#life on sakaar

[nostalgia-tblr]

but what will i do now i dont have to look up obscure shite about anglo-saxons to then not put it in the fic anyway???

[the-mjolnir-owner]

If ur the strongest avenger then why did tony say we have a hulk instead of we have a thor

"He can't pay my price. As for the poor Hulk, I don't even know if he's getting paid. Probably not, considering his lame clothing style."

[magnagaruzenmon]

A Day to remember

Introduction The world changed forever the day the Hulk returned from space. But it wasn’t Bruce Banner, the brilliant scientist, who came back. No, all that was left was the Hulk—a relentless, unstoppable force of nature. Hardened and empowered after years among the stars, he brought with him the strength and knowledge of not just one, but four planets: Sakaar, planet Kree, Spartax, and Planet Skrull. This unparalleled combination of might and resources allowed him to launch a swift and devastating campaign to claim Earth as his own. It wasn’t just a victory—it was a conquest.

And so, the Hulk crowned himself Champion-King of Earth.

One of his first acts was to deal with the Illuminati, the secret cabal of Earth’s most brilliant and powerful minds who once sent him into exile. With the exception of Black Panther, the Hulk exiled the Illuminati and their allies—including my parents—to a so-called “idyllic paradise” somewhere off-world. It seemed like justice in his eyes, though it left Earth in an unprecedented state of transition. One day, I had human neighbors. The next, I was surrounded by Sakaarans, Kree refugees, and even a mutant or two. Earth wasn’t just Earth anymore. It was a crossroads for the galaxy.

Surprisingly, despite the terrifying aura of power he radiated, the Hulk turned out to be a capable and, dare I say, effective ruler. Crime plummeted, and the economy soared as he forged strong intergalactic trade and alliances with the new empires of Asgard and Wakanda. Life on Earth became both unrecognizable and…stable.

But that stability is about to be shaken again. Hulk has just announced a new tradition: the Gladiatorial Tournament of Champions. This brutal competition will determine Earth’s Realm Champions, the individuals he deems worthy of ruling specific territories under his reign. Each champion represents a distinct region of Earth, acting as both its protector and enforcer of the Hulk’s rule.

Here’s how it breaks down: • Wolverine oversees Canada and Alaska. • Steve Rogers rules the United States, Puerto Rico, Cuba, Costa Rica, Haiti, and the rest of Central America. • Namor dominates South America and Antarctica. • M’Baku holds Africa. • Shang-Chi governs all of Asia. • Devil Dinosaur and Skaar share dominion over Australia. • Doctor Doom controls Europe…when he’s not busy running his own intergalactic empire (it’s complicated).

And now, the tournament will determine the newest champions—or perhaps, challengers to their thrones. The stakes are high, the rules unclear, and the competition fierce. In this world reshaped by gamma-fueled ambition and intergalactic alliances, it’s anyone’s guess who will rise—and who will fall.

Reassemble TJ was surprised by how few had shown up to apply for the Realm Champion Tournament. Out of the vast expanse of the Gamma Force Empire, only 64 participants stood ready to compete. For an event of such magnitude, the hall of ceremonies felt oddly intimate, though the grandeur of the setting made up for the lack of numbers.

Golden chandeliers bathed the room in a warm glow, their light reflecting off walls lined with intergalactic banners—each one a symbol of the Hulk’s reign. The crowd was a mix of the famous, the powerful, and the curious. TJ recognized a few familiar faces from both legend and pop culture: Venom, towering and menacing but oddly polite; Luna Snow, the Korean pop idol turned superhero; Dazzler, the timeless mutant songstress; and a collection of idols, including Wonyoung and Yujin from IVE and Hanni from NewJeans. The blend of celebrity and power was overwhelming, but TJ—despite his less affluent upbringing and humble attire—moved through the procession with unexpected ease.

When people approached him, he introduced himself calmly and confidently. “Tiberius,” he said, his voice steady, “but you can call me Tibby. I’m one of the contestants.”

There was something magnetic about him, a palpable charm that made even the most skeptical faces soften. He listened attentively, asked genuine questions, and exuded a warmth that drew others in. It wasn’t intentional, but a few of the women couldn’t help but look a little flustered as they spoke to him.

For an hour and a half, Tibby navigated the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and learning names. But as the Master of Ceremonies stepped onto the elevated dais at the front of the hall, the atmosphere shifted.

“Contestants, it is time for your introductions,” the voice boomed, silencing the room.

One by one, the 64 fighters were named, and their achievements and titles were announced with a flourish. Most were unremarkable to Tibby, but a few stood out: • Lucion, a cybernetic warrior from Latveria, is rumored to have ties to Doctor Doom. • Leviathan, a towering Atlantean gladiator with a cold, unreadable demeanor. • Momotaro, a swordsman from Japan, clad in armor said to be enchanted by Asgardian forges. • Praetorius, a mysterious figure veiled in shadow, whose reputation as a mercenary preceded him.

And finally, Tibby. Though his name lacked the weight of the others, murmurs rippled through the crowd, many remembering the impression he had already made. By now, “Tibby” was on more than a few lips, and the nickname had stuck.

The Master of Ceremonies gestured to a row of ornate cups lined on a silver tray, each adorned with a symbol representing the Hulk’s empire.

“Champions,” he announced, “step forward and claim your Champion’s Cup. Within this drink lies a blend of the synthetic Heart-Shaped Herb, Asgardian blood rites, and a precise mixture of potions and medicines. Together, they will elevate you to a level worthy of this tournament.”

Unbeknownst to the contestants, the concoction was more than just a power booster. It was preparation—for a brutal process known only to the Empire’s inner circle as The Culling.

Tibby stepped forward and took his cup, examining the shimmering liquid inside before raising it to his lips. Around him, others did the same. The hall erupted into cheers and applause as each contestant drank, sealing their fate.

With the ceremony concluded, the party began in earnest. Music filled the air, laughter echoed, and the contestants mingled freely with the crowd. But Tibby had never been one for celebration before the victory. Quietly, he slipped away from the festivities, weaving through the throng toward the exit.

He almost made it.

As he turned a corner, Tibby’s path was blocked by a massive green figure. He froze, his heart skipping a beat. The Hulk stood before him, radiating power. His gaze was unreadable, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the corridor.

Tibby swallowed hard, unsure of what to say.

“Well,” the Hulk rumbled, his voice like distant thunder. “Where do you think you’re going, Champion?”

Tibby stood face-to-face with the Champion King, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe he could match the Hulk’s strength, but he didn’t cower. Instead, he stood firm, holding his ground with a mixture of respect and resolve.

“I was heading home,” Tibby said evenly, his voice steady despite the fear flashing in his eyes. “Parties aren’t really my thing—especially before I’ve won anything.”

Hulk raised an eyebrow, surprised by the man’s candor. Most who stood before him either groveled or puffed themselves up with false bravado. This one, though? He spoke with sincerity. The Champion King regarded him with a faint smirk.

“You’ve got guts,” Hulk rumbled, his voice like distant thunder. “Few people would talk to me that way. But there’s one more rite you need to complete before you leave.”

Tibby hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Lead the way.”

Hulk turned and began walking, his heavy footsteps echoing through the grand hall. Tibby followed, his nerves fraying with each step as they entered a glowing laboratory with a massive circular chamber at its center. The room hummed with energy, the air thick with the scent of ozone and sterilizing agents.

Hulk gestured toward the chamber. “This is the Culling Machine. It’s a tool we use to help contestants prepare. It simulates ten thousand years of forced evolution, compressing what would take eons into minutes. It’ll speed up your development and put you on par with the other fighters.”

Tibby stared at the chamber, his stomach twisting. This wasn’t what he’d signed up for. He thought of stepping back, walking out of the lab, and leaving the tournament behind. But then images of his past flooded his mind: the ridicule, the doubts, the dismissive sneers from the so-called geniuses of the Illuminati, and the whispered taunts of those who told him he’d never make it on his own.

Clenching his fists, he stepped forward, his eyes blazing with a cold fury. He couldn’t let them be right.

Hulk watched with quiet admiration as Tibby approached the chamber. For the second time that night, this contestant had surprised him. As Tibby entered the machine, Hulk closed the door and prepared the controls.

“Brace yourself,” Hulk warned as he pressed a series of buttons. “This is gonna hurt.”

The machine roared to life, flooding the chamber with a brilliant, almost blinding light. Tibby’s body was enveloped in its glow, and at first, everything seemed to go as expected. But then something went wrong.

Tibby’s skeleton began to glow, a fiery orange radiating from within as if his very bones were on fire. His skin bubbled and reformed, his body tearing itself apart and reassembling over and over. Each cycle was accompanied by flashes of pain and primal screams that sent a chill even through the Hulk’s hardened spine.

“WHAT THE HELL?” Hulk muttered, his massive hand hovering over the emergency shutoff. But he hesitated—Tibby was surviving. Somehow.

The machine’s timer finally reached zero, and the chamber powered down. The door slid open with a hiss, and Tibby stumbled out, his legs barely holding him upright. Steam rose from his body, and his skin flickered with faint traces of scales. His eyes glowed briefly before fading back to normal.

Hulk steadied him with one massive hand. “You good, kid?”

Tibby coughed, then nodded weakly. “Define… good.”

The Champion King let out a rare, deep laugh. “Fair enough. Let’s get you checked out.”

Hulk carried Tibby to the medical bay, where his advisors and doctors hurriedly ran tests. It didn’t take long for them to uncover the truth: Tibby’s X-gene—his mutant ability—had been dormant until now. The Culling Machine had triggered its activation, but instead of settling into one stable form, his mutation was in a constant state of flux, his body forever evolving.

“The only thing that seems consistent,” one of the doctors explained, “is that under stress, his mutation pushes him into a dragon-like form. Beyond that… well, it’s unpredictable.”

Tibby sat on the edge of the medical bed, his mind racing. A dragon? That wasn’t what he’d expected when he signed up for this tournament. But as he flexed his hands, feeling the latent power coursing through his veins, he realized he didn’t feel fear. He felt ready.

Hulk crossed his arms, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You’re full of surprises, Tibby. This might just get interesting.”

The festivities were in full swing, the grand hall alive with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Beneath the glittering chandeliers, contestants, dignitaries, and spectators mingled, each with their own agendas. At the center of it all stood Momotaro, the clear favorite to win the Realm Champion Tournament.

Tall and broad-shouldered, with a warrior’s poise and a face that seemed sculpted by the gods, Momotaro exuded confidence. The legendary champion from Okinawa had already made a name for himself as a formidable warrior in countless regional tournaments. His reputation had preceded him, and now it seemed, so had his charm.

Wonyoung and Gaeul of IVE, radiant in their evening gowns, had positioned themselves at either side of Momotaro. They were playful, their voices carrying just enough laughter to turn heads, and their smiles were dazzling, each glance carefully measured.

“You must hear this all the time,” Wonyoung said, her tone light and teasing, “but you’re even more impressive in person than the stories say.”

Momotaro chuckled, his deep voice cutting through the lively room. “I’ve found that the stories are usually exaggerated. I’m just a man who’s good at what he does.”

“And modest too,” Gaeul interjected, leaning in slightly with a sly smile. “That’s rare in someone so�� accomplished.”

Momotaro gave her a small nod, his gaze steady but unreadable. “Modesty isn’t rare when you’ve faced enough challenges. The moment you start believing your own hype is the moment someone surprises you.”

Wonyoung tilted her head, her eyes sparkling. “A wise answer. But surely you’ve noticed how everyone is watching you tonight. They’re not just here for the tournament—they’re here for you.”

Momotaro smirked. “And yet here I am, lucky enough to have the attention of two of the most talented stars on the planet. How do you explain that?”

Gaeul laughed, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “We know a good story when we see one, and you, Momotaro, are definitely a story worth following.”

Their banter drew subtle glances from others at the party. Some watched with curiosity, others with envy. Among the crowd, Lucion and Leviathan exchanged knowing looks.

“Momotaro sure knows how to play the part,” Leviathan muttered, sipping his drink.

“Play?” Lucion smirked. “He’s not playing. He’s just that good.”

Meanwhile, Hulk, standing near the entrance, glanced at the scene as he returned from checking on Tibby. His sharp eyes missed nothing: the glances, the positioning, the subtle games of influence.

“Momotaro’s already won half the battle,” Hulk muttered to himself. “Let’s see if he can win the other half in the arena.”

As the night wore on, Wonyoung and Gaeul remained close to Momotaro, their charm never wavering. He entertained them with grace, but there was a quiet focus in his eyes, a steady awareness of the competition that lay ahead.

In another corner of the room, a subtle buzz spread among the attendees as whispers of Tibby’s ordeal began to circulate. The dragon-like transformation, the unexpected resilience—it was enough to draw the attention of a few, including Momotaro, whose gaze briefly flickered toward the doorway Hulk had reentered from.

“Interesting,” he murmured to himself before turning his full attention back to his admirers.

As the night continued Momotaro found himself needing to relieve himself. After he excused himself he didn't expect the two vixens to corner him in the restroom as he washed his hands.

“Oh ladies how may I help you?” he said politely the girls groaned and Wonyoung said,

“Cut the good guy schtick we know all about you. We know how bad you are,” she said as she closed the gap. Yujin was also not far behind as her arms wrapped around, the man. He sensed their less-than-pure intentions as Wonyoung and Gaeul brought him in for a shared kiss. Momotaro’s mask slips as the Helpful Hero gives way to the vicious villain underneath. Encouraged by Wonyoung’s prodding he lifts her dress up to see her bare ass.

“Spank it,” Gaeul whispers in Momotaro’s ear and he does so. The resulting jiggle serves to set Momotaro to take everything he wants. He undoes his belt and rams his cock into the idol’s tight cunt.

“Yes God“ Wonyoung moans as his cock ravages her. Momotaro continues to rail against Wonyoung while he and Gauel engage in a passionate liplock. Gaeul’s tongue dances and wraps around his as he fucks into Wonyoung deeper. She moans tirelessly as Momotaro’s cock pistons in and out of her tight pussy. Driven into a lusty haze Gaeul begins spanking the younger girl, before degrading her,

“Yes take that cock you filthy slut. Fuck you're so hot,” Gaeul growled possessive. She smiled as she watched Momotaro’s cock plunge in and out of the young woman. Gaeul for her part got on the other side of Wonyoung and began groping the young woman before settling her fingers in Wonyoung's clit. Momotaro watches as he feels Wonyoung get tighter and tighter before yanking her hair.

“Gonna cum slut?” he asks,

Wonyoung nods wordlessly as her mind is made mush by the pleasure. Momotaro keeps thrusting until Wonyoung screams cumming all over his cock before Momotaro carelessly cums inside of Wonyoung. Her pussy convulsed feeling his seed before sending her into another orgasm. Feeling cheated he spanks Wonyoung and says “No cumming more than me,” Wonyoung regains her wits and glares at you before saying “Don't push your luck,”

The following day Momotaro arrived to two guests in his quarters after his successful culling. The interior of Momotaro’s quarters was as opulent as the man himself—polished stone floors, walls adorned with accolades, and an array of expensive wines and delicacies displayed on a low table. Wonyoung lounged gracefully on a plush chaise, her long legs crossed, while Gaeul stood by the window, inspecting her reflection in the glass. Both were impeccably dressed, their attire chosen to emphasize their poise and elegance.

The door hissed open, and Momotaro strode in, his figure commanding. Unlike Tiberius, his time in the culling machine left no visible marks. He radiated confidence, his movements effortless, his smirk that of a man certain of his greatness.

“You survived,” Wonyoung said, her voice dripping with mockery masked as playfulness. She rose smoothly to meet him, her eyes glinting with admiration. “Not that there was ever any doubt, of course.”

“‘Survived’ is putting it mildly,” Momotaro replied with a smirk, loosening his collar as he crossed the room. “I thrived.”

Gaeul turned from the window, raising an eyebrow. “Thrived? Modesty as always.” She approached him, her tone teasing but laced with genuine admiration. “I suppose it’s safe to assume the others weren’t as fortunate. Did you hear about Tiberius? They say the machine nearly tore him apart. Poor thing. Talk about biting off more than you can chew.”

Wonyoung scoffed, settling back into her seat. “Honestly, I’m surprised he even made it out alive. I don’t know why they let riff-raff like him enter. The man’s practically a charity case.”

Momotaro chuckled, pouring himself a glass of wine and leaning against the table. “Let them have their dreams. It makes crushing them so much sweeter when the time comes.”

“You’re so cruel,” Gaeul said, but her smile betrayed her approval. She perched herself on the arm of Wonyoung’s chaise, idly playing with a strand of her hair. “Still, I have to admit, there’s a certain satisfaction in watching the undeserving fail. It’s not like they ever had a chance against you.”

Wonyoung tilted her head, her expression sharpening. “Especially not that Tibby. Did you see how awkward he was at the ceremony? Trying so hard to impress, but it was painfully obvious he doesn’t belong.”

Momotaro grinned. “He has his moments. A certain… charm, I suppose. But charm doesn’t win battles.” He sipped his wine and added, “Still, it’s almost a shame. I could’ve taught him a thing or two.”

Wonyoung let out a soft laugh, her hand brushing against Momotaro’s arm. “Oh, please. You’re being far too generous. The only thing you could teach him is how to stay out of your way.”

“Agreed,” Gaeul said, leaning closer to him. Her voice lowered, almost conspiratorial. “But don’t let him or the others distract you. You’re the clear favorite, Momotaro. Everyone knows it.”

Momotaro set his glass down, his smirk growing. “Distraction isn’t something I’m worried about. And as for the competition…” He gestured dismissively. “They’ll fall in line. One way or another.”

The three of them shared a laugh, the kind of easy, self-assured laughter that came from knowing the odds were in their favor. Wonyoung rested her chin in her hand, her gaze lingering on Momotaro.

“You know,” she said, her tone turning flirtatious, “you’re making it very hard for the rest of us to stay focused. All this strength, charisma… it’s almost unfair.”

Momotaro raised an eyebrow, a playful gleam in his eye. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Wonyoung.”

“Jealous?” Wonyoung leaned closer, her lips curling into a smirk. “Hardly. I’m just making an observation. Someone has to keep you humble.”

“Humble?” Gaeul chimed in, rolling her eyes. “Good luck with that.” She nudged Momotaro’s shoulder lightly. “But seriously, you’d better win. Otherwise, all this flattery will have been for nothing.”

Momotaro laughed, a deep, confident sound. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan on losing. To anyone.”

Wonyoung and Gaeul exchanged a glance, their smiles sharpening. They didn’t need to say it out loud—they had chosen their champion, and they were determined to bask in his glow.

But outside the room, the faint hum of distant celebration carried on, a reminder that the tournament had only just begun—and the masks, so carefully maintained, would soon be tested.

Meanwhile having recovered Tibby had begun training in his quarters while waiting for the arena to open properly. Tibby’s training quarters were stark and utilitarian—a far cry from the lavish accommodations Momotaro enjoyed. The dim lighting revealed worn sparring equipment, a simple cot pushed against the wall, and a single rack of weights. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Tibby. He wasn’t here for luxury; he was here to prepare.

