#a very managable sacrifice that could save your ass when you crawl out of your episode

[bipolarbuttercup]

OK here's some random advice no one asker for: when shits pretty bad mentally but not the worst it could possibly be, try n hold down a job for like. One day a week. Maybe two. Literally anything to keep it on your resume and keep steady paychecks flowing in your name. Even if it's 60 bucks for one short closing shift literally anything looks good on paper then u don't have to explain a gap in a resume to your prospective future employers and a complete lack of income to your financial institution.

[tossawary]

wait can we hear more about da ge mbj au I'm very interested

MBJ getting abandoned as a child makes me enjoy imagining him being soft for babies, especially demon babies. Which made me want to see SQH put into a situation with a lost demon child and MBJ getting to see that. 

Which ended in 3,000 words of canon divergence fic.

-

The situation was bad. 

 Airplane’s fellow An Ding disciples were dead. 

 There was a young demon lord unconscious in front of him, probably dying, and Airplane couldn’t bring himself to bring down the rock in his hand. 

 His hand was shaking. He couldn’t make it stop. 

 This System really didn’t give a fuck about the author’s wishes, huh? Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky had been shoved into one of the worst character roles in Proud Immortal Demon Way and left to take the long way around to the plot. Now he was being told that his favorite character was expendable? Irrelevant? Talk about insult to injury! Nothing was sacred here, was it? 

 Airplane put down the rock. 

 Then he picked up the rock again. 

 He looked at it. 

 Then he hurled the rock away and put his head in his hands instead. 

 He came to a decision - a shitty decision for a shitty situation - and got to work saving his future murderer’s life. At least he would know some of what to expect if he kept the storyline mostly the same! Besides, his life wasn’t good enough to be that concerned about it! Maybe the System would put him into a decent role next time! 

 Maybe it was empathy at seeing someone being fucked over by the System! 

 Airplane did his best to slow down Mobei-Jun’s bleeding and loaded the man into the cart. He also did his best to ignore all the dead bodies around them. Gross. 

 That should have been that! He should have then been on his way to continue making a really bad decision in a really bad situation. But as Airplane moved to leave the scene of a massacre behind him, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He startled, snapping around, prepared to defend himself physically or verbally! 

 Instead, he saw a baby. 

 Ah, well, not a baby baby! But a child somewhere between the ages of three and four years old! A chubby one too! The chubby child was crouched halfway behind a tree, looking at Airplane with wide eyes, little hands clawing anxiously into the grass. It was impossible to miss their little pointed ears and the blue mark in the middle of their forehead. How could anyone miss that kind of family resemblance? 

 The demon child froze upon being noticed. 

 Airplane looked between the demon child and the young demon lord in the card, but the similarities only got stronger the longer he looked! 

 Holy shit! 

 HOLY FUCKING SHIT! 

 But he didn’t remember Mobei-Jun having a child! He remembered Mobei-Jun having siblings, sure, but he was pretty sure that... he’d alluded to Mobei-Jun’s uncle doing away with most of them. Did that mean that this child was supposed to… die? 

 This situation had gotten even worse. 

 Leaving a child here to die was… pretty bad. Airplane had done some not very good things to make it in this world and in his sect without losing any sleep over it at all, but the idea of leaving this child to die made Airplane want to be sick! At least, as soon as he realized that if Mobei-Jun had been protecting this demon child and woke up to find this demon child missing, then Airplane would be really, truly, totally fucked no matter how tightly he hugged the man’s thighs! 

 It looked like the demon child had to come too. 

 How the fuck did a person go about catching a demon child?! 

 “Is… this your gege?” Airplane tried carefully. “Is this your gege here?” 

 The demon child didn’t respond. 

 Airplane gestured at Mobei-Jun repeatedly, unsure how to get the message across. “Is this your gege?” he said, louder. “Baba? ...No? Not Baba? Da-Ge? Are you his didi?” 

 That got a blink. 

 “Didi?” Airplane repeated, desperately. “Come here, Didi.” 

 Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky hadn’t handled children since his last life. He’d been one of the younger siblings in Shang Qinghua’s family, so he hadn’t been involved in any of the child-rearing before leaving. But Airplane’s experience wasn’t very good! Some forced babysitting of his father’s do-over children and his mother’s stepchildren’s children didn’t make him an expert! And this was a demon baby! 

 “Didi, your gege needs you,” Airplane wheedled. “Come here! Come on!” 

 Slowly, the demon child began to crawl over towards the cart. 

 “Your gege is hurt and needs help,” Airplane said, in most most soothing and also urgent voice. It was a weird balance! “Come on! Come along! Didi, your gege needs help. He’s hurt. Come here, please, that’s it! That’s right! Good job! You’re doing such a good job coming up here for your gege! We need to get your gege somewhere safe!” 

 The demon child made it to the cart, trying to stay on the far side of it and away from Airplane. Airplane tried not to make himself look too threatening. He also tried not to contemplate his apparent natural talent for kidnapping children, which probably wasn’t something to make a person feel proud. 

 “Didi, can I pick you up? Didi, can I lift you up next to your gege?” 

 Reluctantly, the demon child lifted his chubby arms and let Airplane slowly approach him. Airplane carefully put his hands under their armpits and then hefted them into the cart beside Mobei-Jun. The demon child nearly kicked him in the gut, struggling to get to the unconscious and injured ice demon! 

 “Ah, be careful of the injury-!” Airplane said, trying to move the child back. “OW!” 

 The demon child bit him. 

 Airplane yanked his poor hand back. “You little fucker! Ah, fine! Curl up in your gege’s blood and see if I care,” he muttered. “Let’s just get out of here already.” 

 The demon child curled up against Mobei-Jun’s side and Shang Qinghua got back into the driver’s seat of the cart. Trying to channel his spiritual energy for healing purposes while focusing on driving was hard. Even if he could have managed it properly, he still would have been stuck with an aching hand as it healed, which didn’t make him feel very charitable towards the demons in the back seat. 

 Ungrateful! The both of them! 

 When they finally got to a decent hiding place, unloading Mobei-Jun was nothing less than a pain in the ass. Airplane was forced to negotiate with a two-foot tyrant with needle-sharp teeth who didn’t want to move and didn’t want Airplane to touch his gege. Airplane was forced to wheedle like never before. 

 “Your gege is hurt, but I can help him,” Airplane insisted soothingly. “See that place? It’s safe in there! Don’t you want your gege to be somewhere nice and safe, where no one can see him and I can heal him? Look at that hiding spot! It’s a good hiding spot. We all need to go into the hiding spot now. We’re all going into the hiding spot. Come on, Didi, help me get your gege into the nice, safe hiding spot. Come on now. Be good.” 

 The demon child bared his teeth as Airplane helped him down from the cart, but thankfully didn’t bite again. The demon child then hugged Airplane’s shins very unhelpfully as Airplane hefted Mobei-Jun into his arms. 

 Airplane was forced to shuffle. 

 He never thought he’d be so grateful for all the carrying that An Ding Peak forced its disciples to do! Sometimes, carrying things around was all Airplane did all day long and now it was paying off! Airplane wasn’t as strong as some of his peers, sure, but he still managed to carry a giant ice demon into the “hiding spot” with a little ice demon attached to his leg. He counted himself grateful there was only one Mobei-Jun to deliver inside, because he couldn’t have handled more. 

 Once inside, the demon child curled up against Mobei-Jun’s side again. Airplane took the opportunity to look after the cart’s beast of burden and unload the supplies from the cart, searching desperately for the medical supplies their mission had been allotted. When he finally found the medicine, returning triumphantly, the demon child was ungratefully unenthusiastic about Airplane’s careful approach. 

 “Ah, Didi, don’t growl at me! See, look! Look! It’s medicine! Medicine for your gege to stop the bleeding and... make sure his organs go back on the inside. Eugh. Ah, anyway, I’m helping. It’s okay because I’m helping. See, look, I’m helping. It’s okay.” 

 Airplane managed to get pretty far before the demon child couldn’t take it anymore and tried to bite him again. Airplane shrieked, but managed to wrestle the demon child off him, and ended up grabbing some of the food supplies as a desperate distraction. 

 “Bite this! Bite this! Didi, look, it’s food! Food for Didi!” 

 The demon child growled, but putting the food directly in front of his face caught his attention. The demon child’s eyes narrowed in on the food in a super predatory way that was unseen in human babies. Airplane gladly made the sacrifice. He threw the food to the demon child, who scrambled to catch it, gave it a sniff, and then started to hesitantly nibble on it before taking bigger bites. 

 “See? Don’t bite your Shang-Gege and he’ll give you food instead,” Airplane muttered, quickly turning his attention to the bigger demon. “You stay there and chew that and let me help your gege. I’m helping. I’m helping. I’m helping. Shang-Gege is helping Didi’s gege. Everything is good. Everything is okay. There’s no need for biting.” 

 Airplane didn’t really know how much the demon child understood of what he was saying. The demon child looked more than old enough to understand basic speech. He at least understood “stay”, Airplane decided, by sitting off to the side and anxiously chewing through dried food supplies while Airplane worked rearranging Mobei-Jun’s guts and then bandaging up the blood mess. 

 Maybe it helped to see that Airplane had no intention of eating the unconscious and vulnerable Mobei-Jun or something. He was pretty sure that was a demon thing. 

 He couldn’t bring himself to think about what he was doing! 

 If he thought about his actions here, he was going to throw up or something! 

 So long as he kept his hands moving here, he didn’t have to think about anything. He was just an An Ding Peak disciples hard at work betraying the sect. Yeah. 

 Eventually, Mobei-Jun was in as good a shape as Airplane could get him. The demon child - Didi, Airplane decided to call him - was curled up into a ball beside where Mobei-Jun was lying. Didi looked like he was forcing himself to stay alert. 

 “It’s all okay now,” Airplane said. “See? I helped. Shang-Gege helped your gege. Your Gege needs to sleep to get better and now you can sleep beside him.” 

 Airplane washed himself as best he could and tried to wash Didi a little, but the demon child was resistant and snapped at him. Airplane, expecting this now, successfully dodged the snap and wiped at Didi’s face. Trying to be nice was too much work! Airplane’s clean-up job ended up being pretty shitty. There was no doing anything about Mobei-Jun’s blood staining Didi’s clothes around the knee and elbow. 

 “Ah, fine, curl up in blood again, you little brat,” Airplane sighed. 

 Didi curled up against Mobei-Jun’s side again and, apparently, immediately fell asleep. 

 Airplane secured their hiding place as best he could, took stock of their pitiful amount of resources, and tried not to panic about what the fuck he was was going to do now. He was exhausted. Saving two ungrateful demons was hard work. He had no idea what was going to happen next. He was pretty sure he had just made the worst mistake of his life, but it was a little late to change things now. 

 Airplane found a good patch of floor to watch over the demons and let himself collapse. He was too tired to think anymore. There were too many things to think about. 

 He hoped that Mobei-Jun didn’t die. Demons were hardy and demon lords were even hardier, but the real world that had been made out of his shitty web-novel was really unpredictable sometimes. For all Airplane knew, Mobei-Jun was going to develop an infection and a fever. Maybe Mobei-Jun would die anyway and Airplane was going to be stuck with a bitey demon brat who hated him. 

 Airplane yawned. Keeping his eyes open was becoming really hard. Fuck. 

 Watching Didi’s back go up and down with his unconscious breaths was pretty mesmerizing. It was really tempting to sneak over there and pinch one of those chubby, chubby cheeks. Or those cute demon ears. But the demon child looked almost as tired as Airplane felt and probably bit in his sleep. 

 Airplane really didn’t want to think about what would have happened if he’d just taken off with Mobei-Jun, not knowing the demon child had been hiding nearby. That might have been the worst possible situation. Didi was dirty and exhausted now, sure, but he looked like one of those babies who should have been spoiled and happy all the time, and not mercilessly abandoned to the human world.  

-

 Airplane woke up with a hand around his throat, squeezing. 

 There was a dark shadow above him and an even darker feeling in the air. The hand at his throat felt freezing cold. The air was burning with hateful demonic energy that felt like acid on his skin. Airplane struggled, but it was all immoveable. 

 “Where is he?” the shadow snarled. 

 Airplane choked. 

 His shadowy attacker belatedly seemed to realize that Airplane couldn’t talk when he was being choked to death! The squeezing let up enough for Airplane to breathe again. His lungs felt like they were burning hot and cold! His throat felt crushed and ruined. 

 “What did you do with him?” the attacker demanded. 

 “...W-wh…?” 

 “The child! Where is the child?!” 

 Airplane realized here that he was looking into the face of his future murderer. It was hard to make out in the darkness when he was being choked! 

 Mobei-Jun looked wild. His eyes looked like lightning. 

 “The ch-child… ch- chi- is-” 

 Mobei-Jun snarled again with impatience. 

 Even though it definitely wasn’t Airplane’s fault he couldn’t talk coherently! 

 “H-here,” Airplane choked out. 

 Mobei-Jun’s grip tightened, but then the man froze. His head snapped to the side. 

 Airplane followed the demon lord’s gaze. 

 Through the darkness, if Airplane squinted, he could see a small figure crouched by the supplies. Didi was frozen, watching them, chubby cheeks stuffed with stolen food. 

 Oh, there weren’t words for what Airplane wanted to say to the brat! Sneaking around like this in the middle of the night! Nearly getting Airplane strangled for no reason! 

 Mobei-Jun released Airplane immediately and flew across the room to the demon child, who threw up his arms immediately. Mobei-Jun took his younger brother into his arms and then collapsed heavily to the floor. By the sound of it, he crushed some of their precious food supplies as he fell! But the man was too busy wrapping his arms around the demon child to care about things like that, letting Didi sob into his chest, glaring at Airplane over the demon child’s head. 

 Airplane kept his distance! He knew better than to get anywhere near that! 

 The silence was very heavy. 

 He was certain that Mobei-Jun had reopened his wounds, if they had managed to close at all! As time trickled by them, he could see red seeping down the man’s side. 

 “...There are more bandages,” Airplane said finally, hoarsely. 

 Mobei-Jun’s scowl deepened, his lip curling. 

 “Ah… if- if you want them.” 

 What an asshole! 

 Airplane stayed put and didn’t make any sudden moves. 

 His throat felt like shit, so he tried to heal it with his spiritual energy. It was hard to focus with the demon lord glaring at him like that, on the other side of the room, but he didn’t really have anything better to do. There were only so many names he could silently call this ungrateful young demon who’d attacked the bro who’d saved his life! 

 At least Mobei-Jun hadn’t bitten him too. 

 Time trickled by and by. Eventually, Mobei-Jun’s eyelids began to droop close. The man’s injury appeared to be pulling him back under, whether he liked it or not. 

 After Mobei-Jun’s eyes had closed without opening for a long time, Airplane finally risked moving again. Mobei-Jun didn’t wake up, but Didi’s eyes fixed on Airplane, which made Airplane fear being bitten as he carefully came closer. 

 “Ahhh, see? Your gege is fine. I’m just… just going to put him back to bed, alright? You- don’t get up… just stay there and don’t bite me. We’re putting gege back to bed.” 

 Airplane dragged Mobei-Jun back to where the man had been before, with Didi staying put on his elder brother’s chest. Airplane was sure that this couldn’t be good for the demon lord’s wounds! But clearly Mobei-Jun didn’t give a shit about his own health! 

 “Didi, can you get off gege’s chest? Keep hugging him, just slide off, please? Gege is hurt, remember? Gege is hurt and we need to help him. See, he’s bleeding. Please let your Shang-Gege help again and don’t bite me. Everyone is fine. Everyone is happy. Everyone is getting along just fine and helping and healing. There’s no need to bite your Shang-Gege who is only helping, okay?” 

 Didi was more cooperative this time, sliding off Mobei-Jun chest to hug his less-injured side, while Airplane poked at the demon lord’s bleeding. The injuries looked… a lot better than Airplane would have expected them to. This healing rate was nothing short of astounding. Was this the power of an OP demon lord? How unfair! 

 Airplane did his best fixing the man up again. 

 He should have just let the man rot! 

 Mobei-Jun had just tried to kill him again! He would totally deserve it! 

 But there was a demon child carefully watching and Airplane didn’t want to end up with custody if his future murderer died here after all. What would he do with a demon child? Take them back to the sect?! His master would love that, he’s sure! 

 “Ah, looks like he’s getting lots better,” Airplane told Didi hoarsely, rubbing at his poor throat. “You’re doing a good job looking after him. Good job helping your gege. Keep helping his sleep, okay? Stay right there and don’t go sneaking off again, okay? Please don’t go sneaking off again, your Shang-Gege won’t be able to take it.” 

 Didi just blinked at him. 

 “Good job,” Airplane said. “Good job. Shang-Gege is… going to make sure that everything is okay outside. You stay here and protect your gege. Good job.” 

 That said, Airplane crept backwards, got up, and went outside. 

