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fawniswriting · 1 month ago

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𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: After a mission filled with close calls and bad decisions, the team comes home to find an even bigger threat waiting at the door—your wrath.

Warning(s): THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS!!! platonic!thunderbolts x reader. no use of y/n. use of the nicknames doll, honey, and pretty girl. canon typical violence. descriptions of injuries. descriptions of explosion, gun use, etc. established relationship. profanities. kissing. VERY suggestive content (minors be advised). talks of having a baby. bucky being a little feral (very briefly). slightly hurt/comfort. basically bucky and reader being the parents of the group.

Word Count: 3.6k-ish

Author's Note: GUYS I saw this fanart on instagram and instantly knew that I had to write something inspired by it!!! I've been itching to post a thunderbolts fic since last week 😭 welcome back 2012-2014 era of avengers' tower fanfics ✨️ anyway I hope they're keeping the revolution hair for bucky in doomsday or else I swear I'm gonna RIOT!!! (I know seb's head is shaved rn but wigs exist yk 😔) don't forget to comment, like, and reblog loveliesss 🩷

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Bucky Barnes doesn't understand a lot of things since he returned to society.

Cryptocurrency is one of them. Social media is another. Anything that involves more acronyms than actual words is an immediate no on his list.

Above all else, Bucky Barnes struggles to comprehend how exactly he became responsible for the group of walking disasters now hailed as earth's newest, mightiest heroes.

Looking at the pack of hellions in front of him, Bucky has serious doubts about that title.

Right in the middle of the tower's lobby, the Thunderbolts—the New Avengers now, apparently—are scattered like barbie dolls in the aftermath of a toddler's tantrum. John is standing against a column with a tight jaw, his left leg lifted gingerly, wrapped in a makeshift splint that looks suspiciously like someone's utility belt. Beside him, Yelena sits on the ground, legs sprawled in front of her as she cradles a bruised shoulder with an equally bruised hand. Alexei leans atop the front desk with a dried blood streaking down his temple, the young receptionist gone in fright the moment the team walked through the tower's entrance. Even Ava, usually one to disappear before debriefs, is visible for once, propped against the wall with her suit half-glitched and her expression blank.

Everyone is accounted for. Everyone is breathing.

But they all look like they rolled down a hill of bad choices where they banged their heads at every rock.

The mission was supposed to be a quiet recon, a simple surveillance on a rumored underground tech sale in an abandoned shipyard, low risk with minimal engagement. But then someone—Bucky still doesn’t know who—decided that they could handle it.

No heads-up. No plan.

Just four impulsive thrill-seekers interrupting a high-stakes black market deal involving high-tech plasma rifles and an offended buyer with too many goons.

By the time Bucky caught wind of what was happening, it was already chaos. He had to go in solo, extract the squad under heavy fire, disrupt the shipment, and reroute an entire response team of hostiles to avoid further catastrophe. They got out—just barely—and none of them seemed particularly eager to look him in the eye about it, especially after the thirty-minute tirade he launched into somewhere between fourth gear and a traffic jam.

From his place in front of the elevator, Bucky crosses his arms. “If any of you pull something like that again, you're all getting benched. Indefinitely.”

“What?!” Alexei roars.

Yelena scowls. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You don't get to make that call, Bucky,” John protests.

Ava nods. “We're not children. You can't just ground us whenever you feel like it.”

“Yeah?” Bucky laughs. Sarcastically. “Watch me, kid.”

As if on cue, the elevator arrives with a ding. Bucky gestures curtly towards the opening metal door. “Inside. Now.”

Reluctantly, the team shuffles in like a group of sheep being herded back into their pen for a much-needed nap time.

For a beat, the only sound that settles inside the cramped space is the low mechanical hum of the elevator ascending.

That is until Ava decides to speak up.

“I’m just saying,” she begins, “it wasn’t like we meant to crash the deal. We were just improvising.”

“Improvising?” Bucky exclaims, glaring at her. “You call tossing a grenade into an active negotiation improvising?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Yelena argues, crossing her arms. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Bucky screeches, his tone rising. “Walker nearly lost a leg!”

“It's just a sprain,” John clarifies. “Probably.”

“See? It's just a sprain!” Yelena repeats a little too cheerfully. “He'll be good as new in no time. Right, John?”

John nods, failing to conceal his wince when Yelena bumps her unharmed shoulder to his.

Bucky rubs his temples. “I can’t believe I’m in charge of you people.”

The elevator dings again at the top floor.

“You know,” Yelena says as the team stumbles out of the metal trapbox, “we technically stopped the deal. You're not giving us credit for that.”

“That’s because you weren't supposed to stop the deal. You were supposed to observe.”

“Back in my day, observe meant punch first, ask questions later,” Alexei quips.

Bucky lets out a scathing scoff that echoes through the air. “Right. Remind me again how many years you spent rotting in that Siberian prison, Alexei?”

“Well, that's not very nice,” John mutters.

“You know what else isn't nice, Walker?” Bucky growls. “Getting your asses lit up by dozens of machine guns because none of you seem to grasp the basic concept of following orders.”

The group swelters in a momentary silence.

“I mean, in our defense,” says Ava, “none of us actually got shot.”

Before Bucky can tell her off even further, a voice suddenly intercepts, “How fabulous! You guys didn't get shot? Geez, someone really should give you all a medal for that.”

The whole team stops in their tracks.

One by one, everyone turns their head towards the direction from which the voice has come. The view that greets them could probably send a perfectly healthy man straight into an early grave.

On the platform floor a few paces away, they find you standing with arms folded across your chest. Despite the bright lilt of your voice, your eyes are cutting as they assess the entire team with the judgement of a juror who has already decided on a guilty verdict. It's clear from your attire that you were freshly off work before going straight to the tower, and since everyone knows that you were supposed to be on a work trip to Philadelphia for at least another two days, it’s safe to assume that your ticket back was booked right around the time someone shouted “mission compromised!”.

