#and it's just a bunch of snapping and crackling and low cries of pain

[cimeriansparrow]

Playing the does everyone hate me/ think I'm annoying or am I just 4 days away from my period game

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

Not me saying I wasn’t going to post any of my writing and then immediately going back on my word, no sir!! I’m actually really REALLY proud of this tho, so... up it goes. His Dark Materials AU for my OCs!

[For those that don’t know, in the HDM world everybody has something called a dæmon, which is the physical manifestation of their soul in the form of an animal.]

Dusk bruised the sky, ugly purple-black with smoke and the oncoming night. No stars dared to tread above this city. Even the moon hid her face.

Below, the streets were populated only by shadows. It was easy to mistake them for one, hunched as they were on the stairs in a dark suit and with their face hidden behind an even darker sheet of hair. Only the ember at the tip of their cigarette separated them from the night.

Footsteps descended down the stairs behind them. Their owner had his hands tucked into his pockets, refusing to touch the brass rails mottled with grime. A staccato of claws clicked between each step.

“You’re late,” the living shadow said, the memory of a thousand other cigarettes burnt into their throat.

“I wasn’t sure I was going to come at all.”

A ribbon of smoke curled from their lips. “Don’t give me that shit,” they said, disgusted. “You always do. You always will. We both know it.”

“You’re in good spirits tonight,” he responded mildly. His name was Dante, and he regretfully knew the shadow too well to be offended. He hated them less than they deserved. His dæmon stood by his side in the form of a large black dog, the feeble anbaric light of the streetposts settling on her fur and gleaming in her calm eyes.

The shadow had no dæmon to be found.

They merely grunted and rose to their feet. They flicked their cigarette away; it carved a red arch through the air before it winked out on the pavement. They started walking.

Dante exchanged a glance that spoke volumes with his dæmon. But they followed, because he did know. They both did.

The shadow’s name was June, and Dante was their only friend (though, that may be too strong a word.) The reasons for this were immediately obvious, not limited to the miasma of cigarette smoke that seemed woven into their clothes, nor their frankly ugly tongue. Their voice was complicated, interesting, but their face was ordinary; long, with stark bones beneath dark golden-brown skin, an interesting nose and eyes the colour of charcoal. They were also abysmally short, the crown of their head barely reaching Dante’s shoulder. He didn’t mention that.

They barely had to flash their card at the bouncer before he swung the door open for them, his lizard dæmon curled nervously along his forearm. June strode through without a backwards glance. Dante gave him a nod.

It was dim inside the den. The air ought to have been stained red for the stench of copper, sweat and alcohol that clung to every breath; Dante thought he could feel the effects of a pint just from inhaling. The walls were panelled with dark wood, packed to bursting with people. Barely people – raucous grins, jostling, laughing, screaming like fiends in human skins. Even their dæmons seemed inebriated, staggering between their legs with tongues lolling against chins. Nevertheless, all parted for June and their silent, bulky shadow.

June didn’t spare them a single glance. They had bred this intimidation, this mystery, fed it with the tender care of a mother and watched its first steps with pride.

“Just keep your mouth shut,” they had told Dante. “You’re unknowable now. Their fear and uncertainty will make you great.”

That suited him just fine. He never was a man of many words.

Darodrey stayed pinned to his side like a moth to a board. The angle of her ears still read as calm, but she had begun to pant in the crushing heat of the den. He rested a soothing hand on her head. He could feel her anticipation crackling beside his own. They never felt quite so alive than when they were in these ratholes.

He drew back the shabby curtain that sectioned off the preparation quarter, allowed June to step in first. He pulled it to behind him, hands immediately dropping to unbutton his short coat. It fell to the floor, revealing an expanse of scarred olive skin and the lines of thick muscles. He opened the tin set to the side on the bench.

“Nova,” June told him, low. “Dumb as a barrel of shit, but he hits like one too.”

“His dæmon?” It was Drey who asked, as Dante slid a guard over his teeth. The shock of his dæmon speaking to them had been worn away by familiarity long ago.

“A mountain lion.”

Drey noted, “Also stupid.”

Dante pulled a white roll from the tin and began to unwind it around his knuckles. “Only Nova?”

