~TRxC_VikingEir~

𓆩☠︎︎𓆪𝔅𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔐𝔢 ⏝꒷︶ ͡𑁬⁠♡໒ ͡ ︶꒷⏝ |⟢ The Reforged Crew 𓆩TRxC𓆪⋆180*⋆ |⟢ Age :24 |⟢ Pronouns: She/Her ───•⋅⊰༻༺⊱⋅•───

[thatviking69]

~• Master list •~

X-men (Movies)

Bone Claws

In the mountains of Montana, Astrid Eirsson has lived for more than two centuries, keeping to the old ways with her father. The world beyond the pines never mattered-until the day Logan and Victor Creed walk back into her life, bringing William Stryker's war with them.

She is not like the others Stryker collects.

She never wanted to be found.

But some hunts refuse to end.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

[thatviking69]

Bone Claws

Chapter 2

Blackridge, Montana — Three Days Later

The snow had stopped, but the cold remained sharp enough to sting the lungs.

Astrid moved along the upper ridge at first light, following the faint trail of a mule deer. Her breath came out in slow clouds. The bone claws of her right hand flexed once as she crouched beside a set of tracks, fingertips brushing the frozen earth. The deer had passed through less than an hour earlier. Healthy. Alone.

She should have been focused on the hunt.

Instead her mind kept returning to the clearing below the cabin and the two men who had stood in it.

Logan had looked older. Heavier somehow, not in body but in the way he carried himself. The blue-gray eyes had still been the same, though—tired and stubborn in equal measure. Victor had been exactly as she remembered: all sharp edges and barely restrained hunger.

And they had brought Stryker’s people to her door.

Astrid rose and continued along the ridge. The wind shifted, carrying the clean scent of pine and distant woodsmoke from the cabin. Underneath it, faintly, she caught the familiar presence of her father moving around the small outbuilding where he kept his tools.

She turned back earlier than she normally would.

Leif was seated at the workbench when she stepped inside the cabin, carefully wrapping the handle of a new hunting knife with dark leather cord. The cut on his knuckle from the week before had finally closed, but the skin around it remained darker than it should have.

He did not look up. “You came back without a kill.”

“The deer can wait.” Astrid hung her coat and moved to the stove, pouring water into the old iron kettle. “You’ve been quiet since they left.”

“There is little to say.”

“They’ll return.”

Leif’s hands stilled for a moment. “Yes.”

Astrid leaned against the counter, watching him. “Logan said Stryker doesn’t let things go.”

“Logan has always had a talent for understatement.” Leif finished the wrapping and set the knife aside. When he finally met her eyes, the weariness in them was clearer than usual. “Men like Stryker collect what they cannot control. They either break it or put it in a cage.”

“I’m not going with them.”

“I know.” He stood, slower than he once had, and crossed the small room. His large hand settled briefly on her shoulder. “But they will keep coming. And eventually they will stop asking politely.”

Astrid’s jaw tightened. “Then we make them regret finding this place.”

Leif’s mouth twitched in something that was almost a smile. “You sound like your mother when you say things like that.”

The quiet that followed was heavier than usual.

Later that afternoon, while Astrid was splitting wood behind the cabin, she caught a familiar scent on the wind—gun oil, old leather, and the particular mix of blood and iron that belonged to only one man she knew.

Logan was alone this time.

She set the axe down and waited.

He stepped out of the trees at the edge of the clearing with both hands visible, the same dark tactical jacket from three days earlier hanging open. The sideburns framed his face more sharply in the pale light. He stopped a respectful distance away.

“Didn’t bring the others,” he said.

Astrid wiped her hands on her trousers. “I can smell that.”

Logan’s gaze flicked briefly to the cabin, then back to her. “Victor wanted to come. I told him to stay put.”

“Wise.”

He gave a short, humorless huff. “For once.” He shifted his weight, glancing at the stacked wood. “Your father still as stubborn as he used to be?”

“More.”

Logan nodded as if that answered something. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft creak of the trees.

Finally he spoke again, voice lower. “Stryker’s not going to forget about you. He’s got files. Old stories. Local reports about a pale-haired woman who doesn’t age. He’s patient when he wants something.”

Astrid crossed her arms. “And you? Why are you here without your team?”

Logan looked at her for a long moment. Something complicated moved behind those tired eyes.

“Because I remember the first time we met,” he said. “And because I’d rather try talking before someone else decides talking is a waste of time.”

Astrid held his gaze. The wind tugged a strand of platinum hair across her face. She did not brush it away.

“I’m not interested in Stryker’s war,” she said.

“Neither was I,” Logan answered. “At first.”

He left the words hanging there, then took a slow step back toward the trees.

“I’ll keep them off this mountain as long as I can,” he said. “But time’s running out, Astrid. For all of us.”

She watched him disappear into the pines the same way he had a century earlier—quietly, without looking back.

When she turned toward the cabin, Leif was standing in the doorway, one shoulder resting against the frame. He had heard every word.