It's a full ten seconds of shared disgrace before Yelena finally breaks the silence.

“You called her?” she hisses, landing an accusatory glare in Bucky’s direction.

“I did not.” Bucky scoffs. “And why does it matter if I did?”

“Bucky didn't call me,” you interject, your posture still rigid, your gaze still icy.

“Then who—no.” Yelena's eyes drift towards the kitchen, squinting as she takes in the figure trying to hide behind the doorway. “Bob.”

Ava snaps her head up. “Bob, you little shi—”

“That’s enough,” you jump in, moving sideways to conceal Bob from Ava's murderous line of sight. “He's got nothing to do with this. This is about you—all of you—and what a stupid, reckless, dangerous thing you just did.”

Under your scrutiny, the whole squad shifts like a pack of raccoons caught rummaging through the kitchen trash. The weight of your stare seems to age them all by a decade.

“I'm gonna give all of you two minutes to explain yourselves,” you declare, the authority in your tone indisputable. “And I already know what happened, so don't even think about trying to trick me.”

There is a lull in the air where everyone seemingly tries to process your demand.

When their mouths open again, what follows is not so much an explanation as it is a verbal dogpile. Everyone starts talking all at once—too loud, too fast, and entirely contradictory. John tries to lead with the logistics, only to be steamrolled by Alexei shouting something about creative liberty. Ava attempts to downplay the situation with a jovial “it was barely an explosion!” while Yelena throws her under the bus with a hasty “she started it!”.

Bucky—standing to the side with the posture of a man watching his funeral getting turned into a Dollar Store circus—doesn’t even bother stepping in. He knows better.

You hold up a single finger and the room quiets instantly, like someone pressing mute on a trashy sitcom argument. The stillness that follows is so heavy, even the lights begin to flicker in anticipation.

“But we got out fine!” Ava sputters, desperate to fill in the quietness, though her voice immediately thins when she adds, “Mostly.”

“Yeah! I mean, it's just a bruise here, a bruise there—everything's great.” Yelena grins.

Your sharp stare slides towards John, the lines between your eyebrows tightening as you take in the awkward angle of his injured leg. John nearly cowers under your piercing gaze.

“How bad is the damage?” you question, your voice booming throughout the surrounding space.

“What, this? Oh, it's not that bad. Probably just need to ice it then I'll be good as new—”

“Walker.”

It's hardly a secret that John is perhaps your least favorite person in that room, with you still clearly holding a grudge towards him for what happened with the Flag Smashers. The man is used to your constant cold shoulder by now. He expects it, even. More often than not, John finds himself wondering if you would ever warm up to him the way you have with the rest of the team.

And yet, as he now stands at the end of your long stare, John can't help but think that perhaps your silent treatment isn't really that bad. Especially if it means he doesn't have to be on the receiving end of the critical scrutiny you're currently aiming towards him.

The blond gulps.

“There's a forty percent chance it might be broken,” John admits. “But it's likely just dislocated. No big deal.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Get to the medbay and tell them to run a scan,” you command. “Alexei, go with him.”

“That's not necessa—”

The sharp glare you're sending him causes John's words to lodge in his throat.

Alexei springs right into action, steering John away from your ferocious perusal and back towards the elevator.

“C'mon, big guy,” Alexei bellows. “Let's go pay a visit to our doctor friends.”

As soon as the two men disappear into the elevator, your glower shifts towards the remaining two people standing behind Bucky. Yelena pretends to check her nails while Ava's eyes are roaming the ceiling with faux nonchalance, both a pathetic attempt to avoid the clear daggers in your stare. The ridiculousness would've made you chortle were you not livid beyond salvation right now.

“I want you two to go back to your rooms, clean yourselves up, and be back here in no more than thirty minutes,” you proclaim. “We'll continue our discussion after dinner.”

“Wait, hold on—”

“That's not—”

“Just go, you two,” Bucky interrupts, the blue in his eyes colder than the Arctic ocean. “That wasn't a request.”

The two figures slump in defeat, teetering towards the staircase with the speed of a turtle in a morning rush hour. You hear Yelena grumbling something in Russian under her breath, and you force yourself not to think about what the phrase might mean lest you want your skin to crawl in an even higher degree of vexation.

“Good gracious.” Bucky shakes his head.

Behind you, Bob emerges out of the kitchen, his shoulders drooping ever so slightly as he approaches you like a wounded kitten.

“They're mad at me, aren't they?” Bob murmurs. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you guys fight with each other.”

“It's not your fault, sweetie,” you assure him, extending your hand and offering a comforting squeeze around his palm. “They're just being idiots right now. You did good, okay? Give it a few hours and I promise you, they'll forget about this already.”

Bob nods solemnly, his voice quiet as he excuses himself and trudges towards the common area. You release a breath as you observe him diving head first onto the sofa, burying his face in the cushion like a Victorian widow fainting onto her chaise.

Turning around, your eyes lock with another pair in blue. The smile on Bucky's face grows as he takes you in, his arms opening with all the intention to collect you in his embrace.

“Hey, doll. I've missed—”

“No. Stay right there.” You raise your palm, taking a step back. “I'm mad at you, too.”

Bucky blinks.

He watches you turn around and walk away from him, his arms coming down limp by his sides before he scutters after your retreating form. Bucky lingers in the doorway as you move about the kitchen, taking out pots, knives, and pans while slamming the cabinet doors shut in the process. You don't even spare him a glance as you start retrieving fresh ingredients from the fridge.

“Honey?” he calls out, voice meek beneath the echo of your knife slicing through onions on the counter. “C'mon, doll, you're really not gonna talk to me?”

“No.”

The chopping continues.

Bucky rubs his face.

“You know I'm just as disappointed in them as you are, right?” he begins. “Swear to God, doll, I had nothing to do with this. Didn't even know what those rascals were planning ‘till I got the call from Alexei. Told ‘em off as soon as I extracted them outta there.”

“Hm.”

