#is the tag to block if you did not sign up for occasional plunges into SW with no warning

[thought-42]

Writing an outsiders pov (Ezra's) of Thrawn's history is hilariouss because without the context we get as the reader it's like: "I committed a number of war crimes so I was exiled to a planet with no spacefairing capability or technology. But don't worry it was actually a secret mission to go investigate the authoritarian Empire that just rose up literally over night with no explicable explanation from the midst of a civil war in Lesser Space to see if they will come help us against an alien invasion force that I can barely proove exists." and the only rational response is 'you were definitely supposed to die of exposure within three months of being dropped off on that planet bud'

[thehouseofvs]

Echoes Of Another Life - A Hellish Introduction

Flicker. The sound of many footsteps resonated through a dense forest, filled with towering trees of golden bark that seemed to almost sparkle when the sunlight caught them in a particular manner, their fiery leaves of red, orange, and brown waving and occasionally cascading downward to the mossy floor below. The wind was gentle today, rustling the canopies overhead just enough to ensure that these woods were never silent. Not that they needed to, as the delighted cries of adventurous children bounced back and forth through the forest. About a half-dozen children from the nearby village scurried and ran after one another, all seemingly eager to reach whatever destination it was that they were heading towards. Humans all, they had not a care in the world, for in this distant corner of the realm, they knew only peace. Only the daily life of a peasantry undisturbed. Here, in the Autumn Vale, named so for its eternally-colorful foliage, there was no sign of the greater turmoil that afflicted the rest of the world. And it was during another such blissful day that a raven-haired girl found herself lagging behind the rest of her friends, her sandal-covered feet lightly pattering away at the mossy earth beneath her as she tried to catch up to the others. They were headed towards a small stream that made its way towards their village, brought to them by the mountain springs over yonder. Even if she couldn’t reach them, she knew where they were going - the same place they always did, a wide, flower-strewn clearing within the forest that gave them ample room to run and play. Just as she reaches the stream, the blue-eyed child catches sight of the backs of her fellow village children, who had already crossed over via the stone walkways they had laid out in months past. “Heeeey…! Scipio! Marus! Guys, wait for me!” The girl called out, but her cries went unheeded as her friends continued deeper into the woods. Pouting, she begins to grumble to herself, too preoccupied to take notice of one sizable stone blocking her path. As soon as her toes struck the stone, the girl let out a yelp and tumbled down to the gravelly earth right next to the stream, landing onto her hands and knees. Wincing, and with the occasional whimper escaping her, she could feel that her knees had been cut up a bit from the fall. But before she could stand up to inspect her lightly-wounded limbs, her eyes caught sight of something else - something...unusual. Further upstream, the corpse of a local buck lay near the edge of the water. Seeing dead beasts was not exactly uncommon, even for a young child such as herself, but something about the creature seemed odd to her. For one thing, while it looked as if it had been mauled by another beast - likely a roaming predator - the wounds on it appeared to not be fresh. But, surely, the kill had to be fresh, as a faint amount of dark, sickly blood dribbled from its open wounds and into the stream. Before the raven-haired girl could dwell on the curious sight too much, she once again heard the shrill cries and laughter of her friends further on in the woods. With a grunt, she climbs back up onto her feet, gingerly wiping away the pebbles from her knees and hands before she too crosses the stream via the makeshift stone “bridge” they had made. Following the distant voices, the child raced towards their usual playground, though she would occasionally glance upward to see that some dark-looking clouds had begun to roll in, and rather rapidly at that. Strange, the village’s skywatcher had not predicted any poor weather today - she made sure to ask before leaving the village, as she always did! And the closer she drew towards the forest clearing, the darker the sky became. When she finally arrives, the sky appears as if it were about to pour down a deluge upon the unsuspecting children, the other five all running around and attempting to tag one another in whatever game it was they had chosen to start. Panting from her dash to reach them, the raven-haired girl stops just at the edge of the clearing, leaning against a nearby golden-barked tree and calling out to her friends. “...G-Guys! It’s about to rain! Come over…here?” Her voice trailed off as she looked to the sky overhead of them. The dark clouds that had so rapidly formed had grown denser, and bright, orange-red lights flickered within their depths. That wasn’t lightning, and the girl heard no thunder. What was happening? And as if to answer her confusion, the first of many fiery streams descend from the heavens, illuminating the sky in their radiance before slowly fading away well before they struck the earth. Dozens - no, hundreds of the falling lights fell from the rumbling sky, a cacophony of lights. Feeling a mixture of fear and awe, the girl could not help but stare at the display within the sky for a couple of moments before she looked at her still-playing friends, who all seemed oddly oblivious to what was happening. Concerned for her fellow villagers, she rushes forward and reaches out to grab one passing girl, lightly tugging on her sleeve as she points to the sky overhead. “Look! It’s a starshower! We need to go home!” She tried to inform her friend, her fear evident in her voice. However, the other girl - a plump, brown-haired and mousy child - gives her raven-haired friend a confused stare before also looking at the sky. “...What are you talking about? There’s nothing there!” It was the blue-eyed girl’s turn to be confused, as she once more shot her gaze up towards the sky and...nothing. No more falling stars, no more dark clouds, just an endless expense of blue sky with the occasional, white puff to dot the horizon. “I...wh-what?” The dark-haired girl stammers, slowly releasing her friend’s sleeve as she stares dumbfoundedly at the sky. With a sigh, the plump girl took her younger friend by the hand before calling out to the others. “Hey, I’ll be back! I’m taking her home!” A brief chorus of responses come their way, before the older girl begins to gently tug her dark-haired friend behind her, back towards the way they came. “C’mon, are you not feeling well? Your mother will kill us if you get sick again, you know…” The mousy child chides, as the other girl allows herself to be pulled along, her thoughts seemingly elsewhere. After a few attempts to get the younger girl to talk, the brown-haired girl finally gives up, leaving her friend to her thoughts as she leads the way back to their village. Meanwhile, all the raven-haired child could think about was the falling stars. Was it all just her imagination playing tricks on her? Why did it seem so vivid, so real to her? And did her friends really not see it, either? The sight had instilled in her such a sense of dread, something she had never felt before...what could it possibly mean? “...O-Octavia, I’m so-” _________________________________________________________ Flicker. A week had passed since that fateful day. One long, horrific week. Just the day after the raven-haired girl had witnessed the star shower, the first person in her village had gotten sick. An elderly man known for sharing countless stories and myths, Septimius, had fallen ill with a mysterious ailment. He had grown haggard rapidly, eyes and flesh losing their color, and virulent purple buboes forming on his body. Not long after, he began to secrete blood and viscous ooze from his mouth and ears. Before the sun had set, Septimius was dead, taken as swiftly as the disease had appeared. But that was just the first day. On the second day, like wildfire, the sickness began to spread through the village. The same symptoms began to show on the eldest first, plunging their ancient flesh into horrific agony and draining them of their life. The raven-haired girl’s mother, the local healer, did her best to try and ease the pain of the afflicted...but there was nothing she could truly do to stop their demise. Almost immediately after the second patient perished, the healer sent forth a letter via carrier pigeon - praying that it would reach her contact in time. With the arrival of the third day, the village’s adults came next. Mothers and fathers, working-aged men and women who were responsible for maintaining the village’s day-to-day functions, now rapidly fell ill themselves. Much like their elders, the adults seemed to show the same symptoms...however, they also seemed to become more aggressive, with a tendency to lash out at those near them as they came closer to death. By the time the moon reached its