#ive grown a lot in those seven years | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

minty-mumbles · 3 years ago

Text

True Colors

Summary: Monsters are stupid, but they do have excellent color vision, and can recognize patterns almost as well as Hylians. This leads to some misunderstandings.

Or:

Monsters assume that Hylians operate under the same color system as they do.

Content Warning: Not much to note. A few Bokoblins die.

Author's Note: I wrote this to fill this prompt from @linkeduniverse-prompts. It got way out of hand and ended up being about 3k words longer than I expected. I have a cheat sheet about color meanings at the end.

(Read on AO3 Here)

~~~

Greg wasn’t stupid. Well, he had been told plenty of times by his sisters that he was. He was a Red Bokoblin, and Reds weren't known for being very smart. (Not that any kind of Bokoblins were, but that was irrelevant to Greg.)

But personally, he felt he was a lot smarter than many of the others in his clan. Like Jeff.

Jeff was an idiot, even by Bokoblin standards.

It was because he was so intelligent, Greg thought, that he was able to devise a plan to sneak up on this group of travelers. (Truthfully, he wasn't being very sneaky. The group he was tracking was just being particularly unobservant at the moment.)

Greg had seen the perils of attacking first and asking questions later first hand. His brother, Derek, had done so, and picked a fight with the wrong group of travelers. Derek had paid the price for that mistake with his life. And then Derek II did the same... And then Derek III. And then there was Derek IV, who truthfully hadn’t made that poor of a choice in target. It was just plain unfortunate that that Hylian hero had shown up and lit him on fire. (Honestly, maybe his parents should stop naming their kids Derek.)

Not that picking a fight with the wrong Hylians was particularly hard to do for them. Their clan was mostly Reds, the lowliest and weakest of their kind. Only his eldest sisters were lucky enough to be born as Blues. If they went up against any Hylian but the weakest, they were in trouble.

So, yeah. Greg had seen many of his fellow clanmates fall to stupidity. He wasn’t going to be one of them.

At least he hoped so. Jeff might get him killed anyway. Greg didn't know why his sisters always put the two of them together for patrol duty.

Greg crept relatively silently through the bush towards the loudly chattering group of Hylians, letting out only an occasional squeal. Jeff, however, was moving as if he were a Hinox, and he was going to get them caught. Never mind Greg’s brilliant plan of sneaking up on the group of Hylians and seeing what they were up against first.

He turned to Jeff and tried to mime that he should stay here, while Greg got closer to check things out. Unfortunately, it just looked like flailing, with the occasional slap thrown in, and Jeff didn’t seem to understand. Thankfully, he seemed content to stay put. He had gotten distracted by a strange glowing blue ball halfway through Greg’s attempt at communication. Greg really didn't care, as long as Jeff shut up and didn’t move.

Greg crept further forward on his own. When he finally reached the treeline, he hid behind a fallen log, and set about observing the group.

Immediately, his malice-filled veins ran cold.

This was not an ordinary group of travelers.

The intricacies of the Hylians’ marking system were somewhat lost on Monsters as a whole, and although he prided himself on his above-average intelligence, Greg was no exception. The Bokoblin marking system was very straightforward. Those who were Red, like Greg, were the weakest. Then came the Blues, then the Blacks, the Whites, the Silvers, and then the mightiest of all Bokoblins, the Golds. It was quite simple. It telegraphed their ranks and battle prowess nicely, both to other Bokoblins, and to their enemies. Greg thought it was rather thoughtful to give their enemies a heads up on what they were going to be fighting.

Hylians were not in the habit of returning that favor. No Bokoblin had managed to really make heads or tails of their marking system. There were only a few accepted truths that all young Bokoblins are taught.

Brown was the most common coloration, and was pretty much assumed to be similar to Red Bokoblins. There wasn’t anything particularly special about the Browns, except that they were good at running away. A couple Reds could take down a Brown with no trouble.

Then there were the Whites. They were only really found near central Hyrule, near one of the Great Hylian Camps. They were much faster than the Browns and actually seemed to know what they were doing with weapons. They were also very good at sneaking. Greg knew that many camps had been wiped out by White Hylians.

Then there were the Reds. These were possibly the strangest of all the colors. Greg’s sire had told him that they were to be treated, cautiously, as allies. They never attacked Bokoblins without provocation, and they even occasionally teamed up with Bokoblins to take down the Hylians, especially the Whites.

Next up on the Hylian totem pole were the Blues. Personally, Greg thought it was weird that Hylians placed Blue above White, but Hylians as a whole were very strange. Except for a few sightings recently, Blues hadn’t been seen for many, many generations. Their legend persisted though, as they were perhaps the most consistent of all the Hylian colorations. If a Hylian had a bright blue coloring, you could assume that they would have high quality weapons, and would know what to do with them. Browns would even run towards them for protection, or so Greg was told.

They had been known for working together in large groups to bring down entire camps of Bokoblins. Greg had once been told that Bokoblins learned how to band together, and how to find safety in numbers from observing these Hylians.

And then.

And then there were the Greens.

If Blues were legendary, Greens were mythical. Sightings of them were few and very far between, which might have to do with the fact that the Bokoblins who saw them didn’t live to tell the tale. The destruction they wrought was so absolute that even if they hadn’t been seen for hundreds of years, their legend lived on.

(Greg himself had seen one, once. He had only lived because he had run away before the Green had spotted him. He usually tried not to think about it.)

So, yeah. Greg had been expecting a small group of Browns, perhaps some Whites or a Blue thrown in.

That was not what he had gotten.

This was an entire goddamn clan of Greens.

A loud yell from the pair closest to Greg covered up his shocked squeal, as his brain tried to process exactly how much danger he was in.

He could count seven Hylians in front of him, huddled around a campfire. The pair closest to him were wrestling on the ground. Distantly, Greg was reminded of how his sisters wrestled to assert dominance, but these Greens seemed to be much friendlier about it than his sisters were. They weren’t even drawing any blood. The one who currently seemed to be winning wore armor around his shoulder, and a stripe of bright blue around his neck.

That made Greg pause for a moment. Was this a Blue instead of a Green?

But no, the Hylian’s torso was covered in undeniable green.

Similarly, the one pinned under the Blue-Green wore a Red tunic, but under that, a dark Green gave him away. Perhaps the two were some sort of hybrid? The concept of hybrid Bokoblins was foreign. Bokoblins were always one color, but who knew with Hylians.

Most Hylians did not accept Reds into their groups, as they were hostile towards others of their own kind. Maybe that was why Blue-Green was wrestling with Red-Green?

A few yards away, another pair sat on a log watching the pair fight, with a third tending to a fire nearby. The two sitting on the log were the biggest Hylians Greg had seen in this group. If he had to pinpoint any of them as the leaders of this clan, it would be these two. One was covered in armor, which Greg had only seen on the most skilled Hylians, and only in small amounts. The fact that this Hylian was covered in the stuff was intimidating. Greg couldn’t really tell what color this Hylian was, as the armor covered him, but this must be the leader. He was big enough for it, and the one next to him seemed to be showing him a good amount of respect.

The Hylian sitting next to the Leader seemed more like the run-of-the-mill Green. (Not that any Green was run-of-the-mill, but whatever.) The most notable thing about him was the wolf pelt he wore around his shoulders, which did give Greg pause.

His sisters wore the skins of large animals they hunted, as a symbol of their higher status. Neither of them had a wolf pelt, though. Wolves were strong creatures, and best left alone. It could take an entire clan to take down a fully grown wolf, let alone a whole pack. The fact that this Hylian, who wasn’t even the leader of this clan, was wearing the wolf pelt so openly was clearly a warning.

The third was crouched over the fire, moving the logs around with a stick for some reason. This one was a White-Green, a long white covering over his shoulders. He was listening to the conversation between the Leader and Wolf-Pelt, occasionally adding his own thoughts.

Once Greg was able to get over his shock of seeing so many Greens in one place, he was able to see that they weren’t actually all Greens. Two of them, huddled closely together, were just wearing pale Blue. Not quite as concerning as the others, but still strong.

One of them was smaller than any of the others in the clearing. He wore a pale blue covering. Greg paused in confusion. In a group of powerful Greens, why would they tolerate a small, weak Blue? Clans could become stronger, as Greg’s was, as stronger Bokoblins were born. But if his clan was made up of Blues, and a Red was born, they would be killed or driven out. There was no room for weakness.

But then again, Hylians were very strange. Perhaps, since this Blue was obviously a youngling, they had simply not matured into their adult Green coloration? It was possible.

The youngling was crouched over a strange flat rock, held by the other Blue. Now, this one was the same size as the others in the group, and obviously an adult. The excuse of being a youngling did not apply to him.

So why….?

The Blue shifted, lifting the strange rock, and handing it off to the Youngling, joined the White-Green near the fire. As he did, Greg caught sight of a familiar symbol on the rock.

An eye.

The symbol was not strange to him. It was scattered all over the land on large black rocks. However, to see it on a smaller rock like this… seemed familiar, and not in a good way.

Greg strained his memory to try to remember when he had seen this before, and then it hit him.

He had seen this strange rock before, when Derek IV was killed. He had gone after a pair of Brown Hylians who had unwisely traveled off the road. Greg, still being quite young at that point, had hung back to see how it was done. It had gone well for a while. Derek IV chased the pair, swinging a club at them, while the Hylians screeched in fear and scrambled away.

Then, swooping down from the sky like a bird of prey, a Blue Hyalin descended. True to legend, Greg had watched the Browns scramble toward the newcomer for protection. Derek IV, likely having fallen asleep during their sire’s lessons, did not register the danger of this Hylian’s color, and ran straight towards the group.

Greg had watched in horror as his brother was cut down with graceful ease. He hadn’t even had time to squeal a battle cry before he was falling to the earth with a flaming sword buried in his side.

He continued to stare in mounting terror as the Blue bent down and harvested his brother's teeth. The Blue had even taken Derek IV’s weapon for his own before his brother finally took enough fire damage, and broke down into smoke, disappearing.

The Blue had approached the Browns, who hadn’t even looked disgusted at the looting of a body, and had instead gifted the Blue food as a token of appreciation for his protection.

Greg came to a sudden realization. This was no Blue. He was colored like one, but he was alone. According to legends, Blues came in packs, ruthlessly efficient in working together. Besides that, Greg could imagine only one color that was that efficient at killing.

Greens.

Greg didn’t know why this Green was disguised as a Blue, But he didn’t stick around to find out. The last thing he caught sight of was a strange rock on the Green’s hip, with an ominous eye on the front of it. He had booked back to the safety of his clan’s camp. Not that he harbored any delusions that anyone in his clan would survive if the Green-in-Disguise found them.

Thankfully, he hadn’t, and Greg had grown up trying desperately not to fall into the same trap of attacking first and finding out the consequences later as Derek IV had.

Now, the same strange eye symbol was back, on the same strange rock, in the possession of the same Green-in-Disguise. Well, the same clan, at least. The Youngling was still fiddling with the rock, occasionally calling out to the Green-in-Disguise. Greg could only assume it must be some type of weapon, if a Green was in possession of it.

Greg stumbled back, turning to flee. He had saved himself once by fleeing in the face of one Green, and he wouldn’t make the mistake of trying to take on seven Greens at once.

Wait- hold that thought. A rustle in the bushes on the opposite side of the clearing caught his eye. Against his better judgment, he crept back to look. If that was Jeff coming to look for him, and he stumbled into the encampment of a clan of Greens in the process, Greg was not going to be helping him.

Fortunately, (or unfortunately, Greg thought privately,) it wasn’t Jeff. It was two more Greens.

Greg felt faint, and nearly swooned on the spot as Wolf-Pelt called out in greeting to the two new arrivals.

These two new arrivals were underwhelming. They were both small. In fact, one of them was even smaller than the youngling already in the camp. His coloring was a strange mash-up of Blue, Red, and, oddly, Purple, which was a color that Greg had never heard of Hylians being. But he also had Green, plain as day. Greg had to wonder if this Four-Color was even younger than the Youngling. Maybe it wasn’t certain yet what his strength level was going to be?

The other was of a more reasonable height for a Hylian, although not as big as many of the others. He had brown coloration peeking out from underneath his green. Perhaps this was the weakest of them all? But again, if he was tolerated in this, frankly overpowered, clan of Greens, then there must be more to him than meets the eye.

But these two new arrivals, no matter how unthreatening they looked, meant the clan now numbered nine. Greg had never seen a Bokoblin clan this large, let alone a Hylian one, at least outside of the Great Hylian Camps. Normally, Hylians only traveled in small groups.

This was bad. If an entire clan of Greens had appeared in Hyrule, then the Hylians were getting stronger. He had to report this to his sisters.

With a determined grunt, Greg turned back to where he had left Jeff. He needed to collect him, and then head back. Under the circumstances, he didn’t think his sisters would care about them not finishing their patrol route.

When he arrived back to the place he left Jeff, his brother was still absorbed with kicking around that strange glowing blue ball from before. Greg didn't know what it was, but at this point he didn’t particularly care. He just wanted to get back to the slight safety of their camp.

Just as he was about to squeal at his brother that it was time to go, he heard a shout from behind him. It was one of the Greens, calling out. For a moment, Greg was worried that they had been discovered.

Then, he didn’t have to wonder anymore.

The weird glowy ball that Jeff had been playing with exploded in blue light. Before Greg could even shield his eyes against the light, it was over. The explosion had taken Jeff out in one hit. His brother's body was already disappearing into smoke, leaving nothing behind.

Greg knew they had been discovered. Somehow, this whole situation must have been a trap, and it had been set up by the Greens. They must have known that Greg was there the entire time.

These Greens were terrifying. Greg could hear Hylian footsteps moving in his direction, and booked it out of the clearing. He wasn't sticking around for them to find him. He was leaving.

At least his sisters couldn't put him with Jeff on patrol anymore.