“Mitchellson could be taken as well, if you’re fit after the first.”

“I’ll take him.” Dante flexed his fingers experimentally. “A bear, right?”

“Black,” June confirmed.

Maybe I’ve finally found a challenge, Drey murmured to him and him alone.

Dante secured the final bandage. “What do we get for both?”

“Enough.” June tilted their head, their hair falling against the blade they called a jaw. “As long as you don’t fuck this up.”

“I won’t.” He couldn’t.

They’re depending on us.

They, they, they. The two men currently warming his bed with their dreams, wound together in a lover’s knot. Maybe they did depend on him, but not in a way that led into an underground fighting den. That would break them to know.

A roar went up from behind the curtain, more ferocious than any bear. Darodrey’s fur rose along her spine, lips pulling back in fierce delight. Dante rolled his shoulders, knocked his knuckles together till they ached.

“Get out there,” June said, and then their hand closed claw-like over his wrist. “Do not disappoint me, Diệu.”

With the adrenaline biting in his pulse, he didn’t even deign to answer that. Instead, he merely gave them a measured look and pushed through the curtain. Darodrey’s tail whipped out on his heels.

June watched after him for a moment. Their expression was unreadable, their fingers hovering over the red kerchief folded in their breast pocket. Then their jaw set, and they followed him out.

Dumb as a barrel of shit seemed to be the perfect way to describe Nova. His angelic name didn’t look like it belonged to the brutish man with a vividly new scar wound across his bald head. His eyes were, by all means, bright blue, but even they looked dull in his face.

To his credit, he wasn’t prancing or hopping like he was on hot coals, like some of the other peacocks Dante had fought. He simply leaned against the metal links behind him, taking in his competition from under furrowed brows.

Dante ran his eyes up him, down him as if in a mere cursory glance. His fingers were still purple with fresh bruises, darker on his left hand than his right. The muscles in his arms were massively developed. He was also very actively trying to convince Dante he held his weight on his right side. He was concentrating on it harder than he was concentrating on breathing.

Meanwhile, Drey was summarizing her opponent. She found her wanting – the same dull eyes, patchy pelt and a tediously swaying tail.

“Don’t be arrogant,” he told her.

“Vrox is right. You confuse arrogance with confidance too much.”

“It doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

“Utter modesty never got anyone anywhere, Dante.” She stretched out one hind leg and then the other, unbothered.  “We wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think we were the best.”

Dante hesitated. Something troubled curled like lead in his stomach.

“Pay attention,” she warned.

Their opponent and his dæmon had leaned to their feet. The crowd was stirring around them, a great wave of excitement, raw in the way only betting could achieve. Dante knew three quarters of those bets were on him, and he knew that would chafe at his opponent’s pride. Sure enough, he saw something close to hate flicker in Nova’s deep-set eyes.

The referee pushed between the two men, a smile fake and white as a skull’s wide on his lips. He dove enthusiastically into his usual spiel, but Dante tuned him out. He could recite it in his sleep already. He watched the lion dæmon’s claws unfurl from their sheathes, ticking lightly against the floor. Her eyes were locked on Darodrey. On her throat.

Good luck with that, bitch, Drey growled.

The bell sounded early, ringing clear above the crowd’s uproar. A look of frightened consternation darted across the referee’s face, but he did the sensible thing and tossed aside his dignity to sprint out of the way of the two fighters. Not a second too late, either: Nova came at Dante like a boulder in an avalanche.

Nova jabbed with his right hand, but expectedly the blow was weak enough for Dante to smash it aside with his forearm and return one of his own. It snapped Nova’s head back, snapped something else as well. Blood splattered down his chin, his nose a pulpy mess. His dæmon hissed in pain.

There was definitely hate in those eyes now.

Dante flicked some of the blood of his hand as Nova came at him again. A grimace crossed his face as Drey fastened her teeth deep enough in his dæmon’s foreleg to scrape bone, but his next punch whistled toward Dante’s face. Dante had to duck to the side to avoid it. It clipped his ear instead of knocking out his teeth, and Dante didn’t bother straightening, just slammed his fist into his stomach.

