#also damn i turned the saturation down on my skin but you can still sort of see the flush from the heat lmaoooo

[hirazuki]

Sephiroth (Final Fantasy VII) Cosplayer + edits: me Photo credit: @stevejensen65 Costume: SBluuCosplay (AliExpress), modifications by me Wig: Arda Wigs (Tauriel, in “Light Grey” + added wefts) Contacts: Uniqso (Sweety Crazy Green Demon Eye) There's too many misconceptions In this game of consequence When you're finding that your hero Is just who you're up against - Blackmore's Night

[bakubub]

In which racer!kuroo is your roommate, and seems to only like it when you treat his wounds... (word count: 1.9k)

Ngl quite proud of this one!!

Warnings: 18+, a whole lot of swearing, a whole lot of blood, innuendos and implied nsfw, reader almost vomits (NOT from pregnancy chill, I know we're all scarred but its going to be just fine) and if you're squeamish perhaps skip the scene where reader stitches his wound?

Also bit of a disclaimer: I am in NO WAY a med student and literally all of my knowledge is from movies and other fics... so if you acc know what to do in this situation this may be a torturous for you :D

All due credits go to @aikk00​ for this AMAZING fanart!!!!

I watch as my roommate enters the penthouse, once again scratched up and bleeding, covered in so much blood there is no possible way that it was all his- if it was he would not be standing.

I launch myself off the couch- where I was sitting for the past hour nervously waiting for his return- and slip my arm under his, supporting him as we inched towards the bathroom.

"I can do this by myself you know," he grumbles, his grimace revealing just how much pain he was actually in.

"Mhm, I'm sure you can. Just like you boiled that poor egg by yourself last week, hmm?" I say sarcastically, trying to keep my mind calm and clear, because oh my god it looks really bad this time...

"Oi, its not my fault it fuckin' exploded," he mutters, voice laden with pain.

"You put it in the microwave because 'the shitty water wasn't doing its job.' Of course it would explode," I say, gently seating him on the closed toilet seat and taking out my supplies that I unfortunately have become rather accustomed to using. He's made it a habit to get himself injured.

"Where's the injury?" I ask, setting down my half-empty bottle of antiseptic and box of bandages. He peels off his shirt, cringing at the pain it brought him as the fabric was stuck to the gash that went from his left pectoral down to the middle of his chest.

"Pissed off a bidder after winning a race, fucker took out a knife once he realised he couldn't beat me up," he huffs out, arrogance still lacing his tone even with sweat dripping down his brow as he leans the back of his head onto the tile wall behind him. His Adam's apple bobs down his bloodstained neck as he speaks, and I quickly look away, focusing on the injury at hand.

Not his blood soaked, but nevertheless well defined pectoral muscles, nor the abs that my hands occasionally brush up against and know how hard they really are, and definitely not the trail of black hairs that lead down, down, down...

"What's wrong, the view too hot to focus on the work at hand?" He asks suggestively, raising his pierced brow, even in this state.

I'm quick to reply, having gotten used to his flirtatious remarks from the second I moved into his penthouse, "nope can't even see the view from that massive head of yours. Not to mention your permanent bed head."

He huffs out a laugh, then proceeds to flinch from the pain it must have caused.

"Stop moving, idiot. You're going to exacerbate the cut!" I say, quickly grabbing a damp towel and beginning to clean up his abdomen, whilst simultaneously pressing another rag to his wound to stop the bleeding.

“At least you admit that there is a hot view,” he says in his low voice, gazing at me from his position.

I simply roll my eyes.

No falling in love. That was the deal we had made on the day he offered me a place to stay in exchange for my services as a maid and apparently, a nurse. I cook, clean and basically keep the house running while this moron goes out and acts like the idiot he is. In my defense, dorms are expensive as hell, and his penthouse is nearby. Plus, I don't have to pay rent. It's a win-win situation.

But the feelings stirring up inside my heart might just ruin the dynamic we have going on and simultaneously take out a whole lot of cash out of my pocket.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Once his skin isn't completely saturated in blood, and the wound has (thankfully) stopped bleeding, I add some antiseptic onto a make-up pad and begin to dab at his wound, earning winces and slight grunts from the massive man.

"The cut looks deep, Kuroo. You need to go to the hospital," I say, worry lacing my tone as my eyebrows crease and earn yet another huffing laugh.

"Do you want me to rot in prison for the rest of my life?"

I roll my eyes at his response, deliberately dabbing just a little harder which earns me a yelp and an attempted glare in my direction.

"First off, illegal street racing won't send you to prison for your entire life, just for like, half a year. Second, this wound needs stitches, and believe it or not, I'm not a fucking licensed medic. In fact, the only experience I have is with you!" I say, immediately regretting my choice of words as I wait for his remark.

"That's what she said," He says, chuckling at his own innuendo.

I sigh in frustration, pouring more antiseptic to make sure there was no chance of infection from whatever grimy ass knife stabbed him, and beginning to gently scrub the wound with a soft towel, so as to make sure there was no debris left in there.

"You're gonna have ta do it," he mutters, his hazel eyes boring into mine.

"I- I can't Kuroo, you can't possibly think-"

"Fine. I'll do it. Go get me a needle and thread," he states, struggling but nevertheless, sitting upright on the red stained toilet.

I stare at Kuroo in disbelief as he utters these words. Was he dumber than I thought? Does he have some sort of head injury too?

I examine his face and all I come up with is unnerving determination. I exhale out of my nose sharply, "fine, dammit. I'll sew your fucking wound shut."

I am extremely handy with a sewing needle and thread, used to really be into embroidery back when I had the time so...it should be fine.

He just shrugs, leaning his head back against the tiles and closing his eyes.

"Fucking asshole. Can't believe I'm saving your damn life," I mutter, leaving the bathroom to dig through my wardrobe for my sewing box and taking out a gold silk thread that I was saving for a special project.

Well, I guess that will never happen.

"Hey, I found some silk thread. It's literally known for its strength and durability in high temperatures, so it should work like a charm!" I say, walking back into the blood stained bathroom and trying to psych myself up.

He grunts in response. I sigh as I begin with mopping up the excess blood and sanitising the needle and thread before chucking on gloves.

I wipe the antiseptic over the wound once more, and examine it carefully.

Well, if his condition worsens, I can always knock him out and call an ambulance...

I decide, screw it, and thread the needle, pretending it was just another embroidery project.

It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, I chant as I puncture his skin with the thin needle.

Kuroo gasps in pain, and I place a hand on his knee, telling him to suck it up and deal with it, half talking to him but also to myself.

To my surprise, he listens, stretching his head back once more and gritting his teeth.

"Don't do that, here put this in-between your teeth," I say, grabbing yet another towel and shoving it into his mouth.

He obeys as I continue to stitch. I feel my gag reflex kicking in as I think about how stitching skin feels as though I am stitching leather, it feels hard and tough while pushing the thin needle through.

Must hurt like a bitch.

Once I've completed my neat stitches down the wound, without vomiting, I tie it off as I would with any embroidery, and clean the area free of any remaining blood. After rubbing some antibacterial ointment over the gold stitches, I stick on a particularly large bandage over the wound and start tidying up.

"Thank you," Kuroo mutters, still seated on the toilet seat and practically panting for breath.

"Ah, the criminal knows his damn manners!! Now get up and get in the damn shower. You ruined my pristine bathroom!" I complain, putting the last of the materials away before walking to the door.

"Wait, I- I can't get up." I turn around and look at him incredulously as he utters his next few words, "will you... shower me?"

My eyes just about pop out of their sockets at his request. "Are you insane?! I'm not your mother, nor your wife! Call your pudding haired friend and tell him to come shower you!"

He shakes his head, a rare pleading look taking the place of his usual arrogant smirk, "Kenma's too lazy to shower himself, Y/n, please!"

I contemplated it for a moment. Sure, I've seen him naked before, accidentally of course, and so what if I have to scrub him clean. God knows he can't do it himself with that damn injury.

Fuck this shit.

"Fine, get up right now." I bark at him, leaving to change out of my blood soaked pjs into a pair of shorts and a tank.

"...I just said I can't."

---

"Ow, y/n, you're scrubbing too hard!" He complains, his exfoliating glove around my hand as I rub his toned back clean of any dead skin-cells and blood remains.

"But look how much stuff is coming off!" I say gleefully, enjoying this a little too much.

Kuroo, seated on the built-in bench in the open shower with his red boxers on, looks back to see the satisfaction dripping from my features.

"Are you secretly a sadist?" he whispers. In response, I begin to rinse off his raw back with hot water, causing him to screech like a cat.

"It burns, it burns-”

“Shut the fuck up, moron! It's 4 in the morning, you’re going to annoy our neighbours. I tried very hard to get in their good graces, and Mrs. Suzuki still doesn’t like me! She definitely thinks I’m some kind of hooker…” Kuroo laughs at this, and I can’t help but watch as his whole face brightens up from his usual emotionless expression. I find myself smiling in response.

I grab his expensive shampoo and pour some into my hands, beginning to massage it into his scalp. With wet hair, his raven strands are for once flat on his head and reach down to his defined jawline. Kuroo groans under my touch, leaning into my fingers. I snatch my hands back and pour hot water over his head.

"ARGH! Y/N!" He screams, hastily getting up and wetting me in the process.

"Ah- what are you-" I don't get to finish my question as he grabs my arm and yanks me next to him under the hot water, soaking my clothes and my hair.

"You asshole!" I screech as I reach up to pull his hair in defiance, but he only grabs my arm and hooks it around his neck, leaning down to look directly into my eyes.

Our noses brushing against one another, he mutters, "You look pretty with your hair wet and your shirt see through."

It takes me a moment to get past the compliment and to hear the perverted comment that he just uttered.

He sees my look of confusion and laughs, bends over, clutches his stomach and laughs, before bellowing in pain because of his injury.

Smiling smugly down at him as he grimaces, I force him to sit back down and continue massaging the shampoo into his hair, warning him that if he so much as moaned I would leave him in here, dripping wet and in pain.

"That's what he said," is his reply.

I smack his head in response.

Notes, interactions and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

[kitsunefire7]

The final round of Obiyukimadness21 is here!

Here’s my “Rampage Rescue” vs “Only one bed”

Where Yuki swoops in and desperately gets Obi to safety before it’s too late! Also, it’s the return of Morning Glory my oc horse >:D yeehaw

✨And NO you may not trace, copy or steal my work✨

STORY TIME!!!

The talented writer @fade-touched-obsidian and art buddy of mine made a story to go with my art and 🥺😭❤️ just ty so much for this. Enjoy her story!!!

Obi had at least been smart enough to bring her along despite his reservations regarding safety.

"Your expertise will be needed, Miss," he'd said. The words that had surprised her only hours ago haunt her now, though Shirayuki seriously doubts that he intended for things to go this far south even way up here in the north. Their relationship with the royal family was never supposed to come to light.

For once, though, it seems Obi is the target for his closeness to Zen rather than hers. He's a known knight of Zen and it was for this reason Eisetsu approached them for help in his quest to seek out Touka supporters within his territory. It's Eisetsu's plan to ferret out traitors to the crown that Obi had been put in harm's way. And it was that closeness that had seen him brutally attacked this evening.

There's nothing to be done for it now, though. It was a task that couldn't be put off. The threat to the royal family is real and present and Obi had gone into the Knight's Ball with Eisetsu thinking all would probably be fine. But things rarely ever do go according to plan.

She and Tsuruba ended up storming the place when Obi collapsed after flashing them the signal out the back balcony. Whatever plans they'd had, had quickly devolved the moment Obi stepped foot inside closed doors that weren't meant for him to open. A foul plot is still afoot but investigator safety is important, though Obi would likely disagree with the abandonment of the mission… if he were still coherent.

Good thing he's not conscious or, if he is, it's because he's hanging on by a fine thread. Conscious or not, he isn't lucid.

It's also a good thing that his life preservation skills are miraculously always present, which raises serious questions about the childhood he evades discussing at all costs but that's neither here nor there right now. What matters is that his heart is still beating, his lungs are still breathing, and his arms are locked around her waist to prevent himself from falling off the back end of the horse.

Shirayuki loses herself to thought for heaven only knows how long. He has a head injury. That will need to be evaluated for internal issues. He's bleeding from several cuts to his left side, the most dangerous being the one on his left leg.

His dark dress pants were already saturated with a worrying amount of blood when Tsuruba and Eisetsu helped gather him up behind her… Tsuruba and Eisetsu- haven't heard their horses in a while. They have his jacket. He will want that back… irrelevant. She discards the thought of his jacket, annoyed with herself for having been sidetracked by the removal of his jacket even if they'd removed it to see the injury to his left arm. He has a cut there. He'll need stitches. Plenty of them. And in plenty of places… and that's if she can even get him home before he bleeds out.

All she has to hold herself together right now is her medical knowledge. He's hurt and he needs her at her absolute best. He might not make it otherwise. He might not make it at all if the injury to his leg continues to weep crimson, which it has, given the amount of blood now spreading into the folds of her skirts as they wrap around him in the wind. Perhaps it would have been wise to move his belt from his waist to his thigh. He can lose a limb and survive. He can’t lose much more blood and claim the same victory.

The blood isn't spurting from anywhere, nor is it gushing. An artery hadn't been hit but several wounds are deep and flowing… so I have time. Just…just not a lot of it. Less than I'd like. A lot less than I'd like. But I have time. He just has to stay with me.

She regrets, only momentarily, that they didn't take the time to resaddle Glory before they took off. Perhaps untacking wasn't the wisest of options but they had planned on being there for a while, not a quick in-and-out that took less than an hour.

It's uncomfortable and moderately dangerous to be riding tandem with an unconscious man without some sort of saddlery but she wasn't willing to waste precious time on something like lunging all the puffed up hot air out of Obi's prankster horse to ensure the saddle holds in place.

"Damn it, Obi. Stay with me," she pleads. But it's met with silence save for the galloping cadence of the horse's hooves at pounds a swift and steady three-count beat into the dirt below.

There’s a plausible chance that the gash on his lower thigh rivals the one that left the scar on his chest. Maybe not in length. But depth? Shock to his system? Certainly. She wasn’t there to help him when he was in danger during his youth but she can do something about this one. Hopefully. She’d hoped she’d never need to- she promised him safety, just as he promises her. Yet, here they are. It isn’t really possible to protect a knight whose job is to protect others with their body, mind, and soul. Sometimes it just happens that they need to uphold their position to the fullest extent. BUt did it really have to always be Obi?

She wrenches her head to the side, trusting Glory to know what to do, so she can look at him and his head rolls slightly on her shoulder. The sticky pull of blood-soaked cloth against her skin bringing her thoughts back to his head injury.

How could a simple investigation excursion turn so quickly into mayhem?

Touka.

Touka and his legion of loyal lackeys. Izana should have just cut the head off the snake and been done with the ordeal.

She doesn't usually agree with a death sentence, but it was an attempted assassination of a royal family member and, furthermore, an attempted coup. Izana would have been next. Leaving the serpent of destruction intact may prove a fatal error if she can't prevent Obi from bleeding out soon.

"Stay with me, Obi, please," she begs as his hands begin to slack around her.

Obi mumbles something incoherent, his lips and tongue made lethargic and uncoordinated by the life blood he's left dripping steadily in a trail behind them.

She just has to make it a little further. The lights of Eisetsu shine in the distance like a beacon guiding her toward Obi's own salvation. It isn't sterile for proper treatment but anything is better than nothing when a life is on the line. They can make it and hopefully that's all he needs.

"I have you, Obi. Stay with me." She's yelling now, trying to break through the hazy veil of his awareness. "Do you hear me?"

He groans, pained and weak.

Tears begin to fall down her cheeks but she doesn't raise a hand to wipe them away. She's a good enough rider to free a hand to do so, but she fears the motion being the force that breaks the dam. Her throat scratches to let out a cry and stifles it with a whisper.

"Stay with me."

[aurorawest]

Hi! I really admire your writing, so glad you’ve reached a follower milestone! For the prompt request, I would love some Thor & Loki feels, prompt No. 7 or 9 from Whumptober, with Thor whump. I can’t get enough of Loki’s scheming being derailed when his bro gets hurt. Thanks! :)

Thank you so much!! And I have to sincerely apologize for taking forever to get this written. I’m not sure what it is about me that I can churn through 1000+ words in my longfics every day, but give me a oneshot prompt, and it takes me 2 months. Anyway, here it is. This is probably not exactly what you had in mind (not nearly enough Loki scheming, I’m sorry!), but I still hope you enjoy it! Thanks again for the prompt!

Title: Big Damn Hero Rating: T (some injury description and mentions of blood) Relationships: Loki & Thor Word Count: 3.5k Summary: Thor always has to be the big damn hero. Loki gets stuck cleaning up after.

Thank you to my beta @mareebird! Also, this is technically for Whumptober prompt #7, I’ve Got You, but I’m not sure I can claim that it’s a Whumptober fill here on November 23.

Read it on AO3 or here on tumblr below.

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Loki snapped. “Why can’t you ever listen to me?”

“I listen to you all the time,” Thor grunted, his voice tight. “I’ve listened to you and ended up in plenty of bad situations.”

“Yes well, at least those weren’t normally avoidable situations, which this was completely,” Loki said. He glanced at his brother, trying to keep the anger sharper than the worry in his eyes. It wasn’t the battle they’d just fought that had him concerned, nor the possibility their attackers might return. It wasn’t his own wounds that worried him, either. No, it was the fact that as they had fought, the cavern that they were inside had collapsed around them, trapping them in an unstable death trap several hundred feet inside the earth.

Loki had avoided injury.

Thor had not.

Thor’s legs, to be exact, were trapped under several tons of rock. If they were lucky, he was merely incapacitated. If they were unlucky…well.

Thor tilted his head back, letting it hit the ground. His hair was matted with blood from some head wound. It probably wasn’t serious. At least, Loki hoped it wasn’t serious. There was something dripping down the side of his own face too, though whether it was sweat or blood, he didn’t really care to examine. It could easily have been either. When the cavern had collapsed around them, chunks of rock and debris had gone flying, turning blunt force trauma into impalation risks.

And the temperature in the cavern was rising. It already had felt hotter than Helheim in there when they’d been doing battle. Now it was…especially hotter than Helheim.

Something slid down Loki’s eyebrow and dripped into his eye, and he gave in and swiped at it, unable to stop himself from glancing at the side of his hand to see what color it was. There was nothing there except the mealy colored dust of this planet. No blood. Not on his forehead, at least.

“We had to fight back,” Thor said. Was he grimacing? “They were going to destroy that village.”

“So there would be one less village in the universe,” Loki muttered. When Thor glared at him, Loki blasted air out through his nose. “I’m just not sure it’s worth dying over.” The village being wiped out would be regrettable, of course. Thor dying was more on the order of intolerable.

Waving a hand and wincing as he did it, Thor said, “Who said anything about dying? Anyway, risking one’s life is just what heroes do.” There were lines in his forehead, furrows made craggier by the dust caked there. Loki tried to pretend they weren’t because of the several tons of rock sitting on Thor’s legs, though he wasn’t particularly successful at convincing himself.

“Well, no one has ever accused me of being a hero,” Loki said. He was studying the massive column of rock that was on top of Thor. There were spells he could perform to get Thor out, but he was worried it would destabilize the whole cavern and crush them before he was able to call up a shielding spell. Then again, even if he was able to call up said spell, all it would mean was that they would have an even smaller bubble of air to exhaust before asphyxiation. He could rearrange the molecules of all the rock sitting over them, but he would also have to pull Thor behind him while maintaining the spell to make sure they weren’t encased in earth.

“Are you in pain?” Loki asked. Thor looked at him like he was an imbecile. Right. Point taken. Pressing his lips together, Loki cast his eyes over the cavern again. It had been lit by some sort of orange bioluminescence covering the walls before, but the cave-in had destroyed whatever delicate ecosystem had been producing it. There were still a few spots glowing weakly here and there, but the cavern would be shrouded in blackness if not for Loki’s magic. He’d summoned several glowing balls of light which were floating at points around the cavern.

“Will you be alright for a few minutes?” Loki asked. He got the same look in return and rolled his eyes. “Pardon me for attempting to look out for you, brother.”

Thor grimaced, though Loki wasn’t sure if it was because of what Loki had just said or because he was in pain. It could, he supposed, be both. With a grunt, Loki got to his feet, summoning a glowing orb of light to his fingertips as he made a slow circuit of the cavern. The orb inched back along his fingers to his palm, and he held it up, increasing the brightness until as much of the cavern was illuminated as possible.

As he’d suspected. There was no way out.

Swearing under his breath, Loki made his way back to Thor’s side and knelt again. “I have a very bad plan,” he said.

“So,” Thor said, “as usual.”

Normally, Loki would have scowled at him. But Thor was beginning to look pale, wan, almost, and there was sweat standing out on his forehead that Loki didn’t think was solely from the rising heat in the cave. “I have to get you out from under all this rock,” Loki said. “And the only way to do that is with magic.”

There was a silence. Thor blinked at him. “I don’t know if I’d call that a very bad plan,” Thor said.

“Well, good, then we’ll do that bit first, and I’ll tell you the rest of it once we’ve successfully freed you.” Loki could hear how false the cheerfulness in his voice was. He hated this—he was no good at being the chipper one, the optimistic one. Loki had one job in these sorts of situations, and it was to be the bearer of bad news, the one saying I told you so, because he invariably had.

But they were past I told you so now and well into forced optimism. Loki sincerely hoped they didn’t get to the next stage, which was tell me how bad it really is.

“Can you move?” Loki asked, knowing as soon as the words left his mouth what a stupid question it was. “I mean, after I do the spell.”

“Of course,” Thor replied with a confidence that Loki felt was entirely unwarranted.

Gathering his magic, Loki put his palm flat against the column of rock bearing down on Thor. With a slow inhale, he sent the spell into the rock, pushing magic between the molecules of stone and loosening their bonds on each other. He felt the magic flow through the rock, and when it was sufficiently fluid, he said to Thor, “Move. Now.”

Thor did. It was a good thing, because the longer Loki held the spell, the more unstable the column became.

On the other hand, with Thor’s legs no longer crushed under the rock, Loki could see just how badly they were both broken.

Anyone else wouldn’t even have legs. If Thor weren’t Asgardian, all he would currently have was crushed bone and red stains around him that had at one point been his muscle and skin. But Thor was Asgardian, so he merely—merely—had several compound fractures. Not that it wasn’t unsettling to see his brother’s splintered shin bone poking through his skin. But it could have been worse.

Even so, Thor couldn’t walk. It would be entirely up to Loki to get them out of this.

Thor looked paler. Loki knew his brother would never show pain if he could help it, so the fact that there were tight lines around his eyes and mouth made the worried knot in Loki’s stomach tighten. “I’m afraid the only way out of here is doing what I just did,” Loki said. “Only we’ll have to…well, climb out.” When Thor just stared at him, Loki added, “I did say it was a very bad plan.”

“It’s a terrible plan,” Thor said. It was impossible not to miss the strained note in it. “Climb? Climb what?”

“The sides of the passage I create for us,” Loki said with more confidence than he felt. “It’s not like you to balk at something that’s almost certain to get both of us killed, brother. You must have hit your head.”

There was little reaction from Thor, which was worrisome.

Drawing a breath, Loki said, “I know I’m hardly trustworthy, but we don’t have much of a choice. If you were in any state to punch your way through Norns-know-how-many feet of solid rock, I’d certainly let you do it.”

Thor grit his teeth. “What do you mean, you’re hardly trustwor—do you really think I don’t trust you? You think that’s the problem?”

“Well, it’s a problem,” Loki said. “I wouldn’t say it’s the only one, no.”

Breathing in and out deeply, the lines tightening on his face, Thor asked, “What happens if you can’t hold your spell?”

“A quick death, I would think.” Loki glanced up at the rock over their heads. It seemed to be closing in, making the space smaller, though he knew it wasn’t. At least, he thought he knew it wasn’t. He wiped sweat off his forehead again. His eyebrows were saturated with it. “The weight of the stone should crush us instantly.”

Actually, he wasn’t sure of this at all. They were Asgardian, after all. Or, well, one of them was, and Loki was—whatever he was. Jotun and some sort of magical mixture of Asgardian, thanks to his father’s magic. It was possible that their bodies would stand up to the crush of rock long enough for them to suffocate due to the lack of air and the fact that their lungs were being compressed. That would be a far more unpleasant death than every bone in their bodies, including their spinal columns, being broken at once. The latter would end things quickly. If Loki was going to die, he really would prefer it to be quick, though he’d never had much cause to believe that this would be the case—not for him.

Thor propped himself up on his elbows and looked at his legs. His face remained expressionless as he took in the way his splintered bones poked through his skin. Unable to help himself, Loki looked, too. Much of the material of Thor’s pants and boots had been shredded, which put his wounds on full display. Around the punctures, Thor’s skin was purple and swollen, blood oozing out and mixing with the pale dust that covered both of them.

It wasn’t a great look. Loki reminded himself that Thor could survive such an injury. Both of them could. Probably. Loki didn’t particularly want to find out if this was the case for him, as well.

Thor looked up and met Loki’s eyes. “You’ll have to carry me, climb out of here, and do magic.”

“Glad you’re still following along,” Loki said. He was being an arse. It might have been on purpose. It was the only thing he could think of to do.

No reaction to the gibe from Thor. “Is it a difficult spell?”

Loki cast his eyes upward again. Was it a difficult spell? No. Molecular rearrangement of stone was no more difficult than molecular rearrangement of anything else—doors that no one wanted him to walk through, prison walls, metal cages. As long as there was nothing hampering his magic, it wasn’t a challenging spell. The difference between this situation and those others was that typically, he only needed to rearrange a section of material that was a little over six feet high, two feet wide, and a few inches thick at most.

He didn’t know how much rock was sitting over them. He had a vague idea, because he knew roughly how far they’d descended into the cavern as they’d been fighting off their attackers. It was, needless to say, more than a few inches.

“Not terribly,” Loki finally said, deciding to split the difference.

“Don’t lie.”

Loki set his mouth in a line and stared at his brother. “The spell itself isn’t difficult, no. It’s the rest of it, and the length of time I’d be performing the magic. As I said, I know you don’t trust me—”

“It has nothing to do with me not trusting you!” Thor said. His voice was strained. “I don’t want you to get yourself killed trying to save me.”

Loki sucked in a deep breath to argue. “I’m perfectly capable of—er—what?”

Thor rolled his eyes, though the way his hands clenched into tight, bloodless fists rather took the sting out of it. “You can get yourself out of here easily. Right?”