Sighing, Bucky takes a tentative step forward, then another, finally closing the distance when he's sure you wouldn't smack him across the head with the chopping board in your hand. His fingers find purchase around your elbow, halting your movements, the gentleness aching as he spins you around to face him. The knife and half-sliced onion lie dormant on the counter.

“Hey,” Bucky utters, so softly that the air nearly swallows the word whole. “Talk to me?”

You heave in a shaky breath, evading his eyes. “What's there to talk about? I told you I'm pissed.”

“Okay, that part I already got.” Bucky chuckles, brushing the back of his palm on your cheek. “Help me understand why? At least tell me how I can fix it, pretty girl. Hm?”

Your silence quivers at the edges, growing more brittle with each swipe of Bucky’s touch on your skin. The walls around your heart crumble under his infuriating tenderness.

“When Bob called and said the team had gone radio silent, I—” you pause, swallowing hard, “—I thought something terrible happened. I booked the first train out of Philly before I even hung up.”

Bucky stays quiet, watching you with careful eyes.

“I couldn’t reach anyone. Not John, not Yelena, not Ava, not Alexei—not you. And the longer I waited, the worse it got in my head. I pictured the mission going sideways. All of you gone.” You inhale sharply. “I pictured all of you coming home in body bags.”

Bucky's heart breaks at the shudder he feels running through your back. His soul is already mourning over the loss of light he would usually find shining so brightly out of your eyes. It makes him cling to you just a tad bit tighter.

“Bob finally called me again to tell me that you're all fine. That you're on your way back. But that's not the point, Bucky.” You look at him then, your fingers flexing. “The point is, I should've never heard about all of this from Bob in the first place. I should've heard it from you.”

Bucky's shoulders sink. “I didn't want you to worry.”

You shake your head, eyes burning with the threat of unshed tears. “But I do worry, Bucky! That’s the point. I worry every single time. The moment all of you step out of this building, I'm counting down the minutes until you guys return to me again. You can't shield me away from that.”

He steps closer, removing what little bit of distance between the two of you until all of your atoms are nearly merged as one. “You're right. You are. I should’ve called. Should've trusted that you'd want to know, even if it might scare you.”

“It did scare me,” you whisper. “And I didn’t want Bob’s voice telling me everything was okay. I wanted yours.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky murmurs, his arms pulling you nearer. “No more leaving you out. I promise it’ll be me from now on. I'll tell you everything, doll. Always.”

A shuddering breath leaves your lungs, and just like that, you completely melt away under Bucky's touch. Your forehead drops against the line between his shoulder and chest, your fingers gripping his sides as though he was the very force keeping you tethered to earth. Meanwhile, Bucky's lips ghost over the top of your head, whispering sweet nothings, the contrasting temperature of his palms appeasing you with random patterns against your back.

“I don't know how this all started,” you confess. “I'm not sure when I began caring this much about those idiots, but I do. The thought of something happening to them—to you—to all of you…”

Bucky's arms tighten around your frame. “I know, honey. I feel the same way.”

“This is not what I had in mind, you know?”

You tilt your head back to stare at his face, your fingers tangling themselves in the soft waves that Bucky has been growing out over the past few weeks. He almost cut them all off several days ago, but after some convincing on your end—which may have included activities that found your fingers buried in the soft tendrils and his face buried somewhere else—you managed to talk him out of it.

Bucky's eyebrows lift. “What do you mean?”

“Well… when you said that you were joining this team, I thought I'd never seen a more dysfunctional group of people in my entire life. I figured it'd be a miracle if all of you last a whole month without someone quitting or accidentally blowing each other up.” You chuckle, your eyes softening. “I didn't think I'd end up pacing the hallway every time you guys went out, worrying like some overworked mother of five.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh, his forehead falling onto your own. “I get it. This wasn’t exactly how I imagined myself stepping into the dad role either, but… here I am.”

“Yeah?” Your lips quirk up. “How did you imagine it then?”

“Well—” Bucky's voice drops, his breath warm where it fans against your skin, “—I figured it’d start with a little house, somewhere quiet. Nothing fancy. Just enough for us to start building a life in. I’d fix the place up real proper. You’d hum to yourself as you whip up one of those famous pies of yours, and I’d pretend not to stare.”

The cheeky grin on Bucky's face grows, prompting a laugh out of your chest. His thumb continues to trace idle circles upon your waist.

“Then, when you feel the time's right, we’d try for a baby. The old-fashioned way. Real slow, real sweet. I’d kiss you like I got all the time in the world, and make love to you like I didn’t.”

Something flutters inside your chest, like stardust stirring in a forgotten corner of the galaxy. The way Bucky is looking at you makes you feel as if you were the first breath of the universe itself.

“That's how I pictured us becoming parents,” Bucky adds, brushing his lips along your jaw. “Not… this. Whatever this is.”

You smile at the graze of his beard on your cheek, angling your head to capture him in a brief kiss.

“You know what I think this is, Buck?” you ask, teasing your lips against his own. “I think we should view this as a practice run. After all, how hard can it be to parent our own kid if we can do it to a group of five ridiculous, chaotic misfits, right?”

“Doll.” He sighs. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

“Depends.” You hum, your lips twitching in feigned innocence. “If you think I'm imagining you putting a baby in me… then yeah, you're absolutely right.”

Bucky swallows your cheeky grin with a kiss, grunting against your mouth as he presses you back against the counter. The muffled moans you let out are music to his ears, a lascivious melody that rushes straight towards places he reserves explicitly for you. His hands slip under your blouse, roaming the expanse of skin, drifting lower and lower in search for the one place that could send him straight to heaven and—

“Yelena! Give it back to me!”

“I told you it wasn't me!”

Bucky groans.

The shrill voices resonate all the way down to the kitchen, followed by the unmistakable echoes of footsteps thundering down the staircase. Bucky makes a guttural noise of frustration as his face slumps into the crook of your neck.