The angle was wrong, but Nova folded anyway, and Dante jerked his knee up. It caught his chin was a satisfying clatter of teeth. Nova fell backward, and cried out – not for himself, though.

Darodrey had his dæmon’s neck between her jaws and was shaking her violently, back and forth, back and forth as if she were trying to rip clean through to her spine. The lion twisted under her, loose skin bunching, and ripped at her face with jagged claws. Darodrey fell back reluctantly with red dripping from her mouth, snarling like thunder.

Claws, teeth, fists, two fights tangled into one. The noise was atrocious. Curses smudged into growls, roars, the sound of flesh ripping, skin and bone colliding.

Nova kicked Dante’s knee, forced him to down or risk a break. An arm found its hold around his neck. The demented cheers of the crowd dulled as if Dante had submerged his head underwater. Blood pounded thickly in his ears.

No time for fear, no hesitation. He grabbed Nova’s wrist in an iron grip and began to inexorably pry it away from his throat. Nova grunted from the strain – from surprise – his weight wavering on Dante’s back. The moment he could draw in a breath, he gathered himself and threw. Nova slammed into the ground, every scrap of air rushing painfully out of his lungs. His dæmon yowled. Dante was only half surprised when he rolled to his feet and came at him again immediately.

A sloppy mistake. To stay on the ground would mean the end of him, but to swing so quickly, so desperately, with his weight falling now onto his left side–

Dante left an opening. Waited.

And there was the left hand, twice as fast as the right, angled to catch him on the chin and knock him senseless.

Dante caught the punch by the wrist. He saw the panic flash in Nova’s eyes and waited just one moment more to let it set in, let him feel it. Then he twisted his arm under his own and drove downward with brutal efficiency. The bone shattered, and Nova screamed.

It was a ragged noise, an animal noise, the same that his dæmon gave as she writhed on the floor. Drey took advantage of the distraction by sinking her teeth in her shoulder and flinging her against the metal barrier.

Dante let the momentum carry Nova forward. The other man crashed to the floor, clutching at his arm. Dante noted distantly that he could see a shard of bone poking through the ripped skin at his elbow. Distant, far-away, nothing. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t a man. He was the roaring in his ears, the blur behind his eyes, the molten heat coursing through his veins. He was the mechanical action of kneeling over him, caging him in his knees, and smashing a punch into Nova’s cheekbone, feeling it give. Then his jaw, the imprint of the teeth within against his knuckles. Blackening an eye, splitting a lip to ruin. One punch ran into many. Raining until Nova resembled something out of a nightmare.

“Enough, enough or you’ll forfeit, I swear you’ll forfeit–”

He paused. There was a frantic, quiet voice in his ear. The referee had been trying to hold his arm back, but he hadn’t felt any resistance as he destroyed Nova’s face. Nova, whose body was a wreck. Nova, who he held between his knees.

In his mind, Jesse smiled up at him. His hands smoothed down his stomach, his thighs. Curious and trusting.

Nova groaned, blood bubbling from his lips.

Abruptly, Dante was sure he was going to be sick.

He staggered to his feet and lurched through the open cage door, shoving through the crowd. He would leave smudges of dark, dark crimson on their clothes wherever he touched them, he knew, but they couldn’t seem to get enough of it: hands showered down on him, patting, smacking, gripping, pushing and tugging. He could hear Darodrey snarling, only white noise that buzzed in his ears.

He burst through the back door into the reeking alleyway beyond. He stumbled against the wall, nails drawing bloody streaks down the uneven bricks. He stood there, and he shuddered.

But he wasn’t sick. He was nothing at all.

Darodrey whined and pressed her nose into his palm, licked at his trembling fingers, trying to clean off the blood. He could still feel the gore caught between her teeth. The torn flesh of a soul – such a terrible thing.

Diệu, Diệu, Diệu, she whispered.

The nothing coalesced slowly, becoming simply the bricks rough against his forehead. Out here in the cool and the smoke, the clouds had made good on their promise: a thin veil of rain misted the streets, gathered and trickled down between Dante’s shoulder blades. It should have steamed where it touched his skin, but it didn’t, because nothing here was pure. It tasted like soot in the back of his throat.

