#Frost is one of them and then he still shoves Thunder's face into his wound so he ''knows'' why Frost needs to die

[bonebabbles]

average day in the tiktok warriors fandom

he's. he's literally described on the page as enjoying the feeling of making cats viciously maul each other. He gets "validation" for his feelings constantly through Gray Wing and his other sycophants kissing his ass, and still maliciously and intentionally torments them. He beats women and children for telling him no

What they want is BREEZEPELT. This describes BREEZEPELT. BREEZE. PELT.

The cat who is ACTUALLY reprimanded by authority for being angry all the time?? The one whose dad screeches at him for having basic needs?? A character who is explicitly shown to be manipulated by an evil force because they're the only ones who validate his feelings??

THAT Breezepelt?? Ringing any BELLS?

Lemmie guess. Tiktok probably doesn't like Breezepelt much because if you acknowledge that he's a child abuse victim, you can't keep woobifying Crowfeather into a sad boy. Lol.

[felswritingfire]

April Brain Rot #11

Prompts:

74. Rome

46. "Hold me just a little longer."

15. Tackle Hug

Rook Hunt x Reader

Summery: The Gods are waging war and you wait for your God to come back patiently. But, when the war leaks into the mortal realm, will he be able to get to you in time?

TW: Blood; Violence; Threats; Religious Themes (very loose)

Word Count: 1,594

A note from Fel: This one, I've had done for over a damn week??? Like, I love Rook to death and my girlfriend really likes this one so like * high fives self * ALSO I LOW KEY WANT TO DO A SERIES WITH THIS??? IT'S JUST- I HAD SO MUCH FUN (if y'all want to send in any requests centered around this, you will own my whole H E A R T)

It had been a long time since he had waved to you, walking off into the forest, his bow slung over his shoulder with his quiver of arrows hanging from his hip. You had watched as the shadows devoured your god that night.

The seasons had changed and yet the angry clouds, rumbling with thunder lingered throughout each of them. Now, a thin frost had covered the fields, leaving you to shiver and pull your shawl closer to you. You stood at the start of the forest, the looming trees acting as a wall. You grip your basket tight in your arms, shifting the dried meat and the few fruits and cheeses you managed to save, the loaf of bread still warm. Your friends had tried to tell you not to go- told you that the gods would not be back for a long time. The war in their world was too important. You knew that. You knew that the first time a shower of red poured down on you and the fields you were tending to. You had watched as your neighbors fields faded, still hesitant to pray to lord Epel for good harvests. And, yet, you couldn’t just give up- not on your god, not on the one who so gently took your hand that night and saved you from the bandits who had burned your village to the ground; who burned your family to a crisp.

“You have no need to fear,” he had said to you, picking you up in his arms and cradling your head close to his heart. “I will protect you no matter what, for you looked up to me and asked for me to save you, Mon Clair de Lune.”

He had taken you to this village, where the gods held a special spot for the people- giving you the home closest to the forest. He had asked you if you knew how to draw a bow and you told him you did. You think that’s when the two of you truly connected.

The laughs and shrieks of joy as he would chase you around the fields and trees just to wrap his arms around your waist were memories you held dear to you everytime he went back into the forest to answer Lord Vil’s calls (no one could deny Venus his wishes).

“I will be back, Mon Clair de Lune. Je t'aime.” He whispered into your hair, running his hands along the expanse of your back.

It had made you nervous when he was hesitant to let go, like he was afraid he wasn’t going to come back. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and cheeks before turning and waving with a soft smile.

You sigh, another shiver shot through you as the wind picked up. Your eyes squeezing shut and you blow a breath of white air out from your lips. Maybe you’d see if Ace (you refused to call him Lord Ace, you were much too close for that by now) could dial down on the winds- though it might not even be him dictating these winds for once.

You sigh, turning to go back to your home when you hear a strange gurgling noise to your side. You furrow your brow- it almost sounds like a creek, you think as you turn to see where the noise was coming from. There, off in the distance, a black mass pulsated and writhed. You felt yourself go stiff as it jerked to and fro, red dots rolling around the expanse of its flesh until they finally pointed forward to look at you. The basket in your hands dropped as you turned to dash somewhere away from the village, as you hear flesh tearing and a bone rattling shriek leave from somewhere behind you.

You rush past the fruit fields and through the flower beds, praying that Jack could forgive you as you feel the delicate stems crunch beneath your foot. The sound of thundering steppes racing behind you causes a ball to form in your throat, pushing yourself to run faster and faster.

You had hit the creek, the bottoms of your wool pants and boots frigid in the rush of cold water as you slosh through it. You’re almost to the other side when you stop: yellow eyes stare at you through the leaves of the bushes. The shrieking comes to a stop behind you and you look over your shoulder to see the black mass staring past you as you turn back. The eyes had moved, now well above the branches of the tree, you can make out long arms, veins straining underneath skin, and white teeth glinting in the light of the early morning sun.

You nearly begin to rush up stream when a voice says, “I wouldn’t.”

You freeze, looking back at the pair of eyes to see a long snout peeking out from the bushes.

It’s mouth smiles, showing off sharpened fangs, as it steps further into the light. It towers over you, hunching over as it pushes branches out of the way. “You look delicious- all of the humans here do.” It hums to itself as it takes more heavy steps towards you. “Maybe it’s because you all have been blessed by the gods-” it throws its’ head back to release a wheezy laugh- “the ones that left you to fight a war they won’t win.”

“The gods will win.” You’re surprised with how much confidence you say it, but you try not to let it show as you watch it tilt it’s wolf-like head to the side.

“Not if you are all dead. Gods have nothing without their worshippers, you know?”

You shiver from the mix of the cold water and the realization, crinkling your nose at the smell of rotten meat and old blood that wafts from it’s hulking body. You look up at it, glaring. “Do-” you almost gag at the smell and it almost seems to laugh- “do not doubt the strength of the gods. They’ll come back to us and they will save us no matter what.”

“You put so much stock into them, human.” It crouched on its haunches, sliding a hand under your trembling chin. “So cute and delicate.” You can hear the other behind you shuffle, grunts and wheezes following its movements. The other in front of you laughs again as it watches your gaze begin to shift. “Do not take your eyes off of me.” Your eyes stare at it, swirling with a dread that it finds positively delectable. “I will take your head without you realizing it.”

Your vision began to grow glassy as its maw stretched wide; hot, humid breath, that smelled of rot, hitting your face as a row of giant teeth showed itself to you. You clasp your hands together, praying with all your might, with every ounce of your soul, that Rook would come and save you. That your huntsman would come and shoot down the beasts that wished to devour you.

Just like that night when he had first saved you.

"Si ma lune prie pour que je vienne, je le ferai.”

The creature screamed in pain, the sheer volume shaking your bones and piercing deep into your skull. It shoved you away, your body falling under the frigid stream of the water. You hear a muffled scream from above as you break the surface of the water. You gasp as you suck in air, dragging yourself to the side of the bank where Rook rushes to meet you.

You're leaning on your elbows as you catch your breath when Rook’s body barrels into yours, knocking you back with a loud ‘oof!’ coming from you. His face nestles into your neck and you swear you feel him tremble. “R- Rook?” You wrap your arms around him, running them along his back to see for any wounds. “Are-” you breathe out a cold breath- “are you ok?”

He’s muttering in that tongue he adores so much (French- you remember him calling it), squeezing you tighter.

“Rook?”

“Hold me just a little while longer.”

You freeze, your eyes blurring with tears at his tone: devoid of everything carefree and casual. He sounded like he was in pain. You wrap your arms tighter around him, burying your face into his neck.

“I am so sorry, Mon Clair de Lune. I should have come sooner.” He pulled away, his hands cupping your face as he pressed his forehead against yours, his green eyes glassy. “Were you afraid?”

You blink, trying to keep the tears from spilling over your bottom lashes. “I was.” You close your eyes. “But, I knew you would come for me. I knew the gods wouldn’t abandon us.”

He laughs, soft and tired. “You are too important for me to let you die so easily.”

“And I will not die so easily as long as you will it.” The quiet that settles between you two is gentle and you can’t bring yourself to want to leave his embrace despite the cold of your wet clothes seeping into your skin and making your bones ache. You open your eyes to look into his. “Is… Is this truly going to be a war?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I’ll stay by your side. No matter what.”

“And I shall protect you no matter what, Mon Clair de Lune.”

He presses his lips against yours and you let yourself melt into it, holding onto the last semblance of peace that may allow you rest for a long time.

<The Next Chosen Character>

Thank you for reading!

[mythicamagic]

Because I’m absolute SessKag trash, spots to kiss #3 - a kiss on the forehead.

@shastuhh

3: a kiss on the forehead.   (a continuation of this prompt - link)

Kagome gazed up at him, lashes lowering to direct her attention to the claws gripping her wrist. She took a breath; "I'm sorry I was gone so long. I needed to figure some things out. Stuff like...what I want to do now, and who I am without any expectations put on me. The future isn't where I belong, I know that much. So I've decided to become a travelling priestess, to utilise everything I've learned so far and help people. But that's not what I came here to talk about," she touched her sword- the hilt purple. "The only reason I can stand before you and say what I'm gonna say so clearly is because of everything you've done for me," Kagome murmured in a rush.

"Even if it was just sex to you, or indulgence- it doesn't change the fact that you still comforted and listened to me. Improving my confidence and boosting my ego helped me so much, so thank you for that."

She smiled genuinely. "Really, I'm truly grateful for our time spent together, Sesshoumaru."

He looked as though he'd been carved from stone; he did not move an inch. Dark brows pulled together and she hurriedly slipped a hand into her pocket, bringing out a certain earring he'd given her at the start of their midnight trysts.

Kagome lifted the demon's stiff hand from her wrist and turned it palm up, placing it within. "I'm returning this back to you," she said softly, raising her gaze. "Our agreement isn't going to work long term, therefore I'm terminating it now."

An intake of breath- sharp like a hiss of steam rushed through parted lips. Sesshoumaru's fingers closed around the earring and he withdrew from her, stepping back. Winter frost laced his gaze like a barrier. "I see," he said in a practised, collected tone.

Kagome raised a hand with alarm, "wait-"

"This one bids you farewell, miko. There is no need to drag this out-"

"I said, wait!"

He stopped at the crackle of energy that raced over her skin like a thunderclap. Kagome took a breath, hands tightening into fists. He always looked smaller without armour, like someone more approachable. He only usually took it off around her, as a sign of vulnerability. None of that was conveyed in his guarded eyes now. "I know I can't reach you because you're a youkai. That's what you said, right? You can't be wounded emotionally- but that's crap. Your feelings can get hurt too!" she grit out. "Or maybe I've just been projecting all this time- I don't know. I'm so tired of worrying about if a guy likes me or not. That's why we have to break this off, I won't have you become another Inuyasha. I- I can't do casual. I realised that while I was away. So...this...doesn't have to be the end, if you don't want it to be…"

"You just said the agreement is terminated."

"I did," the miko nodded. "Because I don't want to be someone's fuckbuddy forever. So I'm- I'm extending a new offer; a relationship. With...me."

Golden eyes widened. Panicking, Kagome hurriedly continued on. "T-the uh...terms would be pretty simple; you can't treat me as 'the exception' of humans. What I mean is that; while I'd never expect you to become a human cheerleader, if you want to be with me, you can't say stuff about hating them or thinking they're weak. I refuse to be seen as 'one of the good ones.' If you say that stuff, you're disrespecting me too. That's just how it is."

He arched a brow but remained where he stood, which encouraged her to blab on. "Second; you'll take me to your home. I don't exactly want to be paraded around but I also don't want to be an illicit secret like Izayoi was to your father."

Sesshoumaru shifted his weight to face her properly. "Anything else?"

She faltered at his stoic expression, before swallowing and soldiering on. This wasn't easy. The part of herself that he'd coaxed out and tenderly made love to until she felt whole and unshakable started to give underneath worry of rejection. But no- Kagome shook herself. She'd be fine. If he told her 'no' she could carry on and look to the future. She wasn't uncertain anymore. "I guess...without being too presumptuous- I wouldn't want to mate right away. That's kinda a marriage thing, right? I'd like to date first. Um, your turn?"

Sesshoumaru tilted his head and took a step closer. "I require pups from you."

"You require?"

He grunted and sighed, rolling his jaw slightly as though finding new words. "This Sesshoumaru would like to have pups with you."

Kagome's face flamed red, voice becoming squeaky. "Oh. How many?" her lips twitched, heart thundering.

"Hn, about half a dozen."

"T-that's a bit much to think about right now. How about two to start with?"

He gave a long-suffering sigh, "very well. At some point; I desire you to become my mate and mother to my children. Those are my terms."

Kagome tapped her chin, humming seriously. "I guess that's acceptable to this Kagome, but I'm the one who extended the offer of a relationship first, so this all hinges on you; If you're not averse to it, then accept."

His eyes had darkened and there was lean, ravenous shift in his expression. A large, elegant hand slid into the fall of her hair, curling around the back of her neck. "I accept your terms," came out as a hushed rush between them.

Kagome's expression cracked and welled up with emotion, relief flooding into her scent like a tidal wave. She suddenly threw herself against him, no longer able to pretend that every fibre of her being wasn't crying out for him. Sesshoumaru caught her about the waist and held her close, shoving his nose into the fall of dark hair and inhaling.

Trembling in his hold, she stubbornly held tears at bay. Happy noises slipped past her teeth. He felt so warm and safe despite the claws running down her back and power radiating off him; all was familiar and welcome.

Sesshoumaru pulled away slightly to lift his head and press a long, reverent kiss to her forehead.

Kagome stiffened, breath rushing out of her. It was a youkai expression, specific to dog demons. He'd lazily mentioned it while they'd been twined together once.

When he shifted back, Kagome immediately pushed up on tip-toe and shoved her mouth to his, wrapping both arms tight around his neck. The kiss grew heated, mouths parting and tongues seeking, bodies naturally rocking and brushing, want stirring. Blushing, the miko pecked his lips and directed her attention to their cave.

"We could use it once more, for all old times sake."

Sesshoumaru smiled, huffing. "Let us not pretend that we won't frequent this cave often whenever we visit your friends."

"You have a point. It's pretty convenient," her giggle was lost- muffled beneath another stifling kiss, which she eagerly returned. The unlikely pair then stumbled their way to their old haunt, collapsing together with a rush of quiet laughter and breathy, content noises.

[quickspinner]

Blue Lightning

This is a sequel to Pink Frosting and while it should be mostly self-explanatory, it will make more sense if you read that story first.

Happy birthday to one of our lovely, dedicated fandom cheerleaders and fellow writer, @bloody-no-kissu! I'm a bit late but I hope you enjoy it anyway. <3

This fic was inspired by a few things. One of the @mlweeklyprompts a few weeks back was Trope: Blankets/Shirt Collar Shifting Just Enough To Have Bandages Peeking Out, and there was also this really cool video of a strong lady dancing in roller skates going around, plus it was Bloody's birthday and she inspired the original Pink Frosting fic, so all of those influences just came together to inspire and motivate this fic. I hope you enjoy!

Read it on AO3 | Fiction Master Post

Luka hummed to himself as he left the boat, which wasn’t unusual, but there was an extra bounce in his step as he began the familiar trek to the T&S Bakery. Because it was Wednesday, and Wednesday was his unofficial date night with his extremely very official girlfriend. 

Girlfriend. The grin that split his face wasn’t at all in line with his reputation for being calm and easygoing. He and Marinette were dating. Luka would never get tired of that thought. He was dating Marinette and she was his girlfriend and it was everything he’d ever pictured in idle, wistful daydreams.

Man, he felt lucky. He’d been in love with Marinette for years, but no matter how close they became as friends, she never seemed ready to cross that line. Luka had just accepted that it wasn’t going to happen, and tried to just be the best friend he could be to her, right up until she flung herself right across that line and into his arms and kissed the daylights out of him. It still gave him goosebumps thinking about it, even though they’d been dating for months now.

Luka greeted Sabine on his way through the bakery, waving to Tom behind her, and then puffed his way up the frankly indecent number of stairs it took to reach Marinette’s room. Her door was open and he knew she was expecting him, so he just called a greeting as he peeked in cautiously. 

“Hi, Luka,” Marinette said distractedly. She was leaning half into her closet, reaching for something above her head. “One sec, I just need to get this down.” 

“Do you need a hand?” Luka asked, lips quirking in amusement as he came the rest of the way into the room. Marinette gave him a dirty look over her shoulder and he just grinned innocently back at her, folding his arms across his chest.

“No, I got it,” she grunted, rising up on her toes and catching the edge of the box with the tips of her fingers. Luka’s eyes automatically flicked to the hem of her shirt as it rode up, expecting a glimpse of toned muscle rippling under smooth skin, but that wasn’t the view he got. 

“Here we go,” Marinette sighed, bringing her heels back down and turning to set the box on her desk. 

Luka was beside her before he’d even made a conscious decision to move. He caught her arm and lifted it out of the way, pulling her shirt up to expose her side. 

“Luka!” she gasped, jerking away and shoving her shirt back down, but they both knew it was too late.  

Luka straightened and looked at her, lips tight. She blushed and folded her arms, turning away from him a little, tugging the hem of her shirt lower. Not that it mattered. He’d already seen, and as much as he preferred to let Marinette have her space and come to him when she was ready to talk about things...but, well, he was human, and seeing her hurt was not something he could just let go. 

“Marinette,” Luka said, his voice tight though he tried to keep it calm. “What happened?”

“Nothing important,” Marinette shrugged, and then she shrank under his gaze. “I just fell.” 

“How hard did you fall,” Luka asked, one fist clenching as bad memories flooded in, “That you needed bandages on your ribs?”

Marinette pressed her lips together and stepped back from him a little. “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“Maybe not,” he sighed, fighting the urge to catch her and pull her back. “I’d like to think by now you should have a little faith that I’ll try, though.” 

She blushed at that, and looked ashamed, her gaze falling to her feet. Luka sighed again and forced his fingers open, then tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. “Just tell me, Marinette,” he said, some of the hurt he was trying to hide seeping into his voice. “Do you really feel like whatever happened is so bad that you can’t share it with me? Haven’t I always supported you?”  

Her eyes flicked up to the pink-tipped locks falling over his forehead, and she flushed with shame. “Of course you have,” she murmured, shoulders slumping.

“Then please, trust that I’ll be here for you however you need,” Luka urged, letting his hand fall to take hers. He tugged her gently over to her chaise and they sat down together as Luka considered his words. “I’ve always tried to let you talk about things in your own time, but I’m really kind of scared right now. I haven’t seen you hide an injury like this since—” Since she’d been fighting supervillains and bullies on the regular. Not that he was supposed to know about that first part. “Since the bad days.”  

“No,” Marinette sighed, bringing her hands up to frame his face. “It’s not—not like that, Luka. It’s just...well...stupid. I feel stupid. I did something stupid and I didn’t want to tell you and now you’re upset with me.”

“I’m upset that you were hiding that you were hurt,” Luka told her, putting his hands over hers. “I—you know I hate to pressure you, but you’re hurt and I’m not feeling very reasonable about it.” 

Marinette chewed her lip and looked away with a sigh and a defeated expression. “It’s really not a big deal. Not like you’re thinking anyway. I really did just fall. On my skates.” 

Luka blinked. “Your roller skates?” he asked stupidly, and Marinette rolled her eyes at him.

“Yes, my roller skates. I was wearing pads but I...well I was trying a trick I saw one of the other girls do, but I didn’t land it, and I hit the rail on my side, and…” And she had enough experience with rib injuries after everything that happened that she’d just taped herself up and gone on. But— 

“So this happened at derby practice?” Luka asked, confused about why she would try to hide it, especially if the rest of the team knew.  

Marinette winced. “No. After derby practice. After everyone else was gone.” 

Luka’s frown deepened. “You tried a new trick without anyone spotting you? Without anyone even coaching you? While you were alone?” 

Marinette sighed, pulling her hands away and turning away from him. “And that’s why I didn’t want to tell you.” 

Luka sat there for a moment, lips pressed together, and then he stood up abruptly. “I need a minute,” he said shortly, crossing her room and jerking open the trap door. He went down the stairs quickly, and paced in the living room where he didn’t have to hide the thunderous expression on his face. Part of him wanted to yell at her, to lecture her, to tell her how stupid and irresponsible that had been, and what if she had hit her head and there had been no one there to find her? He knew from his own ice skating experience that you couldn’t just pick up a jump without coaching, without having someone to break it down for you and show you how to achieve it safely. 

And why would she do something like that, especially after how hard she had to work to convince her friends and family that she could be trusted on skates at all without killing herself? She finally convinced them, all of them, that she wasn’t a disaster waiting to happen, that she could actually be good at something physical. Luka had seen it; he’d been there at every bout and seen the way her friends had slowly gone from skepticism to grudging respect to enthusiasm. 

Finally, Luka stopped pacing and put his hands over his face, taking a moment to breathe and calm down. He needed to hear Marinette out and freaking out wasn’t going to do anybody any good. The last thing he wanted to do was damage her trust in him. 

She looked miserable when he came back into her room, curled in on herself, one hand on her injured side and staring at the floor. It broke his heart a little and Luka sighed to himself as he crossed over to her, sitting back down in his place beside her. He cupped her cheek and raised her face so he could look in her eyes. Her lashes were wet and he hated it. 

Luka leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away if she liked, but she only closed her eyes and let her cheek sink more solidly into his palm. Luka kissed her softly, and she pressed into him, clutching at his hoodie for a moment. He slipped his other arm carefully around her and focused on his feelings for her, kissing her as tenderly as he knew how. I’m here, he thought at her, I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe and I love you. I won’t leave you. 

Slowly she relaxed against him, tension easing out of her as they kissed and kissed again. She got like this, sometimes, afraid she would suddenly be too much for him, that he couldn’t possibly love her at her lowest—as if he hadn’t loved her through every up and down for years, even if they’d only gotten together recently. Luka was happy to reassure her in any way she needed. 

When the kissing wound down to an easy, natural end, Marinette buried her face in his shoulder. Luka held her, rubbing her upper back softly, staying well away from the bandages. “Can you tell me why now?” he asked softly, after a few minutes. 

Marinette groaned. “It’s stupid.” 

“Tell me anyway.”

Marinette sighed and pulled away from him, going over to grab her tablet from her desk. She brought it back with her and plopped down next to him, pulling up a video.

Luka watched the video, recognizing Marinette’s roller derby team by the uniforms, though the faces weren’t people he knew. They were on the rink but it wasn’t a bout; it looked more like a dance. The video shifted and showed what looked more like a skills drill, people weaving in and out of obstacles, cheering and showboating the whole time.

“The team—well, the whole league, actually—does exhibitions like this,” Marinette explained. “For fundraising or just to get their name out there. This one was a few years ago, but there’s one coming up soon. Some of the girls have been practicing some choreography and things for it, and I just...well that one—” she pointed to the video as a girl pulled off a trick that looked simple, though Luka doubted it really was. “I thought maybe I could do that one. I was the last one leaving the rink anyway, so I just...decided to give it a try.” She made a face. “Obviously, it didn’t go well.” 

“Did you tell anyone you wanted to learn some of these tricks?” Luka asked, frowning slightly. 

“No,” Marinette admitted quietly. “I guess I...well…I didn’t want any of them to see me mess up. They don’t know clumsy Marinette, except Alix, and I didn’t want to be that person anymore.” 

“Marinette,” Luka said softly, sliding his hand up to squeeze her shoulder. “It’s not clumsiness to fall when you try something new. I’ve fallen on the ice rink lots of times. It’s just part of the learning process. You’ve got plenty of strength and flexibility, it’s just teaching your body to do the right things in the right order. If you want to try and be part of the...exhibition team, or whatever you guys call it, then I think that’s a great idea. But I want you to do it safely. If you got hurt, it wasn’t because you aren’t capable, it’s because you didn’t have anyone there to teach you. Do you really think the team will laugh at you? Did they laugh at you when you were first learning to skate the incline rink?”

“No,” Marinette admitted, and then made a face. “Well, sometimes. But not in a mean way.”

Luka kissed her forehead softly. “And they won’t laugh at you in a mean way now. Even if you try and don’t like it, or you’re not any good—which I highly doubt since you’re amazing at everything you really put your mind to—they won’t tease you for it, will they? You’ve been so happy since you started doing roller derby, Marinette. If you want to get involved in more team activities I think that’s awesome.” Marinette gave him a tentative smile, and he smiled back. “If you want, I can come to your next practice. If you just want some moral support while you discuss it with the girls.” 

Marinette’s lips turned down. “I should be able to do something like that without you.”

“You’re plenty able,” Luka said, resting his cheek on her hair. “You just don’t have to.”

He felt her sigh and consider. He came to her practices, not regularly, but often enough that no one would think much about it if he was there. He had the impression from the giggling and whispering that the other girls thought it was cute. 

“You really wouldn’t mind?” Marinette asked in a small voice, and Luka turned his face and kissed her temple. 

“You know I love watching you in those shorts,” he teased, and then yelped as Marinette jabbed an elbow in his gut. “Ow,” he pouted.

“Here I thought we were having a serious emotional conversation and you just want to ogle my butt,” Marinette huffed, folding her arms.

“I learned how to ogle you and carry on a serious conversation at the same time years ago,” Luka teased. “It’s practically a survival skill for teenage boys. Especially those of us lucky enough to have super hot girlfriends.” 

***

A few days later, Luka lounged on the bleachers at the rink, a pair of headphones plugged into his guitar as he noodled idly and watched the team. He’d been a little self-conscious at first, but Marinette had been excited the first time he asked to come, and Suzette gave permission, so he tried not to think too hard about the fact that none of the other significant others ever seemed to show up. He grinned and winked at a couple of Marinette’s teammates when he caught them staring. They giggled and waved as they went on their way. The girls all knew he was completely devoted to Marinette, so he felt safe flirting a little, just for fun. Really it was less about the flirting and more about making Marinette look good. He had an inkling that Marinette kind of liked showing him off, which did all sorts of pleasant things to his insides, so he did his best to be charming without being a creep.

When he could spare the attention, at least. He loved watching Marinette on the rink, strong and graceful and confident, now that she’d moved past the initial awkwardness of learning how to move in her skates and building up the muscle she needed. Luka could see, even if Marinette couldn’t always, how much she contributed to the team and— 

Something banged on the rail in front of him and he started as Alix grinned at him, eyes knowing under her helmet. “Wake up, Couffaine,” she laughed, banging the back of her pad on the rail again for good measure. “Your lovesick puppy look is distracting everyone.” 

“Sorry,” Luka grinned, chuckling. He turned his attention back to his guitar as Alix rolled her eyes and skated off. She caught Marinette around the neck and gave her a vicious noogie, complaining loudly that her boyfriend was getting drool all over the rink. Marinette tossed her off and chased her around the rink. She still wasn’t quite fast enough to catch Alix, but the entire team whooped and started around the rink, and the whole thing became some kind of free for all that Luka couldn’t quite follow, until Suzette intervened and got them back into their drills.

Finally Suzette called that the team was free to go and just the exhibition squad should stay. Luka put aside his guitar and walked out onto the rink, slipping an arm around Marinette’s waist as she skated up to him. 

“Ready?” he asked softly, and she nodded. They made their way back to where Suzette was giving instructions, and all eyes turned curiously their way.