Clad in a loose tank top and sweatpants, Tibby stood in front of a heavy punching bag. His knuckles thudded against the bag in a steady rhythm, sweat trickling down his forehead. Each strike was deliberate, his focus sharp despite the lingering soreness in his body from the culling.

The door creaked open softly, and a gentle voice broke the quiet.

“Tibby?”

He paused mid-swing, turning to see Chowon standing hesitantly in the doorway. She clutched a small cloth bundle in her hands, her posture timid but her smile warm. Dressed in a simple dress, she looked entirely out of place in the gritty training room, but her presence seemed to brighten it nonetheless.

“Chowon?” Tibby straightened, wiping his forehead with his forearm. “What are you doing here?”

“I… I heard you were starting your training, and I thought you might need this.” She stepped forward, holding out the bundle. “It’s nothing fancy. Just some snacks I made. For energy.”

Tibby took the bundle, his expression softening. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” she said quickly, her cheeks reddening. “You’ve been through a lot already, and… well, I thought it might help.”

He unwrapped the bundle, revealing neatly packed rice balls and slices of fruit. It was simple but thoughtful, and the care she’d put into it was obvious.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “This means a lot.”

Chowon smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re welcome. I just… I think you’re going to do great, you know? In the tournament.”

Tibby chuckled softly, sitting down on the edge of the cot. “Not sure about that. I’m still figuring out what this ‘dragon thing’ means, and most of the other contestants already look like they’ve been training for years.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Chowon said, her voice gaining a rare firmness. She stepped closer, her shyness momentarily giving way to quiet conviction. “You’re strong, Tibby. Not just physically. You… you have a good heart. That’s what really matters.”

Her words caught him off guard, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. He glanced down at the food she’d brought, then back at her.

“You’re too kind,” he said finally, his voice softer than before.

Chowon blushed again, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “I just… I want to help, even if it’s only a little.”

Tibby smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “You’re already helping more than you know.”

The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the contrast between the sterile training room and Chowon’s sweet presence making it feel almost peaceful. Eventually, Chowon stood, brushing off her dress.

“I should let you get back to training,” she said. “But if you ever need anything, just let me know, okay?”

Tibby nodded. “I will. Thanks again, Chowon.”

As she turned to leave, Tibby found himself feeling a rare sense of calm. The tournament loomed large, and the odds were stacked against him, but at that moment, he realized he wasn’t entirely alone.

He stood and returned to the punching bag, Chowon’s words echoing in his mind. A good heart. Maybe that was enough to start with.

Throughout the following weeks, Tibby and Taro trained relentlessly. The sunlight streamed through the grand training hall’s tall windows, illuminating the polished marble floors and elaborate tapestries that depicted scenes of victorious warriors. The air hummed with the low thrum of energy fields powering the advanced training dummies arranged in the room.

Momotaro stood in the center, dressed in a sleek, form-fitting combat suit that highlighted his muscular frame. A faint smirk played on his lips as he observed his reflection in the mirrored walls.

“Let’s make this quick,” he said, addressing the room’s automated trainer.

The dummies activated with a sharp hum, moving with near-human precision. One lunged at him, but Momotaro sidestepped effortlessly, his blade flashing in the light as he struck. The dummy shattered, its pieces clattering to the floor.

Another dummy approached, it struck faster and more unpredictably. Momotaro parried, his movements sharp and confident, as if rehearsing a dance he had already mastered.

In the distant corner, Wonyoung and Gaeul watched, their eyes gleaming with admiration.

“Flawless, as always,” Gaeul remarked, clapping slowly.

Momotaro turned, flashing a charming grin. “Of course. You don’t think I’d let that dragon boy put a scratch on me, do you?”

Wonyoung giggled. “He doesn’t stand a chance. You’ve already won, Momotaro. This is just… practice.”

His smile widened, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. Confidence, yes, but also calculation. He knew the crowd expected perfection, and he intended to deliver it.

With a dramatic flourish, he raised his weapon and stepped toward the next wave of dummies, their metallic frames reflecting the light like distant stars. Each strike was a performance, every movement a declaration of his superiority.

Tibby’s training space was the opposite of Momotaro’s—a dimly lit, open-air courtyard surrounded by crumbling stone walls. The floor was uneven, scattered with patches of dirt and grass. A single lantern swayed in the breeze, its light casting long shadows across the ground.

Tibby stood in the center, his body tense and his hands wrapped in rough cloth. Sweat glistened on his skin, evidence of hours of relentless practice. He faced a simple wooden post, its surface scarred from repeated strikes.

“Again,” he muttered to himself, his voice steady despite the strain.

He lunged forward, his fists striking the post with sharp, deliberate movements. The impact sent a jolt through his arms, but he didn’t stop. His breaths came in steady bursts, each strike pushing him further.

Behind him, Chowon stood quietly, her hands clasped in front of her. She watched with a mix of worry and admiration, her gaze fixed on the determination etched into Tibby’s face.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” she said gently. “Maybe you should take a break?”

Tibby paused, his fists resting against the post. He turned to her, his expression softening. “I can’t. Not yet. If I don’t push myself, I won’t stand a chance.”

Chowon stepped closer, her voice quiet but firm. “You’ve already come so far. Don’t forget to trust yourself, too.”

Her words lingered in the air as Tibby nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. He took a deep breath, aTJusting his stance. “One more round,” he said.

Chowon sat on a nearby stone, watching as he resumed his strikes. This time, there was something different in his movements—not just strength, but precision and resolve. Each punch seemed to carry the weight of his determination to prove himself, not just to the world but to himself.

As the lantern’s flame flickered in the breeze, Tibby struck the post one last time, his fist splintering the wood. He stepped back, breathing heavily, and glanced at Chowon.

“You were right,” he admitted. “I needed that.”

Chowon smiled, her eyes warm. “You’ll be ready, Tibby. I know it.”

The day before the opening bouts of the tournaments the ceremonial chamber was a sight to behold—a cavernous hall carved from the heart of the mountain, with walls glowing faintly from veins of luminous minerals. Weapons of past champions lined the walls, each displayed with reverence. A long table stretched across the room, laden with ornate weapons wrapped in cloth, waiting to find their rightful wielders.

Hulk’s forgemaster, a towering, broad-shouldered dwarf named Gorund Ironbrand, stood at the head of the table. His beard was braided with bits of metal, and his hammer, massive and scarred from years of crafting, rested at his side.

“Tonight,” Gorund began, his voice resonating through the hall, “each of you will receive the weapon that best matches your spirit. These weapons are forged not just of metal but of meaning. Treat them well, and they will serve you faithfully. Fail them, and they will abandon you.”

One by one, the champions stepped forward as their names were called.

Momotaro’s Weapon

“Momotaro,” Gorund called, his deep voice cutting through the room.

Momotaro strode forward, confidence radiating from his every step. Gorund unwrapped the cloth, revealing an exquisite katana. The blade shimmered with a deadly brilliance, its edge almost too sharp to look at directly.

“This,” Gorund said, “is a katana forged from vibranium, adamantium, and carbonadium. Stronger than any foe you will face. A blade fit for one who carries the weight of many expectations.”

Momotaro accepted the weapon with a flourish, running his hand over the smooth hilt. He nodded in thanks, though inwardly, he savored the murmurs of admiration from the crowd.

“Lucion.”

Lucion, a pale figure with piercing silver eyes, stepped forward silently. Gorund unveiled a bow made of dark, twisting wood that seemed alive, its surface pulsating faintly with shadows.

“A bow crafted from the bark and branches of the World Tree,” Gorund said. “It draws on darkness itself, bending it to your will.”

Lucion took the bow without a word, his thin lips curling into a faint smirk.

“Leviathan.”

The tall, wiry contestant approached, his sharp eyes scanning the table. Gorund unwrapped a pair of daggers, their blades glowing softly with a calming blue light. Etched with ancient runes, they seemed almost alive.

“Daggers of uru and orichalcum,” Gorund said. “Inscribed with mystic etchings to balance their power. They are as precise as the predator who wields them.”

Leviathan twirled the daggers experimentally, grinning.

“Praetorius.”

Praetorius, clad in ceremonial armor, marched forward with the bearing of a king. Gorund unveiled a mace that seemed to hum with energy, lightning arcing faintly along its head.

“A weapon of vibranium and savage world steel, imbued with lightning. A fitting instrument for one who commands authority.”

Praetorius grasped the mace, nodding with satisfaction.

“Tiberius,” Gorund called.

Tibby stepped forward, calm and steady despite the low murmurs from the other champions. Gorund unveiled a single weapon—a staff-like rod forged from an alloy of vibranium, uru, and a rare off-world metal that glowed faintly in shifting shades of violet and teal.

“This,” Gorund said, his voice taking on a weight of reverence, “is a weapon unlike any other. It shifts forms at your command—kusarigama, tonfa, sais—whatever your instinct requires. Its power lies in adaptability, much like its wielder.”

The only embellishment was an inscription etched delicately into the metal: ‘Dragons care not for the opinions of sheep.’

Tibby accepted the weapon with a small bow, feeling its cool surface hum faintly with energy. He twisted his wrist experimentally, and the rod lengthened into a kusarigama. Another flick transformed it into a pair of tonfas, and yet another shift produced a pair of sais.

“Thank you,” Tibby said, his voice even but sincere.

Gorund nodded approvingly. “It is simple in appearance, yes. But simplicity often hides great strength. Remember that.”

Tibby bowed respectfully as he accepted the weapons. “Thank you,” he said simply, running his fingers over the smooth surface.

As Tibby stepped back, the other champions eyed his weapon with poorly veiled disdain. Lucion leaned toward Leviathan, smirking.

“They gave him a transforming stick,” Lucion whispered. “Guess they thought he couldn’t handle a real weapon.”

Leviathan chuckled. “He’ll need all the tricks he can get. Too bad it won’t matter when he’s out in the first round.”

Praetorius shook his head, a faint sneer on his lips. “Adaptability won’t save you when you’re outclassed.”

Tibby ignored the remarks, focusing instead on the shifting weapon in his hand. The transitions were smooth, each form feeling perfectly balanced and natural in his grip. He’d faced mockery before, and he knew that true power didn’t lie in appearances.

Momotaro observed silently, his elaborate katana hanging at his side. Though he refrained from joining the others in mocking Tibby’s weapon, his thoughts were far from kind.

A shapeshifting toy, he mused. How fitting for a second-rate contestant. It might impress peasants, but it won’t stand against real steel.

Outwardly, however, he maintained his composed, heroic demeanor, offering Tibby a polite nod as their gazes briefly met.

As the ceremony concluded, the champions mingled, comparing their weapons. Lucion and Leviathan examined their own with smug satisfaction, while Praetorius marveled at the power radiating from his mace.

“They gave him farmer’s tools,” Leviathan sneered, glancing at Tibby’s weapons. “Did they think he was here to harvest crops instead of fight?”

Lucion chuckled darkly. “Maybe they thought he’d need them to till the earth once he’s out of the tournament.”

Praetorius smirked but said nothing, his eyes flickering briefly toward Tibby.

Tibby, standing off to the side, heard the remarks but didn’t react. He was used to being underestimated, and he had no intention of rising to the bait. Instead, he turned the weapon ( currently a sai in his hand) , feeling the balance and weight, appreciating the craftsmanship.

Momotaro, standing nearby, didn’t join in the mockery. Outwardly, he maintained a neutral expression, but internally, he dismissed Tibby’s weapons as inferior. Farm tools, he thought. And here I was expecting competition.

As the champions laughed and boasted, Tibby took a step back, letting the noise fade into the background. He studied his weapon again, running a finger over the inscription.

‘Dragons care not for the opinions of sheep.’

A faint smile tugged at his lips. He knew what they thought of him, but that didn’t matter. His actions would speak louder than any words or flashy weapon.

In the end, it wasn’t the weapon that made the warrior. It was the heart behind it.

After the ceremony Momotaro went back to his shared penthouse with Gaeul and Wonyoung their contempt and disdain flowed freely behind sealed closed doors.

The flickering light from a nearby lantern cast long shadows across the private room, its cozy ambiance a stark contrast to the tension that lingered in the air. Wonyoung and Gaeul sat on plush cushions, their expressions a mix of anticipation and frustration. Momotaro stood by the window, looking out over the arena grounds, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his katana. He set it down gently before gesturing for Gaeul to approach. She smiled as they both undressed

“So, tell me again,” Gaeul spoke up, her voice dripping with a sharp edge. “You really think any of them stand a chance?” she said as she straddled Momotaro

Momotaro smirked as Gaeul spread her legs for the man. Her wet pussy drooling for him. “No. Most of them are just pawns in a game they don’t even understand. They’ll fall one by one.” he said as he thrust into Gaeul who moaned as Momotaro’s dick rammed itself inside her.

Wonyoung leaned forward, her gaze intense as she fixed Momotaro with a look of quiet calculation. “But there’s one who could be a problem.” she purred as she watched her champion fuck the elder girl.

Lifting his gaze from the window, Momotaro finally turned to face them. The playful arrogance in his eyes hadn’t faded, but there was a glint of something more serious in his expression. “Lucion. That bastard,” he spat as if the name left a bitter taste in his mouth. “He’s the only one I’ve seen so far who might be worth my time. The rest are… distractions,” he said after ramming himself deep into Gaeul. She shivered as he ran his cold hand across her waist before fucking her again. Wonyoung watched hungrily but she knew it was Gaeul’s turn to be bred so she accepted it.

Gaeul scoffed. “Lucion’s a shadow, a ghost. He’s been hiding his true strength. But even then, I’m not worried. He’s as much of an outcast as the others. He’s not a part of our world.” she said trying to stifle her moans as Momotaro continued fucking her. Her walls clenched his rod tightly as she neared her own release.

“Exactly,” Wonyoung added, folding her arms. “He’s been lurking in the shadows, and we don’t even know what he’s capable of. But he’s not a threat until he shows his cards. And when he does, we’ll be ready to crush him just like the rest.” Momotaro exited Gaeul for a moment. She pouted but kept her complaints hidden.

Momotaro’s smirk deepened as he took a step toward the table, where a fresh glass of wine awaited him. He picked it up slowly, swirling it as he spoke. “I don’t fear him, but I respect that he’s dangerous. Unlike the others. The rest? They’re nothing but fodder.”

Gaeul’s eyes flickered with an unreadable expression as she looked toward Wonyoung. “And Tiberius?”

Momotaro’s gaze turned cold at the mention of the name, the edge of his smile faltering slightly. “He’s a joke. A farm boy with no true understanding of what it means to be a champion. He doesn’t belong here.”

Wonyoung raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? He has that… something. Not the same as us. But there’s something there.”

Gaeul gave a short laugh. “Don’t let the unassuming act fool you. He’s just another body in the tournament. A warm-up for the real fight.”

Momotaro took a long drink of wine, the conversation falling into a brief, contemplative silence. His eyes narrowed as if contemplating something deeper. “Let’s make sure we don’t underestimate anyone… not even him. But for now, my focus is on Lucion. He’s the one to watch.”

The conversation turned to more idle chatter, but the underlying tension remained. Lucion—the only one they viewed as a genuine threat—hovered over their thoughts, even as they dismissed the rest of the competitors as beneath them.

At the same time Tibby’s was rediscovering himself with his new weapon. His mind unshackled by the burdens of others and their notions as he trained the weapon became an extension of himself its glow and radiance increasing as the hesitation and fear gave way to resolve and hope. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the training grounds. The air was thick with the sound of metal striking metal, as Tibby swung his newly acquired staff. It wasn’t just the rhythmic clang of his weapon that filled the air, but the undeniable energy that radiated from him. With every shift of his weapon, his movements were sharp, fluid, and somehow… full of life. The weapon morphed from tonfa to sais, then to a chain form with a fluidity that matched the rush of his energy.

Chowon stood at the side, her wide eyes following every shift in Tibby’s stance. She had known him as humble, reserved, even shy—but now, seeing him train, she noticed the spark in his eyes, the lively energy that emanated from him with every move. It was a side of him she hadn’t fully realized existed.

“Wow…” Chowon murmured, unable to tear her eyes away. “I had no idea you were so… intense.”

Tibby paused mid-swing, his expression bright and full of excitement. His usual soft demeanor gave way to an energetic grin as he caught sight of her watching him.

“Intense?” He chuckled, setting down the sais for a moment and walking over with a lively bounce in his step. “I’m just getting started! You should see me when I’m really fired up. But hey, gotta save my energy for tomorrow, right?”

Chowon blinked in surprise, her lips parting slightly as she processed his words. He wasn’t just humble—he was electric. The man who had appeared reserved and almost solemn was now speaking with a warmth, a fire, and a passion that she hadn’t seen before. He was clearly driven—more than she had anticipated—and somehow still managed to exude an extroverted energy that drew people in. She couldn’t help but smile in return.

Tibby’s grin only grew as he twirled his weapon in his hands, the kusarigama shifting back into its tonfa form. He raised an eyebrow at her, his voice teasing. “So, what? You thought I’d just stand there quietly in the corner? Nah. I’m here to make a splash! This tournament’s gonna feel like a breeze!”

He swung the tonfa with a sudden burst of speed, his movements so sharp they were almost impossible to track with the eye. His energy filled the space around him, creating a vibrant, unstoppable aura.

Chowon stood there, her mouth slightly agape, taken aback by the sheer enthusiasm he displayed. She’d seen others train with grit, with determination, but never quite with this much… joy. Tibby didn’t just fight to win—he fought because he wanted to, because he loved it.

“You’re amazing,” Chowon finally said, her voice filled with admiration. “It’s like… you’re completely alive in every move you make.”

Tibby paused for a moment, catching his breath, but still grinning widely. His eyes sparkled with the same energy as when he had first spoken. “What can I say? I love a good challenge! And tomorrow’s fight? I’m so ready for it, you don’t even know!”

His voice was brimming with excitement, and despite the looming uncertainty of the tournament ahead, his optimism seemed unstoppable. He wasn’t worried about the competition, nor the challenges they would throw at him. He wanted to be tested, to prove himself—because, at his core, he was a person who thrived on connection and the thrill of living.

“You really think you can win this, don’t you?” Chowon asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, still in awe of his infectious energy.

Tibby’s expression softened slightly, but his smile never wavered. “Of course I do! I’m not just doing this for me—I’m doing it for everyone who’s ever doubted me, everyone who thought I’d just stay in the shadows. They’ll see who I really am when I step into that arena.”

His enthusiasm was contagious. For a brief moment, it felt as though his vibrant energy filled the whole field. Tibby wasn’t some quiet, reserved contestant in the background; he was alive, a force of nature, and his presence radiated through everything he did.

“Alright, I’m ready to go again. You ready to see some real action?” Tibby grinned, fully revved up and eager to continue his training.

Chowon laughed, shaking her head in amazement. “I think you’re more ready than anyone.”

He winked playfully as he picked up his weapon once more, ready to take on the challenge ahead. With every swing, every movement, Tibby’s energy only seemed to grow, and it was clear: He wasn’t just in the tournament to compete—he was here to make his mark, to prove his existence to others, and nothing could hold him back.