The door crashed open behind him. The violence echoed in his ears.

“They need you back,” June said, sharp as broken glass.

Dante didn’t reply.

“I said get back in there, Dante.”

Darodrey said, “No.”

“What.” The accent of the city made their voice flat and vicious. They turned their gaze to the dæmon.

The one without a soul, she thought.

“He hates this,” Darodrey said. She looked back at Dante, her eyes fathoms deep, gleaming starlike. “We hate this.”

“Liar!” June snapped. Drey laid back her ears. “You can be sweet with your boys as much as you like, you can pretend to be a husband and a friend, but this is you. This is what you were made to do, and you enjoy it.” A snarl twisted their voice.

Dante stood still for a terribly long time. An eternity, hanging in the faint drizzle, printed in stinging flesh. Jesse would call it a postcard moment. He knew it would never leave him, even when it was nothing more than a memory.

June let their words sink in in silence, their nails biting red crescents into their own palms.

Then Dante pushed off from the wall and it was a horribly efficient, broken motion. He straightened, wiped the beading rain from his face with one bloodstained hand. He didn’t look at June, nor Darodrey, but as he turned back to the den she moved with him, closer than his shadow. The roar and the heat thundered through the door to welcome them both.

June was left standing in the alley alone.

“This will ruin them,” Thyne said. It shifted where it hid tucked behind their breast pocket, wings fluttering in the place of their heartbeat.

They said nothing.

[keepswingin]

What about something with Wyatt and.Cobalt Silver? (I know I'm not much help)

so apparently the cobalt silver is the stuff that’s used in that part in flesh and bone in case anyone was wondering like I was lol but that’s all you really need to know for this one!

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i’m here (but don’t count on me to stay)

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There’s something about humans in their environment that makes his skin crawl.

He doesn’t like the way they eye him from their balconies, their laughter ceasing until there’s nothing but silence and hallow gazes that seem to sear his skin. He doesn’t like the way families huddle closer together as he passes, holding their children tight, because they still see him as threatening even with a grocery bag in one hand and a jug of milk clutched in the other.

He doesn’t like the teenagers that hang around the liquor stores, drinking from paper bags - whiskey mostly, he can smell it from down the street - obnoxious as they drone on and on with drunken babble no passerby listens to. He doesn’t like the loners either, the ones out in thick jackets with their hands stuffed into their pockets on a night that’s far from chilly.

Being out in a world that isn’t his, one he’s still learning about years later and still not fully used to, it puts him on edge, and the humans do nothing to make that edge any less sharp.

This place made Seabrook look like something out of a fairytale, he thinks to himself bitterly.

His phone chooses then to ring from his pocket, startling his already ansty heart. He exhales slowly as he shifts the jug of milk to his other hand, careful not to tip the grocery bag or shuffle around the donuts he had snuck in for himself with the things they had actually needed.

“Hello?” he answers as he shoves the phone beside his ear, keeping half an eye on the surrounding buildings bustling with activity around him.

“Hey,” Addison replies, and she sounds...worried? Something inside him twists suddenly, his eyes catching on a car that revs from where it sits at the light.

“You sound worried,” he tells her quietly, trying his best to keep his voice steady. He was probably overreacting because of this new city, with all these new people and all this new noise.

“Only a little,” she admits, and he can hear the pitch in the breath she releases, “are you close?”

He looks at the street sign at the corner he’s approaching - 5th Street - which is still a few roads over from where their apartment sits on 10th. He could cut through an alley, save some time, but he’s not really feeling an alley is the best way to go right now as he passes another family that goes out of their way to be away from him.

He sighs, “I’m still a few streets over.” He decides to cut right to the point. “What’s going on?”

“There was an armed robbery a few minutes ago and - “

He can’t help the scoff that escapes him. “So much for this place being safe,” he mutters.

“No city is safe,” his fiancée rebukes, a bit of an edge to her tone. He doesn’t answer, instead adjusting his grip on the milk. He should’ve gotten the half-gallon. “I’m sorry,” she says a moment later, “this place was supposed to be safe. Apparently it’s the first big crime around this place in a while so,” she trails off, and the irony isn’t lost on him.

