killed.” You chuckled a bit, finding them fearful of your gender but not your dragon. Then the laughter died down in your throat…they weren’t fearful of a dragon. They all looked clean kept, except the look in their eye was dirty, tainted and toughened up. You swallowed the thick saliva in your mouth and averted your eyes. Taehyung leaned in close to you, “Miss, don’t mind them. They’re not going to harm you. Especially not with me around.” You looked over your shoulder with a raised brow, his statements were questionable. You didn’t let Taehyung see you chuckle, but you were sure he knew.

You reached the top staircase ascending to the deck. The night sky was completely dark as you looked up. You stepped up to the deck and on first instinct, you took a breath of fresh air. The air was cold your dress that was paper thin, ripped in different places couldn’t protect you from the cold. The wind whipped your hair around, but it was refreshing.

You kept your eye to the sky, eyes focused on the big, billowing mast. You caught a glimpse of Soleil soaring instantly putting a smile on your face. He was fine. He followed you.

Yoongi pushed at your back slightly, “Keep going.” You had forgotten how large the ship you were on as the edge of the boat seemed far. Taehyung leads the way as you followed with Yoongi at your back. Surprisingly the deck was full of people working and doing things despite lanterns being the only thing lighting up the ship. The ship was made of light brown wood that was still bright even in the night; the mast were giant white sheets. When the wind slowed down enough you were able to pick up the big sun on the main mast. In all honesty, you didn’t want to meet the Sun Chaser. The auctioneer’s words still rung in your mind. Did he really want you dead? Were you just another offering to their God?

You were shoved from behind when you were gazing too long.

It took a while before you reached the back of the ship to the captain’s quarters. Yoongi approached double doors and knocked before stepping back. He must’ve received a response you couldn’t hear as he pushed open the door and allowed you in. Yoongi held a hand over his chest, a similar gesture you had seen their King do, as he held the door open. Your heart was in your throat, feet stiff and frozen, but you had no choice. You took a step forward then another into the lion’s den.

The feeling in the air changed as you walked in, a burst of hot air overcame you like a blanket. The wooden room had a golden glow about lighting up the bookcase and furniture around. Every instinct was on high alert and was warning you against settling into it. You jumped when the heavy door clicked behind you as you turned watching your only exit close.

“Spoked wyvern rider?” A gruff voice awakened your senses.

You whipped around finding him sitting behind his wide desk, feet crossed resting a top as he leaned back in his black stone throne. Across the back of the chair over his head, the rising sun in different stages was depicted in gold. He loosely twirled his sun brooch between his fingers as he observed you with a bored expression. The various stages of burnt candles that must’ve been on its mantle for ages at the edge of his desk flickered. The shadowing light lit up one half of his face. His strong features, sharp jaw naturally jutted in icy confidence. His hair was slicked back. It was darker than the light blonde you had seen him with a week prior.

He silently stood up rounding his desk like a predator holding the sun between his fingers. You noticed he was wearing intricate armory; it was unlike the casual wear you had seen him initially in. The deep emerald textile was underneath a thick metal armor. Plated mail graduated large to small plates from his shoulders down to his breast. Gold fabric cinched his small waist addressing below his tight black pants that were tucked into brown leather boots.

You cleared your throat to catch yourself from staring longer than necessary. He was gorgeous, that was something you’d admit. But that still didn’t change the fact that you still feared him. He must’ve caught you on though as he chuckled and stood tall before you. You caught a whiff of his rich citrus scent as he towered over you. His dangling long, golden earing caught your eye dragging your attention away from his intense stare.

He creased his eyes in a challenging taunt, “Must be difficult not riding your wyvern.”

You squinted, creasing your brows dragging your eyes back to his cheeky expression. You asked honestly, “Why do you call Soleil that? He’s a dragon not a…?”

You could see the a-ha moment cross his eyes as he repeated the name on his tongue. “Wyvern. Your wyvern, Soleil, isn’t a dragon. I would know, I’ve seen many in my days venturing near Valyria. I’ve seen Basilisk, but your beast is defiantly different. Wyvern different.”