The tournament arrived the next day and Tibby's excitement was palpable. The introvert everyone had seen at the opening ceremony was gone in his place something different. A difference so great the other competitors didn't even recognize him.

He carried himself with the swagger of a champion and the hope of a saint. When interviewed he looked less the part of a hero and ever increasingly the part of the heel everyone loved to hate, yet he spoke with genuine warmth and kindness to those around making rooting against him satisfying but also watching him Electrifying.

The tournament arrived the next day, and the air was thick with anticipation. The arena buzzed with energy, but none more than the competitors themselves. Among them, Tiberius was a beacon of electricity, a stark contrast to the quiet, reserved man everyone had seen just a day prior. The introvert, the humble and shy participant from the opening ceremony, was gone. In his place stood someone altogether different—someone unrecognizable.

Tibby walked through the bustling halls with the swagger of a champion and the hope of a saint. His posture was upright, exuding the confidence of someone who had already claimed victory, even though the battle had yet to begin. His eyes sparkled with a fire that mirrored the glow of his weapon, and every step he took seemed to draw the attention of those around him. His presence was magnetic, impossible to ignore.

When the interviewers approached, they were taken aback. This was no longer the shy, humble man who had stumbled through the ceremony. No, this was someone far more captivating. The crowd, which had seen him as little more than a dark horse before, now watched in awe as he spoke. His voice rang with an infectious enthusiasm, his words flowing with a genuine warmth that resonated with everyone around him.

Despite his energy, there was an edge to him. A slight cockiness that made him impossible to root against, but impossible to ignore. He had become the heel—the antagonist everyone loved to hate—yet, at the same time, he made it thrilling to watch. He was the kind of competitor you couldn’t help but cheer for, even if you knew he was likely going to crush everyone in his path. His charisma was undeniable, and the audience ate it up.

When asked how he thought the fight would go, Tibby leaned forward slightly, his eyes glinting with fiery excitement. His words were more than just a prediction—they were a promise. “You ask me, the immortal king of the battlefield, how this fight will go?” His voice boomed across the arena, and the crowd leaned in closer, hanging on every word. “I’ll tell you. You are watching the beginning of the tale of Tiberius, the one who slices the heavens! The story that ends with my dramatic finale against the Champion King himself. I will dazzle, I will amaze, and I will terrify beyond all belief. Today is just step one.”

The crowd erupted in cheers, roaring with approval as his words rang out in the air. They saw something in him—something special. His spirit wasn’t just competitive; it was alive, vibrant, and ready to take on the world. His confidence was infectious, and they couldn’t help but get swept up in it.

Hulk, standing off to the side with Chowon, exchanged a glance. They both knew it in that moment. “He’s gonna go far,” they thought simultaneously, their minds both drawn to the same conclusion. They had seen potential before, but this was different. Tibby wasn’t just a contestant; he was a force of nature.

Meanwhile, in the preparation room, Momotaro fumed. His eyes narrowed as he watched Tibby on the screen, delivering his showmanship to the crowd. He had expected fodder—someone easy to brush aside, a mere stepping stone on his way to the championship. But what he saw before him unnerved him. Tibby had transformed. The self-doubt, the hesitation, the humble man who had seemed like an afterthought had vanished. In his place was a competitor who didn’t need tricks or deception. He didn’t need to scheme his way to victory. Tibby’s desire to face the challenge head-on, with pure strength and determination, sickened Momotaro.

“Heroes…” Momotaro muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with disdain. He turned away from the screen, clenching his fists in frustration. The very idea of someone actually enjoying this game Hulk had set up, of someone fighting for something beyond their own gain, disgusted him. In his eyes, the tournament was nothing more than a game of manipulation, a means to an end. Anyone who thought otherwise was naive.

Momotaro stood there in his preparation room, breathing deeply, trying to center himself. His mind, usually so calm and calculated, was now thrown off-kilter by Tibby’s unexpected transformation. The world he had carefully built, where he was the shining hero, the top contender, was suddenly thrown into chaos. And that made him angry.

He couldn’t shake the image of Tibby—how the crowd had responded to him, how Hulk and Chowon had looked at him with recognition, understanding, and even pride. It was clear. Tibby wasn’t just a threat—he was someone who could disrupt everything Momotaro had worked for. The tournament was no longer just about winning. It was about proving who was the strongest, and Tibby had just made it personal.

“Your legend ends today,” Momotaro muttered, his voice cold and filled with resolve. “I’ll show him just who he’s dealing with. No one gets to stand in my way.” He looked at his reflection in the mirror, a cold smirk curling on his lips. The hero of the tournament had a challenger now, and that challenger was someone who couldn’t be ignored. Tiberius had made himself a spectacle, and Momotaro hated it.

The opening match was simple. The top seeds versus the lowest seeds and that meant Tibby was facing off against Taro. The combatants entered the arena, and Tibby feed off the cheers as he hyped off the crowd before walking over to Momotaro. He attempted a handshake but Momotaro’s only words were

“Focus up clown,” Tibby unfettered nodded and got in a combat ready stance as he took out his weapon. The crowd marveled as it turned into a beautiful nagitana that glowed with the same infectious energy Tibby had. Momotaro grew frustrated as he unsheathed his sword.

He closed the distance on Tibby and clashed with the tip of his nagitana. What he didn't expect was for Tibby to shift the weapon to its chain form and bind both of his hands before dislodging his katana away from him. Momotaro realized then along with all 64 other competitors that Tiberius was going to be a problem. As Tibby removed the priority weapon from his foe he tripped him before shifting his weapon into its Kusagirama form and kicking up dust to obscure Momotaro’s vision. To keep Momotaro off his game he continued to move the sword out of reach as he would look for openings that guaranteed victory, but Momotaro kept his guard dodging and carefully keeping ready for Tibby to slip up in his pressure.

The crowd watched rivetted. Wonyoung and Gaeul’s excitement and terror watching their chosen champion filled them with so much emotion their masks slipped and they cheered with reckless abandon. Chowon noticed this and said.

“Huh I guess Tibby brings out the true self in everyone,” she thought. As she watched Tibby play his little game if keep away. She noticed the shift. She watched as instead of moving Momotaro’s weapon far out of reach that he was placing on the battlefield as he moved the katana closer and closer to Momotaro.

For those who could see magic Tibby was putting chi glyphs that made it so when they were activated they'd explode. However because this was a new trick of Tibby’s he lacked control over this power so for what he was planning he was going for a lethal shot. Hulk’s advisor of mages Baron Mordo noticed this and notified the Champion King. While Hulk admired Tibby’s ingenuity he needed to keep his competitors safe so he gestured for Tibby to stop the fight which Tibby and a few others caught but not everyone so Momotaro unaware and pushed to his limit by this bumpkin hit him with his greatest attack. “Scales of the demon!” he yelled as he slashed his katana at Tibby who was lacerated a total of 356 by the radiant blades. He collapsed and the ref called the victory for Momotaro as he also didn't see Hulk’s signal. After the match was just as hectic as the crew readied for the next fight.

The lounge buzzed with subdued energy as contestants gathered to debrief and decompress after the opening matches. Wonyoung and Gaeul sat in a quiet corner, their expressions composer but held feeling of awe and terror deep within. The screens replayed moments from the day’s most dramatic match—Momotaro versus Tiberius.

“That guy,” Gaeul began, her voice low and contemplative, “he’s not like anyone else here. Did you see how he fought?”

Wonyoung nodded, her arms crossed as she leaned back in her chair. Her usual composure had slipped during the fight, her cheers echoing among the crowd alongside the roar of thousands. Now, her tone was measured, almost clinical. “He didn’t just fight. He put on a show. Every move felt deliberate—not just to win, but to entertain. And the crowd ate it up.”

Gaeul gave a small laugh, though her nerves still showed. “I almost forgot we’re here to root for Momotaro. Tibby’s energy…it’s impossible to ignore.”

Before Wonyoung could reply, the door to the lounge opened with a sharp creak, and Momotaro strode in. His movements were stiff, his expression cold, yet there was a shadow of uncertainty in his eyes. The room fell quiet as he walked past the other contestants, all of whom watched him with a mix of respect and trepidation.

“Momotaro,” Wonyoung called out, her voice breaking the silence.

He stopped, glancing at her and Gaeul before walking over. “What is it?” he asked curtly, his voice tinged with irritation. Gaeul reaches put to soothe the man with her touch.

Wonyoung didn’t flinch under his glare. “How do you think it went? That fight wasn’t exactly clean.”

Momotaro’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I won,” he said flatly.

“Sure,” Gaeul interjected, her voice unusually sharp. “But look at him.” She gestured toward the screen, which now showed Tibby being carried off by medics, his bloodied body a testament to Momotaro’s finishing blow.

“He’ll live. he shouldn't though that blow should have been fatal” Momotaro snapped, though the defensiveness in his tone betrayed him.

“That’s not the point,” Wonyoung said, her eyes narrowing. “You saw it just like we did. Tibby didn’t fight like someone who was out of his league. He pushed you. Hard. And that was round one. He’s going through the loser’s bracket now, but if he makes it back to you…” She trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Momotaro scoffed, though the unease in his posture was unmistakable. “He’s reckless. Flashy. That kind of fighting only works until someone with actual skill shuts it down.”

Gaeul leaned forward, her gaze piercing. “And yet, you had to use Scales of the Demon to stop him. Against the lowest seed.”

The words hit their mark, and Momotaro’s scowl deepened. He glanced at the screen again, his mind replaying the fight. Tibby’s unorthodox tactics, his shifting weapon forms, the calculated placement of the katana—everything about the match had been a puzzle, one he’d only barely managed to solve. And the crowd’s reaction…

“Everyone’s talking about him,” Wonyoung continued. “They’re calling him a genius. A wildcard. Even Hulk looked impressed.”

Momotaro’s eyes flicked to her, his expression dark. “You’re saying you’re rooting for him now?”

“No,” Wonyoung said, her voice steady, and her expression matching his as if scoff that he would challenge her loyalty again. “We’re still in your corner. But you need to take him seriously. If he gets another shot at you, he won’t make the same mistakes.”

“And neither will I,” Momotaro said firmly, though his words felt more like a promise to himself than to them.

Gaeul sighed, leaning back in her chair. “You’d better not. Because the way things are going, Tibby’s not just going to be a problem for you—he’s going to be a problem for everyone.”

Momotaro said nothing, his gaze fixed on the screen as the replay shifted to Tibby’s dramatic introduction before the match. The crowd’s cheers echoed faintly through the lounge, and for the first time, Momotaro felt a flicker of doubt.

He turned abruptly, walking toward the training room without another word. If he was going to beat Tibby he would have to train 3 times as hard as he did.

Wonyoung watched him go, her expression unreadable. “Do you think he gets it?” she asked Gaeul.

Gaeul shrugged. “Who knows? But one thing’s for sure.”

“What’s that?”

Gaeul smiled faintly, though there was no humor in her eyes. “If Tibby keeps fighting like that, this tournament’s about to get a lot more interesting.”

The impact of the first match overshadowed every following match much to Levithan’s Chagrin.

“The winners should be the focus,” he thought to himself before getting ready for his interview. The camera panned to Leviathan, who sat with his arms crossed, his lengthy frame nearly dwarfing the chair beneath him. His crimson scale mail shimmered under the lights of the press room, and his deep, steady breathing hinted at the restrained power within. The reporters eagerly leaned forward, microphones thrust in his direction, eager for a soundbite from the victorious warrior.

“Leviathan,” one reporter began, her voice bright but professional. “First of all, congratulations on your win. Another dominant performance. But if we may, we’d like your thoughts on the match earlier today between Momotaro and Tiberius. It’s all anyone can talk about right now.”

Leviathan’s eyes, cold and calculating, shifted toward the reporter. He took a moment to exhale slowly, as if weighing his words.

“It was… revealing,” he rumbled, his voice deep and deliberate, like the shifting of tectonic plates. “Not in the way most people think.”

A murmur swept through the room. The reporter pressed on. “Could you elaborate? What did it reveal to you?”

Leviathan’s gaze turned steely. “Tibby’s fight wasn’t just about winning or losing. It was a declaration. A challenge. And he succeeded in one thing: showing everyone, including Momotaro, that the rules of this tournament don’t apply to him.”

Another reporter jumped in. “Do you mean his unconventional weapon techniques? Or the chi glyphs?”

Leviathan allowed a small, humorless smirk to play across his face. “The weapon shifts, the traps, the strategy—that’s all surface level. What matters is the intent. Tibby doesn’t fight to defeat his opponent. He fights to expose them. To unravel them. And Momotaro?” Leviathan paused, letting the tension build. “He unraveled.”

The room fell silent, save for the frantic scribbling of notes.

“But Momotaro won,” another reporter countered, trying to challenge the narrative. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

Leviathan leaned forward, his crimson eyes locking onto the reporter like a predator sizing up prey. “Does it? Look at the aftermath. Momotaro isn’t celebrating. He’s not basking in victory. He’s shaken. Questioning himself. And that’s what makes Tibby dangerous. He lost the fight, but he’s still in the tournament. And now everyone knows what he’s capable of.”

The murmurs grew louder. Someone else asked, “What about the role of the officials? Hulk tried to stop the fight, but it seems like his signal came too late. Do you think that played a part in what happened?”

Leviathan’s expression darkened slightly, and his massive tail shifted behind him, the only sign of his annoyance. “Mistakes happen. Hulk’s job is to keep order, but Tibby? Tibby thrives in chaos. Even if the fight had stopped earlier, the damage was done. Momotaro’s psyche, the crowd’s perception, the other competitors’ calculations—Tibby’s chaos reached them all.”

The original reporter spoke up again, cautiously. “And what about you, Leviathan? If you face Tibby in the future, what’s your strategy?”

Leviathan let out a low, rumbling chuckle that reverberated through the room. “Tibby’s clever, but I’m no Momotaro. I don’t get rattled, and I don’t play into someone else’s game. If he tries to unravel me, he’ll find himself staring into the abyss instead.”

The reporters nodded, some murmuring their approval at the confident answer. But Leviathan wasn’t done.

“One more thing,” he said, his tone dropping to something almost ominous. “Tibby said he was here to beat Hulk. That’s a bold claim. But what he doesn’t realize is this: if he wants to climb to the top, he has to go through me first.”

With that, Leviathan stood, his towering form casting a long shadow across the room. The press erupted in questions, but he gave them no further response. Instead, he turned and walked away, his tail swishing with the slow, deliberate movements of someone who knew his power—and didn’t feel the need to prove it.

Later as the legend of Tiberius who slices the heavens spread Lucion sat on the edge of his bed, rolling the hilt of his sword between his hands. His usually calm demeanor was strained, the sharp lines of his face deepened with thought. Yerim lounged nearby, perched between his legs. Her lucious lips slowly rake across his manhood. sThe moonlight framed her figure, her presence an anchor in the storm of his thoughts.

“So?” Yerim’s voice was teasing but gentle, as she slowly worked along his shaft wit her skilled fingers like the wind brushing through a quiet forest. “What’s running through that big, brilliant mind of yours?”she said as she began bobbing on his cock again

He sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I can’t stop replaying their fight. Tibby was…” He paused, searching for the right word.

“Unexpected?” she offered as she came for air.

Lucion nodded. “And dangerous. More dangerous than anyone gave him credit for. His adaptability, the way he manipulated the battlefield—it’s not just skill. It’s instinct. And instinct like that can’t be taught.”

Yerim tilted her head, studying him as she stroked his rod some more. “You’re worried.”

He chuckled softly, though the sound lacked its usual warmth. “I wouldn’t say worried. Cautious, maybe. Tibby isn’t like the others I’ve faced. He doesn’t just fight; he thinks. Every move he made was calculated to throw Momotaro off balance.”

“And it worked,” Yerim said, her voice soft. “Until it didn’t.”

Lucion frowned, his grip tightening on the sword hilt. Yerim tried to calm him by sucking deeper than usual but Lucion was inconsolable, “Momotaro’s strength is brute force. He overpowered Tibby in the end, but it was close. Too close. If Hulk hadn’t tried to intervene, who knows how far Tibby’s plan would have gone? That kusarigama trick with the chi glyphs—he could’ve ended the match right there if he’d had more control over his magic.”

Yerim’s tongue slid off the of Lucion’s dick as she began to lick his frenulum, her pace slow and deliberate. She knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his knee. “You’re not Momotaro, Lucion. You don’t rely on brute force. You see the battlefield better than anyone. That’s why you’re still here.”

He looked at her, his expression softening slightly. “You always know what to say.”

“It’s a gift,” she said with a playful smile. Then her expression grew serious. “But you’re right to be cautious. Tibby’s next fight is with you, and he’s not going to come in the same way. He learns too fast for that.”

Lucion placed the sword down beside him, resting his hands on his knees. “The key will be keeping him from dictating the flow of the fight. He thrives on momentum, on keeping his opponent reacting instead of acting.”

“Then take the initiative,” Yerim suggested. “Force him to fight on your terms. You’re a tactician, Lucion. Use that. Make him chase you, and when he slips…”

“…I’ll finish it,” Lucion said, his voice filled with quiet determination. As he spoke he came all over Yerim’s face. She giggled happy to serve her man

Yerim smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “That’s the Lucion I know. Just don’t underestimate him. If you do…”

“I won’t,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “Tibby’s dangerous, but I know how to handle danger.”

Yerim stood, her confidence in him evident in the way she carried herself. “Good. Because I have no intention of watching you lose to some upstart with a flashy weapon and a knack for showmanship.”

Lucion smirked, standing to face her. “You don’t think I’d let him get the better of me, do you?”

“I think,” Yerim said, leaning in close, her voice a whisper against his ear, “that you’re going to show everyone why you belong at the top.”

Lucion nodded, her words igniting a spark of confidence within him. “He won’t know what hit him.”

“Now that’s the spirit,” Yerim said with a grin. “Just don’t let him turn this into a spectacle. Keep your head in the fight, and it’s yours.”

As she stepped back toward the window, Lucion watched her, his mind clearing as her words settled. He wasn’t Momotaro, and this wasn’t about brute strength. It was about strategy, precision, and control. And those were the things he excelled at.

Tibby may have made himself a threat, but Lucion was ready to remind him—and everyone else—why he was a contender.

Unsure about his interference in the tournament Hulk went to the people’s Champion infirmary room Tibby sat in the medical bay, his arms covered in bandages and his chest wrapped tight to stem the lingering pain from Momotaro’s brutal final attack. Despite the searing ache of his wounds, his expression was far from defeated. His eyes, sharp and calculating, were fixed on the notepad in his lap, where hastily scribbled notes and diagrams painted a chaotic tapestry of strategy. Hulk sat silent for a moment and watched Tiberius sketch and scribble.

Hulk entered the room, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the flickering glow of the medical monitors. His usual confidence was tempered, replaced by a somber expression as he approached Tibby’s bedside.

“Tibby,” Hulk began, his deep voice quieter than usual.

Tibby glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “Hulk, what brings you to the infirmary? I thought champions didn’t make house calls.”