“I swear to God, I’m gonna ship them to Asgard one of these days,” he mutters.

You snort, brushing your fingers through his hair and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

“Let's put a raincheck on the baby-making, soldier,” you purr, smirking when it spurs on a rumble from Bucky's chest. “Looks like I've got a fight to break up before we have two dead superheroes on our hands.”

He groans again, this time at the loss of your warmth as you slip out of his arms. From the kitchen's doorway, you raise an eyebrow towards the common area, perching your palms on either side of your hips as you take in the havoc ahead.

“What the hell is going on here?” you snarl.

“She stole my snacks!” accuses Ava.

“I don't even like Jammie Dodgers, you lunatic!”

“What a lot of crap. We all know you'd even eat chicken off the ground given the chance, you pig!”

“Fucking asshole—”

“Hey!” you interrupt, your voice sharp as you march towards the two fuming Avengers. “You call each other any more names, then I promise you, you're gonna wish you got shot on that mission today.”

Bucky watches the whole interaction from the kitchen with his arms crossed and a slow grin spreading across his face. He leans against the counter, studying you with the quiet reverence of a man who has found the meaning of home after decades of searching. Even in the midst of this domestic madness, even with the team’s antics grinding on his last nerve, he wouldn't trade a single thing in his life for anything else.

There are still a lot of things in this world that Bucky struggles to understand.

But with you by his side, and his entire team watching his six, he knows that he's got nothing to worry about.

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jainaism · 7 months ago

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Chapter 2: Echoes of the Past

Beware of spoilers!

“My name is Jaina Proudmoore, Lord Admiral of the allied kingdom of Kul Tiras. This is Thrall, orc representative to the Horde Council, who is gravely wounded. We are both here at the direction of Danath Trollbane on a mission of peace, and we have urgent business with your regent. I demand you open these gates!

The guard in front of them simply shook his head. “I don’t think you understand,” Jaina said through gritted teeth, her staff glowing as she channeled the arcane. “I ask permission only as a courtesy—” She felt Thrall’s big yet gentle hand on her forearm. “Danath’s message may not yet have arrived, Jaina.” Jaina drew breath to argue, but Thrall pushed himself away from her. “We have a job to do, and I am a hindrance.” He nodded at the guard. “Do not make a mistake today. The Lord Admiral is here to meet your regent. I suggest you let her in.”

All looked afraid—a common response to a battle happening outside the city walls perhaps, though Jaina couldn’t help but sense there was something strange afoot. The people scattered before her, dragging children with them, slamming doors and windows behind as if she were the enemy. Beware the Daughter of the Sea. The unhappy memory sprang unbidden into Jaina’s mind. She dismissed it as quickly as it arrived, but it did nothing to improve her mood.

“Dalaran?” Marran cut in. She cocked her head at that, as if she hadn’t heard right. Then the regent moved around Jaina and sat in a more austere high-backed chair behind her desk before settling her elbows atop a mess of parchments. “I know you’ve seen a lot of war, Lord Admiral. I know how long you’ve ruled Kul Tiras.” She rifled through the pages on her desk until she found the one she sought. “But do you know how many bushels of grain your kingdom needs for the winter?” She held up another parchment. “How many horses plow the fields of Stormsong Valley?” Another scrap of paper. “The cost per hundredweight of iron ore?” She shook her head. “For years, Stromgarde has lost too many battles and cared too little for its people.” Jaina felt stung—she was losing her. “Of course,” said Jaina. “But there is another fight coming, one that threatens more than just our small kingdoms. It is a fight we must join against, orc and human alike. Fighting each other only diminishes the strength we must show, united. Let the 7th Legion and the Kor’kron fight side by side,” she said. “And perhaps in doing so, an understanding—a peace—can be found between your people and the Mag’har.”

Marran nodded, but now she looked at her desk. “I see. Now I see.” She looked up. “You’re not here to reinforce our borders, to help us . . . You’re here to lead the Auxiliary off on another grand adventure, aren’t you? Another foe to dispatch, another glorious war, the heroes saving us, one and all.” Marran’s expression hardened. Jaina’s heart thudded in her chest as the regent’s face flushed, her words almost hissed through clenched teeth.

Despite her concerns, Jaina could understand Marran’s position, even if it was illadvised. Stromgarde was ever at the mercy of the hostile forces that surrounded it, and it had been a major battlefront in the Fourth War. Jaina knew all too well what it was like to inherit a kingdom in distress, to have enemies lurking around every corner—to discover that your family’s greatest ally had betrayed you. Marran was only doing what she thought best for her people, but she desperately needed guidance. Her uncle’s, Jaina hoped, but she feared Danath’s return to Stromgarde was more likely to start a power struggle than calm tensions. In the end, she had opted to be prudent and penned the letter. But as Jaina crossed the city, she became acutely aware of just how little time she had. Danath might come, yes, but he might come too late. Jaina was here, now. It was up to her to find the right way forward.

Chapter 3: Bloodlines

“Talk,” said Thrall. He gestured to Eitrigg. “Diplomacy. Negotiation. Even now, Lady Jaina Proudmoore is at Stromgarde, on the same mission as I.” “And good luck to her,” said Geya’rah. “Marran Trollbane is not one for conversation. She far prefers to let her archers do the talking. Besides, as I told you—she isn’t finished.” “Explain,” said Thrall. “We know that Stromgarde is planning an attack,” said Talgar. “No mere skirmish this time: they intend to capture territory and expand their borders.”

After returning to the keep, Jaina brooded in her chambers, knowing she would need to leave on the morrow unless she could convince Danath’s kin to see reason. As the hours grew small, she heaved a sigh and resolved on seeking out Marran herself. Today had been filled with bloodshed for Stromgarde, and Marran’s emotions were naturally running high. As the sun sank low on the horizon, Jaina hoped her chance hadn’t come and gone. But as she opened the door to her chambers, she was stunned to see Marran herself, looking exhausted and somewhat embarrassed.