“He still carries the same weight,” Leif said quietly.

Astrid picked up the axe again. “Yes.”

She split another log with a clean, hard stroke. The sound cracked through the cold air like a gunshot.

Neither of them spoke of the future waiting beyond the trees.

But both of them knew it was already walking toward them.

Prev / Next

____________________

Let me know what tags I missed or need to add. 🙏🏻😭🩵

[thatviking69]

Bone Claws

Chapter 1

Blackridge, Montana — 1973

The mountains had not changed.

Astrid stood at the edge of the tree line above the old cabin, breath steady in the cold morning air. Frost clung to the pine needles. Somewhere farther down the slope a raven called once and went silent. She listened for a long moment, head slightly tilted, before continuing down the narrow path she had walked for more than a century.

Leif was already outside.

He sat on the wooden bench beneath the overhang, a half-finished knife handle in his large hands. His silver-blond hair and beard were longer now, streaked with more white than she remembered from only a few winters ago. The deep lines around his ice-blue eyes had grown heavier. When he moved, there was a slight stiffness in his left shoulder that had not been there the year before.

His healing factor was failing him by degrees.

Astrid set the pair of snowshoe hares she had taken that morning on the table beside him. “They’re starting early this year,” she said.

Leif did not look up from the knife. “The cold came early. Animals know.”

She studied him for a moment longer than usual. The scars across his knuckles were slower to fade now. A cut he had taken two weeks earlier while splitting wood still showed pink at the edges.

She did not mention it. He already knew.

Instead she went inside, hung her coat, and began preparing the animals with the same quiet efficiency she had learned from him as a child. The cabin smelled of woodsmoke, dried herbs, and old leather. Everything in it had been made by their hands over generations. Nothing was wasted. Nothing was new.

It was only when she stepped back outside that she caught the scent.

Not animal.

Men.

Faint, but wrong. Clean soap and gun oil and the metallic tang of vehicles that did not belong this deep in the mountains. At least four of them. Moving carefully, trying to stay downwind.

Astrid’s claws slid fully free with a soft, familiar sound.

Leif’s head lifted at last. His nostrils flared once. The calm in his expression did not change, but his voice dropped. “How many?”

“Four. Maybe five. Coming from the south ridge.”

He set the unfinished knife aside and rose. The movement was slower than it once had been, but still carried weight. “Stay behind me.”

“No.”

A flicker of something almost like amusement passed through his eyes. “You never did listen.”

They did not have to wait long.

The first man stepped out of the trees with both hands raised, empty. He was clean-shaven, military posture, wearing civilian outdoor clothing that still somehow looked like a uniform. Behind him, three others remained half-hidden among the pines, rifles held low but ready.

“Astrid Eirsson?” the lead man called. His voice was polite. Practiced. “My name is Agent Cornish. We’re with a special government program. We’d like to speak with you.”

Astrid said nothing.

Leif answered instead. “You’re a long way from any government office.”

Cornish’s smile did not reach his eyes. “We have a mutual acquaintance who suggested you might be interested in certain opportunities. Men with… unique abilities. Like yours.”

Astrid’s gaze flicked past him to the treeline. One of the hidden men had shifted his weight. The faint creak of leather and the soft metallic click of a safety being eased off reached her clearly.

She spoke at last, voice flat. “Tell Stryker he already has his animals. He doesn’t need another.”

Cornish’s polite expression tightened just slightly. “Colonel Stryker only wants a conversation.”

“Then he can come himself.”

A new voice answered from the trees to her left.

“He figured you’d say that.”

Astrid turned.

Logan stepped into the clearing.

He looked older than the last time she had seen him—harder. The dark brown hair was shorter now, though still rough, and a thick pair of mutton-chop sideburns framed a face that had only grown more weathered. The same strong jaw. The same blue-gray eyes that seemed permanently tired. He wore a dark tactical jacket over black gear, and even standing still there was a coiled readiness in the broad set of his shoulders.

Beside him, Victor Creed leaned against a tree with his arms crossed, watching her with open interest. The years had not softened him. If anything, the sharp, angular lines of his face had grown colder. His dark eyes moved over her slowly, lingering on the bone claws at her sides.

“Hello, mountain cat,” Victor said, the old nickname curling with dark amusement. “Miss us?”

Astrid did not answer him. Her attention stayed on Logan.

“You brought them here,” she said.

Logan’s jaw tightened. “Didn’t have much choice.” He glanced at Leif, then back to her. “Stryker’s been looking for people like us for a while now. He found the old stories about this place. About you.”

Leif’s voice was quiet and dangerous. “And you led them to our door.”

Logan met the older man’s gaze without flinching. “Better me than the ones who don’t ask first.”

Victor pushed off the tree and took a few lazy steps closer. “We’re putting together a team. Special kind of work. The kind that needs people who don’t die easy and don’t mind getting their hands dirty.” His smile showed too many teeth. “Figured you might be tired of playing hermit.”

Astrid’s claws flexed. “I’m not interested.”