Hulk crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. “I came to apologize.”

That made Tibby pause, setting the notepad aside as he regarded the Champion King with curiosity. “For what?”

“For not stopping the fight when I should have,” Hulk admitted. “I saw where it was headed. I signaled for the referee to call it, but I didn’t act fast enough. You took a beating because I hesitated. That’s on me.”

Tibby blinked, then let out a short laugh that turned into a wince. “Ow—don’t make me laugh right now. These ribs are still protesting.” He shook his head, his tone light but sincere. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Hulk. This is a tournament, not a tea party. Things get rough. I knew what I was signing up for when I stepped into that ring.”

Hulk frowned. “Still, it wasn’t fair. If you’d had time to refine that technique of yours, things might’ve gone differently.”

Tibby leaned back, a faint grin tugging at his lips despite the pain. “Maybe. But fair doesn’t win fights, does it? And let’s be honest—Momotaro needed that win more than I did. Did you see the look in his eyes? I’m living rent-free in his head now.”

Hulk couldn’t help but chuckle at that, though his expression remained thoughtful. “You’re not angry?”

Tibby shook his head. “Nah. Losing’s just part of the game. Besides, I’m not out yet. The loser’s bracket is just another chance to prove myself. And I’ve already started working on my approach for the next fight.” He tapped his notepad, where diagrams of his kusarigama and notes on potential opponents filled the page. “Momotaro was step one. Whoever’s next? They’ll get the refined version of me.”

Hulk studied him, his keen eyes taking in every detail—the lack of resentment, the unwavering focus, the confidence that bordered on dangerous. “You really believe you’ll make it back to the finals?”

Tibby met his gaze, his grin turning sharp. “Oh, I’m not just making it back. I’m going to win this thing. And after that? I’m coming for you.”

Hulk froze for a moment, the weight of those words sinking in. He wasn’t easily intimidated—he’d faced countless challengers before—but something about the calm certainty in Tibby’s voice sent a chill down his spine. It wasn’t arrogance. It was conviction.

“Well,” Hulk said after a beat, his tone measured, “I’ll be waiting.”

Tibby leaned forward slightly, the movement making his bandages creak. “Don’t wait too long, Hulk. You might find yourself surprised.”

Hulk turned to leave, pausing at the doorway. “You’re a dangerous man, Tibby. I can see why the crowd loves you. Just don’t let that spark burn out too soon.”

Tibby smirked, picking up his notepad again. “Oh, don’t worry. The fire’s only just getting started.”

As Hulk walked away, his mind churned with conflicting thoughts. Tibby wasn’t just another competitor. He was something more—something unpredictable, unshakable, and undeniably formidable.

For the first time in a long time, Hulk found himself wondering if the Champion King might finally have met his match.

Praetorius reclined on a plush chaise in his private quarters, the dim lighting casting soft shadows over the royal decor. His long coat was draped carelessly over a chair, and a half-empty glass of wine rested on the table beside him. Across the room, Hanni perched on the edge of a velvet armchair, her delicate features glowing with curiosity as she twirled a lock of hair around her finger. Her nude form shined in the dimly lit room

“So,” she began, her voice teasing yet thoughtful, “what’s the verdict, oh great king? Did Momotaro barely scrape by, or was Tibby really just that unlucky?”

Praetorius smirked, swirling his wine as he considered her question. “A little of both, my dear consort,” he replied, his tone smooth as silk. “Momotaro’s victory wasn’t without merit—his precision and resolve are undeniable. But Tibby…” He paused, letting the name linger in the air. “Tibby is a different breed of fighter. What we witnessed wasn’t a loss—it was a declaration of intent.”

Hanni tilted her head, intrigued. “A declaration? You make it sound like he wanted to lose.”

“Not at all,” Praetorius corrected, setting his glass down. “Tibby doesn’t strike me as the type to settle for second place. No, what he did was far more dangerous. He forced everyone—Momotaro, the crowd, the judges—to recognize him. Even in defeat, he controlled the narrative. It’s a rare skill, and one that will serve him well in the matches to come.”

Hanni leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “You really think he’s that much of a threat? I mean, Momotaro did take him down.”

Praetorius chuckled, the sound low and rich. “My dear Hanni, you underestimate the power of perception. Momotaro may have won the battle, but Tibby won the crowd. Every move he made—the way he wielded his weapon, the audacity of his strategies—it was all designed to leave an impression. And it worked. By the time he’s healed and ready to fight again, his opponents won’t just be facing his skills. They’ll be facing the legend he’s already begun to craft.”

Hanni’s lips curled into a thoughtful smile. “You sound like you’re rooting for him.”

“Rooting? Not quite,” Praetorius said, his smirk widening. “But I do appreciate a well-played game. Tibby’s a wild card, and wild cards have a way of disrupting even the best-laid plans. It’s… fascinating to watch.”

Hanni rose from her seat, crossing the room to sit beside him on the chaise. “So what’s your plan, then? Sit back and enjoy the chaos? Or do you have something more… involved in mind?”

Praetorius turned to her, his gaze sharp and knowing. “Chaos, my dear, is a tool like any other. And a good strategist knows how to wield every tool at his disposal. Let Tibby and Momotaro dance their little dance. I’ll step in when the moment is right.”

Hanni arched an eyebrow, her expression equal parts amused and intrigued. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Only when I want to be,” he quipped, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “Now, tell me—what did you think of the fight? I trust your keen eyes caught something I missed.”

Hanni grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, I saw plenty. But if you want my insights, you’ll have to earn them.”

Praetorius laughed, a deep, genuine sound that filled the room. “You drive a hard bargain, my dear. Very well. Enlighten me.”

Hanni leaned back against the chaise, stretching like a cat before fixing Praetorius with a knowing smile. “Alright, here’s the thing about that fight,” she began, her tone light but sharp with observation. “Everyone’s focused on the big moves—the flashy techniques, the weapons, the crowd reactions. But that’s not what stood out to me.”

“Oh?” Praetorius folded his hands in his lap, his expression interested but unreadable. “Enlighten me, my insightful muse.”

Hanni rolled her eyes at the nickname but continued. “It’s Tibby’s rhythm. The way he fought wasn’t about power or even precision—it was about setting a pace and forcing Momotaro to follow it. Every shift in his weapon’s form wasn’t just an attack, it was like he was conducting a symphony. And for a while, Momotaro was dancing to his tune.”

Praetorius tilted his head, considering her words. “Interesting. So you’re saying Tibby wasn’t just reacting—he was leading?”

“Exactly.” Hanni’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Even when it looked like Momotaro had the upper hand, Tibby was setting him up. Moving the katana closer and closer? That wasn’t just strategy, that was psychological warfare. He wanted Momotaro to think he was slipping. It’s just… well, Tibby got a little too clever for his own good. Those chi glyphs were brilliant, but he couldn’t control them. And that’s what cost him the fight.”

Praetorius chuckled softly. “Ah, hubris. The Achilles’ heel of every would-be genius. But you’re right—it was a fascinating strategy. One misstep, and it could’ve been Momotaro lying in the dirt instead of Tibby.”

Hanni nodded, her expression growing more serious. “And that’s the thing—Tibby doesn’t need to win to get under someone’s skin. He’s already in Momotaro’s head, rent-free. Did you see how rattled he was, even after the fight? That humble, stoic hero act is cracking , and everyone knows it.”

Praetorius let out a low hum of approval. “You’re sharper than you look, my dear.”

“Of course I am,” Hanni shot back, sticking out her tongue. “I watch more than just the showy moves. Like how Momotaro wasn’t the only one who cracked. Did you notice Wonyoung and Gaeul in the crowd?”

Praetorius raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“They were so caught up in the fight, they dropped their usual composure. They weren’t just watching—they were cheering, yelling, feeling. And Chowon noticed, too. She might play it cool, but I saw her smirk. Tibby’s chaos doesn’t just disrupt fighters—it pulls everyone into his orbit. Even the spectators.”

Praetorius leaned forward, his fingers steepled as he processed her insights. “So what you’re saying,” he said slowly, “is that Tibby isn’t just a fighter. He’s a force of nature. A disruptor.”

Hanni grinned, pleased that he was catching on. “No worse. He is a spectacle. And spectacles are dangerous, because you can’t predict what they’ll do next. That’s why Momotaro’s win doesn’t feel like a win. It feels like Tibby just laid the groundwork for something bigger. Another showstopper as it were.”

Praetorius’s smirk returned, his mind already spinning with possibilities. “A very astute analysis, my dear. Perhaps I should take you into my confidence more often.”

“You should,” Hanni replied breezily. “I’m smarter than half the people you surround yourself with. And cuter.”

“Undeniably true,” Praetorius said, lifting his wineglass in a mock toast. “To your insights—and to the chaos yet to come.”

Hanni clinked her imaginary glass with his, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Here’s to that. Let’s see how much more trouble Tibby stirs up.”

The infirmary smelled faintly of antiseptic and herbs, the sharp tang softened by the dim lighting and the quiet hum of activity. Chowon pushed the door open, her steps hesitant as she glanced around. Her heart had been tight in her chest since the match, her mind racing with what she might say when she saw Tibby. She hadn’t expected him to take the beating so well—or to see him sitting on the bed, entirely healed, casually tossing a small orb of light from one hand to the other.

“Tibby?” she called softly, stepping into the room.

He looked up, his grin as bright as ever, though his eyes carried the weight of someone who had been through far more than his expression let on. “Chowon! Fancy seeing you here. Thought you’d be off celebrating Momotaro’s big win.”

Her brow furrowed as she approached him. “Don’t start with that. I came to see you.”

“Me?” He tossed the orb one last time and caught it, letting the light fade from his hand. “I’m fine. See? Not a scratch on me.”

“That’s not the point.” Chowon crossed her arms, standing just a few feet from him now. Her gaze softened as she took him in—whole, unharmed, and still as infuriatingly carefree as ever. “Tibby, you scared me out there. I thought…” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Tibby tilted his head, his grin fading as he noticed the worry etched into her features. “Hey,” he said, his voice dropping to something quieter, more sincere. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Chowon bit her lip, her emotions threatening to spill over. “You didn’t just worry me. You… you made it impossible to look away. The way you fought, the way you moved—it was like you were trying to carry the whole arena on your shoulders. Why do you push yourself like that?”

Tibby sighed, leaning back on his hands. “It’s not about pushing myself. It’s about showing everyone what I can do. People see me as some loudmouth clown with a flashy weapon, but I’ve got more than jokes and tricks. That match was my way of proving it.”

“And nearly getting yourself killed was part of that plan?” she shot back, her voice trembling.

He looked at her for a long moment, the usual spark in his eyes dimmed. “I knew the risks,” he said finally. “But I’m not here to play it safe, Chowon. I’m here to win. And sometimes that means taking hits, making people believe I’m down before I show them I’m not.”

Her arms dropped to her sides, and she took another step closer. “But at what cost, Tibby? What if next time, you don’t get up?”

Tibby’s grin returned, softer this time. “Then I guess I’ll have to make sure there isn’t a next time, huh?”

Chowon huffed, her frustration mingling with relief. Without thinking, she reached out and placed a hand on his arm, the warmth of his skin grounding her. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice dipping lower, more intimate. “But you’re still here.”

Her breath caught at his words, and for a moment, the world outside the infirmary seemed to fade away. Tibby turned his arm slightly, letting his hand rest over hers.

“I’ll be careful,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “For you.”

Chowon’s lips curved into a small, reluctant smile. “You better be.”

They stayed like that for a moment, their fingers lightly brushing as a quiet understanding passed between them. Tibby might be reckless, but here, in this moment, he was grounded—by her, and maybe for her.

“Alright,” he said, breaking the silence but not moving away. “Since I’m all healed up, what do you say we get out of here? I could use some fresh air, and I’m guessing you could use some company that doesn’t have a death wish.”

Chowon laughed softly, shaking her head. “Fine. But only if you promise not to do anything stupid for at least one day.”

Tibby smirked as he stood, their hands lingering together for a beat longer before he let go. “Deal. One day of no stupid.”

As they left the infirmary together, the weight of the earlier fight began to lift, replaced by the quiet comfort of knowing they didn’t have to face what came next alone.

The smell of melted cheese and garlic wafted through the air as Tibby and Chowon sat across from each other in a small, cozy pizzeria just outside the tournament grounds. The place was lively but not overwhelming, a perfect retreat from the chaos of the arena. A half-eaten pepperoni and mushroom pizza sat between them, the grease glistening under the warm light.

Tibby leaned back in his chair, one hand resting lazily on the table as he polished off his slice. “You know,” he said between bites, “there’s nothing quite like a good pizza after almost dying in front of thousands of people.”

Chowon gave him a pointed look, though a smile tugged at her lips. “If you’re trying to make me lose my appetite, you’re doing a great job.”

He grinned, grabbing another slice. “C’mon, you’ve gotta admit, it makes the pizza taste better. Like a victory meal, even though I technically lost.”

“Technically?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine, definitely lost,” Tibby conceded with a shrug. “But I made my point. And now, I’ve got Lucion to worry about.”

Chowon set her slice down, her expression turning thoughtful. “Lucion’s no joke, Tibby. He’s precise, calculating. He doesn’t make mistakes.”

Tibby nodded, his demeanor shifting slightly. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. He’s the kind of guy who waits for you to slip up, then takes you apart piece by piece. But that’s the thing—he’s all about reacting. If I don’t give him the chance to counter, I might be able to throw him off his game.”

Chowon tilted her head, watching him closely. “So, what’s the plan?”

Tibby leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Speed. Lucion likes to control the pace, but if I keep things fast—keep him guessing—I might be able to catch him off guard. And I’ve been working on a couple of new tricks. The key is making him think he’s in control when he’s not.”

Chowon’s lips curved into a small smile. “You’re really taking this seriously.”

“Of course I am,” Tibby said, his voice softening. “Lucion’s not just another opponent. He’s a test. If I can beat him, it proves I belong here.”

Chowon reached out, her hand brushing against his on the table. “You already proved that today. Whether you beat Lucion or not, you’ve shown everyone what you’re capable of.”

Tibby looked at her, the usual playfulness in his eyes replaced by something more genuine. “Thanks, Chowon. That means a lot, coming from you.”

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before pulling back. “Just promise me you’ll stick to your plan and not do anything reckless. You don’t have to win every fight by being the flashiest guy in the room.”

Tibby chuckled, grabbing another slice. “No promises. But I’ll try to keep the stupid to a minimum. For you.”

Chowon rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. As they continued eating, the tension from the day’s events slowly melted away, replaced by the easy camaraderie and quiet understanding they shared. Whatever challenges lay ahead, Tibby knew he had someone in his corner—and that made all the difference.

[muddyorbsblr]

bigger than the whole sky [rtc what if…?]

'relinquish the crown' masterlist See my full list of works here!

BE WARNED SPOILERS FOR THE LOKI SEASON 2 FINALE AHEAD

Summary: What if…you'd broken Frigga's memory spell without Loki? | Your search for your husband leads you to a peculiar void beyond the Nine Realms, to a place that vaguely resembles the Tree of Life that you'd only read about in historical texts.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: angst with no happy ending in sight; this is in the RTC universe so…themes of incest if you squint; Loki S2 finale spoilers; slight violence in the beginning [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: gonna repeat it again…Loki S2 finale spoilers ahead; no prior reading of RTC is required to suffer enjoy reading this story

"I will ask you one final time, you sadistic hedonist," you panted, taking a moment to lean on Stormbreaker while the eccentric tyrannical leader of Sakaar laid bleeding on the ground. One hand clutched his abdomen where you'd struck him, the other gingerly held his broken nose.

This wasn't something that you enjoyed doing, putting others through pain. But knowing Loki's history with this Grandmaster long before you two had met was easing your worry somehow that you were doing something reprehensible. There were pains that your beloved, even after all the time you'd known each other prior to your betrothal and marriage, were not quite ready to share with you.

His time in Sakaar was among those pains.

That knowledge alone was enough to get you to stop catching your breath, marching over to the Grandmaster and pinning him to the ground with the end of your battle axe's handle.

"Where is Loki?"

"Lady, I already told you back in the viewing box, I haven't seen your u--Agh!" You pressed Stormbreaker's handle harder against a tender spot on his shoulder, his body visibly showing signs of surrender before he started tapping on the floor. "Alright I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whined.

"Shall we try this again, then?" He did his best to nod his head, sighing heavily. "Where did you last see him?"

"I swear to you on my Champion's grave it's been millions of years for me here in Sakaar," he choked out, still audibly struggling to draw in his breath. "It was a time he didn't even know you yet. You probably hadn't even been born."

"So you truly bear no knowledge of my husband's whereabouts?"

"Your hus--I thought he was--"

"Mind your words, charlatan god." He let out another groan of pure agony as you pressed harder on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry! I--I really don't know where he is, Your Highness, I don't--"

"Then what use are you to me," you said darkly, another corner of your soul feeling ass if the lights had gone out. Another dead end.

You took a dagger out with your free hand, the Grandmaster's pleas of mercy sounding muffled as they fell on your dulled ears. Nothing he had to say could spare him now; to you, he was no longer a lead, a well lit path that could perhaps point you to where Loki had been all this time.

Now he was simply a shadow of your husband's past. Something so dark that he didn't even dare let you know about it.

Despair began to seep into your veins, a single question overtaking all other remotely coherent thought. Would you ever find him? Would you ever get to apologize? To tell him how you felt? How you'd always felt?

Before you could strike, a loud crack resounded throughout the Grandmaster's suite, coming from a glowing green portal that appeared in the center of the room.

"I would probably take that call, if I were you," the Grandmaster quipped, exhaling a large sigh of relief when you removed the weight of Stormbreaker off of him as you stepped toward the portal. Once the threshold had begun to close after you stepped through, he let out a final sentiment. "Please say hello to your husband for me when you find him."

That was more than enough for you to decide throwing your dagger into the small opening that remained, hitting the smug anachronistic bastard on his uninjured shoulder.

Then the portal finally closed, leaving you in a place you couldn't quite describe. All you knew was that it felt like a place you should never have been allowed access to. A place that should be beyond you. Beyond anyone.

Winding, glowing vines surrounded you, each of them looked and sounded as if they were teeming with a life of its own. If you listened carefully you could hear voices. Your voices. Infinite iterations of them. But one rang clearer than every other in the entire space.

"Did I do something that angered the Norns so fiercely that they condemned me to love a man I could never have?"

"I know what it feels like to kiss him. To touch him. To be desired by him. And it's ripping me apart to know that I will never know that again."

"The people will look at this union and see it for what it is. Sinful. Shameful!"

You tried to block the memories out of your mind, of you begging your grandmother Queen Frigga to lock your memories away. Of arguing with your grandfather Odin and with your father Thor because they were signing your life away to marry Loki. Of the harsh words you spat at them all behind closed doors.

Of the day the lock on your mind finally broke, after finding your journals prior to the spell being cast chronicling how you'd fallen for the god despite your better judgment. The head-splitting agony of your memories reconciling and finding their place back in your mind.

An agony suffered in your lonesome while Loki was away on assignment.