 Once outside, he promptly fell to his knees and curled in on himself. 

 “Holy fucking shit,” he said. 

[woopsydaisydney]

“Legend Weavers”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This drabble is written with my own Original Characters. I hope to one day write a full story with these characters and their world. I figured a prompt challenge would be a good way to introduce them to readers.

Word Count: 2,050

Approx. Reading Time: ~8 minutes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drew’s head was spinning after she left the council hall. Night had fallen in the time it had taken for her world to turn itself upside down.

Even after it had been explained to her- she still couldn’t believe it. She had died 25 years ago? And now she was back, with a new life and no memories of her old one, and no one knew how or why?

Ra couldn’t stop staring at her like she was a ghost. 

Bianca would barely give her room to breathe. The freckled girl had stayed glued to Drew’s hip no matter how hard she tried to shake her.

And Eros. Eros wouldn’t even look at her. Wouldn’t speak to her. He left the room not long after her arrival at the castle headquarters. She didn’t know why but a part of her soul ached because of this. The part of her soul that remembered their names and faces even when her mind couldn’t recall ever knowing these friends.

God, how she wished she could remember. Drew tried explaining to Mother Nature’s council that she was just ordinary. She explained that she lived an ordinary life up until the tornado swept her and her van off the road. She explained the shock she felt at having the breath squeezed out of her by a stranger- Bianca- hugging her when she regained consciousness. 

They were shocked to learn that she basically underwent a total system reset in the past 25 years. The day she “died” on the battlefield in their world was the day she was found as a newborn on a street corner in Pennsylvania. They were almost as shocked to learn this as Drew was to learn that these people- these gods and spirits and legends- never aged at all.

“What do you mean your 354th birthday was three months ago?!” Drew had half shouted at Bianca as the taller blonde girl was trying to make small talk.

Bianca had paused for a long moment. She continued in her borderline-annoyed French accent, “You know, if you’re going to freak out about every little thing for a whole ass second time, this is going to get really taxing.”

That was another thing. Everything was apparently happening to Drew for a “second time”. The people around her kept alluding to the “first time she had tried this” or the “first time she had done that”. She wouldn’t believe a word of what they were saying if it weren’t for the annoying nagging feeling of her own memories trying to resurface.

She walked outside to clear her mind.

The lights of a town a few miles down the hill twinkled along with the stars. Ra had told her about how the castle was cloaked from view of any passerby. The humans just saw a bunch of uninteresting ruins. Drew found herself wondering, if this were to continue to be her life as apparently it was before, would it be worth it to be unseen by the world?

She readjusted her long black ponytail as she let out an exasperated sigh. The soft breeze tried to soothe her as it danced across her dark skin.

A sniffling sound above startled her as she whipped around.

It was Eros sitting on the roof of one of the castle’s dormers. Drew squinted for a moment in the low light. His back was to her and massive feathered wings were curled up over his shoulders and head. His shoulders were slightly shaking.

She straightened her bulky cargo jacket and found an easy enough way to climb up. The old brick was strong under her hands and sneakers and she easily found handholds. In no time at all, she was sitting next to the winged man on the shingles.

“Are you crying?” Drew asked.

“Please,” his voice cracked against the word, “Don’t acknowledge it.”

“Yeesh, okay…” her own voice trailed off.

They sat like that for a while. Eros still crying and her staring off into the darkening countryside. The stars were very visible here and she could make out the faint outline of the milky way. Drew took the time to just sit and take in the view while she tried to process the day’s events.

After a few minutes, she felt eyes on her.

Eros was watching her. Her dark brown eyes met his blue ones and that little part of her soul ached again. She forced herself to look away.

“We were close,” Drew said. It wasn’t a question.

Eros nodded in her peripheral. She noticed his hand moved briefly to take hers, but stopped short.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember,” She said, though she wasn’t sure that was 100% true. Some part of her remembered him, she was sure.

“I can tell you. About how things were before,” His hopeful voice carried an accent that Drew couldn’t quite place. Greek maybe?

Drew nodded, accepting his offer.

They sat for hours as Eros told her about her previous life. In some ways it was quite similar to her current life. 

She was adopted as a child. Wanted to go to law school. Took a gap year in college to travel- that’s when the tornado swept her away both times. 

Bianca was her first friend because Bianca’s job as a Mythology Keeper for legends and spirits required her to keep in close contact. Eros was the second friend Drew had met in their world. They had fought sand demons in Egypt together not two hours after Drew’s transformation. Eros’ older brother, Ra, the king of all legends, had been wary of Drew at first but they too had grown to be friends.

The legend of chaos and war, Morrigan, had waged war against Mother Nature. The threat brought together legends from around the world. Drew’s group of friends specifically were vital in the war due to their proximity to Ra. They trained and fought together.

Drew suspected that Eros was leaving certain things out. Occasionally he would stutter and pause before taking up the story again in a different place. Nevertheless, she was enraptured by the tale of her adventures. She had fought Morrigan one on one multiple times. She was the one who had discovered Morrigan’s lair. She was quite the fighter, Eros emphasized, and scared the daylights out of anyone who tried to spar with her in training.

She had powers- like the rest of the legends. Strength and mastery over the wind. They had been trying to decipher which legend she was chosen to embody. She was Native American so they had decided to research Native legends. But then she died.

The story cut off suddenly and a new wave of tears sprung up in Eros’ eyes. His hand flew to his mouth and he looked away from Drew for the first time in hours.

Instinctually, her hand reached up to stroke the bend in Eros’ wing. Subconsciously or not, he leaned into the touch.

“You used to do that to comfort me,” he said around his hand.

“You don’t have to tell me the rest,” she whispered, “I mean, I just found out I had another life- and powers! You already told me more than I was hoping to learn.”

“N-no but I have to tell,” Eros half sobbed, “You need to understand. The guilt and sorrow I’ve felt for the past 25 years. I don’t age but my heart is… s-so heavy with those years.”

Drew removed her hand, and patiently waited for him to continue.

“It was me. You died… because of me,” he looked back at her. A fear in his eyes.

“What?” Drew’s brain tried again to process.

“I had died first. In the battle in the Himalayas,” Eros seemed in a trance as he spoke. Like he could no longer stop the words from coming out. Like he had kept this inside for so long that nothing could stop it from spilling over.

“Morrigan had killed me. I remember seeing the Olympians after I died. My mother and father. Then they told me it wasn’t my time and I came crashing back.” Eros could barely form the words around the cries trying to come out of his throat, but he forced his way forward in the story.

“When I woke up… there was a scar in my side from the healed wound. Ra was sobbing and holding me. I looked over and… and…” 

Drew’s heart was hammering in her chest, eyes wide. A memory sparked in her mind. Morrigan’s sword piercing Eros’ side. Eros falling and not getting up. Then some time later, Drew shaking hands with Morrigan. Then… nothing.

Eros continued, “You were limp in Bianca’s arms. She was yelling at you. Calling you stupid but she was crying. Ra told me he was sorry, he couldn’t stop you.”

Eros stopped, tears still flowing. He stared into Drew’s eyes now with an intensity that broke her heart.

“What happened?” She asked breathlessly after a moment of silence.

“You saved me, Drew. Morrigan offered you a… a deal. You gave your life for mine. I tried to crawl to your body but I was still weak and Ra wouldn’t let go of me. You disappeared before I could reach you…”

“But-” Drew stuttered, “But I’m alive. I didn’t die.”

“Didn’t you?” Eros said.

His hand, after being held back for so long, grasped Drew’s. His other hand cupped her face.

“Drew, I will forever be grateful for your sacrifice. Even if you can’t remember it.”

Drew must’ve looked like a deer in the headlights. 

“Why didn’t Morrigan just kill me?” She asked, desperate, “Why did she send me back as a baby? Why can’t I remember anything?”

“I don’t know- I don’t know,” Eros said, “But even as horrible as she is, I’m grateful for her mercy.”

Drew grabbed him into as tight of a hug as she could manage. He returned it tenfold, his powerful wings coming up to wrap around them as well. Only then did she allow herself to start crying. Everything that had been revealed to her that day, and only then was she crying. She mourned the life she had forgotten and the human life she was just taken from. She mourned Eros, but hugging his chubby frame grounded her, reminding her that he was right there. She was angry at Morrigan. No. Furious. Hell, she was even angry at Mother Nature. It was her war. Why should they be the ones to fight it?

After a while they peeled themselves out of the hug. They were both cried out and exhausted as the moon now shone overhead. Eros helped Drew down from the dormer and they walked back inside. Eros walked her to the room she shared with Bianca. The feeling of deja vu as they walked the halls was almost overwhelming.

Bianca opened the door when they arrived.

“I knew you were with her, Eros, but let’s not encourage her to ignore curfew like you do,” Bianca scolded before turning to Drew, “Come in, I have some pajamas for you.”

Drew nodded to her and Bianca walked back inside.

“Ra will be expecting me back in our room,” Eros said, moving to leave.

“Can I ask you one last thing?” Drew stopped him.

“Of course,” He said.

“Who were you to me?”

Eros paused, thinking, as they looked at each other. She noticed he had a sprinkle of freckles across his nose. Not as many as Bianca who was absolutely covered head to toe. Another memory popped into her mind and she knew that he had more freckles in the spot on his back between his wings.

“You know, that’s actually hard to say. I’m not… really sure,” Eros said, turning slightly red.

“Why?”

“We never talked about it.”

And with that, Eros left down the hall with a wink. Drew took a note of the gesture’s familiarity as she went inside the room. A part of her suspected he might be lying but she couldn’t think of a reason for him to do that... right?

Tonight she would sleep. And tomorrow… Dammit, tomorrow she would figure out how to win this war and regain the memories of her past life.

No one would stand in her way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Writing Prompts:

@promptsforthestrugglingauthor : #1363

“Are you crying?”

“Please,” their voice cracked against the word. “Don’t acknowledge it.”

@givethispromptatry :

“Who were you to me?”

“You know, that’s actually hard to say. I’m not really sure.”

“Why?”

“We never talked about it.”

[talesmaniac89]

Choices - You Chose Dean

New to Choices? Start Here

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Choices is an interactive Supernatural choose your own adventure story where your choices determine the outcome and whether it’s a Dean x Reader or Sam x Reader. Go to the intro to start your story now!

Triggers: None really, some mention of Dean putting himself in harm’s way.

Choice:  [You chose Dean Winchester]

Y/N = Your Name

—

“Right… So, to make sure we’re ready…” Dean said with a sigh, eyeing the signs as they passed by. The tense tone and hard voice of a soldier enough for you to tell you were quickly closing in on the farmhouse in question. 

“There’s supposed to be five demons in there. We’ll have to take ‘em all out fast. Try to catch them off guard,” Dean spoke over the music, echoing the earlier plan and case details. Though you didn’t mind. It was better to be prepared. Know the case inside out. Especially when you were dealing with those slimy black-eyed bastards. They tended to try and wiggle their way free if you left them even the slightest bit of breathing room.

According to the briefing, the five demons had made themselves a cosy little home in the middle of farm town USA. Happily living their best evil little lives and causing havoc wherever they went. But they weren’t big shots. So, the fight shouldn’t be too hard for three experienced hunters. In, out, find a motel for a snooze if necessary and home in time for lunch tomorrow.

“We’ll have to split up. (Y/N), I think…” Dean started, those infuriatingly striking green eyes glancing up at you through the rear-view mirror and nearly leaving you tongue-tied. Damn him and his… Gorgeous fucking bastard. You couldn’t even think straight. Dean Winchester did things to your mind; filthy, explicit, breathless things. Leaving you mentally winded and unable to string two words together with just a flash of green or a blinding smile.

Yet you somehow still managed to get the protest out before he finished his sentence. The stubbornness of a hunter tackling the wanton daydreamer in you to the floor and wrestling the not-so-innocent devil on your shoulder into submission for long enough to let you find your voice again.

“I’m not sitting this one out Winchester,” You snapped back. Allowing your annoyance to mask the way the hunter always left you winded as you shot down Dean’s attempt to keep you out of harm's way. Like he did every hunt. Disguised as you either taking on the research-, backup- or otherwise removed from action roles.

Though he always failed. You were just as unwilling to see him hurt as he was to see anyone hurt. There was no way in hell you’d be able to sit a fight out and risk the man you loved (oh so very secretly and silently mind you) get hurt because of it. 

“Alright… But you’re staying behind me,” Dean sighed after a moment. Clearly sensing the fight brewing as he backed off quite easily. Plus, even the infuriatingly protective hunter had to agree that 3 against 5 were still better odds than 2 against 5. No matter how much he wanted to go in, guns blazing, alone to keep his little brother and you out of harm’s way.

“Ok, so… We’ll head in the front, while Sammy goes around back?” You clarified; happy he’d dropped the fight for once. And doubly happy since you’d be right there by his side. Able to protect him and the heart you’d silently slipped him without him noticing. 

“Yeah, after, we paint some Devil’s Traps outside. Give ‘em nowhere to run,” Dean’s voice was all business again as he revved the engine, green eyes hard as you sped down the old country roads. Straightening in your own seat, you felt the adrenaline start coursing through you. It was show time, and you were planning on kicking some serious demon ass. 

--- 

“Nice place they’ve got here…” Raising an eyebrow, you kept your eyes on the dilapidated farmhouse through the trees as you stepped out of the car, hidden just out of view from the demon hideout. Unable to stop the disgusted shudder that crawled up your spine as snapshots from some of the goriest movies you knew flashed in front of your eyes.

It looked like something from a classic horror movie. You could nearly hear the Deliverance banjo music in the background as your eyes scanned the rickety porch and rotting wood. It was the kind of place you’d normally scream at the characters on the screen to run away from. Not in fear, but in pure exasperation. After all, nothing good was ever found in old abandoned farmhouses. The demons in the one in front of you just helped prove your point. 

Following Dean to the back of the car, you kept your angel blade by your side as you busied yourself stocking up on holy water and enough iron to make Tony Stark jealous. Taking extra care to ensure everything was safely strapped to your body, and that none of the ‘pointier’ weapons would end up turning on you if you took a tumble. Though you knew you’d most likely just end up sticking to good ol’ reliable and angelic in your hand. The silver white blade thumping against your thigh matched your heartbeat. Adrenaline already coursing pleasurably through your veins from the thought of the upcoming fight.

You needed action, and you needed it fast. The nearly uncomfortable buzz in your body seemed to be reacting violently to the evil in the air, culminating in an itch in your bones that nothing but gunpowder and steel could scratch. So, as you finished building your wearable arsenal of guns, knives and all things pain-inducing, you glanced over at Dean, lips parted to get the show on the road. However, Dean wasn’t moving next to you. 

The gun he’d picked up first still heavy in his palm as he stood frozen, watching you. Worry making the green summer days in his eyes cloud over like a sudden midday storm. The barely hidden pain in them squeezing at your heart as you readied yourself for words you knew would come. 

“You don’t have to…”

“Yes, I do Dean,” You sighed, unwilling to even let him finish his usual attempt at making you sit the hunt out. The same frustrating song and dance as always, yet you couldn’t help the way your heart followed the rhythm of it. The kind, protective streak that made the hunter ask you that same question every time you set out to fight another monster was, after all, part of why you loved him. 

Always so willing to carry every burden on his own shoulders, yet hiding that small, fragile part of himself that showed how everyone’s burdens were taking their toll. Keeping his own pain, his own burdens, hidden until he was alone in the bunker. Or at least, until he thought he was alone. You’d caught him more than once. Tired green eyes squeezed shut as he rested his head in his hands, gasping for breath through the onslaught of guilt and hurt. Strong shoulders shaking with unshed tears and the weight of the blame he placed on them. 

He wanted to keep you safe. Not just you, but the whole god damned world. Still, he was just one man. One soldier in a war that had been raging since the beginning of time itself and he never put down his weapon. Always ready to jump back into the fray. Even as his armour cracked, and his blade dulled. Even as he collapsed under the weight of it all.

The family business; his life since childhood had forced him to hide away his fears as weaknesses. Shaping himself into a shield instead, as he readily threw himself into harm’s way if he believed it could save someone else. Dean Winchester lived like he had a death wish, even though he feared the unknown darkness that was waiting on the other side. Always a little too ready to sacrifice himself for the greater good. 

Never seeing that he was greater than the sum of his sins. That he was good. 

Never willing to believe that the world was a better place with him in it. Though to you it was. Hell… Without him in it, the world would just be a black and white imitation of its formerly vibrant self.

Because you knew the truth that he spent every waking moment trying to hide from the greedy world that just kept demanding more of its one-man army. That behind the soldier, there was a man with a big heart and a need to be loved. A young boy who was denied a childhood. A broken big brother that always blamed himself for pulling Sammy back into the life. A friend willing to sacrifice anything just to see you smile. And, a beautiful soul, who hurt and mourned deeper than anyone else whenever you failed to save someone. 