~~~

It was a rather chilly night. The seasons were just changing in his Hyrule, splashes of reds and golds dotted here and there as some trees started to shed their leaves, and the autumn air wasn’t exactly warm or balmy.

The group usually waited until Wild was ready to make dinner to start a fire, but not tonight. Sky volunteered to collect firewood, and only stopped to set down his pack before leaving to search for kindling. Four and Hyrule also left to scout the area, and make sure there weren't any threats lingering nearby.

Wild helped Time and Twilight move some fallen logs into the clearing for makeshift benches, and then collapsed onto the nearest one. He sighed, and pulled his boots off, shaking a pebble out of the left one that had been bothering him for hours. He didn’t immediately put the boots back on, letting his feet relax after a long day of walking.

Wind settled next to him, Time and Twilight not far off. Legend and Warriors were already bickering about something or another, snarking at each other for where they were perched across the empty fire ring.

Wind sniffed next to him. “Goddess, Wild, your feet stink! Why did you take your shoes off?”

Wild very maturely stuck out his tongue at the younger hero, pointedly ignoring Time’s muttered: “Don’t encourage him, we already have one squabbling pair, we don’t need another.” Wild stuck his dirty boots back in his slate, pulling out one of his cleaner pairs. Wind, forgetting the apparent stench, shifted closer in interest.

“So, how many different sets of clothing do you keep in there?” Wild shifted to show Wind his slate, swiping through the armor and clothing he accumulated on his journey.

“So, this is the Sheikah stealth set. It’s the first set of clothes I bought after waking up from my shrine. I got it in Kakariko. Before that, I was basically wearing a set of rags I found in my Shrine.”

A rustle from across the clearing drew Wild’s attention as Wind continued to poke at the slate. It was just Sky, carrying an armful of wood. Before the Skyloftian could start to set up the fire, Warriors took things one jeer too far, causing Legend to leap across the pit, tackling him off his log. Sky didn’t even do a double-take, ignoring the two wrestling near the side of the clearing, and started to get the fire going.

Next to Wild, Time and Twilight were watching the fight with interest. Twilight turned to Time. “Should we stop them?”

Time shrugged. “They’re not actually hurting each other, are they? Think of it as hand-to-hand combat training.” Twilight stared at Time as Legend got pinned underneath Warriors, and screeched, biting his hand in retaliation.

Time stared back. There was a moment of silence, before Time spoke again. “Fifty rupees that Legend wins.”

Twilight sighed, returning his gaze to the fighting pair. “You’re just as bad as the others sometimes, you know that?” Time just raised an eyebrow in question. Twilight groaned, defeated. “I’ll take that bet.”

Wild snorted. Twilight liked to pretend that he was less of a gremlin than the rest of them, but really, he just hid it better.

“Hey, isn’t that what the Warriors was teasing you about the other day?” Wind’s question brought Wild’s attention back to his slate. Showing on the screen was the Gerudo set, displayed on the digital form of Wild himself. “Wait, it’s yours?”

Wild’s hand darted out, covering the younger boy's mouth. “You will tell no one about this.” He hissed, eyes darting around the clearing, checking to see if anyone had heard. It looked like he was in the clear. It wasn’t that he was particularly ashamed of wearing those clothes, but he would rather spare himself the teasing he knew would be imminent if the group found out.

Wind batted his hand away from his mouth, grinning at him mischievously. “Okay, I won’t.” Wild waited, not believing that it would be that easy. “You have to make seafood curry for dinner though.” Wild hummed, considering. It wasn’t as bad as he thought Wind was going to demand.

“Alright,” He acquiesced. He was planning on making Creamy Vegetable Soup tonight, but he thought seafood curry was just as good. It was no trouble for him to switch up the menu. He had a couple of nice Progys in his slate they needed to eat anyways. He would have done this even if Wind just asked him, though, so he wasn’t sure why-

“But you have to make it spicy.” Wind insisted. Ah, there it was.

“Sure.” He shrugged. Most of the others wouldn’t be pleased. Seafood Curry had a lot of goron spice in it, at least it did the way Wild liked to make it. Wind, Legend, Four, and himself were the only ones in the group who could handle spice. He and Wind had grown up eating spicy food, and Legend traveled to very distant lands, building up a tolerance to all sorts of spices. Four could only tolerate spice occasionally. (It varied. Sometimes he couldn’t even handle a spiced meat skewer, and sometimes he inhaled the spiciest food Wild could make. It was very strange.) Most of the others in the group had low spice tolerance.

Usually, Wild acknowledged that fact in his cooking, and cut back on the spice, but since Wind was asking…

Well, he certainly wouldn’t complain.

He handed the slate off to Wind, rising to join Sky next to the fire, to make sure it was at the right temperature for seafood curry.

Another rustle from the bushes around the clearing drew his attention to the returning Hyrule and Four.

“Anything to report, boys?” It was Twilight who called out, as Time was still snickering at the sulking Warriors and his own purse, now fifty rupees heavier.

“Nothing of importance,” It was Four who answered, coming to sit next to Time. “There’s a stream a few minutes away, and we found a set of Bokoblins footprints, but they were days old.”

“Good, now we should-“ Wild’s attention was drawn away from both the fire and Twilight’s response by a call from Wind.

“Hey, Wild! What does this button do?” That sentence made dread well up in Wild’s stomach. There were only so many buttons to push on the slate, and Wild’s mind flashed back to a very crucial detail that he had forgotten.

He spun around, nearly hitting Sky with the stick he had been using to poke the fire. He could barely get out a shrieked “Wait!” Before there was an ominous click, a moment of tense silence, then-

BOOM.

Right. The bomb he had dropped earlier, and had forgotten to dissipate.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling all the world like he was every one of his one hundred and seventeen years. He let out a slow breath, feeling everyone’s eyes on him. Was this what Twilight felt like all the time? He needed to go easier on his mentor.

“That button explodes things, Wind.”

A silent, judgmental stare from Time told him to fix the mess he’d created. With a huff, he heaved himself to his feet, and motioned for Wind to follow him. “Come on, kid. Let’s go do damage control.”

~~~

A/N: You know, writing this made me headcanon that Bokoblins have truly excellent color vision.

Anyways, here's what all the colors mean;

Brown: Average Traveler // White: Sheikah // Red: Yiga // Blue: Hyrule’s Military // Green: Heroes

Blue-Green: Warriors // Red-Green: Legend // White-Green: Sky // The Leader: Time // Wolf-Pelt: Twilight // Youngling: Wind // Green-in-Disguise: Wild // Brown-Green: Hyrule // Four-Color: Four

387 notes · View notes

saccharine-suffering · 2 years ago

Text

Naomi & Issac - 1

Remember these guys? Well I fleshed those suckers out. Prepare for suffering y'all.

CW: Pet whump, vampires, death mention, a lot of blood mentions, whumpee thinks caretaker is their new master

1.3k (though the first ~500 words are just me talking about my modern vampire lore)

~~~~~~

Naomi had been pacing for hours trying to rationalize what she did. ‘This is the best option,’ They told themself, “At least this way, I can make sure I’m getting blood ethically. No one has to die.’ They knew they had to drink something. When she first turned, she was quick to dress like the vampire she was and cut their hair to show off their bite. She loved the idea of being dark and mysterious, living as a cryptid- a beast. It sounds strange, but a part of her was excited to start living a vampiric life- well, maybe “life” isn’t quite right.

Then came the fading from mirrors and nausea from eating anything at all. Having to blow eighteen-hundred bucks on a casket was a bit of a gut punch. As were the several blackout curtains they needed to avoid third-degree sunburns. It was annoying to have to sell her silver jewelry and even more so to break out in hives when even slightly near a single fucking garlic clove–

But they could deal with all that. They could bite the bullet in exchange for immortality.

No one told Naomi that blood cravings were the very last step in turning.

Just when they had gotten used to waking up a 8pm in a box, right as they had grown accustomed to guessing what their hair and makeup might look like, exactly when the worst of it seemed to be over, there was this pit in their stomach. They were so thirsty. Before resorting to humans, they tried draining raw meat. Nothing. Then a live pig. It didn’t do much. They knew this would happen, of course it would, but they hadn’t expected it to be this painful, and they definitely didn’t know the blood had to be human.

So, they researched how to get human blood. And sure, you can buy a little legally from donors, but it was so far outside their budget that is was barely even an option. But the cheaper alternatives, aimed at vampires specifically, seemed so needlessly cruel. For every new company she could find, she asked how they supplied their blood. The response was always the same. Humans would be hooked up to IVs, blood coming out of one, and saline coming in from the other. Sometimes they ere given solid food, but at most places, they used a feeding tube. Naomi almost quit, residing themself to finding and extra $700 for 100 tiny milliliters- but then they saw one more hyperlink.

“Stop paying for subscriptions! Buy a living Bloodbag today!” Exactly as she thought, they were selling humans. She was disgusted at first, but, then she thought about it more. These people were being drained of their blood anyway, so if she buys one, at least they’ll be treated humanely? Maybe it was the thirst talking for them, but they decided to purchase a person.

They couldn’t afford another massive dent in their bank account, so they scrolled all the way down to the cheapest one. A twenty-seven year old man named Issac Rivera, blood type O+. That, and his picture, was the only information available. He was pale and sickly with blue eyes and tangled brown hair. He had blue eyes and it looked like he had finished crying moments before the photo was taken. Naomi hoped they were making the right choice.