Logan exhaled slowly through his nose. “They’re not going to stop asking, Astrid. Stryker doesn’t let things go. You either come talk to him… or sooner or later he’ll send people who won’t bother talking.”

The clearing went still.

Leif spoke without looking away from Logan. “You have five minutes to take these men and leave our mountain. After that I stop being polite.”

Victor’s grin widened, eager. Logan, however, only looked at Astrid for a long moment. Something complicated moved behind his eyes—recognition, regret, and something harder to name.

“I’ll keep them off you as long as I can,” he said quietly. “But this isn’t over.”

He turned, gave Cornish a sharp look, and started back toward the trees. Victor lingered a second longer, still smiling that cold, sharp smile, before following.

The government men hesitated, then fell in behind them.

Astrid did not move until the last scent of them had faded into the pines.

Only then did Leif speak again.

“They will return.”

“I know.”

He rested a heavy hand on her shoulder, the same way he had a hundred years earlier in the snow. “When they do, we decide together.”

Astrid stared at the empty treeline where Logan had disappeared.

The mountains had not changed.

But the world beyond them had grown teeth.

_____________________

Prev / Next

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[thatviking69]

Bone Claws

Prologue

Blackridge Mountains, Montana — 1871

Snow fell in slow, heavy flakes, muffling the forest until even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Astrid Eirsson moved through the trees like something that had never needed to learn how to hide. Her platinum hair was braided tight against her neck, the ends tucked beneath a dark wool collar her father had stitched the winter before. The bone claws of her fingers remained extended, pale and sharp, catching the weak light whenever she shifted her grip on the hunting knife. She did not bother retracting them. Out here, there was no one left to pretend for.

The scent hit her first.

Blood. Old, but not that old. And under it, something sharper. Metal. Gunpowder. And two distinct, animal smells that did not belong to any creature native to these mountains.

She stopped on a ridge overlooking a narrow ravine and crouched low, listening.

Voices drifted up through the trees. Male. Rough. One of them laughing in a way that sounded more like a threat than humor.

Astrid’s ice-blue eyes narrowed.

She had been tracking a wounded elk since before dawn. The trail had been clean until the last hour, when the two strangers cut across it without care. Reckless. Loud. The kind of men who believed the wilderness belonged to them simply because they carried rifles.

She dropped silently from the ridge and circled wide, staying downwind.

They had made camp in the hollow below: a small fire, two bedrolls, a half-skinned deer hanging from a low branch.

The first man sat sharpening a bayonet. Even seated, he was tall and powerfully built, with broad shoulders and a thick, muscular frame that spoke of hard years. Dark brown hair fell messily across his forehead, and a strong, square jaw was shadowed with several days of stubble. His eyes—sharp, blue-gray, and already carrying a permanent weariness—lifted the moment Astrid’s scent reached him.

Beside him, the second man paced like a caged animal. He was equally tall, but leaner, his frame all hard muscle and restless energy. His face was sharper, more angular, with high cheekbones and a cold, intense gaze. Dark hair was pushed back from a forehead that already held the beginnings of permanent frown lines. When he smiled, it was all teeth and no warmth.

Both of them smelled of war.

The broader man—Logan—lifted his head fully, nostrils flaring. Those blue-gray eyes locked onto the exact patch of shadow where Astrid crouched.

“We’re not alone,” he said quietly, voice low and rough.

The leaner one—Victor—stopped pacing. A slow, feral grin spread across his sharp features. “About time. I was getting bored.”

Astrid did not move. She had been seen by animals before. Never by men who could smell her the way she smelled them.

Logan rose slowly, hands loose at his sides. Even standing still, there was something solid and immovable about him, like a tree that had survived too many storms. He did not reach for a weapon. “Show yourself,” he called. “We don’t want trouble. Just passing through.”

Astrid stepped out of the trees.

Both men went still.

She watched their eyes take in the bone claws first, then the elongated canines when she spoke.

“You’re on Eirsson land,” she said. Her English carried the faint lilt of someone who had learned it from books and the occasional trapper, not from cities. “The elk you ruined was mine.”

Victor laughed outright, the sound sharp and mocking. “Listen to that. Little mountain cat thinks she owns the whole range.”

Logan shot him a look that silenced the laugh. Then he studied Astrid more carefully, those tired blue-gray eyes narrowing. “You’re like us.”

It was not a question.

Astrid’s claws flexed once. “I am nothing like you.”

Something old and heavy passed behind Logan’s gaze. “Maybe not. But you’re not human either.” He took a slow step forward, palms still open. “Name’s Logan. That’s Victor. We’ve been walking a long time. Didn’t mean to cross into anyone’s territory.”

Victor tilted his head, inhaling deeply, his angular face alight with interest. “She smells like snow and iron. And something older.” His dark eyes dropped to her claws. “Pretty.”

Astrid’s lip curled, revealing the sharp edge of a canine. “Touch me and I’ll take the hand.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “He means it as a compliment. He’s just bad at them.”