Dean Winchester was a complex man.

He wasn’t just a hunter, brother, friend or secret keeper of your heart. Dean was a heartrendingly beautiful story with untold depths, a full unexplored universe. With all the nuances and colours that painted a picture of his painful history in scars, heartbreaks and timid smiles that he felt guilty for letting slip. 

A story made up of all the stifled emotions and locked in screams, that easily brought those who knew him to tears. Peppered with small verses of agonisingly fragile hope and the long forgotten innocence of a childhood he never got to have. Hidden and hard to decipher among the many self-deprecating jokes and harsh rejections, yet not lost to you as it was to many others who saw the man as unfeeling and cold. Dean just had to grow up a little faster than most, it didn’t make him a monster, it didn’t make him any less human.

And you didn’t want to add new bruised and battered sentences to that story. You never wanted to be the reason for him to ever get hurt. So, as always, you told him the same thing you’d repeated for an immeasurable number of former hunts. Speaking into the quiet air around you as you grabbed one of the spray cans from the trunk.

“We’re in this together Dean. I’ve got your back, you’ve got mine. Forever,” 

--- 

Straightening back up with a stifled groan you admired your work. 

If all else failed and hunting didn’t work out, maybe you could turn to street art. The Devil’s Trap was expertly painted, if you’d say so yourself. Which you did. Albeit silently and in your own head, as to not alert the demons in the farmhouse to the right of you. 

The trap you’d been assigned was the closest to the Impala, another attempt from Dean at keeping you safe. Yet, it was also the most likely escape route if the demons turned cowards and tried to run for the hills. 

The sliding door just a few steps away to your right was not a planned entry point. So, they’d be most likely to try and use it to scutter away like the scared little black-eyed rats they were if it came down to that. So, your work had to be perfect. Allowing yourself just one more careful look over the symbols, you stepped back. Turning on light feet to carefully, and silently, re-join Dean by the front door. 

The worry in green eyes had once more been replaced by steely determination once you made it back to the front of the farmhouse. Squaring his jaw, he watched you quietly jog up to him before just as soundlessly signalling for Sam to start moving towards the back door with a raised hand and to fingers pointed down the path around the house. His own eyes moving to lock onto the front door, weapon at the ready while he relayed the wordless orders. Missing the small nod from Sam as the younger hunter stayed crouched and quiet, moving before Dean’s hand even had time to straighten out and silently relay his next orders.

Lifting his hand to you, you frowned at the straight palm facing you. He was asking you to wait outside for his signal. To let him walk in through the front door first and act like your shield in case something went wrong. 

Looking at him you gritted your teeth to keep the angry whisper at bay. Gripping your angel blade a little harder, you chose to instead just silently shake your head at him in protest. Catching his eye as he glanced away from the door to make sure you caught the order you tried to silently plead with him. But this time he wasn’t backing down.

His own wordless reply was just a repeat of the single hand gesture that was supposed to be your command and role in the coming battle. Green eyes leaving yours to cut off every silent argument you had as he kept his shoulders tense and jaw squared. 

Your stubborn hunter wasn’t going to let you argue this time as he slowly but surely started moving forward, towards the door. Leaving you standing in the gravel, fuming silently.

—

Make your choice below to move the story along:

What do you do?

[Follow him in] or [Wait outside]

—

Confused or New to Choices? Start Here Choices is an interactive Supernatural choose your own adventure story where you pick your Winchester brother and go on a hunt for one of 8 different endings in total. Four for Sam and four for Dean (2 happy and 2 bad endings per brother). Go to the intro to start your story!

—

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

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hades!harry sneak peek

Harry’s circadian rhythm was fucked. 

It was beyond fucked— it was royally, godly, supernaturally shanked.

It’s no mystery as to how or why his sleep cycle is such an utter disaster considering he lives miles and miles underneath the earth with no sun to filter through his curtains, no birds to chirp him awake, and no distinguishable change in climate to alert him of oncoming dawn. No, Harry very much lacks this simple overland luxury that mortals and other gods eagerly take for granted— the gift of being roused in the morning by nature and its beautiful accompaniments. 

Instead, Harry is sequestered deep inside a giant fucking rock with endless emerald flames lapping at the walls of his palace and up along the windows of his bedroom, never changing color, never changing heat, and obviously never allowing a living, breathing bird to sing a single note in his ear. 

One would assume he had gotten used to it after carrying a two thousand year lease on this fiery pit he calls home, but how could he ever learn to settle when he has spent time dwelling the human world and enjoying its little golden mysteries that any other soul rarely ever seems to cherish. There’s so much to love about living above ground, from the energy-packed colorful music festivals, to the illuminated skyscrapers that overlook incredibly diverse cities, to the vast expanse of crystalline bodies of water that twinkle brighter than any jewel he’s ever laid eyes on (which speaks plenty, given that gems and priceless stones are well within his domain of expertise). 

The list of under-appreciated delicacies that the mortal realm holds is truly bottomless and he could drawl on for hours about how ungrateful and selfish people can be when they have everything at their fingertips. However, Harry would rather channel his thoughts into something more positive and beneficial to his sanity. 

He often finds himself wistfully sifting through all of the charming earthly encounters he’s organized into that imaginary archive, using them as a means to escape the dim world he had been burdened with reigning. It’s not that he necessarily hates the Underworld— he’s quite proud of it, actually; proud of how far it’s come under his design and taste— but staring at the same brimstone walls, obsidian floors, and onyx marbled columns tends to get old after a couple of centuries, let alone twenty. There’s nothing treacherous about a bit of escapism, especially not when his favorite daydream is something so minimalistic and overlooked. 

In Harry’s refined point of view, the most treasured aspect of the overland world is the ability to witness a sunrise. For decades upon decades, when he has the chance to spend a whole day as just another person in the crowd rather than a celestial being, the event he looks forward to above all is being awoken by buttery light cascading in through the silk curtains of an elegant balcony door, preferably in a quaint yet lavish hotel room somewhere in the backwoods of Paris or Rome. In his opinion, there’s nothing that can quite compare to the sensation that crawls across his bare skin as the first rays of sun tickle the hairs along his arms and caress the crests of his cold cheekbones. It’s an otherworldly experience, the way his flesh tingles as it absorbs the innocent heat and spreads it across every cell in his magically-heightened body. It melts him down to his icy heart in a manner that only one other thing— or person, rather— has ever managed to accomplish. 

He thinks he could sit there for hours, on a cushioned deck chair with his feet propped up on the railing as the sun kisses his chest and nose raspberry red, the cool morning breeze carding into his tousled curls as he sips from a glass of finely mulled wine that costs more than any regular person would dare indulge, his eyes falling shut in bliss as a honeyed warmth drapes over him like a weighted blanket. He’s well aware that the over-exposure will later leave him itchy, stinging, and peeling, yet that understanding somehow always makes him crave it more. If there’s anything being an immortal god has taught him is that a little bit of heaven has to come with the hell, and if it makes you happy and numbs away some of your troubles— even if just for an instance— then any hell is definitely worth bracing. 

It’s the small moments like that which keep you from teetering over the edge; if you have the chance, allow yourself to swim in it, or risk drowning in what could have been.

Harry wishes he could take credit for that quote— it makes him sound like a wise deity instead of a sulking one. It’s not his, however, and he refuses to take credit for such a perfectly articulated belief, especially not when it comes from the mind of someone just as perfect, if not more. 

If he’s being truly honest, he knows it’s borderline unhealthy how all of his thoughts somehow always tend to funnel into his love for his wife. She’s always there, lurking in the back of his brain when she’s not at its forefront, influencing every action he partakes, every word that passes by his lips, and every notion that tweedles the gears in his head. Persephone has a hand in everything that makes his heart thaw, so of course her name is sprawled all over this specific piece of joy in his life, as well. And when he allows himself to fully bide on what could have possibly made this seemingly unimportant experience— something as casual as feeling the sun heating his skin as it rises in the morning— flourish into his most adored above-ground pastime, it’s obviously logical that Y/N is behind it. All his happiness continuously comes together through her, as it has for the last two millennia. 

Y/N had noticed a while back how during their adventures in the human world, Harry seemed to really enjoy sunrises; so much so that he’d shake her awake at the ass crack of dawn and drag her out of their very fluffy, very comfortable hotel bed and onto the balcony just so they could witness it together. He’d get this sheen of childish awe across his face as the sun would emerge from the distant horizon, bathing the dusky night sky in a splatter of drunken purples, mellow oranges, and pastel blues. He’d bend over the metal railing as far as it would allow, wanting to get as close to the natural artistry as possible, a wonderous, giddy smile twisting his dimples into place as the stars would disappear into the phenomenon. 

Harry would point and laugh softly in sheer amazement as all of the stunning shades would swirl together among the clouds before eventually fading away, leaving him breathless and dazed at how something so mystical could be happening right in front of everyone’s eyes and yet not many put effort into appreciating it. He’d never understand how humans could sacrifice such an exhilarating experience for a few extra minutes of sleep. 

Y/N filed under that group, unfortunately. She’d never really been one to pay much attention to sunrises anymore since she was used to living six months of every year on Olympus. Seeing the sun break through the clouds every morning was routine for her and as far as routines go, it had eventually gotten old. She’d lost interest long ago, save a few times here and there when she would be in a particular mood and savor it. But all in all, sunrises just weren’t that extravagant to her anymore. 

However, Persephone had never stopped to think about what they meant to her husband— to a man who lived the majority of his eternal days underground in a literal hell hole, too busy with his kingly duties to come up and enjoy seeing daybreak. A sunrise is something short of a miracle to him, and watching his face light up with astonished joy— both metaphorically and literally— as they’d watch the scene together quickly became something short of a miracle to her. 

[ coming soon! ]

[highladyof-erilea]

C.O.D.E.N.A.M.E.S. - chapter two

Sorry it’s taken me so long to get this chapter out! With school and soccer season starting back up again my schedule has been really busy. I will try to get these chapter out as consistently as I can, but this fic will most likely be updated sporadically whenever I have time. Without out further ado, here is chapter two of C.O.D.E.N.A.M.E.S. 

<<chapter one * masterlist * ao3 *

~~~

“Really Gavriel, everything's gonna be fine,” Rowan consoled Gavriel while he assembled his pistol. “They might be one of the best we’ve hunted yet, but you know they won’t see me coming. It’s going to go just the way we want it to.” The captain really had to have more trust in him. Sure, Rowan could go off book sometimes, but it was always for the best and he always managed to complete the mission no matter what, so Gavriel had nothing to worry about. 

“You know I trust you to get it done, but the director is very adamant that this mission gets pulled off efficiently with no casualties on either side,” Gavriel emphasized either, as if he knew that Rowan would sacrifice their mission if it meant saving someone on their side. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. “If we don’t complete this mission soon, she’ll order us back to base and put someone else on the job. I think I’m speaking for everyone when I say none of us want to go anywhere near that place anytime soon.” There was a resounding agreement from everybody in the room, including Rowan. “You’ll take Lorcan with you. He’ll have them in his aim in case anything goes wrong.” Lorcan groaned from across the room, slumping on one of the couches as Rowan raised his brow.

“Honestly, Gavriel. I don’t understand why you don’t just send me in alone. I can get them from 100 yards away, knock them out, and bring ‘em in. It would be much simpler for me to go in alone and drag Rowan along with me simply as the muscle. He can’t even fit in tight places. He’s too big.” Lorcan smirked at Rowan as he started collecting his gear. “Trust me Gavriel. I’ll be more efficient by myself than Rowan could ever be.” 

“Stop it, both of you. You have your orders and I expect you to follow them. Unless you want to be on dishes for the next week?” Both Rowan and Lorcan received a pointed look from Gavriel. They stayed silent. “That’s what I thought. Now stop moping and get your asses out of here. You don’t take a step in here unless you have them with you.” Gavriel dismissed them, promptly walking out of the room. Right before he shut the door, Rowan swore he could hear Gavriel mutter under his breath Sometimes I feel like I’m raising children. Rowan chuckled at that.

~

The abandoned hotel that Rowan found himself in looked like a jungle had washed through. There were vines crawling up the walls and spiderwebs in every corner and available space of the building. The side wall on the westside was decimated, the sunset shining through, almost mocking him as though it knew that something was going to go wrong. Rowan spotted a stairwell to his left that would take him up onto the roof, where presumably his target would be. Climbing up the stairs, hearing nothing but the wind even though the door to the roof was open, he realized that something was about to go wrong. His unit had already scouted this building hours before, in response to the tip they had received a couple days ago. 

It had seemed to appear out of the blue, Fenrys finding it in the mailbox at their current station, which hadn’t been used since their first day at their house to deliver all the necessary information for their assignments. It had everybody looking over their shoulders, considering that nobody was supposed to know their location or who they really were. But once Fen had seen what the letter was actually about, they decided to throw caution out of the window.

~

Looking up from his reports, Rowan noticed Fenrys standing outside like he had seen a ghost. Following his line of sight, Rowan looked towards their mailbox with its red flag sticking up. Rowan dismissed it at first glance, but then took a double take when he realized why exactly Fenrys looked like he had seen a ghost. The flag was up. On their mailbox. That should never have been used. It didn’t even have a street number on it.

Trying to look inconspicuous, Rowan called out to Lorcan to pull up the security cameras, and sprinted outside to join Fenrys. Calling out to him, Fenrys threw an arm across Rowan’s chest, stopping him from advancing any further. “Don’t take another step. Until we know what exactly is in there, we shouldn’t even be in the vicinity of it.”

Staring wide-eyed at the mailbox, Rowan responded to Fenrys.  “Lorcan’s pulling up the cameras. We should head back inside and wait for Gavriel’s decision before we do anything more.” 

As it turned out, the package appeared to be harmless and once Lorcan was able to get a good visual of the package, deeming them to be safe at the moment, Fenrys received the package from the mailbox. It turned out to be a letter with only a single address written on it.  The North Stag

~

Considering that The North Stag was an abandoned hotel and had old connections to the assassin they were hunting, Gavriel decided to follow through on the tip, sending the team to scout out the building so they would know what they were dealing with. Considering everything now, Rowan really wished they had known more information about their target. Because when he got the call over the comms from Lorcan that he had eyes on them, they were both woefully underprepared for what came after that.

Climbing the stairwell that led to the roof, Rowan approached the door as quietly as he could, as to not disturb anything and alert the target to his presence.When he opened the door there was a slight resistance but he was able to get it open without making any alerting noises. He credited it to the rusty hinges and it not being used in years. 

Creeping through the doorway, Rowan scanned his surroundings. The entire ground was covered with gravel and overgrown weeds crawling over the edges of the roof and the box above the stairwell. He assumed that the target was on the other side of the box, seeing as he could not see them and the assassin’s intended victim would be inside of the building that Rowan was facing away from. There were several rusted over ventilation vents scattered around the roof. They could be helpful if there was a struggle, but as long as Rowan could get the jump on the guy, he could have them down in mere seconds. Of course, Lorcan was aimed and ready across the street, but Rowan wouldn’t need his help besides being muscle to drag their prisoner back to the base.

Rowan still didn’t understand why Gavriel insisted Lorcan be there. He should know perfectly well how Rowan worked best on his own and backup always messed everything in the end instead of actually helping out. Rowan rounded the corner as quietly as he could, keeping his eyes open and trigger finger poised so he could take the shot as a last resort. Rowan wanted to be the sneak attack and not the other way around. He didn’t want anything backfiring on him. When he had eyes on the target, Rowan zeroed in on their position and proceeded as he usually would.

Rowan answered Lorcan over the comms, ~Approaching the target. In view and ready to engage.~

Lorcan responded in his usual manner with a grunt. That was all the confirmation he needed.

Rowan glanced over his target before closing in, noting that they were dressed in very loose clothes, which didn’t seem the most ideal for a stealth mission. He pushed that into the back of his mind to use for later and snuck up on his target with his pistol poised and ready to shoot. He placed the black, cold barrel on his target's head and said “If I were you, I wouldn’t pull that trigger.”

~~~

Thank you so much for reading! Comments are encouraged and appreciated...I really want to work on my writing and they are one way to help me grow. Let me know if you would like to be added to the Tag List!

[setoangel01-fanfiction]

Reunion - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - The Journey (Previous Chapter)

Rated: T

Fandom: Final Fantasy 7 Remake

Pairing: Zack Fair x Aerith Gainsborough (Zerith)

Summary: Zack (and Cloud's) journey back to Aerith after the change of fate fight in the Midgar Wastes...

WARNING: Strong language, brutal violence and references to torture.

...

Fanfiction.net

A03

...

Zack Fair had no fucking clue how he was still alive.

There were literally thousands of Shin-Ra troopers ready and willing to end his life and Zack, doing the only thing he could to protect Cloud, fought them all until he was miraculously the last one standing. The ex-SOLDIER First-Class running on absolutely nothing but pure rage and adrenaline that was quickly depleting; if there had only been a few more troopers with decent aim, Zack doubted he'd still be breathing right now, let alone standing.