zenith, all that remained were the village’s mourning children, the raven-haired girl, and her mother...but not for long. The raven-haired girl knelt by her mother’s bedside, as the dutiful healer struggled with every breath she made. At this point, the woman knew what had struck her village. The violent behavior of the adults nearing their demise was the final clue...and now, all she could do was fear for the life of her own daughter. Turning her own once-blue, now whitening, gaze on the tear-stained face of her daughter, the healer lifted up a dagger from the bed, and held it handle-out towards her child. At the look of horror on her child’s face, the healer did her best to offer as soothing of a smile as she could...but given her current state, she doubted that it would do much. “...Songbird...I n-need you to do this. Please…” The dying healer rasped out, her exhausted eyes wavering in their vision already. The raven-haired girl violently shook her head, in denial of what was happening. “No…! No, Mama, I can’t...I c-can’t! You can’t...please don’t leave me alone…!” The blue-eyed girl sobs, begging her mother. But even the child knew that such pleas were futile. She had seen with her own eyes that no one, not even her own mother, could escape the disease’s reaping grasp once the symptoms had set in. Knowing that there was little time left, the healer used her other, ghostly-pale hand to take her daughter’s and guide it to the dagger’s handle, gently wrapping the girl’s fingers around the coarse leather grip. By the time the moon had reached its peak, the horrific curse unleashed upon their village would finally awake...and there would be nothing but screams. Red-tinged tears fall down the healer’s face, her lips quivering as it came time for her to beg. “...You...you have to listen. I...don’t w-want to hurt you, Songbird...but I fear I will. W-Which is why...you have to do this.” She whispers, slowly pulling the dagger’s blade towards her chest, right over her heart, even as her daughter’s breathing quickens between sobs. “T-This will...keep me from coming back…” Her eyes moved over to the door that served as the entrance to their home. “...When I’m gone...you need to block the door. P-Put whatever you can in front of it. And whatever you d-do...do not go outside…stay quiet…” While her mother’s words confused the raven-haired girl, she knew that there was some sort of reasoning behind them. After all, mother always knew best...but that did not make this any less hard. Any less painful. “...M-Mama, I...I don’t want to be alone...wh-what will I…?” She tried to speak, but her sobs kept drowning whatever else could come out, her eyes now centered directly on the sinister edge of the dagger her hand now held. With her daughter’s fingers now wrapped around the dagger, the healer moves her hand to gently cup her child’s cheek, tips softly stroking against the alabaster skin. “...You won’t be. Someone v-very important is coming...he’ll help you. H-He’ll take you far away from here...somewhere better, I promise…” The tears now spill freely from the healer’s face, even as she reaffirms her resolve and returns her hand to join her daughter’s upon the dagger. “...Now. Now, my dear…” The dying woman swallows, and attempts to offer one more smile. “...sing, like I taught you. I love you...b-be strong, and live...” With that, the raven-haired girl grits her teeth, hanging her head and unable to meet her mother’s eyes as she obeys...as she always had. To fulfill her mother’s one final request. And thus, with a quiet voice but laden with grief, the young girl begins to sing for her mother… “Shut your eyes and listen close, As I sing under the moon, newly arose, So that your dream will take you far from here, To the home we keep, so far yet so near. A land of flowers, carried upon a gentle breeze, A place where one's heart knows, but never sees. Rest well my heart, forget all your fear, For the Light blesses us, even here, Forever loved are we, the children of the Mother, Cradled are we, long after our last whisper. Listen close, for on the distant gale, Are the prayers of our Mother, who has heard of our tale, When you have lost all hope, and have only despair, Know that you are not alone, our bonds kept safe in the air. Some day, one day, we all find our way home, To the place where fields of flowers endlessly roam. Rest well my beloved, forget all your fear, For the Stars watch over us, even here, Forever loved are we, the children of the Light, Cradled are we, for long into the night. So wipe away your tears, stifle your cries, Brush away the hurt, and all of the lies, When you have buried the pain, not to let it show, Know that home is near, by the Mother's eternal glow, For She guides the Stars, upon which our rest is made, And guides us back home, so that our scars may at last fade. Rest well my dear, forget all your fear, For the Heavens wait for us, even here, Forever loved are we, the flock of our Shepherd, Cradled are we, long after we are severed. One day, some day, I pray you'll be saved and left be, To make your way home, and finally see, That the world is not so cold, nor as cruel as it seems, And embrace the Light's warmth, borne upon gentle beams. Just listen to Her Song, to the promise it brings, To remove your burdens, as the hymn of Freedom rings. Such is my prayer, my own dream for you, Mother, may She listen, and make my wish true, May She keep you, guide you back to the blossoming trees, Where your pain will be gone, carried on a far away breeze… Yes, I sing, for a far away breeze…” By the time the hymn had reached its conclusion, the raven-haired girl could tell that her mother had ceased breathing. Choking back her sobs, she looks up once more, to take in the pale sight of the healer’s visage. A gentle smile remained upon her lips, a sense of peace resting over her. It was too much to bear. Averting her eyes once again, the girl whispers a prayer of her own...feeling the magic invoked by the song flow into the dagger’s blade, as she drives it home into her mother’s still heart. The child knelt there at the bedside, for what seemed like ages, before she finally stood back up onto her feet and turned away from the corpse resting upon the bed. There was still one thing she had to do, to fulfill her mother’s last words. Struggling to move whatever heavy furniture she could reasonably position in front of the cabin’s front door, she worked through a haze of tears as she steadily barricaded herself inside. Now, left by herself, she extinguishes the lights in the cabin, plunging her into absolute darkness. With nothing else to do, she sits herself down on the floor by the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest and burying her head into her arms...and waits. The raven-haired girl did not have to wait for long, before the panicked screams of the village’s children began to be sounded outside the cabin - along with the guttural, inhuman screams of the risen dead. Such screams would echo within the girl’s head for years to come, and continued to pound inside her skull...long after they had abruptly ceased. By the fifth day, the raven-haired girl was all that remained of the once-prosperous, peaceful village. The risen dead continued to shamble about outside, unaware as to her presence. On the sixth day, those very same walking corpses began to crumble apart and fall to the earth, plunging the ruined refuge into absolute silence. It was not until the seventh day that the village’s last child finally mustered the courage to step outside, both in search of food and to finally see what was left of her home. The sights would scar her till the end of her days...and perhaps long after. But before the girl could bring herself to leave, she had once last obligation to fulfill towards her fellow villagers. And so she grabbed Forgemaster Brutus’ shovel, and set to work… ________________________________________________________ Flicker. It was near high noon, on the eighth day, that the raven-haired girl would be disturbed in the midst of her grim task. Ever since her emergence from the cabin that had once been her home, she had labored away in an effort to dig graves, drag corpses, and bury what remained of the villagers. Her hands had long-since become cracked and bleeding from the work, and her general demeanor had fallen into something more akin to a zombie than that of a living girl. The shock of recent events had forced her to repress what emotions she had felt since the dreaded fourth night. However, even in her current state, there seemed to be some semblance of cognisance still active, as the distant sound of hoofbeats could be heard from the distant forest word that led towards the village. Pausing in the middle of digging the last of a whole, fresh graveyard - the grave meant for what remained of her mother - the raven-haired girl could not be certain whether the source of the noise would be a threat or not, and thus hastily dropped her shovel and ran to the cabin, shutting the door behind her and hiding herself underneath the dining table. Not long after she curled up beneath the table, she heard the hoofbeats draw even closer, until the sound of men calling out to one another could also be gleaned. Their voices sounded firm, authoritative...harsh, as they barked their orders. “...You know the