“Um,” Marinette began nervously. “I was hoping that maybe I could, um, join the exhibition squad? I know I’m new and I don’t really know that much but I’m a fast learner and I could—” She cut off the ramble as Luka squeezed her hip.

Suzette smiled warmly at her and Alix gave her two thumbs up. “Of course you can,” Suzette told her, and then her smile faltered slightly. “Although I’m not sure if there’s enough time to get you up to speed with the other girls for this exhibition…” She looked down her clipboard, tapping her pen on her lips thoughtfully. “We could have you do a solo skills exhibition like Alix, except…”

“Alix is a lot better than me at all those things,” Marinette shifted uncomfortably. 

“You haven’t been doing them as long,” Suzette reminded her kindly. “We could maybe use that as an asset, though. Show them a beginner level drill while Alix handles the advanced stuff. If we came up with a few things and you really drilled on them—” Suzette began, but she was interrupted before she could finish the thought. 

“What about jam skating?” one of the girls spoke up. Everyone turned to look at her and she shrugged slightly. “It’s always a crowd pleaser. It’s fun and as long as the song is killer, it’ll look good even if it’s simple. We start out teaching her the basics and if she can manage some fancier tricks we can work them into the routine later. Marinette’s strong and flexible, I bet she can make it look good, and that way she can still participate but we don’t have to shoehorn her into something where she’ll have to do a lot of work to catch up.” She looked at Marinette. “How does that sound? I bet you can put together a killer outfit. If you like it, we can work on more complicated stuff for the next fundraiser.” 

“That sounds really fun,” Marinette admitted shyly. Luka squeezed her hip again. “I’m sure I could come up with a great song,” she added, glancing up at Luka. He blushed a little and winked at her. 

“I’m sure we can find something,” he agreed.

“Okay then,” Suzette grinned. “You can work with Danielle and we’ll see how it goes, and work it out from there. Welcome to the squad, Marinette.”

***

A couple of weeks later, Luka was lounging on Marinette’s chaise while she sat hunched over her desk, brainstorming outfits for her exhibition skate. “How’s the jam skate prep going?” Luka asked, bending over to plug his guitar into the tiny pink amp that now lived under her chaise. Marinette had giggled all afternoon the first time he brought it over, but it was perfect for letting him practice while she worked, without being in her way when he wasn’t there. Marinette had decorated the casing with some of her flower decals and now it felt like it had always been part of her room.

“Not bad,” Marinette said, refocusing on the outfits she was sketching. “It still feels a little awkward. Danielle’s trying to teach me this quick-change move and I keep getting my feet tangled up, but she promises me that’s normal and that I’m doing well.”

“You mean she didn’t call you clumsy and laugh you off the rink?” Luka chuckled, and Marinette pitched a discarded, crumpled up sketch over her shoulder at him, smiling in satisfaction when she heard it bounce off his head. 

“You were right,” she said, reaching for a different pencil. “Is that what you want to hear?” 

“I just want to hear that it’s going well,” Luka said innocently, and Marinette rolled her eyes. The soft notes of Luka’s guitar—no, actually, that was a lot more energetic than the last thing she’d heard him working on. 

“I haven’t heard that one before,” Marinette observed. 

“I know,” Luka chuckled. “I thought you might like something with a kick for your jam skate, so I’ve been messing around with a few things. I think I’m on the right track with this one.”

That got her attention, and she put her pencil down and got up from her desk. “You don’t have to write something new,” Marinette protested, shoving his legs aside so she could sit down next to him on the chaise. “You’ll have to finish and record it, and there’s not much time if I’m going to get a routine worked out and practiced—I can use a commercial album, or one of Kitty Section’s songs.” 

“I want to,” Luka shrugged. “Mom can record it for us. It’ll be good enough quality to play over the PA system. I can finish it in a couple of days, no problem. Besides, it saves you guys having to do anything about getting rights and stuff.” He grinned, reaching over to rub his thumb along the furrow between her brows. “Put a Kitty Section patch on your outfit and we’ll call it even.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “I would have done that anyway.”

“I know.” Luka leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’re the most supportive girlfriend I could ever ask for. You might as well be the band’s PR manager at this point. The least I can do is support you too.” He kissed her lips, too, since he was there already, before winking and sitting back.

“Mm-hmm,” Mariette smiled, sliding over and leaning into his space before reaching up to flick his pink-tipped bangs out of his face. “You’ve always supported me. I’m sorry I didn’t...well, that I hid things from you before. I should have trusted you would understand.” 

Luka smiled, though his gaze was suddenly fixed on her mouth. “Forgiven. I’m just happy you’re happy now. I—Mmm.” He cut off in a contented hum as she closed the last bit of distance and kissed him. He smiled at her when she pulled back, but she set her hand on his, pushing lightly, and she grinned when she saw him swallow as he set the guitar aside. 

As soon as it was out of the way, Marinette slid into his lap and put her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly. “You’re the best,” she sighed, and then kissed him again. “I’m so lucky to have you.” 

Luka tried to answer but a kiss just below his jaw ensured that nothing came out but a strangled squeak. Marinette had no intention of letting him argue, and Luka seemed to realize that, so instead he just put his arms around her and closed his eyes as she peppered kisses over his face and neck. At last, Marinette took his face in her hands and kissed him slowly and tenderly, and as she pulled away, a sudden inspiration hit her. Luka opened his eyes and found her looking at him intently. 

She reached up and traced a line with one fingertip from his forehead, down over his eye, to his cheekbone.

Luka raised his eyebrows. “Marinette?” 

“Hmm?” Distracted, Marinette was still staring at him—not at him, exactly, but at his face. Except she wasn’t really seeing his face, her mind already racing, elements she had been struggling with suddenly coming together in her mind. 

The warm pressure of Luka’s mouth on hers brought her blinking back to reality. “Marinette,” he murmured, before kissing her again. “Come back to earth, please. At least long enough for me to say goodbye.”

“Oh,” Marinette gasped. “I’m so sorry, Luka, I—” but he was already shaking his head.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said fondly, brushing her bangs back gently. “I get it. But I’m not going to see you tomorrow so I’d like a decent goodbye before you get lost in the zone.” 

“Of course,” Marinette smiled, and put her arms around his neck, forcing herself to focus on him for the moment as he kissed her. “I love you,” she breathed against his lips, and he smiled. 

“I love you too,” he whispered, and kissed her again before pulling back. He packed up his guitar and slung the case over his shoulder. “Don’t forget to eat,” he told her, chuckling as he saw her already shuffling around on her desk. “Set your alarm so you don’t stay up all night.” 

“I will,” Marinette said, smiling at his care of her as she went over to her desk and flipped to a new sheet of paper, sparing a moment to appreciate the way he always knew when to give her space. She hummed a little bit of the peppy song he’d been working on as she picked up her blue pencil and began to sketch.

***

Despite her genuine excitement and enthusiasm, Marinette had had her reservations when Danielle suggested jam skating. She was acrobatic enough, when she wasn’t being a total klutz, but Marinette hadn’t been sure she was graceful or rhythmic enough for something that was supposed to be a kind of dance. She’d trusted her teammates though and it turned out that she was actually halfway decent at it after all. And it was fun. 

“Yes, girl,” Danielle yelled from where she was leaning against the rail, watching Marinette. “Now you’re getting it! It’s about time you stopped thinking so hard!” 

Marinette flashed her a grin as she whipped by.

“This music is killer,” Danielle commented when Marinette finished and skated back to her. “What’s it called?”

“Oh,” Marinette reached up and ruffled her bangs away from her sweaty forehead. “I don’t actually know if it has a name? Luka wrote it and recorded it for me.” 

Danielle grinned. “Are you kidding? Is there anything that boy won’t do for you?”

Marinette shrugged, blushing as she looked at the floor. “Not much,” she admitted, grinning. “He’s pretty amazing. He’s always been there for me, even before we were together. Even when it hurt him.”

“Ooohkay don’t get all sentimental on me,” Danielle said, throwing an arm around Marinette’s shoulder. “I’m not trying to pry into your business. I don’t know what happened in the past but right now? You two are pretty sickening. Gotta admit, though, I wish I had a relationship like yours. Does he have a sister?” she teased, and Marinette shoved her back with a grin.

“Yes, and you’ve seen her before, the tall girl with the black hair and the purple tips and the cute blond girlfriend hanging all over her.”

Danielle groaned, dropping her head back. “Figures.” 

Marinette patted her shoulder sympathetically.

“Well, you’ve got the rink for a while longer,” Danielle sighed, leaning over the rail to grab her bag from the bleachers. She slung it over her shoulder. “You can stay and practice a little more if you want, and then next time we’ll work on putting some fancy stuff in the middle.” She poked Marinette in the belly. “Maybe some breakdancing-type moves during one of those sick guitar riffs. Might as well show off some of those crazy ab muscles of yours.”

Marinette giggled, and waved as Danielle left. She did a few lazy loops around the rink, practicing her footwork, letting the breeze of her passing cool the sweat on her skin. She was tired, but it was the good kind of tired, the ache of hard work and the glow of accomplishment. 

“Looking good. You always do, though.”  

Marinette swung around, nearly losing her balance, to find Luka standing at the edge of the rink, grinning at her. 

“Luka,” she skated toward him, beaming. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I thought I’d go home with you,” he said, and then, to her surprise, he hopped over the rail, and she saw he had a pair of skates on. “But I was hoping maybe you could show me some moves first.”

“Really?” Marinette backed up a bit to gaped at his feet, and then looked up at him. “But...you don’t have to do that.” 

“I know.” Luka shrugged his hoodie off, laying it over the rail, and stuck his hands in his pockets, shrugging as he glided towards her. “But it’s important to you, and you like it. So I’d just like to give it a shot.” 

Marinette swallowed hard, still drifting backwards, eyes darting over the muscles in his arms and shoulders, the easy motion of his hips as he skated towards her, and the sly smirk curling his lips— 

Crap. He was smirking because she was staring. He bent down as he reached her, mischievous blue eyes peeking at her through the pink-tipped strands falling over his forehead. “Marinette,” he sing-songed teasingly, and blushing, she shoved his face away. He stumbled a little on his skates—Marinette supposed they weren’t exactly like ice skates, where she’d never seen him so much as wobble. 

Luka chuckled and maneuvered next to her. “Okay, so where do we start?”

Marinette swallowed her nerves. “Um, the back and forth? Like this.” She demonstrated with her feet. 

It didn’t take him long to get the hang of it, or the next two she showed him. Marinette wanted to pout. Luka was all sinuous, fluid grace, and it wasn’t fair. Oh, she knew he had his fair share of clumsy moments, usually when he was thinking about a song (or sometimes when he was thinking about her), but when it came to something like this, something that depended on rhythm and showmanship...he was in his element no matter the medium, and it showed. He had a confidence in himself and his body that she’d never been able to match outside of the suit.

Then he looked up and smiled at her, and she was reminded that this strong, hot, gorgeous man thought she was the greatest thing on earth, and she felt...she felt like it was true. Her smile lost some of its tightness, and some of the tension went out of her body, and she quirked a challenging eyebrow at him. 

“Okay, how about this one?” She knew he’d be able to do it, because this one was all balance and hips, but it wasn’t about how he moved right now. She put her hands behind her head and kicked her hips out to get the momentum she needed, and grinned to herself when she saw that she had his complete, undivided attention. It was intoxicating, having that complete laser focus entirely on her, and it made her want to really sell the performance.

“Well,” she said, after he’d watched her for a moment. “You think you can do it?” 

“Show me again,” he said, his voice at least an octave deeper than it had been a moment ago. “A little slower, please.” 

Marinette did it again, slower, keeping her eyes on him as much as she could. He shook his head slightly, lips curling. “You’re too good,” he murmured, and then smirked at her before trying the move himself. He had it down before long and Marinette giggled. 

“Okay, let’s put it together,” she murmured, sidling up next to him. Marinette started some music on her phone, counted out the beat in her head, and began putting the moves she’d just shown him together in a simple routine. 

Luka watched her intently for a moment, and then started to move next to her. It took him a couple of tries but he got it, and they grinned at each other as they moved around the rink in synch. It wasn’t perfect, they both stumbled a couple of times, and more than once they forgot where they were in their little routine, but they giggled their way through it and Marinette thought they were actually doing pretty well. 

Impulsively, Marinette flipped out of formation with him, circling around him as he kept going with their little routine. She threw in a little flare here and there when she knew he was watching, and then moved around to skate in front of him, mirroring the moves. That was harder and it took more concentration, she couldn’t show off as much. But it was worth it to be facing him, to see the way he looked at her. 

Finally he put on a quick burst of speed and caught her around the waist, and then stumbled over his toe stop, and Marinette had to hold him up, laughing. He grinned sheepishly as they skidded to a less than graceful stop, but didn’t let her go.

“You know something,” Marinette said, looking up at him through her lashes. “My boyfriend is really hot.” 

“You know something else?” Luka said, already bending towards her. “My girlfriend is irresistible.” He nipped at her jaw, palm flattening against the small of her back to press her close to him as he mouthed his way down her neck. Marinette tilted her head back and moaned softly, letting her hands drift down to his biceps. Luka moved down to her collarbone and Marinette leaned a little too far back. She yelped as her skates began to roll out from under her, but Luka caught her, letting her feet slide between his as she hung in his arms. He grinned down at her, and she giggled. “Maybe we should continue this somewhere a little more stable?” he suggested, with that same gentle mildness as always, that never mocked her or made her feel like she was...too clumsy, or too awkward, or too much of a spazz, or just too much.

This was one of those moments it hit her, how much, how truly he loved her, and as always it made her breath hitch in her throat and her eyes burn, and she yearned to show him how much she appreciated it, and how much she loved him in return, for just being the sweet, trustworthy, patient, dependable man that he was. 

She bit her lip, tightening her fingers on his biceps, and leaned up enough to kiss his lips lightly. “Let’s go.”

Luka smiled, and lifted her back onto her feet. He held her while she got her legs back underneath herself, steady as a rock as always. She smiled up at him, at his soft blue eyes looking at her under the pink-tipped fringe of his hair, and hoped the little surprise she was planning for the exhibition would show him how much she really did appreciate him.

***

Juleka was smirking, and Luka didn’t know why, and that was...worrisome. He tried to look like he didn’t care too much, because if she thought he really wanted to know, she definitely wouldn’t tell him. 

“Are you coming to the exhibition today?” he asked, as casually as he could, and Juleka’s smirk got broader, and now he was really worried.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Juleka mumbled, her expression shifted to a wicked grin. 

Oh, that was bad. That was almost definitely bad. Especially given that Juleka had disappeared for almost the whole afternoon for the last two days. Coupled the fact that Luka had picked up a couple extra shifts and hadn’t seen Marinette in a few days...he had concerns. As if Marinette didn’t knock him on his ass (mostly metaphorically, but occasionally literally) on the regular without special Plans. 

Yeah, with the way Juleka was suddenly cackling at him, he was pretty sure he was doomed, he just wasn’t sure how . 

It was a really long day, and when they finally slipped into the seats Tom and Sabine had saved for them, right up in front, the grins on Tom and Sabine’s faces didn’t do much to ease Luka’s concerns. He tried not to let his knee bounce as they waited, but gave up even trying to keep his fingers in control, letting them tap out the rhythm of the music playing on the leg he was desperately trying to keep still. 

***

“That feels like a pretty big crowd,” Marinette breathed as she peeked out of the locker room door. 

“Good,” Alix said cheerfully, adjusting her helmet. “More people means more money.”

“Yeah, of course,” Marinette said lightly, like she wasn’t suddenly shaking in her skates. 

“Hey.” Marinette jumped as Alix threw an arm around her shoulders. “I know it’s kinda freaky, but you’ll be fine once you get out there. Besides, you and I both know there’s only one person in that audience you actually care about impressing.” She took a lock of Marinette’s hair in her fingers and waved it in front of Marinette’s eyes, before letting it slide away. “I hope you brought a mop and a bucket because that boy’s going to melt down completely, you know that right?”

“I know,” Marinette giggled. “That’s the plan.” She and Alix grinned at each other and shared a fist bump. 

***

There were several clubs participating in the exhibition, and the programs were interesting but the wait was killing him. 

He sat up a little straighter when Suzette finally took the microphone. Marinette was up first, he knew. Suzette introduced herself and told the crowd a little bit about the team, and then began to back up to the sidelines, calling, “Ladies and gentleman, give it up for our very own Petty Gâteau, Marinette Dupain-Cheng! Marinette’s new to the team and she came to us with barely any experience on skates and a lot to learn, but with a little perseverance and a lot of hard work, she’s become an absolute terror of the derby track! Not only is she a great jammer in the bout, she’s been learning jam skating and today she’s performing a routine she calls Blue Lightning.” 

Luka had barely registered the name when Marinette burst onto the rink, throwing her arms up in the air as the spectators applauded, and Luka lost his breath as he watched Marinette take a lap around the rink, hyping the crowd. Marinette wore a black sleeveless crop top that left her toned arms and midriff bare, with a sparkly blue lightning bolt lined in pink emblazoned bold and proud across her chest. She wasn’t wearing her helmet for the jam skate and her hair was loose, its bright blue streaks whipping around her grinning face—wait.

Luka’s mouth dropped open and he stood up, gripping the rail as he stared, and Juleka began to howl with laughter beside him. Marinette’s hair had always had a slightly blue look to it in the light, but now it was shot through with bright, jagged streaks of blue. His blue. His knees went a little weak and his heart began to pound as she locked eyes with him and winked. God. He dropped heavily back into his seat as Tom and Sabine began to giggle. 

“Either I owe you big time,” he muttered to Juleka, who was practically in tears from laughter at this point, “Or I’m going to kill you. I haven’t decided which yet.” 

Marinette really only got a glimpse at his face when she whipped by but she liked what she saw. She waved and blew kisses and circled to the center of the rink. The excitement of surprising Luka already had her on edge, and the energy of the crowd was addictive, so when the music started she maybe put a little more snap in her hips, a little more sass in her smile, a little more whip in her hair, and she had to laugh the next time she passed Luka, who was by now leaning on the rails for support while Juleka patted his back with faux sympathy. 

Marinette laughed as her feet wove through those quick-change moves she’d had so much trouble with a few weeks before, grinning triumphantly when she managed them without trouble. 

She wished she could have seen Luka’s face when she “fell” back, landing on her hands and kicking up into a handstand. 

Marinette finished her routine with a flourish and took another lap around the rink, waving both hands at the audience, though her attention stayed on Luka. She skated up to him as Suzette cried, “Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for our own Marinette Dupain-Cheng!” 

Luka leapt to his feet as she approached, and his hands were on her face before she even leaned over the rail, and as they shared a brief but fervent kiss. Through the whooping and applause they heard Suzette laughing over the microphone as she announced, “And just in case you were wondering, she’s taken.”

Marinette pulled back, blushing prettily, and turning even redder as she saw the way Luka was looking at her. She blew him one more kiss, waved to her friends, and skated off the rink to get changed for the bout. 

She was fired up when it came time for the actual competition, throwing her weight around and pushing off with her strong legs. There was no hesitation about her anymore as she worked with her teammates, calling out formations and strategies, slamming herself up against bodies of teammates and opponents alike as the situation required. 

In her eagerness she got called for a penalty, and since this was an exhibition bout more about entertainment than anything else, she ended up doing one armed push-ups balanced on her toe stops. She grinned to herself as she heard Luka’s roar cheering her on. Her quiet boyfriend knew how to make himself heard when he wanted to.

She maybe did a few extra push-ups, just to show off, and nearly fell over laughing when she saw Luka pretend to swoon onto Juleka. He nearly landed on the floor when his sister shoved him off mercilessly. Marinette blew him a kiss and got back in the bout, but she felt as if his eyes were burning her the whole time, even when she couldn’t see him.

They certainly burned her when the bout was over and she could look over at him again. Deciding it was best not to go over there again this time, she let Alix tug her along with the rest of the team back to the locker room. 

Marinette took her time getting ready, lingering until the locker room was empty. Alix was the last one out before her. She smirked at Marinette and gave her a two-fingered salute on her way out of the door. 

Marinette slowly, deliberately packed up her things, enjoying the pleasant flutter of anticipation in her stomach, the rush still singing in her veins, and then slung her bag over her shoulder and walked out of the locker room, humming Blue Lightning under her breath. 

Sure enough, no sooner had she come out of the door than a strong arm slipped around her waist and whirled her around so that her back was against the wall. Luka loomed over her, grinning as he nudged her nose with his. “Hi,” he said breathlessly. “Anything else you need to do?” 

“Nope,” Marinette giggled, letting her bag slide off her shoulder and to the floor. 

“Good,” he sighed, and bent down to kiss her—more softly than she expected, but as soon as she kissed him back and lifted her arms around his neck, he pressed her into the wall with a little moan and kissed her and kissed her, murmuring sweet little things that she barely managed to take in, about how proud he was of her and how amazing she was and how much he loved her while she squirmed and giggled and kissed him back. She laughed into his mouth as his thumbs slipped under her shirt to stroke across her abs.

“Luka, that tickles,” she told him.

“You’re so unfair,” he fake-whined teasingly. “You’re feeling up my muscles all the time, and then you go out there like that and now I’m not allowed to touch?”

“Your muscles are really nice,” she defended herself, grabbing his hand and sliding it flat against her stomach. “You can touch, just....” She cleared her throat, but her voice still sounded huskier than usual as she said, “Harder.” 

Luka growled and kissed her again, rubbing his palm firmly across her belly, and maybe she shifted a little on purpose to make her muscles flex beneath his hand, and he moaned into her mouth. Marinette couldn’t help reveling at least a little bit in her power over him, shifting again, and the noise he made had her giggling into the kiss. 

“You covered it up,” Luka murmured, reaching up to stroke the hair that now looked almost completely black.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, it doesn’t show as much when my hair’s up,” Marinette remembered, reaching up to touch her pigtails. 

“I want to see it again though,” he complained, and Marinette giggled, reaching up to pull the bands out of her hair. She shook it loose and smiled up at him. 

“Sorry. I wasn’t even thinking about it, just put it up out of habit.”

Luka smiled and threaded his fingers through her hair, letting the strands slide slowly through them so he could admire the fall of the blue streaks. “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.” He sighed and rested his forehead on hers gently. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Marinette told him, rubbing her nose against his lightly. “Besides, fair’s fair.”

“But I didn’t—” 

Marinette’s finger on his lips silenced him. “I know,” she smiled. “You weren’t expecting anything from me. But what I meant was, it’s only fair that I get to wear your colors if you get to wear mine. In fact, I was thinking maybe I need to start incorporating a little more Luka-blue in some of my accessory designs. Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been buying out my online shop, monsieur.” She giggled. “Not that wearing my flower keychain on your guitar case was particularly subtle.”

Luka smiled, unrepentant. “I like having little reminders of you. Thinking about you makes me happy.” He bent and kissed her softly. “I’m not opposed to you thinking of me, either, so if it makes you happy, I’m all for it. Now, can I take my amazing girl for some ice cream, or are you too worn out to go walking all over Paris looking for Andre?”

Marinette shrugged. “Andre’s is nice, but I think my legs would prefer the little parlor on the corner if that’s okay.” 

Luka chuckled. “Sure thing.” 

Fiction Master Post

[langdxn]

You spin me round by dead or alive!!! (Which came out in 84 how perfect is that!!) pleath

Oooooh I like your thtyle, anon 🥵 I miss Pete Burns as much as I miss Xavier! Hope you like the cheeky lyric quotes I’ve sneaked in everywhere...

It should’ve been another average Wednesday.

Swerving the Vanta-C into the car park for aerobics class, Xavier spotted a young lady scrambling under the hood of her car, teetering in impossibly high heels and a red metallic jumpsuit clinging to her curves like it was made specifically for her. Gulping hard, Xavier steered into the space beside her and flicked the engine off, swinging out of the driver’s seat and dipping under the hood ready to sass his way into her pants.

“What seems to be the matter, pretty lady?” Peering over the top of his sunglasses, Xavier scoured the workings of the car in the vain hope he could spot anything wrong. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t a mechanic, he knew nothing about cars. Maybe he could wing it and work around her at the same time, it’s the age old porno intro, tried and tested.

“I have no fucking idea,” she sighed, slapping a furious hand on the sides of the hood. “I only bought it yesterday, stupid piece of retro shit.”

“Easy tiger, it might be something simple,” Xavier’s slick tone easily concealed his cluelessness, tapping idly at each cap he could see like it would do anything. “Have you tried turning it off and on again?”

“Now why didn’t I think of that before?” She rolled her eyes and swung her hips as she made her way to the drivers seat. A turn of the keys in the ignition and all of a sudden, the engine revved as normal. She slapped the steering wheel with another rove of her eyes, relieved hands waving in the air. With any luck, she didn’t catch Xavier’s sigh of relief as his one solution actually solved her problem.

“Well what about that?” Xavier chuckled, hands posing on his hips as she swaggered back out of her car.

“How can I ever thank you, Mr...”

“Xavier, Xavier Plympton,” he proffered a hand which she took with her soft, perfectly manicured digits.

“Xavier? Xavier the saviour? Nice ring to it,” she purred, leaning back into her car to grab a rucksack from the passenger seat.

“And you are?” Xavier shoved the hood closed and leaned against it as provocatively as he possibly could. Even if he didn’t look slick, he sounded slick.

“I am… late for my drama class. You wouldn’t happen to know the way, would you?”

A broad, genuine smile spread like wildfire across Xavier’s lips.

“As it happens, yes,” he extended the crook of his arm toward her. “I’ll take you there, babe.”

———

“Xav, if you keep staring into the middle distance, you’ll steal Jack Nicholson’s thunder.”

Montana’s words flew straight over the actor’s head, too busy focusing on the blender in the corner of the break room.

“Xav…. Xav, I’m talking to you,” Montana pressed, clicking her fingers in his face. “Earth to Plympton!”

No response.

“Xavier… was that Julie Andrews walking past?”

Xavier shook dramatically, eyes darting around the room in a daze.

“Fucking knew that would get his attention,” Montana threw herself back into the couch giggling.

Chet leaned in to Xavier, who was still noticeably spaced out. “What’s her name, buddy?”

“What—who?” Xavier stuttered, knitting his brows.

“The chick you’re messed up about, man,” Ray interjected. “She must be a babe if you’re not even listening to us.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t even know her name. Do you guys know her name?”

“Dude, we don’t even know who she is,” Chet pressed. “You’re the only one that met her, remember?”

“If-if I get to know her name, I could—I, I could trace her number,” Xavier babbled, rubbing his face in his hands.

“Oh yeah, he’s got it bad,” Ray laughed as Xavier jumped to his feet, turning around with emphatic waving hands as his train of thought ran off the rails.

“Yeah, I could trace her number and find her and… and…”

“Xav, I’ve never seen you like this over a girl,” Montana planted a hand on his shoulder, putting a stop to his spinning. “Tell us, what does she look like?”

“Like… like heaven,” he sighed, a lovelorn glaze coating his eyes as he pictured her in his mind. “She looks like… like a lot of fun.”

“This is 1984, man,” Chet burst out laughing. “All girls look like fun if they’re wearing spandex.”

“Spandex!” Xavier cried like a eureka moment, a pointed finger aloft. “She was wearing red spandex!”

“Oh that chick,” Ray rose with a smile. “She was in my drama class earlier, new girl. Nice ass—”

Xavier lunged over to grab Ray’s striped shirt by the collar. “What’s her name? Do you remember her name?”