“I…” Loki’s gaping was beginning to make him look like an idiot. Taking a breath, he said, “Yes.”

Jerking his head in a nod, Thor said, “Then you should go.”

Oh. Of course. Right. Big damn hero Thor; he’d sacrifice himself for anyone, even his ne’er-do-well, God of Chaos, Mischief, and Lies brother. “I should go,” Loki repeated flatly. “And what will you do?”

“Loki, I’m not going to let you risk your life for me—”

With an irritated scoff, Loki leaned forward, grabbed Thor under the arms, and said, “Oh, shut up, would you?” He flicked his fingers and a strand of glowing green magic flowed from them, one end looping once around his wrist and the other end looping around Thor’s. “Don’t try to break that connection,” Loki said crossly. “It will make sure my spell encompasses your mass as well as mine, and if you do something stupid in the name of being noble, I will come back for you, so it will be your fault if I die.”

For a moment, Thor stared at the thin twist of green magic around his wrist. Then, he looked at Loki and said, “You’re being stubborn.”

“I am,” Loki agreed. “It’s one of my most annoying qualities, and that’s really saying something.” There was no chance Thor could stand, so Loki wrapped an arm tightly around his shoulder. “Ready?”

There was a long pause. A pointless pause. The longer they dallied, the weaker Thor became, and the more difficult this would be. Perhaps Thor knew that—and perhaps he was more stupid than even Loki thought he was, and actually fancied that Loki would leave him behind if he thought Thor would be a drag on his own escape.

Finally, Thor nodded. “Alright. But if you feel yourself weakening—”

“Thor, shut up.” Loki put a hand out, resting his palm against the column of rock that had so recently been on top of Thor’s legs. A green glow spread from beneath his palm and the surface of rock rippled. Loki could feel the solidness of the rock loosening, the spaces between each atom opening up. He extended the spell as far as he dared, then looked at Thor. “Let’s go,” he said.

Because Thor couldn’t use his legs, this first part was all Loki. One-armed, he heaved Thor into the rock, sparing a second’s thought for the fact that this would probably be a deeply unsettling experience for his brother.

But then there wasn’t time to think. Or—perhaps there was time, but he didn’t have the mental space for it. Climbing the tunnel that he created for them, a foot at a time, was arduous and tense. They made their way up through the column of rock and into the mass of earth sitting over them, and when Loki thought they’d reached the top of it, he sent out a sounding spell to check.

He was right. All he felt to either side was the press of dirt and rock. The tomb imagery was all a bit too apt, so he stayed away from it. He wasn’t particularly claustrophobic, but considering the circumstances, he thought he could be forgiven the flutter of panic in his chest.

He tried to angle their passage, both to make it easier to gain handholds and to give his screaming muscles a bit of a break from bearing most of Thor’s weight. But angling their magical bore-hole increased their time in the earth, and Loki’s magical energy wasn’t infinite. Combined with the physical exertion of carrying Thor, he could feel himself tiring.

And he would not, he would not fail. So he clenched his teeth, pushed his magic out, and tightened his hold on Thor.

When they emerged onto the surface, it took Loki a moment to realize it had even happened. His magic suddenly wasn’t moving rock, and panic clutched at his chest, and he frantically looked at the darkness around them, left, right, upward, where they needed to go—and his eyes fell on three lumpy, shining objects, surrounded by a scattering of pinprick points of light.

Moons. Stars.

The bright, lumpy things were this planet’s three small moons. The rest were the stars of the night sky.

They’d made it.

Loki’s chest heaved as he drew several breaths of clean, fresh air. His arms and legs were trembling with fatigue. His heart was thundering and he realized his entire body under his clothes was slicked in sweat. His clothes were soaked through with it, too, and here on the surface, where the air was cooler, he could feel the clamminess of his damp clothes against his skin.

The line of green magic still connected his wrist to Thor’s. But Thor was prostrate on the ground, unmoving. “Brother?” Loki asked, worry threading through his tone.

Thor groaned and pushed himself onto an elbow, looking up at Loki. “I was thinking,” Thor said.

The worry in Loki’s chest fluttered, then settled back. He allowed the magic to dissolve away into the night air. “Yes?”

A light breeze ruffled Loki’s hair. Thor flopped back to the ground. “Maybe next time we have to fight a group of marauding space pirates, we should do it above ground.”

Loki laughed, which turned into a cough, because he was still gasping for air, his lungs full of dust. “I couldn’t agree more,” he finally said, once he’d stopped choking.

They were hardly in the clear. Thor’s legs were still mangled and they needed to get back to their ship, and there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t face another attack on their way. But with the sky above them and that cool breeze fluttering at Loki’s hair, escape and survival seemed eminently possible. Easy, even. He’d give it a few more moments for them to catch their breath and gather a bit more strength, and then they’d set off.

It occurred to Loki he was going to have to carry Thor. His brother was really going to owe him for this.

The two of them were quiet, their breathing slowing. Loki’s fingers twitched involuntarily in the powdery dust, his exhausted muscles already protesting the further labor he was going to ask of them. The ache in his arms made it tempting to sit there for another hour. Or maybe three. But they needed to go. So finally, Loki groaned and pushed himself to his feet.

“This is going to be very undignified for both of us,” he said warningly. “I’ll never speak of it if you don’t.”

Thor straightened up as best he could. There was an expression on his face that Loki didn’t like—the kind of softness and sincerity that meant something sentimental was about to come out of his brother’s mouth. So Loki held up a hand. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Thor protested.

“You were going to.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.” Huffing, Loki said, “You were going to say something…embarrassing. Something about my better nature.”

In the dark, it was hard to tell if Thor was smirking or just smiling. “Actually, I was going to say—I’m glad you’re here, Loki.”

Loki crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, squinting into the darkness. He would have to light their way with magic. Hopefully he was still up to it. “Only because you’d still be trapped down there without me.”

“No.” Thor managed to get to his knees, and when he held out a hand, Loki thinned his lips, clasped his brother’s arm, and hauled him to his feet. Idiotic. They wouldn’t make it more than three steps this way, not with Thor’s legs in the shape they were. Loki slung Thor’s arm over his shoulders and wrapped one of his own arms around Thor’s midsection, supporting most of his weight. “I was going to say,” Thor said, “that I’m glad we’re together, because there’s no one I’d rather fight side-by-side with.”

Letting out a slow breath, Loki rolled his eyes. He tightened his grip. Then he said, “Shut up, Thor.”

Thor grinned. Loki ignored the fondness in his own voice.

The two of them set off into the night.

[platinumbutthole]

Memories in Red

When a dream has gone on for too long, the thin membrane between reality and the clouded world of the mind may be broken, leaving the dreamer submerged in the dark void of their own subconscious. Another dream has come and went, even as it proves to be darker and more unpleasant than the last, I miss it dearly.

I awake to this padded room once again rattled, only to recollect that I am indeed crazy, spats of lucidity grace my presence as if pleading me to write out this memoir of sorts. This very well may be the only way I can gain a grip back into reality, or more likely, drive myself deeper into the thick fog that is consuming my mind. In this conscious state, I recollect only that of less importance unto myself; age, occupation, or even my damn name remains a mystery. But of what I know, I did have a life before my spiral into the abyss of insanity. A wife that dips into my memories only to taunt me with her mysterious beauty, a pocket watch that meant some special importance in my life, a dog, and a grotesque bastard child. You see, I was sent here of my own accord, I did not want to be locked up with the ingrates of the penal system, I felt better suited to be one with the shit eaters and comatose rotted vegetables that also live within the walls of this sanitarium. In here, bound up like mummified corpses, the fear isn’t of those around us, it is of what is inside yourself. I chose this route because of an urge that set upon me long ago, this urge is only one of the multiple memories that alludes me every time I find myself sitting on the edge of reality looking back into the grim horrors that clouds my true subconscious.

The bloody cuts across my hands and fingers are the only real source of entertainment here, it seems my writing has been going on for quite some time judging by the amount of scribble on the walls, red patches, and smears correlate into a jumbled mess of words directed only towards myself. These words scrolled out reveal portions of my life that I may have wanted to remember, or possibly forget. Judging by the writing on the walls, I must have been busy the past few days, so many words and phrases give way to more conclusive statements. “Children under god” and “remember” plastered in bright red imagery above the cell door, followed by multiple occurrences of the name “Virgil”.

In this place, time holds value higher than any currency, it is not easily retrieved, and the lack of a clock or workers doesn’t help the issue one bit. Thought my memories are few and far between, I don’t recall any staff member gracing me with their presence in a long time, I don’t know how long I have gone without human interaction, let alone food and water. Looking at my poor excuse for a body it seems like I haven’t indulged in sustenance in quite a long time, each rib visible as the last, a pale, bony chest leading to shoulders that have no fat left on them. My shadow being cast by the single white florescent bulb that hangs in the middle of my padded hovel looks like the creatures that haunt me late at night, I laugh, trying to convince myself that these nightly visits are all in my head, but the scars tell otherwise. I say this because being in a padded room meant for a mentally unhinged patient as myself, there is no tool for me to tear into my own flesh, no knife or piece of glass, gifting myself the sweet release of red ink that I so desperately crave. No, I get these wounds by another force, an unknown being in the shadows, the corners of my cell representing the shackles of my mind that won’t let me free. Sometimes it comes in the form of my wife, nameless and transparent she takes my arms, lifting them up and giving them the lightest kiss before slashing with her sharp claw-like nails, as I look up from the blood into her dark eyes, the calmness turns to fear as she opens her gaping mouth to reveal a black darkness that wants to swallow me whole. This vision of horror only to be set back by rapping on my padded door, no one is there, no one is ever there. I recall waking from a state of mental unsightliness to observe a black dog with bright yellow eyes peering at me from that damned corner of the room, growling and grimacing to show every razor-sharp fang only to leap onto me. I have heard the dreaded sound of tearing flesh too many times in my life, the beings that lurk in this room with me want me to write, they want to be heard. I am tired now, without the value of time at my disposal, the only thing telling me that night has come is when the power to the only light source in the room is shut off. It’s dark now and I must try to sleep.

As I am about to fall into a distant slumber, praying to not being visited by whatever horrible entity of my wretched mind has in store, I hear screaming. This is not an abnormal occurrence in this place, but these screams are different. It sounds as if a child had gotten loose and is running through the halls churning their sorrows into an inconceivable volume not meant for human consumption, and the sound is growing closer to my room. Most of the time the wailing of the mad are my lullaby, whisking me off to a gentle sleep, but not this, it’s been getting closer and closer by the minute, inch by inch the louder it gets. Screams forcing their way through my ear drums and into my very soul. I try to cup my ears with my bloody palms but it’s no use, my eyes feel like they are going to burst only for the screaming to pass my door and stop suddenly. I release my grasp on my head and slowly slide myself to the door, I can’t hear anything, but I feel breathing on the other side as if taunting me, anxiety then hits my chest and I can’t breathe, my heart throbs and the blood smeared writing on the walls beats at the same rate. I fall on my back, looking up at the dark red literature on the walls, only getting brighter with every beat of my waning heart. I can’t hear anything, but I feel something watching me, laughing at me so menacingly that it tears at my insides and would rip my intestines out if gotten the chance. As quickly as I was brought back into my lucid like state, I was taken back again. I find myself at the threshold of sound mind mostly at night, which makes me ironically yearn for more sleep because within this realm of what we know as real, I am brought back into the pit of despair that only those that have experienced true hell will understand.

It’s been a few days now, and I must give myself a hand for the mural now sitting upon the wall adjacent to the door. A painting depicting only what I can convey as a child, sitting on a tricycle peddling towards a grove which is overlooked by a structure deep in the distance. It is disturbing to say the least, not only for the gruesome open-mouthed scowl rippled across the child’s face along with hideously dead eyes, but for the mere fact that it was completely created by the glorious red ink, what a waste. I must have been out cold for a while due to blood loss from the magnitude of my work, but after a while of sitting and staring it seems to calm me, a haven to place my mind when it turns inward on itself once again. I have never been the artistic type, but seeing the absolute scale and detail baffles me, this would be an immense feat to accomplish with a brush let alone a bloody finger. I search my entire brittle body to find an entry point or wound that could have saturated this wall the way it appears, but I find no new scars, my body is the way I left it.

As I sit and marvel at my work of art, I start to hear a sound, the squeaking of wheels ever so gently moving down the corridor outside my cell. I know how ignorant I must be, but the sense of anxiety and dread fill my chest cavity and I can’t take another second. I cannot be taken back again so soon, I must sit and write and keep my sanity just this once, but the wheels keep turning, bringing themselves closer to my room, all I can do is pray to whatever being is still out there for them to pass. Every second feels as if I am staring at the blade of the guillotine waiting for the rope to be cut, but as it creeps closer, the sound suddenly vanishes. I am in silence now, my body aches but I am still, knowing that something is out there waiting, staring directly into the cell, its breath hitting the widow with such force I hear it across the room. I cannot bring myself to peer out of the small dusty window on the door, for hiding whatever alludes me is the only way I can still survive here.

My visitor has yet to show itself, just viewing my quarters through a tiny glass pane, mocking me for my cowardliness to not step up and peer into the eyes of the unknown. I have convinced myself time and time again that there is a good reason I am in here, for I have the tendencies of a mad man, and inside these walls is the only place I belong. But this entity standing at my door may be my last hope of salvation, an utterance of good in a place stricken with evil. I have convinced myself to stand up and show my face to the staring one, and as I stand, the lonely light in the room flashes and burns out. Darkness hits my skin and chills me to my core, I cannot be trapped in here again, alone, pleading for light, the salvation to my pain-stricken mind. This mustn’t stop me, I must see my viewing party firsthand or forever be confined within the madness of the unknown. Every step to the door of my padded cell takes longer than the last, heart beating faster and faster, red ink on the walls flashing to the beat once again, illuminating my short path. I step up to the door, feeling the buildup of anxiety piercing my internal organs, wincing at the pain I look up at the cold, dusty, window. I look through to see nothing, just the source of blackness that has poured into the confines of my cell. But still, the breathing continues at a more advanced pace, this time it is not hitting the door, the hairs on the back of my neck raise as the hot rush of air pours onto me.

I clench my jaw tight, close my eyes, and stand facing the door hoping for whatever is behind me to leave my presence, but it does not go away. Instead, I feel the grip of a bony hand onto my shoulder, long nails cutting into my skin, I glance down slowly to see the hand that is grasping me is a woman’s, I can see her wedding ring digging into the finger leaving barely any skin, only pure white bone. I have an instant of clarity, realizing I know that hand from so long ago, I turn back quickly to view my visitor only to be greeted by my mural, only it’s changed. Bright red ink glowing so bright in the pitch blackness, showing off the same detailed landscape, the grove with an overlooking structure, but the child is gone, what is left is the bloody trail of something dragged off the bottom of the painting. Before I could even look over the whole mural, the light in the middle of the room bursts on, presenting the painting in its entirety in which the pure sight of it all brought me to my knees, hands pressed tightly against the sides of my head I couldn’t scream, nothing was left in me. In the picture, the bloody marks where the child once sat and rode his tricycle, lead out of the painting onto the ground where I knelt, and at the end of the trail laid the red coated tricycle laying sideways, wheel still spinning, squeaking ever so softly. I start to shake erratically, as my eyes move past the toy, onto a small body lying face down near my feet, bloodied and battered, the ink to my mural.

I know now what I have done to be in this place, I deserve to be here, in this wretched cell, dipping meaninglessly into insanity only to be brought back to face the reality of my cruel ways. As I stare at the lifeless corpse laying at my feet, it begins to move, and twitch in horrible ways I cannot even try to describe, he lifts his head by a weak neck, dark dead eyes lead down to a hideous scowl wrapped around a twisted face. I squirm, the dreaded feeling tearing away at my guilt-stricken insides consumes my whole body, leaving me motionless, not a single breath left in my lungs. I know that face, as horrid and decrepit as it may seem, whatever lay before me was my son, but now just another entity meant to bring me exactly what I deserve. Now all I have left to do is stare into the precipice of my own despair, waiting for this entity to consume me in the most dreadful way possible. We can never truly block out the pain, it will always be there, waiting to torment us until our last breath

[shreddedparchment]

The Brightest Star Pt.05

Celestial Confessions

08/15/2019

Pairing: Thor x Reader     Word Count: 6,984

Masterpost     Warnings: language, fluff, angst

A/N: I am so sorry that it has taken so long to get an update out for this. As most of you know, I have signed up for quite a few challenges and some of those have turned into series of their own so, please forgive me for the delays. I am still very much discovering what I want this story to be so I thank you for your patience. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

“Ouch.” You whisper, the slice of the knife on your finger shallow.

Almost no blood. Cutting cheese is hard.

A quick anxious glance shot over your shoulder at your bedroom’s wide open door while you press the slice to your lips to suck the flow to a stop.

Had he heard you?

When no one comes you turn back to your tray.

You’ve got a nice layout, crackers, cheese, ruby red apple slices, and midnight purple grapes to accompany the blackberry, blueberry, and raspberry red blend wine.

It’s a dusky taste, clinging and deep, the tart flavor dulled by the fruity aroma. You fill two glasses, plate them along with your selection of fruit and cheese, and with an excited heart head back in search of Thor.

He’s right where you left him at the mouth of your balcony doorway gazing out at the Eden you’ve created.

The long elegant lines of his limbs, strong bulging biceps, and as he turns to you, an electric blue eye accompanied by the other in amber all draw you breathless.

Your feet falter as he smiles at you. The soft curve of his lips gentle and inviting.

You’re at a loss. Complete and utter bewilderment as to how or why this God is in your home, smiling at you as if you were some sort of gift.

Deftly he eyes your tray. “Goodies?”

That deep tremor of his voice nearly chokes you. It fills you up with too much giddiness and you chuckle stupidly.

“Sorry.” You clear your throat. “Yeah, some cheese and fruit. Some wine. It’s not expensive. I don’t really have a refined palate but this one has always been my favorite.”

A twenty-seven dollar bottle of wine. That’s what you like.

“I’m sure it’s wonderful.” Thor smiles, moving towards you with strong confident steps.

Despite the kisses he'd given you only an hour ago, your own confidence wavers. You shrink as he approaches, just slightly. Just enough for him to notice.

He doesn’t stop walking until he’s standing right in front of you.

You stare up into his eyes, holding his gaze as he peers down at you. Happily. That small tempting curve of his lips so sweet and seductive all at once.

“Allow me.” He says, takes the tray and moves to set it on your coffee table behind you.

Once settled on the sofa, he pops in a grape then reaches for a glass. He sniffs the wine, brow furrowed, then gives it a rapid taste.

Worried, you wait. Does he like it?

Slowly, he smiles. The soft yellow haze of light from the ceiling paints him warm.

“It’s delicious.” He assures you, gets back up when you don’t join him, and walks towards you with his glass in hand and yours in the other.

When he offers it, you take it and drink a quick sip.

So good.

“I love your garden.” He gestures over your shoulder at the open balcony doorway.

The crisp fall air is colder now that winter is even closer. Soon, you won’t be able to keep the door open.

You shiver lightly as the air wafts in towards you bringing with it the aromatic scent of a hundred different blooms.

“Thanks.” You smile, never taking your eyes off of him despite the fact that he’s looking at your garden and not you.

“It reminds me of the gardens my mother tended to on Asgard just outside the courtyard. She would spend hours watering and pruning. Really, it’s very beautiful, Y/N.” He nods then finally brings his gaze back to meet yours.

Beaming you take a sip of your wine again and smile bashfully at him over the rim of your glass.

“I was too distracted last time I was here to notice.” He begins, voice sharp with a subtle playfulness.

It’s almost not even there. What he saw you doing with Jeremy must have really upset him.

Oh, shit.

“You know. Because you were busy.” The corners of his smiling lips twitch, eyes dazzling mischievously.

Lowering your glass, you reach up to wipe your lip, flashing back to that night of torture and bliss all rolled into one.

You’d been so heartbroken over Thor ghosting you but then so pleasantly satisfied and wanted by Jeremy.

When he'd made to leave the first time your heart had panicked. Being alone meant thinking about Thor and you’d been grateful for the reprieve that Jeremy had offered you.

“I'm…” You swallow hard, curling your wrist inwards to press your glass of wine against the side of your breast as you find the words. “I'm sorry you saw that.”

When you meet his gaze, Thor’s teasing light is gone as your own sincerity shimmers through your own. His smile falters and then slowly fades as you chew on your lip.

“I’m not strong, Thor. I’m…I mean, you’ve seen me with Nan and Seth. I needed to feel something other than incompetent that night and Jeremy has always been there for me in that sense. I definitely didn’t want you to see me…like that…And Jeremy and I aren’t—I mean, he has a girlfriend. So…it’s not like that with us.” Your cheeks are burning.

“Y/N…I don’t…” He begins but your stare seems to make him speechless. “I will not lie. I was rather hurt by what I saw.”

You breathe in slowly, heart racing.

“I have no right to be upset about you being in…in the arms of another man.” He nearly chokes on the words and clears his throat to cover up the hitch in his voice.

You breathe out, deflating under the nerves he’s betraying. You laugh, a small huff of air as a joy unlike any you’ve felt before warms your limbs.

The trickle of heat begins at the center of your chest and spreads out across your shoulders, along your arms, hip, legs, and down to your toes.

For him to be upset, it would have to mean that he likes you, right?

“What?” Thor asks, surprised by your amusement but also smiling again.

You shake your head, flat out refusing to admit to your source of giddiness and take another sip.

“Keeping secrets from me?” He asks playfully, stepping towards you.

You nod.

He takes another step and reaches out for your left arm.

You make to pull away, but he catches it, his touch burning but nowhere near your own body’s strange heat.

With your body pulling back, he chuckles and makes to pull you towards him but you turn into his left arm, to try and pull away as you chuckle but he uses your own move to wrap both his and your arm around your waist and pull you back against his chest.

His heart is pounding. A wild thrumming to match your own.

He smells like rain. Earth. The metallic sting of ozone saturated with a sweet floral scent. It’s intoxicating and melts all resistance you have as he leans down to rub the right side of his bearded face against your left.

He leans down more and more, scratching your cheek with his scruff until you’re no longer chuckling and he’s pressing his lips to your cheek.

The tension builds in seconds, making your body hum.

“Keep your secrets.” He whispers, his deep timber marks your soul. “As long as I can have you, I don’t care.”

He steals your breath. Romancing you sweetly and gently.

You turn your head to look at him and he dips down to kiss your lips before you can say anything.

Warm, wet lips, with the fruity taste of your favorite wine massage your own.

Slipping your left hand out from underneath his arm around your waist, you slide it up behind his head and stroke the soft waves of his short golden hair.

“Mmmm.” He mumbles against your lips making your hips ache and your stomach flutter.

The arm around your waist wraps you up tighter and he brings his right around your torso with his glass slowly teetering back and forth in his distracted state.

There’s a slosh and you feel it fall against your skirt.

Thor gasps, regrettably pulling back to look down over the pale blue of your dress.

“Damn. I’m sorry.” He frets.

Cloud nine. That’s where you’re still at. You open your eyes slowly, hovering in the bliss of Thor’s kiss but he’s distracted, removing his arms from around you as he meets your dreamy gaze.

“I should have been more careful.” He worries, his left hand still on your waist as he turns you around to face him.

Looking down at the stain, you smile and find your bearings.

“It's okay.” You shake your head. “I’ll just have Jeremy buy it from the designer and see if he can’t get someone to clean it up. I should go change though. Can’t spend the entire night in formal wear, right?”

Thor gives you a smile, his hand drifting up to caress the skin of your cheek. His fingers are so gentle. Slowly gliding from the back of your jaw all the way down to the curve of your chin.

“No.” He agrees. “I suppose you can’t. Go. Make yourself comfortable.”

You really hate to pull away, but you also do really want to get out of this dress. “I'll be right back.”

You make to pull away then turn back to him and push yourself up onto your toes, pulling him down by the silk lapels of his suit with your free hand.

He meets your peck with a smile, eyes wide open as you pass your glass of wine into his left hand.

“You should make yourself comfortable too. And…don’t go anywhere?” You ask, still a little unsure in your confidence with him. Does he want to stay longer?

“I'd rather be beaten than leave you again.” Thor jokes.

*****

You are absolutely stunned when you walk out of your bathroom. Not just because Thor seems to have gone for pizza—you can smell the melted cheese and cooked toppings—but because as you move out and search for him, you find him staring out your wall of windows at the city below.

It glitters like starlight out before you, so high up, you’re immune to the sounds of it but can enjoy the display of lights.

Thor’s got his tuxedo jacket off, laid out on the bench at the foot of your bed, his bow tie pulled apart, left to dangle in the collar of his pressed button up which now has the top two buttons undone giving you a relaxed view of his sun-kissed clavicle.

He’s rolling up his sleeves to the elbow as he turns towards you.

He freezes too and you don’t realize he’s gawking until you remind yourself not to be an ogling creeper.

A slow smile spreads across your lips as you realize he’s ogling right back.

At what, you aren’t sure.

Your nightgown, like your wine, is also not fancy. A little feminine perhaps but comfortable. Soft white cotton that billows out around you as you start walking towards him again.

It ties at the top of both shoulders with ribbons made of shiny antique white satin, and the back falls very low. It curves down in a narrow U stopping just above your bum.

The bottom hem is a band of lace that drags across your concrete floors. The soft pat of your feet the only sound as you move to stand before him.

“Wow.” He whispers, then clears his throat because you smile and huff a small laugh.

“That’s what I was gonna say.” You admit, giving him a quick head to toe.

Chaotic, casual formal wear looks good on the God of Thunder.

Nervous, you reach up and begin to thumb your necklace.

Thor’s eyes are drawn to it, gazing at the polished black stone with its craters as the tip of your index finger slides over the smooth red gem that can only be seen if you tilt the stone up.

“What’s that?” He wonders, moving closer.

His hand slides over yours until you drop it and he takes hold of the rock.

“It’s the most important item that I own.” You admit, smiling stupidly up at him despite the depressing reality of the rock you wear daily.

“This little thing?” He asks genuinely curious.

You nod but since you don’t explain, he drops it to gesture at the coffee table. “I brought you dinner. I didn’t see you eat at Stark’s gala so I assumed-?”

“Thank you.” You’re touched. “I am starving. I didn’t get there until after dinner was over.”

“Oh.”

Thor reaches down and takes your hand, heated digits tickling the center of your palm making you nearly quiver.

“Then come.” He tells you softly and pulls you towards the sofa.

