#No one raises a hand against Victor Von Doom

[vertigoartgore]

Doctor Doom : "No one raises a hand against Victor Von Doom."

2009's Dark Avengers Vol.1 #3 last page by penciller Mike Deodato Jr. and colorist Rain Beredo (words by writer Brian Michael Bendis and lettering by Chris Eliopoulos).

[tinytonysnark]

what's in a hero?

45. Rubbing the back of their hand with a thumb. stevetony, 1.2k words, tony stark needs a hug (he gets it)

As co-leaders of the team, Steve and Tony always sit next to each other.

At team meetings, press briefings, galas to raise funding - hell, even during team movie nights, - Tony is always on his right.

And Steve likes to think that all that close proximity has made them both extremely attuned to each other, or - well, he knows it has on his part anyway.

He knows that whenever there’s leg room and probability of no one seeing it, Tony bounces his left leg whenever agitated, particularly when the press turns to a line of questioning he hadn’t anticipated.

He knows that Tony has a habit of biting his nails after a particularly bad night of restless sleep, the jagged edges of his nails looking so out of place against his otherwise impeccable appearance.

He knows the tell-tale signs of an oncoming panic attack whenever he hears the short but rapid pulls of breath as Tony tries to breathe.

He knows that Tony taps at his arc reactor surreptitiously whenever he needs reassurance or whenever someone likes to bring up SI’s past.

They don’t dare ask about anything related to Obadiah anymore though. Not whenever Steve is there anyway. Not after the last...incident.

So as they’re sitting here at what is a routine press briefing meant to discuss yesterday’s events and the growing nuisance that Doom seems to be proving, Steve doesn’t expect the question.

He doesn’t expect to find out through a reporter from Fox News that Tony used to date Victor Von Doom.

Neither does Tony, because his leg starts to bounce. You wouldn’t be able to tell though because his voice is as steady as ever when he answers, “I know I make an impression but Victor and I were never that serious. Plus, I believe his tastes run somewhere a little more blonde and invisible these days. Or well, brunet and elastic depending on who you ask.”

Some laughter rolls around the room at that but the reporter continues on, undeterred. “Maybe so, but the Avengers are the ones who always respond to him. Is this because you, Mr. Stark, are still harbouring feelings for a criminal?”

The room goes dead quiet awaiting Tony’s response, whose leg is bouncing alarmingly, but he doesn’t respond.

And that, — that moment of hesitation to refute it, causes the entire press floor to burst into noise; laughter replaced with questions and accusations being hurled in a cacophony of sound and flashes that makes Steve’s head hurt and Tony’s breath come in stutters.

“Alright, if the members of the press have nothing of value to ask, then I think we’re done here,” Steve says, voice cutting through the noise before pulling Tony up and out of his seat.

Tony’s palms are damp and once they’re off the platform and away from prying eyes, Steve sits Tony down and places those palms on his own chest, rubbing at his inner wrist with his thumb. “Count my heartbeat and breathe with it, Tony. Come on — breathe in, there you go, and breathe out. You’re doing great.”

Steve stays crouched in front of Tony’s chair until his breathing goes back to normal and his eyes don’t look so glassy, filled instead with resignation and despondence and Steve hates it but it’s still better than empty.

“We shouldn’t have just walked out,” Tony says eventually, voice still a little shaky. “That’ll just make it worse. They’re definitely going to run with the ‘Iron Man secretly still in love with Doom’ story now.

“Yes, but you’re not in love with Doom anymore, right?” Steve says, and he really didn’t mean for it to come out as a question but part of him just needs to hear Tony say it.

Tony sighs, pulling his hands away and Steve has to clench his own so he doesn’t do something stupid like snatch them back. “I was never in love with him. We barely even went out and I —,” he sighs, rubbing at his left temple — the sign of a migraine coming on.

“Come on,” Steve says, gently taking Tony’s hands in his again and pulling him out the side entrance where he knows Happy is idling with the car. “Let’s just get home, huh? The rest of them can find their own way back.”

There’s a slight quirk to Tony’s lip when he says, “Nat’s going to kill you if she has to ask SHIELD for a drop off. She’s still fuming at Fury over last time.”

“I can handle it,” Steve says, sliding into the backseat after him. “I’ll just tell her it was Sam that ruined her boots on that last mission.”

He doesn’t get Tony’s delighted warm laugh, the one that’s real and what Steve imagines sunshine would sound like, but he still manages to get a laugh and that’s the important part.

“Smart move,” he says, before going quiet, looking down at their entwined fingers long enough that Steve stops rubbing his thumb along the back of Tony’s hand.

He doesn't make any move to pull away though, so neither does Steve.

“Somedays I think I should have kept my identity to myself,” he says, after the silence stretches, still not meeting Steve’s eyes. “I never get to just be Iron Man. I don’t get to be a hero, I’m a debate.”

“I’m a danger, a weak link — and somehow I’m always the bad guy because yeah sure, Iron Man saves people from aliens and falling buildings but Tony Stark? No Tony Stark is untrustworthy and the wild card of the team — a liability. I should have just stuck to those cards,” he says all in a rush, and he’s blinking rapidly, staring up at Steve now with wide eyes like he can’t believe he’d just said any of it at all.

“That’s such bullshit, Tony,” Steve says vehemently. “Iron Man is fantastic, he’s brilliant but that brilliance is born from you. You were a prisoner stuck in a cave in the desert and you built that suit from scraps.”

“And you think that suit is what makes you a hero? No, Tony Stark has been a hero long before he was Iron Man,” Steve says, turning Tony’s head towards him so he can look into his eyes.

There are tears pooling in them and Steve cups Tony’s cheek to rub his thumb across the salt that spills there.

“Steve — you, that’s not, that's not fair. You can’t just say that,” Tony says, a little breathless as he stares at Steve.

“Why the hell not? It’s the truth,” and Steve hasn’t really finished that sentence before he has an armful of Tony Stark, face tucked into the crook of Steve’s neck.

“Thank you for being here,” Tony says, and Steve refuses to physically react to the feeling of Tony’s lips moving against his skin.

He rubs his hands along his back comfortingly and tells him, “Anytime, Tony,” as if he doesn’t mean forever.

[dontcallmecarrie]

I am but a simple mortal, and I crave, I desire, to read Victor and Justin finally getting together?

friend, I'm afraid these two are the slowest of slowburns because Victor von Doom is hilariously bad at social anything and that's not even mentioning Justin's situation.

...but inspiration struck, so here's an attempt at a closer look at this ship in NHDD. Under the cut, because major spoilers for this AU and lots of timeskips ahoy! [Also some minor continuity tweaking, because this AU's been pretty fleshed out but if this is the ship sailing, some things are going to need to be adjusted if we're going all out here. Heads up, he lived through an incredibly brutal civil war, with all the violence that entails.]

.

Victor von Doom would never be able to pinpoint exactly when he considered Justin Hammer a friend.

Certainly, it wasn't at the beginning; it'd merely been a wordless pact to quietly share the conveniently-located alcove while studying, while the other brats their age ran around having their little playground tiffs and squabbles.

But somewhere down the line, Victor found that...well, he liked their strange routine of meeting up and sharing a short, polite nod before settling down to take a crack at their respective coursework.

Not long after that, he realized his quiet studymate's mere presence wasn't draining like it was with some of the other brats in his year, and from then on out they were practically inseparable because on his own, Victor would've been content to stay holed up in that alcove with whatever books he had on hand, but.

Victor was all of twelve years old when he first discovered he was helpless against that smile and so found himself dragged along to whatever club his friend thought would be a good fit for him.

Fencing, for instance— and Victor would only later appreciate just how beneficial it was for his stress levels to have a place where he was not only lunging at idiot classmates with a sword, but was actively encouraged to do so.

Even after his friend decided the sport wasn't the right fit for him, Victor found himself staying with it for as long as it was feasibly possible.

Some of the other clubs were more hit-and-miss; he lasted all of five minutes before deciding the Model UN club wasn't for him, and managed a few weeks of survival skills training before deciding he preferred curling up with a book over learning how to tie whatever knot they were currently working on.

...it's funny, in a way.

At the time, he'd just been having fun, letting himself be dragged along in the wake of his best friend's latest idea. Had just been spending time with one of the handful of people he cared about, seeing his best friend in his element and marveling at the way he could commandeer the attention of an entire room.

He had no idea of what was to come, and yet.

It was these same moments that would end up saving his life— training his reflexes long before he was thrust in the war zone that had once been his home, teaching him what to say, how to say it and giving him something to fight for beyond his devotion to his country.

Because he'd never said goodbye.

The last time he'd seen his best friend had been about half an hour before he was called from class to the head office, and informed that a family emergency had occurred— and his relatives were having him withdrawn from the school, effective immediately.

.

It's funny, how near-death experiences can shape a person.

Throughout the Latverian civil war, Victor saw firsthand what happened when push came to shove, and the sound of gunshots in the distance only raised alarms when it stopped. He was a teenager when things took a turn for the worse, and somehow ended up leading a faction and facing off against people many times his age.

He...lived, when so, so many didn't. Outlived his parents after a car bomb, outlived his closest aunt when what had once been his favorite cousin sold out his entire family for a position with one of their rival factions and it was only years of training his reflexes that let him survive that particular assassination attempt.

So if he made sure to make an example out of that traitorous bastard, well.

Victor was one of the last surviving members of his family tree, and he was the reason why— so if people looked at him differently, afterwards?

So be it.

.

Victor would be the first to admit he hadn't expected to survive, let alone live to see the rebuilding— and never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined he'd the the one leading the charge, at the ripe old age of twenty-four.

Yet here they were.

How the everloving fuck his faction had managed to come out on top was anyone's guess, honestly.

...okay, that wasn't entirely accurate, that one weapons shipment had been crucial and he was going to find out who was responsible for it the first chance he could.

.

Victor von Doom was twenty-five when he first found out what his childhood friend's name was.

Justin Hammer.

He... Victor didn't know what face he made, when his head of security first brought out the picture when they were reviewing the list of likely suspects. Whatever it was, it had everyone else in the room staring at him with varying amounts of shock, but he didn't care because he only had eyes for one thing.

Nothing else got accomplished that day, to say the least.

Victor might've been embarrassed, under other circumstances. But this was Justin, was his old friend who he hadn't seen in nearly a decade now—

.

Victor's temper was notorious. He knew the rumors, had overheard the jokes.

But really— every time he wanted to start making arrangements to leave Latveria, and yet another goddamn HYDRA branch comes out of the woodwork trying to start trouble.

It was enough to make him want to shoot something, and no, the fact that all his efforts in getting more information on Justin had mostly just dredged up rumors from trashy gossip rags hadn't helped, either.

Ugh.

The things he did for Latveria.

.

Victor was nervous, though he'd gotten much better at hiding it.

It'd been so long, and he'd never so much as left a note: would Justin even want to see him again? What if he'd changed? Victor had changed, there was no denying it, gone was the gangly brat who'd skulked around in library corners when he wasn't hanging out with his best friend—

"Victor? Is that you?"

Oh.

Over half a lifetime since he'd last seen Justin, and he'd forgotten.

Over half a lifetime, and just like always, Justin's mere presence was weaponized sunshine.

...he never stood a chance.

.

Victor had been making the arrangements to continue his education, this latest development was just added incentive to do so. Sure, the workload could be a bit much; having to balance his courseload with his duties as the leader of Latveria was not easy, after all.

But it was worth it, to be not twenty minutes from his best friend.

.

Victor would be the first to admit his people skills were not the best. However...

He couldn't help his frown as one of his classmates once again stood up his girlfriend.

He'd seen her around before, both her and her brother.

The male Storm was an insufferable brat and Victor'd had twice his maturity when he was a fraction of his age— but his sister was good people.

Kind, clever, competent. Also way too good for her boyfriend, though that was just Victor's opinion.

Honestly though: he could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Richards actually leave the lab when he was supposed to, and half of those had been because his friend, some Grimm fellow, had been ushering him out and chiding him about making plans.

It was...

It didn't sit well with Victor.

.

No.

No, he decided as he saw Susan's disappointed-and-not-even-surprised look and Johnny's uncharacteristic glare at the labs he'd just been exiting, he didn't like this at all.

"—ant to bet he forgot again?" Johnny was saying, and Victor couldn't help but frown.

While Richards was a worthy rival to have, intellectually, this was something he would never be able to understand.

No matter how hard he tried, he just. Couldn't.

How could a genius like Richards just take the people around him for granted? How? Just...what, assume that they'd always be there for him, at his earliest convenience? How could he not treasure what he had, how could he not understand just how quickly it could be ripped away?

.

"Why are you still with him?" Victor asked Susan Storm the next time he saw her, once again on his way out as she waited for her idiot boyfriend.

"Excuse me?" She blinked, and he shifted awkwardly for a second before he mentally shrugged because it was now or never, and it'd been a burning question for goodness knew how long now.

"You're beautiful, kind, competent, and way too good for him. What do you see in him."

She stared at him, giving him an odd frown for a moment before she spoke.

"Because I love him."

"What do you see in him? This isn't the first time he's done something like this, and you— he takes you for granted."

"I—" Susan paused, before giving him an unreadable look. "Why do you care?"

Victor opened his mouth for a moment, then paused. Why did he?

"Because you're miserable. Because this isn't the first time I've seen you around, and we both know he's going to be in there until closing and I have way more stuff on my plate and I still have the decency to call my best friend if I'm running late. Take your pick."

"Best friend?"

At that, Victor couldn't help but smile fondly for a moment. "Yeah. Friends since our boarding school days, didn't get to talk for a while but we're reconnecting now."

Susan had a look of dawning realization, before glancing at him again and looking away with a muffled laugh. "Oh, I think I get the picture."

.

They broke up, not long afterwards.

Apparently, it was messy, and awkward, and one of those "didn't realize what you had until it was gone" sorts of things.

As much as Victor wanted to feel sympathetic towards his rival, he couldn't help but think, 'good for her' as he made his way to the restaurant his best friend was waiting.

.

Richards had an idea.

Victor thought it sounded good, and threw in his lot.

He...

He'd regret it, for the rest of his life.

.

There was some cosmic sort of irony in that his rival came far closer to killing him, than the honest-to-goodness nearly decade-long civil war he'd fought in.

But that would've been okay, would've been fine, would've been something he could live with— except he hurt Justin.

Was the reason his oldest friend now had a hand-shaped Lichtenberg figure on his shoulder.

For that, Victor would never forgive himself.

For that, Reed Richards would forever gain his enmity.

.

"I'm so, so sorry," Victor stammered, and and would have reached towards his oldest friend but he didn't trust himself to, not after having nearly killed one of the few people still alive that he trusted, lov—

Oh.

.

...yeah, this thought exercise got a tad bit away from me.

But don't worry, there's a happy ending!

When Loki shows up, he'll take one look at Victor and go "huh you Midgardians sure have a weird way of using magic" and from then on out Victor pesters Loki into teaching him how to control his power, and then they kiss. 

[tisfan]

I’ll Do

for @gilajames request: Doom/Tony happy ending, arranged marriage (could be historical setting, go nuts). Would love to see Pepper and Rhodey as supportive characters.

Summary: Tony Stark must marry for the good of the galaxy. He’s always known that, and he doesn’t resent it now. Love was never on the menu... 

But he expected more than a flippant “He’ll do” and to not meet his betrothed until after the ceremony.

Rating: Mature for language.  Warnings: None Tags: Arranged marriage, sci-fi AU, bargains and deals

I’ll Do

Finally, Tony thought.

He’d been awakened at dawn for a bath and a little bit of breakfast. He dressed in the ceremonial uniform and didn’t even mention how many fittings he’d been subjected to, in order to get to this point. His hair was freshly cut, perfectly styled and gelled within an inch of his life. Laser swords couldn’t get through the shellac on his head. God, it was giving him a headache. His hands had been scrubbed clean of grease, nails trimmed. 

And that was just today.

The last four months had been nothing but formality after formality, getting the arrangements and the contracts, preparing the building to welcome his royal highness, getting Tony ready to be worthy of the marriage.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know he was expected to marry for politics. He wasn’t blind or stupid. Love wasn’t anywhere on the menu for a Founder’s child.

But he wasn’t expecting to be married off to the sovereign of another planet.

When the alliances had been signed, Von Doom was given a packet on each of the eligible brides and grooms, had looked through them absently.

“He’ll do,” Von Doom had said, before departing again for months.

He’ll do.

Not exactly a stunning recommendation, but it didn’t matter. Tony was raised to be politically astute; he was a leader and an innovator and the son of one of the richest Founders in the Manhattan Nebula. He brought more than good looks to a marriage contract.

And Von Doom brought armies, which the Nebula’s people desperately needed. They were under attack by Titans, they needed alliances and soldiers, ships and weapons, if they were going to survive.

Doom had all of those in spades.

But now, all the waiting was over.

Tony was going to march down that aisle, make his vows, and take control of his life. Training was over, it was time to put it to use. He’d never even met his spouse-to-be, had no idea what the man looked like under the armor.

It didn’t matter.

Anything had to be better than the waiting.

“You look beautiful,” Pepper said. She was dressed in a similar dress that matched his uniform, somewhat less ornate and a darker color to indicate her position as his attendant.

“So do you,” Tony told her, because that was true. Rhodey grumbled behind them. Bodyguard and brother, friend and mentor.

It had been part of the arrangement. Tony would marry Von Doom and go home with him to the main planet in the Latverian System, but he was getting his entire staff to go with him, of whom these two were the most vital and important. They even had their own cabins on the wedding ship.

Tony tried not to think of the fact that Rhodey would be the next room over during the consummation; if the whole thing was a set up, murdering the new bride or groom on the wedding night was almost a cliche. 

He didn’t particularly want to get strangled on his wedding night, either before or after the consummation, but he was pretty sure that Rhodey listening in was going to be damn humiliating.

Well, maybe Rhodey would take it as a duty, as he did many things, and not give Tony grief about it later.

He glanced at Rhodey hopefully. Nah, probably not.

“Are they ready in there?” Tony wondered.

“You’re the one we were waiting on,” Rhodey said. “Are you ready?”

“Waiting on you now,” Tony said. 

Pepper signaled the musicians to start playing and the child -- Tony thought the kid might have been Rhodey’s niece or something, adorable little thing that she was -- started down the aisle, throwing flower petals with more enthusiasm than accuracy.

Pepper took Tony’s arm, patting his hand reassuringly. “I’m sure your husband will be a very nice man.”

“I hope not,” Tony said. “We need him to win a war. Soldiers are usually kind of assholish.”

Pepper scoffed. “Behave for once in your life.”

“No? I mean, what even kind of remark is that? To have and to hold, richer, poorer, as long as we both shall live, that’s the deal, right?”

“You are aware that the previous king had like eight wives, right?”

“It’s your job to make sure Von Doom doesn’t kill me until after the war is won, at least,” Tony said.

Finally, he got up the aisle with not too many flower petals sticking to his ankles.

Von Doom was wearing his armor. And a great, green cloak. And a mask.

“I didn’t know this was a masked occasion,” Tony said. “Are we sure it’s Von Doom under there?”

“As long as his seal is on the marriage forms, I don’t care if it’s one of his doombots under the cloak.” That was Rhodey, smoothing out Tony’s veil as they came up to the altar. 

“I care,” Tony shot back. “I don’t want to marry a stand in. Are you a stand in?”

Somehow, even masked and caped and armored, Von Doom managed to look affronted. All Tony could see of him were a pair of amber colored eyes behind the mask. “It is I, Victor Von Doom.”

“Great,” Tony said, running off at the mouth because that’s what he did when he was nervous. “Nice to meet you at last, Vickie.”

“Tony--” Rhodey hissed, kicking him in the shin.

“What? It’s too late to back out now,” Tony said. “I mean, the recommendation was never stellar or anything, but I’ll do.”

Von Doom turned his attention to the ceremonial officiant. “Begin.”

Tony was instructed to join hands with his husband-to-be -- who was wearing armored gauntlets. Tony scowled and summoned his nanobots. If his husband didn’t want to touch him, that was fine, but damned if he was going to be the vulnerable one in this situation. His own armor encased just his hand and wrist, enough to protect skin from Doom’s armor, and enough to demonstrate that he was entering this marriage as an equal, not a supplicant.

He didn’t bother to pay attention to what the officiant was saying; as Rhodey said, it was only Tony’s seal that mattered.

Not any vows they took here; all the actual enforceable rules had been put in place before they even walked in the door.

It didn’t take long, not really. But every second seemed to matter, and Tony was completely aware of his new husband watching him from behind that mask.

“I pronounce you wedded,” the officiant said.

“You gonna take that off and kiss me, or is this just a paper marriage?”

Doom snapped his fingers and the room went… fuzzy somehow.

Privacy tech. 

“No one may see Doom’s face,” Doom said. 

“That’s going to make it hard to kiss you.” He could hear it as the face-shield retracted, but all he could see was a pale blob. Von Doom was likely to be old, probably ugly. Maybe. Tony didn’t really know, and obviously would not be finding out.  Too bad. Not reall unexpected. Political marriage. Within a turn, both of them would have their personal lovers housed somewhere in the royal palace, just another service provided.

“Do you never cease speaking?”

“Rarely,” Tony confessed. “It’s not the only flaw I have, but I’ll do, I suppose.”

“You were never meant to hear that,” Doom said. “And if you keep talking, it is going to make this very difficult.”

“Wha--”

And Tony was kissed.

His husband, whose face he still didn’t know, whose name he’d just learned, leaned in and kissed him, sweet and achingly tender. Gentle lips pressed on his, and then a questing tongue pleaded for entry. Tony opened his mouth, more in shock than consent, but when Victor’s tongue slid in, he was entirely eager. The kiss was searingly hot, dangerously delicate. Desperate and needy and urgent, and for a moment, Tony was convinced that he was being kissed by someone who could -- and maybe even would -- love him.

It was everything he could have asked for in a kiss.

His knees were a little wobbly by the time Victor let him go. The mask slid into place and the privacy shield retreated.

No one in the audience hall acted like anything was amiss.

“We will go now.”

“No party?” Tony wondered.

“Wedding breakfast,” Rhodey reminded him. “Consummation now, before you leave the planet.”

Tony took a breath. Great. Fucking someone he couldn’t see. That was going to be exciting. Maybe he could just lay there and think of Manhattan.

“Look, this just isn’t going to work for me,” Tony said, as soon as the door closed behind them, trying desperately to ignore the reality of the bed in the exact center of the room (at least it didn’t have a headboard they were going to slam against the wall for everyone to hear).

“What is not?” Victor asked, pushing the hood of his cloak back. The mask was still on, but now Tony could at least see that he had dark grey hair, shot with white. That didn’t necessarily mean that he was old. Different races had different color schemes, he supposed. Half the people he’d met weren’t even human.

He wasn’t sure if Victor was or not.

“Not knowing what you look like.”

“Does it matter? If I am fair or foul, old or young. I am still your husband, and we are now bound together, by marriage as well as by treaty.”

“Sure,” Tony said. “We’re married, that’s great. I mean, I know all the shit I’m supposed to know to be mannerly and a good diplomat. I probably won’t do any of it, but I’m well trained. I can be your husband. Without having a damn clue what you look like.”

“I sense a conundrum,” Victor said. He took the cloak off, and the matching green robe underneath it to reveal something that looked fairly similar to an earth suit. Jacket, slacks, vest. 

“I suppose it depends what you want out of a marriage,” Tony said. “You want just the political shit, sure, I’ll go on my knees and take it up the ass for god and country. Once.”

“All right?”

“But that’s it. One consummation. One time. Once. Never again. You don’t own my body any further than that treaty says you do.”

“Unless I show you my face,” Victor suggested.

“I’m not promising anything more if you do,” Tony said. “But it doesn’t seem fair, or equal, or anything like an actual relationship. You know what I look like.”

“That does not mean that I know you, Anthony Stark Von Doom,” Victor said. “I know you have dark hair and brown eyes and a somewhat crooked nose. With freckles. But it tells me nothing about you. Who you are as a man, a person, a soul.”

“My nose is just fine, thanks awfully,” Tony muttered.

“So, perhaps, we should make additional requirements,” Victor said. “You will know my face, and I will know your mind.”

“How do you propose doing that?”

“If it is a bargain we strike, not being nations, but between men,” Victor said, “then you will join me, every day we are able, for a meal. Alone. And we will talk. I will ask questions, and you will answer them. Or you can ask-- I will learn just as much about you from what is important for you to ask. And I will answer.”

“Take turns?”

“Indeed. No lies.”

“We have an accord,” Tony said.

“Very well, then, my husband,” Victor said. He reached up and pressed his fingers to the joins under the mask and it popped free of its mooring. The strange flittering cloud surrounded him, concealing him. “I agree. And when I feel that I know you--”

“You’ll show me your face.”

“And you may decide if you wish to come to my bed again,” Victor said. “But tonight--”

“No one may see Doom’s face,” Tony grumbled. “I know.”

Victor took Tony’s hand, brought it to his lips. “In darkness, everyone looks the same.”

[jamesedwinstark]

Ok James torture post 2. This is a different story altogether, basically a "villains win" au.

Again, it's NOT canon! Just a nightmare :)

Also tw for rape and torture, of course.

Loki's threads were coming loose. She watched, the picture of disinterest, as Sin executed another row of SHIELD agents. It was as if she was seeing it all happen through a veil, repetition having turned victory into a chore.

It had only ever started as something to do. She'd gone back to fucking Victor mostly out of boredom, had joined his little cabal to annoy Thor and cause some trouble. It was supposed to be fun. It wasn't until they'd bound themselves together with ancient blood magic that Loki realized she was in too deep with no way out, but by that time it was too late to turn back without appearing weak. It wasn't without reservation that she'd tied her fate irrevocably to the most vile people on the planet. Now she really was trapped; the spell had made her dependent on the rest of the cabal for her very survival. It had also made all of them too powerful to stop.

It was just a bit of fun. They weren't supposed to be actually winning.

"I think this sends a clear enough message, what do you think?" Sin asked, turning to Loki with a wicked grin.

Loki looked over the pile of corpses in front of her. These people were supposed to be decent at their jobs. They were supposed to stop people like her. That's the way the story was supposed to go, the way it always had gone. This narrative was... unfamiliar. Wrong. It left a bitter, almost metallic taste in Loki's mouth.

"You remain as subtle as ever." Loki replied.

"Subtlety has no place in war." Sin countered, "Besides, there's no reason for you to be a killjoy. You could try to have a little fun once in a while."

Loki pouted, "I'm tired. This is boring." That was the end of the conversation.

The flight back to Castle Doom was uncomfortable. Loki was sore all over; it seemed that she ached all the time now.

A voice that sounded a little too much like her father muttered in the back of her mind. It's guilt, Loki. Look at what you've done.

He was right. The cramping had started not long after they'd captured one of the Avengers. If it had been anyone else, Loki wouldn't have cared at all, but of course it had to be James.

They'd tortured him for days, trying to get information out of him. Loki had found any excuse to get out of the castle while it happened. Even now, the memory of his screams echoing through the halls made Loki's stomach turn. From what she heard, by the end of it he was weeping openly and begging for his father like a child. They all thought that was very funny.

After that, she'd tried to help him. She’d wanted to help him. She'd had him brought to her room, let him sleep in her bed instead of the floor of Victor’s dungeon, gave him food that was actually edible, let him bathe and wash the dried blood off himself. She took care of him, and asked very little in return. It wasn't so bad, was it? It wasn't anything they hadn't done before.

Another voice, this time her mother's, answered you know that isn't true.

When he was clean Loki had wrapped a warm, fluffy towel around James’ naked body, tilted his chin up gently to look at her.

I’ll take care of you, sweet boy. I'll protect you. I'm not like them.

He’d looked so tired, and small, and Loki had been reminded of how young he really was.

I'm not like them. I love you. You still love me, don't you?

He’d said yes, and it wasn't a lie.

And... you are grateful… that I'm helping you?

James’ gaze had always been scorching, uncomfortable. He never looked at anyone; he looked through them, inside them. He burned holes into you with his eyes. After a drawn out silence. She'd cupped his face in her hands.

I love you. You said you love me. I just need you to show me…

He’d said yes, and he’d meant no. They both knew he’d meant no. Neither of them did anything about it, though. Loki took what she wanted and James was taken back to his cell. That was weeks and weeks ago now, and she hadn't seen him since. She hadn't been able to look at him.

Loki buried her face in her shoulder and bit down on her quivering lip. Sin could not be allowed to see her cry.

It had never really been about helping James, had it? She'd just wanted herself back, the parts of herself that James loved, the parts that were not tied to anything evil. He was pure, and loving him made her clean. The aches and cramps had started soon after she'd used James to clean herself.

Victor was waiting for them when they landed. He and Sin discussed the mission, which had been an unparalleled success by their estimations, while Loki zoned in and out. All she really wanted was a nap and a pile of bacon. Then Sin left and Victor laid a very cold hand against her cheek and she thought that, since he was in the mood, she may as well get a depressing orgasm as well.