“I—I—I don’t know dude,” Ray raised his hands in his defence, causing Xavier to jump back. “I’m no good with names!”

“Fuck,” Xavier spat, grasping at his own frosted hair and pulling frantically. “What do I do now?”

“Could ask admin for Ray’s class register?” Montana shrugged.

“Oh—oh—okay, where’s admin?” Xavier grabbed his turquoise backpack, strapping himself in tightly as if preparing for a mountain trek.

“Front desk, by the parking lot,” Chet pointed a hand toward the door.

Xavier’s eyes widened.

“That’s it!” He squealed, bolting to the door with a thankful wave aimed back at the crew. “The parking lot!”

Staring at each other bemused, Xavier’s friends settled back into their seats.

“Well whoever he’s set his sights on,” Montana sighed, “she better watch out because here comes Xavier motherfucking Plympton.”

———

Xavier waited impatiently, breathlessly, cluelessly beside the Vanta-C, thoughts racing through genius chat-up lines to fire at her when the mysterious girl returned to her car. Perched in the open back door of his van, he tried out numerous seated positions to look more relaxed, but there was no hiding his nerves. By the time he settled for a crossed leg and arm, the unmistakable clink of her heels neared the vehicles. Slicking a hand over his quiff and chucking his sunglasses back on, his moment had finally come.

“Thought I’d find you here,” her honey tone broke through the pounding of Xavier’s heartbeat in his ears, completely throwing him off his plan.

“Me? I—I’ve just finished my aerobics class,” he smoothed his hair a second time, desperate to give his shaking hands something to do as she bundled into her car. “I’m teaching this week.”

“Of course you are, Xavier the saviour. Saving the world one hip roll at a time?”

“I guess so,” Xavier chuckled under his breath, gaze dropping to the floor as she closed her car door and wound her window down.

“Well it was nice meeting you, Plympton,” she dismissed as she slotted her key in the ignition. Xavier swallowed hard, willing it to fail.

She turned it once, the car revved but cut out immediately. Twice, nothing that time. Third time, nothing. Xavier had to fight the urge to punch the air.

“Fuck, not again,” she fumed, beating the steering wheel.

“I—I can give you a ride home?” Xavier stammered nervously. “I’m in no rush, babe.”

“Xavier the saviour strikes again,” she hummed, stepping out of her car and slamming the door behind her.

Xavier jumped to his feet to open the passenger door, but she grabbed his lavender sweater by the collar and pushed him down flat on his back, the Vanta-C’s carpet greeting his spine with a thud as she tumbled on top of him.

“What was that for?”

Xavier laughed nervously as she hovered her lips dangerously close to his, before she slowly closed the gap between them and locked her lips over his. Xavier’s eyes stayed open for a split second, utterly dumbstruck for what felt like forever, until he eventually melted into her kiss, hands wandering to gently cup her face.

Surfacing for breath and leaving Xavier whimpering at the loss her lips, she reached back to close the van door and then toward the dashboard radio over the front seat.

“We need music?” Xavier asked with a chuckle as she clicked the radio on and cranked up the volume. Dead Or Alive’s You Spin Me Round poured through the crappy dashboard speakers, cracking a cheeky grin as she returned to fumble with Xavier’s sweater.

“I fucking love this song,” she exclaimed, returning her lips back to his but Xavier planted a hushing finger between them.

“Not until you tell me your goddamn name.”

[lilacmoon83]

Finding You Always

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 209: Battle Cry, Pt 2

Bobby looked around in wonder at all the opening portals and was surprised to see a beam of light strike the ground beside them. The light faded, revealing Rose and Fandral's return, via the bi-frost.

"So...you're alive…" Seth growled.

"A God much more powerful than you saved us and I assure you that you will pay for what you've done," Fandral promised. Bobby turned and saw a final portal open behind him. Granny and Red, in her wolf form stepped through, along with Xander, armed with a flamethrower, followed by all seven dwarves, and finally his parents, hand in hand, dressed in their warrior clothing.

Seth looked around, trying to hide his nervousness, at what he was now facing.

"If your plan really hinged on the fact that you thought we wouldn't reunite with our darker halves to save our son from you...then you are more of a fool than we thought," Snow declared boldly.

"Just for that...I think I'll kill you first Snow White and make your husband watch!" Seth growled, as he tried his mind meld, but was shocked when it didn't work. The Chalice glowed between them, but he was confused. Even at full power, the Chalice shouldn't have protected them from his mind meld.

"How...how are you doing this?!" he demanded to know.

"True love," David replied in a simple manner. Snow smiled at him.

"Truest love," she agreed.

"Oh and a little bonding to our elements," Leo added, as his eyes glowed dark blue. Eva's glowed pink, Summer's glowed lavender, and Emma's glowed white.

"All the magic and power in all the realms failed to defeat you...but true love won't," Snow declared, as the chalice separated into their respective weapons, his sword and her arrow shooting gauntlets.

"Nothing can defeat me...and certainly not something like your pathetic true love," Seth seethed, as he signaled his demonic army. David raised his sword to signal their allies.

"This is the United Realms and it's our home!" he shouted.

"And we will purge you and your demons from it!" Snow added, as both sides charged into a battle that would decide the fate of the United Realms...and the world.

~*~

The armies of various Kingdoms immediately charged the massive amounts of demonic minions, taking down the bulk of the dark army to allow the heavy hitters to focus on the more powerful, lethal enemies. Still, the minions proved they were formidable and casualties on both sides began to build. The military from the Land Without Magic, however, was finding themselves to be out of their element a bit though and they were clearly frustrated.

David swiped his way through a hoard of ghouls, using the chalice sword's flails of energy to decimate the minions that were taking a toll on the soldiers.

"Your men, both on the ground and in the air, would be more effective creating a perimeter around this area. We don't want any of these demons spilling into the other realms where they can feed on innocent people," David directed to the commanders.

"Why should we take orders from you? A guy that goes by Prince Charming?" one of them asked, while the others chortled at his joke. Several of Mephisto's creations encroached on them at that point. David turned and swiped through one, obliterating it with the chalice sword. He kicked another away, while thrusting his sword through two more that would have certainly killed the onlooking officers. He threw his sword and it spun like a sidewinder, obliterating a dozen incoming demons, before he caught the sword again and the minions fell to the ground in pieces. They were stunned and their question as to why they should take orders from him was answered. There was a screeching behind him, as one surviving demon tried to attack him, but an arrow hit it and the creature exploded, as Snow sided up to him.

"You always have my back," he said fondly, as he slipped his hand in hers.

"You should listen to my husband, boys. You're looking at a man that helped me take back two Kingdoms," she said, looking at him fondly.

"And get someone on your sixes, because not everyone has someone as amazing as her watching their back," he mentioned, as he lifted her chin with his fingers so he could kiss her briefly, before they joined hands and rushed back into the fight, leaving the soldiers unsure of exactly what they had just seen.

"You heard him...get that perimeter going!" Major Donovan called.

"His orders are as good as mine," she added, as the military switched gears to do as they asked and get that perimeter up.

~*~

Leo wove his way through the mess of airborne furies, slashing at them as he went. But he yelped, as he was hit with a stray blast. He fell off Pegasus, even as the animal nosedived to catch him. But he saw an icy slide appear beneath him, allowing him to slide safely to the ground. He got to his feet and Elsa hugged him.

"Are you okay?" she asked, as she looked at the wound on his shoulder.

"It's fine...it's just a flesh wound," he replied, as Pegasus landed next to them and neighed with worry. He pet the animal's mane, assuring him that he was okay. Leo looked to the sky again and Elsa gasped, as they saw the furies overwhelm one of the military planes, causing it to crash in a fiery explosion.

"Time to clear the air…" Leo said, as his eyes glowed bright blue. His lightning was summoned in the sky and there was a boom of thunder, as the sky flashed bright blue, striking most of the furies. He fried them and turned them into charred, falling objects.

"Nice...but you do know that you've now turned the dangerous flying objects into dangerous falling objects, right?" Eva teased.

"Hey...there's no book on how to defeat demonic hell furies with wings," he pointed out.

"There is now, because this family invented it," Henry commented, as he and Jacinda slashed their way through more ground enemies.

"You had better hurry, before those charred objects are pelting us," Rumple warned.

"I got this," Summer said, as her eyes glowed lavender and JJ watched her in amazement, as she released dozens of bubbles, encasing the falling objects harmlessly within her bubbles. Eva stepped forward and her eyes glowed pink, as she swept all the bubbles into one stream.

"Hey kid...help us out!" Emma called to her baby brother. Bobby's eyes were multicolored, as he slammed one foot into the ground, opening a crevice. Emma's eyes glowed white, as she helped Eva guide the destroyed demons into the lava that was in the earth beneath them. Bobby knelt down once they were done and used his magic-enhanced strength to close the gap up again and seal it.

"Nice…" Emma complimented, but then the five of them were struck by a reptilian tale, as Seth descended upon them, in a horrifying half man, half serpent-like form.

"Time to meet your end, Charmings…" he seethed, as he slithered toward them and they noticed something on the ground that was left behind in his wake.

"What are those white things?" JJ asked.

"I don't know...but I have a bad feeling about this," Summer replied.

"Crap…" Leo uttered, as he drew his sword.

"What?" Emma asked.

"They're eggs," Rumple interjected for him.

"You can't be serious…" Regina protested.

"He is a snake…" Leo reminded her, as Snow and David caught up to them, arriving hand in hand.

"Something tells me this is about to get really gross," Snow commented, as the eggs hatched and slimy, snake-like demons emerged. Their hissing and rattle was almost deafening, as they readied their weapons and magic. The minions scattered, attacking and biting with a ravaging vengeance, while the Charmings surrounded Seth. The seven of them charged the God, while the rest of their close family and friends scattered to help defend against the new onslaught of minions.

~*~

Fandral and Rose dueled with the dangerous frost giant, Fafnir, in his dragon form. The dragon was raging and had already caused some casualties from their army. It was clear that Fandral was the only one with the strength to kill the frost giant and they had managed to isolate him to a corner of the battlefield with a rocky outcropping. It was precarious and he did not like Rose being so close to it, for one slip or loss of footing and they could be skewered by the jagged rocks. But that too was part of their plan.

"For the record, I do not like this plan," he mentioned. She smiled and fired another arrow and then kissed his cheek.

"You'll catch me, my love...you always do," Rose replied, as she climbed up and around the outcroppings, finding her way to the top of the tallest, most jagged one. She threaded another arrow and there was a loud thwack, as she landed it in his chest. The dragon roared angrily and saw her in a prime position. The dragon salivated and spoke in its gravely voice.

"At last...I shall have the ultimate revenge upon you, Fandral of Asgard," he said.

"I shall feast on the pure, sweet blood of your beloved Rose Red and destroy you once and for all by taking her!" he roared, as he left himself open, unknowingly, as he prepared to snap her up in his jaws. But before he could devour her, his breath stopped short and he screamed in pain, as Fandral's sword pierced his belly. Fandral extracted his sword and backed away, as Rose jumped down into his arms. The frost giant then fell forward, gruesomely impaling itself on the rocky outcroppings. Rose turned away from the sight and he held her protectively in his arms.

"See...I knew you'd catch me," she said and he caressed her beautiful face gently.

"Always, my angel," he promised, as they shared a kiss.

~*~

James and Aphrodite dueled the massive and mysterious Horned King. The hulking creature that they could only assume was some sort of man behind the mask, shoved James away. Aphrodite's sword clashed with his and she heard him finally speak.

"Aphrodite...you are not what you seem…" he said. His voice was deep and sent a chill down her spine.

"I am the Goddess Aphrodite of Olympus. I am exactly this. A wife, a mother, and a woman that will eradicate yours and your master's evil," she refuted, as they dueled and James jumped back in.

"You are so certain of your origin...Aphrodite, the goddess that rose from the sea foam. But you are a fraud!" he announced, earning him a vicious kick from James. The Prince swept his large legs out from under him and put his blade to creature's throat.

"Calling my wife names will be hazardous for your health," he quipped.

"The Goddess of love cannot have love…" he warned and that struck her.

"You are cursed…" he continued and then he roared in anguish, as James cut off one of his horns.

"Stay with her, Prince James...and you'll die again," he warned.

"She's the love of my life and the only one dying today...is you," James promised. The Horned King roared angrily and charged her. His words had stunned her and she was caught off guard by him, as he managed to get his massive hand around her neck. James growled and jumped up, passing his sword through his neck. The Horned King's body fell to the ground with a thud and he caught his stunned wife in his arm, before she could fall to the ground.

"Are you okay?" he asked. She smiled up at him and kissed him passionately.

"Thanks to you," she replied, as he hugged her tightly. But the expression on her face was clear. The Horned King's words and their possible meaning were not going to fade from her mind any time soon.

~*~

Nora was beyond pissed. Not only had the Major censured her and had her information technicians monitoring her social media posts, she was stuck in some diner called Granny's to watch the fight. Of course, that was another thing that she was pissed about. It seemed that she wasn't going to be the one to get the first scoop. The whole thing was being broadcast to the entire world somehow. It was being streamed on every screen in existence and she wasn't even sure how that was possible. There were no reporters or cameras on the scene that she was aware of. She noticed the diner owners at the counter, with a little girl and a baby. The little girl looked like she was on the verge of tears.

"Hey, hey...no tears. Everything's going to be fine," Frankie assured.

"He's right...your great grandparents are two of the most extraordinary people we've ever met. They'll defeat that snake," Joe assured.

"Great grandparents?" Nora interjected. Lucy nodded.

"My great grandparents are Snow White and Prince Charming," she announced. Nora snorted.

"There is no way those two freaks are that old," she refuted. Frankie snorted.

"We got ourselves a normie," he commented.

"Listen up, girl...if you want a real story about two people who have more love than your tiny mind can comprehend, then pay attention," Joe retorted. Nora shot him a glare and then turned back to the battle. She couldn't believe this. When she had begun studying this years ago, just after the fiasco in Seattle, she had been on a mission to expose the evil of these strange people. After all, they were at the center of several calamities, including this one, that had plagued their world. They didn't belong in this world; of that she knew for certain now. And she wasn't alone in her opinion. They were fighting this evil, but this evil wouldn't have existed if not for them. And now her own cousin was embroiled in their chaos. But this wasn't over. She'd find a way around the censuring and lead the protest against their presence in this world.

~*~

Henry and Ella slashed at the serpent minions and the former looked on, seeing his grandparents, mother, aunts, and uncles fighting Seth furiously in the near distance.

"They'll be all right, lad…" Hook assured, though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"Bloody hell...these things are disgusting," he complained, as he wiped blue blood from his hook and lifted his boot from one of the crushed creatures.

"We need to keep these things off them so they can focus on Seth," Rumple said, as he whacked another with his cane, while Belle sliced through another.

"Well...then I'd say it's fireball time," Regina said, as she looked at JJ.

"Use that thing we gave you to mow down as many as you can," Regina said. He nodded, as she poofed a few more fireball rifles for the others, including Robin, as she and Rumple started volleying fireballs at the oncoming minions. The others began firing and decimating their enemies.

~*~

The armies of every Kingdom fought relentlessly, with Arendelle leading them and Elsa's powers made quick work of most of Mephisto's creations. Mulan, Phillip, and Aurora faced Shan Yu and his army of undead Huns.

"In my day...I nearly crushed the truest loves and they had to banish me to save themselves from my wrath. Lord Seth will kill this pair and I will finish what I started by annihilating your people!" Shan Yu claimed, as their blades clashed in a deadlock.

"I don't think so…" Mulan hissed, as she made several impressive moves and the Hun leader was stunned when she disarmed him.

"I will not be defeated by the likes of you, girl!" he roared, as he got to his feet.

"Woman...and you already have been. But I'm not going to be the one to take the final blow," Mulan stated.

"I knew it...you do not have the gumption to finish the job," he said smugly, but those were his last words, as he was snapped up in Red's mighty jaws and his remnants were all that remained, as she tore him apart.

"Ooooh...he's dead now," Leroy commented, as one of the ghouls screeched, as he hacked at it with his pick axe. Mulan smirked.

"Time to drive these zombie Huns back into the depths of Tartarus," she said.

"This should help!" Bobby called, as he slammed a foot into the ground and opened up a crevice with lava beneath it.

"Thanks kid," Happy called, as he kicked one of the defeated minions into the lava pit. Red nudged the boy, as he returned to fighting his way through more minions, with his eventual destination being Seth.

~*~

Snow and David dueled Arthur and Gawain furiously, as the fire demons attempted to burn them both.

"I've been waiting a very long time to get my revenge on the pair of you," Arthur growled.

"Don't tell me you're still pissed about the whole Excalibur thing," David goaded, as he dueled the disgraced King.

"Excalibur was my birthright! You and your wife had no right to wield it!" he shouted.

"Excalibur disagreed since we were able to, but we never wanted your sword or Kingdom. You lost both through your own actions!" Snow refuted.

"When she's right...she's right," David agreed, as they fought them both at a breakneck pace.

"It's time we end them, my King...or perhaps force them to be like us," Gawain suggested. Arthur smirked.

"Wouldn't that be poetic. The pillar of love and justice becoming what they hate most. I like it," the former King said, as a wall of fire shot up around them, cutting them off from everyone else.

"Mom! Dad!" they heard their children calling.

"Summer...we have to get through that fire!" Bobby called, as she summoned her bubbles and his eyes glowed, as he motioned his hands, summoning water from the various bodies of water that surrounded the United Realms.

"Careful kid...you don't want to drown us all," Emma warned.

"He won't if we concentrate the water to this spot," Leo said, as they helped contain the water and directed its flow toward the pillar of fire that was trapping their parents.

Gawain cackled, as they held each other close and the flames inched closer and closer to them.

"So much for the truest loves...but perhaps this is fitting. They shall be killed by the great King Arthur," Gawain boasted.

"In the Land Without Magic...I'm already a legend and I'm about the live up to that," Arthur agreed

"Still chasing glory, but there is no glory in power. Only love," David said.

"Save your speeches about true love, Prince Charming and prepare to die as a failure. Your true love is about to fail your entire family, your friends, and the world…" Arthur said.

"Okay...I think I'm ready to be done with him and his ego," Snow said. David smirked and they willed the chalice to join together. There was a bright flash and the flames were extinguished, as their children joined around them. The water they were directing at the wall of fire doused the two demons.

"You think a little water is going to defeat us, brats?" Arthur hissed.

"Nah, but true love will," Bobby said, as the two demons unleashed a blast of fire directly at them. But Snow and Charming held the chalice and it released a pulse of pure power. The fire evaporated in the air, stunning them both, as they stared at the pair in disbelief. Arthur looked at his hands and saw them slowly flaking away to ash. He watched in horror, as Gawain turned to dust and the ash floated away. Arthur looked back at them in horror and dissolved into dust as well.

"We can end this…" Snow realized. He looked at her and kissed her forehead.

"And we will," he said," as he motioned in the near distance, where they saw Mephisto attacking Leo and Elsa and they hurried off to help.

~*~

Elsa and Leo fought off the last of Mephisto's creations, while his parents faced Arthur and Gawain. He blasted them with lightning and she iced the rest, as they pushed them into the abyss.

"That's most of them," she said.

"Yeah...now it's just the big guns that remain," he said, as he cried out suddenly, as one of Mephisto's fiery chains wrapped around his forearm. He cried out in agony and fell to his knees, as the demon King pulled him toward him.

"Once I enslave you, young Leo...you'll do my bidding and destroy your whole family for me," Mephisto hissed.

"No!" Elsa cried in fear, as he cackled evilly, but he was hit with an exploding arrow.

"Get your hands off our son!" Snow growled, as she and David closed in. Mephisto chuckled evilly.

"He's mine now, fair one and there's not a thing you can do about it. And once he's enslaved to me, I'll make him peel the skin from your bones and torture your husband for the mockery he made of me!" Mephisto warned, but his cackle was cut short, as David swiped the chalice sword through his arm, releasing their son from his bonds.

"Elsa...now!" Snow called, as the Queen of Arendelle blasted him and froze him solid. With that, Fandral shoved him into the abyss.

"Good riddance," Rose said, as he fell into the pit of magma.

A hush fell over them, as Seth slithered around them in his giant serpent form. Fandral pulled Rose away, while Snow and David joined the chalice together again. Seth morphed into his humanoid form again, though his skin still had a scaly appearance and his eyes bled a sickly yellow.

"Time to die...Charmings…" he hissed, as his coils wrapped around Snow and David. The chalice fell from their grasp, as he squeezed the life out of them.

"Oh hell…" Emma cried, as her magic collided with him, but wasn't making much of a dent. Leo summoned his lightning and Eva summoned the wind, striking him violently. Regina tossed a fireball at his coils and he screeched, loosening his grip slightly on Snow and David. But it was enough and Summer encased her parents in a bubble, as they floated back to her.

"Thanks sweetie," Snow said, as they hugged her and then picked up the chalice again.

"Hitting him with all the magic on your own isn't going to work," Rumple said.

"Then what do you suggest?" Regina asked.

"The boy knows what he needs to do," Rumple replied, as he looked at Bobby. He nodded and stepped forward.

"Oh no...you are not doing this alone," Snow said, as they walked with him. He smiled.

"I know...we're going to do this together,: Bobby said.

"Hey kid...you got an idea?" Emma asked.

"Eye of the storm," he told her. She smiled and looked at her siblings, as they caught on.

"Eye of the storm," they agreed.

"Enough with your cryptic speech...no matter what you do, I shall kill you all. You are no match for my power!" Seth claimed. Summer started to take her place when JJ took her hand.

"Be careful," he said and she blushed, before smiling at him.

"Thanks," she said, as she and her older siblings surrounded the God, while Bobby and her parents approached him.

"Now Summer…" Bobby called, as she put them all in a large bubble encasing all seven of them inside of it with the monster that threatened their very existence.

"What is this?" Seth growled, as he flew up and tried to break through the bubble, but found he was unable to do so. He set his sights on Summer.

"If I cannot break the bubble...then perhaps I'll just break you instead, young one," he threatened.

"Like hell you will," Leo said, as he unleashed his powers, adding an electric layer to the bubble. A pink cyclone swirled up from Eva's glowing hands and added a layer of wind to the bubble. Emma was next, as she added a layer of white fire. Seth growled and moved to attack, but the rumbling beneath his feet stopped him cold and he watched the storm bubble shrink around him, until he was the only one inside it. He growled and his coils broke through briefly, but he screamed in agony, as Snow and David zapped each coil with the power of the chalice, permanently disfiguring him. Bobby used his powers and channeled all the elements, until he condensed the bubble so small that there was finally a huge explosion. The seven of them waited with bated breath for the smoke to clear. When it did, they saw Seth, writhing on the ground, bleeding blue blood from several wounds, and stuck in a hybrid form with his head and torso intact, by his legs in serpent form.

"How...how can this be? I am Seth...I am chaos!" he cried.

"No one can defeat me!" he claimed.

"You know, just because you keep saying that isn't going to make it true," Leo quipped.

"I'm still alive...I've survived all your power!" Seth hissed, as he tried to slither away, but then screeched, as Emma stomped on his tail.

"Oh, I think you're about to be a scorch mark. You guys gonna finally end this or not?" Emma asked her parents. They smiled at her.

"I guess we should have known this would be the key to ending it," he said, as they gripped the chalice between them.

"A curse to end all curses...one last curse broken," she said, as they realized exactly how to end it all and destroy the dark curse forever.

"True love...useless and pathetic. It will not defeat me!" Seth insisted, as he made his final mistake and morphed fully into his giant serpent form. Snow and Charming's lips met and a blinding pulse of rainbow light emitted from them and the chalice glowed in response, releasing a pulse of blinding, pure light magic. The waves of magic swept over the entire land, bringing light to the darkness once more.

The fighting on the battlefield ceased, as all of Seth's minions and Mephisto's creations were paralyzed by the light magic. One by one, each creature or demon alike crumbled to ash. Seth looked around in horror, as the remainder of his army dissolved to dust in the blink of an eye. He screeched one final cry of horror, as he crumbled to dust and was wiped from existence. It was over at last.

"It's over…" Snow uttered. He grinned at her and hugged her tightly, before spinning her around.

"It's over…" he repeated, as their lips met again. Their children gathered around them with hugs and they looked around the barren landscape.

"This place is such a barren eyesore," Snow said. He smiled at her and then at Leo.

"But it doesn't have to stay that way," David replied, as they raised the chalice, obliterating the shield around Nephilim.

"Of course...Nephilim is right next to the reserve," Leo said.

"Yes, and you've needed an expansion for years," Snow replied, as used the chalice to seed the ground, allowing for the barren landscape to give way to green grass. Aphrodite assisted by using her magic to demolish Seth's dreary castle and replaced it with rolling hills. Bobby stomped his foot and created a very large depression in the ground, while Rumple used his magic to dig far enough to allow the depression fill with water, creating a sparkling lake.

"No more ugly, dreary land of the fallen," Eva said, as the animals began to explore their expanded home.

"That was impressive, though most of the world has no idea what they just saw," the Major interjected, as she and her subordinates approached.

"Yeah...suppose it's too late to just put a barrier up and let everyone keep thinking we're stories," David said.

"I held up my end of the deal," she reminded him.

"Don't worry...we'll hold up ours," he assured.

"Good...then can I count on seeing you in Boston tomorrow," she said.

"Whoa...tomorrow? That's a little soon for us," Snow said, as she clutched his arm.

"Yeah...we kind of just saved the world from an evil God tyrant. Don't you think a few days down time is warranted?" Emma questioned. Patricia smirked.

"You're right and I do need time to figure out a way to explain this to my superiors, though they are going to want a meeting with you. I'll see you in three days," she said, as they moved out.

"You can still seal us away," Rumple reminded them.

"She has control of the remnants of Clayton's operation, so she can get back in. She has mermaid scales and his submarine," David said.

"Well, that's perfect. How the hell did that happen?" Regina asked. Snow shook her head.

"We don't know how she did it, but no one has seen Cecily in a very long time, so she's probably in prison or dead," Snow deduced.

"Now that they know what we can do...they'll never leave us alone," Regina warned.

"No...but I can warn them against overstepping. They can't touch the chalice and you two can make it clear that without the chalice, there's no magic out there. We still have control and I think she knows that. I'm interested as to why," Aphrodite interjected.

"Yeah...the Internet is literally blowing up, so we're screwed about staying secret. Not even magic can stop this now," Leo said.

"We have a lot of things to figure out...overwhelmingly so, but I think we also deserve to celebrate our victory," David suggested, as Snow slid her arms around his waist.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," she agreed. The battlefield was no more and all trace of Seth was gone. The armies of the United Realms retreated, but the Charmings and those close to them, made their way to Granny's.

~*~

Deep beneath the Earth's crust, the magma flowed like a river and bubbled violently. There was a disturbance in the flow, as a charred being surfaced, screaming in agony. There was barely anything left of this creature and the only evidence that this being had once been humanoid in appearance was the skeletal hand that grabbed onto a rocky outcropping. The remnants of the being managed to pull what was left of itself from the magma and it slithered painstakingly through the layers of earth, until it finally found its way to the sewers. The skeletal creature couldn't be sure how far he had traveled, but knew that this body he had once occupied was done and he needed a new host. As he pulled his essence through a street drain and to the street level, he looked around, and recognized the city to be none other than New York.