Heart hammering with leftover adrenaline, head throbbing, arms and hands shaking from where they'd held the Buster Sword in a white-knuckled grip (it was the only thing still keeping him vertical), Zack stood in shock while staring at the wasteland filled with bodies.

"Wait…was that all of them?"

One thing was for damn sure, Zack had never remembered being more exhausted in his entire life.

Living on the run while dragging around a comatose man for - hell, was it already over a year now? Caring for all of Cloud's many needs, the constant movement, lousy diet of whatever the fuck he could forage, catch and cook (burn) with a Fire Materia, bathing in treacherous icy rivers, no actual decent sleep when Shin-Ra is breathing down your neck and using everything in their disposal to try and catch your ass, and not to mention that sick fuck Hojo's twisted experiments and pickling in a tank of Mako for four years didn't help anyone either. Especially poor Cloud who was still suffering from Mako addiction, withdrawal and still stuck in a damn comatose-like state…

But this fight…

Zack was certain, as he ruffled Cloud's hair one last time before walking away, that this would be his last stand.

His final sacrifice in this damned world and it was all to protect Cloud.

Even if he had died, it would have been worth it. If he'd only saved Cloud, that was more heroic than anything he'd done in his entire life. He would have accepted death and gone to the Lifestream with a smile on his face as long as his buddy was safe ('we're friends, right?'). And if Cloud had run into Aerith later on to tell her "hi" for him, that would be good too...

Yet somehow, Zack was here still standing and drawing breath (albeit it, not very well which was probably quite worrying but Zack was trying not to think about that right now) considering he should have been nothing more than a bullet-ridden corpse.

How?

Why?

He couldn't tell you.

After he noticed that all of the seemingly endless troops were nothing more than bloodied bodies dotting the landscape and he was dragging his half-dead ass over to Cloud to make sure his buddy was okay, he was suddenly thrown to the ground.

So certain it was the final troopers or some goons in a helicopter coming to finish him off, Zack lifted his head. If he was to die, he'd go down facing his murderers but instead of more barrels of guns, he saw the strange clouds over Midgar disappear with a thundering boom and a flash of light. Upon realizing that he wasn't going to die, he somehow drug himself back to his feet and was even able to put the Buster Sword away. Face toward the sky, he watched the blinding light clear and what looked like flickering stars surrounding Midgar before disappearing into the bright blue above.

...The fuck was that?

Something had happened - what it was, he didn't know and really didn't care to find out until him and Cloud were safe under Midgar's steel-plated sky.

Regroup.

What Zack needed to do immediately was grab Cloud and leave.

Even if he'd managed to annihilate a fair bit of Shin-Ra's army, they definitely wouldn't give up that easily and Zack had gone too damn far to quit now. Shaking arms, wobbling knees, sore aching - well, fucking everything - and a headache that had him seeing spots in the edges of his vision was sure as hell not enough to keep him from stopping now.

Oh.

And Aerith.

Zack needed to get to Aerith if it was the last damn thing he ever did and almost dying didn't change that. With that destination in mind, the ex-SOLDIER continued towards where he'd stashed Cloud before he'd confronted the troopers.

"Hey Cloud, you see that?" Zack chuckled a bit breathlessly as he turned the corner to where the blonde was safely nestled in the cliff's dusty crevice. "That was pretty damn cool, right? Fuck yeah. I still got it."

Cloud of course didn't reply other than the slightest grunt as Zack heaved Cloud up to his feet - right before falling straight back onto his ass.

Ow! Fucking hell!

"Oops. Sorry Spike... Alright, let's try that again." Zack took a deep breath through his nose and out his mouth before he finally got Cloud and himself back to his feet.

A few more false starts trying to walk in a coordinated pattern later, Zack finally recovered some of his breath. As much as he despised the Mako in his body (SOLDIER is nothing but a den of monsters) and Hojo (damn that fucker to the deepest, darkest pits of hell after he has the most painful, prolonged death imaginable, preferably at his own hands), at least his recovery time was much better than it ever was even as a First-Class SOLDIER.

Before long, Zack had gotten Cloud's arm over his shoulders while steadily making it through the last leg of their journey toward Midgar, the outline of the city getting closer and closer by the minute. As they neared the city with the steel sky, the sun disappeared behind the clouds.

It started to rain and Zack smiled.

Sure, the ground may now be slippery as fuck but with the soothing, cooling droplets steadily washing away the death, blood and sweat that clung to him for too damn long, he couldn't find it in him to care.

"Almost there, Cloud. We're almost there..."

<><><><><>

After hours of nonstop walking, they sneaked into the city when the sun was nearly kissing the horizon line.

Zack never imagined it was possible, but seeing the broken down slums and filthy streets was a fucking damned beautiful sight for sore eyes.

"Wow. Who'da thunk I'd actually miss this hellhole? Damn, it's good to be back." Zack chuckled at Cloud's sudden grunt as they walked steadily through Sector 8 - only 3 more sectors to go til Aerith - when a voice rang out from behind them.

"Hey! You there! SOLDIER!"

Zack froze and turned to glance over his shoulder.

The sight of a familiar uniform, a single guard - an infantry man approaching - had Zack react instantly. The ex-SOLDIER First-Class was running on nothing but pure protective instinct as the man stopped a mere foot away and abruptly reached for Cloud's limp form and the world was silent other than the blood rushing in his ears.

"Whoa...Is he okay?" was the question that went unheard by the raven-haired SOLDIER.

Zack didn't even think.

Just struck with brutal precision.

No mercy - they weren't shown any - so why should he?

Mako-enhanced muscles reacted instantaneously, pulling the Buster Sword off his back and plunging the blade straight through the man's entire chest cavity and out of his back in the blink of an eye. The sound of fabric, flesh, organs and bone ripping apart around the massive sword was drowned out by the pounding of his pulse thumping in his ears and his desperate need to protect Cloud at any cost.

...But then reality hit.

Zack's eye twitched, adrenaline faded immediately and he was suddenly frozen as he watched the man standing on his own for only a split second once the sword was removed. There wasn't even a grunt or cry exiting his bloody lips before the only-moments-before-living-breathing-man was nothing more than a crumpled corpse lying in a pool of his own blood, viscera and organs spilling onto the dirty street. He didn't mean to disembowel him…

"...O-Oh, fuck…no, I-I didn't…I…" Zack whispered when he realized what he'd done and his veins filled with ice.

What had he DONE?

If they were discovered and re-captured because of his recklessness…

No…

"FUCK!" he growled before using his Materia to cremate the man's body before flinging the limp Cloud and the Buster Sword over his back and ran like the fires of hell were licking at his heels and tears he wasn't even aware he was crying trickled like rain down his face.

'I'm so sorry…' <><><><><>

Zack kept running and running and running until he collapsed in an alleyway in Sector 6. So close to Aerith… but what Zack had just done had ice pooling in his stomach and he was sprawled on his hands and knees completely paralyzed with nausea and anxiety.

For what reason, he really didn't know.

Zack had been killing since he entered SOLDIER at the ripe age of 15 - it was kill or be killed and while Zack didn't enjoy ending lives whatsoever, it was sometimes necessary (if killing could ever be justified).

Hell, Zack had literally killed thousands mere hours ago.

Blood spilled and bodies cooling before grotesquely bloating underneath the unrelenting sun in the Midgar wastes and he barely blinked an eye as he fled the violent scene with Cloud. Among those bodies may have been friends at some point, colleagues, and someone he shared lunch with in the cafeteria could have been among the troopers he'd just ruthlessly slaughtered. So fucking many parents, wives, sons and daughters getting the news their loved one wasn't coming home all because of him…

Zack knew they would have killed him too given the chance but self-defense seemed a shaky alibi. It didn't sit right at all so he had to keep reminding himself that he did it for Cloud - because he'd rather kill a thousand more than ever allow that insane Hojo to get his grimy hands on his best friend again.

Turning away from Cloud's murky eyes that had been staring at him (...was that concern?), Zack crawled away from the blonde, hunched over behind a pile of trash and retched. The burn of bile coating his tongue and throat on the way out (he couldn't even remember the last truly edible meal he'd had) until he was left gasping for air and spatting any remnant stomach acid onto the concrete below.

Heart hammering painfully and tears burning his eyes, Zack suddenly stood to unsteady legs and began frantically pacing in the alley.

The abrupt ache in his heaving chest as he was forcefully reminded of Cloud's unrelenting screams and heartbreaking cries in that damn lab as Zack was strapped down to a cold gurney and could do fucking nothing to help him. All his First-Class SOLDIER enhancements and strength meant absolutely fucking nothing as he was forced to witness Cloud's unbearable torture. Zack mindlessly grabbed at his wrists where the leather and metal burned, blistered and electrified his skin as he tried over and over and over to escape - to get Cloud OUT - there may not even be scars left behind on his wrists but Zack could still feel everything done to him.

Hojo gleefully torturing both of them day after day, month after month and year after fucking year... They were both dissected - autopsied like soulless bodies - except they were both alive and conscious without a dose of anesthesia during it. Zack brutally shuddered; the sensations of that sick fuck Hojo's bare hands moving around, digging, touching, prodding his trembling and pulsating organs as he laid there with his chest splayed open still had his entire body shake with nearly unbearable tremors. All the injections, the mind-numbing pain, but nothing compared to the helplessness he felt the entire time as Cloud deteriorated.

Specimen C and Specimen Z.

No real names - they weren't even human to Hojo and his team of demented fucks. Him and Cloud were mere playthings to a madman all under the guise of twisted science, and Shin-Ra fucking funded it. So seeing all those troopers spread over the hills, knowing damn well, if given the chance, were going to take him and Cloud back to that lab…

Zack had no choice.

So he killed and killed and killed ("Come and get it!") under the flimsy guise of honor and dreams…heh. Director Lazard was right - becoming a hero truly was unobtainable…

And now he just murdered a uniformed man in cold blood who may have only been trying to see if Cloud was okay…how many more would die by his hands before Shin-Ra just left them the fuck alone?

…Maybe he was a monster…

"...Z... Z-Z-Zack…" Cloud's barely audible voice broke through the agony gripping his heart.

Cloud.

Oh fuck, Cloud!

Zack immediately ran over to where he'd left the blonde slumped over near a filthy trash can.

"I-I'm here, Spike. I'm here," Zack soothed, running his gloved fingers through Cloud's Chocobo looking tufts and he flinched at the few knots he found there.

Zack started to sob when Cloud leaned into his touch. He quickly ripped his gloves off of him - clean from rainwater but he still saw all the fresh and dried blood staining them regardless. He took a calming breath and wiped his face on his forearm before he ran his now bare fingers gently, always gently, through Cloud's hair - one of the few things in life that comforted him.

"Fuckin' hell, buddy, you need a bath - and yes, don't give me that look! I got a nose too! I know I stink!" Zack chuckled brokenly, he smiled but it fell flat as Cloud didn't reply…per usual. But hearing his name in Cloud's soft voice was such a relief after nothing but his own voice and the demonic cackles of Dr. Hojo in his head for so damn long.

It was hope in its purest form and that's what Zack needed now.

Cloud needed him and fuck his own existential crisis, Cloud came first!

…And Aerith of course but that would have to wait til they at least got some new threads…and a bath.

Definitely a bath.

Shaking his head of the lingering thoughts and nightmares that would haunt him to his grave, Zack pulled himself and Cloud to his feet and kept moving forward.

<><><><><>

Zack wasn't proud of it, but stealing clothes off a clothesline was the least of his sins in the past 24 hours.

They had plenty of gil but after he killed that guard (which he refused to think about too hard), Zack was weary of going anywhere where more people were around in the fear of being recognized and reported. He jacked some clothes that were relatively his and Cloud's size off a wire and was sure to leave plenty of gil attached with the remaining clothespin before disappearing back into the shadows.

Realistically, Zack knew to remain unseen, he should ditch his Buster Sword along with his First-Class SOLDIER uniform, but regardless of instincts telling him otherwise, Zack refused to let go of it. It was all he had left of his mentor, Angeal and he would keep it with him til he could pass it on to someone else or he died first.

Either way, he was never going to leave it behind.

After he gave himself a quick wash from a clean-ish rain barrel he'd found behind some (closed for the night) commercial businesses, he dressed in more formfitting black jeans than he was used to and a v-neck gray sweater but beggars couldn't be choosers. For the final touch, he ripped the pauldrons off his SOLDIER belt and suspenders before putting the leather straps back on over his newly acquired top and put the Buster Sword back in its rightful place.

Himself situated, Zack washed Cloud down mechanically with a damp extra shirt before dressing him. The blue jeans were a bit too big for his thin hips but one of Zack's two belts did the trick. The shirt was a button-up that annoyed him to no end but once he was fully dressed and back in his old boots, Zack sat back on his heels and smiled at his blonde friend. Cloud looked at him, a small bit of lucid-ness in those bright blue eyes was very promising.

"Looking good there, Cloudy, even if you are getting a little too skinny!" Zack said brightly as he pulled the blonde to his feet, "Ya know, you're gonna love Aerith, she is one of the best cooks I know! So don't worry, buddy, a few weeks of her food and you'll be back to a healthy weight in no time! Heh. Ooh! By the way, did I tell you how I met her?" Zack didn't even wait for any semblance of a response (not that there'd be any) before happily relayed the story as they continued walking.

Zack had already talked Cloud's ears clean off about Aerith and told this particular story over a dozen times by now, but talking about her made her more real and for now, that's what he needed.

Five years.

It'd been five years since he seen her - three years longer than they'd even known each other. And to know that the whole time he'd been gone - she'd waited for him…well, up until her last…and final letter.

'What do you mean, final!?'

"Please wait for me just a little longer, Aerith…" he whispered under his breath as they finally made it into Sector 5. <><><><><>

There was the church.

Zack painfully swallowed back the sudden lump that clogged his throat.

It was exactly as he remembered.

Perhaps a bit more worn in the passage of time (five whole damn years…), but the same nonetheless.

The atmosphere of warmth, safety, home, and Aerith still lingered like the intoxicating scent of the flowers she grew and it was like experiencing that first bit of sunshine on his face after being trapped in Hojo's lab for over four years all over again.

It was just the boost he needed to walk the last block.

As he got closer to the building, a part of him questioned if she would even be here at this late hour. Not to mention if she even wanted to see him after all this time had passed without a single word…no letter, no phone call, and no visit like he'd promised over five years ago. As doubtful as he was that she would still be waiting for him, something kept pulling him toward her church, up the steps and in front of those massive double doors.

Zack kept Aerith waiting long enough, he wouldn't do it anymore.

Even if she wanted nothing to do with him and had moved on with someone new, he'd respect her wishes. It would utterly shatter whatever was left of his heart inside his chest considering all he had done and went through to come back to her but he loved her (and always would) and would want whatever made her happy even if it meant to continue to have him out of her life…

Besides, Zack wouldn't blame her.

He wasn't the same man that left her - couldn't even pretend to be the same happy-go-lucky teenager with stars in his eyes wanting nothing more than to be a hero.

For who was he now?

A monster wanting the undeserved love of an angel?

Why would she even want him anymore?

Disheartened, Zack felt his throat tighten and almost pulled away from the door and ran the other way…but he had to see her… even if it was only one more time, perhaps just long enough to say goodbye...

Taking another few deep breaths to prepare himself mentally, Zack made sure Cloud was secure with one arm before reaching for the handle.

"Welp. Here goes nothing… Wish me luck, Cloud," he muttered under his breath before he grabbed the metal handle and pushed open the doors. Damn, the doors even had the same loud creaking noise, he remembered with a smile, before he slowly inched his way inside. Cloud's sudden stumble over a plank of wood had Zack turning his attention to the blonde for only a moment until he steadied himself - but then he turned toward where her flower garden had been and Zack finally lifted his head.

And… there she was…

Everything in his entire world stopped upon seeing her standing there and it was as if those five years trapped between them dissipated into dust... Zack's chest felt so damn tight (probably from forgetting to breathe) as he furiously took in every single feature he'd missed so damn much - and…

Wow...

Aerith was more beautiful than he remembered.

Doe-like emerald eyes, auburn ringlets framing her gorgeous face and the softest lips he'd ever kissed...even all those years ago, she had already been the most gorgeous woman he ever met, but now… Heh. She definitely wasn't the 18 year old teenage girl he'd foolishly left but a 23 year old woman now and he'd never felt more love for anyone in his entire life than at this very moment. More than her physical beauty, it was her passion, kindness, compassion, and genuine love she had for those she cared about - and he hoped with every fiber in his being that she would forgive him... All the intense feelings he'd had for her that he had to bury and treasure to keep him sane these past five years of hell came flooding back like a damn typhoon pooling through his entire body.

He wasn't even sure how he was still standing.