Loki did an excellent job feigning interest while Victor worked in her. He could get temperamental when she didn't fawn and and moan to his satisfaction, and she just didn't feel like dealing with his moods. She wanted to get off so she could go to sleep. There were a lot of things to be said about Victor Von Doom, few of them pleasant, but he knew what he was doing in bed. Loki always came hard when they used each other.

(There was something endearing about inexperience, though. The eagerness and overconfidence of it, and Loki found herself thinking of warmer, gentler hands on her body than Victor’s while she orgasmed. Victor felt so distant, always, even when he was inside her. He didn't seem to feel anything, certainly wouldn't have shared those feelings with her if he did. Loki wondered if she was ever going to feel intimacy ever again.)

“You know that I usually appreciate the way you shape yourself, Loki.” Victor said when they were done, “But I can't help wondering who you’re trying to impress with this.”

Loki winced when he touched her breast.

“Who do I have to impress but you, my love?” Loki asked, but honestly she didn't know what he was talking about. Her breasts were exactly the same as the ones she always made for herself.

Victor's eyes narrowed behind his mask.

“It occurs to me that keeping the boy in the dungeon is a waste of resources. We have allies now who might make use of him, and there are soldiers on our side who need...entertainment.” He said, “After all, why should you be the only one who gets to play with him?”

Of course Victor was going to find out about that. This made twice now that James had fucked someone Victor felt he had a claim on. Loki swallowed bile.

“...Oh.”

When she got back to her room, Loki spent a solid half hour lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling. It was getting late, but Victor’s staff would cater to her every need whenever she wanted. She activated the intercom to order herself room service.

“Good evening ma’am, would you like the usual?” A heavily Latverian-accented voice asked.

‘The usual’ was bacon with a side of sausage, and lots of it.

“Yes, thank you.” Loki said absently, and then. “Wait, and also, I want oysters. I want as many oysters as you have. And… steaks. Bring me steaks.”

“Of course, how would you like them?”

For a moment, Loki could believe what she was about to say, but she found herself unable to imagine putting anything in her mouth except… “I want them raw.”

Something was wrong with her body. Something was very wrong with her body.

Loki stood up and staggered to the bathroom, heart racing. These last few weeks had seen her sore and exhausted almost constantly, and thinking back she realized her last period hadn't been much more than a few spots of blood, as if her body was shutting down. Gods, the cabal were all so powerful now, but where was that power coming from? Perhaps the rest of the cabal were siphoning Loki's life force, and that was the source of their newfound strength. Had she been tricked? Had she been tricked?

It took a while after she reached the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror. She hadn't been able to since… but this was a matter of life or death, so she forced herself to look at her own reflection.

It was... different, but she didn't look unhealthy. If anything, she looked a little less pale than usual, and she realized now what Victor had meant about her breasts. They'd gotten huge, but Loki hadn't intended to do that. Why had she unconsciously increased her cup size? She'd thought that she'd finalized the design of her female form centuries ago.

Cold sweat broke out across Loki's forehead. What if she wasn't the one changing her body? What if her body was just changing of its own accord? Bodies did that sometimes. Women's bodies did that especially, and Loki had a woman's body. She'd created it to be functional in every way, down to the smallest detail.

Her hand fluttered over her abdomen. Those details didn't seem so small anymore.

Slumping to the floor, Loki forced herself to breathe. She couldn't be sure yet, but the evidence, the cramps and the cravings, pointed strongly in one particular direction. She wasn't dying, she was-

“Pregnant.” She said, quietly, just to see how it felt. It felt true. Shit.

Statistically, the child was very likely Victor’s. He apparently liked to fuck when he was winning, and he'd been winning very often, and Loki was there and convenient all the time. In all probability, Loki was carrying a little Von Doom, and their child would be marvelous and terrible to behold. Victor would raise them in his own image, and Loki would teach them all that she knew, and they would inherit the earth and rule it like a born monarch. There was no point considering any other possibility.

That Loki might have a smiling, sensitive child with soft brown eyes was too unlikely to even think about.

Cursing, she knocked her head lightly against the wall. If she thought she could get away with it, she'd say the child was James’ no matter what. When it came to which of them would be a better father, which she wanted raising her baby, there was no contest, and it wasn't as if one needed blood to be a family after all. Victor would want tests done, though, and if the child was his he would want to have it. It would be his most prized possession, a great achievement for him, though he certainly wouldn't ever call it his greatest achievement, because he'd have to share the credit.

And if the child was James’... Victor wouldn't want them, and Loki wouldn't have to watch her baby being turned into a monster like Hela, or like what she herself had become.

James would have to forgive her.

It was pointless to consider it, but she was considering it anyway. Having James’ child bound them together in the oldest blood magic there was, and wouldn't it make him happy besides? The child would be something they could both cling to, wrap the frayed edges of their psyches around. This was a gift. This was like finding an abandoned child on the edge of a frozen battlefield; a blessing after experiencing the horrors of war.

Perhaps she understood Odin a little better now. Maybe she had helped him heal from the war, let him become the wise and fair man that most of Asgard believed him to have been. That was a nice thought, to imagine she might have made someone better. This child could do the same for her. She could be better. Gently, she laid a hand over her abdomen and imagined she could feel something moving. What would a good mother do?

Activating the intercom again, she said, “Have the Stark boy sent up to my room.”

This time she would do things right. James could rest and she could tell him about the baby. She could give him that joy, and that would be enough. He didn't have to do anything in return, they could just be happy together.

Then again, when he heard the good news, surely James would remember how much he loved Loki, and then he would want to… if he loved her he'd want to, right? The soreness in her body wasn't guilt after all, but a symptom of her pregnancy. Maybe she hadn't actually done anything wrong? She wasn't like the others, after all. She wasn't a monster. He had said yes. Besides, something good had come out of it…

Something good.

Clarity hit Loki like a lightning bolt. Frigga would have never done this, and if Loki was going to be a mother she had to be better. She had to be the person that Thor believed she could be, the person James had always believed she already was… or, he had. Before she'd forced herself on him.

That's what it had been. Loki took a deep breath. Best to accept that, best to accept what she'd done. She sucked down more air, but it wasn't enough. Her mouth filled with thick saliva, and she leaned over the toilet and vomited.

That was just morning sickness; it had to be. James was going to forgive her. James always forgave her. He could forgive anything, and Loki would not hurt him again. Not like that.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

<><><>

(This next story is set a few years later, after the cabal have taken over most of the world, and have set up their home base in the Avenger's tower. Other supervillains have joined up, and they all pass James around and torture/rape him. Also Tony has also been captured and James keeps him in a magically induced coma so he doesn't have to think about what's happening.)

<><><>

The dolls were fighting. Saga yelled all the insults she had recently learned, imagining they were being said by the two little figures she had clutched in her fists. Finally, when she was satisfied that the argument had reached its peak, she took the smaller of the dolls out of the dollhouse and threw him against the wall to punish him. He smacked it hard and his arm snapped off.

“Oopsie!” Saga gasped, but it was alright. Mother would fix it. She retrieved the two pieces and put them in her wagon. Broken or not, the doll still wasn't allowed back in the dollhouse, even if he banged on the door and cried and begged to be let back in.

She put the other doll to bed so that the story could progress, but before anything more could happen, her mother came into her room and interrupted the game. Mother was wearing his armor, and if Saga looked at him from the right angle she could see all the purple halos coming off of it. She'd asked her parents what the purple halos meant, but neither of them could answer her. They didn't know what she meant, though Saga felt that her questions were more than clear.

“Precious, Mother needs to take care of some things. You've got to come with me, alright?” He explained. But Saga wasn't done playing.

“No thank you.” She answered, and it occurred to her that now was a good time to have her doll fixed. Taking the broken pieces out of the wagon, she handed them to her mother. “Fix please.”

Mother crouched down to Saga’s level. “Saga, be gentler with your toys.” He chided before taking the pieces and waving his hand over them. They shimmered green for a moment and then the doll was whole again. Mother put the doll in bed with the other one, which wasn't right, but things changed so quickly that Saga supposed it didn't matter. “Now, be a good girl and come along. I promise it will only be a little while and you can come back to your game.”

Well, Saga did want to be a good girl. “Okay.” She agreed, and Mother picked her up and walked out the door.

Saga very rarely left home, so the rest of the tower felt strange and unfamiliar. Saga loved it though. It was like an adventure every time, and she got to meet her mother’s friends sometimes. A few were very nice to her.

As Mother walked down the hall, Saga spotted Hyperion and Amora walking by in the opposite direction. She waved excitedly to them, and each of them smiled and waved back.

“Loki, I feel like I haven't seen you in ages.” Amora cooed. “You’re always holed up in your room these days.”

“This one keeps me very busy.” Mother replied, nodding his head towards Saga.

“She's getting so big.” Hyperion said and then, addressing Saga, continued, “aren't you missy? Gonna grow up big and strong like your uncle Hyperion?”

Saga nodded vigorously raised both hands above her head and announced “Very big! Like my mumma!”

The adults all laughed. Saga liked when they laughed. It meant they liked her.

“You need a break, Loki. Come to the party tonight.” Hyperion said.

Mother pulled Saga a little closer and said, “I'm afraid, since my babysitter is the guest of honor at those ‘parties,’ I'll have to decline.”

“And you get plenty of one-on-one time with the boy, don't you?” Amora said, “We all wonder just what it is you do to him that takes hours and hours every night.”

“You’ll have to continue wondering.” Mother replied, and he was really holding Saga uncomfortably tightly now. She started to squirm out of his arms, but he was too strong. “Now, if you don't mind, I think Victor will have my head if I'm late for another strategy meeting.”

Saga waved goodbye as Hyperion and Amora went on their way. Mother took her into the elevator, and Saga gazed happily at the purple threads that seemed to pulse from every inch of the elevator’s surface. She had to keep moving her head, because she really could only see them out of the corner of her eye. She grabbed at them, but as usual they just slipped through her fingers like water in the sink. She wanted to touch them very badly, though.

“Saga, when Daddy gets home tonight we’re going to be extra good to him, do you understand?” Mother said suddenly.

That was confusing, because Saga was always extra good, but she said “Yes Mumma.” anyway, just to be agreeable. She hoped Daddy would play his guitar and sing with her when he got home, but sometimes he was too tired. Mother said to always let Daddy rest when he gets tired, but Mother didn't always obey that rule himself, so Saga didn't quite know what she was supposed to do.

They arrived at a set of big doors and Mother put Saga down. While they were both on the ground, he took her by the shoulders and said, seriously, “When we go in there you have to be very quiet and let Mother work. You can let me know if you need to be changed, but otherwise please don't interrupt. Can you do that for me?”

“I be good.” Saga assured her mother, earning herself a big smile and a kiss on the forehead. Then Mother stood and passed through the big doors, Saga following close behind.

In the middle of the room was a large table with projections emanating from it. Mother was trying to teach Saga the difference between magic and technology, but she couldn't tell yet whether the projections were holograms or illusions. Around the table stood some people Saga recognized: Mr. Osborn and Ms. Schmidt and that Mandarin man, plus some people Saga hadn't seen before or whose names she had forgotten. At the head of the table, in his very big chair, sat Doom. Mother talked about Doom all the time. He seemed to glow purple.

The group were all deep in discussion, but everyone turned to look at Mother when he walked in.

“You've started without me.” Mother observed as he led Saga into a corner and sat her down.

Saga watched Mr. Osborn’s face crinkle up. “You brought your girl?”

Mother summoned, seemingly out of thin air, a coloring book and some crayons, a juice box and a bag of animal crackers, which he laid in front of Saga. “It's called parenting, Norman. Some of us like to give it a go now and then.”

With that, Mother stood and headed towards the table. “What fresh hell has the General decided to send us this time?” He asked. One of the other adults answered him, but she used too many words that Saga didn't understand so she stopped listening and got started coloring a picture.

She flipped through the book until she found a picture of a kitty flying an airplane. She grabbed a blue crayon in her fist and started filling in the sky. Both Mother and Daddy liked it when she colored outside the lines, which was good because that was really all that Saga could do. She wanted the kitty to be yellow but the color seemed too faint, so halfway through she switched it to orange. The airplane she colored in gray, and added in the purple lines she knew airplanes had, because she had seen them flying overhead and felt the tingly sensation they radiated. She didn't know why she always had to add in the purple lines herself.

The picture had come out really well, and Saga itched to show it to someone. She glanced over at her mother, who was getting angry with one of his friends, and remembered that she wasn't supposed to talk to him unless she had a dirty diaper. She tried to make pee so she'd have an excuse to get attention, but nothing came out.

It dawned on her that this would make a really good gift for Nonno. He always liked to see her pictures, and even kept some next to his bed. He couldn't look at them very often because he was almost always asleep, but he said he liked knowing they were there. She would give him this picture and then he would tell her silly stories about when Daddy was a baby. Maybe he could explain what the halos were. He had a purple bloom sprouting from his chest, so he had to know.

After gathering her things, Saga set out on her journey. She made sure she was quiet when she left the room and shut the door behind her. Mother had told her to stay quiet, and she was a good girl. She started down the hall, but it didn't take very long before she realized she didn't really know where Nonno’s room was, or even if she was on the right floor. Sitting heavily on the ground, Saga sipped her juice thoughtfully. Whenever Daddy took her to see Nonno, they went down in the elevator and headed south, more or less. Mother had already taken her down in the elevator, so if Saga went south she'd find Nonno. That made sense.

Her plan in her mind, Saga followed along the paths that went north and south. The hallways were so long, and everywhere looked the same. It was so frustrating.

Looking at her crayons, Saga remembered one time when she had drawn a picture on her bedroom door and Daddy had made her sit with him while he scrubbed it off.

“When you do this, Daddy has to clean it up.” He'd explained. She remembered how battered and bruised his face was.

“Ouchie.” She'd said, pointing at him.

“It's ok, Princess. It looks worse than it is. Now, be a good girl and don't draw on the walls anymore.”

“Okay Daddy.”

Saga took a few of her crayons and started scrawling on the walls. If Daddy had to clean this up, that meant he'd have to appear, and then Saga could make him take her to Nonno. Mother would think she was so clever if he knew about her foolproof plan. She could tell him later.

As Saga drew, she thought about Daddy's angry bruises and bandaged arms, and wondered why it was only Daddies who came home with ouchies and not Mothers or little girls? She never really got a good answer to that question.

A distant sound of laughter and applause pulled Saga out of her thoughts. If there were people, she could ask for their help finding Daddy. No, wait, she'd been looking for Nonno. Either way. Adults liked her. They would help her. Maybe they'd want to see her picture too. She followed the sound of voices, even though it meant she wasn't going south anymore. As she got closer, she realized just how loud they were being. Maybe this was the party Hyperion had been talking about? Saga hoped so. A party sounded like fun. She could have cake.

Saga found the room that the party was in, but it didn't look much like a party. It was just a bunch of adults sitting or standing around in groups and talking. She didn't see any cake, but it seemed like a good idea to keep looking. Nobody noticed her when she wandered in, but that was okay. She wanted to find somebody she recognized before asking for help.

There was another room attached to the main one, but there wasn't any cake there either. It was just a bunch of adults sitting at a table playing a card game. The table also had a bunch of funny looking things on it that Saga couldn't identify. Some had halos. Most didn't. She recognized Mr. Hammer there, and Amora too, but what really caught her attention was who was under the table.

“Daddy?” Nobody heard her. Curious, she stayed in the doorway and watched what happened.

Daddy was wearing pretty lace stockings and gloves, like a lady in a movie, but he didn't have any other clothes on. That was silly. Saga could see more cuts on his chest that she'd never known about before. He also had bracelets with shiny chains that connected to each other, to match the thick necklace he always wore. All his jewelry had halos. His eyes were closed, and Saga thought maybe he was sleeping.

“Three of a kind! I win!” Mr. Hammer announced. As soon as he did, Daddy’s eyes popped open. Mr. Hammer whistled and snapped his fingers. “Here boy.”

Daddy crawled over to where Mr. Hammer was sitting, like he was playing pretend he was a doggy. He looked up and smiled, and Saga felt so relieved. It's just a game. Daddy is happy. Daddy is ok.

“What kind of reward would you like, Justin?” Daddy asked. In answer, Mr. Hammer pulled Daddy up by his hair and ran a thumb over his lips.

“I want you to put that pretty mouth to good use. How does that sound, Baby?”

Daddy kept smiling, “That sounds amazing, thank you. I love to suck you off.”

Amora tossed cards around the table, “It's so creepy how you make him pretend to like it.” She said.

Someone Saga didn't recognize added, “You're missing out on the best part: when he begs you to stop.”

“Nah, the best part is after, when I go tell Tony what the inside of his son's throat feels like.” Mr. Hammer replied. Saga didn't see what happened exactly, but Daddy put his face in Mr. Hammer’s lap and he gasped.

The adults talked about something while they played their game, but Saga was watching Daddy. Why didn't he get to play too? They needed to share and take turns. That was how friends played.

“Round’s over, Hammer. You gotta finish up.” Somebody said finally.

“Yeah, I'm almost-” Mr. Hammer sputtered out before making a weird sound and sighing, “Yeah.”

Daddy sat back. He was still smiling. “Thank you Justin. You're so wonderful.”

“Creepy.” Amora insisted.

“Hey, your boyfriend’s the one who wanted to have his goddamn baby. That's creepy. I just know what I like.”

“If you're done, it's my turn.” The man Saga didn't recognize, the one who said the best part was being asked to stop, stood and, reaching under the table, dragged Daddy out by the chain binding his wrists. Daddy wasn't smiling anymore.

“Don't break him, Bulls. It's still early.”

“Yeah.” Mr. Hammer agreed, “Break him later.”

“It takes all my willpower to shove things up his ass instead of through his skull. Be thankful.”

The bad man bent Daddy over the table and selected the largest of the strange objects. He took the object and arranged it in some way Saga couldn't quite see. Daddy saw what it was and started to cry, and Saga cried too. If the game wasn't fun for everyone, they needed to stop playing. They weren't being nice.

As soon as she began to cry, Daddy's eyes widened. He started looking around frantically.

“Wait! Wait, please. Saga’s here somewhere, I feel her, she's-”

The bad man didn't wait. He thrust forward and Daddy screamed.

Saga had never heard a sound like that before. He screamed and screamed, not making any words. Just communicating raw, unbearable agony in the only way he could.

Then she was screaming too. Saga wailed “DADDY! DADDY!” and curled in on herself, clenching her eyes tightly shut. Mother had never ever made Daddy scream like that.

“Oh shit, get the brat out of here!”

Suddenly, Saga was keenly aware of every fiber of purple light, which before had been so hard to see even with her eyes open. Unthinking, she reached for them and they slithered into her grasp. The bad man had the light inside him, in his arms and legs, but Saga was holding the light. It had to stop. The screaming had to stop. He was hurting Daddy.

There was a crunch, then someone else was screaming.

“Holy... shit.”

“Well, that’s a buzzkill.”

“Christ, somebody call medical.”

People rushed around her, their footsteps frantic. Saga’s eyes were still closed and she was still screaming when she felt herself being picked up and carried away. She thrashed to get free. Who was taking her? Was it the bad man? Was he going to hurt her too?

“DADDY! DADDY HELP!” She wailed, but if her daddy couldn’t save himself, how would he save her?

“Shh, shh Love. It’s me. It’s Mother.” Saga felt gentle hands stroking her hair. She opened her eyes. They were back in the hallway, she and her mother, but Daddy wasn’t there.

“Daddy?!” She pleaded between choking gasps of air. Her throat ached from crying.

“Daddy is alright, Precious. Daddy is fine.”

“NO!” How could Daddy be fine and scream like that? Why didn’t Mother understand? “Bad- bad man! Mumma, please! Stop- help- he screaming.” She didn’t know how to say what she needed to say, so she just threw her head back and wailed.

Mother bounced and rocked her, humming soothingly, but it was no use. Saga needed Daddy. The bad man would get her unless Mother did something, unless Daddy was safe. Why was this happening? She could hardly breathe. Everything was going dark.

No, not dark. Green. Shimmering green. Her throat burned. Had she been crying? She’d gone to the party and then… something had happened, and Mother had carried her out, sobbing. Because there was no cake. It was a bad party because there was no cake.

“Ah, there’s my beautiful, smiling girl.” Mother cooed. He handed Saga a fresh juice box.

“Want cake.” Saga demanded.

“Alright. Alright. Darling, precious, sweet little girl. We’ll have cake at home. Doesn’t that sound nice? It’ll be all better.”

Saga drank her juice. It felt good on her sore throat.

“Loki!” Saga heard someone hiss. She looked down the hall to see Amora headed towards her. She was angry. Saga buried her face in her mother’s neck.

“I know I need to watch her more carefully. A lecture is a waste of both our time.” Mother snapped. Saga tensed. She wanted to go back to her room.

“Are you feigning ignorance, or did you truly not see what she did to Bullseye?”

“Don't be absurd. Saga didn't do that. She's a baby.” Mother insisted. Saga didn't understand. Was she in trouble?

“A baby with mutant blood.” Amora said, then, after a pause, asked, “Why did you tell her that Stark is her father?”

“What?”

“She called him ‘Daddy.’”

Daddy? Where was Daddy? Saga needed him very badly, or… she thought she did. She couldn't remember now.

“Doesn't she have a right to know?”

“He's a toy, Loki.” Amora said, “Please tell me that you don't take him to your room every night to play at being a family. Like Hammer making him act like he's in love.”

“I am not like Hammer.” Mother seethed. Saga felt him lurch forward, imposing himself into Amora’s space.

“Loki he can't love you. You must know that.”

Were they still talking about Daddy? Daddy loved Mother very much. Why would Amora think he didn't? They must be talking about somebody else.

“I… I don't need him to love me. Of course. He is, as you say, a toy.” Mother explained. “I only need a nanny, and the boy is more cooperative when he gets to call it parenting.”

Amora laughed, “If you insist.”

“It's late. I want to take my daughter home.” Saga felt her mother sidestep around Amora and head back down the hallway.

“Doom’s going to want to know why our best assassin is getting scraped off the floor right now.” Amora called after them. “You might want to start coming up with excuses.”

They went home in silence. Mother ordered some cake for them as soon as they got back. Cake would be good. It would be like a party. She hoped Daddy would come home soon, and they could all have cake and have a party together.

Saga frowned. That didn't seem right. Something made her think that Daddy didn't like parties very much.

<><><>

“I'm sorry! I’m sorry! I'm sorry there's so much blood! Oh no, oh no.”

The strained voice of her daddy woke Saga up. Her tummy started to flutter uncomfortably, and she hid her head under her blanket and clutched her Bunny.

So softly that Saga could barely hear, Mother hissed, “I'm trying to stop the bleeding. Stop screaming, you'll wake the baby.”

“I don't wanna die, Loki!” Daddy cried, “Please don't let me die.”

A loud sob shook Saga’s body, and she buried her face in her pillow to stifle the sound. It would only get worse if she started crying. It always got worse if she started crying.

Her parents were speaking more quietly now, which was a good sign, but it meant she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Was Daddy going to die? Saga didn’t even want to think about that, about never seeing her daddy again, about having nobody to sing to her or play with her. After what seemed like an eternity, she heard Daddy walk towards her room with uneven steps, but instead of turning into his own room, he stopped. Quietly, her door opened.

“I know you're awake, Princess.” Daddy said. He sounded sleepy. Saga pulled her blanket tighter around herself.

The bed dipped as Daddy sat down on it. “You don't have to be scared. Everything is ok.”

“Don't die.” Saga pleaded.

“That's.. you heard that, huh?”

Saga just whimpered in reply.

“Come out from under the blanket, Saga.” Daddy coaxed, “You’ll overheat.”

Sniffling, Saga crawled out from her cocoon. Daddy was right, it had been too hot in there. She sucked in a breath of cool air, and the squirming in her tummy settled.

“You said-” Saga began, but started to cry before she could get the words she wanted out.

Daddy lifted the blanket and climbed into bed next to her, gently shifting her stuffed animals as he did so. “I know what I said, but it's ok. It's nothing you have to worry about.” He hugged her gently, and she nuzzled into the soft fabric of his shirt. “Nothing bad is going to happen. I promise. All you have to worry about is being a happy little girl. Can you do that for me?”

Saga shook her head. She was too scared to be happy.

“Well, that's ok too.” Daddy said as he rubbed her back soothingly. “But you'll feel better tomorrow, Princess. We’ll all feel better tomorrow.”

Like magic, Saga was completely calm again. She closed her eyes and felt herself drift off to the sound of her daddy softly singing.

When Saga opened her eyes again, her room was flooded with light, and Daddy was gently snoring next to her. She rolled over and tapped him lightly.

“Wake up Daddy.” She whispered.

Daddy scrunched up his face.

“Daddy! Wake up time.” Saga insisted. She patted him on the chest, more roughly this time. “Daddy! Good morning Daddy!”

“Saga… ugh.” Daddy groaned. “Good morning. Please go bother your mother.” With that, he rolled over.

There was nothing else Saga could do. She hopped out of bed and made her way down the hallway and into the kitchen to bother her mother.

Mother was a girl again today. She was already eating breakfast, which for her consisted of mostly piles of bacon and sausage, served in the shiny metal trays that appeared with food every day and then disappeared without a trace. The threads of purple light surrounding the trays caught Saga’s eye, and something like a memory of a dream tickled the back of her mind. She’d been able to touch the light before… in that dream…

“Good morning, Sweetie.” Mother tittered with a smile when she saw Saga walk in. “I need to talk to Daddy. Is he awake?”

“He won’t.” Saga replied.

“Won’t what?”

Saga sighed, “Won’t wake up. He sleeping and sleep and…” She huffed. “Not get up.”

Mother’s eyes widened like she was about to be slapped in the face. She practically leapt from the table and dashed across the kitchen, brushing past Saga without a glance. Saga followed after her.

“No. Oh no no no. James? James?!” She called out, rushing into Saga’s room. Daddy was there, sitting bolt upright in the bed.

“Honey, honey it’s ok.” He blurted out. “What’s going on?”

“Saga said you wouldn’t wake up and I thought…” Mother sunk onto the bed. “Of course... you’re just tired, aren’t you my love?” She sighed and, cupping Daddy’s jaw in her hands, gently kissed him all over his face.

Daddy closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

“There’s coffee in the kitchen. I’ll take care of Saga.” Mother offered, smoothing Daddy’s hair. “I need to talk to you, and it can’t really wait any longer.”

Without opening his eyes, Daddy nodded. Mother gave him another kiss, then turned around and focused her attention on Saga. Knowing what was coming, Saga reached up her arms and allowed herself to be scooped up by her mother and carried into the bathroom.

When Mother changed and dressed her, it was much quicker than when Daddy did it. Mother simply waved her hands and Saga had a new diaper and her pajamas became playclothes. Still, when Daddy dressed her, she got to pick what she wore. Today, Mother chose a red dress, but Saga wanted blue.

“No this please.” She said.

Mother just handed Saga her toothbrush. “It's fine, Saga. Mother’s in a hurry.”

Saga pouted and made sure to do a bad job brushing her teeth. That would teach Mother a lesson. The only problem was that Mother didn't notice. Was this lack of attention tantrum-worthy? In the time it took Saga to consider whether or not to scream, she found herself hauled out of the bathroom into the kitchen and plopped into her high chair. The moment had passed.

Daddy was already in the kitchen, sipping his coffee with a soft smile on his face. The smell of coffee was so soothing; it always made Saga think of her daddy. After situating Saga in her chair, mother walked over to Daddy and lightly stroked his face.

“It's so nice to see you smile, my darling.” She said.

Daddy sighed. “I get that these aren't ideal circumstances, but all my… appointments... were cancelled.” He laughed, but it didn't sound like he thought it was funny. “I get the day off.”

“I know.” Mother answered as she started piling eggs and toast and bacon into a plate, “I'm going to do my best to keep you reserved all day so you can watch Saga. I need to smooth this over.” She thrust the plate in front of Daddy. He frowned.

“Hon, I don't-”

“You will not starve yourself while you're watching my baby.” She warned. “I'm not coming home to that again, James. Don't you make me.”

Daddy took a bite of toast and chewed it slowly. Was that how people were supposed to eat toast? Saga may have been doing it wrong this whole time.

“Please.” She said, reaching for the toast. She had to practice.

Immediately, Daddy cut up some toast and, for some reason, bacon into manageable pieces and left them for Saga on her tray. He also supplied her with a handful of raspberries. She went for the toast, though. If Daddy had toast, that's what Saga wanted.

“Is that good, Saga?” Mother asked, sitting down at the table. “Do you like that?”

Saga scrunched up her face. Didn't Mother realize she had to concentrate?

Mother turned to Daddy. “What is that face? What does it mean? Does she want something else?”

“Honestly, she's just really determined to eat toast.” Daddy replied, laughing. He always understood.

Mother smiled, but her smile faded almost immediately. “We have to blame somebody else for what she did yesterday. Nobody can know that she's…”

“So we’re sure?” Daddy sat up straight and leaned closer to Mother. “We're sure it was her? Couldn't it have been someone else?”