You scrambled desperately to think of anything else, to follow along the path of the vines and hear something other than your own mistakes being echoed back at you. These desperate attempts made you realize that the vines converged in a structure that eerily resembled an image that you'd only learned about in your youth.

"Yggdrasil?" you whispered in awe, your feet bringing you closer still until you found a parting just large enough for one to squeeze through.

Once you'd finally freed yourself from the winding vines, all air left your lungs at the sight that greeted you. A golden throne at the heart of the tree. All the vines anchored to the man -- or God, rather -- seated in it.

Loki.

"You've left quite a trail of bodies in your wake throughout this quest of yours, little Princess," he spoke, not moving even a fraction from where he sat.

He gave you a soft smile, tears beginning to form in his eyes as he stared at you. As if he couldn't believe you were here with him.

"It's been too long, my darling wife."

You'd rehearsed time and time again throughout your search for your husband what you would say to him once you'd been reunited. You would tell him how wrong you were for how you behaved throughout your betrothal, your marriage. And you would abandon every shred of your pride and beg for his forgiveness. You would tell him you loved him, that you'd always loved him.

And that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

Yet somehow you could form none of those words. Instead you finally felt your body succumb to the tiredness brought about by the centuries you'd spent searching and laying waste to every imaginable corner of the Nine Realms and beyond for even the slightest shred of a clue as to where he could have been.

Instead you sunk to your knees, the tears streaming down your face as you stumbled over your words. "I remember everything. I had to find you. Tell you that I'm--"

"I know you are, my love. I watched you on the day the spell broke, the day you finally remembered. I wanted so desperately to come home to you. To not let you have to endure that pain alone."

"Why didn't you?" you blurted out, staring at all the vines he held in his hands. "What are all these?"

"Timelines," he answered you simply, giving you a minuscule shrug of his shoulders. "In every single one, there is an iteration of you and me. Some circumstances may differ, minor details. But at the heart of each of them, we live a life together. We find each other, fall in love. In some we even start a family."

"A family," you repeated breathlessly. The knowledge that each vine -- each timeline -- that was anchored to him held a variation of you and him, of your story, began to eat away at you, flooding you with guilt.

How wretched did you have to be that in your timeline you'd rejected him? Foolishly pushed him away with every mistake you made until finally it took you centuries to find him again?

"What happened?" you finally spoke after what felt like hours. "How did you get--"

"That is quite the long and harrowing tale, darling. In truth, it was a cavalcade of miscalculations and bad judgment calls, failed attempts of trying to save all these lives until I realized that the result would always stay the same if the equation contained the same variables."

"And what was that result?"

"Annihiliation," he answered you simply, giving you a misty eyed look. "Every single strand of time that I hold safe now would have been obliterated on sight. I know it. I've seen it. I've seen you disintegrate before me too many times than I wish to count. The device that once held them stable could no longer scale for an infinite number of possibilities, and letting countless timelines die in the name of the survival of a few was…unacceptable. The only thing that could carry a burden that great was--"

"A god," you finished, the words fighting you their entire way out, nearly choking you on the weight of them. The question that you wished to raise crippled you with its answer's implications. For you and your timeline specifically. "What happens if you let go?"

"It dies. Slowly. Drifts away until it eventually turns to ash." He began to make a motion, as if to approach you, until ultimately he decided against it. "This was the only way. It remains the only way. I must stay, and keep them safe. Watch our lives play out in derivatives of what ifs."

The selfish question that danced at the tip of your tongue plagued you with even more guilt. But what about my timeline? What about our life together? "There has to be another way," you grumbled, stubbornly shaking your head as if you were once again a toddler, refusing to accept the world for being what it was rather than what you wished it would be. "I could stay with you. I could stay and we can find a way together."

Your heart splintered watching him shake his head at you. "My beautiful headstrong wife," he breathed out, his tone filled with both fondness and heartbreak. "I can't in my good conscience let you abandon your life just so you could stay here with me. That would be too selfish, even for me. What would you have here?"

"You! I would have you. All these centuries I've spent in a desperate scramble to find you and tell you that I lo--" You found yourself completely choking on the words now, never having to articulate them before. "That I love you. That I've always loved you and I want us to start our lives together. I refuse to accept that after all this time I have to let you go. You can't make me."

"Asgard needs you, its future Queen."

"And I need you!" Your voice finally broke, sobs that you'd fought inside starting to bubble up. "It isn't fair that you hold all these different tellings of our story in your hands, but your story, yours and mine, ends in us apart. That you spend your days here, watching our life play out somewhere and somewhen else, and you're alone. Please don't send me away, husband," you began to beg. "Don't make me leave you. Let me stay."

He let out a sharp exhale, a tear escaping his eye, rolling down his cheek. "I've longed for the day I would hear you call me that," he sighed, a rueful smile gracing the handsome features that you were bereft of for centuries. "Truly I didn't think I would ever see you again, Y/N. My Y/N. I never thought that I would have you before me, and I hear those words you would only say in dreams with my own ears. Thank you, my dear heart. You have given me a gift in this quest of yours, in having a final moment with the woman I love…" More tears rolled down his cheeks when his smile widened before finishing his sentiment. "And the woman that loves me."

Your sobs filled the endless space, your body collapsing onto the ground as your grief overtook you. The notion of grieving for the living never seemed sensical to you until now. Now that the man, the god, you loved was calling this the last time you would ever see each other.

And you knew in your heart that with the power he wielded now, he could make that your reality without even lifting a finger. He could push you out of this void and back into any timeline of his choosing just as easily as he pulled you out of Sakaar.

The feel of familiar large hands pulling you up to your feet startled you, only having the briefest moment to look at your husband before he pulled you into a crushing embrace. You didn't think twice before wrapping your arms around him, holding him as close as you could and sobbing into his shoulder before realizing…

If his hands were on you, then why were the vines still in place?

"Loki," you sobbed. "Husband, please. No illusions."

"I can't hold you," he said, choking back his own sobs now. "I couldn't watch you break like this and do nothing." The duplicate he cast to hold you disappeared from your hold in a flash of green. "I've done it before against all my better judgment, I refuse to do it again."

"Then don't." Against your own better judgment, you stomped your foot, like a bratty child being told you had to go home. Which was almost precisely what this was. "If this is where you are and where you will remain, then this is where I wish to stay. With the god that owns my heart. With my husband." You blinked rapidly to expel the tears that blurred your vision before uttering the words that splintered at your heart even more. "I was made to be yours. You said that."

"And I yours," he finished, averting his gaze, letting his own tears drop to the fabric of  his trousers. "In every timeline. We must take solace in knowing that among these infinite tales, one is ours. What could have been ours."

"What should be ours," you insisted. You made your way over to him, placing your hand on the side of his face. He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, the sight breaking your heart further. "Our story deserves its bliss-laden epilogue, too."

"Not at the cost of everyone else's. Deep down you know this to be true."

"That does not mean I accept it," you grumbled. "Let me stay."

"You know that I can't. I will not subject you to live out the rest of your days here. Without friends nor family, and only a husband that cannot even hold you as company."

"But at least you would have someone to hold you," you argued, throwing your arms around him and letting your tears flow once more. "I can't just leave you here all on your own. You can't make me." You knew that he damn right could.

"My love," he sighed, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple. "I wish for you to live a long, and fulfilled life. You've lost so much time in your search for me only for it to end like this. I can give you those centuries back, as a final gift. Reverse the clock, undo the toll it took on you. Let this be the final token of my affection. My fealty. My undying vow."

"Let me keep my memories," you pleaded, already feeling that this would truly be your final moments with him. You did not need to turn your gaze to know that the portal leading back to Asgard was there, waiting for you. Perhaps he would simply nudge you through with his mind, knowing that you would refuse to leave. "Let me keep my remnants of you if that is all that I can leave this place with."

He nodded once. "Very well, little Princess. When you walk through the portal only the physical years will be stripped away. Live well, and remember always that I love you. My heart will only ever belong to you. Until the end of time."

"I love you," you choked out through your tears. "Husband." Your heart ached at the sight of his tears, not bothering to fight back the urge to kiss them away. "I will miss you desperately and always. In every step that I must take in this life without you."

"You will always have me by your side," he swore. "When you feel a presence you cannot see, in gentle breezes within a still room. I will always be there."

You continued to wipe his tears away, the god constantly kissing at your palms. Seemingly refusing to let you go, too.

"May I kiss you?" you asked, barely audibly, your voice unable to even completely form the words. "One last time?"

He gave you a small nod, and you leaned in to press your lips to his, trying to pour out your years of lost time and the future that you were doomed to lose in just a few short moments into that single kiss. You could feel that when he kissed you back, he did so with both all the love he'd never been able to give you before, and the love that he would never be able to bestow in the future.

It was a kiss of finality. A kiss of goodbye. A bittersweet final page in the story of you and Loki.

I love you more than words can ever say, his voice echoed in your mind. Goodbye, my love. My fated. My darling wife.

When you pulled away he was gone. And you'd been returned to your shared chambers back in Asgard. As he promised, the physical toll the centuries-long search had taken on your body were gone. No more scars from miscalculated skirmishes. No more bruises from Sakaar.

No more physical reminders of what you'd endured trying to reunite with the love your life.

All that remained were the memories of those years, and your time in his domain beyond the Realms.

"Goodbye, my darling husband. My love. My Loki," you whispered into the quiet of your marital chambers, sinking to your knees once more and letting out a shriek of pure agony, the sobs swiftly returning and wracking your entire body as you lay pathetically on the floor.

"Y/N??"

The sound of your mother Lady Sif's voice provided little comfort, but it felt like a familiar balm. "Mother," you said weakly, unmoving from your spot on the ground even as she rushed to you, cradling you in her lap.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" She stroked your hair while your tears soaked her sleep dress. You felt her wave someone over, and moments later you felt your grandmother Queen Frigga's presence in the room with you.

"I lost. I lost and I know not what to do now," you managed to say through your tears.

"What did you lose, Daughter?"

You'd briefly considered explaining your journey, from breaking the spell, to your journey through the centuries, to Loki's domain beyond the reach of space and time. To relay what had become of your husband.

Ultimately the words were beyond you due to your grief.

"Everything," you answered her, holding on to her tight as if you were a child again. This would be the only semblance of comfort you would have. "I lost everything."

A/N: I had to after that finale had me processing and feeling the big sad all day, I promise I'm working on 2 other stories based on the finale that have kinda better endings.

Also I sobbed throughout writing this entire thing, just for the record.

Now here's the song to add to the vibe:

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog

[oswildin]

Something New (Loki x GN!Reader)

Summary: You have known each other since you were children on Asgard, you’ve been there through everything… And now you’re stranded on a junk planet with the man you believed to be dead for four years… It was time for a honest chat.

A/N: Set during ‘Thor Ragnarok’, no descriptors or use of ‘Y/N’.

“Silent treatment, is it? How juvenile. And a little boring.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, irritation flashing through your features at Loki’s - deliberately - vexing comment. Shaking your head, you stayed looking out the large window of the quarters you and Loki had been forced to share, especially after he had told the Grandmaster you two were married.

“Ah, I see, you’re in the honeymoon phase. Well, we are very progressive here on Sakaar.” The Grandmaster had mused. “We have husbands, wives, consorts, throuples and in-betweens. I can give you a leaflet if you like-“ To which quickly you had held up a hand, shaking your head, overwhelmed by the junk planet you’d ended up on, let alone the intricacies of their… escapades. No, you were much more focused on finding a way off of the planet and to Asgard to stop Hela, and then back to Midgard to live your life in peace.

It had been a few days since Loki and Thor had appeared on Midgard before your eyes, the shock and disbelief you felt still fresh in your mind at the sight of Loki - alive. And finding out he had faked his death for Asgard’s throne… Well, that was just the cherry on top. You forgave him for trying to destroy Jotunheim, you tried to forgive him for attacking New York… Fighting side by side against the Dark Elves had felt right… And then, he was gone. Dead, you thought.

“You seriously think you can go god-knows how long without speaking to me?” Loki inquired, raising a curious brow. “Whether you like it or not, we are in this together.” He nodded to himself. “And I, for one, am not about to let the opportunity to gain the Grandmasters favour, get close and perhaps take his place, slip me by.”

“Oh my god-“ You whirl around, finally facing him as your brows crease. “Are you serious?” You snap, a beat of silence filling the air between you. When you see him furrow his brows in a look that said ‘well, yes’, you couldn’t help but let a tired laugh escape your lips, head falling back slightly as your gaze flickered to the ceiling.

“I fail to see how that is funny-“ Loki huffed, tilting his head faintly.

“No, you’re right-“ You sigh, shaking your head, gaze fixed upon him once more. “It isn’t funny. No, in fact-“ You take a step closer. “It’s hilarious.” Loki blinked, irritation creeping up on him now at your mocking words. “Because, of course, Asgard was simply just… not enough?” You raise a brow. “Having Odin sent to Midgard, his death leading to the unleashing of the Goddess of Death who is now set on ruling Asgard and possibly destroying anyone or anything in her way… Was… not enough.”

Loki averted his eyes, looking down as his jaw twitched, your words hitting him with the harsh reality that his actions had consequences.

“And instead of doing the right thing and wanting to try and leave this hel, you wish to… stay? Ignore that our home is in danger?” Silence fell between you both, giving you the answer you needed as you let out an exasperated breath. “Right, well then.” You muttered, straightening yourself. “You’ve made yourself clear.” You went to move, going to find your own way off of Sakaar, with or without Loki’s help.

“Wait-“ Loki sighed, reaching out to grasp your wrist, stopping your leave. “Just… wait.” He added, tone slightly softer. You looked up to meet his stare, seeing the uncertainty on his features. “I…” He sighed once again. “I’m sorry.” He finally muttered, eyes quickly flickering to the wall before landing back on you. “Alright?” He slowly let go of your wrist. “I didn’t think.”

“No, you’re right, you didn’t.” You grumbled, folding your arms over your chest, your own eyes moving to stare firmly at the wall behind Loki. Loki could see the tension in your frame, the hurt he had caused by faking his death still clinging to you like an old wound. He clasped his hands into fists at his sides briefly, before letting them fall naturally, letting out a slow breath whilst doing so.

“You can’t be too surprised by that.” Loki tried, tone wry. “Whilst my intelligence may be high, it seems my… ability for considering others emotions is somewhat lacking.” You scoffed at that. “‘Always so perceptive about everyone but yourself’.” Loki mumbled to himself, making you glance at him. He let out a breathy, quick laugh as he shook his head lightly, lips pursing. “Yet it seems my perception can be… also lacking when it comes to those closest.” He added quietly.

You stayed silent, unsure on what to say - on what he wanted you to say. Instead, you sighed, unfolding your arms, moving towards a nearby seat as you felt Loki’s eyes watching your every move. “I’m tired, Loki.” You finally spoke, sitting down, elbows on your knees, hands clasped together. “You’re supposed to be my dearest friend, and yet… it feels as though you are intent on creating distance between us.”

Loki raised his chin faintly, before taking close calculated steps towards you, a slightly awkward aura surrounding him. He wasn’t one to be open with such matters as friendship and emotions. But perhaps… it was time he tried. Tentatively, he took a seat beside you, leaving a respectable distance, knowing he had to earn the right to be close to you again.

The truth was, whilst you may have been dear friends once, over the years it had… changed. Ever since Loki discovered the truth about his heritage, maybe even before that. When he chose to lie to you about the Frost Giants entry into Asgard, he had made his choice. He had chosen self-preservation. Something that in his time ruling Asgard, he realised was… hollow. And you never truly were just a dear friend to him. Nor him to you, even if it was unspoken.

“It was truly never my intention to cause you pain.” Loki spoke lowly, side-glancing at you, trying to gauge your every reaction to his words. “Thor… on the other hand.” He added wryly, raising a brow. “I suppose apart of me… wanted him to feel it. So he understood.” It was spoken as if he was processing it in real time. Your gaze drifted to Loki, eyeing his profile as he spoke. “And when you came to Odin… to me…” He corrected before pausing. “And asked to return to Midgard, to live your life among the mortals I once sought to rule…” He let out a quiet breath. “I could do nothing but allow it. Knowing the hurt I had caused, the rift I had created…”

Loki’s words hung in the air, a subtle tension hanging with them as you bit your lower lip lightly, unclasping your hands to sit up straight, keeping them resting on your knees. “Midgard…” You began softly. “The time I spent there after New York, aiding them rebuild their city… It gave me purpose.” You turned your head to look at him properly. “Odin had forbidden me from seeing you in your cell, Thor was with Jane and I…” You sighed. “I just wanted to do something… good.”

Loki listened intently, his expression neutral, if not slightly more tender than his usual look of indifference. He waited for you to continue, not wanting to interrupt. “And then after… thinking you were dead on Svartalfheim…” You shook your head. “I just… couldn’t bear being home.”

Loki felt a pang in his usually guarded heart at those words, his head dipping as he moved a hand to the bridge of his nose. Odin’s words when he sent him away still clung to the corners of his mind.

“You will not see them again, you have done enough damage there.”

In his own way, he thought he was protecting you. Stopping you from being hurt anymore by making you believe he was dead.

“I thought-“ He cleared his throat, lifting his head. “After everything I had done…” He trailed off, not daring to look at you.

“That what?” You blinked, furrowing your brows. “I just… wouldn’t care?” You breathed out, disbelief in your voice. Loki finally then took the risk of glancing at you, seeing the bewildered look on your features. “You think… that after everything, the good and the bad, that I wouldn’t care if you were gone?” Loki stayed quiet, but the look on his face told you all you needed to know. “You’re an idiot.” You huffed, shaking your head, pushing yourself to your feet as Loki blinked at your reaction. “You are… an A-Grade idiot.”

“I see Midgard has also taught you some rather interesting language-“ He quipped wryly, brows furrowing as he stayed seated, a hand moving to a small shrug. You turned round to look at him, hands on your hips.

“Midgard taught me a lot, thank you.” You snapped slightly, letting out a breath as you looked out the window across the room once again. “I could’ve left you to your own designs in New York, let the others handle it, but when Thor told me you were alive, what you were planning, I demanded to go with him.” You looked down at him again, searching his upturned gaze. “When Odin forbid me from seeing you in your cell, sending me to Midgard to clear up your mess, all I could think about was what you were thinking, how you were feeling.” You saw Loki’s brows begin to unknit, a flash of emotion going through his ice blue eyes. “And then when we fought side by side on Svartalfheim, I thought it was a fresh start. Us, fighting side by side…” Your voice wavered faintly, but Loki noticed as he gracefully got to his feet. “To watch you die.” You whispered.

Loki swallowed the lump in his throat, taking a tentative step closer, one hand slightly outstretched, as if he was approaching a startled animal. “To find out, you were alive for four years. Four years, Loki.” Your voice raised slightly, anger surfacing. “And even now, you are plotting and scheming. It never ends, does it?”