The two of you settle on it and Thor quickly pushes the slices of apples off the plate you’d put them on and lifts the pizza box lid.

You’re awash in the delicious smell of bread, cheese, and tomato sauce. It makes your mouth water and you have to swallow as you watch Thor pile on slice after slice. One. Two. Three. Four slices.

“Wait…” You tell him, then chuckle as he places a fifth piece on the plate.

“What?” He asks, confused, stopping as he looks at you.

“I-” You chuckle again and watch as Thor’s eyes light up, his own lips pulling at the corners subtly. “I can’t eat all that, Thor.”

“Oh.” He quickly pushes three slices off and holds the plate out to you.

“Thanks.” You continue to chuckle to yourself. Amused by his cuteness.

He’s so big…so wide. You feel for his heat and enjoy it. That golden aura that had first seduced you. How can he also be cute?

“I was thinking with my own stomach, I suppose.” Thor explains, analyzing the slices before taking one for himself.

“Oh, I mean, I can eat them. I just like to eat slowly. Two slices at a time. We’ll probably need another pizza.” You confess, brow drawn together in an apologetic gaze.

“Don’t worry. If we run out, I’ll go get some more.” He promises, leaning forward elbows on knees as he takes a bite and watches you chew on your own piece.

For a whole two minutes, the two of you sit staring at each other. Eating in silence. Small smiles playing on both your lips but your eyes roaming over every curve of his face. The straight line of his nose. The deep imposing brow. His cheekbones are surprisingly flat. They still form a small apple, but they’re not as pronounced as, say, Jeremy’s? His jaw looks strong, covered in his beard as it may be, but it’s soft. You might not cut yourself on his jawline but it’s still a square. Still twitches deliciously when he clenches it. And damn it if you don’t want to kiss it.

“I’m really glad you went to the gala.” Thor says, reaching into the box for another slice.

“Me too.” You admit, though your trepidation at the event had been great.

If Jeremy hadn’t pushed you to go and gotten you through that first bout of anxiety, you’d have left and never seen Thor. You wouldn’t be here, sitting with him in your apartment, loving the way the longer golden strands of his hair up on top of his head fall against his forehead.

You want to reach out and stroke it.

To rebel against this instinct, you fist your nightgown, deciding to let Thor lead the night. You’re not sure what he wants really. You know that he likes you—for some unknown reason—and you know that he wants to spend time with you.

Does he want to get all touchy feely right away? You really want to start touching him, you’re touch starved and you’ve wanted him, however quietly, for months.

Jeremy is the only person you’ll allow to touch you and that’s only because he knows who you really are.

Thor can handle you. The real you. It had seemed like a dream that you might find someone that could fit with you so perfectly.

“What are you thinking?” Thor asks, staring right back at you.

He reaches out and sweeps your hair back, the pads of his fingers stroking the swell of your cheekbone.

You lean into his touch without meaning to. Your eyes are relentless in their gaze, taking in the soft admiration in his own.

Does he really like you? Is this possible?

You lick your lips, tasting oregano and mozzarella.

“I…I told you that I'd explain.” You begin.

Thor straightens up. Finishing his bite of pizza, he places the slice on the box and wipes his hands on a napkin. He crumples it nervously, crushing it into a small ball.

Suddenly he looks terrified for some reason.

“Before you do, I…I think I must confess something.” The deep tone of his voice is so impossibly beautiful, but you can’t even enjoy it because the worry in it, the shame he speaks with overpowers it.

“What?” You ask, brow furrowed as your heart sinks.

It can’t be that he's with someone, can it? Why did he kiss you then? Maybe they have a complicated relationship and he’s going to tell you that he’s also seeing someone else?

Can you share him? Probably.

Do you want to? Fuck no.

“I…if we are going to be together, which I very much hope we are, I want to be honest with you.” He says somberly.

Damn him. His words make you happy, but his tone makes you worry.

“Thor, what?” You plead, free hand flying up to fidget with your necklace.

Thor watches your hand then reaches into his right pants pocket. He pulls from it a sleek black phone unlike any you’ve ever seen. After he unlocks it, he opens his gallery and scrolls to his videos folder.

When he opens it, a singular thumbnail shines up at him. He selects it and the screen goes dark before he holds the phone out to you.

After a curious look at him, his electrifying eyes holding you captive in their remorseful hope, you look at it and place your plate down beside you.

You watch, hands steady as you wait for the darkness on the screen to change.

When it does, you wish it had stayed black.

The video opens to a corner lab. A large metal table with looming rings from head to toe around it. It glows faintly, blue and teal.

You know this lab.

You swallow hard, staring as your now deceased stepfather walks into screen, followed by your mother and a much younger version of yourself.

You watch with your heart slowly filling with lead as your mother convinces you to get on the table.

She makes you count. Uses your innocence to lure you up where you’re already too scared to go.

As you watch the video, you suddenly flash back and see it as if it were happening again. Glistening between the metal rings that thicken and trap you inside of that cradle, the flash of stars. The color of rainbow in neon against the black backdrop and void of space where moments before there’d been a regular old ceiling.

Mind rushing back, you focus on the video again.

You’re screaming. The little version of you, who still doesn’t even understand that daddy is never coming back, is screaming.

Your body blackened. It burns and you can remember the agony. It’s in your bones. It’s who you are.

You don’t remember much before that pain. Your consciousness in childhood was awoken on that day when you were scorched so your life, it all springs from the pain of that night. The fear and the confusion as to why mommy wouldn’t help you.

The room explodes and then they’re dead and you’re just a baby on a lab table, changed forever by the whims of a man who never loved you.

Never cared about you.

And the woman who should have protected you.

You click the screen off, blood flowing like magma in your veins.

Angry does not even begin to explain how you feel. You hold his phone back out for him to take, using deliberate, slow, calculated movements and Thor hesitates before taking it.

“How…” Responding to the wrath in your voice, Thor leans in closer as you speak, reaching for your hand which you yank from his grip with the hiss of his calloused skin sliding against your own.

You struggle to clear your mind, that seething bubble of emotion that threatens to explode overwhelming.

You get up, move around the coffee table then turn to look at him, needing the distance to keep from burning. You can already feel it. The heat rushing through your arms and legs.

He’s standing too, wringing his hands, brow puckered with worry and regret. He’s also watching you, looking your body over and you know what he’s seeing.

That light. The shimmer you get. So rarely does it come out. You’re never this upset.

“How do you have that?” You demand, pointing at the phone replaced in his pocket. “H-how long have you known?”

Thor moves around the table and you back up, retaining the space between you as he still reaches out for you but remains too far to touch you.

“I found out on the day we shared our coffee. When you gave me your number? Stark-”

“Tony?!” You gasp, glaring at Thor because this is betrayal.

You look away, pace to the glass wall and place your hands on the cool surface, urging yourself to stay calm.

You know what Tony wants with you. You know what he’s been after all these years. Like everyone else in your life, he wants something from you. He doesn’t care about you. Only what you can give him. The answers he so desperately wants.

“Yes, I-?”

“So, this…this has all been, what? Some type of recruitment? Trying to get me to come in so that he can run his tests?” You turn and narrow your eyes at him, suddenly suspicious.

The golden God looks different suddenly. Still beautiful. Still breathtaking. Untrustworthy.

“What?” Thor asks, shocked by your leap. “No!”

“Was it his idea for you to seduce me or was that you? Get me t-to lower my guard and then ask me for a favor?”

You can hear the paranoia in your words, but you can’t help it. This has happened too many times. Not since Jeremy came into your life, but it’s happened before and it hurts every time. This time might be too much.

You really like Thor. Fuck.

“Y/N, that’s not-”

“She’s lonely enough, it won’t be hard, right? That’s what he told you?” Your heart aches, the kisses tonight, the soft touches…had they all been fake? “Get the f-freak to come in and get some tests done?”

Thor’s expression darkens. For a moment, a very small quick moment as he lunges towards you, strutting across the space between you and taking your arms in his hands, you’re afraid.

You squeak as he grabs you, though you can fight him off, you’re not sure you’re as strong as a God.

“You are not a freak; do you hear me?” He demands, giving you a very small shake. “You are beautiful and perfection.”

You’d thought that his touch might fuel your rage. That you might blow up if he came closer, but it seems to have had the opposite effect. With his touch, you cool, your anger melting to be replaced by heartbreak. You are definitely not beautiful. Or perfect.

His words hurt despite their positivity. “You should have told me that you knew.”

You gripe, staring down at his chest with stinging eyes.

“That’s what I just did.” Thor explains, pleading with you, his voice rising and falling as he pulls you closer.

Damn, he’s right.

In your defense, you weren’t expecting to have the darkest moment of your life thrust at you like that.

“I didn’t want to start anything with you until we had all of the facts laid out.” Thor explains, his hands stroking your bare arms, chafing them and slowly lulling you back into your blissed-out state. “I’m sorry. I should have…warned you.”

Yes, he sure the fuck should have! With a sigh, you shake your head, your rage rising again but this time it’s not for Thor.

“How does Tony even have that video?” You demand angrily, growling under your breath but speaking softly.

Thor sighs, tracing your arms all the way down to your elbows where he lets them linger.

“He’d said something about a data breach? Hydra-?”

“Oh.” Your mind races back to that incident but you’d had little to do with it.

Papa Roman had been alive then and he’d dealt with it. You only remember reading about it.

“They’d stolen only this video and Tony retrieved it. Out of curiosity, he watched it.” Thor explains. “He was saddened by what he saw.”

“Oh, how nice for him. Must be tough to be sad about watching a toddler kill her parents.” You spit, still angrier than you’ve been in ages.

You move around Thor, pulling out of his grasp and he lets you go.

“I think, as he explained it, he feels regret for abandoning you.” Thor says.

You wrap your arms around yourself, hating Tony because he had abandoned you. He’d stayed away for so long. You could have used someone to confide in. Someone who’d truly known your parents. Who’d known you.

“I swear to you, Y/N…my feelings are not a ruse.” You can hear Thor move towards, slow heavy steps as he approaches you from behind. “I was not sent to you by Stark. I walked into a coffee shop and watched a woman smile with excitement. Her eyes shone like stars and then the light was sapped from them. Her disappointment has haunted me every day since I saw it there and all I have wanted is to help put those stars back.

“I have thought only of how I might get close enough to you to make you smile. To make you laugh. Please, don’t push me away.” He begs.

You shut your eyes, willing yourself to think. To process what he’s saying.

It’s not his fault that Tony stole that video. It’s not his fault that Tony had shown it to him. It’s not his fault that Tony has been itching to get you into his lab to run his tests. And it’s not Thor’s fault that you find it hard to trust, to believe, to accept that someone might really want you to do as he says; to smile.

Strong bulging arms wrap themselves around you.

You can breathe properly again.

It feels so good, as he settles in against your back with his scratchy bearded chin nudging against your cheek. It feels amazing to have his heart absolutely pounding against your own.

He’s nervous. He’s worried. Or…whatever it is that makes his heart beat like that.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, ashamed of your outburst.

“No.” He whispers against your cheek, soft lips featherlight against your skin. “I’m sorry I did not warn you first. I only wanted to be honest. I know about what they did to you, but I don’t understand what it means.”

You did promise to explain. “Thor-”

Your bedroom door suddenly flies open, so forcefully that it hits the wall and swings back closed only Jeremy is there to stop it, still dressed in his powder blue couture tuxedo.

“Jer?” You stand up straighter, Thor’s arms only tighten around you. “What’s wrong?”

He looks frazzled, breathless. Like he’s been running.

“I-” He begins, his dark brown eyes moving from you down to Thor’s arms wrapped around you, then up to his face before settling back on yours. “I didn’t know where you went.”

You frown. “I told Tony to let you know that I’d come home. Sorry. I should have found you myself.”

He’s already mentally brushed off your explanation, taking a step closer, eyes narrowed as he really looks at you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, taking a step towards the two of you with his hands clenched into fists.

“Okay?” You ask confused. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Jeremy frowns at you. “You’re crying.”

Startled, you reach up to touch your right cheek making Thor drop his arms as you move. He doesn’t stray from right behind you, keeping his chest pressed against your back. His heart is pounding harder now. Faster than before.

Sure enough, your cheeks are stained with tears. You’re not sure when you cried. Maybe while watching the video?

“Oh. I’m-I’m fine. I was just…remembering my parents. Thor—Thor knows what happened to me and it kinda caught me off guard.” You explain, shrugging one shoulder only to feel Thor’s hand slide up along your arm to rest on the side of your shoulder.

He gives it a squeeze and you look up at him, feeling calm again. Floating on his warm golden aura. How could you have ever doubted him?

You smile.

“How the hell does he know about what happened to you?” Jeremy asks, needlessly sounding aggressive.

“Jeremy,” You begin, frowning.

“That’s not your concern.” Thor tells him.

Surprised by the harsh note of his voice, you turn to look back at him, searching his face for a hint but he’s got his eyes trained on Jeremy.

“What the hell did you just say to me?” Jeremy asks, strutting forward, chest first.

“Woah, hey.” You move out from under Thor’s grasp and put your hands on Jeremy’s chest, pushing him back gently and he complies with your touch. “Tony gave him the video of how it happened. I guess he took it back when Papa Roman dealt with that big data breach. Hydra. Remember?”

Had he been here then? You think so.

Jeremy turns his glare down to you, softening his brow as he reaches up to take hold of your hands.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, thumb stroking the back of your hand.

Thor clears his throat, his hand rising to stroke the shape of your hip.

You’re not expecting it and his touch makes you dizzy.

“She’s alright.” He says.

“I didn’t ask you.” Jeremy seethes, then pointedly asks, “What happened to your date?”

“Jeremy.” You chastise him, frowning up into his handsome face. You don’t appreciate the reminder of Thor dancing with Helen Cho. “What’s wrong with you?”

“This guy blew you off, Y/N. You were a mess for days.” He says pointedly, looking from you to Thor.

“It was all a misunderstanding.” You tell him, smiling up at him. “Thor thought—”

You have to stop because you can’t explain about him seeing you and Jeremy together in bed. Jeremy will freak out. Thor spying on you? That’s not what it was but it’ll sound like that.

“It turns out Thor was still off planet the entire time I was messaging him. The other Avengers released a false story about them having returned on purpose, to throw off the bad guys here on Earth but really, they hadn’t come home yet. And…”

Maybe you don’t have to tell him about the sleeping with him. You and Jeremy have kissed and hugged and shared affection in spaces where you could have been seen.

“And what?” Jeremy demands.

“Well, Thor saw us. Kissing. He…he thought you and I were together, but I explained everything to him. So, he understands now.” You smile, looking up at Thor who has finally turned his gaze back on you, eyes dazzling in affection.

“I can give you that now.” Thor whispers, making you smile wider.

“Y/N, he could be lying to you.” Jeremy insists.

“He isn’t.” You tell him, turning your happy gaze on him.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” You shake your head, confused by Jeremy’s resistance.

“Y/N…” He begins.

“I’m fine, Jer. You can go.” You order, shifting your tone into your boss voice.

You don’t understand why Jeremy’s being so difficult, but you don’t need it right now. You need to talk to Thor and figure all of this out.

Jeremy watches you, eyebrow scrunched, eyes worried, biting his bottom lip. He looks at Thor, gives him a glare, then turns on his heel and heads back out, slamming your door shut.

Instant regret. That’s what you feel.

Jeremy has been so good to you lately. He’s been patient and kind and he’s given you his body and you’ve accepted his comfort. You owe him more than this.

“Jer…” You move to go after him, but a hand pulls you back. Strong thick digits around your wrist.

“Wait. Let me. I’ll explain myself.” Thor promises and moves around you, after him.

“Thor?” You move a step towards him as he stops with the door open to look back at you. “Please, if he hits you, just let him? He’s really protective over me and his hit won’t hurt you anyway, right?”

“You have my word, my starshine.” He caresses your cheek, then nods leaving you with a barrage of flutters as he shuts the door behind him.

Starshine? You smile, teeth plunging into your bottom lip.

“Stop.” Thor calls out, reaching out to grab the assistant’s shoulder.

He jerks out from under Thor’s touch, but he turns to face him, pulling himself up to his full height. Chest puffed out. Disapproving glare set in place.

Thor drops his hand. Rolls his shoulders and looks down at the man. He’s really tempted to knock him on the head, just once. He can hide him in a closet until you’re asleep then take him and leave him on a park bench.

No. Keep your word, Thor.

“What do you want?” The assistant nearly growls.

Thor watches him, taking in his defensive stance, the hard light in his eyes, the way his hands are balled into fists. With his brow furrowed, Thor chooses his words carefully.

“You mean a lot to Y/N.” He acknowledges. “You’re very important. More important than anyone else in her life.”

The assistant isn’t expecting this. A keen observance but also one easily made by anyone paying attention to you. It’s clear that you love this assistant. Maybe not in that way, but you do care about him immensely.

“What’s your point?” The assistant asks, confused, relaxing a little.

“She’s very important to me.” Thor confesses. “I’ve been watching her for a long time, and I have never wanted to make someone happy the way I desire to do so with her. I want to see her smile. Genuinely. Happily. I want to see her express real excitement and enjoyment without having it be broken by those two morons she calls friends.”

The assistant shifts his weight, uncomfortable because this isn’t what he was expecting maybe? Thor can see right through him and he wonders. Does he know? Is he aware what he really feels for you?

You clearly aren’t.

“In order for me to do that, you must let me.” Thor looks down at the floor, wondering if maybe he should say it.

He felt it. As soon as the assistant had walked into the room and saw Thor holding you, that aura…that energy…so clearly, Thor had felt it.

“You hurt her.” The assistant argues.

“A mistake.” Thor explains. “Just as she said. A misunderstanding.”

He thinks quickly. Calculating the odds of him getting punched if he says it.

Fuck it. He needs to know if he’s right. For himself.

“I saw you with her.” He begins. “I came that night I returned, when I suddenly received all of her messages at once and realized what she must think.”

Thor can see the assistant putting two and two together. He should help him. He’s being slow about it.

“I saw you with her.” Thor says, lowering his voice because they’re only in the kitchen. Your room is not far. “The way you treat her—you try to deny it but…you love her.”

“So?” The assistant doesn’t even hesitate!

Thor’s lips curve up into a small knowing and slightly bitter smile. He’d been prepared for a denial.

“She doesn’t know.” He nods.

The assistant finally averts his gaze.

“If she did, she would not let you touch her the way you do.”

“You don’t know that.” The assistant protests, moving towards Thor, maybe itching to hit him.

Thor doesn’t respond. He just stares. He lets the assistant come to the correct realization on his own.

He drags his hand through his dark brown hair, messing the carefully styled do in his frustration. “I just needed some time.”

Thor takes a step towards him, the movement drawing the assistant’s eyes up to face him.

“Are you going to stand in my way?” He asks, the slightest hint of a threat in his voice.

This isn’t in Thor’s character. He doesn’t get this possessive. He doesn’t feel this jealous. This voice is reserved for his enemies in battle and yet, that’s what this assistant feels like. He’s an enemy.

He doesn’t think that he could ever actually hurt this human. This weak man.

He wants to though. He really wants to make sure that he knows that you’re already his. That you belong with him and only him.

Whatever past this assistant might have with you, it’s clear that to you it meant something different. Your eyes are hopefully only on Thor.

The assistant stares up at him for what feels like ages without saying anything. He reads him, glares at him, hates him. Thor can see it in his dark eyes. The assistant would give anything to cut Thor out of your life again.

“Thor?” Your gentle voice drifts out towards him and the assistant.

You round the curving wall and Thor takes a step back, renewing the distance between them to a much less threatening space.

“I’m here.” Thor assures you.

He hears your feet stop a few feet behind him.

“Jer…?” You plead, worried and hesitant.

Thor watches the assistant stare at you. Slowly he forces his face to relax. He gives you a smile.

“Sorry.”

Thor looks over his shoulder at you, watching as you shake your head.

“You always take such good care of me, Jer. It’s okay.” You promise him.

“I’m gonna go.” He tells you. “Take it slow, Y/N. There’s no rush.”

Thor looks back at him, frowning. Does he think he wants you for your body? As if you’re only good for that? He doesn’t care if you never sleep with him—okay, maybe it would sort of break his heart—all he wants is to make that sparkle in your eyes come back.

“Jeremy…” You say, reprimanding his thinly veiled accusation.

“Good night, chipmunk.” He whispers, and Thor can feel the heartache in his voice.

That energy that he’s so good at reading is flaring up from the assistant’s side but he feels nothing from you.

Thor almost feels bad for the man, but he’s grateful that only an hour ago that heated aura had been wafting off of you in droves and at him specifically.

“Night.” You call after him as he turns and leaves, taking Thor’s nervous tension with him.

However he might have just made it seem, Thor is terrified of the assistant. He’s known you longer. He knows you better. He knows you intimately. If he were to tell you that he loves you, if he were to confess, would you go to him?

Would you abandon this freshly blooming romance to commit to the man whose been by your side for so many years?

If the world were just, you would.

But Thor is pretty sure that if he doesn’t already, he’ll soon love you as much as the assistant does.

No.

He’ll love you more.

His heart skips a beat as your hotter than normal fingers slide down along his forearm, wrist, and finally intertwine with his own.

His hand engulfs yours, swallowing it in his soft caress. He looks down at you, watching that amazing sparkle that he’d fallen for brighten your eyes.

“I’m still hungry.” You tell him, and almost as if on cue, your stomach grumbles loudly.

Thor can’t help himself. He chuckles, releases your hand to cup the sides of your face, then kisses you softly.

You shut your eyes and Thor feels you melt against him. That strange heat of your body flares as you press it to his. You kiss him back eagerly, your tongue sliding forward to coax his lips open before he can make the move himself. He welcomes your kiss, opening his mouth and tilting his head to the left as he breathes you in.

He gives you what you want, slipping his arms around your waist, letting his hands trace up along the bare back of your nightgown.

Your skin is intoxicating and soft. The small imperfections perfect in that they’re yours. He loves every inch of skin he can feel, and he wants to kiss you and make love to you, but he can’t do the latter yet.

Even though you moan against his lips as he brazenly touches you. He pulls back, noses nudging, foreheads touching, lips ghosted over yours.

“You feel like silk, my starshine.” Thor whispers, deep, and that attraction he’d felt flowing from you almost drowns him.

He feels you shiver in his arms and he kisses you again, pulling another moan from you as he scoops you up, arms wrapped tight around your waist as he walks with you towards your bedroom.

To feed you, of course.

As he crosses into the room, your tummy rumbles again and Thor chuckles against your kiss.

Buy Me a Coffee

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[vannahfanfics]

Heard Part II

Before you read, here’s Part I!

Category: Hurt and Comfort, Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Yona of the Dawn

Characters: Yona, Hak, Jae-Ha

Requested by: Snow3bunny (Ao3)

Hak absentmindedly twirled his weapon in a circle in his hands as he sat hunched on the steps leading to the grand palace doors. Before him, the rain pattered steadily over the stone walkway and garden grass; it had been raining heavily for about an hour now, and the water had begun to saturate the courtyard, forming an inch-thick layer of liquid over the ground’s surface. Hak had been restless in his room, and so he had meandered out into the night to watch the rain fall from the heavens. It was soothing, but not soothing enough; he could not shake that prickling at the base of his neck, those waves of shivers that made goosebumps rise across his skin and adrenaline sing in his veins- that feeling that something was wrong. Hak’s instincts were tempered steel and made very few mistakes; if he was reading the atmosphere of the castle accurately, his very soul scenting the minute change in the air like a prized bloodhound, then something was most assuredly afoot. However, he had no idea what, nor how to figure that out.

He was almost certain, however, that it had to do with the princess.

His hand snapped around the staff of his weapon as loud splashing resounded amidst the consistent pebbling of the raindrops. One splash, then another, then another, and then there he was, the green-haired dragon with that damn smug smirk he always wore on his long face. Hak narrowed his eyes as he appeared before him but resumed lackadaisically twirling the weapon around now that it was apparent there was no threat.

“Out for a midnight walk? You’ll catch cold like that, dragon or no,” he scoffed, propping his elbow on his knee so that he could lean his cheek into his hand. Jae-ha’s mouth curled further into a leer, but Hak tensed when he saw the dullness in his normally mischievous eyes. He could see it in the lines in his face; something was up. “What is it?” he asked, straightening up to stare at him intently.

“It’s Yona.” Nightmarish scenarios immediately began flashing through Hak’s mind and he captured the staff in a white-knuckled grip as a cold flush blasted through every vein in his body. “She’s very upset,” he added quickly before Hak could devolve to quickly into mania. His dripping jade green hair flopped around his shoulders as he took hasty looks around, before he hurriedly stalked over to Hak and held a hand up to cover his mouth as he murmured, “Something is wrong with the king, apparently. She’s tight-lipped about it; no doubt, it’s something that can easily get you and Yoon killed.” Hak’s mania had petered out into a consistent cold pulsing, but it spiked again- frustratingly so- at the mention that something was the matter with Soo-Won. He had never imagined it possible to hate someone so intensely but still never wish them any sort of harm, but that’s what he felt about his once best friend. His eyebrows dove down into sharp peaks, considering what he was about to do.

It was stupid, and reckless, and dangerous. All parties involved could get in deep trouble. Whatever Yona had been scheming against Soo-Won in her private time could effectively go up in flames.

Still, his princess needed him, and he be damned if he wasn’t there in her time of need.

“Take me to her.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Her dress was a puddle of pink around her as she kneeled down beside the window, face buried into her hands as she cried softly. She didn’t notice the shadow of Jae-ha and Hak’s forms follow her as they landed lightly in the windowsill. She whipped around with a gasp as Jae-ha lightly tapped his fingertips against the cold glass, and when she realized it was the two of them, she jumped forward to scramble and open the latch.

“Hak!” she cried as he hopped down into the room. She immediately latched herself to him, burying her face deep into his soaked robes. He leaned down over her as he gently embraced her, stroking her soft dawn-colored hair. Before his face could soften into an expression of affection, Jae-Ha coughed loudly behind him.

“I feel like such a third wheel,” he griped loudly. Hak felt Yona heat up in a body-wide blush at his obvious remark, and Hak glared at him over his shoulder. Smug bastard. Hak looked down at Yona to find her teary eyes staring up at him, wide and hurt and pleading, but also alight with weak happiness.

“Hak… I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered. His face wasn’t sure what expression to make; though normally he would’ve been overjoyed to hear her say such a thing, with Jae-ha there, it was incredibly awkward. The dragon was currently playing with the curtains with an amused look. He was blatantly enjoying making Hak shy, apparently. Hak made a mental note to give him a good whack upside his head later. Right now, the princess demanded his immediate attention. He swept his thumbs across her reddening cheeks to wipe away her tears.