You squinted still a bit confused, “Your beast’s wings are attached to his arms,“ he looked over you quizzically, “…and he doesn’t breathe fire.”

It hadn’t dawned on you. Yes, Soleil didn’t, or hadn’t ever, breathed fire.

He pulled out your hands taking in the cuffs on your hands. He tsked then pulled out his sword from its sheath. His eyes narrowed as he eyed the cuffs. You pulled your hands back to your chest backing up and bumping into a cabinet. You heard of that sword, the black stone sword that turned people into skeletons. In a moment the trust you had slightly built up was torn away. "Please, please don't kill me." Your heart was beating erratically out of your chest.

“What?” His eyes widened taken back your sudden jump. He attempted to center you but you just thumped against the cabinet again.

“Please, please don’t turn me into a skeleton.” The chains rattled loudly as you trembled.

He stared at you for a moment in complete disbelief. His domineering aura died down as his eyes softened as a subtle laugh started before it turned into a roar as he hunched over laughing.

You stood there gazing at him awkwardly holding your hands to your chest, “You’re…you’re not going to turn me into a skeleton?”

He spoke through a laugh, “No, where did you hear that from?”

You looked away, a hot embarrassed flush filling you. You whispered, “At Barter Beach.”

“Their mouth’s run dry if it's not full of lies.” He gently took your hands back in his, eyeing you cautiously, asking you to trust him for a moment. You held your cuffed hands out, all-be-it shaking. He lifted his sword and easily cut through the cuffs like butter. They fell to the floor pilling at your feet.

You thanked him lightly as he sheathed his sword back again. He eyed your blistering wrist, “Don’t thank me.”

He watched your mind work a million miles per hour. He brought a hand over his chest placing his brooch back in place, “Excuse me wyvern rider, I hope you know I have no intentions to hurt you. I apologize for keeping you in the cell, but you must understand my crew’s safety comes first. I merely did such to protect you and myself.”

You scoffed, “Protect me?”

A large shadow passed engulfing you both in darkness as Soleil covering the moonlighting pouring in from the wall to wall window. When the bright light returned you were both boldly staring at one another.

Instantly and evenly he responded, “I don’t believe in harming women…especially women with children, wyvern rider.”

“Y/n.” He paused for a moment taking in what you said. You don’t know why you gave him that. You’ve never given your name to anyone. You wanted him to know though, for some reason, you felt he would keep it.

“Y/n.” He sighed, “You are not my prisoner, but I will hold you on my ship until we are in safe waters. It isn’t safe here right now, so think of me as your escort.”

You raised a brow. It isn’t safe? And he’s going to be your…escort? You didn’t suppress the laugh this time, everything up until now felt so ridiculous. “Jay the Sun Chaser, the pirate king with the highest skull collection, my escort?”

He smirked, correcting you, “Please, call me Hoseok. You are not a pirate, nor crew, call me by my name.”

Rubbing your sore wrist, you started again, “Hoseok, I’m aware of the Pirate code. No debt or act goes unpaid, what do you want from me?”

He hummed twirling the sun brooch again as he stepped towards the window to observe Soleil. You cautiously approached the window to stand next to him.

“Nothing.”

You quirked a brow, “Nothing sounds like a heavy debt.”

Genuine laughter escaped his lungs, you even joined it a bit. He turned to you, “So it is.”

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citadelsushi · 5 years

Text

Trust Tomorrow: Ch. 3

Third part of Avory Shepard’s origin story.

Art by antivancorvo

Also on AO3 and FF.net

Nothing excites a crowd as much as spilled blood.

Nick assumes human kind has always been this way. He remembers reading once about an ancient civilization who held massive events in which people would fight to the death for entertainment. They had even built an arena, called it the Colosseum, specifically to house the dozens of thousands of spectators who arrived from miles around to watch the gruesome fights. Competitors were called gladiators, granted the title as if it were something to be valued. As if they weren't simply unwanted cuts of meat thrown into a grinder, chewed up and spat out in a mangled mess of muscle and blood.