Mephisto smirked. Perfect. He needed a new host, but he always looked for someone with evil in their hearts and there would be plenty to choose from in a city such as this. Then, once he was anew again, he would get his revenge on the Charmings, as well as Fandral and his precious Rose. And they would never see him coming...

~*~

"So...is this what your vision showed you?" Belle asked curiously. They had all invaded Granny's and we were welcomes excitedly by Joe and Frankie, with mounds of food and drink awaiting them.

"It is...though I did not see how it would end. It makes sense that it was true love again though. It truly has given us everything," he said, looking at her fondly. She smiled.

"You have no idea how happy it makes me when I hear you champion love over power," she replied. He smirked.

"It may have taken me three hundred some years, but I have learned," he joked. She smiled and kissed him tenderly, as they enjoyed watching their son eating ice cream with Bobby. He was very excited to have his best friend back.

~*~

"Hey...you're a million miles away," James mentioned, as their children colored across from them and he returned with some hot cocoas.

"Yeah...just thinking," she replied.

"Not about what that psycho said?" he asked and she looked at him pensively.

"How can I not?" she asked.

"I was not created exactly the icky way mythology suggests I was from a certain body part, but I did rise from the sea foam. That's what my name means. I had no childhood or traditional birth," she replied, as he listened to her.

"What if my story is not what I think?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"This is Storybrooke, a place where memories have been taken more times than anyone can count. What if...what if my memories were taken? I mean...why did I never question it before? No one is born a full grown person," she replied.

"Well, if it means anything, I don't care how you came to be. I only care that I got a second chance and found the love of my life in you," he said, making her melt.

"What if he's right though? Eros' biological father was killed…" she lamented. He shook his head.

"No...you are not cursed," he refuted.

"I am the Goddess of love...and I had nothing but heartbreak in love before I found you. What if...what if I am always cursed to lose love?" she asked. He took her hands in his own.

"You are not cursed, my love and I'm not going anywhere," he promised, as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. She hugged him tightly and he held her.

"Will Athena help you with these questions? About your past?" he asked.

"She will tell me what I've already heard," she replied.

"Why would she keep the truth from you if there is more to your story?" he asked.

"She wouldn't...unless she was forbidden to tell me," she replied.

"Well...there may be one way we can find out," he suggested and she realized where he was going with that thought.

"Rose Red's library...that would be a very old book," she said.

"True...but it's possible, if you really want the answers," he suggested.

"But know that I don't really care how you came to be. Only that you're here and you're my wife," he added. She smiled and kissed him passionately.

~*~

"What the hell were you thinking? You could have been killed!" Nora complained, as he ate hungrily.

"But I wasn't and it felt good helping in something like that. I mean, helping people is why I became a paramedic and that was literally a battle that probably just saved the world. Since all this is real, I want to do my part," JJ said.

"Yeah right, that's a load of crap and you know it. There's only one reason you did any of this," she complained, as she pointed to the girl at the counter. She had gotten up to get them refills and was currently hugging an older young man that she had identified as her older brother.

"So what if she is? Why do you care?" he asked.

"Uh...hello? Bubble girl is a freak! Her whole family is!" she cried.

"Stop it Nora! They just saved the world and now we know they did the same in Seattle. This is what you wanted all along. You wanted the truth and now that you have it, you're flipping out. What gives?" he asked.

"I wanted the truth out so I could expose them for what they are," she replied.

"And what are they?" he asked.

"JJ...they did all of this to the world. Have you thought for a second that, while they may have saved the world, these people...this place might be the reason for all the evil in the first place?" she asked. But he shook his head.

"They didn't cause any of this, Nora," he refuted.

"Yes...they did. They're not from our world and their presence might be the reason for everything bad," she suggested, as Summer returned and JJ went back to ignoring her.

"Hey…" he said, as she put a tray down.

"I brought some hot cocoas," she said, as she slid a cup toward him.

"Thanks, sounds great," he said, as he watched her sprinkle cinnamon on her whipped cream.

"Cinnamon?" he asked.

"Oh yeah...it's kind of how we drink it in our family," she replied.

"I'll try some," he said, as she slid the cinnamon shaker to him.

"Cocoa?" Summer asked, sliding one to Nora. But she just gave her a look.

"It's September and seventy degrees. I don't want cocoa," she refuted, as she got up and went to the Inn side to her room.

"She really does not like me," Summer said.

"Ignore her...Nora doesn't really like anyone, not even herself sometimes," JJ replied.

"That's sad…" Summer mentioned.

"Yeah...that's Nora. Besides...I like you," he mentioned. She smiled and flushed a little.

"I figured," she murmured.

"Am I that easy to read?" he asked.

"No...well, you probably are for my sister Eva, but it's more that you'd probably have to like me to get involved in something like this. I mean...we just met and you agreed to fight in a crazy battle that just decided the fate of the world," she replied. He smirked and nodded.

"Yeah...you have a point," he agreed.

"No one would have blamed you if you didn't want to get involved," she said.

"I know and I wanted to help, but I have to admit, I did have an ulterior motive," he admitted.

"What was it?" she asked.

"I guess I was afraid if I didn't get involved that I'd probably never see you again," he replied, making her flush again.

"Besides...you kept telling me everything was a long story so I kind of had to stick around to hear the long story," he added, as he sipped at his cocoa. She beamed at him and then pulled a large brown book out of her bag.

"Well then...long story time," she said, as she opened it up and began to tell him that story.

~*~

"We thought you were gone," Ari said, as she and Ben cuddled with their parents and Carina.

"I know, my angels and we are so sorry you all went through that," Rose said, as she stroked Carina's hair.

"We know, mom," their eldest assured her.

"Did Thor save you?" Ben asked. Fandral smiled at his enthusiasm.

"He did and he and his friends helped us get back to you," he confirmed.

"And the bad man is gone too now, right?" Ari asked. They smiled softly.

"Yes...he is gone too, little ones and we are all going home tonight together," Fandral promised, as he and Rose shared a kiss.

~*~

Snow cuddled Hope in her lap, as David sat cuddled with them and doted on the baby with her.

"We have their memories...with her and of the last two years. I'm so grateful for that...they took care of our family for us and I will never forget that," Snow said, as Emma smiled at them.

"They did...and they spoiled Hope rotten, so I'm sure you guys will too," she said.

"Of course...grandpa is going to talk to Uncle Leo and have him see if we can breed a baby Pegasus just for you, my tiny princess," David said.

"Dad...she's not even two. I don't think we need a Pegasus yet," Emma replied.

"Of course she does, don't you tiny angel?" he cooed to her. Emma rolled her eyes playfully and looked to Xander for help.

"Don't look at me. I mean, can you imagine those baby pictures? Hope and a baby Pegasus? I'm going to need some wallets," Xander teased.

"You're a lot of help," she said sarcastically.

"Your father and grandfather are right...we have lost time to make up for and that reminds me, you two never had a real wedding. That was the curse," Snow said to her Leo and Elsa.

"Yeah...I guess it was," Leo said, as he watched the grin spread across his mother's face.

"Please tell me you still want a wedding," Snow pleaded. They smiled back.

"Of course we do...and we can get back to planning it right away," Elsa agreed.

"So...Boston in three days. This should be interesting," Regina mentioned.

"It should be...we hope you two will come with us," David said. Robin smirked.

"I have a feeling it's going to be nothing short of crazy, but we're in," he agreed.

"I think at this point crazy is way understating anything this family is involved with," Leo quipped.

"Definitely," Xander said, as he got a pensive look on his face.

"What is it, Dad?" David asked.

"I guess it's just...this is kind of what Clayton always wanted. He wanted to expose our world and stories to the Land Without Magic. It was his endgame in a way, with the proviso that he had control over it all. And...now it's happened," he lamented.

"Yeah...but it's going to be okay. We're not going to be pushed around by them or allow them to just come in here and take over. They know they couldn't if they wanted to," David said. Xander nodded, hoping his son was right. He still had his fears, but now was not the time to voice them.

Snow smiled and nuzzled her nose against David's and he smiled warmly at her.

"It's a lot to figure out, but we'll be doing it together, as always," he said. Snow smiled.

"Together," she agreed.

"But for now...we have three days to just be," he added, as they shared another tender, passionate kiss. Henry, Ella, and Lucy smiled on, as did the rest of their close family and friends. They had closed one chapter with Seth's defeat, but a whole new one was opening up before them. In many ways, it was a new era that might breed uncertainty, but, as always, they had true love at their defense...

[orangeflavoryawp]

Jonsa - “A Violence Done Most Kindly”, Part 3

“A Violence Done Most Kindly”

Chapter Three: Bone-Deep

“She stops, swallowing back the sob, tasting bile at the back of her tongue.  She’s told this to no one.  Not even Jon. It’s been her shameful secret, her bloody burden, all these years.  It’s been her sole, sundering grief.”  -  Jon and Sansa.  Stark is a house of many winters.

Read it on Ao3 here.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 fin

* * *

Jon gets word that Theon Greyjoy has arrived at Winterfell when he’s mid-spar in the courtyard.

           “The Lady Sansa has escorted him to the godswood, Your Grace,” Davos tells him as he’s shrugging his jerkin back on over his sweat-soaked tunic, tugging the laces closed over his chest with a vehemence so quiet it rattles beneath his skin

           “Your Grace,” Davos tries again, softer this time, watching the fury lining his king’s face.

           “Leave me,” Jon growls, already stalking through the grounds toward the godswood.

           No one follows him past the gate.

           Jon has a memory – a faint recollection thrumming its presence at the base of his skull, itching beneath his flesh.

           Theon always knew how to hold his drink, even when Jon couldn’t, and it’s a bitterly cold, fog-touched morning when they wake somehow in the stables, still mostly drunk off the ale Theon pilfered from Jory Cassel, to the mud-soaked hem of Lady Catelyn’s skirts.

           Jon remembers looking up into her pinched face, sick at the glower she leveled him with.

           “Now, which of you two half-wits are responsible for loosing Lord Stark’s horse in the night?” she bites out, nothing but coldness in her voice – winter made flesh.

           This was the woman who held him in the midst of fever once. The woman who sang him softly to sleep when the coughs wracked his lungs with a fierceness.  The woman who brushed a tender palm to his sweat-lined forehead and stayed the night at his bedside.

           The same woman – but that woman has been gone for many years now. And it’s only a frost-lined gaze and a perpetual frown that greets him these days.

           Jon is sick for an altogether different reason, never mind the ale still roiling in his gut.

           “It was me, Lady Stark,” Theon admits without hesitance, before Jon can declare his guilt, and he shoots a sharp look Theon’s way.

           Theon glances back, only just a bit more sober than Jon, and he shakes his head.  Just a touch. Just minutely enough for Jon to see, and he swallows back his confession, feeling it light along his throat.

           Lady Catelyn shoots a hand out swiftly and drags Theon from the stable by his ear, ignoring his yelp of pain and his drunken stumbles in her wake.

           Jon watches from his heap of hay, something brewing in his chest he has never learned the words for.

           He catches Theon that night after he’s spent the day cleaning the horse’s stalls, tired hands rubbing his shoulders with exhaustion.

           “Why?” he demands, clean and simple.

           Theon looks up at Jon with sleep-ready eyes, slouching back along his chair with aching limbs.  “I don’t remember my mother.”

           Jon’s jaw clenches, his tongue held between his teeth, so tight it nearly bleeds.

           And then Theon’s shrugging, head lolling back along his chair as his eyes shift to the ceiling.  “But Lady Stark’s always been more yours than mine.  Figured a bastard could use every bit of help he can get.” He hadn’t even bothered looking at Jon to watch the jab land, eyes sliding closed in his fatigue.

           It isn’t until the next day that Theon tells him he took the fall because he’d rather clean stables than take Jory’s beating, and now that he knows they swiped his ale, it’s Jon’s turn to take the fall.

           And yet –

           “I don’t remember my mother.”  The words linger with him for many years.

           Jon had been so angry, and so grateful, and so resentful, and so relieved, and he hadn’t understood at the time how this one dreadful boy could make him feel all of that at once.

           And that’s exactly the rub, isn’t it?  That they were just boys, and it shouldn’t mean so much, and it doesn’t mean so much, and he doesn’t know why the memory reaches him now – now when his hand itches for Longclaw on instinct.

           Because Robb had been betrayed.  Because Bran and Rickon had been forced to flee their home.  Because in the end, blood was the final say.  And Theon had chosen his.

           It was just a horse.  Just a stupid, fucking horse.

           But sometimes, Jon remembers the flecked grey of its pelt, the hard wood of the open stall door in his hands, the rush of wind in the night when the stallion had broken free.

           Sometimes he remembers their drunken laughs on the wind, a cloudless night backdropping their youth.

           Sometimes he wonders what they might have been.

           But in the end, it’s just a horse.  It’s just a memory.  It’s just a mistake.

           Jon breaks into the godswood to find Sansa sitting atop a snow-strewn log, Theon standing before her.  Their conversation halts at the crunch of snow beneath his boots, heralding his approach.

           Sansa’s face blanks out into a mask, but for a moment, for a split-right-down-the-middle second, Jon swears he sees affection, fondness, a soft sorrow just shy of yearning fleeting across her face.  She tucks it back beneath a veneer of calm easily enough.

           That sickness is back.

           Jon shakes his head, throat tight.

           (Just a memory.)

           “Jon,” Theon says, like a gasp let to air, the name drawing from him on instinct.

           Jon’s face hardens, his steps surer as they approach.

           Theon seems to catch his mistake, head dipping down, hands curling and uncurling at his sides.  “Your Grace,” he corrects in a voice like winter, like beaten, weathered branches creaking in the wind.

           He makes himself small in the face of Jon’s wrath, but it does nothing to still him.  Nothing at all to pacify the storm in him.

           Sansa seems to see it a moment too late.  “Jon – ”  She hasn’t the breath to say more, jolting from her seat, hand out-reaching, when Jon rears a fist back and then swings, knuckles cracking against Theon’s cheek, a sharp whip of adrenaline lancing through him as they both stumble back beneath the force of it.

           Theon releases a short grunt of pain, but nothing more, steadying easily.  He doesn’t even hold a hand to his cheek, doesn’t do anything but curve his shoulders even further inward, his gaze on the snow at their feet, his jaw quaking with more than just pain.

           Jon heaves a thunderous breath, the fury tight in his bones, the ache – that rending, marrow-deep ache – stilling him before his false brother.

           (He doesn’t realize until many years down the line that ‘false brothers’ are all he’s ever had, really.)

           “Jon,” Sansa censures, hands going to his arm.

           He ignores her.  His eyes are only for Theon.  “You fucking dare,” he spits.  “You fucking dare to show your face here – after what you did?”

           “I’m sorry,” he mutters readily, too readily for Jon’s liking. “I’m sorry, Jon.”  Like a chant.  Like the words have made a home in his mouth, worn their welcome out and bled their presence through to his tongue.  There’s something wounded in them that Jon cannot place.

           Jon sucks a sharp breath between his teeth.  His fist bunches in Theon’s collar, shaking him.

           “Jon, stop!”  Sansa’s tugging now, fingers curling along the leather of his jerkin, arms feeble in their effort.

           “You’re sorry?” Jon repeats on a scathing exhale, shaking him again, fist at his throat, snarl punctuating the air between them.  “Is that what you tell yourself when you remember how they took Robb’s head?  Is that what you tell yourself when you look at my crippled brother?”  His voice pitches high, a tremble to it he cannot rein in.  

           “Jon,” Sansa pleads, tugging at him.

           Theon keeps his head hung low, but even from here, Jon can see the wetness dotting his eyes.  He shakes him harder, practically quaking with the rage.  “Is that what you tell yourself when you see the blood of my family on your hands?” he bellows.

           “Stop it!” Sansa yells, pushing furiously at him now, wedging herself adamantly between them.

           Theon glances up at the break in her voice, mouth parted as though to speak but only a faint choke escapes him, eyes fixed on Sansa.

           It makes the anger flare brighter in Jon’s chest – white-hot and gripping.

           “Stop it!” she yells again, hands pushing at his chest, forcing her way between them, shoving him off them.  

Jon unfurls his fist from Theon’s collar, stumbling back from the force of Sansa’s vehemence.  He shifts narrowed eyes to her.  “Sansa, if it weren’t for him, maybe Robb would still be alive.  Maybe Rickon would still be alive.  Maybe – ”

           “Maybe I would be dead,” she answers him evenly.

           Jon blinks at her.  So does Theon.

           They stand there, breathing quietly in the falling snow.  

           “I wouldn’t have made it without him,” she says softly, lip quivering.  “I wouldn’t have made it to you.”

           Jon’s face falls, silence harrowing through the godswood.

           Sansa curls a tentative hand into Theon’s sleeve.

           Jon eyes the motion with something of contempt, but he doesn’t deny her, doesn’t move to extract her from him.  And maybe this is the fall Theon meant.  Maybe this is the only way he knows how to pay his debts.

(It’s just a stupid, fucking horse.

           Except, it was never about the horse.)

           Jon levels his ragged breaths, eyes shifting to Theon with a dark, warning sheen.  “Why are you here?”

           He doesn’t like how Theon’s first instinct is to glance to Sansa.

           She does not unfurl her fist from the Greyjoy’s sleeve.

           Shifting his gaze back to Jon, Theon lifts his chin just slightly, if only to keep their gazes level.  That something wounded is all about him now – like a shroud, a constant shadow.

This is not the Theon Greyjoy he left as a boy.

           But in the end, it’s just a memory, and Jon has had enough of those.

           “Would you believe me if I said I came for her?”  Theon motions to Sansa with a tip of his head.

           Sansa lets out a small sound of surprise, leaning into him, her knuckles white from where she holds his sleeve.  “Theon,” she starts, and doesn’t seem to know how to finish.

           “I would have died to get you there,” he mutters to her, face a ruin, and something flickers along her features in recognition, soft and slow. “I meant it.”

           Sansa wraps her arms around Theon then, holding him tight to her breast, nuzzling into his neck.  His hands hover unsurely in the air, and then they’re settling at her back, the perfect level of propriety in his embrace, even when Jon can see the way he leashes his own needful comfort.

           “I know,” Sansa whispers to him, cheek to his, and Jon feels suddenly intrusive at the tender, intimate scene.

           Sansa has not shared all that she endured under Ramsay’s hold, and she likely never will.  This he can live with.  This he can learn to let go, even when the rage claws at him without warning sometimes, even when he looks at the scarred skin of his knuckles and aches.  

           But this is more than Ramsay.  This is more than Sansa.  It starts with Ser Rodrick’s unjustly severed head and then doesn’t stop.  Not with Bran and Rickon’s expulsion from Winterfell. Not with the innocent boys Theon burned in their stead.  Not with any of the betrayals he’s gifted their family.

           It starts and never stops, and this is something Jon knows intimately.

           Jon waits until they untangle.  He waits until Theon’s looking him in the eye when he tells him, “Bran is here.”

           He wonders if perhaps he shouldn’t revel in the dread that glances over Theon’s face at the mention.  He wonders if maybe this spite is beneath him.  He wonders if he’s lesser for enjoying it.

           He wonders a lot of things, none of which he gets any answers for.

           Because in the end, this too, is just a memory.

* * *

           Sansa is there when Theon emerges from the room with Bran.  He’s drawn and quiet and near trembling when he closes the door to Bran’s solar behind him. She will never know what words passed between them, and Theon shakes his head at her minutely when she makes her way to him, mouth parted, questions lingering at her lips.  She stops just before him, mouth closing abruptly.  

           She will give him this silence, if he needs it.

           What forgiveness or punishment he seeks from Bran is his own business.  What guilt he cradles so attentively is his own.  It is not her place to intrude, though she only wants to help him bear it. She only wants to carry the weight with him.

           It clings to them still, this shadow of the past – like a hand at their throats, a harsh whisper at their ears.  Some wounds linger.

           Sansa knows this intimately, just as Theon does.  And so she will keep this silence for him.

           Because redemption is not a shared weight, and her shoulders are only so wide.

           Because he does not ask more of her than her hand at his arm to guide him through the halls.

           Because she refuses to be a lingering wound for him.

           They formally receive Theon in the Hall of Lords, with Jon at the center of the head table, Sansa at his side, and Bran at his other.  Just behind Bran, Arya stands half-bathed in shadow, hands held at her back.  The stance is no less imposing, even in its nonchalance, and Theon flicks his gaze uneasily from hers to face the King in the North fully.

           “You said you came for Lady Sansa,” Jon says tightly, back a rigid line.  “Explain.”

           Theon flicks hesitant eyes toward Sansa, just for a moment, but a moment is enough.  The rush of recollection is cold and vibrant – his trembling hand in hers, fingers worn and half-dead, a long, far drop into the snow off the walls, the biting freeze of the river through her soiled dress.

           Sansa sits straighter, her face softening.  She offers Theon an encouraging smile, and it seems to be all he needs, nodding imperceptibly before glancing back to Jon.

           “I’m here to extend House Greyjoy’s wish for an alliance.”

           Silence pervades the hall.  Jon’s scoff breaks the quiet like shattered stone.  Theon bristles at the sound and Sansa stiffens in her seat.

           “If you’ll recall, the last time you suggested an alliance to the King in the North, it didn’t end so well for him,” Jon snarls, hands gripping at his armrests.

           Theon dips his head in quiet acknowledgement.

           Jon sneers at him.  “I have no assurances of you or your family’s loyalty.”

           Theon snaps his head up.  “Yara is not like our father.  She’s a good queen.”

           “Perhaps your love for family blinds you.”

           “Can you say any different?”

           Jon glares at him, mouth thinning into a tight line.

           Theon gulps back his trepidation, hands unnervingly flexing at his sides.  He licks his lips, ignores the murmurs starting up around the hall with their audience.  “I want to protect my family as much as I want to protect yours, as much as I…”  He stops, the words floundering on his tongue. He glances back to Sansa, just for a moment.  “I owe House Stark more than I will ever be able to repay.  I don’t… I don’t pretend otherwise.  But there’s a war coming, if what you say is true, Your Grace, and I don’t believe you’re the kind of king to turn away an ally – even a Greyjoy – when your own people are at stake.  At least, I can’t believe that.  I can’t, and I won’t – or else we’re already lost.”

           Sansa can see the way Jon’s jaw works beneath his frustration. Her fingers flex over her armrests, the unease tugging at her chest.

           “What do you ask of us in this alliance?”  Bran’s question broaches the quiet.

           Theon looks at him steadily, seeming to weigh the words on his tongue before he lets them to air.  “Our uncle, Euron Greyjoy, has sworn to the dragon queen in return for her support in taking Yara’s rightful place.”

           Sansa flicks her gaze to Arya briefly, remembering such news when her sister had revealed what she’d learned from Baelish’s spies.  Arya glances to her as well, a cautious look shared between the two, before they’re both returning their attention fully to Theon. He lifts his chin, eyes blinking swiftly.  It’s a motion of discomfort that Sansa has grown to recognize in him.

           “All we ask is that the North supports Yara’s claim and the Iron Islands’ independence, just as it has the Vale and the Riverlands.”

           “The Vale and the Riverlands have both offered aid for the war,” Jon explains, a deep frown marring his features.  “What can the Iron Islands offer?”

           “The proof you need to win over the other kingdoms,” Theon says firmly, a steady confidence taking hold.

           Voices break out in the hall and Sansa lifts a hand in a motion of silence instantly, the lords quieting uneasily.  Jon leans forward in his chair, eyes narrowed at Theon.  “What did you say?” he demands.

           Theon takes a deep, sundering breath.  “Yara sailed north about a moon ago, as far north as the ice would permit.  Said she’d drag the dead back with her bare hands if that’s what it took to get this summit of yours going, if that’s what it took to solidify this alliance.”

           Jon releases a short, stunted laugh, wiping his hand down his mouth as he leans back in his chair.

           Beside him, Sansa furrows her brows in concern, a sharp breath drawn from between her lips.  “She’s mad.”

           Theon smiles in a way Sansa’ never seen before, and she wonders wildly if this is what a brother’s love is supposed to look like.

           “That she is,” Theon agrees beneath a smothered chuckle, shaking his head.  “But she keeps her word better than anyone I’ve ever known.”  He grows somber then, quiet and still.  “I figure Starks of all people can appreciate that.”

           It’s not said in insult, she knows this, and Jon must as well, because when she glances at him beside her he isn’t glaring at Theon like he had been only moments ago.  He’s simply staring at him, lips pursed, reply caught at the edge of his tongue. It’s such a perfect picture of hesitation that she has to stop herself from reaching for his hand in some measure of assurance.  Instead, she clears her throat.  “Your Grace,” she starts, if only to get his attention.

           Jon turns to her instantly, brows raised.  There’s a question on his face, but it’s a question she cannot read, let alone answer.  

And so she only shares what she knows, what she can vouch for without question. “I trust Theon.”

           Jon’s brows angle sharply down in a measure of disapproval, and a huff passes his lips that should anger her, but somehow only makes her want to laugh.

           “Olenna Tyrell has turned her armies North,” Arya says softly behind them, and Jon inclines his head at her voice.  “I imagine we’ll be receiving her answer to your request for a summit any day now.  I suggest we have something to show for it when they arrive.”

           Jon nods silently, considering, but then he’s flicking that heated glare back toward Theon, a tightness to his still form that Sansa wishes she knew how to ease.  “And if your sister fails?”

           Theon glances to Bran, mouth opening, and then closing. He takes a steadying breath, voice even when he finally finds the words.  “Then House Greyjoy pledges to the North regardless.”  He looks back to Jon, eyes unblinking.  “We will meet the dead with you, one way or another.”

           Sansa’s breath shudders from her, quiet and disused. But Jon catches the sound, turning to her in the ensuing uproar around the hall.  She looks at him without words, mouth parting in futility.  There is nothing she can say, she finds, to beg his trust in this.  Nothing she can say to endear him to Theon in any way that doesn’t also betray that which she promised herself never to share.

           Because to share her past with Ramsay is to keep him alive.

           Because yes, some wounds linger – closed and scarred as they are.

           Because she will not reduce herself to an identity defined by the survival of abuse.

           “I trust Theon.”  It is all she offers – all that matters, she finds.

           And it is all that’s needed, in the end.

           Jon heaves a long-labored sigh, wiping a hand down his face. A familiar weariness sets into his frame, and she knows his answer well before he voices it.

           “I trust Theon”, she had said.

           “Trust me”, she had meant.

           Yes, she supposes she’s always known his answer.

* * *

Arya enters her solar with a purposeful gait, closing the door behind her slowly.

           Sansa glances up at her, eyes narrowing; her sister does not seek her out.  She is their brothers’ sister.  She is not hers – not like she should be.

           (Not like she wishes her to be.)

           Arya looks around her chambers for a moment, eyes alighting on the sparseness of it, the utter lack of sentimental objects.

           “Was there something you needed?” Sansa asks finally, a hand smoothing over the ledger spread out over her desk.  She leans back expectantly.

           Arya stands at the edge of her desk, hands held behind her back in a mirror image of Sansa’s own familiar posture.  But Arya’s eyes are sure.  They are Stark grey and unclouded.  “You stayed – in King’s Landing, after father’s murder.”

           Sansa notes the use of the term ‘murder’ rather than ‘execution’ and eases somewhat under her sister’s stare.  The distinction is enough to make her forget whether Arya is speaking in questions or facts.  She clears her throat, nods her assent.  “I did.”