“Don’t worry, Princess. I’m here now,” he assured her softly. His hands stiffened against her face as he recalled why Jae-ha had brought him there in the first place; Yona was upset about something concerning Soo-Won. His mind immediately flew to dastardly possibilities; could the king have done something to her? What more could he do to add to Yona’s suffering? It was already bad enough that she was mostly forbidden from interacting with them. He felt his jaw tensing in ire. Soo-Won… You bastard… She doesn’t deserve any of this! “Princess,” he stated firmly, “tell me what’s wrong. Did Soo-Won do something to you? I swear, I’ll kill-“

“No!” she interjected quickly. With a meek whimper, she buried her face back into his chest, her small hands twisting the fabric of his clothes further. “No… It’s nothing like that…” Her soft whisper was so muffled by his dense clothes that he could barely hear her. Hak stared down at the distraught princess. He felt so powerless. What burden was she bearing that she couldn’t even tell him? With a gentle sigh, he grabbed both her hands to guide them around to his back, allowing her to squeeze him in a desperate hug. Her shoulder shook with wracking sobs that she was desperately trying to keep quiet. “Hak… What… What should I do?” As she shook her head against him, her tears smeared in glittering lines across his upper chest. “I don’t want to lose anyone… Not even… Not even Soo-Won. I can’t forgive him for what he did, not ever, but… I also can’t bear the thought of him dying. Every time you two fight, it pains me so deeply. Do you hate me for that?”

Admittedly, Hak did feel a deep, sharp stab of jealously cut through his heart. It made every cell in his body pulse at once. Yet… He wasn’t angry. How could he be? He himself was unsure of how he truly felt about his childhood friend. If it really came down to it, even after everything… Could he really allow Soo-Won to die? He talked a big game, but if it came down to it, could he really kill Soo-Won himself? If he was truly, brutally honest with himself, he didn’t think he could.

“No. Of course not, Princess.”

“How did things end up like this?” she lamented woefully. “The three of us… Used to exist so peacefully under the same sky, but now… Everything is so confusing. I don’t even know anymore if Soo-Won was ever with us in the first place. Did we ever know him at all? When we laughed together and played together, what did he really feel? Were any of those smiles honest?” As she further dissolved into misery, Hak could feel his heart clenching in his chest. He didn’t know what to do. Why did he never know what to do? He could lay all her enemies low, but when it came to the things that really mattered, Hak never really knew what to say.

Soo-Won was always the one who was really good at that.

So, he didn’t say anything. He enveloped her in a tight hug, forehead falling into her short waving tresses of bright red hair. “Was I wrong all this time? Should I have done something differently? Hak… I’m sorry… I got you in this mess…” she croaked weakly.

“Don’t say sorry,” he growled. His arms locked tighter around her, as if he could forcibly purge all the ill feelings swirling around in her body. “Never say sorry to me. Never bow your head to me. You are the princess. Where you go, I will follow. Whatever decisions you make, I will honor. It’s that simple. I do these things not because I feel obligated, but because you are my princess which I am proud to serve. Don’t forget that.” At first, his voice had a hard edge to it, but as he went on, it gradually softened. “Princess… I know it’s overwhelming right now, but what you must do is think of what’s best for your kingdom. You are not alone in this. You have me, and Yoon, and your dragons. If you told us you wanted to raze this very castle to the ground, we would do it gladly,” he whispered into her crimped curled of hair. He felt Yona exhale deeply and slump against him with crushing relief. Good… She heard me.

“Yes,” she breathed into him. “You’re right, Hak. Thank you.”

It took her a few minutes to detach herself from him. He didn’t begrudge her for it. He didn’t know when the next time he would see her would be, so he allowed her to soak up as much as his presence as she could to get her through the trials ahead. When she finally did pull away from him, she wiped the lingering tears from her puffy red eyes before giving him a confident smile. That determined sparkle was back in her eyes. She would be all right.

“We should get going. They won’t react kindly if we’re caught,” Jae-ha quipped nonchalantly from behind him. Hak continued to stand tersely in front of the princess; honestly, he didn’t want to leave. It was hell, not being able to see her, to know she was safe. He knew he had to go, though. She stared expectantly up at him, waiting for him to turn back. Before he did, he gently took her chin between her thumb and forefinger, tilted her face up, and pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

Then he let Jae-ha take him away before he could get embarrassed and make a fool of himself.

The dragon brought him into the palace garden. The rain was still falling in a steady drizzle. Within a minute, his black hair was slicked to his forehead and his clothes slightly heavier from the amount of moisture they soaked up. Jae-ha dropped him down behind the sturdy trunk of a sprawling tree that provided ample protection from any prying eyes. Jae-ha went to say his good-byes, and that’s when everything hit Hak like a cannonball; groaning, he slumped heavily against his side and laid his head down on his shoulder. His legs felt like jelly, shaking violently as his knees did their best to support his warrior’s bulk.

“Droopy-Eyes, just… Just let me… For just a minute.” He hated the obvious tremble in his voice, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. His hand screwed into the area above his heart, twisting the fabric there like a whirlpool. It felt like someone had stabbed him, really. It wasn’t often that Hak’s emotions got the better of him; for the princess’ sake as well as that of his pride, he kept a tight lid on all those inconvenient feelings. However, he wasn’t infallible. Every once in a while, they would bubble over, boiling and intense. His face scrunched up in agony, teeth bared like fangs as he tried to shove them back into the box he had buried them in. Now was not the time. He was grateful for the rain streaming down his face, because it masked the prickling tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. He was grateful for Jae-ha, too, who just silently supported him without offering a sarcastic barb or teasing quip. He could be a nice guy when he wanted to be.

“It’s cruel,” the green-haired man remarked suddenly. Hak lifted his head to see him staring off into the distance; he followed his gaze to a high tower window, where he could just make out Soo-Won sitting in the window watching the rain fall over his kingdom. Hak could almost think that he looked lonely and sad as he was doing so. The spiteful part of him snarled that it was no less than he deserved. “Yona, you, the king… The fate of the country all lies with you. It’s a heavy burden for anyone to bear.”

“Yeah, well,” Hak huffed as he forced himself back into a standing position. “I’ll take the weight of the world if it means I can see the princess smile again.” His eyes narrowed as Soo-Won rose from the window and wrenched the curtain shut.

Yona heard him. She had the strength to keep going, to find out how all of this would play out. That’s all that mattered right now. Now, Hak just had to wait for his princess’ orders.

Waiting was something he could do well.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[lokikingofasgardslover713]

Ch1: Auction Block

Masterlist

 The Auction House Masterlist

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson X OFC

Warnings: Angst

Summary: The team works a black-market soldier trade disguised as a fine art auction organized by what remains of HYDRA. The key to the vault each individual is kept in is inside the antique sold. The soldier up for auction tonight is top priority, the Avengers can’t allow them with their kill count nor skill go to others who will use them. But to add to it all, they have also taken on Loki at the urging of Thor that his brother is on their side. Though Loki is having trouble shaking the feeling he should be the one attending the auction.   

A/N: A soulmate AU. (I know it's been done, a lot!) In my AU, you know your soulmate by dreaming of them throughout your life, and when it is time to meet you ‘catch them’ in the dream. I'm still working on the ins and outs of this AU as I go. This will possibly be heavy on angst and pining and all that lovey heartbreak stuff. Needless to say, Loki nor his soulmate take well to the discovery of what they mean to one another, nor to how they are to act towards one another. Set after the events of Endgame. Everyone survived, including Loki, Tony, and Natasha.

Words: +5,000

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Walking upon a woman standing out in the ankle-deep snow in a white gown was, new to say the least. What came as a shock was that for once they were alone. Had Loki not known who, or what she was, the god would have suspected the large framed woman a lost bride. 

The giveaway telling him she was no bride was the dagger she held dripping with blood, hand saturated in gore and staining the thin gown where it rested at her side. The wind whipped the gauze material around her bare legs and tossed lose, platinum blond hair around her stoic face. 

Platinum wasn't her natural color. Her hair was normally a dark auburn almost black when they met, but then again the setting around them wasn't the usual as well. The vast open, scraggly area of forest was filled with blowing snow and sprigs of dead limbs. Normally they met in calmer places such as the gardens of Asgard, but even then he had never gotten this close to her.

Bright violet rimmed irises bored into Loki’s own as he paused, studying her movements or lack thereof. Thick frame stood stiff, but oddly appeared relaxed, as if she was very familiar with the setting and circumstances. He sensed an air of defiance as she continued to hold his gaze proudly.

Strange enough the god noted though she appeared bold and proud she seemed ashamed of the gore that she glanced over before looking back to him. Loki had gotten close enough to note her skin break out in goose flesh as the wind picked up.

Venturing a step closer, the god was sure to go slow. Intuition informed him the woman was more akin to a frightened child. The look in her eyes told him she had been forced to mature well beyond her age at an unrelenting pace. 

Snow crunched under boot, breaking the silence but thankfully she didn't bolt. Cautiously he approached, steadily reaching his hand out for the dagger as he done so. This time there was a nervous flicker in violet orbs before she forced it back and glanced to the dagger as if having forgotten it. 

Like an obedient child, she lifted the bloody dagger away from her side for him to take. A small smile tugged at his lips, carefully taking it in hand to discard in a wisp of seidr. Noting her shifting on bare feet as he was finally standing before her, gazing into violet orbs. 

It was apparent to the god she wasn't sure how to judge his intent but stopped her fidgeting to still and puzzle at him. Reaching out a steady hand, Loki pushed the platinum hair away to get a better look at her eyes but paused his fingertips against her soft cheek. 

An explosion of chartreuse rimmed with bright violet was more beautiful than he ever imagined. Loki always found her in his dreams and nightmares, but never before had he been able to capture her.

She was like background noise when he slept. Even in nightmares this woman was a beacon of hope, a ray of light. Though always she had dark hair, he guessed the darker shade was its natural color, but now, he didn’t understand why it was white and he found her like this; lost. 

This was the first time he was able to lay a hand on her, to stand toe to toe with the woman. It was more comforting than he could have ever thought. Loki had chased this woman, his soulmate, through dreams and nightmares for as long as he cared to remember. 

Loki gave a kind smile, the woman appearing confused as to the meaning of it. She stayed still as he caressed over soft cheek, seen her wanting to give in and lean into the touch; but nervously she stepped a few inches back. Looking him over but remaining close so Loki could continue caressing over the soft flesh. 

A glimmer catching Loki's eye had him looking down to note the sparkling ring on her left hand, encircling the ring finger. Twined around the digit was a gold band encrusted with emeralds, golden snakes twisting around it in the form of his rune. 

There was only one other who had worn the ring and that was his wife Sigyn, who had long passed. Maybe Frigga had been right, this lost creature before him was his true soulmate. Meeting her gaze, Loki had known all along his marriage to Sigyn would be brief. 

“Loki,” a faint voice called out to him on the wind. 

Damn. Not now. 

Not now since he was finally able to touch her, see the woman before him for what she was. Frigga had always told him when the time was right he would get to catch her. That meant he was closer to finding her. That it was time they truly met. Fingers ghosted over her soft neck as the wind called to him once more and he caught apprehension flicker in her eyes. 

Preparing to tell her it was OK, Thor called out once more.

Damn.

Loki remained still, allowing her to step back towards a thicket he now noticed. Studying the woman close, he relished in the playful smile she gave before turning to dart into the bare limbs.

Taking a moment to look after her, though Loki felt a heavy heated hand on his shoulder shaking him, it gave him peace.

The god knew he needed to find her soon, he wasn’t sure he could wait much longer after finally catching her; as his mother put it.

Waking with a harsh huff. Damn oaf, knew how to ruin a good time.

Instantly Loki met Thor with a scornful gaze as he sat up to note the annoying alarm clock was going off. Waiving his wrist to shut it off, Thor stepped back appearing he was ready for Loki to fling harsh words his way as the young god stood to his feet.

Still the dark god didn’t break the glare he sat Thor with. “You hardly ever sleep. Is everything ok,” Thor finally ventured, studying his brother close as he clothed himself with seidr.

It was obviously time for them to get a move on. Since declaring Loki was on their side the Avengers had insisted he help. 

“Never better,” Loki huffed as if pained by having been woken but he had a feeling Thor knew better. Studying Thor’s own garb it appeared they were to possibly readying for a mission thanks to the do gooders. Though the team had taken to only briefing Thor who was left to brief Loki. “What is it this morning?” 

“Captain Rogers asked for us to stop a arms heist. The others are infiltrating some sort of auction-,” Thor explained, stepping out of the room for Loki to step next to him and follow the blond out to the kitchen counter, the area littered with papers and files.

“I believe I would be more suited to attend the auction,” Loki spoke up, having cut off Thor’s explanation as to what they were going to be doing. “I don’t see the others having the sophistication or know how to navigate the intricacies-,” the dark god spoke hotly only for Thor to cut him off.

“Are you sure you’re-,” Thor began, noting Loki seemed, off? Would one put it that way?

The younger god had been sleeping more as of late, and this was the first time he voiced being concerned over a mission. This wasn’t the first auction the others had tackled the past few months, but this was the first one Thor picked up an apprehension from Loki for.

“Just fine,” Loki huffed, more or less upset he had lost his chance to finally touch her, the one he had been led to believe was his soulmate, if there was such a thing. 

Honestly he had his doubts he had one as he looked to Thor, the oaf had found his own soulmate, the mortal Jane, so why would he not have one of his own? Holding Thor’s gaze, though he called the other an oaf he was far more perceptive then many gave credit for. Quickly Loki calmed his rage over not getting to speak with her and hinted to the files on the counter.

“Continue,” Loki huffed once more, trying to sound irritated, which he was but he had calmed some.

Though Loki couldn’t shake the feeling he should be going to the auction. He should be the one fetching the super soldier, as they called them. Loki noted Thor’s pause, damn oaf was putting details together, but thankfully he dropped it.  

“It's simple,” Thor spoke up, glaring at Loki.

Simple meant no casualties, protect bystanders, don’t make a scene, be a good guy. Pulling a face, apparently it was what the older god expected. “No casualties, they can’t question the dead,” Thor stressed.

“Well, they can’t question the dead, but I can,” Loki snipped, picking up the paper that had Thor’s scribbling all over it.

“Loki, alive,” Thor ordered, meeting his brother’s gaze.

The younger knew he was still being studied, knew Thor had an idea what maybe happening but if he was smart he would keep it to himself.

“Aye-. Alive,” Loki finally huffed in defeat, tossing the paper to the counter. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was the one needed to attend the auction, the one to fetch the soldier.

This was the last auction the team had waited for, meaning this was the one Bucky had been going over and stressing with the team they couldn’t allow out of their hands.

Having secured the last three assets auctioned off over the past few months was a relief but not as much as this one would be. In all the years he had been under HYDRA’s control, Bucky had never heard them call name to this one. A woman who, if he had to guess appeared in her very early thirties but it was hard to tell. Stasis and serum had an effect on one’s body that could make age determination hard.

Sitting on an elegant chase lounge with Wanda leaning in his side, the ex-asset ran over the stats they had been given on the woman being actioned off tonight. It appeared her ‘key’ was to be located in a green vase with a golden snake curled around it.

Tilting his head at the color scheme of the vase, it made him think of Loki, that pompous bastard was thankfully with his brother thousands of miles away. The shifting of Wanda getting his attention as she nodded to the auctioneer taking the stand. They had sat through several hours of ‘fake’ auction, but those in the loop knew what was next.

“Kill count is out the roof guys,” came Sam’s voice over the comm as Bucky nodded in agreement, Wanda settling closer while Bucky kept watch and she read people.

“There are several high-profile individuals here,” came Wanda’s meek voice next to Bucky who was looking several of them over.

“Yeah, looks like we may have some heavy contenders tonight,” Bucky spoke into his drink before placing it to his knee and focusing on the auctioneer.

Wanda shifted nervously next to him again. “I don’t like this,” she breathed, looking up to Bucky who had nano skin over his face to hide his appearance like her.

“We don’t have to like this. We just have to get the vase and were gone,” came Steve’s voice over the comms. Easy for them to say, they weren’t in the thick of the crowd as bidding began. 

The key in hand after almost an hour of bidding, Bucky and Steve stepped cautiously into the large warehouse. Steve at the ready with his shield while Bucky carried his go to riffle. The entire area an open, empty room but for a metal container towards the back and hidden in shadow.

It was, eerie to say the least as their boots echoed through the empty space. Bucky on guard for anyone about to jump out at them despite there was nowhere for anyone to hide. The sounds around them told them it was just them and the team outside, plus the one in the metal container.

Slowly they rounded the edge of the open steel box, a coldness pouring off of it that chilled them to the core. Shining the flashlight of his riffle into the container, noting it's only occupant was contained in a cryotube with flashing red lights all over the readout screen.  

The cylinder contained a white-haired woman in a black cryo suit Bucky was all too familiar with. The tube appeared to be thawing out, for lack of a better term, the vital readouts on the outside of the container showing she was waking. 

“She’s is waking up,” Bucky spoke over to Steve who was hot on his heels as he entered the container, placing the riffle over his shoulder.

Hurriedly Bucky looked over the read out, pressing his fingers over the touch screen before looking through the glass to note she was taking a breath every now and then. Unfortunately due to HYDRA, he had knowledge on how to bring others out of cryo, a sort of protocol he guessed. 

“What do we do,” Steve began, placing the shield on his back and watching Bucky as he moved his fingers over the screen, vitals and status of the containment slowly turning green.

“Best get her out. She will be semi-coherent, and easy to transport,” Bucky admitted as he stepped to open the container.

A few more presses and they both heard the vacuum lock on the door release with a loud hiss. Despite being tilted back, both men knew she would possibly fall forward due to being in a slightly lucid state. Looking to Steve as he wrapped his hand around the door handle Bucky nodded he was ready as Steve done the same.

Opening the door, the woman lurched forward into Bucky and Steve’s arms, both catching and dragging her to dead feet. Weakly she tried to look at the two who had her but was too addled as her head drooped back down.

“I got her,” Steve spoke up, taking her from Bucky to lift the addled creature in his arms.

Unfortunately Bucky knew how she felt as the two of them made their way out of the container. “Asset secure,” Bucky informed the team, hearing the quinn jet over the building move towards the exit they were headed to.

Stepping onto the waiting jet, Steve wasted no time in placing her to the gurney they had brought for this purpose. Hurriedly, Steve and Natasha pulled the nylon straps to secure her to the gurney, even placing restraints on woman’s wrists and ankles.

Looking her over, Natasha placed a small disk under the woman's ear to take a readout of all vitals. “They bleached her hair,” Natasha frowned, the braided mess of platinum blond not at all what she remembered.

“Yeah. They done it the last time she was out,” Bucky huffed as he looked at the woman’s vitals, glad they were steady, but-.

“Move,” Bucky barked the instant one vital spiked, metal hand wrapping around Natasha’s forearm to jerk the red head back from the table.

Ripping free of the restraints as if they were paper, the platinum blond fumbled drunkenly to be free of the gurney. Falling to the grate with a loud huff, she grabbed for the stable rail of the bed she had just fell out of and drug herself to shaky legs.

Leering at the others around her, trying to comprehend who, or what she seen exactly it registered she was on an aircraft of some sort. Numbly stumbling towards the cock pit to glare out to noting but bright blue sky and noting this wasn’t any kind of craft she had been trained on.

It did have similarities, but it was not registering. Pausing to squint out at the bright lit sky she steadied on the seats. Taking time to orient herself, this wasn’t a HYDRA ship. Turning carefully and supporting herself on the chairs, she surveyed the ones before her, hearing the blond man ask when the last time she had been out. 

“During the collapse of shield,” answered the red head who looked very familiar, violet gaze landing on the one she swore was from the Red Room.  

They group was made up of two read headed women, a blond man, and a brunet man.

Wondering her eyes over the group to immediately recognize Winter. “Hail HYDRA,” the woman’s unused voice rasped, it came out more as a question than a statement aimed at Bucky who held her gaze. Slowly the metal armed soldier stepped forward and shook his head no. 

They saw a light sparkle in her eyes, akin to relief. To her that meant HYDRA failed the takeover. There was no way Winter would fake that, no matter what. 

“They failed in their takeover,” Winter admitted, cautiously stepping closer, unsure what her mind was hardwired to do. 

In a mad scramble through her subconscious, the woman tried to think of what needed to happen now. She had no orders. No directions and no way off the craft. And there was no way she was in any shape to fight the group. 

Carefully she inched to the gurney, with the help of Winter who wasn’t as rough with her as he once had been. Gingerly she sat back onto the bed, leaning on Bucky for a bit of support. She noted the look in his eyes, he wasn’t the cold killer he once was, he had broken free, but that meant he knew the look in hers.  

“She’s too weak to fight,” Bucky began as she eyed them all. Bucky knew had she the strength she would have fought to get free; it was all she done when they pulled her out of stasis.

Stoically she studied them all as Winter remained close. The metal armed soldier was actually holding her up right, it appeared she was more addled than originally thought, but then again they hadn’t forced sludge through her veins either.  

“Wanda,” Steve spoke up hinting the younger red head step close to the woman along with him. The blond sure to keep close watch on the confused asset. “Can you help?”

Wanda looked the other over as it appeared the asset, who they still hadn’t a clue to what to call her studied the red head as well. The violet rimmed chartreuse irises were beautiful, but Wanda hated to think what had been done to the other to achieve them.

“If she allows me,” Wanda finally spoke stepping closer, slowly reaching out a hand towards the woman supported by Bucky.

This didn’t look faked, and dare they all think it, the platinum blond had an innocence about her. Violet eyes narrowed when red mist began to swirl around Wanda’s fingers. Truthfully, what choice did she have?  

Despite the over exuberant Shuri, the teen was sure to take it slow with the newest asset along with Steve. Shuri had been sticking around the compound to help out with the recovery of the other assets but had little luck with the other three that were now on the Raft.

They all hoped that it wouldn’t be the same with her, but from all intel, it appeared she had the same treatment as Bucky. They knew from Bucky she had trigger words, and always looked for a way to break free of HYDRA’s control, and that was a good start.

Thanks to Natasha, the red head had managed to coax the woman into a set of white scrubs in luau of the stasis uniform and got her seated in an exam chair that reclined a touch back. The entire room taking note it appeared the two women understood one another, Steve hated the red head had to leave.

Gently the techs placed electrodes through the tangled mess of white hair over her scalp at the direction of Shuri. Thankfully the asset seemed to understand they were all trying to help unlike the others brought from the auctions, or she was still too weak to fight. Either way, Steve was sure to stay while sending the others to debriefing.  

The young Shuri was sure to explain what they were doing to ease any tension. Steve speaking to the woman as well, reassuring her they were trying to help. They hadn’t gotten much out of her since Bucky left, the brunet leaving the things he and Wanda had been given at the auction on a table behind her.

Bucky had gotten a few things from her, explained about the fall of HYDRA and how Steve had helped him along with Shuri. Though all he got was a few jumbled words in Russian that amounted to her not knowing her own name, but the handlers had always called her Сокровище, or Treasure.

“You can relax, we’re only trying to help,” Steve continued, though he had a feeling she really wouldn’t. The captain noted Treasure place oddly steady hands in her lap, as of it was unexpected. Calmly the woman looked her hands over before looking back up to stare off in the mid-ground, a thing Bucky done. 

Looking back to the table, Steve noted the leather-bound book, the cover dyed a deep green with HYDRA’s signature seal on the cover. It struck him as odd it was green, more so the color of Loki’s own leathers. Taking one last look at Treasure, Steve took a step back and hinted to a tech to hand him the book.

With a kind smile, one obliged the captain who thanked them before moving back to the assets side. Opening the book, pages littered in Russian just as Bucky’s was, the blond noted the woman look up, studying him close as Shuri worked around them. 

“I take it you know what this is,” he asked hinting to the book, noting the brightly colored violet rimmed irises study the worn manuscript close. Steve seen the urge to speak flit behind her eyes, to tell all, but she only looked away as the techs backed away, ready to run test.

Keen hearing picked up on the click of machines starting up along with the feel of a slight charge from the electrodes.

Clearing her mind, Treasure knew this was to help. They were gentle, not demanding, not forcing her to sit here.

Winter, no he was called Bucky, informed her, Treasure, her name is Treasure, that Shuri had helped rid him of the chaos HYDRA had caused in his mind.

This would work, this would work, this had to work.

A tickling at the back of her mind told her it may not be that simple.

A slight twinge at the back of her skull.

She wondered if she would dream again, if she would remember the thing, no it was a person correct?

Whatever it was it was a something HYDRA had worked so hard to force out of her mind. 

In moments of collecting information, Shuri noted a jump in activity when Steve uttered a word in Russian and Treasure’s gaze flicked to him nervously. It appeared Steve was to engrossed in the book to notice he had gotten her full attention.

The captain began to utter one more under his breath, but Treasure had heard enough.

This wasn’t going to happen again. 

There was a lot of commotion coming from the room Thor and Loki were passing. The two gods having finished with debriefing, much to Loki’s annoyance, to hear someone cursing and glass breaking. The two stepping into the infirmary to find Shuri and her techs scrambling to lock down a room with Steve assuring all were out as the sliding door sealed. 

“What happened,” Thor began as he and Loki stepped up next to the captain to note the stretched shirt splattered in droplets of blood. 

“Her,” he huffed out, hinting to the room and the woman standing in the middle of the cleared area.

The only thing left standing in the room was the exam chair and the woman, Treasure, while trays and IV stands were scattered in a chaotic mess of fluids and tools. They all watched as the hand not holding a shard of glass tugged the leads out of platinum blond hair to fling to the floor.

She felt so lost, panicked, but was sure to keep it hidden as she looked around the room. There had to be a way out. Bucky was wrong, he was possibly working with them to gain control of her, possibly the same with the widow, what did they call her? Natasha.

Her mind still felt addled. Stasis hadn’t been kind to her this go around, but neither had the circumstances leading up to her return to HYDRA either. Taking time to survey the room, it was obvious there wasn’t any rush at the moment, no guards running in, no gas filling the room to put her out.

What did these Avengers want from one like her? She hated to tell them she knew little of HYDRA’s plans, and like it mattered if she did, according to Bucky the organization was no more. Or maybe they wanted her to pay for crimes she had no control over, maybe they were looking for a scapegoat to pin it all on.