Zack just prayed he wasn't too late but his tongue refused to budge to even mutter so much as her name as he watched her eyes widen upon finally recognizing him. His heart throbbed in anticipation and anxiety of what she would say or do - but it only lasted a split second before he was forced to watch her drop her - wait, was that a staff infused with Materia?

...Aerith had a weapon?

But before he could follow that train of thought, Zack let out a strangled gasp when he realized that being occupied with Cloud, he couldn't catch Aerith as she suddenly crumbled to her knees.

[rosierossette]

Tempting - Ch. 2

Chapter 2 of my Tempting Loki series - 

Work Summary: Working as a Temp for Tony Stark you only expected your life to revolve around sending emails and important papers for Tony Stark. However, all that changed when Loki came to live with the Avengers. Two years later, they still don’t trust Loki and need someone to constantly watch over him and keep him from causing Mischief. Given the magical ability to control Loki with your words, your journey begins as you try to carefully tread the line between keeping Loki safe and keeping others from harm. But trying to control Loki has more problems than you’re ready for, and soon you discover why he’s the God of Mischief, and how much he’s willing to sacrifice for his freedom. 

Warnings: None for this chapter. 

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 

A/N: I finally wrote a summary of this! 

I also just now realized that when I move my story from my docs to Tumblr it automatically gets rid of all the italics that I have...so I tried to go through this chapter and fix those for you. Sorry if that caused any issue with reading the first chapter!

Once again, enjoy the story! Let me know what you think! 

You jolted awake the next morning to the sound of loud clanging. You quickly threw on your pink top and skirt and raced to find out what all the noise was. The sounds were coming from the kitchen and when you finally arrived you were greeted to the sight of filthy, blood-covered Avengers making themselves breakfast. Or at least Sam making himself breakfast while everyone else looked ready to drop dead. Sam was searching through the cupboard to find yet another pan to add to his growing pile of pans on the stove. 

That explains the noise then. 

You didn’t know who to address first and just chose to talk and see who would actually respond. “You guys don’t look like hell at all.” 

You snickered as Natasha stuck her tongue out at you, only to wince, rubbing her fingers on her temple. There were random quiet hellos, and even some waving, but no one made a move to greet you. You didn’t blame them in the slightest. 

“Hey (L/N).” Stark came over and plopped a hand on your shoulder. “Everything went well?” His voice was shallow, and chunks of his armor were missing. When he caught you assessing the damage he waved you off. “I’m fine (Y/N).” 

You had a hard time believing that, but you just shrugged and said, “Everything was good yesterday. I sent out those emails you wanted, got those research papers out.” You counted each item off on your fingers. Even if he did look like he just brutally lost a fight he was your boss. You weren’t about to let him down just because he was out. Did you mention you really enjoyed this job?

“Good, good work.” Stark sent you an awkward thumbs up. “But I mean, how was, you know?” He made two horns on his head, lifting an eyebrow as he did. At your confused expression, he sighed “Reindeer games, (L/N). Reindeer games.”

You cringed inwardly. 

How much should you actually tell him? The words came out before you could stop them. “Everything went well. No complaints from me.” Alright, I guess we’re going with that.

Stark stared at you for a moment before shrugging and wandering off. You waved goodbye to all of the avengers as they finally went off to crash. When Sam had finally finished making himself food, he left with a full plate. You shook your head, chuckling at his antics. Of course, Sam would be the one to eat while the other Avengers just wanted to sleep. 

Quickly making yourself cereal, you thought over all the things you needed to get done today. New clothes were a top priority, makeup was a must, and your hair could use a wash. You didn’t want to think about how bad you must look right now. 

When you finished you cleaned up, wiping up the mess of pans and some red splatters on the tile you were afraid might have been blood from one of the Avengers. You tried not to think too hard about that. 

As you finish up a sudden and completely unnatural shiver ran down your spine. You shook your head and shoulders to ward off the feeling, but it stayed with you until you heard, If you’re awake, come and let me out now, a bitter voice rasped into your head. 

You jumped, smacking yourself in the head for forgetting about the temperamental God you had locked up. You ran to his room to let him out. “I’m so sorry Loki, the Avengers came back this morning, and I completely spaced-” As soon as you opened the door you were interrupted by Loki. 

“I don’t need to hear your excuses!” He barked. “Remove your order so I may leave!” His fists were curled, his brow tensed. Apparently, he wasn’t in the mood for talking. 

You knew when it wasn’t the time to start a fight, muttering quickly, “I release you from my spell.” You moved aside before Loki could shove you out of his way. As he walked, muttering about your stupidity, you released a heavy sigh.

It was always hard to tell with Loki if you were going to need to defend yourself. Even if you did need to defend yourself, there wasn’t much you could do to stop him. You did have the lucky ability to control him, but you were afraid of what would happen if you used it to defend yourself too often. 

What if he managed to find a way to release himself? 

You shivered slightly. You didn’t want to know. 

Remembering your desperate need for new clothes, you ran to the bedroom you borrowed, grabbed any extra items of yours laying around, and quickly ran out of the tower. You said goodbye to the front desk workers. The man at the door was cute, which added fuel to the fire of you berating yourself. 

When you left the tower you were reminded of the fact you were wearing the same clothes as yesterday, making you cringe. At least they didn't smell too bad. It was unfortunate that you had to walk around in yesterday’s clothes, but since you decided to save it until later, that was your own doing, and you silently beat yourself up for not doing it the night before. 

I’m just suffering the consequences of my choices. It was your own fault you had makeup smudged across your face. Something you immediately regretted not cleaning as you walked down the street, even more, aware of your face than you usually were.  You pulled the jacket you wore tighter around you. It was mid-September, and already the air was beginning to freeze. You were not looking forward to leaving your warm apartment when it started snowing in a few months, but the things you did for a paycheck. 

Finally, you managed to make it back home. When you opened the door to the small studio apartment, you breathed a sigh of relief. 

You hadn’t realized how stressed you were, but staying at the Tower with one angry God caused you way more stress than you needed. You walked over to your room, kicked off your cute heels, shrugged out of your clothes, and jumped into the shower. The warm water cascading down your body.

As you turned to let the water soak your hair, you thought about Loki and how much you were sick of his up and down attitude. 

You weren’t exactly sure what time you went to bed last night, but he hadn’t been stuck in his room for more than nine hours. The anger with which he spoke to you made you snarl as you begin violently washing your hair. There was absolutely no reason for him to treat you the way he had. You were just doing your job; it wasn’t like you got off on controlling him. 

The thought of Loki having to obey any and all commands you gave, brought steamy images to your mind before you shook your head. You were not going down that road. 

As you got dressed you couldn’t help but wonder why he reacted the way he did. Your mind wandered over how he must’ve been raised. Did he grow up in a happy home? Was he raised with love, or was he raised with no real freedom to call his own? Your mind was crawling with all the different reasons for his reactions to anything you did. Then you remembered hearing how Loki was under mind control when he attacked New York. 

Maybe that’s why he hates being locked up, a voice whispered in your mind. He lost the ability to make his own decisions before, imagine losing it again. 

You couldn’t imagine. Your parents had been a bit overbearing, but they still allowed you to make your own decisions. 

It wasn’t like you had that freedom stolen from you at any point in your life. 

You stared at your reflection in your large mirror and made the decision then and there... Even if Loki was being a major ass, you wouldn’t just take away his ability to choose. 

You’d save that for when talking didn’t work. 

You’ll probably end up using it a lot in that case. You might as well try anyways. You applied a bit of makeup before moving to your clothes. You stared at the closet ahead of you. Your mind wasn’t completely there to actually help you get clothes, you were still worried about Loki. Finally shaking yourself out of it, you grabbed a couple of things before throwing them on quickly. 

You admired your outfit in the mirror. The cute cream peplum top and red skirt with the cream heels you wore made the fashionista side of you happy. You nodded at your reflection in the mirror, satisfied with the image before you. You quickly grabbed your red coat dress and headed out the door. 

Luckily for you, Stark had sent you a text saying that he didn’t have very much for you to work on today, so you could return to the tower whenever you wanted. You didn’t realize how much you missed your small cubical until that moment. 

Wow. Loki must really suck as a companion if I miss that tiny space. 

Outside was just as cold as it was when you walked home, so you hurried on your way back to the Tower. You managed to find a taxi waiting for you and immediately gave the directions. You watched the cars of the city fly by as you waited to arrive. Well, fly by as much as they could in the busy traffic of New York.

 You loved this part of your morning routine. When you could just sit back and watch the city go by, pretending you were a tourist and this was your first time in this city. It filled your head with memories from when it really was your first time in New York. The tall buildings had nearly overwhelmed you. You hadn’t realized how big they actually were, and when you saw the Statue of Liberty, you nearly cried. 

You loved this city.

When you finally arrived you walked into the front lobby, unbuttoning your coat in preparation for the blast of heat that would hit you when you entered the toasty lobby. You waved towards the man at the door. He blushed slightly and waved back. Walking towards the elevators you pressed the button and waited for the elevator to appear. 

“Your desired floor?” Friday’s voice inquired as the doors opened.

“My office please, Friday.” You smiled as you stepped into the open doors.  The bell dinged as the doors closed and took you towards your destination. 

“The Office Floor,” Friday’s voice rang through the air. “Miss (Y/N) has arrived Stark.” 

As the elevator doors opened, you heard, “Thank you, Friday.” Stark stood in front of you. “Long time no see, (L/N).”

“Didn’t you just get back from a mission?” You pointed out. “Shouldn’t you be resting? Or rebuilding your suit?” You raised a brow as Stark waved away your concern. 

“I’m a tough guy. And my suit is just fine thanks.” Stark corrected and that was your cue to drop the conversation. “I actually need to have a chat with you, if you’re not too busy?” 

You smiled. “I always have time to talk to my boss.” You followed Stark as he led you towards his office on this floor. You waved at your coworkers as you passed, avoiding eye contact with several angry S.H.I.E.L.D workers as they stomped by. Apparently, S.H.I.E.L.D was in a mood as well. 

Good to know. 

When you finally entered Stark’s office, he closed the door behind you and walked to sit behind his desk. He motioned for you to take a seat. “I’m sorry about putting you in charge of watching Loki, I know he can be a real pain in the ass.” He actually did look sorry.

You hid your surprise. “He wasn’t too bad, just cranky.” 

Stark laughed, his eyes twinkling. “I’m sure. I don’t know when he’s not cranky.” He pulled out a pile of papers from his drawer. “Well, I brought you here to ask you something-” he played with a pen anxiously. “-I was hoping you’d be willing to move into the Tower.” At your stunned face, he quickly went on. “We still need someone to watch Loki, and since you did such a great job yesterday, I thought it might be easier for you if you lived here.” He handed you the pile of paperwork. “I’d have all your things moved here, I’ll cover any cost from leaving your apartment early, anything you need.” 

“You don’t have to do all that Stark-” 

Stark interrupted you, “I want to, (L/N). Watching Loki isn’t exactly an easy job, and paying for any apartment fees is just a small way of me repaying you for being so willing.” He handed you a pen. “Look over the papers, I have to go talk to another office worker, but if you could let me know your decision before the end of the day that would be great.” Stark stood. “And if you don’t want to do it, don’t sweat it, I’ll give you your old job back, and pay you twice the amount I promised for watching Loki. And don’t worry about that little command spell, we’ll get that figured out as well.” He rose, gave you a handshake and left the room, leaving you flabbergasted. 

Your head swam. What were you supposed to do with this? You’d absolutely love to live in the Tower. Even if you were getting paid a lot to work for Stark, you were still a temp, and your apartment wasn’t exactly cheap. Then there was actually being in charge of Loki. You just knew he’d have some complaints about this arraignment. 

You scanned through the papers in front of you. Your eyes bulging when you saw how much Stark was going to pay you for this. Not only that, but he was offering to hire you full time, watching Loki when the Avengers were out, and being Stark’s research secretary at other times. If it wasn’t for the Loki part, you’d have jumped all over this opportunity. You still weren’t sure if Loki would want you to continue to be the one to watch him. 

An idea formed in your head. Asking Loki would be the perfect place to start. Maybe if you gave him the option to actually choose, he wouldn’t be so mad at this situation. You hoped anyway.

You speed-walked back towards the elevator, asking Friday to take you to the Avenger’s floor. When the bell rang and the doors opened, you practically ran out, heading towards Loki’s room. You knocked on his closed door. No reply. “Loki if you’re in there, let me in. I need to talk to you.” 

No response. 

You racked your brain trying to figure out where else he would be. Then you remembered the Library and quickly headed in that direction. You made a mental note to check out the library when you didn’t have to deal with a potentially angry God. Hopefully, that trip would be a bit more enjoyable than you were afraid this trip was going to be. 

When you walked in you stared at Loki as he was reading. He was lounging in a golden chair, which softly reflected the light in the room. His feet were propped up on the hardwood table, his long legs stretched luxuriously in front of him. His black glossy boots crossed at the ankle. 

“Loki, can we talk?” 

Now that you were here, you were weary. You didn’t want to have another fight, but you also knew you couldn’t make this decision by yourself. You had to stick with your guns, even if your guns were tiny and non-existant compared to his defined ones. 

“What?” Loki fumed. He mumbled something about you always interrupting him when he was enjoying himself. 

“I can’t talk to you if you won’t look at me Loki.” You waited while he quickly shut his book. When he finally stared up at you, you began. “Stark offered me a job watching you full time. I’ll mostly be in charge when the Avengers leave, so most of the time you won’t even see me-” 

“And you felt the need to gloat about this because?” Loki stood, all anger and power. “Have you forgotten who I am, you worthless mortal?” The room filled with his energy, and you felt yourself go stone cold. You were paralyzed. Whether through his magic or due to your fear you weren’t sure. “I could kill you where you stand, and there is nothing you could do about it.” He stepped closer. “I’ve lived far longer than you know, girl.” His voice was a harsh whisper, “I’ve seen things you’ve only dreamed of.” He reached for your arms, his fingers curling around your biceps. “And for you to think you can control me!?” His humorless laugh filled your ears, “you’re sorely mistaken.”

Pain shot through your arms as he squeezed bringing back your ability to speak. 

“Don’t touch me Loki.” When he let go, his anger at you using the spell on him again almost made you lose your nerve, but you kept going. 

“I came here to give you a choice as to whether I worked with you anymore.” You watched as confusion flickered across Loki’s face until his well-made mask once again covered his countenance. “I didn’t want to take that choice away from you.” Your voice nearly cracked. Whether from fear or anger you weren’t sure. 

“You overestimate my ability to care.” He sat down on the couch. “Either way some mortal is going to end up giving me orders. Why should I care which mortal? You’re all the same.” He eyed you up and down. “I’d prefer one that was at least pleasing to the eye, but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.” He picked up his book, flipped to the page he was on and continued reading. 

“Right.” You huffed out of the library. “Guess I’ll make the decision then.” You tried very hard not to be offended. What a jackass. Some God he was. He didn’t have to be so rude about everything. At least you had tried to give him an option. It wasn’t your fault he chose to take offense.

That went the exact opposite way I wanted it to go. 

You stopped and leaned against a wall, rubbing your cold hand on your forehead. The pounding in your head made thinking difficult, but eventually, you were able to come to a decision. 

Heading back towards Stark’s office, when you arrived you knocked, and he called for you to enter. “(L/N), you decided already?” Stark looked taken aback, then his face turned to a mixture of worry and hope. “Have a seat.” 

“If you would give me a pen, I’ll go ahead and sign these papers.” You gestured to the pile of papers you had left on his desk. “I’ll gladly accept the job.” 

You smiled as Stark practically jumped out of his seat. He handed you a pen, and you began signing. 

If I just go ahead and do this, then no other person has to deal with Loki. That was your mantra as you signed the papers. I’m doing this so no one else has to. When you finished signing you were determined. Loki may not like it, but you knew it was for the best. 

Besides, your brain argued, you get to have power over a pompous God with a bad attitude. What else could you want? 

[blackasmidnightcats]

Continued discussion about Sophie's "redemption arc"

Original post from @agathasarmy

@agathasarmy I've moved this to a new post cause I have a lot of feelings and still want to continue this discussion and I hope you don't mind

So anyways...

(this wouldve been also a great way to introduce the concept of legacies, especially with the past vs. present. vs. future theme and it would also parallel tedros’ storyline as they’re both dealing with the fallout of carrying their predecessor’s glory)

YESSSS

All of them have big shoes to fill because of the people who've nurtured and believed in them

One thing I really hated in the camelot years was the lack of mourning that Agatha and Sophie did for Callis and Lady Lesso respectively.

That is the kind of anguish that I was looking for. Just them being children and missing their parent/parental figure and wishing that they could still be someone's child who could look out for them and motivate them when they needed.

Like Sophie remembering that Lady Lesso believed in her the way that Sophie could never do and Agatha remembering how her mother would have wanted her daughter to live out her life with with love and adventure.