Mother shook her head, “Amora saw where the spell came from. Luckily for us she did and started telling everyone about it, or you would have been blamed.”

Saga was so tired of chewing toast. She opened up her mouth and let it splat onto her tray. The toast had been a failed experiment. Saga moved on to the raspberries, which she knew would be good.

“No way! They all think this collar inhibits my powers.”

“And how long would it take them to figure out that it really doesn't?”

“She's not even three…” Daddy said. He glanced over at her and noticed the toast mush on her tray. “Saga, when you put something in your mouth you have to finish it.”

Saga disagreed. “No.”

Daddy shot Mother a pleading look. She just laughed. "She's right, Love. She doesn't have to."

Exasperated, Daddy looked out into the distance for a second.

"It's polite, Princess." He clarified.

"Okay Daddy." Saga said, but she really had no intention of being polite. She scooped up a handful of berries and shoved them into her mouth. Mother and Daddy both watched her, their faces grim.

"That's roughly what Bullseye looks like right now." She said, indicating the berry mush in Saga's hands. To help mother emphasize her point, Saga showed off her hands, made purple by the juice. A blob of red slid off and splattered onto her tray. Her parents winced.

“She crushed his bones…” Daddy said very quietly. “They were reinforced with adamantium. I couldn’t even bend adamantium on my best day.”

“I don’t think she went for his bones despite the adamantium.” Mother replied, “I think it was because of the adamantium.”

“You think she’s like…”

Mother nodded.

Daddy seemed to think for a moment. "It's a miracle Bullseye's still alive."

"I'm not sure he'd agree." Mother said. Her mouth twitched up into a smirk.

"Loki, this isn't funny."

Mother huffed and rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. "He deserves it, doesn't he?"

Silent, Daddy stirred his uneaten eggs around on his plate.

“We have to discredit Amora and find a scapegoat.” Mother said after a long pause. What was a scapegoat? Saga tried making the word.

“Skake… spape… sapetote.” No, that wasn’t quite right. Why were words so hard? Grown ups didn’t seem to have any trouble. In frustration, Saga picked up her toast mush and threw it on the ground.

“Saga don’t throw your food.” Daddy said. Saga pouted.

“Let her do what she wants.”

“...Yes Dear.”

Triumphant, Saga tossed a few of her berries off the side of her tray, letting them hit the floor with a satisfying splat.

“Bullseye had plenty of enemies. A scapegoat is gonna present itself.” Daddy continued as if nothing had happened. That word again, what did it mean? Saga knew what a goat was…

“What skatepope?” She asked.

“Eat your breakfast, Sweetie. Mother will explain later.” Mother answered without looking away from Daddy.

“Everybody probably has their own theory about what happened. We just have to make sure His Doomliness believes literally anybody besides the person telling the truth.” Daddy went on. “Which won't be too hard since in this case truth really is stranger than fiction.”

Mother smiled. “Have I mentioned I love seeing you get devious?”

“I know you mean that as a compliment-”

“It is a compliment.”

“We’re scheming to get somebody ki- ah, in trouble,” Daddy glanced Saga’s way, “for something they didn't do.”

Mother rubbed her face like she was tired. “Surely you of all people must understand that every single one of them has got it coming.”

Daddy sighed and closed his eyes, and Saga thought he must have fallen asleep sitting up again, until he said, “We’ve all done terrible things to get here, Loki.”

Mother stood suddenly, and she looked so angry that Saga thought for sure she was going to hit Daddy. Tears welled in Saga’s eyes, but she knew crying would make things much worse, so she struggled to keep her mouth closed. However, instead of reaching over the table and smacking Daddy across the face, Mother clapped a hand over her mouth and walked away until she was leaning against the kitchen counter, her back turned.

Finally, Saga couldn’t help herself anymore. She started whimpering and gasping, still trying to keep the crying in but being unable to do so. The more noise Saga made, the tenser her mother’s shoulders got, the lower she hung her head. She was going to get so angry and hit Daddy, and it would be all Saga’s fault for crying and making her mad, and Saga just couldn’t seem to stop and it was getting worse every second-

“Oh, Baby Girl. Shhh, it’s ok.” Daddy’s soothing voice cut through Saga’s panic. He reached out and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t cry, Princess. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“I worry. I scared.” Saga explained, “Mumma mad and I think you get owies again.”

When she said that, Saga saw her mother’s shoulders start shaking.

“No, no owies. Don’t worry. Don’t cry.” Daddy smiled widely at her. That had to mean that everything was okay. Saga's breathing started to even out, and Daddy leaned over and kissed her on her forehead. “Eat your breakfast sweetie, it’s ok.”

Then, Daddy stood up and walked -limped actually- over to Mother and very carefully laid a hand against her arm.

“She thinks I'm a monster.” Saga heard her mother whimper.

“You're not a monster, Honey.” Daddy gently stroked his hand up and down Mother's back. “Your daughter thinks you're the be all and end all, ok? I do too. I didn't mean to make you feel bad.”

Mother knocked Daddy's hand away. Don't worry. Don't cry.

“Then why did you say that?” She whirled around and snapped in Daddy's face. He didn't even flinch.

“I meant me too.” He sighed. Mother bit her lip and fidgeted with her hands then, and Saga didn't know what she would do until she reached for Daddy's shoulders and pulled him to her, cradling him against her chest. She whispered into his neck, and Saga thought she heard her mother say “It's not our faults. We're trapped. We don't have a choice.”

Daddy didn't move until he finally pulled himself out of Mother's arms. “You're a dame?”

Mother tittered, and Saga knew that meant everything would be fine for now. “Oh darling, it really is sweet that you genuinely don't notice.”

As if unsure, Daddy reached out to touch Mother's body, but he pulled his hand back at the last second. His body completely rigid, he clenched both fists against his thighs.

“This is for Victor.”

“We both have to do what we have to do.” Mother said, brushing past Daddy and leaning over Saga’s high chair. She took a knife from the table and spread some of Saga’s berries over her toast. “You've got to eat, Princess. Don't you want to get big and strong? You come from a long line of warriors, you know.”

“Okay Mumma.” Saga agreed, and put some toast in her mouth berried-side first, getting her face sticky with sweetness.

Mother smiled down at her and without turning around she said “I can hear you pouting from over here. So cute that you still get jealous.”

Daddy worked his jaw. “Victor Von Doom has made my life a living h- has tried to make my life hellish for over three years now. That fact that you'd take him to bed is… I wouldn't call it jealousy.”

Mother sighed and cleaned some of the juice off Saga’s cheeks. “I don't want to.”

Daddy curled in on himself and Mother went to him. She gently cupped the side of his face. “You know I only want you.” She said.

Eyes wide, Daddy looked Mother up and down. “You- like this? Like…” he gestured to her body.

Mother cocked her hip. “Well, why not?”

“Oh, Honey you know I love you. I wanna be with you.” Daddy's eyes were nearly bulging out of his head, “I’m just… saying. Last time we did that like this we ended up getting a little surprise.”

Then both Saga's parents stopped and glanced her way. She waved to them.

“Not a bad surprise, though.” Mother said after a pause.

“... Loki what are you saying?”

“Just that she's getting to be a certain age, and sibling relationships can be so beneficial…”

Daddy clapped a hand over his mouth and slumped against the kitchen counter. “Hon. I know we do a good job playing house,” Mother flinched, “for the baby but I don't- do I? Do I have to remind you what happened yesterday?”

“Don't you patronize me.” Mother was getting that tone again. The bad tone. Saga put more toast in her mouth, because Mother has asked her to and maybe if she was good then nothing bad would happen.

“I didn't think I had to but,”

“I know that if I got pregnant again,”

“Then you started talking crazy about having another baby,”

“Victor would have to let me take you away somewhere.”

“Like we're not on thin ice already.”

“He wouldn't be able to stand it!”

“Victor Von Doom does not send people who displease him to live quiet lives in Norwegian villas.” Daddy said finally.

Mother frowned deeply. “Fine.” She said. “Then we won't make love when I get home. Assuming I remember to keep you booked all day.” With that, she stormed out of the room.

“You know I'm right about this.” Daddy called after her. The only answer he received was the loud, jarring slam of the front door. Saga’s toast fell out of her mouth and landed berries-side down on her tray. Everything was going wrong this morning. Saga couldn't take it. She started to cry again.

“Oh, baby girl I'm sorry. Did the loud noise scare you?”

“Toast!” Saga wailed, pointing to the food on her tray. She didn't eat her toast right and then Mother had been angry and made a loud noise and those things had to be connected. Why couldn't Saga just be good enough to make things go right?

“It's just toast, Saga, pumpkin.” Daddy cooed, “You can have some more. You can have anything you want. Oh, gee whiz look at us. Your mother and I forgot to get you anything to drink. How about some juice and fresh toast? Would that make you feel better?”

It wouldn't but Saga nodded. Daddy sighed, and Saga didn't think he was fooled.

“Juice and toast… and after, how about a bath? You won't even remember why you're sad anymore.” Daddy insisted sleepily. “We can go to therapy with your rubber duck. Contemplate the bubbles. Get pruny like an old man. Sound good?”

“Okay Daddy.” And it did sound good. Maybe today would be okay after all.

[sassystarkinatorwrites]

Just like fire!

@sassystarkinatorwrites​

From Johnny:

Things has started to happen so fast around them now as Reed now with blood trailing from the side of his mouth from Johnny’s punch found himself pinned against the wall. Johnny didn’t react, didn’t try to stop his husband from what he was doing because the one thing he always knew was, if you were on the receiving end of any kind of violence from Tony, then you damn well deserved it. And boy did he deserve everything that was happening to him. Casually leaning back against Tony’s desk he folded his arms over his chest as he watched them both. Not like Reed would be able to overpower Tony one bit, but if by some slim chance that was to go down then Johnny was also ready to run at him. "I will still never see what my sister sees in you.” he shook his head, the look of disappointment written all over his face. This was all his fault, he had now lost his powers because of Reed, Tony was now stuck with them and had almost died because of it, and of course the world had turned to complete shit. All down to this man’s stupid obsessions with science. He half grumbled as he heard the forced apology, lifting his eyes he almost rolled them. His sorries meant nothing now, all that mattered was fixing this mess and doing it soon. Glancing over at Tony as he let him go Johnny did smirk though, there was something extra too about watching him bring Reed to his knees like this as he then slumped to the floor and was clutching his throat just as Sue then appeared. Of course she would run to him, that was the dutiful thing to do, Johnny might have wanted to have another round at punching him but his sister did love this man, she would be the only reason he wasn’t over there finishing the job. He parted his lips to speak to her just as he heard���. that…. voice. Snapping his head around and seeing Von Doom he could feel the rage burning up inside him again, if it wasn’t for Tony slipping his hand into his and squeezing it then maybe he would have just lost it. Pulling Tony in closer he knew too that he was baiting him. Okay so there was someone more than Reed that he wanted to punch right now. “No amount of money is going to fix this, so how about you all just shut up and get on with it.” He bit into the inside of his cheek, luckily for Victor he didn’t have his powers but he didn’t know that yet. Glaring at Johnny he simply raised a brow in return as he leaned in closer to his husband. “Soon as I have these powers back I think the first thing I’m gonna do is throw that jackass off the roof.” he kept his voice low, the thought of him having poisoned Tony only making him worse. The board then caught his eye as he slipped his hand from Tony’s and moved over towards it. Bending down he picked it up, moving it around in his hands like he was hoping that it would shift the powers back. “So what do we first?” he looked around at them all, three of the top money men with the intel on just about anything combined. They had to move quickly though as the sounds of sirens below were just getting worse.

@flamingshieldwrites​

It was easy to pretend someone didn't exist when they weren't around you but now with Victor Von Doom standing infront of him taunting him again, it was bringing back memories of before. How if it wasn’t for Dum-e and JARVIS helping him back then, he would surely be dead. How he had given Victor the satisfaction of having fear in his eyes and how he was right....he still didn't take drinks or anything from people apart from Johnny and he was the reason behind it and Tony didn't like to mentally admit that to himself.

For a split second, his fingers trembled as they gripped onto Johnny’s, he wasn't sure if he wanted to push him out of the window or run from him. What the fuck was happening to him? No, Victor wouldn't get that control over him again. Not this fucking time. Hearing Johnny’s whispered words, he couldn't help but smile and leaned back whispering “You don't need your powers to push him off the roof, accidents happen, dear.” 

His eyes were then diverted as he watched Johnny hold onto the board, as soon as Johnny turned it over, Tony gasped for a breath as he felt like he had been winded, his chest rose and fell. He was grateful JARVIS didn't speak up and tell him there was something wrong, it was like he knew not to tell the entire room, but a split second red flash appeared on his wrist device. Fuck, Johnny’s powers were affecting his arc reactor and not in the good way. Of all the things and all the timing, he sighed, he was surrounded by two jackasses, the world that was ending and now a time limit of Johnny’s powers V his reactor.

Pretending nothing happened, hoping at least Reed and Victor didn't notice anything he nodded “Johnny’s right, we’re the smartest people alive, lets save the world...together” that one word left a bitter taste in his mouth “..then we can have an ego match after” He had no intention to have an confrontation or talk with either men after but he knew he needed them right now to do what was important.

“Reed you wanted to harness the powers to help your project...” his eyes diverted from Reed to Victor, determined not to show any emotion towards the man “so what little extra did you add and don't fucking lie, you and your ego cant add little flares to projects and you wouldn't help unless it was for your own gain so spill” Truth be told, he wanted to use his suit to throw him into that big hole in the ground but figuring out what he did would waste precious minutes they needed, he needed to make Victor tell them. 

Victor folded his arms and took a step forward toward Tony “Smart little Starky.” Reed protested he didn't know but Tony wasn't giving him the time of day, he had figured as much, for an apparent smart guy, he really acted dumb at times. Tony rolled his eyes as Victor told him he was trying to filter the power of the board through a device to gain more power. “You know we really should've worked together, think of what we could've gain. I mean you've done well, you could have the city trembling at your feet so easily Starky but you just couldn't see the bigger picture”

Tony narrowed his eyes at him “you mean the whole killing innocent people to....” Victor cut him off with one finger and spoke “What is better? To be feared or to be loved? I say both” Those words send chills down his own spine, his own words years ago before he found out his technology was being weaponized. He was naïve and full of himself back then, he had no clue what was really going on in the world and he had no sense of belonging to it either, he was miles away from that young man he was back then. “Hmmm” Victor smugly grinned as if he could see the uneasiness those words brought the billionaire. “Enough! we need to work together, open your eyes for one second and realise that without that world out there you have nothing Victor. If you do it for no other reason, do it for your own selfish ego” 

The tutting came from Victor’s lips “Oh Stark, isn't Johnny fucking you good enough? you seem a little tense” anger raged up inside of him, as he sent a fireball hurling towards Victor and making him slam hard against the wall “Shit” he muttered, now they all knew “fuck” now they knew Johnny was powerless. 

Pressing his palms on the edge of his desk, he ignored Reed and Susan's words and looked at Victor who smirked “Okay, I'm sorry Starky, we can play later” Tony bit his tongue, he really wanted to break his fucking neck and he hated that he needed him right now. 

Susan moved behind him and touched her brothers arm non verbally to check he was okay. He wanted them all to leave and him to say sorry to Johnny for letting the cat out of the bag. His mind was spinning, but he looked at Reed as he heard him speak “We need the silver surfer” Tony scoffed “Got him on speed dial have we?” Susan was the one to speak up now “Tony” it sounded like a mother softly scolding her son, and he knew Reed was just trying to come up with something useful. 

“Or his powers, I tried to take them before maybe the board can...” Victor was talking, but his words made Tony glance over at his screen ‘O% Iron man Programme’, all that power was holding back the hole’s destruction or at least most of it but even Tony knew that wouldn't last for much longer.  “JARVIS if we diverted the power holding back the hole, added Victor’s power device and connect it through the board...” “Sorry Sir there is still a 35.78% power deficiency even at that rate”  

Looking down then back up at the screen “Add the ARC-5968 programme power to the theory is there enough then?” “But Sir” JARVIS was smart, he knew that was the power that kept his arc reactor going, but he also knew that it wouldn't instantly kill him, painful as fuck as it would slowly kill him but maybe there was a way it wouldn't be permanently depleted. He really didn't know, all he knew that Johnny and this world  wouldn't survive if they didn't do something “JARVIS just calculate the theory”. 

There was a long pause, Tony was almost certain he was hesitating “The ARC-5968 programme will boost it by 35.90% , no depletion of power will be theorized.”

[rawbiredbest]

It’s All in Your Head

Contains: Fluff, Angst, Unconventional Relationships, Telepathy, Demons Fandom: Marvel (comics) Relationships: Stephen Strange/Victor von Doom Characters: Stephen Strange, Victor von Doom, Wong, Boris Word Count: 6103

Out of the blue, Stephen Strange and Victor von Doom find themselves telepathically connected.

No squealing, remember that......

Content warning for canon typical violence, profanity, implied sexual activity, and a single usage of homophobic language by a very bad individual.

Graciously commissioned by @osheets! Wanna do the same? Check my info!

Read here or on AO3!

- - -

The breakthrough comes with rapturous spontaneity. It’s like Victor von Doom has been standing on the shore of a Latverian loch, and in the blink of an eye, the grains of sand have become an orchestra, the surf their masterful conductor, and he the sole audience. He has captured their forms in glass and steel, multiplied ten million fold in the casings of complex machinery, and the entire laboratory sings the path to a bolder, brighter future. In all of his years of experimentation, innovation, desperation, he has never heard this music before. It pours from every screw and bolt, vibrates along every copper wire, thunders out of every piston and valve. The engineers below him, controlling and monitoring the device, are Gods of melody and time. Doom himself has transcended divinity, rising high on sublime notes of praise. He is Emperor, Encapsulated Universe, and his feet do not touch the floor as he glides to the heart of his machine, his veins coursing with silver beauty. Hydrogen atoms dance into the arms of their palladium partners, and their heat is love, love for each other, love for nature, love for him, and it is a primordial force unlocked from decades of ridicule and shame, and he has set it free. Genius. Monarch. Ultimate.

And then it goes. Slowly, a receding tide. It slides from his bones, leaving them aching. He braces himself against a panel, cold sweat sticking to his brow. His heart hammers in his chest, a lone drum holding a marching beat long after the band has departed into the moonless night. The engineers gape at him, oblivious to the miracle that has deafened their ruler.

Doom touches the shielding glass of the operating CMNS reactor, and its vibrations are an idiot hum. He blinks salt from his eyes, breath condensing on the machine.

Four thousand, five hundred and six miles away, a doctor and his best friend leave Madison Square Garden, wearing concert merch, beaming like loons.

- - -

To Stephen, it’s a tsunami.

He’s watching TV. The nightly news. He could tap into the Eye and view the entire world as it turns, but he doesn’t want to. It isn’t very often he feels human, let alone vegetable, so any opportunity to vegetate he takes with gusto. Stretched across his couch, he tugs down the hem of his shirt, leans his head on his hand, and waits to absorb the country’s woes.

He gets a sharp pain on the nape of his neck instead. He swats at the spot, looks at his palm. “Ow.”

Wong looks up from the email he’s writing. “Are you okay?”

Strange frowns, settles back down. “I think there’s a mosquito in here.” They’re talking about the Amazon fires. Stephen’s heart aches for the birds who will drop from the sky, their lungs full of smoke, voices forever silenced.

And then pain rips down his back, like his spine is torn out by an iron hand from his neck to his waist.

He can’t help but yell then, clutching the cushions. A heavy ache lingers in his vertebrae. Gingerly he sits up, breathing hard, eyes clenched shut. Something a bit like petrichor, a bit medicinal, a bit hot fills his nose.

Wong runs to him, but Strange raises a hand. “I’m fine,” he says, though he already braces against the thick lump rising next to his heart. As it crests, it dissipates throughout his body. He forces his eyes open, expecting to see the black trails of tiny spiders beneath his skin. Nothing but unmarked flesh.

“Should I call Doctor Carter?” Wong asks, thumbing toward the antique phone. It’s enchanted to call anywhere, anytime, any-plane.

“No, no.” Stephen leans on his knees, rubbing his temples. The pain is moving, changing. “This isn’t exactly her--”

--forte, he wants to say, but he is cut off by trees. Huge trees. Trees that consume the sky in fractal tangles of evergreen. Primordial, pristine trees, the definition of trees. The little things that crawl beneath and flit between, some carrying light, some with rigid jaws.

It’s a psychic attack. Strange has weathered them before. This one is weird. As he waves for Wong to get the Eye, he endures the spikes of pain that impale his senses to grab a closer look. This entity is lumbering, gigantic in scope yet wet around the edges.

It’s being born, he realizes. It’s waking up.

It hurts, it hurts but he’s curious. He sees New York now, its spires and streets lined up like so much circuitry. He feels the rough brush of concrete, hears the car horn concerto, smells the burn of rubber, and all throughout are rules, parameters, reasons. The thing is learning, feasting on information, and gathering more at an exponential rate. A tidal wave of green descends on the city, picking and plucking at this imaginary world.

And as it eats, thousands and thousands of hungry mouths devouring America, it hates. It hates the excess, the cruelty, the inefficiencies. It roars, barreling down the Sanctum, thousands upon thousands of tons of incomparable loathing.

Wong presses the Eye into Stephen’s hand.

“Pardon my French, dear friend,” Strange says.

The Eye bursts open, and the Sorcerer Supreme throws every ounce of his mystic might at the slavering invader. The living room cascades with dancing whorls of light as he raises his arms, funneling a solar flare, and cries a spell that every New Yorker knows by heart.

“FUCK OFF!”

Utter obliteration. When he opens his eyes, glittering motes trickle from the ceiling. The pain is gone. The TV has gone to commercial.

The phone is ringing.

Wong answers it as Stephen sinks to the couch. He slips the Eye around his neck, and its weight comforts. He thinks he’ll sleep with it tonight.

“It’s for you.”

Strange massages his ear. Vulgarity is embarrassing, but faced with an immaterial infant in the depths of an unholy tantrum doing everything in its power to cram a fork in a magic electrical socket, seemed like a good idea at the time. He takes the phone. “Hello?”

“Doctor! The master -- Victor -- something has happened, I do not know-- I--”

“Boris?” Stephen sits up. “Boris, it’s all right. Slow down. What’s going on?”

Behind the old retainer’s words, a siren wails. “The master--” He hesitates. “His newest Doombot. He turned it on for the first time. All was well, and then it exploded! And now Victor -- he is breathing this flame, this plasma! It burned through his mask! Doctor, what do I do!?”

Strange inhales deep. Counts to three. Lets it go. “He’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? I do not mean to doubt you, but--”

“It will pass. Give him an ice pack and put him somewhere dark and quiet for a few hours.”

“I trust you, doctor, but please, when you can, come and see him. The violence of it, it scares me.”

“I know. It’s fine. Just something he ate.”

Boris thanks him and hangs up.

Stephen wishes the couch would eat him as he heaves a sigh. “Wong,” he asks, “Is it too late to rescind discovering my bisexuality at the ripe age of however old I am now?”

“I don’t know,” Wong replies, “To both parts of your question. I lost count in the five hundreds.”

Strange curses again.

- - -

“So. We have a telepathic link. Any idea how it got there?”

He may as well be speaking to a wall of granite. Doom, arms folded, sneers at him across the table.

Stephen links his fingers together. “I have nothing. It’s rather disconcerting. I don’t believe it’s malevolent, which is always a plus, but it’s unremarkable, which isn’t. So I’d appreciate any insight, Victor. Whatever you’d like to...you know. Get off your chest.”

Doom’s eyes are cold.

“Anything at all. Need to vent? I know you can get heated.”

The table weighs over three hundred pounds, yet Doom flings it at him like a feather. Strange cuts it in half with a bolt of solid light as Crimson Bands constrict around his other arm. They serpentine and splinter into smaller tendrils, their tips unhinging into fanged blooms, and a thought comes to Stephen as the king charges him: he was born in a forest. It’s nature’s fury that fills his head, a cacophony of hellish noise, the wild hunt calling for his spilled blood. Doom’s rage in concentrated, psychic form, howling down their link.

The Daggers of Denak, blades spinning, do an admirable job trimming the vines, their severed heads still snapping, and Strange summons the Winds of Watoomb to push Doom away. The gale staggers him yet he presses forward, arcane runes flashing a ice blue aegis on his gauntlet. Step by step, forcing him back towards the wall.

He lunges. Strange is ready for it. Doom’s arm comes up, Stephen’s arms fan out. Before the king grasps his throat, he calls a pair of razors into his palms. Victor’s grip is suffocating. Strange holds his head between two guillotine blades. An impasse.

Doom’s voice rasps, thin and scorched. “That. Hurt.”

Stephen sips the tiny breaths he can. Something’s pressing into his belly. Sweat beads on his brow. It’s a gun. It’s the stupid gun Doom carries in the stupid pouch on his stupid belt. Why does he even have it? For shooting idiot sorcerers, he thinks. He swallows hard, knows Doom can feel it through the metal. Not so evenly matched as he thought.

And then he notices it. Hiding deep under the screams is a layer of fire. Reaching through the link, he touches it. Color rushes to his cheeks.

“Seriously?” he ekes out, “This is turning you on?”

Doom’s grip loosens. A minuscule amount, enough for Strange to squeeze a few more words. The fire leaps into his psychic palm, eager, aggressive.

“There’s no shame in it. You’re good at what you do, Victor. Very few people can put me in check. Look at you. You’ve pinned me to a wall like a butterfly. That’s impressive. I--”

The king leans closer. Stephen smells ashes on his breath.

“Hoary hosts.”

The gun is holstered. A steel thumb strokes his cheek.

“Reap what you sow,” Doom mutters.

- - -

The aches and bruises will last for days, but the coolness of Doom’s armor against the carpet burn on his back is soothing. He rests a hand in the king’s own. Anything else feels too strenuous. “Was that your first time having telepathic sex? It’s intense, isn’t it?”

Victor takes in the state of the room. Paintings smashed, furniture so much firewood, stone walls fractured and cratered. How much destruction is his? He has no idea. One or the other had to have held back. The castle is still standing, after all.

Neither man speaks. Stephen ventures a glimpse down their link and gets only an image of black curtains. Doom’s already set up defenses. Though some of his own are raised, he lets some satisfaction flow between them. An olive branch.

A quiet, amused huff. “At times, Strange,” Doom says, and already his voice sounds better, “Your physical merits outweigh the strenuous mental exertions you put me through.”

“I never much cared for the medieval aesthetic myself, yet here we are.” He grunts as he looks over his shoulder, thighs twinging. “How drunk were we that night?”

“Doom was sober.”

“Oh no, your golden goblet saw plenty of refills. You were, at the very least, tipsy.”

“You question Doom’s memory?”

Stephen cups his chin, looks deep into dark brown eyes. “I question, my lord, why you claim to remember, with crystal clarity, a night you could have easily decreed never happened at all.”

Nothing comes. No biting remark, no caustic humiliation. Doom only holds his gaze, and under the black curtains flashes something bright, something strong. It lasts for only half a second before the king gets up, using Strange’s shoulder for support. “This link shall be insufferable. Do your part to get rid of it.”

Stephen frowns, annoyed that his legs work. He wonders if Victor left any of his clothing intact. “Right. Ground rules. Stay out of my head, and I won’t make you cough up another star. Deal?”

“Stay out of Doom’s head, and you shall not know pain unending. You have a deal.”

- - -

This lasts for two months.

- - -

On Day 51, a current of malicious satisfaction slithers through Strange’s mind. Gooseflesh rises up his back. The half-chewed wad of pastrami and egg in his mouth goes sour. He spits it out, bracing himself on the dinner table, and without thinking of thinking, he thinks: what have you done now?

The smirk on Doom’s face reminds him of the crocodiles at the Bronx Zoo. The thing Victor is smiling at reminds him of shop class. He can’t begin to make heads or tails of it. Like many of the king’s devices, it could have come off the set of a sci-fi movie. Sleek and chrome, rigged with multicolored wires, pumps, and gauges, a porthole reveals the heart of the machine, a vile purple light. Stephen’s gut tells him that color would eat him alive if it could, tear into his flesh and drip his blood from its teeth. Stephen trusts his gut.

Strange, Doom replies, smile quickly fading into a scowl, We had an agreement.

You broke first. I felt you. My spidey sense tingled.

Victor’s gauntlets ball into fists, and he sends a wave of serrated anger barreling toward the magician. A chained wolf, barking and snarling. An executioner waiting for the condemned to dig his own grave deeper.

Stephen curses. He didn’t mean to think that out loud. Look. Just tell me what it is and I’ll leave you alone.

The black curtains rustle, then lift like a wing. Swimming in the purple light are mathematical equations, coiling around metal rods. It makes perfect sense to Doom, but to Strange it’s a form of gibberish undecipherable by any eldritch tome.

Then he hears it. It’s not coming from the machine. It’s from Doom. Subvocalized lyrics. A silent song. He could recognize the tune anywhere.