Loki froze, all else died away, not believing who he was seeing. The woman from his dreams, she was really here, clothed in white scrubs with a piece of shattered glass in her hand like a knife, blood gliding down the jagged edge of it. 

“Where did you find her,” Loki asked quickly, watching her tear the leads free and began to study the room.  

“She was the last soldier being auctioned off,” Steve huffed, motioning Shuri and her techs out of the area. That only left he and the two gods. “She’s been mistreated for a long time, so she has trust issues.”

Steve looked away from Treasure to glance over at Loki. The dark god had fixed the creature in the room with a gaze unlike any he had seen Loki take with anyone. It wasn’t the usual predatory stare he fixed problems with, it looked more alike intrigue or reverence even.

Getting Thor’s attention, Steve nodded towards the dark god who continued to study the woman over as she turned in the same spot surveying the room and not paying them any attention. Thor gave a shrug, though now the golden god knew why Loki was taking to sleeping so much.

“May I,” Loki began, hinting that he step into the room to calm the woman. Surely they wouldn’t care.

Finally tearing his gaze away to look at Steve, arms across his chest. “Be my guest,” Steve shrugged, curious to what it mattered to Loki. “Just don’t hurt her,” the captain was sure to emphasize. “She maybe dangerous but she didn’t ask to be shaped into the wild animal you see in there.”

“Obviously. No one would ask to treated that way,” Loki spoke quietly, more to himself and as if from experience. Turning his gaze back to the woman who still hadn’t moved from the spot but appeared to be surveying the door that led out to where they were. “What do they call her?”

“Treasure, though I'm pretty sure that isn’t her true name. There’s nothing in this,” Steve spoke, holding the book up for Loki to glance at then back to her.

That wasn’t right. Loki knew she had a viable name and not some pet name. Maybe he could coax it from her, noting her gaze lock his through the glass. The dark god felt a tremor of excitement run his spine that she was here before him, now he knew why he felt he needed to be the one to attend the auction.

Her, Norns it was her, his soulmate, his heart. Treasure, yes she was just that. Emerald gaze holding her own and he immediately noted the innocent, yet troubled look in her eyes. Loki knew she was panicked, afraid of what was to become of her and knew that for once, he could help.

Aching hand clasped tighter around the shattered piece of glass she had managed to procure from one of the tablet screens. It was eerily quiet, so much so she heard blood dripping from her hand onto the scrubs as she locked the man’s gaze on the opposite side of the glass.

Cocking her head, the burning emerald of his eyes appeared familiar. Studying him through the thick glass, she noted the black leathers, and felt the tug of a faint memory as he spoke to the one she knew as Steve and another blond man.

The back of her skull began to burn the longer she watched the black-haired man. Narrowing her eyes at the slight twinge of pain when she tried to force the memory forward. That had left her vulnerable and in moments the raven-haired man was entering the room with her.

Violet gaze bored into Loki as he entered slowly so not to spook her. She had the same look as his dream, glass crunching under boot as he moved closer. A lost child trying to understand what was happening to her and unfortunately Loki could relate. 

Inches from her, the raven-haired man reached out to her, hinting to the shard of glass. Cautiously she chanced a glance to note it had gored her hand and the leg of the scrubs was saturated in bright crimson. Violet rimmed irises were quick to snap back to study Loki in efforts of placing his lithe frame.

Mind running and assessing, this one wasn’t just any man or super soldier. The energy, the prowess she sensed as he came closer, told Treasure he had no fear of her. And it appeared she was just about to prove to him just how fearful he should be. 

Tags are OPEN! REBLOGS ALWAYS WELCOMED!

Tags: @cruel-kitten  @moonfaery @dark-night-sky-99 @gramaeryebard  @katstablook @andiyholly @jovanna-shewolf @nickyl316h @aslandia726 @furstinnajoelle @itsbqueenthings @collinsstanharbour @jazzieomega @moonlightprime @bambamwolf87 @tomhardy41 @get-loki @drakonwild @alexakeyloveloki  @scorpionchild81 @devilbat @cherrygeek86 @iamverity @jessiejunebug

[berriestart--lilacsweet]

Once Bitten, Twice Shy Chapter 1: Part 2

Picking up midway. If you need a refresher on what happened in the last bit heres a link: https://berriestart--lilacsweet.tumblr.com/post/173970201703/once-bitten-twice-shy-chapter-1-unexpected

When these parts are finalized and put up on FF.NET and AO3 they will be one consecutive chapter. 

Its not alot, but a smidgen more for: @wholelottatiffy @marmottine

I have another complete chapter of about 5000-6000 words... but it takes place a bit further in the future, so I’m holding off on posting it until I’m able to write more of the inbetween parts. 

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SUMMARY: Regis and Evangeline begin to travel together. The two get to know one another a little better. 

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"It certainly seems that way at times." She muttered, trying to hide the blush spreading across her face by turning to assess the area around them. The ground was now saturated with a shade of crimson that matched Evangeline's hair.

"We had best gather our things from the inn forthwith and slip away before anyone notices these fellows are missing."  

"Good idea." She said turning back towards him, the blush faded from her face. "My horse and supplies are in the stable around back of the inn."

"Mine as well; we should be able to slip in and out unnoticed then."  

"Only if we make haste. Let's go." She said walking past him with large steps. Regis nodded and followed her lead.  

"Where are you heading from here, if I might inquire?" He asked as he took a spot beside her on the dirt path.

"Why? Are you going to follow me?"

"I thought, perhaps, I should accompany you, for a ways, for my own safety, that is. If any unruly mob came after me, what would I do without your assistance?"  

"I suppose having company for once wouldn't be too bad. Someone who can defend themselves is a plus, and..."

"And what?" He asked, a faint smile playing across his thin lips.

"Someone interesting and knowledgeable." She finished, the corners of his mouth turned up more at her flattery. She paused a moment before she continued. "I didn't use magic on that man, but you did."

He groaned and nervously ran his hand up the back of his neck, ruffling his hair. "I was hoping no one would notice that."  

"You might be able to hide things from most peasants, but not from me. You should keep that in mind if you're going to be my traveling companion. I know you're hiding who or what you really are." She said holding his gaze.  

Regis swallowed nervously and looked away from her. She stopped in her tracks about a hundred yards from the inn.  

"You helped me out back there. I owe you a debt now; I won't force you to tell me but be aware that I'm watching you. I will figure it out, one way or another. Don't abuse my trust, Regis, it's something I rarely hand out."

He blinked a few times at her, taking a moment to process her words. "Of course. I thank you for your trust and discretion."  

"Enough chit chat. Let's gather our things and be rid of this place." She stated moving alongside the shrubbery, concealing herself as much as possible.

"Agreed." He said following her lead to the back of the inn. Luckily for them no one was around. They took their belongings mounted their horses and fled north, along the byway. The land was lush and fertile, the dirt road lined with plentiful grasses and trees. It was a much better view than the dessert land Evangeline had previously been traveling through, but it also gave monsters and men ample places to hide. She focused her attention to her senses; keeping herself alert for anything that might be lurking in the picturesque scenery.  

They rode a distance in silence, the hours passing along from dusk to midnight, before Regis broke their silence.  

"You never did answer me."  

"Hmm?"

"I asked you where you were traveling to. There can't be many contracts for witchers this far south; considering this part of the world has 'moved on' and most monsters have hunted into extinction by you and your brethren."  

"Jobs are sparse but still lucrative. I'm heading to Neunreuth."

"The merchant city. I wonder how much its changed since I was last there..." He pondered to himself before continuing. "Of all places, why there?"

"I received a contract form the merchant guild there. I must get there as quickly as possible; this won't be a pleasure quest. We will ride hard. I won't slow down for you. You'll keep up or I'll leave you behind." She said her eyes forward.  

"I see, this must be a contract of some importance then."

"It seems their city is being plagued by a vampire; of what kind I'm still not certain."  

Regis tensed at her words. "A... A vampire you say?"

"You can go your separate way before we get there, if you're worried."

"Aren't you? Worried, that is."

She shrugged. "I've battled all kinds of monsters before. It's all I know."

"But...  Forgive me for my ignorance, but I've always heard vampires, of certain sorts, can blend in quite well and be a formidable foe, for even the best witcher. Does that not worry you?"

"Yes, and it's true some vampires are more intelligent than others. They also have different abilities compared to their lesser cousins. If this vampire is of the higher kind, which I'm thinking it is, it quite possibly will be the deadliest foe I've ever faced."  

"But yet here you are, almost rushing into its deadly grasp."

"I'm a witcher, Regis. What else should I do?"

He shook his head. "Not bloody run off to your death head first."  

"Would it bother anyone if I did? It's my job to rid the world of villainous creatures. I've trained my entire life for that purpose, underwent countless mutations to my body to be able to help rid the world of these monsters that plague, not just humans but all races. Who should care if I die attempting my job, other than the people I failed in doing so?"

"I'd care." He murmured, staring down at his hands as they rested on his saddle horn.  

"Pardon?" She asked leaning over in the saddle, peering down at him.

"If you died, I'd care." He replied turning his gaze to meet hers.

"We've only just met. Why would you care if I died? You seem plenty capable of fending for yourself; you slaughtered those men to ribbons back there as quickly as I finished off those others, that is quite a feat in itself. You can bend people to your will with magic, something only sorcerers and witcher's can do proficiently. You don't need me to protect you, I'm not so ignorant as to believe that." She stated straightening up in her saddle and casting her eyes forward again.

"Then why did you allow me to accompany you? If you find me so suspicious." He asked cutting her off by pulling his horse in front of her blocking the path.

She bit her lip and looked away. "I told you why already."

"For the same reason you stared me down in that inn? For the same reason you -"

"I'm lonely..." She sighed gazing up into the moon. "I suppose, anyway. It's been so long since I've had someone of any kind of intelligence to talk to, I forgot what it was like. Perhaps, this is my last chance to have some human contact before I die. Because you're right, most assuredly this will be the hardest fight of my life." she finished turning her golden eyes back to him.  

Regis swallowed hard and pulled his horse back. "I-I'm Sorry. Please forgive my actions. I don't know what possessed me to talk to you in such a way. I had no right."

"Let's make camp." She said feigning to ignore him, pulling her horse off the path into the copse of trees at the top of the hill. Regis nodded and silently followed her. They tied their horses to a tree a few yards away from a small clearing and dug a fire pit. They worked in silence as they both spread out to gather twigs and branches for their fire.  

"You know, although I've heard tales of you, I'm afraid I don't know your name, Fair Witcher." Regis stated, breaking their silence as he lay his catch of twigs and branches into the pit.  

"My apologies, I assumed you knew already. It's Evangeline." She said over her shoulder tossing some kindling into the pit

"Evangeline... the bearer of good news. Beautiful name; one seldom heard anymore."  

"I've yet to meet another." She said as she kneeled next to the pit casting igni to light the fire. She walked away and gathered her bedroll from her horse and spread it near the fire.  

"I thought I might go hunt and forage a bit."

She stared at him a moment contemplating her options; was a safe idea to let him wander the woods, or to turn her back to him this early on?

"I won't wander far or get lost. Promise." He smiled, holding a hand up in the air as if taking an oath.  

"Damn, here I was hoping to lose you in the forest like a stray." She muttered with a roll of her eyes.

"I'll be the stray that comes right back, the one you can't get rid of." He smirked over his shoulder as he made his way into the woods.

"Just my luck." She grumbled finding a good tree to prop up against. He chuckled as he faded into the dark forest, leaving Evangeline to her thoughts.  

'He's not natural. There's something off with him. He's uncanny. He's not a wticher, obviously not part elf but yet he's not a normal human either... if he is, he's a sorcerer and hiding it somehow, for some reason. Mysterious though, he may be, I still am drawn to him. Could it do any harm to let my guard down this one time? To live in the moment, with him... To let something happen... It's been so long.' She thought to herself as she kept watch. Her thoughts wandered as time went on; contemplating her options and trying to solve the conundrum of the man that accompanied her.  

----------------------------

"The hunter returns." She stated as she heard him approaching.

"With a brace of coneys." Regis said holding up a pair of long eared rabbits. "And a few parsnips, onion and mushrooms as well. And I think I have a few good cooking herbs left in my satchel, come to think of it."  

"However did you manage-"

"Throwing knives." He said pulling a small knife from his belt. "Another-"

"Trick of the trade?"

He nodded as he began to skin and gut the surprisingly, plump rabbits.  

"I'll be damned. We couldn't have this good of a meal back at that inn." She said finding some branches to cut and make a roasting spit as he worked on the meat.  

"There's also a small stream nearby; I filled my water-skin full. We can boil the vegetables and then add in the meat and herbs to make a decent stew, if you happen to have a proper receptacle that is."  

"I have a mess kit in my bag; there's small stockpot along with some utensils and bowls." She said making her way over to her horse and rustling around in the saddle bag.  

"I daresay, that will do quite nicely." He said with a quick smile as he made a mirepoix with the vegetables. "And roast the vegetables in the coals until the water boils." He muttered to himself as he took a large piece of rabbit fat and stuffed it, along with the parsnip, mushroom and onion, into the caul fat of the rabbit's stomachs. He twist the membrane around the vegetables to make a casing and slid it into the coals.  

"Keeping you around might be beneficial after all." She joked as she handed him the stockpot and sat the bowls and spoons to the side.  

"Just because one is in the woods does not mean one cannot have a decent meal. There are plenty of ways to cook in the wilds, and plenty of food to forage and hunt." He said holding up a finger and wagging it at her. "As long as one knows their surroundings."  

"I've been on the path for years and I never eat this good; unless I'm in a city and paying a decent sum for it."

"I shall teach you then. We can eat like this almost every time we camp." He declared pulling out some herbs from his bag.  

"Hmmm, I'll hold you to that." She said giving the rabbit a turn on the makeshift spit.  

"Why don't you go ahead and get some rest. I'll take watch and finish cooking. I'm assuming you want to leave at first light."

"I do, we need to cover as much ground as possible." She paused a moment and gave him a hard stare.

"What?" He said with a crooked grin. "If you keep staring at me like that people will begin to think things." He said leaning in towards her seductively.  

Evangeline rolled her eyes and pushed him away with the palm of her hand on his chest. "Don’t be getting any ideas, I'm only trying to analyze you."

"You doubt my ability to keep watch? Or cook? Perhaps both?" He said sarcastically.  

She rolled her eyes again. "Wake me up when the food is done, O' Keeper of the Watch." She stated tucking into her bedroll.

"What's this? The witcher is trusting me to do something on my own? -"

"Shut up Regis." She muttered turning away from him and the fire, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

He chuckled. "Goodnight, Evangeline."

She paused a moment, the words feeling foreign on her tongue. "Goodnight, Regis." She said with a slight blush, glad that her back was to him.

[phan-of-the-pen]

I Dare You To Stay: Chapter 6

Hello!!! This chapter is later than I hoped to get it out, but it got much much longer than I planned, and I decided to cut the chapter into two so I could get this chapter out now. Enjoy!

Tags for chapter: fluff, very faint themes of unwanted flirting, protective!phil

Words for chapter: ~4k

Fic Summary: Dan Howell is a barista working a shitty job, frequenting his shitty apartment, and living a shitty existence, hiding his asexuality and going for a PHD in self-depreciation and depression. Phil Lester is a part-time intern, part-time employee at a local weather station, trying to get experience in his field and make a name for himself, while juggling a second job at the nearby Tesco’s to give him some financial breathing room. Their paths were never supposed to meet, but what happens when they do anyways, one rainy day in Manchester?

(ao3!)

<-- Previous chapter Next chapter -->

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Dan and Jaime had both played hookie and taken off the next day, on Sunday. They ended up going to the movies like they had originally planned the day before, and walked around Manchester after, buying way too many snacks from street vendors and whirling through stores, sometimes purchasing things, sometimes not. Dan ended up with a new jumper and a pair of ripped jeans that actually made his legs look good and not just like he'd robbed his trousers off of a homeless man.

However, Dan couldn't just afford to take days off on his schedule whenever he wanted, and he was right back in that caffeine-saturated building bright and early Monday morning. Jaime wasn't with him—she was scheduled for a later shift and would arrive sometime this afternoon—so it was quieter than normal, and a perfect recreation of last Monday's morning.

Hopefully I won't dance in front of any strangers, then, if this is Last Monday Pt 2.

With that thought, Dan's brain immediately switched to thinking about the downright mysterious man who had found his way, literally, stumbling into Dan's life.

Phil had very obviously been in last Monday, and the Wednesday after, but he had also ended up showing up this past Friday as well, and god, Dan wished that that encounter hadn't happened. He had been in the bathroom only to come back and find Jaime talking with Phil as if they were the closest of old friends, laughing together, Jaime's hand close to her mouth as if she was telling him a secret. Dan still didn't know what they had talked to each other about, but when Jaime went to go "see about something in the back" when she noticed Dan, she had given him a wink. Phil's face had also been flushed, and he had had what Dan could only equate to a slightly embarrassed, slightly pleased smile.

Dan flicked his eyes to the glass door. He had opened the store all of four minutes ago, but there was still a little part of him that was wondering…

Maybe he'll come back today?

Dan wasn't sure if he wanted to get his hopes up, not really. Sure, Phil was entertaining, a really fun guy to be around, the fucking weatherman, mind you, and he was really damn attractive, but Jaime had told him a lot that Phil had been flirting with him, and the thought that Phil wanted a romantic relationship with him turned his stomach. Dan didn't date people because of his horrid-at-best history with significant others, and he really didn't want to have to go into anything like that with Phil. He was content to try a friendship with the guy if it happened, but other than that, sign him the fuck out.

Thankfully, the day didn't start out completely just like last Monday. The shop was anything but dead, and Dan would think that it was a holiday or something with the stream of people that wouldn't stop coming in. It was a bit much for just Dan to manage, and if he hadn't been working for as long as he had as a barista, he was certain that it would have been hell to deal with so many people in such a short time. The good thing was that all of the traffic kept him busy. He was making lattes and espressos and dinks with little foam designs, and before he knew it, time was flying by. It was no longer early morning, but a little past one in the afternoon and the past six-ish hours felt like a blink, but Dan was glad for the lull. He had been on his feet rushing around to fill orders all morning, and it kind of sucked, so Dan just slumped against the counter, exhaling for what seemed like the first time all day.

Dan's stomach grumbled angrily and he pressed his palm to his abdomen, the corner of his lip pulling down. He'd forgotten about breakfast this morning.

He looked around the coffee shop. There were about a half dozen people besides himself, and none of them were paying Dan any attention, nor did they seem like they were going to need his assistance anytime soon.

Dan made himself a coffee because after six hours of non-stop labor he deserved it, and picked out one of the wrapped sandwiches that they sold. He couldn't take a full on lunch break like he may have wanted to because there was no one too cover the store while he ate and took a half an hour to relax, so Dan just dragged a chair up next to the counter and sat down, letting out a deep sigh.

Working a double shift all alone sucked ass, but Dan didn't mind too much in the instance that the only other person who would be able to work a shift like this with him besides Jaime was Steve. And fuck, that guy was an asshole. So really, Dan would take working himself harder than normal then having to subject him to shitty company when he didn't have to.

He ate quicker than normal, the hunger in his stomach multiplying once he started eating. God, he should never skip breakfast. It only fucked him over later. Oh you're hungry? You skipped a meal? Well you better eat twice your weight if you want any chance of feeling full ever again.

Dan's sandwich was gone from his hands before he knew it, so he sipped his coffee, too lazy to get up and grab another. He'd eat something small later when he had a moment while working. The caffeine was starting to work through his system now too, and he could feel a bit of his lost energy coming back.

His break didn't last all that long, though—barely fifteen minutes—before the crowds were back and he had to help his fellow human beings get their caffeine fix.

Over the course of the next hour or so, Dan was back to working just like he had this morning with the amount of people walking into the store. He had to have sold a record amount of coffee for a single day, and he still had several hours left to his shift when Jaime would take over. It was kind of incredible, and if Dan maybe wasn't the one behind the counter, he might have found it a little impressive.

The next lull he had was some time later, at about four-thirty, and once the girl he had just served walked away, Dan had his hand in the opened bag of crisps behind the counter. He was starving and really wished that he had eaten something more than a medium coffee and a small sandwich.

Dan had his face full, mid-chew when someone walked up to the counter. He had the undeniable air of a uni student, a bag slung over his shoulder and wearing some sort of combination of pajamas and street clothes that only broke and in-debt twenty-something university college students would deem acceptable.

Not that Dan really had any room to talk. He looked like a hobo at the best of times as well.

"Hi, could I bother you for another shot of espresso? Or two, actually? I have a late shift tonight that I've got to get to, and I won't be able to study for my test until like, 3AM. I need all of the caffeine I can get right now." he said sheepishly, holding out his drink. Dan raised his eyebrows. He remembered this guy the first time he had served him, and Dan had already put three shots of espresso in initially at his request.

"You sure?" He asked, taking the cup. It was about half empty. "I mean I get it crash studying is pretty important but jeez that sounds like a death wish. Not to mention pretty tasteless."

The guy laughed, a wide smile on his face. He looked a lot nicer when he was smiling. Less glum and like he was about to keel over.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. The sacrifices we take for a degree, huh?" He yawned before he could add anything past that, a hand covering his mouth. "You know what? Make it two, please. You don't have to bother refilling the drink, I'll just take the espresso. Pray for me, I might not make it out of this alive."

Dan snorted as he popped the lid off of the cup and put it under the espresso maker. Two shots. Dan used one of the little straws to mix up the still-steaming contents of the cup. He looked over at the guy standing there, watching Dan work. He had about the same build as Dan did and if just being able to smell the drink seemed to alert Dan's senses, this guy was definitely going to not be sleeping for quite a while. Dan pitied him for the caffeine crash that was going to fuck this guy's ass like a speeding truck. Dan reached out for a new lid for the cup—company policy—but there weren't any more large-sized lids and his hand grazed the bare table-top. Fuck, he must have run out.

"Here, one sec," Dan said, passing the open coffee cup to the guy. Dan dropped down, opening the cabinet under the counter and moving aside. He heard the glass door open, the little bell ringing for the millionth time today, and internally groaned. Can't even get a fucking break.

He came back up, a stack of the little plastic lids in his hands, grabbing one and depositing the rest off to the side where the medium and small lids were. Dan noticed the guy's eyes following his body, and it rolled his stomach and tied it into knots simultaneously, but he tried to ignore it and handed the lid over. The guy clicked it on.

"Do I owe you anything for that..?" He asked. Dan could feel his skin crawling, but he didn't try to kill the friendly smile on his face even if it was strained.

"Nah, no need to pay your executioner," he joked, silently hoping that this guy would go away. He laughed, but Dan didn't, just still choosing to stand there with that god-awful feeling rising in his chest.

"Thanks. My name's Jon, but my friends call me Jonny." He bit his lip, and while Dan might have been oblivious, even he knew that this guy was now flirting with him. He had had his suspicions when he noticed Jon's gaze on his ass, but Dan's hopes that this guy would stop at blind lust were apparently in vain.

Dan gave him a strangled smile. Walk away walk away walk away-

Jon opened his mouth to say something else, but behind him someone cleared his throat. Jon jumped a little, clearly expecting it just as little as Dan had, and gave Dan a nervous smile, but stepped away.

"Sorry, I'll let you get back to work. Maybe I'll see you around, then-" he said, dragging out the 'n' and squinting at the nametag on Dan's shirt, "-Dan."

Jon gave Dan one last toothy grin and a wave, turning on his heel and walking towards the exit. Dan still felt uncomfortable, still had the lump in his chest, still wanted to duck behind the counter and hide, but he tore his gaze away from Jon. Dan had a job to do and apparently Jon's flirting had pissed off the person behind him, so Dan would be better off not adding fuel to that fire. He didn't want to deal with a miserable customer on top of it all.

"Uh, hi how can I-Phil?" Dan sputtered, his eyes going wide as he saw Phil standing there, head turned towards Jon's retreating form, a frown on his face, something fiery in his eye. Phil was the one that was behind Jon? Oh fuck that means he saw him flirting with me. Shit what if he thinks I'm okay with that and he tried something shit shit shi-

Phil's attention flicked to Dan's and god those blue blue eyes were stormy. His shoulders were tense and his face wasn't anywhere close to how open it always was. It was closed off behind what seemed like a brick wall.

In short, Phil looked pissed at best, ready to deck someone at worst.

"I-are you...okay?"

Phil let out a breath—a massive sigh, really—and let his eyes close for a moment. When they opened they weren't as dark, and the lines of his body weren't as sharp, but it still seemed strikingly obvious to Dan that something was up with him.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just, ah, just tired, that's all."

Bullshit. It wasn't even a convincing lie. Dan opened his mouth to call Phil out on it and ask what was really wrong and why he looked like he had just been thirty seconds from fighting someone (that someone who was yet to be determined) but he stopped himself. He and Phil didn't really know each other—not really—and they certainly didn't know each other enough for Dan to call BS, right? That was something that friends did. Were they even friends?

Dan didn't know, and he didn't know if that was a question that someone just asked another person, so he just dropped it, nodding a little robotically and giving a non-committal hum that could mean either "I know exactly what you mean, very relatable" or "we both know you're lying" and decided to let Phil figure it out.

"Okay. Would you, uh, like a coffee?" Dan asked. His voice sounded all wrong in his ears and his entire mind seemed to just be screaming the same thing: Why are you so damn awkward?

And to that, Dan didn't have an answer.

"Yeah, a caramel macchiato, if you wouldn't mind."

And like every other drink he's made today, Dan's hands almost flew on their own accord, but his mind was elsewhere, entirely.

Phil certainly had quite the ability to appear out of nowhere when Dan was the least prepared for dealing with him. No, that wasn't right, that made it sound as if Phil was a problem. And he wasn't, not at all, not even close, he just...was so different. It was as if Dan didn't know how to act around the guy, and could anyone really blame him? Dan's run into him mid-sink into a depressive episode, been caught dancing—which he didn't do—to Muse by the guy, and just now, too, when Dan was uncomfortable as fuck and being flirted with, Phil was there.

And fuck, why did it matter so much to Dan? Why in hell was it apparently important enough for Dan to stress himself over it while he was making Phil's coffee.

Phil looked much more relaxed when Dan handed him the coffee, and the faint smile on his lips was enough to assure Dan that whatever had angered Phil wasn't too bad, if he was smiling already.

"This is probably going to sound weird, but do you not work Sundays?"