“So we’re just lucky,” he finishes for her, and he’s successful in making her laugh at least. He smiles. There’s a cop car heading down the street, slow as it stops at the light, dark in the shadow of the full moon above. “Where was the robbery at?”

“Close enough for me to be worried that you’re out right now,” she says wryly, “they stole a bunch of stuff from the Walmart and the gas station next door. A few took off in a car, one took off on foot. The police haven’t found anyone yet.”

“Stealing from Walmart is a new low isn’t it?”

He watches as the cop car passes him, it’s tires crunching on the cracked pavement. Addison chuckles, “Were you able to get everything?”

The car makes a u-turn behind him - he can hear it, the sharp turn of the tires, the hiss of the engine - before pulling up next to him. The window rolls down, revealing an officer in his mid-forties with a goatee that’s turning grey.

“Hold on Ads,” he whispers, directing his attention to the police now rolling alongside him.

“Heading home?” the officer asks, his squadmate watching from the passenger seat.

“Late night shopping trip,” Wyatt answers with a light laugh before turning his attention back to Addison. “Sorry. Just some cops asking where I was going.”

“Why are they asking where you’re going?” He shrugs, and is hyper aware when the cop car rumbles to a stop.

“No idea.”

He keeps his voice as even as possible, not wanting to worry her more than she already is. “It’s a load of bullshit is what it is,” she responds, and it’s then that he hears boots behind him.

“Can you stop walking, wolf?” The same officer from before calls, raising his voice enough for passerby to stop and look and murmur amongst themselves.

Wyatt turns around, coming to a stop as the officers approach him. The older officer has his hands clasped together, but the younger officer - who barely looks old enough to be a cop - has his hand over something small on the back of his belt. Wyatt can’t see what it is but his heart is beating faster and faster by the minute.

“Something wrong officers?” he asks, calm and collected, Addison asking him what’s wrong with increasing panic from the phone line. “I’m just trying to get home to my fiancée for some late night movies.”

“Do you have your ID on you?” the older officer questions.

Inside he curses himself, because of course the one time he didn’t bring it with him he needed it - he hated carrying a wallet with a passion, something he still didn’t enjoy about human life one bit. He didn’t like anything weighing him down, in the forest that wasn’t the way things were done, but outside it, humans enjoyed carrying more than they needed.

Wyatt’s heart is thrashing against his ribcage now, his moonstone humming with more urgency, and something inside of him telling him to run. To leave, to get as far away as possible, because these officers were barking up the wrong tree, and he was at the center of it.

“No sir, I don’t,” he replies, “didn’t think I’d need it for a run to the store a few corners over.”

“Wyatt,” Addison begs from the phone, her voice crackling against his ear, horror stories from her father and from the history books flashing through her head. No police were good when it came to werewolves, or zombies, or anyone different.

He hears it before he sees it.

His eyes snap to the younger officer, to the thing he pulls from his belt.

It’s a small container, something printed on the side of the metal that he can’t see, and then it’s spraying in his direction, and even with the dodge he uses with a jolt of power from his moonstone, whatever it is that comes from the container catches the corner of his elbow and then his skin is on fire.

He cries out, the grocery bag falling to the ground, the jug of milk breaking open against rough cement, his phone skidding across the sidewalk.

He reaches for his elbow with his opposite hand, his fingers lightly brushing against the skin that’s bright red and burning silently, and his fingers begin burning before he can pull them back fast enough.

“Goddamn it!” he hears the older officer shout, two pairs of boots advancing toward him, but the fire is twisting and thrashing like his heart is, and when someone’s hands go to grab at the excat same elbow that’s burning, he growls and shoves them off.

His eyes flash brightly as he moves away from the men, but they push forward, their hands still reaching.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” the older officer contuines, his voice muffled in Wyatt’s roaring ears.

“It’s a fucking werewolf, no matter what we did it was just going to attack us anyway!”

One hand is successful in closing around his elbow, but that just closes the fire in, drags it across his skin, and he growls again and pulls back, but before he can get far there’s someone on top of him, attempting to pin him to the ground.