He bought its album at the concert.

This is cold fusion.

Stephen snaps back to attention. Cold fusion. Should I be worried?

Victor folds his arms. That I built a safe, eternal form of energy for myself and my people? Yes, Strange, cower and quake. Your country shall never have it so long as I draw breath.

There are many dangerous rebuttals to that he could say. Names he could drop. Yet Doom promised pain unending. Fifty-one days into their connection, Strange has no leads into its inner workings. Finding out if he could make good on his word is a risk Stephen is unwilling to take.

I don’t like this, the sorcerer thinks, but I have to believe you. Don’t misbehave.

His own mental defense is a never-ending subway express train, its doors and windows a veil of golden thorns. Sighing, he sits back down. What’s left of his sandwich has the appeal of wet newspaper.

Doom was right. The link is awful.

- - -

On Day 60, despite the blazing fire in the hearth, Victor’s feet send ripples through a puddle.

He regards it from his antique armchair throne with indifferent curiosity. Through the filters in his mask, he smells the green, pungent scent of foliage rot and seawater. In the puddle itself swim millions of plankton. A frenzy of eating, fucking, dying, and birthing unfolds beneath his alloy soles.

From the corner of his eye, he watches the puddle extend an arm of water across the floor. Sliding under a wall, a line of slithering damp turns the paint a moldy gray. Moisture fans across the entire side of the room in a pattern like falling stars, like skeletal hands trailing through a river. The scent grows stronger as the puddle expands. He rises before it consumes his chair. The leather sinks until it is a speck of mahogany in the brine. Gloom washes over it and it is gone.

Doom folds his arms. A breeze teases the tail of his cloak. Murmuring a quiet word, he puts out the fire with an arc of a finger, and turns around into another world.

It is eternal night. It has no sun, and what few stars can be seen are lucky glimpses through a lush canopy of branches and black, web-like leaves many hundreds of feet above. The grass under him has a sticky grip, but gentle. If grass could want for anything, it would like to give the king safe passage on his journey. He isn’t the sustenance it’s looking for. That comes on the wind, in the form of tiny shards of detritus falling from forest layers high overhead. It shimmers as it tumbles down, the only source of light in this hadal garden.

He doesn’t need to go far. Half-concealed behind a root far taller than he, Doom watches himself and Stephen Strange on the next mound over.

The magician talks with grand gestures, sweeping an arm over trees as dark as ink. Doom remembers himself speaking little, allowing Strange to tell him the highlights of the world. No recorded examples of predation. Negligible changes in evolution for millennia. A slow world. A place of peace.

Stephen steps into the water. Waist deep, he holds out his arm. His garb drips off him, revealing pale skin. He smiles, bare and inviting.

The other Victor undoes his belt.

“And you complain when I get you out of the house.”

Doom peers at the Stephen Strange sitting in lotus position beside him. “You drag me into your affairs with no concern for my well-being or sanity.”

“Please. The times you dig your heels in are cursory, at best. And then we end up doing things like this.”

Across the mound, the other king’s armor sits in a neat pile, and the two doctors stand in each other’s arms, their lips meeting and parting only to inhale.

Victor kneels on the grass. “Even you are capable of stumbling onto a good idea.”

Stephen’s lip curls upward. “I think about this often. This place is beautiful. This memory pleasant. I took effort not to broadcast this to you. My apologies if I disturbed you.”

Doom looks away. “You did not.”

“Oh? Your Royal Highness, we had an agreement.”

“Am I not allowed to reminisce myself?”

“Ssh. Meditate with me.”

He closes his eyes. Strange’s hand creeps into his own, and he lets it stay.

Perhaps he was wrong. The link isn’t so bad.

- - -

Wake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up!

Stephen rolls molasses slow toward awareness. The bedroom is pitch black, swimming in unholy hour of the morning disorientation.

Your wife is in trouble!

He cracks an eye open, shifting in the sheets. “Clea?”

No! Your big green wife! Get up, right now!

Those aren’t his thoughts. It’s a voice he’s never heard before, coming from inside his head. He holds very still and feels something slither over his brain.

He snaps wide awake.

I’m sorry we have to meet like this, the voice says, but we must hurry. The whole world is at stake!

In any other circumstance, Strange would interrogate the voice within an inch of its life, but its fear is genuine. Swinging out of bed, he yanks some pants on, startles the Cloak of Levitation from of its own sleep, and pulls open a portal to Latveria.

Curse me for a novice! the voice squeaks, That can’t be good!

Enormous rends in reality drape over the castle. Shimmering in the air, some bisect the stone in clean, monomolecular cuts. One vomits a steady stream of magma, causing a massive fire in the castle courtyard. Through each of them Stephen sees other dimensions. Another hole fans out from the keep itself and drops a mass of red crystals that crush an entire rampart.

Please! Hurry!

Stephen slams the portal shut, imagines his destination, and wrenches open a new one directly to Doom’s lab. The room is bathed in sunset colors and thick, acrid smoke. At its heart lies the fusion reactor, which is now anything but cold. The purple light pounds waves of energy, reverberating off its containment and magnifying a new tear in the world.

Victor stands in front of the machine. His motions are jerky, abrupt, a marionette controlled by a mob of children. He lifts a twitching hand and the tear throws itself through the castle to join the others outside.

Sister-Brother! the voice cries, Stop!

Doom’s arms drop, strings cut. The voice that comes from his mind is higher than the other.

No, I don’t think so, it says, I think I’m going to continue. You’re more than welcome to burn.

“You’re the link,” Strange says.

Just figured that out now? Sister-Brother asks, Wow, Brother-Sister. You sure drew the short straw. My host is incredible. I’ve mapped every gyri and sulci in here and it’s gorgeous. I’d stay forever if I could. It’s almost a shame he has to die.

Stephen glares, raising his hands, fingers glowing with magic. “As Sorcerer Supreme, I command you to release Doctor Doom!”

The laugh that echoes down the link is nails on a chalkboard. You have no idea what we are.

“You’re playing with fire. You’re threatening the dimensional stability of all of Doomstadt. And when I find you, you’ll have hell to pay.”

This host has already seen hell, Sister-Brother chides, What better place to grow up than in a body demon-touched? Have you considered that I’m doing him a favor? This is how it plays out. This is fate.

Doom turns around without his mask.

A bloodcurdling shriek ricochets across Strange’s mind, his hand thrusts forward with a will not his own, and a thunderbolt connects with the king’s head. Victor flies against a control panel, smashing it with the weight of his impact. Groaning and creaking, the reactor starts to power down, sprinklers in the ceiling damping the flames.

His face, Brother-Sister whispers, Gods, oh gods, what’s wrong with his face...

Stephen contains his screams until he kneels at Doom’s side, hefting his body into his arms. The scent of burning meat fills his nose. He howls for someone, anyone, to help him, royal blood seeping onto his chest.

- - -

He awakens to the beeping of the heart monitor.

Doom feels like mountainsides have taken residence on his eyelids. Slowly sliding them open, he takes inventory. The room is bright, sterile, no windows. He’s propped up in a bed. His hands are bare yet weigh like continents. He looks to his left.

“Hello,” Stephen says.

The sorcerer looks terrible. Ashen skin, reddened eyes, a frown threatening to rip his mouth off. The clothes he wears belong to any servant of the castle. The hands clasped together between his knees shake worse than Doom has ever seen.

“You’re on a morphine drip. You’ve been unconscious for the past twelve hours. You’re in the castle. We set up a makeshift triage room. For a while...” He takes a deep breath, steeling his voice. “We didn’t know if you would make it.”

Doom thinks, and his head is wonderfully quiet.

“Thank every deity you know that your skull is almost as hard as your armor. You’re going to be in a lot of pain for the next few days, but the alternative...I don’t want to think about. And I got rid of the link.” Strange picks up a jar from a nearby stand. “Meet Brother-Sister and Sister-Brother.”

Floating in cerebrospinal fluid are two worms. One is storm cloud gray bracketed by navy blue. The other is dark yellow-green with flecks of red. Flat as ribbons and only an inch long, they give each other a wide berth.

“Pineal parasites,” Stephen continues, “Stuck to the undercarriage of our minds, learning how to be through our eyes. They talked together through us. Saw magic through us. Deciphered grand machines through us. And now they’re ready to go home. That’s what yours was trying to do. They were looking for a place where nothing changes and nothing happens because all who go there are hijacked and killed. Not such a good idea after all, was it?”

Doom blinks.

Putting the worms down, Strange digs his wrists into his eyes. “Victor, I swear to you on everything I am I had no idea. I thought you’d like it. I thought you could forget being so angry, forget the Four if only for an hour, and be happy. Now you--”

He stares at the door, fist to his mouth. Swallowing his heart, he says, “I’m bringing them back. They’re not at fault. They’re just following their life cycle. Despite what they’ve done, they deserve to live.”

Birds that will choke on ashes, he thinks, Countless trees turned to dust. No more. No more death.

“The best doctors in your kingdom are here for you. I’ll be back.”

“Doom will go with you.”

Victor’s voice is quiet but steady. Stephen shakes his head. “No. You’re in no shape to get out of bed, let alone travel dimensions.”

The monarch shuts his eyes. Heavy footsteps pass through the door. A doppelganger in emerald and steel, the Doombot bows its head to its ruler.

“Doom will go with you,” Victor repeats.

Strange blows a ragged breath. By Doom’s creased brow, that wasn’t easy. “Okay. Rest now. Don’t do anything until I return.”

Victor says nothing. Stephen waits until he drifts to sleep, presses a kiss to rough lips, and departs, robot in tow.

- - -

Q-4301 is indistinguishable from the real deal, from its ramrod straight spine to its folded arms, yet there’s no look of wonder in its lenses, no human, if royally restrained, sense of adventure in its copper and silicon heart. It doesn’t care about the bits and pieces of gold falling from the alien canopy, the grass patting its boots. It stares at Strange, emotionless, and that very lack of feeling gnaws at the pit of the sorcerer’s stomach.

They’re on the same black water island mound as before. He can pick out the tree Victor pressed him against from all the rest. Had the microscopic eggs that birthed the parasite twins been attracted to their sex, or had it been sheer luck? He doesn’t know and doesn’t want to know.

In his hand is a candle made from the blood of priests. “Do you have them?” Stephen asks.

Q-4301 lifts a corner of its cloak. Sewn into the cloth is a glass vial. Brother-Sister and Sister-Brother are inside.

Strange nods. “I don’t know if Doom programmed you to feel fear. Either way, let me do the talking. If all goes well, you won’t have to do anything.”

The Doombot says nothing. Taking a deep breath, Stephen snaps a spark between his fingers and lights the candle.

The world goes silent. The wind ceases, and so does the steady fall of golden bits and bobs. The grass curls into tight nubs. The only indication that time has not stopped entirely is the gleam of flame like an undulating eel on the surface of the water. Stephen’s breath is deafening in his own ears.

The voice that speaks is low and obsidian slick. “Well, well, well. Look what the fags dragged in.”

The demon, descending from the trees, blends perfectly into the dark. Its teeth are yellowed and pitted from a diet of rot. It moves on long, soundless talons. Its eyes are cherry red, pupils like mouths.

“Doctor Strange,” the khat murmurs, “You honor me with your presence. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re a cautionary tale among khat-kind, you know. A warning about too much power in frail, mortal meat. Like stuffing a sun into a stomach, it’s only a matter of time till it bursts.”

Stephen purses his lips. “Cut the shit. I have something for you.”

The khat’s grin splits up to its ears. “A gift? Is it your heart? Your humanity? Your soul? Please tell me it’s your soul. I would so like your soul.”

“Come closer and I’ll show you.”

The demon pads on water, leaving no ripples in its path. “Is it the thing beside you?” Nostrils flaring, it sizes up the Doombot. “Not the usual breed of lost lambs you lead to slaughter. What sort of lies did you tell it to follow you? An offer of redemption, perhaps? Anything desperate enough to flaunt about in a green skirt would listen to you.”

“Desperation is for the weak,” Q-4301 snaps.

Strange swallows the ball of curses on his tongue and hopes it doesn’t show. Doombots fall for bait. Exactly like the original.

The khat stops. “Everything has weaknesses. You were once a babe in your mother’s arms, no? Look at your companion. The Doctor Strange, Sorcerer Supreme, can barely keep a friend around, let alone alive. No, no, no, there has to be a reason he wants you here.” It lies on all fours, rests its cheek on its fist. “What sort of gift was it again?”

Stephen starts to speak. Q-4301 beats him. “The only gift a demon like you deserves.”

Red eyes narrow in amusement. “Oh, it’s too much for a single khat to bear! Let me call my brothers. We shall find out together.” Rising into a crouch, it takes a deep breath.

There’s still time to salvage the plan. Strange shouts, “Do it!”

Q-4301 lunges into the water, tears the vial from its cloak, and thrusts its arm out. As predicted, the khat opens its toothy jaws and swallows the punch up to the Doombot’s shoulder. Payload delivered, they need to flee.

The portal spell is halfway done when Stephen spots Q-4301 motionless.

For a second, the khat too is still. Then, beaming around the steel in its mouth, it bites, and tears Q-4301′s arm off.

No robot could replicate the spray of blood and scream in agonized terror.

Strange doesn’t realize he’s also screaming. The khat snatches Q-4301′s shoulder and slams it beneath the surface. The water boils in the struggle. Shadows like hellish stalagmites reach for the leaf-choked sky as the sorcerer calls his magic. Black muck splatters the trees, the grass, Stephen’s legs as he gathers flame in his shaking palms.

The blast turns the water to steam as the garden sees more light than it has in billions of years. He looks for a target, finds nothing but the bare riverbed quickly flooding to fill the void.

The khat geysers up behind him, grabs his leg, and wrenches him into the water. The Cloak of Levitation has enough time to flip him face up before a heavy paw pins it down. Eyes stinging, heart hammering, Strange fends off the khat’s snapping jaws with novas in his palms. It takes all his training to anticipate where the teeth will be, vision obscured by plumes of bubbles, and not lose a limb.

Claws curl in his suit and drag him through the brine. His head connects with a tree root and all of reality goes sideways. His breath whooshes free, and sour liquid fills his throat.

The demon hauls him out, shoves him against a tree. Three blurry khats grin in Stephen’s eyes. Dozens of fangs.

“The gift is all three,” it says, “Your heart, humanity, and soul. Why were we ever warned about you? You’re nothing.”

It opens its mouth.

LEAVE HIM ALONE!

Stephen shakes water and blood from his eyes. The khat is frozen save its eyes, which widen in shock. Two voices erupt from its gullet. One, higher-pitched, screeches an incoherent string of profanity.

By the hoary hosts of Hoggoth, the other cries, I demand you let him go!

If he squints, Strange can see two ribbons in the khat’s belly. One yellow-green and red, the other gray and blue.

“What have you done,” the demon barks, “What have you done to me!?”

The claws pry open. Stephen beats a hasty retreat, flying to the unfinished portal. As he works to complete it, something moves at his feet. The grass scuttles bits and pieces of shattered human along pathways only it knows. He reaches down, grabs a fragment, and rage flows through him hot enough to make his skin glow, heat radiating from him in convection circles.

The khat breaks free of the parasites’ control, smashing its head against the tree for good measure. Screaming, it leaps for him. Strange sidesteps into another world -- home -- closes the portal, and waits until his ears stop ringing.

His anger he keeps. He storms through castle halls, eager to strike while the iron is hot.

- - -

Doom must really try this relaxation thing more often. It isn’t bad. Balcony doors open, letting in sunshine and a floral breeze, he reclines in his seat, sips his tea, and listens to the vinyl spinning on the antique phonograph.

I’m coming down, coming down like a monkey, but it’s all right Like a load on your back that you can’t see, oooh but it’s all right

The song has been in his head for months. It’s nice to hear it in the open. Doom smiles. Stephen has good taste in music.

“Bastard!”

The chair spins around and Doom is confronted by a feral magician. Strange notes the king’s simple garb: no steel in sight, just a cotton shirt and pants. He aims for Victor’s face but his quaking hands botch the throw. It bounces off his chest and lands in his teacup. “You’re not white!”

Doom looks at his tea. The blue eye in the tea looks back. “About time someone noticed,” he deadpans, extracting the orb by its optic nerve and setting it on a napkin.

The chair bucks like a bronco and Victor spills out. Stephen catches him with magic, hangs him in the air. The cup breaks into a thousand pieces and the king’s disappointed frown makes Strange want to throttle him. “Who was in the Doombot?”

“A nuclear engineer working on the CMNS reactor.” Doom sounds bored. “He tweeted about the parasite-induced euphoria I experienced. Called it an episode. Implications of weakness are illegal. Justice -- and the parasites -- were served. Two birds with one stone.”

“You killed a man for a tweet.”

“Whatever creature you encountered in the garden slew him, not I.”

Stephen drops him, relishing Victor’s grunt as a shard of teacup cuts his foot. It’s a slimy pleasure, and his face contracts. “Bastard. There isn’t an ounce of goodness in you.”

The king pulls the porcelain out of his flesh and points the bloodied end of it. “I have my ways just as you have yours. Until you grasp this concept, we shall always be at odds.”

“Be at odds? I saved your life!”

Doom brushes back his hair. Black stitches stretch from one ear across his head to the other. “You scarred me.”

They’re on thin ice. Strange dials back his fury, fists clenched. Monstrous tyrant or not, Victor is recovering from brain surgery. “You had a worm in your head.”

Tossing the shard aside, Doom sinks back in the chair in a position Stephen calls the regal slouch. “The sentence for weakness implications is community service. The engineer served his community. The sentence for injury to the royal person is death.” A scowl darkens his face. “I have half a mind to not let you leave this room alive.”

The sorcerer shuts his eyes.

“However.” Doom thinks, picking his words. “The extraneous circumstances surrounding the crime cannot be ignored. A different punishment is called for. It shall be made at a later time.” He draws a holographic display before him. A tigress pants in her den, lozenges squirming at her belly. “Three cubs were born at the Latverian Zoo this morning.” He looks at Stephen. “I find myself preoccupied with some wildlife conservation of my own.”

The sigh comes from the bottom of his heart. One day Victor will come out and thank him. Today is not that day. It will have to do. Strange rubs his eyes. “May I make a suggestion?”

“Speak.”

“Exile. A break. Another two months, or two years, or two hundred years. I’m not picky. I just don’t want to see you for a while.”

Doom looks back at the panel. “Your suggestion carries weight. So be it. Begone.”

That’s that. Another story concluded. Feeling empty, feeling light, Stephen turns to go.

“Strange.”

Fuck, so close. The sorcerer looks over his shoulder. “What?”

“When next we sojourn, for Doom knows we shall--” Victor’s lip turns up, the smallest hint of a smirk. “--I shall pick our destination.”

[occasionalfics]

worth my while // p. 2

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ko-fi | p. 1 | p. 3

Summary: After being banished from his home, Thor Odinson has stopped at nothing to prove himself worthy of his throne, title, and power.

After losing the love of your life, you turned to a power you didn’t understand.You know you shouldn’t get involved.

But how could you not?

Pairing: Thor x Reader (Hercules au…kind of…)

A/N: Me: *uses the same gif two chapters in a row*

also me: *sees a new pretty one* OOH YES LET’S CHANGE THINGS UP A BIT

Aaaaand here I go, stealing whole ideas straight outta Hercules. Oops ;) Let me know what y’all think, as usual 💖💖💖

Warnings: Violence, lots of angst, borderline abuse and definite manipulation, eventual smut, way too many feels, major character death (eventually). A little more harassment on Hades’ part this time around.

Words: 3,641

“You do understand how powerful Von Doom is, don’t you?” Hades asks the next day.

Just like you had at Captain America, you roll your eyes. “Listen, it’s not my fault, okay?” You watch as he paces the room, and think about the night before. “The Avengers showed up to bust the place for...God only knows what. Captain America gave me an ultimatum, I couldn’t refuse, so I walked out.”

Hades sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Babe,” he says, using the nickname you absolutely hate, “our hostile takeover isn’t proving to be very...ya know, hostile.” When he looks at you, you can see the flames behind his navy irises.

You’re in trouble.

You sit back against the couch and cross your arms. “We can use this,” you offer. You try not to imagine the lighting-laced eyes of the other Avenger as you go over your exact process from the night before. “You want to take out the Avengers. The Avengers attack Victor Von Doom, who you want to help take out the Avengers. Now he has a personal reason to do it.”

Hades pauses. He faces you, fingers on his chin as he scratches his stubble. And he stares long enough that you know you’re not totally off the hook - Hades isn’t known for his patience, after all - but he’s at least considering what you’ve said.

Then he chuckles once and shakes his head. “Oh, you sweet summer child,” he mutters, giving off gruff and insulting sounds as his brows raise. “You’ve got so much to learn. But you’re not wrong - we can use this.”

Just as Cerberus - one of them, anyway - comes marching into the room, straight to your lap, Hades picks up a remote from the table that serves as the only thing separating your bodies. He turns around and powers up the mounted television, and just like magic, there’s a news segment on discussing an upcoming Avengers celebration.

Celebration? You think. They destroy everything they touch. What are we supposed to be celebrating, exactly?

You’re one of those who had once sided with the U.N. and Tony Stark. You didn’t care for the billionaire - after working for Hades, you more or less hated every billionaire - but you did think that the so-called heroes needed to be held accountable for the destruction they left wherever they went.

This party, though, seems to be a celebration of the fifth anniversary of the Battle in Manhattan, which seems...so ridiculous to you. Why would you - or anyone - want to celebrate that? So what if six people saved the world from imminent danger? They’d still nearly let millions of people die or be injured in their messy attempt to kick alien ass.

Also, wasn’t the man behind that plan that Thunder Guy’s cousin or something?

More personally, however, the drunk driver that had killed Rick was drunk because his wife had perished in that battle. He’d been drunk every night since her funeral. The jury had taken his grief into account when they sentenced him to prison, giving him a light sentence instead of life behind bars.

You’re so busy letting your cold heart grow colder that you miss the point of the segment. Stark is interviewed, but you don’t listen. You almost know what’s going to happen anyway, so why bother giving it your attention now?

Hades waits until the segment ends, then puts the television on mute. He turns to you, puts the remote down, and actually comes around to sit on the table.

You lean even further back against the couch. Hades never gets this close unless he’s got a mission for you. Cerberus watches you both, head lifted from your lap as he whines.

A second Cerberus pads into the room, sitting politely on the floor between you.

“Sending me to that thing isn’t gonna get us Von Doom,” you tell Hades. You’ve gotten quite good at reading him since he’d cashed in his price for Rick’s life. You had to - the only other alternative was to let the formidable Lord of the Dead control your every move. Which he kind of did anyway, but at least you could keep up with him this way.

He shrugs, like that’s part of his plan. “Maybe not. But we can stir up some trouble.” His smirk is undeniably mischievous. But you know that’s the only way he operates.

You stare at him like a frustrated parent might at an indignant child. “And what good will that do us?”

Us you think, like I have any say in the matter. Like he’ll actually listen to me.

“If we can scatter them, cause a real scene at their own event, we might be able to attract more than just Von Doom. Better than Von Doom.” Hades nods at his own assumption, but you don’t like where this is going. Not one bit.

“Like who?” you counter. Von Doom is another billionaire. He has money, technology, and apparently, superhuman abilities of his own.

“Norman Osborn,” he replies without hesitation. “Otto Octavius. Wilson Fisk. The list goes on.”

You don’t even know who the last guy is. Still, you groan. “Osborn is an actual goblin, and Octavius is just a scientist. Plus, they can’t even handle themselves against that Spider-kid. You think they’ll be a match for the Avengers?”

You know you’re right, but either Hades doesn’t care or has deluded himself beyond the point of return.

Or, you dare think, that he can see beyond what you can. He is immortal, after all. He has to be right at least some of the time, you figure.

Maybe he sees this as a calculated risk he’s willing to take for the endgame.

Hades stands and starts to leave the room. He only stops to tell you, “United we stand…”

--

The event is really lovely, actually. Central Park is full of festivities from one corner to the next. There’s no way to do all of this in a day, you think, but as you watch people actually enjoy their existences again, you know no one cares.

So you stop caring about that, too.

You hear, about midday, that the Avengers will make an appearance in Sheep Meadow at some point later, so you decide to stick around that area for the day.

There are food vendors everywhere. All kinds of different food, too. Smells and sounds rule over the lawn, and for once, New York doesn’t feel like a death sentence. It feels like a place where people live - real people, civilians that have normal, superhero-free lives. It’s not really a place where aliens fall out of portals in the sky and threaten the status quo.

But sometime around 3, the Avengers show up, and suddenly New York is that place. Lightning Guy is living proof of that.

Your eyes find him just as easily as if you actually knew his name. You remember hearing...something about him, a few years back. Before the Manhattan attack.

He’d shown up somewhere West, claiming to be a Space Prince while he paraded around after an astrophysicist and her little team. Something had attacked there, too, but he’d defeated it. He had to, otherwise, he wouldn’t be standing across the lawn from you with his dangerous friends surrounding him.

Why he hadn’t gone home then, you couldn’t say. But he’s still here, on Earth, causing more and more damage to buildings and people and a way of life he only just acquainted himself with.

Tony Stark signs autographs. You only notice because you force yourself to stop looking at Lightning Guy. You watch Captain America, now without his stupid winged helmet, pose for a Charlie’s Angels picture with two women he probably doesn’t know. But they fawn over him once the picture is taken, and you roll your eyes.

Falcon and...the other birdman stand off behind the more well-known members of the team. You decide to go in for them, first.

“Some crowd,” you say as you sidle up next to Falcon.

He smiles down at you - a playful look, clearly intrigued by your approach - and nods. The other birdman doesn’t seem to care much, which works just as well for you.

“One of the bigger ones, believe it or not,” Falcon says to you, shrugging like it’s no big deal.

“And yet, you’re unattended to,” you say, attempting polite banter like you know Hades is expecting out of you. “‘S a shame. You’re one of my favorites.”

To be fair, he kind of is. He wasn’t around for the Battle of Manhattan. He did help take out that government facility in D.C. a while back, but you’d heard it’d been infiltrated by Nazis. So, for that, you forgive him.

Generally, he’s one of the lesser-known, newer members of the team. He seems much more approachable, much more amenable. And when he asks, his smirk growing by the second, “Oh, am I, now?” you can’t help but laugh a little at his enthusiasm.

It’s genuine laughter you’re feeling, for the first time since...everything. You know it because your stomach already hurts from just this little muscle contraction. The feeling is foreign and that is...somehow unfair.

But you manage to nod. “Those other guys are overstated,” you say with a shrug. “I like the ones that feel more like...us, you know?”

And he nods, too. “I do,” he says, and you believe him. You appreciate the gap in between his front teeth - it’s kind of adorable, truthfully - as he holds his hand out to you. “Sam Wilson.”

You place your hand in his, and he lifts it to his lips to place a chaste kiss on your knuckles. He’s quite the charmer.

“(Y/N),” you say back, forgoing the your surname because, really, does an Avenger need to know that? Even if he is one of the only ones you like? “And thank you for your service.” You’d read somewhere that he used to be in some branch of the military, so you let him take the compliment however he wants.

“‘Course,” he says. And then, after a beat, “I hope you’re enjoying such a lovely day.”

You know Hades would say to lay it on thick, here, to distract at least some part of the team. You try not to be too thick as you respond, “It’s much better now.”

But, of course, that’s when another person joins your group. You might be okay if it was just another fan asking Sam for an autograph or a picture or something, but no. You don’t have that kind of luck.

Lightning Guy steps up, clad in a plain shirt beneath an open plaid button-down and a pair of light jeans. Sans-armor, the guy is still huge and still looks like he’d be an absolute boulder in a fight. Formidable - that’s the best word you can come up with.

But there is something...a little more personable about his smile. You don’t let yourself fall for it, but you at least acknowledge it.

“Ah, (Y/N),” Sam says, “you know Thor, of course.”

Right you think. He’s the Norse God. You used to think he just borrowed the name, but then you’d seen an interview on the Today show one morning where he’d confirmed that he and the legend are one and the same. Now you remember.

“We’ve met, haven’t we?” Thor says, giving you a curious glance.

You wonder if you should tell him. You don’t really blame him for not recognizing you immediately - you’d only met the once, only for a few minutes, and under very different circumstances. You are now sans golden dress, sans glowing skin, and sans uncomfortable sandals.

But he is unforgettable. For more than one reason, more than just the fact that he’s an Avenger and a Space Prince.

It’s those eyes. Lightning Eyes, to match his power.

Working with Hades for so long has left the impression that you can tell a lot about people by their eyes. And Thor’s are...a dreamy, warm shade of blue that reminds of you storms.

“We have,” is all you say. You think giving too much away right now might cause problems down the line, and you have a distraction to be the cause of.

He holds his hand out, just like Sam did. You shake it, but he doesn’t kiss your knuckles like Sam did. His kind of charm is different - not showy in the same way, but still a little over the top. Everything about him is over the top, though.