Which is what landed them here. Waiting for the poor boy to be delivered straight to their door. She had tried to make herself look nonthreatening. She didn’t want to scare him. They wore the mast casual and normal clothes in their dresser and pulled their hair into a little baby ponytail.

A knock on the door.

It was an older looking man dressed in all black and carrying a parasol in one hand and a rolling suitcase in the other. Oh gods.

“Naomi Castillo?” He asked.

“That’s me.” They smiled. Their eyes wouldn’t leave the suitcase, since they were fairly certain that there was a person in there. He handed it over and she felt him kick.

“If you ever need training or extraction tools, they are available on our site.” It keeps getting worse.

“Of course, thank you.” Naomi hoped their smile looked real. The man walked away and she quickly unzipped the case.

Issac had been sold. He never thought it would happen. He had occasionally been compared to cheap box wine. Perhaps the vampire that bought him wanted something quick and inexpensive. The conversation between his captor and his new owner was muffled, but he felt the case he was in change hands. He instinctively covered the arteries on his neck. She was saying something, but he wasn’t listening. He knew exactly what would happen- she would rip his hand from him neck and drain what little he had left.

A hand touched his, and he braced for impact. But, he was being led away. Before he could question it, he was sat down on something soft. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet and he wasn’t planning on it. Next thing he knew, something cold was against his lips. Taking just a small peek, it was a water bottle. He shouldn’t trust it, but his mouth was so dry that he just let it go down his throat.

After the bottle pulled away, he waited for the pain of the bite. He waited and waited, but nothing came. Eventually, he opened his eyes and looked at the vampire next to him, as if he was asking her what she was waiting for. But they just smiled at him.

“Can you speak?” That wasn’t expected. He used to get told off for talking to himself.

“Yeah…” His voice was raspy. They handed him back the bottle.

“Okay, great, um, I’m Naomi!” They gestured to themself. Issac was going to introduce himself, but they already would have known. “Are you hungry?” Naomi arose from the sofa when he nodded, “I don’t have much, I got rid of most of the perishable stuff when I turned. Do you want… dry cereal? I can maybe put it in water- no that sounds gross.” Issac accidentally gave her a look. She was different from the other vampires he had the displeasure of knowing. A bit more dazed and certainly less elegant.

“Just… dry is fine.” He said. He had no reason to trust them, but he hadn’t had real, solid food in such a long time that if she was planning on drugging him, then he could live with that. He ate in completely awkward silence as Naomi tired not to make eye contact. Internally, Issac was panicking. Yes, he had been trained just in case he was sold, but he hadn’t been for such a long time that he barely even remembered it. Hopefully it would come rushing back to him when he was properly fed and rested.

“Uh, I put a mattress in a spare room. Do you wanna go to bed?” It’s like they read his mind. Can vampires read minds? He didn’t know. He was tired. He nodded.

She led him away gently, and closed the door, leaving him alone in the makeshift bedroom. He didn’t have the energy to consider what was going to happen to him. Naomi was weird. Maybe it wasn’t even real. He’s had these kind of dreams before. Maybe when he wakes up he’ll be back in the facility with needles in his arms and a tube down his nose. Or maybe he’ll wake up here and she’ll peirce him with her fangs. He always wondered what a real bite would feel like. It would probably hurt worse than the needle.

Whatever. He could worry about that when he can keep his eyes open.

23 notes · View notes

une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir · 4 years ago

Text

random thoughts on jon connington’s chapters

The last time I read this was over four years and I had a different take on Aegon, so I was curious to see on what changed with a second read.

----

The Lost Lord ~ ADWD

Sansa and Aegon

Alayne II (Sansa II) ~ AFFC

When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright."

The Lost Lord ~ ADWD

"We have gone to great lengths to keep Prince Aegon hidden all these years," Lemore reminded him. "The time will come for him to wash his hair and declare himself, I know, but that time is not now. Not to a camp of sellswords." (...)

"The plan was to reveal Prince Aegon only when we reached Queen Daenerys," Lemore was saying." (...)

The prince wore sword and dagger, black boots polished to a high sheen, a black cloak lined with blood-red silk. With his hair washed and cut and freshly dyed a deep, dark blue, his eyes looked blue as well. At his throat he wore three huge square-cut rubies on a chain of black iron, a gift from Magister Illyrio. Red and black. Dragon colors. That was good. "You look a proper prince," he told the boy. (...)

Sansa and Aegon are supposed to reveal themselves by washing the dye out of their hair and wearing their house colours, in an event that involves a wedding with someone that will facilitate claiming their birthright.

However, Aegon said “fuck that bitch Danerys” and getting married, revealed himself somewhat (to the Golden Company higher-ups only) wearing his house colours and went back to Westeros to reclaim his birthright on his own, unware that his cousin from his mother’s side is coming to him to offer aid in the war.. Aegon washing his hair of the blue dye and doning his armour will only happen wieh he sets foot in Westeros.

Likewise, we can draw a parallel scenario for Sansa and considering the “Sansa is grey girl who flees from a marriage” it all fits, Like Aegon, Sansa syas “fuck that bitch blonde Bobby B Harry and getting married, like Aegon she wears a grey cloak, and like Aegon she’ll be meeting her cousin and eventually claim her birthright.

I somehow doubt Sansa will be getting an army that soon, but in the show she got the Wildlings (via Jon, who can be seen as “sellsword” type of warriors) and the Vale army. In the books, there’s the mountain clans both in the Vale (loyal to Tyrion, whom she’s married to) and the north mountain clans (those that protected Bran because he is Ned’s son and joined Stannis also because of Ned and his daughter).

Another thing of note is Aegon ended up cutting his hair but dyed blue once more, so this may be true for Sansa as well. She may cut it shorter (a parallel to her sister Arya as well) but keep dying it for awhile still. Such, she may reach the Wall and meet Jon as a brunette (a parallel to Jeyne Poole as well as Alys Karstark). ETA: Likewise Aegon only revealing himself by washing his hair and doning his armour when he invades Westeros (his birthright), Sansa may only wash her hair and done her armour when the northern campaign starts.

Regardless, This is a smart choice because...

Cersei IV ~ ADWD

The queen bristled. "I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf." She refused to say the girl's name. "I ought to have shown her to the black cells as the daughter of a traitor, but instead I made her part of mine own household. She shared my hearth and hall, played with my own children. I fed her, dressed her, tried to make her a little less ignorant about the world, and how did she repay me for my kindness? She helped murder my son. When we find the Imp, we will find the Lady Sansa too. She is not dead . . . but before I am done with her, I promise you, she will be singing to the Stranger, begging for his kiss."

The Lost Lord ~ ADWD

"His because they're bought and paid for. Ten thousand armed strangers, plus hangers-on and camp followers. All it takes is one to bring us all to ruin. If Hugor's head was worth a lord's honors, how much will Cersei Lannister pay for the rightful heir to the Iron Throne? You do not know these men, my lord. It has been a dozen years since you last rode with the Golden Company, and your old friend is dead."

Cersei’s attention on Aegon is also a parallel to Cersei’s attention to Sansa, interestingly enough Tyrion is mentioned in both instances. Cersei’s attention on Sansa also come attached with the “singing the Stranger for a kiss”, which is interesting because if “Sansa is the Grey Girl” theory holds to, the guy she’s running to for protection is in fact.... dead or close to (the Stranger is their god and in the show... the episode was aplty named, the Book of the Stranger).

The bells tolled for all of us that day. For Aerys and his queen, for Elia of Dorne and her little daughter, for every true man and honest woman in the Seven Kingdoms. And for my silver prince. (...)

He had grown fond of Lemore, but that did not mean he required her approval. Her task had been to instruct the prince in the doctrines of the Faith, and she had done that. No amount of prayer would put him on the Iron Throne, however. That was Griff's task. He had failed Prince Rhaegar once. He would not fail his son.

Let me live long enough to see the boy sit the Iron Throne, and Varys will pay for that slight and so much more. Then we'll see who's soon forgotten.

I grant that the obsession that Jon Connington has for Rhaegar Targaryen is milder and more honourable, compared to the obsession Littlefinger has for Catelyn Tully, but the fact is this is yet another parallel between Sansa and Aegon. They both have mentors with an unhealthy obsession with one of their parents and hate the other, which they project onto the kids. Last, but not least, both mentors are passing off as parents of the children while they remain disguised under a false indentiy.

However, as Sansa will have to run from Littlefinger’s toxic shadow, I suspect Aegon will do much the same. I have suspicions. Sansa escaped Littlefinger because of Jon, as he took the role of protection. No matter how people see the ship, the fact is Jon is a lot like Ned V2 (at least, that’s how Littlefinger will see it and he hated the man) but the truth is Jon is Ned’s nephew and Sansa’s cousin from his mother’s side.

Likewise, Aegon is about to meet Arianne Martell, who’s the niece of his mother Elia Martell, which makes them cousins from his mother’s side. Elia Martell, whom Jon Connington... hates, often speculated in fact that he was in love with Rhaegar Targaryen himself. The symmetry of all this, not only the mentor’s obsession with the children but also the love / hate hey have for their parents.

Connington’s wish to see Aegon crowned and the giant chip he has on his shoulder for not being recognised. For the former, I have not found any reference to Littlefinger wanting to sit the Iron Throne in the books, but this was basically his goal in the show. To be king with Sansa by his side. For the latter, well that’s the drive of his character, he’s a social climber seeking recognition.

Sansa VII ~ ASOS

I will tell my aunt that I don't want to marry Robert. Not even the High Septon himself could declare a woman married if she refused to say the vows. She wasn't a beggar, no matter what her aunt said. She was thirteen, a woman flowered and wed, the heir to Winterfell.

The Lost Lord ~ ADWD

"Why should I go running to my aunt [implied marriage] as if I were a beggar? My claim is better than her own. Let her come to me … in Westeros."

Eh. Same energy. They are not beggars and they know their birthright, they will not be forced to marry someone they don’t want to to facilitate it.

----

TL;DR: I think these concurrence between Sansa and Aegon suggest that Aegon is real, but also glimpse into their characters beyond their toxic mentors and their ascencion to power. It will be interesting to watch their common points in future events, even if by the fact that they’re different genders and that makes PLENTY of difference in ASOIAF.

Jon and Aegon

Jon II ~ ASOS

A few tents were still standing on the far side of the camp, and it was there they found Mance Rayder. Beneath his slashed cloak of black wool and red silk he wore black ringmail and shaggy fur breeches, and on his head was a great bronze-and-iron helm with raven wings at either temple. Jarl was with him, and Harma the Dogshead; Styr as well, and Varamyr Sixskins with his wolves and his shadowcat.

The Lost Lord ~ ADWD

I personally ignored Aegon because I started with the show and didn’t know he was a (living) character until I read the books. I wasn’t even all that convinced he’d be particularly important. So I always looked at Jon’s interactions with Mance (associated with black + red) as "preparation” for Jon’s internactions with Daniella.

Hoewver, that changed when show!Cersei took over some of book!Aegon role: sitting on the Iron Throne, the Golden Company, and loved over Daniella in the last to final episode. It seems to me now that Mance can also (at the very least if not all) be seen as “preparation” for Jon’s interactions Aegon. As said, Mance dresss in a black and red cloak which associates him with Targs, the cloak being “copied” by Aegon. Mance united the notorious “give no fucks about authority) wildlings under one idea (run from the Others), while Aegon united a sellsword compay (sellswords are untrustworthty).

Moreover, it’s my conviction that Jon and Aegon are probably going to war against each other for a time (this is illustrated by what I believe are their respective dragons and a natural consequence if Aegon sits in King’s Landing while the Starks declare Northern Indepdencen), until they sommehow make peace (in case of Mance and Jon it was because of the Others, but for Jon and Aegon it could be their fire counterart, Danerys).