Loki’s eyelids fluttered briefly, face lowering to look down at his leather boots as he tried to think of what to say - what you would want him to say. “What can I say? I’m an opportunist.” He finally spoke, words quiet. Usually, those words would’ve been laced with wry humour, but instead they were almost honest sounding. He lifted his face, eyes flickering to your hands on your hips as he took a leap of chance, reaching for one of your hands. He was surprised when you didn’t snatch your hand away, but didn’t let it show.

“You…” He breathed out. “Are… a defender. Just like you always wanted to be.” He spoke softly. “I am… proud…” The words felt slightly foreign on his tongue, such open sentiment. “-of how far you have come.” His words were almost a whisper, as your own gaze threaten to soften. “And I… am still searching.” He gave a brief, solemn smile. “Searching for what I want to be.” He paused. “I do what I do because… it’s what I know how… to do.” His eyes searched yours, as if you had the answer, but knowing that ultimately, it was he who needed to work it out. “I don’t enjoy hurting people. I do it… because I have to, because I’ve had to.”

Your gaze finally softened, shoulders relaxing slightly as you took in his admission. You always knew that the Loki he portrayed to most was a mask, a defence mechanism… Yes, he was mischievous and cunning, but he was also multifaceted. You had seen it yourself. He was capable of so much more than the hollow quest he strived for.

“I know.” You whispered, squeezing his hand lightly. “But going round in circles, it’s never going to give you what you’re searching for. You can’t… discover if you don’t do something new.” You continued lowly, raising a brow. “Maybe, whatever you’re truly searching for isn’t a throne, or to rule or whatever else that falls under that umbrella, but maybe what you’re really looking for is-“

But before you could finish your thought, Loki’s lips had pressed to yours. You froze for a moment, taken back, before feeling yourself relax, his hand gently squeezing yours as his free one came to gently cup your cheek. Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to melt into the kiss - a kiss you had been waiting centuries for. His kiss was as tender as it was passionate, reverent even. It was a kiss that took your breath away - at the risk of sounding cliche.

After a moment, you broke apart, Loki pulling back to observe your face, eyes flickering over your features in a questioning way, wondering if he had overstepped, if he had done the right thing by… being vulnerable. When your eyes finally reopened, finding his, the look on his face was a mix of nerves and contentment, a strange contradiction… Very Loki.

“What… what was that for?” You breathed out, still slightly in awe at the way your heart was beating in your chest. Loki blinked, raising his brows.

“Well, you… did say that I couldn’t discover if I didn’t try something new…” He said lowly, tone holding a hint of his usual cheekiness that made your lip twitch, threatening to smile.

“And?” You asked quietly, his hand still in yours, his other still cupping your cheek gently.

“And I…” He cleared his throat. “I- uh- think I rather like this… ‘something new’.” His lips quirked up into a faint smirk, eyes glimmering with hope and care, possibly even excitement. “If you like it as well, of course-“ He added, slightly rushed, a little awkward.

“No, yeah- I mean-“ You nodded, clearing your own throat. “Yeah. I like it.”

“Yeah?” Loki raised a brow, voice breathy.

“Yeah.” You smiled softly, once more squeezing his hand in assurance as Loki let his own lips be tugged into a small, almost bashful smile.

“To something new.”

[under0-0s]

@j-a-r-v-i-s-the-ai

----[TIME SKIP FROM MAIN TIME] 4 YEARS LATER----

As another day strikes the midnight hour and I waste away in the confines of my workshop, a feeling of unease settles in my chest. A lot had gone on, around. Fury, his call for joining...the Avengers again. After all the falling out, the close calls, the accords and Sokovia, worst of all. That wasn't even the end of it. All of it. Nathaniel on his merciless blood-rampage, the government chasing on for tech and amends, attacks on Malibu Point, the Mandarin having just subsided, and most of all...Pepper's near-death call. It all seemed so...disgustingly familiar, considering that variants of me were ahead in time, having experienced a lot more than most. It was all, very much, still settling all over again.

Call it instinct, or whatever that gives your gut a cold tickle, when J.A.R.V.I.S chimes in...

"Mr. Stark, this is J.A.R.V.I.S., reporting on the current alien offensive on Planet Sakaar. Hostile forces, primarily the R’kaarn Legion, have launched a large-scale assault on Sakaar. They are targeting key planetary resources and infrastructure, destabilizing both civilian life and local governance. The R’kaarn Legion appears to be using advanced gravimetric disruptors and biomechanoid drones, making them highly mobile and dangerous. Reports suggest these drones are being used for reconnaissance, sabotage, and direct combat, effectively overwhelming local defenses.

Sakaarian civilians are suffering significant casualties and displacement, with over half of the population in the affected regions now displaced. Critical energy conduits are under attack, threatening to cut off vital resources across the planet. The local military forces are stretched thin, unable to mount an effective counteroffensive due to a lack of advanced weaponry and manpower. The enemy’s tactics are proving adaptive, exploiting the planet's unique gravitational anomalies to their advantage. However, there are weaknesses—especially in their reliance on gravimetric technology, which could be vulnerable to specialized countermeasures. This may be an opportunity for us to strike back."

My gaze hovered over the projections of the situations, as J.A.R.V.I.S provided visuals on it. This wasn't a...human threat that could be dealt with by one arm only, while keeping Earth out of the picture with the other, because if...Sakaar was already on the radar, Earth was nearly only a few lightyears further, and likely on the radar too. What were the chances that we weren't next? Hell, they wouldn't even need to land here to throw a moon at us. Which was what was ticking me off.

Not only were the visuals visibly unsettling, but also gave me a clear idea that if Sakaar's forces weren't enough defense, we could not...stand a chance. Somehow the deal was tempting, to sign and throw off whatever ridge there was drawn between the halves of us. But then again, my side of communication was easier, and...his side wasn't.

"J.A.R.V.I.S, make a few calls for me. Schedule a conference at S.H.I.E.L.D's."

Although, I did begin selecting the contacts to call, each one was hesitation. Nat, Clint, Peggy, Rhodey, Sam, Laura, Bruce, Stephen...

The calls seemingly have decided, my finger hovered over the faintest possibility.

CALLER ID: CAP'N STEVEN G.

'I need a second opinion, damn it.'

I kept the choice on hold. I needed to talk to Peggy. I couldn't tell Pepper just yet, not about her gift and neither about all this. She's busy enough.

@official-tasha-romanoff @the-colonel-rhodes @clintbarton-thearrowguy @we-love-redwing @laura-barton-shield @imnothulk @stephenstrange-md-phd @the1-and-only-peggycarter @little-witchy-wanda @official-pietro-maximoff @i-am-not-a-toaster @thir-0dinson @loki-laufeychild @its-nate-the-sharpshot @multiverse-peterbparker @whatarethooseshuri @your-fav-russian-assassin @totally-not-kate-bishop @scott-lang-the-magic-man @spidey-sensed-ur-follow

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Sunshine on Sakaar - Part 1

Prologue Anon's 1K Celebration

You sigh to yourself, sitting in the same crowd of people that you do everyday, watching as they chatter amongst themselves, betting on the lives of the warriors in the arena.

"Someone's come through the portal," another person chimes in, their voice brimming with excitement.

You rest your chin in your hand, always feeling the tinge of guilt at another unwilling participant for the Contest of Champions. They never lasted long.

You don't get a chance to try to commit the next unfortunate person's face to memory before you're called back to your duty.

"Oh, Sunny!"

You bite back your sigh of irritation and plaster on your widest grin. "Yes?"

"Do that trick for us again." It's a thinly veiled order behind a giant smile and a condescending laugh. You have no choice but to obey, while they clap, laugh, and taunt you.

You can hear the vague outline of the Grandmaster's normal speech to those entering Sakaar. You've heard it time and time again. Most were doomed to fight in the Grandmaster's twisted contest. You were considered one of the lucky ones.

You always hoped that every person would be 'lucky'. Luck had a strange definition in a place like this. In a place like this, anything was better than a death for the vain entertainment of others. At least you were alive for the vain entertainment of others.

You hear the familiar speech wind down, you're all about to find out the fate of Sakaar's newest arrival when you finally hear the voice of the new arrival, a voice far too familiar.

The flame in your hand suddenly extinguishes as your head snaps up, "Loki?"

His gaze snaps toward the sound of your voice. He sighs deeply, still tightly strapped to his chair, "This day just keeps getting better."

"You two know each other?" the Grandmaster asks, amusement lighting up his face.

"He tried to kill my friends once."

The Grandmaster raises his executing staff at him, "So he's no good?"

"No, no!" you quickly backtrack. And though there's a part of you that seriously questions why you're helping him after everything he'd done, you know you couldn't live with yourself if you didn't at least try to save him. "He's my friend's brother. He's, well... he's Loki."

"Loki..." the Grandmaster hums. "Sunny, can he fight?"

"No!" you quickly reply, much to Loki's distaste.

Loki scoffs, "I beg your pardon."

"He can't fight, Grandmaster. Not at all. It's kind of sad."

"I-" Loki tries to interject.

You steamroll over his words, laying your words thick for the two of them. You gently nudge Loki's restrained shoulder, "He's a total wimp, but he's a delight though. Really! Almost as funny as I am!"

"Hmm..." the Grandmaster audibly thinks. "Alright, you've made a compelling case. He can stay, but, Sunny, you're responsible for him."

"You won't regret this," you call after him, biting back a cringe. You whisper to yourself as you look back towards Loki, "But I might."

You take your time undoing each of Loki's restraints, and as you reach for the final one that unbinds his hands, he hisses in your ear, "You know that I could kill you without so much as wave of my hand?" 

"Do you know that I just saved your life?" you whisper back. "Now, behave until we get you away from the Grandmaster. He's known to change his mind."

He rubs at his wrists, standing up from his seat, "I was being my charming self, I had no doubt that I could manage."

You sarcastically snort, walking out of the viewing room and back to your room, "I'm sure you could."

Loki's footsteps trail behind you. "I don't like your tone."

"I'm sure you could," you brightly singsong.

"What are you doing here?" he demands, stopping in front of you. 

"Like right now? Or just in general?"

"Both."

"Oh, well, in general, I'm... actually I don't know what I'm doing here. I mostly just sit here and say something every once in a while. Sometimes, the Grandmaster, he’s the guy in charge, he makes me do tricks for him. And right now... I was just watching you slip in through that portal over there."

Loki's head tilts slightly as he does his best to tamp down his impatience with a heavy sigh, "What I meant was, how did you get here?"

"Now, that is a very long story. It started when we were in Sokovia back on Earth, and let me tell you, things were not going well. Like not at all. So we were only there because -"

"Stop," Loki interjects, shaking his head. He dismissively waves his hand, "Stop. No, no, I am not nearly interested enough to listen to this."

"Well, alright," you shrug, turning on your heels to walk away.

Loki grabs your elbow, spinning you back around, "I am, however, very interested in your acquaintance with the Grandmaster."

"Okay..."

"Could you help me?"

Your mouth twists slightly, "I dunno... I don't think that's a good idea."

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve tried to kill my friends before?” you reply like it should be obvious to him. 

Loki scoffs at you, “Aren’t you also friends with my oaf of a brother? The friend of your friend is also your friend.”

Your eyebrows furrow at him, “I’m no expert but I don’t think that’s how that saying goes.”

“I’m certain it is.”

“And, no offense, but Thor doesn’t exactly have the nicest things to say about you," you admit. "He told me a story about a snake or something.”

"He greatly embellishes."

“So you didn’t disguise yourself as a snake because Thor likes snakes, all so you could bite him?”

“He slightly embellishes,” Loki corrects.

“You don’t even like me.”

"If Thor has accurately depicted your character, you could look beyond my history to help a soul in need."

You cross your arms over your chest, quirking an eyebrow at him, “So you want me to help you out of pity?”

“I would like you to help me of your own accord, but seeing as that it unlikely, yes, I’ll take your greatest sympathies.”

You chortle, “I don't think you could win my greatest sympathies.”

“You think your life more tragic than mine?” Loki asks, his voice thick with offense. 

You call over your shoulder, “I don’t like to compare myself to others.”

He grabs your shoulder, spinning you back towards him, “But you do, don’t you?”

“I don’t think, I know.”

"My long lost sister tried to kill me!" Loki starts.

"My friend unknowingly kidnapped me and doomed me to a life on an unknown planet," you counter. "I don't even know how long I've been stuck here."

"My mother is dead."

"I never knew my parents."

"My father lied about my true lineage and rejected me for his golden child," he retorts.

"My parents left me abandoned, on the street for dead. After a whole day of knowing me. Only one day old."

"You win," he begrudgingly admits. 

"Nice!" You clench your fist in victory. "Wait, does that mean we both have sad, traumatizing lives?"

Loki frowns, "I suppose it does."

Your mouths twists in discomfort, "Maybe we shouldn't think about it too much?"

Loki quickly nods, agreeing with you, "Let's not."

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Anon's 1K Celebration

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[gunsandspaceships]

Summary of the first 5 months of this blog or Navigation v2

Today is a significant date for several reasons: it is Tony's birthday, the blog now has 200 followers and the number of posts has reached 160.

Because of the last reason, the time has come to summarize the results of our research over these months.

So far we found out:

Which Tony is the real one: Alter Ego, Kid, Teenager, Big man in a suit of armor, Gryffindor

Details about his childhood: Facts, Own will, Inner child, Bravery, When he met Rhodey

That he is an introvert: MCU, 616, Socially awkward, Absent-minded

His natural habitat: a Lab

What makes him happy: Science, Kids, Relationship

What he accomplished: Achievements, Marksman, PhDs

That he is not a narcissist and his self-esteem is not high: Easy test, 616 Low Self-esteem, Lack of ambition, Not High Self-esteem

He is actually a very strange billionaire: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Comfort, Food, Chores

That he cared for others: Compound owner, Barton's farm scenes, Useful person, What if, Peter's clothes

Who was a true friend: Steve, Bruce, Stane, Coulson, Nat and Clint, Pepper, Happy and Rhodey: Part 1 and Part 2, BFF

That Tony sometimes says things about himself that are the opposite of reality: "I'm fine", "Playboy"

That he doesn't have a drinking problem in the MCU: Conclusion with its own navigation

About relationships with Steve Rogers: Did he hate him? Role Model Part 1, Part 2, War and Peace, Saving Captain Rogers

That Tony is bisexual: Proof, FrostIron

And submissive: Proof

He is a dog at heart: Why, Saint Bernard

But likes cats: Cat person

Who is the nicest guy of the OG6: Data on: Tony ("My faults", "Thank yous", "Sorrys: Part 1, Part 2"), Steve, Thor, Bruce, Natasha, Clint Who thanks the most Who apologizes the most Who admits his/her fault the most Results

What happened during Civil War: The Accords, Recruiting Peter: War crimes, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3; Fight Part 1, Part 2, Tony saved Bucky

And what could have happened instead: B.A.R.F.

How Tony is different from Thor: Sakaar

How Tony made his decision about the Time Heist: Part 1, Part 2

That MCU is not 616 and how Multiverse works: MCU is not 616, FAQ, Multiverse

We also played a game "Tony or Steve" and found out some interesting facts.

Some additional topics that were discussed:

War, military and weapon manufacturing: Iron Man 1 villain, Hypocrisy, We are all profiteers, Pros and cons of Tony being weapon manufacturer

Some criticism: Tony's inappropriate jokes, Womanizer?

Thanos: His not-so-good plan to save the universe

Steve: Blaming others, Why Bucky is not the new Cap

Pepper: And her sexual life with Tony

Clint: Has superpowers

Howard: His obsession with shields

P.S. Tumblr does not allow to add more than 100 links, so some less important posts are skipped and added to this post.

[sarahscribbles]

𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞, ��𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐫 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡?

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝟐𝟑𝟑

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The double doors to your Sakaarian penthouse swing open on a dramatic whoosh of air just as you’re poking through the large box that the Grandmaster has had delivered to the room. This one is just as intricately ornate as the others but filled with a twinkling display of elaborate earrings and is one of many that have arrived in the hands of a steady stream of colourful servants over the past few days.

At least, you think it’s been days. Or has it been weeks? It’s impossible to tell how long you’ve been stranded on this ridiculous excuse of a planet, but the steady stream of obscenely opulent boxes - filled with trinkets, silks, and other gaudy decorations - suggests that the Grandmaster is setting you up for a life on Sakaar. 

That, or he wants you to be his dress up doll. 

Frankly, you aren’t sure which scenario is worse.

You don’t lift your eyes from the glittering sea of precious gems sitting before you - you’ve counted rubies, sapphires, and amethysts so far - even as those distinctive heavy footsteps come to a sudden stop behind you. There’s no need to, really; if said footsteps striding down the hallway weren’t already a give away then the growing warmth of your mother’s locket certainly was.

The little gold oval is now emitting an impressive warmth against your bare skin, acting as almost a comfort and a warning. 

It was him. 

You can feel the heavy weight of his gaze on your back and when you do glance up at his reflection in the mirror, you catch the brief second of his eyes raking over you. A faint surge of pride ripples through your veins.

“What are you wearing?” he sneers, that deep voice dripping with open contempt. 

The Sakaarian equivalent of a towel is wrapped under your arms, but it’s so outrageously skimpy that it barely covers more than your behind and leaves your bare legs on full display. You watch his reflection in the mirror, not missing the brief twitch of his jaw and flex of his fingers.

How interesting.

“It’s a towel, though perhaps such a thing is too civilised for your barbaric Asgardian mind to recognise,” you bite back, watching his green eyes narrow in the mirror. 

He raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow and his lip curls. “A generous title considering - “ He stops suddenly, but his eyes drift to rest on the hem that barely falls to the middle of your thighs. “Perhaps calling it a handkerchief would be more fitting.” 

The disgust is so palpable in his voice that it sends a sudden rage surging through you. This man - this spoiled, pretentious ass - is behaving as though the lack of proper amenities on this trash heap of a planet is somehow your fault.

“Would you rather I forgo it, then? Perhaps I should simply wander around this prison cell nude? Would that appease you?” you throw back, slamming down the lid of the box so hard that the mirror on the wall above briefly shakes. 

He scoffs - loudly - from where he’s moved to mix himself a drink at the little bar in the kitchen. “Heavens, no. There are already enough ghastly sights to have to endure here, wouldn’t you agree?” He raises the glass to his lips, keeping his eyes on you as if daring you to bite. 

You can feel the warm flush of humiliation creep along your neck, but you don’t stand down and pin him with an icy glare. “Go to Hel, Loki.”

The use of his name is like a perfectly aimed arrow. He sets his glass down with force, sploshing amber liquid all over the white bartop, and advances toward you in a way that’s meant to be intimidating. His green eyes flash dangerously, but you only tilt your nose in the air. You’ve got the upper hand here, and it’s all thanks to Scrapper arriving a few days ago with an embellished envelope that had his name scrawled across the front. 

You had answered the door and she had pushed the small little square into your hands, letting her fingers linger a second more than what was normal.

“A little invitation from the Grandmaster,” she had purred in that hypnotic voice and again ran her eyes appreciatively over you.

But you quickly shake the memory of her gaze from your mind. 

“I’d be careful with my threats if I were you. You know not who you’re dealing with, Princess,” he spits, each word laced and dripping with venom. 