Thor sizes you up as you pull your hand back. You ignore the pang of something that crawls up your fingers, passes your elbow, and stings your shoulder at the lack of contact.

“Oh, you have?” Sam asks, his smirk turning cocky as he raises a brow and turns to Thor.

It takes him a moment, but he must find something remarkably memorable in your face. His eyes widen and he almost takes a step closer before stopping himself. Then his brows drop and his expression turns colder, clouds filling his blue eyes with gray.

“You were the woman with Doom the other night,” he says.

Sam turns back to you, the glee on his face slowly fading. He was there that night - you saw him, briefly, on your way out, but he hadn’t thought to look in your direction then.

“I was.” You cross your arms and lean back a bit. “And I’ve been wondering why you and your friends burst in on my business.” You say it seriously, but not without tipping your head a little flirtatiously. You’re not angry - just curious, and, again, a distraction.

Briefly, you wonder when Hades is gonna put whatever his plan is into action.

“Saving the city, as we do,” Thor answers. He’s still a little put off, but now he’s just as coy as you are. You ignore the fact that you kind of like going toe-to-toe with someone that looks as intimidating as he does. “We were wondering what a lady, such as yourself, was doing with him.”

“I’m sure you were,” you say.

And now neither of you have given anything away. You almost know what the Avengers were called in for - it’s not like Victor Von Doom is known for being a safe man. But you’ve been trying to figure out exactly what was going on at that party that would require Captain America’s presence.

You’ve almost forgotten Sam is still beside you. Sam Wilson, Falcon, an actual hero and celebrity, and you’ve more or less pushed his existence into the back of your mind.

That is, until he clears his throat and steps between you and Thor, muttering, “I’m gonna let y’all have your moment I guess,” before moving on to stand with the rest of the team.

Thor won’t take his eyes off you, and you won’t take yours off him. You can feel your chest and neck heat up, but you don’t do anything to signify it’s happening to Thor. He can’t know. You won’t even admit to yourself that he’s the cause of the flush.

“You could’ve been hurt,” he says, unaffected. Not like someone that would actually care if you had been hurt, but just as a matter of fact.

You shrug. “I wasn’t. Like I said, I knew what I was doing.”

You can see in his eyes that he doesn’t believe you. They never do you think. But that’s why you’ve sworn off men.

Well, that and the whole Rick situation. But now’s not the time to dig that mess out of its grave.

Thor gives you a not-at-all-inconspicuous once-over, but his eyes settle on yours again. That’s new you think.

“You’re not quite like many Midgardian women I’ve met, I must admit.”

You lean on one hip, absolutely hating that kind of line. But because he’s still looking you in the eyes, and because you’re now too enthralled in this tête-à-tête, you let him explain himself.

One more thought for you to ignore: you’re breaking every single rule you’ve given yourself over the last few years in regards to attractive men.

“Most are far more forthcoming.”

At that, you laugh. Not because Thor’s wrong, but because he’s probably right. You can’t speak for everyone, but you know you’ve become a secretive, manipulative person. It’s not like you’ve had much of a choice, post-Rick’s Resurrection.

“Good for them,” you respond.

Something in his face changes - his expression flattens into confusion, but it doesn’t seem to be pointed at you anymore. It’s like he can hear something far off, that he knows something isn’t right.

You know it, too. And, truth be told, you’re glad Hades is finally barging in.

But just like your body craved Thor’s touch after he shook your hand, you need him to look at you again. The second his lightning eyes are focused on the shaking ground, on the direction from which the vibrations are coming from, you want to pull him back to you. Not as a distraction, but for you.

Instead, he lifts an arm and holds his palm outstretched, as if he’s waiting for something. The sky darkens, and the distant vibrations get closer as screams are heard from blocks away.

A blast of air shoots past you, cut off only when Thor’s meaty fist wraps around the handle of a large, heavy-looking hammer. It’s edges are slanted and the markings look Scandinavian if you have to guess.

A flash of lightning, and Thor is no longer in civilian clothes. Scaled armor shines down his arms. His chest is covered in a dark chestplate that match dark pants that do nothing to hide the curves of his calves. Not that you’re looking or anything. A long red cape billows as the wind picks up around the park and the skies fill with heavy, burdened clouds.

You don’t even have time to move. Thor is off, flying through the air toward whatever Monster Hades has conjured. You don’t want to see the fight - not really - but you can’t force yourself to turn away.

Sam shoots you a look as you stand, stoic and observant, but ultimately chooses his team over some weird chick he only met moments ago.

People all around you are running. A huge purple beast peaks through the park, shaking everything in its wake that it does not automatically destroy. It’s claws are as long as your body, it’s teeth as sharp as broken glass. It yells in a terrible, metallic noise that rings in your ears.

The Avengers go after it. Most of them do, anyway. War Machine, to your surprise, stays on the ground and helps corral people away. Black Widow does, too, especially when she gets a look at War Machine falling behind.

You take in the running, the screaming, the looks of utter terror. For a second only, you let yourself feel guilt.

Because in the next second, you back up. You turn around and walk right into a black suit with a silk navy pocket square sticking out of the blazer. Your thoughts automatically shut off as Hades put his arm around your shoulders, despite you having told him time and time again how much you hate him touching you.

He steps lightly but quickly, zooming past the crowd, around screaming people that you have to block out. You need to.

Hades lives for the Dead. He loves the sound of screaming humans. Loves the idea of disaster, because disaster almost always means more bodies to fill up his dark, twisted world.

But you are not a God of the Underworld. You are not a being of the Underworld at all - not in theory or practice. Even if the God of the Underworld owns your soul, even if he’s tethered you to his kingdom, you are still a human, and you cannot live with yourself if you idly watch people die, knowing it’s your fault.

You’re just about to head into another section of the park when Hades stops. He looks over his shoulder as you try to regain your footing - transporting via God isn’t always the easiest thing to put a human body through.

A crash of thunder. A roar louder than the rest - much more easily recognizable as a person, rather than a monster. Raindrops pelt at you, slowly but heavily.

Then, silence.

It lasts a beat before the murmuring. You turn around, too, and realize that Thor is no longer around. Every human being has stopped moving - even the purple Monster has stopped moving, though it looks much more satisfied than anyone else around you.

A woman screams. A child cries. Hades chuckles.

His favorite kind of soul is the immortal kind. You still have trouble grappling with that idea.

Lightning breaks out across the sky. The storm is suddenly furious, the wind coming so fast it could knock you down if you weren’t being held up by Hades.

And then the lightning springs from inside the Monster. Its yelling is cut off, as is its elongated neck from its head.

You step away from Hades to get a better look.

Thor stands on the decapitated corpse, hammer raised, innards hanging off of his limbs and armor. Even from your distance, you can see he’s breathing is labored.

The crowd cheers. You take another step forward, unable to help the smile that comes over you. There’s a warmth in your chest that you can only deny because you’re wearing a jacket over your t-shirt.

But before you can rush over to the Avengers, before you can celebrate with the other humans around you, Hades catches up to you. His hot hand rests on your shoulder, and just as quickly, he brings you back to the Underworld.

[iphoenixrising]

Tim having to choose between Jason and Dick. Please! I've had a long week and I NEED this.

Aww, babe! Sigh. Normally I wouldn’t do this, but I do want you to be happy

**

“D-Don’t make me do this,” is a little too breathy, a plea.

On his right, Jason Todd is pulling off the Red Hood helmet, decked out his bodysuit and armor. The jacket he usually wore is around Red Robin’s shoulders at the moment since some vigilantes can’t mind their own fucking business. 

“Timmy,” is all Nightwing on his left, kneeling down with a hand outstretched. “I’m right on this one. You should come back to the Manor with me and get patched up, okay?”

Red shudders, imagining never getting out.

“Don’t gotta go wid’ Golden Boy, you feel me, Red? Maybe youse could crash with me instead. I’ll take good care a’ ya, yeah?” The darkness in Hood’s tone, the utter promise is enough to make his knees just that much more weak. If he hadn’t just been pummeled by baddies, he might be a little more up to the task.

“Look,” he holds up a placating hand, “I have a place to crash. This really isn’t–”“You’re bruised to all hell!”“You look exhausted.”“Ya need ta eat something fer fuck sakes!”“I will cuddle you until you fall asleep. I swear, Tim.”

Ironically, it’s the two men he’s utterly weak for asking him to essentially be their Robin. 

(The though makes him so much hotter than it should. Good God what’s wrong with him? Sleuthing and after-care of a shitty night, not old wants buried under years of thinking he’d never get the chance, with either of them.)

“I think I’ve mentioned I’m not anyone’s responsibility,” he replies quietly.“And what if it isn’t about responsibility?” N raises a brow over his dom, finally reaching over enough to wrap his fingers around Red Robin’s wrist, rub soothing circles with his thumb. 

“What if that ain’t the reason at all?” Hood follows up, taking the precious few steps forward, takes a knee beside Nightwing to grip his other hand. “What if it’s a whole ‘nother reason entirely?”

That must be one hell of a concussion, he thinks crazily, blinking at Hood and then at Nightwing, then back, then back again.

(V... Victor, after Victor Von Doom. Fuck yeah.)

The roof in the middle of Gotham feels so small and crowded, the air almost gone, sucked out of his lungs.

“I...I don’t–” get it died in his throat.

“You’ve been back for a while now,” Nightwing starts gently, “it’s just... you’ve become this amazing person, this vigilante, and we both–”

“–Want ‘cha,” Hood interrupts. “Ain’t Robin no more, ain’t a kid. Way ya move, way ya take ‘em down, Timmers? That’s a whole lotta somethin’ ta see.”

“You can’t really blame us,” Nightwing’s hand tightens just a little, just a squeeze, “even Ra’s wants a piece of you, and that guy has some standards.”

“I can’t... I mean–!”

“S’all right, Timmy,” and Jay leans in just a little. “Just gotta tell us what ‘cha wanna do. Gonna go with me...or Dick?”

Red Robin breathes out and has the urge to say, why not both? But wow, just the thought of the two of them together was enough to get him panting.

He gives an apologetic look at Nightwing, “there’s no way I can go back to the Manor,” and then to Hood, “or your safehouse. I’m going to my Perch and patching myself up.”

It takes all the willpower in his body to stand up out of their hold, take a step back, a step away. “Once I’m less...concussed, I’ll be able to actually think.”

And so what if he basically runs away, firing a grapple while the two of them are yelling at him to stop, come back. So what if he’s cursing his extreme stupidity at saying fucking no to BOTH of them. 

The regret in the morning, is going to be real.

But at least he’s got coffee and sweats, bandages on his upper body and his systems to run while seriously trying not to bemoan his life choices.

It’s really just a coincidence when his window slides up and the Red Hood climbs in his window, smirking at him with the whiteouts up.

Tim’s eyes dart to the jacket he’d unconsciously laid over a chair when he came in, but as Jason Todd pulls off the domino, stalks over to him with eyes so fucking dark and hips moving, thighs flexing, looking predatory, Tim swallows and crosses his arms over his bare chest with a shiver.

It really doesn’t take much effort for Jay to box him in considering he’s taller, broader, has the tendency to loom. 

“Gotcha text, Timmy, n’ here I am,” those eyes are dark, full of something like heat. “Gonna make it worth the wait?”

And they’re so close, close enough to feel the breath over his mouth, to let his eyes go down to the full lower lip, to let himself sigh.

“I...I thought you’d want your jacket back,” is breathy, just this side of breaking.

“Mm. Ain’t all I want, you feel me, Sweets?” and Jay lets his eyes sweep over him slowly, licks his lip in anticipation. 

It’s so shameless he has to laugh a little, “I don’t know, Jay. I’m hurt, a little concussed. I might need someone to take care of me.”

His knees knock a little when Jay’s arm slides around his wait, pulling him up against that broad chest, the other hand tilting his chin up while his lashes flutter. 

Just before Jay leans down, just before they start the night out right, that smirk is wider, full of all kinds of scenarios, “aw, Timmy. I think I can definitely take care a’ ya right nice. Gonna make sure yer too busy ta feel anything other than good.”

And while the kisses get heated, the body suit gets stripped down to the waist, the bruises sucked into his throat, while Jay is carrying him down the hallway with long, powerful strides, Tim can’t think about Dick’s hopeful expression or the grip on his wrist, can’t think of what could have maybe been. Instead, he stays grounded in Jay’s mouth, Jay’s body, Jay’s touch. He writhes and moans, pleads and sighs, he can’t let himself be had. 

(And maybe if some small part of him wonders how it would feel if it were Dick's hands and mouth and cock instead, well, Jay would never have to know.)

[mistressdoomm]

Dark Reign (Loki/Doctor Doom)

Chapters: 1/? Words: 1,573  Summary: After Loki lost his fight against Thor he decides to visit the infamous Doctor Doom. He wants to cooperate with Doom to finally defeat his brother Thor and take over Asgard. Warnings: none A/N: It’s my first fanfiction. Let me know if you like it. Enjoy!

In this fanfic:

the action takes place after Thor movie 

the attack in New York never happened 

Loki didn’t have a deal with Chitauri/Thanos. 

Latveria, Doomstadt, Castle of Doctor Doom   

Doctor Doom was sitting alone in the throne room. He was drowned in his own thoughts when all of the sudden a loud noise returned him to reality. He noticed a large magic portal which appeared in the middle of his throne room. Victor knew something or someone was coming from the other side but he didn't know its intention. He clenched his fists where magic energy appeared around his fists. He got up from the throne ready to attack the intruder. 

A quick thought appeared in his mind who would be that stupid to attack Doom

No matter who that would be it'll meet only death from his hand, because someone dared to disturb him. Victor noticed a movement from the portal. 

He saw a tall man, who was emerging from the other side of the portal. Mysterious man took a few steps and now he was in his castle. The man had a golden helmet with horns on his head. Although he wore the helmet his black hair was visible, resting on his shoulders. Stranger was wearing golden armor decorated with green and black farbic. Intruder’s green eyes pierced through Victor, emotionless expression focused on him. Seriousness on his face was suddenly replaced with a large smirk.

Despite the fact that Doom never met this man in his entire life he knew who he was. Victor knew him from norse mythology, he read about him, Thor and their home - Asgard. There wasn't anything that he wouldn't know about norse mythology, but Doom never thought he would face Loki the God of Mischief in his own homeland even in his own castle.

Before Loki could say anything Doom's castle defenses aimed at him. Loki raised his hands in a gesture of surrender very amused from the welcome.

“That is how mortals greet a guest?” Loki spoke still amused by the situation.

“No, that's how Doom welcomes intruders who trespasses his land without his permission” Victor answered crossing arms on his chest. 

Loki laughed when he heard Doom referring to himself in third person. 

He studied Victor in silence for a moment. His green eyes met tall man dressed in a metal suit of armor with green cloth and cape on it. His head was covered with a hood casting a shadow on his face. Loki couldn't see it, because of metal mask covering his features. The only thing Loki could see was Victor's bored brown eyes, which showed no emotions. Doom just watched him carefully from his armor already tired of this man’s presence.

“There is no need for that. I come in peace, but looks like you have no idea mortal, who is standing in front of you” Loki spoke mockingly “so let me introduce myself. I am...” he was interrupted by Doom.

“I know who you are. You are Thor's brother - Loki.” Loki rolled his eyes at the mention of Thor. “..Prince of Asgard. God of mischief. Son of frost giants Laufey and Farbauti. Rightful king of Jotunheim” Victor answered confidently.

Loki couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was he the only one who didn't know about his parentage? Even mortals knew he was a frost giant. 

What an irony he thought.

He smiled at Doom. “So my fame precedes me on Midgard” Jotun spoke confident still smiling.

“Not quite” Doom retorted.

Trickster chuckled and raised an eyebrow “How's that? You seem to know me”

“Yes, but most people believe it as a fairy tales. So they don't believe in your existence. Doom read norse mythology that's why Doom's knows you” Victor explained with metalic sound in his voice.

After a moment of consideration king of Latveria came to conclusion that God of Lies was no threat to him. He gave a signal to lower the weapons aimed at Loki as he sat on his throne. 

Loki had time to finally look around Doom’s castle.The room they were in was dark with cold stone walls. green curtains covered the windows almost entirely- light barely peeking through them. The atmosphere was eerie and mysterious. A few paintings hanged on the walls depicting portraits of Von Doom. Dictator rested on his throne with red upholstery and golden additions to it. He sighed with impatience, drumming his fingers on armrest of throne waiting for Loki to explain his presence.

Doom doesn’t like his time being wasted

Frost giant eventaually ended admiring his surroundings, turned around and locked his eyes with Victor’s.

Then he finally broke the silence 

“Well, I must say I have learned about you too, Victor Von Doom” he spoke proudly.

After lost fight with Thor in Asgard Loki understood that Thor is too powerful for him alone. He can't fight Thor if he's on Asgard but if Thor will be too distracted on Midgard there is a big posibility that he won't quickly return to Asgard. Loki knew how Thor cared for Earth so he decided to use it for his own advantage. He was way smarter than his brother so he will use it aganist him. Trickster sent Amora the Enchantress on Earth to learn more about so-called  super villains. Amora told Loki that all villains are imprisoned on Midgard. All except one called Doctor Doom. Laufeyson commanded Enchantress to gain more knowledge about Victor. 

Trickster wanted to know more about Doctor Doom before he decided to cooperate with him and that's how they both now met. 

Victor raised his brown eyes to look at him. Loki couldn't read his emotions because Victor's face was hidden behind a mask. He couldn't help but wonder  what is he feeling right now.

After a while Doom spoke “Oh, really? I feel honored?” he said sarcastically. 

Loki chuckled and started slowy walking around Doom's room. 

“Oh, I do. Your real name is Victor Von Doom but in Midgard you're known as Doctor Doom. You are son of Werner and Cynthia Von Doom. I heard you're a king of this country called Latveria. You're also a diplomat, a politician, a scientist and the most interesting - he paused and looked directly at Victor - a sorcerer. I didn't think mortals know magic. Impressive as for mortal” Loki finished with a smug smile on his face. 

“I do not know if I should treat it as an insult or a compliment” Doom spoke angrily looking at Loki. 

“Take that as a compliment” Trickster said with a large smirk. 

Of course he knew more about Doom and scars on his face but he didn't want to test his patience and enrage Latverian. 

Victor decided that he had heared enough from Loki. He wanted to know why Loki visited him here in Latveria. 

“Let's get to the point of this appointment. Why are you here, Loki?” Victor asked without taking his eyes off him. Deep inside he knew the answer. He was sure Loki was planning something aganist his brother or maybe he wanted take over Asgard or maybe both.

That is obvious, predictable Doom thought, but he wanted to hear that from him. 

“I came here to make you an offer” God stated.

Doom leaned his elbow aganist the throne still not taking his stern gaze from Loki. 

Trickster was sure he caught his attention. 

“Does it have to do with your brother, Thor?” Doom asked already knowing the answer.

Loki laughed “Of course, it does. I was looking for suitable partner, but I found out so-called villains with special gifts are in prison for their crimes except you. I figured they can help distract my ‘brother’ from returning to Asgard” Loki said with disguist in his voice when he mentioned Thor. 

There was a silence between them two for a while, but Victor broke it.

“What does it have to to do with Doom?” Victor asked.

“I think we can help each other” Loki said smiling “I know you are not interested in wealth or fame but in power. You want to rule Midgard? You can have it. I only want Asgard. My plan is to free all those villains to keep Thor distracted but there is a problem. Without good leader they will be quickly imprisoned again and I think with their help as your slaves you can get what you truly want. Are you interested in my offer?”

Victor listened carefully the whole time while Laufeyson introduced him to his plan. When Loki finished he was considering his offer for a few moments and then he answered.

“Under two conditions” Doom said looking him in the eye. 

“Yes?” Loki asked with curiosity 

“First- the agreement will become invaild when one of the sides will get in a way of the other. Second- if you try or even think of betraying Doom. I'll kill you” Victor answered threateningly. 

Loki looked at him for a while and then laughed not taking threat seriously, maybe he was hoping Doom was joking but he wasn't. He was deadly serious.

Loki noticed Victor didn't laugh instead he was still looking at him. Loki stopped laughing. 

“I accept your conditions. So deal?” God asked with a smile and he pulled out his hand in gesture of agreement. Victor hesitated for a long moment. His gaze lowered from his face to his extended hand. He finally pulled out his and shook trickster's hand. Loki could feel his cold and strong embrace. 

He smiled to Victor with widening smirk.

"Deal” Doom answered.

[veliseraptor]

So! I was rereading The Vivisection Mambo and I started thinking about Loki's clones, specifically if one had survived and if it had how would that work, if you don't mind sharing?

how you gaze upon my bones, 1.5k, doctor doom & loki

so I’ve had this prompt sitting in my inbox for approximate forever, and finally finished writing the thing I was working on it for it, so HERE ENJOY HAVE A CREEPY FIC, warnings for only mildly gory vivisection, generally creepy content 

this is nominally an au of Remember This Cold but all you really need to know about that is that Loki has been crashing with Doom and being a total asshole to him while Doom fantasizes about vivisecting him and is trying to make Loki clones in his basement.

His first memory was a silver mask with rectangles for eyes and mouth, looking down at him. “Attempt four-hundred and thirty-two,” it said, “success.”

So he knew, from the beginning, that he had been made. Created, deliberately and out of nothing, from the metal mask’s will. Before his name, or anything else, he was aware of that: he existed for one reason, and one reason alone.

Because his creator wanted him to.

**

He was born fully grown. “I did not want a child,” his creator told him. “How tiresome that would have been.” He paused, studying him. “Do you want to know your name?”

“Yes,” he said after a moment, because he could see that his creator wanted him to ask.

“Loki,” he said. “I name you Loki. My Loki.” His metal face showed no feeling, but he - Loki, his god-given name - could hear his pride. “Do you want to know my name?”

“Yes,” Loki whispered.

His maker touched his jaw with his metal fingers, almost a caress. “Perhaps someday I will tell you. When you prove yourself worthy.”

“I will,” Loki said.

“We shall see.”

**

His creator kept him safe in the nursery where he had been born. He examined him daily, weighing and measuring to ensure his health, injecting him with something that made him feel odd and shivery. “What is it?” He asked, and his creator looked at him with hard, cold eyes that made him quail back in fear.

“Why should you need to know?” He said, and if his voice was level it still sent a chill down Loki’s spine. “I tell you it is necessary. That should be sufficient.”

“Of course,” he said quickly, because he knew a warning when he heard it, and if he trusted his creator he knew, too, that just as he had brought Loki into being, so, too, could he destroy him. “I was only curious.”

“Too much curiosity, Loki, can be a bad thing.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed, but the curiosity endured, the dangerous, disloyal wondering, no matter how hard he tried to quash it.

Perhaps his pressing was why his creator tied him down and sucked blood from his veins until he was weak and woozy. Why, he wanted to ask, but it was not his to know. His creator did not need reasons. Loki belonged to him, in totality; blood, bone, and viscera.

“You are a beautiful thing,” his creator said, looking down at him, and Loki smiled giddily back at him.

**

“Why did you make me?” Loki asked, watching his creator at work, examining something under a scope.

“To see if I could,” his creator said, not turning. Loki shifted.

“Is that all?”

His creator paused, turning around. He was not wearing his mask, today, allowing Loki to see his face clearly, his raised eyebrows. “Do I need any other reason?”

Loki hesitated, but his creator seemed in good humor, so he dared further questioning. “No,” he said. “Not need, but...did you?”

His creator examined him, his eyes sharp enough that they seemed to peel Loki’s skin away, like he was looking under the surface. “You have your curiosities,” he said. “I have mine. And making you...satisfied some of them.”

“And the rest?” Loki asked. His creator did not quite smile.

“Soon,” he said, “you will answer the rest.” He stood, approaching Loki, and laid a hand on his chest, above his heart. “I made you. Know that when I unmake you...it will be a worthy sacrifice.”

Loki shivered, his insides lurching. “Can I not be more good to you alive?” He asked, and was ashamed of the hint of pleading in the question.

“For now,” his creator said. “But all things must end. As must you, eventually.”

“What can I do,” Loki asked, “to serve you better?”

His expression chilled. “Do not plead with me, or grovel,” his creator said. “It does not suit you. Have some dignity.”

Loki twitched back and then straightened, lifting his chin. Shame sank its teeth into him. “I will prove myself to you,” he swore.

“You will,” his creator said, “by accepting the truth. Just as you were mine to create, you are mine to destroy. Do you understand?”

Loki swallowed, his chest constricting. You failed, he thought. You failed. This was a test, and you failed it. “I understand,” he said.

“Good,” his creator said. “Then know that it is an honor.”

“An honor,” Loki echoed. Trying to convince himself. He was afraid, and tried to stifle that fear as weakness.

His creator looked at him for a long time, then turned and donned the mask.

“It’s time for your injection,” he said. This time, it seemed there was more, and it left his senses dulled and his head thick. He did not like the feeling, but he tried to resign himself to it. This was what his creator wanted. What he needed.

Who was he to question? No one. Nothing. He would not live except by his creator’s hands.

It was only fair that his death would serve him as well.

**

He had the sense that his creator was waiting for something. Expecting some kind of signal - that he was moving toward taking the final step. Loki found he was not ready.

He found he did not want to die.

When the time comes, will you fight? He asked himself. Will you struggle against him? Will you rebel?

No, he told himself. No. I will never. I am loyal. This is what is meant to be, and I will accept it.

Gradually, he found a kind of peace. A resignation. His creator, Loki knew, was watching. Judging him, perhaps waiting for him to realize that it was not his choice what path he walked - only how he walked it. With dignity, or like an animal - screaming, fighting, futile.

“I understand,” he told his creator, finally. “I am yours. Your creation. Your sacrifice.”

He reached out, touched Loki’s face with bare skin. So rare, and the depth of the favor of it left Loki dizzy. “Yes,” he said, plainly pleased. “Exactly.”

“I am ready,” Loki said, and did not let his voice shake, though the fear still made his heartbeat quicken. But he was not ruled by fear.

His creator looked him in the eye, something burning there that made him shiver. A hunger, like he meant to devour him. “Yes,” he said at last. “I think it’s time.”

**

It hurt.

He did not want to scream. He knew it was an honor, more than that, knew it was his creator’s right - he had made Loki and so all that Loki was belonged rightfully to him. But his body still rebelled and he was grateful for the restraints that kept him from lashing out, from hurting his maker as he opened Loki’s body and took him apart.

His screams angered his creator. In the end, he gagged Loki to silence him, because he could not silence himself. Shame at his weakness, at his failure, burned like fire in his veins.

But then his maker touched something in him and murmured, perfect, and his heart swelled with gratitude that he had not been found wholly wanting.

His creator’s fingers grazed against his heart and Loki felt tears leak from his eyes. He forced them open, panting through his nose, awareness bleeding in and out.

“My name,” his creator said. “Let me give it to you now, Loki, in these your last moments. Even if you will never know what it means.”

Loki stared at him, helpless, voiceless. His heart thudded against the palm of his creator’s hand, faltering beats fighting to go on. Could this truly be his purpose? This pain, this slow agony, this merciless destruction-

It must be. It had to be.

You are mine to create. Mine to destroy.

His creator removed his mask. “My name is Victor von Doom,” his creator said. “And Loki, all that you are is mine.” There was a terrible satisfaction, an awful triumph, written on his face.

**

Loki - for so Victor had begun to think of him, instead of Specimen #432 - exhaled a rattling breath. His heart stopped under Victor’s hand, his body going slack.

He smiled down at the vivisected corpse. There was still more to do - more detailed examinations to perform on this, his first living specimen. The first clone of a god.

But not the last.

He walked across the lab, wiping his hands clean with a towel, and pulled the curtain aside to look at Specimen #433, suspended in fluid, waiting to be woken.

Somewhere above him, Loki prowled the halls, so certain of himself, so full of arrogance, the certainty that he was better than Victor. There was no rush to depose him, now. No rush, but he still would. When he was ready.

Then he would bring Loki - the first Loki, the original - to his knees, face to face with the proof that he was flesh and blood. That Victor had already made and unmade him, again and again. Then, with the power Loki’s secrets gave him, he would wipe him from the Earth. And then he would finish off Thor, and the rest of the pathetic Avengers.

Leaving only Doom.

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, elasarkel!

January 19 - Tony Stark / Victor von Doom (recent comics), something fluffy with protective!Doom after CW, please, for @elasarkel

Written by: @lj-todd

Tony was bent over the specs spread out of the workbench of his lab, frowning, trying to figure out the best way to rewire part of his suit. It would have been easier, much easier, if he were at the Avengers Compound rather than his Hamptons house but, as Victor had pointed out, after everything that had happened, the Civil War as the media had dubbed it, they deserved a break from everything for a few days at least.

There were still moments when Tony had a hard time believing he was really in a relationship with Victor Von Doom.

But Victor was a changed man.

Still brilliant and sarcastic as they came, still sharply cunning, but no longer did he use his intelligence, his powers, for his own villainous desires. He had proven his change by overthrowing the malicious dictator of his home country of Latveria, taking control of the country and bettering it, bettering its people. He had then branched out to other countries, helping those in need, becoming a hero in his own rights.

