#none of them would survive the winter like that. too busy fighting each other like what gangs and corporations were also doing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jaskierswolf · 3 years

Note

😏 Hey, it's me, back again. On my knees, begging for more filth. I want some post mountain grovelling. I want Geralt on his knees. One of Jaskier's hands in his hair, holding his head still. The fingers of Jaskier's other hand in Geralt's mouth. <insert Gopher gif here>

Forgiveness

Not exactly filth? There is smut... but it caught plot. For those wondering... Jaskier's hair and beard looks something like this.

Rated: E

Length: 2.5k

CW: dom/sub vibes, subspace, oral sex

______________

Fear was not something that Geralt was accustomed to feeling. The trials had made sure of that, but the trials were created with monsters in mind, not bards. There had been a time when being afeared of Jaskier would have seemed preposterous. The worst thing that could have happened was the bard getting too close to a fight and getting hurt because of Geralt, but even then, Geralt had never been scared of Jaskier, more scared for him. Losing Jaskier to the witcher’s way of life would have been unforgivable, so Geralt made sure it didn’t happen.

Jaskier was gone.

And yet he still wasn’t safe. Geralt had torn his own heart into pieces to keep Jaskier safe, and now fucking Nilfgaard was destroying everything. Rumour had it that the army were looking for Jaskier, looking for a way to Geralt and to Ciri. So it was time for Geralt to swallow his pride and make amends. He’d travelled to Oxenfurt with his young ward in tow to search for his dearest friend, the man he’d broken. Ciri had been a surprising blessing in his life. Just like Jaskier, she had brought light to his life when there had been none, and he was beginning to realise that isolating himself did not make him stronger. His friends, brothers, lovers were more deadly than any sword or sign. Alone he was just one man, motivated by survival and a sense of duty.

For Ciri he would tear down the Continent.

For Yennefer he would climb the highest mountain.

For Jaskier…

He sighed. For Jaskier he would break his own heart, and for Jaskier he would try to make it right again.

It was more terrifying than any manticore or griffin.

A knock on the door, that’s all it would take. Instead he was just lurking outside the office, an elaborate “Professor Pankratz” painted in fine golden calligraphy on the panelling. Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose, every instinct he had was telling him to run, take Ciri back to Kaer Morhen for the winter and leave Jaskier. Surely no harm would come to him at the academy.

“Are you going to stare at my door all day, Geralt, or shall we go inside?”

Geralt’s eyes widened as he spun around to face his friend. He hadn’t heard Jaskier’s voice in years but there was no mistaking the lilting accent and the playful way that he spoke. No one else spoke quite like Jaskier. The bard’s voice may not have changed but Geralt was taken aback by Jaskier’s appearance. His hair, which had always been short and scruffy in the decades that Geralt had known him, was now long, the ends ticking just below his chin. The long locks were tucked behind one ear, and his fringe had grown out. But it was the beard that really drew Geralt’s attention. He’d never realised that Jaskier could grow a beard, he’d never even seen the bard with stubble before, and yet here was Jaskier sporting a thick beard that was as rich in colour as his hair, no sign of any grey despite his age.

He looked beautiful.

Piercing icy blue eyes burned with cool fire, and Geralt was reminded why this trip had worried him. Jaskier had been his most loyal friend, and despite his profession, the bard was dangerous. His tongue was sharp and his temper was short, for Lillit’s sake, he’d even tried to condemn a man to death with the blasted Djinn.

“Well? Come on, witcher, get inside or get out,” Jaskier said with the cool authority of the professor he had become. Gone was the eighteen year old fool that Geralt had met in Posada.

“Right, yes,” Geralt grumbled and stepped aside so that Jaskier could open the door. He trailed in after the bard, feeling very much like a dog with his tail between his legs.

“I never expected to see you at my door, Geralt,” Jaskier muttered as he busied himself around the room, sorting out his books and scrolls from his satchel, carefully placing his ink bottles on the messy desk, and shrugging out of his teaching robes.

Underneath the dark robes, he was wearing an elegant dark green doublet with matching breeches, gold thread stitching at the seams. To Geralt’s surprise, the bard's doublet was fully buttoned, hiding both the chemise and the mass of chest hair that Geralt knew was underneath the emerald fabric.

“I never expected to come,” Geralt admitted.

“Excellent, now you can leave again, it was good to see you old friend. Close the door on your way out.”

Jaskier’s words stung, a dagger between his ribs, poison running through his veins, but Geralt couldn’t give up, not without a proper fight. “I came to apologise.”

“Oh, ho, ho, that’s rich, witcher. What’s next? You’ll go and fetch your Child Surprise?”

“Ciri,” Geralt mumbled.

That seemed to have an effect, Jaskier froze, his back to Geralt. The bard slowly spun round and peered at Geralt. “So you finally found her?”

“I did.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jaskier sighed, pushing his hair from his face and scratching idly at his beard. “Did she mention me?”

“She did.”

“So, tell me Geralt, are you here because you want to apologise, or because the princess demanded it?” Jaskier’s tone was sharper than any witcher sword, this was the man who had destroyed a knight’s honour with a few well-placed rhymes and catchy songs just because he had insulted Geralt, and Geralt wasn’t used to being on the receiving end.

“Nilfgaard are coming, Jaskier. I couldn’t leave you in danger. They are looking for you, because of me.”

Jaskier scoffed, throwing his arms up, almost knocking an ink bottle flying. “Nilfgaard, wow. Yup, yes, should have expected that.”

“I’m here to protect you,” Geralt growled, “and- and because I miss you.”

“Miss me?” Jaskier hissed, stepping forward so that there was barely any space between them, his sweet chamomile scent now flooding Geralt’s senses. “You should have led with that, witcher.”

“I-”

“Fine, you want to apologise. On your knees, grovel. I won’t follow you blindly again, Geralt. I need to know you won’t hurt me. You want to protect me?”

“Yes,” Geralt answered without hesitation.

“Then know that no one on this Continent has ever hurt me like you did on that fucking mountain. Forgiveness will take time,” Jaskier said haughtily, and Geralt dropped to his knees. He finally saw Jaskier’s rage for what it was; a shield. Jaskier was trying to protect himself… from Geralt.

“I am sorry, Jaskier,” Geralt said, his voice shaking but sincere. “I only ever meant to protect you. I lashed out. I was hurting after Yennefer. I shouldn’t have said those things to you, but-”

“Hollow excuses.”

“But I was scared,” Geralt finally glanced up, and oh what a sight. Jaskier was looming above him, his hair almost coppery in the candle light. He looked like a messenger from the gods. “My life is a dangerous one. I fucked up Yennefer’s life with one breath, how could I possibly risk doing the same for you?”

“You already did.”

“But you’re alive,” Geralt whispered quietly.

“I would have rather died, Geralt,” Jaskier hissed.

“Don’t be so dramatic, bard.”

“If it meant giving up my life with you. Life with you was the greatest adventure, there was never a dull moment. I got to live every single day. Now look at me, I’m trapped in a cage without the best friend I’ve ever had,” Jaskier spat. “So you’ll have to do better than that.”

Geralt lowered his gaze once more. He was running out of options, but there was one more card that he held close to his heart, rarely even admitting it to himself. They say that love can conquer anything. It hadn’t been true for him and Yen, but perhaps the sorceress had been right and their love was just an illusion created by his wish and the spell she’d cast on him.

“I love you,” he whispered, loud enough for human ears to hear but still a quiet admission, one he’d never said out loud before.

Jaskier didn’t say anything. Instead, there was a gentle tug at Geralt’s hair as Jaskier pulled the tie from its place. Geralt stayed still, letting his words hang in the air. The bard’s fingers began to gently run through Geralt’s hair, each touch sending warm tingles down his spine, and he felt his breathing relax almost into a meditative state. Jaskier had done this before when they were on the path, braiding Geralt’s hair whilst he meditated, but this felt different, there had never been this spark burning between them before.

There had never been those words lying heavy on Geralt’s tongue before. “I love you, Jask,” he repeated, his voice more slurred this time and he felt almost as if he had been drugged, his head feeling foggy. The haze got thicker with every stroke of Jaskier’s hand through his hair.

“Oh, dear heart,” Jaskier cooed, his voice sounding almost like a dream. “You have no idea how long I’ve yearned to hear those words.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt mumbled. “Forgive me, Julek.”

“In time, my darling, in time,” Jaskier breathed, his scent sweeter now, something akin to arousal. It was hard to tell through the fuzziness in Geralt’s head.

There was a low whine, that Geralt vaguely registered as coming from him. Heat was beginning to thrum through his body, and he slowly realised that at some point he’d shut his eyes, completely submitting to his bard in his attempts to earn Jaskier’s forgiveness. He felt Jaskier’s fingers cupping his cheek, hooking under his chin. Geralt whimpered as he struggled to open his eyes.

“There you are, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, “apology accepted, dear heart.”

“Jask…”

“I know, I know, I’m here,” the words washed over Geralt like a warm breeze.

“I- I- want…” Geralt didn’t know what he was asking for or what he wanted, but his head was spinning and suddenly the hand in his hair wasn’t enough. He’d gone so long without seeing Jaskier, and now that they weren’t together, it was like a dam had broken. All the things he’d been denying himself for years…

“Shh, Geralt, I’ve got you,” Jaskier hummed, and before Geralt could protest, he felt the press of Jaskier’s fingers at his lips. Eagerly, Geralt opened his lips, taking the digits into his mouth and sucking gently. He gazed up at his bard, drunk on the feeling of his own arousal.

Geralt had never seen Jaskier in his element at Oxenfurt before but the calm way in which Jaskier commanded the room was enticing. This was Jaskier’s office, his space. Geralt was the guest here, not the other way round. Usually Jaskier had to fit into Geralt’s life, but now it was Geralt’s turn, kneeling at the professor’s feet, a willing student, begging for another chance.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, cocking his head so that his long hair fell in front of his eyes. “Do- do you want this?”

Geralt hummed around Jaskier’s fingers, nodding his head. It felt like a stupid question. How could he not want this? It was everything he’d never let himself dream of. He tried to say yes, but the word was muffled by Jaskier’s fingers.

“Gods, darling, you look so beautiful like this,” Jaskier cooed, and there was a sharp tug in Geralt’s head. He moaned around Jaskier’s fingers, vaguely aware that his cock was now painfully hard in his trousers. “That’s it, my love, sing for me.”

Geralt moaned again, sucking at the fingers in his mouth, enjoying the weight on his tongue. He’d never done anything like this before, but with Jaskier it just felt right. When he’d come to Oxenfurt he hadn’t expected anything like this to happen. He’d been praying to whatever gods were listening that Jaskier would forgive him, anything more than that had been an impossible dream. Geralt’s eyes fluttered shut and he hummed happily, shifting his weight until he was in a more comfortable position, the one he used for meditating. Like this, he could sit at Jaskier’s feet for hours should the bard wish.

But instead, Jaskier pulled his fingers from Geralt’s mouth. The emptiness left an ache deep inside Geralt that he hadn’t expected, but Jaskier’s other hand cupped his cheek, tilting his head so he was forced to look up at the bard. There was an undeniable fondness in Jaskier’s eyes, and between the beard and the extra weight he’d put on now that he was settled at Oxenfurt, he looked so warm… cuddly.

And Geralt wanted him.

“Can I- do you want my cock?” Jaskier stumbled over the words, a break in his previously mask of calmness. “We don’t- it’s just a suggestion…”

“Yes,” Geralt breathed, gazing up at the man he loved. In fact, he could think of nothing he wanted more in that moment. He swallowed, his mouth dry as he shuffled forward to nuzzle against the bulge in Jaskier’s trousers. Jaskier groaned as Geralt mouthed at his erection through the fabric. “Please, Jaskier.”

“Go on then, witcher, please me.”

Geralt’s fingers shook as he untied the lacing at the front of Jaskier’s trousers, and they moaned in unison as he finally took the tip of Jaskier’s cock into his mouth, the taste of precum bitter on his tongue.

“Gods, Geralt, I never thought I’d see the day…”

Geralt just hummed, licking at Jaskier’s slit before bobbing his head, slowly taking more into his mouth. There was another tug at his hair and he hummed, relaxing into his movements as Jaskier slowly began to rock his hips, gently thrusting into Geralt’s mouth. All the while, a steady stream of soft praises fell from the bard’s lips. Geralt had never felt particularly aroused from sucking cock before, but at Jaskier’s feet, the gentle words lingering in the air and the rhythmic touch of fingers caressing through his hair, he was closer to cumming than he thought possible.

He gasped as he pulled back, biting back a moan as he rested his head on Jaskier’s thigh. “I- Jask, fuck…”

“Shall I take you to bed, darling?” Jaskier cooed, gently pulling Geralt to his feet.

His legs were shaking and he fell into his bard's waiting arms, burying his nose in the crook of Jaskier’s neck. Geralt hummed as he kissed Jaskier’s neck, the soft bristles of the bard’s beard warm against his skin. “Your beard is soft,” he murmured, running his lips along the edge of the beard until they were ghosting over Jaskier’s lips, a tease of a kiss yet to come.

Jaskier laughed, pressing their foreheads together. “The luxuries of Oxenfurt, my dear witcher.”

“Smells good too,” Geralt hummed, finally capturing Jaskier’s lips in a chaste kiss. The bard moaned quietly and his fingers dug into Geralt’s side, pulling him closer. “Smells like home.”

After a few moments of being lost in each other, Jaskier finally took Geralt’s hand, lacing their fingers together and leading him through the office to the bedroom that lay beyond. They had a long way to go before Geralt was truly forgiven but this was a start.

This was their start, their new beginning, a new chapter in their adventure.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #professor pankratz #wolfie’s witcher writing

161 notes · View notes

love-archon · 3 years

Text

A Poem For You

Fleeting romances in the court of the Raiden Shogun, whose reign stands eternally still...

Spring - 春

"In Naniwa Bay, now the flowers are blossoming. After lying dormant all winter, now the spring has come..."

-Wani of Baekje

• The old tales warn of kitsune: yokai that take on forms of handsome men and beautiful women to play tricks on the unsuspecting humans. When they are careless, however, their disguises slip, and one can see a tail or two poking out from under their robes.

• Or, in the case of your soldiers' archery instructor, Gorou, a pair of large, fluffy ears emerging from his hair.

• There are whispers of a general in the rebel army far in the mountains, who has the features of a fox spirit and the slyness to match. Thankfully, the army lacks valuable intel to proceed, and cannot move forward without the use of spies.

• You blink and, in a shimmer like dust on sun-baked earth, the ears are gone. The gentle afternoon breeze rustles the leaves, and he nocks his arrow and lets it fly.

• Perhaps you were simply imagining things?

• Gorou, who guides his trainees with a strong, reliable hand, steady as stone,

• Gorou, who splits arrows in half as they fly, vowing to protect you always,

• Gorou, who smiles fondly at you as you walk through the gardens of your estate, holding your parasol to veil you from the sun, would never betray you or the great shogun. Would he?

• One warm spring night, where the dew still drips from the sakura flowers, he sits with you on the rooftops. His round lazuli eyes meet yours, and he tells you, truthfully, that he'll be leaving soon. Won't you join him?

• Your heart stirs to agree, but you respond that you cannot abandon your duties to your family, or to the shogun. He looks disappointed, but gets up from his seat, telling you that he accepts your decision. “If you ever change your mind,” he begins, but stops when the look in your eyes makes it clear you can’t.

• But you didn't know that "soon" meant now.

• Papers stolen from your family's most secret rooms are rolled up in his hands. His plain clothes melt away to reveal the uniform of the rebel army. The foxlike ears you thought were a dream now rest on his head, clear as day.

• Most striking of all, however, are the nine tails shimmering behind him- the mark of a fox spirit that’s accumulated centuries of magic.