drill! Scour the village, search for survivors! The Chantry does as it must - and ready the torches!” Within the cabin, the girl could hear as the men dismounted and began to spread themselves outside, kicking in what doors remained closed as they occasionally made shouts to the others to verify their status. “Clear!” “Clean here!” Until, finally, her own cabin door was kicked open and off its hinges, the door cracking and hanging off to the side as the sound of heavy, plated footsteps slowly entered the room. The girl flinched, holding her breath as she curled up even more, remaining perfectly still in the hope of not being seen. The first indication she received as to the identity of the person who had arrived, was their retching due to the heavy scent of death and decay in the cabin room. A woman, from the sounds of it. As the armored woman delved further into the cabin, she would spot the corpse still remaining on the bed, a grunt escaping her from the stench...and a weary sigh. “...Poor woman...I wonder if she died alone...” The mysterious warrior muttered to herself, still unaware as to the young girl’s presence. After another moment, the woman has herself another sigh, grumbling. “...Curses. This one died of the plague after all.” “Tessarius Tutor! What did you find?” The voice of a man - the same one that had been issuing orders outside - called out to the armored woman from the cabin’s doorway, as a similarly-attired man strode inside. The raven-haired girl tried her best to remain still, but the need to breathe was beginning to supersede her fear. At the man’s inquiry, the mysterious warrior-woman turns on her heel to face him, replying as any soldier would to a superior. “A body, Centurion. I believe she died of the plague that was reported.” There is a sound of disapproval from this ‘Centurion’, along with a heavy sigh of his own. “Yes, I see the pustules. A mass grave site was reported, so we believe that there may be a survivor or several here. We will have to-” The man is cut off when the raven-haired child attempts to take a breath, and in doing so, moves just enough to cause the floorboard beneath her to creak. Both of the mysterious intruders fell silent, before advancing towards the table. The man raises his greave-protected right foot and uses it to kick the table back and out of the way, exposing the girl underneath as she flinches and quivers where she is, like a frightened mouse. With the table gone, she could at last see the faces of the two warriors, even partially-obscured by their helmets as they were. The woman bore a pale visage, blue eyes, and traces of golden hair could be seen at the edges of her helm, while the man was of darker complexion, with dark brown eyes and a stern expression - one growing ever more dour as he glares down at the raven-haired child. “A survivor indeed…” After a couple of uneasy moments pass by, the woman bends her knees and slowly lowers herself, her eyes focused on the frightened child in front of them. Adopting a smile in an attempt to ease the girl’s fears, she tries to talk to her. “Do not fear, we are not here to hurt you, child...are you alone? Is there anyone else here?” The girl does not answer, opting to instead remain silent. The Centurion reaches to his waist, his hand seizing hold of the hilt of his gladius, and begins to withdraw it from its scabbard - but he is stopped by the hand of the woman standing next to him, who is looking at him with an expression of horror. “Stop! What are you doing?!” The woman asked, glancing between the frightened girl and her superior. Keeping his eyes locked onto the shaking child, in case she were to try and run, he answers his subordinate with a cold, harsh tone. “You know the protocol, Tessarius. Any and all survivors within these villages are to be executed, lest they spread the disease elsewhere. Now, unhand me.” The Centurion’s voice takes on a threatening edge to it towards the end, as if daring the woman to continue to hold him back. “She is but a child! Ask the Lord-Chanter to-” ���Ask me to, what, Tessarius?” Another voice joined the fray, once more coming from the cabin’s doorway. This time, from a man wearing an odd combination of priestly robes and light, leather armor, adorned in the divine symbols of the Mother’s Chant and her holy Chantry. His hair, cut short in military fashion, was as pale as snow, his face featuring the wear that came with middle age. But it was his eyes, the piercing, all-knowing blues, that defined his visage. The Centurion raises his own voice to answer, violently shrugging off the woman’s grip as he did so. “Nothing, my Lord-Chanter. We will handle this situation promptly.” The man reassured the priest, his eyes fixating once more on the shaking child. But he does not get the chance to do as he promises, as the Lord-Chanter’s own response came immediately after. “Stay your blade, Centurion...the girl does not harbor the plague.” The reply came calmly, yet firm, as to dissuade any attempts to disagree or contest his assertion. The Centurion stays silent, staring hard at the raven-haired girl, before he briskly nods and removes his hand from the pommel of his gladius. “As you command, Lord-Chanter.” Waiting for a dismissive nod of the priest’s head, the Centurion then walks past him and back out into the village proper, barking more orders to his men with perhaps a hint of added heat to his words. The Lord-Chanter waits for his Centurion to pass him by, before he fully enters the cabin and looks down at the raven-haired child. His expression doesn’t shift, remaining as calm and stone-faced, but there is a glint of recognition in his blue stare. He then shifts his attention to the corpse laid out upon the nearby bed, and walks over to stand before it. For an uncomfortable period of time, the Lord-Chanter stares at the body, before he finally speaks once again. “Tessarius Tutor, was it?” The armored woman, nervous as she was, had waited to be addressed and directly dismissed, until the Lord-Chanter spoke to her. Swallowing, the woman places a fist against her chest and confirms. “Yes, Lord-Chanter. What do you require of me?” The Lord-Chanter does not turn to look at them, his eyes only for the body before him. But he continues, as authoritative as always. “You physically obstructed your superior from conducting his duty, before receiving orders to do so from someone of higher rank. Such behavior is unacceptable, and you will be chastised for it.” The Lord-Chanter informs, but before the trepidation grows too much, he proceeds. “For the time-being, as part of your punishment, you will be responsible for the child’s safekeeping. I trust you will fulfill this obligation to the fullest of your abilities.” The order came as a small surprise to the Tessarius, but she does not hesitate to respond in confirmation. “Yes, my Lord. I understand.” When the Lord-Chanter offers a single-worded dismissal, the woman turns back around to the child, still curled up on the floor and fearful. Crouching down, she kneels in front of the girl. “It is alright...you are in good hands.” She accentuates her words by extending both of her hands towards the girl for her to take, smiling. “Do you have a name…?” The raven-haired girl stares at the armored woman in front of her, blue eyes wide as they took in all of her features. Despite the intimidating attire the soldier in front of her wore, the face she bore was nothing but gentle. A welcoming, nurturing smile meant to instill some sense of ease in the traumatized child. Which, perhaps to both of their surprise, succeeded to some small degree as the girl shakily reached out to take both of the Tessarius’ hands. “...Valeria…” The child answered in a whisper. If the name came as a shock to the Lord-Chanter, he did not seem to show it, though the woman certainly seemed to find it a rather curious circumstance. “Valeria…? A lovely name. I am Justinia.” She introduces herself, gently squeezing the girl’s hands with her own, before she steadily works at bringing them both up onto their feet. “Now, come along...it is time we left.” The raven-haired girl hesitates, looking over to where the Lord-Chanter stood over the corpse of her mother. “...B-But…” “It is alright...Lord Camena will take care of her.” Justinia promises to the young Valeria, maintaining her hold on the girl’s hands before slowly beginning to lead them both out of the cabin, and onto the streets. Already, the Chantry’s soldiery had begun to set the village ablaze, the homes of dozens alight and billowing smoke upward to the sky. Justinia did not allow Valeria to linger, instead guiding her to the mount she owned, helping the child up onto the saddle, and then joining her soon after to trot away from the village. With the Tessarius’ arms wrapped around her, and the rocking of the beast’s movements, for the first time in days the young girl felt safe enough to finally shut her eyes. And within moments, she was out, lost to the blissful relief that was slumber… ...But that simply set the stage, did it not? Your life started as a unique Hell of its own. And it continued to be such, did it not? Until the very end. And even then, She did not let you find the rest you craved. No, She seems content to let you suffer. But perhaps that is alright. After all...we will be able to see each other again, very soon...