           Arya watches her a moment, head tilting in a familiar thoughtfulness that is so strikingly nostalgic, Sansa feels the air tighten in her lungs.

           “You let them beat you, humiliate you, cage you like a culled wolf.”  There is no accusation to the words, but Sansa feels it all the same.

           The anger flares bright and hot in her chest.  Her hands spread slowly over the desk, jaw locking. “You would rather I have fought? You would rather I have given them more opportunity to hurt Robb and Mother?  Or you?”  Sansa scoffs. “And gods only knew where you were when I was left to Cersei’s bitterness, to Joffrey’s violent whims.”  Her eyes harden, something steeling up her spine. Winter takes root in her bones so easily these days.  “Did you know they made me take it down from the pike?  Father’s head?  With my own hands, my own – ”  She stops, swallowing back the sob, tasting bile at the back of her tongue.  She’s told this to no one.  Not even Jon. It’s been her shameful secret, her bloody burden, all these years.  It’s been her sole, sundering grief.

           Arya draws in a long, slow breath, shoulders stretching back, arms never unlinking from behind her.  If she looks hard enough, Sansa will see the sheen of wetness over her eyes, the quiver in her jaw, the tremble of her lips even as they dip into a harsh frown.

           She’s gone too far, she thinks.  It isn’t Arya’s fault.  No more than it is hers.  Seven hells, but they were just children.  And even still…

           Even still, the resentment lingers.  The lonesome wolf in her bares its teeth to the sister that left too soon.

           (She doesn’t know how to admit to having needed her.)

           “Would you have had me fought?” she asks again, this time seethed through bared teeth – this time with the tender weight of regret.

           Arya considers her a moment, blinking the wetness from her eyes as though it had never been.  Her hands slip from behind her, hanging limply at her sides.  Her eyes drift to the desk, unable to meet Sansa’s.  “If you had fought, you’d be dead.”

           It’s not a new truth.  Sansa’s thought it herself but –

           “And I’m glad you’re not dead,” Arya finishes softly, eyes still fixed to the desk.

           Sansa stills.  Her chest aches.  It aches and aches and –

           She blinks back the sudden tears.

           Arya looks up then, eyes hardened once more.  Her back straightens, and then she’s heading to the door, having said her piece.

           Sansa stands so swiftly her chair topples back along the stone floor, clattering sharply in the drawn quiet.

           Arya halts with her hand on the door, a look over her shoulder that Sansa will not be able to name for many years to come.  “Cersei bled out slow,” she tells her evenly.  “She bled out alone.”

           Sansa stands watching her, breathing heavily, worn and spent and desolate.  Realization blooms beneath her skin like a bruise.

           Arya opens the door.  “I wanted you to know that,” she tells her.  She looks back just the once, and then she’s gone.

           The door closes before Sansa’s whispered ‘thank you’ can even broach the air, and then she’s sinking to the floor, hands fumbling for purchase along the stone, the whisper of her wool skirts a fluttering thing in the quiet of her solar.  Her hands curl against the floor until her nails catch along the stone like a wolf’s bite, blood at her fingertips.  Sansa takes a long, slow breath – lets it to air.  She breathes, and breathes, and chokes on it.  A single, bone-rattling wail rakes through her lungs, reverberating off the stone walls.

           She stays there long into the night, long past the time it takes to recognize the first dregs of freedom, the first glance of light.

           She stays there until it is no longer Cersei’s golden visage seared into the backs of her eyelids but Arya’s.

           Her sister.

           She has never been a lonesome wolf, she finds – she just took a little longer getting back to the pack.

           The North remembers, and so do sisters.

           (She knows now how to admit to needing her.)

* * *

           Jon announces a summit at Riverrun.

           Olenna Tyrell has formally answered his request for her presence during the peace talks after the Lannister forces showed their intention to attend when they withdrew from the Reach.  The disjointed lords of the Stormlands follow suit quickly.  Lord Royce ensures Robin Arryn’s attendance and hope for a continued alliance, and Edmure Tully accepts Jon’s proposal for the peace talks at Riverrun, granted, of course, that a large enough garrison of Northern forces ensures their protection at such volatile talks, as such an alliance would demand.  Jon agrees readily.  There is still no word from Dorne.

           And then a scroll bearing the wax seal of a three-headed dragon makes its way to Winterfell’s rookery.

           Jon smooths over the edges of the scroll, recounting its contents to his siblings as they sit in Bran’s solar.  It’s marked with Tyrion Lannister’s signature, his own calculating yet verbose speech marking the message as self-penned, rather than any true response from the dragon queen.  Jon tosses the unfurled scroll atop Bran’s desk with an air of frustration. “She wants Jaime Lannister, specifically, to bend the knee, but her demands extend to all the kingdoms.”

           “I imagine it took some plaintive urging on Tyrion’s part not to demand Ser Jaime’s head,” Sansa answers, a purse to her lips that signals a serious contemplation.

           He wonders if he should be wary of the look.

           “According to Baelish’s people, Daenerys isn’t altogether happy with her advisors,” Arya interjects, arms folded over her chest.  “She wants to rain fire and blood across the Lannister armies.  Over the Reach and the Vale and the North, as well.  It’ll be a short and bloody war if she does.”

           Bran nods, eyes alighting on Jon.  “She’ll pursue peace first, so long as it’s in her interest. She recognizes that she cannot secure the people’s love if she’s only seen as a brutal conqueror.”

           “And if we choose not to kneel?” Sansa asks, less a question and more a statement.

           “Daenerys Targaryen will not permit Northern independence.” Bran’s voice isn’t even apathetic at this point.  It’s simply there.  Like the snow settling on the windowsill, or the hiss of a crumbling log in the hearth, or the flex of Sansa’s fingers atop her lap, stiff and poised.

           Arya tilts her chin, the rest of her eerily still, one leg crossed evenly over the other.  

It’s Sansa that speaks.  “Northern independence needs no permittance,” she seethes out, face a winter visage.

           “She thinks otherwise.”

           “She thinks wrongly,” Arya says, voice low and immovable.

           Jon glances to her, and then back to Sansa, brows furrowing at the way they each stare unabashedly at Bran, fierce in their refusal.  He wipes a hand down his mouth, sighing into his palm.  “She’ll want an audience.”

           “She will,” Bran agrees.

           A steady, thoughtful silence.

           Sansa shifts in her seat.  “We have more urgent concerns.  The dead are – ”

           “There are no concerns more urgent,” Bran interrupts, and Jon is so taken by the firmness of his voice that he hasn’t the mind to consider the terror of such a notion.

           Because surely the dead would take precedence.  Surely the dead were the worst of it.

           Bran’s eyes slide evenly to Jon’s, a quiet confirmation.

           Jon’s lips part, the breath stealing from him.

           “She imagines herself a savior,” Bran offers, something flickering in his gaze that Jon is too wary to call ridicule.  “Use that.”

           He can only nod.

           They begin the march south the next day, and it isn’t until Jon and Sansa and Arya-wearing-Baelish step foot through Riverrun’s gates, with Bran lingering behind in Winterfell, that Jon realizes it wasn’t disdain coloring his brother’s eyes.

           It was apathy.

           And he doesn’t rightly know which is worse at this point.

* * *

           “Hey there, sweetwater,” he says to her.

           Sansa blinks up at the Blackfish, watching the way his face softens at her, the way his eyes wet, the way his throat flexes beneath his words. On either side of them, the riverbanks are lush and verdant – a winter-less shore.  There is nothing dead here, not yet.

           “’Sweetwater’, he always called me – my uncle.  Your uncle.”

           Her mother’s words are instant and warm at her ear.

           She offers a perfect curtsy, not trusting her voice.

           Brynden Tully swallows his smile behind a trembling lip. “Her little lady, I see.  Her Sansa.”

           Sansa lifts her gaze to his, something lodging in her chest she thought long lost.

           They stand staring at each other for long moments, and then the Blackfish takes her hand.  She watches her small, fine-boned fingers being swallowed up by his own scar-riddled palms.  But it calms her in a way she thought she’d never feel again – not since her father’s head had rolled down the steps at the Sept of Baelor.

           “I’m not Catelyn,” she finds herself saying, even as her voice cracks.  She keeps herself from trembling, eyes fixed to where their hands are joined.

           Brynden chuckles, releasing her hand.  He stands taller, hands adjusting his belt.  He heaves a sigh and it seems all at once regretful and longing.  “No, I imagine not.”

           She flits her gaze up to his, jaw tight.

           (She wants to fling herself around him and she doesn’t know why. She wants to hold him to her and know the warmth of the river, the freshwater tide, the lull of currents.

           She wants to remember what it is to be held.)

           Brynden reaches a daring hand out to stroke her cheek. “It’s lovely to meet you, niece.” And then his hand retracts, his posture straightening just a moment before he dips into a reserved bow, hand held at his chest.  “My lady.”

           (She wants to hold him, she finds.)

           There are no rivers like this in the North, and oh, how she misses her mother.

           “Please,” she urges, hands ushering him up.

           He chuckles at her earnestness, rising at her insistence, and Sansa finds that memory is still a bone-deep thing.

           “As you wish, sweetwater,” he says.

           She smiles.

           And when Brynden Tully offers himself as a sworn shield to Sansa that very night – that first evening she sits at the table of her mother’s childhood home – she finds that yes, memory has always been a bone-deep thing.

           As deep as rivers.

* * *

           {“There can be no Jon without Daenerys.”

Sansa narrows startled eyes at him, a crisp blue beneath the salt-sheen. “What?”

           Bran heaves a sigh – something of tedium to the sound – like he’s trying to explain something to a child.

           Sansa bristles at the thought.

           “There is an old sort of magic to sacrifice.  A strong magic.”

           “Is that your excuse?” she spits, the anger white-hot and searing at her lips, sudden and vitriolic like she’s never felt before, not even for Ramsay.  “Is that your excuse for killing him?”

           She likes to think it’s remorse that has him turning his head, but the reality is closer to indifference when he answers her, “Yes.”}

[marinaaniseed]

Dark ‘n’ Stormy: Pt. 2

We have a title.

A/N: No full-on fucking, but plenty of smut. Honestly, I would NOT show this to my mother. Half the length of the last one, so I’m getting *slightly* better at being concise. Does contain promiscuity, self-loathing and self-esteem issues. Picks up exactly where Pt.1  left off.

Why were you so bothered by him? You’d done plenty of fucking and sucking during the post-snap years, taking what you wanted and giving nothing of yourself in return. Running away to the next town, the next shitty job when anybody got too close for comfort. You’d loved and you’d lost and you didn’t want to go through that again, ever.

But that feeling in your stomach wasn’t yesterday’s beer.

It was something worse.

It was actual feelings, emotions.

You liked him. Not in a purely platonic way, and not in a purely lustful way. You weren’t sure you had the strength for this but you had to address it, whatever this was, or your employment situation would rapidly become untenable. Just as a wound will fester if it’s left, skirted flirtations and unsaid feelings tend to poison a relationship. Especially when the feelings are one-sided. Time to be brave, be bold. Rip the plaster off quickly before the pain can set in.

You finished lolling on the bed, flinging yesterday’s clothes back on. You’d worry about a change of underwear later. Thor was already in position, fixated by his game, so you moved past him and headed straight to the kitchen. You ripped open the box of frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts, shoving them in the toaster. If Thor was paying any attention to you, he’d probably wonder what you were angry about. You weren’t angry, or at least only angry at your own heart for being a little traitor. You were a tightly wound coil of nervous energy. The toaster couldn’t pop up quick enough. When it finally did, you startled a little. Oh, for fuck’s sake, you thought to yourself. Get a grip, you’re not 12. You threw the sugary snacks onto a plate and began your advance.

Thor finally noticed you when you were around a foot away.

“Good morning, y/n,” he said, removing a hand from the controller to take the plate from you.

The movement of his arm was enough to give you an opening. You slid past his outstretched hand and onto his lap, straddling his thick thighs.

“Wh-what are you doing?” he asked, as you placed the Pop-Tarts on the arm of the settee.

Good question, you thought. If you go for a hat-trick of startling Thor into swift escapes, you’re going to go flying. It was an odd dichotomy thinking about how this gentle giant, who only displayed kindness and shyness to you, could if he wanted, send you hurtling into the next room without breaking a sweat.

“We need to talk,” you said, holding onto the back of the settee, one hand either side of Thor’s head.

“About what?”

“I know you caused that storm on purpose to keep me here last night.”

You tried to meet his gaze but he couldn’t look at you. He was ashamed that you’d caught him so easily.

“I’m not angry, if you want me to stay, you can just ask. What I want to know is this: what is going on? Because it looks like you want to be more than just my friend but then you run away whenever I initiate contact.”

“I…” Thor can’t find any words to say. His cheeks feel hot, they must be the same shade as his cape. He could get out of this situation if he wanted to but apparently, his body doesn’t want him to, so it just stays there, rooted to the cushions he wishes would swallow him whole. Over a thousand years old and he’s completely flummoxed by a Midgardian woman sitting on his lap.

“I don’t think you’d want me,” he eventually forces out.

“What makes you say that?”

His only response is a vague gesture, controller still in hand, to his stomach.

“I’m not going to beat about the bush unless that’s what you’re into,” you say with a smirk. “You’re hot and I want to make out with you. But if that’s not what you want, that’s fine.”

Thor finally looks up at you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone look so confused. It’s like your words have short-circuited his brain. He’s just frozen, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

This was not the reaction you’d hoped for. It’s neither a yes nor a no. You decide to try a different approach.

Your hands move down to the hem of your top, pulling it up and over your head before you discard it on the rug at Thor’s feet.

“You don’t have to do this, y/n,” he says, trying to look anywhere but at your breasts. He knows he won’t be able to contain his arousal and you’re practically sat on top of it already.

“I know I don’t. I’m doing it because I want to. I want you to look, I want you to feel me.” Your hands return to their grip on the back of the settee. You lean forward, arching your back so that the end of his braided beard is tickling your skin just above the edge of your bra cups.

Thor lets out a small, frustrated noise. You’re making this hard for him, in more ways than one. Yes, he wants to look at you, to feel you, to kiss you. But the fear is there, that despite what you’ve said, you’ll somehow find him lacking. It takes all of his strength to squash that thought and turn his face to you. Or more accurately, to your cleavage.

His nose settles between your breasts. He closes his eyes and settles there. You’re warm and welcoming, he can hear your heart hammering away as hard as his own. You smell faintly of oakwood absolute from the bath yesterday and he inhales deeply, trying to calm himself. You loop a hand into his hair, trying to encourage him to keep going. He finally lets go of the controller and moves his hands to your hips to steady you.

Thor explores gently, at first, pressing tickly kisses to your chest, inching slowly up to your collarbone. At the hollow of your neck is where his kisses become fiercer. His hands move to your back, pulling him to him, and he nips and sucks insistently at your neck. He takes your gasps and moans as approval, biting hard on both sides before moving up to your ears. His hot breath makes you gasp his name and sends a shiver down your spine. You can feel the hairs on your bare arms standing on end. You bring the hand not in his hair to cup his chin, guiding him towards your lips.

His facial hair is scratchy and a little tickly, but you don’t care. You’re glad to finally be making that connection. His lips are soft, pink and plump, like marshmallows, and just as sweet. Your tongue tests the seam of his lips and he lets you in, taking you deeply. It’s been a long time since you experienced a kiss like this, potent with passion from both sides. Thor is running his hands along your back, pressing you into him with a sense of urgency. Your hands are wandering, caressing his cheek and pulling his hair. He returns the favour, lacing his fingers through your locks, pressing you into him. The kisses are getting sloppy and you don’t care. Thor unclips your bra with surprising deftness.

You pull away from him and shrug the straps off, exposing yourself to him. The t-shirt bra, worn for comfort rather than seduction joins your top on the floor.

A rumbling growl escapes his lips as he takes you in. He knows he should feel a bit ashamed of the state he’s left your neck, the deep damson red mottling your skin like a series of wine stains. But he can’t feel ashamed, not now. He grabs hold of your thighs and stands up, carrying you like you weigh nothing. The plate of Pop-Tarts crashes to the floor.

You wrap yourself around him as best you can, you know he can support you but it’s instinctual to grip his sides with your thighs, limbs tangling up him like vines climbing up an oak.

He lowers you gently onto the bed and lays down beside you, the tip of his nose touching yours. Neither of you wants to make the first move. You’re making progress and you don’t want to ruin it. Thor, for his part, isn’t sure how to proceed. He wants to take you but he doesn’t want to hurt you. He’s changed since the last time he was intimate with another.

You giggle at him and give him a swift peck, bringing him back to the here and now. Your hand slips down to his crotch and you’re pleased to find him already hard. Pleased and a little concerned. Your quip about men with big feet appears to be true. You run your hand up and down over his jogging bottoms. He gasps in surprise and pulls you to him for another kiss. You increase the pressure on his erection incrementally until he can’t stand it any longer.

“I need to get out of these damn clothes,” he huffed, yanking down the constricting garments and freeing his hard-on.

“Fuck me,” you gasped as you caught a glimpse of it. This was by no means the first cock you’d seen, but it was certainly the biggest. It made sense you reasoned, the rest of him was long and girthy, so why not this bit? You hoped he wasn’t the kind who thought a big dick was all you needed. That’d be a disappointment if he was a thrust-until-he-came guy, without any regard for your needs.

“Well, I mean, I think that’s the plan,” Thor laughed nervously in response.

You decided to match him and shuffled out of your jeans, hoping he hadn’t noticed how damp your knickers already were. Thor slipped off his cardigan but his top remained in place.

“C’mon Thor, let me see you. All of you,” you urged him, reaching for the hem of his top. “If I’m letting you see my thunder thighs, I should be able to see your tummy.”

“Your what? Thunder thighs?” he laughed, deflecting the conversation away from himself. Your thighs look lovely to him, he can’t wait to get between them. The little marks look like fingers of lightning but other than that, he can’t understand the reference to thunder.

“You know, chunky thighs that rub together when you walk. Look at them, they look like hams.”

“They do not. And even if they did, ham is great. It’d just make me want to eat them more.”

“You can’t eat my legs,” you laughed, tugging at his t-shirt.

“Oh? Is that so?” he smirked, diving towards your lap, biting, sucking, kissing all over your thighs. “You said they were thunder thighs. I’m the god of thunder so they’re my thighs now. And I want to eat them.”

“No, no,” you said, pushing his head away. “Not until you’re undressed.”

With a pout and a sigh, he turned around and pulled off his top, letting it drop by the side of the bed. He could see himself in the full-length mirror. He’d forgotten that even existed, having long since let it be buried under layers of dust. The only thing he’d used it for in years was for draping his cape over when he couldn’t be bothered to hang it properly. Apparently, you’d unearthed it and cleaned it up. How had he not noticed that? He supposed he was so used to everything being a mess that he’d tuned it out, didn’t even bother to look in that corner anymore.

You, too, could see him in the mirror. You saw him frown and poke himself in his soft stomach. Standing slowly, you walked in front of him to stand between him and the mirror.

“Thor. I know you don’t like what you see but I do. Let me touch you. Please?”

He grumbled a little but lay back. You still hadn’t run away so you either did find him attractive or were doing this out of pity.

You laid down next to him, stroking his hair. It was much softer than it had been before you washed it. You nuzzled into the side of his neck, nibbling and kissing at him. Not as hard as he’d done it to you, but with enough of a bite to let him know you were there. A long, drawn-out ‘Oh’ spilt from his lips, encouraging you to be rougher. Your hand moved from his hair, stroking his cheek and his neck, before landing on his chest. Spreading your fingers through the hair, you moved close to his nipple but not quite enough to arouse him, yet. He moans as you leave your mark on him, a deep bruise to rival the ones he gave you.

With sloppy kisses and sharp bites, your mouth trailed down to his chest and his pert nipples. Based on his reaction yesterday, you knew he was going to like this. You flicked your tongue over the one nearest to you, while your index finger lazily circled the other.

Thor could barely breathe. Was he dying? Was this Valhalla? He didn’t know, he just didn’t want you to stop. He hoped his breathy moans and guttural groans were letting you know just how much he was enjoying it.

The tongue on his nipple was replaced by your lips sucking, the finger circles intensifying when you changed from the pad of your finger to the tip of your nail. Just as he was beginning to get himself under control, you kicked it up a notch again. You bit his nipple just hard enough to send a jolt of pleasure and pain through him, your fingers tweaking and twisting the other.

Were all Midgardian women like this? If they were, he’d been missing out. No. Wait. Jane hadn’t been like this. He was so lost in the feel of your mouth on him, he didn’t even mind when your fingers danced away and landed on his stomach.

Your mouth soon followed, kissing all over. He hadn’t realised how sensitive his stomach was now and how good it felt as you worshipped him. He even managed to laugh as your nose dipped into his navel. You took him in hand so you could continue kissing down his soft underbelly.

Thor could barely contain himself. He could feel your hot breath against his cock as your lips pressed down everywhere but there. This was the most delightful torture, he wanted to be inside you so badly but he wasn’t going to force you to do anything. You clearly knew what you were doing and had made it your personal mission to tease him until he could no longer focus on anything else.

He parted his thighs a little as your hungry mouth travelled further down his body. One hand remained rubbing his cock, while with the other you began raking your nails down his inner thigh. Oh Norns, if he’d thought the rest of him was sensitive to your touch, he inner thigh surpassed it all. He tried to tell you that it was too much, that he couldn’t hold on, but then you started sucking a deep love bite on his thigh and that was it.

His legs trembled violently beneath you and you heard him gasping curses. You realised too late what you’d set in motion and looked up in time to see him coating his rounded tummy with cum. He was certainly a sight to behold, sticky, sweaty and smiling, covered in the marks of your affection.

You sat back and licked him off your fingers. Warm, salty, and satisfyingly savoury. Like liquid umami, it had you wanting another taste. For a moment you toyed with this idea of licking him clean, before concluding that might perturb him.

The smile soon turned to a frown, his brow furrowed as he realised quite what had happened.

“Oh Norns, I’m so sorry y/n. I’m not normally like that, you have my word. What you were doing felt so good and it’s been so long and I just couldn’t stop and…”

“Shh, shh. It’s alright,” you tried to reassure him, seeing the panic, the disappointment, in his eyes.

“But I’ve let you down…”

“No, no you haven’t. I’m pleased to have had that effect on you. We’ve got plenty of time to explore each other. For now, you look like you need a cuddle.” You moved to sit with your back to the headboard. “C’mere. Please?” You patted the bed next to you.

Thor hauled himself onto his elbows and shuffled up to you, trying not to get his spunk on the bedding. He felt ridiculous, covered in his own seed, traitorous cock resting limply against his thigh. But you’re right. He needs a cuddle. Wants a cuddle. So he rests his head on your chest and lets you wrap your arms around him. At some point, he’ll let you use him as a cushion but he’s feeling a little broken and like he’s failed you. It’s like being a teenager again and having no control over himself.

“May I ask you something?” you said, as you ran your hand down his still muscular bicep.

“Certainly.”

“How long has it been?”

“A long time. Before the snap, before Asgard fell,” he replied with a sigh. “I was too busy, trying to fight, to protect. Not that it mattered.”

“It mattered, of course it did.”

“And then since the snap, nobody’s wanted me.”

“Nobody wanted you or nobody was allowed to get close?”

“Both, I suppose. I could’ve demanded, as their king, that somebody lay with me but that’s not right. You shouldn’t force people into doing things because they think it’s their duty. I might only have one real eye, but I’m not blind. I see how people look at me. They don’t see any of the good things I’ve done. They just see a fat, stupid drunk. A joke who can’t run a bath let alone a kingdom. A failure who should’ve gone for the head.”

His voice is cracking and the tears are falling onto your breast.

“Hey, hey. It’s ok,” you try to soothe. “I know how it feels to hate yourself. I know your brain is telling you otherwise but that’s not all people think of you. It’s not what I think of you. People’s memories aren’t so short that they forget everything else you’ve done. One mistake - and it was a mistake, how were you supposed to know? - doesn’t erase everything else. You’ve done more good since you became an Avenger than most people could manage in a hundred lifetimes. I like you. Nothing I’ve seen so far has made me think anything less of you.”

“But I’m not the man I used to be,” he sniffled.

“Thor, none of us are who we used to be. That’s how we grow as people. After everything that’s happened, I’d be concerned if you hadn’t changed a bit.”

“But you know what I used to be like.”

“Only in the sense that I knew what you looked like in news footage. I didn’t know you. But I’d like to.”

You pulled him closer to you, rubbing his arm, hoping that you’re making some small dent in just how crap he feels.

“Thank you,” he mumbled after a while.

“For what?”

“For how you treated me. I’ve been so scared and ashamed to touch myself since...everything. But I really enjoyed that.”

I could tell, you thought, but had enough not common sense not to say it.

“I understand. When my depression is at its worst, I don’t have any desire to be intimate. By myself or with anyone. And if it does somehow happen, it’s just going through the motions. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean just that. My whole body, how you took the time to lavish attention everywhere. Nobody’s done that before. Not even when I was attractive.”

“You’re attractive now. Honestly. I wouldn’t be here, naked on your bed if I wasn’t attracted to you.”

“Well, no. I guess not,” he admitted.

“And I’ll just have to keep smothering you with kisses until you believe me. Besides,” you added with a grin, “aren’t us mortals supposed to worship gods like you?”

This makes him laugh. A full, booming belly laugh that makes him jiggle all over.

“I think we should get you cleaned up and see if I can give you some more adoration, I think I missed some bits.”

That’s the best idea Thor’s heard in a long time.

@morganhoran1671 As promised, here it is.

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Being Thor's Old Flame.

Sitting in a galactic prison cell was not fun, at least that’s what you, a complete sane person thought. How you had wound up in said prison cell was still a blur. Perhaps it was too much booze on Knowhere that caused you to go on a fighting spree. But that was just one possibility out of hundreds. You were sick of the cuffs surrounding your wrists that kept you from tucking the strand of hair that had escaped your ponytail behind your ear. Plus you were bored, just sitting around doing nothing was causing you to go stir crazy. You could rile up the guards a little bit, maybe annoying them would give you the jolt of excitement you needed to keep yourself from bashing your head against the metal wall. You were just about to decide when alarms rang out then explosions. The floating prison was jarred causing you to fall to the floor. Your cell door slid open suddenly as did the other prison cells. You were wondering if it was a trap before you saw your fellow guilty criminals exit their cells without consequences.

‘Sweet,’ you thought making a run for the door at the end of the corridor. As soon as you arrived the door was removed from it’s frame and a tree like creature took up the entire space. You fell backwards in shock when a man shoved his way through with dark curly hair and blasters in both hands.

“Gamora,” the man called completely ignoring you.

“Rude,” you scoffed under your breath as you began to rise again. Only to be knocked down again by another man. That was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. “Hey watch it you morons!”

“(Y/N)?”

You looked away from the guys who had knocked you over to look at a familiar and still lovable face, “Thor?”

“It’s so good to see you!” He said with a roar picking you up and spinning you around almost smacking your head against a flashing light.

“Hey watch where you’re swinging me you giant goof! I’m not Mjolnir, I’m fragile.” You tried sounding annoyed but you were happy to see the gigantic god of thunder. 

“If you are fragile then I am a frost giant,” he chuckled setting you back down.