• Your eyes can’t quite catch the way he leaves, and you’re not sure exactly when you became alone in the night with the flowers.

• Or if you’d imagined the saddened way he said goodbye.

Summer - 夏

"The spring has passed, and the summer comes again;

For the white robes are spread to dry on the Mount of Kaguyama."

-Empress Jitoh

• You do not know who keeps sending these letters, despite your best efforts. Only that they must be a refined noble of high status and excellent taste.

• Each cut of paper, beautifully bound, is dyed the right color to match the season. They are appropriately adorned with fresh sprigs of plants from the sender's garden, or tied with a luxurious ribbon of patterned silk. Lavish scents drift off the pages in a perfume that's sweet and light.

• Oh, and the words.

• The appearance of these gifts pale in comparison to the contents. The mysterious admirer has learned the alphabet borrowed from Liyue, and the complex brush strokes are applied with just the right deftness that each kanji character shines.

• Your beauty is eternal, they proclaim, like unmelting snow on summer mountains, and strikes the heart like a bolt of lightning. In your luminous eyes, the ideal of your god has been met- a thousand times over...

• As dizzyingly romantic as it is, one thing gives you pause, as you lift your own brush to write your reply.

• "Your god," it says. Not mine.

• Who would know the secret etiquette of the court so intimately, to the point that other suitors' letters paled in comparison... and not worship the immaculate Raiden Shogun, much less take an interest in you?

• Then you are sent in your clan head's place to deal with the troublesome Fatui that have slipped past your nation's defenses, and you find your answer then. Their leader wears the traditional attire of a traveling nobleman, and wields his weapon with aristocratic grace.

• His underlings fall rather quickly under your hand, but he himself is annoyingly persistent. He darts out of the way of your attacks, but it takes all your power to stop his from striking true.

• You do not get his name, only his face- fair and clean and luminous, with delicate features twisted in cruel amusement.

• It’s a shame that you must marr it with your blade, but what can be done?

• Then, he glides past you, close enough to whisper in your ear, and completes the poem no one has seen but you.

Autumn - 秋

"Even in the age of almighty gods unheard of;

The waters of Tatsuta are dyed in crimson red."

-Lord Ariwara-no-Narihira

• It is time for the great procession- an event of fanfare and decadence, where you and your family must travel from your ancestral home to the domain of the immortal shogun to display your wealth.

• Despite the excitement surrounding the occasion, you know quite well it is nothing more than a way to maintain control over the lords of Inazuma.

• But no expense must be spared if it means preserving your reputation. If it means that no other family dares question your wealth. Not in travel, not in housing arrangements, not in entertainment, not in the hired guards to protect you on your long and arduous journey.

• And so, after you pay the Kaedehara clan the exorbitant sum they demand, they give you twenty able-bodied samurai under their command... including Kazuha, their youngest son.

• The servant girls- and some of the boys- traveling with you blush when he passes, observing his lithe form and gentle eyes and striking, pale blond hair. One streak of red is visible there, calling to mind a sole maple leaf in autumn.

• Kazuha does not join in the other samurai's revelry. While they cheerfully indulge in the food and drink provided to them on the journey, and boast of their prowess when the time comes to fight bandits hiding on the path, he remains silent and alone, his eyes only on his collection of handwritten poems.

• (And, when you aren’t looking, they shyly flit to you before looking away.)

• In the end, however, Kazuha is the only one who actually bests a bandit in combat.

• Late at night, when the others are sleeping off the wine, large shadows flit past the trees. The bandit clans in the area thrive during this time, like hunters when beasts migrate in droves. They're confident that this traveling party will be easy prey.

• But one thief approaches too rashly, too quickly, and one crimson eye opens to meet him.

• Kazuha drifts from one opponent to another like a leaf falling from its branch, carried by strong winds. And yet, none of them can touch him. One after another, each man collapses with a sharp cry, only their silhouettes visible in the darkness.

• In the morning, the traveling party awakens to see fifty-some criminals tied up and piled up in a heap, and bursts into laughter. As the other samurai are still hung over, it’s clear who was responsible for this.

• Yes, Kaedehara-kun is a wonderful samurai. Skillful, composed, brave. And an excellent companion to have by one’s side, if one is lucky enough to have met him.

• It was quite the shock to learn that he would later flee the islands, sailing onward to the Land of Contracts aboard the ship of a pirate lord.

• But if anyone had the strength of mind to defy the gods- wouldn’t it be him?

Winter - 冬

"In winter, the early mornings. It is beautiful indeed when snow has fallen during the night, but splendid too when the ground is white with frost..."

-Sei Shonagon

• Lady Ayaka is one of your closest friends, with your families being in a partnership for centuries. You have fond memories of playing together in the snow, with cranes flying overhead in the white sky.

• You know her secrets, and she knows yours. Nothing is kept between you- this is how you survive in a court of treachery and lies.

• So when she passes by in a sunlit hallway, you hear a whisper that shocks you to the core. Smooth silver hair floats past your sight, quiet as snow, and just as fleeting. But you must collect yourself quickly, for spies may lurk behind any silken screen.

• You will be betrothed to Kamisato Ayato, your dear friend's older brother, in ten day's time.

• As close as you are to Ayaka, Ayato has always been a shadow flitting in the corner of your sight, being too busy with his duties to see you. So his visage- to you- is as featureless as a field of snow.

• After all the romance novels you've read, it's difficult to accept marrying a man you've never spoken with, but... what can be done? You can only hope that Lord Ayato is kind and treats you well.

• But... what if he isn’t?

• Lady Ayaka would never speak ill of her brother. In fact, no noblewoman would even consider such a notion, even if it were true. Good appearances, on every level, are more important to nobles than gold.

• But all the same, you’ve seen the ladies of the court who are trapped in loveless homes like birds in cages. How their smiles are painted on, how their laughs ring hollow and empty, how they glance longingly to the world outside, beyond the lavish court that hides them here.

• Your gaze drifts towards the harbor, where the water shimmers with light. You could run away, too. To the eastern mountains, where your former archery teacher hides with his fellow rebels- although to do that would invoke the shogun's wrath. Or, riskier still, follow Kazuha's path to the harbor, and chase him on to Liyue...

• “Young Lord Kamisato is waiting for you,” a servant says, breaking you from your thoughts, and bowing hastily before you can meet her eyes. The servant across from her does the same as the paper doors slide open, and they do not rise as you walk through.

• This room is airy and spacious, of course. Wind from opened windows seems to sigh as it passes over you and beyond, and you can smell flowers from the garden carried in from the breeze. How strange... even a garden that you played in countless times seems completely new and unfamiliar.

• Gracefully, soundlessly, Ayato emerges from behind his ornate screen. Power and elegance flows from his every movement. And at last, you dare to look at what you have never seen before.

• You look at his face, finally revealed before you, like translucent ice giving way to the land beneath the white...

• And gasp.

_______

Author's Notes

Wani of Baekje: Each opening quote is a poem by a famous Japanese author, but Wani was a scholar visiting from Ancient Korea!

Great procession: Known in Japan as sankin kotai. Powerful lords were forced to spend massive amounts of money to travel from their homes to the shogun's castle and back; in this way, the shogun was able to keep them on an efficiently tight leash.

#genshin impact x reader #kazuha kaedehara x reader #scaramouche x reader #gorou x reader #inazuma

113 notes · View notes

marvelship-oneshots · 3 years

Text

I FEEL YOU (WINTERIRON)

Soulmate AU where the other half of the couple feels pain in the same place where the other is hurt. [1.4k words]

People are connected, in a way or the other. Someone, or something, bigger has a specific plan for everyone and if this something wants two people to be together, those two are bound to meet. Sometimes, the connection is obvious to the eyes of everyone, sometimes it's so subtle that goes unnoticed even by the eyes of the people involved. And this is exactly the case. For Bucky and Tony, their connection manifested in pain, which is kind of ironic. If one was hurt, the other would feel the same pain. It's romantic, in a way, sharing the same pain. Well, for Bucky, it wasn't. One just knows when the connection happens. Everyone around him had already had sings or even had already found their soulmate, the person to spend the rest of their life with. But Bucky was already 25, leaving for war and hadn't received a sign yet. And he didn't receive one for another 25 years. During his Hydra time, in the few moments when Bucky was still Bucky, remembering every action he did as the Winter Soldier and not having received a sign that his soulmate existed, the only thing he felt was not guilt or anger, but fear that no one could love him. But the day he knew he had a soulmate eventually came. It was 1971 and he was out on a mission for Hydra, he was sitting in the helicarrier, lightly napping when he felt like something hit his forehead. He didn't notice at the time but as soon as he snapped back to his real self, he realised how weird it was. And for some reason, he just knew that that was the sign that he had a soulmate. He did the math, the signs appeared when Bucky was approximately 50. His soulmate had been either really careful his entire life or they were really, really young. For Tony, signs of that connection appeared right away. Of course, he was not conscious of them. But the pain little Tony felt for most of his life, was enormous. And no one could get him. He would be in class or playing with his friends and he would fell like a thousand needles performed his face or a burning sensation around his shoulder. Clearly, nothing was happening to Tony. His parents had him checked by the best doctors, but he was perfectly fine. Eventually, he grew understanding that those non-existing symptoms, were his soulmate's very real pains. And every time they happened, his blood froze in his veins thinking bout the horrors he mush live everyday. For Bucky it was a bit different, kind of funny actually. The pain his soulmate usually felt was to him a just a tickle, and when he was himself again, he realised that his soulmate, for some reasons, was always hurting his left hand, so much that sometimes Bucky forgot that he didn't have a left arm of his own. Bucky and Tony met, not knowing they were each other soulmates and the moment was definitely not the right time for that discovery. In the heat of the moment, they both couldn't pay attention to the coincidental situation, being too busy trying to survive. They were in Siberia. How the situation got that much out of hand was...awful. Steve had a reputation for getting himself into fights he couldn't win. They were two super soldier against Iron Man, the Iron Man, but, however the fight ended, it was going to be a loss. Even if he prevailed, which he did, he was going to lost a friend, several friends. Bucky was laying on the cold concrete floor of the Hydra facility, Tony had blasted his arm away. Steve was fighting, or at least he was trying to protect himself, he was more likely getting his ass kicked. Steve stood up, stumbling, tying to gain a little bit of balance. He breathed heavily, bringing his fists in front of him. "I can do this all day" he panted. That was Steve catchphrase and Bucky knew that. He hated it, it usually meant nothing good and for once he could do something to help Steve in advance. He dragged himself across the floor and, as son as Tony got ready to blast Steve, he grabbed his leg. Tony turned around, kicking Bucky in the face. Before Tony's old feel the same pain Bucky felt, Steve lifted him up and threw on the floor, trying to destroy his mask, before with

his fists and then with the shield. The mask finally broke, leaving Tony's bloody face free. Steve lifted the shield right above Tony's neck. Tony tried to cover his face as best as he could. Bucky looked at the two superheroes fighting. He was in a great deal of pain, it was not only his pain he was dealing with, but also Tony's, even though none of the had already connected the dots. Bucky was scared of hat Steve could end up doing. Steve stuck he shield on Tony's reactor, whose light slowly faded away. Bucky felt an unbearable pain going through his chest. He looked at Tony, Steve ad taken the shield away and was walking towards him to help him stand. Steve put Bucky's arm around his neck and turned, leaving the shield fall on the floor. "Steve - the pain in his chest was so piercing that it was difficult to talk- Steve please" Steve looked at Bucky in the eyes. He could recognize that puppy face look everywhere and he knew that it was something serious. "But Buck..." Bucky stood up on his own, putting his hand on Steve's shoulder. "It's ok Steve" Steve looked back at Tony. He was laying on the ground in his suit. Steve patted Bucky' shoulder and nodded before walking away. Bucky stumbled towards Tony, falling on his knees. "Tony, Tony please answer to me" Tony opened his eyes, briefly looked at Bucky and turned away. "I know I'm the last person you want to talk to right now, or ever, but you need to tell me you're alright" "I am fine" Tony answered. Bucky sighed. "No you're not. I feel you Tony, I feel your pain" he said caressing his hair.

Weeks passed from that day in Siberia, Bucky was back in New York with Tony, locked in his room, wondering about Tony. He had wrapped his mind around the idea of Tony being his soulmate and couldn't stop thinking that his soulmate was literally in the next room but he was more distant than ever. Hell, why would Tony ever want to have something to do with his parents' killer. None of them had heard from Steve yet and Bucky couldn't help but wondering where Steve might be. He had finally found his best friend again and decided to let him go because his heart told him to stay with his soulmate, who was not even close to the idea of forgiving him. Bucky was laying on his bed in the Avengers tower, his metal arm still broken, throwing a ball in the air when he heard knocking. "Come in" Tony opened the door and shyly walked in. He sat on the chair next to the bed. "So..." "So" said Bucky, sitting up. "You said...you said I'm your soulmate" Bucky nodded. "How?" Bucky pinched his leg. "You felt that?" Tony nodded. "We feel...we feel each other pain" Tony sat on the bed next to Bucky, putting a hand on his thigh. "I..I don't know what to say" Tony looked at the wall in front of him, remembering all the pain he felt from time to time, relieved because he finally found the reason behind the sudden pain he used to feel. "I'm so sorry James, I cannot begin to imagine how horrible it was" Bucky shook his shoulder. "You're my soulmate" stated Tony. "I'm your soulmate" "How crazy is that?" Tony asked turning towards Bucky. Bucky scooted closer to Tony, putting a hand on his face. "Can I?" Tony nodded and Bucky pulled him closer to himself, letting their lips meet gently,a chill ran down his back. As their lips parted, Tony put a hand on the back of his head, putting their foreheads together. They looked into each other's eyes, smiling. "That was... nice" Tony whispered before Bucky pulled him back into another kiss.

#buckytony #bucky barnes #tony x bucky #tony stark #winteriron #starkbucks

32 notes · View notes

shera-dnd · 3 years

Link

AND WE’RE BACK BABY! WHO IS READY FOR SOME ANGST?

Well you better be ready, because I packed this one full of it

The campfire crackled between them, fire lighting their faces and smoke rising into the night sky. Silence had fallen over their camp, and none dared to break it. Belladonna, the Black Cat turned Black Knight, held her knees to her chest, tail wrapped protectively around her body. Though she easily towered over her companions, now she felt so small and frail.

“I knew there was something wrong with Taurus,” Amitola spoke first. She could still remember the way Belladonna looked at him like he was the most beautiful thing in the world, and how he looked at her like she was nothing more than a valuable asset.

“And I should have known much sooner,” Belladonna replied, quietly.

Weiss, for her part, stayed quiet. Amitola wasn’t sure if this was due to having her words taken from her, or out of respect for their conversation.

“He lied to us,” she said, and red tinged her skin as her anger rose, “he said the humans took you. That we should avenge your death.”

“Of course he did,” Belladonna sighed, though there was no disappointment in her voice, there was still sadness, “I shouldn’t be surprised that he turned my defiance into more fuel for his revenge.”

“When I saw you I thought...I thought you had faked your own death to escape us, that you had left us,” that you had left me, she thought, but did not dare say it out loud, “when you had only left him.”

“Could you claim you would have been more accepting?” Belladonna asked, looking her in the eyes, “that the court wouldn’t have slain me the moment I spoke of my plan.”

And once more there was silence, tense and agonizing. Holding the Black Cat’s gaze in that moment was like holding your breath, and there was only so long Amitola could keep that up.

“No, I cannot,” she spoke, red shifting into blue, “even now I doubt this plan will ever work.”

Belladonna let out a sad chuckle, “sometimes even I have my doubts.”