[alteredphoenix]

Untitled WoW/Jak and Daxter one-shot (WIP)(Belf!Jak/Nelf!Keira)

A/N: (Warning: very brief spoilers for the end of the Nya’lotha raid and 8.3 in the preview below, please be advised.)

I’ve never played Jak and Daxter. Growing up, at the height of the console wars, the only games I acquainted myself with were strictly from Nintendo and the PSX (my father was of the mindset that if you had to choose between the Gamecube, the PS2, and the Xbox, you were going stick with the one you got, no ifs, ands, or buts), so I never had the opportunity to try popular games such as Grand Theft Auto until I hit my early twenties.

But I love sci-fi mixed with my fantasy, and I love my elves that aren’t small and cute and are confined to shelves during the Christmas holiday season (and I refuse to believe the J&D cast are humans - not with ears like that) but are tall, lean, and ass-whooping killing machines. I also love WoW (if that isn’t plainly obvious), and J&D had been on my mind at work the past couple days, wondering if we will ever another game that clearly addresses what became of Gol and Maia Acheron 300 years later or a series reboot from Naughty Dog if they ever decide to get off their high horse regarding their stance on the inability to tell mature stories in an over-the-top cartoonish world.

So this is the first thing that came to mind, and I set about plunking away at this before my shift yesterday. There are other ideas I have in mind, but none as thorough as this: a one-shot in which the cast of J&D are reincarnated in Azeroth long after the events of The Lost Frontier. Here Jak is a blood elf and Keira a night elf with loose ties to the Horde and the Alliance, both of whom remember their past lives and meet again upon a chance encounter in Gadgetzan.

Obviously I don’t ship much if at all, but Jak/Keira is canon in-universe (although, from what I’ve seen of the occasional Jak II playthroughs I’ve watched on YouTube, I found Jak to have better chemistry with Ashelin over Keira) and, for this fic at least, I wasn’t about to reconsider given the context.

-

It feels like a thousand-thousand lifetimes before they realize where they are. What they are, after so much time spent together.

He’s the first to remember. For the man that had previously been Jak of House Mar, it happens long after the Scourge swept through Quel’Thalas, long after Lor’themar is made Regent-Lord and interregnum that is the Council of the Sun is hastily formed, right when the battles that’ll come to comprise the Blood War (“The Fourth War,” High Examiner Tae’thelan Bloodwatcher will remind him and everyone in a twenty yard radius with an indignant sniff) ends with N’Zoth’s demise in the realm of Nya’lotha.

He doesn’t call himself by the name his parents gave him at birth anymore. Even with the return of his memories, he still can’t recall if he ever learned he was truly the Mar of legend or a descendant meant to honor his namesake (for all the fat lot of good it did for him; the thought of Veger and Haven City burns bitter at the back of his throat). Perhaps it’s sheer coincidence, or a stroke of cosmic irony, to be called Marellius and his last name be Clearwater, bringing up memories of the tides that always broke over Sandover Village’s coasts, the ruins of the Precursor facility looming ominously on the horizon.

Marellius—Jak—takes a moment to appraise his coworkers as the morning crew punches out for the day and the second to third shifts are filing into the building, lunches and toolboxes in hand. There’s been a lot more talk than usual: word on the street has been making the rounds that Gallywix has been up to no good at Crapopolis and went on the run, presumably traipsing the world for wherever Sylvanas is currently holing up at. Gazlowe is gone, too, but for another reason: the leadership gathered at Orgrimmar have decided to make him Trade Prince, and they should like to have him present in Stormwind for when they will convene with King Anduin Wrynn and the Alliance to sign the peace treaty signaling the end of the war and the reparations the Horde must pay for the next several years. Steamwheedle and Marin Noggenfogger have the run of operations while he’s away, keeping security tight and inspecting everyone for signs of SI:7 saboteurs seeking to undermine them. Tae’thelan balks at them but doesn’t comment on it, focusing on overseeing that all their supplies are loaded onto the ship and the paperwork transactions have been double-checked for discrepancies and authenticity before handing them over to the quartermaster.

He blinks. They are not Reliquary archaeologists and researchers, but Underground scouts and operatives preparing to slink back into the shadows of Haven’s streets and raise some hell while he and Daxter (sometimes with Sig tagging behind them) take advantage of the chaos and hit up the next point of interest that has Krew’s eyes tinkling or Torn’s barely restrained bloodlust needs to be slaked. Those aren’t crates full of telescopes, shovels, picks, and other utility; they are filled with rifles, pistols, energy cells, vibro blades, scrap metal jacked from Metal Heads and Krimzon Guard junkyards on the edge of South Town. Those are not Tae’thalan Bloodwatcher and Cyrme Brightblade standing out on the docks but Torn and Ashelin, discussing not how to get lost in Gadgetzan’s streets but hitting the bongs, reminiscing about the old days before the world went to shit, and what they would do once Praxis was overthrown and they could rebuild Haven City into an image that would do its name justice.

Why me? Why am I here?

Could it be...I’m the only one that was reborn?

“Hey,” a voice calls. Then, more loudly, “Hey.”

Jak jolts with a start. “What?”

Fingers snap, causing him to look down. Reena Cogscrap stands before him, peering up at him intensely. “I said, are you ready to go? Last call just sounded. Better get on board, ‘less you wanna get left behind and your ass chewed by Belloc.”

“Oh. Alright. Thanks for letting me know.” He bends down to grab the toolbox he had set at his feet and adjusts a strap of his backpack, filled with his coin purse and books to take notes and sketches, that’s slipped over one shoulder.

When he gets back up, Reena is still there. “Come on,” he says, gesturing at the boat.

“That’s not like you, Mar.”

“What isn’t?”

“Staring off into space like that. You don’t do that sorta thing. You’re always moving around.” She shrugs, hands raised with palms up. “Get what I’m saying?”

“Yeah.”

“You worried we won’t make our quota?”