For a long moment the three of them stood in the falling snow, three predators measuring distance and threat.

Then, from higher up the slope, a low whistle cut through the trees—two notes, rising then falling. Astrid’s head turned slightly toward the sound.

Her father.

Logan noticed. “There’s more of you.”

“One more,” she answered. “And he is less patient than I am.”

Victor’s grin widened, all sharp teeth and anticipation. “Good.”

Logan put a hand on his brother’s chest before Victor could take another step. The gesture was firm, familiar. “We’re leaving,” he said. The words were for Victor, but his gaze stayed on Astrid. “We’ll take the long way around the ridge. Won’t come back this way.”

Astrid watched them for another breath. Then she gave a single, short nod.

Logan inclined his head in return—an old, almost formal gesture that did not match the blood on his clothes or the wildness in his eyes. He turned, grabbed the half-skinned deer by the hind legs, and started walking. Victor lingered a moment longer, still smiling that cold, hungry smile, before following.

Astrid did not move until the scent of them had faded into the trees.

Only then did she look up the slope.

Leif stood among the pines twenty yards above, silver-blond hair and beard dusted with snow, bone claws hanging loose at his sides. He said nothing. He did not need to.

Astrid climbed up to him.

“They were like us,” she said quietly.

Leif’s weathered face remained unreadable. “I know.”

“Will they come back?”

“Men like that always come back eventually.” He rested a heavy hand on her shoulder. “When they do, we will decide what to do with them.”

Astrid looked once more in the direction the brothers had gone.

Somewhere far below, a raven called.

She turned away and followed her father deeper into the mountains, the snow already beginning to erase every footprint they left behind.

Current / Next

____________________

Let me know what tags I need to add or ones I missed. 🙏🏻😭🩵

[mchonda]

no one look at me

[muffinlevelchicanery]

[vunblr]

Wanted Masterlist

Pairing: Frontiersman!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Tags: Western AU. Shotgun Wedding. Strangers to Lovers. Slight Angst. Comfort. Domestic Fluff. Slow Burn. Smut.

Warnings: Reader has Heterochromia. Loss of Virginity. Period-Typical Gender Roles and Expectations.

Summary: She came to White Creek for a teaching position that didn't exist. He needed a wife but never expected to find one like this.

Note: After seeing this picture, I just had to write something related to it.

Status: Ended

Chapter 01

Chapter 02

Chapter 03

Chapter 04

Chapter 05

Chapter 06

Chapter 07

Chapter 08

Chapter 09

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

[thatviking69]

I’ve got four more chapters already typed up in my drafts, ready for editing. For now, I’m taking a tiny break while the series settles in and picks up some traction. 😊

Hope you enjoy the chapters so far — let me know your thoughts!

[shinhati]

cemeteries aren't creepy they're actually devoted to memory and rest and love and humanity

[thatviking69]

I’ve got four more chapters already typed up in my drafts, ready for editing. For now, I’m taking a tiny break while the series settles in and picks up some traction. 😊

Hope you enjoy the chapters so far — let me know your thoughts!

[thatviking69]

THE SKY ABOVE LAS ALMAS

The sun had only just pulled itself over the desert horizon when Ghost lifted his massive head, amber eyes narrowing at the wash of pale gold across the sand. The light flickered across the bone-white mask etched into his scales, making it look momentarily alive—shifting, breathing, staring right back at Amelia.

A shiver crawled down her spine, the good kind.

A reminder: she wasn’t riding a beast. She was riding a force of nature.

“Price expects us in the sky,” she murmured, adjusting the straps on her harness. Her hands still trembled faintly—not from fear, but from the weight of what had happened last night.

Ghost had chosen her.

Her.

Not the hundreds of trained riders before her. Not the tacticians or specialists or hardened operatives. Amelia Hart, a writer-turned-analyst with more instincts than credentials.

You hesitate.

The thought brushed her mind, hot and gritty like sand carried by wind.

Amelia let out a breath. “Not hesitation. Respect.”

Ghost’s pupils narrowed in something almost like approval.

She swung herself up and into the saddle, the leather warm from Ghost’s body heat. He shifted his shoulders, adjusting his massive wings. Sand swirled in a tight vortex around his talons as he crouched.

For a heartbeat, everything stilled—

the air, the desert, Amelia’s breath.

Then Ghost launched.

The earth dropped away. Amelia’s stomach lifted with the force, but she leaned with him instinctively. Wind clawed at her clothes, snapping the loose fabric at her sleeves. Behind her, Ghost’s wings beat with heavy, thunderous power.

Far below, the base shrank to a scattering of tiny beige dots. Beyond it, the desert unfolded like an endless golden sea.

Amelia leaned forward. “Take me to Las Almas.”

Ghost didn’t answer—words weren’t needed. He simply angled his wings and surged toward the horizon.