“Well, I don’t!” Weiss declared, breaking her silence. Though Amitola could only shake her head, the Black Cat looked at her with something almost like hope in her eyes. “You are a fae who has clad herself in iron, and refused to burn. You have done the impossible once, Lady Blake, I cannot see how you couldn’t do it a second time.”

“I appreciate your confidence, my lady,” Belladonna thanked, “but I have done nothing more than accept Lord Ozpin’s gift.”

“Then accept my gift as well,” Weiss insisted, taking the Black Cat’s hand. Jealous greens and reds marred her at the sight, “I shall take my father’s seat at the council, and my sister shall take Ironwood’s once she becomes the Witch of Winter. Together we can sway the council in our favor, we can reshape Atlas. We can build the bridge from our side too.”

Light returned to Belladonna’s eyes and she smiled, “I didn’t take you for the kind to have big dreams, Lady Weiss.”

“This isn’t a dream,” she countered, “it’s a plan, and my plans don’t fail!”

Amitola couldn’t help herself. “Haven’t your plans for the festival failed miserably?”

“Things have certainly not gone the way I expected, but I must say…” Weiss took her hands away from Belladonna’s and looked directly at Amitola, with a smirk on her face that set her skin into a riot of colors, “I much prefer it this way.”

Her body seemed to decide that yellows and pinks were the colors of choice for the moment, as much as the fae herself found it profoundly disagreeable, forcefully changing it back to its natural colors.

“This still doesn’t speak well for your planning skills, Schnee,” Amitola argued, “and here I thought your whole family knew how to scheme from birth.”

“Actually, we have a scheming tutor,” Weiss played along, “though I can’t say I paid much attention to mine.”

“I take it you were too busy daydreaming about sword fighting and rescuing damsels in distress to pay attention to your classes,” Amitola joked, finally getting her revenge by making the human blush for once.

“You are…not incorrect,” Weiss answered quietly.

This whole time none of them seem to notice the bright smile on Belladonna’s face. Genuine and full of joy, only growing as they continued to playfully argue. It was only when laughter escaped her lips that her cheer was brought to their attention.

“Are you well, Lady Blake?” Weiss asked, a little worried by the sudden display of mirth from the fae.

“I’m more than well,” she answered, another chuckle escaping her, “you two just reminded me of why I chose this path in the first place.”

Weiss looked oh so very pleased with herself, smiling back at the Black Cat. Amitola on the other hand was utterly disgusted at the implication, and at how happy it made the Schnee. She forced her skin to shift a sickly green, before faking a gag.

“Don’t be rude!” Weiss complained, nudging her with her elbow.

“Bite me, Schnee!”

Belladonna could only laugh at those two, comfortably leaning back and watching them go at each other once again, her tail swaying contently behind her. To see a Schnee and an unseelie play around like this, it made her mission feel just a little bit more possible, and the slightest hint more rewarding.

It was unfortunate then that Amitola did not quite see the value in Belladonna’s pursuit.

In the days that followed Amitola continued to fulfil her roles in Fennec and Corsac’s plan. It started simple, spying on the human nobility, taking on different faces so she could listen to their never ending gossip.

Then came the rumors, spread through words she spoke in the wind, or through faces that weren’t her own. Small things, little twists on the truth, small lies here and there to rile up the nobility. Soon fear would spread among them, the fear that there was a spy in their ranks, that one of the kingdoms was conspiring against the others, during a celebration of peace no less.

Amitola did not delude herself, she knew this wouldn’t be enough to spark a war between the nations, this was simply the first step, gathering wood so someone else may light the pyre of war. But once the fire was lit, she had made sure that it had enough fuel to keep on burning until Atlas was consumed whole.

And the Schnees along with it.

Not a month ago she would’ve been filled with pride at having a hand in the destruction of that damned family, and their accursed kingdom with it. Now it was difficult to find any joy in this. When every night she returned to that same smile from across the campfire, the smell of the meal she had prepared for them, the sound of that playful voice. It stripped her heart of any joy it could find, and in its place left only the terrible weight of guilt.

She knew peace wasn’t an option, that Belladonna had deluded herself, and that this could only end in war. This was her only option. If this could only end with one side destroying the other, then she had to make sure her side was the one to survive.

She had to do this. They had to burn so her people wouldn’t have to.

Even when Penny stumbled onto her again and again, every time offering little apologies riddled with that sweet giggle of hers.

They had to burn.

Even when the Branwen sisters sang and recited beautiful poetry about their home, their family, the people they love.

They had to burn.

Even when she saw that sparkle in Belladonna’s eye whenever she talked about the future and all the amazing things they’d achieve together.

They had to burn.

Even when Weiss smiled so sweetly. When she snarked and bantered with Amitola over something silly. When she gave Amitola space, because she knew when to back down. When she laughed. When they sparred. When she looked at her, her real self, as if she had never seen something quite so beautiful.

They had to burn.

But Amitola didn’t want to be the one to light that torch.

Days passed, and the tournament grew ever nearer, with now only two nights between them and the great event they had been waiting for. It was half heartedly then that Amitola continued her job, that she continued to don the faces of strangers and speak words she did not care to remember.

It was perhaps of this indisposition that she did not catch the pair of eyes that followed her as she left the tents of the vacuan emissaries.

“Lady Ilia,” called the last voice she wished to hear.

Amitola did her best to pretend not to hear it. She turned to leave, but there she was.

“I’ve been looking for you all evening,” Weiss informed her, “where have you been?”

“None of your business, Schn--Gigas,” Amitola snapped.

There was some annoyance in her expression, but she put it away and did not push. Curse her for being so understanding.

“How did you find me anyways?” Amitola continued, trying her best to stay angry at her companion.

“Mostly luck, but with some unwitting help from Lord Marigold,” Weiss answered, causing the fae’s eyes to go wide in attention, “he was attempting to spy on you for some gods forsaken reason, but I sent him scurrying away before he got the chance.”

Oh no.

How much had Marigold seen? How long had he been following her? Damn it all, if he saw something she couldn’t risk letting him tell anyone. But silencing him would require…

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay. He didn’t see anything,” Weiss assured, offering Amitolla her arm, “how about I walk you back to camp?”

Or maybe she could ignore the little lordling for now. It’s not like anyone with any real power actually believes a single word he says. Oh, curse the Schnee again for having this effect on her.

“I...wouldn’t be opposed,” she sighed, resigning herself to a fate of wanting to spend time with a Schnee and genuinely enjoying it.

And so they crossed the festival grounds, arm in arm in a way that Amitola vehemently refused to acknowledge. Part of her worried that people were watching them, making assumptions as to the nature of their relationship, but it was clear the festival goers could not care less about a single minor noble and her little knight.

Weiss on the other hand was trying her best to not look profoundly pleased by this turn of events. She was failing miserably, of course, but it was clear that she was trying. Another curse, this time for being so endeering in her awkwardness.

“You know, I meant what I said,” Weiss spoke, quietly, so only the fae could hear it, “the festival hasn’t gone the way I expected it, but I think I’m much happier with how things turned out.”

Amitola did not answer. It was hard to, when it felt like Weiss had just impaled her heart.

“As a kid I always wanted to come to the festival. I wanted to be a knight like my sister, and compete in the Vytal tournament,” she continued, unaware of the pain in her companion’s heart, “this is my first festival, and I’m glad I get to enjoy it with you.”

They had to burn.

“This is my first festival too,” she informed, voice naturally even, as she did all she could to hide the turmoil building inside her, “my parents used to show me the tents when I was a kid, and they told me that someday, when I had mastered my glamours, I would get to walk among the humans and enjoy the celebrations with you.”

“They must be happy for you then,” Weiss offered with a smile, but she was wrong.

They had to burn.

“I’m certain that they would be.”

There was a question stuck between Weiss’s lips, something she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to, so instead she stayed silent. Thankfully they had reached their camp and Amitola finally had an excuse to escape the Schnee’s terrifyingly comforting touch.

“Where is Blake?” Amitola asked, trying to escape the topic.

“She plans to spend the night with Lady Yang,” Weiss answered, “I believe she wishes to tell her about her nature.”

“Of course,” was her only reply, now wishing for nothing more than sweet silence.

For a while Weiss obliged, focusing all her attention on making them both supper. Allowing Amitola to enjoy some momentary peace, even if her mind and heart denied her any. It was unfortunate then, that even this flawed blessing was also a fleeting one.

“That’s why you hate my family, isn’t it?” Weiss asked, though she already knew the answer, “we’ve hurt you and your family.”

“Always so clever, Schnee,” Amitola mocked, half heartedly, “yes, your family is the reason why my parents and my entire village are gone.”

Shock and horror spread through Weiss’s face, “I did not know.”

They had to burn.

“Of course you didn’t, you were probably just a little girl back then,” Amitola offered, “I was barely old enough to understand what was happening.”

She only noticed she was crying when she saw the stains from the teardrops on her dress. It had been so long and yet that memory still wracked her with such terrible sadness. Even back with Taurus, when he insisted that she allowed that tragedy to fuel her rage, she could not find any anger in her, only sadness. Anger and hate were things she had to learn.

“Your family’s men had pushed my village further down river, so they could open up a new iron mine,” she told her through the tears, “for a while we thought that would be it, that if we just lived our lives away from your people, that maybe we’d be allowed to live on,” a sad chuckle escaped her, “but things just couldn’t be that easy. One day that mine flooded, and the iron your father had mined now poisoned our river, and my village burned.”

“I’m sorry,” Weiss whispered, tears streaking down her face as well, “I’m so sorry.”

They...had to burn.

“I know.”

Amitola couldn’t look at Weiss right now, she couldn’t bear to see the genuine sadness and worry in it, so she looked away. So she was surprised when she felt Weiss’s arms wrap around her in the terrible comfort of a hug.

“I--I promise I won’t let anything like this happen again. I swear it, I’ll do everything within my power to keep this tragedy from repeating itself,” Weiss swore once more. Yet another on the long list of oaths she has made to Amitola.

And yet, this time, she believed her. She genuinely and truly believed every word Weiss said. She was a human, a Schnee, and Amitola couldn’t help but trust her implicitly. But that wasn’t the worst part - no - the worst part was the revelation that came next.

“They would have loved you, you know?” Amitola said, voice cracking with every word, “my parents. They would’ve been truly happy that I met you.”

Weiss pulled away, just enough to look into the fae’s eyes. Perhaps it was all the tears clouding her vision, but to her the Schnee’s expression was unreadable.

“I would have been honored to meet them.”

They...

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t keep tearing herself apart, she couldn’t keep doing this.

“Curse you, Weiss,” Amitola whispered, “why must you be kind? Why can’t you be the monster I always thought you’d be?”

Weiss wiped away her tears, looking at her now with clear confusion, “what?”

“Things would be so much easier if you were some hateful monster. It would be so much easier if I didn’t care,” Amitola accused as she shoved her away, “but you had to be so trusting, you just had to be lovely, did you not? You had to make this hurt.”

“Ilia, I don’t understand.”

“I betrayed you, you fool!” Amitola shouted, “I’ve been spying for the fae for days now, and you just let me, because you were enough of an idiot to trust me!”

Weiss tried to stand up, but roots and vines had grown around her legs while she was distracted.

“Ilia!” She called, desperately trying to get rid of damned plants.

“Curse you, Weiss Schnee,” she repeated, more softly, with every hope that Weiss wouldn’t hear, “curse you for making me love you.”

She left for the woods before she could hear her answer.

#rwby #prismatic ponytails #weiss schnee #ilia amitola #blake belladonna #angst #copious angst #medieval au #fanfic

10 notes · View notes

elliemarchetti · 3 years

Text

The Most Macabre of Scenes, The Most Terrible of Nightmares

As I hope the few souls reading this have already guessed, requests are open for anything on LOTR and The Hobbit. However, in this chapter the journey of the Fellowship continues, but various shadows loom over their safety and the hearts of its members.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Words: 2643

The attack was short and violent, but fortunately no one was injured. It was about midnight on their eighth day of travel when the Orcs stroke, a raid planned down to the last detail, one might say, as they had took advantage of the current, the crescent moon that lit up the sky and the abundance of strangely bright stars, reflecting like torches on the River’s surface. Their black-feathered arrows had fallen like lethal rain upon the Fellowship, but except for a few torn cloaks, there had been no damage. Hidden among the ferns of the western shore, as awake as they could be, everyone thought about what they saw in the sky after their enemies had unexpectedly retreated, trying to give a name to the great winged creature, blacker than the pits of the night, which had emerged from the south. Fierce voices rose up to greet it from across the water, and Elva could still feel the chills running through her and clutching at her heart, deadly cold like the memory of an old wound. She had killed it, with a single shot from the bow she had received as a gift in Lorien, but she was sure there were others, and she wanted nothing more than to get as far away as possible from that irreparably corrupted land. After that vision, Haldir had no longer spoken, but he was frowning and his mind was probably in Lothlorien, lost in calculating how long such a beast would take to reach the ends of the mallorn’s forest. Lying next to him, Elva wished she was able to say out loud that he could return, if he wished, that no one would’ve wanted him any harm for placing his homeland before a mission that didn’t even belonged to him, and that Galadriel herself would’ve probably been grateful for the warning, but selfishly, she couldn’t, so she hugged tighter her knees under the cloak, a reassurance and a way to fight the changing of the weather. When the day came, the mood of the world about them had become soft and sad. Slowly the dawn grew to a pale light, diffused and shadowless. There was mist on the River, and white fog swathed the shore, making the far bank impossible to see.

“I can’t abide fog,” said Sam, “but this seems to be a lucky one: now perhaps we can get away without those cursed goblins seeing us.”

“Perhaps so,” said Aragorn. “But it will be hard to find the path unless the fog lifts a little later on, and we must, if we are to pass Sarn Gebir and come to the Emyn Muil.”

“I don’t see why we should pass the Rapids or follow the River any further,” said Boromir. “If the Emyn Muil lie before us, then we can abandon these cockle-boats and strike westward and southward, until we come to the Entwash and cross into my own land.”

“We can, if we are making for Minas Tirith,” said Aragorn, “but that’s not yet agreed, and such a course may be more perilous than it sounds: the Entwash’s vale is flat and fenny, fog a deadly peril for those on foot and laden. I wouldn’t abandon our boats until we must, for the River is at least a path that cannot be missed.”

“But the Enemy holds the eastern bank,” objected Boromir, “and even if you pass the Gates of Argonath, coming unmolested to the Tindrock, what will you do then? Leap down the Falls and land in the marshes?”

The tones were heating up, and Elva thought it was time to intervene: “It’s not the way of the Men of Minas Tirith to desert their friends at need, and we’ll need your strength, if ever we are to reach the Tindrock.”

The mortal seemed satisfied with those words, and decided he would go as far as the tall isle, but no further.

“There I shall turn to my home,” he announced, “alone if my help hasn’t earned the reward of any companionship.”

Elva prayed that someone had decided to pursue that mission, but in order to keep an army as powerful as that of Boromir's father, if everyone chose to follow Aragorn, she would be the one to separate from the rest of the companions, this decided a long time ago, perhaps at the very moment Gandalf had chosen her for the Quest. That gloomy possibility, which was so far from her ideals, prompted her to wait for the mist to rise in silence, even as she and Haldir went exploring forward along the shore, while the others remained by the boats. She hoped to find some way by which they could carry everything to the smoother water beyond the Rapids, but even if the elven boats wouldn’t sink, that didn’t ensure they could come through Sarn Gebir alive, for none ever done so yet, and no road was made by the Men of Gondor in this region, for even in their great days their realm didn’t reach up Anduin beyond the Emyn Muil.

“There is a portage-way somewhere on the western shore, if I can find it,” revealed Haldir, so softly that for a moment Elva hardly noticed.