Dan looked up from the register where he was ringing up Phil's order. He felt a little bit of heat crawl up his face. Jaime saying he's flirting with you seemed to bounce around in Dan's skull, but he prayed that it didn't show, just letting a little smirk on his face and throwing up the first defense mechanism that he used when he wasn't sure if he was reading a situation wrong: sarcasm and humor.

"You haven't even told me your last name yet but you're asking me for my work schedule?" Dan cocked an eyebrow to make the ruse work. He was still feeling a bit off, and he didn't need Phil to know that.

Phil's eyes went wide and if he had been drinking at the moment, Dan was sure that he would have spit it out.

"What no, no! I didn't—I mean—not like, I-"

Dan laughed and waved away Phil's panic.

"Phil, I'm joking, it's okay. I work everyday except for Saturday, more times than not. Every once in awhile my schedule will get altered or something, but I pretty much am in day in and day out." Dan said, giggling uncontrollably, trying in vain to calm his laughter because frankly, Phil freaking out over possibly offending Dan or something like that was funny as shit.

(and adorable, but that thought didn't even have to be acknowledged by Dan himself)

"Wait a minute, did you come in yesterday to come see me or something?" Dan said, stopping himself. Phil's face went bright red and his eyes went wider, and Dan couldn't help the grin from spreading across his face as Phil tried to find some excuse. He seemed to give up, however, after a moment.

"Uh, yeah, I might have," Phi squeaked out, rubbing the back of his head. He looked like a goddamn little kid admitting to stealing biscuits before dinner for fuck's sake.

Dan didn't really know how to respond to that—did anyone?—so all he did was keep the smile on his face and roll his eyes a little.

"And, it's Lester."

"Excuse me?"

"You mentioned that you didn't know my last name, and it's Lester."

"Oh. Phil Lester. It has a nice ring to it." Dan seemed to be rambling, but he doubted that he could stop himself at this point.

"What about you? Or should I keep think of you as Dan The Guy Who Makes My Coffees?"

"It's Howell." Dan muttered, breaking their eye contact.

"Dan Howell?" Phil asked, a sudden serious glint in his eye. Dan gulped.

"Yeah?" Fuck there goes his anxiety. Off the charts once again.

"Can I have a donut?"

"Oh fuck you!" Dan whined, poking Phil in the shoulder, who was giggling like a mad man, a hand in front of his mouth. "Here I was, thinking you were going to ask me something all serious and all that, and you ask me for a fucking donut? The nerve!"

Phil was laughing hard enough that almost no sound was coming out, and his eyes got all squinty. His hand had dropped away to lay on his chest and Dan could see the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he giggled.

"You should have seen your face!" Phil breathed, and Dan poked him again, but it wasn't with malice. He was smiling himself. Widely, in fact.

This shithead…

When Phil stopped laughing, he looked up back at Dan, a grin splitting his face.

"I hate you." "No you don't. At least, you do a really bad job at showing it, Dan."

"Mhm. You say that like we're friends. True friends would tell each other things like the fact that they're the weatherman, or not try and lowkey stalk them at work, or-"

"Wait a minute, how do you know that I'm the weatherman?"

This time, it was Dan's turn to blush, and he did, heavily, the events of Saturday jumping to the front of his consciousness.

"Saturday I was hanging out with Jaime, and we uh, wanted to know when it would stop raining? So she must have found the local channel, and low and behold you were on it, broadcasting the fucking weather."

Phil blushed, a nervous little laugh bubbling out from his chest.

"I wouldn't give myself that much credit, really. I'm just a part-time unpaid intern part-time employee trying to earn some experience out there and put my name out. I wasn't supposed to actually be telling the weather, but turns out the camera must, ah, love me. At least that's what my boss says."

"Still, Phil, I quite literally choked on a piece of popcorn when you're smiling face just appeared on Jaime's TV with a cloud themed tie."

"You what?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't believe it myself. But there you were, and there I was, like, dying. I should demand compensation for the trauma I've been through."

"What are you going to do, take me to court?"

"Hmm, maybe. You'll hear from my attorney, certainly. Or, probably. I dunno, I've still got to think about what kinds of charges I'm going to press against you. And get an attorney." Dan said, and really, the levels of sarcasm they were single-handedly projecting were astounding.

"Okay, here," Phil said, reaching over and easily picking Dan's phone out of his jeans pocket the sides of his fingers brushing up against the black denim. The action so casual and Phil was so damn confident about it, that Dan just sucked in his breath and watched, open mouthed, as Phil clicked the phone screen on.

"Password?" he asked, turning the phone around. Dan reached out, typed it in, but it was like he was in a daze. Was this really happening?

Phil started typing something, and then snapped a photo of his coffee. He handed Dan his phone back, and bright and new on Dan's screen was a contact titled Phil Lester (is amazing!!). The icon was a picture of the top of Phil's caramel macchiato, only his pale hand visible.

"There you go, let me know when you figure it out, okay? I've got to get to my part-time at Tesco's, but I'll see you around?"

"Uh, yeah. Yes. See you, Phil."

Phil smiled, and Dan smiled back before he even realized he was completing the action. Phil smiled so he smiled back. It was that simple.