The City of Souls

Las Almas was a patchwork of color, noise, and heat visible even from miles away. Clusters of buildings sprawled outward like roots from an ancient tree—some painted bright, others worn and sun-bleached. Smoke rose from morning cooking fires. Traffic honked in erratic rhythm. And somewhere below, deep in the tangle of narrow streets and hidden alleys, Task Force 141 was already moving.

Price’s voice crackled through Amelia’s headset.

“Ghost, Hart. You’re eyes in the sky. Soap and Alejandro are making their way through the market. Keep them covered.”

Amelia lifted her binoculars.

“I’ve got visual,” she said. “Ghost is descending to overwatch altitude.”

Ghost rumbled low in his throat. They walk blind. We see for them.

He circled high over the market square, wings outstretched like dark sails catching the rising heat. Civilians paused mid-step at the sight of him—some shading their eyes, others grabbing children by the shoulders and pulling them indoors.

Amelia’s chest tightened.

“Not used to seeing dragons without collars,” she murmured.

Ghost vibrated with something like disgust. Collars are chains for cowards.

“Agreed.”

From her vantage point, she saw more than people—she saw patterns. Movement that didn’t match the flow of a morning market. Men pretending to buy bread while passing signals. Lookouts stationed on rooftops disguised as delivery workers. Runners weaving in and out between alleys too quickly to be casual.

“Cartel activity high,” Amelia whispered into the comm. “Multiple spotters. Ghost is tracking five… no, seven armed individuals.”

“Copy that,” Price replied. “Keep an eye on rooftops.”

“I am.”

Or rather—Ghost was.

His head snapped toward the east. A low rumble built deep in his chest. Up. Height. Metal glint.

Amelia followed his gaze—

A rooftop two blocks away.

Someone lifting a long, black shape.

A scope.

A rifle.

“Ghost, dive!”

Ghost folded his wings without hesitation.

Wind screamed past them as they plummeted. Amelia squeezed tight, heart hammering, eyes locked on the rooftop. The sniper barely had time to register a shadow descending like an executioner.

Ghost hit the rooftop with explosive force.

The metal roof crumpled, sending reverberations through the entire building. The sniper flew backward, weapon skittering across the gravel.

Amelia jumped off before Ghost even settled, boots hitting the rooftop hard.

“Don’t move!” she barked, rifle aimed steady.

Ghost’s claws pinned the sniper down, the dragon’s amber eyes burning like coals ready to consume.

“I—I wasn’t gonna shoot!” the sniper squealed.

Ghost leaned closer, breath hot enough to make the man whimper. Liar.

Amelia stepped forward. “You’re working for El Sin Rostro.”

“No!” The man trembled. “I mean—yes—please I—”

Ghost growled low, shaking dust loose from the warped rooftop.

“You tell your bosses,” Amelia said quietly, “that the sky belongs to us today.”

She motioned to Ghost.

The dragon lifted his claws. The sniper ran, stumbling over himself, leaving his rifle behind.

Ghost snorted. Fool.

“Come on,” Amelia said, climbing back onto his back. “Soap and Alejandro are moving again.”

A Warning from the Sky

They lifted off once more, Ghost’s shadow sweeping across dancing strings of laundry and cracked terracotta tiles. Amelia spotted Soap below—arguing loudly with a fruit vendor trying to overcharge him.

Alejandro stood at his shoulder, hiding a laugh.

But danger pulsed around them.

Amelia felt it first—a cold prickling at the base of her skull. Ghost felt it too. His wings stiffened. His pupils contracted.

Scent. Heavy. Wrong.

“Ghost?” Amelia whispered. “What is it?”

Ghost didn’t answer. He banked sharply left, nearly scraping a rooftop.

Below—

cartel soldiers flooded the street.

Too many.

Too coordinated.

Moving toward a single point.

Soap.

Alejandro.

“Ambush!” Amelia yelled into the comm.

“Already on it!” Soap shouted back. Muzzle flashes flared below.

Ghost didn’t wait for instructions.

He descended like an avalanche.

His jaws opened. A roiling blast of white-hot fire surged downward—controlled, directed, hitting only the patch of street behind the cartel men. The shockwave knocked bodies into walls, sent guns clattering across pavement.

Soap dove behind a fruit stand, shouting, “Bloody hell! Biggest damn guardian angel I’ve ever seen!”

Alejandro smirked. “That’s not an angel, hermano. That’s a dragon.”

Ghost exhaled a plume of heat. Move.

Amelia pointed. “South alley. Go!”

Soap and Alejandro sprinted.

Ghost leapt skyward again, but something stopped him cold mid-air.

Amelia felt the shift in him—something ancient, instinctive, almost fearful.

“Ghost?” she whispered. “What do you sense?”

His wings froze.

His breath slowed.

His claws curled into his own palm mid-flight.

A scent… from the old days.

Heat swelled dangerously under his scales.

Death walked here once.

Amelia’s breath caught. “Where?”

Ghost turned his head toward the southern edge of Las Almas—toward an old, half-crumbling church.

Smoke curled from its broken windows.