Chicago's underbelly had adopted the same sport somewhere along the line, though it wasn't nearly as extravagant. There was no rich emperor sponsoring the fights, no luxury involved even for the highest ranks. In Rome, Nick had read, the majority of the Colosseum’s victims were slaves or captives of war, beaten and whipped until the driving force behind them was painful enough they were willing to enter the ring to escape, despite knowing they faced certain death.

No one in the pit was forced to participate. At least, not explicitly.

No, the Reds - Konnor - was a master of manipulation. Threats were beneath him, peasant’s work, the reason he kept Mikki around. Konnor was more subtle; if he wanted a person to do his bidding, he found a way to push his own desires onto them, to make his wants their wants, to turn his needs into their needs until little more remained of his victim than the relentless search for his approval.

Not that Konnor’s aversion to employing violence meant he enjoyed the pit any less than his subjects. In fact, Nick was inclined to believe he enjoyed the fights more than anyone else. A puppeteer watching his marionettes perform on stage, obeying his every command despite never uttering a word. The exhibit was as much to prove his control over his own gang as it was to prove the Reds as a group not to be fucked with.

Though, to everyone but Nick, it seemed none of that mattered. Hell, most of the time Nick doubted anyone else saw what he saw. He knew Avory didn't. As far as the rest of the Reds were concerned, there was no deeper meaning to any of it. To them, the monthly engagement was just a bunch of people gathering to beat the ever living shit out of one another.

And Nick had to admit, going to the pit was a really fucking good time. Bringing together five groups of people who swore to oppose each other until death, but were able to put aside that hate long enough to watch a grisly fist fight, created a unique energy. The air crackled with it, a fuse of youthful rebellion ignited by alcohol, a powder keg of red sand exploding into enthusiastic violence. For a short time each month, every member could relax, get a little fucked up, and pretend they were kids. For a short time, they could forget to pretend they were adults.

Unfortunately for them, everything good is also short lived.

As much as everyone loves seeing a victor pummel their opponent into a bloody pulp, no one wants to lose a member, a friend, a sibling. Death in the pits is expected, but it never fails to kill the mood. For Nick, the mood had been ruined as soon as the serpent pulled a knife; watching his sister getting sliced up is a sure way to kill a buzz. Now, watching as Avory silently came to terms with what she had just done, all Nick can feel is sober relief.

An eerie silence falls over the crowd as Avory stands over her victim, the blade in her hand still dripping with blood. Steam rises from her crimson stained skin. Her chest heaves as she gazes down at the lifeless body beneath her. Backlit by hazy orange streetlight glow, she looks otherworldly. Like an ancient gladiator, cloaked in neon and death.

Mikki enters the circle, hips swaying in her usual exaggerated fashion, but she keeps her distance from Avory. She knows better than to approach a fighter stiff with adrenaline. As she approaches the center, she shouts, “And the knife hiding bitch makes four!”

Some of the crowd cheers, some grumble in disdain. Accepting the outcome, most of the group begins to exchange credit chits and their meager, yet prized, possessions, passing over lost bets begrudgingly. But Nick's attention is drawn elsewhere, beyond Avory, over Mikki's shoulder where Sixth Street clumps together.

Not a single face looks surprised, though maybe a bit disappointed. No sadness either. Instead, a cool, determined veil had fallen over all their faces, their eyes locked on Avory in identical fashion as if they were a singular being. Nissa doesn’t look fazed in the least by her gladiator's defeat. A chill creeps down Nick's spine, giving rise to the hairs on the back of his neck. He quickly glances to Konnor, statuesque as ever, to find his stare locked on Nissa. A grin stretches tight across his lips but his smile never reaches his eyes, the expression so unnatural on his gaunt face that it looks painful.

Nausea takes root in Nick’s stomach and blossoms upward, pushes gin flavored bile into his throat.

As Mikki begins taunting the Broncs, Nick spots movement and his attention snaps back to the Serpents. Two bodies right of Nissa, a brute of a man with white pants and no shirt unfolds his arms and cracks his knuckles, his actions slow and deliberate. Nick had never seen a krogan in person, but he imagines this man is as close to krogan size as humans can get without genetic modification. The man's legs are thick as cement pillars, but they carry him efficiently enough that he bursts into the ring and makes it to the center before anyone in the crowd can react.

Nick, however, is already watching.