He had come to Tony nearly a year ago, in the days following that wretched fight in Siberia, seeking to become an ally, someone Tony could rely on if needed and, in the beginning, Tony had refused to believe him. Not until Victor had protected Peter one evening when men working for Mac Gargan had managed to get the better of the young vigilante.

Victor had teleported an injured Peter to the compound rather than a hospital and had assisted the medical staff in treating Peter's injuries. After that Tony had given the man a chance, though still wary, and, somewhere along the way, had fallen for the man.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand slid up his back, fingers curling around the back of his neck. He jerked and looked around, eyes wide, hand reaching for the control bracelet he'd left on the bench only to still when he found Victor standing behind him.

"Christ, Victor," he hissed, shaking his head. "Trying to give me a heart attack are you?"

Victor gave a tiny chuckle, leaning in closer, pressing a soft kiss to Tony's cheek.

"You've been down here all day," he said, sounding only a little petulant about it. "We are supposed to be taking a break, remember?"

"I am, I..." Tony started but Victor gave him a look, eyebrow raised, and he sighed. "I was just trying..."

"To work." Victor shook his head, taking Tony's hand in his, tugging the smaller man away from his work. "We had an agreement, I believe, Anthony. One weekend, just one, where we do nothing but relax and enjoy ourselves."

"But..."

"I will not hear any arguments now, Anthony," Victor said, easily leading Tony from his workshop and up the stairs. Tony was surprised to find the sun was starting to set. He hadn't realized so much time had passed.

"Now," Victor was saying, drawing Tony's attention back to him. "We are going to go for a walk, down along the beach."

Tony couldn't help but laugh.

"A sunset walk on the beach," he teased as he followed Victor out of the house and down the pathway towards the beach. "A little cliché isn't it?"

Victor hummed thoughtfully.

"I would teleport us to Rome or Paris but we agreed this would be an ordinary weekend."

"Could always go to your castle, sweetheart."

It was Victor's turn to laugh as they reached the beach.

"Perhaps at Christmas," he commented, smiling, wrapping an arm around Tony, drawing him against his side. "Give me time to warn Kristoff and the staff."

They laughed together and slowly made their way down the beach. They didn't really talk, merely enjoyed being with one another and trading gentle touches and kisses as they made their way down the beach. Tony felt himself relax more and more with each step, silently happy that Victor had talked him into this little get away, realizing the man might have been right. That maybe, from time to time, they needed to step away and relax.

When they stopped, turning to watch the sun dip low beyond the horizon, the waves lapping gently against the shore, Victor ducked his head, pressing a kiss to Tony's temple, nuzzling at him with a smile even as Tony smiled as he turned his head to share a tender kiss with the man. When they parted Victor combed his fingers through Tony's dark hair, pressing his forehead to Tony's, smiling lovingly.

"I would do anything for you," Victor whispered, lips brushing against Tony's. "I would give you anything. Protect you from everything. You know that, don't you, Anthony?"

Tony couldn't help but smile.

"I'd do the same for you," he whispered back, wrapping his arms around Victor. Victor's eyes were soft, loving, and he started to speak only to frown and jerk his head to one side, gaze going hard and icy as an angry sound ripped from his chest.

Tony let out a startled sound as Victor's power, his magic, wrapped around them in a protective bubble seconds before a shot rang out.

Jerking, Tony turned and saw a young man, wide eyed, old hunting rifle in hand, standing a few feet away. Tony had no idea where the young man had come from and, in that moment, he couldn't find his voice to fire some witty quip. Victor had no such issue.

"Do you not realize who we are," Victor growled out, sounding more like the villain he had been than the man he had worked so hard to become. "Who I am?" Victor moved, stepping through the protective barrier but leaving it around Tony, refusing to risk anything happening to the other man.

"I," Victor snarled, hands twitching, power rolling off of him in waves. "Am Doctor Doom, and no one, man or god or alien, threatens that which is mine." Victor twitched his fingers and, much to the shooter's surprise, the rifle jerked from his hands and flew across the beach, landing somewhere in the sand. Victor slowly lifted his hand and with a fierce blast of energy the young man went flying himself. He landed, in a terrified heap, in the sand and Victor advanced on him.

"I do not care what reasons you may have had for this act of sheer stupidity," Victor growled as he stood over the young man. "If I were still the man who inspired utter terror in all the world I would rip you apart, slowly, piece by piece." His hand twitched and the young man let out a frightened sound, clearly thinking he was about to die, or lose a few body parts. "Count your blessings that I am no longer that man." He flicked his hand and the young man was shoved a few feet through the sand. "Now, get out of my sight before I change my mind and take your apart and feed what remains to the sharks."

Victor stood, watching the young man scramble to his feet, tripping over himself, falling repeatedly back into the sand before he managed to stay upright enough to run away into the gathering darkness.

When Victor turned around the protective barrier around Tony slowly vanishing as he returned, with swift steps Victor covered the distance between them and reached out to pull Tony into his arms, kissing him soundly.

"I told you," Victor whispered when they parted, both breathing heavily, clinging to one another. "I will always protect you, Anthony." Tony smiled and pressed a soft kiss to Victor's lips again.

"Never doubted it for a second, sweetheart."

Victor smiled and, with a bit more flourish than necessary, swept Tony up off his feet, ignoring the way the man squawked about dignity or some such nonsense, before carrying him back towards the house.

[marblesarelost]

Change Your Mind, Change Your Life

                                               Chapter 7

She wasn’t surprised to see Natasha leaning against the wall outside her office at five o’clock that afternoon, half-smirking with worried eyes.  “Kotyonok.”

“Tante.”  That drew the smirk into a small smile as Natasha walked with her to the private elevator, both staying silent until the doors closed before them.  Then ‘Tash slid her hand into Darcy’s, interlocking their fingers.  “He called,” Darcy said quietly.  “At like, five this morning.  To tell me what was going on.  That he had to leave.”

“That was good of him.”

“Yeah.”  Darcy bit her lip.  “It sucks.”

“Yes.”  The elevator stopped, and Natasha stepped out first, her grip firm, leading Darcy to the apartment she shared with Clint rather than going to Darcy’s.  Clint met them at the door with Natasha’s vodka and iced glasses, taking Darcy’s bag and shoving her gently toward the couch.  

“So,” Natasha began after all the glasses had emptied once.  “The date went well?”

“Yeah,” Darcy sighed, holding her glass out for ‘Tasha to refill.  “Really well.  We…shit, I’ve got the party at --“

“Nope.  Secretary of State canceled it, due to the new developments,” Clint interrupted.  “Keep going.”

“We talked about getting together again later this week,” Darcy said after a second.  “We had fun, it was a good time, I mean…I think he likes me. I think he really likes me.”

“Who could not?” Natasha purred.  “You were lovely.”

“He held my hand,” Darcy added, blushing.  “Took his glove off for the second --“ Clint choked, vodka dribbling out over his lower lip, and both Darcy and Natasha looked at him, waiting for him to breathe.

“Wait,” he said between coughs.  “Wait, what?”

“He took his glove off and held my hand?”

“You’ve touched --“ Clint coughed again.  “-- Victor Von Doom?  You’ve touched his skin?  He has skin?”

“Oh for God’s sake, Clint, he’s not Darth Vader,” Darcy sighed, but when she looked at Natasha, she saw how carefully blank her expression was.  “What?”

“Doom doesn’t do that,” Natasha said quietly.  “Doom never takes off his armor in public.  Any part of it.  I have known of him, I have watched him, I have studied him, at various times, for various employers, looking for weaknesses, for slips.  Darcy.  He never, never, removes any piece of the armor at any time.  Not even in his castle.  Perhaps in his bedroom, he is human, he must sleep, but…no.”

“Well, we held hands during the first act, and it was okay.  Kind of weird, because his glove is…it’s metal, but it’s really super flexible. Not uncomfortable, it didn’t bother me or anything.  Then I went to the bathroom at intermission with Jennifer, we came back, we all had some wine, we settled in for the second act…yeah.  Yeah, he had his glove off through the whole second act.  But it was dark, and pretty private.”  Both the spies were looking at her now as if she’d grown another head.

“Well,” Clint recovered first.  “So you guys went out last night and then…”

“Yeah.”  Darcy nodded, slumping backwards against the couch. “Then I got a call at five this morning saying he had to go, that the New Soviet were pushing their luck.”

“And you didn’t come tell us,” Natasha said.  “You just got up and went to work.”

“I asked if he wanted me to get Tony or Steve, he said no.  That the Avengers showing up could make the situation even worse,” she sighed. “My hands were, they are, tied. There’s nothing the Avengers can do. There’s nothing I can do.  It’s up to the Kremlin now.”

Natasha filled her glass again, raised an eyebrow at Clint when he pushed his glass closer.  “You choked.”

“I was surprised,” he retorted.  Natasha snorted, but refilled his glass.  “Thank you.”

“It is after midnight in Latveria now,” Natasha said, picking up her glass.  “Have you heard from him since this morning?”

“No.”  Darcy tried to keep her lip from trembling, and thought she’d done a fairly good job of it.  “He’s probably way busy.”

“No news is good news,” Clint added.  “No news means he’s not out there on the front lines, no news means nobody’s infiltrated Castle Doom.  Because if the New Soviet were able to get an assassin in there, they’d be crowing about it.”

“Were you seen with him last night by anyone?”  Natasha asked suddenly.

“We were at Hamilton, ‘Tash, it was crowded as hell.”  The spies exchanged a look, and Darcy looked back and forth between them.  “What?”

“Take it that you were, then,” Clint said.  “Listen, you don’t leave the building without at least three security agents for a while, okay?”

“What?  No, we had one date, we’ve never been seen together before --“

“Crimson Dynamos,” Clint said brusquely.  “You and ‘Tasha approached him and Namor at the party.  You went inside with him.  You came back out with him.  You’re a legit target, Darce.  At least three agents, I’d feel better if you didn’t go out without an Avenger or an X-Man for a while, to be honest.”

“There were other observers besides the Dynamos,” Natasha added.  “I know there were.  And you had a nice long conversation with him outside, in clear view, while everyone else was busy.  I am not scolding you; I am pointing this out.  They know who you are.  They know he has shown interest in you, and they know that you are a member of our support staff.  You are likely a high priority target now for an extraction and kidnapping team.”

“Christ,” Darcy muttered, holding out her glass again.  “Top me up.”

“He has likely thought of this now as well,” Natasha went on.  “If things went as well as you think they did, it would not surprise me to wake up tomorrow morning to see the building flanked by Doombots.”

“Oh, surely not, he’s got to know what kind of fit Tony would throw over that,” Darcy argued. “You want to talk about a pissing contest, Christ, Doombots versus the Iron Legion, Tony’d go batshit.”  Natasha shrugged, sipping her vodka.  

“Perhaps he will not send them overtly,” she said.  “But if you do not hear from the Latverian Embassy offering you extra security within, say, the next forty-eight hours?  I will be very surprised indeed.  And what do you think that security will be made of?”

“Doombots,” Darcy sighed, collapsing against the sofa.  “God. Tony will be livid.”

“Well, if nothing else, you’ll be able to tell just how much he likes you,” Clint grinned.  “What would you say, Tash?  Three if he’s really into her?”

“I would feel better if he hired someone, but yes, at least three,” Natasha said, stone-faced. “Perhaps the best of both worlds; perhaps --“

“Not Wade.  Just not Wade,” Clint said, looking up at the ceiling and pressing his hands together as if he were praying.  “Oh please God not Wade.”

“You’re both horrible,” Darcy grinned.  “First, again, one date, hello?  Second, he’s got a little more on his mind than me right now.  Third, hiring somebody?  Like who?”

“Deadpool,” Natasha said frankly, and Clint dropped back against the couch, shaking his head violently.

“No, no, no, no, no, not Wade, just not Wade, I don’t care who else --“

“I have heard that Creed is available; who would you rather, then, Deadpool or Sabretooth?”  Natasha asked, raising one eyebrow.  “The worst thing about Wade is that he talks too much.”

“Too much?  He never stops!”  Clint exclaimed.  

“And Sabretooth is apt to lose his humanity and try to kill everyone,” Natasha snapped back.  “Wade will shut up if you are firm enough.”

“What about LeBeau? I’ll call him myself, you’d like Remy, Darce, he’s long and tall and made out of sex,” Clint offered.

“Yes, because her beau is going to hire someone who would try to charm his way into her pants,” Natasha pointed out.  Darcy sat back with her vodka, pleasantly buzzed, waiting for the two spies to stop arguing.

“Guys.  It doesn’t matter because he’s not going to do any such thing,” Darcy said quickly when both of them had paused.  “One date, you guys, I’m not a princess, I’m not anybody important.  He barely knows my name.”

“Would you care to place a wager?”  Natasha offered, and Darcy considered.  If Nat was sure enough that she was willing to bet on it…because Nat didn’t bet unless it was a sure thing.

“Okay, maybe, but at best it’ll be a single Doombot.  I actually think it might be one or two of his Latverian Embassy heavies, if anything at all.”

“We will see,” Natasha said, winking.  “Probably by morning.”

  Intelligence briefings, meetings with his allies and their generals along with his own, working out a cohesive united defensive strategy that would save as many lives and materiel as possible, calculating with his military advisors how much ordnance and how many super tanks and operations teams to drive them could be spared, as well as how quickly the reinforcements would arrive at their destinations, all these things had filled his time from the moment he had arrived home.

Now, however, all that was left was the waiting and the hope that the New Soviet would realize what a mistake they were making; the EU had already issued a condemnatory statement against the aggressive movements and escalation in Ukraine, the UN were trying to open up diplomatic relations.  Hopefully, this would all have been for naught.  For now, all that was left was to wait and see.  He gave orders that he was not to be disturbed save for an emergency, and went to his rooms.  He had been awake for over 24 hours, and though he could remain conscious and coherent for up to four days, he preferred not to if it was not necessary, even if it was only late afternoon.

He took a shower, soaked for a bit, then went to bed, closing his eyes and breathing deeply and rhythmically in order to invite sleep.  Then Darcy’s features passed behind his eyelids, and he sat up, cursing as he picked up the phone beside the bed.  It took several minutes for the international call to go through, but eventually she answered.

“Avengers Initiative, this is Darcy Lewis.”

“Darcy.”  

“Victor,” she said, and he could hear the relief in her voice.  Damn.  

“I hope this is not a bad time,” he began.

“No, no, I just sat down behind my desk.  How are you? Is everything okay?”  

“I am exhausted,” he admitted.  “And once we hang up, I intend on sleeping until either a servant wakes me, or I wake on my own.  But I am well, so far.”

“Good.  Stay that way,” she said firmly, and he had to chuckle at the cheek of the young woman giving orders, even faux-orders, to him. “Seriously, though, I’m really glad you called.”

“As am I.  How are you?”

“I’m okay.  I’ve got a little tiny bit of a headache because I drank too much of Nat’s vodka last night, fair warning, don’t drink with the Black Widow, she can drink anybody but Steve and Thor under the table.”

“I will keep that in mind. You said there was a function you had to attend last night.  Were you able to avoid it, then?”

“Nah, it got canceled. The Secretary of State was too busy with the UN because of what’s going on over there.  It’s okay, I didn’t really want to meet the president’s kids anyway.”  He snorted.

“Inform me if the sons are rude.  The daughter is much better bred; she takes after her mother, the first wife.”

“Oh, I fully expect Junior and Nimrod to be douchecanoes,” she said airily.  “I actually got a gown that covers all the assets just for them.” It took a moment for him to parse what she meant, and his free hand grasped his coverlet tightly at the thought of either of the president’s sons being ungentlemanly with her.

“As I said, inform me,” he repeated himself, carefully keeping his voice steady.  “There are certain business dealings with Chernaya that I will gladly interfere in, should they need a reminder of how well connected you are.” And that reminded him.  “You have not left Avengers Tower, have you?”

“Not since yesterday morning, no, but I’m going to have to eventually.”

“If it would not be too presumptuous, would you do me the kindness of informing the Embassy if you do? They will send a security detail for you.  I have no fear for you within Avengers Tower itself; even if they are called away, Stark’s security team and his technology should be sufficient.”  Too, he would call Stark, he decided.  A subdermal tracker somewhere discreet would not go amiss, if she did not have one already.  She was, after all, an intimate of Prince Thor, and obviously a favorite of the team.

“If it will make you feel better,” she said after a moment.  “Guess I get to tell Nat she was right.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Natasha and Clint said last night they thought you’d want security for me.  Clint doesn’t want me leaving without at least three members of security, or an Avenger.  I told them I thought that was a little…” she paused.  “I don’t know, we’ve had one date, I thought it was a little soon for something like that.”

“In any other time, I would agree.  But this is a time of hostility, and the FSB do not play by the rules.”

“You know the Avengers would come for me, right?”

“That is not the point. The point is that nothing untoward happen to you to begin with.  You are a noncombatant civilian, but that will not stop certain agencies.”

“If it’ll put your mind at ease, sure,” she said lightly.  “You’ve got enough to worry about right now without adding me into the mix.”

“Then I will make the arrangements momentarily.  Thank you for understanding.”

“Oh, I don’t have any problem with being safe,” she laughed.  “You’re welcome.  And you should probably get some sleep, and I’ve got to earn my paycheck, so --“

“Of course.  Was this a good time?  May I call again?”

“Anytime, Victor.  And especially if you have to go add a personal touch, okay?”

“I remember.  Have a good day, Darcy.”

“Good night, Victor.” He hung up, called the New York embassy and gave the requisite orders for her security detail if requested, debated…it was still fairly early…and decided not to call Stark until later. Besides, if push came to shove, there were magical means of finding her.  He was able, then, to lie back and eventually sleep.

  The intelligence that came in overnight was not promising.  The strengthening push into Ukraine, the troops now crossing Belarus, pointed toward the New Soviet’s determination to reconquer the smaller countries.  Belarus could be forgiven; their position was unenviable, and while Victor knew they were playing both sides against the middle, he also knew that they could not possibly stand before the might of the troops currently passing through their country. He gave the orders for the immediate air transport of several brigades of Doombots to help defend Poland’s eastern border, with promises of more as soon as he knew more about the Ukrainian situation.  He also gave the orders for the supertanks, already loaded onto the special express trains, and their operators to make the journey to Lublin and Bialystok for assignment. Those destined for Ukraine and Romania were already en route.

A teleconference with the generals, exhibiting the latest Doombot models and pointing out their strengths, took up a few hours, and then another teleconference with Chancellor Merkel, President Macron, and President Mattarella regarding the efforts the EU had made to convince Russia to stand down.  He did not comment on the absence of Prime Minister May and President Trump; it was only to be expected, after the Brexit, and of course President Trump likely did not even know there were currently tensions.  Nor, to be honest, did Victor think the man would care. Ukraine was far enough away that the U.S. could ignore it, though he had an idea that the First Lady was likely keeping a very close eye on the situation.  She was from the region, after all.

Now he paced in his control center, waiting.  He felt somewhat bound by his determination to change; were he the Doom of five years ago, he would have gone to the front and decimated the armies with a few spells, driven them forth from the soil of his allies and shown no mercy.  He could feel the energy, taste the triumph…but no. “I am not that man any longer,” he growled to himself between gritted teeth.  “I am better.  I am stronger, I am more than I was.”  But the words did nothing to curb his desire to see something destroyed by his hands.

He swallowed his irritation, and began reviewing the currently available freelance enhanced humans or mutants who might be acceptable to Darcy as a bodyguard.  She could not be followed by a Doombot all the time, and while the embassy’s security was top notch, they were all human. He did not like their chances against more Crimson Dynamos or perhaps Black Widows.

Sabretooth was not an option, due to his instability.  Certainly he was supposedly “cured,” but he had seen Victor Creed in his murderous frenzies, and he would not risk Darcy in that manner.  Elektra was a possibility, save for the fact that she had a price of her own on her head, one that would never be called off.  Deadpool was annoying, and too easily distracted.  

He studied videos of the last current possibility for a long few minutes, the high angular cheekbones, the saucy grin, the insolent grace, the lean, muscular body.  His upper lip lifted into a sneer, watching him attempt to charm every woman he met.  Did he dare try to hire this one?  What if Darcy found him attractive?  What if, since he was unable to court her properly right now, she allowed that charm to disarm her?  He pushed himself away from the control panel, paced the room again, glancing every so often at the loop of the man in action leaping to provide cover for a child, defending an elderly man, sweeping a handful of foes into unconsciousness with a few well placed blows.  Finally, he stopped, folding his arms over his chest.  

He was fond of Darcy. She seemed fond of him.  They were not sworn to one another in any way, they had not even begun to scratch the surface of any type of relationship. Hiring someone to guard her was not for his benefit, it was for hers.  Her association with him was what would place her in jeopardy;  he was therefore honor bound to ensure her safety.  Out of the available possibilities, this was the best option.

And besides, if she gave way to the flattering rogue’s charms, if she could not remember who had hired him and why to begin with, then it was simply not meant to be.  He sighed, then picked up the phone.  

  The welding arc flashed blue, hotly hypnotic, as the Clash screamed about knowing one’s rights, the thudding bass enough to feel it in his feet as he worked, mouthing the words along with the song.  He had just finished the line of weld when the song cut off abruptly, and he cut off the welding torch, flipping up his helmet.  “FRIDAY?”

“Sorry, sir, but you didn’t hear me the first eight times I called your name,” his AI said.  “Lord Protector Von Doom is on the line for you.”

“Oh.”  Tony wrenched the helmet off, wiped his forehead on his arm. “How long do I have before Pep wants me for the dinner thing?”

“Two and a half hours, sir.”

“Right, and my alarm is --“

“For an hour and a half from now.  Shall I put Lord Doom through, sir?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, patch him in.”  He laid his tools to the side, got a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and downed it, waiting.

“Mr. Stark.”  Doom’s voice boomed, even when he wasn’t meaning to. He’d have made a hell of a front for a metal band.  Literally, Tony thought to himself, grinning.

“Vic!  Good to hear from you.  How’s Europe?”

“Holding together for the moment.  May I have a word?”

“Sure.  You need a hand out there?  I don’t mind,” Tony offered.  “I owe them a courtesy call after the other night, to be honest.”

“I promise you, Mr. Stark, you are first on the list should reinforcements be needed.  I’m calling regarding Miss Lewis’ current security measures.”  Tony blinked.

“She lives in Avengers Tower, man, we’re not going to let anything happen to her,” Tony began, a low growl of discontent rumbling in his belly.  What, he didn’t think the Avengers could keep her safe?

“I’m well aware, but she does have to leave the tower from time to time, Mr. Stark, and while your security teams are top-notch, they are human,” Doom said.  “Humans, unenhanced humans, well trained humans, are very well and good against most of the FSB or human extraction teams.  I am more concerned for mutant and enhanced threats. I have a bodyguard candidate in mind for her.  I am calling to ask if I might rent the gentleman a suite of rooms in the Tower, so that he is always at hand.  This is only temporary,” he added.  “Until the unpleasantness here is over, and the New Soviet come to their senses.”

“Who’ve you got in mind?” Tony asked, taking another swallow of his water.

“Remy LeBeau. Gambit.”  Tony choked, coughed, had to catch his breath.

“I thought he was upstate? In Westchester?”  He said when he could speak again.

“No.  He has left Xavier’s team, and is currently working as a freelance operative in Quebec City.”  

“Not New Orleans?”

“I believe he is persona non grata in the Crescent City at the moment.  Something to do with the Assassin’s Guild.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, um.  Let me put you on hold for just a minute so I can check the availability, okay?”

“Certainly.”  Tony made a cutting gesture over his throat at one of the cameras, and Billy Joel’s “Vienna” began to play, signaling that Doom was on hold.  “FRIDAY? Do we have anything?”

“The guest floor below the Avengers’ floor is currently empty, sir,” came the lilting answer. “The current market value for one of the guest suites is approximately $15,000 per month, due to the space, the limited availability of rentals in New York, and the location.”

“Okay.  Bring him back on.”  The music cut again.  “Vic, you there?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” came the irritated reply, and Tony grinned to himself.  

“Yeah.  I’ve got some room, I’ll cut you a deal because it’s for Artoo.  Eight grand a month, it’s a two bedroom suite with a hell of a view, access to the Avengers’ workout area and communal areas if he wants it.  Comes furnished, top of the line electronics, utilities, cable, and delivery service included.”

“Acceptable.  I will call you back after I speak to Mr. LeBeau,” Doom said after a second.  “I deeply appreciate your courtesy in this matter.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Tony said easily.  “Let’s do doubles next time you’re in town, me and Pep, you and Darce, huh?”  A long pause.

“I have no objections. Thank you again.”

“Sure thing. Later.”  He made the motion again, and the call cut off.  “FRIDAY.  Make sure one of the suites is deep cleaned,” he ordered.  “I don’t know when he’ll show, so, let’s get on it.”

“Yes, sir.  Shall I have groceries delivered as well?”

“No; wait on that until we know when.  Work up an invoice for the Latverian Embassy at eight.”

“Yes, sir.”  Tony hefted his helmet up, slid it back on his head, tightened the belt.  

“How much longer do I have to play, FRIDAY?”

“Approximately one hour, eighteen minutes, sir.”

“Awesome.  Bring back the tunes.”  

“You have the right…to free speech…as long as you’re not dumb enough to actually TRY it!”  The music picked back up right where it had left off.  Tony grinned, flipping his hood down and re-lit the welding torch, bending back over his work.

...STAY TUNED, TRUE BELIEVERS...

[justjessame]

Early Warning Chapter 1

When Riley Richards was four years old, she told her older brother Reed that he was going to one day be able to see a star in person. He laughed at her and said she was mad. When she was six, she told him that he was going to fall off the balcony of their grandparents' roof in the country two years from that day, and he told her that she was completely barmy.

Two years later, he was in the emergency room with his arm in a cast, having fallen off the balcony after being dared by the neighbor to try to balance himself on the balcony edge. She tried very hard not to tell him she told him so, but she failed.

Riley Richards wasn't all that different from Reed Richards. She was dark haired and light eyed. She was highly intelligent, although her intelligence wasn't maths and science based. She was far more literature, writing, and creativity based. While he was more literal and had more dry humor, she was by far more sarcastic and had a more playful way about her. Her empathy and ability to "see" what was coming was more pronounced, even with Reed's urge to be at the forefront of technology.

While Reed was dating Sue Storm, Riley was attending the best boarding schools and colleges their family's money and her intelligence could provide. She met Sue a time or two. They got along alright. The majority of Riley's interaction with Reed's contemporaries was with Ben Grimm. In Ben she found a kindred soul, a person who didn't see a little girl playing pretend. Ben took stock in what Riley said she felt and saw. He took her warnings seriously and also allowed for her playfulness. He could also see that she felt a protectiveness for her older brother, even if Reed didn't.

Of the people scheduled for Reed's experiment being bankrolled by Dr. Victor von Doom, only Johnny Storm and von Doom are unknown to Riley. And of those two, von Doom gives Riley the most anxiety. She knows that Reed won't listen, but Ben will. And so, here she is, landing on Reed's doorstep, weeks before the experimental trip into space is set to commence. She's praying that her darling brother will for once just go with the flow and let her visit go unattested.

Approaching the Baxter Building, Riley is once again taken by the size. She wonders again why her parents bothered cutting her brother off. Their wealth is vast, even by most American standards, but they wanted their children to eventually be "self-made". Understandable, but Reed is a genius. Even if he has some pie in the sky ideas, eventually one would have panned out. Riley knew this, but her parents also believed in tough love. The lights will eventually go out in this building. How sad.

"Not on my watch," Riley whispered, entering when the doorman held the door. Her bags were being held until she sent for them. She only hoped it wouldn't be too long of a wait. Walking to the elevator, she was happy to note that they still had an operator. "Penthouse, please."

She exited at the top floor, and was chuckling to herself as she smelled what could only be described as ozone. Reed would forever be associated with that smell. "Reed?" She called, hoping he'd do his own version of Marco Polo. "Where are you brother mine?"

"Riley?!" She heard his voice coming from the direction of what appeared to be the kitchen. "What the dickens are you doing here?" His head popped up from under the countertop. "Did the parents send you?"

She laughed, seeing his hair sticking up undignified in every direction. "God no, do you honestly believe that Mother and Father would send me anywhere?" She shucked off her jacket and tossed it in the general direction of a chair where it landed perfectly. "What in the hell are you doing?" The kitchen, if that's the room they were in was a disaster. Everything was tossed. If he was looking for something in particular, he hadn't found it, or if he had, she couldn't tell.

"I'm trying to get ready for my trip," he said, standing up from where he'd been crouched. "I have a list of everything that needs done around here. And I'm trying to get to all of it."

Riley perched on a stool at the counter, careful of the mess. "Dear God, tell me what you're crossing off that's causing mass destruction?" She said, gesturing around her. "Or are you adding whilst subtracting?"