Men gathered around crates of weapons.

And at its center stood a tall, masked woman giving orders like a conductor at a symphony.

Amelia felt her stomach drop.

“El Sin Rostro,” she whispered.

Ghost growled so deeply the air vibrated.

We hunt.

Amelia tightened her harness.

“Then take us in.”

Ghost tucked his wings, and together they plunged toward the heart of Las Almas.

The raid on the church began.

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Main Masterlist/Blog Rules

(A/N: Disclaimer this story is gonna be uploaded slowly but I already have it planned out and have a few chapters written already. I'll be uploading when I have the chance to. Hope you enjoy this story!! ☺️)

[thatviking69]

Prologue

In a time long past, when gods roamed the heavens and mortals whispered their prayers into the ether, there existed a girl whose very presence felt like a secret cradled by Olympus itself. Though not a goddess by birthright, Azealia possessed a rare magic that eclipsed even divine lineage. Her beauty was mesmerizing-crafted, it seemed, from starlight and silk-but it was her serenity, her unshakable calm amid the turbulence of immortal life, that left even gods enchanted.

No storm could disturb her peace, and no venomous word could pierce the stillness she carried. Beings from distant realms sought her out with their burdens, desperate for her guidance. And always, Azealia listened with patience, her voice soft as moonlit waters. Over time, she became revered across worlds as the Goddess of Tranquility and Love-a beacon to all who yearned for solace.

Many believed gods to be merciless tyrants, but Azealia knew a different truth. Five centuries earlier, the celestial beings had descended to Midgard with pure intentions: to uplift humanity and grant them a chance at a harmonious life. But their compassion was mistaken for weakness. Humanity's complexities had been underestimated, and one by one, the gods fell into subjugation-enslaved by the very mortals they hoped to guide. Only a single family remained faithful, honoring the fallen deities as the benevolent spirits they once were.

Now, fate whispered a new question:

Would Azealia and her three siblings arrive in time to deliver the ancient gods from their ruin...

or had salvation come too late?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As destiny stirred, Lord Zeus hurried through the gleaming halls of Olympus, his normally steady gait sharpened with urgency. In his haste, he collided with a healer, nearly knocking her off balance.

"Oof! You clumsy ser-" Hephzibah snapped, her irritation flaring-until she looked up and froze.

"L-Lord Zeus! My deepest apologies! I thought you were one of the servants-please, forgive me!"

He waved her apology aside, his composure held together by thin threads. "It's quite alright. I must see my wife and child."

"L-Lady Hera is resting, my Lord," came a gentle voice. Anathema emerged from the nursery, having just tended to the newborn. She guided Zeus inside, where soft light bathed the room in a warm glow.

Zeus approached the ornate crib and leaned over. His breath caught.

There, bundled in shimmering cloth, lay an infant girl with radiant, electric-blue eyes that glittered like untold secrets. Her porcelain skin held luminous silver-gold markings that drifted across her frame like living constellations. Her lips-soft, red, perfectly shaped-curved into a tiny giggle as if she recognized him.

"Is this him?" Zeus asked, hope flickering.

"The baby is a girl, my Lord," the healer replied gently.

A rare stillness overtook him. "A girl... I had hoped for a son." He paused, awe overtaking disappointment. "But she... she is extraordinary."

The healers exchanged uncertain glances-never had they seen their King struck speechless.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dawn washed the skies in pale gold as Hera awoke, exhaustion easing from her body after the long night. She crossed to the crib with slow, reverent steps and gazed at the sleeping child who seemed to radiate peace itself.

A soft smile touched her lips.

Yet as she studied her daughter's features-the beauty of Aphrodite, the quiet cleverness reminiscent of Athena-Hera felt a bittersweet weight settle in her heart. Azealia was destined for greatness, yes, but also for trials that would demand every ounce of strength she possessed.

And so, beneath the tender hush of morning, a mother silently wondered:

Would her child be ready for what the fates had already begun to weave?

[thatviking69]

THE DRAGON WITH NO FACE

The desert air tasted like metal.

Amelia Hart stepped off the transport aircraft with one hand shielding her eyes from the grit carried on the wind. A storm had passed only hours ago, and it left Sierra-9 Dragon Facility coated in a thin layer of wet sand that stuck to everything. Even the chain-link fences buzzed under the weight of it, crackling with static.

She pulled her hood tighter, breathing in the familiar scent of engine exhaust and scorched dust. The base looked unremarkable—squat concrete buildings huddled together like tired soldiers, their edges weathered by heat and sandstorms. But there was something in the air she couldn’t name.

A tension.

A pulse.

Like a sleeping giant beneath the ground.

And she could feel it watching.

A shadow moved at the corner of her vision, and she turned sharply—only to find nothing but heat shimmer dancing above the tarmac.

“Beth Hart?” a voice called, rich with gravel and clipped authority.

She spun to see Captain John Price approaching, his boots crunching through the grit. He moved with a relaxed confidence that suggested he had seen the worst the world had to offer—and walked away seasoned, not shaken.