That same something from before is sprayed at his back, catching arms and sinking through his shirt to the skin underneath, fire everywhere, blossoming and igniting and rippling. His moonstone hums angrily and flashes bright blue as he pushes the men off him with little difficulty, and then stumbling to his feet and running, power flowing through his veins and making his legs pump faster.

He needs to escape, he needs to go, to run, because he doesn’t know what will happen later, but he also doesn’t want to find out what happens now if he sticks around. Nothing good, his brain supplies, if the fire still racing across his skin was any indication.

The pain distracts him from hearing the cock of a pistol, the action of a bullet being slotted into place from inside the gun.

He doesn’t hear the bullet.

He feels it, something rupturing his skin and mixing with the fire, and sees it, when the bullet brings him to a sudden stop, looking down and seeing dark red seep from the middle of his chest.

He brings his hands to the red, pressing his palms flat against it before pulling them back, almost in disbelief when he sees them slick with dark red liquid that should be inside his body, not outside it. He hears shouting, and screaming, and so many other noises, and before he knows what’s happening there’s the shattering sound of another bullet unloading into his back, and another, and another.

His moonstone hums, louder in his ears than the noise around him, and then everything goes black.

[codenamewitcher]

Love & War || Loki L. Mini Series

This is a short series based in Thor: Ragnarok

Love & War Masterlist

Chapter Four

It was late at night, the castle was silent, everyone was asleep but the guards making their rounds. A light knock sounded at my chamber doors; he was right on time. I opened my doors quickly, letting him in and closed them as quickly as I'd opened them. With the sound of my door clicking shut Loki was back in his normal Asgardian form.

"My queen," he greeted in a whisper. His hand cupped my face, tilting it up, and placed a kiss on my lips.

"Loki," I whispered when his lips left mine, my eyes still shut savoring the kiss.

I lean my head on his shoulder, taking in his embrace, not knowing how long it'd be until he would be able to hold me like this again. His hand ran through my hair, as he too was taking in this moment.

He moved hair away from my neck, his fingertips lightly brushing across the right side of my neck and shoulder, his lips ghosted across the exposed skin. His lips brushed the shell of my ear, "What do you wish to do tonight?" His soft voice sent shivers down my body as he whispered in my ear.

"Just hold me." We stood in the middle of my chambers, swaying to a silent melody in each other's embrace.

After swaying for a while to the sound our heartbeats and the crackle from my fireplace, we had made our way to my bed. We laid on top of my bed sheets, my head lay on his chest, one arm laying across his chest, and one of his arms held me to his chest.

"I am fine with how everything is right now, but I do want a live with you that's not behind closed doors." I broke the silence, my glaze fixated on the flames the fireplace produced.

"I know, I do too." His chest rumbled as he spoke the words and his arm tightened around me. "I will make sure we get that one day."

"Okay." I whispered and continued to stare into the flames, my mind completely empty but find all at the same time. "I love you."

"I love you, too." 

My head lifted from his chest I let out yawn, my eyes watering as sleep called for me, Loki let out a soft chuckle as my head laid back down on its original spot on his chest,

"Go to sleep love, I'll be here until you do."

"I don't want you to leave."

"I don't want to either." The arm that wasn't around me but was propping his head up came down to his side to entangle his fingers into my hair, blocking my view of the fireplace as he did it.

"Goodnight Loki." I whispered as sleep started to take over my body. I heard him whisper a 'goodnight my love' before sleep pulled me into its endless depths.

***

I woke up with a start, the memory of mine and Loki's temporary peace lingering - I had fallen asleep in the underground greenhouse the Grandmaster had set up for me. It's been a week since I arrived at Sakaar and I've been worked to the point where I could feel my magic dim with each passing day, bringing myself closer to a burnout - the weight of the universe felt like it was at my shoulders because of it. Dark circles surround my red and puffy eyes from the constant use of magic and lack of rest. Loki and I have been sneaking around, meeting each other in private when possible, it was almost like the last for four years we spent sneaking around on Asgard, but now we are being sucked dry and weaken by the Grandmaster. Even though Loki hasn't said anything, I feel his heart break every time he sees my exhausted state.