Reed groaned, realizing his little sister was correct in her deduction. He had been fixing a slight leak in the plumbing and created a complete disaster. Shaking his head, he returned to his question of why she was in front of him. "Don't distract me. Why are you here?" He said, tossing the wrench on top of the mess and grabbing a stool to sit next to her.

"I heard you were heading to space, dear brother." She said, turning to face him. The better to ignore the mess. "I thought I'd offer to house sit for you." She glanced around his mess. "I may even buy you one of those cute signs or welcome mats 'bless this mess'." She gave a shudder.

Reed found himself chuckling despite himself. His little sister had arrived just when he needed her for once. Dear God, when had he last seen her? "I think I may have missed you, Riley." He said, pulling her in for a hug that surprised them both. "I need time to get everything together, and Ben has to get his aggravation under control."

"What's got Ben's panties in a bunch?" Riley asked, raising an eyebrow as she pulled away from the hug. "He gets to pilot a shuttle into space. He should literally be over the moon."

One look at Reed's face and she knew. Ben wasn't going to be the pilot. The hotshot, Sue's brother was going to be the pilot. Crap, no wonder, she could pick up the stress and anxiety of this trip before she'd even landed on this continent. Ugh, well at least Ben was getting to spend the last bit of time with his fiance Debbie.

"Alright, well, you take the time to get your scientific hoo hah together." Riley said, as Reed rolled his eyes at her very scientific term. "I'll take the time to find people to make sure your 'honey do' list is completed." Before Reed could argue, she held up a hand. "Reed, you aren't the only Richards with a trust fund. And I haven't touched mine, yet."

She smiled as he gave her an exhausted nod. "Is it alright if I call and have my bags sent?" She asked, making sure permission was granted. Another nod. "Good, now call Ben and tell him that little sister is here, and make sure he knows I want at least lunch before the final farewell to you lot!"

As Reed went off to make his phone call, and before she sent word for her bags to be sent, Riley took a deep breath. She hoped against hope that her feelings of panic were wrong, but she knew that they weren't. Something bad was going to happen. Something she couldn't stop, not even with warning. All she could do was be here for the fallout. And that's what she fully intended to do. That and warn Ben. Why? Because Ben was in the most danger, of that she was absolutely sure.

[tisfan]

To Victor Goes the Spoils

To Victor goes the Spoils | A Stark Reminder | Doom’s Day Scenario| Stark Truth | Doom and Despair | Stark Raving Mad | Victory March

A/N: My goodness, it’s been a while since I’ve worked on this fic... that being said, I have the next 2 chapters pre-planned and I know what’s going to happen. Because chapter nine will end on a bit of a cliffhanger, and I don’t want to leave you guys hanging that long, I’ll get both chapters done before I post. Thanks to all of you for your patience. I do love this pairing so much! (This chapter picks up EXACTLY where chapter seven left off)

Chapter Eight -- Voice of Doom

“You admit this?” That wasn’t even Steve, that was Nat.

For a brief, glorious moment, Tony thought he’d actually shocked Captain Self-righteous into shutting up.

“The evidence seems fairly compelling to me,” Tony said. “And I’ve never claimed to be a hero; that was something fantastical and kinda cool in the beginning label that I got stuck with. I know who I am. Hero’s not one of the words. So… theoretically speaking, I can’t really stop being something I never was.”

Clint crossed his arms over his chest and scoffed. “You’ve been soakin’ up the hero gig since the beginning, Stark. Tell it to someone who wasn’t an assassin.”

Tony didn’t even bother to grace that with a reply. As the Merchant of Death, he’d been responsible for so many more deaths than Legolas could have hoped, even with an army of Gimlis to compete with.

“It doesn’t matter what you call yourself,” Steve said, tapping the page. “This is unacceptable. You’re compromised, Stark.”

“You’re probably right.” Tony took another sip of his coffee.

“All right, then,” Steve said, blinking in surprise. He wasn’t used to Tony agreeing with him. Or even being less than wordy about his agreement. “So, what are we doing about it?”

Tony very placidly drank the last bit of his coffee. Placed the cup on the counter, just so. Blinked. “I don’t know what you’re doing, Captain. I don’t think I’m part of we anymore.” He made a general hand-circling motion, indicating the Avengers. He wasn’t sure he’d ever, really been a part of we, but he’d pretended for a while, and sometimes the rest of them had gone along with it. “As a decent landlord, I’ll have your termination of lease written up, sixty days. That should give you time to find new digs, or negotiate with SI for continued rental of the building. I’m sure the UN will come through with funding for you anytime now.”

“You’re kicking us out?” That was Bruce and Tony felt a pang at that; Bruce had never done anything to him, aside from vanish just when Tony needed the support, and truly, Tony didn’t blame him for that. (Mostly.)

“Well, some of you may have an easier time negotiating use of space than others,” Tony said. He’d make a note in the file.

“You can stop being pedantic any time now, Stark,” Steve said. “What do you plan to do about Von Doom being in the Tower. I assume you invited him here.”

Tony nodded. “I did,” he agreed. “We needed to talk, and this was a convenient neutral ground. Although perhaps less neutral than I’d expected at the time. I was, mistakenly, it seems, under the impression that I could have whatever guests I wanted in my home.”

“I didn’t know villains counted as guests.”

(More below the cut, or read the whole fic at A03 [cha 8])

“This is pointless,” Victor said. He appeared out of nothing. There was no flash or portal or dramatics. One moment he wasn’t there and the next second it was like he had been there since the beginning of the conversation. For all Tony knew, he had been. Invisibility was probably one of the first things a person learned in Magic 101, World Conquering for Beginners. Just because Victor was no longer pursuing a job that utilized his degree, it didn’t mean he couldn’t use the skills he’d developed.

Tony jerked, ready to defend, to protest, to--

What the actual fuck?

Steve was standing, mouth still open like he was arguing. Unmoving.

“The hell?”

“We are between the moments, love,” Victor said. “Time here… is infinite. Were it possible to age here, you could grow old, die, and be dust all before the good captain here could draw another breath.

“Is this how you’re so fast, when you fight?”

“No,” Victor said. “As pretty as it might seem, this ability takes too long to use. And, for most things, it is useless. We cannot interact with anything in the momentary stillness. No door will open, no glass will break. You cannot harm anyone. All it can be used for is time to think, and to move yourself.”

He waved a hand. “They have not seen me. When I break the spell, you will simply vanish in front of Captain Rogers.”

“How’d you know we were arguing?”

Victor chuckled. “I am a very smart man, my love. I did not know. I merely surmised. I came down here, between the moments, that I might not attract attention and saw the way they were all turned on you.”

He drew Tony aside, showing what the scene looked like from the outside; every single one of the Avengers was firm-focused on the spot where Tony had been, expressions everything from mildly concerned (Bruce) to furious (Clint.)

None of them looked like his friend, anymore.

“Huh,” Tony said. He poked at Steve, curiously. The man’s skin was like marble; hard, cold, unyielding.

“They seem a school of sharks that have scented your blood,” Victor said.

Not entirely an inaccurate, although possibly unfair, assessment. “Well, can you blame them? I’m consorting with the enemy.”

“No,” Victor said. “You are becoming the enemy.”

“Iron Man, yes,” Tony murmured. “Tony Stark… not recommended.”

“They are not fools, and I do not blame them,” Victor said, and instantly Tony wanted to put his arms around his lover, because he knew exactly what self-loathing looked like. He saw it most days… in the mirror.

Tony waved a hand around at the group. “So few of them have clean hands. You’d think they’d be more understanding.”

“I have only stated my intentions,” Victor said. “I have much to atone for, and many suspicions to allay before they will begin to trust. And even then, I may never make much headway.”

None of us have.

Steve with his sneer, his conviction that Tony was trying to pull a fast one. Nat, who even now, he couldn’t trust. She might have his back today, but as soon as the wind shifted, her ultimate goal, her loyalty, that was something he hadn’t earned. Clint’s rage… well, he’d probably never burn that down.

Tony sighed.

“Plan B?”

“Plan B.”

Victor took his hand, and Tony followed him out of the room. By the time Steve realized he wasn’t there anymore, they’d be gone.

There was no Avenger badge for Tony to leave on a desk somewhere. No one who would want a snippily worded resignation letter.

Tony Stark. Exit, stage left, without fanfare.

“You know that magic works, my love. You’ve seen mine, from all sides,” Victor said. “Do you not trust the evidence of your senses?”

Tony scoffed. He was perched on a stool in the alchemy lab, his toes resting on the metal bar as if the very floor itself offended him. “Your senses can deceive you, do not trust them.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “Do you not see the irony in using Star Wars quotes to explain to me why you can’t believe in magic?”

“Magic is just a fancy word for technology that we can’t explain,” Tony said.

“Well,” Victor said, agreeably enough, “that’s quite possible. Magic does have rules, and they’re both very exacting and have particularly dire consequences if you fuck around with them too much.”

“Science does that, too,” Tony said. “I mean, the first people to mess around with x rays found out the hard way, there’s just some stuff you shouldn’t fuck with. Close up, without proper protection.”

Victor nodded. “Well, consider that Newton wasn’t the first scientist, but one of the last magicians. Jumping off from his studies is the base of modern magic. The interesting bit, however, is that magic is so very old, there’s always more to learn. From our own shamans all the way back when we were beating on drums made from wooly mammoth hide and praying to the gods in the storm, all the way to the pinnacle of magical achievement. Strange, myself, a few others…”

“More others,” Tony muttered. Whatever respect -- or lack thereof -- that Tony might have for magic, he was at least mostly restraining himself. He wasn’t picking stuff up randomly and shaking it. (Although Victor had done a thorough inspection to make sure that Tony couldn’t atomize himself in mere milliseconds by poking at something that might take it unkindly before Tony was even allowed in the alchemy lab. There was extending courtesy to his lover, and there was reckless foolishness.)

Not that there weren’t still a half-hundred ways to die, just in arm’s reach, but at least the things that remained Victor could fix, or he could warn, or… well, it was Tony, and if anyone was going to accidentally figure out that the painajainen could be called up by mixing horsehair with the dust of dreams, it would be Tony. (Tony was a good source for that dust, a thing that Victor hadn’t yet told him, but would. Very soon. Once he’d topped off his stores.)

And what Victor would do about a nightmare demon on the loose… well, he had some defenses against it, and given time, he could catch it and banish it again. In the meanwhile, the damn thing would sit on Tony’s chest every time he went to sleep, and Tony had more than enough trouble with sleeplessness without demonic interference. But Tony was being cautious, which meant despite his tone, there were parts of him that believed.

“So, what is it you do, down here, when you’re not trying to convince me that hocus-pocus exists?”

“We can call it pataphysics, if it makes you more comfortable. The science of impossible solutions,” Victor said. “And what I do down here, mostly, is prepare magic. Think of magic as a cookie; I have to mix all the ingredients together before I can have a cookie. There are certain incantations that have only verbal or mental components, but even those require study, strength. A certain mental fortitude. Casting out of nothingness is not possible. Even with magic, you cannot make matter without energy.”

“What happens?”

“Well, if you’re very lucky, mostly nothing happens. You can stand around and yell at a circuit board all day if you like, and end up with nothing but a sore throat, if you don’t have any power, nothing will happen to the circuit board. On the other hand, magic is a little more… molecular than that. Should I, for instance, attempt to lift you from that stool and make you stand inside the casting runes without practice, without proper preparation, I might strain the muscles in my back. I might lose ten pounds in a few seconds, as my body cannibalizes itself for the strength. I may get caught in a feedback loop and unmake myself.” Victor considered that line of thought for a moment, running through all the possible consequences, just from a little bit of unplanned alterological manipulations. “I suppose that’s why there are so few magicians. I would suspect many amateurs of causing their own demise, before they’re able to do damage to another person and thus be made note of.”

“For someone who talks so fancy, and who uses magic to rearrange the world to his liking,” Tony said, “your grammar is shit, Vic.”

Victor laughed. No one ever called him Vic before. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked it, and glancing at Tony sidelong, he was pretty sure Tony was pushing his boundaries, trying to see where the line was at acceptable behavior.

“Criticizing my grammar?” Victor asked. He flipped a few pages through the grimoire -- one of his underlings had discovered it, hidden deep inside a castle in northern Ireland -- to see if there was aught inside worth preserving. “Are we sparring on the internet now, that you resort to childish tactics?”

“Do you practice being annoying, or is it just natural skill?”

Tony wasn’t looking at him, studying, instead, a stoppered bottle full of sunlight. Good defense against vampires and other night creatures, and the easiest thing in the world to harvest, as long as you could get to the arctic circle, and that the day wasn’t cloudy. Seven years previous, they’d had good weather, and Victor had laid out over a thousand bottles. Might have been telling, the sort of company he kept, that he was down to his last dozen or so. He checked the calendar absently. Huh. Less than two weeks until the solstice. “Does your suit keep you warm?”

Tony didn’t even blink; it was one of the nicer things about being in love with someone else who was also a genius. He could track Victor’s change in conversation without a moment’s thought. “Of course,” Tony said. “Thirty-thousand feet isn’t what you’d call super comfortable without some sort of heating system. Some particular reason?”

“I’m reminded that I need to harvest more sunlight and I thought you might like to watch.”

“Harvest sunlight.” Tony’s voice was flat, skeptical. Victor found himself a little giddy at the process of being there when Tony witnessed magic. Real magic, that he couldn’t explain away with science or as mere illusions. The opening of one’s eyes to a larger realm of possibility was always awe-inspiring.

“It works well in battles against vampires.” May as well shock him all at once.

Tony spluttered. “Vampires aren’t real,” he said. Then hesitated. “Are they?”

“‘If there is a well-attested history in the world, it is that of the Vampires. Nothing is missing from it: interrogations, certifications by Notables, Surgeons, Parish Priests, Magistrates. The judicial proof is one of the most complete. And with all that, who believes in Vampires? Will we all be damned for not having believed?’ So spoke Jean-Jaques Rousseau, in 1764.”

“That quote was in Twilight, too,” Tony snapped. “Doesn’t make it any more true now.”

“Again, call them something else if the word offends you, but they are, by all real criteria, vampires. Humanoid, but non-human sentients who feed off hemoglobin. Some of it is hollywood sensationalism, of course, but the fact remains, there are predators who look human enough that will drink your blood.”

“Gross,” Tony declared. “Do they spread it around?”

“No, that’s a movie invention; they’re a whole and separate species of sentient and self-aware organisms. They’re close enough to humans that, theoretically, we could engage in sexual activities with them, but we’d have better luck actually procreating with a daisy,” Victor said. There were some people, he knew, who’d like to fuck a vampire, but really, the vampire was going to eat them, and even vampires were pretty dubious about the whole thing. Well adjusted humans didn’t fuck their cheeseburgers, after all.

“So, like, disgusting aliens?”

Victor shook his head. “No,” he said. “That would imply extra terrestrial or perhaps, transdimensional beings. They’re not. They’re born here, live here. They’re no more alien to us than we are to chickens. They just see us as food. Very, very hostile food, these days. You can communicate with them, sometimes. Some of them keep humans as pets, or cows, of sorts. They’ve been close to hunted to extinction. If they weren’t from here, I imagine they’d leave.”

“If they think of you as a meal, why would you talk to them?”

Victor’s mouth twitched. “They are masters of illusion,” he explained. “Those that live, they walk among us, and most of the time, no one notices. You can bargain with them, for lessons. It’s… exciting.”

Victor could tell, by the faint curl of Tony’s mouth, that he was going to be one of those skeptics for whom everything needed to have a rational explanation. And magic was just one of those things; physics need not apply. Tony would believe, eventually. Or he wouldn’t. Magic, at least, wasn’t shamanism; it required no faith to work, nor to have an effect. His magic would work whether Tony believed in it, or not.

“You want to learn?” Victor asked, suddenly. He remembered an old cantrip his mother had taught him, years before he even knew what he was doing. A fuzzy, comforting thing that even a child could master with time.

Tony scoffed. “I don’t think I have what’s required to learn magic.”

“Nonsense,” Victor said. “It’s a simple working.”

He came up behind Tony, folded Tony into an embrace and rested his chin on Tony’s shoulder. “Here, give me your hands,” he said, tracing his fingers down Tony’s arms. “Hold them like… so, there, no, wrist just a little higher.”

“I feel like I’m at a heavy metal concert,” Tony said.

“Perhaps,” Victor said. It could be true, the metal concerts evoked great emotions in their listeners, perhaps at one time, a spark of magic had danced along those fingers. “How are you feeling?”

“Little bit silly,” Tony confessed.

“Deeper, how do you feel?” He pushed, a little of the command voice. It wouldn’t work on someone as strong-willed as Tony if he fought it, but just a nudge to get him talking.

“Tired,” Tony said. “Always tired, these days, really. Still angry, sad, frustrated with Steve and the others. Worried, what’ll happen.”

“Remember how you feel now,” Victor said. “Now, think about your body. Imagine, for just a moment, that your whole body is limned with light. Close your eyes if you need. Visualize it.”

“Meditation, your pain is a ball of healing light mumbo jumbo,” Tony said, but he closed his eyes. Victor opened his inner eye, watched as the energy of Tony’s vitae pulsed over his skin. Every living, breathing thing was made up of it. Spark of life, soul, manna, whatever name was placed on it; the core power of the living.

“Hmmm,” Victor said. He breathed, slow and steady and Tony followed him into it, without really being aware of what he was doing. Victor scraped the thinnest bit of his vitae off, held it on his fingertip like a dab of sweet from a bowl. “Open your mouth.”

The natural barrier that protected all living things from magic, hostile or otherwise, was thinnest inside the mouth. From this knowledge came the origin of kisses, sharing strength, love, healing. It was also why many magical potions and poisons had to be drunk. Certain sects had taken to sewing their mouths shut, although that was extreme, to protect themselves.  

“Here,” and Victor touched the tip of his finger to Tony’s tongue, depositing the trace amounts of his essence, his very existence, to Tony’s.

Tony’s life energy flickered, absorbing Victor’s. Pure, unadulterated energy.

Tony’s eyes flew open and he licked his lip. “What the hell was that?”

“How do you feel?”

Tony stretched under him, moving his shoulders, twisting his neck. “Amazing,” he said. “Like I woke up from a restful sleep.” His eyes were wide. Victor wondered how long it had been since Tony actually had a dreamless sleep. “What was it?”

“My life energy,” Victor said. “Only a tiny, tiny amount. I have shared it with you. In time, you can learn to do the same.”

“Does that… hurt you?”

“It can,” Victor said. “Like the difference between a drop of blood and a million drops. It is a way of sharing strength, energy. It is… vitae. The course of your life. It is what fuels magic, what makes it possible. And everyone has it.”

Tony was watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. Watching him with intent. “Does something else, does it, aside from sharing strength?” Desire pulsed off him in waves, an almost physical force.

“It amplifies,” Victor said. “When my mother showed it to me, I felt like… my birthday morning, and eating cookie batter raw from the bowl, and listening to her read bedtime stories at night. When you consume my vitae, you feel… what I feel for you.”

Tony’s mouth curled up into an inviting smile. “So… what you feel involved that little sofa over there and you naked on your back?”

“Oh, it certainly could.”

“Pep, no, come on,” Tony said. It was o’fucking dark thirty and Castle Doom was quiet and a little gloomy if Tony was being honest. He walked around on the parapets, because really, that just seemed the thing to do if one was in a castle. He kinda wanted to have a big pointy weapon of some sort, just for the atmosphere. “Look, all these arrangements were made when I thought I was going to die, and there’s no reason why-- yes, I know the company has my name, but it’s okay, if you want to rename it Potts Industries… okay, no, yeah, that sounds like a cooking company or something. Well, I’m sorry about that, you’ll just have to marry Rhodey and put his name on-- kidding, Pepper, oh god.”

Sometimes Tony thought there was no depths of boredom to which business affairs could sink and every time he gave voice to that thought, business had to say challenge accepted! Seriously, Pepper was the CEO, and Tony owned a good deal of stock, and when he was in between Avenger’s missions or handling exceptionally hostile press and corrupt politicians, he was the head of the R&D. A job, he might add, he’d still be able to do in Latveria, because of this nifty little invention called the Internet, some of the assholes on the Board of Directors might have heard of it, maybe, if they got their heads out of their asses once in a while and looked at something more impressive than the bottom line (or their mistress’s bottom, whatever. Did Tony look like he cared?)

Nothing had changed that was important to business, as if clean energy and symbionic prosthetics were utterly dependent upon Tony being both in the United States and presenting information to the Board in the same room on a weekly basis.

Which was just stupid.

Tony could do what he did in the comfort of the workshop that Victor was setting up for him; in fact, he would probably be bothered significantly less, all things considered.

“Look, the United States doesn’t need me, Pep,” Tony said. “And the Avengers need me even less. I’ll still be around if the world decides Iron Man is required, but until then, I think I’ve earned a partial retirement with someone I love.” That was a little painful; Pepper had wanted to him to retire, begged him to, in fact, and he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it until all his mistakes were rubbed in his face, and he came to admit it. Iron Man getting involved was the nuclear option. Last resort.

“All right, Tony,” Pepper said. “I reserve the right to call you, though.”

“You’re the best,” Tony told her, and that was true. He was leaving his legacy in her very capable hands.

He disconnected the call and dropped his phone into his sweatshirt’s kangaroo pouch. That was another nice thing about Latveria; no one cared what he wore on a regular basis and so he was getting a lot of wear out of jeans, tees, and hoodies.

Tony was pretty sure that Latveria would wear on him eventually. He’d get bored with it. But right now, in the middle of Victor’s modernization projects, with his lover to keep him warm and the weird feeling of being an actual hero to the Latverians, all of whom knew who he was, and what he’d done… they didn’t treat him like an American hero, either, didn’t expect him to be perfect or have a witty sound byte or endorse certain products.

They… thanked him for his courage. Their lives. Invited him to dinner, and were kind and cheerful on the few occasions that he went. Minimal fuss, maximum hospitality.

It was weird.

And nice.

Sometimes it made him uncomfortable, wondering how much of Victor’s reputation he was leaning on; the man had been a fascist dictator for decades -- according to some sources. Which made him wonder how accurate that assessment had been, but Victor openly admitted he’d made mistakes, carried on traditions. That his people were used to unquestioning obedience.

“Honestly,” Victor had said, “I’m shocked there hasn’t been a rebellion, given that there’s so much more leeway. It would be the perfect opportunity.”

“What will you do?”

“Let them,” Victor had responded. “Don’t fret, love. I won’t let them hurt you, and I’ve a refuge awaiting us. It will not be luxurious, but we will have each other.”

“That’s all I need.”

Which might have been a little bit of a lie, because Tony was pretty sure he needed a cheeseburger once in a while. And coffee. Coffee was stone-cold necessary.

A spill of light illuminated the courtyard below and Tony shifted into the shadows; the staff in Castle Doom were often a little overly solicitous of his comfort and he didn’t feel like being fussed over right now if the baker’s assistant found him wandering the walls at some ungodly hour.

No servant or staff, that. The man who strode out into the courtyard had the same arrogant walk that characterized a person who knew their own value far exceeded others around them. He wore an emerald green cloak that swirled around his boots and he wore a sword strapped to his back. Tony closed his eyes and tried to see, the way Victor had been teaching him. He’d never managed it, but at the same time, lab was always different from field work.

For a long moment, Tony saw nothing but the insides of his eyelids and he felt nothing but the same niggling embarrassment that happened every time Tony tried to work a spell. Like his high school classmates were going to jump out and laugh at him or something. And then--

It wasn’t light, not the soft glow of vitae that Victor had described, but rather a pulsing, pulling darkness that surrounded the shape of a man. Clawing, angry, and cold, so cold. Tony opened his eyes and pulled back into the shadow with a strangled gasp.

The man turned, eyes going immediately to Tony’s hiding spot without hesitation.

“An apprentice, VonDoom? Surely this one is too old,” the man said.

“Are you not left yet, Mordo?” Victor’s voice, and a moment later, the man himself came into the courtyard. He followed Mordo’s gaze and saw Tony. Victor’s eyes widened briefly, then, “No, not an apprentice. He is my pleasure-love, and you would do well to remember not to touch that which is mine. Go, Mordo. We have no more business here this night, or any other.”

“We’ll see,” Mordo said, dismissing Tony with a sniff. “We all fall prey to the weakness of being human in the search for power. You know where to find me, if you change your mind.”

The man spun a hand in a gesture reminiscent of actions Tony’d seen Dr. Strange perform before and he disappeared into one of those swirling purple portals.

Tony waited until he’d descended the stairs into the courtyard and found himself at Victor’s side. “What was that about?”

“The desperate grasping of a man who believes he has the right to rule the world,” Victor said. “It is nothing we need dwell on.”

“Is he looking for your help?”

“In a way,” Victor said. “He fails to understand that the world and the rulership thereof holds no appeal for me. Stay far away from him, love. He will not have your interests in mind, and he is no small talent. I would avenge you, but I’d prefer not to need to.”

“Yeah, I think I’m pretty well done with avenging, myself.”

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Cover You in Oil, Pt27

Word Count: 6798 Author’s Note: This story came about because Tony Stark kept horning in on every other story I was writing. He clearly wanted me to write his story. So now, in 154,627 words, Tony has the longest story I’ve ever written. I hope he’ll leave me alone for a while. Tags: @outside-the-government, @yourtropegirl @to-pick-ourselves-up-7, @ghostssss, @rampant-salamander, @saysay125, @sistasarah-sallysaidso @shewhorunswithfandoms, @flirtswithdanger  @rayleyanns @anyakinamidala @dirajunara @castiels-ass-butt-1967 @anotherotter

With just days left until the wedding, it was time for the final fitting on her wedding dress, and Clint had escorted Sally to see Mavis. Mavis took one look at her and clucked her tongue in disapproval.

“You’ve lost some weight, Sally-girl,” she commented, pinching the dress where it was now gaping. “I’ll just nip this in here. Your girls both came to me for their dresses, sweetheart. I’m not supposed to tell you what we did, but I know you’re gonna be so tickled when you see them.”

Sally smiled, but said nothing as Mavis tweaked at the dress. Mavis sent her to take it off once the pins were in it, and Sally carefully shimmied out of it, leaving it on the hanger in the bathroom. Mavis and Clint were chatting about neighbourhood happenings when she returned.

“So Clint will pick up the dresses in a few days,” Mavis returned her attention to Sally. Sally nodded. “You’re quiet, Sally-girl. You alright?”

Sally smiled again and nodded. “I am fine, Mavis. Just tired. Anxious. Mostly tired though,” she admitted. Mavis pulled her into a warm embrace and kissed both her cheeks.

“Never truer words spoken from a bride. It’ll be over soon enough, don’t you worry,” Mavis reassured her. Sally laughed despite herself, and leaned into the comfort of Mavis’s arms.

“There seem to be a million things that still need done, and not enough time,” she commented. Mavis nodded.

“Make that man of yours take care of some of it,” Mavis admonished with a stern look. Sally shook her head and laughed.

“Pepper has already done most of it. What’s left is really up to Tony and I to sort. And he is helping, don’t you worry,” she promised. “Just finalizing a few little things.”

“And when does your Momma arrive?” Mavis asked. “I’m a little surprised she wasn’t here for this fitting.”

“She was supposed to be,” Sally admitted. “But the weather out of Seattle slowed down the flight’s departure. She should be waiting at home when I get back.”

“You tell her if she needs anything with her dress to have Clint bring her over, honey,” Mavis offered. Sally hugged Mavis again.

“Thank you. You make sure Clint has you to the wedding on time, okay?” Sally admonished. “Don’t take his laid-back attitude and let you be late.”

“Hey, I resemble that!” Clint protested. “But do you really think I’m gonna risk being late? I’ve got a line on a hot bridesmaid, and I want to impress her.” He winked. Sally laughed and shook her head.

“We’ll see you on Friday, Mavis.” Sally squeezed her hand and turned toward the door, chucking Clint in the shoulder on the way. “Come on, Romeo, maybe we should stop and make sure you have a suit that will make that bridesmaid look good?”

“Great idea,” he laughed, following her out.

Beth Manners was looking out the window across the city when Sally returned to the Tower. She said nothing, but quickly pulled Sally into a bone-crushing hug that lasted long enough that Sally wondered if her mother was planning on letting go before the wedding.

“Mama?” She leaned back and caught a single tear streaking down her mother’s cheek.

“What you’ve been through, my baby girl, I just -”

“I’m fine, Mama,” Sally reassured her, pulling her back into her arms. “You didn’t raise a doormat, that man never saw what hit him.”

“Tony sent me the video,” Beth laughed, wetly. “I’ve never been more proud. He told me on the drive from the airport that they’ve made you a duchess?”

“That’s the story,” Sally nodded, moving across the suite to the kitchen to get them both a glass of water. She gestured for Beth to sit at the counter while she fussed with ice cubes. “The parliament sent me my crown, even.”

“Will you ever wear it?” Her mom wore a contemplative look. Sally shrugged.

“Tony thinks I should wear it for the wedding. I think it’s a bit petty,” Sally admitted. Beth nodded slowly, and Sally could tell she was deep in thought.