Let's not even get with Tedros (that's a whole other meta in itself)

so far all i got was lesso and hester being the best examples of it, but what i also got from them was that Evil wasnt being cruel but serving as the balance to Good like ok???? what exactly does that entail??

Exactly, I'm really frustrated about this because as much as Soman has tried to make us understand that Good and Evil are equals, he has never actually shown us how equal they can be since all the Evil figures that we have are usually helping Good.

I'm really pissed that the Coven's quest involve them finding a new School Master when they have absolutely no need to do that. They should be doing their own stuff instead. It's the one thing I shame Prof Dovey for.

that was what I expected the series would be: Tedros and Agatha as Good because Good always stands stronger together, and Sophie as Evil because Evil is best alone, but not lonely

I stand behind your point about "Alone but not Lonely" quote because if that does not describe Sophie's biggest problem than I don't know what does. She can have all the fans that she wants and build the whole School for Evil in her tribute and pretend that she's a strong independent woman who doesn't need a man but she'll still feel the loneliness seep through if she doesn't have a closure with her insecurities and envy

instead Soman subverted our expectations in the worst way possible since GoT S8 (dont @ me)

I will stand by you with the hate for GoT s8. That was a trainwreck so badly done it imploded on itself. Recently, writers that have big productions have been having a hard time gracefully ending their stories

EXACTLY I JUST KNOW SOMAN’S GONNA BRUSH IT OFF OR BARELY MENTION IT WHEN THIS KIND OF DIALOGUE IS MORE IMPORTANT TO THE MESSAGE OF THE STORY THAN SOMAN RANDOMLY INSERTING DOVEY AS TEDROS’ GODMOTHER OR REAPER BEING KING FOR PLOT CONVENIENCE

I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL. I WILL NOT STOP BEING SO FREAKING BITTER ABOUT IT.

Soman was off with a good start on that one. I would have been more interested with Sophie trying to handle her narcissistic desires vs her need to actually be a decent Dean to all the new students just like how Lady Lesso was for her. Her understanding how to be Evil and be herself would have been a nice read.

if soman had to bring back a trope from the last era, it would be the discussion of dichotomies i.e. Good vs. Evil, instead of the evil lover trope cos aint nobody got the time for that

YESSS

It's still technically the school for GOOD AND EVIL SERIES even if we go to a new era I was hoping that Soman would still have these as the roots but NOOOO.

His obsession with Sophie obsessing over boys that obsess over her is a strong one apparently.

like at this point it’ just really blatantly obvious how much Soman favors Sophie and I wouldnt be that bothered if he didnt sacrifice the plot or the other characters’ brain cells to go along with it cos to this day I refuse to believe that people really would just accept Rhian like that after reading The Tale of Sophie and Agatha

EXCATLY. I HONESTLY COULD NOT UNDERSTAND SOME OF THE DECISIONS OF THE OTHER CHARACTERS ABOUT THIS.

Like did no one still understand that not everything is what it seems?!

I am baffled with how easy they trusted a comeplete stranger over Agatha who has proven over and over and over again that she fights for the good of EVERYONE and is perfecrly willing to sacrifice her happiness for theirs.

Like at this point I'm thinking that her fairy tale propably does not do justice for everything that she's been through cause if the other people of the Woods read her story the way we did, there would be no doubt that we would stand behind Agatha for a lifetime

like cmon people we went through this already?? a random hot stranger coming out of nowhere??? ITS THE RED FLAG

In defense with them, (and I am saying this very, very off handedly) Rhian did come around saving everyone's asses and was a pretty decent guy (NOT).

WHAT I AM REALLY SURPISED ABOUT IS THAT THEY WANT A PIECE OF HIM AND HOW EASILY THEY TRUSTED HIM WITH EVERYTHING

I THOUGHT THE POINT OF THIS SERIES WAS TO SHOW THAT ROMANCE WASN’T THE ONLY HIGHEST MANIFESTATION OF LOVE, BUT A LOVE BETWEEN FAMILY OR A LOVE FOR ONE’S SELF WAS JUST AS IMPORTANT????

One of my biggest beefs with Soman's writing. He highlights romance too much compared to platonic and self love. I want a moment with Sophie like the one in TLEA where Agatha was getting stressed about letting Sophie and Tedros grow closer and Soman managed to pretty realistically portray that; Agatha was being insecure and possessive and jealous but she let herself reflect on her actions. She made peace with it and faced it with bravery even though it really hurts her. Because she understood that she would never have closure for this if she didn't let it happen.

AGGIE IS THE BEST. I LOVE HER

Why the hell can't Soman write something similar like this for Sophie.

WHY SOMAN PUTTING THIS AMATONORMATIVE BS IN THIS STORY AGAIN LIKE WE ARE TIRED

In fairness, Sophie getting into ANOTHER romantic relationship I will PASS SO HARD.

But for everyone else that deserves some romantic love (TAGATHA PLS) I will accept crawling

also I like your ideas on what could’ve happened instead, with Rhian being more proactive towards Tedros and Agatha instead of Sophie - it would play well into the Camelot myths and themes that I was really expecting in the new era

I KNOW RIGHT?!?!?!

If Soman could only just get over his Sophie Obsession, then he would understand that Tedros was the perfect target for Rhian's manipulations and Sophie was the perfect target for the downfall.

I have no idea how the hell did Rhian think (but apparently it worked because soman plot) that seducing Sophie would win him the love of the Woods.

plus it wouldve been a chance for Sophie to actively help them instead of tearing them apart like in the last 3 books?? like she’s kinda doing that rn but it would’ve been nice if she didn’t have a hand in stealing their happiness like she’s always done too

Well...for me she doesn't seem like she's tearing them apart anymore but I stand with your point about her stealing their happiness.

This could have been good, good character development for her. Her realizing that she keeps making tagatha miserable and stealing what belongs to them and the complexity that comes with her inner struggle between her envy vs love for her best friends.

PLUS CHADDICK DESERVED TO LIVE INSTEAD OF BEING KILLED FOR PLOT CONVENIENCE LITERALLY IT’S THE WORST DEATH IN THE SERIES NOT COS IT’S SAD BUT COS IT DOESNT MAKE SENSE AND MAKES FOR TERRIBLE WRITING IMHO

"NOT COS IT'S SAD BUT BECAUSE IT DOESNT MAKE SENSE"

SCREAM IT A BIT LOUDER SO SOMAN CAN HEAR IT AT THE BACK!!!!

Soman, I will never forgive you for doing this to this boy.

You could have made Tedros and Chaddick have a falling out. I mean the last time that they interacted was during AWWP and Chaddick treated Tedros as crap. I know that all of us headcanon that these two are each other's best mates but they've barely had significant interactions for me to consider that a case.

They'd be so pressured about not followong the legacy of Arthur and Lance that a small problem could propably tear these two apart.

also, on another point, you would think Sophie would be more sympathetic to Tedros situation given that they’re both leading populations, essentially

plus Sophie learned to understand Tedros’ mind better in awwp??? where the hell did that relationship development went (even if she was Filip at the time)??

I am honestly more suprised at how viciously Tedros seems to treat her.

Like it wasn't that long after TLEA that Tedros was perfectly willing to let Sophie stay in Camelot and even asked her to visit but come his coronation (which was like less than a day after) he keeps on proclaiming about how happy he is with her out his life and in aCoT his distrust for her was off the roof.

Then there is the Handbook ordeal with Sophie just completely roasting Tedros like what happend to the two of you?

I don't even understand Soman's decision about this. It doesn't even affect the actual storyline in anyway. It's just Sophie and Tedros at each other's throats.

Tedros has been treated the crappiest out of the main trio (let’s be honest) as if the game was built to oppose him, meanwhile Sophie gets major Soman privilege and is given the role ONCE AGAIN that could change the game

THIS

It's the reason why I can't even read AWWP anymore. It hurts too much to have to read at how badly the other characters treat him. Just reading the first line of that book gets me anxious.

And PREACH THAT SOPHIE HAS MAJOR SOMAN PRIVILEGES.

This is why I was actually suprised that Soman shared that he planned on killing Sophie off at the end of TLEA but we'll never how that story went

like if the School Years was for Sophie to realize and accept her Evilness, couldnt Soman have decided to give Tedros and Agatha the deciding roles this time around given that, you know, it’s called the CAMELOT YEARS ERA???

Honestly, I just want Tedros to have the most agency out of all the characters. Like make his decisions actually matter to the plot. Make him the center of the plot and revolve Rhian's plans around him instead of being against him cause that's exactly how Agatha's role in the school years era was for Rafal.

The basic formula goes like this;

Sophie important to the Rafal's/Rhian's/Japeth's/hell even Evelyn Sader's plan

Agatha/Tedros are in the way of that plan so they have to go

Agatha/Tedros saves Sophie's ass

Sophie making the big decision

Like didn't Soman say that he didn't want to be that repetitive writer? That's why he changed the ending of AWWP because it was too similar to the first book?

WTF SOMAN?

she’s still out here wanting someone to look at her the tedros looks at agatha (honestly big mood right there) but I wish this didn’t have to be her main conflict

This is actually why I'm not that mad that Sophie fell for Rhian. Because at the end of the day Sophie will be Sophie.

But I agree I kinda hoped that she wouldn't be as guilible

the girl is smart and knows her worth so I can’t really understand why she decided to get ENGAGED to the next person (Hort obviously cant count cos plot) who tells her she looks pretty???

NOW THIS. THIS IS MY BEEF WITH SOPHIE.

I can understand why she'd date him but MARRIAGE?! That was going a little bit too far.

You'd think after her engagement with Rafal that she'd be TRAUMATIZE for the next one.

And honestly it would have been hella funny if she did feel this way. Imagine Rhian nearly getting all that he needed but Sophie just straight up leaves him on the stage cause she's still got issues with it.

Would have been my favorite scene

And Hort, poor boy, he needs character development of his own. I'm not his fan honestly and currently, he's not winning me over.

ALSO THE FACT THAT SHE ENDS UP BEING CONSIDERED FOR THE ROLE OF QUEEN OF CAMELOT INFURIATES ME SO MUCH COS WE WENT THROUGH THAT SHIT IN TLEA???? WHY ARE WE BRINGING THIS UP AGAIN????

THIS. THIS IS MY BEEF WITH SOMAN

Can he not understand that she would be crap as QUEEN?

A parallel I noticed with Rhian and Sophie is that they both completely remodeled their respective castles in their image. Not even considering anyone else. And they both treat their faculty as crap.

Kinda tells us that she really would be crap as queen.

At least the Camelot citizens had enough braincells not to fall for this crap

Every other kingdom in the Woods though. They better be budgeting gold to Tedros and Agatha once they're back on the throne.

(and im so so tired of Sophie stealing Agatha’s Ever After from her, indirectly or not, like cant she just be happy for her best friend and move the plot in some way other than this???)

I really do believe envy is only one of the things that Sophie needs to sort out. The fact that she admitted at the end of TLEA that she does, in fact, feel envious that Agatha gets to be a queen and her little episode in the Ever Never Roundtable about how she's the one with the official title of queen and that Agatha isn't even a princess says a lot.

I wouldn't have minded if Sophie had a slight blackout and just lost it and saying mean things about Agatha but instantly regreting it because no matter what, deep down in the foundations of her soul, she loves Agatha with everything that she has. And is she has the be in a constant battle with herself about this fact then she's willing to keep on fighting. That would have been satisfying to read.

I mean just imagine if Sophie was there when Agatha was leading her army and Hester mentions that Agatha is Queen in the School, in Camelot, or anywhere elsse in the Woods. They would follow her. Willingly.

Sophie would have had a panic attack.

This girl needs to learn that she can't force people to be loyal and follow her by making every physical reminder of how amazing she is but instead she needs to lead and make some sacrifices of her own because she's doing these sacrifices in the benefit of Evil and its future instead of herself.

Sophie appreciating people?? Not only remembering them when she needs something from them??? Like @ soman im not asking her to be the next Mother Theresa but I’ll take this character development pls and thank u

I am all in for Sophie appreciating everyone. If she can't do it for other people, then she better do it for Evil.

[heathenarmyimagines]

Title: A Different Time

Summary: (Y/N) and Ivar were having a moment until Sigurd interrupted.

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Taglist: @ubbesgirl, @shewolf2000, @tis-itheapplepie, @atequila, @demoncrypt1066, @greennightspider, @badbitsh13, @fireismysaftey, @minarawr, @laketaj24, @hvitserksgirl, @blahblahcookiesdoma, @fabulous-peasent, @sforsammmmmi, @minmiin1d, @courtrae89, @letsloveimagines, @tomarisela, @titty-teetee, @beyond-the-ashes@elenawrit, @mblaqgi, @whenimaunicorn, @chuflisworld, @mystruggledlife, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @syreni-dea, @trashqueenbitch, @alykatv, @mbaku-babygirl, @perfectus-in-morte, @beyond-the-ashes, @neeadinghugs, @readsalot73, @triumphantreturnofpies, @anarchy-is-coming, @tephi101, @alicedopey, @ivarslittlebadgirl, @jtrstp, @nejijjeoroo, @charlylama, @ivartheblessed, @captstefanbrandt, @fabulouschrissi, @ivarsrideordie, @3x5gurl, @the-writer-appreciation-blog, @lolabee9, @captainfoxy22, @young-ugly-god, @im5ftbutmythroat66, @bribyyy, @irishhiggins, @cadetomlinson, @keclleon101, @slutforragnarssons, @ltkeke, @meeeeeeeeeps, @lille-kanin, @opalscarab, @ssraven7, @ivarandersen, @concretewaywardangel, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @sharon-is-tired, @cadetomlinson, @mystruggledlife, @chuflisworld, @justmarissa97, @lol-haha-joke, @weirdly-randomly-awesome, @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanim, @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers, @alexa040004, @buckythetinman , @burntmythroatskullingmytea,@jorunnravenslayer, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @buffy-the-vampire-blogger, @arses21434, @ltkeke, @captainfoxy22, @chinduda @letsshamelessqueen-m @my-soul-is-the-moon @we-are-transcendent, @sparklemichele

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen

Your neck hurt like hell and your head wasn’t in much better shape, it felt like you could physically feel your brain throbbing in your skull.

‘Ugh!’ you groaned in pain as you sat up and looked around.

The others had also fallen asleep on the couch, they looked like a puppy pile the way they all curled around each other.

You stood up and stretched, listening to your old lady bones snap crackle and pop like a bowl of Rice Krispies.

With a sigh you cut off the TV and went to your room to get your laptop.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you turned on the light and saw Ivar sitting straight up in the bed.

‘How long have you been up?’ you asked.

‘I don’t know, a while.’ he answered.

‘Are you sleepy?’

‘No, I slept already, are you tired?’ Ivar asked.

‘I just woke up, I was going to try and find something that could help us find a way to get you all home.’ you said as you picked up your laptop from your desk and sat beside Ivar.

‘How?’

‘With the help of this magical thing called the internet.’ you replied as you opened the computer and opened up chrome.

‘Internet?’ Ivar repeated.

‘Yeah, it’s the biggest source of information in the world, its where I learned everything I know about you and your people.’

‘This box is a teacher?’

‘This box is almost everything in the world.’ you said, going straight to google.

Ivar moved closer to you and looked at the screen curiously and a thought crossed your mind.

'Can you read this?’ you asked.

‘No.’ he said shaking his head.

‘And when I talk to you what language do you hear?’

‘Norse.’ Ivar answered simply.

You hummed at that, you figured that whatever Norse God had snatched them up from forever ago decided to take care of the language barrier.

Brushing it off you went back to what you were doing, typing in “what is a true sacrifice”

‘How do you understand these strange things?’ Ivar asked in confusion.

‘Well we learn how to read and write when we are little, so I can’t really explain it too well.’ you answer.

‘I would like to learn.’

‘What?’ you asked in surprise.

‘These marks look like the ones on a piece of paper that was given to me and my brothers. We can’t read it and I want to make sure it says what he promised.’ Ivar explained.

‘Well I don’t see anything wrong with teaching you how to read, but for now let me see if I can find out what a true sacrifice is.’ you said as you scrolled down and looked at a few of the links.

You and Ivar fell into a comfortable silence as you searched through the sites, mostly they were motivational crap and sob stories.

So you changed the search to “Viking true sacrifice”.

At some point Ivar had laid down and placed his head in your lap and you moved the laptop a bit so you could still use it while he rested his head on your thighs.

‘(Y/N)...can I tell you something private? I mean can I trust you never to speak this to the others?’ Ivar asked suddenly.

‘Of course.’ you replied instantly, without a thought.

‘There is a part of me...that doesn’t want to go back.’ he said softly.

By some miracle you manage to hold back a gasp of shock. From what you had read you always imagined Ivar the Boneless as a very ambitious man who was eager to see and conquer everything he could.

Even now that you had actually met him and seen that he was younger and much less terrifying than you imagined but his personality, as far as you could tell, was what you had assumed.