‘Quota’ being ‘how many newly unearthed artifacts can they pawn off to the highest bidder at the auction block before Remy Starminder and his merry band of sticks in the mud kick up another fuss about the philosophical differences of historical value and financial value’. The Big Three Families—the Grimy Goons, the Jade Lotus, and the Kabal—are going to be there, and Jak will be damned if they won’t try to rig the bids against the Cartel to funnel their own operations against each other. That means little to the High Examiner so long as they procure the artifacts that can be salvaged and shipped off to Silvermoon for restoration and – if Rommath can keep Lor’themar and the others distracted long enough – off-plane experiments, in the worst case scenario that the Alliance will break the armistice and plunge Azeroth into a crusade of kaldorei vengeance and human retribution. It also means little to Jak himself; the closest he’s gotten to participating in the war is doing smuggling runs for the Bilgewater Cartel in Ratchet under cover of night, and rarely did he ever have to club an Alliance marine cold before word got out. The paychecks were decent, a helluva lot better than what Krew could bother to give away from the comfort of his greasy paws, and that put food on the table at the meager little cottage on the coast of the Great Sea west of Fairbreeze Village. He needn’t involve himself anymore than that.

Jak shakes his head. “No. It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

He starts walking, molding himself among the crowd of Steamwheedle excavators and Reliquary knights heading for the ramp. “I was just thinking about the past.”

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 3: An Unexpected Journey

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: DRAMA, panic attacks, mentions of past death Relationships: Loki x Reader Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), OFC, Heimdall (Marvel) Additional Tags: Loki is Impatient, Loki is Kind Of A Jerk, Reader is Impertinent, Reader is Kind Of A Jerk. Hey Everybody Makes Mistakes Summary: Reader is afflicted with a mysterious illness that has slowly been killing her. Salvation comes, but the price is high.

“What are you doing here _____?”  Your manager demanded.  You flinched, and concentrated on looking healthy.  You knew you were failing, despite all the makeup you’d put on to hide your ill health. She marched right up to you and tried to take a box of frozen, unbaked sandwich roll dough out of your shaking hands. You held on as tightly as you could.

“I’ve gotta work.” You said, voice small and weak. “Gotta make my rent.”

“I didn’t schedule you today.” She said tersely. You shrugged.

“I traded with Anette.” You’d pleaded with Anette. You’d lied to Anette, told her you were feeling so much better. You weren’t, but you were pretty sure you would feel so much worse if you got evicted.

You were sick. You were too sick to be doing your job, honestly, but at least you weren’t contagious. No one knew what was wrong with you. You’d paid doctors way too much money, just for them to give you clashing diagnosis, and prescribe medicines you couldn’t afford.

You had finally gotten one to admit that they had no idea what was actually wrong with you, but you knew what was wrong. You had been inflicted with a slow, wasting death. You had grabbed a vengeful god by the hand, and intended to demand something of him. No wonder he had cursed you.

That’s what the thing on your hand was: a curse, branded into your skin, a punishment for your insolence. You had made Tara promise not to tell anyone what had actually happened back in the tower, and whenever anyone asked about it, you just told them you had gotten very drunk when you were in New York, and had decided to get a body modification. Your manager didn’t care about it, since it was so easily covered up by the gloves you were required to wear.

What she did care about, was your dropping performance, and your failing health. Working in a bakery, even a tiny, grocery store bakery, required a certain amount of vigilance and effort, and over the past six months, you had slowly lost your grip on both of those things. Much like you were losing your grip on the box of frozen dough.

You set the box down on the counter, and began arranging the dough on a large sheet pan. You only dropped a few of them, and none of those hit the floor. Your manager followed you, hands on her hips.

“_____, I can’t allow this. You are definitely still sick. Both HR and the Health Department will be down on me like a ton of bricks if I let you work when you’re sick like this.”

“I can stand, and I can use my hands.” You protested. “What more do you need?”

“A competent worker!” She snapped. You knew it was only frustration. She liked you as much as a manager was allowed. She wouldn’t fire you for this, since you hadn’t done anything against the rules. But corporate might fire you, if you missed any more shifts on account of being sick.

Beyond the looming threat of homelessness and not being able to pay your bills, the loss of your job would spell the loss of your last remaining anchor to other human beings. Tara checked up on you when she could, and sent you texts every day, but she had her own job and her own life. Your father, likewise, still had to travel a lot for his own job. When you turned to your online communities for help with understanding what had happened to you, they quickly came together to discover that the man you had grabbed in the tower was none other than the outcast Asgardian prince, Loki, the scourge of New York, an extremely controversial figure who, five years ago, had tried to take over the world. He led an alien army into New York and caused terrible death and destruction. Now, he showed up more and more often in Avengers custody. Some surmised that it was some kind of rehabilitation program, especially now that Asgard was being rebuilt in Iceland.

You hadn’t known any of these things, and you didn’t get much chance to learn more. Considering you compromised, the communities had banned you, and blocked you entirely. Finding communities that were more friendly to the idea of Loki was no walk in the park either; most of those catered to a particular type of person you considered pretty damn creepy. They didn’t have what you needed, but they did have lots of…desires. And pictures, so at least you’d been able to confirm that the man from the tower was indeed Loki, brother of Thor.

So now you were nearly alone, your only reliable point of contact was your job, and you might be on the brink of losing that as well. That would leave the rest of your presumably short life with nothing but the torment of your dreams.

That was part of the curse, these terrible dreams. They stole your strength and haunted your waking hours, always the same. There was a soft, velvety darkness that you wanted so badly to sink into. It was rest, glorious rest. It was gentleness, stillness, quiet and peace. It was everything your body and mind desperately wanted. And he was there to deny you, every night he denied you that peace. He dragged you away from that welcoming darkness, fought to keep you from its hypnotic draw. He would never let you rest, like a demon, slowly draining you of your strength and health. He bore the mark he had inflicted you with, flaunting it like an insult to you.

You wished you could go back, wished you could apologize.  That you could tell him you simply hadn’t recognized him with his hair grown out, without the armor, without the horns. Without the alien invaders. You hadn’t meant any offence.

You also wished you could yell. Scream your anger and swing your fists. A little touch on the hand was no reason to do this to someone! You were just an ordinary woman who had made a small mistake. You didn’t deserve this! If you ever saw him again, you’d give him proper cause to curse you.

You heard a sound then, like a freight truck barreling down a street too small for it, like a hurricane wind. You shouldn’t be able to hear any of those things this far inside the building. The world trembled, and a burst of brightness outshone even the neon lights.

“The hell was that?” Your manager demanded. “Ladies, are you okay?” You and your coworkers chimed in with soft affirmatives. “Okay. We need to stay put and-“

The sound of screams began floating back from the entrance of the store.

“Nevermind.” She said. “Get to the back room, and out the emergency exit. Stay together.”

She led the little group of you out between the displays of cinnamon rolls and cornbread, all of you crouching low. Your hand ached, as if the mark was being pulled from inside. That couldn’t be a good sign. Nothing had made it react before, not for months and months, not since the initial cursing.

The world around you seemed to lose some of its reality. Everything moved slowly. You felt hot. There was a loud, heavy throbbing in your head, and you collapsed against a stand full of cupcakes, unable to stand by yourself any longer.

So this was how it ended. You finally pushed too hard, and now this sickness was going to claim you among the cupcakes. You never thought you would die at work, but at least this way your body wouldn’t molder in your little apartment for a week, before Tara or your father finally found you.

“_____, what are you doing?” Your manager hissed, and took your hand. Agony shot up your arm, drawing a rough cry from you. “Oh my god, _____, are you okay? Come on, we’ve got to go!”

One of your coworkers screamed. You propped yourself up on one elbow and looked where she was pointing, terrified of what you might see.