It’s the only thing he knows about you - your royal status - and you know it infuriates him. Despite his threats, you’ve refused to tell him your name or that you’re Princess of Vanaheim and second in line to the throne. It’s the only thing you have to hold over him, and you refuse to give it up. 

He continues his measured approach towards you - all slow steps and narrowed eyes - and the memory of a blade whizzing past your head makes you summon a ball of orange flame in your palm. 

“Do you think I’m scared of the Grandmaster’s pet?” you mock him with a condescending little laugh. “You’re nothing more than his pretty little peacock. Tell me, how did you manage to escape becoming one of his competitors, hmm?” you sneer and let your eyes flick to his leather clad crotch. 

Like an animal cornered, he bares his teeth and makes to lunge toward you, but he’s barely taken a step when you send your ball of fire hurtling towards him. The force of it sends him staggering backwards and he looks at you with raw anger etched in every line of his face. 

He doesn’t take another step towards you and that’s when you realise. 

He’s scared of you. Terrified, if his defensive stance is anything to go by. 

Your lips quirk into a satisfied smile. “If we’re quite finished with this little display, I have a soiree to dress for,” you say, all feigned sweetness and charming smile. 

You hear his small noise of disbelief as you pad across the room towards the bathroom, and even that is enough to have fresh sparks dance on the tip of your fingertips. 

“You’ll forgive me if I struggle to believe that. Who in the Nine would want you in attendance at a soiree?” he seethes. 

It’s an insult so weak that it rolls easily off your back. “The Grandmaster if you must know. Although, he wants me to attend because he enjoys my company, not because I’ve stooped so low as to warm his bed.”

The glimmer of silver catches your eyes, but he doesn’t take aim. He remembers what happened the last time. 

“You are the most loathsome woman I have ever had the misfortune to encounter,” he all but growls as you reach the bathroom door. His eyes are flashing dangerously and you can tell by the twitch of his fingers that he’s itching to run you through with his blade. 

You turn in the doorway and flash him an overly bright smile. “Careful, Loki. Any more of those charming compliments and I may fall in love with you.” You slide the doors closed before he has the chance to respond. 

With a racing heart, you wait for the sound of metal impacting on the door. It never comes. 

Like you said, he’s terrified.

[ym4yum1]

Preface — My favorite Spy (4)

November, 2024.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

Far worse than the sterilization itself was how AoU framed it.

Troubled, Bruce admitted, "There's no future with me. I can't ever… I can't have this. Kids. Do the math. I physically can't."

Natasha opened her heart, "Neither can I. In the Red Room where I was trained, where I was raised… They have a graduation ceremony. They sterilize you. It's efficient. One less thing to worry about. The one thing that might matter more than a mission. Makes everything easier. Even killing. You still think you're the only monster on the team?"

After hearing her emotional confession, Bruce's answer was a flat, "So, we disappear?" That was the end of it.

Infertility is a deeply painful experience for many, and it should never be equated with a person's humanity. Ever. Yet, that's exactly what this infamous exchange implied, even if unintentionally. How did no one — writers, editors, directors — catch this?

Bruce's implication, "I'm a monster, therefore I can't have kids," could never justify or suggest Natasha's conclusion, "I can't have kids, therefore I'm a monster." Right?

Both are deeply flawed — and damaging — ideas.

So… was AoU any good for Bruce Banner's arc?

The scene described above was an unnecessary, uncomfortable moment made worse by his passive reaction, which seemed to tacitly affirm the degrading notion that infertility diminishes a person's worth. Given his expertise in biology and medicine, Bruce should have questioned Natasha's distorted logic, responding with empathy and compassion even if he felt conflicted. Instead, the film depicted him as almost heartless, undermining his intelligence and emotional depth. Both characters were sidelined during a vulnerable moment that could have fostered genuine connection.

Bruce's iconic line, "I'm always angry," in The Avengers (2012) and Hulk's controlled demeanor when the team confronted a defeated Loki in the end of the movie suggested that Bruce had begun to achieve a degree of balance with his troubled alter ego. But in AoU, his sudden dependence on Natasha's "calming lullaby" trope — reminiscent of Beauty and the Beast — felt like a regression, undermining his hard-won progress.

The romantic tension between Natasha and Bruce in AoU also felt problematic, especially in light of Bruce's emotional struggles in The Incredible Hulk (2008). In that film, his physical intimacy with longtime girlfriend Betty Ross was constrained by his condition — any intense emotion, including arousal, could trigger his transformation. In AoU, Bruce's line, "I physically can't," could imply that he believed intimacy, and therefore fatherhood, were out of reach for him. In this context, Natasha's flirtation and sexual innuendo almost felt like emotional torment. Was she knowingly taunting him? A cynical view could suggest that it was all an act — that she was merely manipulating the man to tame the beast. Her actions come across as dismissive and ultimately undermined and trivialized them both.

Side Notes:

In The Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes (Season 2, Episode 9, 2012), Bruce was hit with an adrenal inhibitor that temporarily prevented him from transforming into the Hulk — a potential solution if he wanted physical intimacy.

In She-Hulk: Attorney at Law (2022), Smart Hulk introduced his son, Skaar, in the season finale. In the comics, Skaar is the biological son of the Hulk and the alien Caiera from the planet Sakaar — where MCU Hulk was during Thor: Ragnarok (2017). So, yes — he only needed the right partner after all.

P.S.: I will post the full text here in parts, but you can read it all in the preface of the story posted on Fanfiction, Ao3 or Wattpad. Please, let me know what you think! 🤗😘

[fandomfics]

We're Strangers

Part 1 of 3

Ragnarok AU

Pairing: Loki x Fem Reader

Description: When Loki ends up stuck on Sakaar, he runs into you, an indentured servant to the Grandmaster.

Master List

⚠️Warnings⚠️

Au, Loki stays on sakaar and Thor never shows up. Implied sexual situations(light smut?), mentions of nudity, language, use of restraints.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Indentured servitude in the Grandmasters Palace can be absolute hell, but you find it a much better arrangement to sleeping in the gutters and barely scraping by. You are given fine clothes to wear, you are fed, and you have a bed to sleep in at night. All for the price of being one of the grandmaster's personal maids.

You spend your nights in a chamber next to his, awaiting the ringing of a bell to indicate he is in need of you. Most of your time is spent mending and making clothing for the champions, occasionally being called for refreshments or food for the grandmaster and whoever is occupying his bed that night. On the rare occasion that he doesn't have a companion, he calls you in to fill that roll.

The first time it happened you were surprised by the proposition, moreso that he actually wanted your consent. After that you always agreed, spending a night wrapped in his luxurious bedding, partaking in pleasures you rarely did otherwise. It was a treat.

For a long time your life in service of the grandmaster was monotonous, the rare nights with him were the only break from it until he took a new lover. The tall thin man is clad in green and gold, his long dark hair is slicked back, and the ever present mischievous smile on his face is wide. The Grandmaster clearly was obsessed with this one, he was the only one to spend time with him for months.

One evening you sit in your plush armchair hand sewing a garment as quiet music from an unseen speaker fills the empty space, an open window allows the cool breeze to wash over your skin and you shiver.

"Cold darling?" You jump in your seat, startled by the unexpected presence, sending the needle into your finger.

You turn sharply to see the Grandmaster's lover.

"oh, I'm terribly sorry about that." The grin on his face conveys the exact opposite of his words and you shoot him a cold look in response as you make your way to the small first aid cabinet.

"What do you want? You should have just rang the bell. You know how all this works by now." You spit at him while you remove the needle to clean and bandage the wound.

"I couldn't sleep, so I wanted to be nosey," a look of confusion contorts his face, "I mean, I want to find any leverage I can against the grandmaster to use at a later date."

You laugh as he continues to speak, "why can't I say I'm tired of fucking him, I want to take his title? Norns! I just want to lie to you!"

"Must be frustrating," the amused smile on your face elicits a probing glance from the god. "I must say, I find your confusion quite entertaining."

"What have you done to me?" He scowls

"Not a thing sir. People from my planet are... special. We can't be lied to..." A quick flash of sadness washes over your features before you replace it with amusement once more, but he caught it.

"Hmm, seems like a planet that I could use in my endeavors..."

"Have fun with that." You say turning away.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

An uneventful week passes before he returns to see you. He takes a seat in the armchair across from you and silently watches you work. You don't acknowledge his presence until he finally speaks.

"I'm sorry." His voice is low, almost too quiet for you to hear.

"What for?" You're caught off guard by his words, you expected more mischief.

"Your planet. Are you the last one left?" His eyes are... Doleful. You've never seen him convey such emotion. With the exception of last week's confusion, all you've seen is cocksure devilry play across his handsome features. You eye him cautiously, just because you can't be lied to doesn't mean that you can't be manipulated.

"I'm not sure. I was taken years before it happened, but I've never encountered anyone."

"By the grandmaster?"

"No, I just ended up on this trash planet sometime after. "

"Hmm." He shifts in his seat as he thinks, bringing a hand up to rub his chin. "Why didn't you tell him what I said?"

You shrug, "No one has ever been successful, didn't think it mattered."

"I like a challenge." he smirked "oh, how rude of me, I never introduced myself. Loki, god of mischief." He bows his head to you.

"I am well aware of who you are." You chuckle before giving him your name.

"Beautiful name, it suits you." He says before repeating your name slowly, savoring it like the last sweet in the box. He is clearly trying to charm you, but for what you don't know.

"What is it that you want from me Loki?"

"Just your friendship. Nothing more." His eyes light up with his smile, "it's getting awfully dull around here while I bide my time."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Four months pass and Loki still has the affections of the Grandmaster. Every night after he falls asleep Loki finds his way to the chair opposite of you. You share your lives with each other, stories of your past, hopes for your future. A friendship blooms.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Do you actually want to take the grandmasters place?"

"What?"

"Its been months, you haven't really spoken to me about it since the first time we talked."

"Well of course dear," he becomes ever so slightly sheepish "I just don't want to ruin our friendship by asking for your assistance in the matter. I've kept you out of it, if this fails he doesn't need a reason to punish you as well."

"Aww, the god of mischief has a friend that he cares for?" You tease him with a wide grin.

"Oh hush. Consider yourself lucky. Few have been so honored as to be this close to me and have my full respect." The scowl on his face breaks quickly when you laugh, and he follows suit.

"I would help you, you know? If you asked."

"No, I couldn't." He sighs "You really are too dear to me."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"You look troubled. What's going on?" Another few months have passed and you've continued your routine with Loki.

"I think the head of archives has figured out what I'm planning." His brow furrows and he pinches the bridge of his nose screwing his eyes shut tight.

"Let me help you, please? I could just go down and ask them a few questions, just make sure you're clear." You offer hopefully, at this point you've grown very close, and all you want to do is help him.

His eyes shoot open and he searches your gaze for a moment. "No," he shakes his head as if to push the thought away. "I told you, I can't let you. I'll find a way through it. Don't worry about me darling."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The next morning when your shift is over you immediately head to the archives. Loki is going to get your help whether he likes it or not.

You've encountered the being he's talked about before. A large humanoid that stands a solid 8 feet tall with grey skin and antlers. They can be intimidating when necessary, but they know you are a personal servant to the grandmaster himself.

"Shill! How are we today?" You greet them as you normally would.

"Can't complain," their gravelly voice echoes in the wide expanse of the archive. "What do you need today?"

"Just a quick task. Need to ask if you've heard or seen anything suspicious lately. You know the song and dance. Been a while since someone attempted a coup, think the man's a little on edge." You whisper the last part.

"Nah, nothin' on that front." They say with a chuckle, "You'll be the first to know if I hear anything."

"Thanks Shill, I appreciate it." You say with a smile, slapping the desk before you leave.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"I have good news for you!" A smile lights up your face when Loki sits in his chair.

"Do you?" His curiosity is peaked as he looks to you.

"Shill has no idea what you're up to."

"I told you I didn't want you involved," he buries his face in his hands in exasperation.

"I wanted to, and I'm glad did. I can do more."

"Norns, you are stubborn." He looks up to you, "No, I'm almost ready, I don't need your help."

"Too bad." Defiance drips from your words, "If you don't give me something to do I might get myself into trouble trying to figure out how to help you."

"Fine." He thinks for a moment before speaking again. "I need to get into his private study for one last thing. Would you be able to keep him occupied for a time?"

"Well, when his bed is empty he asks for my company. Maybe you take a night to yourself. I can keep his night busy while you make your way in."

"Perfect. Here's the plan, I will make my way into the room at my usual time, just before he arrives, and hide myself away. I will speak to him with a sort of doppelganger of myself to reject him for the night, and the other me will leave the room. Once he has you in, you keep him distracted so I can grab the key to get in and out. Then I can hide out in your chamber until everything is clear."

"Wow, you already planned this out? I thought you didn't want me to help you?"

"I was going to find someone else to fuck him, but if you're offering..." He shrugs.

"That's settled then. When do we set this plan in motion sir?" You say in mock seriousness.

"Tomorrow night."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The Large room that houses the Grandmasters chamber is lit to set a mood, the warm dark colors on the walls and wood floors make the atmosphere cozy even in the massive space. The walls house floor to ceiling shelves of books and trinkets from all over the universe. His four poster bed sits in the center on a raised platform, and here is where you sit.

Nude, you straddle the Grandmaster, his limbs are tied to the bed posts, a silky blindfold covering his eyes.

"God's your cock is huge sir!" You scream out, giving Loki the signal to begin.

From your vantage point you can see him making his way to the discarded set of keys on a shelf, when he is ready to grab the keys you make eye contact with him and let out a loud moan to drown out any noise they might make. You see Loki's eyes quickly flit to your bouncing breasts and his jaw visibly tightens before he begins to move again.

His approach to the door signals your next move. You remove yourself, from the bed, much to the grandmasters discontent, moving around the room playing dumb.

"I think I need to find that delicious little toy you got off world, you know the one, makes it look like I have a tail."

He hums in approval before telling you exactly where it resides. You open and close random drawers, making him wait several minutes, giving Loki just enough time to slip in and out of the study before returning to your chamber.

"Ugh, you're such a tease!" The grandmaster says desperately before begging you to return. With Loki's mission safely accomplished you get what you were looking for and spend the rest of the night in pleasure.

At the break of dawn you return to your room to find Loki still there, his face is etched with anger.

"Did you get what you needed?"

"Yes." He replies curtly.

"Then why do you look like you want to murder someone?"

He stands and makes his way across the room, standing right in front of you. "Because I do." He whispers.

You're speechless, wondering what he means exactly until he continues.

"I don't like the thought of him touching you, let alone what you were doing to him." He turns around leaving you confused. You place your hand on his shoulder, touching him for the first time since you met all those months ago. He feels... electric.

"What are you talking about?"

"Seeing you with him made me realize something. I didn't know exactly how much I wanted you until it was clear that you aren't mine." He turns to face you again, "but I have to tell you some-" he is interrupted when you close the distance and your lips crash into his. He's momentarily startled before his hands cup your cheeks and pulls out of the kiss. The confusion in your eyes makes way for fear before you push yourself away and immediately start apologizing.

"I thought you meant-" you start frantically before he grabs your face again to speak to you.

"I did," he sighs, "but I don't want this to go any further until I've told you the truth."

"What do you mean? You can't lie to me..."

"I uh...I found a way to." He releases the hold on your face and returns to his chair. His hands run through his hair and he looks to the ground with a deep sigh.

"My doppelgangers. If I'm not in the room with you physically, I can-I can lie to you."

"So everything was bullshit." You say flatly.

"Yes... No. I mean, the only thing I really lied about was not wanting your help. I wanted to get close to use your talents to aid me in my quest, but I was- I am your friend. Your friendship is important to me... You are important to me." He finally lifts his eyes to meet yours and sees the tears streaming down your face.

"I don't want to see you ever again. We're Strangers and nothing more."

"I understand. I'll respect your wishes." Before he can leave you return to the Grandmasters chamber and climb back into the bed.

"Where'd you go?" He turns over sleepily before pulling you to him.

"I need to tell you something."

"Can it wait until after we go another round?" He teases as he grips your ass and grinds against you.

"No. Loki is planning something. He wants to replace you." He releases his grip on you and sits up suddenly wide awake.

"How do you know?"

"He's been coming into my chambers to see me on occasion. Just to talk... I just found him in my chamber when I went in to get a drink. He wanted my help and confessed to me." The hurt you feel from Loki's betrayal masks any guilt you feel for exposing him.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The grandmaster immediately sends his guards to find the god, but he's gone. A new lover has taken his place, and everything has returned to how it was before. The only difference being the numbness you feel.

[lokiinmediasideblog]

come on don't be afraid to admit that loki is the ABUSER. even if Thor is that in your headcanon it still fades into nothingness when we bring out Loki's abuse

keep that eye twitching babe

I'd say it's more complicated than that.

Whether you like it or not, Thor was very violent for millennia. We see him flipping a table with food on it in T1 because he wasn't allowed to break Jotun spirits. There go a bunch of "Poor Thor was not allowed to throw tantrums, only Loki was" HCs. He also addresses Loki with phrases such as "Know your place".

And yes, Loki does try to kill him. But have you considered that this is unusual to him? the context behind this was that he just found out he belongs to a species Thor has stated he wants to murder and has been shown to murder? Loki's evil is usually affects those suffering as collateral rather than a crown prince like Thor.

Let's see, in A1 the context is a battle on opposing sides, and that matters. And he stabs Thor with a small knife (and fun fact; even humans don't die from this usually) and throws him from some cage (knowing Thor can fly). I also won't give shit to Thor for not knowing how to deal with Loki.

In T:TDW, he's imprisoned. Thor takes gets him out of prison because he needs Loki's help and intends to imprison him again for life afterwards. I won't give shit to Thor for not visiting though. But still, am I not allowed to comment that this is not out of kindness and he's putting Loki to use? He also threatens and manhandles a manacled Loki constantly. He shoves him off a ship. And he's about to beat the shit out of him on the skiff when Loki isn't actively harming someone. He's just grieving/venting. Loki fawns, and Thor holds back realizing he was playing into their dysfunctional dynamic.Loki protects Jane throughout and ends up being impaled for Thor and to avenge Frigga. His body is just left there. Loki seemingly redeemed himself to Thor through death. Loki poses as Odin, offers the throne to Thor, Thor refuses it, so instead he gives Thor his blessing to do whatever the fuck he wants.

And if we're talking about TR, he's actually crueller to Loki in this movie than in previous ones, yet this Thor gets an unwarranted cinnamonroll reputation . The first thing he does when he finds out Loki's alive is to violently threaten him with Mjolnir, a magic super-weapon, with a smirk on his face. There's no "I mourned you" or anything like that! I'd have less issue with this if he'd not being smirking and looked on the verge of anxious tears.