Marran stopped and held her torch aloft. “We walk in Arathor,” she said. “This is all that remains of that ancient place, the last echo of an old world. A fitting place for us to speak freely.” Jaina nodded. “I grew up learning the legend, how Thoradin saw the vision of his father, clad in the pelt of a black wolf, and how he founded the first kingdom of humans.” But Marran shook her head. “Not legend. History. One that I have been trusted to uplift and enrich through my own contributions. One that must not be forgotten.” She sighed as she turned to the other woman. “I am eager to continue our earlier conversation, but first I wanted to speak with you, about this.”

Jaina clenched her jaw as she thought. Every word from now on had to count. “The Mag’har are a people forged in battle,” she said, “and the Kor’kron are the most elite warriors in the Horde. Continue to escalate tensions with the Mag’har and you will lose. You say you wish to honor your people, care for them. Forge a pact with Geya’rah and enrich both your peoples, through friendship.” Marran took a moment to think. “Yet I stand in the same room as the most powerful mage in all Azeroth, the one who tipped the Battle for Lordaeron to the Alliance. And you tell me still that I will lose?” At this, Jaina sighed. “I came to offer you my advice, Marran, not my magic.”

Marran stood and, placing her torch in a wall sconce, pulled a short knife with a curved blade from her belt. She grabbed the wolf’s fur at the back of its head and lifted. The creature’s jaw hung open, revealing dagger-sharp white teeth. “Our people are broken,” Marran said as she got to work. “I learned that facing every conflict that struck Stromgarde; settling into this castle for a time, only to be spirited away to the country or shuttled about our allies’ holdfasts. Through it all, I read nothing but our glorious histories, watching as my parents died and my uncle rode to war again and again. I sat in this keep feeling helpless, realizing what precious little remained of the legacy of Arathor.” Jaina could only watch in horrified fascination as Marran began to skin the wolf, sickened by what she knew this ritual represented. “Dalaran’s fall marks the passing of yet another human kingdom, though it had become unrecognizable in recent times. Gilneas succumbed for so long to blight, and we do not speak of what transpired in Alterac . . . or Lordaeron.”

Jaina felt her heart sink as she realized the truth. Marran was more than just an inexperienced ruler, an idealist. She was a believer. A believer in a glorious past that Jaina also knew to be fantasy. Marran worshipped a misguided, even dangerous nostalgia for a golden age she had never experienced herself. Marran looked at Jaina. “The Arathi Highlands belong to humanity. They are the heart of a great empire whose blood runs in our veins even now, Jaina. We must purge them of all invaders and take back our kingdom. It is our birthright. It is what Thoradin fought for. And we are—I am—destined to continue his legacy.” Jaina struggled to contain her disdain as she spoke. “Marran, you are set on a path of annihilation.” “Will you help me, Jaina?”

Jaina’s hand flew to her neck, and her fingertips came away bloodied. She turned and saw an archer step out of the shadowed corridor behind them. A woman in a long black hooded cloak—the same bowman, Zatacia, who had shot Thrall and intercepted Jaina’s letter. And then Jaina collapsed, hitting the hard floor, her staff rolling out of her grip. She looked up, tried to focus on Marranas the world began to gray around her. Marran ducked down and picked up a dart from the floor before collecting the wolf pelt. “That won’t kill her, right? I can’t have the entire Alliance at us too.” The archer smirked. “The Daughter of the Sea will sleep well tonight.” And then Jaina was lost to the darkness.

Chapter 4: Marran's Choice

As twilight fell on the Highlands, Thrall looked out over the dusky landscape fromhis position atop one of Hammerfall’s many watchtowers. In the distance, the vague shadow of Stromgarde’s tallest tower was quickly swallowed by the falling night. Thrall wondered how Jaina’s mission was going. It couldn’t be any worse than his. (tsk tsk)

Jaina woke with a start. The room was dark and eerily quiet. She sat up, only for the thundering pain in her head to almost send her back to oblivion. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten, then tried again—slower this time.

She gingerly felt her neck. Zatacia’s dart had only just grazed her, but it had been enough to deliver a knockout dose of sleeping poison. Or had it? Because now Jaina was awake, and while it was night, she realized that the effects of the poison had worn off far sooner than Marran had planned. She moved to the window and opened the drapes, revealing a city brightly lit by two moons high in the night. A city that was quiet and still—far too still.

Jaina wasted no time. She had to stop Marran before it was too late. Picking up her staff from the floor, Jaina focused her power and teleported out of the room.

Racing up the slope, already conjuring another elemental, Jaina saw a troop of warriors engaged in a fierce melee. Staff alight, Jaina channeled the arcane. She might not be able to stop the battle single-handedly, but she could do her best to keep the combatants apart and casualties low.

With a battle cry, Geya’rah kicked her heels into her mount and rode off toward the mage, but as she crested the next hill, she realized all too late that she had charged straight into an attack. She saw the flash of light, bright as the morning sun’s first shard, and then the water elemental, summoned by Jaina, barreling toward her, growing in size until it filled her entire vision. Geya’rah knew it was too late to even try to outrun it, but she still pulled the reins of her mount, turning the beast, which howled in protest in a last-ditch attempt to avoid contact. The elemental struck her like a runaway kodo, and as the magical creature vanished in a splash of purple light, Geya’rah found herself thrown from her mount.

Chapter 5: The Battle of Go'Shek Farm

This is hopeless, thought Jaina as she raced across the battlefield. While she was doing her best to keep fighters away from each other with arcane magic, she knew she couldn’t be everywhere at once, and she had seen enough fighting to know which side was going to win. Marran had gambled, and she had lost. Now Jaina had to find her before it was too late.