He turned and walked away, and Dan's eyes followed his lanky frame the entire time. He watched as Phil opened the door—that tiny bell sounding—and stepped outside. And when Phil passed by the huge floor-to-ceiling window that made up the majority of the one wall and waved to Dan, that big grin still on his face, Dan couldn't help the laugh that spilled from his lips just as much as he couldn't stop his hand waving back.

~~~~~

Twenty minutes later, Dan was serving two girls when he caught sight of a forgotten pastry, pushed off to the side of the counter. It took him a moment, but the dots connected almost simultaneously, and as soon as the two girls were gone, Dan was whipping out his phone, scrolling through his contacts to the newest one. He typed out a message and his thumb hesitated over the send button, but Dan shook his head and pressed it. Too late to go back now.

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

I still havent figured out the charges

but

you forgot ur donut you spork

[Multimedia message]

>> From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

D:

I'm at work rn, what time do you close?

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

um real late, like 10

but my shift's over at 6

so it'll be jaime and some teenager probs

>> From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

:'(((

fiiiiinnnnneeeee

I'll have to pick up my donut later won't I?

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

uh yeah, i guess

or u can come in tomorrow or smth if like

u dont want to be wandering into a coffee

shop at 10 at night

>> From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

what, you would like save the donut or smth?

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

lester if u think if ur coming back tomorrow

im not going to eat this donut u are gravely

mistaken

>> From: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

wow dan I cant believe you dan

actually no I can

I've got to get back to work

see you tomorrow?

>> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!)

have fun

and yeah i'll still be here in this caffeinated

hell, so, see you, lester

Dan looked up from his phone as a trio walked in, chatting among themselves. He slipped his phone in his pocket (his back pocket this time, thanks a lot Phil) and threw a smile on his face. It was the easiest he had smiled all day.

[rey-png]

Bilgewater

Summary :  "I feel like this place is going to be the death of me." Rey mumbles absently, gazing out at the murky horizon without quite seeing it. If she could unfocus her eyes enough, maybe, just maybe she could see something other than grief and horror between those gnarled trees. Kylo seems to consider her words carefully, his expression strained as he comes to stand at her side."This place is going to be the death of all of us."

---------

Following the mysterious death of her best friend, fifteen-year-old Rey is forced to flee the small southern town of D’qar in search of a fresh start. Only the demise of her beloved caretaker Ben Kenobi coaxes the young woman back to her home nearly a decade later. Her arrival carries a tempest that unearths the hollow town’s past and present horrors, threatening to pull Rey under the bayou she had fought so desperately to escape from.

Pairing : Rey / Kylo

Additional Tags : Southern Gothic, Cults, Past Child Abuse, Murder Mystery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Memory Loss, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance, Alternate Universe - Twins, the solo twins to be exact, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Rating : Explicit

Chapters : 1/?

"To realize that all your life - all your love, all your hate, all your memory, all your pain, it was all the same thing. It was all the same dream, a dream that you had inside a locked room. A dream about bein' a person.... And like a lot of dreams, there's a monster at the end of it."

                                                  PROLOGUE

Brambles tug at too-thin arms, nipping at exposed flesh until her clothing is speckled with bright red stains. Her feet nearly send her sprawling as she trips over exposed tree roots, but still she presses onward. Physical discomfort is not nearly enough to slow her down as the baying of hounds rings through the tepid summer air.

Flashlight beams cut through the darkness around her, flickering like lightning bugs through the underbrush. They are accompanied by distorted voices, some of them calling her name, some of them wailing in despair. Even the pleading voice of her guardian isn’t enough to stop her in her tracks. Something far more sinister is following at her heels. She can feel it breathing down her neck.

  Ahead she hears another cry, high pitched and frightened, one that quickens her pace and silences those at her back. ‘Rey!’ Cutting through the trees, her bare feet meet water, sinking deep into mud, splashing noisily through the bayou. The scum that coated the top of the murky water so dense she could have sworn it was earth.

  ‘Rey! Please!’

  Rey tries to call out as she wades deeper into the mire, to assure them that she is on her way, but no words fall from her lips. She reaches up with trembling fingers to press against her mouth, wincing as they catch on the barbed wire that gagged her.

  A pained whimper erupts from her chest, harmonizing with the brutal cry that rips through the swamp. Her movements become frenzied, the world around her warping and twisting, bleeding into inky blackness. She scans the gloomy, star studded horizon, slipping on the mud and rocks beneath her in her haste to find the source of such a blood-curdling lament.

  The woman loses her footing, tumbling forward into the foul water with a strangled gasp. Hands shoot out to steady herself, only to catch something soft and cold beneath the ripples. Rey frowns, brow puckering as she clutches at the odd form. Narrowing her eyes through the dark, she tugs lightly, fighting to regain her balance.

  A mottled grey face blooms from the star-laced water, bloated and terrible even in the half light. It’s the face of a girl, a face eerily similar to her own. Bubbles erupt from her gaping mouth, that bloodcurdling lament spewed right along with them. Bruised lids pop open to reveal yellowed, unseeing eyes that peer up at her in fear and agony.

  Rey jerks backwards as dead hands clamp around her wrists, dragging her towards the terrible, dead face of Kira Kryze. The barbed wire around her mouth tightens as she shrieks in terror, the taste of copper thick on her tongue, gagging her as the shadows rise up around the girl and the corpse...

 “It sounds like this dream correlates with the phone call you received yesterday.”

 Rey’s unfocused eyes flick back to her therapist, blinking hard as she forces herself into the present. Even in the smog infused city, she can taste the foul water on the back of her tongue. Perhaps that was just the bile from the previous night though. She could still feel that suffocating darkness and the frozen grip of her best friend a she dragged them both down to the depths.

 “It’s more than likely, right? I mean, nothing else could have triggered it... I haven’t had dreams like that in years .” They were the reason she was there in the first place, after all. Those grisly nightmares she could never quite remember. They’d began vividly and in earnest shortly after she’d left D’qar, night terrors that left her nearly incapacitated with exhaustion during the day.

 Only a friendly intervention from her dear friend Finn several years back had propelled her into the office of a psychotherapist. ( Heavy eyes droop, her car swerves, Finn yells and grabs the steering wheel before they careen off the highway. He drives her to Norra Wexley’s every week after and pays for every session. )

 Doctor Wexley sits upright in her chair, cool eyes fixating on her patient as she jots down another note on her pad without looking at it. Rey could swear the woman was able to see right through her sometimes, which is likely the reason she rarely scheduled appointments anymore unless absolutely necessary.

 This was frighteningly necessary.

 Upon waking, Rey had turned on every light in her apartment and sat huddled on her ratty sofa, shivering before the TV. It took well over an hour and every single grounding technique she’d been taught to calm her down. The moment she did, her shaking fingers punched in a text, which was replied to only five minutes later, confirming an appointment for later that afternoon.

 Rey’s intuition had always been keen, growing up as she had. She knew things. It was her gift, of sorts.

 Old Ben Kenobi was saved in her speed dial, and the number that flashed across her screen was not.

 The moment she saw that fucking area code, she just knew .

 Just as she knew the news of his death had been the catalyst here.

 The young woman runs a hand over her weary face, wanting nothing more than to lace her fingers through her hair and tug so hard it all came out. Rey had done well for herself the last decade. She could think of home and withstand the occasional news her he would send without dissolving into a fit of despair. She wasn’t the scorned and frightened girl she once was. She could handle things damn it…

 Wexley seemed to understand where her rampant thoughts were beginning to stray and was quick to interject “You’ve come a long way, Rey. This isn’t a regression. These feelings, these experiences are normal. I would have been surprised if you DIDN’T react as you did. This is a harsh blow.”

 Rey nods silently, resting her chin on her hand as she stares off into space. She got that, but it sure as hell didn’t make her feel any better.

 Where Rey came from, one didn’t air their dirty laundry because one always had their shit together. Those that didn’t or COULDN’T comply to those unspoken rules were considered frail and weak. The idea was so saturated that even if those around you cared, they were so over burdened with their own repressed issues they didn’t have the capacity to take on yours as well. It was why they were all rotting, why she was still rotting.

 She’d read Doctor Wexley the same spiel time and time again until she sounded like a broken record. She can’t tolerate vulnerability in herself. It makes her skin crawl to be seen as anything less than a pillar of strength, even before a person who was paid for this nonsense. It’s why she keeps her mouth shut as her therapist barrels onward with her words of wisdom.

 “This is not a sign of weakness.” Wexley punctuates her words with a sharp tap of her pen against her notepad “You know this… I don’t think you know how proud I am of you though.”

 THAT catches Rey’s attention. She nearly gives herself whiplash meeting her eyes.

 She could count the people who were proud of her on one hand.

 Doctor Wexley smiles kindly at her and leans forward in her chair “You could have done things the easy way. You could have said you weren’t going to show up and you could have sold that house from here… But you bought that plane ticket. Rey, that’s a huge step. When you first came to see me, that girl would NEVER have considered what you did today.”

 Now it’s Rey’s turn to smile, though it doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “I just wonder if I don’t have ulterior motives for doing this. I owe Ben that much but...”

 There are some tragedies you never stop punishing yourself for, regardless your level of involvement in them. There are some people that will never stop punishing you for them too. There was a vicious cycle of injury, self-inflicted and otherwise that stemmed from that old town. Six years of therapy couldn’t rectify her need to crucify herself. Maybe it was all some subconscious ploy to drag her back.

 “I think your heart is in the right place.”

 Rey isn’t sure her heart exists in this place at all anymore.

 She nods in agreement regardless and clambers wearily to her feet. Her hour was up and she had a lot of preparing to do, physically AND mentally.

 “Thank you, Doctor Wexley… I guess I’d better go pack for a funeral.”

Me @ myself: don't you dare start a new fic when you have an entire series you need to work on also me: laughs manically as i hit publish

Anyway here is the southern gothic fic nobody asked for. This has been rolling around in my brain forever and I've finally started piecing it together. It's heavily inspired by True Detective, which I've been binging recently. Needless to say, this is going to be INCREDIBLY dark. It's sort've my therapy fic and will explore the repercussions of trauma as I've seen it in myself, in those around me, and from what I've learned from research, therapists and other professionals. Please mind the tags. I'll be adding more as I write this & will add warnings in each chapter as I see fit, namely where sexual abuse is concerned.

A short snappy set up! I'm a quarter of the way done with the next chapter so it should be up soon! Comments and reblogs are fabulous! Please let me know what you think <3

[somewhereapart]

Wings

For the OQ Prompt Party, Day 3. #151 Regina owns a bar and Robin is a regular who has a secret crush on her.

Roni knows what all her regulars drink. She prides herself on it – after all, it’s good business, and she may have fucked up plenty of other things in her life, but she’s a good businesswoman. At least she has that left.

So she knows that Sophie always orders an amaretto sour, no less than two, no more than four – unless that absolute loser Jaxon has gone and gotten his dick wet somewhere else again. Then she might hit five, even six or seven, and Roni discreetly calls her a cab.

Jasper always orders a gin fizz, because he thinks it’s retro and he’s a terrible hipster in entirely the wrong bar. Maria bolsters her courage with Long Island Iced Teas, and then finds a friend to take home for the night. Aaron drinks Patrón Cafe all night long, as he sits at the corner table and scribbles stories on napkins (he says it helps him stay awake, Roni very much doubts that). Henry always orders hard cider, and she feels a ridiculous urge to cut him off after three.

Finn drinks whiskey. Neat – with a glass of ice on the side, and a water back. Except on Tuesdays, because Tuesdays are dollar wing nights – and Finn never misses out on dollar wings. On Tuesdays, Finn arrives promptly at seven, orders a dozen flaming buffalo wings, and washes them down with two Sierra Nevadas. And then he orders whiskey, neat, with a glass of ice on the side and a water back.

And tonight is a Tuesday, so she’s watching the door, keeping an eye out for those deep dimples and cobalt blues.

Finn is nice to look at. Easy on the eyes, and a great tipper, and that accent of his… well, it does things to a lady, that’s all she’s going to say about that.

And she likes his taste in liquor.

She also likes his predictability, his timeliness. She could set her watch to Finn Archer on a Tuesday night. Or she could most Tuesdays, anyway, but it seems tonight is not one of those nights.

It’s 7:17 on a Tuesday night and the third stool from the left is empty.

She tells herself not to be disappointed. Tells herself not to be worried. He’s probably just gotten himself a life (good for him), or a date (fuck her, whoever she is), or he’s stuck working late at the shelter.

And she wouldn’t care normally (she wouldn’t, really, she wouldn’t), but that bitch Victoria had come by again this afternoon, with her pencil skirts and her too-skinny heels, and her offer of a whole lot of money to buy out everything Roni has worked so fucking hard for. That whole lot of money, and just a little bit of not-so-veiled threats of what could happen to said business if she doesn’t just agree already and let this silly tug-of-war go.

(Victoria drinks Chablis. Victoria is a cunt.)

The whole thing left a sour taste in her mouth, and she could really use a joke, and a dimpled smile, and a bit of overzealous yelling at one of the soccer matches she’s started to play on the TV with the best sightlines to the third stool from the left.

So he’s late, and it’s annoying, and she cares, a little.

She has her back to the bar at 7:23, when she hears his voice rasping familiar over the Stones on the sound system (she can’t get no satisfaction either, Mick). He says her name, “Roni,” and she smirks, and pushes the register closed.

“You’re late, Phineas,” she clips as she turns, and then all the blood in her body runs straight down to her shoes.

His lip is split, and his nose is bleeding, and there’s a rough red spot below his eye that’s already starting to swell.

“Oh my god, honey, what the hell happened to you?” she asks, and if she could hear the tenderness in her voice, she’d feel like an idiot, but she’s too busy crossing the space between them and pouring ice into a glass as he presses a shitty bar napkin to his lip to stanch the bleeding.

“What does it look like?” he mutters, wincing slightly as she presses the cool glass of ice gingerly to that rough redness around his eye. “Got jumped two blocks over on my way to get my bloody Tuesday night wings.”

She thinks of Victoria, of We’re trying to improve the area, Roni, to keep it safe for customers of fine establishments like this one, and grits her teeth. If this is at all her fault… (Guilt worms deep into her gut, churning and hot, and she doesn’t like the sight of blood on him, doesn’t like it, hates it, it makes her sweat, makes the edges of her vision pulse blue for reasons she can’t quite fathom.)

“Did you get a good look at the guy?” she asks.

“Guys,” he grunts, pressing another napkin to the thin stream of blood trickling from his nostril to the quickly saturating square held against his lip, and this is just ridiculous. Napkins aren’t going to do the trick. “And no, not really. I mostly got a good look at their fists.”

“You need to vary your routine,” she mutters – first rule of safety, never walk the same paths every night, take a different route, a different time. Whatever. Things men never have to learn, until they get pummeled on dollar wing night.

Finn scoffs a little, clearly not amused with her, and gripes, “Right, I’m sure it was my routine they were after and not my wallet.”

She rolls her eyes, and gives a holler to her waitress to keep an eye on the bar, then walks Finn around to the other side and leads him back to her office.

“Sit,” she orders, pointing him toward her desk chair. That anxious guilt eases just a little when she catches the way he smirks (and then winces) at the order.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he murmurs, sinking into the chair as she fishes out her first aid kit and plunks it onto the desk, flipping it open and pulling out an ice pack. She gives it a good crack, then hands it over, and roots around in the damn thing for some gauze and alcohol wipes.

“You wanna call the cops?” she asks, turning back to him as she rips open a wipe. She mutters, “This is gonna sting,” and then she dabs the blood away from his nose, swipes down over the stubble on his upper lip, then folds it and wipes it gently over the split.

Finn hisses sharply (and his nose oozes a bit more, so she tips his chin up, back), and says, “I’m not sure there’s much of a point. They’re long gone now.”

“Maybe,” she admits. “Doesn’t mean you can’t file a report. And everyone around here has security cameras.”

His brows lift and fall, half-hidden on one side by that ice pack he’s dutifully holding to his face. She dabs at his lip gingerly with a clean square of gauze – it’s still bleeding, but she doesn’t think it needs stitches, so she presses the gauze firmly in place and watches the way the smile lines around his eyes deepen as he winces.

Those eyes really are so blue…

She’s never seen them quite this close; she and Finn have never been quite this close. Close enough for her to smell him, a mix of sweat and something woodsy. Close enough to see the silver streaks infiltrating his temples, his beard.

Close enough to become suddenly very aware of the warmth of his hand cupping her thigh, just above the back of her knee.

They realize it at the same time, they must, because those too-blue eyes widen ever so slightly just as she stiffens and blinks.

Well, this is… new. She should back off, should step away, should probably give him a hard sock in the shoulder for putting his hands on her uninvited. But he’s already injured, and truth be told, she doesn’t exactly… mind the warm weight of his hand where it is. It’s very low, not anywhere really… out of bounds. Except that all of her is out of bounds, because he’s a patron and she’s not a hooker.

She should really make him move.

Any time now.

Right now.

His thumb moves, strokes ever so slightly up and then down, and she forces herself into action, clears her throat and mutters a warning, “Phineas.”

“I’m beginning to regret ever telling you my full name,” he tells her, hand falling away before he gives her a proper, “And...Sorry. Instinct.”

One dark brow rises up, up. “It’s your instinct to caress my thigh?” she questions doubtfully, and the uninjured side of his mouth curves up.

“Alright, ‘wildest dream’ might be a more appropriate term,” he teases, his voice lower than it’s ever been before (they’ve never been this close, close enough for soft utterances and for his thumb to still be pressed against the outside of her knee, even with his hand back in neutral territory on his own leg).

She realizes she’s practically standing between his legs – is literally standing between his legs, and her skin flushes hot, her heart knocks twice.

She scoffs, “Right,” and shifts to take a step back, but she’s still holding that gauze to his lip, so she’s... sort of stuck here.

Not that here is a bad place to be.

“You doubt me?”

“Little bit,” she clips. “I don’t think I’m anyone’s wildest dreams, sweetie.”

He looks at her then, really looks at her. Eyes she could drown in, pulling her down deep, and there’s something he wants to say. She can see it in his eyes, in the way they flit over her face, the way his mouth twitches slightly under the gauze pad she’s holding.

And then he swallows and grimaces, tilts his head forward and says, “I’m swallowing blood; you’re not supposed to put your head back with a bloody nose.”

Right. She should have known that. She does know that. How she gets so rattled by a pair of blue eyes, she’ll never know.

Her “Oh,” sounds incredibly lame, but he either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, too busy holding out that ice pack to her and asking if she can take it for him for a bit. She nods, and they swap, and now she has two hands busy trying to ease his pain, as he uses one of his newly freed hands to gently pinch his nose shut.

It looks like it hurts; he should probably ice that, too.

“It shouldn’t take too long,” she assures him. “You’re not gushing.”

Finn lets out a little grunt of acknowledgement, and then he’s glancing at her again. No, looking at her again. Staring.

After a minute, he asks her a very stuffy, “You really dob’t tink you’re anyone’s wildest dreabs?”

Roni snorts – she tries not to, really she does, but, “Okay, please don’t try to flirt with me right now; you sound ridiculous.”

“Not flirting. Honest questiob.”

It is, she thinks. His sincerity has her focusing suddenly on his lip, easing the gauze away to check if it’s still oozing.

“I think…” she murmurs, because he’s going to wait for an answer. She knows him well enough to know that. She wants to tell him that she thinks wildest dreams are useless, and that the last time she was somebody’s, he ended up dead and they don’t want that, now do they? But that’s… personal. Too personal for a guy who comes in three nights a week to drink her whiskey and watch soccer and eat wings.

So she doesn’t say any of that, she just says, “....that we could butterfly this and you’ll be alright.”

Finn rolls his eyes as she tosses the bloody gauze to an empty patch of desk and nicks a steri-strip from the first aid kit. She needs two hands to trim and apply it properly, so she drops the ice pack on the desk for a second, too, and tilts his chin up just a little for better light.

She’s squinting at the little gash as he lets go of his nose (thank God) and says, “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Roni freezes. Blinks. Watches crimson leak slowly from his lip as he moves it again to add, “Stunning, in every way.”

She swallows heavily, and he continues, says, “And you’re funny. Smart. And you don’t take anyone’s shit, which I like.” That thumb brushes her knee again, up, down. “And you’ve a very kind touch, as it turns out.”

Roni licks her lips and stares even harder at his, finally placing the steri-strip over the cut, holding it together as best she can.

When she finishes, she reaches for the used gauze, the steri-strip wrapper, avoiding his gaze as she tidies up. She’s not sure why, she just… didn’t expect this. From him. Tonight. Or ever.

He’s a nice guy, a good tipper, who drinks good whiskey and makes her laugh, but she never realized that he looked at her and felt all of that. And it’s not a bad thing, she just… she’s just surprised, that’s all. Caught off-guard.

His head dips down, tilting into her peripheral vision as he says, “I’m sorry if that was too forward. And maybe I should have saved it for when we weren’t alone in your office for the first time, and me all beat to shit. You don’t have to… say anything. I just thought you should know you’re brilliant, and I don’t come here just for the wings. Although they’re brilliant, too.”

She cracks a smile at that, risking a glance back in his direction to find him looking apprehensive and hopeful, and God, so fucking handsome. He really is, isn’t he?

Roni takes a deep breath and reaches for the ice pack again, lifting it gingerly to the nose that’s still bleeding just a little.

Then she meets those blue eyes, takes a leap and tells him, “I like you, too. Phineas.”

He grins, as best he can, anyway, and when that warm hand finds its way to that same spot just above the back of her knee, well, this time Roni doesn’t do a thing about it.

(FFn/Ao3)

[d20-eggroll]

thranduil-aran-edhil said: this is the only post i’ve seen that talks about ondonti! do you have more things about them? and how your character interacts with that aspect of themselves? i’d love to hear it

Oof! @thranduil-aran-edhil​ I’m so sorry I missed this way back when I posted this. I want to say there should be more ondonti stuff out there but so little information was ever weaved in to official lore to begin with it is understandable that they’re basically unknown. 

It is sweet of you to ask about her and I am happy to answer because I love Gabe very much! That and I’ve been thinking of taking what's been done with her and writing it up as an actual subrace for 5e so getting thoughts down is good. Def. no expectation for you to read tho. I know I’m a bit verbose, whoops.

Since there really is so little on ondonti out there a lot of what has become canonical for Gabe is in many ways only inspired by the official stuff. The courting beads are one of the more fleshed out things me and the DM have written about them and have absolutely no basis in Forgotten Realms lore. We (referring to myself and the DM) do use what we can but don’t strictly adhere since even despite having so little written about them there still manages to be conflicting information!

Forgotten Realms lore as far as we understand it:

Eldath is the Goddess of the ondonti. She isn’t their creator but has a special interest in them. Or she IS their creator? Depends on what you read. Their culture as a whole is built heavily around her teachings. We’re talking pacifists who won’t even fight back to defend themselves. That or they’re not! Most stuff talks about how big a part Eldath plays and others say they care less for deities and more for ancestral guidance. 

They are immune to being charmed.

Originally there were 15 tribes, but now only one remains.

The Zhents nearly drove their culture to extinction through abductions to make them slaves. Originally because they were very strong but passive labor. Ondonti, when taught, could also be particularly deadly fighters and they were trying to raise their own force of indoctrinated ondonti mercenaries.

They’re fey that look like orcs but are only related to them. Or they’re just grey orcs descended from orphans raised by a cult? Which is insisted upon to be correct in some places, but then there’s all this fey stuff...

When they come of age ondonti journey to the feywilds and meet a spirit guardian who becomes a lifelong companion.

Ondonti with particularly close kinship to the feywilds tend to become shamans.

Their spiritual nature is heavily tied to the elements. Fire, Water, Earth, Air, Light, and Dark. These teachings come from belief in balance and a sword fighting style invented by an ondonti warrior.

They’re elementally inclined in general, though how isn’t really covered. Water is likely because of Eldath.

The one remaining tribe is protected by Eldath and clerics, or possibly through them. She has some sort of powerful water elemental looking out for them, and has hidden their last village. Or some sort of extraplanar servant. Or maybe both!

Their magic users trend toward druids and clerics. They have longer life spans than typical orcs, around 60 years or so.

They have a little bit of innate magic and it is all defensive spells, like being able to cast barkskin on themself once a day.

Ondonti keep to themselves. They’re out there farming and living village life.

Eventually some zhent ondonti escaped and returned to the way their parents lived with the last tribe, following Eldath’s teachings to an extent- they were no longer pacifists and would sooner fight and kill than let themselves be taken again. 

What we were using as our sources, with plenty of repeating and conflicting information: x - x - x - x - x - x

Homebrew that plays off that stuff that we’ve done:

Went with them being fey. It’s more interesting and makes more sense with the other lore available. 

Taking the fey nature of elves and how elves never would have been created by Corellon if it wasn’t for Gruumsh spilling their blood, ondonti have some elvish traits: longer ears, slighter builds, and a lifestyle more comparable to wood elves.

Fey in general are very pretty. Ondonti have more saturated green skin tones, blue or teal flesh, and brightly colored eyes.

Fey are typically unsettling as fuck and can be very dangerous. Ondonti have sharp teeth, finer but longer tusks, claws, superior dark vision, and are on the tall side even for orcs. All easily missed until one smiles, grips you just a bit too tight, straightens up, or seems to have their eyes on you when they shouldn’t be able to.

Ondonti heal exceptionally well. They still have that strong constitution.

They reach adulthood at 18 because we’re not doing that weird underage bullshit you’re always on WotC STOP THAT

Guardians are a blessing from Eldath, and not every ondonti meets one. Typically they are had by people likely to be shamans.

It is easy for them to learn magic and they tend to be especially talented druids and clerics. Those likely to become shamans have innate spell casting without class lvl consideration.

Ondonti populations set up where they are able to basically live in plus size ewok style villages. It could be possible to walk right under a village and not know it since they’re hidden in the canopy.

Pacifism is the the strong ideal but not the only way. They have warriors who train and work hard to protect the village.

Tribes have some particular marker that they all have- for Gabe’s it was the crescent earrings.

Gabe specific stuff:

It was slavers that took her away from where she was born. Her captured people were trafficked through Sigil. The slaver caravan had some destination on the prime where she grew up but never made it there- it was attacked. Still don’t know why.

When she first found out she was ondonti the only thing she knew about their relationship with Eldath was the pacifism. She’s a barbarian who was a professional fighter to put food on the table for a long time. She struggled with that shame pretty hard.

She uses the unsettling-ness to full potential. Her style of making threats starts almost invariably with a smile.

She does have a Guardian, Toad the owl, who functions like a familiar. 

She has innate magic. At this point she can cast like a lvl 1 wizard and is unlikely to progress past that.

Her bundling had a pair of those earrings. She tried using them to ask around about her origins for the longest time after beginning to travel.

Eldath somehow managed to hear her prayer and this snowballed in to her meeting her brother who’s been searching for a decade to find her.

Recently we actually resurrected Gabe’s birth mother, and she’s still recovering, but there’s probably going to be plenty to learn about what in the hell happened soon.

Physically Gabe is as bright as they come. Horrible orange-eyed chartreuse nightmare. She’s very tall at over 7ft and has always been a bit toothy. She’s got pretty strong features and looks very close to her mom, but if that’s an ondonti thing in general we haven’t seen enough to know.

That’s only gotten worse since she was infected with lycanthropy, which was only a result of her ondonti-ness re: being a giant fuck off green target. Most noticeable are the mobile ears, with the extra length from her race making them hard to hide. She no longer really tries to. When turned she maintains a teal flesh color and her eye color. She also retains her tusks, giving her one more pair than most wereboar have.

PHEW OK that was a lot of stuff. Still not completely over but I did a lot of trimming on those bullet points if you can believe it.

Then there’s Gabe, Finn, Istishia and Eldath.

One of Eldath’s allies is Istishia, the god-like water primordial. Istishia was forcefully ripped from his home planar system (which is the same one Gabe is from) to this one ages ago. He badly wants to return home since this sea just isn’t the same. She’s known the minotaur Finn, the one she’s courting, since long before she became an adventurer. Now he has Istishia as a very present patron after obtaining a weapon that grants him a crazy chunk of primordial power. He plans to go with Gabe and her family if possible. Extraplanar water protect-y boy getting plucked up by an Eldath-y type? Hmmmm.

Finn had given us motivation to go after that weapon, a trident, because his family has been systematically shamed and abused by the minotaur nation for hundreds of years when his ancestor Icarus was killed by a yellow dragon who took it. Except Icarus was never killed. He was the yellow dragon, now called Avyecriarthis, and remained the holder of the weapon for nearly a thousand years before the last Theseus shows up and proves himself worthy of being the next wielder. That wasn’t purposeful and he was surprised as the rest of us.

So across literal time and space, relying on generations directly before and long ago living lives literal worlds apart, in the end somehow these two dipsticks end up together and are related to Istishia, Eldath, the Planar System and Everything.

Avy gifted Gabe a particular greataxe despite not knowing how it worked, and the damn thing grants her “elemental rages” for water, fire, earth and air. There’s been a lot of elemental stuff sprinkled in and it has never been the focus but it has always been there. The whole Eldath/Istishia/The Elements/Planar System Travel/This Coming Apocalypse red string board is basically my Pepe Silvia for this campaign. I know all these elements are connected I just don’t know solidly HOW or WHY and it is KILLING ME SLOWLY. Or it could just be 42.

[citadelsushi]

Mind Over Matter Ch. 9

A canon divergent fic. Human kind is left scared and angry after The Council bans them from further space travel after the First Contact War. Director Udina plans to use the Alliance to rid Earth of biotics, who are viewed as alien in their own right. Cerberus has other plans for their abilities and is more than happy to provide Shepard the resources she needs to build a team and fight back. Of course, help from The Illusive Man always comes with strings attached.

Chapters 1-8 found here. Also on FF.net and AO3

Slate gray clouds churned overhead, underbellies illuminated shades of neon by city lights. The air was cool and thick, rain threatened to spill over at any moment. Adverse weather did little to hinder city life; streets were alive with merriment, a kind of social buzzing unique to Vancouver.

Addyson had visited the megatropolis often for business, but always made sure to stay away from the heart of the city, where crowds gathered and festivities ran through the night. She much preferred the comfort of her hotel room on such occasions.

Unfortunately, her time was not her own tonight.

She stuck close to Jacob as they navigated the sidewalks; around them, colleagues turned to friends by a few after dinner drinks, friends transitioned into foes by one too many shots, and couples expressed love usually reserved for private quarters, emboldened by liquor.

During their stealthy shuttle ride in, Miranda had given a curt briefing: an unknown group of unregistered biotics had begun “terrorizing” Vancouver's north strip a couple days ago. Their crimes consisted mostly of destruction of property, robbery, assault, and, of course, being biotics.

As they drew nearer the area the biotics had last been seen, more and more Alliance patrols were posted on street corners. Shepard stole a glance at Jacob, his eyes still hard though he tried to look at ease. He looked much more himself dressed in civilian casual attire; his simple navy shirt stretched taut over his chest, giving the appearance of added size, was even more flattering than his skin-tight Cerberus uniform. His upturned collar fit in with the crowd, but she cringed at the sight of it, at what it meant.

They had decided, at her suggestion, to forgo their amps for the sake of cover; they couldn't risk being identified as biotics. Addyson's loose hair was more than sufficient in hiding the port at the base of her skull, but Jacob had to put forth more effort to keep his secret.

Being without her amp left her vulnerable, naked on the streets of Vancouver. Even with the pistols they each carried concealed within jackets, they were only at half strength without the boost of their amps. The gun, though secure in it's holster, felt heavy on her side, every step a reminder that the public viewed firearms as less of a threat than the eezo nodules under her skin. With or without an amp, simply by existing, they posed a threat.

“I'm surprised, Shepard. You clean up good.”

She laughed. Jacob had his own supply of casuals on board, but she did not. She had to resort to wearing some of Miranda's clothing, most of which were tight, fashionable, and dark, with shades of red cast in. None of which were her particular style; she had been lucky enough to find a blouse that didn't hang too loosely off her chest.

“As long as I pass for normal, I don't care so much about good.”

Her short conversation with Jacob on the Normandy had given her more than enough time to discover Jacob was, as Joker had claimed, a genuinely nice guy. They hadn't had enough time for her to push for more information on Cerberus, but she had also gathered that his experience with the Alliance had been short-lived, and that he and Miranda had more history than either of them wanted let on.

He had, however, immediately interpreted her friendliness as a deeper attraction, and had responded with a unique sort of cold flirtation, despite not wanting to “make things weird”.

“Normal is overrated. You're better than that, Shepard.”

Addyson knew he was referring to biotics, the “us against the world” mentality that most of them had, but she couldn't resist a smile. “Not better, just different. A little nicer, maybe. Now, eyes on the prize, Jacob. We're getting close.”

The next couple of hours passed slowly, filled with multiple drinks at various clubs. The two feigned intoxication, grateful for their higher than average tolerances. They mingled with other patrons, maintaining a watchful eye for any sign of other biotics nearby. Shepard hadn't felt so much as a tickle of energy, until -

“Oh shit!”

A shriek of terror cut through the air, the first of many. The bar erupted in noise; customers cried out, glasses shattered, bodies slammed together as hundreds tried to exit the building simultaneously.

Shepard clutched Jacob's forearm with one hand, the other planted firmly on the bar, preventing them from being swept away by the crowd. Each stood at full height, scanned over the heads of panicked civilians, searching for the cause of the chaos.

They spotted the source at the same time.

At the back of the room, lingering by the rear exit, was a single female biotic, clad in barely more than strips of cloth and leather, bathed in telltale cerulean electricity.

“Looks like we found our rogues!” Jacob struggled to be heard over the crowd.

“Just one, looks like. And she's not exactly subtle!”

Addyson released Jacob, pushed herself from the counter and into the sea of frightened bar-goers. She fought against them, wave after wave, leaving Jacob in her wake and hoping he wouldn't drown behind her. As she approached, her path was easier; most of the hoard had made it to the front half of the bar within seconds.

The biotic was oblivious to Shepard's presence; she struggled against a woman she had captured by the arm, working to tear the woman's purse from her hands.

“Hey!” Shepard's voice boomed over the empty half of the bar. “Let her go. Now!”

The biotic froze, distracted, her focus shifting to Shepard. Her victim seized the opportunity, wrenched her arm free from the biotic, and darted toward the front doors. The biotic flared, her energy filling the space between them was nuclear, stronger than Addyson had ever felt and just as untamed. She itched for her amp in that moment; without it, it was unlikely she could compete with this woman biotically.

The woman raised her arm, her teeth bared, summoning more eezo as she took aim at her escaping target. Reflexes honed by years of training retrieved the pistol from Shepard's holster, pointed it at the young biotic, her finger on the trigger ready to squeeze at a moment's notice. The biotic took note, halted her attack, turned her attention to Shepard.

“Bitch! You just cost me my ticket out of here. You're going to pay for that.” The woman stepped toward her, paying no mind to the pistol aimed at her skull. “Are you going to shoot or what?”

Shepard didn't flinch at the invasion of personal space. She kept her firearm trained on the woman, eying her closely, sizing her up. She was young, couldn't be more than twenty, beautiful, with heavy makeup lining large, round eyes and plump lips stained dark. Her head was shaved, a layer of peach fuzz split by two lines of tattoos on either side of her scalp. Strips of fabric criss-crossed her chest and abdomen, a leather jacket covering her shoulders. Most of her bare skin was covered in ink, a combination of odd symbols, numbers, and designs Shepard couldn't comprehend. Some were unfinished outlines, some patches of flesh completely saturated.

“I'm hoping you won't make me.”

“Good move. It'll take more than a fucking pistol to put me down anyway. I could rip you to shreds before you unloaded the clip.”

Shepard kept her expression deadpan. “Let's see it, then.”