TL;DR: I think these vague connections between Mance and Aegon are rather interesting and may be “preparation” for Jon and Aegon’s intereactons will involve war AND peace. Interestingly, Connington’s next chapter feaures battle.

#aegon vi targaryen

67 notes · View notes

ln4wins · 3 years ago

Note

I've been thinking a lot about your last "Lando sucks 😡" anon and I need to talk about something. I'm a member of a huge McLaren group on facebook, it has over 40,000 members. It can be categorised into three groups: McLaren fans, Lando fans and Daniel fans. I'm part of the first two, and as a McLaren fan I want Daniel to do well. I don't go out of my way to look for gifs of him or spend hours watching anything DR related on youtube, like I do with Lando 😅 The past couple of years were a lot of fun in this group. There were a lot of Carlos fans that migrated back in 2018 but everything was civil and the atmosphere was great. Fast forward to 2020 when DR fans migrated over and the group is a war zone. People make posts legitimately criticising DR and they're slammed as disgusting fake fans (some of the posts are def too much but those are called out by everyone). No one can post anything about Lando without being told they're plastic fan girls who don't support the whole team. 50% of the comments on Lando posts are: "Danny will wipe the floor with him when he gets used to the car" (Is this the only phrase they know?), "The car is designed for Lando, ofc Danny is having a hard time", "Danny has won SEVEN races, talk to me when Lando has won anything" (Just for comparison it took DR 4 seasons to get his first podium which also happened in a Red Bull which was a top 2 car through his stint there. With this I'm def not saying he wasn't real good back then because he was. Red Bull Danny was top tier imo), And the new favorite of the group, with 5 articles being shared every hour is ---> "Lando is a pay driver. His dad pays him so McLaren doesn't have to. That's why he's at McLaren, because it's cheap for them. He wouldn't even be in F1 if it wasn't for daddy dearest. He couldn't even win in F2, Russell is much better than him" (and they always manage to bring Russell into it like??? ok? and has he not grown since then?? is he not a better driver now than he was in 2018?? Russell won F2 and Lando is currently doing better in F1, can two things not be true at the same time? George had the better car in F2, Lando has the better car in F1 🤷‍♀️) "McLaren are giving Danny a much worse car than Lando, they're sabotaging him!!!!" Like sir or madam, you think a team is paying DR £15,000,000 just to put him in a worse car so a 21 year old gremlin (who is allegedly being paid £2,000,000!!?) can one up him? Isn't it possible, even just slightly possible that yes Lando has been in the car longer, and yes he's helped design it but that also he's gotten better? That he has the drive and desire to become the best he can? That the thought, and reality, of having DR as a teammate actually made him push himself more? Or maybe, god forbid, he's actually better than DR? Let me tell you, I've learned to spot an Australian a mile away in any comment section, and they're not as laidback as they'd like you to believe, at least not F1 fans. Oh, and the newest thing (and it's on twitter and tumblr also) is that DR is being emotionally abused and exploited by the engineers and the social media team. I'd be more concerned about Checo and the way he's being treated at RB than DR any day of the week.

This really turned into an essay, I should've bought a diary instead 😭

yeh ive always found that dan fans seem to be the most argumentative and rude if you even say one negative thing about him. or even if you just compliment lando without even mentioning dan they get offended, i constantly have anons come to my inbox telling me how much better dan is than lando but unfortunately for them they can waste their breath as much as they want the talking is done on track as all the drivers like to say. and while lando is barrelling down the road screaming dan is listening to classic fm driving like my nan.

i always find it a stupid argument to be like oh well dan scored 7 wins over 10 years so he’s clearly better than lando who has never won but only been in the sport 3 years even though dan has had 2 podiums the past 3 years and lando has had 4, 3 of which have been while dan was his teammate. like they pick and choose when they want the argument to be valid.

the whole mclaren sabotage thing i just find hilarious because as you say the team spend so much money on him and for what just do they can sabotage and lose more money and get lower in constructors cause yeh that makes a lot of sense. i reckon part of the reason lando has improved so much on last year is because of the fact dan came to mclaren and not in a “the teams favouring him” way but because EVERYONE thought dan would beat him so he got his head down over the break and during game the season and worked hard so that he could be the best he’s ever been.

also last year carlos was beating lando in the same car that dan can’t and i know drivers have different things they like on the car but the mclaren isn’t only drivable by lando which is what lots of people try to make it out to be. and it’s always “when dan gets used to the car” as if it’s not been 11 races already and then “oh he’s back on form” when he scores a p6 or higher which is mad to me cause like that’s not the “on form” dan that his fans seem to constantly go on about since he’s future wdc but then they think p6 is his “on form” which makes zero sense. and then he’ll go back to being “off form” and it’s “oh mclarens sabotaging him” “he could have won if xyz didn’t happen” they’re all just delusional with they’re arguments most of the time too

also i wanna clear up i’ve never once sat here and said dan’s a shit driver cause that wouldn’t be true but dan fans are stuck still believing dan’s in his prime when it’s just not true anymore. they need to realise that other drivers are coming into the sport and with that dan needs to grow as to not just be a midfield driver who’s past his prime.

#geez this was too long for my brain to comprehend at 8 am #sorry if my response doesn’t make too much sense lol #ask #anon

21 notes · View notes

bowtied-pasta · 4 years ago

Text

Soulmate marathon part 1

You share your soulmates knowledge

Character: Eyeless Jack

At this point, you knew your soulmate was in the medical field or at least going to school for it. All the things he knows about the human body, how to cut, sew, implant. He had to be getting along in school just fine.

With your soulmate being so far along in school and knowing as much as he did, he was dedicated to the craft and was likely on track to become a surgeon if not a nurse.

That was.... before the knowledge that popped into your brain every day turned a bit darker. It worried you. Yeah, he was obviously in medical school, or maybe he’s graduated and working as a nurse... but the things you know about how certain organs taste.... raw....well, it left little wonder as to why you had stopped eating red meat.

You fear your soulmate to be an angel of death or something of the sort. A kind nurse that says they’ll do everything they can to help only to come in the night and give an overdose of painkillers to a patient that didnt even need them. But that wouldnt explain the blantant canibalism.

Of course medical knowledge also somehow gave way to deeper and deeper occult knowledge. Things you honestly couldnt understand yourself, but your soulmate seemingly could without a problem. Knowledge of things that werent human. Some that used to be human, others that never were and never will be.

All this led to some rather interesting research on your side. Research of the creatures that he seemingly knew. Research that narrowed your search down to a region of states that would be smart to avoid.... but youre his soulmate. He wouldnt hurt you, right? Not on purpose hopefully. Besides, it seemed you were already living in the region that would be prime for running into him.

Of course, you knew he was also aware of your findings. He knows youre doing research. Trying to find him. He was probably doing the same, hopefully not to do anything malicious... of course as his soulmate you trusted him not to hurt you, but going into this as blind as you were, you trusted nothing but yourself and what you knew. No matter how much you wanted to trust him blindly.

All your research eventually leads you to believe that he could be in two different kinds of places. An abandoned building or the woods. Abandoned buildings were suprisingly few and far between from what you could find, your searches on those having come up mostly fruitless with the few that had potential coming up empty or seemingly taken up by squaters that you had no desire to speak to directly, in fear of a fight.

That left you with the woods. It had been a last resort kind of thing for you as the woods were ridiculously well known for being the worst place a person could go, no matter the time of day. Locals would avoid going too deep. The walking trails never being strayed from as the last group of wild teens that had attempted to do so on a dare had disappeared. Searches yeilded nothing, and those had been tedious as even authorites were on edge to go too deep into the trees.

Rumors of monsters, demons, killers and ghosts... it was almost positively the place he would be. You had just hoped you wouldnt end up having to go in.

Which is why you sit on a park bench, eyes on the treeline as you contemplate your choices. You could walk for a bit, but it still isnt guaranteed that you would be okay. Only groups ever turned out okay, and the less people in the group the lower the success rate of coming back it seemed, so your measly party of one wouldnt make the cut if your luck was still the same.

Not to mention the fog seemingly pouring out of the trees had your hair standing on end with a deep emptiness in your gut. Whatever controlled that forest didnt want you in it, that much was very clear, and you were more than happy to listen to it. Having done the math, you only had another hour or two of sunlight, the sun setting earlier around this time of year and night lasting longer. Just fine by you, but not the best time to get lost in the woods and murdered by a monster.

You were too wrapped up in your thoughts to notice as a man approched your bench. Taking a seat on the opposite end so that there was still as much space as possible, but making it very clear that he sat next to you on purpose. Your gaze snaps from the trees to him, sizing him up and taking him in.

He was big, very big. You dont see a lot of people that tall, regardless of gender, seven feet being pretty ridiculous given what you’d grown up around. Needless to say, from his height alone, you wouldnt be able to take him. His face was obscured by a hood over his head, dark ginger hair peeking out from under the blue fabric. He sat hunched, keeping his head tilted slightly away from you, he spoke before you could.

“What are you here for?”

The question simple, your answer was too. That doesnt mean you knew how to make it simple, especially since you were almost positive you were currently talking to a serial killer.

“Lots of research led me here. Couldnt have found it without my soulmate though... hey, you wouldnt happen to know any organ eating medical nerds would you?”

With his silence you assume you had said the wrong thing, sealing your fate as the next victim of the woods regardless of the fact that you hadnt even step foot in it yet, only to find that he had tilted his head in your direction. Blue mask peaking out from under his hood, you knew for a fact that you are facing a horror from the trees.

“I do happen to know one, but before that topic can go much further I’m gonna have to ask just exactly how you feel about that.”

His words seemingly chosen carefully. This was your test, all you had to do was not fail it seemed. What the right answers were though, well you suppose you’d just have to be honest.

“Well.... I was pretty scared at first. I thought he was just going to be a medical student. Be a doctor some day... but then the cult stuff happened. He started to know things about demons and monsters and he knew what raw organs tasted like... I was scared... but I decided that I could try. He’s my soulmate, so the least I could do was try. Find him. Figure him out. Give him a chance. Maybe it could be explained away, but I knew that wasnt very likely, just a stupid thought from the kinder side of my brain. Ive known for some time that my soulmate was a killer, to some extent, and now I just want to try. For us.”

You looked over at him after you finished rambling. He appeared unmoved by your words. Having not said a thing or even adjusted himself in his seat, still as a statue. Appearing to contemplate your words, he finally sighs before standing to his full height. Staring down at you from behind his mask where it appeared his eyes were black pits of darkness.

“Well then, soulmate, I guess my chance starts now. If youre still willing, that is.”

#eyeless jack #soulmate au #soulmate marathon #creepypasta x reader

186 notes · View notes

wienerbarnes · 4 years ago

Text

The Electrifying Mind Reader (2/2)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 2,556

Warnings: not really any major ones tbh

A/N: yay hope yall enjoy!

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

“No, no, no, this is all wrong.”

Bucky closes the blinds that the young nurse opened for you and rips the socks from Sam’s hands. He approaches where you lay in the hospital bed, unconscious to give your body and heart a break while your system is flooded with IV fluids.

“You don’t know how to put her socks on right; she - she doesn’t like ‘em too tight on her feet. You put ‘em on and you gotta tug on the toes a bit so they fit looser, yeah?” Bucky instructs, not really caring if Sam is paying attention to this lesson of putting socks on your feet.

It’s been six days. Six days since your heart stopped. Six days since Bucky’s CPR probably saved your life, holding you over just until they reached the tower and were able to get you into the MedBay. Six days since they stabilized you and induced you into a coma in fear that your heart would stop again, and also to give you a break from the pain.