“I don’t believe that but I’m kinda concerned that you ate one,” you poked his belly causing Thor to chuckle in embarrassment. “And what creature made it’s home on your face?”

“Always ready to put this poor god down,” he sulked.

Standing on tip toes you kissed his cheek. “It’s good to see you,” you purred. He pressed his forehead against yours looking deep into your eyes.

Once a long time ago you and Thor were a pair, the talk of Asgard until you had to be called away to protect certain parts of the universe. You hadn’t seen him in forever so the relationship you both had crumbled into nothing. But now with him in front of you, your heart ached to be back in his arms again. Unfortunately you couldn’t latch on to him because of the stupid cuffs. Thor saw the pain in your eyes that’s when he noticed the cuffs. With brutal strength he broke them freeing you.

“Thank you.” Rubbing the blood flow back into your wrists you grabbed a fallen blaster. “So what’s the plan oh handsome god of thunder.”

“First look for Gamora,” Thor started.

“Don’t know who that is but okay,” you interrupted.

“Second protect the galaxy from all types of evil, and third make sure I don’t lose you ever again.”

“I like this plan. But you rescued me honey, you ain’t getting rid of me so easily anymore.”

With a battle cry you both charged into the fray. It was nice to fight alongside with Thor once more and you felt foolish for leaving him and your home in the first place. But you both were brought together again and you weren’t going to be leaving him no matter what.

[bonebabbles]

Clear Sky Abuse Tally

IT'S THE "HIT" NEW GAME SHOW WHERE WE KEEP A RUNNING LIST OF EVERY TIME CLEAR SKY BATTERS RANDOM PEOPLE

I'm trying to think of how to keep this list... I don't want to be tallying every small thing, but I do want to track the important cases, as well as the lesser ones that people tend to forget.

Important note- I'm starting this list while reading First Battle so the details of the previous books (especially sun trail) will be more broad than later ones. This list isn't complete yet as I'm still re-reading.

Sun Trail:

Screamed at young Jagged Peak and consistently put him down through the Journey

Commanded his cats to enforce borders for no reason, getting several people injured

Broke up Jagged Peak's bonding with Gray Wing during his visit and got into a public fight with pregnant mate Storm, suggesting that he was already being controlling.

Threw Jagged Peak out of his group for becoming disabled

Watched Fox brutalize Gray Wing, doing nothing, until Gray Wing flailed out in self defense (blinded by his own blood leaking into his eyes) and killed him accidentally, at which time Clear Sky accused him of murder

Abandoned baby Thunder

Thunder Rising:

Continues to aggrieve the border with the moor cats

Humiliates Jagged Peak by calling him useless

Lies to Thunder that abandoning him "was a test" that he passed, so he's worthy of his love now

Makes no note about Moon Shadow as they leave, because he is severely burned and ergo no longer useful.

Emotionally manipulates Thunder by saying he can, "stay with the kits" if he doesn't leave with them immediately, preventing him from properly saying goodbye to his adopted family

Brings him to a bunch of charred, unsafe trees to force him to leap around, shouting when he's too cautious and also when he is too fast. This is a manipulation tactic called a Double Bind.

Started expanding borders in spite of having enough food, as the fire didn't reach as far as camp and didn't burn the whole forest.

Slaughtered Misty, who was defending her kits

Suggested killing the kits too

Beat Bumble to death and acted offended that Gray Wing didn't start parroting his fantastic lie

Became so offended that Thunder tried to talk to him about the borders that he constructed a test of loyalty using Frost's life (warning: medical gore)

Publicly humiliated Frost by making him flash his weeping wound at the entire Clan

Exiled him, saying that Frost was 'endangering' the Clan with his weakness

Told the teenage Thunder to bring him away from the territory, "where the maggots can find him," knowing that Thunder wouldn't want to be responsible for the death of a Clanmate

When he refused, he shoved his face into the festering, reeking wound and told him to "lick it clean if he cares so much"

Pushed Thunder in front of a fox that suddenly attacked camp

The First Battle:

Called Falling Feather for a chat alone after overhearing her goodbye to Thunder, and then slashed her face when she called him greedy

Publicly humiliates her, 'feeling pleased' at seeing the guilt in her eyes, and announces she must be punished for displaying disloyalty. “Any cat may give Falling Feather orders. Any cat may take her prey if they wish. She is lower than a snake until she has earned our trust again.”

Brings the orphaned kits, Birch and Alder, out on a training session and forces them to run as fast as him, shaming them when the kittens can't keep up

Smacks Alder when she is uncomfortable about Clear Sky forcing her to do a surprise ambush on Birch

Leaves Birch alone in the woods where the kitten is attacked by a dog

Overhunts to the point of there being several piles of meat, about to spoil

Takes a hostage, Jackdaw's Cry, and starves him for 3 days. "Cats take months to starve, I've seen it in the mountains. Dumb moor cats, always wanting more than they deserve."

Lies that he would keep him safe and fed.

Forces his cats to train with claws out, leaving them collectively bloody and bruised

Does not allow cats to choose their own food, flinging carcasses at them so that they only eat when he allows it.

Tells son Thunder that he shouldn't exist before commanding his cats to attack him

Starts the First Battle over Jackdaw's Cry catching a bat "on his land" after starving him, ending what was supposed to be a peaceful negotiation

When the negotiation patrol jumps up onto a rock he makes it known the intention is murder, “That’s right,” he hissed, “Stay up here and watch your friends die.”

Murders Rainswept Flower when she hadn't attacked him, offended that she called him greedy, boasting that if he hadn't killed her then some other cat would have.

[muertawrites]

Staying Dry (Loki x Reader)[nsfw]

Summary: Thor convinces you to go on a double date with him and Valkyrie, on which he has intended Loki to be your escort for the night. He walks you home in the rain, and after you change out of your wet clothes, things get a little spicy. 

Word Count: 2,600

Author’s Note: Thor and Valkyrie have a (super adorable) thing, and I wholeheartedly believe that Val is bisexual and that the blonde warrior we see dying in front of her in Ragnarok is her lover, don’t @ me. Also dry humping is way underrated. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. 

                                              ~ Muerta 🌸💀🌸

“Let me walk you home.”

You had immediately turned down Loki’s offer, telling him that you’d be fine walking the sixteen blocks from the restaurant you’d dined at in Midtown back to your apartment, stating that Manhattan was far from being as dangerous as many would think, and that the daunting black clouds hovering menacingly overhead, promising a downpour, didn’t scare you. The god was persistent, however, and after he insisted for the seventh time, you allowed him to be the chivalrous man he (quite uncharacteristically) wanted to be.

Thor had approached you a few days prior about going to dinner with him and Valkyrie, and you’d laughed.

“I don’t think Val is the dating type,” you’d said, paling when you saw the hurt in Thor’s eyes, making him look like a wounded, oversized puppy.

“Plus, I don’t have anyone to invite,” you added.

“Don’t worry about that,” Thor assured you. “I’ve invited Loki.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Loki,” you responded flatly. “Your brother. Mr. Tall Dark and Emo who likes to play with knives and fake his own death when he feels ignored. That Loki.”

Thor nodded, smiling.

“Yes!” he said. “He’s taken a liking to you since we came back to Earth. Barely ever stops talking about you.”

You reached out and lay a hand on Thor’s arm, gently and sympathetically rubbing his meaty bicep.

“Oh, Thor, you’re so sweet,” you cooed, “but my friendship with Loki isn’t like that. We like each other and that’s it. Nothing else.”

“Please, Lady Y/N, just come with us for the evening,” Thor begged. “Valkyrie would not have agreed if I hadn’t told her you were coming. At the very least you will have Loki to pass the time with.”

You sighed, letting your hand fall to your side.

“… Fine,” you surrendered. “But I get to pick the restaurant. If you want Val to agree to a second date you’re going to have to impress her.”

So, later that week, you and Valkyrie met the brothers at your favorite bistro for a nice dinner, Valkyrie looking much more comfortable and excited than she’d originally let on about the date, and yourself wondering how many strong drinks you’d have to have for the evening to be bearable without getting totally wasted (Valkyrie advised that two would probably do it). You’d sat across from Loki, sipping on something sweet and heavy with whiskey and bantering with him, kicking Thor underneath the table whenever he got too excited with Val. At the end of the night, Thor and Valkyrie had stumbled into a taxi, saying something about going to scour the city for possible crimes to prevent, Batman and Robin style, and leaving you and Loki standing on the curb outside the restaurant in awkward silence.

Thunder rumbled above the skyscrapers as you walked in stride with Loki, tucking your hair behind your ear as you searched for something to say. Loki shoved his hands into the pockets of his black suit pants, his shoulder bumping against yours with each of his steps.

“Do you think she’s taken a fancy to him?” he asked, looking up at the sky.

“Who, Val?” you replied. “Of course she has. He’ll just have to force her to admit it.”

Loki chuckled.

“Stubborn women, the both of you,” he stated. “I suppose I cannot blame her, however. I have seen her memories of her first fight against Hela. She lost a great love in that battle that she has never quite recovered from.”

You hummed, your tone dropping.

“She’s told me about her,” you said. “Helene was her name. She told me she’s missed her since the day she died. That she sometimes wishes she could have died too.”

Loki nodded, his expression betraying a rare moment of empathy.

“Love makes us think and feel unimaginable things,” he mused. “But she cares for Thor. I believe they will be happy together, one way or another.”

“I hope so,” you replied. “I really don’t want to have to suffer through another double date.”

Loki smirked.

“Was I not entertaining enough company for you, my darling?” he teased, nudging you playfully with his elbow. You smiled, leaning to the side and nudging him back.

“You absolutely bore me to tears,” you joked. “But no, I actually just hate going on dates. It’s exhausting, and I never really meet anyone I like when I get set up like this.”

“Do you not like me?”

Loki’s question threw you completely off guard. Of course you liked him – he was one of the few people you knew you could speak effortlessly to, who you could spend hours with without getting deeply annoyed by or tired of him. You loved the long chats you two often had about everything, nothing, and all the things in between, and how you never truly felt you had to try to impress him. The thing you liked most of all, however, was that Loki never seemed to put up a front with you like he did with most other people. He was always genuine, and you knew that for him, authenticity was rare, so you deeply valued your relationship with him. You liked him so much, in fact, you were willing to admit you loved him.

Shit. Maybe Thor was right.

“Loki, how could you even ask that?” you replied, still visibly flustered. “Of course I like yo-”

Your words were cut short by an onslaught of rain, spilling from the sky without warning or hesitation, causing your makeup to run down your face and your hair and dress to cling to your cheeks and body. You blinked, staring up at Loki with a bewildered expression. He laughed, reaching out and brushing some of the hair plastered to your skin behind your ear.

“Let’s get you home,” he chuckled.

Loki hailed a cab, and within ten minutes, you were climbing the stairs to your apartment, water sloshing in your shoes and shoulders heaving with cold. The usually stoic frost giant was shivering himself, and you forced him inside when he insisted that he would be fine making his way back to Avengers Tower in the pouring rain.

“You’re soaked,” you told him.

“I’ll magic myself dry,” he countered.

“You’ll just get wet again,” you replied. He quirked his brow at you.

“Please, just come in,” you sighed. “It’s only going to get worse out there and I don’t want you getting sick or something.”

“You do know that my immune system is much stronger than yours, little mortal?” Loki drawled teasingly as he sauntered into your apartment. You rolled your eyes as you locked the door behind you, going to your bedroom and fetching him a clean towel and a set of dry clothes, tossing them unceremoniously into his face.

“Change before I throw you back out into the street via the fire escape,” you hissed, causing him to chuckle as he began to disrobe. You blushed, turning back into your bedroom and shutting the door tightly behind you, hoping he hadn’t seen your embarrassment.

You shed your dripping clothes and exchanged them for a pair of sweatpants and a loose, baggy t-shirt, gathering up the soiled garments and tossing them into the dryer in the hallway. You then made your way back out to Loki, who was lounging comfortably on your couch, legs kicked up on the coffee table as he flipped through one of your fashion magazines. His suit was folded neatly on the kitchen counter behind him.

“I never pegged you as the type to read these frivolous things,” he commented, tossing the magazine away and looking up at you. You shrugged, smirking a little.

“I’m a multifaceted girl,” you responded. Loki smirked back at you before standing, crossing to where you stood.

“What should I do with those?” he asked, nodding his head to his folded suit.

“Put them in the dryer,” you said. “You can hang out until they’re finished.”

Loki nodded, taking his clothes and disappearing down the hall. You flopped onto your couch as the sound of the dryer door slamming shut, then the machine roaring to life echoed through your living room, humming when Loki lowered himself beside you and lay a hand on your leg, giving it a gentle rub over the thick fabric of your sweatpants.

“I wonder what they’re doing out there,” he pondered. You smiled, shaking your head.

“If I know Valkyrie, the answer could be anything,” you mused. Loki chuckled.

“Perhaps the weather is Thor’s doing,” he suggested. “It would not be beyond him to try to make the setting more romantic.”

You scrunched up your nose a little.

“Val doesn’t really do romantic,” you replied. “And even if she did, I don’t think she’d find the rain very appealing. Maybe only as an excuse to get the other person out of their clothes.”

“Like how you’ve gotten me out of mine?”

You glanced over at Loki, your cheeks getting rosy as you met his mischievous glare. There was more than the mirth he was known for in his eyes this time, though; a sweet, almost sensual darkness you could only identify as lust. You swallowed, returning his playful smirk and sitting up a bit so that you were closer to him, your faces only inches apart.

“You were the one who was so eager to get me home,” you teased, your words coming out as a whisper into his ear. He chuckled, leaning forward to tug gently on your earlobe with his teeth.

“Indeed, I was,” Loki purred. “Now I have you right where I want you…”

He made quick work of wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his lap, positioning your legs so that you were straddling him. One of his hands traveled up your back and into your hair, his eyes gazing longingly into yours before taking you into a surprisingly gentle kiss, his lips kneading against yours tenderly as his other hand gripped at your side. Although you felt it should have, the kiss didn’t cause you to falter, your body seeming to react of its own accord as your hands found their way to the sides of his neck, thumbs stroking the sharp curves of his jaw as the kiss deepened until your tongues were knotted together. Loki hummed into your mouth, the hand on your hip moving to snake around your waist once again, pulling you closer to him so that he could feel the swell of your breasts pressed up against his solid chest. The lack of space between you was intoxicating, and you began to feel yourself become dizzy with something that wasn’t alcohol.

Slowly, you began to work your hips against him, rolling them every so often and causing Loki to let out little groans of pleasure, his fingers tugging gently on your hair. With each pull you moved faster, until the lump you’d felt forming under your heat – your sexes separated by the fabric between you – was now rock hard and impressive in length. Loki’s erect cock was pressed against the lips of your pussy through your sweatpants, and you didn’t want to waste any time removing the offending garments in your need for him. You began to work yourself harder, huffing out soft, breathy moans as you anchored yourself by gripping the back of your couch, your forehead pressed against Loki’s as you mimicked riding him. He stared up at you through lidded eyes, his hips now starting to meet yours as his large, able hands rested at your hips, securing your bodies together as he moved in perfect rhythm with you, pressing himself into your clit with each roll of his hips and causing your moans to get louder. His lips found your neck, kissing and biting at your skin until he left throbbing pink marks in it, the couch creaking under your ministrations as you could feel yourself getting closer to orgasm.

You were properly moaning now, as if Loki were truly fucking you instead of just grinding his cock against you, and you took hold of his hair, pulling his head back so that you could capture his lips in another heated kiss. He didn’t fight you, his tongue slipping easily between your teeth as you rocked yourself fiercely against him, feeling a wonderful, delicious knot begin to tighten in your abdomen as you continued to work yourself on his shaft. You rolled your hips once, twice, three times, and on the third press of his diamond hard cock against your clit, you felt the knot completely unravel, a wave of ecstasy ripping through your torso and limbs and causing them to shake involuntarily as a loud, pleasured moan escaped your lips, leaving you in perfect bliss. Your body went limp as Loki took total control then, his sturdy arms trapping you crushingly close to him as he worked himself to his own orgasm, his voice whiney and vulnerable as he cried out your name. You smirked, pressing your lips to his collar bone and taking a loving nibble at his skin.

“Did I just make you cum in your pants?” you lilted, reaching down to palm at his softening member through the fabric of his borrowed sweatpants.

“Shut up,” Loki growled, silencing you with another kiss that you smiled into, your hands reaching up to cup his face as he leaned you back onto the couch, towering over you as he began to kiss down your neck once more. “You’ll pay for your naughty ways, little minx…”

Within moments, you and Loki had stripped each other of your clothes, and you would be damned if your neighbors didn’t know his name by the time the sun rose the next morning.

  When you saw Thor at the Tower on Monday morning, you greeted him with a large, steaming cup of strong coffee and a pair of Louis Vuitton suitcases under your eyes. You smiled brightly at him, lightly punching him on the shoulder.

“Hey, killer,” you sang. “I heard you spent the weekend with Val.”

Thor chuckled, looking down to hide the blush creeping across his face.

“Yes, we had a wonderful time together,” he confirmed. “I would like to thank you for accompanying us the other evening. I doubt it would have turned out so well without your help as my… what do you call it? ‘Wing man’.”

You laughed, your smile brighter than Thor had ever seen it.

“What can I say, I ship it,” you said, earning a confused look from the god. You smirked as you took a sip from your mug.

“I noticed that Loki did not return to the Tower until this morning,” Thor commented, causing you to choke on your beverage enough to almost drown you. Almost.

“O-oh?” you stumbled, wondering how anyone had been aware of you arriving together when you’d both been so careful. You looked up at Thor, and the way he was grinning at you, you knew you’d been caught.

“Yes, and he was wearing the same suit he had on the other evening,” Thor continued, his grin spreading so that it reached both of his ears. “I suppose the rain we’ve had these past few days had him stranded somewhere...”

You gazed up at him, incredulous, your mouth hanging open over your coffee as the dots suddenly connected, leaving you close to speechless.

“Thor, you didn’t…”

The god chuckled, giving you a heavy pat on your shoulder.

“What can I say?” he echoed. “I ship it.”

{poppin’ tags: @fairlightswiftly}

[sterling-starlight]

Fictober Promt #4; “I know you didn’t ask for this”

Fandom: Elder Scrolls 5: Skyrim

Characters: Female Dragonborn, Farkas, Vilkas, Aela the Huntress, Erik the Slayer

The dragon finally collapsed onto the snow-coated ground with one final roar of agony. The brilliant crimson of its blood contrasted sharply off its glistening hide of silver-blue scales, sliding down its skull in thick rivulets from the wound left by the blade of a steel war axe.  The weapon stuck fast, deeply imbedded into the dragon’s skin, and barely budged once Mheiri let go of the shaft.  Her hands stung and she could feel the nausea in her stomach brewing. Not only was the scent of the dragon’s blood unlike anything else she encountered in her life, her body was recoiling from her overusing her magic. The Reachwoman could only hope she wouldn’t lose her lunch from the strain.  Using the dragon’s mighty horn for support, she carefully slid down the head and onto the ground. She barely had time to collect herself before Farkas lifted her up into his arms, laughing jovially,

“That was amazing! I can’t believe we killed a real dragon!” He said in between laughter.  The other Companions who had been brave enough to assist the Whiterun guards with slaying the dragon had joined in their loud, thunderous cheers. Even Vilkas, who was usually so composed, was hollering to the sky in adrenaline-filled joy. Erik, by contrast, was amount those too tired to join in the revelry.  He was supporting a guard that could only manage to shakily raise a fist in victory. Erik have Mheiri a tired smile, which she returned. 

Their celebration was cut short when a sharp crack, like a log snapping in the fire, came from the dragon’s corpse. Fire begun erupting from its chest, lethargically spreading across the rest of its body. Glorious silver-blue scales glowed bright orange as the fire consumed the dragon’s flesh. Mheiri stared, mystified and nun noticing of Farkas carrying her a few yards away. 

“Put me down,” she breathed, her voice almost swallowed up by the sound of the fires burning. She put her hands against Farkas’s shoulders and pushed. The bear of a Nord didn’t budge an inch, but still she persisted. “Farkas, put me down.” She shoved harder against him, and began writing in his arms in hopes that it would loosen his grip. 

“No way. Do you honestly think I’m gonna let you walk over to a dragon that’s on fire? We don’t know what it’s doing.”

Mheiri growl but, despite her attempts to break free, Farkas only tightened his grip on her. Her struggling only stopped when something rose out of the dragon’s skeleton through the smoke. Burning red and smokey  blue danced through the air like an ethereal wind. It hovered about the dragon, almost if it was confused, before rushing towards Farkas. More specifically, the woman in his arms. Mheiri sucked in a gasp as the colors slammed into her, storm winds rushing in her ears as the ethereal energy surrounded her. She was distantly aware of Vilkas and Erik calling out in alarm, but they were mortals. Insignificant and ignorant of the majesty that they were witnessing. 

The dragon’s name had been Mirmulnir. Allegiance Strong Hunt. He had been in hiding for nearly two hundred years, but returned to Skyrim at the bequest of his lord. He had survived, unlike most of his kin, and that made him arrogant. He had wanted to claim this territory for himself, which is why he attacked. 

Mheiri blinked out of her daze, feeling like she had been in a dream. The guards were crowding her, talking over each other in their excitements. They called her “Dragonborn” in reverent tones. Talos’ mortal name was said a few times. 

It was all too much. 

She gagged and pressed urgently against Farkas’s chest. Finally, he set Mheiri down where she collapsed onto her knee she and violently emptied her stomach. 

“By the Nine, Get back all of you!” Aela barked, standing in front of Mheiri with arms crossed fiercely over her chest. “Give her some damned room!” She commanded again. The guards withered under Aela’s hot glare and did as they were told.

Mheiri coughed and heaved, tears joining the filth on the ground below her. When she felt stable enough she ran. Away from the guards, who compared her to Tiber Septim. Away from Mirmulnir’s corpse, whose soul had awoken something within her. Something as ancient as the bones of the earth, and more primal than the beast blood in her veins. 

Of course she had heard stories of the Dragonborn. Every ice-blooded child of Skyrim had. The Dragonborn was a valiant knight of Nordic blood, who rallied the Sons and Daughters of Skyrim with the power of his Voice. 

If this was a joke, she wasn’t laughing. 

Mheiri collapsed on the bank of one of the small streams just outside the city walls. She cupped the fridge water in her hands and splashed it against her face. And then another, and another. The fact that she was still kneeling by the water, now shivering from the cold, was proof that everything that had just happened was real.  She stared at the reflection of herself in the water. Black haired, brown skinned and garbed in a cuirass gifted by Hircine himself, she was the antithesis of what the Dragonborn was supposed to be. Blond haired, fair skinned, dressed in the finest plate, and certainly not pledged to a Daedric Prince. Mheiri slapped at the surface of the water and drew her knees to her chest.

She glanced over her shoulder when she heard someone jogging up to her. Erik, red-faced and panting, slowed to a stop a few paces away and leaned on his knees to catch his breath. Mheiri turned away from him. 

“I figured you’d run towards water,” he said once he got his breath back. “So...” he started, but was abruptly cut off.

“If you’ve going to talk about what happened with the dragon, please don’t.” She said sourly. “It didn’t even take the men five seconds before they started looking at me like I was some... exalted figure.” Mheiri’s scowl deepened, and her arms wrapped tighter around her knees. 

“I know you didn’t ask for this,” Erik said carefully. He sat down beside her, respectfully keeping an arm’s length between them. “But maybe- I mean I’ve always-” He made stopped abruptly and raked his fingers through his hair. “Nevermind. You probably don’t want to hear a speech about how grand your destiny is.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” Mheiri’s hand gripped the ground beneath her, already numb fingers oblivious to the fine sheet of frost on the grass. She ripped up a handful aggressively. “I was happy just being the Harbinger.” 

If Erik was going to reply, his voice was easily dwarfed by the loud rumble of thunder. Clouds swirled ominously above the Throat of The World, as a choir of voices bellowed out for all of Tamriel to hear:

“DOVAHKIIN!” 

Mheiri slammed her hand she over her ears and grit her teeth, irritation burning in her stomach. Where did mortals get off on so brazenly calling her? Did they wish to die?

She shook her head, trying to understand why the call upset her so. He name was Mheiri. She was a Reachwoman from Rorikstead. Her name wasn’t Dovahkiin, and she wasn’t a dragon. She kept her ears covered until long after the thundering echo of the summons finally died down. Mheiri raked her hands through her hair and stood up. 

“I’m going home.” She murdered at Erik as she passed, more as a courtesy than anything. She didn’t know if Kodlak’s old room had a lock, but she’d shove the chest against the door if need be. Anything to pretend nothing had changed. 

[theundeadmemelord]

The Forest Edge’s

Hat kid quickly leapt over a rock, her boots coming down hard in the muddy earth. Nearly ripping off her boot, she managed to pull her legs out of the thick goop of wet dirt, taking this pause in her trek forward to call out yet again

"TIMMY?!!!" still no other response then another clap of thunder. Hat kid adjusted her make shift umbrella (Aka a trash bag she was holding over her head) and swiftly moved on. She want about to give what ever was out there time to catch up with her.

Little did she know just how close it was. Her hurried breath, her pounding heart, the flood of rain all around. This combined with her frantic calls of

"TIMMY!!!"

Was enough to mask its presence. Hat kid raced through the forest, to the best of her ability, none the wiser.

In the back of Hat kids mind, the guilt of what she had said still lingered. She had struck a nerve, crossed a line, and opened a wound that ran deep. She knew how hard their parents death had been on Snatcher, how much he had grieved, how much he had hurt. Hat kid had no memory of the people she had called her parents, perhaps that was a blessing. It wasn’t that it hadn’t stung, the feeling that she had lost some one important but had no idea who that person was or what had happened to them. She couldn’t say she missed them, she didn’t even know if they had been good parents, but she remembered a time when she was alone.

When it was just her and the house.

Those days, months- she wasn’t sure how long she had been alone, but she remembered being scared. She remembered being afraid every little sound, she remembered eating out of boxes of cereal, and sneaking through the broken window of her neighbors and eating what she could find in their fridge. It was less of a full memory and more of a flood of colors, knowledge, and feelings.

One day though, it was the only memory of before Hat kid could remember vividly, she had woken up on the couch to the sound of someone fidgeting with the door handle. She remembered the panic that had run through her that day, as she crept closer to the door, a large wooden baseball bat dragging behind her. The door had opened and she remembered screaming as she threw the bat with all her might at the intruder, and the intruders scream of shock and pain as the bat hit them squarely in the foot. They had both dropped to the floor, Hat kid curling into a ball of fear and screams, and Snatcher- holding his foot like she had just broken all his toes.

They had looked at each other, Snatcher with red eyes that were clearly tired from crying, Hat kid basically a feral trash child just trying to survive in a world she thought had forgotten about her. They both seemed to realize that and from then on, Snatcher had done his best to be there for her, from helping with homework to doing his best to make her food (or at least get her food) so she didn’t have to go breaking into other peoples houses for food.

Hat kid shoved it all to the back of her mind. She had promised to her self never to bring that up. But it hurt. She had hurt him, she had hurt herself. It was astounding her just how a few words could bring so much guilt and pain.

But it was too late to go back. She couldn’t think of all that now. She had to focus on finding Timmy. Timmy was smart, smarter then anyone she’d ever met, he would know what to do. He would know how to fix this. She just had to-

Hat kid slowed to a walk as she spotted a dark shape in a small clearing. It looked soft..and big...