Marran got to her feet, but Jaina was faster, aiming her staff squarely at the regent.“Is this how the Alliance treats its own, Lord Admiral? Compliance by force?” Jaina approached, ready to subdue the regent if necessary. “Open your eyes, Marran! For all your talk of the Alliance chasing meaningless battles, you’ve started the most meaningless one of all.” Arcane energy crackled down her staff. “You’ve lost. I won’t let you inflict further damage on your kingdom or the Alliance.” Above them, the sky flared red, blinding in the failing night. Jaina gasped in surprise and stepped back, turning her focus from Marran as she shielded her eyes. The two women looked to the north.

“If you would permit me a word with my regent, Lord Admiral?” Jaina stepped to one side as Danath Trollbane walked out onto the field, leaders of the Stromic army following close behind. Marran’s eyes thinned to slits, locking with Jaina’s as her uncle approached. “I showed you mercy beneath the keep. I don’t make the same mistake twice.” Jaina joined Danath’s side.“Neither do I. I didn’t trust the situation in Stromgarde from the moment I passed under its gates. For all I knew, that courier would deliver the letter straight to you anyway.”

He turned to Jaina. “Kurdran and Turalyon wait for us at Stromgarde. I suggest we join them.” Dawn broke as the party, now joined by Talgar, Eitrigg, the Kor’kron, and the 7th Legion, arrived at Stromgarde. Kurdran Wildhammer and Turalyon were waiting in the square outside the main keep. Turalyon shook Jaina’s hand. “Lord Admiral, the Sons of Lothar will answer your call.” Kurdran coughed. “Little dramatic, Turalyon? We’ve not gone by that name in . . . What? Two decades? More?” The paladin grinned. “Maybe it’s time we reclaim it.” He turned to Jaina. “Once Danath gave me his report on the summit at Boralus, I realized the gravity of the situation. You’ll have to forgive my absence at your council.” “Of course,” Jaina said. “But tell me, what of the Radiant Song? How does Stormwind fare?” Turalyon pursed his lips. “The troubles still weigh on my mind, but I’ve left Genn to rule—he’ll keep a tight rein on things in my absence.”

Although the subject of the story is rather hackneyed, I liked it. I really liked the way Jaina is written here, much better than in Shadows rising, and I'm glad that she finally got the novella.

#jaina proudmoore #world of warcraft #warcraft #jaina #jaina proudmoore daily #alliance #wow #thrall #tww #war witnin

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paladin-of-nerd-fandom65 · 1 year ago

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Happy New Year’s Eve to you too! :D I can’t wait for that “crossover” with the duo. I bet it’s young avengers or something (I’m more DC than marvel to be honest)

1: what is something the duo will never forget? Like Clark telling Chris you belong here; a El instead of a zod.

2: what’s their favorite YouTubers to watch?

3: I know you answer this already but every character in mortal kombat have two fatalities, so what other fatality would you give them? How about friendship move? I can Jake using his sticks to create firework sparklers.

4: when Chris use his darkness powers, is it like energy balls/blast or flames?

5: if it’s flames can he use it setting his farts on fire? or have Kon-El do the farting while Chris have his darkness near his butt XD

6: how would you write Superman & Lois? I definitely need more time to write more seasons lol

Just for a minor spoiler, that crossover for the Starburst Duo I had in mind (at least for the idea stage) is with Dragon Ball and given my liking of Son Gohan….I think you can piece together something from there lol

Anyways in celebration of the New Year, my last ask for 2023….

1) Aside that talk he has with Clark in reconciling on the Moon looking at a sight over the Earth, Chris’ most memorable moment would be the first ever time Jon finally had full flight which meant he joins Chris in the air, first the first time ever playing sky tag.

Meanwhile for Jake, besides that fateful duel with Zsasz and subsequent comfort he got in the hospital from Chris and his loved ones, his first ever patrol at the age of 8 years alongside Batman which invoked taking on both Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy at Bludhaven Stadium is one he’d always treasure and for good reasons.

2) I lean on Linkara of Atop of The Fourth Wall, The Blockbuster Buster and Angry Joe as their main go tos, otherwise the Duo would find both Nightwing and Superman channels which are highlights of their amazing feats captured from their smart phone cameras and more.

3) Chris; One other Fatality I can see him do would be a combination of sorts of Both Superman’s and Supergirl’s Injustice finishers. First, punching his opponent across the atmosphere in rapid succession, followed with a clear uppercut right into Earth’s Orbit finalized with a huge blast of heat vision that zaps into said opponent accelerating their fall to Earth and crashing in a massive asteroid sized explosion.

As for a Friendship, he’d use his shadowy aura to create flowers for giving while offering a free hand to pick up his beaten opponent of the ground

Jake; First he’d use a Starbolt charged Thunderclap blast his opponent back straight into the nearest wall, following it up with speed rushing to their face and laying down savage punch after right in the face, then grabbing them by the color, slamming them back first onto the ground and finally using a overcharged Starbolt on his escrima to slam it on the opponent head, the subsequent explosive discharge shaped like a massive lightning bolt.

For his Friendship, as you said, he’d use his sticks and starbolts to create sparkles while giving a respectful bow to his dazed and confused opponent.

4) Visually speaking, if not for his shadow based powers, they’d resemble energy blasts and balls akin to Dragon Ball’s Ki blasts and charge ups

5) As for the old flatulence stunt….I actually see both Conner and Chris not exactly going for it albeit for differing reasons; Conner as he thinks doing that is so 2000s, it’s no longer cool while Chris simply thinks it’s gross

6) Well, I’ll freely admit it has been quite some long time since I’ve seen enough clips of the show itself but I will give this.

Since Jon’s ten years old and likely attending Middle School, he’d instead take part in the baseball team as opposed to football. That said, I can see for see Clark being one of the coaches and during one game, Jon gets hit in the face with a ball when batting, the pain involuntarily causing his developing heat vision to burn up so Clark would use a hand to catch said heat cain on it so it doesn’t create a massive fire while calming down his hurt son. Jon feels real bad about it afterwards and locks himself in his room out of fear and anxiety about his loss of control. Not helping of his super hearing picking up on things all over the place and struggling to control it.