To hear him say he didn’t want to go back and keep on taking over was shocking.

‘Can you tell me why?’

‘...you will not come with us.’ he said softly.

Now you were simply stunned into silence as you looked down at Ivar and noticed Ivar was putting in all his effort to not look up at you.

‘When we go back it will go back to what it was; wars, dirt, blood...and loneliness.’ Ivar continued.

‘Ivar.’ you sighed as you began running your fingers through his hair, practically petting him.

‘I don’t want to go back to having no one. I don’t want to go back to a world where I always have to be angry and untrusting because no one cares for me and nothing is safe. I like it here, where you are.’ he said, finally he looked up at you with honest and nervous eyes.

‘You jumped into the water and saved me, you gave me the chair and you made me realize that I was the one destroying the bond between my brothers. You look at me without pity or disgust.’

‘Those things I did were the right things to do, maybe not then but a lot of morals have changed since then. People are nicer and more caring now, no one would have let you drown or leave you to crawl around.’

‘People back home will, and when I am hurt I will have to hurt alone because I can not let my guard down. I haven’t let it down since my mother died...she was the only one in my world who loved me. Despite all my broken bones, tantrums and violence she loved me; she smothered me and tried to keep me away from things but she loved me.’ Ivar reminisced.

‘Around you I relax, I never feel like you will suddenly attack me.’

‘I won’t and I would never let someone else. Ivar I care about you...and there is a small part of me that doesn’t want you and the others to leave either.’ you confessed.

With a sigh you closed the laptop, giving up on your search for the moment.

'I have six little siblings, three I hardly see and another three I helped raise in this house with my mom. Your room was my sister's, Ubbe and Hvitserk are in brothers’ rooms and Lagertha is my mom's.’ you started.

'Then one day I looked up and everyone was gone and I lived in this big family house alone. Yes you all were unexpected and a bit hard to handle but at least you were people.’ you said.

Ivar sat up looked at you.

‘If you do not wish for us to leave then why are you trying to find a way to make us leave?’ he asked almost accusingly.

‘I’m not trying to make you go anywhere, but Bjorn is right Ivar. You all have lives back in your time and very important ones that greatly affect the way things are now. I don’t know a damn thing about time travel but I know that if you guys don’t go back and do the thing you have to then eventually that’s gonna bite us in the ass.’ you explained.

‘Please believe me Ivar, I am not sending you away, I am not trying to get rid of you. If I had my way you all would stay here and I’d never be in this stupid big empty house alone again, but it can’t be that way.’

‘I know, there are far too many reasons why we must go, but why must you stay? If you are alone here why can’t you come with us?’

‘Just because no one is here doesn’t mean they don’t need me Ivar; I have to manage our money, keep up the house, if I left my family…’ you trailed off, not even wanting to continue that thought.

He looked very disappointed but did not complain or argue with your reasoning.

‘Ivar.’ you said as a feeling suddenly gripped your heart.

When Ivar look up at you he looked surprised when you gently touched his cheek and looked into his eyes.

‘I really don’t want you to leave.’ you whispered before you placed a small chaste kiss on his lips.

You were too drunk the last time you had kissed him, so the soft plump feeling of his lips against yours felt completely new.

When you pulled back you couldn’t even look at Ivar, you were sure if you hadn’t been blessed with melanin that you’d be a tomato.

‘I’m sorry.’ you said awkwardly.

’Why are you apologizing?’

‘Because I- I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. It was completely inappropria-’ before you could finish Ivar’s lips were back on yours.

His kiss was slow but sure, not at all rough but firm.

You found yourself giving into the kiss in an instant, bringing your hand up to tangle your fingers through his hair.

Through the haze of your mind you feel him move the laptop from your lap before he pulled himself to lay on top of you.

All the while never breaking the kiss.

You wanted this kiss to last forever but your lungs were on fire and screaming for air so you pulled away, with the kiss broken you and Ivar both seemed to catch your breath.

‘If I didn’t tell you when I was drunk, I just want you to know you are a really good kisser Ivar.’ you panted.

‘Thank you.’ Ivar blushed.

‘...’

‘...’

‘Do you...want to kiss more?’ Ivar asked.

‘We uh we have a lot to do tomorrow so we should really…’ you tried to reason but it was hard to focus when all you could think about was how good of a kisser Ivar was.

This time it was you who pulled Ivar down into a deep kiss, giving yourself fully into the kiss, spreading your legs so he could settle between them.

You and Ivar had officially upgraded from innocent kissing to full on making out, exploring each other.

Once again you pulled away to breath, this time Ivar began kissing at your neck that was still covered in hickeys that he and his brothers had left that drunk night.

Apparently hickeys are hella sensitive.

‘Mmm Ivar.’ you hissed in pleasure.

‘(Y/N) did you have anything to drink?’ Ivar asked as he sat up a bit.

‘No.’

‘Are you doing this with me because you want to? Will you regret this?’

You looked up at him, really looked; you saw his his swollen lips, cute little nose and his perfect jawline. Then you saw his eyes, his blue eyes that were the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

There was so much emotion in his eyes; they were wide with excitement, pupils dilated in his lust, but mostly they were nervous. You have no clue how to explain it but it was a gut feeling, something was telling you that Ivar was afraid of your answer.

‘I am not drunk and this isn’t something that I will ever regret.’ you said.

Still he looked unsure so you take his face both your hands.

‘I will not ever regret kissing you Ivar the Boneless.’ you promised.

He sighed in relief before he leaned down and kissed you.

The two of you kept going at it, kissing each other like repressed teenagers, both of you excited and eager.

You felt Ivar’s hand slide down your body and his fingers hooked on the waistband of your pants and you immediately broke the kiss and grabbed his hand.

‘Wait, Ivar don’t.’ you said beggingly as you looked up at him.

He was panting trying to calm down, and he looked disappointed.

‘It-it’s not you, it is so not you Ivar, you are doing great, like seriously...but I’ve never done this before and as much as we hate it you will leave.’ you said.

The sudden realization that you had been reminding Ivar of all night hit you like a ton of bricks.

Ivar was going to leave, the guy you felt the most comfortable with in a long time was going to leave. He had to, there was nothing either of you could do to change that fact and it broke your heart.

You felt like you could finally be comfortable with someone and maybe you could finally let go of your fear and just let another person see ALL of you and trust them not to hurt you.

Ivar was that person and he was going to leave you.

‘(Y/N)? You’re crying.’ Ivar said, wiping away your tears.

‘Ivar...this is the first time in my life that I have ever said this, but I want this, but I want to keep going.’ you said as your tears kept falling.

‘Then why are your so sad?’  he asked gently.

‘Because even though I finally want to I can’t. Not when I know you can’t stay, not when I know I can’t have you the way I would need you after.’ you cried.

Ivar sighed sadly and  placed a kiss on your forehead, moving to lay down beside you so that you could cuddle into him while you sobbed.

‘(Y/N) my first love, I do understand your heartache. I do not know how I would be able to go back home if I’d had you. ‘ Ivar said softly as he held you in his arms.

‘It’s not fair is it? Finally ready for something you’ve been waiting on forever and you can’t have it.’ you said once you’d calmed down.

‘No it’s not, but the Gods I serve are not known for being fair, they are prideful and spiteful. Maybe that is why they brought us here, for me to find a woman just to lose her...simply out of spite.’ he sighed.

You hummed in though as you enjoyed the comfort Ivar was providing.

‘Tell me (Y/N)...is your Christian god fair?’

At that you had to arch your own brow.

‘Well my god is...very forgiving, I can’t really call him fair. He is honest though, he said that life would be full of hardships and I’ll be damned if that ain’t the truth. But he promised eternal life to those who confessed he was their lord and savior.’ you answered.

You almost felt Ivar rolling his eyes.

‘Sounds like one desperate God to me, do whatever you want all your life then say I’m your savior and I’ll give you everything eternal happiness.’ he scoffed.

‘Well at least with him the rules are clear, he doesn’t snatch you out of time to teach you a lesson.’ you grinned up at him.

Ivar let out an amused chuckle.

‘Maybe my Gods are too harsh and yours is too soft.’ he agreed.

‘Either way they brought us together just to tear us apart.’ you said sadly.

‘That they did, if I were an ungodly man I’d curse them.’

‘Don’t you dare. If they snatched you through a timeline to help you I’d hate to see them angry.’ you warned.

‘I guess you are right...I wish things were different. That I could make a great sacrifice to please the Gods and stay by your side, I do not care if it’s here or back in Kattegat.’

‘Sacrifice?’ you asked as you sat up and looked at Ivar with wide eyes.

‘What?’

'A sacrifice! That is what Sigurd meant! Not killing some animal he meant me!’ you shouted.

'Sigurd wants you to be sacrificed?’ Ivar asked in disgust.

'No! I mean I hope not, but I think he wants you to leave me...willingly.’

'Right you are darling.’

You nearly jump out of your skin as you turn around and see Sigurd standing at the foot of your bed.

Just as dead as he was in the kitchen.

'Sigurd.’ Ivar said, completely stunned and in disbelief.

'Hello Ivar.’ Sigurd said looking at his killer with cold hateful eyes.

'I-I am sorry...I did not mean to.’ Ivar managed to say with a shaking voice.

'I do not believe you...Boneless, and deep in your heart I know you don't believe it either.’ Sigurd said harshly.

You were about to step in when Sigurd looked over at you.

‘This is the girl Odin chose for you Ivar...your one and only love.’ he said as he looked over you more than he had in the kitchen earlier.

‘How did you speak with the All Father?’ Ivar asked.

‘He came to me and spoke of how I died and asked if I want to avenge myself when he saw my brothers would not. For all the hate I have for you killing you is not my wish, but I wanted you to hurt, to find love and lose it...the way I felt for Margrethe.’

‘Margrethe? You didn’t love her, you poured the ale for her and Ubbe’s woman, you knew that he shared her with Hvitserk.’ Ivar argued.

‘I did love her, but Ubbe married her first and if I couldn’t have her wholly to myself then I would not have her at all.’ Sigurd replied as he walked around the room.

Without meaning to you find yourself moving closer to Ivar when Sigurd got to your side of the bed.

‘When I told Odin that I didn’t want you dead, because despite my hate for you I knew it would break father’s heart...mother’s too. I just wanted to hurt you he told me physical is nothing. Real pain is the pain in your chest, the ache of loss...the hole that only a woman can leave in a man’s heart.’ Sigurd continued as he picked up a skull shaped paperweight from your bedside table.

‘When Hvitserk sacrificed to Odin he told me he would send you all to a woman that would work out your ridiculous war, and as no woman in our time would ever love a man like you Ivar I asked him to find a woman that would love you.’

‘Are you serious?’ you asked in complete shock.

‘Deadly serious I’m afraid.’ Sigurd grinned.

‘That is not funny, did you or Odin think about the woman on the other end of time? Or was I just some secondary thought?’ you asked in complete offense.

‘Do not be angry-’

‘Fuck that, don’t tell me not to be angry Casper the douchey ghost. If you wanted me to help them talk things out without violence then fine, if you wanted to hurt Ivar then that’s your own business, but you had no right involving my feelings.’ you said angrily as you sat up more confidently.

‘Trust me love, you will find another man...a better one.’ Sigurd said as he looked at Ivar.

‘She is right Sigurd, she has nothing to do with the hate you have for me. It isn’t fair to her, she doesn’t deserve it.’ Ivar agreed.

‘I know it is not, and to you miss I am sorry, but it still remains. None of them to go home until he is ready to hold the ax he killed me with and sacrifice his own happiness.’

You were so ready to hit this guy.

‘Sigurd…’

‘Make your sacrifice Boneless.’ Sigurd said before he vanished before your eyes.

You stared at the place where he was just standing in awe, you even leaned forward waved your hand in the now empty space just to be sure he was actually gone.

‘I don’t mean to insult you Ivar, but that brother of yours is kind of a dick.’ you said as you sat back down on the mattress.

‘He always was.’ Ivar agreed.

[tisfan]

I have an IronDoon prompt : After Civil War Doon rescued Tony that loses his memories and make him his "Queen"

Dear Nonny,

SPOILERS FOR THE COMMUNAL KITCHEN IF YOU HAVE NOT READ END OF TOMORROW AND INTEND TO DO SO. (spoilers and story below the cut)

I’m almost positive this is NOT what you had in mind. Sorry about that.

If you’ve read the Communal Kitchen Series, this story takes place in the “2047 Future/End of Tomorrow” timeline, after M.O.D.O.K. has taken over the world. Somewhere around 2022, or thereabouts.

For the rest of you: TAKE HEED THE NOTES (which are below the cut for spoilers)

Nothing is explicit, but this is a deeply disturbing little snippet of what life was like for Tony while under M.O.D.O.K.’s mind control. Consider it pre-trash for the contents. It’s very heavy angst and depressing as shit.

There is no happy ending. For this Tony, his future just gets worse and worse for the next 25 years or so and his happy ending is self-sacrifice, knowing that he’s fixing the world.

This author has regrets.

Til Death Do Us Part

Hewas kneeling.

He was kneeling at his master’sside and trying not to think.

The armor was comfortable, even ifhe would never feel safe inside it again. It couldn’t protect him anymore. Hesometimes wondered if it ever had, or if it had just made him a greater target.If he hadn’t created the armor, would his master’s eyes ever turned on him, or wouldhe have been dismissed, as he had always been before, as a rich, bratty,party-boy. Not worthy of anything but scorn.

Certainly not worthy of the honorof kneeling at M.O.D.O.K.’s side.

He was trying not to think becausethinking was painful. Thinking was remembering. Thinking was…

Well, thinking was. Wasn’t it?

“Your majesty,” the seneschalsqueaked, then screamed, then didn’t make another sound.

Von Doom strode into the room,unannounced and unacknowledged because he’d just murdered another doorman.

His master would not be pleased atthe disruption, but M.O.D.O.K. wouldn’t care about the poor man who lay in acrumpled and bleeding heap to one side of the throne room. Not quite dead. TheHUD popped up all the relevant medical data. The man could possibly even besaved, if he got treatment in time.

“Master?” he said, his voice lowpitched, keeping the audio as far down as he could. The suit’s voice modulatorhad been adjusted to make his tones as servile as possible. He’d discovered hismaster was more… lenient, that way. “Master, the doorman?”

His master didn’t acknowledge him.Continued to poke at the holographic display.

“Von Doom to see you,” he said,that statement compelled from him. Part of his standing orders: protect hismaster, serve his master, announce guests, kill when commanded. Kneel.

“Good,” M.O.D.O.K. said. He shutthe display with a wave of one sticklike arm.

“How dare you summon me?” Von Doomdemanded, as he drew closer.

“Master?” he managed again. “Thedoorman, please?” It was hard, asking for favors, and he knew what it wouldcost him.

M.O.D.O.K. spared him a glance,then at the dying doorman. “Summon aid,” he said, moving his hands in thatgesture that was the best M.O.D.O.K. could do for a shrug, not having shouldersto speak of. “Then get our esteemed colleague a chair.”

A flick of the eyes, and a medicalteam was alerted to the problem in the throne room. He tried not to sigh withrelief. The doorman had been someone he knew, once. Not someone who was afriend, but an employee. Someone who’d been kind. He couldn’t remember thename. It didn’t matter. A sacrifice to the altar of not thinking. M.O.D.O.K.was running out of captives that he knew.

Von Doom was all the way to thethrone.

He knew what was expected of him.Forcing his master to make it an order, forcing M.O.D.O.K. to use the implantin his spine to gain obedience would be in no one’s interest. Especially afterhis master allowed aid to be summoned.

He sighed. At least his face washidden by the faceplate. He shifted up onto his hands and knees, crawled infront of the hoverchair. Listened to the whirr and thrum of the repulsors underthe chair. He’d built those, adapted them to the tech that M.O.D.O.K. needed.

When he was exactly whereM.O.D.O.K. wanted him to be, he locked his elbows, ducked his head.

Von Doom took his offered seat,resting his ass and muscular thighs across the slave’s back.

Von Doom wasn’t heavy; not whilethe slave was in his armor; the suit bore most of the weight. It was thehumiliation that weighed heavily on his heart.

Not thinking. Not thinking. Juststay right there. Don’t draw their attention. Just be a chair. That’s all.Nothing more.

“How dare you summon Doom?” VonDoom snarled. It was a mock snarl and the slave knew it. Doom was the weaker ofthe two in the room. He survived primarily because M.O.D.O.K. did not considerhim enough of a threat to bother with, and he’d been useful in the past.M.O.D.O.K. didn’t hold much with gratitude, but he did get a lot of pleasureout of making Doom angry.

“M.O.D.O.K. is going to give you agift, old friend,” M.O.D.O.K. said. “You’ll like that, won’t you? A gift, andboth Doom and M.O.D.O.K. will be satisfied.”