Panic makes his voice hoarse when he yells, “Avory!”

Under less threatening circumstances, Nick would have been proud of Avory for knowing to look up in the direction opposite of where he stands, over her shoulder to the blind spot of which he has a perfect view. She looks just in time to dart forward, narrowly avoiding the juggernaut charging directly at her. The man’s momentum continues to carry him forward into Mikki, whose reflexes aren’t nearly as quick, and she takes the full force of his attack.

Mikki doesn’t have time to scream. The force of the man crashing into her sends her flying to the edge of the ring, limbs flailing as she spirals through the air. She lands with a thud, rolls to a stop at the feet of the Broncs. Blood trickles from her scalp down her hairline, her only movement comes from the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. No one bothers to check on her. The man growls, doesn’t bother casting Mikki a second look before he whirls around to find his target.

Avory is a deer caught in headlights, and for the first time, Nick is afraid. He’s never seen her look quite as she does now, crouched and ready to run or rip out a throat. She clings desperately to the knife in her hand, keeps it tight against her body, ready for defense. Compared to the giant standing off against her, she looks so small, so young. The stone cold killer she had just proven herself to be vanished and left in the ring was a scared, scrawny teenage girl.

Again, the brute charges, the ground shakes with each step. Blood rushes in Nick's ears, his body paralyzed with fear, unable to so much as holler with the rest of the crowd as the giant closes in on Avory. She stands directly in his path, every muscle in her body taut with anticipation. He wants to yell at her to move, to run, to charge back, to do anything but fucking stand still and let herself be trampled.

Seconds later, Nick realizes he was stupid to worry. The giant is only a foot from collision when Avory ducks and darts forward, immediately turning to focus on the man who stumbles to a halt, his open arms still grasping for a body that was no longer there. He turns, growls, and charges again. Just as before, Avory waits until his fingertips are nearly on her before she jumps to the side, whirls around behind him before he can halt his momentum. This time, she delivers a swift kick to the back of the man's knee. It's almost as high as she can effectively reach.

Coupled with his unstoppable momentum, the blow causes him to fall forward, forces him to throw his hands on the pavement, stops just short of smashing his forehead on the pavement. Avory looks pleased, almost allows herself a self-satisfied smirk. An axe chipping away at a giant Sequoia, every splinter of wood counts.

Enthralled, the crowd grows louder each time Avory narrowly escapes the man's grasp. They dance around each other like a matador fighting a bull, Avory almost taunting the man, landing cheap shots wherever she can manage. Each jab only enrages the brute further, to the point that Nick swears he sees the man start to paw the ground before each charge. He almost laughs imagining steam coming from his ears and a giant ring piercing is septum. Avory, too, seems to be mildly amused by the fight. Nick is surprised to see her so keen after the last match, but she flutters about surprisingly light on her feet, never staying in one spot more than a few seconds. Her eyes never leave the giant in the ring, even as he throws his weight about like a wrecking ball.

Several minutes in and Nick is too focused on the fight to light another cigarette. When adrenaline was fresh and the threat new, Avory had been exhilarated enough to keep up with the challenge. She had grinned as she circled the man, dangling herself in front of him like bait only to disappear into thin air, leaving him empty handed and embarrassed each time. But now, Nick can see the signs of fatigue. Her blood pressure has been too high for the bleeding from her last battle to stop, blood ebbs from her wounds and with it, so does her energy. She no longer seems to float above the ground, each step becomes sluggish and her posture hunched, desperate for more oxygen her body can’t provide.

The crowd can see it too. With each charge, the bull gets closer to goring her. He runs at Avory again and she evades him, but only just. She stumbles as she jumps to safety, her left hand clutches the laceration on her side while her right sticks straight out, seeking balance. Panic rises in Nick once again as she stays there, hunched over and gasping for breath, as the bull paws at the ground, thirsty for another attack.

The man starts at her.

“Avory!” Nick shrieks, “God damnit, fucking move!”