"I didn't tell the others," the elf went on, "because I was afraid they wouldn't believe me, after my miscalculations pushed us towards the Orcs attack; besides, I fought those creatures for a good part of my own adult life, and I could’ve imagined their simple but ingenious plan."

"No one was injured, that's the important thing," Elva replied, thinking that if anyone had risked being hit, it would’ve been him, as an arrow had ripped off both the cloak and the skin of the jacket from his shoulders.

"But if that had happened, the fault would’ve been mine alone, and whoever had accused me, even if only in grief, would’ve been right: you have already lost the Istar, and before I should’ve warned Aragorn it wasn’t wise to continue at night as he suggested, but I didn't, and now I don't want to deceive anyone until I’m sure that my memory doesn’t deceive me," he replied, resolute in the bitterness of someone who can't forgive himself.

"Why are you telling me, then?" Elva asked, unable to stop.

"Because I'm sure I can trust you, and I know you’ve faced the guilt, same or not, even if I still don’t know what you’re carrying it for,” he replied, with a naked and vulnerable honesty, which hit right to the point. She didn't like talking about her past, much less what she felt about it, yet he must’ve seen a difficult life in her eyes, a life that perhaps could’ve been more like his, if only she had been born in another realm. Like Lorien, Mirkwood was a wonderful but tricky place, where growing up as a half-breed wasn't easy at all, especially when you needed to do it by yourself. Getting to know Legolas, and later becoming his confidant and friend, had been a blessing, and she kept telling herself that her true life had begun the day a young prince was bewitched by the ability of a simple recruit with a bow and with words. She hadn't treated him well, weary as every orphan is, and perhaps that was precisely what had intrigued him, since at court no one spoke to him as an equal, much less had the courage to say what they really though, too busy trying to win the future king’s favours, since with the one in charge was so hard. Speaking of Thranduil, he had welcomed her as if she were his own daughter, instructing and having her instructed in the best possible way; but the king was a cold and distant father, rigid in his manner and limited in his displays of affection, not exactly what a girl without parents desires most. If loving Legolas as a brother had been simple, as natural as breathing and almost a matter of survival, the same couldn't be said of the oldest of the Greenleafs, but she had learned that too, and with it the art of concealing her heart, although with Haldir it was so difficult.

"And how can I know I should have the same trust in you?" she asked, her heart heavy. She needed to believe that he wouldn’t leave the Fellowship, even if she followed Boromir and everyone else went by water, and she needed to know if he would understand her decision, or if he would end up misinterpreting it.

"You can't, but to convince you otherwise, I'll tell you something that I'm sure should’ve remained a secret: Galadriel's Mirror showed me three visions, three possible futures, I find myself believing. I still don't want to talk about two, because it doesn't seem wise, but the most macabre of scenes, the most terrible of nightmares that I thought I could have, I feel like sharing: I don't know if the Fellowship had failed in its intent, or if it's the fate that awaits my homeland anyway, if events should take that turn, but darkness had fallen over the forest of golden trees when a flock of huge winged creatures, like the one you killed last night, swept over Calas Galadhon. The Lord and the Lady fought side by side with every common citizen, and a shower of arrows capable of obscuring the stars was sent from each talan towards the sky. I don't know how the battle could end, as my vision was limited to that, but I have seen you fight with us, and defend our young and old as if they were your own. I don't pretend to understand what those images meant, and why the Mirror decided to show them to me, but I believe it was the beginning of Lorien's Winter, the first day of a downhill road to inevitable ruin, yet you were there by our side, and I don't think you'd fight for the land of someone you don’t trust,” he concluded, just as enigmatic as his ruler. Did he meant he understood her malfidence towards the Galadhrim, or was it really just his way of assuming that she would always trust him, to the point of risking death for a place that did not belong to her? There was no way of knowing but asking, and it didn't seem appropriate, fearing that he too might ask her what the Mirror had shown her. Death, she might’ve replied, no matter it was the mallorn’s, his people’s or Haldir’s himself, but she didn't want to talk about it anymore, she just wanted to forget his pale skin in the moonlight, the dust, sweat and blood surrounding her like a sea that smelled of the Enemy's wickedness instead of salt, so she fell silent.

“It cannot yet have perished,” muttered Haldir under his breath, after a while. “Light boats used to journey out of Wilderland down to Osgiliath, and still did so until a few years ago, when the Orcs of Mordor began to multiply.”

“Even if we find the path, peril will grow with every mile we go forward, for it lies ahead on every southward road,” replied Elva

They found what they were looking for just before noon, with the head of the Rapids half a mile below them: a track leading to a good landing, a little more than a mile long, was still serviceable, not far beyond the stream clear and smooth again, though running swiftly. The hardest task was to get the boats and baggage to the old portage-way, lying well back from the water-side near which they were camped, and running under the lee of a rock-wall, a furlong or more from the shore. “I fear we must leave the River now, and make for the portage-way as best we can from here,” said Haldir, once back.

“That wouldn’t be easy, even if we were all Men,” said Boromir.

“Yet such as we are we will try it,” Aragorn replied peremptorily.

“We will!” confirmed Gimli, and although the task was difficult, it was nevertheless completed, the goods taken out of the boats and brought to the top of the bank, where there was a level space, and the boats themselves drawn out of the water and carried up, proving to be far less heavy than any had expected; at last, all was removed to be laid on the portage-way and with little further hindrance, save from sprawling briars and many fallen stones, they moved forward all together. Fog still hung in veils upon the crumbling rock-wall, and to their left mist shrouded the River: they could hear it rushing and foaming over the sharp shelves and stony teeth of Sarn Gebir, but they couldn't see it. There the portage-way, turning back to the water-side, ran gently down to the shallow edge of a little pool scooped in the river-side, not by hand, but by the water swirling down from Sarn Gebir against a low pier of rock that jutted out some way into the stream. Beyond it the shore rose sheer into a grey cliff, and there was no further passage for those on foot. Already the short afternoon was past, and a dim cloudy dusk was closing in. Sitting beside the water, they listened to the confused rush and roar of the Rapids hidden in the mist; they were tired and sleepy, and their hearts were as gloomy as the dying day at the thought of spending there another night, even if it seemed inevitable, given the general fatigue. Luckily, nothing worse than a brief drizzle of rain an hour before dawn happened, and as soon as it was fully light and the fog was thinning, they started. Keeping as close as they could to the western side, they saw the dim shapes of the low cliffs rising ever higher, shadowy walls with their feet in the hurrying river. In the mid-morning the clouds drew down lower, and it began to rain heavily, forcing them to drew the skin-covers over their boats to prevent them from being flooded and drifted on; little could be seen before or about them through the grey falling curtains but it didn’t last long, the sky above growing lighter and suddenly opening, dismissing fogs and mists too. Before the travellers lay a wide ravine, with great rocky sides to which clung, upon shelves and in narrow crevices, a few trees; as they sped along with little hope of stopping or turning, whatever might meet ahead, Elva peered forward, seeing in the distance two great rocks approaching. Like pinnacles or pillars of stone they stood, tall, sheer and ominous, creating a narrow gap among which the boats could only pass one by one. They were the Argonath, the Pillars of the Kings, vast grey figures silent but threatening, shaped and fashioned as two great kings of stone with blurred eyes and crannied brows frowning upon the North. The left hand of each was raised palm outwards in gesture of warning, while in each right hand there was an axe and upon each head there was a crumbling helm and crown. Great power and majesty they still wore, the silent wardens of a long-vanished Kingdom, instilling awe and fear in the Fellowship travelling in boats frail and fleeting as little leaves, under the enduring shadow of the sentinels of Numenor. Passing into the dark chasm of the Gates, sheer rose the dreadful cliffs on either side, while the black waters roared and echoed, and a wind screamed over them. What a horrible place it was, but it must’ve been even worse for Aragorn, a king in exile who was finally returning to his land only to see it filled with the noise of wind, rushing water and echoing stone.

#haldir x fem oc #haldir of lothlorien #aragorn #frodo baggins #sam gamgee #boromir #gandalf the grey #galadriel #legolas greenleaf #thranduil greenleaf #gimli son of gloin #lotr #the fellowship of the ring

11 notes · View notes

thefallennightmare · 4 years

Text

Dorogaya-[1/?]

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff.

Summary: It has been sometime since Y/N and Bucky went into hiding but now their past is returning. Can this new relationship survive the Civil War that’s about to happen?

A/N: Hello all! Thank you to everyone who liked/read the prologue. I hope you all like chapter one! It seems short only because I need to re-watch Civil War tonight and refresh my brain. Chapter two will hopefully be out tomorrow!

Tags are still open :)

I pulled my hood farther over my head as my hands dug into my pockets, fishing for my keys. My tired and sore feet climbed the last few stairs and before I could even unlock the door, Bucky stood in front of me, a look of concern on his face.

“Where have you been?”

Ignoring the look in his eyes, I pushed my way into the apartment. “I had to cover someone’s shift.”

I tried to keep my answers short with him since I could feel the anger and concern radiating off of him in a small glow.

“They called you in to work a few hours, not eight. It’s almost two in the morning,” Bucky crossed his arms over his broad chest.

The black Henley shirt tightened in all the right places. Forcing out the thoughts of me peeling it away from him, I let out a groan.

“I know, Bucky,” I exasperated, exhaustion clear on my face.

Stepping past him, I tried to make my way into the bathroom but his soft fingers gently grabbed my arm, stopping me in my place. Without saying one word, he brushed the hood off of my head and the anger I felt radiating off of him intensified. His eyes took in the dark bruise that was forming around my left one.

“What happened?” He questioned, his voice not matching the amount of anger I could see on his face.

I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”

“Who did this?”

“Bucky, drop it please.” I begged. “I’m fine. I just want to shower and go to sleep.”

“I’m not going to drop it, Y/N,” Bucky informed.

My anger was rising and I ripped my arm from his grasp. “It’s none of your business! Drop. It.”

“Bullshit, Y/N!” Bucky’s voice boomed throughout the small apartment. “You leave to go to work and come back home this late. And with a black eye. Either you’re going to tell me what happened or I’m going to find out myself.”

My eyes sliced into him and not being able to control it, the warmth spread to my fingers and I felt the fire spark to life. My vision went dark as I lost all control over myself.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” I seethed while shooting a fireball towards Bucky.

He was two steps ahead of me, however, ducking out of the way. The new target was one of the chairs at our kitchen table and Bucky watched in slight horror as it fell to dust around the floor. He turned his attention back towards me and when he saw that I was ready to shoot another fire ball towards him, he engulfed both of my hands in his metal one and locked my body in place against the wall with his hips.

“Y/N, it’s me; Bucky.” His voice was soft.

It felt like my soul left my body and I had zero control over my actions. I could hear his voice but the power I felt surging through my veins were too strong to try and overcome. It had never taken over this bad before. I vowed that I wouldn’t use them unless absolutely necessary and since there wasn’t ever a need to use them, I never had the chance to gain control over them.

“LET ME GO!”

Bucky winced at the screech of my voice, the glass cups on the counter shattered behind us but he kept his grip on my body.

“Y/N,” he grabbed my chin and forced me to look him in the eyes.

He could only see one thing; darkness

“I’m not going to hurt you. It’s me. Soldat.”

Hearing that name for the first time in years seemed to bring me back to reality. My body released all of the anger and Bucky’s hands gripped my hips to keep me steady. I blinked a few times trying to gain my surroundings and saw the destruction I had caused and the look of fear in his eyes

“What did I do?” I whispered, lips trembling. “Did I hurt you?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, I’m okay.��

His metal finger brushed a strand of hair out of my face and the coolness of it eased the pain I felt coming from my black eye. He then cupped my cheek and I leaned into it.

“Please tell me what happened.” He begged once more.

Letting out a deep breath, I nodded. “It was some creep at the bar. He wouldn’t leave me alone all night and he followed me on the way home. He jumped me from behind and he didn’t like the fact that I fought back.”

“Did he-,” Bucky trailed off, not being able to finish his question.

“No! I was able to run off before anything happened. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew it would get you upset. Also, I was embarrassed that I let someone get that close to me. I’m supposed to be a highly trained assassin and I let some creep attack me.”

I let out a shaky breath to stop myself from crying. My mind was clouded with thoughts of Steve on my way home from work. I found myself missing him terribly after reading the article earlier in the day and had to fight with myself not to call him. I was the one who told him not to look for us and while I meant it at the time, I longed for the feeling of his lips on mine again.

Then guilt took over when I thought of Bucky. Our relationship had grown immensely and while we hadn’t kissed or even talked about what our relationship was, I still felt like he was mine and I was his.

“My powers,” I started, “They’re growing. All I could feel surging through me was evil; I wanted to hurt you.”

“But you didn't, okay?” Bucky reassured me. “Why don’t you go take a shower and I’ll make you something to eat.”

All I could do was nod and drag my feet into the bathroom.

I stood in front of the mirror, head cocked to the side slightly as I looked at my reflection. Something was different; off. Letting it go, I quickly got dressed in a pair of shorts and one of Bucky’s old shirts. It was when I went to brush my hair that I finally noticed what was different.

“Bucky!” I yelled while opening the door.

He quickly set down two bowls of soup on the kitchen table before rushing over to me. “Everything okay?”

“My hair.”

Bucky squinted his eyes in confusion. “What about your hair?”

“It’s red! Like Ariel the little mermaid red!” I exclaimed while tousling my hair.

When he realized exactly what I was talking about, his eyes doubled in size.

“How?”

“I don’t know!” I screeched, trying not to shatter any other glass. “Unless what happened earlier. Maybe that’s what caused my hair to change?”

“It’s a good possibility.” Bucky nodded.

“Oh, God. What is happening to me?” I groaned while falling back onto the mattress. “Hydra made me into some kind of monster.”

Bucky stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Welcome to the Hydra family.”

I could sense that his heart dropped with hurt. “Bucky, I didn’t mean-.”

“It’s fine,” he shrugged but I knew that it in fact was not fine.

“I didn’t mean that you were a monster. I only meant that they did this to me for a personal vendetta.”

“And what was I?” Bucky wondered.

Another groan slipped through my lips and I sat up on the bed. “You’re making me feel like shit, Buck.”

He shook his head before motioning towards the two bowls on the table. “I made you some soup. I’m going to take a shower.”

I opened my mouth to speak but with the loud slam of the bathroom door, I snapped it shut.

“Fucking idiot,” I cursed while physically smacking my forehead.

How could I complain about what Hydra did to me in front of Bucky? No matter what I went through with them or what they did to me, nothing compared to the hell that he went through for seventy years.

Suddenly losing whatever appetite I had, I turned off the lights and crawled into bed. The weight of the day had drained my energy and the thought of sleep brought a smile to my face. Bucky had mentioned that he wanted to go to the market in town right away in the morning and if it was anything like it had been on our past trips, we would be there for hours.

The bathroom door clicked open, Bucky shutting the light off when he noticed that the rest of the apartment was dark. The way he moved quietly in the dark brought shivers to my body. Flashes of him as The Winter Soldier came to mind. Him walking up oh so quietly behind his targets and taking them out, no one around them knowing what happened.

The mattress dipped next to me and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from letting out a shaky breath when I realized that Bucky turned his back towards me. Every night we had been tangled together in the warmth of each other but tonight he wanted nothing to do with me. The coldness of the night raked my body and I brought the blanket closer to my chin, wishing Bucky would change his mind and wrap his arms around me.

He never did.

TAGS:

@capstopavenger

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #soldatxreader #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #avengers #captain america x reader #captain america #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #sebastian stan #chris evans

140 notes · View notes

rwbyvein · 3 years

Text

Firen Lhain: Chapter 801: And so there was cake: Part I / III

Qrow looked at his scroll.

"Qrow?" Taiyang asked.

"Yeah, Tai?" Qrow replied.

"Could you and Raven take over watching the, uh, new prisoner?"