It’s also been six days since Bucky’s had a proper shower, too, which Sam is getting really tired of.

It took him three days to even change out of his uniform from the mission; he didn’t want to leave your side.

“Bucky -”

“And as for the blinds, she always likes the room dim. The rest of her may be bright, but she doesn’t like all the lights on and the windows open.” He explains, still holding your feet in his hands, not taking his eyes off of you.

It doesn’t feel like it’s been six days for Bucky. Feels more like six years. Or six seconds. He doesn’t like you like this. Laying in some bed, no color anywhere, tubes sticking out of your nose, eyes closed and not looking back at him.

“Bucky, man, you gotta shower,” Bucky finally looks up at his friend, “Go outside. Touch some grass. I don’t know, but you’re not doing her any good by just sitting here.”

Bucky opens his mouth to disagree, but Sam stops him, “She’s not going to wake up, at least not for now. She’s still induced. They’d need to stop that medication in order to wake her up, which they plan to this afternoon. And even then, it could take her another day or two to wake up naturally.”

Bucky slumps at his explanation.

“And when she does wake up, she’s not going to want to see you like this.”

His hair is greasy, having grown out a bit more over the past couple of months, the circles under his eyes make his face look more his real age, and he can actually smell himself. She wouldn’t want to see you like this.

“I will be back in ten minutes.” He decides, willing to leave your side for a bit in order to clean himself up; clean himself up for you.

Unfortunately for Sam, the nurse returns as soon as Bucky steps out, new syringe in hand.

“Uh, what’s that?” It would be as soon as Bucky leaves that they want to do something to you. They haven’t done anything to you except change your IV bags and now is when they want to change shit up?

“Dr. Cho wants to take her out of her coma. This,” She raises the syringe, “Will help with that. She should wake up either later tonight or tomorrow morning, she’ll be very groggy.”

“Uh, alright.” He replies, not really knowing what else to say, but suddenly regretting convincing Bucky to leave.

It’s fine, she won’t wake up in the next seven minutes while Bucky’s gone.

Except when he only has three more minutes to wait out before Bucky’s return, he hears a soft groan from you. He freezes and looks up at your face, your eyes still closed but eyebrows twisted a bit closer together.

He glances at the clock, panicking. Please, only three more minutes, please.

Eyes force themselves open despite the blinding light and sharp crust around the eyes. Sam watches as your hazy eyes glaze over the room before landing on him, his eyes open wide like he’s looking at a ghost. You move your move a bit but no noise comes out. He can recognize the way you bring your lips together and push out that you’re trying to say something that starts with a B.

“Bucky? You want Bucky?”

“Buuhh,” You breathe out, voice weak from lack of use.

“Uh,” He glances at the clock, one more minute, “He should be here soon, just relax,” He tries, but it seems you take after your boyfriend when it comes to hospital settings.

You reach your uninjured arm to the oxygen tubes in your nose, pulling them away from your face and off your ears, next reaching for the IV in your arm. Sam slaps a hand over yours when you try to tear the tape off. Why would you tell her to relax, you idiot, that’s like the worst possible thing you could’ve told her in this situation!

How did you wake up so fast? He knows you were experimented on years ago and that HYDRA injected you with something while you were captured a few days ago, but are you enhanced like that? Enough for medicine to go through your system that quickly? What the hell did they inject you with?

“Stop -” He starts, reaching for your hands to stop them from pulling at the tubes.

“Sam, what the hell are you doing?!” Bucky’s voice booms into the room.

Sam whips his head over his shoulder to see a freshly showered Bucky, hair still wet and dawned in new clothes, as well as a bundle of more colorful patterns he assumes are for you.

“You’re awake.” Bucky realizes, anger dropping form his face and he completely forgets about what looked like Sam trying to take out your IV.

“I leave for ten minutes and you wake up. You weren’t supposed to wake up until tomorrow and you wake up the first time I leave the room.” He approaches the bed, throat tight as he feels an unbelievable relief at seeing your open eyes.

Your face also softens, no longer frustrated and eager to leave. Your hand leaves from underneath Sam’s and reaches out to Bucky, his metal fingers softly getting a hold of yours, bringing them to his lips to plant a kiss on the top.

He leans in and kisses you on the mouth, too, despite Sam’s presence, despite the cracks and dryness in your lips, despite the fact that you haven’t had any water or toothpaste in your mouth in six days.

Water!

“Let me get you some water, sweetheart, hold on.” Bucky drops your clothes in the chair he’s been sleeping in for six days and walks over to the counter to pour you a small cup of water. Sam realizes that the both of you are very occupied with each other now and takes his opportunity to leave before Bucky remembers the scene he saw when he came in.

I’ll check in later, he thinks, before leaving quietly.

He holds the straw still for you with one hand and gently helps lift your head up with the other, helping you take small sips of water.

“‘M tired,” You whisper, still weak.

“Sleep, my love, you can rest all you want, as long as you promise to wake up.” He brushes a hand along your face, taking in your features, and happy to feel your skin while you’re awake and looking at him now, as opposed to lying in a coma.

“Stay,” You tell him, hand grabbing at his shirt to pull him closer to you, trying to communicate to him that you want him to lie down with you, that you want him close.

Luckily, he takes the hint.

He carefully slides into bed next to you on your good side, making sure nothing bumps your shoulder. It doesn’t take long for you to snuggle into his body and let exhaustion take over once more.

He even sleeps a bit, too. Having you in his arms, feeling your body move with your breathing, slow and steady, instead of the violent shakes he felt a few days ago.

Your heart stopped. He got it started again on the jet, just as they landed and the doctors were able to take it from there. He watched as they rushed you into surgery, needing to work on your heart, brain, shoulder, and any other injuries you may have. All he could do was wait. Couldn’t watch from the viewing room of the OR. Couldn’t ask anyone; they were all in there with you. You were in there for hours. He was sure you died. That you died hours before they came out but they were thinking of how to tell him.

He wasn’t exactly happy with the news that your heart had stopped a second time and that you were in a coma, but you were alive. You were alive.

He’s scared to ask what they did to you. How long you were in that room with them. If you even remember. He didn’t see who in the room with you and there were no cameras anywhere. He doesn’t even know where to start; there were over 500 people at that base.

A lot of things went through his mind while you were asleep. He just thought about you. Your belongings. What you normally eat for your meals. What you normally wear around the tower. How you work out. How you meditate. How you read. He read to you while you were under, but he’s not sure if you were even aware. He talked to you a lot, too. Some of it jokes, some anger that you would have the audacity to almost die. A lot of love. A lot of tears. A lot of hope that you wouldn’t die unless he’s able to put a ring on your finger first.

He hopes you weren’t aware of any of that, looking back.

He closes his eyes and allows himself to relax a bit, dreaming of that ring, a white picket fence, and you.

Your recovery is difficult. Your hands trembled for a few days after waking up, either after effects of electro-shock therapy or just the trauma of being captured by Hydra again.

You couldn’t remember the men that were there with you. You try, and you remember their hands on your skin, holding you down, the flesh and metal merging together in your memories but it all gets blurred. You begin to catch pieces of that day, and like an old movie with the film being burned, holes erupt and all that’s left is blackness.

You knew two of the men were your old handlers, so you can try to narrow those down. But the other soldier. The man with two arms made of metal. You remember him. You don’t know who he is, but you remember him. You feel sorry for the guy, even though he shot you. Who knows what they’ve done to him.

You’ve since left the MedBay and have tried to get back to your routine as quickly and normally as possible. Tried, at least.

You flinch as Bucky brushes past you in the kitchen, muttering an apology to him, not wanting him to think that you’re afraid of him.

One thing you’ve noticed as of late is that you’ve been particularly jumpy. Sensitive. And you hate it. You hate the flinching, the spike in anxiety, the nightmares. The confusion.

“I wanted to show you something.” Bucky tells you, urging you to have a seat while he puts together breakfast for the two of you. He’s been extra protective lately, but you understand why and let him do things for you.

You hum, taking a seat and stirring your coffee slowly. You know Bucky has noticed the depreciation in your energy levels. You’re not bouncing off the walls, you’re not teasing him and Sam, you’re not dressing up cute to watch a movie with him. No colorful nail polish, they removed it in surgery and you haven’t bothered to paint them again. And you know he wants to mention it. But he doesn’t, out of politeness, or maybe out of fear.

Is he scared of you? What did they inject you with?

Your thoughts of that syringe are forgotten when a folded piece of paper is placed in front of you. You unfold it to see your messy handwriting, names after name after name scrawled out with the first few crossed out.

“The list. You kept my list?”

“I did. I promised you I’d complete it didn’t I?”

“You didn’t…” You trailed off, not wanting to believe that Bucky finished your list in secret behind the Avengers’ back.

“I didn’t,” He reassures, “But I thought it might help jog your memory; maybe seeing the names will help you put it to the face of who was there with you.”

It’s a good idea. But it’s not what you want to do.

“Uhm,”

“You don’t have to do anything about it now, it was just a thought to help you.”

“Buck,”

“I also thought we could -”

“Bucky, stop.” You snap.

He looks up at you from the list on the table.

“I know I’m weak now, but,” You begin, he opens his mouth, face dropping, wanting to interject, but you don’t let him, “I need you to stop. I need you to treat me like normal. I know I’m weak now, I know I’m having nightmares again, I know I’m not going on missions for a long while now, I know that I still have no fucking idea what they injected me with and what it’s done to my body, but I need to pretend like I don’t know all of that right now. I want normal.” You explain.

His mouth opens and closes again before giving a small nod of his head. “Okay.” He agrees, taking the list from the table and folding it up again. He walks over to your desk where a lot of his stuff has started taking up space, slipping the piece of paper into a notebook.

“I don’t ever want to hear you call yourself weak again. You’re my girl and you're as tough as fucking nails, okay?” He tells you seriously after turning around.

You scoff sarcastically before returning your attention to your coffee while Bucky finishes in the kitchen.

As he walks back over to you, hands full of two plates towered high with pancakes, you turn to him, “Don’t forget the syrup, babe,” You tell him, raising your hand to gesture towards the fridge.

You feel a surge of power exit from your hand, shooting Bucky with a burst of energy, sending the plates flying out of his hands.

“Woah!” He yelps, certainly not expecting you to do that because you’ve never been able to.

The plates shatter on the ground, the pancakes slapping on the tile, and you freeze completely, hand stilling in the air, not knowing how you did that and scared to move another muscle.

Silence takes over the room and Bucky looks between the mess on the ground and your eyes that have now blown open wide.

“That’s… new.” Is all he can say.

What was in that syringe they injected you with?