As she neared the blob, the blob moved. It began to rise, and as she stared at the thing looming above her, she realized what it was. A bear. The biggest pecking bear she had ever seen, then again she had never seen a bear aside from in books so maybe this was just a normal sized bear. Hat kid stumbled back as the bears ears twitched and its head turned. Hat kid stopped again. The bear had a bright red collar with a large bell on it, and was wearing....sunglasses?

Did bears wear collars and shades or was this just a really pecking cool bear?

The bear also had a human face. Hat kid blinked, trying to process what she was looking at.

“OH! Darlin’ you scared me!! What is a little cub like you doing out here?” The Bear spoke with great concerned.

The Bear spoke. THE BEAR......SPOKE

Hat kid was learning more about bears now then she ever did from looking them up on Wikipedia. Why did no one ever mention bears could talk?!!

The bear moved closer and for every step The Bear took, she took a step back. There was something about the ground behind her that sent warning flags flying through her head, but Hat kid was too distracted by the BEAR in front of her to notice.

“Darlin’ you need to get out of here quick!! If he finds you, it won’t be a pretty fight. Do you think you can find your way bac-” The Bear gasped as Hat kid’s foot slipped in the mud behind her and she felt herself falling.

For a moment there her mind went blank as the world fell around her in slow motion. The sound of wind and rain filling her ears as her eyes widened, the bear leapt towards the edge of the trench, frantically trying to grab her before she hit the ground. Too late.

Hat kid hit the mud and began to tumble down the muddy wall. She frantically grabbed at the back of her head, trying to protect herself as she promptly hit every jutting rock, root, and bump the wall had to offer.

The bear flinched every time she hit something, covering his sunglasses with a large paw-hand. When he dared to take a peek, he saw Hat kid curled at the bottom of the trench. She moved slightly, looking around. He sighed with relief; at least she was alive.

Hat kid sat up, and flinched. There was a large gash on her arm, as well as a few scratches a scrapes, but aside from that she was ok. Her trash bag umbrella was torn and plastered to the ground next to her. She heard the Bear let out a sharp gasp, and she looked up at him. The Blear was staring wide eyed at something. She watched as he raced away from the edge yelling someones name

“CONDUCTOOOR!!!!!!”

Who is- Her thoughts were interrupted by a low growling sound. Hat kid froze. She slowly looked down the ditch at...well, she wasn’t sure what it was but... It was tall. Taller then the bear. Taller then her brother. The only thing taller then the spindly skeletal like creature was the trees.

Its skin was an icy blue and the tips of its branch like horns seemed to be covered in a light dusting of frost. It had a small, red, worn cloak that hung off it like a curtain. With matted brick colored fluff on its hips and a large flowing tail gently waving in the wind, accompanied by its piercing left red eye and milky white right one, it slowly moved towards her. Hat kids heart was racing as she saw it lower itself onto all fours, a single long clawed hand reached towards her. Hat kid screamed as loud as she could, the last thought crossing her mind being-

Why didn’t I stay home?!!

                                                .         .         .

Snatcher’s breath caught in is throat as he stumbled over a jutting root for the FIFTH time since he had rushed into the forest. He was soaked, covered in mud, and the only thing keeping him from passing out on a the nearest rock was the utter panic that filled him.

Where is she?!!! Please let her be ok....please...PLEASE!!! Snatcher thought, his breath shaky as he tore through the forest. His stomach growling at him, reminding him, yet again, that he hadn’t even thought of supper.

“And YOU can shut the peck up!!!!” He hissed at his empty stomach.

That’s when he heard it. A sound that made his blood run cold. A scream. A scream that sounded far to much like Hat kids. Snatcher raced off in the direction, appearing a few seconds later in a clear next to a ditch. In that ditch was the biggest blue skeleton Snatcher had ever seen, and-

“KID!!!!” He cried. She was flattened against the wall as the blue skeleton practically slithered towards her,, with a look like it was going to eat her- clothes and all. Snatcher balled his hands into fist, adrenaline coarsening through him. In hind sight, it wasn’t the greatest idea, but what else was he suppose to do?

Snatcher leapt off the ledge and tackled the thing, doing his best to strangle it, punch it- anything to keep it away from his sister.

The creature reared back, letting out a bone chilling howl as it stumbled back.

                                                  .         .         .

“Snatcher!!!” Hat kid cried, eyes wide as she watched in awe as her brother tackled the creature. Snatcher, one arm around its throat, the other slamming itself into the things face, yelled at the thing with each punch

“YOU

WILL

NOT

TOUCH

MY

SISTER!!!!”

The creature seemed shocked, and Hat kid cheered as Snatcher smacked it in its eye. The creature let out another howl, a long arm reaching around and managing to grab hold of Snatchers sweater.

Snatcher yelped as the thing flung him across the ditch. Snatcher tumbled, rolled, and came to a sliding stop in a large pile of mud. There he stayed, unmoving. Hat kid screamed and raced over to Snatcher, quickly shaking his shoulder

“Snatcher?! SNATCHER?! Snatcher please!!!! Please!!!” Unresponsive, Snatchers eyes half closed, Hat kid shook him again

“SNATCHER!!!!” Tears were welling in her eyes as she shook his shoulder once more.

Nothing.

Hat kid heard the creature begin moving towards her. Shaking, Hat kid stood. Turned. And stared at the thing dead in the eyes.

Her eyes full of fire, Hat kid yelled

“YOU!!!!” Her small frame shaking, tears running down her face. She wasn’t sure what this would do but it made the creature pause.

“YOU!!!!” She cried taking a step closer, her foot slamming into the mud with a loud SPLAT. The thing almost flinched at this, and began backing up.

And got shot in the back.

The creature looked shocked as it stumbled forward from the blast, and it quickly looked towards its attacker. A short, hairy man in a coat and conductors hat, seemed to stare the creature down as he lined up another shot with his shotgun. The man had a bag almost the same size as him clinging to his back, and with his sleeves rolled up, you could see a few long scars. Although Hat kid couldn’t see his eyes, she could clearly see the scratches that went across his nose.

The man fired again and the creature silently turned and with a great leap- disappeared into the forest.

“Are you alright darlin’?!”

Hat kid jumped. It was bear man, who was already inspecting Snatcher.

“I’m fine but-” Her words stuck in her throat. she was too scared of the answer to ask the question.

Bear man smiled gently at her

“He’s alive, just a little bruised.”

Hat kid a the wave of relief. The gun man slid down into the ditch, moving over to bear man.

“That ‘ought ta keep ‘em away for now. Hows the kid lookin’ Grooves?”

Bear man- or Grooves, Gently lifted Snatcher up.

“He’s alright, I think he may have hit his head, but” Grooves glanced at the gun man “No major damage.”

Gun man nodded and turned to Hat kid

“Name’s the Conductor. We can help ye but we outta hurry, before the ol’ Blue moon comes back.” With that, Conductor started walking down the ditch, Grooves following him with Snatcher in his arms and Hat kid close behind.

[king-jacks]

// everything he knows //

ship: thor/loki

words: 2.9k

summary: Thor isn't entirely sure what's wrong with his brother, but one moment he's angry and yelling at him, and then the next he's okay and actually nuzzling into him. It's tearing him apart, especially the screams at night, but he loves Loki. It's all he's ever known for him.

angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of self harm

He knows Loki has always been distant. No, if he thinks about it long enough, they used to be so close that anyone would have thought they were joined at the hip. But time passed and they slowly drifted apart, and Thor noticed how Loki began to close himself off more and more away from him. It hurt, but he couldn’t blame it on his brother, the way he acted. Thor was the chosen one, the ‘golden’ one, he supposes, and he was getting ready to take over as king. But deep down, he didn’t want the throne. He just wanted to fight side by side with his brother, but he trained alone and Loki holed up in the library reading up on spells. From where he was in the gardens, he could usually see Loki curled up in the large window that looked out from the library. When he’d take a break, with sweat pouring down his body, he’d tug his shirt off and wipe his face, before looking up at his brother, and sometimes he’d find with surprise to see Loki watching him. He’s fit, he knows this, but somehow under the scrutinizing gaze of the younger prince, he’d find himself suddenly self conscious.

He’d try to get closer to Loki. But he couldn’t, no matter how much he tried, and when the frost giants invaded on his coronation day, Thor realized with a deep pain in his chest, that Loki let them in.

And he fell from the bifrost.

Thor lost part of himself that day.

But Loki grew more and more unstable. The attack on Midgard confused him, but he still went after him, begged him, pleaded for him to come home.

“We were raised together, we played together, we fought together! Do you remember none of that?”

“I remember a shadow. Living in the shade of your greatness. I remember you tossing me into an abyss. I was and should be king!”

There was no use begging for him when Thor knew he already lost him.

“I don’t think we should be focusing on Loki. That guy’s brain is a bag full of cats, you could smell crazy on him.”

“Have care how you speak. Loki is beyond reason, but he is of Asgard, and he’s my brother.”

“He killed eighty people in two days.”

“He’s adopted.”

Adopted. Why does that word hurt so much to him? He just wants his brother back. But with a ship full of people who are terrified and a home no longer to go to, he doesn’t know what to do. He’s not a king, he’s never been one. He doesn’t know how to rule his people, he’s just as lost as they are. He’s worried about Loki. His brother clearly has a few problems, but he refuses to let them come to the surface. He’s so good with the Asgardians, constantly checking to their every need and even helping with problems on the ship. Thor feels helpless, feels so useless. Because he’s supposed to be their king, and all he can do is watch from the sidelines at the work Loki puts in. He can hear Loki at night when he thinks the Thunderer is asleep. He didn’t want to, but they have to share a room to accommodate the others on the ship and their families. Loki lets his walls down at night, and sometimes, sometimes it’s not all bad, just whimpering, softly and whispering to himself that he’s okay, he’s alright and even though he knows the other god has cast a soundproofing spell around their room, he didn’t think about it to do the bathroom so Thor can’t hear him screaming. And it tears into him, those screams. He wants to help, everything in his body screaming at him to do so but he can’t move, it’s like he’s paralyzed. He doesn’t know if it’s Loki’s doing, or his own body, but still, he grows frustrated and angry. He can’t move, he needs to get to his brother, and Loki’s screams grow louder, and suddenly they stop, and Thor is no longer stuck. He pushes himself off the bed and is over to the bathroom, banging the door open, and Loki’s there with blood running down his arms, oozing out of thick gashes and Thor panics.

Loki shoves him weakly when the older brother tries to help him but Thor just tells him to stop, stop it, Loki!

“Let me help you, damn it!”

“I don’t need your help! Leave me alone, you stupid oaf!”

“Loki, just stop and let me help you!”

Loki shoves him again. “I said I don’t need your help!” With a burst of his seidr, Thor is slamming against the bathroom wall, head cracking painfully. Loki’s shoulders are heaving and his face is plain for anyone to read, terror and horror written on it. It’s been a while, but tears pour freely down his cheeks and he screams again. Screams for Thor to get out, screams for him to leave him the hell alone. Thor doesn’t know what to do, he just gets up and leaves. Leaves the bathroom, leaves the room and walks to the small ‘throne’ at the front of the ship, and sinks down into it.

It hurts, like someone put hot iron to his skin. Flesh being pulled from the bones of his skeleton at every scream that echos in his ears, ring loud in his head. It hurts so much, gods does it hurt. He doesn’t know what’s going on, and he hates it, can’t stand not knowing. It’s led to things that - he doesn’t want to remember, but they were never good things that turned out. He needs to know, needs to know little details and -

And he honestly doesn’t know how this happened without him noticing. How did he not notice the signs and piece them together, and how did he not know?

It hurts. So badly, does it hurt. There’s blood when he closes his eyes. Those screams loud in his ears. His brother looked about half mad, with his skin painted red and his eyes wide with desperation. Half mad and half insane and everything that he knows the brother he got to know, the brother he grew up with, isn’t.

It hurts, the pain is all he knows in that moment. He clutches at his chest, the pain searing through his heart in a way that has him actually believing he’s dying, and his stomach is heaving. He’s on his knees, gasping for breath, trying desperately to get air into his lungs, but they won’t expand enough for it. They cave in on him, and he knows it’s all in his head, he knows, gods does he know, but -

But logic, it seems, means nothing in the face of this.

--

It stings. His nails dig into his skin, catches on the open wounds, and he hisses, drawing his arms close. It stings, but it doesn’t hurt any worse than it did before. Nothing was worse than before, when everything was pounding away at his brain, at his head, like someone took Mjolnir to his skull and had a party with it. He would have done anything, anything to make it go away. Anything and everything and -

Blood is slick against his fingers. There’s something - a presence, a thought, or perhaps even a person in its own, twisted right - pushing against him, making him want to scream and scream.

He’s not insane. He knows he’s not. It’s just-

Does he really know if he’s not? He let those frost giants in, simply because he didn’t want Thor on the throne of Asgard, simply because he hated himself. The monster that he is, the absolute..it hurts to think. He’s nothing but a disgrace to everyone, including himself, maybe he is insane. Maybe he even deserves this. His chest burns, and pain runs like fire, burning through his veins, and it hurts so bad, everything hurts so bad, and he just wants it to go away. He can’t breathe, his chest feels so tight, and where is any air? Why won’t it go in him, fill him up until he feels like he’s bursting with it?

At times like this, when he’s alone with only the pain of his body, and the pain in his head, he thinks that maybe, if he wasn’t insane, then he wishes he’d rather be then.

--

He doesn’t know how long he’s been there, doesn’t know how long he’s been on the floor trying to gulp oxygen into his lungs when Loki shows up, bandages wrapped securely around his arms and a soft look on his face. He’s confused when Loki slides into his lap and nuzzles into his chest, but this is his chance to comfort his brother, so he lets him, just combs his fingers through black locks in silence. Loki doesn’t speak for a while, and Thor thinks he’s fallen asleep before he’s speaking up and breaking the quiet air.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Is his automatic reply. For slamming him against the wall? For causing the pain in his chest? Loki just shrugs his shoulders.

“Everything, I guess.” He doesn’t stop running his fingers through his hair, and Loki makes no move to get off his lap. It feels strangely comforting, this position. It doesn’t feel awkward, doesn’t feel forced at all. In fact, it almost feels like this is where Loki belongs. Right here with him, close to him so Thor can hold him forever.

“What’s going on with you, brother?” But Loki is quiet, silent, and it buzzes loudly in his ears, but he wasn’t expecting an answer if he were to be honest with himself. Loki moves, and Thor stops messing with the soft locks. He slips off his lap with no words, just looks at him with empty eyes and leaves without a sound, and Thor is left wondering what he’s supposed to do.

--

It happens again, the screaming. This time, Thor makes no move to get up, makes no move to go to him. Just squeezes his eye shut tight, with tears threatening to fall. His chest tightens uncomfortably, to the point of pain, but he doesn’t move. He can’t breathe, and his body feels like it’s on fire. But he doesn’t move. His heart feels like it wants to leave his chest, it pounds against his ribs so hard and he swear he can feel it tear, can feel it bleeding, but he doesn’t move. He digs nails into his palms until he feels sticky blood, but he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t move when the bed dips, and Loki slips under the covers. He doesn’t move when Loki wraps his arms around his torso, palms resting warmly against his chest, thimble fingers splayed. But the moment he feels that body slump against his back, the moment he feels his chest slow, and his breathing evening out, he turns in his arms and pulls his brother close to him. Pulls his lithe frame against his chest, and holds him tightly. He buries his face in Loki’s neck and breathes in his scent, and he chokes on a sob, tears slipping down his cheeks, and fights so hard against the cries that threaten to wrack his body so painfully.

He can’t help his brother, and he feels so helpless, so useless, so worthless. He wants to scream so badly, but nothing comes out, and he can only whimper softly, pressing kisses to the black of his brother’s locks.

“Brother..” it’s soft, and Thor lifts his head to look carefully at Loki’s face. His eye flicks over it, ocean searching, but his face is soft, relaxed, and he looks almost peaceful. He mumbles Thor’s name and nuzzles his cheek more into the blond’s chest. Thor takes a deep breath, and pulls him closer, holds him so tight, afraid that he’ll just slip through his fingers the moment he lets go.

--

One moment Loki will be throwing things at his brother, screaming at him, spitting hateful words, and the next he’ll be mewling softly, nuzzling into him. He doesn’t know how to go about this situation. What was the solution?

“Thor?” He hums, a low vibrate in his chest. “Do you love me?” He turns his one eye down humbly, cocking a brow.

“Of course, I do. You know this.”

“Do I?” He mumbles, clutching the fabric of Thor’s top in his fist loosely.

It stings a bit, but Thor shrugs it off. He’s not entirely sure what’s going on with his brother. He absentmindedly runs his fingers through Loki’s hair, thinking deep. He thinks he hears Loki say something else, but he can’t hear it, it doesn’t register into his head, nothing does. Just the self destructive thoughts of his own mind. He feels like such a failure that he can’t piece together exactly what’s wrong with him or even how to help him. It tears into him, picks at his mind until he feels like there’s nothing left, and soon they’re just picking at air. Bruises adorn the under of his eye, purple bleeding into the tan of his cheek, and his head throbs, a constant ache underneath his skin.

“Thor.” He swallows, word echoing around his head, ringing loudly in his ears.

“T’or!”

“Thor.”

It’s loud in his head, and he grips Loki’s hip firmly, hard enough he’s sure it’ll leave bruises, but it doesn’t register fully that he could be hurting his brother, and all he sees is emerald, bright shining emerald. The same emerald he remembers clearly, opening for the first time to gaze with an unfocus at him, he whose own bright blue oceans watched with curiosity, and he whose small nimble fingers took that small pale chubby hand into his own.

“Brother.” He snaps out of it, fingers loosening their grip, and he gazes at Loki.

“What?” He pulls his brother closer to him, higher on his lap, palm resting wide on the small of his back, and thick tan fingers splayed across the expanse.

“You were out of it for a minute there. Are you alright?” He nods, eye sliding shut, and he rests his forehead against Loki’s shoulder, exhaustion seeping in, taking root deep in his bones and he can’t help the sigh that finds its way past his lips.

He feels a hand on his back, warmth seeping through the cloth of his shirt, before its sliding up underneath the hem and resting on his skin, and it’s so warm, that Thor makes a soft sound, nuzzling more into his brother’s neck.

“I do love you,” he speaks, a low rumble, and Loki just inhales sharply, saying nothing.

“I love you so much it hurts. I love everything you have to offer. I love you when you’re sad, when you’re happy, when you’re angry. I love you when your eyes shine with mischief and light up when you’re content. I love you when your eyes flash dangerously and sharp when you’re angry and lashing out. You’re beautiful in every form, in this one, with skin like snow and eyes like emeralds. When your skin is ice and cool and your eyes are shining rubies that are held in pools of wine. With your intricate markings that paint your skin.” He lifts his head to look at him, blue eyes flashing sharply. “I love you when you’re impossible to handle, when you don’t listen. I love you when all I want to do is shake you. I love you when the sun settles down for the night, and when it rises bright for the day. I love you when the stars shine brilliantly against the night sky and when the lights are guiding all of the realms. I love you when all the words you spit are laced in poison. When your smile holds nothing but a malicious intent. I love your silver sharpe tongue, and I love you when I think you’ve gone absolutely mad. I love every single thing about you. I love you.” His gaze challenges him, almost like he’s daring Loki to try and refute any of that. Every word was true, because at the end of the day, all he wants to do is pull his brother close and never let go. All he wants to do is kiss him softly, so gently that Loki forgets what pain and hurt even was. Wants to map his entire body with his hands, learn all of his nooks and all of his crannies, every crevice he wants to explore and ultimately make him his.

Loki’s eyes are shining suspiciously wet and he rubs at them, trying to force a laugh but he chokes on a sob. “S-shut up, you oaf.” And when he opens his mouth, to tell him that everything he said was true, to just believe it, to believe him, Loki is surging forward and pressing chapped lips against his mouth, soft and inviting, and Thor can’t help but smile and snake an arm around his waist and kiss him back. Can’t help but slide his lips against those addicting ones that have him almost thinking he’s drugged with how good it feels.

But Thor loves him, and he will always love him. And he thinks, that with the emotion Loki’s pouring into him, that maybe his brother loves him, too. And even though everything seems so confusing, and that there’s no solution, none at all, maybe it’s enough, maybe it’s something they can live with. Maybe -

Maybe it means that everything’s going to be just fine.

[starscreamloki]

My King

Chapter Ten - Frost and Fire

Previous chapter

Read on AO3

Imagine: You were a very powerful Queen, whose husband was killed when Loki, invaded and attacked yours and his realm. In order to become king, Loki found a way to force you to marry him, and he was a terrible husband. You weren’t used to being ordered around or subjugated until you had no choice but to obey him and prevent things from getting worse. But your rebelliousness was starting to grow on Loki, so much he actually found himself very attracted to you as time went by. He actually started to court you, in his own, brusque and proud way. All this time, he hadn’t laid a finger on you, but after an awkward dinner served for the loveless king and queen, he showed up in your bedroom. Sat on your bed, gently caressed your arm until you woke up. You thought about playing along, thrusting a dagger into his heart when he least expected it. But you realized that all your hatred was slowly vanishing, the more he touched you. You ended up succumbing and having the most intense lovemaking session that only bonded the two of you for life.

Warnings: Dom!Loki, NSFW, predatory!Loki. Mentions of every horror that comes with war, battle, mischief, darkness and plain out malicious intent. No happy and fuzzy feelings, just raw darkness and a God who wants to rule the universe and will beat everyone in submission in order to get it!

Words: 5022

A/N: WARNING, WARNING, WARNING! Sadly I have to spoil this chapter somewhat but a firm warning is in place for this one! If you can NOT bear to read about torment in any way for whatever reason, I seriously advice you to skip this chapter! There is absolutely no shame in that! This is also the reason why this chapter is longer than the others because I wanted to contain it in one chapter so it can be skipped. You have been warned! And one more thing, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry!

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Loki opened his eyes and a pang of pain went through his skull. A grunt escaped his lips and he wanted to rub his face with his hands, but he could not. He felt cold metal around his wrists as his arms were pinned above his head, the chains attached to the wall.

He let out a sigh of annoyance. How stupid could his captivators have been? He was a God after all, and even though his strength couldn’t match to that of Thor, some meager chains would be no match for him. He gave the shackles a tug, fully assuming they would bulge, but the metal bit deep in the flesh of his wrists.

Loki raised an eyebrow and sighed while his irritation grew some more. If he couldn’t rip the chains of the wall, then there was always the second option.

Loki summoned his seidr so he could break the shackles but his magic wouldn’t come to him. A confused look washed over his face as he tried to use his Seidr again, but to no avail. It was only then he realised that he might be in some trouble. If he wasn’t able to get the aid of his Seidr, this wasn’t going to be pleasant stay.

Again he tried to tug at the chains while trying to call his Seidr, but no matter how hard he tried, the chains wouldn’t give and Loki grew frustrated. How many more times in his life did he need to end up in shackles and chains? Hadn’t it been enough? Hadn’t he suffered enough? Would this be the ever present circle of his life?

Loki’s frustration turned into anger. He felt that the anger of last night still hadn’t left his system and he bared his teeth. He pulled at the chains once again even though he knew it was to no avail and the metal viciously bit his wrists again.

Weak...

Loki scowled at the thought and kept pulling the chains while trying to use his Seidr.

Still weak.

His anger turned into rage and burned hot in his veins.

This is what happens if you act out of love.

Alexis’ face flashed in front of his eyes.

This is what happens if you show sentiment.

Thor’s face flashed in front of his eyes.

In the end you are the one who gets hurt, and nobody else.

Loki could feel how his rage crept toward the dark culprit he had been harboring and feeding for his entire life.

When will you ever learn!

The rage hit the culprit and tore it open wide, letting out everything that Loki had put there and he got battered with every feeling he had ever buried in there. He tried to coop with them as best as he could, but he didn’t know how and thus he ended up screaming and thrashing his chains. He could feel his Seidr burning in his veins, but it couldn’t get out, for something prevented that, and thus the magic ate away through his muscles, straining them and pulling them tout.

Suddenly a door opened and someone stepped into his vision. It took Loki a while before he stopped screaming and thrashing, and he had a hard time to find his focus again through his seething rage. When he was finally able to focus, and the red in front of his eyes had vanished, he was able to see the Kha’os Alvish standing before him, a wicked grin on his face.

Loki returned his grin with a feral, angry and ugly snarl, and pulled at his chains once more just for good measure.

“Not so strong without your magic, are you now?” the Kha’os Alvish laughed at him.

It took a few moments before the name of this one sprang to Loki’s mind again. Rak’ash! And it was only now that Loki had a chance to have a good look at him. Rak’ash missed multiple teeth and his left cheek had a nasty scar in the form of a circle. A longer scar ran from his forehead down to his cheek on the same side and Loki saw multiple scars on his arms and even a missing finger on his right hand.

Rak’ash noticed Loki looking at him and grabbed Loki by the jaw, nails digging in his flesh and Rak’ash leveled himself with him. “Those are your doing albeit it indirectly,” he snarled and Loki could feel the hot breath on his face, and the smell of blood and death.

Loki grinned wickedly. “As you deserved,” he said sassy and he felt the nails dig deeper into his flesh.

“My scars will be minor compared to yours when I’m done with you, Trickster!” and he violently shoved Loki’s head back, his claws raking flesh and drawing blood. Loki only laughed, almost like a madman. What would this creature do to him? He already had the worst when he had fallen into the hands of the Titan. Surely this creature wouldn’t know what to do to a God like him, how to hurt him.

Rak’ash must have caught on to Loki’s line of thinking as a wicked smile spread across his face and he produced the staff he had used to burn Loki only hours ago. “I wouldn’t be so arrogant if I were you,” Rak’ash sneered and pointed to staff towards Loki’s face once more, the heat radiating from the gem. “Yesterday was painful and quick. This time will be slow and pure agony.”

Loki felt a little bit of dread creep into his heart for he had not forgotten what the gem had done to him yesterday. “What do you want?”

Rak’ash laughed. “I just want my sweet revenge. The Frost Giants however...”

Rak’ash didn’t finish his sentence on purpose and Loki felt the dread rooting more in his heart. It wasn’t the fact that he was a stranger to pain or even afraid of it, but dealing with the Frost Giants more than necessary, dealing with this dark page of his past and heritage, that wasn’t something he wanted to. He had tried to bury that particular part of his life as long as he could, but now they would force it upon him and he almost shuddered at the thought.

“Take him,” Rak’ash ordered as Loki had been lost in his thoughts and hadn’t noticed Rak’ash had walked away from him, opening his cell where two Frost Giants stood by the door.

Loki growled at the sight of them and Rak’ash turned sharply, staff in hand, advancing towards Loki. “Now, let’s not make a mess out of this… Yet” and he pushed the gem against Loki’s stomach.

Loki felt the magical intrusion again and it started to boil his blood and blister his skin once more. He screamed, not in pain but out of frustration and anger, but soon the magic enwrapped him and he couldn’t control his slamming heart any longer.

Darkness engulfed him once more.

***

Loki screamed as agony coursed through his body, paralyzing him and rendering him unable to control his convulting body. Slowly he felt the pain deprive and he gulped in gasps of much needed air.