"Sounds like a wonderful time." Qrow said sarcastically.

* * *

Raven picked up her scroll and looked at the message from Qrow. 'Looks like we're on guard duty.'

Raven put the scroll away, and looked around furiously.

"They think you will just come when they call?" Cinder asked, and Raven gave her a furious look, telling her that it was true. "But that's not the worst part."

"What's the worst part?" Emerald asked.

"The worst is that she will." Cinder said with glee, causing Raven to storm off up the stairs.

* * *

Raven landed just outside the garden door and proceeded into the tower. She heard talking coming from the lounge, and carefully looked around the corner. Ruby appeared in front of her with a burst of rose petals, holding up a plate with a piece of cake.

* * *

Ren and Nora walked into the lounge. "Alright," Taiyang said, "now that everyone is here, I wanted to have a talk with you kids."

"Kids?!" Yang angrily asked. "Seriously, dad?!"

"My mistake." Taiyang stated, "To you young adults."

"I guess that works..." Yang voiced.

"We talked alot about keeping you alive, but we apparently didn't talk about taking on ordinary Humans." Nora quickly raised her hand. "Nora?"

"How do we know they're ordinary Humans?"

"Not a question I was expecting." Taiyang stated, "Though, I suppose I should have been. You can sense Aura, with your Aura. Aura comes from within. This is why magic feels so strange and foreign to us, because the power for magic comes from without."

"I felt something off with Cinder!" Ruby exclaimed, "When she was in the CCT."

Yang leaned forward to speak. "And how me and Linnet knew Raven was using magic?"

"It's easy to feel magic," Taiyang stated, "as it has energy coming out. Ordinary Humans have nothing, and you have to be aware of that nothing."

Aurora raised her hand, "I volunteer to be the guinea pig to be, um, felt. Ooh, that came out differently than I expected, not that I'm... I'm just going to stop talking."

"As fascinating as I find this," Taj stated, "I don't. I've got maintenance I can do. Chill." He stood up and made to walk way before pausing, and turning to Jaune, "By the way, happy birthday, at least now all the fighting stopped."

"Still the best birthday I've ever had." Jaune said, and waved to him.

"We still have a lot of cake." Ruby brightly added.

Taj waved before walking off.

"So?" Weiss asked, "I do believe it was a mistaken turn of phrase, but exactly HOW are we going to be touching Aurora?"

"You know how I feel about this." Blake stated.

"Uh-huh?" Taiyang asked. "We're not actually going to be touching her, okay, maybe, but you need to feel where her Aura ends."

Nora raised her hand, "I thought you said they did not have Aura?"

"Every living creature has Aura." Taiyang stated.

"What about Penny?" Yang asked.

"I honestly have no idea." Taiyang replied. "I'm not the one to ask about that."

"What about Zwei?" Ruby asked.

"He has his Aura unlocked, kind of like a Huntsman." Taiyang stated. "Every creature has Aura, but not every creature can use it properly. Huntsmen are trained to use their Aura to strengthen themselves and as a shield. Further development unlocks the Semblance."

"Does that mean Zwei can have a Semblance?" Ruby asked.

"Where is that unfortunately adorable mongrel?" Weiss asked, trying her best not to sound too eager. Blake stood up on her couch and jumped up on top of the mantlepiece above the hearth.

"He's at Atlas academy." Taiyang replied, "James gave me a trainee houndmaster to take care of him."

* * *

A young man in Atlasian military gard crouched before Zwei. Zwei was aimed at a wooden barrier. "Are you sure about this?" the man asked, and Zwei eagerly, happily barked in reply. "Okay, when you're ready." He stood up and Zwei charged at the barrier and smashed his way through. "You are utterly amazing, yes you are"

* * *

Ilia stepped forward away from the wall. Jaune's head turned towards her, causing everyone to follow suit. "And, myself?"

Everyone looked between themselves, unsure of what to say. Jaune decided to speak up, "she has Aura, but doesn't really know what she's doing with it. Kind of like me when Pyrrha first unlocked my Aura."

"Excuse you?" Yang asked him

"Pardon, what?" Weiss asked.

"How did?.." Ruby asked.

Jaune visibly sighed, hanging his head for far longer than was necessary. "So, I guess it was going to come out eventually."

"He was untrained when he began at Beacon academy." Ren stated. RWBY, Nora, and Tai let out a shocked gasp. Ilia was enthralled whereas Aurora seemed unaffected.

"You know?" Nora asked, "That actually explains a lot."

"It unfortunately does." Weiss stated.

"So?" Yang asked, "You let them launch you into the Emerald Forest without, you know, knowing about anything?"

"Ozpin cares more about character than ability." Taiyang stated, "Because those who come in unprepared often don't survive."

"So, yeah..." Jaune voiced, "I'm a fraud. Anyone who wants out now?.." RWBY nervously looked between each other.

"We did not follow you because of your fighting ability." Ren stated.

"Of course not." Nora added.

"Ozpin picks leader based off of things other than fighting ability." Taiyang stated.

"And our?," Weiss asked, followed by a momentary paused, "not glorious - boisterous leader?"

"She is pretty spunky." Yang said, causing her, Ruby, and Taiyang to let out a momentary giggle.

"I have learned to accept her eccentricity." Weiss quipped, "Accept and belove."

Ruby looked at Weiss tearfully.

Blake jumped back down, "I didn't marry the Jaune when he started at Beacon, I married the one at Haven."

"Because I can fight..." Jaune said sadly.

"And the rest of you." Blake said, looking between Ruby, Weiss, and Yang. She then looked back at Jaune, "Because of the warmth in your heart; the kindness in your soul. You were just so uncertain in Beacon that no one could see it."

"Second." Yang shouted.

"I don't think I could live without Jaune," Ruby said, "or Weiss, or Blake, or Sis, or Ren and Nora."

Taiyang looked at her with mild disappointment but didn't say anything. Weiss looked at Ruby and nodded her head towards her father.

"Oh, pfft, he'll always be my dad."

"Just not our daddy." Yang quiped, causing Taiyang to sigh. "Chill, dad, we're adults now, and married."

"No, just... reminiscing..." Taiyang said, and shook his head, "But that's not important. I don't know if I could... or should... help you to feel each other's Aura, but I highly recommend you guys spend time learning to do so."

* * *

Taiyang walked up the stairs to the guardhouse on the tower's roof, Winter speaking over the radio.

"Wait, over." Winter said, and turned to see him carry a plate with a piece of cake. She just stared at it a moment before looking up into his eyes. "Yes?"

"To celebrate Jaune's birthday." Taiyang stated, and handed her the cake. She once again just stared at it. "I'm afraid I'm..."

"Busy, yes." Taiyang stated, "This is one of those cases where it's important to take a break and eat some cake."

"Are you suggesting?.." Winter asked him.

"Yes." he interrupted her.

She looked at the cake for a moment, his eyes for a moment, and then turned back to the radio. "Whiskey-Alpha-Zero-Niner, will resume report at 16:10, over."

"Zero-Alpha. Roger that, Whiskey-Alpha-Zero-Niner, over." the radio stated.

"Whiskey-Alpha-Zero-Niner out." Winter stated, and turned towards Taiyang, hesitantly reaching for the cake.

* * *

"So, question?" Nora asked. "Because we kind of bounced back of forth a bit. Are we touching Aurora?"

"I do believe," Ren voiced as he stood beside her, "we were supposed to sense her aura without touching her."

"But she said we can touch her, right?" Nora asked, and quizzically looked at Aurora.

"I would be happy to help you however I can." Aurora voiced.

"Even if it invovles touching?" Ruby asked.

"Why do I get the feeling?," Yang asked, "that she might be looking for something else here?"

"Probably because she is." Blake stated.

"I have stated my preference." Aurora stated.

"You know?" Yang asked, "Not really."

"More like implied." Weiss stated.

"We're not going to molest Aurora." Jaune stated, and Aurora dejectedly looked down.

"See?!" Yang asked.

"And I think Ren is right." Jaune stated.

"Of course he's right." Nora stated, "He's Ren after all."

"You did spend the entire trip to Mistral fighting?" Jaune asked.

"Oh, pssh." Nora voiced, "That was just us having fun."

"Wait?" Ruby asked, "Were they flirting the entire time?"

"They did get married." Blake stated.

"Are we married?" Nora asked Ren, who just shrugged his shoulders.

"As married as we are." Jaune voiced, and then looked between his wives. "None of you are regretting it, are you?"

"Alright, new rule." Yang stated, "Every time he does that, we get to punch him."

"And risk his spankings?" Blake asked, and this caused Yang to pause.

#rwby #firen lhain #faunus au #pollinated knight

8 notes · View notes

violetwolfraven · 4 years

Note

If you’re still taking requests maybe 1+4 for Sprace?

Canon-era in general

And

Soulmate AU

I am always taking requests, my dude. Anyway here we go! This is mostly in the musicalverse but if I reference a few movieverse characters as older Newsies during Race’s childhood...😏 Also there are a couple of ocs in here, and it gets a bit angsty towards the end. Enjoy!

Tw: Underage drinking, a couple of side characters are mentioned to have died, and homophobia is kind of implied, I guess?

...

Race had grown up knowing that he liked boys, and that didn’t really match up with what people said love was supposed to be, but that was just how Race was.

And it wasn’t like it was hurting anyone, was it? Being only a little kid, Race was too young to actually do anything, and if he sometimes paid attention to the way a friend looked really cute when he’d just woken up, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he had to or even could act on those little crushes.

It was like Manhattan’s leader, Waffles, said. He called it ‘puppy love’ when Jack snuck glances at a girl his age on the street or Crutchie shyly gave one a flower when he handed her mother a pape. Nobody actually acted on these things.

Little baby crushes when you were a kid meant nothing, and that meant that Race would outgrow this and start liking girls in time to meet his soulmate, right? Because soulmates meant a boy with a girl, and nothing else, right?

At least, that was what he thought, until he and Jack walked into an alley when Race was 8 and Jack was 10 and found a couple of older boys kissing—which Race was pretty sure you were only supposed to do with someone you loved.

Snitch and Itey jumped apart, staring at the younger boys in shock. Then they each grabbed one and dragged them into the Lodging House bathroom to tell them that Race and Jack could not tell anyone.

Race was too scared to speak (Snitch and Itey were significantly bigger than him) but Jack stepped in front of him and demanded to know why.

That was when Itey sighed, said that maybe it would be better if Waffles explained this, and gone to get their leader.

Race hadn’t really believed it at first when Waffles sat them down and carefully explained that Itey and Snitch were soulmates.

“That ain’t possible,” Jack argued, “They’s both boys.”

“Yeah,” Waffles said, “And maybe it’s a cruel trick of fate or a mistake or whatever the church thinks, but here with the Manhattan Newsies? We don’t care. Okay? We’s a family. We don’t turn on Itey and Snitch for somethin’ they can’t control.”

“Why would we turn on them?” Race asked, confused. That was what this was; confusing.

Waffles sighed, “Look, among family, it’s okay. We don’t care who your soulmate is. But the rest of the world does, okay? Adults don’t know nothin’. They think boys lovin’ boys and girls lovin’ girls is wrong.”

“Would Itey and Snitch get hurt if adults found out?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, kiddo, they would. And that’s why you can’t tell no one, okay, boys? Nobody outside the house finds out and no new kids either ‘till we know we can trust ‘em. Okay?”

“Okay,” they both said, and though, like most people, Itey and Snitch kept their soulmarks covered, as it was something intensely personal and none of anybody’s business, from there, Race started realizing that he should have seen something between them a long time ago.

It was fairly obvious, in how they shared a bed, snuck off occasionally, and sometimes let touches of reassurance or affection linger a bit longer than they probably should.

Race started noticing how the other older kids covered for them. How Skittery would knock something over, allowing them to slip out together under the excuse of not wanting to help him clean it up. How Boots would make a joke to draw attention to himself if they started getting too obvious. How Waffles would take on any new kid thinking of selling with them, himself, so they had an excuse to keep being just the two of them.

It was... nice, in a mushy kind of way that they had that support. And Race didn’t really think seriously about kissing his crushes yet, but he did wonder if he would have that if he did.

Race’s soulmark—the first name of his soulmate that appeared on his wrist on his 10th birthday—was Sean.

It was a boy’s name. That scared Race a little.

But every time he saw the older Manhattan kids go out of their way to make sure nobody noticed Itey and Snitch, he got a little less scared, but still a bit confused

He stopped being scared, at least mostly, when Jack came to him, nervously confessing that he liked girls and boys, and his soulmark said a boy’s name; David. There was something less scary about being different when you didn’t have to be alone in it.

Of course, among the Newsies, finding your soulmate was always a little complicated, because damn near everybody had nicknames. Honestly, Race‘s soulmate could be almost any of his friends for all he knew, but he liked to think he didn’t. He liked to think he’d know immediately if he found him.

Race was 10 when he started selling at Sheepshead, having a deal with a Brooklyn girl, Palomino. She got to use his cuteness for easy sales, and in return, she taught him to weaponize just the right combination of friendliness, flirtation, and annoyance to get people do to pretty much whatever he wanted.

Race asked her when he was 11 what she thought about soulmates, particularly same-sex soulmates. He wanted her opinion because while Palomino was kind of an asshole, there was one thing she was really good at, and that was survival.

And Race wasn’t sure what he thought about the fact that his soulmate was a boy yet, but he knew that just living as someone like that, you had to be careful to survive.

‘Mino just shrugged, “Love is unreliable, Racer. It never does what you want it to and more often than not, it’s a liability. Soulmates ain’t an exception just cause they’s supposed to be together.”

“What about boys lovin’ other boys and girls lovin’ other girls?”

“The fuck did I just say? Love’s a liability. Feelin’s get ya hurt—even more so if those feelin’s is illegal.”

Race struggled to get what he was really asking across, “But if it’s illegal... does that make it wrong?”

‘Mino’s face softened infinitesimally. No one who didn’t know her would even recognize it as softening.

“What did I teach ya, kid? Long as ya don’t get caught, nothin’s illegal. Whether ya love girls or boys or both ain’t my business—it’s still stupid. Now, come on. If we place our bets right, we can both go home with some extra dough.”

Yeah... Race never mastered the whole ‘winning bet-placing’ thing. He never accepted Palomino’s offers to teach him to pickpocket, either, though there were winters where he wished he did.

And he never believed her when she said love was stupid. Because Palomino might have a cynical, angry outlook on life, but Race didn’t. Whenever he asked Waffles or Jack or any of the kids back home in Manhattan, they always said love and soulmates were good things.

Of course, it wasn’t like her opinion mattered anymore. After that winter when Race was 11, he never saw his old mentor again.

Sure, Race didn’t know anything about love besides the platonic bond he had with friends, but he still believed in it with how he saw pairs of his friends fall into it more and more as he got older. Love and soulmates made people happy. That much, he could tell.

Race was 16, Jack was Manhattan’s leader, and he’d been selling at Sheepshead for years when he learned that it wasn’t always that simple.

He and his friend Spot were a little drunk, probably, because Spot had gotten hurt in a fight and hadn’t wanted to drink his cheap booze to dull the pain alone.

Race had met him when he was 12 and Spot was 13, not long after Spot became King of Brooklyn. In the last 4 years, they’d become close friends. He was Race’s best friend, to be honest, besides maybe Albert. Of course, Jack and Crutchie didn’t count because they were more Race’s brothers.

And if Spot was like, really attractive, that didn’t matter. He wasn’t interested in Race. Race didn’t even know if he was interested in boys, period. It was just never something they talked about.

Spot didn’t seem like a Sean, anyway.

“Hey, Spot, buddy, do you ever think about... like... soulmates?” Race asked, trying not to slur his words.