He strode purposefully out of the produce section, and your world plunged into frigid horror.

Foreign armor. Dark leather and gleaming metal, just like all the footage you had watched, over and over again.

No.

Shining golden horns, curving a foot above his forehead, the silhouette unmistakable.

No.

The entire loss prevention department surrounded him, shouting, but unable to do anything. They weren’t equipped to deal with anybody more dangerous than the occasional shoplifter, not this. This was never supposed to happen. He pushed right passed them, paying no attention. His eyes locked on yours, wearing the smile of a demon.

No!

Your manager tugged your hand urgently, sending spikes of pain up your arm, causing you to collapse further. Cupcakes scattered as you hit the floor. From this vantage point, he looked even bigger, some kind of giant, impossible to stop.

Your manager released your hand and ran, just as he reached down and hauled you to your feet. You couldn’t even find it in you to be mad at her for abandoning you. She had kids at home. You had no one.

Besides, he had you in his grip now. You were beyond saving.

As he set you back to standing, the fever clouding your brain began to clear and strength returned to your limbs. You drew a deep breath, and it was like expelling sickness from your lungs. You felt almost good. Even with your coworkers retreating as fast as they could, with screaming customers rushing past, with Loss Prevention shouting and trying to assure you that everything was going to be okay, and standing in the far too strong grasp of the entire planet’s number one enemy, you felt better than you had in half a year.

“Ah, there it is.” He murmured, still completely ignoring all the shouting and demands. “Looks like I was right.”

You turned slowly to look up at him, stared him straight in the eyes. They looked so normal.

Then you smashed the heel of your palm upwards into his nose with all of your returned strength.

His head did not snap back, his nose did not break, his grip on you did not loosen in the least. He did look just a little surprised, but nothing else that was supposed to happen, happened. You really shouldn’t have given up your self-defense courses. But you hadn’t been able to afford them, and could they really teach you how to fight a god anyway?

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment you thought your head was going to roll. Then he burst into derisive laughter.

“Oh! She has spirit!” He exclaimed. “Not much common sense, though. Disappointing.”

“Not here to impress you!” You began to struggle, now that you knew you could. He wrapped one arm around your throat and pulled you flat against him.

“Heimdall.” He called, a word you didn’t recognize. It must have been some kind of magic, because seconds later, a flash of multicolored light blinded you, and a feeling of weightless set your stomach twisting.

For a few seconds your world was flight and light, then the sky seemed to spit you out onto a wide green field.

“Hmph.” He grunted. “Too far north again. We really must get that fixed.”

You saw men in the distance, one approaching at great speed. Loki swore quietly and released you. You dashed immediately. You heard him swear again, but only pushed yourself faster. You could see a river just a few dozen yards away, and you were a very good swimmer.

“Not that way!” He shouted, not far enough behind you as far as you were concerned. No way were you going to stop.

The ground beneath your feet gave way, toppling you forward. Within moments you were engulfed in sucking, freezing mud. What the hell was this? Quicksand? Quickmud? A National Geographic in the doctor’s office spoke of bog mummies found in Europe, but there was nothing like that in Iowa. Just where were you now?

Loki dragged you out of the mud before you could sink entirely, just as someone bellowed his name behind you.

“Oh good. You’re here. A proper welcoming party.” He said evenly in the face of his enraged brother. “I assume Heimdall tattled?”

“Loki, what have you done?” Thor demanded. “I told you to wait! Just a few days! You really couldn’t give it just a few days?”

“There was no time!” He argued. “She was dying when I found her. Tell him.” He shoved you forward. You tried to run for it again, but he caught you before you got more than a few steps. Taking you solidly by the shoulders, he leaned down and looked you right in your mud-smeared face.

“If you try to run again, I will let the land devour you.” He threatened.

“Went to a lot of trouble to kidnap me, just to let me die.” You snapped.

He sneered. “I’ve been known to change my mind on less than a whim.”

You looked at Thor, who shrugged slightly as if to say it was certainly possible. But Thor would help you, wouldn’t he? He would save you from this monster. Wouldn’t he?

Then why wasn’t he doing it?

“Please.” You pleaded quietly. Thor did nothing.

Loki took your chin in one hand and turned your head back to him.

“No.” He said. “You don’t look at him. You look at me, and you listen. You were mere steps from death, and I have saved you. Twice.” He wiped some of the mud from your cheek, shaking it off his fingers with obvious distaste.

“You’re the one who did this to me!” You shouted.

“I did not throw you into that bog.” He said.

“No, but you brought me here! And you cursed me in the first place!” You were aware that you shouldn’t be yelling at someone who was pretty much holding all of the cards, but one of Earth’s mightiest heroes was just right there, and he would help you eventually.

“I did no such thing-“ He began.

“Bullshit! You burned my hand back in the Avenger’s Tower, just because I touched you! And I’m sorry for that, but you went way overboard, cursing me with a slow death and constant nightmares like that! There was no call to go that far!”

He looked taken off guard for just one moment. “Nightmares? They were nightmares to you?”

“You didn’t even tell her what was going on, did you?” Thor accused. “Do you have any idea how much heat we are going to take for this?”

“You knew?” You shouted at him. “You knew he was doing this?”

Thor shook his head. “No, I was only just notified-“

“And the tower?” You continued. “When he cursed me, why didn’t you do anything?”

“It’s not a curse!” Loki protested. “Look, it’s on me too.” He held out his hand, but you completely ignored him.

“You were just letting me die! You were there when it happened, you saw it happen, and you didn’t even check to see what was going on!” Your temper was completely enflamed; you were shouting in the faces of gods. It was idiotic, but once you had started, half a year of stress and pain and fear came boiling out and you couldn’t stop. Loki was still trying to say something, but your anger was loud in your ears, drowning him out. “I know you don’t know me, but isn’t handling him part of your job? You brought him back here, you let him back onto the world. Why are you just standing there? Why haven’t you done anything to save me from this monster?”

Your voice rang over the field as your words reached their end, all of the bile poured out. They were both just looking at you while you caught your breath. A tiny trickle of worry wormed into your chest. You’d gone too far, hadn’t you? There had to be some kind of reason Thor hadn’t swooped in to rescue you. He was a king, he had so much to do. You were some nobody from the middle of nowhere. Insignificant. Regret grew behind the worry.

“I’m sorry-“ You began. Loki’s hand cupped your cheek; very gently snaked around to cradle the back of your head. Your breath caught. No one had touched you like that in years.

Then you saw the ice in his eyes, felt his fingers clench in your hair, and it snapped you right out of it.

“I have shared in your suffering.” He said. “You aren’t alone in this.” The words would have been comforting, if they hadn’t been said in such a threatening tone. If he hadn’t been wrenching your hair. “You have struck me.  You have disrespected me. You have insulted me and my family. Now you will listen to me. This-“ He held his right palm in front of your face, displaying the exact same mark you had. “-is an unknown affliction. I did not curse you with it. What fool would cast a curse that affected himself as well? That draining poison that stole your strength did the same to me. Ask him. He saw it happening.”

He turned your head forcibly to look at Thor, who held his hands up. “Okay, let’s calm down now. Brother, be careful.”