He’d mumble to his parents and brother something around the lines of “it’s too much….too big”. Then Clark would remember what his mother Martha told him once “Try making it little small” which help calm his senses down and allows the family to come in and comfort him

So yeah a bit of both the show and even Man of Steel 2015 (one of the actual gold scenes) thrown in if anything lol

#chris kent #jake grayson #starburst duo #son gohan #dragon ball #youtube #mortal kombat #connor kent #jonathan samuel kent #clark kent #superman & lois #dc cinematic universe #man of steel

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landofvinesandmonoliths · 2 years ago

Text

I just made a post focusing on the fourth chapter of my fanfic and some quotes from it, but I'm actually really proud of my work so I'm just gonna go through and put some of my favorite parts into this post.

Spoilers for my fanfic below!

From chapter one, Jiang Cheng: Waking Up

The man in the driver’s seat turns to face you and you gasp. You are not normally the type to be taken off-guard by a pretty face, but this face isn’t normal. There’s something unreal about the perfection of his soft features, his bright eyes, his dark and shining hair. Atop his head bloom perfect white peonies. And yet…

Your eyes chase the stems of the flowers down to where they wrap around his neck, too tight to be comfortable. Then back up to his forehead, where more peonies bloom out of a crack in his skull.

You are at your breaking point. “All right, who slipped me acid,” you growl.

(I'm both very pleased with the prose for the description and also love the way Jiang Cheng's dialogue shifts the tone)

Wei Wuxian’s expression darkens, fists clenching. He closes his eyes, breathes in, breathes out. Eyes open. “I suppose I should start at the beginning. You know the tenement on Qiongqi Way?” Enough people nod for him to continue. “One of my deliveries was taking me in that direction when I noticed a lot of cops just waiting around. I evesdropped and heard that there was going to be a mass eviction, but they were waiting for the apartment super to get back to them with some paperwork. So I ran and beat the super back to the office, got in through the window, and started burning every relevant piece of paper I could find.”

Lan Xichen slowly pinches the bridge of his nose. “You could have reached out.”

“Yeah, because the Winter Court loves it when I connect myself to a crime via text.”

Luo Qingyang snickers.

“Cool, great.” Wei Wuxian grins. “Buckle up because that’s the last time any of this will be funny.

(fuck cops! Also keep in mind that you gotta have good infosec)

“Lan Xichen, or, Zewu-jun,” you’re not sure what you’re supposed to call him. “I’m sorry for my behavior earlier. And for putting a hole in your wall.”

He loads a towel and a change of clothes into your arms. “Your behavior was understandable and not reflective, I’m sure, of who you are on your better days. But I am not the one you need to apologize to. After all, sometimes being court leader means knowing how to patch drywall.” He gives you a smile.

(this line is literally so important to me it makes me want to bite things. Yes this is my own writing. Yes i am insane about it)

It feels real, like nothing else today has. You’re in your body and you’re here. Your feet carry your weight and root you down to the square tiles beneath them. You curl your toes over the grout lines. Beneath the tile is the story below, then the one below that, until you reach the foundation. You can imagine your feet supported by the skeleton of the building, all the trusses and studs, beams and posts. Rooted, down to the earth. Everything eventually returns to solid ground. Everything makes it to the bottom.

(Isn't comforting, that there's always a bottom?)

Chapter 2, Lan Qiren: Haunted

You sit together at your coffee table. They seem too solid to be ghosts. But what do you know about ghosts—the real kind. You’re a high school principal, not a wackjob with dousing rods and a camcorder. Or whatever ghost hunters are using these days.

It is 8:29pm. You will not be getting eight hours of sleep tonight.

“Are you two aware that you’re dead?” you ask.

A-Huan’s eyes are too deep as he holds your gaze. “We’re not dead.”

Your voice shakes. “A-Huan, I’m sorry but I saw you die. You and A-Zhan both died eight years ago.”

He shakes his head. “No we didn’t. That wasn’t us.”

“Then what are you?” Fear creeps down the back of your neck.

“We’re the real ones.”

(frankly given that this is a no cultivation urban fantasy au, Lan Qiren's doing pretty well)

The clock on the wall says 9:10 and you step outside. How many years has it been since you left your house this late? You don’t remember. Long enough that the night air is unfamiliar. The darkness and rain just beyond your porch form a wall. Behind you is all you’ve grown familiar with. Your routines, your comforts, your griefs. Ahead of you is something wild and unknown. Your nephews came to you through that world. If they can face it, so can you.

The three of you set out. You don’t own a car (never needed one) so it’s going to be a long walk.

The surface of the street is all streaks of color. Gold and white from streetlights, ruby and emerald from the traffic signals, and all else is jet black and polished. You have never found the city beautiful before. Beauty is found in mountains, in deep forests, in the natural world, in art. The city is a grimy thing packed too tight, blood vessels ready to pop in a large scale aneurysm of congestion and human folly. You didn’t expect a rainy night to transform the harsh greys into a jewelry box. You expected it to be cold and uncomfortable and you were right, but the reality is far stranger and far more precious.

(my love letter to the city on a rainy night)

There’s so much of this city you don’t recognize. More than once you turn a corner expecting to see a familiar restaurant or store, only to find new construction. Each change brings with it a pang of regret. You haven’t thought of that bookstore in years, haven’t gone out for hotpot in this neighborhood since the last time you tried dating. It is foolish to suddenly miss these places that you’d let disappear from your memory.

Maybe ghosts are not just memories, but also absence made physical. You invited this haunting in and your life grew small around it. Home and work, work and home. Books and solitary music practice on the weekends. Instructional yoga videos to stave off the back pain. You don’t have any friends, just coworkers you get along with. How easy it is to mistake complacency for comfort and loneliness for self sufficiency!

(I'm really proud of those two paragraphs)

You usher everyone back under the dubious shelter of the dumpster and pull out your phone. The time on the screen flashes 1:32am. Funny that this is what makes you wonder if you’ve lost your mind. Magic? Other worlds? Your family back from the dead? All that’s fine, but god forbid you stay up late.