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes series #marvel #bucky barnes fan fiction #ooooooooo new power🔓 unlocked

56 notes · View notes

pxlbry · 4 years ago

Photo

tcatf appreciation week day seven

(sorry for the reupload!! the links made the post hidden, so i’ve decided to add those on in the rb instead of on the original post)

decided to round off the appreciation week with my yearly redraw of kenna and dom :) i think it’s absolutely insane this is my fifth year drawing her and looking back on the past five iterations.. i feel like ive grown a lot as both a person and artist

@tcandtfappreciationweek

#tcatf #tc&tf #playchoices #choices #choices kenna #choices dom #tcatfaw #tc&tfaw #tc&tfaw day 7 #tc&tf appreciation week #kenna rys #dominic hunter #the crown and the flame #the crown & the flame #choices tcatf #playchoices tcatf #choices tc&tf #playchoices tc&tf #egg.png

65 notes · View notes

thatwasntlikeridingabikeuasshole · 3 years ago

Text

i just scrolled thru my moms facebook for scrapbook photos bc i dont take a lot of pics and anyway i wouldnt have older ones and HOLY SHIT

- hlep why so many screenshots of texts ive sent her. sure theyre mostly hysterical but like w h y

- posts the same single dumb meme every april fools day. by contrast, posts a spam of memes on halloween that vary from classics that she posts every year to new ones, and never gets old

- same spam of childhood photos every birthday plus a couple new ones. gets old

- HOW DO U HAVE PICS FROM BACKSTAGE IN MY SIXTH GRADE MUSICAL U??? WERENT THERE AND NONE OF US KIDS HAD PHONES YET

- sometimes im in a part of the scrolling where im like yeah ok i hate how i looked at that time in my life but its fine we moved on and then i pass a pic and im like ?????? THIS IS SO CUTE TAKE ME BACK IN TIME FOR THAT OUTFIT

- OR THE HAIR

- sometimes i come across a really pretty candid pic from years ago where i look older (like as old as now) cuz im not facing the camera and im not standing in height comparison and im just like........if i pretended this was taken with all the other pics from (some recent event that looks similar) it could be our little secret

- god i hated those shoes. and GOD i wish i had them now

- i look so happy in this pic. but rly i was dying inside

- i look so dead inside in this pic. but rly i was having the BEST time

- HOLY SHIT ITS PICS OF ME WITH MY FIRST EVER CRUSH AGES 6-8. HOLY FUCKING SHIT IT NEVER OCCURRED TO ME THAT THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED AND WAS REAL. I BASICALLY VIEW HIM IN THE SAME STANDING AS MY EX-IMAGINARY FRIENDS. MAN I HOPE THAT GUYS OK BUT HES PROBABLY NOT

- *tearing up* the Child...as a newborn baby......remember when the Child was smol....she is all grown up now........that was seven years ago.......my Child................(my cousin)

- found a pic of our 2016 family bucket list and we only did one thing on it. my parents were planning on like building a treehouse and planting a tomato garden and taking us to some nice picnic spot they used to go to but all they did was get divorced lmao

- there are so many pics in here of my two current best friends and my childhood best friend who i still know and im like. damn if they only knew how they looked at the fourth grade science fair

in short this has been: an experience

4 notes · View notes

ad1thi · 4 years ago

Note

henlo adi tis i with a request for some stevetony fics,,, angsty if you have 'em 💓

okay so this rec list is mainly classic stevetony fics, but i assure you - there’s angsty ones in there (ive marked the angsty ones with a 😞 so you can identify them quicker) just a general note that a lot of authors are going to repeat, because there are some authors that (imo) are stevetony staples (so if you see an author more than once - thats a sign that ALL of their stevetony is good and ive cherry picked the ones i love the most) (ive also marked those authors with a 🌟)

in the light of limerence: @shell-heads

It's the final game of the season, their biggest one yet, and there's only one question on everybody's mind: who the hell is Captain Steve Rogers' boyfriend, and why does Cap keep dodging questions about him?

"You gotta admit it's suspicious that only Bucky and Sam have met your boyfriend, dude," Clint points out as he shoves Pietro away with a smirk, pulling the uniform over his head and tugging it down. "We've known you, what-two years? We've never seen the guy even once."

"And your phone mysteriously only has pictures of Tony Stark," Johnny Storm adds as he joins the conversation, knocking knees with Thor when he sits down on one of the benches. "Tony Stark, who has at least ten fansites and personally assured me he's had a boyfriend for the past five years."

"I can't believe Cap is actually out here acting like Tony Stark's boyfriend," Luke says with a smirk, resting against a wall without a care.

"I can't believe you guys still think this is a joke," Sam throws back while tossing his other dirty sock at Luke, who dodges it smoothly.

In little more than ten minutes, the biggest question of Shield University is answered with much aplomb by none other than Tony Stark himself.

almeno tu nell'universo: @silkspectred 😞 🌟 (funfact: this is the fic that got me into stevetony)

Tony drives off.

Well, he wants to.

But he can’t.

Because.

Steve Rogers is in front of his car.

Steve fucking Rogers. Is in front of Tony’s fucking car.

Rookie and Jailbait Take On The World: @theapplepielifestyle 🌟

“You really should be in school, you know.”

“Why would I be there when I could be here, solving crimes with my favourite rookie?” Tony flashes a grin, and Steve’s stomach twists like it did on the first day.

Teenager, Steve’s mind supplies. Definitely not legal, stop doing fluttery things, stomach.

Thumb, Index and Pinky Extended: @/Eudoxia 😞

Tony Stark is twenty-one when he loses his voice. It shouldn't matter, but in a world where the first words your Soulmate says to you are marked on your skin, it can be pretty damn annoying.

I (created from fantasies) exist solely for you: @mizzy2k

Six years ago, without the Avengers Initiative there to save the day, scientist Dr. Eric Selvig sacrificed himself to save the world, the almighty demi-god Thor was lost to a terrible storm, and vigilante Iron Man – spotted with a nuclear weapon trying to take advantage of the situation – was forever labelled an enemy of SHIELD.

This is a comic book office AU, where Steve is defrosted a year too late, Thor has forgotten who he is, and no one knows Tony is Iron Man.

Also includes: office pranks, inappropriate post-it notes, and superheroes who like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain.

Celestial Navigation: @sabrecmc

Celestial Navigation: 18 year old Omega!Tony finds himself Bonded to Captain Steve Rogers. He isn't happy about it until he is.

By request, here is CN in one place without other stories and artwork.

Ironsides: @copperbadge 🌟

Antonia Carter Stark takes no shit and no prisoners.

Paved With Good Intentions (I’m On The Road To Hell): @itsallavengers 😞 🌟

When the mysterious group of vigilante assassins known only as 'The Avengers' are tipped off about the dirty secrets that lie within Stark Industries, Steve Rogers has his heart set on taking out Tony Stark for good in order to protect the rest of the world from his evil. He's seen the footage, after all- Stark is a man who fights only for himself. And of course, when a job arises as chief bodyguard for Stark, to protect him from the growing threat of an ominously infatuated stalker, the opportunity is way too good for him to miss out on. It's the perfect placement, and the perfect way to find out whether or not their tipoff is genuine.

But as Steve falls into rank as the new bodyguard for Mr. Stark and he spends time getting to know and protect him, his initial hatred begins to falter and merge into something different, something far more terrifying than the prospect of killing the face of Stark Industries.

Steve Rogers may just be falling in love with him instead.

The Problem With Communication: @itsallavengers

Steve is terrible at flirting, but when he finally picks up the courage to talk to the adorable barista who makes his drinks, he finds himself hitting a small snag:

That being, Tony is deaf. He doesn't know what Steve is saying.

But never say Steve Rogers does not rise to a challenge.

Killing Me Softly (With His Song): @itsallavengers

Steve is Tony's whole world. Tony couldn't imagine life without him. They've grown up together, after all.

Steve gets cancer.

Open Field In Front of Him: orphan account

Steve Rogers's football season is functionally over after a loss to Rutgers, but he finds a distraction in Tony Stark (yes, THAT Tony Stark). A college AU Stony fic.

Good For You: @orbingarrow 😞

Steve doesn't understand why Tony dates people who abuse him. Tony doesn't understand why Steve cares.

The rest is bad choices, good choices, rehab, milkshakes, paintball, YouTube videos, couples therapy and learning to put the past in the past. Or: How Tony finds his happy ending.

COMPLETE 5/27/16 Edited to add art as last chapter on 6/23/16

Wrapped Up In Clover: @festiveferret

It's been seven years since Steve and Tony split up, and Steve's sure he'll never see Tony again. He's finally managed to put their failed relationship behind him and move on, focusing on his friends and building his business. But then his best friends, Bucky and Clint, decide to get married, and their wedding week at a cabin resort in Vermont turns into a minefield of heartbreak for Steve.

little green soldiers: @/nasa 🌟

“Rhodey,” Tony says. “I’m not stupid. He’s shipping out in three months. I’m not going to fall in love with him.”

Tony is a student at MIT; Steve is a soldier. They meet at a house party six months before Steve is set to deploy. This is their story.

flesh and bone: @/nasa 😞

“You or Rogers?” they ask, brandishing a knife or a gun or a flame.

“Me,” Tony says, over and over again. “Me, me, me,” always me.

Buried: @not-close-to-straight

When Howard Stark demands Tony work at a dig site in S.America one summer to "build character" and "learn about life", Tony is furious. But then he meets soldier/archeologist Steve and falls in love with blue eyes and a perfect smile.

Just as they are ready to move forward together, Steve leaves abruptly with no explanation and breaks Tonys heart. Ten years later, Tony stumbles across the file for the old dig site. He's determined to visit and shut it down, but discovers that instead of a village, the dig has uncovered a temple and actually needs MORE money to stay open. A security team is hired to protect the staff and the artefacts they find, and Tony comes face to face with Steve Rogers all over again– except Steve is bearded and BIGGER and way more dangerous than he used to be...And Tony likes it.

When the camp is attacked, Steve jumps into action, snatching Tony and running into the jungle to escape and work their way towards safety. But long days and nights together bring back old feelings, and one day Steve takes a risk and asks Tony to give them another chance. Will Tony say yes? Or is his heart buried too far for the soldier-turned- archaeologist-turned-mercenary to find it?

don’t know why it took me so long to see: @3799steps

“Oh, watch this,” Natasha says, propping her chin against her knuckles and turning a sweet gaze on him. “Tony, what’s it like dating a superhero?”

Tony bristles in irritation. “We’re not dating,” he snaps. “Captain America probably thinks he can get into anyone’s pants just ‘cause he’s got a mask, costume, and reputation, but not me, buddy. That shield? Gotta be overcompensating for something.” He adds, a bit petulantly, “Oh, and all that blue? Definitely more Steve’s color than his.”

- In which Tony is a genius in all matters except recognising his boyfriend past a mask

Heartlines: @nanasekei 🌟

“Let me,” Tony repeats. He regrets it deeply, so much, he wants to stick the words back into his mouth again, and it must show, in the way his voice wavers. He feels exposed, all of a sudden, as if he’s asking something bigger than what he can actually say. Let me touch you, let me take care of you. “Just… Let me do it.“

Feel Whole Again: @thepartyresponsible

Steve turns to leave. It’s easier to talk, somehow, when he’s not looking at him. “If you need anything,” he says, “I’m just a few floors down.”

“Might regret that, Cap,” Tony says to his retreating back. “I’ve been told I’m needy.”

Steve doesn’t know who the hell said that to Tony. It’s probably for the best that he doesn’t.

“It’s an honor,” he says, a little helpless, out of his depth and out of his time. “It’s an honor to be trusted with something like that, Tony.”

Attack Dog: @/salytierra

Steve doesn't swim in self-delusion. He knows that he is sick and that his owner is even worse. He is aware of it every time he rips some nameless guy’s throat out and feels the crunch of bones under his fingers. He is aware of it every time the rush of adrenaline at seeing life slip away from a stranger’s eyes hits him and gets him bothered and panting in ways that have nothing to do with physical exhaustion.

But it feels so good…

His owner’s approach is less personal. His shots fall clean and take out several foes at a time, his figure elegant and so graceful he looks like a god among savages. He is power incarnated, cold and burning like a sun at the same time… and Steve tries not to focus on him when they are fighting together, least his knees go weak and his technique falters. It’s fine though. They will go home afterwards and his owner will fuck him on the hard floor, with most of their gear still on and a vicious grip in his hair.