Avory doesn’t lift her head, but she nods. Four, three, two, one stride out and Avory drops to the ground, rolls out of harm’s way at the last possible second. Nick breathes a sigh of relief. But now that she’s down, she struggles to get up. Her arms tremble with effort as she pushes her way to her knees. She’s slow, too fucking slow. She’s barely to all fours when the bull turns back on her, his eyes widened with murderous frenzy. Nick watches in slow motion as he approaches her, his stride slow for the first time since entering the ring, savoring each second as he approaches his victim. Avory doesn’t look up, but she must sense his presence because she starts to crawl as quickly as she can toward the edge of the ring. The bull walks behind her, no longer in a hurry now that she’s so slow, so weak.

Yet, the crowd is thirsty for more bloodshed, rooting for the giant underdog to finally wipe out the girl who stood champion for so long. Saliva sprays from savage mouths as they call for her head. The unfolding events chill Nick to his bones. They’re just kids. Him. Avory. Each person in the crowd, all children begging for the death of another child. He looks to Konnor, arms still crossed, his skeleton features blank. There’s not a single bone in his body that feels any of this.

Nick’s own anger erupts from depths so deep he didn’t know he could tap. He turns to Konnor, shoves him as hard as he can. It’s just enough to make Konnor unfold his arms, to level his dead stare at Nick.

“Fucking stop this!” Nick screams, his voice breaking.

Expressionless as ever, Konnor simply straightens, folds his arms once more, and turns back to the pit. “No.”

He’s about to shove him again, to punch him, kick him in the shin, beat the ever living shit out of him until the rest of the Reds pull him off, but the crowd bursts into cheers and Nick turns back to Avory. She’s lying on her side now, a foot away from the opposite end of the ring, curled in on herself. The bull stands over her, his arms held above his head as if absorbing the energy from the crowd. And with that energy, he drives his foot into Avory’s stomach.

Her mouth splits open in a silent scream and she rolls away from the source of the pain, arms wrapped around her abdomen. She lifts her chin and her tear filled eyes scan the crowd. She glances briefly at Nick before passing over him to Konnor, a desperate plea in her eyes. She’s running on empty, too weak to fight, unable to take much more yet powerless to end her suffering. Konnor could stop this at any moment. Nick looks to him too, his heart already heavy with despair.

One word and Konnor could put an end to the fight, he could save Avory’s life. But Nick knows the cost is too high. Stepping in to save her would set a dangerous precedent that Konnor’s subjects didn’t have to die for him. Protecting her would make Konnor look weak, would make her look valuable. Letting her die, however, cost him nothing but a night at the pit. Another bet, another gladiator, another child, lost.

Nick can’t afford a loss like that.

Avory is all he has, all he’s ever had. From the first day he met her, when she had been welcomed into the foster home with open arms by the guardians who promised devotion yet disappeared just as quickly as the state officials, she had stuck her neck out for him. At nine years old, her knobby knees poking out every which way and her knotted hair equally as wild, Avory had more fight in her than he did at thirteen. When dinner time rolled around that night and the pirate-like hierarchy of unsupervised children reared its ugly head, Nick had already retreated to his makeshift bed of tattered towels in the corner. Being low on the totem pole and resources scarce, he would be having sleep for dinner once again.

As the new kid, Avory’s right to food didn’t exist. Until she insisted. Until that wild haired, wide eyed little kid screamed, and stole, and kicked until no one, not even the oldest, wanted to waste energy on the crazy new girl. Nick had watched her then, admired her ferocity, her ability to charge head on into the unknown and take what she needed. He admired her more when she didn’t hoard her newfound treasures, when she handed out meager scraps to other kids who were too afraid, too weak, too beaten down to take anything for themselves. Himself included.

The relationship that blossomed turned into something Nick had never experienced. Something kind, something crafted with care, something comfortable. Nick wasn’t accustomed to anything of the sort. No, the types of relationships he knew were violent, only existing because he was told there was no other option, because fear kept him from hoping for better. If there wasn’t anger, there was nothing, an empty hole void of attention, of love, of connection. What he and Avory found with each other made him feel the way old tv shows made him feel, like he was safe, protected, loved. Like he had a family.

Family is too rare a thing to lose without a fight.

#Avory Shepard #Nick Shepard #Trust Tomorrow #custom shepard #mass effect

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