The Grandmaster has had me grow him crops underground in his castle, keeping it a secret from the majority of Sakaar's population that there is no longer just mushrooms for food, but instead he's been keeping it all to himself and as he calls it, "generously sharing it with his favorites" during his parties. Every morning I go down to the basement, tending to the poor plants, it breaks my heart everyday as I can hear their cries from real sunlight and good soil, not the light that I conjure. I was sick with guilt as I left the basement, feeling empty of my magic and leaving those poor plants like that.

Once I got to my chambers, I stared at my empty reflection, dark circles surrounded my sunken y/e eyes. I looked sickly, but I put up a magical illusion seeming as I was healthy. I had three small white circles lining my cheekbones like highlight, it was representing my worth to the Grandmaster, and that I was not a sex slave. I no longer wore my Asgardian armor, but I was dressed in a blueish green leather - the same color Loki wore - the top I wore was leather and the pants the same material, a green cape was attached to the shoulders of my top, still playing homage to the powers I carried.

I walked into the same area I found Loki at the day I arrived to Sakaar, a bunch of higher-class citizens mingling, drinks and cocktails in their hands. I've started to hate their faces, hate this place, and hate the Grandmaster himself for not letting us leave.

I close my eyes and take a breath in and out and hold my head up high, a smile on my face as I walk towards where Loki sat, cocktail in hand as he chatted with one of the elite - a Sakaaran imperial to be exact - who was normally in the common area of the Grandmaster's castle. I grabbed a cocktail on my way towards Loki, a welcoming grin on my face as I reach them.

"Hello Elloe, Loki." I nod to them as I sat next to Loki. Elloe Kaifi had become a good friend of Loki and me. She used to be a meele gladiator, but still trains regularly in case she ever needs to fight again. Elloe is one of few that I respected in the galaxy.

"Y/N, how are you doing today?" She asked, a genuine smile on her face.

"I'm good," She nods at my response, a knowing look in her eyes as she could see through my façade of being happy. Loki on the other hand gave me a look, pain in his eyes as he could feel my seiðr through his own come closer and closer to a burnout.

"Well Loki was just telling me a story about one of the many times he faked his death."

"Oh really, continue them Loki."

He paused, looking me in the eyes trying to get a feel for my emotions and if he should really continue the story. After determining that there wasn't a hidden meaning behind my words, he continued to tell the story, not long after I zoned out, my eyes landing on the dark turquoise floor. Somewhere in the middle of his tell, his hand slipped in my free one, giving a light squeeze bringing me back to reality - he must've noticed me zoning out. My eyes flutter a few times, trying to regain focus, and I turn my head to Loki, my attention now on the story he told.

"... There was a wormhole in space and time beneath me. At that moment, I let go." Everyone laughed and I cracked a smile, making it seem I was involved.

"Lady Y/N, Loki! Over here!" I heard a whisper calling our names and my head snapped in its direction; it was Thor. My eyes widen and I squeezed Loki's hand back, trying to gain his attention. I felt his body tense up underneath my hand as his eyes landed on Thor.

"Guys!" He was smiling, fear ran down my spine, I now know what Loki was feeling when I arrived, but instead of fearing for Thor, I was fearing of what Thor would do to mine and Loki's cover.

"Wait here." Loki whisper in my ear, sat his drink next to my feet, and then turned to everyone around us. "Excuse me one second." He shortly got up afterwards and stormed towards Thor, panic and anger in his footsteps.

"Who's that?" Elloe asked in a low voice, she was referring to Thor calling our names.

I had no idea how to respond, not knowing what lie Loki was going to create to keep our cover. "I don't know."

"That bad?"

"Yes." Elloe knew that Loki and I had relations before we arrived to Sakaar, but I didn't know how Loki was going to spin the story and I didn't want to tell her one thing while Loki was saying something completely different.

My eyes drifted over to Thor and Loki the Grandmaster walked over to the two, if my body wasn't locked up from fear, I'd be biting my nails right now.

"In any case, you know this... You call yourself Lord of Thunder?" The Grandmaster's words carried themselves over towards me as I listened to their conversation closely.

"God of Thunder. Tell him." Thor was differently going to blow our cover.

"I've never met this man in my life." Loki nervously chuckled.

"He's my brother."