“It’s Amelia, sir,” she corrected gently.

Price smirked, tipping his hat. “My mistake. Amelia, then.”

He shook her hand, his grip firm.

“You were a special request,” he said. “Did you know that?"

“No, sir.”

“Well, you were. And the one who requested you isn’t exactly the type to make requests.”

Her brows knit. “Who?”

Price jerked his head. “Come meet him.”

They walked across the cracked tarmac toward the largest hangar in the facility—an old aircraft shelter reinforced with steel plates and thick columns. Guards flanked the entrance, rifles ready, posture rigid.

Amelia’s heartbeat quickened.

She had heard rumors. Everyone in her field had. But nothing confirmed. Nothing official.

Sierra-9 wasn’t just a dragon stable.

It was the dragon stable.

The one that held the world’s most volatile, powerful, and unpredictable war-dragon ever documented.

Price paused before the blast door and looked at Amelia more seriously than he had so far.

“Before we step inside,” he said, “you need to understand something.”

She nodded.

“What you’re about to see isn’t a pet. Or a partner. And it’s damn sure not a tamed creature. He’s one wrong breath from burning the whole damn place down.”

Amelia swallowed. “And I’m here because…?”

“Because you’re the only one he didn’t try to kill on sight.”

She blinked. “I’ve never met him.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Price said, typing in a code. “Dragons don’t evaluate people the way we do.”

“What do they evaluate, then?”

Price’s gaze flicked toward the hangar door as it began to rise.

“Instinct.”

A wave of heat rolled out—intense, living, almost sentient. The hair on Amelia’s arms stood up. The scent of sulfur and char washed over her like a physical force.

The hangar chamber inside was dark except for intermittent flickers of red emergency lights. The floor was scorched steel, cracked and clawed. Chains dangled from reinforced rafters. Deep gouges marred the walls—marks made by something large, powerful, and angry.

Amelia’s breath caught.

A low, abyssal growl vibrated through the air—so deep it rattled her ribs.

And then she saw him.

The dragon stepped out of the shadows like a nightmare given form.

His scales were matte black, edged with gleams of molten orange beneath. They looked forged—not grown—like armor hammered in a volcanic forge. His wings were massive, skeletal in shape but thick and powerful, stretching nearly wall to wall.

But it was his face that froze her.

Bone-white markings streaked across his muzzle, forming the eerie shape of a skull. Not paint. Not decor.

A mask of scars.

A reminder of violence survived.

Amber eyes burned through the skeletal pattern, fixed on her with an intelligence that felt ancient and sharp.

Amelia’s knees almost buckled.

“Ghost…” she whispered.

Price’s voice softened. “Codename. Earned it.”

Ghost took one slow step toward her. The ground trembled. His muscles rippled beneath armor-like scales. Heat radiated off him, and Amelia could feel it even from fifteen feet away.

His growl deepened—no longer a warning.

A test.

Price leaned near her ear. “Everyone else ran by now. Do not give him your back.”

She didn’t.

The dragon circled her with slow, deliberate movements—his deadly tail dragging sparks across the floor. His pupils adjusted, narrowing as he observed her like a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve.

Amelia forced herself to stand tall, lungs expanding around a heartbeat that hammered like gunfire.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered.

The dragon’s head lowered—mask inches from her face. His breath was scorching, laced with smoke and ash. For a moment, the entire world shrank to amber eyes and bone-white markings.

Then—

A short, sharp snort of air blasted her hair back.

A sound that felt almost like…

Amusement.

Price let out a breath. “Well, hell. He likes you.”

Amelia’s voice barely worked. “He… does?”

“Enough not to eat you immediately. For Ghost, that’s practically affection.”

Ghost’s pupils dilated as he leaned closer, sniffing her shoulder, her cheek, her hands. His massive talons curled around the floor as if restraining instinct.

Her fear melted into something unexpected—an awareness of him. His size. His heat. His controlled violence. And beneath it all, something lonely and fractured.

Pain.

“Price,” she whispered, “what happened to him?”

Price’s jaw tightened. “Another time.”

Ghost watched her, waiting.

Price nudged her gently. “Touch him.”

Her stomach flipped. “If he bites—”

“He won’t,” Price said. “Dragons kill quick. If he wanted you dead, he’d have done it already.”

Amelia raised one trembling hand, closing the distance between her fingers and Ghost’s jawline.

Her palm touched hot obsidian scales.

Ghost’s eyes slid shut. A deep rumble poured from his chest—soft, almost aching. Energy pulsed through her palm, down her arm, and into her bones. Like a heartbeat not her own thrummed in her ribcage.

Amelia gasped.

Ghost inhaled, slow and deliberate, accepting the contact.

Price’s voice came quietly. “Looks like you’ve been chosen.”

“Chosen?” she echoed.

Ghost opened his eyes. In them, she saw the truth.

A dragon who had lost everything.

A weapon who wanted to be more.