“You felt stronger the instant I touched you, didn’t you? Yes, you did. Strong enough to fight. Strong enough to run. When I first saw you, you could no longer stand on your own, and now look at you. Throwing tantrums in the faces of gods. That was me, that was because I came and rescued you. There was no time to explain. You were going to die, right there among your baked goods. I prevented that from happening.”

You tried to shake your head, but his grip was too tight. He felt it though.

“You need more proof? What about this then? What happens when I do this?” He took your marked hand in his, again seeming gentle, except for the fact that you could not move away.

The instant your bare palms came into contact, you felt the mark react. Like flipping a switch to power up a generator, a buzz of power rushed up your arm, trailing glowing runes in its wake. Just like back in the tower, you felt rooted to the spot, though Loki pulled you forward to press his forehead against yours, to get right into your personal space. Runes coursed over his cheek, infected his eye with their glow. The sight in your left eye became blurry, and you knew it was happening to you again too. It didn’t hurt this time, but it was overwhelming. A feeling of being filled up, like having too much blood, like your skin was too tight, and you needed to shed it. It robbed you of sense, of any thought other than getting out of your binding skin and becoming bigger than you ever had before.

“Do you feel that?” He asked through labored breaths. “I knew the instant I touched you that proximity was key. Too far apart for too long, and our lives drain away. But close up, we revitalize each other.” You saw light escape his mouth, unable to be contained even by him. It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying now, unfamiliar power overtaking your mind. You were shaking uncontrollably by now, your heart hammering your ribs.

“Enough, Loki!” Thor grabbed him by the shoulder to pull him away. “She can’t take this! Let go!”

Loki was drawn away from you, but kept tight hold on your hand, fingers laced with yours.

“Not until she understands!” He snarled. But Thor again took your wrists, and fully separated you.

You tumbled to the ground, groaning and nearly senseless. Thor wrapped his arms tightly around his brother, partly to hold him up, and partly to hold him back. He was scolding Loki fiercely, though you could barely make out the words. You lay back on the grass and let the world spin around you.

Moments passed, and then Thor knelt beside you.

“I am so sorry about this.” He said, scooping you up, and handing you over to Loki, who carried you effortlessly, despite your being dead weight. “You were not supposed to arrive here this way. But you were in danger, and we are going to take care of you. And Loki isn’t going to do that again, is he?”

Loki grimaced, but nodded. “I might have gone a bit overboard. Might. But if this thing is a curse, it affects me as well. I will get to the bottom of it. Until then, yes, we will ‘take care’ of you. I suppose it’s only fair.”

“Could you have said that any more ominously?”  Thor asked.

“What? What did I say? I just agreed with you, what’s wrong with that?”

“Did you have to say it like a looming supervillain?”

“Thor, I am carrying her, I can’t not loom.”

“You are carrying her like you’re on your way to drop her on some railroad tracks.”

“I’m sorry, are you carrying her? Because it looks to me like I am the one carrying her. Do you want to carry her?”

“I think I can walk.” You spoke up. They certainly bickered like ordinary siblings.

“Are you sure?” Thor asked. You hesitated, then shook your head. While being in contact with Loki did make you feel better, your legs still felt like jelly, and you were definitely still dizzy from all that light being inside you.

“Was that magic?” You asked. Your voice felt small and far away. “Is that what magic is?”

“It was a kind of magic.” Loki said slowly. “Either very old, or very new. Or perhaps very obscure. It feels familiar, but I can’t quite place it yet.”

“Why is it trying to kill us?”

“I don’t think it is.” He explained. “Rather, I don’t think it has a motivation. I don’t think it had a mind. It’s just something that exists, and there are consequences for interacting with it, however inadvertently. I don’t think you are to blame for this, and for once, I don’t think I am either. Until proven otherwise, I am going to be treating this as a coincidence that we just have to deal with.

But I believe it’s abundantly clear that we have to stay in the same area at least. Hopefully not touching all the time; that would be terribly inconvenient for the both of us. But not far apart. And since, as you might imagine, I can’t go traipsing all over Midgard-I have duties, you know-“

“And a hel of a reputation.” Thor interjected. Loki glared.

“Yes, and that. Because of those things, it is you who had to come here. If there had been time, I would have simply showed up at your home and tried to talk it out with you. But there was no time.”

“You had six months.” You pointed out. “And you’re just figuring this out now? You had that mark the whole time, and you never wondered what it was?”

Loki pursed his thin lips. You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or amused.

“Tell me, do you live a busy life?” He asked.

“Well…I work a lot. Or at least, I did. I worked as much as I could. I needed every shift possible, just to get by, especially when I had to start going to the doctors.”

“Mhm. I co-rule an entire nation that is attempting to rebuild itself from scratch. I am busy. The mark was a curiosity, the sickness was inconvenient, but I had much more important things to do with my time.”

“Oh.” You said, and went quiet for a time.

They finally approached the other man you had seen in the distance, the one who hadn’t moved at all. He stood on a small, stone pavilion, gazing out into the distance. He looked even taller than your escorts, dark skinned, wearing warm brown leathers and an ornate bronze helmet with flanges in the shape of a crescent moon. Asgardians seemed to have a thing for elaborate headwear.

Before him was a large sword, partly buried in an odd contraption unlike anything you had ever seen before. He glanced at you with the kindest and most beautiful eyes you had seen all day.

“She is a guest.” Loki said as he passed.

“I know this looks incredibly shady, but-“ Thor began.

“I will let you know when they are coming.” The man said in a deep, even voice. Thor thanked him, then hurried after his brother, who hadn’t waited.

Loki crested a low hillock, and the skeleton of a city came into view. Even from here, you could see teams of builders at work, their construction efforts kicking up clouds of dust. From the looks of it, the place was eventually going to be huge, but for now, it was little more than foundations.

It was interesting to look at. You’d never seen an embryonic city before.

“Welcome to Asgard.” Thor said. “It’s a bit of a work in progress, but we’ll find a place for you.”

“I’ve already got one.” Loki said. “It just needs to be properly refurnished.”

You felt much better now, though your wet, muddy clothes were getting very cold. All the construction made you a bit apprehensive, especially all that dust. This was kind of like enemy territory you were being brought into. If you went inside, would you ever come back out?

“I’m pretty sure I can stand now.” You said. If you were going in, it should be on your own two feet. Loki obligingly set you down.  “Um, my name is _____.” You said. It was likely that they already knew who you were, but control of your own name demonstrated what small personal power you still had.

“Pleased to meet you.” Thor said. “Stay close to us, and don’t stray. Security doesn’t know you yet.”

You did as he said, but you still felt vulnerable with so many eyes on you. Of course people would stop and look if their rulers came strolling down the street. And they did attract attention; Loki with his shining horns, Thor with his resplendent cape. And you, sandwiched between, tiny in comparison, wearing a mud-drenched, company issue uniform that had always fit you poorly. Function was far more important than fashion in your line of work. But the people still stared.

Asgardians came in a surprising range of colors and features, but they were all pretty tall compared to you. They wore unfamiliar fashions, and some were carrying loads that you were sure a regular human couldn’t handle. They looked human, but they weren’t the same as you.

Construction continued all around you; even the roads were unfinished. You were led along the only areas that were fully constructed, workers rushing to and fro all around you. They all stared, especially the kids, many of whom seemed to be trying to help out with the building. You didn’t know how legal that was, but maybe child labor laws were different in Asgard. Or maybe they just needed every available hand, or had no concept of babysitters.