#adi's rec list #stevetony #superhusbands #steve rogers/tony stark #stevetony staples #OKAY this is like 20 fics long #so im going to make a second post #and the second post will have more #but have these for now :)))#adi answers asks #rhodee

77 notes · View notes

xiaomomowrites · 4 years ago

Text

act IV

Genshin Impact | TartaLi/ZhongChi

Summary: It was the way Zhongli’s warm amber eyes suddenly were not as warm anymore. The way he looked at him with a piercing look, void of remorse, as he handed his gnosis over willingly to go on a whole tangent about how his “duties were done”. It was the way he turned and treated the precious traveler with the same amount of kindness and gentleness the Childe had received the previous night, with such ease; it was a look he thought was reserved only for him. It was the way he was able to turn back around, stare at Childe with an unreadable gaze, and walk away without so much of a goodbye.

Or, Zhongli and Childe finally have the conversation that was long overdue.

A/N: I’ve been playing genshin for roughly four or five months now, I can’t remember exactly when I started, but boy do I love it. No you don’t understand, I’m obsessed. But these two have been taking up room in my big brain, so I wanted to write for them. It’s been awhile since I wrote for pleasure so hopefully this is satisfactory :,) and tomorrow, I’m back to school, so I thought I’d enjoy my last day of freedom and post this today. Fun fact, I’m minoring in professional writing, so I’m hoping that it’ll improve my writing skills when I write for luxury, too. Anyway, this was a really fun piece for me to write and I hope you share the sentiment.

Also thank you guys for being so patient with our inactivity and just being such a chill audience to write for. Other social media platforms have become so...demanding haha. I appreciate y’all! Feel free to message us or talk to us about whatever :) -u.n.

Find this on AO3!

Spoiler alert: this fic does contain spoilers for the A New Star Approaches arc, so read at your own risk.

—

In Childe’s line of work, he is no stranger to betrayal.

Working as a Fatui Harbinger meant an unhealthy amount of fighting, betraying one person, deceiving another, and then on occasion, getting betrayed himself. It was all in a days’ work. Childe knew he would just have to roll out his neck and move on. He’s done it before, he can do it again. He would think that, after nineteen years of this grueling rinse and repeat, that he’d be able to tolerate a lot in the field. In fact, working with that wretched colleague of his, Scaramouche, and serving the Tsaritsa with a loyalty unmatched explicitly calls for the patience and tolerance of a saint.

Alas, Childe is the furthest thing from a saint. And still, Zhongli’s betrayal stung the most out of anyone else’s, the reason still unbeknownst to him. He tells himself that it’s because he had actually befriended the other man. That, unlike his other missions, he developed more of a friendship with Zhongli than he has with anyone else in the past. Not to mention how he really thought he’d find the gnosis, in all its golden glory, seated deep within the Exuvia, and not within his friend.

Which is why after he watches Zhongli hand over his precious gnosis to Signora of all people, Childe makes haste to return to the inn he had been staying at to furiously pack his things and leave first thing in the morning. Seeing Signora in Liyue so close to Zhongli had triggered a deep seated feeling of possessiveness over him and the city. Liyue was his territory, as far as he was concerned. It was assigned to him by the Tsaritsa and no one else. And yet, despite his unspoken possession over Liyue, its people turned against him and viewed him as the enemy. As if Childe didn’t already know that. As if he hadn’t already grown up with a layered villain complex, subconsciously looking for a fool with a hero complex to match him. Then entered Zhongli, making himself at home in Childe’s life, and he was immediately enamouring the Harbinger.

Screw Liyue.

Screw all their traditions, the stupid glaze lilies, the delicious cuisine, the obvious livelihood that fills the streets in stark contrast to his own icy hometown, screw all those goddamn unnecessary mountains, that fish market with that abhorrent smell he gradually got used to, and screw Rex Lapis. Screw Zhongli, that handsome bastard, for stringing him along like his plaything the entire time.

Childe knows, he gets it, that Zhongli simply did what he had to do because it was best for his people. And what other way for the oldest of the seven to go, if not for a grand finale? And yes, Childe admits, luring out Osial was a stupid move, but it certainly served its purpose for testing the strength of Liyue and its defenders.

Zhongli and Signora knew he would do something stupid and reckless as soon as he caught wind of the Exuvia serving as a decoy. They knew, and they played the game so well, that Childe really thought he was the mastermind puppeteering the whole show.

What a fool he was made out to be.

Childe aggressively shoves blazer after blazer into his travel duffel, angry, pathetic tears pooling at the corners of his eyes without his consent. He sniffs angrily and swipes at his cheek as soon as the first tear falls.

Fuck this, he’s not crying over a god, he still has some dignity.

But still. Pride aside, it hurt. And it wasn’t even necessarily the deceit that hurt the most. He’s dealt with that previously. It was… more personal. More of an internal struggle than an external issue. Childe truly hates those the most. At least he can shove his fist through any external problem, but he can’t exactly do the same with his feelings, or whatever they’re called.

It was the way Zhongli’s warm amber eyes suddenly were not as warm anymore. The way he looked at him with a piercing look, void of remorse, as he handed his gnosis over willingly to go on a whole spiel about how his “duties were done”. It was the way he turned and treated the precious traveler with the same amount of kindness and gentleness the Childe had received the previous night, with such ease; it was a look he thought was reserved only for him. It was the way he was able to turn back around, stare at Childe with an unreadable gaze, and walk away without so much of a goodbye.

The same eyes that gazed at him with such affection and kindness were suddenly replaced with the eyes of a soldier. And it was only then that Childe fully realized the force he was reckoning with. Zhongli was a withered god who lived too long for his own good. A powerful deity that held the ability to shake the ground with a look; he who had been humbled by time and his sharp edges eroded by the millions of faces that passed him. Simply put, Childe was just another one of those faces. And again, he understood. If he lived for six thousand years, he wouldn’t want to be alive after the first hundred.

It was the duality that dug the blade deeper into his already bleeding chest. He felt used.

“I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together, Childe,” Zhongli had said to him on a warm Liyuen night, “a friend of mine, a long time ago, told me that I was… bad at connecting with people. Emotionally stunted, is what she called me. And she is correct, as I have definitely struggled with making connections in the past. But with you… it’s different. It’s easy.

Childe is thankful for the discretion that night provides him; Zhongli would have easily spotted the blush spreading across his pale cheeks had it been daytime.

“So you had trouble making a couple friends, so what?” The ginger shrugs, “I wasn’t the best at making friends, either. My mom always said I was too aggressive. Apparently that’s not such an appealing trait, after all.”

Zhongli chuckles, a beautiful sound. “It was a bit deeper than that, I’m afraid. Understanding the complexity of another’s emotions was always difficult for me, whereas she… she was loved by everyone. Adored by the youngest of fawns to the oldest of horses. It came so naturally to her. I was the opposite. Not that everyone hated me, no, people just had a harder time getting close to me. Which is why, upon meeting you, I was shocked to find that we clicked so well. Befriending you was as easy as breathing air.”

Oh, Archons, help him.

“And,” Zhongli continues, as if he hadn’t already wrecked the man six ways to hell and back, “I must sincerely thank you for indulging me once again.” The deity glances down at the bag full of antique trinkets in his lap. Childe’s lips turn upward into one of his more genuine, rare smiles.

“What’s with you tonight?” Childe responds, and Zhongli looks at him questioningly , “I mean, you never had a problem with me spoiling you rotten before. You’ve never even acknowledged it. Why start now?”

Zhongli tears his gaze away from the Harbinger.

“And,” the ginger continues, “it almost sounds like you’re saying goodbye.”

Zhongli smiles at him then. He wore a kind look on his face, eyes so impossibly warm that it reminded him of his grandmother’s pirozhki. Hot and steaming from the center, melting on his tongue, dissolving deliciously in his mouth and defrosting his entire body. His smile felt like it wrapped itself around his chest and squeezed the best way possible, fitting him back together in places Childe didn’t even realize he had broken.

“What makes you say that?”

Oh, Childe is pissed.

Fuck tomorrow morning, Childe is leaving tonight.

The memories of last night crash over him not unlike a tidal wave and suddenly, he’s drowning. Filled out the brim with a familiar rage burning through his chest and searing his finger tips, his legs, his fucking toes.

He stands abruptly when he realizes he’s been sitting and resumes his packing. It doesn’t take very long after that. A couple toiletries get shoved into the side pockets, his vision is hooked back onto his hip, and his mask is slid into its’ usual spot on his head. He looks at himself in the mirror on the way out and scowls at the way his hair looks more disheveled than usual. Red rims his dulled blue eyes, forcing him to accept that maybe he cried more than he’d like to admit. Whatever.

He swings the door open and-

“Childe,” lo and behold, Zhongli stands in his fucking doorway, “I’d like to talk to you, if that’s alright.” The man looks slightly disheveled. He’s a little out of breath, Childe notices, like he ran up those ridiculous flights of stairs to get to his room- which, by the way, he never disclosed that information with him.

The man in question huffs a laugh. “It’s not.”

He makes a move to brush past him, but is stopped by an unreasonably strong grip around his bicep.

“Tartaglia,” he pleads, “please.”

Childe snatches his arm back and spits, “don’t call me that.”

He retreats back into his room anyway, hearing Zhongli close the door behind him. He dumps the bag back onto his bed and curses himself for not leaving a millisecond earlier.

“You’re angry with me.” Zhongli starts, face as unreadable as ever.

“The sky is blue. Snezhnaya is cold. Are we still stating the obvious here?” He’s too angry to carefully choose his words. Too hurt to slip on his pleasant facade.

“Tartaglia,” he presses, and Childe really hates how his name sounds on his tongue, “I truly am sorry for the way things had to go. It was not in my intentions to… hurt you to the degree in which you feel. I simply was upholding the end of my contract and doing what was best for my people. I implore you to believe that making you feel used was not my main objective.“

Oh god, his apology sounds so robotic.

“So you’re aware that what you did was a little fucked up.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re aware that almost the entirety of Liyue places the blame on me.”

“Yes.”

Well, shit. “Good talk, Zhongli-xiansheng. If you’ll excuse me, I must begin my trip home.”

He stomps toward the door only to be stopped once again. Archons, if Childe had any motivation left, he most certainly would challenge him to a spar. The ginger huffs, and looks to the heavens in a silent plea for patience.

“Tartaglia, please, I’m not finished-“

“Yeah, well I am.” Their eyes lock. Blue meets gold in a hostile hold, refusing to break. “The second you handed your gnosis over, my business here was done. Whatever… relationship we had is done. You were my consultant and was a Harbinger here for business. A Harbinger that you obviously used for your disposal. So now that that’s over and done with, I really need to report to Tsaritsa, lest she have my head on a silver platter-“

“I spoke with Tsaritsa already.” Zhongli cuts in, his grip tightening around Childe’s wrist. “I asked her for more time with you.”

“You what.”

“Surely you are curious about the deal I struck with Tsaritsa. The contract to end all contracts, yes?” Childe’s wild look on his face eggs him to continue, “I struck a deal that granted you more time here in Liyue. With me.”

Childe is silent for a moment. The ex-Archon opens his mouth to continue.

“And I’d like to say I’ve known you long enough to know that you seek freedom. From what that may be, I do not know. But Tsaritsa has agreed to give you a choice, at the very least, a temporary one. An extended vacation or complete retirement is a choice to be made by you.” Zhongli finishes, looking to Tartaglia with hope.

“THAT is worth your fucking gnosis?!” Zhongli’s gnosis. The entire essence of his being. The very thing that makes him divine (thought it certainly isn’t the only thing that makes the man ethereal), was traded for him.

“Yes,” Zhongli replies with such ease it makes Childe’s head spin. “Among other things, of course.” An aggressive why is lodged in the back of Childe’s throat. Why me? A million questions swirl around his head, knocking him off balance. He would have swayed on his feet had Zhongli not been there to hold him upright.