Spot laughed kinda tiredly, “Sometimes. Why?”

“Just ‘cause...” Race tried to think despite his mind being fuzzy, “What do ya think about ‘em?”

Spot just shrugged, “Love’s a liability. Soulmates ain’t an exception.”

“Ooh, I see you’s usin’ Palomino’s philosophy.”

They both laughed.

Was it just the booze making Race slow, or were Spot’s eyes lingering on his lips as he put his cigar in his mouth?

“Oh, Palomino,” he muttered, “That bitch. I ain’t thought about her in a while.”

“That ain’t nice—she’s dead, Spottie.”

“Yeah, which means she ain’t here to care what I say ‘bout her.”

Race’s laugh sounded drunk even to him, “She tried to teach me to pickpocket.”

“She did teach me to pickpocket.”

“Spot, you son of a bitch, you actually let her teach ya to steal?”

“She taught all the younger Brooklyn kids when I was little. She was older and smarter than me, so’s I kinda did whatever she told me. I don’t steal nowadays though, if I can help it. Ain’t worth the trouble with the bulls.”

“She was pretty smart,” Race admitted, “I dunno if she was right ‘bout soulmates, though.”

Spot looked away from Race’s face, taking another swig of alcohol, “She was.”

Race took another sip of his own drink, a bit disappointed, for some reason, “How do ya know?”

“Because Waffles was hers and they both knew it and it just hurt ‘em both.”

“Oh,” Race looked at the floor, “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” Spot laughed, “One pair of Newsies actually landed right side up and it was the one where both of ‘em died.”

“That ain’t funny, Spot.”

Race hadn’t thought about ‘Mino in a while, either. Honestly, he hadn’t even thought about Waffles, and that made him sad because they both deserved to be remembered and—

“Hey, hey, Racer, it’s okay. Don’t cry. That was stupid of me.”

Race remembered to hug Spot gently as his friend embraced him. They were drinking for a reason, so Race avoided touching Spot’s ribs. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his neck.

Spot didn’t hug often, but when he did, it felt special. It felt warm and safe, like home.

“I’m sorry, Race, I just... they actually wound up as a girl and a boy and they wasn’t together, but they should’ve been and... I’m sorry. Don’t cry.”

“I ain’t gonna cry.”

Spot pulled away enough to look him in the eye to make sure he wasn’t lying.

Race couldn’t say he was sorry that Spot kept holding onto him. Their faces were very close together.

“Do ya really think love is stupid, Spottie?”

Spot shrugged, “Everyone I know what’s in it gets hurt. I mean... you’s seen what it does to Cowboy and Mouth, right? Knowin’ all it would take is one bad person findin’ out ‘bout them.”

“But they makes each other happy,” Race pointed out, “Ain’t that what’s really important?”

“I dunno, just seems easier not to have to worry ‘bout it. Soulmates is just another person who can hurt you or be used against you, and besides— just cause the universe says you’s supposed to be in love don’t mean ya have to. I sure don’t give a damn about whoever mine is.”

Race smiled, tapping the piece of cloth Spot used to cover his soulmark, “What’s the harm in your best friend knowin’, then?”

“Why?” Spot teased, “Hopin’ it’s you?”

“I’m fairly certain it ain’t,” Race said, “We’s known each other for years. If we was soulmates, we’d’ve found out by now. Still, ya never have shown me your mark.”

“You haven’t shown me yours, either.”

“Fair.”

Race thought about it for a second.

“What if we showed ‘em at the same time? I mean, ain’t no harm in it, right? Only one of my close friend’s Marks I ain’t seen is yours.”

“Yeah,” Spot muttered, “Same for me, I guess. Showin’ ‘em at the same time sounds fair.”

“Course it is,” Race let go of him, still staying sitting pretty close, and untied the strip of cloth from his own wrist, “Ready?”

Spot untied his, “Set.”

“Go.”

They showed their soulmarks at the same time. By the time of day, it was almost too dark for Race to read the text on his friend’s wrist.

Almost.

Anthony.

“Shit,” Race mumbled under his breath, “Oh my God.”

Spot was still silent, just staring in shock at the name on Race’s wrist.

Any chance of it being a different Anthony was gone, now, by the look on his face.

“Spot...”

Spot finally looked him in the eye, and Race could see pain there, but also some kind of... relief.

Race knew exactly how he felt. He’d somehow... well, he hadn’t expected it, but it wasn’t surprising, either.

He was glad it was Spot. He was glad it was someone he already knew. Someone he already... already loved.

Race dared to lean a little closer, knowing Spot would read his intentions and pull away if he wanted to.

He didn’t pull away, though his deep breath was shaky.

Their faces were close enough that Race could smell what they’d been drinking on Spot’s breath.

He didn’t see any signs of him not wanting it, so Race leaned forward enough to kiss Spot as softly as he knew how.

For a second, he thought maybe Spot was kissing him back, and then hands were on his shoulders, gently pushing him away.

When Race opened his eyes, his soulmate had an extremely pained look on his face, and he was already grabbing his strip of cloth to cover his wrist again.

“I’m—“

“Don’t be sorry, Race,” he said quietly, “Just... go. You’s gonna have to run for it or you’ll miss the last carriage to hitch a ride home.”

A small part of Race was hurt and angry and wanted to argue that, no, they needed to talk about this and they needed to talk about it now.

But Spot looked agonized enough as it was, and the larger part of Race didn’t want to cause him any more pain.

He stood up and walked all the way back home.

#race and spot are dumbass bois #newsies #sprace #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #race x spot #angst #soulmates au #background javid #background snitey #oc: waffles #oc: palomino #violet’s writing

46 notes · View notes

alirhi · 3 years

Text

chapter two :)

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 2/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable.

WARNINGS: m/m, in case that wasn't obvious. probably some swearing. I rarely do explicit sex but it might get to that point, depending on if the mood strikes me. If you're under 18, just go away XD Notes: taking advantage of the muse while I've got it lol. I should be working on actual books but... Loki took over my brain [EDIT] I rewatched CW after writing this chapter and realized there was no snow XD everything was green. Clearly, they were in SoCal, not NY. I'm from the Northeast, so I automatically associate December with snow, ice, and all things evil (I hate extremes lol). My bad.

Loki, you've changed.

"I'm fine."

Loki, you've become so unfocused.

"I'm fine."

Loki, are you alright, dear?

"I'm fine!" Maybe, he'd thought, if he repeated it often enough, it might become true. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine. He's gone-I'M FINE!

He'd never told anyone about his soldier boy; Heimdall was the only one who even knew Loki was going to Midgard frequently in the early 1940s, and even he didn't know why. Loki had made sure of it. A handy, if tiring trick, to keep prying all-seeing eyes out of his business. The end result of his desire for privacy, though, the price he paid for being cagey, was that when he went back and found himself alone, he couldn't tell anyone what he'd lost.

Bucky was gone. He was gone, and Loki couldn't even share his grief with his mother, because he'd been so scared to tell her about his unexpected, unorthodox love. For a brief few months, he'd found little stolen moments of bliss; a heartbeat, and barely that. He'd known his fragile human love would one day perish, and that he'd never be ready, but even in his darkest nightmares of the war Bucky was facing, he'd never truly thought it would happen this soon.

He was gone, and Loki was left all alone. He couldn't let anyone see his grief, so he showed them indifference. He showed them callous disregard and a flippant sharp tongue that drove them all mad. He could turn to none of them, so he did all he could to turn them away; maybe if they weren't all looking at him, for just a few minutes, he could let himself break and weep for the love stolen from him too soon.

Eventually, he realized he would never have that moment if he stayed on Asgard. There were simply too many prying eyes, and not enough holes to hide from them in. Though it tore him to shreds to even think it, he snuck away back to Midgard for the first time in decades.

The spot he'd chosen was meant to be deserted. A snowy woodland road in the middle of the night, he couldn't imagine anyone wanting to be there. It was perfect, really. Except that it wasn't actually deserted.

It took him a moment to understand what he was seeing as he approached the two vehicles. One was an automobile, its front end smashed against a tree and in flames, with two silent, unmoving passengers. The other was a motorcycle, and that really confused him. Who would ride around so exposed in this kind of weather?

Movement caught his eye, and for a brief, foolish second he felt relief. Someone was helping the unconscious pair in the car-no. Someone was walking away from them.

Someone unnervingly familiar. "James?" It couldn't be! He'd died in that bloody war! Even if he hadn't, humans aged rapidly; he'd be an old man, barely able to move, much less choke the life out of a woman, which Loki's brain oh-so-helpfully had just processed, belatedly.

This man, who looked like Bucky but wasn't, had just murdered someone right in front of him. Loki wasn't even sure if he cared. He was too stunned and confused to feel much of anything.

The man didn't respond, but he did march straight up to him. At first, Loki thought they might have a conversation – perhaps this was a relative of Bucky's, wondering how Loki knew his great-great Uncle or some such?

No. He was getting rather tired of being wrong. Perhaps Odin was right; he was unfocused, off his game. The man's icy metal fingers were wrapped around his throat before he'd fully processed what was about to happen.

Without thinking, Loki smirked and taunted, "Straight to it, then? It has been a while, hasn't it?"

"What are you talking about?"

That voice! "It can't be...!" Eyes wide, Loki broke his own code and slapped a hand onto the man's fluffy head. It couldn't be Bucky, after all, so reading his mind wasn't betraying the man he loved.

The mad, nonsensical scramble that flooded his mind nearly made him faint. It was like a long, distorted scream tearing through his head. They both let go of the other and stumbled back, not-Bucky looking stunned and confused, and Loki barely able to think straight through the pain and confusion.

One word slowly made its way to the surface out of the din: HYDRA.

"What is HYDRA?" He was still clutching his own head, willing the world to stop spinning at such an alarming, nauseating rate, when he heard the other man's voice again.

"Hail HYDRA." It was soft, monotone and automatic, as if he wasn't even fully aware of what he was saying. Even with that haunting lack of emotion, that voice was too familiar.

Loki had to know what was going on. Bracing himself for another onslaught, he gripped the man's head with both hands and focused with all his might. The static nearly overwhelmed him, but the images slowly made their way through. Capture, imprisonment, torture... Trauma and anger and diving right back into the fray. Falling. Pain. Delirium.

"You will be the new fist of HYDRA."

It finally clicked, and he threw his arms around Bucky – yes, Gods, it was Bucky! HYDRA. He knew that name! That was the organization within the Nazi ranks that Bucky had been fighting against.

"Oh, James! What did they do to you?"

He was so caught up in trying to piece it all together from his love's suppressed memories that he was completely unprepared when Bucky shoved him back, and he fell right on his ass in a snow bank. Indignant, he hopped back to his feet and started brushing himself off, but paused when he found the barrel of a gun in his peripheral vision. With his patented arrogant smirk firmly in place, he informed him, "That won't kill me."

Bucky looked confused, and the gun wavered. Then, for a split second, Bucky – his Bucky – was back and Loki was folded tightly in his arms. They held each other like a lifeline, smashing their lips together in a fierce kiss that left them both breathless.

"Loki?"

He smiled through the haze of tears suddenly blurring his vision, a choked laugh that was more than half-sob escaping him as he ran his hands through that ridiculous long hair over and over again. "Yes. I don't know how you're alive, but I am so grateful!"

"Run!" Eyes wild, Bucky pushed him back, more gently this time, but with far more urgency. "'No witnesses.' Loki, you have to run! Now!"

"What?"

"Get out of here, before I figure out what will kill you!"

"I don't understand..." The machine. The final piece fell into place from Bucky's scrambled memories, and filled him with rage. The reason Bucky's mind was so screwed up, the reason he wavered even now and the dull, robotic look returned to his eyes; they'd figured out how to control him. They'd stripped away his free will and left him a shell of himself, able only to obey their orders.

He could see the internal struggle as what was left of his Bucky fought against the mindless soldier. Hoping to mitigate that as much as he could until he could free the other man, he assured him through clenched teeth, "Do what you have to, Sergeant. Survive. I'll take care of the rest."

The look of profound confusion, of a little lost puppy, was heartbreaking. Bucky was trying so hard to stay himself, to not harm him. Watching him suffer was more than Loki could bear.

"I'll return for you," he swore as he slipped back into the shadows. "I'm going to burn it all down."

______________________________________________________

Next Masterlist

#fanfic #loki #bucky barnes #mcu #avengers #captain america #winter soldier #m/m #loki/bucky #sebastian stan #tom hiddleston #winter's frost

5 notes · View notes

monchikyun · 3 years

Text

XIV. only human

It's not his fault. Gavin repeats that lie in his head like it’s some twisted mantra. He does it until the words merge together and lose all meaning.

It's not my fault, it's not my fault, it's not my fault.

Except it is. He can't keep blaming the circumstances for every inconsiderate decision he makes.

Because it was none other than him who made Connor cry this time. He's supposed to make sure the android stays relatively happy and well, a job he's excellent at failing.

So what if he loves him like no one else in this world, doesn't mean he has to burden the poor soul with this irrelevant information. They’re friends, first and foremost, even though the Connor who lives in his chest tries to convince him otherwise. It shouldn’t matter. They have each other now, despite the fact that one of them always try to get closer. Though if they ever want to go there, it will have to be a mutual decision. So he’s more than glad he didn’t let Gavin kiss him. Lucky his partner has brains. At least one of them should.

Gavin still can't quite tell whether his feelings are reciprocated or not, and at this point, he's more than terrified to find out.

That's why he cut Connor off when was about to counterattack with his own verbal ammunition. He’s fortunate to avoid whatever his friend had in store for him, for it couldn’t have been anything good. If there’s something he can’t deal it’s being overwhelmed, feeling too many things at once. If he… if he told Gavin that he loves him too, his heart would most likely give in. And there was no time to emotionally prepare, so any outcome would have disastrous consequences, surely.

It’s true that Gavin is beyond curious about where his friend stands in all this, but that's the one sentiment that has no say in his emotional hierarchy. Perhaps it’s best to let his affections lie low, at least for now. Easier said than done when he’s cradled in Connor’s arms like a fucking baby. The diabolic android is running his soft hands all over his back as if he’s aware of his maybe not-so-internal shivering.

It’s too hot to breathe, and yet he can’t stop trembling from the cold. It doesn’t make sense to him for a while until he remembers that he must be running a fever. His ageing body can’t withstand anything these days, just like his disturbed mind. Sometimes he envies Connor his android nature, how he goes against everything that’s natural and still thriving, more than Gavin ever would. He won’t have to worry about getting older or ill, doesn’t have to put any effort into looking this beautiful. They live on a different time-scale, and it scares him stiff. He’s not sure if that’s the reason for his current tears, or if he’s just delirious from the high temperature his system is trying its best to deal with it.

“Ok, let’s get you to bed.”

His attempt at refusing to move results in a soft whine coming from behind his lips, which only serves to remind him how truly pathetic he is.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

Of course the plastic can read his mind, he doesn’t expect anything less from him.

Gavin knows the moment their bodies separate he’s going to freeze to death before bursting in flames and that’s just something he’s not sure how he’ll be able to handle.

He hates being sick more than he hates himself, which is a considerable amount.

His brain is surrounded by a thick fog as he’s being lifted up and carried on the uncomfortable mattress. As he’s being laid down, their contact gets inevitably interrupted, and he has to suck in all the oxygen his lung can take before the coughing fit steals his breath away. When it’s done, he’s left heaving in pain and no one is around to make him feel better. Connor must have finally wisened up and left, good for him.

“Here, drink this.”

Or not. It’s just his mind tormenting him with awful scenarios, as it tends to do.

“What is it.” He doesn’t really care but feels the need to say something, to test out whether he’s still able to speak, if nothing else.

“Hot water.”

“Gross,” he complains and chugs it all down like a liquid-deprived desert dweller.