A creature who refused to bow to anyone—yet bowed his head to her.

“He’s bonded,” Price said simply. “Ghost just took a new rider.”

Amelia stood frozen, hand still pressed to the dragon’s scorching skin.

“Why me?” she whispered.

Ghost’s thought brushed her consciousness—hot, simple, and absolute.

You did not flinch.

Her throat tightened.

“I won’t,” she whispered.

Ghost nudged her, pressing his skull-mask gently against her shoulder.

A gesture of acceptance.

A vow.

Price stepped back with a grim smile. “Good. Because we’ve got work. Las Almas is heating up, and we need our best in the sky.”

Amelia met Ghost’s burning eyes.

He didn’t need words.

She understood the message in his steady gaze.

Where you go, I go.

Where you fight, I fight.

You are mine to carry.

And I am yours to command.

The heat of him radiated through her, a promise of fire and war.

And in that moment—

the girl

and the dragon

became something neither had been alone.

Partners.

Weapons.

A force the world wasn’t ready for.

Price keyed his comms. “Ghost. Amelia. Saddle up. We leave at dawn.”

Ghost unfurled his wings—massive, shadow-dark, stretching until the air hummed with their power.

Amelia exhaled, steady and new.

“Alright,” she said softly. “Let’s start.”

Ghost’s chest warmed in agreement.

Always.

/Next

Main Materlist/Blog Rules

(A/N: Disclaimer this story is gonna be uploaded slowly but I already have it planned out and have a few chapters written already. I'll be uploading when I have the chance to. Hope you enjoy this story!! ☺️)

[thatviking69]

💙 𓆩 Blog Rules 𓆪 💙

please read before interacting!

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🌿 1. Be respectful.

No harassment, hate, or drama. You will be blocked.

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🔞 2. No explicit content.

Keep my inbox SFW. Anything illegal or non-con gets reported instantly.

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🫶 3. Heavy topics stay private.

Avoid public asks about SH/SI.

DMs are open if you genuinely need someone to talk to.

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No toxicity. No stirring drama.

Be kind or be gone.

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Share art, writing, headcanons — tag me anytime!

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I do **not** take commissions (art, writing, stories).

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💫 7. Fandoms I Write For

• Red Dead Redemption 2

• Destiny 1 & Destiny 2

• Call of Duty *(limited)*

• X-Men (Movies)

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🔧 Rules may update as needed.

Series List Below

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Also available on Wattpad

(Disclaimer: I do not own any of the call of duty characters)

CHAPTER 1 — THE DRAGON WITH NO FACE (1/30/26)

CHAPTER 2 — THE SKY ABOVE LAS ALMAS (1/30/26)

CHAPTER 3 — THE CHURCH OF NO FACES (Coming soon)

CHAPTER 4 — EMBERS OF THE PAST

CHAPTER 5 — A CONTACT IN THE SHADOWS

Also available on Wattpad

Prologue (1/30/26)

Chapter 1 — The First Light (Coming soon)

Chapter 2 — The Shadow That Stirred (Coming Soon)

(This story isn't uploaded here quite yet, will be available soon. 🤭)

[maybe-not-this]

Birds of Prey

Avian Hybrid Ghost x Avian Hybrid Reader

Joining the 141 is a dream come true, a team fully comprised of avian hybrids, working alongside the best of the best, and you'll have a fellow bird of prey to keep you company? What more could you ask for?..... maybe for a co-worker who's not a massive cunt.

Ghost is less than enthused about another raptor joining the team, especially one so eager to show him up. Avoiding them doesn't exactly work when you live in close quarters and Price has made it clear they're on the team for good. Guess he's left with only one option.

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Part 1 - Meet and Greet coming 05/02/2026

Part 2 - Tour Group

Part 3 - Skill Assessment

Part 4 - Mess Hall

Part 5 - Excursion

Part 6 - Downtime

Part 7 - (Not So) Friendly Competition

Part 8 - Close Call

Part 9 - Big Steps

Part 10 - Bonding

Part 11 - Dream Team

Part 12 - Annual Traditions

Part 13 - Sulking

Part 14 - Snap Judgement

Part 15 - Rise and Shine

Part 16 - On Top

Part 17 - Consequences

Part 18 - Silent Treatment

Part 19 - Butting Heads

Part 20 - Implosion

Part 21 - Recovery

Part 22 - Shadow

Part 23 - Debrief

Part 24 - Bet On It

Part 25 - Tiptoe

Part 26 - Drinking Games

Part 27 - Tight Grip

Part 28 - Preening

Part 29 - Private Moment

Part 30 - Revelations

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This series may contain some amounts of violence, harassment and sexually explicit scenes

Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

New chapters will be posted twice a week

General Masterlist

[thatviking69]

[thatviking69]

(These are pics I used an AI generator on. They are of my own pictures I used)

These are the original pictures. 🤭🩵

If you wish to have a picture of yours done like this, just put an ask in, and I'll get them done for you!! I pay for an app to do this.