Then Hela and the whole Sakaar thing happens. They're both at the mercy of the GM, and Loki's been there long enough to learn to maneuver around him. He's trying to talk to Thor, and again, I won't give Thor shit for not being receptive as he blames Loki for everything. Thor talks of going separate ways (understandable, and it also likely activated Loki's abandonment issues). Thor coaxes Loki into doing a maneuver that he finds humiliating. They fight those guards. Loki attempts to betray to Thor (I think he wanted to stop him from fighting Hela). Thor understandably has had enough, and I understand he feared execution, but he does take too much glee in Loki's pain and leaving him tortured and vulnerable. He didn't knock Loki out. He left Loki there convulsing. And the moment Loki gets free, the first thing he does is to come to Thor and Asgard's aid.

And Loki ends up dying for him in IW.

[themculibrary]

Steve and Peggy (Steggy) Masterlist 3

part one, part two

Ain't Love a Kick (ao3) - roboticonography M, 33k

Summary: Steve wakes up after the crash to find his life has changed dramatically - the main change being, he's married to Peggy Carter.

A Lot of Issues (ao3) - linascribbles T, 66k

Summary: Peggy Carter is a Fashion Editor at Sakaar magazine. She’s used to juggling egos, drama queens and ridiculous assignments from her boss all the time. She's even used to dealing with gorgeous six foot blonds on the regular. But none of that really prepeared her for Steve Rogers, his fumbling charm, or the gorgeous way he blushes.

Steve Rogers is a graphic designer who only models to make ends meet. New York is the perfect city for that, but just as NYC's fashion word is prolific, it is also... bizarre. In his line of work Steve's gotten used to losing significant chunks of his dignity quite often (He has a photo album about it, lovingly curated by the one and only Bucky Barnes), but maybe, just this once, he could avoid making a mess of himself in front of that beautiful model on this shoot. No such luck.

Certain I'm Yours (ao3) - Spacecadet72 G, 1k

Summary: Steve wasn’t suspicious, at first.

The Howling Commandos are less than subtle in their attempts to matchmake Peggy and Steve using a gift exchange.

church bells ring, carry me home (ao3) - mybestgirl T, 18k

Summary: A how-to guide on getting Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter married: step one, bachelor party. Step two, wedding. Step three, honeymoon.

Coffee Talk (ao3) - indiefic G, 1k

Summary: Jack Thompson is sick of Peggy Carter thinking she can do whatever she wants.

Don't Miss a Moment (ao3) - agentofvalue T, 40k

Summary: The war has been over for years. After five years, Steve even came back from the dead. Peggy married him and that should be the happily ever after. But, they are still Captain America and Agent Carter. With them, nothing ever goes according to plan. Not even impending parenthood.

I Just Keep Falling For You (ao3) - BuckyWithTheGoodHair86 G, 10k

Summary: Steve is starting to make a habit out of unexpected falls and sticky situations. Fortunately, Peggy always arrives in time to get him out.

In Bourbon Veritas (ao3) - doctorhelena T, 3k

Summary: There were actually two beds. Peggy just didn’t seem interested in getting in the other one.

International Incident (ao3) - linascribbles E, 112k

Summary: Peggy Carter rose through the diplomatic ranks in the midst of the Incident and in her short career already stablished herself as a skilled and well-connected negotiator. Stationed in the Washington DC embassy, she's right on the front lines of the fallout of Project Insight. Governments get purged, new and unexpected doors open, and Peggy Carter is nothing if not resourceful.

As she gets plunged into a world of spies, mad scientists and superheroes, familiar faces start to pop up. Particularly one pesky Captain America, who seems to have no idea what international law entails and considers country borders mere suggestions.

in the heat of battle (ao3) - littlereyofsunlight M, 42k

Summary: “After this is over,”—and wasn’t that everyone’s favorite pastime, here in relative safety, playing After the War as though one could even pretend to make plans for a life, as though this blasted conflict hasn’t already completely changed everything in this world, forever—

Peggy Carter has always been a fighter.

Just In Case (ao3) - captaindoritoes G, 2k

Summary: Hope you enjoy this a bit of angst, a bit of comfort fanfic - four times Steve and Peggy share a kiss, just in case it’s their last one. Their love language is touch - in this essay I will -

Letting Agent Carter In (ao3) - cadkitten E, 4k

Summary: Steve is still learning to draw the human form and when he finds the perfect solution in his head, he's not sure he can actually ask for it in person. But he'll be damned if he won't give it a try.

Pin Curls (ao3) - SomewhereApart T, 3k

Summary: Peggy Carter has imagined how she’d feel at the return of Steve Rogers a hundred different times. Still, she's unprepared for the reality of him, standing on her porch on a Sunday afternoon.

She Wanted (ao3) - TriplePirouette E, 3k

Summary: Peggy wants to eat Skinny Steve alive.

The Shops on Shield Street (ao3) - fluffernutter8 G, 5k

Summary: Running a small business is already hard enough without someone trying to sabotage things.

Time and Again (ao3) - Beshter N/R, 163k

Summary: When an insane man who claims he can travel through time appears out of nowhere, Peggy Carter agrees to go with him to save the world, little expecting the strange new life she'd be stepping into on the other side.

We Still Talk (ao3) - roboticonography M, 9k

Summary: Newlyweds Steve and Peggy take a holiday to get away from it all - but the great outdoors might hold more challenges than they bargained for!

we were born to be national treasures (ao3) - meidui G, 1k

Summary: “I’m back,” he chokes out artlessly into her shoulder, into the soft dark waves of her hair and the spiced floral of her perfume. He stopped believing he would ever get to go home after the war a long time ago, or that there would ever be an after the war for him, but—

“Right on time,” Peggy whispers, her voice shaking, and Steve’s next breath breaks on a sob.

Where poppies grow (ao3) - beautifulwhensarcastic T, 1k

Summary: The night preceding the procedure Steve can't sleep, which leads him to a surprising, touching discovery.

you can count on me (ao3) - sokovianaccords (thesokovianaccords) N/R, 5k

Summary: A Christmas mission for Agent Rogers and Agent Carter brings some things to light

[bulkyphrase]

Comfort Podfic Rec List

It's been a while since my last podfic-specific rec list, and with that lore.fm nonsense it seems like an especially good time to highlight the wonderful work that podficcers do!

These are some of the podfics I rely on to cheer me up. They're all sweet, fluffy or funny, and relatively short.

but hey, you're all right read by sisi-rambles (Stucky, 30-45 Minutes, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: 'This is not my fault,' Tony lies. 'It was supposed to be a joke! Christ.' 'Thanks to your joke,' says Coulson, 'we now have a code three-four-delta, with the variable being a Russian immigrant. We're checking his background right now, but it might take a while. Meanwhile, I suggest you civilian-proof the Tower. If any SHIELD intelligence is compromised, I will hurt you.' Yes, this is the story where the Winter Soldier is a Russian mail-order bride. Everything goes about as well as you'd expect. Based on the story by beardsley

Baby Steve Adventures read by blackglass (Gen, 20-30 Minutes, General Audiences)

Summary: Captain America gets hit by a spell during a battle. The rest of the Avengers look after him. Based on the story by catty_the_spy (@cattythespy)

The Devil and the Wild Man read by Tipsy_Kitty (@tipsyxkitty) (Loki/Steve Rogers, 1-1.5 Hours, Mature)

Summary: Steve's dinosaur keeps Loki in line on Sakaar. This is not a euphemism, but it is also 100% a euphemism. Based on the story by Effing (@effingunicorns)

More below the cut!

Right In Front of Your Face read by sisi-rambles (Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, 10-20 Minutes, General Audiences)

Summary: Phil and Clint get engaged and go out together to spread the news. but everyone is just shocked to hear they're together. Based on the story by @ereshai

Mixed Ages Classroom read by blackglass (Gen, 30-45 Minutes, Not Rated)

Summary: For this prompt, where the Avengers are de-aged, but to different ages: Clint & Tony to young children (below 10), Bruce to a toddler (whose tantrums involve hulking out to bb!hulk), Natasha & Steve back to teenagers (with scrawny!Steve). In which Hulk is a baby, Natasha and Steve know they aren't real teenagers, Clint and Tony behave badly, and Maria Hill is not a parent but Coulson might be. Based on the story by harcourt (@haforcere)

Protocol 1985 read by sisi-rambles (Gen, 30-45 Minutes, General Audiences)

Summary: “Holy crow, it worked,” someone says. Wherein Clint and Natasha meet Howard and Peggy. Based on the story by hollimichele (@nonasuch)

Fair Shot read by hopelesse (@sheshopelesse) (Stony, 20-30 Minutes, Mature)

Summary: Captain Rogers leaps from the helicopter like a gymnast on the dismount. All the lines of his body are controlled. Perfect. The iconic round shield lies flat across his back. “How does he fit a parachute under that?” I ask. “He doesn’t,” Stark answers. “Marvelous adrenaline junkie, our Cap. Likes to almost break his ankles every time. Makes him feel like a man.” Front Line reporter Ben Urich spends a mission embedded with Tony Stark and Captain Steve Rogers on an Ultimates mission. Based on the story by @isozyme

Dad's Got Skeletons read by sisi-rambles (Steve Rogers/Howard Stark (maybe?), 20-30 Minutes, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: “To think he became a dad—your dad. A daddy.” He looked up sharply and saw that Steve’s smile had twisted a little bit, pulled up at one corner like a smirk, except no, Captain America did not smirk. “You know, it’s funny. I called him daddy once too.” Based on the story by kehinki

Sam Wilson: Ghost Hunter read by sisi-rambles (Samsteve, 0-10 Minutes, General Audiences)

Summary: Sam's stuck in a horror movie cliche. Based on the story by kehinki

(the kitten invasion fleet has arrived) read by blackglass (Gen, 0-10 Minutes, General Audiences)

Summary: what if the first contact with nonhuman life forms comes about in a different way? Based on the story by @labelleizzy

someone’s gonna pay for this read by sisi-rambles (Gen, 0-10 Minutes, General Audiences)

Summary: Steve as a cat. Based on the story by @lazulisong

Groundwater read by blackglass (Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers, 30-45 Minutes, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: Okay, she thinks, in a zen-like state of calm: given a chump assignment, she not only managed to fall in a well, she somehow dragged Captain America--living legend, supersoldier, level 7 SHIELD consultant, and Avenger--down with her. This means two things: 1) Captain America knows who she is now, and thinks she’s a dumbass, and 2) SHIELD is probably going to make her disappear as punishment (likely by throwing her in another, deeper well and pretending she never existed). “Don’t mind me,” she says faintly. “I’m just gonna drown myself now.” Based on the story by @legete

Dear Clint Barton (Circa Age 7) read by RsCreighton (@rosecreighton) (Gen, 20-30 Minutes, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: The most annoying parts of being de-aged (and then re-aged) are your friends. Based on the story by @pollyrepeat

Situation Normal read by quietnight (@quietnighty) (Stucky, 20-30 Minutes, Mature)

Summary: AU wherein Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers never met, Steve somehow manages to rescue the Winter Soldier anyway, and Avengers Tower ends up with the world’s angriest duckling and a whole new brand of entertainment. - (“He was dragging him out of the river,” Natasha argues later. “Nat, be honest, he was going for the Full Monty.” Says Clint. “I’m pretty sure we interrupted him in the middle of giving ‘emergency CPR’,” Tony agrees, “Or the stage after emergency CPR. Emergency Dick? Is that a thing?” “That’s not a thing,” Natasha and Clint reply.) Based on the story by redcigar

How Steve Rogers Singlehandedly Lost the Cold War read by quietnight (@quietnighty) (Stucky, 20-30 Minutes, Mature)

Note: This is a sequel/companion to the previous fic, Situation Normal.

Summary: AU wherein Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes never met, but the Winter Soldier takes an interest in Captain America anyway, and has an odd way of showing it. -- (On the helicarrier, hurrying to reach the central hub of the third aircraft in time, the chip clenched in his gloved fist, Steve turns to find a ghost blocking his path, and is abruptly reminded on what the road to hell is paved with.) Based on the story by redcigar

Get Some Now read by where_thewind_blows (@flowersthroughthecracks) (Stony, 1-1.5 Hours, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: Avengers Mansion has a mysterious feline infestation. Meanwhile, Steve just can't figure out how to ask Tony out on a date. And the thirteen teleporting cats sure aren't helping matters any. Based on the story by @sineala

Mercy in You by Sineala read by Pywren (@phyrrhicvictory) (Stony, 1-1.5 Hours, Mature)

Summary: When Tony comes back from a very bad D/s date, in pain and abandoned by his dom, Steve offers to help Tony out and give him all the aftercare he so desperately needs. Based on the story by @sineala

To Keep the Home Fires Burning read by blackglass (Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov, 30-45 Minutes, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: Maria does three tours of cat sitting duty before she and Romanoff come to be on a first name basis. She claims a whole shelf in the pantry and sneaks in two more cat mugs too. Based on the story by Woad

[sufficeth]

Yo I'm watching Hulk and the Agents of S.M.A.S.H and what the fuck is Skaar???😭😭😭 I haven't read nearly as much Hulk as I legally should, but in the series he's so freaking funny, there's this moment Jen goes "Skaar, no smashy-smash", and he just gives her a side-eye and says "🤨Skaar know☝️, 🥱Skaar not dumb🙄😤" in the most gen z way possible, and it's so freaking hilarious💀 I hope to God he's like that in the comics because the world is not ready for his ass...

What I mean with this rant is, any takes on Skaar?

I haven't seen agents of SMASH and I'm definitely not the biggest Skaar expert, but have a Skaar rant anyway!

My hottest Skaar take is that Marvel missed a huge opportunity to make Bruce deal with raising a child that he failed in some way. Having a wife and kids was always a dearly held goal for Bruce (that he thought he could never achieve because of the hulk), but he also obviously was scared of repeating the cycle of abuse with any hypothetical kids. But he DID have a kid, and he DID hurt Skaar -- at first by unintentionally abandoning him on post-apocalyptic Sakaar, and then by training him to kill the Hulk.

Whether or not Bruce's actions toward Skaar are abusive when he's training him to kill the Hulk is kind of muddied by the fact that Skaar seems like an adult in Hulk form, and I do think there's a difference between sparring with your fully-grown-adult son and asking him to kill you vs sparring with your like-10-years-old son and asking him to kill you. In my opinion, Skaar's adult-seeming Hulk form is closer to how Joe Fixit describes his origin -- a kid acting like how he thinks an adult would act, based on all the grown-ups in his life having been total dicks. That's why he has the sort of edgelord personality that he has in the comics, much like Joe back in the day. So, yeah, Skaar was a kid, and it was Not Cool of Bruce to train him and ask him to help Bruce kill himself!*

At the end of that arc, Green Scar and Skaar have a fight where Skaar's supposed to finally kill the Hulk, but they both end up de-hulking and hugging and it's a really sweet moment. But then Bruce never really has to reckon with his actions or raise Skaar at all. He never has to face his fear of being an abusive dad. Skaar starts filling the role of "edgy emo son of Hulk," and is aged up super quickly. I think the next time he shows up he's doing Norman Osborne's jerk Avengers which is like... idk man he would not work for the government.

TL; DR: Bruce should have had to deal with the consequences of being a bad dad, and should have had to figure out how to raise his kid even after failing him. But they aged up Skaar even faster than real-world time, let alone the sliding timescale, so we didn't get that, boo.

If you want to read early Skaar, try Incredible Hulk (1968) 601-611. It's good! I think Skaar's most recent appearance was as a living avatar of daddy issues in Al Ewing's Gamma Flight, which is a really great spin-off of Immortal Hulk and I recommend checking it out.

*ofc, bruce should stop asking EVERYONE in his life to help him kill himself

[queen-of-meows]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

Thank you for this lovely ask ! I really needed it because I feel like I should promote my work more ^^.

5- Hell Frozen Rain

“Good afternoon. You know why you are here today ?” he asked to the Variant, but he was met with stubborn silence. “First of all, I want to remind you it's pefectly okay if you want to stop the session at anytime. You have seen several Analysts before and I know none of them has made any significant progress with you. But that's okay, I am a patient man. The goal of this session is to reconstitute the series of event that led you to your current situation and to help you to reintegrate a timeline that fits your need. Are you ready ? Where do you want to start ? Okay. Giving the particular nature of this case, the TVA doesn't have any footage that could be useful for this session. I hope you are aware this is not an interrogation, right ? Despite anything you might have convinced yourself of, you didn't do anything wrong. Nothing of what happened this night was your fault.” Mobius M Mobius had been the most professional Analyst his whole life, but something troubled him about this new case he had been asigned to. Why does he feel so much compassion for this Variant, and most important, what horrible, unspeakable thing happened to the woman named Sylvie Laufeydottir ?

I am not entirly satisfied with this on and I was thinking about rewriting it one day, but I think it's still worth mentioning it. It's a pretty short psychological thriller I wrote for Halloween a few years ago, based on my favourite Silent Hill game, Shattered Memories.

4- When she sings, she sings come home

Ghosts crave to go home. They live between the walls, in the interstices that separate one second to the next, in the limbo between sleep and wake. Home is forever out of reach to them, a when that can never become a there. Loki has spent a long time fighting against the TVA and Kang, and he'd like to finally return to Asgard, or whatever is left of it. He knows it won't be easy, but he wants to try anyway.

An undertermined time after the end of the series, Loki goes to New Asgard to visit Thor, but instead he finds Sif and the two of them catch up on the last decades.

Bittersweet reunion, past Sifki implied, mentions of Sylki and Thor/Sif.

3-Heart asks pleasure first

Ravonna was gone from the TVA, but the TVA had never really let Ravonna go. Only Mobius could understand. Using of patience and empathy, the former TVA analyst does his best to reach his oldest friend, and hopefully show her there is more to hope than there is to fear.

During a mission on Sakaar, Loki and Mobius ran into Ravonna Renslayer. They rescue (kidnap ?) her and take her to New Asgard. This story explore what happens during the following days. It's mostly long dialogues between Mobius and Ravonna about order, chaos and what we chose to fight for.

2- A warm bowl of soup

Mobius is going to leave the TVA for good to join Loki in New Asgard. In the Void, he asks Lady Loki to teach him how to make a good soup. But the reciepe of the butternut squash soup is not the only mystery he hopes to unveil.

This one-shot explores the relationship between Mobius and my beloved Lady Loki OC as she teaches him how to make butternut squash soup and opens up about her backstory.

1- The Little Bard's Tale

Dear reader (you are probably me in the future, so hi future me !), I found a blank journal and a pen today. I thought I might take them and write something. I don't really know what to write, or if I can write anything that will be worth reading one day. My name is Loki. For a long, long time I thought I'd never hear anyone call my name again, but I was wrong. I was very, very wrong, because there are a lot of other poeple called Loki in this place. And there's Sylvie who was also named Loki a long time ago. This story is not about the war raging on all across the Multiverse, or the brave heroes fighting for peace. In the Void, the war seems far away, but it doesn't mean we don't care. One day Mr Mobius came here with a lost girl named Rebecca. She is very important for the Council of Kangs and she's even more important for me. This is our story, as told by your favourite storyteller !

Okay, shameless promotion for the Little Bard's Tale because it's the story I have been focusing on in 2024 and it's probably the most personal thing I have written for a while. This is a story about finding joy and a purpose in life even when you don't exactly fit in.

The Little Bard has become like a companion in my daily adventures ☺️.