“That’s insane. You’re insane. You…” Childe lets out a tired sigh, “I don’t understand you.” And he doesn’t. Because one minute he’s a cold hearted businessman, and the next he’s at his door, reduced to a mortal, begging him to stay. Granting him freedom. Really, what kind of fucked up game is this? Why didn’t anyone tell him he was a part of it?

Zhongli smiles. He smiles. “You remember our conversation from the night before, yes?”

Childe rolls his ever-blue eyes to the back of his head. “Remind me, Zhongli-sensei,”

“I said,” the deity starts, drawing both of Childe’s calloused hands between his own, “that I struggled to connect with others. Guizhong, the Goddess of Dust, was the one to bring to my attention my emotional constipation. And like I said, she was correct.”

Childe’s anger withers.

“Unfortunately I understand naught of the depth of your feelings of betrayal,” he continues, “but I do wish to understand how deeply humans feel. And in our time together, I’ve begun to understand through you. Despite your… complexities. And I wish to continue to learn. With you.” I wish to feel human is left unsaid, and laced between his words instead.

“What are you saying,” the Harbinger asks weakly.

“Take me with you.”

“What.”

“Take me with you. Wherever you go, I will follow, if you will allow it.”

Well duh, he’d allow it. Zhongli just had to work for it a little more. He can’t just waltz in here after breaking his heart and ruining his trust, demanding his friendship and companionship or whatever, after everything he was put through-

“Okay.”

Very nice ass to mouth filter, Ajax.

Zhongli’s eyes glow impossibly brighter, “Okay?”

Childe tugs his hands back to his side. “Yes, yes, fine. Whatever. But you can’t just. You can’t just use me again in the name of experimentation.”

“Tartaglia, I would never,” he assures him vehemently, “Of the seven, I was always the one most oblivious to emotions. You may ask Barbatos if you want. But I know that what I feel for you is real and I would not trade it for the world.”

Childe’s mind reels. Barbatos? Feelings?

“‘What you feel for me?’”

Zhongli cocks his head in confusion, as if his feelings were the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, yes. And you feel the same, no? It need not be said aloud.”

“It really doesn’t,” Childe affirms, “you can save me the embarrassment.”

“Wonderful,” Zhongli’s face brightens, and it’s only then that Childe is hit with the full realization that Zhongli is free. No longer is he tied to the city and burdened with the weight of the people. No longer does he have to associate himself with the likes of the Tsaritsa. Finally, after centuries and centuries, he is allowed the pleasure to smile so brightly despite feeling pained for finally leaving his people. He is Zhongli, and no longer Rex Lapis. Morax is long gone, too. The man before him is a man reborn, and Childe’s heart aches with happiness for him.

“Okay, well,” he clears his throat when he notices he’s been quiet for too long, “it’s been a long day and I’m tired. I think I’m just gonna take a shower and turn into bed and think about the rest tomorrow. Save it for future Childe, you know?”

He pads over to his hastily packed back and zips it back open, pulling out the toiletries he aggressively shoved in less than an hour ago. He digs his fingers into his neck and sighs at the release of tension. Summoning an angry ocean god took a lot more out of him than he anticipated.

“I agree,” Zhongli says, and begins to strip. “Personally I prefer the left side of the bed.”

Childe gawks at him.

“You-!” Truly an emotionally constipated god, indeed. He sighs and his shoulders droop, the fight leaving his body. “Fine. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be out in a bit.”

“I eagerly await your return,” Zhongli comments passively as he slips under the covers, a book he didn’t even know he was carrying tucked under his arm. Childe sighs for the nth time that night and turns to close the bathroom door behind him.

Future Childe certainly has a lot to deal with in the morning.

#genshin impact #genshin impact fan fiction #Tartaglia #Childe #zhongli #tartali #zhongchi #i love them so much it hurts #childe x zhongli #angst #character introspection #when this chapter ended i was incredibly emotional #i just want them to be happy

53 notes · View notes

sortasirius · 4 years ago

Text

Broken Wings, Pretty Things

AN: Based on this bc I saw it today and I’m trash

Pairing: Steve/Bucky

Words: 1662

Read on AO3 here

Bucky doesn’t pay attention to the passage of time anymore. The room they keep him in has large windows, but even the moonlight burns his eyes, so he has no way of knowing whether it’s night or day. He just knows they wake him up several times a day to strap him to a table and pump him full of things that make his entire body burn.

Even so, it’s been awhile since anyone’s been by. They usually had him on a pretty strict schedule. He doesn’t have the energy to look around, to try and fight or escape. He’s never been so tired in his life, but whatever they put into his veins keeps him awake, a deep, simmering pain he can’t shake. He doesn’t know if the screaming that he’s hearing is outside or inside his own head.

Vaguely, he becomes aware that there’s someone in the room with him. He keeps repeating his classification, his number, determined not to forget this most precious information. Well, that and light blue eyes, but he couldn’t forget those, not even in the middle of a war, not even when he left those eyes behind in Brooklyn.

“Bucky?”

The voice stirs something in him, but it can’t be, just another fever dream brought on by the chemicals that ran through his blood. That voice couldn’t be here, that voice was across an ocean, safe, not thinking about him. That voice, which he had heard in his dreams for years, didn’t belong in this place. He had always done whatever it took to protect that voice, it’s carrier. How could it be here?

“Oh my God.”

He feels the straps around him being pulled off, and he tries to focus on his savior. Tall, broad, military gear.

But those eyes. He’d know those eyes anywhere.

“Is that...”

He can’t let himself speak his name, because if this wasn’t true, if this person was someone else...now that might really break him.

“It’s me,” says the man. Bucky tries to focus, sees the nose, which isn’t as crooked, the face, which is lined in worry, the shoulders, which aren’t hunched, holding in a cough, “It’s Steve.”

Bucky doesn’t care that he looks different. He doesn’t care that he looks about seven feet taller and as wide as a truck. He doesn’t care, he just can’t tear his eyes away from him.

“Steve?”

He can feel his lips curl up involuntarily, the first smile he’s had on his face in what feels like years. His eyes, which he had kept closed for so long, were suddenly wide open, drinking Steve in like a man in a desert craves a glass of tall water. He reaches out almost blindly, desperate to make contact with some part of Steve, only to realize Steve’s hands are wrapped almost all the way around his forearms. The difference in his physical appearance is jarring, but his face, his eyes, the soft smile he gives Bucky, that’s all the same. It’s all exactly the same and it feels like someone’s switched the IV in his arm from the chemicals to pure sunshine, filling him to the brim with warmth.

“Come on,” Steve pulls him up, and Bucky takes a second to steady himself, still clinging to the leather of Steve’s jacket, unable and completely unwilling to let go.

“Steve.”

He could say his name a million times, it would never be enough.

Steve looks at him, his brows knitting together in that telltale way when he’s really worried or focused on something, and touches the side of Bucky’s face lightly with the palm of his hand. It takes absolutely everything in Bucky not to sink into the touch and be buried in the feel of it.

“I thought you were dead.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to take him in, and he realizes, with a little jolt, that Steve is taller than him now. Taller, clearly stronger, standing straight up, not with that hunch in his posture from his joint issues. What is he supposed to say when the man he’s known all his life, the man he’s loved for all his life, is so different yet so the same? He goes for the joke, it’s easier than the alternative.

“I thought you were smaller.��

An explosion in the distance pulls Steve’s eyes away from him, but Bucky can’t take his eyes off Steve, still a little afraid that this is all a terrible dream, that he’ll blink and Steve will be gone again, disappeared into the hazy corners of his mind that he could only retreat to when they left him alone to battle with the poison they put in his blood.

“Come on,” Steve pulls him along with ease, supporting almost all of his body weight, while Bucky’s tries to remember how to use his legs. He can’t stop staring at Steve, who’s checking the corners like a real soldier, but Bucky can’t compute that, can’t understand how he’s grown a foot and is supporting his weight like it’s nothing, not when, six months ago, Bucky had spent two weeks checking on Steve every day to make sure the New York winter didn’t kill him with his asthma.

“What happened to you?” he manages, still trying to get his feet under him. Steve doesn’t seem to be bothered by his weight.

“I joined the Army.”

The make it down one hallway until Bucky finally manages to support his own weight. Steve lets him walk on his own, and though he appreciates the gesture of not needing help, he immediately misses the contact with Steve.

Steve walks purposefully in front of him, still checking corners and keeping his eye on Bucky. Bucky has about a million questions, and questions will keep him from falling asleep on his feet.

“Did it hurt?”

“A little.”

So a lot.

Bucky suddenly thinks of what they had been pumping into him for the last month. The whispers he had heard of a super soldier, a new creation, the way to turn the tide in the war. Fear settles in his gut like poison.

“Is this permanent?”

Steve shrugs, looking back at him again.

“So far.”

The make it to the hangar, which is already a torrent of heat and explosions. Bucky has no idea where they’re going, but he would follow Steve anywhere. Even death, if that’s where they were headed.

Bucky loses track of his mind when they come face to face with a man he had only seen in the shadows of the base, a commander of some kind, but one that never stopped to look at him long. All he knows is that Steve throws a punch at the man that would have broken the old Steve’s wrist. He was never much of a fighter, no matter his intentions. A doctor that Bucky recognizes from his time in the green room separates them by splitting the bridge. That was probably a good thing, he reflects, when the man Steve punched peels off his own face to reveal a horrible red skull.

“You don’t have one of those do you?” he asks Steve quietly, unable to handle the world in front of him without humor.

The two leave he and Steve in the middle of the exploding hangar, and it takes Steve only seconds to see their only hope: one last beam that could get them to safety.

“Come on. Let’s go, up,” Steve tries to push him to go up the stairs first, but Bucky sidesteps immediately, thinking of the pact he had made with himself at 13 years old. Steve always goes up the stairs first. It doesn’t matter that he’s different now, Bucky has to look out for him. Always.

Steve insists that Bucky go first, and he can feel immediately that the beam isn’t going to last long. The heat is overwhelming, like it could melt steel, and he just makes it across before the beam collapses, falling into the depths of the fire. Leaving him and Steve separated.

Bucky’s brain immediately clears, not filled with the fog of the pain he’s in, the exhaustion. There’s a problem in front of him, the biggest problem, and he’s going to find a solution, to get Steve to where he was, to get Steve out of here.

“There’s gotta be a rope or something-”

“Just go! Get out of here!”

Bucky feels the anger rising in his throat. As if he would ever, ever leave Steve.

“No not without you!”

He seems to understand that his options were get across, or watch them both die. He bends back metal like pipe cleaners, and Bucky is suddenly, viscerally reminded of the crafts his sisters would bring home when they were children. But this was a war, and there’s no art in war.

Steve makes a jump that no one should be able to make, one that you only hear about in stories, and they get off the base with just seconds to spare. Bucky refuses the medical attention offered to him as they start the long trek back to base, instead walking next to Steve, stealing a glance at him every so often, forgetting, more than once, to look up instead of down.

“Thank you,” Bucky whispers to Steve halfway through the night, as the men around them chatter animatedly about showers and good food, eager to get back to a military base where they were soldiers and not prisoners.

“Come on pal,” Steve grips the back of his neck gently in the darkness, where they knew no one could see, “You’d do the same for me.”

You’re right, Bucky thinks, watching Steve step into the role of leader he had always been suited for, in all ways but physical. Now they can see what I always have, he thinks dryly, still unable to tear his eyes away from the blue eyes that would carry across his dreams for the rest of his life.

#my writing #stucky #not spn #mcu #catfa

16 notes · View notes