(He's so grumpy :))

Chapter 3, Wei Wuxian: (Re)United

You finish the shower and change into the clothes Zewu-jun set out for you. They’re definitely Lan Zhan’s. You know this for a number of reasons. 1: they’re blue and white. 2: they mostly fit you but are a bit long. 3: they smell like him. Sandalwood and ice.

Ha! You’re wearing Lan Zhan’s underwear. That’s funny and a very normal thing to spend several minutes thinking about.

(IT BEGINS)

“Lan Qiren?” he clarifies. “Oh! But you called him Principal Lan! Does that mean you’re in high school?” His eyes are wide with wonder.

“Yes? You’re not?”

“Well, I’m only 13, but I won’t be able to go to high school. Which is a bummer because there’s no drama in a three person study group. No good gossip, and certainly no shenanigans.” He looks mournfully at you.

You stare at him. “How did you guess that I’m great for shenanigans?”

“Oh!” he claps. “I didn’t, but I was hoping!” He looks like he’s about to say something, but pauses. “What’s your name?”

“Wei Wuxian.”

“Well, Wei Wuxian, we simply have to be friends."

(THEY ARE BABIES)

Lan Zhan strides past the kitchen door and you count all your blessings that he’s not going in there to confront them. He stops at the front door and looks around, calculating. With grace and precision he reaches out and pushes over the coat rack.

No one is going to believe you.

It hits the ground with a crash. The argument in the kitchen stops.

The two of them look out into the hallway. Jiang Fengmian looks guilty (doubly so when he sees you and Jiang Cheng) while Yu-furen looks furious.

Before either can speak, Lan Zhan clears his throat. “I will be leaving now. Thank you for your hospitality.”

(15ish year old lan zhan knows how to end an argument like a cat)

“That has some fascinating implications that we don’t have time to get into,” says Zewu-jun.

“Yeah!” you say like your motley mates haven’t already been treated to your rambling conjectures on the topic while you were running for your lives.

(in any au, wwx is still wwx)

Chapter 4, Lan Wangji: Observing a Change

“If it wasn’t for the fact that we’re both going to remember this, I’d sit on you.”

A sound, unbidden, starts to rise in your throat. You choke it off.

“Wow!” he laughs. “No need to sound that disgusted.”

“Wei Ying.” There is an uncontrolled tremor in your voice. “You are naked.”

He laughs again. “Lan Zhan, you’re so funny. What does it matter? We’re both boys. I’ve got nothing you haven’t seen before.”

But it wasn’t yours! You look at the ceiling.

(i am so meany to lan zhan >:))

Despite everything, you can feel yourself relaxing bit by bit as his warmth seeps through your shirt. Oh how this is everything you’ve wanted but nothing like how you wanted it!

Yet you will take it. You are greedy. If he offers, you will take. Hand in hand, heart in hand, head resting against shoulder. None of these gestures mean to him what they mean to you. Even though it feels close to lying (lying is forbidden) you will take it all.

You were never as poor a fit for Spring as everyone believed.

(spring is the court of desire. The longing, the aching of it! My heart!)

As its jaw unhinges and meaningless syllables echo through the halls, you wonder if you should feel anything other than calm focus. This is undoubtedly one of the most dangerous fights you’ve ever been in. You are young, untested. Is your confidence unwarranted?

No. It is not. You drive Bichen into the roof of the monster’s mouth. Your confidence is based in your skill and faith in your training. You pull free before the jaws snap shut. The end of your sleave shreds on the teeth.

(He's so cool!!!! Also yes I am cutting that sleeve on purpose)

In the dark windows of the train you can see your reflection. Unlike any mortal surface, this dream-reflection comes back true. You are monotone, and your cheeks catch the light, reflecting it back. You and the window toss light back and forth, creating a dizzying hole of endless repetition. Images copied from one surface and returned to the other until they are too small to be distinct. Yet even then the light continues on.

(I like this passage)

When the lights come back they come with a vengeance. Bright, multicolored, dazzling. Torches, neon, paper lanterns, streetlamps, candles, LED strings. Cacophony of technologies all bent on driving out the darkness.

As your eyes adjust, you find your surroundings match the lights. You stand in the middle of a narrow street paved with dark brick, and all around you the buildings tower. Thousands of years of architectural styles stacked on each other, eating one another. They lean and twist, blocking out the sky. Above you bridges crisscross the street, random as cobwebs.

Wei Ying is still beside you, taking in the sights. “Nightless City,” he observes eventually. “Yeah, I can see how living here would drive you mad.”

You agree, though you wonder if he’s noticed the details. Above you the buildings shine. Gilded wood, clean windows. But down here at the bottom everything feels abandoned. Paint peels, concrete crumbles. The windows are boarded up, the neon flickers. The empty gravity is hard to stand under. How often does the whale fall? When does the very bottom receive nourishment?

(my love letter to the city when it will eat you alive)

Wen Ruohan may appear aged, but now that you are inside the mist with him, you feel his power.

“The key to fighting,” Luo Qingyang told you once, impishly, “is don’t get into fights you won’t win.”

Wei Ying, along with several others, had laughed. But then she went on to show you exactly what she meant. How to read your opponents strengths and avoid them, how to find their weaknesses and exploit them.

The two of you circle one another. Wielding a soft weapon requires of him the same level of precision the situation demands of you. You are matched there. Committing to a strike would leave you open, but the same goes for him.

You have an advantage though. This is not Wen Ruohan: this is Wen Chao’s image of Wen Ruohan. And you are Lan Wangji. If Wen Chao knows anything about you, he knows that you are cold, emotionless, and that you never lie (lying is forbidden).

You feint left.

He falls for it.

(LAN ZHAN IS SO COOL HE MEANS SO MUCH TO ME)

#the untamed #mdzs #my fanfiction #untamed fanfiction #changeling the lost

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