"Adopted."

"Is he any kind of fighter?" The Grandmaster asked, interrupting the two brothers bickering. Loki shrugged.

"You take this thing out of my neck and I'll show you." Thor snapped, his face turning red.

"Now listen to that. He's threatening me. Hey, Sparkles, here's the deal. If you wanna get back to Ass-place, Assberg-"

"Asgard."

"Any contender who defeats my champion, their freedom they shall win." The Grandmaster moved back behind his podium.

"Fine. Then point me in the direction of whoever's ass I have to kick."

"That's what I call, contender! Direction would be this way, Lord." The Grandmaster picked up the remote to Thor's chair, pointing towards the Gladiator Cells, Sakaaran guards following close behind.

"Loki!" Thor yelled as he was escorted out.

"Do I need to put you into hiding?" Elloe asked quietly, bringing my attention back to her. Her father was the leader behind a rebellion to overthrow the Grandmaster, she knew where to hide people.

"I’m not for sure yet but thank you very much for the offer." I smiled and squeezed her hand in appreciation.

A hand lightly brushed against my shoulder, I turn to find Loki behind me, concern written all over his face. "We need to talk."

I nod, "I'll meet you there in 10 minutes." I smiled, picking up his drink and handing it to him. Seduction radiated off me, making it seem like it was harmless flirting between the two us, keeping up with appearances. Once he took his drink - mischievousness gleamed in his eyes - I stood up and headed to our secret spot, my fingers danced on his shoulders as I walked past.

There were eyes everywhere on Sakaar, so we put up the show that Loki and I had become close within the past few week, that meant flirting to make it look like an affair, not like we were a team or a husband and wife to the public. So, with the help of Elloe, we found a spot within the Grandmaster's tower that was rarely occupied and no eyes - it become our spot for this very reason, in case someone was to threaten our cover.

It took me 10 minutes to get there and another 10 minutes waiting on Loki get here. Where we met was an abandoned dining room down towards the basement. Old wooden tables and chairs were covered in sheets and dust, Loki had said this room had survived as the main dining room when the Grandmaster had first arrived to Sakaar.

"Love?" Loki's voice is soft, cautious.

I turn to him and rush into his arms. "What's going to happen?"

"I'm not certain." His voice was cold, but I knew that his mind was racing with all the possibilities. "Thor is going to fight in the Contest of Champions tomorrow and the Grandmaster wants me there in his personal box."

I pulled away from him just enough to look him in the eyes but still keeping my arms around him. "The Grandmaster isn't going to let him leave if he wins." 

"I know," He looked away, hurt in his eyes. "I'll going to go see him tonight, try to talk him into joining us."

"I don't think Thor will be pleased." 

"He's just going to have to deal." He turned his eyes back to me, looking down at me with a somber look.

"Okay, just please don't get yourself hurt." 

"I'm going in astral form -"

"You know what I mean."

Loki was starting to speak when Elloe came into the old dining room, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but the Grandmaster is looking for you Y/N."

I closed my eyes for a moment of peace before I headed into the loins den. "Okay, I'll be headed there in a minute." I sigh, pulling away from Loki. 

"Please be careful." I state, my hand cupping his cheek.

"You two." He grabbed my hand and gave a whisper of a kiss on its back, his eye looking into mine as he did it.

"Y/N?" I heard Elloe call, concern in her voice.

"I love you." I gave Loki a small smile and squeezed his hand before letting it go.

"I love you too."

I head towards Elloe ready for her to lead me to the Grandmaster. As I get to the room’s door, I look back at Loki and hold his glaze for a second, and he nods his head telling me that it'll be okay, that he'll be okay. 

I turn back to Elloe, "Let's go."

***

A/N: TL;TR So Chapter Five may not make it on time because something came up with my oldest brother and he is going to the be down the day this will be posted and will be here for a week. I do plan on spending time with him while he’s down because I’m not going to be able to see much of him soon, so that means I’m not going to be writing that much if at all that week, but I will trying to get some done this week (its July 11th as I’m writing this). So I just wanted to put a warning about Chapter Five possibly being late.

Anyways, thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it and are having a good day. 

Much love, 

Sara.

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