“What sort of gift?” Von Doom wassuspicious. The slave didn’t much blame him for that. Gifts were not much inM.O.D.O.K.’s good graces, even when they were being given to M.O.D.O.K..

“To solve the problems,” M.O.D.O.K.said, laughing. The slave hated his master’s laughter. It was cold and cruel.“The problems that this one causes M.O.D.O.K..”

Von Doom put a hand on the armor’stasset as if petting the slave’s ass possessively. “Doom thought Stark couldn’tcause you problems, anymore.”

The slave shuddered. He didn’t likehearing his name. His name meant thinking, meant remembering. Meant… he had tosteady his elbows. If he dropped Doom on the floor by crumpling to the ground,there would be trouble. He didn’t want trouble.

“It resists,” M.O.D.O.K. said, asif the slave couldn’t hear. Couldn’t understand. “Destruction, it can beordered. Kill. Kneel. Stand here. Go there. Eat, don’t eat. Things thatM.O.D.O.K. can tell it to do, it does. M.O.D.O.K. cannot tell it to create.”

Not thinking. Not thinking was theonly weapon the slave had found. His master couldn’t order him to imagine.Couldn’t order him to love. Creation came from love, from imagination, andif the slave didn’t have those, M.O.D.O.K. didn’t know how to unlock hispotential.

M.O.D.O.K. had found a few ways todraw cooperation out of him.

Hurting someone that the slaveknew, or cared about, or could be persuaded to care about.

Hurting the slave didn’t compel himto anything except a vague sense of hope that the torture might be carried toofar and that he would die and be free. Too much hurt could damage the brain,and it was for the slave’s brain that he’d been taken in the first place.M.O.D.O.K. wasn’t willing to make that sacrifice. Not yet.

The only other weapon M.O.D.O.K.had was remembering. He could order the slave to remember.

Not thinking.

The slave counted the flagstonesunder his fingers. The tiny shifts in posture of the man who sat on him like hewas furniture.

“So, it’s useless, then?”

“No,” M.O.D.O.K. said. “Just…M.O.D.O.K. doesn’t understand some things about humans. But M.O.D.O.K. thought,friend Doom might be the key to unlocking some potential. If Doom still wantsthe pretty for himself.”

“You promised Stark to me yearsago, when we–”

“M.O.D.O.K. knows. M.O.D.O.K.remembers,” his master cautioned. “So, you want it, still?”

“You’re going to give Stark to me?”

“If you want it,” M.O.D.O.K. said.“Proper, and right. It is not your toy. You will court it, take care of it. Youwill… marry it. M.O.D.O.K., Doom, and Stark. The Triumvirate.”

“Marry it?” Von Doom’s voice wasincredulous. The slave shuddered again, remembering against his will. He’d beenmarried, once. He’d loved… loved once. “Why dress it up pretty? Marriage isabout a partnership. This one… Stark’s not going to do what Doom requires ofhim, not without force, so why not call a slave a slave?”

‘Doom forgets what M.O.D.O.K. cando,” M.O.D.O.K. cackled, gleeful. “Doom wants its love? Wants its body, givenfreely? M.O.D.O.K. can make it do that.”

The slave wondered if its mastereven knew what love was. What love could do. If M.O.D.O.K. had any idea aboutthe power of love, his master would not have been so quick to use the slave todestroy–

He bit down, hard. Stifled thesoft, keening whine that leaked from his throat.

“It’s hardly voluntary if you’reforcing him,” Von Doom said, shrugging. His entire posture projectednonchalance, but the slave could feel the new tenseness in Von Doom’s thighs. Anticipation.

“Does Doom need love?”M.O.D.O.K. mocked, voice crooning and sickeningly sweet, “or does Doom merelyneed a willing vessel?”

“He’ll cooperate? Doom won’t needto tie him down?”

“Doom can tie it up, if Doomwishes,” M.O.D.O.K. said. “M.O.D.O.K. does not care about that. But it will dowhat Doom wants. Conditionally.”

“What conditions?”

“Doom must not hurt its mind. No permanent damage. No bones broken. Does Doom agree to this?”

“Doom is in agreement.”

“Stand up,” M.O.D.O.K. ordered, andthere was no mistaking it for an order. “Doom should not sit on his affiancedbride. Not outside the bedchamber.”

The absence of Von Doom’s weightwas terrifying.

“Get up, Stark,” M.O.D.O.K.commanded. The order went through Tony’s spine like lightening, jolting intohis brain. He was on his feet before he had a chance to control his own limbs,his own muscles.

M.O.D.O.K. chewed his enormous,chapped lip. His master knew to be cautious by this point. Tony had doneeverything he could think of to circumvent orders. He’d nearly succeeded inkilling himself twice. Goaded Steve into nearly destroying him, which wouldhave been a relief, except that at the last moment, Steve had, what? Had anattack of conscience? Thought maybe Tony was still inside the body that washurting so many people? Whatever. Tony was deeply disappointed that Cap hadretreated, rather than finish the job.

“Remove the armor, send it away.”

Easily done, and he stood there, alittle cold, in his flight undersuit. His master preferred a chillier room thanmost, being so large. His feet were bare against the cold flagstones and itdrew a shudder up through his bones.

“You will not harm yourself,”M.O.D.O.K. crooned. Tony rolled his eyes back; the strength of new commands waslike the haze of morphine; he could feel pain, could feel his regret and his angerand his fear, but he couldn’t… care as much about them. “You will do nothingfor the next eight days to cause yourself harm. You will not harm anyone else.”

Tony nodded. He understood. Hewould be away from his master for a period of eight days. He understood. Hewould do nothing to harm himself. He would not hurt anyone. Why would he wantto hurt anyone? He never wanted to hurt anyone.

“This is your betrothed,”M.O.D.O.K. said. He gestured with one arm at Von Doom. “You care for him. Youwant him. You have desire for him. You have a week to indulge yourselves. Youwant whatever he wants from you. You will enjoy it. You will make sure Doomenjoys himself. Do you understand?”

There was a struggle; revulsion sodeep it made his bones crack and break. Loathing that boiled his blood. Fearand anguish that knotted his gut and drove him to his knees. He didn’t careabout Von Doom, he cared… he loved…he…

Got to his feet. Smirked at hismaster. Linked his arm with Victor’s; the contact felt good. It had been awhile since he’d been out of the suit and his skin ached for human touches.They’d have fun. A whole week of vacation; he hadn’t had a break in… quite sometime. Since before the Fall.

“Thank you, sir,” Tony said, givinghis master a little bow, jaunty. Turned, smiled up at Victor. Wished hisbeloved would take off that mask, it was harder to flirt with unmoving,uncaring steel. “So, what’s on the agenda? I hope it involves beaches, I’mconstantly freezing around here. Nude beaches are best.” He winked and slid hisarm through the crook of Victor’s elbow.

“Bring him back in a week,” hismaster said.

“Of course.” Victor removed onegauntlet and rested bare fingers over Tony’s hand. The touch was soothing,light. Affectionate. Tony sighed and leaned against Victor’s arm. It was so…nice… to be going on vacation. A week of privacy and luxury and time spent withthe man he… cared about. Victor touched Tony’s face. A glitter of a single tearlingered on Victor’s fingertip.

Was he crying? Tony couldn’tremember why he would do that.

“Have a good time,” M.O.D.O.K.called after them.

[feelingsdusk]

You asked for prompts, if you're still interested - BAMF!Stiles that shows everyone that he doesn't need saving, especially from Peter (who's simply smitten). Have a great day!

The best helping hand is at the end of your own arm.

Stiles can say without a doubt that he has never been the strongest or the fastest or the smartest, but he can also say that he has never needed to be saved either. He does that by himself just fine, thank you very much, because he may not be the est anything, but he's strong enough, fast enough, smart enough and, essentially, everything enough to take care of himself and the people he cares about.

And if he isn't, well, he finds a way, he learns, he gets better.

Okay, okay, he has to admit it takes him embarrassingly long to kick his ass into gear, but excuse him if the sudden knowledge of the existence of a whole new world has left him floundering for a bit... especially with attacks raining left and right on him apart from his usual school drama.

But enough is enough and it's time to get his ass into gear already. He draws the line at being kidnapped and tortured by a geriatric fascist and having to sacrifice his poor Roscoe to save people that didn't appreciate it afterwards, fuck you very much. Because Stiles is not like this, he doesn't let things catch him off guard. Where he's concerned, pre-emptive strike may as well be his middle name. Or if he does get caught off guard (because he may not be the smartest but he knows it), he always has backup plan after backup plan lined up to execute. In short, pre-emptive strike may be his middle name, but forearmed is his third.

With that in mind, when he can finally move without having his whole body protest loudly in pain, he orders three different rare species of aconite (ones that he knows will survive in California's weather) and he goes in search of his mum's gun. His dad gave it to her when Stiles was about five years old because a twerp that was angry at his dad tried to take it on his family. Needless to say his dad took steps to have them as safe as possible when he wasn't there to protect them and, despite her vehement protests, took his mom to the shooting range after making her get a license until she could hit on the target every time. Then he got her a Glock 19 (smaller and lighter than the 22 that his dad has in his safe) and a full case of 9mm hollow-point bullets. His mom wasn't happy at all, because she was against guns, so without telling him, she hid it where she was sure Stiles wouldn't accidentally find it, bought an almost identical BB handgun and went on with her life as normal. His dad never found out and since he never had the heart to go through her things after she died (Stiles was the one that painstakingly slowly moved everything to the attic), he never took the gun.

In fact, Stiles is pretty sure he doesn't even remember it, which works just fine for him, because he would have had to steal the one in his safe or find a way to acquire one illegally otherwise.

It's painful, both physically and mentally, and he ends up filthy in the process because neither Stilinski has set a foot up there since Stiles brought the last of his mom's belongings up while his dad was passed out in front of a bottle of whisky. It takes him veritable hours to find both guns and the extra bullets and pellets hidden in a box full of knitting patterns and needles and he flees the moment he has it in his hands.

He takes a shower and then filches his dad's cleaning supplies to take care of the gun. He hides it and takes her mom's BB handgun to practice in the backyard, because he can get access to more than enough pellets but can't afford to waste actual bullets. He has good enough aim but he has to be better for what he has in mind.

When the wolfsbane arrives he sets out to work with it. Because he's a vengeful bastard, he fills the empty space in the bullets with four different mixes of the three aconite he has and then seals the opening, careful to not mess up with its balance. He puts a tiny mark on each bullet's case to know which is which just in case an accident happens and then fills the two empty magazines he has alternating the kind. This way, even if someone manages to take the gun from him, they have a quarter of probability of actually getting the cure and three-quarters of poisoning themselves even more.

He tries to work out the be a spark thing but it's an utter failure other than for his ability to make the mountain ash function enough to make a barrier. The Internet doesn't help, no matter how much he tries, so he reluctantly goes to Deaton. The cryptic man talks in circles for fifteen minutes, gives him another pouch of mountain ash and then shows him where the door is. Stiles mentally gives the man a big fuck you very much and moves on to greener pastures.

He trains. Trying to get stronger is an exercise in futility when one's average opponents can lift a car one-handed without even breaking into a sweat, so he has to get smarter. Getting faster seems like a moot point too, but again, if he's smarter about it, it will help. And so, he concentrates on agility, on falling without hurting himself, on jumping without fear out of harm's way. Self-defense seems like a good idea, but without anyone to actually practice on (because Scott is in despair land being consoled by his new best friend Isaac and he hasn't called since summer vacation started... and Stiles is salty enough about it to not call himself) he's had to be content with just memorizing the moves.

A month into summer vacation, he learns from his dad that Erica and Boyd are still missing and he frowns.

It's not like he cares about them -Erica gave him a concussion with a part of his own car, Boyd treated him like an irritating pest and, more importantly, they both left him behind after he helped them out of the Argent's basement- but he heard them talking about going back to Derek last time he saw them and he doubts they're willingly putting their parents through a calvary while hiding cozily with their alpha after a whole month. Which can only mean one thing: there's more supernatural shit about to go down.

He decides to go to talk to Derek anyways. He doesn't fancy being pushed against walls just because the werewolf can't control his temper enough but at this point it's not like he has any other options and he needs to know if he's being paranoid or if his hunch is right to decide how to proceed.

As luck would have it, Derek is not the one at the loft.

"Are you stealing those?" he asks with one cocked eyebrow.

"Why, Stiles, hello to you too," Peter drawls. "FYI you can't steal what's already yours."

"Since you're officially dead, you don't actually own anything, though."

"Touché."

Stiles bends into an exaggeratedly pompous half-bow before turning serious and asking without preamble. "So, Erica and Boyd?"

Peter cocks his head as if he's found a particularly interesting puzzle and then smirks. Stiles braces himself.

"What do I get out of this?"

"Your continued survival?"

Peter laughs heartily and then smirks again. "Ah, I knew I liked you for a reason. What do you know about the alpha pack?"

Oh, boy.

"Say, Peter," he muses after the man brings him up to speed, "how much better is a werewolf's sense of smell and hearing compared to the ones of a normal wolf?"

Peter pauses and looks at him carefully, with an unholy gleam on his eyes. "Practically the same."

"Huh. Interesting. See you, creeperwolf."

And Stiles unceremoniously leaves.

So, according to Peter, they have combed the preserve and found nothing, which means that they must be hiding in one of the abandoned buildings around Beacon Hills or they would be drawing too much attention (if what Peter says of some of the members' appearance is true) to themselves. There can't be many of those around Beacon Hills, right? It's a small town after all.

---

Peter is at the loft too when Erica and Boyd crawl their way back with a surprising addition in tow. Derek and Isaac gape for a moment before hugging them tightly. Peter hovers at the fringes because the first thing that comes out of his nephew's mouth when Cora looks at him is he killed Laura.

(It shouldn't smart this much that Cora, whom was left behind just like Peter, stays put.)

They explain what happened... or what they know anyways. Cora was already captured by the time Erica and Boyd were imprisoned in the bank's vault. They were kept in a mountain ash circle and no moonlight would reach them, so they were slowly losing their minds. The alphas would rough them up every day and barely feed them. Then, today, just after they had been paid a quite painful visit, shots (the muffled kind that suggested a silencer) and screams started and continued until just one heartbeat remained. Whoever it was, they moved around a lot for a while and then they stood still. Then, several hours later, more shots and screams erupted before silence reigned. Once again, the person moved around for a bit before coming to the vault's door. They opened it but the werewolves didn't dare come out for fear of being shot too. However, just after leaving the door unlocked, the person left. After a while, Cora dared to peer outside and found the mountain ash line disrupted. Outside their former prison, there was a lot of blood painting the tiles and some walls, but no bodies at all. They hightailed out of there.

Five alphas that have annihilated pack after pack all around the country, taken down in a matter of hours by one single person. One person with enough steel in his core to not panic about having to dispose of five bodies when it's not even fully dark out now. Peter feels giddy with want.

(Unfortunately, nothing ever falls on Peter's lap, so if he wants, he's going to have to make sure he gets it himself.)

He slips out stealthily and wonders where his dear boy is thinking to hide the bodies. The answer is the Preserve, of course, so he makes a guess of where exactly that might be in there and then he takes off running. Then he thinks about it, stops to grab some curly fries (he sneers in disgust at the grease that seeps through the paper bag) and then he heads out again.

He finds Stiles grunting as he drags one body to a very deep pit that has been obviously prepared beforehand. Peter can't help the broad grin that splits his face. He grabs one leg and hauls it up one-handed and Stiles starts a little, letting go of the body to put him at gun point. Peter just tosses Kali carelessly to the pit and hands him the curly fries. Stiles blinks surprised for a moment and then rolls his eyes, holstering the gun. Peter leaves him there munching happily at the greasy monstrosities and goes to grab the last two former alphas to toss them to the pit. Then he helps the teen dose them with a concoction that has him sneezing the whole time before filling the hole with the soil that was separated to the side. Very cleverly, the topmost part of it has been carefully taken so as to not disrupt the grass on it, so when they put it back in its place, it looks as any other patch of forest floor.

Peter wants, he wants so bad.

He wants this ruthless yet caring boy. He wants his resourcefulness, his cleverness, his loyalty. Hell, he wants his cheekiness, his rough edges, his always running mouth and his stupidly spastic ways.

"Congratulations," he says instead. "But what about the darach?"

"The whassit?"

"The dark druid that has been preparing for a ritual on the Nemeton," Peter states simply.

Stiles stops where he was folding the newly clean tarp he used so that no evidence was left on his jeep. He looks at Peter, gaze penetrating and unwavering.

(He wonders if he's given himself out, if it's too clear that he makes people want to keep him around by making himself useful and indispensable, and he fidgets inwardly.)

"Isn't this something Deaton should notice right away?" Stiles asks suddenly and Peter blinks surprised.

"Indeed."

"Huh," he muses. "Maybe we should pay him a visit."

Peter grins.