He gets handed another pill which he doesn’t question and swallows in the hope it’ll immediately sort him out. Obviously, there’s no such thing as an instant cure, so he continues sweating under the blanket, utterly overpowered by whatever disease his wrecking his puny mortal body. He’s about to yield to his weakness and beg Connor to lie next to him, because to Gavin, there’s no better concept than dying in his arms. But there’s no one here again. He starts thinking that this all is just a hallucination created specifically to torture him. His eyelids get heavy and there’s nothing preventing him from letting the darkness take him under.

“Sorry about that.” An unpleasantly wet sensation on his forehead pulls him back from the blissful oblivion, and he can just about make out the worry in Connor’s eyes as his slowly open.

“A cold compress, it should help break the fever.” The android sounds uncertain, seeming like he’s not sure whether he’s doing everything possible to make certain this stupid old human doesn’t check out. Sweet. No wonder Gavin fell in love with him. Too bad it won’t have any follow-up.

Another set of coughs forces their way out of his throat, making him ache all over, even more than before.

“Maybe I should call an ambulance.”

That alerts his warped survival instinct. He does his best to steer clear from hospitals, for fear of ending up like his mother.

“No! No, no, please. I don’t… I wanna be here. With you.”

Gavin tries to communicate that he needs Connor close lest he might drift away somewhere bleak and endless. He expects all sorts of things, but the android stripping his shirt as he sneaks in under the blanket and presses his half-naked front against his sure isn’t one of them.

“I can regulate my body temperature, so this should cool you down some.” Now when he’s been explained the technical reason for why Connor is willing to be so close to him as he’s struggling to keep himself in one piece, the android truly does feel like an icicle more than anything remotely human. Just the thing he craves. He gathers his last strength and pulls him into a proper embrace, intertwining their legs together because he’ll never have enough of this.

They fall silent for a couple of minutes or an hour, but eventually, the need to apologise becomes too unbearable to ignore.

“Sorry.”

A sound that is barely there, whispered into Connor’s bare chest.

“For what?”

Sometimes, he’s grateful that his friend has super-hearing abilities. Not tonight. His throat is firmly against him forming any and all words, but he pushes through regardless. This feels very important somehow.

“For being such a handful.”

“You think I care about you out of the goodness of my heart?”

Connor’s body is becoming warm again. Maybe Gavin has already absorbed all the cold and there is no more left. It’s not unpleasant. Quite the opposite, really.

“Maybe… I don't know.” He’d rather not know.

But Connor tightens his hold on him, just like it always does. And he can’t fight that anymore.

“You.. “, the android takes a deep, shaky breath, “you still think I don't love you.”

And just like that, he can’t resist the tears about to spill over from behind his squeezed eyelids anymore.

“D-do you?”

Curiosity has ways of finding a backdoor whenever he’s stunned enough to stop paying attention, to which he’s thankful right now.

“Of course I do, you stupid… human.”

It hurts and heals him at the same time. But the relief that washes over him is something else. It turns the whole heavy atmosphere upside down, making him want to laugh through the pain of it all.

“Not a very smart choice, given there are many androids who would kill just to be with you.”

The right moment to stop being serious for once.

“And yet I decide to fall for the trashiest meatbag I could find.”

Even their voices reflect that this is a time to be happy.

“A man…,” Gavin corrects himself, remembering what Connor told to him earlier, “...person of terrible taste, unlike me.”

What follows is a tiny period of calm when he isn’t sure if he’s still awake or already dreaming, until a soft whisper pulls him back from his daze.

“Get some sleep, Gavin. I promise I'll be here in the morning.”

“You better.”

His flesh is sore and heavy, caging a soul that longs to soar. If he’s lucky, this will all have still happened when he wakes up.

“G’d night, tin can.”

@a-convin-new-year

I don’t know how active I’ll be in the next week because Christmas = busy, but I promise I will continue working on this until it’s complete //this winter//

#aconvinnewyear #convin #low-temperature burn #in which gavin loses object permanence :D #excuse my softness :(

14 notes · View notes

seizethesam · 4 years

Text

Ode to an Angel-Chapter 5

A/N: Hello!! Chapter 5 is with you. I want to say that I had so many difficulties while writing this chapter. I would write and just delete it. I couldn't bring myself to focus on the story. But here it is! I am actually happy with how it turned out. I hope you like it too!!! And, there is symbolism in this chapter! YAY!! Comment if you know what it is...

Happy reading!! xx

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

Tom Waits, too, is one of my favorite artists. This is the first song that I've heard from him. Do you like Tom Waits?

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Then…

The sun was already down but its lights were still shining on you. You were still able to see far ahead. You were out of their range, many trees between you and them. They were moving towards where you came. The farm.

Well, shit.

You wanted to go on, every part of you wanted go on, take another step to opposite direction. But you were also aware that the farm would not be able to hold them all. Be smart.

So you ran. Ran to the people who had been taking care of you for the past three days, ran to the unborn baby. You hoped you were going to make it in time. That was the smart thing to do.

Now…

The road was hard. The road was… The nights were getting colder and colder each day.

You were with Rick’s group since the farm had fallen. You had made to them just a few minutes before the horde came to the farm. You’d told them to run, to abandon the farmhouse. But Hershel was too damn stubborn to leave his place.

You were alongside them fighting off the dead ones. An extra pair of hand wouldn’t hurt. And you were with them ever since. You listened to your brother and did the smart thing; you had stayed.

It seemed like months, maybe it was but you weren’t sure, none of you kept a calendar. You thought that it was October. Each day, you were hungrier than the day before, each day was colder than the one before. And the life around you were slowly leaving its place for the winter.

You had been taking refuge in temporary shelters; abandoned houses, gas stations, and the forest floor… but none of them was home for the kid, or for the baby.

You were now in an abandoned house near the woods that Daryl had come across while hunting. You hoped that the place was isolated enough so that you could spend the night in there without any interruption.

“I’ll go check the perimeter,” Daryl said to the group of people who were gathered around the living room.

“Can I come with you?” you prompted just as he was about to exit the room. He hummed in response which you took as a ‘yes’.

You got up and followed Daryl to the wild. The house was not too far away from the main road, but there was a good deal of forest that made it almost invisible.

Daryl was silent most of the time, keeping his crossbow tightly in his rough hands. His eyes were looking for anything that looked wrong, while you were looking for anything that the cold had left you to eat.

The silence between you was comforting most of the time. Since you’d joined the group, you had been able to form relationship with most of them, Maggie was like a sister, Rick and Glenn and T-Dog were the brother that you’d missed the most. You were good with others too.

But Daryl… Well, Daryl was hardest to break.

He wouldn’t speak much about things, but you wouldn’t mind it either. But sometimes, he would also surprise you, talking to you at times you’d least expected, like right now.

You could see him eying you every once in a while, while you were inspecting the forest ground for plants to eat. You thought he was keeping an eye on you just in case. But a while later you couldn’t help but ask.

“What is it?” you asked him, stopping on your feet.

“Nothin’,” he shrugged as he kept on walking. It was not nothing. You could feel him itching to speak with you about something.

“C’mon, it’s okay,” you stated while picking up a wildflower from the earth. It looked like a poppy flower which were very rare to see in autumn. Guess the October sunshine must have tricked it.

But there it was…with all its beauty. Its red color was astonishing on the brown and dull forest floor.

Daryl waited for a moment before answering. “We ain’t eatin’ poppies,” he said, looking at the single flower that you’d placed in the pocket of your shirt.

“It’s not for eating, relax,” you replied with a subtle smile on your lips.

“Jus’ sayin’,” he scuffed, “I know for a fact tha’ ya ain’t that good at tellin’ apart the poisonous and the edible,” he finished.

You playfully frowned at his remark, “ouch,” you joked.

There was some kind of connection between you and Daryl that you really couldn’t put your finger on. You weren’t sure if you were friends or you were just companions of the same road.

Nevertheless, there was something.

You kept on walking with the continuation of silence for a while. The area seemed calm, there weren’t many walkers— just a couple stray ones.

Just when you were about to return to the house without any trouble, you spotted a blue-ish purple herbs on the ground.

“These are for eating,” you said as you picked up the herb by cutting it with your knife. You heard Daryl approaching from behind you.

“They are borage,” you informed him, “mom used to cook.” Memories of family dinners filled your head. But now wasn’t the time, you didn’t have the luxury to reminisce. You pushed the memories to the back of your mind.

“Uh-huh,” he hummed. He handed you his rag that kept in his back pocket.

“It’s better than nothing,” you said as you picked up the last one of them.

It’s better than nothing, you thought, way better. The cell didn’t look that bad and that wasn’t the priority either. You had walls now, fences to protect you. You’d finally got what you needed, a safe zone, a place rest.

You’d found the prison almost a week ago and were lucky to clear out the field and the cellblock C without any trouble.

Although Hershel was bitten on his leg while clearing out the other cellblocks Rick was able to save him, and he was getting better with each day.

Your little group had welcomed two of the prisoners, Oscar and Axel. You were doubting them as you did with their friends until Oscar threw himself between you and a walker.

It was safe at last and you’d made it out alive.

The comfort of finally being able to breath was the relief that you wanted. After weeks on the road, you could finally close your eyes. Finally, there was a haven for the baby, that hopefully they could call this place home.

It was a typical prison cell with its grey walls, grey floors, grey bunk bed, and grey cushions. The greyness of the place almost made your head dizzy. You hated the color.

Right now, it felt like a prison in every way. You needed to make it your home.

You were finally organizing your cell room. You didn’t have any time to actually settle. All of you were busy clearing out the walkers.

You placed your clothes and a several books that you took from the library on the top bunk. Maybe you could read again. Maybe you were always not going to worry about surviving.

You sat on the lower bunk and listened to your friends.

The greyness of the cell was enveloping you, surrounding you in every direction, until there wasn’t any more color.

You threw yourself out when you felt like suffocating. You watched the greenery that surrounded the colorless prison as you took a deep breath.

“You alright?” Glenn said, making you startle. He appeared out of nowhere. He was supposed to be on the run with T-Dog and Daryl.

The prison had its own supplies and they would be enough for all of you. You had food, and medical supplies. But there was more stuff needed for the baby.

“Yeah,” you answered, “everyone’s alright?” you asked him back. No matter how easy, the runs were always dangerous.

“Yeah, everyone’s fine,” he replied, and you nodded and padded his shoulder as he entered the cellblock.

That night you were lying on your bed while everyone was sleeping. Unable to fall asleep, you took one of the books from the top bunk and started reading with the dim candlelight.

You weren’t close to finishing the first chapter of the book when you heard footsteps approaching your cell. You closed the book and listened the sounds.

They stopped at your door; you couldn’t see who it was through the sheet that you’d draped.

After a few second the footsteps continued to grow away. You got up and opened your sheet and door and saw Daryl walking away.

“Daryl?” you whispered, and he turned to you, “everything okay?”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded. “I thought ya were asleep,” he mumbled. He started slowly walking towards you.

“No, I was up,” you informed him, “come here,”

He was hesitant to walk into your cell at first. When you sat down on your bed and motioned him, he sat down next to you. You could feel he was tense.

His shoulders were as stiff as a rock and his chest wasn’t even moving when he inhaled.

You opened your mouth to say what it was but he offered his hand to you and you saw a tiny paint can.

“Ain’t the best color,” he commented. “I knew you hated the walls.”

A smile spread on your lips automatically. You took the can in you hand. It was a bright yellow color, on the can was written “Behr Bicycle Yellow”.

You turned your head to face him, he was already looking at you, waiting for your reaction.

“Daryl…I— It’s perfect,” you said. You were out of words. You didn’t tell him that you hated the walls. You didn’t tell anyone.

The can was so small that it was only enough to paint one wall mixed with water, but you couldn’t care less.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you wrapped your arms around him. His shoulders stiffened even more if that was possible. But soon he gave into the warmth of your embrace.

You felt unaccountably at home next to him—even with the grey walls. It was a kind of a reassurance that you could only felt with your family.

Right then you knew it, he was family.

He cleared his throat when you let him go. He got up from your bed and walked to the door without saying anything.

He turned and handed you something else, which looked like a book.

“I also found this,” he said in his husky voice.

Taglist: @spidergirla5 @twdeadfanfic @kamieshep @sophia-gwendolyn @jodiereedus22 @purplebtsmagic @itsmanillablog @302rocks @decadentsoulbiscuitgoth

It was a book and it was called The Mushroom Book: How to Identify, Gather, and Cook Wild Mushrooms.

Chapter 6

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon masterlist #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction

51 notes · View notes

shadows-twilight · 3 years

Text

RWBY Volume 8 Chapter 6

My various thoughts and opinions on Chapter 6 of RWBY Volume 8, “Midnight”

SPOILERS BELOW:

Oh wow, getting straight into the backstory, I see, I can dig it.

The rythmetic cycle of Cinder’s scrubbing, Cinder getting beat up, and the Madame’s heels is quite the effective opening. Tells us right from the start the good time we will not be having.

Yes, yes, you made the Rooster on the wind vane the same as the Rooster Teeth logo. Don’t worry, we noticed.

So Cinder did indeed grow up in Atlas. I must say, that is one fancy hotel. Clearly the kind of place that only the richest and scummiest attend.

I wonder what the societal implications are that the decorations of this lobby are almost exclusively Grimm. I almost want to say that it’s a sign of just how removed from real-world problem the patrons are here, that these beasts of nightmares and despair are nothing but novelties to them, that they see them as interesting rather than fearing them, but later we see a huntsman here, so I’m not so sure.

God, how mistreated was Cinder before she even came here? That “Food?” line just broke my heart.

NEW SONG!!!

Damn, why do they have to give all of these one-off backstory characters such wonderful designs? This Rhodes guy looks awesome!

So the thing that triggered Cinder’s semblance was intense anger. That tracks.

Jesus Christ, the Madame has a literal shock collar on her? I’d ask how this kind of thing was legal, but then this is the same kingdom where Jacques was able to operate his slave-like business practices with impunity, so I guess I’m not too surprised.

Wait, the “without you” mantra was forced upon her BEFORE Salem? That just got even darker.

Metal skin, huh? Rhodes’s rocking that Ultimate Shield, me likey

Ok, I think I see what Rhodes was trying to do with Cinder here. I can’t say I agree with it, he definitely should have just said “Hey kid, I’m just gonna take that inhumane piece of garbage off your neck and get you the hell out of here, okay?” but think I understand his thought process. As we established earlier, this arrangement between the Madame and Cinder is legal. It isn’t right, and it’s the farthest thing from kind, but it is legal. Cinder is just a ten year old girl, and the Madame is her legal guardian. That means if she were to run, she’d be a runaway, and if Rhodes were to take her, he’d be a kidnapper. They’d have to spend the rest of their lives on the run, even moreso if Cinder had hurt them. Alternatively, she could grin and bear it until she was old enough to get out legally, allowing her to be truly free. The problem is that she would have to grin and bear it for SEVEN YEARS, during her frikkin’ FORMATIVE YEARS! What’s more, while he was there to give her companionship and hope for the future, he got to come and go at his leisure, and probably be gone for extended periods of time (I’m assuming he still performed his Huntsman duties during this time) while she was stuck in the same traumatic, abusive environment 24/7. I understand where his mindspace was, but he did not think this through.

I’m mildly disappointed that the weapon he gifted her wasn’t Midnight. It would have made her destroying it in Volume 3 take on a much greater meaning. Also slightly disappointed that Cinder is indeed her real name. I guess she simply chose the Fall part.

Yeah, I’m not going to spare much sympathy for those bitches. I mean, one could argue that this was straight up self defense (at least with the Madame), and while I know the stock lessons from these shows is “no one deserves death” and “revenge blackens the soul” and yada yada yada, defending abusers isn’t exactly a hill I’m gonna fight on.