An adolescent girl energetically sweeping up construction debris sent a large cloud of dust into the street. It enveloped the three of you, and suddenly, you were no longer there.

You were back in Iowa, in a Summer drier than you could remember. The cornfields were dead for miles around, the destruction on such a massive scale that it had actually lowered the ambient humidity of the area. The town was mostly empty, streets choked with dust that stirred at the slightest breeze. You couldn’t breathe the dust.

You held your breath, lips pressed tightly together, heart speeding. You’d stopped walking, and someone was talking to you, but these were not your neighbor’s voices. You didn’t know them. The dust hadn’t settled. You couldn’t breathe the dust.

Panic beginning to rise, you frantically searched your soiled shirt for some patch of cloth that wasn’t soaked in mud. You held it over your mouth and nose, carefully trying to breathe through it. You couldn’t breathe the dust!

The dust used to be people.

A strong hand grasped your arm and dragged you out of the cloud. You looked into the face of a murderer and yelped in fear. The dust, a killer, an unfamiliar place…

“What’s wrong with you? Are you feeling sick again?” Concern over your wellbeing?

“The dust.” You choked out. Where were you? “The dust. Don’t breathe the dust. Cover your mouth, don’t breathe the dust. Please don’t kill me. Everybody’s already gone. Stay away from the dust.”

“What are you talking about?” A demand. You couldn’t answer.

“What’s going on? Look, she’s having some kind of fit.”

“We’re almost there, get her inside. Get her out of the dust.”

The Scourge of New York led you along, you couldn’t tell how far, but by the time they had brought you inside, you had started to calm down and remember your situation.

“S-s-sorry.” You said, still trembling. “I-I’m just overwhelmed.” It was clear from their faces that neither of them believed you.

“Just come along.” Loki commanded. “You need to bathe.”

You wouldn’t remember the corridors or the rooms, but you would remember the bath. It was bigger than any bathtub you had ever seen, and it was set into the floor.

How were you going to explain this? Tell them you had a phobia of dust? Would they buy that?

You sank into the bath and tried to let it wash you away.

[thehighladyofasgard]

Old Flame - Five

Summary: Tony Stark has finally gotten over Pepper Potts. He finds himself on the receiving end of the same treatment he subjected his lovers to over the years when he is smitten with a mysterious 19 year old college student. Tony is determined to find out her secrets but will he be able to handle it when he does?

Characters: Female Reader, Baron Zemo, Everett Ross

Word Count: 998

Warning: Violence and suggested death

A/N: When I initially wrote Part 5 on Saturday I didn’t like the direction that the story was going to go in so I scrapped the whole thing and wrote this one. Tony is back in the next chapter, people! If you want me to tag you please drop me a message! Buckle up and Enjoy!

Part 1  Part 2 Part 3  Part 4

The trickiness wasn’t in making it look like an accident. No, you could have easily managed that. It was getting Ross alone. Zemo had warned you about the two guards who were constantly at his side but he failed to mention the guards in civilian clothing that patrolled each floor under the pretense of going to the vending machine or getting ice. This was probably his idea of a surprise…

You snuck in through the delivery entrance at the back of the hotel and cut through the kitchen to find yourself climbing the emergency stairwell all the way up to the tenth floor. On your way, you got into the staff locker room and changed into a waitress uniform to blend in.

No wonder Ross brought a small army to protect himself, the security at this hotel sucked!

You hid in the service hallway of the tenth-floor, fidgeting with the collar of the waitress uniform; high neck blouses weren’t really your thing but you didn’t have the time to ponder over fashion choices. Two more guards arrived and stationed themselves outside Ross’ door before his usual henchmen escorted him downstairs. Shortly after Ross left for the spa, the two guards pulled out a pocket radio and tuned in to the Knicks game. The team were down by ten points and from the painful groans and curses coming from the hallway, the guards were about to lose a good sum of money.

“Room service, fellas!” You announced, appearing in the hallway empty-handed and they turned around with annoyed expressions.

“No one ordered any room service here!” The larger of the two snorted and his already puffy face began to redden with irritation. You ignored him and reached for the door handle when the second guard hit the back of your hand with a baton. “Where is your cart?” The first guard demanded. You took a step back, holding your hands up innocently and chuckled,

“Huh, didn’t think you would’ve caught that!” He was growing redder by the second, if that was even possible! He gestured for the other guard to call for backup but just as he reached for his walkie-talkie you kicked it into the air and caught it with one hand. The first guard growled and lunged at you but you ducked low and landed a solid punch in the second one’s side, undoubtedly fracturing a rib or two. He bellowed and doubled over with pain while you turned back towards the first guard. He tried to grab you again but you were too quick.

You made short work of knocking the two of them out. However, dragging them into Ross’ suite was harder than you thought. You managed to get the second guard in easily but the first guard only made it over the threshold when you heard Ross return from his soak. This wasn’t going to plan! You had to improvise!

You left the first guard in the doorway and ducked between the ice and vending machine with bated breath. The guards ran towards the suite in perfect, ahead of Ross who hung back, alone.

Dumb move.

You peeped around the corner at the guards who were sweeping his suite. When you were certain that they were occupied, you came up behind Ross and dragged him into the elevator.

He didn’t come quietly; he kicked and he flailed hitting a few buttons in the process. The elevator began to move and you immediately slammed on the red button to stop it. “Secretary Ross, we need to talk!” You spoke gravely before pushing him away from you. You immediately leapt into the air and lifted the roof panel off the elevator to expose the harness cable before restarting the elevator. The original harnesses were attached to the elevator, thankfully! Your plan depended on it…

Everett Ross was a hobbit-like man with mousy blonde hair and thin lips but had an air of confidence about him that intimidated most people. Ross opened his mouth to spit out some threat or the other but you gestured to the blinking floor numbers. “Mr. Secretary, this elevator – thanks to its original pulley system – takes about forty-five seconds to travel between floors that means you have less than five minutes before we reach the fifth floor and I shoot that harness to send this elevator plunging to the ground, resulting in your instantaneous death so I suggest you choose your words wisely.” You revealed the 9mm you had swiped from the guard and cocked it. Ross remained silent which you took as a sign to keep speaking. “I have a proposition for you, reject it and I shoot that harness and you die!” Ross looked at the decreasing floor numbers. “So… there’s only one way you’re walking out of here alive, sir.” You had reached floor seven. Realizing his predicament, Ross sighed in defeat.

“I’m listening…”

Zemo was strumming his fingers on the steering wheel two blocks away when he heard the blaring siren of the ambulance as it sped past him. He uneasily glanced into the rear-view mirror every now and again until finally he saw you striding towards the car. He looked at you expectantly as you climbed in and sighed in relief at the warmth. It had grown bitterly cold as the clock approached one a.m.

“What happened?” He demanded, turning towards you. You rubbed your hands together and inhaled sharply,

“There was a tragic elevator accident at the Empire Hotel which resulted in the untimely death of one Everett Ross.” You confirmed before biting on your knuckles. Zemo smiled and handed you a brown paper bag from Bouchon.

Zemo didn’t bother to hang around the hotel any and headed towards your apartment without another word. You would steal glances of him out of the corner of your eye occasionally but kept your gaze directed out the window at the shop lights. Only one thought circled your mind:

Did you just make the biggest mistake of your life?

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

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