“Well, sweetie, it could go both ways. Wearing it would definitely be a loud statement in the direction of that von Doom asshole,” Beth started. “But you could wear it as a gesture of thanks to the people in Latveria who really risked their lives to get you out of there. Which would be another nice little fuck you to that man.”

Sally choked on her water, and sputtered, trying not to laugh too hard. Her mother had always had the most colourful language in the family, but her professional career had largely toned it down over the years. Sally had forgotten how quickly it resurfaced when she was angry. “Mama!” The protest was empty, and backed with giggles.

“I’m sure your Tony won’t mind my invective, sweetie. I bet Victor von Dumbass would have had issues with it though,” Beth shrugged. Sally bit her lip and shook her head.

“I love you, Mama,” Sally murmured. “Seattle seems too far away.”

“When you’ve decided where you two are going to settle, we can negotiate my retirement home. How’s that sound?” Beth reached across the counter and entwined her fingers with her daughter’s.

“Does that include requisite pressure about grandbabies?” Sally laughed.

“Tony is a wonderful man, but he’s not getting any younger,” Beth winked. Sally couldn’t help it, she cackled.

“We haven’t actually talked about babies, Mama,” Sally admitted. A concerned look clouded Beth’s features. She drew in her breath like she was about to say something, but Sally held her hand up to stop her. “Mama, please. Just listen. I don’t care if we have kids. I honestly don’t. If he wants children, I’m in, and we’ll have kids. If he doesn’t, it’s not a deal breaker. You must understand that? He’s my soulmate. His name was on my leg. And I’ve never felt the way I do when I’m with him. Never, Mama. Like even though I’ve always been a complete, entire person, when we finally spoke to each other, I found the only other complete, entire person that could complement me. That our individuality allows us to be even more whole.”

“I always felt like something was missing until I met your Dad.” Beth’s face was a mask of confusion.

“You know how Jackie’s Burger Bar makes the best burger you’ve ever tasted?” Sally explained, talking about her family’s favourite haunt from her childhood. Beth nodded. “And they have those strawberry milkshakes that are perfect for dipping the steak cut fries into?”

“You’re making me hungry, and not explaining anything about Tony,” Beth laughed.

“I’m getting there. Jackie’s burgers are the best burger ever. And Jackie’s fries are the best fries ever. And when you order them together, they are the best damn burger and fries you’ll ever eat. One doesn’t outshine the other, one isn’t better. And you can have a burger without fries, or fries without a burger. Because they’re perfectly complete as what they are. But when you put them together, they’re stellar. That’s how I feel with Tony,” Sally explained.

“But they’re even better with a strawberry shake,” Beth countered, winking.

“But you don’t need a strawberry shake in order for your meal at Jackie’s to be complete,” Sally admonished. “And that’s how I feel about Tony.”

“Ever walk into a conversation and wonder what the hell is being talked about?” Tony asked as he leaned down and kissed Beth’s cheek, and then stepped over to press his lips softly against Sally’s.

“Sally was explaining that you are the fries to her burger and you don’t need a milkshake to be complete,” Beth teased. Tony nodded like that made sense.

“Maybe a little milkshake,” Tony suggested, waggling his eyebrows. Sally grinned.

“Little milkshakes grow up into big milkshakes,” she pointed out. Tony furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Wait, we aren’t talking about milkshakes, are we?” He asked. Sally shook her head and laughed. “Or, uh, romance?”

“No, we aren’t.”

Sally sat down at the dining room table, beside Beth. Pepper sat across from them, a StarkPad in front of her.

“Here’s the rundown, Sally,” Pepper smiled. “Everything is ready. Flowers are ordered, as you decided. The caterer is set, the cake is stunning, you saw Mavis about your dress. Table settings are ready, the RSVP list is finalized, photographer is booked. We have one little hitch.”

“Oh?” Sally raised an eyebrow.

“Steve was going to officiate. And he’s still willing to, but Tony is, well,” Pepper trailed off. Sally sighed.

“Let me talk to them,” Sally said. “Everything else is ready?”

“Right down to the decor. I opted to go along the Christmas theme just because the entire tower is already decorated, and it was easy to just write off the ballroom as seasonal,” Pepper laughed.

“Because the CEO of Stark Industries worries about the bottom line?” Sally responded with a snort. Pepper just grinned and shrugged.

“Someone has to think about it. Steve is in the garage working on his Harley, if you want to talk to him,” Pepper suggested. Sally pushed away from the table with a deep sigh and headed down to the garage. There was big band music quietly playing, a speaker set up on the workbench beside Steve, and his jaw was squared. Sally watched as he pursed his lips and shoved the part he was working on away from him with a grunt of irritation.

“Want a hand?” Sally offered. Steve jumped, surprised she was standing behind him.

“I didn’t see you there,” he explained. “I can’t pop the cover off. It seems like it might be rusted together.”

“Lemme take a look -” Sally reached over, and Steve shook his head.

“Not to be rude, Sally, but if I can’t pry it open with my strength, what makes you think you can get it open?” Steve asked. Sally smirked and grabbed the part, popping it apart with ease.

“Skill will always win over strength, Steve,” Sally laughed as she handed it back. “You already know that.”

“How -”

“There’s a latch that you missed because of the rust,” she interrupted.

“My guess is that you didn’t sense my frustration and know you needed to come help out, so what brings you down here, Sally?” Steve changed the subject abruptly.

“It’s about the wedding,” Sally started. Steve crossed his arms and his features went blank. He was closing off his emotions from her. “Are you still willing to officiate?” His shoulders slumped in response.

“Of course I am, Sally,” Steve nodded. “Does Tony still want me to, though?”

“I want you to,” Sally shrugged.

“But Tony -”

“I came to talk to you first, to make sure you were still good with it. Wedding is just a few sleeps away, Steve, I needed to know if you were onboard before I give the big push to Tony,” Sally interrupted. “You know how hurt he is. This might take me some time.”

“Do you have a backup plan, if he says no?” Steve asked.

“I don’t need one. Tony is a good man. But he’s hurting. Let me help him see reason, and we’ll go from there,” Sally explained. “How is Bucky?”

“Blaming himself for everything,” Steve replied.

“He saved me.” Sally’s tone was strong. “He saved me more than once. That has to count for something.”

“I agree,” Steve nodded, turning back to his project. He stopped and looked up. “Hey, is Jake coming?”

“That’s my understanding,” Sally nodded.

“It’ll be good to see him,” Steve grinned. “Well, if you can convince Tony that I’m still needed.”

“Sally, why can’t you just accept that I don’t want anything to do with him?” Tony asked, turning away to refill his drink. Sally sighed, but didn’t get up from her stool at the bar to pin him in. Instead, she chose to stare him down until he turned back to her and met her gaze.

“Tony, we talked about this,” Sally implored. “I don’t understand why, if you can forgive and offer to help Bucky, you can’t also see to reason about Steve?”

“Because he knew, princess. He knew and he said nothing,” Tony spat. Sally drew in a deep breath.

“No, he suspected. No one knew until Bucky admitted it. Yes, the evidence was strongly suggestive that his suspicions were right on the money, but it was still just conjecture. So how was Steve supposed to broach that with you?” Sally asked. “Tony, you’re his best friend -”

“Bucky is his best friend,” Tony interrupted.

“You are too. Just like Rhodey and Steve are your best friends,” Sally countered. “And honey, you’re a hard read. Sometimes you act like you are just flip and silly and don’t care about things, and other times, when you let people in, they see how deeply you feel. I can’t speak on his behalf, but give Steve the benefit of the doubt. Will staying angry with him solve anything? Will it make the team stronger? Will it help you to properly grieve the loss of your parents?”

“No, but -” Tony started.

“No but nothing, Tony. All your anger is going to do is hurt you in the long run.” Sally reached across the bar and took his hand in hers. “I love you, Tony. And I know that you are Iron Man. And I know that means that you are going to be in danger, and putting yourself in harm’s way. So, selfishly, I want everything to be good with that team you go out with all the time. I don’t want to worry about team dynamics putting you at risk.”

“Steve wouldn’t let anything compromise the team,” Tony argued.

“What if you can’t settle this and Steve chooses to leave the team instead of compromise your safety? If you can’t take orders during a mission, he won’t stick around,” Sally suggested. Tony sighed.

“Princess, I love you, but you’re asking a lot.” Tony scrubbed a hand through his goatee, and then across the back of his neck. Sally nodded.

“He’s down in the garage. Go talk to him. Yell if you need to. But sort it out.” Sally pushed away from the bar, and stepped around back with Tony. She slipped her arms around his waist, and pressed her head against his chest, hoping the gesture would offer comfort, even as she drew comfort from it. “I love you, Tony. You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for.”

Tony and Steve were both absent during dinner, which made Sally nervous. She tried not to show it, but it weighed on her. Were they talking or fighting? If they were fighting, had it become physical? She sat, introspective, as Beth commandeered the dinner conversation, and pulled all kinds of information from Natasha, Clint, and Wanda as they ate, keeping the mood lively and interesting. Eventually, Steve wandered in, at the tail end of the meal, served himself a plate and sat down beside Sally.

“Where’s -”

“In your room,” Steve interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper. Sally excused herself and took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. She stepped into the suite, and looked across the living room for Tony. The bedroom was dark. She turned to the balcony and saw him leaning against the rail, looking across the city, and rushed to his side. He smiled when he saw her coming out onto the deck, and lifted his arm to invite her to snuggle into his side. Without getting a sense of his mood, she did, leaning against him as his arm wrapped around him.

“We’re okay,” he offered, his voice rough and quiet. Sally cocked her head and looked up at him. “No, really, Sally. We’re okay.”

“You are strong, and brave, and good,” Sally murmured, squeezing slightly. Tony huffed out a scoff.

“I’m petty. I’m weak. And I want vengeance,” he countered.

“You’re hurting,” Sally stated, the simplicity of the truth breaking down whatever walls Tony had been trying to erect. A tear slipped from his eye, and he blinked, causing it to splash off his cheek. “You don’t want vengeance, though. You aren’t that kind of man.”

“I want someone to feel this pain, and understand -” he started, his jaw clenched.

“Tony, I feel it. Just like I felt the shrapnel in your heart,” Sally interrupted. “Just like you felt my appendix, and Doom’s interference. But I also felt it when I lost my Dad. And Bucky feels it. I’m sure of it. And did you see how exhausted Steve looked? We are all sharing a part of this. No, none of it as much as you, and I wouldn’t suggest for a minute that’s the case.”

“I want her back.” His voice cracked, and his grip on her tightened. Sally pulled him into the house and over to the couch. She tugged him down beside her, and he buried his head against her shoulder, painful wrenching sobs pouring out of him. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she smoothed it out, stroking the soft strands and rocking, almost as a mother with a new babe.

“Shhhhh. I’m here,” she murmured. “I’ve got you.” They stayed that way until Tony’s sobs subsided into quiet shudders and deep breaths. Sally pulled her feet up on the couch, and tugged him down against her, getting comfortable. Tony groaned in complaint every time she tried to move, and would settle against her quickly as soon as she stilled. She accepted the idea of a long, uncomfortable night on the couch, and drifted off still running her fingers through Tony’s hair.

Every muscle groaned when Sally woke up. Tony was still beside her on the couch, he face buried in her hair, his arm tight at her waist. Sunlight was streaming into the living room through the wall of windows and she moaned in annoyance at the brightness of it.

“Tony, wake up,” she muttered. Tony’s only response was to pull her closer. “Tony, let go, I gotta pee.”

“Mind over matter, if you think you don’t you won’t,” he mumbled into her hair.

“I don’t think you know how physiology works, Tony. I gotta pee.” She tried to extricate herself from his arms, and wound up sliding onto the floor in an undignified heap. She pushed herself to her feet and deftly dodged the outreached hand Tony put up to try to stop her from heading to the bathroom.

Tony was making a pot of coffee when she returned. He looked refreshed, despite the uncomfortable night spent on the couch, and Sally had to wonder how much sleep he ever got. He stared at her across the island in the kitchen, a softly intense gaze that made her warm. “Thank you.” Two simple words, and Sally was in his arms in a flash.

“In two days, I will be your wife. Sharing these burdens is part of the gig,” Sally admonished. “There’s no need for thanks.”

“There will always be a need for thanks, princess.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she smiled.

“Steve has a really beautiful ceremony written,” Tony offered. Sally’s heart skipped a beat. It really was okay.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“I would marry you right now without the big fuss, you know,” he said.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet, so maybe not,” Sally teased. “Besides, Pepper went to all this trouble.”

“You might be surprised about some of the details,” he laughed. “I might have actually done a little to help out.”

“I look forward to seeing those fine Tony Stark touches,” Sally laughed. “In the meantime, have you written your vows?”

“Ages ago. You?”

“Sure,” Sally lied. Tony’s eyes widened.

“You haven’t!” He accused. Sally cringed.

“I have two days!” She protested. He shook his head with a wry smile and kissed her forehead again.

“I’m withholding any further affection until after the wedding,” he threatened. “Actually, your mother was talking to me about this, and has suggested you move into her suite until the wedding. She thinks it will help you focus on what still needs done, and I like the idea that absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“This has nothing to do with the fact you still haven’t done your Christmas shopping?” Sally raised an eyebrow. Tony laughed.

“You haven’t finished yours, either,” he said.

The next two days were a rush of last minute shopping, last minute decisions, and last minute preparations for the wedding. Sally found herself escorting both Clint and Steve to their final suit fittings, as though she somehow would have some insight into whether or not they looked good. And Clint managed to weasel her into helping with his present for Natasha, a simple and stunning gold arrow pendant necklace that Sally was certain Natasha would love and cherish. Sally was on the phone finalizing the delivery details of Tony’s wedding gift when her mother brought a box out into the living room of their shared suite.

“Yes, there will be someone there to meet you. When you arrive, I will be paged to come down and sign for delivery, and will show you where I want it put,” Sally explained for what felt like the hundredth time. “Yes, thank you. We’ll see you this afternoon then.”

“This is for you. I think it qualifies for old and borrowed,” Beth pushed the box across the table. “You understand, this is only on loan. I want it back.” Sally reached for the box, and carefully pulled off the lid. A beautiful strand of pearls was laid in a bed of navy velvet.

“These are Nan’s -”

“And they were gifted to me on the occasion of my twenty-fifth anniversary to your father. And you will received them for keeps on the same anniversary. But in the meantime, they are old, and they are borrowed. And I understand your dress has a new blue ribbon,” Beth smiled. “Wedding traditions can be silly, but they carry more meaning after a few years.”

“Mama, they’re beautiful. And perfect,” Sally breathed, holding the strand up.

“And not yours for keeping,” Beth reminded her with a grin. And then her face changed, growing serious. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”

“Absolutely,” Sally nodded.

“And you’ve finished your vows?” Beth pressed, arching an eyebrow.

“You know I think better on my feet,” Sally complained.

“This is not the time to improvise, Sally,” Beth scolded. Sally sighed and nodded.

“Writer’s block is not something I’d wish on an enemy, Mama,” she sighed, flopping back in the chair she was seated on. “How do I articulate all the things I want to say?”

“You just say them.” Beth rose, and rubbed Sally’s shoulders. “But you need to think of them so that you don’t stare at him blankly.”

“Can I read it out?” Sally asked. “I don’t know if I can memorize anything this late.”

“Of course,” Beth laughed. “Tony will know you mean it, even if you read it word for word. I’m going to go wrap presents in my room. Write your vows. Then get to bed. That stylist is coming first thing in the morning because midday weddings are all the rage.”

“I’m still waiting on Tony’s gift, Mama,” Sally reminded her.

“By the time you get those vows down, it’ll be here,” Beth called as she disappeared into her room, shutting the door. Sally pulled the notepad she’d been scribbling ideas on forward and started started writing down her thoughts. She barely noticed when she was paged to accept delivery on Tony’s gift, and was back at the table with a cup of hot herbal tea before she realized she’d signed the delivery paper.

Sally looked at herself in the mirror, taking in the picture of the soft curls framing her face, and the make-up that was so perfectly applied that she looked nearly bare. The dress pulled in at her waist, the blue bow neat at her hip. She was breathless. She’d never seen herself look so perfect, so beautiful. It was like magic had happened.

“Last decision,” Kevin spoke from behind her. “Are we wearing our crown, or not?” Sally quirked an eyebrow at the stylist.

“I don’t feel that it’s right,” Sally hedged.

“If not now, Sally, when?” Candy interjected. “If you never wear it again, you should have worn it today.”

“It’s so ostentatious,” Sally protested.

“The crown jewels of England are ostentatious,” Kevin countered. “I’ve seen bridal tiaras taller than this, with more rhinestones in them.”

“I think those are diamonds,” Sally pointed out.

“Regardless, Sally, as wedding tiaras go, it’s not that insane,” Candy offered.

“Okay, let’s do it,” Sally sighed. “Tony will love this.” She sat back down and allowed Kevin to finick with her hair and pin the crown in. When it was ready, she realized they were right, and it wasn’t as ridiculously ostentatious as she’d believed. Candy held a cup out to Sally with a straw in it.

“Drink. Electrolytes. It’ll help keep you going today,” she offered. “Without messing up your lipstick.”

“Because you’re going so far?” Sally teased. Candy just shrugged. Pepper and Natasha pushed into the room quietly, and waved. Sally had to resist the urge to shriek at the perfection of their dresses, both a similar retro feel to them as her own dress. Natasha wore a deep green, and Pepper a dark red. They were stunning. Sally pushed herself to her feet and pulled each of them into her arms, causing an awkward three person hug filled with muffled giggles. “Thank you for standing with me.” The women broke apart to admire one another more effectively.

“You chose the tiara,” Natasha clapped her hands in unbridled glee. Pepper sighed with a gentle laugh.

“Tony will go nuts,” she chuckled. “You look amazing, Sally.”

“Most beautiful bride in the world.” Natasha took Sally’s hands in hers. “Are you ready?”

“Just need my notes, and I’m good,” Sally nodded, leaned around Natasha to where she’d left her vows. “You’ll need to hold these for me until I need them.” Pepper pulled the lid off a large box, revealing the flowers. Large white, red and green gerbera daisies winked happily in round clusters wrapped in sparkling white ribbon.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Pepper,” Sally ran her fingers through the strips of ribbons, drawing her fingertips gently down the petals. Beth opened the door and leaned in.

“They’re playing our prelude song, sweetie, time to go,” she smiled, holding a hand out to Sally. Sally picked up her bouquet, and walked toward her mother. Pepper and Natasha followed after picking up their bouquets, and they crowded into the elevator together. Beth stepped away and looked at Sally, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh, lovey, if only your Dad could see you. You’re beautiful.”

Sally swallowed thickly, and blinked, looking at the ceiling of the elevator. She looked natural, but she knew exactly how much time Candy had put into her make-up. There was no way she was going to wreck it with tears.

“Just like we practiced last night,” Pepper instructed as the elevator stopped. “Once we’re at the doors, Sally, stand aside so no one can see you. We’ll step in and process, and when Natasha gets to the third red swag, the music will change, and that’s when the doors will open for you, and you can start your walk. Tony said to let you know he chose your processional. Beth, you look stunning. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.” Pepper tapped on the doors to the ballroom, and one of them opened, letting her step through with Natasha. They swung closed again, and Sally could hear the processional music leading them down the aisle. After what felt like forever, the music changed, and the doors of the ballroom swung open again.

A song Sally knew but couldn’t place started, and she took a deep breath and allowed her mother to walk her down the aisle toward Tony, a nervous smile plastered on her face. About halfway there, Steve smirked and tapped Tony’s shoulder, and Tony turned back to look at Sally. Sally saw his shoulders hitch and then, surprisingly, he dashed a tear from his eyes without looking away. Sally’s smile relaxed. Her mother stopped just shy of the small raised platform where Steve and Tony stood.

Steve held his hand out and helped Sally step up onto the dais, and then joined her hand with Tony’s. Before she offered her other hand, she held her bouquet out to Natasha, who took it and held it with hers.

Tony leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Figured out the song yet?” He teased.

“Not even close,” she replied, kissing his in return.

“You’re failing your premarital rock and roll exam,” he teased.

“Is this AC/DC?” She asked. He grinned and nodded.

“The first song I ever thought of when I saw you,” he whispered.

“Funny, it didn’t sound like Highway to Hell,” she retorted. Tony stifled a laugh and whispered the title in her ear, and she rolled her eyes and swatted him gently with her bouquet, eliciting laughter from their guests. He kissed her cheek again and laced his fingers in her free hand.

“You sure about this, Tony?” Sally winked.

“Never more certain,” he smiled. “Crown’s a nice touch. Wearing it to bed tonight too, then?”

“This is supposed to be a somber ceremony, Tony Stark,” Sally hissed with a grin.

“By all means then, let’s let Cap take it away,” Tony winked and turned, holding Sally’s hand, to face Steve. Steve smiled and looked down at his hands and back up to the couple.

“Friends, we have gathered here today to bring to bear the completion of a circle,” Steve began. “A circle is a curious thing. It starts out simply as a line, but as you bring the ends to one another, it forms a complete new shape, one without beginning, and one without end. And so it is the way when we meet our soulmates. The circle is complete, and we forget where we end and our partner begins. Tony has waited long for this day. And Sally has too, although she had the dubious distinction of knowing exactly to whom her bond was formed. Nevertheless, she chose to say those fateful words.” Tony chuckled and Sally blushed, and a few good-natured laughs rang out from those guests who knew about her original soulmark. “I don’t have much to offer in the way of advice, my friends. I’m a bachelor in his nineties, so the argument could be made that I don’t know a lot about successful relationships.” There was more laughter. “But I can say this. Talk to each other as often as you kiss. Kiss one another as often as you breathe. And breathe as though each breath you take will help you remind each other of the love and regard you have. And you’ll never go wrong. I understand you’ve written your own vows?”

Sally and Tony both nodded. “Tony, please swear your oath to your bride,” Steve directed.

“I, Anthony Edward Stark, love you, Sara Jane Manners. I promise to continue to love you forever. I will probably screw that up somehow, but this is my promise. I will never cease to love you. Your presence makes me better. Your smile makes me stronger. Your regard makes me the man you think I am capable of being. I could easily promise to love, honour and respect you until death parts us, there is no hardship in those words. Instead, I promise to cherish the way you always have dirty fingernails, and never try to change that. I promise to talk when I’m feeling peevish, and accept the blame when I’m an idiot. And I promise to hold you dearer than any work I may be doing because from now on, my work will be second to ensuring you stay happy. If I could promise you the world, Sally, I would give it to you in a heartbeat. Instead I promise my world as yours,” Tony spoke, his voice clear, and his words slower than usual. Sally’s eyes filled with tears again and she blinked without thinking, feeling a tear splash against her cheek.

“And do you, Tony, take Sally to be your wife?” Steve asked.

“Yes.” Tony didn’t look away from Sally as he answered.

“Sally, please swear your oath to your groom.” Steve gestured to Tony. Sally looked back at Natasha for her notes, and flushed at the soft laughter that filled the room as the small notebook was handed to her.

“I, Sara Jane Manners, love you Anthony Edward Stark. I am not good with words like you are, and I had to write them down. But they mean no less for having been written. I love the honesty of your emotions. I love the strength of your principles. I love the size of your enormous brain. I love the integrity you display, even when you are mastering the art of chaos. But most of all, I love your vulnerability. I never wanted you, Tony, and that is reflected in your tender heart. But had I never spoken to you, I would have missed out on the greatest gift the fates have offered any person since time began because I would have missed your heart being handed to me. I was a fool, and you found me anyhow. I was cold, and you’ve warmed my heart. I was fearful, but you’ve given me courage. I do promise to love you, to cherish you, to honour you. And I will give thanks for you.” Sally was surprised how much she remembered of the words she’d written.

“And for your part, do you, Sally, take Tony to be your husband?”

“Yes.” She squeezed Tony’s hand as she said it. Tony let out a breath that Sally didn’t realize he’d been holding and gave her a lopsided smile. “Did you think I was going to say no?”

“I had my concerns,” he admitted. Steve cleared his throat, bringing them back to the ceremony.

“We’re not finished yet, kids,” he winked. “Rings?” Pepper stepped forward and handed Tony a simple, unadorned band. Tony took Sally’s hand and looked at Steve for direction.

“The wedding band is a tangible reminder of this day, and the symbolism of it has been manipulated over generations. But at the very essence of it, we return to the unending circle I spoke of earlier. Sally and Tony’s circle is completed. Let these wedding bands remind them of not only the bond they share as soulmates, but the covenant they have made in front of each of you as witnesses this day,” Steve said. “Tony, you may place the ring on Sally’s finger.”

Tony slid the ring up Sally’s hand and paused before he looked up and met her eyes. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

Natasha stepped forward and passed Sally the ring she’d chosen for Tony. She slid it on to his hand and took a deep breath. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

“Let’s make sure I get this part right,” Steve smiled and looked down at his notes. “And now, forasmuch as you, Tony, and you, Sally, have consented to legal wedlock, and have declared your solemn intention in this company, before these witnesses, and in my presence, and have exchanged these as the pledge of your vows to each other; now upon the authority vested in me by the state of New York, I pronounce you as duly married. May you enjoy length of days, fulfillment of hopes, and peace and contentment of mind, as you day by day live and fulfill the terms of this covenant you have made with one another.”

Sally looked down at their clasped hands and felt her eyes fill with tears, and looked back up at Tony. “Is this the part where we kiss?” She asked Steve.

“This is the part where you kiss,” Steve confirmed. Tony leaned forward and brushed his lips against Sally’s chastely.

“Mrs. Stark, I presume?” He smiled as he pulled away.

“I kind of like the sound of Mr. Manners,” she winked. Tony leaned forward and kissed her again before linking hands with her and heading down the aisle to an instrumental version of Black Sabbath’s Iron Man. Sally shook her head and laughed.

The reception was stunning, all twinkle lights and subtle jazz and happy faces. Sally mingled through the crowd, allowing Tony to introduce her to the people that he felt mattered. She caught up to Pepper at one point and leaned close.

“Who are all these people?” She asked. “I don’t even think Tony knows half of them.”

Pepper laughed. “He does, but he won’t remember their names. I warned you this would be the social event of the year.”

“I think I would have preferred a small thing with just the gang,” Sally admitted. “This is a little overwhelming.”

“Then it’s the perfect time for me to steal you away to give you your wedding gift,” Tony interrupted, slipping his arm around her waist and leading her to the elevator. The doors closed on the part, sealing them in silence as the elevator moved back to their suite. Tony led her into the living room, and gestured for her to sit on the couch. He handed a file folder to her and then sat beside her.

“What is this?” Sally asked, flipping the folder open.

“It’s a stack of deeds. I didn’t want to presume a location, and like I said, I can work from anywhere. You just need to pick one of them. Or all of them, it doesn’t matter. But once you’ve decided, then there’s this,” he said, and handed you a StarkPad. Sally flipped through the app. It was design specs and plans for a free-standing garage of her own.

“Is this -” Sally looked up, trailing off. “My own place?”

“Pep said you work out of the garage at your house, and while that’s handy, I just thought maybe you’d like to have an actual shop. I know you teased Barton about taking him as an apprentice, but you’re so incredibly talented, young mechanics would line up to work under you. And if you have apprentices, you need a shop. Please tell me I didn’t miss the mark,” Tony blurted. Sally shook her head.

“This is,” Sally paused, flipping through the deeds again. “Tony, this is the most thoughtful gift you could have come up with. Holy shit. I’ve been looking at this property for years.” She held up the deed to an autobody shop she’d been coveting in California for almost as long as she’d lived there.

“Consider it yours. I like the west coast. It’s time to head back, I think.” He smiled.

“Can I give you your present now?” Sally asked.

“You don’t need to give me anything, princess,” Tony shook his head.

“I’m glad you feel that way because your gift is a bit of the shambles,” she laughed, pushing up from the couch and dragging him back to the elevator. She led him out into the garage to the far corner, and pulled a soft canvas tarp off the car hidden back there. “This is a -”

“Chevrolet Chevelle Super Sport,” Tony interrupted, stepping forward to run his hand across the hood.

“I like the ‘69 better, but I thought the symbolism of the ‘71 made it more special,” Sally explained. “It needs a total restoration. That’s the present. The plan is on my StarkPad over on the bench, if you want to see it.”

Tony stepped around the car and flicked through Sally’s design plan, a smile spreading across his face. “This is incredible, Sally.”

“I thought you deserved an American heritage car, and noticed there wasn’t one in the garage yet,” she offered. He put the tablet down on the hood of the car and pulled her into his arms.

“If I ever wake up in the morning without wondering how I deserved you, kick me,” he murmured as he pressed a kiss to her neck. Sally wrapped her arms around his neck and tipped her head to find his face.

“Do we have to go back to the reception?” She asked.

“We do not,” he smiled. She smiled.

“Well then, Mr. Stark, I believe you made me a promise some time ago about screaming your name?” Sally winked.

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” he laughed, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her back to the elevator.