That being said, carrying on from my word vomit above, I understand Rhodes’s reaction as well, even if I don’t agree with it. While we can make the argument for abuse and self defense, an yada yada, we also know that in the eyes of the law, this was a cold-blooded murder, and Rhodes clearly seems to be the kind of huntsman that sees it as his duty to uphold the law. Even if he didn’t, and he let her go now or helped her run, they’d be once again in the situation he was trying to avoid, on the run. Personally, I say worth it, and if he had managed to get her to Vale, Ozpin probably would have been understanding enough to help her out, but that’s my opinion.

Oh shit, it’s an Ok Goodnight song. ... OH SHIT IT’S AN OK GOODNIGHT SONG! THAT IS AWESOME!!! Nice choice of song, too, the lyrics work very well for this scenario and Cinder’s story.

I find it incredibly sad that Rhodes immediately stopped fighting the moment Cinder’s aura broke, and even after she stabs him, all he does is give her the same headpat gesture he did earlier. For all his aforementioned faults, he really did care.

I will echo a statement I made towards Adam when we learned about his scar. I sympathize for the girl who went through all of that abuse, she didn’t deserve it. I spare none for the woman she grew into.

And we’re back in the present where we see that modern Cinder is still a sore loser and Emerald is still an overly dependent yes-woman. I feel for her sometimes.

Anyone who watched Infinity Train, is Mercury’s behavior reminding anyone else of Simon? I’m getting some serious Simon vibes from that smugness.

Oscar’s more of a clever little boy than many might have given him credit for. He’s here getting the ass whoopin’ of his life, and he’s strategizing ways to turn them against each other. Far more than just a farmhand, now.

Oh boy, Hypocrite Hazel strikes again! “You let him suffer!” Quite the riot coming from the guy dishing out the suffering.

Ooh, is that...doubt...I saw in Hazel’s eyes? All this time I figured he was so tunnel visioned by his quest for vengeance that he simply didn’t care who he served, but it turns out he’s just following the same logic Roman and Lionheart did. We can’t stop her, so we may as well help her. I wonder if Hazel’s mind might be changed if he knew what the relics really did. Sadly, Salem knew what was up and said NOPE to that train of thought. For now.

I almost want to say it was a little too on the nose for them to flashback to Cinder getting shock collared as Salem hurt her through the Grimm arm, but for some reason it really worked here.

Dear god, can you get even more manipulative than what Salem’s doing right here? Talking about giving Cinder what she wants when it’s convenient for her RIGHT AFTER TORTURING HER!? Cinder really did trade out one abusive step-mother for another, didn’t she?

I’m sorry, Elm, did you just refer to Penny as broken junk? I’mma be honest, the list of Ace-Ops I’m hoping to see survive this is really starting to dwindle. At least Winter’s not having any of it.

Wow, Harriet. You just got informed that there is a massive river of Grimm heading straight for your kingdom, and your first move is to start the blame game. How were we ever fans of these assholes?

The river is now a geyser. What a fun day.

Wow, those defenses didn’t hold for shit, did they? Good thing there’s all those ships are there for extra defense. I’m sure they’ll be helping out any second now. Any...second...

I don’t know if the middle of farmland is the most courteous place to park your world destroying god whale, but at least it’s out of the way.

God, if this is the note they’re leaving us on for the penultimate episode before the hiatus, what the hell are they leaving us with next week? For once, I’m almost glad for the week-long wait in between episodes. We need time breathe at some point!

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 8 #rwby thoughts and opinions #rooster teeth animation

8 notes · View notes

bone-wolves · 3 years

Text

Wolvember: 11/8 - Scary Story

can I be honest? I’m not sure how scary this story is, but I hope you like it!

“Tell us a story, Ruta!” The young pup said, pawing at her leg where she’d settled. The evening was coming and Ruta, Aala and Theora had gathered the pups into the Nursery to prepare them for sleep.

“A story, huh?” Ruta smirked, crossing her paws and eyeing the pups around her. Most of the time Aala didn’t let her tell stories - saying they were too crass or too outrageous and filled the pup’s heads with ridiculous ideas. But Aala wasn’t there, having gone out to get some snacks for the pups, and Theora - well, Theora was busy rearranging and fluffing the pups’s nests, humming a tune to herself and seemingly not paying attention to them.

“Well,” Ruta said, leaning her head towards the pup while the others crowded up alongside. “I might be persuaded...depends on what kind of story you want to hear.”

“A SCARY ONE!” One of the pups yipped, a dark-furred young one with traces of white on her neck and feet and a bright cream patch on her back. “A Super Scary One!”

The other pups wiggled with excitement, not even one disagreeing.

“Well!” Ruta chuckled, just a little mischievously, “Well, I just might have a story that is spooky and scary enough for you....”

She lowered her head again, eyeing each of the pups in turn.

“It happened a long time ago, before you were born, before I joined the Rowan’s Shade pack...”

The pups waited with bated breath, some sitting, some flopping to lay down, but almost all with tails twitching in excitement.

“I had left my birth pack months earlier, and was traveling to find a place of my own. But I had made a bad choice,” Ruta shook her head at the memory, “And left my pack just as the seasons where changing, and now winter was coming. The air had turned cold and the wind was biting. Snow began to cover everything, and I got so turned around I didn’t know where I was going!”

The pups whimpered at that - winter had reached the Rowan’s Shade pack, and the pups were becoming more and more aware of the dangers the cold weather and blanketing snow caused.

“The hunting was bad, and I spent my days hungry and exhausted and alone, trudging through snow drifts up to my shoulders and only catching the smallest of prey when luck struck,” Ruta went on, “Sometimes - sometimes! - I’d get lucky enough to find a mostly-eaten carcass frozen in the snow. I’d have to dig until my paws were ragged to get to it but it often was the most food I could find for days!”

“The nights grew long, the darkness surrounding me everywhere I went, and even when the sun shone it was cold and gave little warmth. As I traveled I could hear voices on the wind, distant howls that I couldn’t quite understand - they weren’t my old pack,” Ruta nodded, “But no matter how I tried to find them, I couldn’t! I’d run in the direction they’d come from hoping that I’d come upon some other wolves, but there’d be none.

“Sometimes,” She whispered, and the pups leaned forward, ears perked, “Sometimes I’d find wolf tracks in the fresh snow, light as if they weighed almost nothing at all, and so-so many of them. I’d follow them as they twisted and turned among trees, and out onto the near-barren taiga, until they’d just...disappear.”

The pups gasped.

“Disappear? How?” The smallest pup asked, eyes wide and tail tucked close to her side.

“Why, they’d just be gone!” Ruta laughed, “Gone, just stopped suddenly in the middle of a trail, like the wolf had lifted off into the air!”

The pups yipped with wonder, one even whimpered.

“But that was only the precursor to what was about to happen,” Ruta continued.

“Pweecuwsow?” The youngest pup asked, forehead scrunched in confusion.

“Just the beginning,” Ruta clarified with a snort, “Because, in the dead of winter, when I thought I’d only survive by the skin of my teeth and the few unlucky mice I’d catch every few days, something happened.”

She eyed the rapt pups, raising her head above them, “The day started like this -

- I’d spotted the ragged trail of an obviously injured animal. There was no blood, but the tracks were ragged and wobbly, and it took a great deal of sniffing and eyeing them to figure out it was a deer. A small one, by the size of the hoof prints, but in the dead of winter even a small one was worth it’s own celebration! So I stalked the deer, following the tracks quickly, but carefully, so that it wouldn’t notice me as I got close. The wind favored me as I caught up to it - the scrawny doe didn’t even notice me creeping up on her as she tore at the bark of a lone scraggly pine. She had a bad leg - broken at some point, and healed all wrong so that it dragged behind her as she walked. She hadn’t been able to keep up with her herd, no doubt, and they’d left her to her fate - and to my fortune!”

“The doe, preoccupied with the bark in her mouth, never saw me coming. I dashed through the snow with all the remaining energy left in my limbs and launched onto her weak hindquarter. She cried out in fear, trying to pull away, but I’d caught her tight with my claws and paws and my teeth dug deep into her haunch, and dragged her down to the ground.”

The pups gasped, some of their tails wagging with the excitement at just the mere thought of the hunt.

“I, hm, dispatched her quickly,” Ruta said, licking her lips and grinning down at the pups, “But I knew I couldn’t stay to eat. Her cry would’ve alerted any other predator in the area, and if I wanted to keep her to myself I’d have to move her to a safer place. So I dragged the doe to a thicket a ways off, and exhausted from the strain I lay down next to her to rest a little before eating.

“By then the night had grown deep and dark, and though the moon had risen it was only a waxing crescent, shedding barely any light. I perked my ears, watching the edges of the thicket, expecting a predator of any kind to appear at any moment!” Ruta said sharply, and pups gasped again. “All was quiet, very, very quiet. I finally thought it’d be safe to begin eating, and turned my attention to the doe. Just as I ripped into her skin and felt the first, warm juices run into my parched throat - something out of the corner of my eye moved.”

“Oh!’

“What was it?”

“Was it a MONSTER?”

“Ha!” Ruta barked a laugh, “I still don’t know the answer to that, pup, but I can tell you this, whatever it was - when I looked at it, it looked like a wolf. A scrawny, none too intimidating looking wolf. All pale, as pale as fresh fallen snow, even paler than Alnitak! Their nose was pinkish pale bordering on blue, and their eyes were so white it was almost hard to tell where their pale fur ended and their eyes began. They stood at the edge of the thicket, eyeing me with head and tail held low, and made no sound.”

“They snuck up on you?”

“They did,” Ruta admitted with a nod, “I’m not sure how - the thicket ground was covered in dead leaves and branches that hadn’t quite been covered by snow. When I crossed I made quite a racket - but they’d somehow appeared without making a single sound.”

“Spooky.” A pup said, a sentiment shared by the others with quite whimpers and nods.

“I was ready to guard my kill - I was starving and the doe was more food than I’d seen in weeks! But-“ Ruta paused, eyes widening, “But, something about the strange wolf moved me. I don’t know what it was - their scrawniness, the way they obviously held themselves to not look like a threat, they way they didn’t eye the doe but instead looked at me, directly, as if waiting for the move I’d make. Like they were trying to tell me that I was the one making decisions here, and they wouldn’t put up a fight....”

“Well, I knew what it was like, wandering the cold, empty taiga by yourself, scrabbling for food and hoping the next day would be better. And even though I wanted - I really wanted - to growl at the wolf, snarl at them and chase them away from my kill, I fought those urges down, and instead I offered for them to join me.”

“They accepted with a wag of their tail, and in the softest voice I’d heard, soft as a gentle breeze, as the beating of a moth’s wing, as the twinkle of stars,” Ruta wasn’t known for waxing poetic in descriptions, but - but she didn’t know how else to explain, “They thanked me and settled at a respectful distance from me to begin eating, taking the less desirable portions and leaving me the best. I noticed that, don’t think I didn’t! I was going to gobble down all the best parts for myself - the lungs, the kidneys, the liver, all of it. But this stranger, they seemed worse off than myself now that I could see them better, and they seemed to accommodating, so respectful and kind, that I thought it would be wrong to leave them with the absolute worst of the meal.”

“So, with a heavy heart - because you know this is my favorite part of the prey - I pulled out the liver and set it next to them.” Ruta said, her voice filled with the heavy tone of self-sacrifice at the memory of it. “It was such a nice, juicy, large liver, too...”

“And what-what did them do?” A pup barked eagerly.

“Well, they looked as surprised as you all do!” Ruta chuckled, “They looked at me and at the liver and back at me as if to ask if I’m sure, so I nudged it closer to them and turned back to my meal. We ate in silence, and no other predators or scavengers bothered us, which was odd, you know. There had been crows following me when I dragged the doe to the thicket, but even they were silent, if they were even around.”

“At one point, after we’d had our fill, the pale wolf turned to me and said, “Friend, the wind grows outside this thicket, cold and fierce, but here we are safe from the chill. Maybe we can spend this night together, here where it is safe?” I didn’t even think it strange at that point, having eaten well and feeling comfortable and pleasantly tired for the first time in a long, long while, so I agreed.” Ruta nodded, “And so we slept, agreeing to take turns on watch, but somehow I managed to sleep the whole long, dark night through to the morning, waking only when the sun’s rays broke through the thicket’s branches.”

“And when I woke,” Ruta said, lowering her head to meet the pups eye’s again, “The pale wolf was gone!”

“GONE?”

“Gone!“ Ruta nodded, then admitted, “But not far. Their tracks led out of the thicket, into a large clearing where the sun shone brightly on the snow covered grown. All around them were wolf prints, dashing this way and that, pitting the snow as if they had run round and round and round for hours. I was going to ask them what had happened, why they hadn’t woken me during the night, but before I could they turned to me and my voice caught in my throat at the sight of them.”

Ruta shuddered suddenly at the memory of that day, the chill of the wind and the warmth of the sun and the sudden vision of the wolf before them.

“Their eyes, they were the bluest blue you’d ever seen - bluer than any eyes you’ve seen, and they SHONE in the sunlight like jewels!” Ruta said, working herself up with her own retelling and pushing herself up into a half-sit. “Their fur glistened like the purest fallen snow, so white the glare hurt to see, and they were no longer scrawny or ragged but firm and strong and sleek. They looked at me with a great smile on their face, and while I stood there in shock at what I saw, they suddenly raised their head high and howled into the sky.”

“The howl, pups,” Ruta’s eyes were wide, her tail twitching on the ground, “The howl seemed to go on, and on, and on, reaching all the edges of the world, and it echoed around me as if were were in a cavern and not an open, near empty stretch of taiga. I backed away, shocked and unsure of what I was seeing and hearing, and then, I realized something...”

The pups crouched before her, ears pricked, eyes widened, some hiding behind others but peeking out from behind shoulders and backs.

“I realized...That the howls coming from around me weren’t echos,” Ruta said quietly, head lowered and inching closer to the pups with each word. “I looked, and all around me, surrounding me, were rows upon rows of wolf-shapes. Some were dark, like the shadow of a wolf, and some were pale, like a wolf bathed in brightest sunlight, but all stood as if they were four legged, and solid and real, and all had their muzzles raised in chorus of howls to join the pale wolf before me-”

“Ghost wolves!” A pup yelped, jumping up and running to hide behind another pup.

“Ghost wolves,” Ruta agree with a wide grin that showed off her teeth. All the pups yelped then, though some did so in excitement instead of fear. “And the pale wolf looked at me, and their eyes danced like blue flame, and they said to me, “You are still on your path to find your true pack, but I promise you this - whether that day comes soon or is still far off, you will never walk the lands alone until you find your place in this world.”

“And wh-what happened then?” A shaking pup asked.

“What happened is exactly what the pale wolf said,” Ruta said matter-of-factly, settling back to lay down, “Wherever I went, pale and dark shadows followed, until I found my way to Rowan’s Shade pack.”

“Although,” She said in a musing tone, “Sometimes, it feels like they are still around. Sometimes, it seems like I can still see them...like...”

She focused her eyes on the entrance of the den then, widening them and painting a look of surprise on her face, “THERE!”

The pups yelped in unison, jumping up and whirling around to face the entrance of the den with fur bristling and tails standing rigid.

“What have you been telling them this time, Ruta?” Aala said around a mouthful of rats from where she stood at the den entrance, eyeing Ruta disdainfully as the other pupsitter rolled over onto her back, laughing.

“Oh, nothing much,” She said, tongue lolling out of her mouth. Her eyes met the gaze of the pale shape seated at the far end of the den, nearly invisible unless you knew just how to look to see them. “Just a story.”

#wolvden #cryptid wovlden #wolvember #ruta tag

8 notes · View notes