For the past hours a Frost Giant and Rak’ash had been torturing him. They had chained his hands, feet and neck to a table upon which he lay, their metal riddled with the same magic that kept blocking his Seidr.

Loki hadn't thought anyone would ever be able to inflict the same agony upon him as the mad Titan once had, but he had to admit, they didn’t stray far behind.

The worst part was the fact that he wasn't able to control his shiftings as the Frost Giant touched him, and thus his eyes were red and his skin blue, making him very vulnerable against fire and such sorts. And his tormentors were well aware of that and using it to their full advantage. His shirt was slick with blood, his hair matted, and burn marks and oozing wounds covered his skin.

He had tried to fight his Jotun form, but it had been to no avail, and fighting it kept draining his energy so much that in the end he just had forfeited his attempts.

The gem on the staff pressing against his temple, burning his skin once more, made him loose grip on his track of thoughts, and a searing pain crept from the side of his head to his jaw, along his windpipe and double tracked to the major artery in his neck. Once the heat got it grip on his Jotun blood in the vein, he felt as if thunder marched his way through his arteries, striking his heart as the fire rapidly shot through his blood.

Loki screamed and he tasted blood in his mouth, his throat raw and unable to breathe.

“Where is it,” the Frost Giant asked him again.

Loki said nothing as he spat the blood from his mouth at the Giants feet.

The Frost Giant looked unimpressed from the spittle at his feet to Loki and he grabbed Loki by the throat, sealing of his airway. “Lost princeling, we've been at this for hours and we can keep this up for hours more. The question is however, can you?” The Frost Giant released Loki, and for what must have been the hundredth time in the past hours, Loki gasped for breath.

Loki panted heavily. “I. Can. Try,” he managed between rasps. If he could stall their torment for mere minutes, his body would be able to heal itself somewhat, but apparently they knew about his ability to regenerate and thus they had kept the pressure on wounding him, not granting a moment of reprieve.

The staff hovered close to Loki's face, the gem glowing furiously and he tried to recoil but the shackles around his neck prevented him from moving his head. A little bit of dread crept into his heart and he braced himself for the anguish that would come.

“You can prevent this,” Rak’ash cooed. “Just tell us what we want to know.”

“I don't know where it is,” Loki said, his heart pounding.

“You and I both know that is a lie, Lost Princeling,” the Frost Giant interjected.

“Is it?” Loki asked as he eyed the staff warily. “Had I known wh- aaaah,” Loki’s sentence broke as the gem touch his forehead, wrapping him in a burning sensation.

“God of Lies and Silvertongue is what they call you. We've seen you use the Casket of Ancient Winters as you tore open the portal between the realms. Stop your lying and we might cease your torment, maybe even grant you the sweet salvation of death,” the Frost Giant threatened and made a gesture to Rak’ash who pulled the staff back a little bit, breaking contact with Loki and stopping its painful assault.

A dry and painful laugh escaped Loki’s lips. “I don't even know how I opened that portal, let alone where I put the Casket after you trying to scorch my brain for hours,” Loki venomously bit back. Not an entire lie. He indeed didn't know how he had opened the portal, and if they would keep up this torment he was sure he would forget where he had left the Casket, albeit it for a couple of hours.

“STOP PLAYING!” the Frost Giant bellowed as he plunged an icicle in Loki's stomach, making him gasp. The Giant placed his face close to Loki's and Loki could feel it's hot breath and then smell of blood as he spoke. “Lost Princeling, if your body cannot be broken, we will move on to your mind and see what we can pull from there.” Slowly he retracted the icicle and Rak’ash wasted no time to put the staff near the fresh wound.

“You already have a challenge with breaking my body,” Loki said between biting his lip to keep a grip on the pain in his stomach. “Pray tell me, how do you ever think you can conquer my mind with your meager grip of the universe and its workings?” His answer had been very bold and costed him immediately as the staff made contact with his wound, but the look of astonishment on the Frost Giants face had been worth the pain.

The giant took a step back and composed himself, a malicious grin spreading across his face. “Creating heat and fire isn't the only thing the staff can do,” rang his ominous words. “My friend, if you'd be so kind to indulge us all.”

Rak'ash retrieved the staff and fiddled with the gem placed on top off it, closing his eyes as he did and muttering words that were lost to Loki's ears. A red light engulfed the gem and silver light wrapped around the staff. Soon both colors touched and started to mingle. The red light crept down from the gem to the staff as the silver light crept towards the gem. When Rak'ash stopped muttering, the light dimmed and the red stone had turned silver, supported on a red staff that moments ago had been silver.

Loki had looked in fascination and when the shift had occurred he had been sure he had felt a shift in the magic in his shackles as well. Even in this dire situation Loki was intrigued by the object and its imaginable possibilities.

Rak’ash put the staff close to Loki’s face again. “Last chance,” he said casually.

Loki wasn't planning on telling them where he had put the Casket of Ancient Winters, and he was actually very curious what the staff would be able to do now, and thus he only looked at Rak'ash deadpanned, a shine of amusement and a taunt in his eyes, challenging the Kha’os Alvish.

Rak'ash shrugged and let the staff make contact with the shackle around Loki's neck. Immediately it became hot, and within mere moments the shackles around his wrists and ankles followed suit, their heat building rapidly.

The latter wasn't something Loki had expected and he screamed in pain, trashing the chains which only fed to his pain.

Magic leaked from the metal and started to creep around him, creating a darkness at the edges of his eyes. Still the heat rose and Loki could smell his own skin burning. He forced himself to stop rattling his chains for it only intensified his anguish, and as he tried to gain control, he briefly caught a glimpse of the metal around his wrist. This time he felt fear lodge into his heart as the iron was colored white from the intense heat.

The darkness at the corner of his eyes started to creep in rapidly and soon filled his entire vision.

Then the pain stopped.

***

Loki saw Alexis in his mind's eye. She smiled at him and said something, but he couldn’t hear the words as they tumbled into the darkness surrounding him. He tried to talk to her, but his words didn’t make sound, also lost in the darkness, and Loki sighed.

She smiled at him. Not one of sadness, or fake, like she had done so often, but a genuine smile filled with warmth and mirth.

Loki swallowed. He didn’t know how to respond to that. He had locked his heart away on purpose and he didn’t want this. Especially not now, not when-- Not when you are being tortured and she might be a possible weakness? Loki’s expression dropped at the thought and he let his head hang.

Currently he had no idea how he would escape his martyrs, and he figured he just had to hang on until an opportunity would arise or a plan would form in his mind. Maybe you should just forfeit. Why do you think you are worthy? Of anything? Of her!

Loki’s had snapped up at the vicious thought. He looked at Alexis and he felt utterly and completely lost at that moment. Just give in, live on your knees and all will be over. Loki bit his lip and mused on the words.

No! He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t going to give up, no matter what! He would fight till the end, even if it was the last thing he would do. Because he’d rather die standing on his feet than to live on his knees! He wasn’t a weak mortal, and he would never act like one! It would be easier however… Loki pushed the thoughts back.

He looked at Alexis, and this time he smiled back at her. His smile also genuine although it lacked the warmth and mirth she had shown him.

Suddenly a Kha’os Alvish appeared next to her and frost crept around Alexis’ feet. She looked around, fear in her eyes while she felt the threat. “Loki,” she mouthed, her eyes pleading. He wanted to reach out to her, grab her, run to her, but he couldn’t move and he heard a metallic sound as he trashed unseen restrains.

A blue hand covered Alexis’ mouth, grabbing her from behind. She trashed at her assailant but the Frost Giant was to strong.

Let them have her.

Loki went frantic, trashing his unseen restrains more vehemently then before as Alexis got dragged away, a silver light glowing around her. Then she vanished into the darkness, leaving Loki alone.

She will be your downf--

No, no, NO! Loki felt his heart break, something he hadn’t felt since-- He pushed the thought of his mother away. His breath came in quick short gasps and anger took over.

Just when he wanted to scream he heard a voice.

“Death is the easy way out.”

***

Loki hung in his chains in his cell, head down, sweat mixed with blood dripping on his legs.

They had intruded his mind, Loki had felt it, and they had tried to wreak havoc.

Loki had felt how something had pulled at his thoughts, trying to enter his memories, but they hadn't gotten anything more after the weird illusion with Alexis. Loki had been so enraged that they had hit a wall of so much hate, the power of the gem hadn't been able to penetrante it.

When they couldn’t get passed his mind they had reversed the gem back to red and had tortured him physically again, after which Rak’ash had reversed it back to silver and had rampaged through his mind once more.

They had kept switching the gem for some more hours, but Loki’s lips had been sealed, not giving them what they wanted to know. Eventually someone, he didn't know who, had entered the room and had brought a message which Loki hadn't heard because he had been delirious.

After the messenger had gone, they had freed him from the table and dragged him back to his cell. Loki had tried to put up a fight but every move he had made hurted in ten places at once, and thus he had forfeited his attempts for that moment and had let them put him in his cell.

After that it had taken him an hour before he could shift back to his Aesir form again, and it had taken him hours more to heal enough to be able to move without agonizing pain biting through his body.

His clothing was drenched in blood and sweat and clung to his skin. He wasn't sure what they had done, but he couldn't cool down for something was keeping the heat trapped in his body.

Someone opened his cell door but Loki lacked the interest to see who it was. The person talked to him but he didn't register the words, nor was he interested. He couldn't care less who or whom had entered his cell or what they would do to him. He needed time to let his mind wander and process what had happened if he wanted to form a plan to escape this situation. And thus he tuned out, turning his mind inward and blocking the world outside, drifting on the currents of his thoughts.

The person nudged Loki with its feet, even grabbed his jaw to make him look at the person but Loki didn't see the face for everything in front of his eyes was a hazy blur, his eyes moving rapidly as he followed his track of thoughts.

The person let go of his jaw after which Loki's head limply fell down and a soft darkness swirled in front of his eyes. He felt a tug at the back of his mind. Something was calling him. Something that needed exploration for it was hurting him in some way. Loki edged closer to the call and carefully reached out. He probed at it and focused his attention so that he could see it from multiple directions at once.

Yes, this was it! He had found--

Suddenly he felt his heart stop and kickstart itself violently, cramping his muscles and making his blood run cold. Loki was brutally pulled from his mind back to reality as he felt icy water dripping from his hair down to his spine. Just as he opened his eyes a second wave of ice cold water hit him and he sputtered and coughed as water entered his mouth.

His body had been holding on to so much heat that the icy water had shocked him back to reality, the shock enraging him and he pulled his chains as he wanted to attack his assailant.

“Ah, what a pleasure. You're awake again,” Rak'ash said sarcastic.

Two Frost Giants walked to Loki and unchained him from the wall and cuffed him with some others. Without control Loki shifted to his Jotun form as they grabbed him by the arms and hoisted him up on his feet. For a moment he tried to call to his Seidr, but he needn’t have tried for his magic was blocked by the chains.

His hair and clothing still dripping with water and blood, Loki tried to stand as tall and proud as he could while Rak’ash hovered the staff in front of his face again. “Don’t think about making any rush moves,” he said threateningly.

Loki answered his threat with a sharp toothed grin and a defiance in his eyes, but said nothing.

They led him through hallways and past chambers, all the while Loki tried to pay as much attention to his surroundings as he could, trying to map the place in his head and looking for ways out. Sometimes he stopped walking, trying to shrug his captivators off, but it was only a display from his side as he stalled for time so he could examine certain points of the place a little bit longer.

Eventually they stood in front of the doors he had entered earlier when they had tortured him, and anger mixed with dread took a hold of him. He dug his heels in and tried to shrug of the Frost Giants but to no avail.

Rak’ash laughed malicious as he saw Loki’s reaction. “You can prevent this if you’d just tell us what we want to know,” he soothingly said.

Loki scoffed. “I’d rather take my changes with what is behind that door instead of giving you want you want to know,” he boldly said while meeting Rak’ash’ eyes.

This time Rak’ash laughed like a madman. “You will break eventually,” and with that he pushed open the doors. Loki’s breath caught in his throat and his heart dropped in his stomach at the sight of Alexis lying chained on the table where he had lain earlier.

***

“Loki...” Alexis said softly as Loki came into her view while he was being pushed to his knees. He could see the hurt in her eyes as she looked upon him and he tried to look away. Suddenly he was very aware of his blue skin and the blood on his clothing that must have complimented his fiery red eyes.

“What have they done to you?” she whispered unaudiable and Loki tried to swallow the lump away that was forming in his throat. How had they found her? He had send her away through the portal, that place should have been safe!

“How?” he whispered to no-one particular but Rak’ash answered him.

“You told us where she was. Or better said, you showed us,” he said while he snickered as he saw Loki’s head snap up and the puzzled look on his face drop to one of pure disbelief.

Loki bit his lip, his sharp teeth digging in his flesh, drawing blood and he let out an angry grunt. “No!” He looked at Alexis.

“Don’t tell them anything” she said softly. His heart beated rapidly in his chest at the sight of her being in this predicament because of him. Apparently it showed on his face as a little smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and she spoke warmly to him. “It’s not your fault--”

Yes, it is! His mind berated him.

“--and I’m sorry I doubted you.”

Loki opened his mouth to answer, but he was cut of as the Frost Giant grabbed him by the throat, sealing off his airway. “Last chance to prevent her from getting hurt,” he spoke while pushing his face close to Loki’s. “Tell me what I want to know or there will be a lot more sentimental nonsense between the two of you when we are leaving this room.”

“IF you ever leave this room,” Rak’ash said emphasizing the first word.

The Frost Giant let go of Loki and he coughed. Carefully he looked at Alexis but her gaze was stern, her eyes telling him he shouldn’t give them what they wanted.

She's strong in ways you'd never even know. Loki heard the words Thor had once spoken to him about Jane in his mind. Loki gritted his teeth and curtly gave her a small nod, confirming their unspoken words. They wouldn’t yield no matter what they would do to them.

“Neither of you is going to talk then? Neither of you is going to tell us where the Casket of Ancient Winters is?” Rak’ash sighed while laughing.

“I don’t deal with monsters,” Alexis said defying. Loki tried not to cringe at her words.

Monster!

Rak’ash shrugged and walked to Alexis, a malicious smile on his face. “As you wish,” he said while he made the red staff hover above Alexis.

Loki tried to shrug the hands of his shoulders that kept him on his knees, but they grabbed him tighter, locking him in place while pushing down.

Sentiment!

With a last look at Loki the Kha’os Alvish lowered the staff, making contact with Alexis.

NO!

Alexis’ screams filled the air and Loki squeezed his eyes shut.

***

Alexis felt the dried salt of her tears on her cheeks and she could not remember any other taste on her tongue than the taste of blood.

The Kha’os Avish and Frost Giant had been hurting her for some time. She had screamed, cried and even pleaded them to stop, but they hadn’t for Loki wouldn’t tell them what they wanted to know. With tears in her eyes she looked at him.

The first times the staff had touched her, Loki had tried to fight off the Frost Giants holding him, but they had punished him every single time for his attempts and eventually had given up on wasting his energy to break free. He hadn’t made a sound other than the occasional grunt of displeasure at Alexis’ screams during the entire ordeal, however he had closed his eyes a couple of times or had looked away.

Loki had promised to Alexis not to talk whatever they would do, but Alexis was willing to talk, even had talked, but she wasn’t able to tell her tormentors what they wanted to know, and thus they had not relented.

A painful sensation took hold of her body once again and she screamed. “Loki! Please, tell them!”

Loki’s jaw was set tight, and anger burned his red eyes, but he didn’t say anything, not willing to give these creatures what they wanted.

“This is not working, Pointy Ears,” the Frost Giant berated Rak’ash. “Maybe we should just kill her,” his raspy voice said while he looked at Loki.

Loki bared his teeth. This was the first reaction they had gotten out of him for some time and a sly smile milled around the Frost Giants lips.

“Lost Princeling,” the Frost Giant cooed as he took notice of Loki’s reaction. He created a crude blade made of ice in his hands and laid its sharp edge on Alexis throat. “Maybe we should just end this. We will get our answers, with or without her.” A small drop of blood formed on Alexis’ throat.

“Loki...” Alexis pleaded, the fear audible in her voice. “Please. Just tell them where the damn thing is!” But Loki spoke not.

“Tell me where the Casket of Ancient Winters is or I’ll slit her throat,” the Frost Giant threatened.

“Loki! PLEASE!” Alexis screamed as utter distress took over and the end of her life hovered in front of her eyes.

Loki looked at Alexis and they locked stares. Loki felt his heart break as he looked into her eyes, the fear and plea so raw he almost gave in. He quickly collected himself. “I do not care for her,” Loki said with no emotion in his voice as he saw a shock of horror wash over Alexis’ face. Loki was sure their captivators were only bluffing, they wouldn’t kill her! Would they? “Take her life if you want, she means nothing to me,” his voice still cold as ice and completely emotionless.

Alexis’ eyes widened at his words, and it was written all over her face she was wounded by his words. Loki’s cold glare did not waver and his jaw was set firm.

“You are a monster,” she whispered and looked away as tears streamed down her face. Loki briefly flinched at her words and had to muster all self-control to not show any form of emotion.

“As you wish,” the Frost Giant said and the bladed crossed Alexis’ throat.

Next Chapter

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[forthelulzy]

come rain or (sun)shine

I remembered there was a festive week over at @carver-defense-squad​ last minute and I whipped this up. It’s not really all that festive, more depressing than anything (it’s set in the first year in Kirkwall, so obviously) but. Eh.

Hawke family feels, gen, mostly unrepentant angst.

Read on AO3

come rain or (sun)shine

Kirkwall is dirty, and crowded, and smells like sewer and brine, but if Carver could pick one thing at the moment to hate the most about this disgusting city with its ghosts and chains and people, it would be the climate. Garrett can roll his eyes all he wants, but when, mid-Haring, the weather resembles a Ferelden summer, only so much wetter, and storms roll in off the Sea every other day, he realizes that it isn’t going to snow at all.

It’s a ridiculous thing to complain about, he knows. Garrett doesn’t have to tell him. The first First Day without snow in his entire life is just the latest in a long line of disappointments, the worst of which has always been Carver himself. Garrett doesn’t have to tell him because he knows already.

He misses Bethany. Maybe that’s it; the first new year without his sister, her constant presence. No one talks about it, not after Mother said all that needed to be said over her broken body. It was directed at Garrett, but Carver felt it deeper, little razors slicing up his heart. Couldn’t keep her safe. Won’t ever spend a cold night in Ferelden talking to Bethany about everything and nothing again, until Mother brings them tea with a fond smile and shake of the head.

The tea here is little more than boiled bark, all they can afford while saving for the Deep Roads. Sugar is expensive and the only honey he’s seen has been in daydreams. Still, Mother tries her best, and he can occasionally scrounge spices from smugglers’ dens on the Wounded Coast when Meeran’s work send him that way. When Garrett leaves without him, which is all the damn time, he somehow manages to bring home whole jars of cinnamon, lavender and chamomile. And Carver tries very hard not to seethe. Garrett isn’t trying to show him up; despite his brother’s infuriating competence he’s not stuck up about it. Which is worse, somehow.

Across the table, Garrett is distracted by the pretty waitress, who is clearly smitten with him (or flirting for tips, but knowing Garrett it’s more likely she’s helplessly in love). His brother is laying on the charm right back, and though the Hanged Man is crowded for the First Day festivities Carver can still hear them. It’s making him nauseous.

Carver snatches up his cup and downs the… whatever, not even flinching as it makes a trail of fire down his throat, and slams it back down on the table. It crumples as if it were paper, and Carver pauses in the middle of leaping to his feet to blink at it. Shit.

Garrett looks up then, concerned (his default expression when looking at Carver, it seems), but before he can ask the question Carver dreads most of all, the warrior shoves his hands in his pockets and mumbles, “I have to go.”

“Carver!” his brother calls at his back — leaving, he is leaving, not running away — but someone, probably the waitress, keeps him from following and Carver is fine with that.

It’s raining outside, again, and Carver charges right into it before he can stop, not that he would have anyway, not after he left in such a state. Which makes a twinge of guilt — more guilt, another addition to the mountain of it — flutter in his chest. Maker, he is so dramatic.

The door to the Hanged Man creaks behind him, probably someone getting some fresh air — and the Hanged Man, especially, smells of old piss and bile, and as crowded as it is also new piss and bile — so he hunches his shoulders and stomps through the rain toward his uncle’s hovel.

No one else is out in the streets of Lowtown, not even the most desperate thief or drunken celebrant, but light spills from the windows of every dwelling and makes the dark and the rain somewhat easier to navigate. He is soaked down to his smalls by the time he gets home, and shivering violently. More than ever he wishes for proper winter celebrations, like building snowmen with his sister in the backwoods, or when his father would build a bonfire and they’d all huddle around it, or catching snowflakes on his tongue. Or being able to get roaring drunk without his brother being himself.

As it is, he’s not even close to tipsy, and the fire in his throat from the… whatever is long gone by the time he pushes open the door to Gamlen’s house.

And finds his mother, grayer than ever, sitting at the table with a cup of tea in her hands. She is humming something between her hiccups, tears drying on her cheeks, and doesn’t stop even as he pauses in the doorway, waffling between in and out, or when he carefully steps in and shuts the door behind him. His clothes are dripping all over the already-warped floors, and his guilt is piling up again, but he can’t bring himself to leave.

Not when she is already so alone.

Still hiccuping, she reaches the end of her lullaby. For that is what it is, he remembers, a memory surfacing from the depths of his being of when he and Bethany were small and their mother would, despite Garrett’s protests that he was too old for it, tuck them all into bed and sing over them as they drifted into the Fade.

“Carver,” she whispers, not looking up. Her head is bowed, hands around the forgotten teacup shaking ever so slightly.

“Mother…” He wants to ask her if she’s okay, but his voice dies in his throat when she turns her head at last. She looks so lost, and when she sees him she lets out a choked sob and buries her face in one arm, back shaking as her weeping fills his ears. He’s across the room before his brain catches up, kneeling on the stained hardwood at her feet and gently taking her other hand in both of his. She’s so fragile in his warrior hands, so like that one time he found a baby bird in the woods behind the house and its tiny bones shattered when he picked it up. He is older now, though perhaps not much wiser.

His mother’s voice is muffled against her sleeve, but no less anguished. “We just left her there, Carver.”

He thinks of her body, left for animals and darkspawn, and swallows. The only things left of Bethany now are memories, and the staff that Garrett carried across the Waking Sea, side by side with his own. He’d offered it to Carver after they got into the city, but Carver had still been so angry, and now he doesn’t know where Garrett put it. He wants to ask, just to know.

Instead he rests his forehead against his mother’s knee and blinks slowly, breathes slowly, willing the tears back.

“My poor little girl…” She must have already cried herself out, her breaths evening within minutes. He doesn’t move, but he feels her shift, setting the teacup down. “I miss her,” she says, voice ragged and quiet, and strokes his hair. It’s soggy and dripping down his back, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Me too.”

“This will be the first holiday in a long time without her. The first holiday in a new home, and it’s without my Bethany. I wonder if she would have liked it here.”

“Probably not,” Carver says gently, “but she’d have never let it show. And Kirkwall would’ve been a better place with her in it.”

She sighs. “Yes. Yes… Oh, Carver. Does it ever stop hurting?”

No. It never does, it never will. He thinks of that unusually warm winter when his twin held the melting snowmen together with frost magic, and the razors carve another piece of his heart. Bethany is gone, back in Ferelden with their old lives, and while he doesn’t want to be “Garrett Hawke’s baby brother” anymore, that doesn’t mean he knows what else to be.

A son. He can be his mother’s son.

The rain pounds outside, and his knees gradually go numb, but he holds his mother’s hand and lets (himself let) her run shaking fingers through his wet hair. It’s a long time before her hand stills and she succumbs to exhaustion, barely stirring when he lifts her up (broken bird, life seeping through your hands) and tucks her into her narrow bed in the room she shares with Uncle Gamlen, and longer still before he can finally dry off. Lying down in the other room is more a formality than anything; he won’t sleep. He can’t.

So he listens to the wind rise and fall, howling through the streets and whipping at the tree in the Alienage, and the rumbling of distant thunder over Sundermount. He’s used to falling asleep to Sophia snoring from her favorite place under the writing desk, but the mabari is with Garrett, and Garrett is… somewhere.

Garrett is… standing over him in the dark, eyes sad, one hand hovering in the air as if he hand been about to touch Carver but thought better of it.

“Mmph?”

“Sorry,” Garrett says quietly. “It’s just I— I’m sorry.”

Carver blinks slowly, still trying to figure out how he managed to fall asleep despite everything.

Sophia trots into the room and shoves her cold nose into Carver’s hand. Carver doesn’t move, because now that the sleep is blinked away he notices Garrett is looking at him with an expression he can’t figure out. It’s not concern, not really, or not the same kind of concern it was back in that squalid tavern.

“Tell me what to do,” Garrett whispers, “because I’ve run out of ideas.”

Oh.

Before he can untangle his tongue, to ask what the hell does that mean, Garrett shakes his head sharply. “Never mind. I’m just tired.” He turns away and steps toward his bed in the other corner, unhooking his staff and rolling his shoulders.

“No. Wait just a minute.” Carver surprises himself with his own vehemence. He pushes Sophia away — the mabari wisely makes herself scarce — and sits up. “I just spent hours comforting our mother because this is the first new year without Bethany and you have the nerve to just— barge in here and act like you’re lost?”

Garrett opens his mouth, turning back halfway, and promptly shuts it again when he sees Carver’s face.

Carver doesn’t know what he sees there, but he squares his jaw and barrels on. Barreling on is what he’s best at. “What the ever-loving hell, Garrett!” His voice pitches funny, and he hurriedly takes a calming breath. If he wakes Mother, he’ll never forgive himself.

Both of them freeze when the sound of her shifting carries through the thin walls. They hear nothing more, though, and Carver turns back just in time to catch Garrett’s stricken expression before he sits heavily his bed and bends to unlace his boots. His hands are shaking. “I’m sorry,” he says raggedly. “I didn’t think— I didn’t think. Maker. I shouldn’t have stayed so long.”

Carver is tempted to say something scathing about that, but the very fact that Garrett is visibly upset holds his tongue. “Right,” he says instead, running a hand through his hair.

“I’ll talk to her in the morning.”

Carver throws his hands up in frustration. The fight is over before it really began, and his blood is boiling with nowhere to expend that energy. He could go out and pick a fight with some back-alley thug (the storm has abated, at least), but… no. He won’t do that to Mother. “Right.”

Garrett finishes undressing and goes to bed without another word, and soon after Carver lays back down Sophia is there again, nudging under his arm and then crawling onto the mattress with him. She presses herself against his side and lays her square head on his collarbone, gazing at him with her huge mournful eyes. Carver huffs in half-annoyance, half-affection and gives her an ear-scratch.

She is not his twin, and he can’t talk to her while Garrett is in the room (and he would feel silly about it anyway, however Fereldan he may be) but she does her best.

Their best is all anyone can give, and then he’s reminded of Bethany again, Bethany who always put her all into everything. Bethany who protected him as much as he protected her. He sighs, staring blindly up at the ceiling, as Garrett’s snores join Sophia’s. Bethany wouldn’t have liked Kirkwall, but she would have brought her sunshine to every corner of this blasted hellhole by the time she was done.

Their best is all anyone can give. He is not Bethany, and he will forge his own path away from his brother’s shadow, but he will do his best, too.