She felt Jacob appear at her side, his biotics prickling against her skin in response to the tattooed biotic's wild flare, his pistol drawn.

The young biotic snarled, an angry mixture of laughter and a scoff. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Jacob, Shepard. Whatever you're doing down there has gotten the Alliance's attention. Ground troops are headed your way.” Miranda's accented voice filled their ears through the comms.

Shepard saw Jacob look over his shoulder for sign of the troops, then bring his focus back to the stranger in front of them. “We're friends. We want to take you and the others you know somewhere safe.”

“You think I'll let you take me? Like all the others? Do you think I'm fucking stupid?” The woman seethed, her biotics crackling, “Nowhere is fucking safe.”

Shepard shot a warning glance at Jacob, silently ordering him to shut up. Whoever this woman was, she was unstable and angry; she could feel the rage coming off her, boiling hot and backed by eezo.

“Jacob! Shepard! Are you reading me?”

Shepard ignored the warning, honed in on the tattooed woman. “I can't promise safe, but I can promise you, you want to be on our side.”

The woman considered her offer, her large brown eyes dancing with flecks of biotic blue, muddled with indecision. She paced with short, quick steps. Shepard watched her carefully, her finger steady on the trigger; the woman was erratic, her eyes like those of an animal in a trap.

“Shepard.” Jacob caught her attention, nodded to the front of the bar where flashing blue lights signaled the rapid approach of the Alliance.

She could hear the thunder of boots on the ground, an entire task force had been sent.

“Shepard! Answer me, damn it!”

Her heart pounded in her chest, blood whooshed in her ears.

She couldn't leave this woman here, she would surely get caught sooner or later, and when she did...Shepard shuddered internally at the thought of what the Alliance would do if they got their hands on such a powerful biotic. And if she was tied to the rogue biotics who had been spotted around town, Shepard needed her connection.

Boots crunched on broken glass. They were inside.

“What's it going to be?” Addyson struggled to keep her voice level, fully aware that within seconds the three of them would be pinned under the aim of ten or more assault rifles.

The tattooed biotic ceased her pacing, turned to face Shepard and Jacob, her mouth gaped open at the sight of the Alliance soldiers closing in.

“You there! On the ground, hands where we can see them! All of you!” A soldier barked orders.

Shepard could feel the rifles trained on her back, the heat of Jacob's adrenaline surging beside her. She could feel the sting of the young woman's biotics as she summoned the eezo in her veins. She snarled, flared, flinched just enough for Shepard to realize she was going to try to take out the entire task force.

Shepard lunged for cover as bullets sprayed.

[its-buckysbabe]

Zelus (1/5)

i finally finished this! istg this was only supposed to be a quick drabble but it got away from me and im now scared for the future. i have another 5 chapters planned... rip in pieces to me.

((((i also lowkey have a feeling bucky would be completely mesmerised by twerking. like it would be a thing for him.))))

Zelus - Challenge

Characters: bucky x reader

Summary: Y/N tells Bucky that she isn’t the jealous type and so it turns into a sort of competition to see if he can make her jealous. based on this prompt by @buckyprompts

Warnings: swearing. implied smut. michael fassbender.

Word count: 2,127 words

Also read here: AO3

Masterlist Part II, Part III

You unceremoniously fell atop of Bucky, laughing but above all trying to catch your breath. His chest below you rumbled as his arms came around you, the left holding you flush against him, while the right settled at the back of your head. You revelled in the feeling of him, surrounding you and touching you everywhere all at once. He gently pressed on the back of your head, guiding you toward him and in an instant, that somehow felt like a lifetime, your lips connected.

God, you’d never get enough of kissing him. Every time his lips touched yours felt just like the first; electric in every sense. You felt him relaxing into the kiss as it turned languid. Unhurried. After the heat of the passion that had enveloped you for the last however long the kiss felt like a respite. Like a cool drink on a hot day, a respite and a chance to recover. You smiled into the kiss and soon Bucky did too, the two of you eventually parting with wide grins taking over your faces.

You reached over him, picking up the remote control from the bedside table to turn the TV back on so that you could finish off your Netflix marathon from which Bucky had distracted – not that you were complaining. You snuggled up into his chest, sighing dreamily as Michael Fassbender's face came back on screen. You'd been watching Centurion when Bucky had come in, being needier than you'd ever seen him. He'd climbed into your bed and under your covers without invitation before attaching his mouth to skin on top of your collarbones and nibbling at it. Not even a minute had passed before you'd literally just turned off the TV, realising that trying to get him to wait until after you were done was futile. And really and truly, you weren't sure you could wait any longer with the way he was making you feel, either.

That had been a little over an hour ago and now all you really wanted to do was cuddle with your boyfriend and watch your other boyfriend's fantastic acting on screen. Bucky didn't seem particularly thrilled if his grumbling was anything to go by.

Ten minutes of enduring his muttered monologue passed before you sighed, yet again, and paused the movie. Again.

“Spit it out.” you finally instructed when Bucky didn't seem to be in any hurry to explain his sudden bad mood.

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about, doll.” he replied nonchalantly. His face looked the picture of innocence but you called bullshit. This was the second time in one evening that you'd paused your movie for him. You were going to get answers. One way or another.

“Bucky you big fucking baby tell me what the matter is? You've been moaning into my ear for the last quarter of an hour. I just wanna watch my movie in peace. Please.” you responded, your voice taking on a whiny tone. You were tired and starting to feel sore and all you really wanted was to relax but for some reason God hated you.

“Well, why don't you just marry your stupid movie then...” Bucky grumbled quietly, literally pouting. The beginnings of a humongous grin was starting to break out across your face when you realised what exactly was happening.

“James Buchanan Barnes, are you perhaps... by any chance.... just possibly.... a teeny tiny smidge jealous of a fictional character?” you teased in a sing-song voice, your index finger poking Bucky in the chest with every word.

“Not-fucking-likely, doll.” Bucky replied, though you could see a faint blush developing on the apples of his cheeks. Adorable. You saw his eyes shift around, as you watched for any changes in his expression. After all this time you'd picked up on a few things thanks to Nat  and you could see that he was holding something back.

“Hmm Buckaroo, I'm struggling to believe you here. I mean, you come home and basically assault me on my only night off to have your wicked, wicked way with me. And now, instead of cuddling me like you're contractually obliged to you're here muttering in Russian or Romanian or whatever at my poor innocent TV...” you absently ranted, all the while scrutinising Bucky and his body language. You noticed that he'd been running the index finger of his flesh hand over the plates on his metal arm. A nervous habit. You were onto something. You decided to press for more.

“Maybe you're jealous of the way Fassbender looks so hot in that Roman uniform toga thing. I've always had a thing for men in skirts and dresses, you know?” you rambled on yet again, noticing how Bucky's finger stilled for just a fraction of a second when you'd mentioned how hot Fassbender looked. Bingo.

“God, the things I would do to that man...” you sighed dreamily, though on the inside you were doing the utmost to hold your laughter in. Teasing Bucky had always been fun, but teasing a jealous Bucky? You felt like you'd just unlocked a whole new level in your favourite video game.

Barely a second passed before Bucky tangled his flesh hand in the soft tendrils of hair at the back of your neck, using his hold on you to pull you down and meet your lips with his. It was a heated kiss, one filled with passion and barely concealed possessiveness. You kissed him back with the same fervour, the two of you momentarily a tangled mess of swollen lips and barely there pants. That was until you remember why he was kissing you like this and you pulled away to giggle. A lot.

Now it was Bucky's turn to sigh, as he gently rested his forehead against yours. His hand moved down from the nape of your neck and settled on the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. He had a small smile on his face, not really enjoying the reason for your laughter but loving the sound nonetheless. He waited for you to calm down, his face moving to the crook of your neck where he bit you warningly. You laughed a little louder before pulling back and kissing him chastely on the tip of his nose.

“Babe, there’s no reason for you to be jealous. I don't want anyone else but you, okay? I'm yours.” you told him softly, affection saturating your voice but you didn't even mind. Before you'd met Bucky this kind of open display of emotion would have made you squirm in embarrassment but you were far too happy to care. Bucky made you too happy to care. Even when he was being a jealous grouch who was interrupting your Netflix night.

“Good and don't you forget it.” he murmured, his lips brushing softly across yours with every word. You smiled at him, the possessiveness was still in his voice but there was also a tone of pride. He was proud that you were his. It made you tingle all over. You leaned forward, fully kissing him and attempting to deepen it but Bucky wasn't let you in so easy. You kept nibbling and licking at his lower lip, begging for entrance and just when you were at the end of your tether he let you in only to pull completely away from you.

“Y/N?” Bucky mumbled, his voice now an octave deeper, exposing that it wasn't just you who was so affected, even though he'd been the one to stop it.

“Yeah, Buck?” you answered back, leaning in closer to him to kiss a line up the side of his neck and up to his jaw. A strong hand was on your waist, holding you in place but also, somehow, seeming to urge you on. His other hand was holding onto your bare thigh, the contrast between your heated flesh and the cool metal being nothing shy of delicious.

“Do you... ever get jealous?” Bucky suddenly asked you. His question startled you and pulled you out of your lust-induced haze. The hand on your thigh tightened infinitesimally when you stopped placing wet open-mouthed kisses up the column of his throat.

“Nah, that’s not really my kind of thing.” you answer slowly, not really sure where this was going.

“What? Like, at all?” he questions. The disbelief is clear in his eyes and you found it amusing, to say the least.

“Yep.” you nod, popping the 'p'. You slightly tilt your head, looking at him inquisitively. You knew Bucky well enough to know that this definitely wasn't the end of your little discussion.

“So, what if I told you that I find that cute little singer real hot?” Bucky then challenged, a smirk quickly coming over his face. You could see that he was mostly joking, probably to test the waters, but you also knew by the look in his eyes that he was being somewhat genuine.

“Which one do you mean?” you inquire. You knew Bucky had been caught up on the major parts of pop culture that he'd missed out on but he was still finding it a bit tricky to get used to current music. Something about there being too much bass which made no sense to you. At all.

“You know the one that sings that song you like? The Work thing?” he explained.

“You mean Rihanna?” you confirmed.

“Yeah. Her. She's smoking.” Bucky nodded.

“I'd have to agree with you there.” you tell him simply.

“You-you what now?” Bucky spluttered, clearly caught off guard by your comment. You hadn't meant to pull that reaction from him, you were just being honest but damn if you weren't finding this even the slightest bit entertaining.

“I agree. She's hot.” you simply confirmed, keeping your face neutral and your voice steady as if you were discussing something as trivial as the weather.

“Huh.” he eloquently answered. You could see his mind was running a million miles a minute and decided to put him out of his misery with your secret weapon – teasing.

“I see how you're not jealous now....” you quip, your outstretched index finger going to the tip of his nose before bumping it lightly. The hand that had been resting on your thigh gently swatted at your finger, before catching your palm in his and pulling it up to his lips. He softly brushed his lips over your knuckles, intertwining your fingers and resting them in your laps the small space between your torsos.

“No. I am. Trust me. I'm just a little more confused than I am jealous... You really don't mind?” Bucky asked yet again, though this time there was just pure confusion in his face. It seemed like it was dawning on him that for once you weren't teasing.

“Buck, I already told you. I honest to God don’t get jealous. There’s no point.” you settled, a warm smile on your face.

“I know, doll. And I hear you. It’s just hard to believe, is all.” he acknowledged, though the confusion in his eyes was still very obvious.

“And why is that?” you replied, perplexed. You realised that you were perhaps different to what people thought the norm was but at the same time you didn't think that Bucky would have a reason for finding this so difficult to accept.

“I vividly remember being in trouble with several dames back in the day over something like this. I just can’t believe women have change that much in such a short time…” he recalled. His asking the same question ten different ways now made sense.

“Listen here you old fart—that’s not what I’m saying at all. I honestly haven’t dated enough women to have a valid opinion on that. I’m just saying that I’m not a particularly jealous person myself.” you retorted. You were smiling wickedly and Bucky couldn't help but feel the corners of his mouth pull up, too. He loved it when you smiled. That was until your words registered in his head, and his mouth mouth opened in bewilderment. He promptly shut it and gently shook his head. He swore you gave him whiplash with the things you so causally said. One thing at a time, right now, he decided.

“Okay. Alright. I’m choosing to table that discussion for another time. But anyway doll, I won’t believe 'til I see it.” he told you in a challenging tone. You were never one to back down.

“Okay old man. Try me.” you countered.

"Oh, I will.” he said, the challenge still in his voice.

“Now about dating girls. And the Rihanna thing. So how-” he started but you promptly shut him, your hand covering his mouth.

“Don’t even fucking go there, Barnes.“

[aalt-ctrl-del]

Night Shift

Word Count: 4,800

Pages: 17

Synopsis: The new night guard is a failure.

 “Since when do you work?”

 The gaunt figure paused in the doorway, tucking in his shirt and giving the other ‘man’ a vacant sort of stare. “Work?  I always work.  If you paid attention more, you’d notice that.”

 “You two,” Allegra groaned.  She sat at the extravagant table, wrapped in a loose fitting robe with a coffee mug on a sweat rock.  “It’s too early to start this.” In truth it was nearly midnight, but each of them was up at this hour at night, regularly.  “Ish, Hai is a very capable individual, and he’s always held a reliable occupation.”

 “Haixus, look at that,” Ish began.  “You’ve upset Allegra.”

 Haixus threw his hands up.  “There’s no winning with you, is there?”  Ish made his way to a cupboard.  The tall figure moved smoothly, like gliding silk; he pulled out a coffee mug and turned to the sink.

 “Not with your professional ‘occupation’ ruling you.” Ish let the water run from the tap run sultry and steamy; scorching into the sink bottom.  Ish filled his mug, and then lifted the cup to his dark lips; he took a slow sip, eyes meeting Haixu’s above the rim.

 Haixus spun to Allegra about to start again, but the look she gave him was daunting.  Haxius couldn’t really argue against the point, anyway.  “You look very professional,” Allegra offered.  “Let me take a wild guess.  Security guard?”

 “Uh, yeah.” Haixus coughed.

 “Let me venture further?” Ish started it up again. “You’re employed as a mall guardian – guardian of the malls?”

 Haixus coughed again.  “No.  Actually, I’m a….”

 “Gone on.”

 “I’m working at the local pizzeria place.” Haixus finished, in a rather hasty mumble.  He tugged at his coat collar; it felt constraining.  Silence.

 “Oh,” Allegra broke in.  Ish left the kitchen.  “That sounds… easy.”

 “It is.”  Haixus finished tucking in his shirt, and went to the sink.  “I just have to keep an eye on the place, make sure the animatronics don’t bump into each other or break.  Stuff like that.  Easy!”

 Ish returned and tossed a newspaper on the table. “Is this the place?”

 Allegra studied the upside down page.  “Fuddy Fuzz bears?”

 “Freddie Faz bears,” Haixus barked.

 “This is today’s paper.  How long have you been employed there?” Ish pondered.

 “Huh?  The newspaper must still be running the wanted ad.”  Haixus checked his watch, and jarred.  “Shit!  My watch is not that fast!”  He raced out of the kitchen.  A second later, Haixus jogged back in.  “And if you touch her, I’ll smell it… like, a mile away.  You’ve been warned!”  Then, he darted out of the room.  In the distant hall, the backdoor slammed.

“Fuddy Fuzz bears?” Ish looked at Allegra.  She shrugged.

 “You’re not the only one that can tease him.  Are you saving this newspaper?”  A lanky cat leapt upon the table beside Allegra.  Ish scratched the animals back with his sharp fingernails.  The cat slinked away from Ish’s hand, and pressed the side of its fur against Allegra’s cheek.  Ish left the table, and glided over to the refrigerator, feline like.

 “I like to keep up to date with unnatural occurrences.” Ish took out a wrapped parchment, and moved about the kitchen collecting cutting board, knife, knife sharpener, and saucers.  As he moved, various pitches of mewing entered the kitchen.  “Employees tend to go missing at this ‘pizzah’ establishment.  Here kitty-kitty-kitties.”

 Allegra was forced to abandon the table.  Cats of every shade and shape leapt upon the large table, mewing, hissing, cleaning themselves.  This always creeped her out.  She ventured to the safe corner of the kitchen and poured some more coffee.  She checked her watch.

 “Missing?” she echoed.  “Up and vanished?  While on shift, I presume.”

 “Patience my darlings.” Ish sipped from his mug of water. He prepared up filets of fish and set the portions on numerous saucer dishes.  “Precisely.”

 Allegra pulled the newspaper from the crowd of cats and examined the wanted ad.  “Oh, so you don’t plan to actually do anything about this?”

 “I like to follow tragedies and paranormal mysteries, the same as mortals enjoy watching sports events.”  Ish carried dozens of stacked saucer plates on his shoulders and outstretched arms, two on his head; he made it to the table and set down the plates.  “Eat hearty my children.  Survive, and grown, live and thrive.  That place is cursed.”

 “You… say that about a lot of places.  Is it really?  Or do the disgruntled employees quit and go somewhere else to work?  I mean, I’ve never read up about these disappearances. Look at this wage… I suppose Hai doesn’t care that much, as long as they don’t run a background check?”  Allegra turned, and looked in the direction Haixus had departed in. She felt Ish place a hand on her shoulder and squeeze.  “I should keep track of them.”

 “I do not need to be the one to tell you, that any corporation can façade a cover-up,” Ish spoke, gently.  “If one has the money.”

 “Do you think Hai will be okay?”

 Ish grinned behind Allegra.  The saltiness saturated his voice.  “No.”

 **

The power went out two minutes ago.

 Haixus sat in his chair, staring at the oily surface of the tablet that was cold and silent.  The room was growing stuffier by the minute without the fan.  He chewed on a plastic straw, listening to the sounds echoing throughout the building; the dull shuffle-plod-plod of heavy steps, thick laughter, and clicking.  He tried the cord phone, but remembered the power was completely out.

 “Damn,” he muttered through his fingers.  “This sucks a bit.”

 Being left in the pitch black didn’t bother him too much.  But to be honest, the distant shuffling and distorted voices were getting on his unnerved side. Haixus winced when a light came on in the open doorway to his left, and a face leered out at him – eyes flashing and teeth aglow.

 “How did you get there?  The tune you got there…. I can dig it.”  He moved out of his chair and backed up into a corner. He debated unblocking the vent and climbing up in there, but that’d be somewhat claustrophobic.  “Do I know that song?”  Claustrophobic didn’t seem so bad.

 The lights and song faded out.  It was just the towering plush bear and Haixus.

 “Looks like s-s-somebodies lost their char-char-character!” the bear cheerily barked.

 “What?” he spat.  Then it came back to him.  That phone message the guy left… something about endo-skeleton out of costume and stuffing, whatever that meant ot sounded deceivingly delightful, like Thanksgiving or something.  “Whoa, hold on chief!  I’m not part of this technological hooblah hearsay you got going on.”

 And the massive animatronic was getting closer; thudding on heavy feet, and padded arms reaching.  Haxius climbed onto the desk behind the chair and arched his back.

 “I’m perfectly good in my current skin!  Don’t touch me!”  Haixus hissed, and swiped at the bears face.  “I’m not some freakish turducken!”

 “Don’t-t be-be a sp-sp-sp-spoiled sport, friend.” The bear seized Haixus up and hauled him out of the room.  Not without no small amount of resistance.  Haixus dug his claws into the door frame; a feat that would have been more effective if the frame wasn’t reinforced steel.   “We’ll get you f-fixed up in a j-j-jiffy!”  It spoke with that deceptively cheerful, yet sinister tone; the voice synthesizer drowning out and rekindling, the worlds at times melting.

 Haixus spat and riled, clawing at fur; the mechanical arms compressed his ribs, crushing bone and muscle.  All the air wheezed out of him in a thin wheeze, but still Haixus fought and bit – the mechanical bear continued its methodical pace through the vacant corridors, nonplussed.  There was no more screaming; only screeching and hissing.  The bear lost its grip on Haixus’ torso, but kept a firm grip on an ankle.  Haixus clawed at the sticky tile floor.

 “It’s t-t-time to ea-ea-ea….” The looming mechanical bird groaned.  It slouched in an intersecting hall, eyes dimming.

 Haixus snared the big-bird by the leg, but the bear refused to let go; now it was Haixus being dragged, while the large bird clunked and skid, and periodically twitched at the jaw.  Eventually, the yellow fabric on the shin tore clean off the mechanical understructure, and Haixus was back at clawing the filthy floor.

 “Take it easy buddy chumo-chumo-chu-chu….”  The mechanical bear threw a door open – slid the door open.

 Haixus took in the smell of metal and outdated grease, moldering fabric and ancient crusty cheese.  There was also a whiff of something else within the depressing room, something familiar.  As the bear attempted to throw him onto a table, Haixus lurched off.  The bear snagged the side of Haixus arm – a chunk of skin tore off in the powerful servo.  The bear glanced at the gleaming flesh, eyes lit.

 At the door Haixus barreled into a wall of yellow. The bird locked its arms around his body when Haixus began clawing up its front.  “I-I’m always open-n-n-n-nnnnn…. to  hugs!”

 “Fuck this shit!  Fuck this shit I’m out!”  Haixus gaged when the bear wrapped its finger around his throat, and with the help of the bird, they hauled Haixus over to the table.

 “Take it eass-sy, chumo.” The bear jeered.  Its eyes gleamed in the ill light as it left Haixus and the walking bird abomination, and went over to a back wall. Haixus could see a silhouette, knew exactly what the bear tugged off a sharp hook.  He writhed and snarled; blood smeared the grungy table under his backside.

 “No… don’t—” His voice gurgled.  The bird was compressing his ribs and heart into his spine; copper exploded in the back of his throat, intermixing with the stench of the room.

 The bear dumped a heap of weighted fabric onto the table beside Haixus; the jumble of material emitted a disarming whump.  The head lolled, and drab, lifeless eyes leered at Haixus.  “This’ll only t-t-take a moment…..”

 **

 Two days passed and Allegra was getting worried. Haixus never left without a good bye – he did leave, sometimes abruptly, but before he would disappear completely he always found a way to get in contact with her.  Usually some elaborate and cheesy ‘messenger’ method, but he was consistent like that.  He knew she worried about him.  To emphasize the uncharacteristic behavior, he as hell wouldn’t have jumped ship without insuring she was far out Ish’s grasp, in a more secure location if possible.

 Ish didn’t express the same level of concern at all – was probably glad?  But he made an effort to comfort her during this time.

 “He was worthless anyway.”

 Ish made the effort.

 Allegra buried herself in her work, as she often did when something bothered her.  In that respect she was a workaholic; she had a lot on her mind all the time, particularly if and when Haixus called for an untimely visit (he was good to her like that). Sometimes more so when Haixus went missing; Allegra kept up to date with missing peoples cases, not out of any benefit for Haixus, but more of her peace of mind.  Their relationship was a morbid one, and she was beginning to worry about where it was going, what it would lead to.

 The usual line up of callers came to her profession – druggies, jealous partners, robberies gone wrong, revenge, drowning’s, crimes of passion, the homeless.  Allegra worked at the morgue; performing autopsies and working with the police department to disentangle the various hidden clues of Death’s touch.  Some found the line of work tolerable, others like herself found the occupation stressful – stressful in a good way. There was no hope after death, but if the science worked out, there was the occasional closure that families needed. Many never received such blessings.

 At the district Allegra currently worked, she was in Ish’s jurisdiction.  That was why Haixus tolerated Ish’s company – Allegra herself never had a problem with Ish. Until….

 Out of the blue one day, Ish approached her with some extra work – atop everything additional she had previously take on. “I’m a little swamped,” she said.

 “You said you could handle it.” Ish passed over the folder, and gazed at her quizzically.  “Try not to work to-too hard.”

 Allegra leaned against the cold cinderblock wall, and flipped through the file.  “I still think we should go by the place and question the manager, or something.  I looked into our records, and found that we have done some odd… commission work for them in the past.”

 “No,” Ish enunciated.  He glowered on Allegra for a few more minutes.  Then, leaned close to her ear.  “That place is cursed.”

 “We should do something!” Allegra hollered at his retreating back.  She looked back at the file, and paused.  She skimmed through the handwritten report – the handwriting was terrible.

 Ten minutes later, Allegra met up with her autopsy partner, and intern from a local medical school, Easton.

 “Who wrote this report?” Easton sniggered, as he tilted the file sideways.  A pile of photos spilled out; he dropped mid-step and hastened to pick up the pages, while Allegra kept walking.  “From what I can make out, it sounds especially gruesome.”

 “Easton, let me just speak for the thousands of people who will be grateful of your noble decision to change your career pursuits, but we are grateful in the sacrifice you have made.”  Allegra sighed.

 “Right, right.  I should act on being more somber.”  Eaton caught up, shuffling the photos back into the folder; nearly dumped them out.  Again.

 “Only if you want to come across as empathetic, in the off chance you have to communicate with the bereaved.”  Allegra took her magnet card and pressed it to the door lock.

 “Stuffed in a knapsack.” Easton grimaced, sticking his tongue out.  “Who does that?”

 “Someone with a lot of problems.”  Allegra strolled into the blinding white room; the scent of blood overwhelming, but not gag inducing.  The floor was occupied by three steel tables, one wall was dedicated to the stainless steel doors of freezers; and the remainder walls adorned countertops, sinks, and glassed in cabinets.

 “Hold on,” Easton uttered.  “Are we in the right room?”

 Allegra spun to Easton, then, swung around fully and followed his gaze.  She dropped a container she pulled from a drawer; the small box clattered on the tile floor.  On one table lay a shape she didn’t recognize.  It resembled one of those badly built fursuits, but soaked through in dark patches around the joints.  Its presence was unsettling.

 “This is the room on the file – two-four-seven,” Easton offered, upon reentry.  “The pictures are a knapsack.  That’s no knapsack.  That’s a mascot costume.”

 “Brilliant deduction,” Allegra muttered.  She edged closer to the tables side, but held back.

 “Are we being punked?  You think?  Or did Ish fuck up on the room numbers?  Is someone in there?”  Easton approached the table.  He pulled up a pair of industrial gloves and slipped them on, then, raised the wrist and held it aloft.  The hand clacked against the table.  “Smells like something dead.”

 “First off, rude.” The suit sat upright, the comically tall ears swayed, and the enlarged eyes gleamed.  Easton screamed bloody murder and bolted backwards; his leg hit the side of the table and he went down like a champ.  The animal costume loomed over Easton, dripping black and red out of its joints.  “Well— is that chloroform I smell?”

 “Haixus?”  Allegra set the bottle by the sink, and washed her hands.  She turned back to the… she grimaced. “What happened?” Haxius gestured her way with a fuzzy digit.

 “That… is a very good question.  Which I will have to make up a reasonable answer for, but later….”

 “Are you okay?”

 “No….” Haixus’ voice gurgled.  “I’m in paaiiin.  Can you… I tried to peel this off when my shift ended.”

 “And how did that go?”

 “You don’t need glasses, right?”  The ears wiggled, as Haixus gestured himself.  “Can’t you see?  This is my death suit.”  He stood still as Allegra gave him a cursory look over, back to front.  She lifted his arm, and Haixus whimpered.  “Tender.  That’s tender.”  Allegra stood back.  She glanced from Haixus to her partner Easton, out cold on the floor, and then back to Haixus.

 “I think you need a muzzle.”

 “What?  No-no-no.” Haixus followed Allegra over to the wall phone.  She raised the phone from the receiver and dialed a line within the building.  

 “Ish.”

 “No-no!  Not Ish,” Haixus gurgled.  He could hear Ish’s condescending voice from the other side.  He tried to snatch the phone from Allegra, but she pressed a hand to his chest.  Hiaxus body went rigid, and he relented.  “Don’t call him in.”

 “I found Hai.”

 “Oh?” Ish purred.

 Haixus tugged on the ears.  And winced.  He slowly lowered his arms; red soaked into the fuzzy fabric of the torso.  “I’m perfectly okay-A— Argh!”

 “He’s appalling,” Allegra went on.

 “Mm, yes.  I have always known that.”

 “Can you bring a belt or something?  We need to peel him out of this… is he a rabbit? He looks like a zombiefied Roger Rabbit.”

 “I’ll see what I can do.  In the meantime, see if you can get him to hold still.”

 “No,” Haixus choked.  Allegra shooed him.  “On the table!  Go on. No one needs to—”

 The door clicked, and swung open.  Allegra froze – three morticians entered, the group amid conversation and distracted – Allegra ducked down.  Beneath the tables, she could see the legs of the arrivals as they filed into the room.  And stopped.

 The newcomers gawked at the wily mascot, uncomprehending.  One smirked, bewildered.  The mascot gaped back, stiff as a statue.  A soft little tune started playing out of the chest.

 “This is awkward—” Chaos erupted.  Two morticians bolted out the door; the third chucked the bundle of folders at the walking atrocity, before pursuing the others out. The mascot swiped the spiraling pages aside with one arm – the door cracked in its frame.  There was a lot of screaming, but no one was really hurt.  Except Haixus’ feelings.  

 From the side of the room came a dull moaning. “Ale’ga?”  Easton rolled over and forced his eyelids up.  His vision bubbled back stiffly – he was overtaken by a brash wave of copper and cheap plastic – in his immediate sight emerged a dark silhouette, swollen eyes burning.  It reached down and took him by the throat, padded fingers digging into his windpipe. A feeble cry diminished in Easton’s throat, and he sagged instantly.

 The mascot hesitated, eyes glaring blankly at the unconscious man.  It hefted Easton higher—

 A box shattered against the fuzzy shoulder; cotton balls scattered across the floor, a few stuck to the fabric of the suit. The ears wriggled as the head swung toward the assailant.  Allegra. She gripped another container in her hands, back pressed against a counter.

 “Hai, come out of it,” Allegra warned, raising the container.  “You— Are you still there?”

 “Yes,” the voice gargled.  “It is… Haixus.”  He cast a final look at the suspended Easton, and released the limp body.  Easton crumpled at his feet.  “What an efficient trap.”  Haixus examined his arms and torso over.  He put his hands to the mask and tugged.  “Quel inconvénient.”

 “Haixus!” Allegra spat.  “Or whoever you are!”

 “Je suis, Haixus.” He clawed at the mask and neck; a careening snarl worked its way out above the melodic tune the suit insisted on playing.  “Engin méprisable!”  

 “Hai!  Stop it!” Allegra moved away as whatever it was fought the mechanical suit it was confined within – it wore the fingers to bare metal with grappling at the mask, and caused excessive bleeding to erupt profusely across the neck.  Allegra moved in close, container still in hand, unsure if she should assist or if it was really wise to interact with the madness. “Hai!”

 All at once it stopped.  The music and the frantic panic within the costume.  The mascot stood prone, hunched over.  Red seeped down the front of the costumes stomach; and the voice behind the mask wheezed, “Ce qu'un piège prévoyant prévoyait.” Carefully, it slumped beside a table and sagged.

 Allegra waited a few seconds – realized she didn’t have that sort of time – she inched forward and knelt beside the costume. “Hai?  Or whatever….”  A thin red puddle formed under the suit.

 “Il a très… faim,” the voice muttered.

 Before Allegra could question further, the door clicked and flung erupted open.  Allegra jerked back, weapon aloft— but to her relief it was only Ish.  “Thank the stars!  Something’s happened to him… he went berserk and— You sent them to this room!”

 Ish glanced at Allegra as he knelt by the bloodied mascot.  “Someone saw the inaccuracy and attempted to fix it.  I was omitted from this action.”  Ish tugged Haixus up by the arm; Allegra grabbed Ish’s wrists.

 “Careful!  He’s caught up in this… device.  And… whatever else is in there.”  Allegra realized she didn’t comprehend precisely what was causing the extensive bleeding, only that Haixus referred to is as a ‘trap’.  She hurried around the room nabbing a plastic sheet, and a cloth cover.  “Hai. We can’t ‘Weekend at Bernies’ out of here.  This is a morgue, you need to be upright.”

 Ish frowned as the rabbit head dropped to his shoulder.  “Where are we taking him?”

 “My place, your place.  Anywhere we can keep him under control, and keep control of our environment.”  Allegra wrapped the plastic around Haixus’ head and body, then draped the sheet around him.  “But foremost we have to move him from this room, and get it cleaned up.  We’ll stash him in my office – I need to pick up new needles, and some other tools.”

 “We are really doing this?  Haixus, you can still walk.  Move.”  Ish pressed the smaller figure on ahead.  The blind figure shambled a few steps, and then tripped on the unconscious Easton. Ish put a hand to his forehead and sighed.

 The whole building was abuzz about the rumors of the ‘gag’ that was played on three morticians, and the confusion regarding room two-four-seven, where there was an alleged body within a ‘knapsack,’ but no such evidence present.  Ish relocated Easton to a different autopsy room, and dedicated the next thirty minutes to cleaning the room – a chore beneath him, but there was no submitting a report about ‘bloody cartoon animal feet’.  And there were the surveillance cameras that needed altering.  But Ish was a supervisor, and few of the other higher ups ever questioned his methods – it could have something to do with mind altering and intimidating persuasion, but who was to say?

 That was what they primarily used while walking Haixus out of the building.  Most the respondents didn’t question Ish about his odd behavior, but when someone had the compulsion to question the lumbering sheet, Ish answered:

 “Distracting object.”

 Then that orderly or janitor would totter off, muttering about their private delusions.

 All that was left was packing Allegra’s car with the tools, and stuffing the bundle of blankets into the backseat.  Though the evening hours were early, the trio managed to move stealthily among the employee vehicles within the dark parking area. If Haixus wasn’t led properly, he bumped into a car and went rigid.  It was pathetic.

 “I’ll sit with the abomination.”  Ish slipped into the back, beside the mascot bundle; sheet partially covering the loopy ears and grin.  He grimaced at the blank gaze of the facemask, gawking.  “Though I do not prefer it, we will go to my residents. I have additional tools.”

 Allegra thanked Ish, and climbed into the driver seat. Ish didn’t live too far away. “Make sure he doesn’t bleed all over my seats.”  She maneuvered the car out of the company parking, and made her way into main traffic.

 “Guys.  Guys,” Haixus gurgled.  His voice was awful, guttural.  “I spent the night shift at Fazz Bears Pizzeria, and all I got was this… macabre costume.  Hahahaa, o god, I’m in pain.”  Ish glared over when Haixus’ rested his plush cartoon head on his shoulder.

 “I vouch we leave the head on.” Ish shoved Haixus over, causing Haixus’ shoulder to smash into the car door.  The head wore that stupid grin as it gazed out at traffic.  

 “Ow.”  

 “And stitch the mouth shut.”

 When they stopped at a traffic light, Haixus was still lying limp and gazing out at a streetlamp; mesmerized by the watery light. In the back of a small truck parked beside Allegra’s car, a child peered out of the window and across to Haixus. The child timidly waved.  Haixus waved back.  “Be honest with me.  Do I look as grotesque as I feel?”

 “Yes.”  “Yes….” Haixus shifted his glare.

 “Ally, you could’ve at least had my back.”  Allegra adjusted her rearview mirror, and stared deadpanned at the grinning rabbit.

 “I’m not lying to that face.  I’ll elaborate.  You are repulsive.”

 “By the way,” Ish began.  “How did you salvage you immoral soul from going missing like the others?  I presume that they must have gone missing in the same … let’s say fashion, which you have found yourself currently.”

 Allegra looked back at Ish.  “Was that a pun?  Are you being punny?”  Ish grinned. Sort of.

 Haixus coughed, and tried speaking up.  “It could have something to do with the small fact I bypassed dying, and walked out?”

 “Yeah,” Allegra interjected.  She pulled up into the drive of Ish’s home – it was dark, and the nearby streetlamp offered enough light for her to seeby, but would obscure whatever the hell they were doing in the eyes of potential peepers.  Ish was mostly on good terms with his neighbors; that is, what Ish believed.  Allegra grabbed her equipment from the trunk, and helped Ish escort Haixus up the porch steps.  “But… why did it take two days for you to be found?  Why didn’t you come straight to Ish’s place the next day?  And… how did you wind up in this suit?”

 “I will answer the ‘Ish home base’ quest.” Haixus leaned on a cement column, while Ish fumbled with the front door.  “Do you think there might have been the off chance of getting picked up, and resuming the magical vacation of ‘going missing,’ if I was spotted wandering around looking like the byproduct of a magicians botched magic trick?”

 “That place is cursed.”

 “O gawd, stop!” Haixus wheezed.  “There is absolutely nothing supernatural in our world.” Allegra brushed past Haixus, and entered the home.  She set the medical box aside, and knelt to pet a few of the cats that came to greet her.

 “Have you looked in a mirror lately?” she posed.

 “There is a completely scientific and wholly natural reason for—” Haixus stepped through the doorway, and the cats crowding in the living room entry SCATTERED.  Vanished. Teleported out of existence. “Me.”

 Ish sniffed.  He turned and walked back out.  “We don’t have enough plastic.”

 “Let’s see.  Allegra checked her watch.  “I forgot to clock out – I have an early shift tomorrow, in the morn – but hey, I’m rearin’ to dig metal pipes out of your chest cavity.”  She heaved up the med box one armed, and looped her other arm around Haixus’ plush, but soggy shoulders.  “I can fix it!”

 Haixus stumbled as she led him on. “Are you okay?”

 “I’m livid.  But mostly very glad that you’re… uh, that you’re umm.” Allegra stood back from Haixus and looked him up and down.  “That you’re… contained?  Secure?”

 “Golly shucks, I think I love you.”

 “Well no, you don’t actually.  You’re words, not mine.  Right?”  Allegra stared at Haixus’ swollen cartoon eyes.  There was tense silence.  Then, she started snickering.  “I’m sorry. When you stand in the shadows like that, you look ridiculous – with those bouncing ears, and that bowtie.”  Allegra went stiff.  

 Haixus was got up a sound, but the blow to his backside sent him down fast.  It didn’t take much; jagged cogs and wire threads were cutting into his skull.  The mascot costume still wore its exaggerated grin when he hit the floor; a gush of blood splattered the carpet.

 “As precaution, remove that head last.” Ish lifted Haixus by a bundle of wires protruding from the costumes neck-back. The goofy face was still staring at Allegra, as Haixus’ unresponsive body was dragged away.  Ish carried the plastic sheet under arm, and shoved his door shut with an elbow.

 “It’s gonna be sort of creepy working on him, with that thing staring at us.”

 “Then drape a sheet over his face,” Ish proposed. “Or stuff his head in a sack.”  

 “So practical,” Allegra muttered.  She watched as Ish passed one of the cats; the cat arched her back – hair jagged and on end – and the feline hissed audibly.  

 “Cursed.”